by Donna Alward
The shower stopped running and Tom swallowed. Footsteps echoed dully on the ceiling above him and he imagined her running the towel over her long legs and full breasts. His coffee cup paused on the way to his mouth. The figure that had only been hinted at the last time they met had been in full relief this morning in the fitted running tee and snug yoga pants. Walking in the house behind her had been a revelation. The black material had showcased a fine, tight backside.
But he was her contractor, not her lover. She didn’t even like him, for heaven’s sake. She’d made it very clear that he was her last choice, not her first. Didn’t stop his mind from wandering, though. After all, he still appreciated a good view. And the view had been very nice, indeed.
The bathroom door opened and he raised the cup the rest of the way to his lips. The brew was lukewarm.
“Tom? You can come up now. If you’re ready to look at the upstairs, that is.”
He didn’t need a second invitation. He put his cup on a table and made his way up the grand staircase to the top. The scent of her soap drifted out of the bathroom and he forced his mind to focus on the state of the rooms. Abby came out of one bedroom and his mouth went dry. Her hair was darker now, still wet, and twisted up into a clip at the back so he could see the long, graceful column of her neck. She wore jeans and a top that was gathered just beneath her breasts, and then stayed gathered in some weird way that made her ribs and waist look tiny. Damn. Abby Foster had curves. Good ones. The kind a man would have to be blind not to notice.
Even a man like Tom, who had no interest in romance whatsoever. He was still getting over the last broken heart and it had been hellish enough. It was certainly not an experience he wanted to repeat.
“I’ve taken this room as my own while I’m here,” she explained. “The furniture is gorgeous, isn’t it?”
The bed was a walnut four-poster with a matching highboy against one wall and a vanity table and chair next to a commode stand, complete with an antique china pitcher and bowl sprinkled with light blue rosebuds. The walls were the color of a robin’s egg, and the duvet cover was pure white. It was airy and fresh with a hint of elegance. Sort of like her, he realized.
“It’s very nice.”
“The windows are a little drafty, but I like it. I don’t even mind the floors. They aren’t as scratched as the others. I think the scars on the wide planking add character.”
“If you want to keep all the rugs, we should look into finding someone who can professionally clean them for you. Or you can purchase new.”
She looked up at him, the blue of her eyes brought out by all the other blue tones in the room.
“I don’t know. I mean, I could sell it furnished or I could have an estate sale first. I suppose cleaning them would be good either way.”
“I thought you hadn’t decided what you were doing with the house.”
“I’m considering all possibilities here.” She put a finger over her lips. “I think I’d like to keep as much of the original as I can, you know? No matter what I decide. Come look at this.”
She showed him to another bedroom, again with a four-poster, and then a third with more modest furniture. An embroidered sampler was framed and hanging on the wall. She hadn’t managed to get that one cleaned yet and dust camouflaged the true character of the pieces, but he could see what she meant. It was rare to find such fine craftsmanship in furniture anymore. It had lasted because it was made to last.
The last bedroom had a smaller room joined to it, and there was no furniture inside at all. “It’s like a nursery,” she said, standing in the doorway. “A door from this hall but another door connecting it to that bedroom, too. Would a nanny or nurse have stayed in that room, do you think? Were the Fosters that rich?”
“Jed was,” Tom answered. “He was rolling in it. And Elijah probably was, too. Have you checked out the attic yet? I’m sure it had to have been servant’s quarters.”
She smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been too chicken. What if there are mice or bats or something?”
Tom laughed as they moved past the nursery. “Hate to tell you, but if you’ve got a rodent or bat problem up there, it’s going to be a problem down here.” He stopped in front of a plain door by the back hall—the only door left unopened. “Want me to go first?”
At her nod, he opened the door, revealing narrow steps leading the way up into the third floor. The hallway at the top of the stairs was dimly lit, but a window kept it from being pitch-black. Tom went carefully, but he was pleased to discover the top level was as sound as the rest of the house. The wood floors were dull and it was all rather plain and spartan, but he didn’t see any evidence of dry rot or bats. As for the mice, he was certain they were around. He’d recommend she get in the pest control man to take care of that, the sooner the better.
Taking in the layout, he saw that the top floor was made up of five smaller rooms and a cramped bathroom that everyone would share.
“Come on up,” he called. “Nothing’s going to get you.”
He heard her steps following behind and smelled the fresh scent of her shampoo as she came up behind him. “It’s so light up here!”
“More windows than you’d expect,” he replied. “I’d say this was definitely servant’s quarters. And probably where a lot of the girls stayed when Marian ran her home.”
“People keep mentioning Marian’s ‘work.’”
He nodded. “Yeah, she ran a place for girls in trouble. For a very long time. Think about it. Up here on the mountain it’s private, and she had the house all to herself. It was the perfect location.”
“But why? Why that particular kind of house?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Who knows? All I’ve heard is that it was all extremely confidential. Only person who might know more is Art Ellis. He worked here back then.”
“We’ve met. He’s charming.”
Tom laughed. “He’s a terrible flirt.”
“Don’t knock Art. He recommended you.”
