by Marta Perry
“Do you expect Jamie to come into business with you?” She couldn’t help the tinge of criticism in her voice. If he didn’t want more for himself, she’d think he’d want more for his son.
“Jamie will do whatever he wants,” Nick said. “If he’d rather fly a plane or argue a case in court than build a kitchen, I’ll back him all the way.” He paused, his face growing serious, and she realized he wasn’t finished. “As far as what he’ll be—I can’t say better than what my parents said to me and to Mac. Be kind, be honorable, always do what’s right, no matter the cost.”
She discovered quite suddenly that there was a lump in her throat. “That sounds like something my stepfather would say.”
Nick studied her face, as if searching for a clue to her feelings. “Are you close to him?”
“I suppose so.” But not as close as her parents would have wanted. If she could have satisfied them about that, taken Dennis’s name as they’d wanted her to, would that have made a difference? Maybe then she’d have stopped feeling like a “step” instead of a member of the family.
But at eleven, when the subject had come up, she hadn’t seen it that way. All she’d been able to feel was that she ought to stand up for her real father, because no one else would.
Her cell rang, cutting off anything else she might have said. “My mother,” she said. “She must have known I was thinking about them.”
“Go ahead.” Nick pulled out a metal tape measure. “I’ll take these measurements while you’re talking.”
She pressed the phone button. “I just have a minute, Mom. I’m with someone. Can I call you back this evening?”
“As long as you promise to do it.” Her mother’s voice came as warmly over the phone as if she were here instead of in Denver. “I want to tell you about our spring break ski trip. And hear about—” there was a faint hesitation in her mother’s voice “—about your visit to Laurel Ridge. Are you back home yet?”
“Not yet. Some things came up. I’ll tell you all about it tonight, I promise.” But it would be a carefully censored version. There was no point in opening old wounds for her mother.
“Okay. Love you, sweetheart. And love from Dennis and the boys.”
“Same to them. I hope you had a great trip.”
“Wonderful, but we missed you. I’m sending a picture,” her mother added.
She clicked off and brought up the photo. The four of them, skis propped up beside them, leaning their heads together and laughing with a snowy mountain in the background. A happy family.
It was no one’s fault but hers that she’d always felt like that odd man out. Everyone said how lucky she was to have a great guy like Dennis for her stepdad. And he was a great guy. But when she looked at Mom and Dennis and the twins, all she could think was that they were a whole family without her.
Allison slipped the phone back in her pocket. Nick seemed intent on his measurements, pretending he hadn’t heard her side of the call.
Had he thought about what it would be like for Jamie if he remarried? The thought made her uncomfortable. It certainly wasn’t any of her business, was it?
Nick straightened, snapping the tape closed. “If we can go through the rest of the apartment now, I can get an estimate to you in an hour or so. We’ll want to apply for the permit right away so we can get started next week.”
“That’s fine.” She was restless suddenly, eager to get moving. She seized on the idea that popped into her mind. “I’ll be leaving early tomorrow, anyway. I’m going back to Philadelphia for a day or two.”
She saw the surprise in Nick’s face. Well, she’d surprised herself, too. But she had to go sometime to pack up what she needed and make a decision about her apartment in the city. And maybe putting a few miles between herself and Laurel Ridge, with all its problems, would settle her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“DID YOU GET everything done that you wanted to in Philadelphia over the weekend?” Sarah asked Allison Tuesday morning. She shifted the box she was carrying so that she could unlock the door to the storage area. “I was worried when you weren’t here yesterday.”
“I couldn’t complete subletting my apartment until Monday.” Allison followed Sarah into the storeroom and stacked the box she was carrying on top of an existing pile. “Where did all this stuff come from?” She glanced around at the boxes and bags that cluttered the storage area.
“Things for the Jumble Sale.” Sarah balanced her box carefully on the top of a teetering stack. “They’ll likely overflow into the hall before the week is out.” Maybe seeing the distaste in Allison’s face, she hurried on. “It will just be for a few days. Spring Fest is Saturday, and afterward volunteers will pack up the leftovers and haul them to the Salvation Army store.”
Allison bent and picked up the item on top of an opened box. “People will buy this? Seriously?” She gestured with a dented saucepan.
“For sure.” Sarah’s eyes sparkled with laughter. “People can’t resist the idea of getting a bargain. And if you need an extra saucepan, even just to dip oats for the horses, you don’t care if it has a dent.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Allison followed her out of the storeroom and watched while Sarah locked it again. “I brought so much back from Philly that poor Mrs. Anderson probably thinks I’m planning to have a jumble sale in my room.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t mind. She’s glad enough to have a guest at all this time of year.” Sarah smoothed down the green apron that matched her dress. “And you—did you get a good tenant for your place in the city?”
“I hope so. It’s a young woman from my friend Leslie’s office, so Leslie will keep an eye on things.” She’d been fortunate to have the sublet fall into place so easily.
“Sehr gut.” Sarah smiled. “Very good, I mean.”
