He looked from Paisley to Mr. Hollings. “I’m ready when you are.”
They headed for their respective vehicles and caravanned across town.
To his surprise, Crockett’s anticipation swelled with each block. He’d been pondering his grandfather’s dream of turning the castle into a museum for years. Then one day, as he was crossing the river bridge, the castle caught his eye, and all those childhood musings came flooding back. What better place for his Texas history collection than inside a unique piece of Texas history?
Renwick Castle would draw more than just history buffs, though. Curiosity seekers of all ages would come to Bliss. They’d eat and shop here, helping local business owners. And once the media got ahold of the news that there was a castle in Bliss, there was no telling how far things could go. But sharing the castle had never been a part of his plan. And given the value of his collection, he found the idea unsettling.
Nearing the castle, he noticed that much of the view was obscured by the sprawling limbs of ancient live oak trees and the kudzu that covered the limestone walls surrounding the structure.
Crockett parked on the side of the road before joining Mr. Hollings at the gate. “I think the first thing we’re going to need is a landscaper.” He plucked some of the vines from the metal gate while the attorney fumbled with the lock.
“Does that mean you’re willing to share?”
He twisted to see Paisley moving toward them. “What?”
Smiling, she cocked her pretty head. “You said ‘we.’”
“There we go.” The rusted gate squeaked as Mr. Hollings pushed it open. “Oh, wow.” He paused just inside, his gaze traversing the three-story limestone structure with a rounded tower at each corner. “This is most definitely a castle.”
“Technically, it’s a castellated mansion.” Crockett moved beside the seemingly confused man. “We’re just not that big on technicalities around here.”
“What Mr. Devereaux is trying say is that this is a residence built in the style of a castle—” standing on the opposite side of the attorney, Paisley continued “—with the towers and battlements.” She pointed out the square openings along the edge of the roof. “Whereas a true castle is a fortress.”
Crockett peered around the other man to stare at the woman. “You’ve done your research.”
“Actually, I spent some time in Europe.”
Of course, she had. Her whole life had probably been gilded. Just like his ex-wife’s.
Mr. Hollings looked from Paisley to Crockett. “Sounds like you two know your stuff.”
As they continued up the drive, toward the stone portico surrounding the front door, Crockett couldn’t quell his excitement. His heart raced as he took in the gothic-arched windows along the towers and the Scottish coat of arms carving over the entrance. “Angus Renwick had all of this limestone brought down the river from Austin.” The words seemed to bubble out, as if he couldn’t contain them.
“That was convenient.” Again, Mr. Hollings fumbled with the keys.
“Not to mention faster and more cost-effective than bringing it in by wagon,” Paisley added.
A thrill skittered through Crockett the moment Mr. Hollings pushed open the large wooden door, stealing his breath. Renwick Castle was not only unique, it was inspiring. Born of a passion, it seemed to urge others to dream, too.
“Looks awfully dark in there.” Hollings was hesitant to say the least.
“I’ll be right back.” Crockett brushed past them, moving into the vestibule before continuing into the drawing room to his right. He threw the heavy brocade drapes aside with a whoosh, then crossed to the opposite side of the hall to the library and repeated the move.
Paisley and Mr. Hollings entered as he returned, their mouths agape as they took in the stone walls and mahogany wainscoting.
Paisley lowered her gaze to the stone floor. “It’s more rustic than I’d imagined. Like a Texas/medieval mashup—” Suddenly, she let out a scream.
“What on earth…?” Crockett followed her line of vision, noticing a mouse fleeing to safety. “Seriously?” He narrowed his gaze on hers. “All that noise for a little mouse?”
She stiffened her spine. “He startled me.”
Mr. Hollings coughed as he eyed the knight’s armor standing sentry at the edge of the hall. “It’s quite dusty in here.” He removed a white handkerchief from his hip pocket and covered his mouth.
“That’ll happen when a place is closed up for more than three decades.” It’d been thirty-five years since his grandfather closed the doors on this place for the final time. Crockett was twelve. And to his knowledge, no one had been here since. Until the Renwicks’ recent visit.
Crockett lifted his gaze to the tall, coffered wooden ceiling that spread toward the back of the house, eager to continue. He strode the length of the hall, past the wooden staircase that stretched up the wall to his right and threw open the drapes, sending dust motes into the air. Even with a haze coating the tall windows, the view of the swollen river was spectacular.
