by Tina Michele
“Okay.” Jim turned to leave before he remembered something and turned back. “By the way, don’t forget that my niece is coming home today. I’d like for us to go out to dinner when she gets settled. I think the two of you have a lot in common.” Jim loved Carson, and while he hadn’t always agreed with her dating choices, he wouldn’t have minded a bit if his two favorite girls happened to hit it off. He wasn’t one to play matchmaker, but he felt that each was what the other needed. If anything, he hoped that a new friendship with Carson would help heal Bree’s heartbreak.
Carson had worked at the Biltmore for just under thirteen years and with Jim for the last nine. He’d watched her excel up the ranks to become one of the best and most dedicated conservationists at the estate. They’d become very close over the years. As it happened, they’d started as smoking buddies, sneaking off at any chance they could to grab a couple of puffs behind the bushes in the gardens. It wasn’t long before they’d begun to spend time together outside of work. Carson didn’t date, at least not in the traditional sense, and Jim hadn’t been with a woman since Juliet. Over the years, they had developed a familial bond not unlike any other loving, yet, nontraditional family.
Juliet had been his one true love, and the idea of finding someone new had never been a priority for him. His priority had been to raise his beautiful niece and to make sure she would always know how much he and her parents loved her. Jim hadn’t known a single thing about kids when she came to live with him. His parenting skills were rudimentary at best, and he always treated her more maturely than most would’ve considered reasonable for a child. Jim did the best he knew how, and in his opinion, she had grown into an exceptional woman.
Through tragedy and heartache, she had always persevered and made the best out of what life had handed her. Bree was strong, successful, and beautiful, and he was beyond proud of her. The one thing he wished was that Bree would find the one person in the world who would complement all of those wonderful qualities. She needed someone who deserved her and who would love her with as much surety and truth as he had loved his Juliet. While his heart ached for Bree and her broken heart, he had always known Marion was never that person. He loathed Marion for almost destroying the one thing on the planet he loved the most.
Carson looked back toward him with a curious look on her face. “James Whitley, are you trying to set me up with your niece?”
“What? No. No, of course not. I just thought dinner would be nice. That’s all.” Jim started to fidget after Carson’s spot-on accusation. “I’m leaving now,” he said as he hurried from the room. Her laugh faded as he continued down the hallway. He needed to admit to himself that he’d spent more than a few random moments plotting their perfect meeting. But up until then, dinner had been his best idea, though not an extraordinary one.
Chapter Two
Bree approached the exit for I-81 in Pennsylvania just before two p.m. and was making decent time. Much to her uncle’s chagrin, Bree preferred to call it keeping up with traffic rather than speeding. It also didn’t help that her 370Z practically set its own speed. Bree zipped onto the Wilkes-Barre exit on I-81 and wondered what her uncle would say when she pulled up to the house. It wasn’t often that she made a decision without consulting with him. For years, she listened to him and stuck with her loyal Lil’ Red, in spite of Marion’s regular expressions of disgust with the “Dumpster on wheels.” But after Bree rear-ended a Highlander, the fourteen-year-old Ford with a hundred and forty-five thousand miles never bounced back. So, in what Bree declared an act of spontaneous independence, she skipped the parental approval requirement and bought the sporty coupe.
Bree belted out the words to “More Than a Woman” by the Bee Gees as she pulled her midnight blue baby into the gas station. She parked at the pump but sat in her car and sang the last verse of the song. When she got out, Bree noticed the attractive woman on the other side of the pump who stared at her with lust-filled eyes. Bree smiled in shy response and shrugged. “Good song.” They both laughed at the confession.
Bree finished at the pump and went inside for a Diet Coke and a bag of pistachios. When she returned to her car, she noticed that the woman had crossed over to her side to inspect Bree’s Nissan. “Gorgeous, isn’t she?” Bree asked.
“Yes. And the car isn’t bad either,” the tall, slender brunette said.
Bree blushed at the overused cliché and hated that she’d fallen for it. Marion always used the same confident cockiness to get into or out of just about everything. “Thanks,” Bree snapped as she reached for the door.
“Just out for a drive or is there someplace you have to be right away?” the woman asked.
Just like Marion, this woman didn’t pick up on disinterest, blatant or subtle. “I’m on my way home.” The woman raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “No, I mean home, as in North Carolina. Just stopping for gas and a Diet Coke.” Bree held up the bottle as proof.
“Oh, that’s unfortunate, for both of us. Allow me,” the woman said as she slid off to the side, out of Bree’s way. She made a sweeping gesture and opened Bree’s car door. “Drive safely.”
She forced a kind “thank you” and got into the car. “I got it.” Bree grabbed the door handle with a stiff arm and stopped the woman as she attempted to close it for her. Bree did little to mask what had now become a mix of disgust and irritation. It was then that Bree’s apathy registered with the other woman. She threw her hands up and backed away with exaggerated indignation. Bree rolled her eyes but said nothing as she pulled the handle and closed the door. She sat behind the wheel and watched as the woman’s car pulled out of the station. She slammed her head back into the headrest. “When did I become such an asshole?”
