by Seton, Cora
“I’d prefer it if you stayed alive.” He kissed her faded cheek.
“Me, too.” She patted his arm. “You’ll do fine, young man. You have your father in you. Now, get along with you.”
Mason decided that was the best he could expect from Heloise. Ten minutes later, they were past the town’s center heading south. The vista widened out again as ranchland spread to either side of the road. Far in the distance the Absaroka Mountains provided a beautiful backdrop for the spring-green pastures.
“It’s lovely.” Regan turned to him with a smile.
“This is home.” How many times had he passed along this road as a child? He could picture his father’s Ford F-250 like he was still riding in it. Mason’s heart squeezed when for a second he felt the old man’s presence beside him.
The finest piece of dirt you’ll ever know. That’s how Aaron had always described the ranch. Mason wished he was there to help them rebuild it. He wondered how it would feel to bring his mother back home to the property she’d loved so much. When he’d spoken to her, he’d told her not to get her hopes up yet—not until Heloise formally passed the land down to them—but he’d promised her he’d do everything he could.
“You boys and your wives won’t want me in the Hall,” she had laughed. “That’s too many women already in one place.”
“We’ll build you a new home then.”
“I’ll take Zeke’s old cabin,” she said, but Mason shied away from that idea. He didn’t like the thought of her in that sad place.
Fifteen minutes later they turned off the country road onto the dirt track that led to Crescent Hall. Already the proud house was visible on its rise of ground. Regan was quiet, taking in the tall gray structure with its wraparound porch, its corner tower and ornate details. With three above-ground stories, the Hall dominated the landscape. Mason knew there were barns and outbuildings beyond it, but these were hidden from the road on the downslope of the land.
“It’s amazing.” Regan leaned closer to the window, but Mason felt his jaw tighten. The closer they got to the Hall, the more evident the damage to the structure became. It appeared his uncle hadn’t done a lick of work on the place in years. Shingles hung loosely on the roof, the paint on the porch railings and other details had almost all flaked away. He shuddered to think what might await them inside.
Regan grew quiet too as they approached, and by the time they pulled in before the house, Mason was tense with rage. While several broken windows had been covered with plywood, he counted at least three more that had been carelessly blocked with cardboard—as if that would keep out the elements. The porch had sagged dangerously at the corner of the house. He could tell already most of it would need to be torn down and rebuilt—a large job he hadn’t planned for.
“I didn’t think it was this bad,” he managed to say between clenched teeth to Regan before he got out of the car.
“It’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” She joined him at the foot of the stairs to the porch.
“I hope you’re right. Hold up—let me test these stairs and make sure they’re safe.” Mason tried them one at a time, pushing down on the emotions that swirled within his gut. He had to keep his temper on a leash, no matter what Zeke had done. He wasn’t going to snap in front of Regan.
Not if he could help it.
Why hadn’t Zeke called them when caring for it overwhelmed him? Why had he let it get so bad? Just to spite his nephews since he knew his own son wouldn’t do what it took to run the ranch? What would his father think if he could see the Hall now?
He would just take in all the damage and make a plan to fix it. He wouldn’t hang out here bellyaching—that was for sure. Aaron Hall was a doer, not a complainer. Mason resolved to follow his lead. He squared his shoulders and led the way up the stairs.
“This section of the porch seems strong enough. I don’t know what happened over there.” Most likely a support had rotted out. He moved to the front door and tried the knob. It was locked, but when he checked the mailbox he found the key. He hoped against hope the house hadn’t been defiled inside by bored teenagers or petty criminals. When they entered the foyer, he was relieved to find it intact.
He tried the light switch beside the door and let out the breath he was holding when the electricity worked. A small, plain fixture in the center of the ceiling lit the room. Well, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. His anger ratcheted down a notch. He noticed Regan was frowning. “What is it?”
“I might as well admit I’m a renovation snob.” She pointed at the light. “That’s not even remotely accurate for the time period this house was built.”
Mason shook his head. “It works, doesn’t it?” She had no idea what a relief that was. If they’d had to re-wire the Hall, they’d be set back so far they’d never catch up again. As it was, his to-do list for getting the ranch in order was growing by leaps and bounds. He led the way into the room on the left, a formal dining room with wainscoting on the lower half of the walls. Nothing damaged in here, either, although the beautiful oak table and chairs they’d had when he was a child were gone. He swallowed against another surge of anger. Had Uncle Ezekiel sold all the furnishings? He hadn’t budgeted for that, either.
Regan ran a hand over the white-painted wainscoting. She still looked troubled. He raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged. “This paneling—look how thick the layers of paint on it are. It makes it look clumsy and I bet it was beautiful at one point.”
Mason had never noticed the paint—it had always been like that, even in his childhood. Instead, he pictured his boisterous family crowded around the dining room table. When they roared with laughter, the old chandelier had shook and tinkled. The chandelier was gone—only dangling wires to show where it had been. “It’s an old house, honey. Things have gotten painted a few times.” He fought to keep his anger out of his voice. He wasn’t mad at her, but he was furious with Zeke for vandalizing the home his family had loved. And worried about what else they would find. If Zeke hadn’t cared for the house, what else hadn’t he cared for?