He repeated the move with the remaining three windows, his pulse racing as sunlight filtered through the massive trees that stood between the terrace and river. “This is what I remember most.”
“What do you mean, ‘remember’?” Paisley came alongside him with Mr. Hollings in tow, her attention drifting to the view. “Oh, my.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “This is stunning.”
Crockett opened the French doors, humidity washing over him as he stepped onto the stone terrace with Paisley on his heels. “Just think what this must have looked like when Angus built the place. There were no dams along the river back then, so it would have stretched even wider.”
“Can you imagine the wedding photos?” Exhilaration filled Paisley’s voice.
“Yes, this is quite nice.” Mr. Hollings used his handkerchief to blot his brow.
Crockett looked across the weed-filled, overgrown yard, recalling the beautiful gardens his grandfather had been determined to maintain even though no one lived there.
“I can hardly wait to see the ballroom.” Paisley hurried back into the house.
“Hold up.” Crockett followed her inside and made a quick right turn. “Follow me.” He continued to an opening at the base of the corner tower where he used to pretend he was a knight storming the castle.
“A secret passage!” Paisley all but squealed. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.”
Catching Doug Hollings’s wary eye, he said, “You coming?”
“Of course.”
Crockett led them up the winding stone steps, feeling as though he was ten years old again. Of course, back then these steps hadn’t seemed quite so narrow.
When they emerged on the second floor, they continued into the ballroom where Paisley squealed with delight, like the proverbial kid in a candy shop. She promptly went to work opening the drapes along two walls, oohing and aahing over the view, the once-glittering chandeliers and the massive fireplace.
“And would you look at these floors.”
Coming alongside her, he observed the inlaid wood that covered the space where he and his grandfather would have mock sword fights. “They’ll need to be refinished.”
They continued to the third floor where Paisley declared the six bedrooms perfect for bridal parties preparing for weddings.
When they finally returned to the first level, Mr. Hollings excused himself and went outside for some fresh air while Crockett showed Paisley the outdated kitchen, the dining room and a space akin to a family room with an old console television and furniture from the 1960s.
“You sure know your way around this place,” she said. “Have you been here before?”
“My grandfather was the caretaker of Renwick Castle. When I’d visit, he’d bring me with him.”
“That must have been quite a treat.�
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“It was. Especially for a kid with an active imagination.” Uncomfortable with talk of his personal life, he strode back into the entry hall. He could envision his collection in each of the first-floor rooms. There was a fair amount of natural light, but extra LED lighting would be needed.
He looked at Paisley. “You want to turn this into an event venue?”
“Yes. With that ballroom, the possibilities are endless. Parties, Blissful weddings, a Blissful Christmas. The town could use it for all sorts of things.”
He couldn’t miss the emphasis on Bliss. At least helping the community was something they could agree on.
“And what’s this about a museum?” Crossing her arms, she eyed him suspiciously.
“Texas history. I have an extensive collection that’s overwhelming the climate-controlled barn I built to house it in.”
One perfectly arched brow lifted. “That must be quite a collection.”
“It is.”
She slipped her long fingers into the front pockets of her jeans. “What do you think about the Renwicks’ offer?”
Eyeing a nest something had built in the corner, he said, “There’s a lot of work to be done here. Aside from general repairs, cleaning and landscaping, we’d have to upgrade the air-conditioning, maybe electrical and plumbing.” He refrained from telling her the house originally had wood pipes. “And everything would have to be ADA compliant, so there’d need to be an elevator to provide access to the second and third floors.”
She pointed toward the back of the house. “That tower to the right would be perfect for an elevator.”
Seemed she had an answer for everything. “Sounds like you’re completely on board with this.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I still get my event venue and, if I’m understanding Mr. Hollings correctly, it won’t cost me a thing.”
She had a point there. Except things were personal for him. He’d spent his entire life building his collection. Had items passed down from his grandfather and great-grandfather. So to have people moving in and out of the castle when the museum wasn’t open… Well, that didn’t sound any more appealing than working with Paisley.
“It won’t cost you either.” Her sapphire eyes bored into his, challenging him on more levels than he cared to admit.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Because it could cost me a lot more than I bargained for.”
Copyright © 2021 by Melinda Obenhaus
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ISBN-13: 9780369715104
The Cowgirl’s Sacrifice
Copyright © 2021 by Tina M. Radcliffe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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The Cowgirl's Sacrifice Page 21