It may have been a rhetorical question, but it had an actual answer. She hoped her return home would resurrect the old Bree, although she had serious doubts that she still existed. Irritated at herself, Bree shifted into first gear and spun her tires on the way out of the parking lot.
The sudden rush of speed and adrenaline made her grin. For an instant, Bree felt free and unburdened even if her actions were careless and unnecessary. It reminded her of how nervous Jim had been when he’d taught her how to drive. It was recalling his sadness and trepidation that made her put a damper on her burst of recklessness. It was what kept her safe, as well as revived the painful memories of everything she’d lost and found.
Bree was not the best driver even though she tried to be for both her sake and Jim’s. She knew all too well why Uncle Jim was so nervous when she drove anywhere. Bree had just turned eight years old when her parents and Jim’s wife were killed in a horrific wreck on their way home from dinner. Jim’s survival of the accident that took his only brother, sister-in-law, and his beloved Juliet was nothing less than a miracle. There weren’t many, including Bree’s grandparents, who held out hope that if Jim managed to recover that he would make it through the grief. They said it wasn’t until Jim learned he had become Bree’s legal guardian that he had begun to improve.
While her uncle never talked about the accident, Bree once found a box that contained old photographs and newspaper articles. Images of the scene, and what remained of the vehicles involved, were forever branded in her mind. Bree was thankful every day of her life that she still had Jim in it. She thought about her mother and father often, but when someone mentioned a parent, it was always her uncle’s face that came to mind first.
Once, when Bree was a teenager, they had discussed her parents and what, if anything, she remembered of them. It was then that she had learned about her substantial inheritance. Yet no money in the world could have brought them back or made up for all she had lost. She remembered the sadness in his eyes when she told him that what she would miss the most were the moments she would never have. As the years passed, her memories faded and what remained centered around the funeral and the short time she’d spent at her grandparents’ house before Jim had taken her home. He was all she had left then and he was all she had left now.
>
Bree was thankful when the chime of her low-fuel warning brought her out of the dark memories. She scanned the interstate signs for an upcoming exit where she would stop for gas. Roanoke, Virginia. As she pulled off the highway, she knew that the next time she would need gas, she would be there. Home.
*
As usual, Carson waited for Jim in the hallway before their joint department staff meeting. He always attended every meeting that involved the main house, even if it wasn’t required. One of the things that made Jim so successful was his ability to keep everyone included and informed. To Carson, he was a mentor as well as a friend and father figure.
In the beginning of their friendship, most people didn’t understand what she could have had in common with a man thirty years her senior. There was no doubt that everyone assumed such a relationship involved sex or money, or both. It had not. It didn’t surprise her when she learned that a handful of the nosey know-it-alls believed she and Jim were engaged in what they deemed an “inappropriate relationship.” She wasn’t sure what constituted inappropriate, but in the end, it had been a brief rumor. It was quashed by a racier truth once Carson had been caught kissing Kristina, the gorgeous, female floral designer. In an instant, the close connection she had with Jim was the least inappropriate thing about any of Carson’s relationships. Over the years, Carson’s sexuality was no longer the subject of relentless hen talk, and she became just another part of the Biltmore family. As with many families, it was with love that they protected her with ferocity and harassed her with relentlessness. She loved every minute of it.
Carson was confident, and she knew that confidence was more than half of what drew women to her. There was no doubt her smile didn’t hurt. For a while, it wasn’t often that Carson turned a woman down. Gay, straight, bi, or married—it never mattered to her. She couldn’t deny that she had a fair number of casual affairs with most of the young ladies that crossed her path. As she’d gotten older, Carson still attracted plenty of random glances and advances, but she had become more discerning about when and where she acted upon her desires. At least she liked to think so. She told herself it was because of work and that she needed to be focused on her career and future. But it may have been more about her aversion to long-term commitment, because the older she got, the more difficult it had become to avoid.
Long-term relationships did not hold the same comfortable appeal to her as they did for every other woman she knew. She had never met one who she could honestly imagine herself sharing every part of her life with. The idea of side-by-side toothbrushes and Sunday trips to the grocery store was just a smidge less horrifying than having to tell someone every move three weeks in advance. It wasn’t impossible, just improbable.
Carson glanced at her watch just as the door opened, and Jim sauntered toward her.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” Carson tapped the face of her watch.
“A lady? Where?” Jim leaned and looked around Carson.
Carson punched him in the arm. “Asshole.” They both laughed on their way down the hall to the meeting that had already begun.
Jim rubbed his wounded arm as they slipped into the room and into two available seats near the back. A couple of women on the opposite side of the room demanded Carson’s attention. The young, attractive blondes blushed and waved their fingers at her. Becky and Lisa were interns in the curatorial department, and they were relentless in their pursuit of Carson’s free time. There had been a time when she would’ve fallen all over herself to have two gorgeous women share her bed, or wherever else they might have ended up.
“Damn. What the hell is wrong with me?” Carson whispered to Jim.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve got to be an idiot to keep turning those girls down. Together, at least.” She raised her eyebrows.