He watched as Abby went from room to room, peering into the open doors at the contents inside. “Before or after you called me?” he asked.
She looked over at him, her face blank with innocence. “After. Does it matter?”
Tom was somehow glad she’d decided to ask him for a quote before talking to Art. She’d come to him on her own. “Not really,” he lied.
“What on earth am I going to do with all this space?” She spread her arms wide. She looked enchanting when she did that, like a little girl inside a toy shop, wondering what to play with first.
“It’s a lot of house for one person,” he confirmed.
She dropped her arms. “The heating bills alone must be astronomical.”
“It would have been colder up here in winter. Hotter in summer. Though the windows might have given a bit of a cross-draft for relief.” He forced himself back to business. “There’s not a lot of room above the ceiling, but we might be able to blow some extra insulation in there to make it more energy efficient.”
She looked up at him with a smile, scanning the open area in the middle that seemed to form a type of common area. “Look at this sofa and table. And games! There’s checkers and backgammon and decks of cards. Downstairs is so formal. This is the kind of place you could let your hair down and hang out with your girlfriends.”
“Would you want to fix it up, too?”
“Of course. Oh, Tom, can’t you just imagine what it would have been like to come up here, with all that natural light, and paint or something?”
“You mean next to the servants?”
“Oh, right.” Her face fell at his reality check and he laughed.
“You’re getting carried away. It looks good on you.”
Damned if she didn’t blush.
“What about this room?” she asked, opening a door to her left. The room was windowless and completely, utterly dark. Tom stepped across the creaky floor and felt around the inside wall for a light switch. Nothing. He reached into his
pocket and took out a penlight, shining it into the room.
“Holy mother,” he breathed. A cord hung from the ceiling and he stepped inside and pulled it, illuminating a single bulb in the ceiling. “Would you look at this?”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Abby said behind him. “Tom, that’s a sea chest.”
“It’s … everything,” Tom said significantly. The room was piled with chests and boxes. Maybe not filled with actual treasure, but he knew there’d be some gems in here nonetheless. “Marian must have stored all her stuff in here. This is a gold mine, Abby.” He turned to her and grinned. “You wanted to learn about your family? I’m guessing a good part of it is in these boxes.”
“It’s a little scary. I mean … there’s so much. Maybe there will be things I don’t want to know, you know?”
“Every family has its skeletons,” he replied. He wondered what she’d say if he admitted his own family tree had not only a town founder but a real pirate on one of its branches. “None of those skeletons can hurt you now, Abby. Everyone’s gone.”
He wished he could take back the words as soon as they left his mouth. Her eyes were sad as they rested on his face.
“God, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think.” He tried to smile. “Of course they’re not all gone. You must have your family back in Canada.”
But she shook her head. “No, you’re quite right,” she replied softly. “I really am all alone. My parents and grandmother have been gone for a while now.” Her expression of enchantment at discovering the treasure trove had disappeared. Now she just looked lost.
Tom tried to imagine his life without family. Even with the discord between him and Josh, Tom didn’t know what he’d do without his brother or their parents, or his cousins, Jess and Sarah. Aunt Meggie mothered him like he was her own. No one should be completely alone.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, feeling like a fool and not knowing what else he could possibly say.
“Not your fault,” she replied. “My mom left us when I was little, but when my dad died of cancer, she got custody of me. We moved around a lot. I was in so many schools I never really settled anywhere, until I finally went to live with Gram when I was fifteen. When Gram went…” Her voice faded. “Well,” she said softly. “It is what it is.”
He hadn’t realized that she didn’t have anyone. But before he could scramble to come up with some suitable words, she shrugged off the heavy moment.
“Anyway, you’re right. This is a gold mine. Did you know that I also talked to Isabel Frost last night? She knew Edith and Elijah before the war. How old is that woman, anyway?”
“No one knows for sure. Methuselah old.”
Her light, lyrical laugh sent something wicked winding through his veins.
“I guessed over ninety. She’d have to be to remember Edith.”
“You’re right.”
“She’s sharp as a tack. I don’t have family anymore, but I do have history. That’s what this is.” She blinked, pausing for a moment as if deliberating. “When I first got here I didn’t want to know about Marian. I was too angry, you know? I told myself I didn’t care about someone who clearly hadn’t cared about me.”
“What changed?” he asked.
A ghost of a smile tipped her lips. “I started to realize it might not have been all her fault. I’d like to know why my gram ended up so separated from the rest of her family. I’d like to find out all I can before I go, you know?” She swept out her hand. “And now this. It’s like finding treasure.”
She went forward and knelt before a solid cedar chest. He watched as she carefully lifted the lid and then peered inside.
“What’s in there?” he asked, unable to stop himself from being curious.
“It’s clothing,” she said, leaning forward. “Oh, my gosh, look at this.” She held up a long dress. The deep purple fabric shimmered in the light and even Tom, who was oblivious to this sort of thing, could see that it was beautifully crafted and impossibly old, the fringes hanging in layers. “It looks like it was from the twenties,” she continued. “Can’t you just see it? With one of those fashionable headbands over crimped hair, and loops of black pearls to go with it? Someone in the Foster family tree was a flapper, Tom!”
