She let the sliders stand but asked for sparkling water instead of soda.
The waitress brought their drinks and moved on to the next table as Natalie lifted the bouquet. She gave the peonies and the rosebud a sniff.
Curiosity about Nick and his family wound its way back to her thoughts. He and his brother weren’t close. At least, not like she was with Aaron and Corie. “So, Dalton’s gonna rat you out to your mom, huh?”
“My brother can’t resist throwing me under the bus.” He slurped his fizzing beverage, offering no further details.
Deciding it wasn’t her business, she let it go, her attention drawn across the restaurant. A quartet of college kids poured a pitcher of beer into glasses with rowdy cheers.
Nick set his cup down. “How’d it go with Fife?” He ground out the lawyer’s name like crunching glass.
“Crazy. Awful.”
He perked up noticeably. She fanned the file’s pages and then left it splayed open on the tabletop as she brought him up to speed. “According to Mr. Fife, I have ninety days to make good on the property or sell the place.”
She left the part about the check and all those zeroes out of it. For now.
“I’ve always dreamed of running a B&B … When he told me about the place, my first thought was that I could finally try to make it happen. But with all the debt, I don’t know. Clinton advised me to sell. He said he even has some buyers lined up.”
Nick was quiet, probably thinking she was nuts to consider such a thing. He was right. What did she know about this place and its history? She looked around at the tastefully framed pictures of Old Town Long Valley that hung on the restaurant walls. “I don’t even know where to start, but somehow I feel I owe her to give it a try.”
“For her? Or for you?” His gaze was level, captivating with his honesty. He let his words sink in for a moment. “I know the house. It’s not far from my folks’ place.” His hand touched the flowers, reminding her of his family plans. “We can swing by if you want.”
She mulled the thought over while the waitress hustled over a tray of barbecue-slathered mini-sandwiches. Nick asked for extra sauce and lots of napkins.
Natalie’s stomach did a back flip. Eating barbecue with a guy had to rank right up there with ordering spaghetti according to her sister’s list of things not to order on a first date.
But this wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. This was … what? A budding friendship? If that was the case, she should be able to eat what she wanted as well as speak from her heart.
“Maybe I should just have him call the realtor and be done with it.” She grabbed a slider, piling it high with coleslaw. “You can just drop me off back at the The Creekside.”
“So after all this, you’re quitting?”
Natalie paused. “Who said anything about quitting?”
“Don’t you want to find out why Mrs. V. called for you?”
“What makes you think I’ll learn anything out there?”
Nick grinned. “What makes you think you won’t? She must have left you something. A clue. A reason why she wanted you to come, a reason she left you her property.”
“She had a stroke and fell down the stairs.”
“But she knew who you were. She told her lawyer to call you in the case of an emergency. You’re her heir, her blood.”
“Blood.” Natalie stared at the bright sauce on the remains of her sandwich and lowered it to her plate.
“What if we just went out there? Took a look?”
“Rifle through her things?”
“You have the keys. It’s not rifling. It’s research,” Nick reasoned.
Their server hurried by and left a receipt as she swept past. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He snatched the check, slid a twenty under his water glass, and rose to stand. At her protest, he laughed. “You can pay next time.”
Next time. Happy chills ran up her spine at the thought. Natalie collected the jangle of house keys and followed him out the door.
“Sounds like a plan.”
Chapter 8
Nick smiled at Natalie’s reaction to the southern California wine country. He had lived here most of his life, but it still clutched at his heart. He gazed out at the rolling quilt of grapevines stretched out under the bulk of Mount Paloma, trying to see it all through her eyes. The rich, green leaves shimmering under the steady summer breeze. The orderly rows of vines spilled over with heavy, ripening fruit.
A weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. He knew the property Natalie was inheriting. He knew exactly where he was taking her and what they’d find when they got there.
Nick kept a steady grip on the wheel while they drove in silence, nothing but the wind whipping its song through the windows. From the corner of his vision, he spied Natalie’s hair dancing on the breeze. She tucked wayward strands away from her face just to have them escape again.
Nick wasn’t sure what punched his gut more—that Clint had traded cleats for wingtips and drove a Benz like his daddy, or that he’d spent the better part of the morning telling Natalie how to handle her business.
Clinton had cost Nick a scholarship and the future he’d always imagined when he took out his knee twelve years ago in that fateful game. If Clinton thought he could con Natalie into selling or keep her from even trying to make a go of the place … No. He wouldn’t let Clinton hurt anyone else. Especially Natalie. Her voice startled him from his reverie.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Nah. Just thinkin’.” He swallowed the oily grudge and inhaled aromas of fresh air and sunshine. Usually that was enough, but not today.
“About?”
Nick knew she wouldn’t let it go. He was discovering that Natalie was insatiably curious. In some ways, she was a lot like Philip. He wouldn’t let Nick slide into the doldrums either. Philip always pushed him to talk it through.
“Baseball,” he said at last.
At a green light, Nick pressed the accelerator, and the truck lurched forward. Silence shrouded the cab as they followed the double lines east toward the mountains. Rounding a curve in the road, he began again. “Your lawyer and I used to play against each other. In high school.”
