What the Heart Wants

by Cynthia Reese

  “Couldn’t talk her out of it, huh?” he asked.

  “Nope. Not one whit. I’m to pick her up Friday afternoon and the tomato man will be by Saturday morning. With all. Those. Tomatoes.”

  “So what time do you need me there?”

  Allison did a double take. “Huh? You’re really going to help? I mean, I know it’s a Saturday, but aren’t you teaching summer classes?”

  “It’s a light load this semester, and I said I’d help you. I know nothing about preserving and canning, but then I knew nothing about carpentry when I found this house. They were selling it for fifteen grand, you know? Can you believe that? A four-bedroom house for a steal, even if it was in pretty bad shape.”

  “It’s not now,” she said wistfully. “It’s beautiful now.”

  “And so will Belle Paix. Trust me. You feel overwhelmed and burdened and about to throw in the towel, but...”

  “No buts, Kyle. Let’s face it. You had years to tinker with this house, with nobody depending on you. I’ve got to get Gran’s place in ship-shape condition in the next short while. Her long-term care insurance is maxing out fast, and she wants to save some in case she needs to use it again. So it’s not her just being impatient and cranky—though honestly, she has every right to be that way with me.”

  “Hey. Use a little perspective. You’re getting the important things done, right? It may not be completed when she comes home, but you’ll have safe wiring and better insulation and a chair lift for her. Not to mention you’ve saved her beloved bathroom sink.”

  “The chair lift won’t be installed until next week, so I have no clue how I’ll get Gran up to her room. And that sink cost me the better part of a grand in antique plumbing and repair kits. Talk about jumpin’ Jehosaphats,” Allison groused. “But if she’s happy...”

  “See? And she’ll be happy. So you’ll be happy. And little by little, you’ll save a bit more money and do another project—”

  “I have to get it painted or put siding on it before it really starts to rot, and those windows...the cold just cuts through them in the winter—”

  He knelt in front of her. “Breathe. Take a good deep breath.” When she just glared at him, he cajoled again. “Come on. Take that breath.”

  He put his palms on her shoulders, and she could feel the warmth of them through her T-shirt. She wondered if this exact same scene had played out before in this old kitchen, a 1930s harassed wife—in a dress and not paint spattered jeans—being reassured by her husband.

  Only Kyle wasn’t her husband. He’d drive her crazy if he were. Consoles to hide television sets, for goodness sake. Tearing out a perfectly good washer and dryer to put in the original built-in dining table. What utter nonsense.

  “Okay, okay, I’m breathing—” she started. But suddenly she wasn’t. Suddenly she was fixated on Kyle’s mouth and how close it was, and how she could bend down and kiss him and hope he’d kiss her back. And on the heels of that thought, it seemed as if Kyle was leaning forward, almost, almost...

  And just when she could have touched her lips to his, he pulled back. Stared up at her.

  Then, without a word of explanation, he shot to his feet and brushed his hands together. “Well, there you have it! The grand tour. Care for a glass of lemonade?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KYLE RAISED HIS knuckles to Gran’s door, chickened out and dropped his fist by his side. He was at the point of turning to beat it out of the rehab facility when he pictured Allison’s confused and hurt face the previous afternoon.

  Right after he should have kissed her.

  She’d wanted him to. He’d wanted to. It should have been simple—you meet a woman, find her attractive, ask her out on a date, things progress...and then a kiss just comes naturally.

  But not like this. You didn’t kiss a woman when you knew you had to tell her no—and not just a simple no to a simple request.

  The “no” Kyle had to tell Allison was in answer to what she thought was the solution to her problems, to her dream of bringing her grandmother home.

  In fact, he’d just finished reading through her disaster of a variance request when he’d spotted her on the sidewalk. He’d thought it a perfect time to talk to her, to try and convince her not to submit it.

  When Allison had been so blown away by his house, it felt like serendipity. Unlike any of the few women he’d dated seriously in the past, Allison had seemed intrigued by the house.

