Where She Belongs

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Where She Belongs Page 4

by Johnnie Alexander


  “Your name, please.” The blonde gave him the once-over beneath fluttering false lashes. Where did Brett find these girls?

  “AJ Sullivan. Would you please tell Brett I’m here?”

  She consulted a calendar program on her computer. “Oh, you can go on in. Brett”—she giggled—“I mean, Mr. Somers is expecting you. Would you like me to show you the way?”

  “I’ve been here before.” Though not that often since Brett had taken over their grandfather’s corner office. Sully’s original plan was for Brett to run the company’s day-to-day operations, and for AJ, with a law degree backing his name, to have control. Until the argument. Then everything had changed.

  AJ rapped on the door of Brett’s office and entered.

  Wearing a blue shirt that almost perfectly matched his eyes, Brett commanded a large oak desk, his back to a wall of certificates, plaques, and VIP photographs. He smiled at AJ. “See, Amy. I told you he’d come.”

  AJ followed Brett’s gaze to the brown leather sofa. His cousin Amy, impeccably dressed in a lilac linen suit, stood and pecked AJ on the cheek. “Where have you been hiding? I don’t think we’ve seen you since Christmas.”

  “You’re probably right.” Christmas. Funny how they still celebrated the holiday together, though only Gran truly enjoyed the family togetherness. The traditional brunch eaten around her antique table. The exchanging of gifts. Her only grandchildren promising to get together again soon before they went their separate ways.

  “Can I get you something? Coffee?” Brett asked, walking around his desk to the built-in bar.

  “A soda, if you have one.”

  “Ice?” Brett pulled a Coke from the mini-fridge, and AJ reached for the can.

  “This is fine.” He popped the tab.

  “Sis?” Brett turned to Amy.

  “I’m good.” She swirled the contents of her crystal glass at him. “Here, AJ, sit beside me.”

  AJ followed Amy to the couch while Brett settled in a nearby chair. Double-teaming. So that was their game. He took a long sip of the soda as his cousins exchanged furtive glances.

  “Do you still enjoy teaching?” Amy asked.

  “I do.” AJ gazed at her. Same ash blonde hair and clear blue eyes as her brother. As in all things, AJ was the odd one out with his darker coloring. His cousins had inherited their father’s Scandinavian features, their mother’s social superiority.

  “But you didn’t drag me here to talk about my career choice, did you?”

  Amy lowered her eyes as if embarrassed, though AJ knew better. She crossed one shapely leg over the other and pulled at her skirt. Another of her ploys. “Have you heard about the Glade Valley Refuge project?”

  “Who hasn’t? There are signs up everywhere, editorials. What about it?” The controversial Glade Valley watershed project was a proposed federal initiative designed to control runaway development in the large geographical area southwest of Columbus.

  “There’s a very good chance that project is going to be fast-tracked. When it gets approved, it’s going to upset some people’s plans.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “A private consortium has hired my consulting firm to assist them in getting the approvals for an exclusive retreat within that area,” said Amy. “Upscale cottages, golf course and clubhouse, pool, very chic. But if the refuge goes through, the land they want will be federally protected. The consortium will have to find another site in the same general area.”

  AJ shrugged. “And . . . ?”

  “And that’s where,” Brett said, pausing dramatically, “our Midas touch turns land into gold.”

  “What land?”

  “Our land.” Brett chuckled. “Okay, your land. But considering that Amy can broker the deal and I can negotiate for top dollar, it’d be to our advantage to form a partnership.”

  “The three of us?” AJ widened his eyes. He’d known to expect the unexpected when Brett asked him to come to the office. But he hadn’t foreseen a proposal like this. “Let me make sure I have this right. We form a partnership so someone can build a retreat on my land.”

  “That’s right,” Brett replied. “Earlier than the old man stipulated in his will, but we’ll get around that legal stumbling block. Amy already has a friend looking into it.”

  “Too bad you didn’t finish law school,” Amy said. “Then you could have done it yourself.”

  “If he’d finished law school,” Brett said, “Sully would have stuck either you or me with that wasteland.”

  “It’s not a wasteland,” AJ protested. He hated admitting that he’d ever agreed with Brett on something. But that’s what he’d thought of the farm until he realized how important it was to someone else. Somehow that made it important to him too.

  More than a week had passed since Shelby had flown back to Chicago. He drove by the house every day, sometimes stopping in if either Nate Jeffers or Paul Norris was there. Both men were making great progress. And the gravel he had ordered would be delivered and spread out in the next couple of days. A surprise for Shelby. Though what she’d say about it . . .

  “The land may prove to be valuable,” Amy said, frowning at her brother. “But we need to have everything in place so that when the refuge goes through, we have something else to offer my client.”

  AJ shifted to face Amy. “Aren’t you being paid to make sure the refuge doesn’t go through?”

  “I can’t always get my clients what they want,” she said, posing her lips into a pout. The girl never quit, not even with her own relatives. “Besides, this way I’ll know their plans, and I can steer them to Brett.”

  AJ leaned back, folding his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling. This could be fun. “How many acres will they need?”

  “All of it. And more.”

