by Laura Scott
“We’re only being realistic,” Jazz said in a soothing voice. “Trust me, a home inspector will find all of this and more.”
“Hrmph.” Melanie spun on her heel and walked down to the main level. When they joined her, Melanie led the way outside, clearly anxious to get rid of her visitors. She flashed a fake smile. “If you know of anyone interested in buying, please give me a call.”
“Sure,” Jazz agreed. “Thanks for the tour.”
“My pleasure.” Melanie’s saleswoman persona was back, and she gave them a little wave as she slid in behind the wheel and drove away.
“Wow, I had no idea that place was so run-down,” Jazz said as they walked back to her grandparents’ place. “They’d be lucky to sell even if my B and B wasn’t up and running.”
“I don’t know,” Dalton said, his expression thoughtful. “She’s right about the potential. The property location is incredible, and with a little work and a new design, the place could be stunning.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “You really think it’s a property worth flipping?”
Dalton shrugged. “Maybe. How’s the market in this area?”
“Better than average.” Jazz glanced back over her shoulder at the Stevenson place. “We had a lot of offers on our grandparents’ house despite the depressed economy.”
All her cash reserves had been pumped into the B&B, which was unfortunate because the idea of flipping a house with Dalton was extremely appealing.
On many levels.
Too bad, it wasn’t meant to be.
“Pizza okay for dinner?” Jazz asked. “It’s too late to cook.”
“Works for me,” he agreed. He didn’t really care what they ate for dinner. He couldn’t seem to get the Stevenson property out of his mind.
He’d noticed how Jazz’s expression had lit up with the thought of flipping the place. As Melanie had toured them around, he’d been redesigning the entire interior in his head.
It was an excitement he hadn’t felt in too many months to count. Quitting his job had been the right decision, there was no way he was ever going back to that rat race. But Jazz’s comments about what Debbie would say about his choice of being a drifter had hit home.
Because deep down he knew his wife would be furious about how he’d abandoned his talent. If she’d forgiven him for the role he’d played in their deaths, that is.
He’d started drawing buildings at a very young age, encouraged by his father who’d also been an architect. Even as a kid, he’d found buildings fascinating. Old ones, new ones, half-way demolished ones . . . they’d all held a certain appeal.
His fingers itched to draw again.
“Dalton?” Jazz waved a hand in his face, distracting him from his thoughts. “Care to share?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the Stevenson house.”
She set the steaming hot pizza on the table between them. “She never told us what they’re asking for the place. Guess she was too embarrassed to say after the way we pointed out the various flaws.”
“Yeah, and based on her reaction, it’s clearly overpriced.” Dalton took a bite of pizza, watching as large raindrops splattered against the window. “There’s a storm rolling in.”
“Good thing the gazebo is finished,” Jazz said, popping a slice of pepperoni into her mouth. “From here on, it’s all inside work.”
He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. Just how much was the Stevenson property listed for? And how much would the brothers be willing to negotiate on their asking price?
A fair amount, he guessed. Between the rotten bathroom floor and the B&B next door, they would be lucky to unload the place at all.
If not for the lakefront location, that is.
He thought about the bank accounts he’d walked away from almost a year ago. He’d sold the house he’d shared with Debbie and put that money into a separate bank account. At the time, the amount had been substantial, and since he hadn’t touched a dollar of that money it should still be there plus a little extra interest.
When he’d decided to leave town with only his knapsack on his back, he’d also challenged himself to live off of whatever cash he’d earned along the way. It hadn’t been too difficult, he’d done all sorts of odd jobs, from washing dishes to being on a roadside crew. Handyman work was the most rewarding.
There had to be enough money in his bank accounts to buy the Stevenson house outright. Although he’d still need extra cash for the renovations.
More than doable if the bank would agree to a home equity loan.
“Did you check out my paint job in the blue room?” Jazz asked.
“Not yet.” A loud rumble of thunder had him glancing up at the ceiling. “I hope your roof is in good shape.”
“It is, my granddad had it replaced a year before he died.” Jazz’s smile faded. “The attic is full of the things they left behind after they passed away. Of course, their best pieces are here, especially in the great room, but I bet there are more hidden gems. Once all the renovations are finished, I want to go up and look through everything. Hopefully, I can find some additional furnishings to use in the guest rooms.”
“Antiques are amazing,” Dalton said with enthusiasm. “I’d be happy to help repair anything that’s broken.”
She tipped her head to the side, eyeing him curiously. “Really? Will you be here that long?”
He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again without speaking. It was a good question. One that he’d had no trouble answering until now.
The silence grew uncomfortably long.
“Never mind,” Jazz finally said. “I didn’t mean to push. Obviously, it’s a decision you need to make when you’re ready.” She downed the last bit of pizza, then rose to her feet. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”
“I can help,” he protested.
She shook her head. “I could use some time alone, if you don’t mind. Although the way it’s pouring outside, you might want to consider spending the night in the master suite. You’ll be drenched by the time you get into your tent.”