“Ah.” Natalie nodded, though confusion bunched her brows together. “What was it, a grudge match?”
He shrugged. “I don’t hold grudges anymore. Try not to, anyway.”
By her sidelong glance, he could tell she didn’t believe him.
They passed a trio of tasting room signs, all advertising big reds, crisp whites, and live jazz music on Saturdays.
Instead of prying further, she changed the subject. “I had no idea there were so many wineries out here.”
“Wineries we got.” A line of cars buzzed the opposite direction. “What we need are more restaurants and hotels. More places for folks to eat and spend the night so they don’t have to get back on the road and drive home.”
“More places to stay, huh?” Natalie said, smoothing the wrinkled fabric of her peasant skirt over her knees.
“Yeah.” He forced his attention back out the windows as they passed yet another mansion-sized tasting room. “Roads are too dangerous for out-of-towners to take day trips. They end up trying to drive home after one too many.”
“And The Creekside?”
“Too far from the wineries.” At her mention of tours, he laughed. “Most don’t shell out the dough for a hotel room and tours. They get in their cars and drive. Drunk. Without even realizing it.”
He maneuvered through a roundabout, pointing out a new hotel under construction. A billboard showed a California mission-style inn. Natalie tapped her chin, obviously still thinking. “How many hotels are out here? Do you know?”
“Not enough. Lots of big venues for concerts and weddings, but there’s space for so much more. Look at Napa. Sonoma.”
They were getting closer to the red destination dot on the GPS, not that he needed it. He’d been out here more times than he cared to adm
it. Nick drove into a grove of citrus trees, and the tangy perfume of his youth filtered through the cab’s open windows.
“Looks like Via Lomita’s the next right.”
His heart sank lower still.
“I remember the Valence place. Used to be a bed and breakfast—popular, back when I was a kid. But they closed it down.”
“Why?”
He forced a Rod Serling voice, straight out of The Twilight Zone. “The old man was cut down in his prime. Murdered.”
“My grandfather.” Natalie rolled her shoulders in a shudder.
He blinked. “Uh, yeah. I guess he would be. There was a fire in the old barn. Arson. The police found the body after. No one ever found out who did it, though when we were kids, Dalton always suspected—well, what does he know? Mrs. V. became a hermit, and the high school kids …”
He swallowed the memory of pitching rocks through the old castle windows. He could almost hear the sounds of shattering glass as the GPS directed him through the final turn to the twin gray pilasters that marked their destination.
Nick’s stomach soured as Natalie gasped. Overgrown olive trees bowed low to the ground along the drive. Up ahead stood Natalie’s birthright: a dilapidated castle in the middle of wine country.
“We’re here.”
Natalie flipped through the keys until she found the right one. Successful at last, she pushed open the gates while Nick drove through. At one time this had been a stately entry, but now the concrete crumbled in disrepair, revealing the masonry block beneath the stone façade.
“Should I close them?”
He shook his head. “No one comes out this way.”
She chewed on that while surveying the overgrown olive grove, its heavy boughs weeping with black fruit, the ground covered in old leaves. Gramma Anne used to remind her to look for the blessing in the mess. This was certainly a mess. But it was also a real grove of harvest-bearing trees. That had to count for something.
She turned from the trees to study the house. The crenellated roofline stretched out in both directions like a real European castle’s. Round towers stood like bookends, hugging the front of the house. A weedy stone walkway led to a set of steps and a large wooden door complete with medieval-looking iron hinges.
They approached the house through the knee-high lawn, passing a dismantled arbor almost buried in blooming wisteria. The honey-scented flowers blew about on the breeze.
In a flash of imagination, she pictured bright green, manicured grass; little girls throwing and chasing petals; guests strolling with wine glasses aloft; two hundred white chairs dressed in floral bows; and a veiled bride walking down the winding stone path at her father’s arm.
Her castle estate.
Heart clogging her throat, Natalie spoke at last. “It’s—”
“—gonna need a lot of work,” he finished for her.
Natalie swallowed her bubbling dream-come-true comment and shot him a hard look before shaking her bangs out of her eyes.
Maybe he was right. The two-story house was huge. Counting windows—boarded up and otherwise—she estimated at least ten rooms.
Mrs. Valence had lived here until recently, so that meant it was still somewhat sound. With plumbing that worked—and electricity. Hopefully.
She climbed the last step up to the impressive door. Using the largest key, she worked the stubborn lock open. “Here goes nothing.”
Stale air and dust assaulted them as they forced their way inside, bringing in the sunshine. With the door open at their backs, they crossed marble floors punctuated with a central grapevine mosaic. The chandelier should have lit the cavernous entry, but when Nick flicked a light switch, nothing happened.
“Power’s out.”
Natalie nodded. She should get a notebook. Something to write down what needed to be done. Or, maybe she should make a list of things that didn’t need fixing. It would probably be shorter.
For now, she pushed farther inside. Natalie placed a hand on the banister of the imperial staircase. With her eyes, she followed the double staircases up to the second level where they divided and led to two separate wings. On the main floor, a fireplace big enough to stand in graced the large central room.
“Which way?” Nick asked, arms crossed.
