Animal Prints: Sweet Small Town Contemporary Romance (Michigan Moonlight Book 1)

by May Williams

  “I’ve been wondering about that too,” Tom said.

  “Here’s my number one question at the moment. Why’d Dad approach me about this job?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that since the weekend, too. Your thoughts?” Tom asked

  “I’ve got three possible answers.” Ian ticked them off. “One, he’s softened in his old age and wants to play nice.”

  “Great sentiment, but you know it’s bullshit.” It was the answer they’d both like to believe, especially since their mother’s death, and the promise they’d made to her to attempt a reconciliation with their father.

  “Two, he saw that I needed the commission to join the civilian world and finish the book.”

  “Again, a heartwarming thought,” Tom commented. “But you’re not thinking like the old man yet.”

  “I’m getting there. Three, he’s using me for a reason, but what?”

  “You think Dad didn’t know you’d be dealing with a beautiful, single female? Come on. He had you target her first, not the brother and sister. Since you’re my identical twin, I’m happy to say you’re a good-looking guy. Dad’s trying to use the fact that Colette might be attracted to you.”

  “Damn him,” Ian muttered.

  “Yep. My other question is, why does he want this particular piece of property? How much is he willing to pay for it?”

  “He authorized me to go to ten million.” His brother snorted in disbelief on the other end. “I did some research. The property’s valuable, but closer to the two or three million dollar range for development reasons.”

  “Have you seen it?” Tom asked.

  “No, I’m going on Saturday to take pictures of the farm. I told Colette I’d make a webpage for her.” Ian turned down the lane to his villa at Boyne. “You don’t have to say it. I know it’s a lame way to see the land and Colette again.” Being twins gave them the uncanny ability to think alike, which sometimes pissed him off and sometimes made everything easier.

  “Which is more important?”

  Ian hesitated. He was telling himself he didn’t know the answer to his brother’s question, but in his gut, he did. “Would you believe I’m not sure?”

  “No.” His brother would already understand that Ian’s desire to acquire the property and commission along with it was seriously undermined by his attraction to Colette. “Maybe I can see what’s so special about the Peterson property,” Ian suggested. “What if I can tempt Dad with similar land? You know he’s only going to build some fancy-ass gated community anyway. Cherry Ridge can’t be the only location in the Petoskey region to sell overpriced homes and condos to the well-to-do with the assurance that the rabble of the world can’t get in.”

  “I’ll guess you’ll find out. What about the siblings?”

  “Haven’t met them yet. The sister owns a café in Petoskey. Thought I might stop in there this week. Somehow I don’t think it’ll make any difference.”

  “Older or younger sister?”

  “Older, I think.” Friday morning, he’d drive into Petoskey to eat at Hemingway’s Haunt for a late breakfast. The sister clearly had some influence on Colette or the bum conversation wouldn’t have come up.

  “Can you believe she asked if I was a bum?”

  “You are a bum,” Tom answered quickly. “You’ve got a one bedroom apartment four states away from where you’re at. Of course, you’re a bum.”

  “Screw you,” Ian muttered. His brother wasn’t serious, but he made a point. He didn’t have a place to call home. And that mattered to Colette. Family mattered to Colette. Maybe it could work to his advantage to be acquainted with the sister…the thought of family brought him back to his own father, though. “Damn it, Tom, what made me think I could trust the old man?”

  “I don’t know. Wishful thinking, being a dumbass, expecting him to act like a father?” Tom suggested. “Turn it around on him. Explain your situation to Colette. Maybe she’ll be compassionate. Doesn’t seem like she’ll sell, but you might come out the winner in other ways. Take it from a married man: trust is necessary in relationships.”

  “And from a lawyer?”

  “Definitely from a lawyer. I don’t work with anyone I can’t trust. Would you?”

  Chapter Six

  Ian drove five miles west of Petoskey on State Rt. 31 toward Charlevoix before seeing the turnoff to Big Rock Rd. When Colette called with directions the night before, he had to pretend he didn’t know exactly where her farm was, like he hadn’t seen it on a Google map or on a poster size image in his father’s office.