Staring out at the pelting rain, he silently admitted she had a point. Why bother sleeping in cold and wet conditions when there was a perfectly good bed inside?
Yeah, no doubt about it, he was getting soft.
He’d already showered and washed the clothes that were full of plaster dust. Conscious of Jazz’s request for some alone time, he went into the living room area to the bookshelves lining each side of the fireplace. There was both fiction and non-fiction, so he chose a murder mystery and returned to his room to read.
The storm raged overhead, lightning flashing across the sky followed by the rumble of thunder. Several lightning strikes were loud enough to make him jump.
He set the book aside and padded back out to the French doors overlooking the lake. A crack of lightning hit close, rattling the windows.
“Dalton? Did you hear that?” Jazz rushed downstairs, visibly shaken. “It sounded way too close.”
“Yeah.” Dalton moved to the side kitchen window that faced the Stevenson’s place. Was it his imagination or was there smoke coming from the corner of the roof closest to them?
He pressed closer, peering through the rainy darkness. Lightning flashed across the sky providing enough light for him to clearly see a streak of charred blackness extending from the roof all the way down to the base of the home.
The Stevenson house had been struck by lightning!
12
“Where’s your phone?” Dalton asked, his eyes wide with alarm. “You need to call nine one one about a possible fire at the Stevenson house from a lightning strike.”
Jazz pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket and did as he asked, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Good heavens, what if lightning struck here?
“Wait! Where are you going?” She followed as he headed toward the French doors.
“Out to make sure there isn’t a fire burning inside the place.” He ran right out into
the pelting rain.
She paced, waiting for the dispatcher to answer. A female voice finally came on the line asking what her emergency was.
“The Stevenson house has been hit by lightning.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“No, the house is for sale, and I don’t think anyone is living there.”
“I’ll let the volunteer fire department know,” the dispatcher said, then disconnected from the line.
Jazz tucked the phone away and cupped her hands against the glass so she could see out the window. She hated feeling helpless and had no idea what Dalton thought he was going to be able to do in the pouring rain. Why would he think there was a fire inside the house when the strike had been on the outside?
Maybe an electrical fire? She’d heard of fires starting inside the walls, moving along the electrical wires from outlet to outlet. The image made her grimace. Not good. Even though she suspected the Stevenson brothers might be the ones responsible for her vandalism, she wouldn’t want to see anyone lose a house due to a fire.
A flash of lightning brightened the sky, but she couldn’t see anything but the black charred ridge running down along the side of the house. She’d lost sight of Dalton. Had he gone around to the other side of the property?
Time ticked by slowly with still no sign of Dalton or the volunteer fire department. How long would it take them to respond? A little disconcerting to realize that if anything happened here at the B&B, the old house would be at the mercy of volunteers.
Just as she was about to head outside to search for Dalton herself, the French doors rattled and Dalton stepped inside, water rolled off him and pooled at his feet, as if he were a human fountain.
“Stay there, I’ll get towels.” Jazz hurried into the master suite that ironically smelled like him and grabbed two towels from the bathroom closet. In the main living area, she tossed them at Dalton.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said. “The good news is that I don’t think there’s a fire simmering inside the house.”
“And what were you going to do if there was?” she asked, feeling exasperated.
“Break a window to get in, then attempt to put it out,” he responded. “The fire department hasn’t even arrived. The place would be a total loss if I didn’t do something.”
“It’s not our house to save,” she reminded him. The wail of sirens growing louder was reassuring. Help would soon arrive. “The fire truck is on their way. Besides, I’m not even sure the Stevenson brothers would appreciate your efforts on their behalf.”
“Maybe not, but it’s a moot point regardless.” He wiped the towel over his head, then wrapped it around his soaking wet clothes. He toed off his construction boots and left them to air dry. “I’m, uh, going to need to put everything I’m wearing in the laundry for the second time today.”
“You think?” She couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not a problem, throw the towels in, too.”
He nodded, then disappeared down the hall leaving a trail of wetness behind.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have any spare clothes that would fit him. A sweatshirt, maybe, but no jeans or male sweatpants. She’d noticed that he only had two different sets of clothes to wear and figured that was all he could carry in his knapsack.
If only he’d consider sticking around for a while . . .
No, not just a while.
Forever.
Her heart squeezed in her chest because she was already way far down the path to heartache. Yet knowing that, she still couldn’t find a way to turn back. Worse? She didn’t even want to.
She was falling in love with Dalton. His kisses were addicting, and she enjoyed being with him. Far more than she’d ever liked hanging out with Tom.
Deep down, she sensed that Dalton wanted to stay, too, but was stubbornly refusing to give in to the idea of moving on with his life without his wife and son.
What had caused their deaths? The unknown answer plagued her, although logically she knew it didn’t matter. Whatever Dalton had done was in the past.
He was a different man now. A sweet, kind, generous man. One who deserved a second chance.
And so did she.