  “Who’s most likely to sell, do you think?” asked Brett. “Jason Owens or Paul Norris?”

  The Owens family owned land to the west and across the road from Misty Willow; the Norris land lay to the east.

  “Neither,” AJ said.

  “But which one might?” Brett insisted.

  “Jason might.”

  “Great.” Amy scooched forward. “Why don’t you invite him to have dinner with us one day next week? Perhaps at the Buckeye Club. I’ll make the reservations.”

  “I’m not sure Jason has as much acreage as your client needs.”

  “I think he does.” Brett’s smug tone irritated AJ. “I did a search. Owens’s farm added to Misty Willow should be more than adequate.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” AJ stood and walked around Brett’s chair, hands sunk in his pockets. “Even if I agreed to add my acres to this project, Shelby Kincaid will never give up hers.”

  “Who is Shelby Kincaid?” asked Amy, bewilderment distorting her features.

  “The new owner of the old Lassiter homestead. The house and thirty-two acres.”

  “What house?” Amy’s strident voice echoed in the room.

  “The new what?” Brett spoke at the same time as his sister.

  “Do you still want me to talk to Jason?” AJ asked with pretend innocence.

  “What I want is for you to explain why you sold the house.” Brett rose from his chair and paced the room before facing AJ. “And how.”

  AJ bristled at Brett’s threatening tone. He’d punched his cousin once before, and he wouldn’t mind an excuse to do so again.

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you,” AJ said. “And I’m not interested in selling my acres for a retreat. But thanks for including me in your plans.”

  “How could you sell?” Amy stood and crossed her arms like a petulant child. “Sully’s will specifically said—”

  “Gran told me to.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Brett said.

  “It’s done.”

  “Undo it.”

  “No.”

  “Boys!” Amy placed her manicured hand on AJ’s arm. “Tell me again. Who bought the
house?”

  “Shelby Kincaid,” AJ said. “Her grandparents owned Misty Willow before Sully did. She loves the place and wanted it back in the family.”

  “What sentimental . . .” muttered Brett. “When did this happen?”

  “A little over a week ago.”

  “Does Richard know?”

  “He was at the signing.”

  “It can’t be legal.”

  “And yet it is.” Fed up with his cousins, AJ strode to the office door. “Forget this development plan. Both of you. Shelby won’t give up her land. And I won’t sell mine.”

  – 6 –

  Shelby savored a bite of the decadent chocolate mousse. “Delicious.” After a month away, she’d flown into the Columbus airport only a few hours earlier, hoping for a restful evening. But Uncle Richard had insisted on driving back to the city for dinner.

  “I’m glad you like it.” His fond gaze blanketed her, piercing her with longing for Grandpa. If only he were sitting across from her instead. Except he wouldn’t have brought her to this pretentious place. They’d have celebrated her return with grilled steaks and potatoes slowly baked amongst the hot ashes in the stone fire ring outside the house.

  Another memory she needed to re-create for Elizabeth and Tabby.

  “Richard, is that you?” A blond man with crystal blue eyes, wearing a tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt, approached the table. “What brings you to the ‘big city’?”

  “A rare evening out.” Rising from his chair, Richard shook hands with the newcomer. “Allow me to introduce you. Shelby Kincaid, this is Brett Somers.”

  “She’s a little young for you, isn’t she, Richard?”

  Unaccustomed butterflies flitted in Shelby’s stomach as the gorgeous stranger held her gaze. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, her voice betraying her sudden embarrassment. He took her hand, and his light touch electrified her fingers.

  “Shelby is my great-niece. Her grandmother was my sister.” Richard gestured toward a chair. “Join us, won’t you?”

  “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “I imagine I’ve bored Shelby with enough of my stories for one evening,” Richard said. “Have you eaten?”

  “A business dinner.” Brett took a seat and gazed at Shelby. “My guests left a few minutes ago.”

  “What type of business are you in?” Shelby asked.

  “Investments. Property development.” Deep dimples appeared on either side of Brett’s engaging smile. “What about you?”

  Shelby pressed her lips together and slightly shrugged. She’d graduated with a bachelor’s degree in anthropology but was pregnant with Elizabeth before starting any kind of career. This handsome stranger wouldn’t be interested in that. “I just bought my . . . a farm. The house was neglected for several years, so I’m restoring it.”

  Brett’s eyebrows arched. “You’re planning to farm?”

  “The pastures are rented to a neighbor. I just want to live there. With my children.”

  “Children?”

  The question he didn’t ask hovered in the air. Before Shelby could explain, Richard covered her hand with his.

  “Shelby’s husband died about a year ago. She’s moving here with her two daughters.” Richard squeezed her fingers and smiled. “Would you both excuse me? I need to make a call. It’ll only take a few moments.”

  Richard pulled out his cell phone as he walked toward the restaurant’s lobby, his shoulders barely stooped with age. Funny that he hadn’t mentioned a call before. If Shelby didn’t know better, she’d think he had deliberately left her alone with Brett. Embarrassed by her sudden awkwardness, she focused her attention on the table’s floral centerpiece.

  “So moving here is a starting over for you?” Brett’s blue eyes glistened with sympathy.