Jim shook his head. “Maybe you’re growing up. Plus, don’t you think Becky is enough for any one person?”
Carson scoffed. “Maybe I’m getting old. Sex isn’t worth all the drama that comes along with it.” She turned her attention back to the chief curator, who now spoke about the latest project approvals and staff openings.
Carson had been promoted to conservator three years earlier. She had worked her way up from where she started as an intern in Textiles. The Biltmore was her first real job out of college. She had opted for the position even after she already completed a one-year internship in Italy as required for her degree from Columbia. In the beginning, Carson thought her time at the Biltmore would be short. Her plan had been to gain experience and knowledge and then move on. That had been thirteen years earlier, and she had no intention of leaving. Of course, she was sure to always leave open the option in case something better came along. It was the freedom to choose that she liked to maintain.
Carson’s vision of the future was simple and uncomplicated. She always expected herself to become a chief curator somewhere, maybe at the Biltmore, maybe someplace on the other side of the country, or even on the other side of the world. She would never dismiss the possibility of one day having a beautiful house, a wife, and maybe even a child or two, but for now and the foreseeable future, she was more than content with her life as it was.
Carson’s thoughts were disrupted by an elbow in her side and someone saying her name. She glared over at Jim. “What the fu—” She stopped short when he cleared his throat and motioned his eyes toward the woman who stood at the front of the room. The chief curator’s eyes were one pair of many that stared in her direction. Her boss, Beth Daniels, looked at her with one sharp raised eyebrow.
“Well, it appears Carson isn’t interested. So, is there anyone else interested in being the lead on the third-floor project?” Beth scanned the room filled with smiling faces. Some of them looked at Beth while everyone else looked at Carson.
Carson’s face reddened. “I’m so sorry, Beth, uh, Mrs. Daniels. I was thinking…I was distracted…I mean…” Carson gave up her search for an excuse. She sank down into her chair and slapped a hand over her face. Carson was far from a slacker. She had always taken her job more seriously than most because she loved what she did. Even Carson was surprised that she didn’t have a legitimate reason for why she had failed to pay the least bit of attention in the meeting.
When Carson heard her boss laugh, followed by the chuckles of her coworkers, she looked up. The red glow returned to her cheeks. “Carson, will you come up here, please?” Beth motioned for Carson to join her at the front of the room.
The laughter quieted once she reached the front of the room. Beth wrapped her arm around Carson’s shoulders. She pulled her in close and whispered in her ear, “I really caught you off guard that time. I cannot believe you weren’t paying attention at all.” Beth snickered.
Carson had a jokester side to her, and Beth had always been the easiest of all her victims. There was a time when Carson had quite a crush on Beth. Her practical jokes had begun as immature attempts to flirt with the older, more mature, and much straighter, Beth Daniels. “Yeah, I’ll give you that one.”
Beth made the official announcement of Carson’s appointment as the lead conservator for the third floor restoration project, known as the Maid Suites. After a round of congratulatory applause, Carson thanked everyone and returned to her seat.
Jim gave her a nudge and wrapped his arm around her shoulder for a squeeze. “Now let that be a lesson in why you should always pay attention at meetings.”
Carson pushed him off with a playful shove and crossed her arms. “A real friend would have warned me,” she said before she stuck her tongue out at him.
“Very mature, Ms. Harper. I take back my comment about you growing up,” Jim said as he winked.
Chapter Three
Bree spent most of the weekend at home slowly unpacking her things. Late on Sunday night, several of the boxes marked “Do Not Open?/?Storage” remained stacked and unopened near the garage door. She knew what they contained, and the markings were a warning t
o her head and her heart to avoid their contents. Most of the boxes had been packed up long before Bree had decided to move, and even then the project had taken her a year to muster the strength to complete.
When Marion left, she’d taken everything with her. But that had been Bree’s idea, or at least she thought it had been. She couldn’t remember much of the day Marion had returned with the moving van and carried out the pieces of the life they had built together. All she’d left were tokens and trinkets that counted the lost years and memories. They remained scattered around the house for almost a year before Bree could pack them away out of sight. The thing that prevented her from throwing them out then was the same thing that put them on the truck and hauled them with her to North Carolina. Hope.
Bree didn’t have much in the way of furniture or household goods, so she was glad that the house was already furnished. It was a detached two-story, three-bedroom, two-bath home that sat just up a small hill from the main house where her uncle lived. She and Jim had purchased the property the summer before she left for college. It was the one real extravagance that they’d ever used Bree’s inheritance for. She’d never lived in the house, and she had preferred to stay in the main house with him when she visited, which unfortunately, wasn’t as much as she’d have liked. Bree had always hoped that one day she and Marion would move to North Carolina to start a family in the house. But her love for North Carolina was far greater than Marion’s, so there was always a different reason or excuse as to why they “couldn’t make it for a visit this year.” After a few years, Jim had simply stopped asking when he’d see her again. As had become the norm, the thoughts of what should’ve been brought on the waves of sickness. When Bree could no longer sit around in the quiet and think about the what-ifs, she forced herself off the couch and shuffled down the hall to bed.