Allison responded absently. There’d been an envelope waiting for her at her apartment, containing a check and a note from her former boss. Former friend, as well.
Your salary for the rest of the month, as well as the bonus you earned on the Naismith job. When you decide to return, there’s always a place for you. Don’t mess up your career for a guy. He’s not worth it.
Di had been generous. And maybe a bit guilty. But her comment about Greg had been on target, Allison realized. She certainly hadn’t spent much of the past week mourning his loss, maybe because she’d never risked caring that much for him. Was that a reflection on his inability to inspire love or her own failure to trust it?
Running footsteps interrupted a futile train of thought as Jamie scurried toward them from the cabinetry showroom.
“Hi, Ally. I’m glad you’re back.” He flung his arms around her in an impetuous hug.
“I am, too.” She returned the hug, irrationally gratified. “But what are you doing here? Don’t you have school today?”
Jamie rubbed the front of his cartoon character T-shirt. “I had a tummy ache this morning, and Grammy had to go somewhere, so I came to work with Daddy.”
“If you’re well enough to pester Sarah and Allison, you must be well enough to go back to school this afternoon.” Nick emerged from the showroom, regarding his son with mock severity.
“If I have to eat in the lunchroom I’ll be sick again,” Jamie announced, eyeing his father to see how that went.
“Ach, he’s no bother at all,” Sarah said. “And I know just what you need, Jamie. I have some of my mamm’s homemade chicken noodle soup in my little refrigerator. When you feel like eating something, I’ll heat it up for you. All right?”
Jamie nodded with enthusiasm, while Nick shook his head.
“Spoiling him, that’s what you’re doing.”
“Seems to me I remember you liking Mamm’s chicken soup pretty well yourself when you were his age.” Sarah spoke with the comfortable certainty of one who’d k
nown Nick too long to be impressed.
Nick grinned, as if conceding the point. He turned to Allison. “Have a good weekend?”
“Fine.” She assumed that was just a polite way of getting down to business. “Will you be able to start work on the renovations this week?”
“Should be. And I finished securing the attic accesses.” He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and handed them to her. “There are four, one in each corner of the building. And you’ll need to keep the keys someplace where the tenants can get to them. Most of us have things stored up there.”
“Repair people need to go up sometimes, too,” Sarah added. “What about in the storeroom on the board with the other keys? No one can get in the storeroom but the tenants, so they should be safe.”
Allison nodded, remembering the board just inside the storeroom where marked keys dangled from hooks. “Fine. I’ll put them there and let everyone know.” She was actually beginning to feel like a landlord when she said things like that.
“We can’t start tearing out the old kitchen until we have the permit,” Nick continued. “My father went down to the clerk’s office to get it. He should be back soon.”
“I thought Daniel was picking it up yesterday,” Sarah put in.
Daniel. That would be the Amish youth Allison had seen helping Nick’s father in the workshop.
Nick frowned. “He went by, but the clerk said there had been some delay. That’s why Dad went himself. He hates bureaucratic paperwork with a passion, so he’s probably blowing off steam right now.”
“I’m sure he’ll straighten it out,” Sarah said.
Nick nodded. “Anyway, Ally, you can come to the showroom anytime and pick out what you want for the kitchen cabinets.”
Allison blinked at the familiar nickname, not sure she wanted to hear it from Nick. Wouldn’t it be better to stay on more formal terms with her tenants? She caught Jamie’s smile and returned it. On the other hand, it was probably way too late for that.
Jamie’s small face lit as he looked past her toward the stairwell. “You brought your cat! Cool!” He darted toward Hector, who paused on the third step from the bottom as if waiting for applause.
“I hope no one’s allergic.” Besides, having Hector here made the place feel a bit more hers.
“Careful,” Nick warned his son. “He doesn’t like people.”
Hector carefully sniffed the hand Jamie held out for inspection. Then he rubbed his head against Jamie’s hand in a clear invitation. A moment later he was seated in Jamie’s lap.
Nick surveyed them. “Okay, maybe it’s just me that he doesn’t like.”
“Actually he doesn’t usually respond so well to strangers.” Allison smiled at Jamie. “Jamie must be a very special person.”
“Must be,” Nick said, sending her a meaningful glance. “Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t been used as a battering ram against Jamie.”
She smiled, refusing to be drawn.
“Here comes Jim now.” Sarah nodded to the door as Jim Whiting came in.
“Everything go okay?” Nick asked.
His father gave a grunt of assent and waved a piece of pink paper. “Got it, anyway. But not without a struggle. Clerk was determined to be obstructive.”
“Inefficient, more likely,” Nick said. “He didn’t want to admit he’d been lax.”
“Nope.” Jim turned to affix the pink certificate to the front window. “It wasn’t that at all. I can see as far as the next man. He’d been told to slow it down. So I just told him to speed it up instead if he wanted to keep his job.”
“Told to slow it down?” Allison echoed the words, trying to make sense of them. “But I don’t understand. Why? Who?”