  Maybe, he’d thought, he could show her rather than tell her. Maybe if he could show her that even big projects were doable, and that the reason his house worked was the care he’d put into it...

  Or maybe you just wanted to show off, he told himself.

  He couldn’t dodge Allison forever on that variance request. If she turned in a copy to the committee office, that was that. They would have no choice but to turn her down, and then she would be stuck with a badly peeling paint job on Belle Paix for another year.

  Because he just couldn’t, in good conscience, recommend anything but a flat no to Allison’s proposal.

  He’d had a frank, honest talk with Jerry, telling him to cut out the worst of his excesses and giving him strict orders to help Allison contain costs. Kyle had hoped she would be able to use some of those savings to go toward a proper paint job. And he’d really talked up searching out grants and low-interest renovation loans and tax credits with Allison...

  Only, she seemed determined to pay for the whole project out of pocket, limiting herself to what she could afford to do for Belle Paix. She refused to consider any other sort of funding.

  Time for plan B, he thought, then squared his shoulders and rapped on Gran’s door.

  “Come in!” she called. When she saw him, she nodded approvingly. “I knew you’d be back.”

  “Like a bad penny,” Kyle told her.

  “Well, think of the crick of my neck, young man, and grab a chair. This time you can have the comfortable one. You look as though you have something on your mind.”

  He yanked the armchair around and sank down onto it. “I do, actually. It’s about Belle Paix.”

  “Allison tells me my bedroom’s almost done. Says it’s a nice periwinkle blue. That’s my favorite color, you know.”

  “I do.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, then cleared his throat and began. “I know the house means a lot to you. You were born there, right?”

  “I was. Actually, the first Shepherd descendant not to be born there was Allison’s father—he wound up being delivered at Dr. Masterson’s hospital. Torn down, now, more’s the pity. A parking lot for the post office, I think.”

  “Yes. Before I became chair of the preservation committee, or believe you me, it wouldn’t have happened. Not on my watch.”

  “You are a zealous sort, aren’t you? I do believe you would have stood in front of the wrecking ball yourself.”

  Kyle laughed and recalled more than one protest he’d been involved in during his college days. That was something else most women he’d dated didn’t get. “You know, you might be right. But in all my work, I’ve never seen a house like Belle Paix.”

  Gran closed her eyes, breathed a sigh and nodded. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

  “That she is. I’m glad Allison has been able to get some needed work done. It’s really stabilizing the physical structure.”

  Gran’s eyes fluttered open and she gripped the knob of her walking stick. “Pish-posh, Kyle. You’re beating around about a dozen bushes here. You’ve got something on your mind besides what Allison’s doing right. So spill it. I’m eighty-nine, not guaranteed another minute on this earth.”

  “Well...yes, ma’am, then. It’s her variance application. She’s put in a request that we waive the requirements for historically accurate exterior paint...and historically accurate windows...and histori
cally accurate clapboard siding.”

  “Sounds sensible. But I told her not to bother with that rigmarole because you were bound to shoot her down.”

  “Ma’am, all due respect, but if she made all those changes, you wouldn’t be coming home to the Belle Paix you left. And you know it.”

  Gran’s reply was a stony silence. She fixed him with an ice-cold glare from those brilliant blue eyes.

  He rushed to fill the silence. “And besides...it’s not up to me. I couldn’t approve those changes even if I wanted to.”

  Gran waggled the walking stick in his direction like a giant, oversize pointer. “Ah! Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter. ‘Even if I wanted to,’ indeed! Let me guess. You want me to talk Allison out of eminently sensible changes so you won’t have to tell her no.”

  “It’s not me telling her no—”

  “Now, now, don’t equivocate and dissemble. That’s beneath you. You have to admit that you hold a good deal of sway over that committee. And you could ask for a waiver in the interest of one octogenarian who survives on a fixed income. They’d be inclined to listen to you.”