“Let’s check out downstairs first.” She brushed a cobweb from her face, fighting a shoulder-shimmy and a girlish shriek, and pressed on. “Maybe we should open some windows. Let some light in.”
They stepped into a room where furniture sat draped under dusty tarps. Someone had closed up the house. Clinton Fife?
Crossing from light into deep shadow, she brushed her hand over the curtains. At her tug, the heavy brocade fabric slid back with a whump and a clatter of rings. Light filtered in through the wood-slatted windows.
Tall bookshelves, complete with a rolling ladder, lined three walls. The gaping maw of a fireplace filled the fourth. She gasped in delight and ran to the nearest bookshelf. Her fingers left dust streaks on the books, but she didn’t care. She slid a volume off the shelf and let it fall open in her palms. The spine cracked, unaccustomed to use.
“A real library.”
Her words were like a prayer, but Nick had already pressed on to the next room. He dragged the curtains apart to reveal its secrets. She followed him and found a long table surrounded by carved wooden chairs. “Dining room.”
A garish medieval mural overlooked the stately room. Beside it, an over-the-top suit of armor stood guard.
“It really is a castle.” She exhaled, failing to fight nervous laughter.
“Apparently.” Nick frowned at the metal man, gave his arm a rattle. “Empty.”
“Good to know.”
Together, they stepped through a butler’s pantry and into the broad expanse of the kitchen. She opened some cabinets and spied plates, glasses, and a full complement of dusty dishes.
Something scuttled through the shadows and along the wall, avoiding the light. “Mice?”
“Nah.” Nick knelt, wiped a hand across his jaw. “Probably a rat.”
“Awesome.” Natalie picker her way to the Sub-Zero refrigerator and opened it to an assault of foul, rotting food.
She shut it as fast as she opened it, but it was too late. She choked into her hand.
Nick’s steadying hand had the opposite of intended effect, and she tugged away, futilely turning the faucet’s handle. Rusty water sputtered out.
“Even better. Mud water.”
“Wait. Look. It’s clearing now.”
They watched as water fought its way through the pipes until it ran clear, rushing into the cast-iron sink. Relieved, she ran it over her hands and splashed it onto her face.
Nick pushed open a set of double doors leading from the kitchen to the backyard. Sunshine and the perfume of wisteria blooms filled the kitchen, removing the stench of decay from her senses.
“Better?” Nick searched her eyes with his.
“I-I’m okay,” she stammered, realizing his eyes were just as blue—and just as mesmerizing—as the midday sky.
“Ready to call it a day?” He offered a way out, but she gave a firm headshake in reply.
“Not even close.”
Nick sighed as they walked to the brick fire pit outside the kitchen. “This place gives fixer-upper a whole new name, Nat.”
At the stone and cement bench that ringed the fire pit, he forced her to sit. They stared at the backside of the building. Boarded windows, gathered and drawn shades … How long had this structure sat neglected?
She had to be nuts if she thought she could get it cleaned up and open in time to meet Fife’s ninety-day deadline. He was about to say so when she stood, brushing off the seat of her skirt.
“Just had to catch my breath,” she said, moving back toward the house.
“Don’t you want to talk about this?”
She stared, blank. “We’re just exploring. Unless you have somewhere else to go.”
His cell phone weighted his pocket,
and he found two messages from Dalton waiting. Was he still coming? Saturday’s dinner was at five o’clock. Just like always. That still gave them an hour to kill.
“You up for meeting my folks?”
“Uh, thought you’d never ask.”
Her laugh sounded like bells on a breeze, fresh and natural. For a moment, it was all he needed.
He typed back a quick reply.
“It’s the least I can do after you’ve been my personal escort all afternoon.” Her smile widened. “Thank you for wasting your day on me.”
“I haven’t wasted anything.”
He enjoyed the flush on her neck that answered his remark. Her cheeks darkened as silence wove in tendrils around them. Nick considered the differences between Natalie and the women of his past. This was a slow, cautious getting-to-know-you-dance with a girl who just might matter.
“There’s another set of doors over there.” She trekked across the grass without waiting to see if he’d follow. Nick remained where he was, staring at the second story cupola windows. At the apex, a cant weather vane fought to capture the breeze.
His memories played out like a movie montage. After bonfire parties in the desert, they’d hoof it to the hill behind the old castle. Spook the girls and themselves with stories of ghosts and lingering killers.
A palm-sized rock, cocked back to show off his aim. The ping and crash of shattered glass, the dull crack of splintered wood, all to impress whatever girl happened to be on his elbow.
And there had been far too many.
He’d never thought of the old lady who lived here. What she must have gone through.
He ducked his head from images he didn’t want to remember anymore.
With a bang and a rattle, Natalie’s fight with the French double door handles captured his attention. “It’s stuck!” She rattled the knob, kicked at it with an angry foot. “Can you turn it?”
“I’ll give it a try.” Nick stood and crossed the courtyard to Natalie.
She was tough, that was obvious. The circumstances that brought her here, finding her tires slashed, seeing the state of disrepair of the property … none of it derailed her. She was still determined to transform this wreck of a mansion into a worthy B&B.
First Crush Page 6