Angels Landing

by Rochelle Alers

  She retrieved the envelope, spilling the keys out on the top of the desk. There was one skeleton-type key, and when she inserted it into the lock and turned it, Kara wondered what she would find behind its locked doors.

  She couldn’t control the runaway beating of her heart when opening a drawer to find bank statements with staggering balances. There were statements from five different mainland banks and the one in Sanctuary Cove. She opened another drawer, finding copies of Taylor’s tax returns for the past ten years. He’d reported income from his corporation, interest and dividends from bank accounts and bonds. There were copies of checks on the taxes owing attached to the forms.

  Sinking down to the floor, Kara clapped a hand over her mouth. She felt faint and had begun to hyperventilate. How could she go from a middle-income, overworked social worker who was lucky if she could save fifty dollars a month to someone with enough money to buy an apartment in Trump Tower?

  It was all too much for her take in so quickly. She lay back on the rug, staring up at the ceiling. Even if she didn’t work another day in her life, she would have enough money to last her for the rest of her days.

  “She must restore Angels Landing to its original condition.” David’s words echoed in her head as if he were in the room with her. He wasn’t talking about the house but the entire plantation: the house, gardens, and outbuildings.

  The doorbell chimed throughout the house, and Kara scrambled to her feet. Mrs. Todd worked from eight to six, then retreated to her two-bedroom guesthouse to spend the evening with her husband.

  Kara made her way down the hallway to the staircase, curbing a childish urge to slide down the banister. The marble floor in the living room and entryway felt cool under her bare feet. Going on tiptoe, she peered through the security eye, seeing the distorted image of a familiar face. She unlocked the door and opened it. Standing on the porch wearing a black T-shirt and jeans was Jeff, and seeing him caused her mouth to suddenly go dry. She had only caught a glimpse of his upper body when he’d taken off his jacket to show her his tattoo, but the cotton fabric stretched over broad shoulders, massive pectorals, and bulging biceps left little to the imagination.

  “Hi.” The single word was torn from the back of her throat.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course.” She stepped aside and he walked in, and that’s when she saw what he held in his hand. “You brought my book.”

  Jeff felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He knew Kara was sexy, but seeing her in a skimpy tank top and shorts made him feel things he didn’t want to feel at that time, as he thought of what he’d wanted to do with her. And because of his height advantage he could see her breasts.

  He handed her the book. “I thought you’d want to read it.”

  “Thank you.” A blush darkened her cheeks. “I’m forgetting my manners. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

  Jeff had just stopped by to drop off the book but quickly changed his mind. “I’ll take coffee if it’s not too much trouble for you.”

  “Of course not.” Kara gave him a sensual smile. “I usually have a cup before I go to bed because drinking something hot helps me fall asleep.”

  He wanted to tell her there were other things guaranteed to help her sleep but quickly banished his traitorous musings. Perhaps his grandmother was right. He’d been without a woman much too long.

  He loved how she looked from the front but didn’t mind the view as she walked away. He followed her, his gaze fixed on the shape of her behind in the shorts that revealed more than they covered. If he didn’t get it together, Jeff knew he was going to embarrass himself. At forty he still had a healthy libido, but he’d learned to control his urges with strenuous physical workouts. There were mornings when he would get up and run the length of the island or do a hundred push-ups. The “once a marine, always a marine” motto carried over to daily physical training and conditioning. At six four he’d managed to keep his weight at 225, and if he went five pounds above what he considered his peak weight, he substituted more fruit, vegetables, and protein for the carbs.

  He’d accused Kara of having a possible eating disorder but seeing so much of her body proved him wrong. She was slender but definitely not skinny. Women he’d found himself attracted to usually were more full figured, yet that hadn’t stopped him from pursuing Kara. He was definitely interested in her and had to admit that bringing her the book was just an excuse to see her again.

  “My grandmother said she loved talking with you this afternoon.”

  Kara stared at him over her shoulder. “All I did was ask questions. She did most of the talking. Please sit down.” She gestured to a chair in the dining nook. “I’m glad I did get a chance to talk to her because she helped me to make up my mind about something.”

  Jeff watched as Kara washed her hands and went through the motions of measuring coffee into an automatic coffeemaker. “What was that?”

  “I’m going to stay.”

  He went still. “What do you mean stay?”

  “I’m going to stay and restore the property.”

  “How long will that take?”

  She filled the carafe with water from the sink and poured it into the well. “I don’t know. I have to call an architect and have them come out and inspect the house and outbuildings. I’ll also have to hire a landscape architect to see if the gardens can be revived.”

  “That’s not going to take three weeks, Kara.”

  Resting a hip against the countertop, she folded her arms under her breasts. “Very funny, Jeff.”

  He smiled, coming to his feet and closing the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off her feet until their faces were level. Not giving her a chance to react, he brushed his mouth over hers in a light kiss. “I’d like to offer you a very special welcome to Cavanaugh Island.”

  Curving her arms around his thick neck, Kara pressed her cheek to his. “Do you welcome everyone like this?”

  “Hell no! Just the pretty women.”

  Jeff didn’t want to believe Kara felt as good as she looked and smelled. He buried his face against the column of her neck, not wanting to let go. But he knew he had to because he was becoming more aroused with each passing second.