Jim exchanged glances with his son. “He wouldn’t say, but I can guess. There’s only one person who wants Blackburn House badly enough to throw roadblocks in front of anyone who wants to make changes. Thomas Blackburn.”
To Allison’s surprise, Nick and Sarah both nodded as if it were a foregone conclusion.
“But...he can’t do that, can he?”
“He can’t succeed,” Jim said with satisfaction. “That doesn’t mean he won’t try.”
Thomas Blackburn. It made sense. She could easily imagine him intimidating a clerk to do his bidding.
If he would do that, what else might he have done? How much did he want Blackburn House? And how deep had the enmity between him and Evelyn Standish gone?
* * *
“TELL ME THE style you want for the kitchen, and I’ll show you the cabinets that best fit.” Nick had always found that the simplest method of cutting down on the practically endless choices available.
Allison, seated next to him at the round table in the showroom the next day, frowned at the loose-leaf notebook filled with images of kitchens. Nick thought he could guess what she’d want—a modern, sleek kitchen with gray granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. Eighty percent of the people who sat here talking about kitchens did—influenced by television shows and glossy magazines. And since she decorated houses for a living, she’d probably want the latest of everything for herself.
Still frowning, Allison flipped over a page, then another. “It’s important that the kitchen fit in with the style of the building. I don’t see anything here—”
Suppressing his astonishment, Nick closed the book. “Forget this, then. Just talk to me about what you want. If you’re really going back to the 1880s, the kitchen might not be too functional. Unless you have a maid, butler and cook, of course.”
He’d surprised her into a smile that made her eyes sparkle, reminding him of sunlight dancing on the surface of a rippling stream.
“I don’t think we need to go that far. No need for washstands and kerosene lamps. I’d settle for a style that doesn’t scream reproduction but that can exist harmoniously with the high ceilings and window moldings.”
“No stainless steel and granite?” he asked. “That’s what most people request.”
“I guess I’m not most people, then.” Her lips quirked in amusement. “Actually, if this were a gated community in a city suburb, I’d have to go with the expected.”
“No room for something different there?”
Allison seemed to take the question seriously. “Those places are occupied for the most part by rising young professionals who don’t expect to stay in one place for long. That’s the pattern—stay for a couple of years, accept a transfer or a promotion and move. That means the house they buy has to be readily salable, so they decorate with that in mind.”
“Makes sense for them, I guess.” He’d never really thought of it that way. When people settled in Laurel Ridge, they expected to stay for a generation or two or three.
He reached out a long arm and pulled another sample book from the shelf. “Have a look at these, then. They’re some kitchens we’ve done over the years in older houses.”
Even as she opened the book, he plopped something else down in front of her. “And what about something like this for the countertops? This is quartz, so it has a lot of the same qualities as granite, but it’s a lot warmer-looking.”
Allison ran her hand over the smooth stone. “Nice. I’ve actually suggested it a few times, but people always want granite.”
“Influence of television remodeling shows,” he suggested.
“Most likely.” She flipped through the book. “Let’s make a decision on cabinet styles first, then I can decide about the quartz. Glass-fronted cabinets would be in keeping with the period of the house, wouldn’t they?”
He nodded, putting his hand over hers to turn to the right page. “You’re taking a lot of care over this, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” She glared at him. “You don’t need to sound so surprised. As it happens, I value quality in my work, too.”
>
“I don’t doubt it,” he said quickly, holding up his hands to defuse any argument. “I’m just here to take orders. It’s your kitchen, and you’re the boss.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “Am I supposed to believe that?”
He grinned. “You can try.”
Allison laughed with him, but then she seemed to sober, looking at him as if she measured him against some standard of her own. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded, not sure where this was going.
“Do you think your father was right, and it was Thomas Blackburn who tried to throw a monkey wrench into the permit process?”
The sudden change of tone silenced him for a moment as he considered it. “Actually, my dad is usually right about things like that. The only other person who’d have a reason to want to disrupt your plans is Brenda, and I don’t think she’d have the nerve. She’s been making a valiant effort to replace Evelyn, but she knows she can’t match Evelyn’s influence.”
Allison was studying his face. “If it was done to encourage me to give up and leave, it couldn’t be any of the tenants, could it? Or do they want me to leave, too?”
He blinked. “Not us. After all, we’re doing the renovation. We wouldn’t be likely to torpedo it.”
“I suppose not.” She didn’t sound totally convinced.
He looked at her, exasperated and not sure what would convince her. “Look, we wouldn’t, that’s all. And I don’t think any of the other tenants would, either. What would be the point? To try and avoid an increase in rent?”
Allison’s eyebrows lifted. “As I recall, you seemed to think Brenda would be easier to deal with than I would.”
He smiled, trying to cover his embarrassment. He had said something like that. “I was just needling you. Anyway, it wouldn’t be Brenda, would it? It would be Blackburn, and who knows what his plans for the building might be? He’s so obsessed with the family name, he might do anything.”