  Knowing the GPS coordinates didn’t prepare him for the farm’s splendor. The sprawling white farmhouse stood on a ridge with three deep-green barns behind it. Beyond the barns, a large pasture sloped down into a forest of pines and birch which continued until the edge of Lake Michigan. Cherry and peach trees laden with fruit spread from the house in the opposite direction.

  Romeo greeted him when he stepped from his car. Without hesitating, Ian reached to stroke the dog’s ears while he looked around. In between the greyhound’s legs, a Scottish terrier pranced around, waiting for his turn to be petted. Ian squatted to let the terrier sniff his hand. The smaller dog accepted him with a quick lick and yap before running off with Romeo.

  Standing again, he continued his visual survey of the property. Nearer the water at the bottom of the slope, the roofline and chimney of another house was just visible. Ian was so busy studying the view he didn’t even reach for the camera sitting on the passenger seat of his car. Out of habit, he held up his hands to frame several shots between his fingers, beginning with the old tractor parked under a cherry tree, sweeping to the left to capture where the trees disappeared into the lake, and ending with the wraparound porch on the old wooden house.

  Wicker chairs and a swing graced the porch over worn gray floor boards. A large oak tree shaded the front of the house from the afternoon sun. To the left of the house, a stand of birch trees shone brilliantly with their white trunks. A stained glass transom window framed the front door. Lace curtains hung at the windows, filtering the light. Brick paths wound away from the house toward the barns. The building closest to the house was smaller than the others, but with large modern windows to collect the light. The place was damn near perfect.

  The old man was right. Colette’s property was worth every dime of the ten million, but his decision was easy; no way was he going to pursue the purchase of this tract of land. His father was going to have to accept that. He’d look for an alternative property if his father still wanted to invest in this area. But Ian would make a deal with the devil himself to keep this place exactly how it was. The whinny of a horse from the far barn ended his observations. He reached for his camera and headed for the sound.

  Colette’s soft laughter reached him before the sound of conversation. She wasn’t alone, he realized, with a shocking amount of disappointment. Ian stepped into the barn and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim, while Colette’s voice mixed with the deeper timber of a man’s from the far stall. Disappointment shifted to an irrational jealousy.

  “I don’t know, Collie. He’s still pretty weak to go out into the pasture.”

  “Sunshine will do him good. Even if he lies down for a few minutes in the sun, he’ll remember what it’s like to be an animal.”

  “All right, put the lead on him,” the man announced before the door to the stall swung open, and Ian faced a thick-chested man in his early sixties with closely-cropped gray hair and bright blue eyes. He was dressed in high Wellington boots, jeans, and a polo shirt with Petoskey Animal Clinic embroidered on the breast. When Ian didn’t speak, the man eyed him suspiciously. “Collie, you expecting someone?”

  Colette’s head popped up over the walls of the stall, smiling brightly. “Ian, you’re early.”

  “Sorry,” Ian answered Colette, but focused on the man, eying him back. “It didn’t take me as long to get here as I thought.”

  “It’s okay. Ian, this is my dad, Jack
Peterson. Dad, this is the photographer I met up on Grand Island that I was telling you about, Ian Kroft.”

  Automatically, Ian stuck out his hand, but the older man made no move to accept it, scrutinizing him with eyes that matched Colette’s in color. For a moment, Ian wondered if the man had seen right through him, his look was so cold. Did he recognize the name as being connected to the development company?

  “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Peterson.” Ian’s hand still hung suspended in the air while he waited.

  “Yeah, same to you.” Jack nodded at Ian’s hand. “If you knew where my hand just was, you wouldn’t be holding yours out. We’ll shake later.”