She watched through the window as the firefighters circled the house, checking things out. They broke open the front door and disappeared inside.
“What’s going on?” Dalton asked. He was wearing clean dry clothes, but his dark hair was still plastered against his head.
“They just broke in,” she told him. “I’m sure the Stevenson brothers won’t be happy.”
“Nothing they can do about it,” Dalton said. “Why don’t you head back up to bed? I’ll keep an eye on things down here.”
Jazz nodded, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, chilled despite the warmth inside the house. Before she could head upstairs, there was a loud knock at the front door.
She glanced questioningly at Dalton, then went over to see who was there. It was the female deputy from almost a week ago.
“Deputy Waldorf,” Jazz greeted her. “Come in.”
“Thanks.” The woman wasn’t as soaked as Dalton had been. “I have a few questions about what you saw this evening.”
Jazz gestured for Dalton to join her. “Dalton was the one who saw the lightning strike, I only heard it.”
Deputy Waldorf turned toward Dalton. “You actually saw the lightning strike the house?”
He looked a bit taken aback. “Not exactly, was looking out at the lake when I saw the flash and heard the strike. That’s when I noticed the seared streak running from the roof to the bottom of the house.”
“And where was Ms. McNally when that happened?” she asked.
“I was upstairs in my room. I came running down when I heard the strike. It was so close, I feared my house had been hit.”
“Hmm.” Deputy Waldorf made a few notes with a stubby pencil in a small notebook.
Jazz didn’t appreciate the woman’s tone. “I’m getting the sense you think I’m the one who did something to the house.”
Deputy Waldorf shrugged. “I need to investigate. After all, you made it quite clear you feel the owners of the house next door are the ones committing vandalism against your property. Maybe you decided to get even with them.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Dalton snapped, stepping protectively in front of Jazz. “How would she cause that sort of damage? It’s clearly the result of a lightning strike, and I resent you implying otherwise.”
Jazz put a hand on Dalton’s arm. “It’s okay, Dalton.”
“No, it’s not okay.” The muscles in his forearm were tense. “Bad enough that old man Tate is holding some old grudge against you, but to listen as the police drag your name through the mud is unforgivable.”
“Calm down, Mr. O’Brien.” Deputy Waldorf shut her notebook and tucked it away. “This is all part of our routine investigation. I’m here to validate the facts, nothing more.”
Jazz couldn’t believe how Dalton had rushed to her defense. It was sweet, but unnecessary. She sent an apologetic glance at the deputy. “I understand you have a job to do.”
She nodded. “Thanks for your cooperation.” Then she frowned. “What was that about Leon Tate holding a grudge against you?”
“He’s a crabby old man, told me to get out of town.” Jazz waved it aside. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
Deputy Waldorf made another note. “Doesn’t hurt to check it out. Well, thanks again for your cooperation.”
“Any time.” Jazz opened the door for the deputy, closing it and locking it behind her. She smiled at Dalton. “Thanks for being my knight in shining armor.”
He looked embarrassed. “It’s crazy that she insinuated you would intentionally damage someone else’s property. It’s one thing to get the facts, it’s another to basically accuse someone of malicious intent.”
She wanted very badly to hug him and kiss him but held back. “Well, good night.”
“Good night, Jazz.”
Walking a
way from Dalton wasn’t easy, she could feel his gaze burning into her back as she ascended the staircase to the second floor.
At the top, she paused and sneaked a glance over her shoulder, expecting to see Dalton still standing there.
But he wasn’t.
Apparently, she’d imagined his gaze on her. Maybe the camaraderie she felt was only in her head, too. She went into her bedroom, feeling sick at the knowledge that the feelings she had for Dalton were likely one-sided.
And likely to stay that way.
Dalton forced himself to walk away from Jazz, lest she figure out how deeply he’d come to care about her.
Looking back, he realized his reaction to the Deputy’s questions were a bit over the top. The woman hadn’t outright accused Jazz of anything, but he’d jumped all over her regardless.
The very thought of anyone hurting Jazz brought out every protective instinct he possessed.
He tossed and turned during the night; his gut twisted into knots as he wrestled with feelings he didn’t understand.
The following morning, he rolled out of bed at the crack of dawn, driven by a sense of urgency. He needed to get started on sanding the bathroom grout in the blue room so he could get to work on the actual tiling.
He was surprised to find Jazz already in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee. She looked as if she hadn’t slept well either, and he wondered if the storm had kept her awake.
“Omelets for breakfast,” he announced. “I’ll cook.”
Breakfast didn’t take long, and soon they were back to their usual harmony as they planned the renovation strategy. Jazz would sand the walls in the blue bathroom while he began tiling the yellow room. That way she could add another coat of paint in the afternoon, after the dust was taken care of.
The hours flew by quickly as they worked. Tiling was a tedious job that required significant attention to detail. More so in this case because he was doing the work for Jazz.
Scary how much he wanted to make her happy.
The day flew by, their break for lunch only long enough to eat a few sandwiches.