She rooted around more while Tom leaned against the door frame, simply watching the way her face lit up. It was so much better to see her this way than the way she’d looked when she’d admitted that her family was gone. He was smiling to himself when he heard her catch her breath and her hands stilled.
“Ohhhh,” she breathed. “Oh, my.”
“What is it?”
She turned her head and looked up at him, eyes shining. “It’s a wedding dress. Maybe Edith’s.” She got to her feet and gently lifted out the gown. “It’s so gorgeous,” she whispered, holding it up to herself. “Look at the lace. It’s a bit yellowed, but properly dry-cleaned it would lighten a lot. The sleeves and the sash, and oh, look at this lace panel.” She grinned. “You were right. This is a treasure. I’m going to have to come up here and go through everything properly.”
She turned in a circle, the skirt of the gown trailing in her wake.
It was an odd time and place for Tom to have the urge to kiss her. The attic was dusty and smelled a little like old newspapers, and the single bulb threw a harsh light into the storage room. But Abby looked so vulnerable and strong all at once, childlike in her enthusiasm but womanly too as she pressed the satin and lace to her curves.
She dropped the gown from her body and folded it carefully, laying it on top of the other items in the chest. His eyes were drawn to the curve of her hips as she bent to shut the lid. Because her hair was pulled back, her features were highlighted. Granted, she wasn’t wearing makeup but he rather liked the natural, fresh look to her skin—it was very girl-next-door. She did fill out a pair of jeans quite nicely, not to mention the fitted top. All in all she was extremely attractive in an understated way.
Dangerous.
The lid latched, she turned around and faced him again, and the air in the attic was still as their eyes met. There was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and the moment spun out, silent, their gazes locked until he was sure she was thinking about it, too. Curiosity. The temptation to touch.
And wouldn’t that be a fantastic way to screw up a big potential contract.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll bet if we looked, we could find a servant’s stairway that leads right down to the old kitchens.”
“Old kitchens?” Her nose wrinkled as she frowned. It looked adorable. She even had a few little freckles across the bridge, making her look younger than he knew she must be.
The tense moment passed and Tom let out a slow breath of gratitude, willing his thoughts to stay on task. “You haven’t been down there yet, either? Where did you think they cooked the meals? Certainly not on the main floor in that tiny, cramped space. The basement will be where the old kitchens are. And the staff wouldn’t have used the main staircase, either. Come on. It’s got to be here somewhere.”
They found the door behind a large set of bookshelves that were piled with games, magazines, and sewing supplies. For several minutes they emptied the shelves and then Tom braced his hands on the sides. “It’s too big to lift. We’re going to have to push it out of the way.”
Inch by inch they moved it along the wall. Tom’s muscles strained as he put his shoulder into it. Finally they got past the door hinges and he tried the knob. Locked.
“Dammit,” he said, panting.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Abby rushed off but within moments her feet pounded on the stairs again.
“Keys!” she announced, triumphantly shaking a ring holding a cluster of old keys. “I found them in a drawer downstairs. I’ll bet one of these will fit.” Breathless, she handed him the ring.
He hit pay dirt on the third try. The lock snicked back and the door swung open to reveal a small landing and then a staircase that turne
d and disappeared. He held out his hand. “You coming?”
“There are spiders in there.”
“Probably. I’ll kill them for you.” He grinned at her. God, he loved old houses. And the little boy in him was thrilled with secret passages and sea chests, even if the only treasure uncovered so far was some old dresses. It reminded him of the old days when he and Josh and Bryce had thought to go looking for the legendary buried treasure at Fiddler’s Rock. “Come on, Abby, where’s your sense of adventure?” He wiggled his fingers.
She seemed to consider for a long moment, but finally put her hand in his. Her fingers were soft and cool to the touch. Her hand was a lady’s hand, and something dark and forbidden seemed to curl through him as he led her through the doorway to the landing and the steps beyond. It was cool and dark in the stairway, utterly silent except for the sound of their steps and it felt ridiculously like sneaking around. It was the kind of hidden place that lent itself to forbidden kisses and late-night liaisons. The farther down they went, the tighter her fingers grasped his. This was the second time he’d held Abby’s hand and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something as simple as hold hands with a woman before Miss Abigail Foster came to town. When was the last time he’d been so very aware of a woman?
He wanted her house. He did not want her, he reminded himself. Except that he did. In the confined darkness of the stairway, he wanted to press her body into the cool wall and feel her slowly melt against him. He wanted to bury his fingers in her sweet-smelling hair and taste her soft, unpainted lips.
Jesus, he had to stop thinking this way. He planned to work for her. Besides, Abby wasn’t the type of girl you seduced and walked away from, and after Erin, he wasn’t ready to take the risk of something more. Especially on someone who had made it clear that she wasn’t hanging around.
Unsettled, he led on until they reached the bottom of the stairs and were faced with another broad door. He reached inside his pocket for the key ring and searched for the right one.