  “Ian, Orsino here is pretty jumpy. Don’t move and don’t snap any pictures until we get him outside,” Colette said from the doorway of the stall. She held the lead rope for a tiny horse. His head when raised barely reached Colette’s thigh. His shaggy coat was stretched thin over his rib cage. Open sores on his back looked raw and a wild, frightened expression gleamed in his eyes. “Come on, Orsino. It’s just a little way to the pasture.” Colette coaxed the miniature horse out the back of the barn.

  Jack kept a safe distance from the pair. Circling wide around them, he reached the barn door which he swung open slowly. Orsino flinched at the light coming through and turned his head into Colette’s leg as he sidestepped into her.

  Yet, Colette stopped to stroke his head and run a reassuring hand down his side. The horse took a few more steps toward the door then stopped again. As Ian watched, Colette repeated the process until they reached the door. There, Orsino gave a little jump reminiscent of lambs bounding across fields in spring.

  “That’s it. I knew you’d like it once you smelled the outside air,” Colette said to the horse when his head came up to scent the breeze. “Two more steps and you can move freely.”

  Jack held the gate to the pasture open and stood steady, his eyes unflinchingly trained on his daughter and the little horse. When Colette got through the gate into the pasture, she unsnapped the lead from the animal’s halter and sank to the ground near him.

  “Can I take pictures now?” Ian stood in the doorway of the barn. His fingers itched to start clicking the camera he held at his side like a gunslinger might a pistol. He could imagine these shots spinning on a slide show on her website or gracing the wall with a matte finish.

  “Yes, but no sudden moves.” Colette spoke in a calm tone from where she sat in the tall grass of the pasture. “His legs are still too weak to carry him if he runs. I don’t want him to hurt himself.”

  Orsino nuzzled the sleeve of her gauzy, white blouse when Ian took the first shot. Slowly, he approached the rail of the fence encircling the pasture where he could better see the pair who sat a few feet away. “Colette, take the clip out of your hair.”

  “Why?” She turned her head ever so slightly in his direction, but not far enough to catch his eye.

  “Trust me.” When his words came out as a command, Jack’s gaze trained on him in a hard stare. At the moment, he didn’t care. Pleasing Colette’s father wasn’t his job. Colette removed the clip and her blond hair fell in a heavy mass down her back while little wisps were caught by the breeze and blew out past the recovering animal.

  Ian smiled while he worked as Colette continued to talk to Orsino and encourage him to walk around her until the animal grew tired. Exhausted, he lay down in the grass near her with his head resting on her folded leg and his eyes focused on her face. Ian took several more pictures at the fence before moving further along to capture the barn as the backdrop.

  Jack started to back into the barn to get out of the frame. “Stay where you are, if you don’t mind,” Ian said. He had the perfect shot lined up with Orsino and Colette in the foreground and Jack framed by the open doorway of the barn.

  “I don’t like having my picture taken,” Jack grumped. “Collie, we should get him back inside before he’s too weak.”

  “It’ll only take a minute more.” Something in Ian’s voice froze Jack where he was.

  In one last shot, Orsino lifted his head from Colette’s leg as she lowered her face to meet his. Her long hair fell behind them to provide a shiny, golden curtain that would be slightly out of focus with a dream-like glow. The perfect image. Most photographers waited their whole careers to take it, and when they did, they knew it.

  Ian knew it. That was the photograph of his life. “I’m done,” he said, with a breathless smile. Jack sauntered to where his daughter and Orsino waited. “I better carry him in.” Wrapping his arms around the animal, he lifted the horse to his chest while Colette kept petting Orsino’s face and talking to him. Together, they got him back in the barn and settled in his stall. Ian circled the barn to the front entrance and waited for them to emerge.

  “You were right. I should know to listen to you when it comes to the rescue animals,” Jack said, striding out of the barn after Colette.

  For the first time this afternoon, Colette turned fully to Ian and smiled just for him. The glow the camera had captured remained on her face. Something inside him broke open and, like a lost man scrambling to get hold of the last life raft, when she walked toward him, he mentally gave up his seat on the boat and plunged into the warm, soothing waters. He never thought of himself as a troubled man despite some of the things he’d seen, but her presence sent a wave of peace into his soul.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said just loud enough for him to hear.