  “The ordinances are very clear—”

  “And very wrong-headed. Allison shouldn’t have to use her savings to fulfill your fantasy of how a perfect historic neighborhood should appear. I believe I told you before, when we had our difference of opinion on a quite similar variance request, that yours was a rich man’s game.”

  “She could borrow the money. You could borrow the money. Think of it as an investment—” Kyle started.

  But the old lady’s nostril’s flared and her lips thinned as she thumped her walking stick, nearly hitting him on the toe in the process. “I will not. She’s already sacrificed enough as it is. You know, she had the opportunity to go to work with Doctors Without Borders? And she put it off to come live with me. That’s what she was saving for, to be able to afford to help those less fortunate.”

  Kyle sucked in a breath. Why had Allison never shared this with him? Maybe because, in her mind, her grandmother was worth the sacrifice? “Ma’am, I had no idea. That’s—that’s impressive.”

  “And now...” Gran shook her head and stared down at her lap. “She’s spent it all on Belle Paix.”

  Kyle reached out and laid a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. He wanted to reassure her that Allison’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. “Ma’am...there’s a reason people say something is safe as houses. Investing her savings in Belle Paix is just that—savings—”

  “Young man, might I remind you, the only way you get a return on a capital investment is if you liquidate that investment. And I don’t want her forced to sell Belle Paix when I’m barely cold in the ground, just to get her money out. Because Lord knows, I don’t have anything else to leave my granddaughter. You know what a forced sale means—you get a pittance of the value of the house if you can’t wait for the right buyer.”

  Kyle massaged the nape of his neck. “There has to be some way—some compromise.”

  “The definition of a compromise means both parties are giving up something,” she said tartly. “Allison and I are giving up our funds...so what will you put on the table?”

  The chair, a cheap Queen Anne reproduction with a plasticized finish that might be easy to clean, but still irked him, creaked as he shifted his weight. “I don’t know. There’s nothing I can give. Nothing except my experience and my willingness to help.”

  “Help?” The yelp came from behind him, not from Gran. “Kyle! What are you doing here?”

  He swiveled in the chair and saw Allison glaring at him from the door. Apparently it hadn’t closed all the way, and she’d been able to push it open without a sound. “Oh, hi, Allison. I...I was just—”

  Gran broke in with what seemed to be her trademark smoothness. “Coming by to see if I need a lift home. And I just might. Folding myself into your car puts me in mind of a pretzel. Kyle, what sort of vehicle do you gad about in?”

  Allison did not look a bit convinced, and his needing a few beats to answer Gran’s question didn’t improve matters. “Oh, I have a pickup. It might be hard for you to get in, though.”

  “Is it one of those monster trucks with the huge wheels that you need a ladder to climb into?” Gran asked.

  “No, no, just your garden variety truck with a crew cab. It’s handy for hauling things.”

  At least the mention of his pickup served to distract Allison from her earlier suspicions. “For instance, a gas pump to haul around with you,” she muttered. “Trucks like that guzzle fuel. Just another reason I have no business in the DIY arena. Gran, his truck’s going to be too hard for you to get into. My car’s not so bad.”

  Gran began scooting to the edge of her seat and readying herself to rise. “Well, Kyle, you’ll help Allison get me home, now won’t you? And have supper with us?”

  He heard Allison’s intake of breath and couldn’t translate it. Was she hoping he’d say no?

  “Oh, Gran, I’m sure he has better things to do,” she interjected before he could answer.

  Though he couldn’t figure out what was going on in Allison’s head, her grandmother was no mystery whatsoever. He could see a clear expression of “don’t even think about saying no” in her eyes that had probably steered many a kid in the right direction during Gran’s years of teaching.

  “Actually, I’m glad to help,” he said, and was gratified by the barest dip of Gran’s chin in a nod of approval. “I’ll help you get her settled in your car, and then I’ll follow you to Belle Paix, how about that?”