“This is a beautiful house,” she said fiercely. “Or it could be if anyone showed it any love.”
Mason was taken aback by her vehemence, but before he could tell her that ranching didn’t leave much time for interior decorating, she said, “It’s just… I love old houses. Actually, I love all houses. They’re a passion of mine. That’s why when I got into finance, I ended up in loans. I love helping people qualify to buy their dream home. They always bring in the sales sheets they get from the realtor, and I get to see the photos and find out how many bedrooms and baths the house has, stuff like that. I have a whole folder of decorating ideas I’ve torn out of magazines over the years. The Hall is beautiful, Mason. It’s exquisite. With the right care and renovations, it could be a show-stopper.”
Mason softened. The Hall was already working its magic on her. Regan cared about the treatment it had received. She wanted to put it right. That meant she could picture herself living here, which meant she could see herself living with him. If she could look past its present state to see what it could be, that showed she was the kind of woman he’d hoped she was. He knew every nook and cranny—all the house’s secrets. The knowledge that Regan could feel about it the way he did warmed his heart.
But what would they do for furniture? And what if Zeke had treated the barn, stables and other ranch buildings the same way he’d treated the Hall?
“Is that the kitchen?” Regan led the way through a connecting room into the big old-fashioned kitchen at the back of the house. More memories assailed Mason. An old woodstove dominated one of the back corners of the room. The other back corner had a door leading outside. There were the usual kitchen appliances, although these were hopelessly out of date.
This was where his father would dance with his mother as if no one else was looking. She loved to listen to music while she cooked the evening meal and even if she’d spent the day mucking about in the barns or with the cat
tle, she always took the time to spiff up for her husband before supper. He’d kiss her soundly on his way to the shower and by the time he came downstairs again he’d be fit to sit at her dining room table. Mason realized it was in these little gestures that his parents showed their love for each other.
Mason shook off the past and peered out the window, trying to assess the bunkhouse and barn from here. Neither building gave anything away at this distance, though.
“My grandmother had a refrigerator like this.” Regan crossed to peer inside it. “I’m amazed this one still works.”
“We might need to do some updating in here,” Mason admitted. He had no idea how they were going to pay for that. Worry overtook him again.
“We don’t have to update the refrigerator if it still works right. It’s so retro. And I love this island.” Regan moved to the large, rectangular butcher block island with cabinets underneath. “With a new stove this could be a wonderful kitchen. Oh, look at the view.” She moved to stand beside him. Mason’s mother had always complained that you couldn’t see the mountains from this angle, but Regan was right; it was still pretty. He needed to get a good look at that barn, though, before he could appreciate details like that.
First things first; they’d finish touring the house. Another doorway led to a small hall with a tiny bathroom and laundry room off it, plus stairs down to the basement. Mason kept practicing his deep breathing as they passed by the shabby bathroom into the large living room. At one time this had been two rooms—a sitting room and a library—but his parents had combined the two to make a bigger space and Mason thought they’d done a good job. The room was spacious, yet comfortable, with a huge river rock fireplace topped with a thick wooden mantle. The back windows showed the view down to Chance Creek in the distance and the mountains far beyond.
“Now this is impressive.” Regan spun in a circle to take it in.
It was, except for another broken window. Mason inspected the broken glass and the water stains on the hardwood floor in a semi-circle below it.
A quick tour through the rest of the house showed them wall-paper peeling in three of the four large bedrooms on the second floor, water damage in two more rooms with broken windows, and extensive damage to the tile floor in one of the second story bathrooms where his uncle had apparently replaced an older toilet with a new one, and struggled in the process. Regan had winced at that particular room and Mason couldn’t blame her. The new toilet with its plastic seat and modern lines looked hideously out of place in the old-fashioned bathroom and his uncle hadn’t even attempted to fix the floor.
Mason was too busy adding up the repair costs to care about the visuals, though. It was going to take money to make the house inhabitable by his brothers and their wives when they got married. Money they didn’t have.
“How do you get to the third floor?” Regan asked when they’d seen all the bedrooms.
“Through here.” He hoped Regan didn’t notice the curtness of his voice as he indicated a narrow door at the end of the hall which when opened revealed a narrow set of steps. He led the way up them, hoping they wouldn’t stumble on a colony of rats. It would be just his luck if they did.
To his relief, the third floor was warm and musty, but there was no evidence of leaks from the roof. Doors led off to small bedrooms where once servants would have slept, and a much larger room at the end of the hall that had once been the nursery. The carpets were old and threadbare and the rooms so narrow they couldn’t house a queen sized bed, but Regan seemed interested in all the original details.
“I hadn’t guessed you were so interested in interior design,” he said distractedly when she pointed out the old-fashioned windows.