  “I’ve been looking forward to it.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his thumb fan over her cheek. The terrier slipped between them and jumped on Ian’s leg. “What’s this guy’s story?”

  “We call him Prospero.” Colette bent to run a finger under the dog’s chin. “He was found after a tornado came through just south of here last spring. We figure he survived a tempest, so he’s Prospero.”

  “No one claimed him? He’s pretty cute.”

  “Nope, we advertised, but no takers.” She lifted the little dog into her arms. “Let’s go to the house so I can get cleaned up. Then, I’ll give you the tour.” She turned to her father who was scrubbing his hands at the sink just inside the barn door. “Dad, you coming?”

  “I’m going on home. Your mother’s on a quest for the perfect end tables.” Jack’s sharp glance examined Ian. He returned the look, trying to gauge its meaning.

  “Still? I thought she found ones she liked last weekend.”

  “She returned them on Tuesday.” He sighed, and father and daughter exchanged an amused look.

  “Mom returns everything at least once,” Colette explained to Ian. “It’s part of her charm.”

  “Charm, hell, the woman returned a refrigerator. Twice.” Jack wiped his hands on a paper towel, tossing it over his shoulder into a trashcan and coming toward them. “Kroft, is it? From Chicago originally, Collie tells me.” The older man put out his hand this time.

  “That’s right.” Ian shook the man’s hand, but had the suspicion that he was being assessed, every feature scrutinized.

  “Something familiar about that name. You look familiar, too. Any chance we’ve met?”

  “I don’t see how,” Ian answered, keeping an even, pleasant expression on his face while hoping that Jack’s memory wasn’t that good.

  “It’ll come to me eventually,” Jack said, then focused on his daughter. “We’ll see you tomorrow for dinner at Lexy’s, right Collie?”

  “I’ll be there. Thanks for your help this afternoon.” Colette gave her father a peck on the cheek before he walked over to his truck. As he drove past them, he lifted his hand to wave, but his expression remained thoughtful, like a man who was trying to remember something important.

  A nervous sweat broke out along the inside collar of Ian’s shirt. If her father figured out who he was, he was a dead man. Although the offers to the Petersons had been made under the corporation name, it wouldn’t take much for someone half-decent with an internet search engine to connect the name Kroft with Northfield Real Est
ate. Why he looked familiar to Jack was a whole other issue. He looked like the photos of his father when young, but his father was far from young now. And, to his knowledge, his father hadn’t even been here personally.

  “What’s the matter?” Colette started for the backdoor of the house and waved for him to follow.

  “Nothing.”

  Colette looked after her father’s truck. “Don’t worry about my dad. He can be a little gruff at times, but it doesn’t mean anything.” As they approached the house, she put Prospero down and he ran off after Romeo.

  “Not worried,” Ian said more abruptly than he meant to, reaching around her to open the door.

  They stepped into a mudroom where coats of all varieties hung on hooks and shoes and boots were neatly stored in bins. A huge wash tub with a faucet sat along one wall under a shelf of fluffy, white towels. Colette bumped the sink on with the back of her hand and carefully scrubbed her hands and arms up to her shirt sleeves, like a surgeon preparing for an operation.

  She blew back the strands of hair falling forward over her face. As she did so, Ian reached for the hair clip she’d attached to the edge of her blouse, gently twisted her hair behind her head, and clipped it up.

  “Thanks,” she said and giggled when his fingers stroked the warm, tanned skin of her neck.

  “Ticklish?” He leaned against her back and molded around her, letting the heat of his body combine with hers.

  “A little,” she admitted, arching her neck and encouraging him to press a kiss to her nape

  “I can’t decide if I like your hair down or up.” He whispered near her ear. “Both have their advantages. For example, when it’s up, I can do this.” He kissed her neck again, slowly working his lips up the slim length. Her giggles turned to shivers as she pressed her body closer to his.