  “And supper, of course,” Gran said. Now she flashed that same “don’t even think about it” look Allison’s way.

  Allison struggled and failed to hide a grimace of exasperation. “About supper, Gran...I wasn’t planning on cooking a big meal. I wanted the kitchen ready for tomorrow and those tomatoes. You know, you could just stay here and I’ll get those tomatoes put up on my own. You’ve shown me how.”

  “Nonsense!” Gran planted her walking stick in front of her. “Then I’d miss all the fun! I might as well buy tinny-tasting canned ones from the grocery store if I don’t have a hand in canning them myself. I’m not so long in the tooth that I can’t pull my weight. Now, Kyle, if you’ll just take my arm...”

  To Kyle, Gran’s biceps had the fragility of a bird wing. He was terrified that if he squeezed it too hard, he’d leave bruises, or worse yet, snap a delicate bone in two. And his heart practically froze in his chest when Gran wobbled in his none-too-steady grasp.

  Allison jumped in to right her grandmother, and huffed again with still more exasperation. “Kyle, I’ve got this. Honestly, you’re just getting in the way. I have a lot more experience transferring patients than you do.”

  He stood back and watched. Yes, it wasn’t a question of strength, but skill. Now Gran rose steadily on her feet, the walking stick firmly planted beside her, her back arrow-straight.

  “Nothing like getting old bones aright, now is there?” Gran muttered. But she smiled with grim triumph. “I might not be the most graceful girl anymore, but I have dispensed with the walker.”

  “Gran, it might not be a bad idea for you to take one home—” Allison began.

  “On the contrary, it would be a very bad idea. A person must get around under her own steam, Allison. Independence is a habit, you know. Besides...” she winked in Kyle’s direction “...I won’t have a chance of catching Harvey Culpepper’s eye if he sees me using a walker...and he’s the only man in this place with all his teeth and a decent head of hair.”

  If she’d meant to shock her granddaughter, she’d failed. Allison just chuckled. “Okay. You win. Tell me where your overnight bag is, and we’ll sally forth.”

  Gran’s walking stick lasered in on a black overnighter that stood at the ready by the door. “That nice nurse’s aide has it a
ll packed for me, along with a packet of my medicines for tonight and tomorrow,” Gran stated. Then she turned her attention back to Kyle. “Be a dear and grab it, please. And don’t dilly-dally. You’re so young and handsome that if you walk right beside me, Harvey might think you’re after my money and be a bit jealous. Nothing like shaking the sugar tree, now, is there?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ALLISON STUMBLED DOWN the back stairs, grateful that she could use them again and would save her at least a few steps as she answered the kitchen doorbell. She hadn’t even had a chance to yank her still-damp hair back into a ponytail before the tomato man arrived.

  She couldn’t catch a break. Either deliverymen never showed up in the first place, or they were an hour early, she groused to herself.

  But it wasn’t a man bearing a crate of tomatoes awaiting her at the kitchen door.

  It was Kyle.

  Her heart fluttered at the sight of him until she sternly ordered it to stop. She opened the door, revealing the lanky figure, clad in jeans and a T-shirt and looking ready to work.

  “You are an early bird,” she said. “I didn’t even hear your truck.”

  “It was such a gorgeous morning that I walked,” he told her. “And I figured, as much trouble as we had getting Gran upstairs, you might need some help getting her back downstairs this morning.”

  He was right about that, as much as she was loath to admit it. The night before, Gran had insisted on stopping at her favorite Chinese take-out place, never mind the loads of sodium that would not be good for her blood pressure. They’d eaten out of the cartons at the dining room table, a first that Allison could recall. Usually her grandmother insisted on plating up even fried rice on her fine china.

  Gran might have been flexible about the dishes, but she wouldn’t budge on her bedroom. It had taken both Kyle and Allison considerable time and effort to help her upstairs.