“Not so much interior design as the restoration of older properties. I used to go to open houses in the older sections of the city and pretend I was a prospective buyer, just so I could look at the places.”
“Why didn’t you buy anything?”
“In New York City? I’d be in New Jersey before I could afford anything.”
“How come you didn’t become an architect or something?”
She shrugged. “Finance seemed like a safer bet.”
“Life isn’t all about making safe choices.” He moved close enough to take her hand, the truth of that staring him right in the face. How on earth would he pull off a renovation of the Hall on top of everything else they had to do to beat Heloise’s deadlines? “Sometimes you have to make a leap of faith.”
“I know,” she said. “But sometimes you have to be a realist.”
Was she trying to send him a message? He sure hoped not.
* * *
Regan knew what Mason was trying to tell her; that she should take a chance on him. Maybe she should. Maybe she would, but first she needed to know more about what she was getting into. The Hall was beautiful structurally, but in its present state it resembled something out of a gothic horror novel. It would take hard work and lots of it—not to mention money—to fix the place up the way it should look.
“We’ll have to go through the place and take notes on what needs to be fixed.” Mason held her hand when they started back down the narrow stairs, but his jaw was tight and she realized he hadn’t been prepared for what they’d seen. “We’ll need to estimate costs and prioritize the jobs. Purchasing cattle, horses and equipment take top priority. Without them, there’s no use fixing the house because we won’t have an income.”
“Do you have a budget worked out?”
“I have a ballpark idea of what we’ll need. Austin and Zane have told me what they can contribute. Colt has been a bit cagey.”
“Why is that?” She followed him back downstairs to the front porch.
“He wants to stay in the military. He’s not interested in coming home yet.”
“Is that a problem?” She leaned against a post and crossed her arms over her chest. The sunshine felt good on her face.
“It could be,” Mason admitted. “We could really use him.”
“How much money do you have budgeted to fix the house?”
“Not enough,” he said. “We’ll have to do it in stages. Tackle the roof and kitchen first, I’d say. Replace all the broken windows. Then take it step by step as we have the money.” He turned to her. “I’m sorry. The state of the house is probably rougher than you were expecting.”
“It’s a challenge,” she said. “I like challenges.”
“Do you?” His shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch and he tipped her chin to bring her mouth to his. His kiss was thorough and melted her insides until she had to put a hand on his chest to steady herself. “I should have played harder to get, huh?”
“Probably.” She chuckled. “I never expected to be here with you, you know.”
“I expected it. Right from the start.” His satisfied smile made her tingle all over. This handsome, strong warrior had set his sights on her and she loved being the object of his attention. Loved knowing how much he wanted her. Loved knowing he’d done whatever it took to get her here.
“You’re amazing.” She reached up on tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Show me around outside.”
“You’ve got it.” He led her down the steps and around to the back of the house, where they crossed the yard to a long low building he called the bunkhouse. Mason’s footsteps slowed as they approached the building and Regan could see why. More windows were broken and the door opened to his touch. Inside, the rooms were dark and bare.
“Son of a bitch.” He glanced her way. “Sorry, Regan—Uncle Zeke stripped the whole damn place here, too.” Mason waved at the empty cupboards and counters in a room that should have been a kitchen. There was no refrigerator or stove, but there were spaces where they ought to be. He led the way to the opposite end of the building where a large room stood empty. “He sold the bunks, too. They were cast iron—original to the ranch.”
Picking up his pace, he led the way back outside and over to a large barn. It too stood empty, with boards missing from its wa
lls and a hayloft with a definite sway to it.
“Damn him to hell.” Mason was off again, out the door and striding in the opposite direction of the house. Regan followed at a jog, her stomach in knots. When Mason stopped abruptly and threw his hands up in the air, she knew he’d found another disaster.
“What is it?” she asked softly.
He gestured at the field ahead of him. At the corners and long intervals stood wooden posts. In between them metal uprights were evenly spaced. Some were vertical. Others were angled and some had been knocked down altogether.
She shook her head. “What’s it for?”
He rounded on her. “It’s a pasture. Or it would be, if it had a fence around it. He stole the goddamned wire! Or someone else stole it. Must have sold it for scrap.” Mason’s hands were balled into fists, his frustration plain to see. “It will take weeks to fix all this. We haven’t even seen the stables yet.” He took off again. Regan followed him more slowly this time, the truth dawning on her. The state of the ranch was far worse than Mason had imagined. Maybe he and his brothers didn’t have the money it would take to fix it. What would happen then?
When she caught up with him again he was pacing the length of a small outbuilding. Its purpose wasn’t apparent at first.
“All the tools are gone. All of them. Do you have any idea—” He cut off when he saw her face. Dropped his hands. “I’m sorry. None of this is your fault. Damn it, I should have never brought you here.” He rubbed a hand over his buzz cut hair and she had the feeling he’d start to pull it out in another minute.
“Of course you should have. If we’re going to make a life together we have to be able to face trouble together.”
“But I didn’t mean for you to see it like this. I want you to love it here as much as I do.”