  “More like coming home.”

  “You’re doing a brave thing. But is it the best thing?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “My parents divorced when I was a kid. I know it’s not quite the same thing, but if I’d had to change schools, leave my friends . . .” He shrugged, then folded his hands on the table in front of him. Nicely shaped hands.

  She frowned, his words opening the Pandora’s box of doubts she’d been carrying around with her since morning. They had whispered in her ear as she said good-bye to the girls, leaving them in the care of Gary’s parents. Then the doubts accompanied her onto the plane, setting up camp in her heart. But this move had to be the right thing. Where else could she find peace?

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” she said. “And I know it’ll be hard, especially for Elizabeth. But it’s what I have to do.” She forced a smile. “I just flew in this afternoon, and then Richard insisted on bringing me here. It was very nice of him, but—”

  “But you’re tired.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not of me, I hope.” Brett flashed his dimples, startling Shelby with his handsome smile. Her cheeks warmed, and she played with the crystal stem of her water glass.

  “I’ve embarrassed you.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  He laughed softly and stood. “I’ll find Richard and tell him you’re ready to leave.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I hope to see you again, Shelby Kincaid.”

  He strode from the room, his gait confident and sure. Flustered by his attention, she took one last bite of the mousse. No man of his caliber could possibly be interested in her. She’d probably never see him again.

  Shelby skipped church the following morning, though guilt gnawed her stomach. But the thought of seeing people who remembered her, who had known her grandparents and parents, was too overwhelming. They’d be asking the same questions, and she’d be repeating the same answers.

  Yes, my parents are still missionaries. I live in Chicago now. Two children, both girls. I’m widowed; yes, it is sad. Yes, we’ll be moving to the old homestead as soon as it’s ready.

  Besides, her flight had arrived too late yesterday to go to the house. She was eager to see what progress had been made during her absence.

  As soon as she turned into the drive, she braked, staring through the windshield at the long straight line of pristine gravel leading beyond the house and also encircling the broad grassy oval at its side. She stepped from the rental, then picked up a handful of pebbles and let them fall between her fingers.

  How dare he! After she specifically told him not to.

  She’d give AJ Sullivan a piece of her mind . . . if she only knew how to get hold of him.

  As she brushed the pebble dust from her hands, she imagined the argument with AJ. While she raged at him, his brown eyes would dance with amusement. After all, what could she do? Insist he take it back? She’d just have to pay him for it.

  She drove the rest of the way to the house, pleased despite herself that she didn’t have to avoid any more ruts.

  Parking in front of the newly built porch, she admired the renovation. The broken trellis and porch swing were gone, the brush cleared away. She climbed solid steps and pulled the key Nate had sent her from her pocket.

  Once inside, she explored the downstairs rooms. Stripped of paint and wallpaper, the walls appeared fresh and smooth. The floors hadn’t been sanded yet, but debris no longer cluttered the corners and filled the hearths.

  The last of the electrical and plumbing work still needed to be finished, but Richard had told her at dinner last night that the attic was “critter free.” She trusted his word for it, not being courageous enough to check out the attic alone.

  Things were going almost too perfectly. She waved away the superstitious thought. Things were going well because restoring this house was the right thing to do. And with Nate’s recommendations, she had the right people helping her do it.

  Wandering into the kitchen, she discovered the old cabinetry and appliances had been removed. Redesigning the layout and choosing new cabinets was a top priority this week. She opened her three-ring binder and fli
pped to the “kitchen” tab. Her favorite magazine photos and internet printouts filled several sheet protectors. Sitting on the floor, she imagined cream walls with yellow and blue accents. Gleaming appliances. Herb pots in the windowsill over the sink.

  A delightfully sunny room where she and the girls would enjoy pancake breakfasts on lazy Saturday mornings and bake chocolate chip cookies in their new oven.

  A knock sounded on the doorframe, and she jumped.

  “Anyone home?”

  Handsome as any teenage heartthrob, Brett leaned against the doorframe almost as if posing for a photo shoot.

  Shelby quickly stood, brushing the dirt from her jeans. “What are you doing here?”

  “You look beautiful.”

  Heat warmed her cheeks, and she pushed her hair from her forehead. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Amazing what you can find on the internet. And I just took a chance you’d be here.” He gestured at her open notebook. “Planning your new kitchen?”

  “Trying to.”

  “Have you had lunch?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Why don’t we take a drive into town?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  She hadn’t been until he mentioned food, but that was beside the point. She nervously twisted her wedding ring.

  Brett entered the kitchen and stood within arm’s reach. Near enough for Shelby to catch a whiff of his sophisticated aftershave, far enough not to crowd her.

  “It’s only lunch.” He grinned, showing off his cute dimples. “Nothing fancy.”

  She wavered, unsure how to respond. Her dating days ended long ago, and her experience even then hadn’t been extensive. Besides, her dusty jeans and worn sneakers made her feel unkempt next to his pressed and polished appearance.

  “Would it help if I got a little dirt on my pants?”

  As if he’d read her mind.

  “It might.”

  “Then why don’t you show me around the place, and I’ll see what I can do.”

 

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