  Kara kissed his cheek. “Thank you for the very special welcome.”

  Slowly, deliberately, he let her down until her feet touched the floor. He cleared his throat. “You made this decision without talking with your mother?”

  Her catlike eyes smiled at him. “Yes. The pieces of the puzzle are coming together.”

  “I’m happy for you, Kara.”

  “Thank you.”

  His expression stilled, becoming somber. “You know this news isn’t going to sit too well with your cousins.”

  Kara sobered. “Even if I give them what they want, they still won’t be satisfied. When it comes to greed, you have to ask yourself, when is enough, enough? And the answer is it’s never enough.”

  Cradling her face in his large hands, Jeff kissed the end of her nose when it was her mouth he wanted to kiss and smiled when he heard the soft intake of breath. It was as if he couldn’t stop touching her. “I’m still going to stop by whenever I go on patrol. I’ll tell my deputies to do the same.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” she asked.

  “No, I’m not. After all greed is one of the seven deadly sins.”

  Kara patted his shoulder. “I promise I’ll be careful. Would you mind if we postpone going to the movies tomorrow?”

  “No,” he said when he wanted to say the opposite. “Now that you’re staying we can go anytime.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  “What I understand is that you’re going to be a very busy woman. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

  Easing out of his embrace, Kara stared at the middle of his chest. “I think the coffee is ready.”

  “Aren’t you going to join me?” Jeff ask
ed when he noticed she’d only taken down one cup.

  “I’ll have mine later. I’m not ready to go to bed now.” She set the cup on the table, then opened the refrigerator to get a small container of cream. “There’s sugar on the table if you want it.”

  “No thanks. I usually drink my coffee without sugar.”

  Standing behind him, Kara rested a hand in the middle of his back. He went completely still when he felt the warmth of her palm through his T-shirt. Jeff knew they were playing a dangerous game touching each other, but he didn’t want it to stop.

  “What’s the matter, Sheriff Hamilton? You’re sweet enough?”

  Reaching around his body, he pulled her to stand between his outspread legs. “Oh, sweet thing. Don’t you know you’re my everything?” he sang.

  “Uh-ah, Chaka Khan wannabe.”

  “Don’t knock her, baby. The girl can still blow.”

  “I know that,” Kara admitted. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold. I’m sorry I don’t have any doughnuts in the house. Maybe next time.”

  Jeff gave her a layered look. “Now you’re trying to stereotype me. Not all cops drink coffee and eat doughnuts.”

  “The ones in New York do.”

  “Again, that’s a stereotype. What if I said all social workers are bleeding heart liberals?”

  “It wouldn’t bother me none because I am.”

  Jeff gave her a long look. “Good for you.”

  Her eyebrows lifted a fraction. “You approve?”

  “I approve.” He took her hand. “Come sit with me.” Jeff took longer than he normally would to drink the coffee, taking furtive sips to prolong the time spent with Kara. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said after he’d drained the cup.

  She stood up, took the cup, and placed it in the sink. “I’ll walk you out. I don’t know if your grandmother told you, but she invited me to Sunday dinner.”

  This disclosure shocked Jeff. When he’d returned, his grandmother hadn’t mentioned this to him. “Are you coming?”

  “I told her I would if my mother doesn’t come in before then.”

  “Bring her with you.”

  “That’s what Miss Corrine said.”

  Jeff stopped at the door. “The deputy will probably come by tomorrow, but I’ll definitely see you Sunday afternoon.”

  Going on tiptoe, Kara kissed his cheek. “Thank you for showing me around.”

  “Remember, we still have to see Haven Creek.”

  She nodded as he opened the door, then closed it behind him. Standing on the porch, Jeff waited until he heard the locks click into place. Walking to his car, he didn’t know what to make of Kara. His past experience with women had always been tenuous because of his dedication to the military. Many of them had become Miss Right Now. Pamela Singleton had been the exception. He’d found himself in love with her and proposed marriage; however, she’d ended the engagement once she realized she hadn’t wanted to become an officer’s wife.

  Jeff knew it would be different with Kara. He was now a civilian, and she’d made a commitment to live on the island. He’d thought of her as a distraction—a very welcome distraction that he couldn’t help wanting to be around.

  Other than reuniting with his grandmother, Jeff was glad he’d come home.

  Chapter Six

  Kara woke more tired than she had been when she’d crawled into bed after two in the morning. She spent hours going through Taylor’s financial records. She also found a slip of paper in an envelope marked “computer password.” His password was the month and day of her birth: Kara1219. Once she logged on, Kara lost track of time as she researched design companies specializing in historic restoration. She’d found two based in Charleston. There was also the architectural firm in Haven Creek she planned to contact.

  Her eyes were blurry by the time she’d searched out historic places and landmarks in South Carolina and other Southern states. If she was going to restore Angels Landing, then she wanted to know what it entailed. Kara’s fatigue disappeared when she happened upon the website for Middleton Place on Ashley River Road in between North Charleston and Summerville. Her excitement escalated once she realized there were tours of the house and the landscaped gardens. Transfixed by the colorful photographs of the well-preserved, mid-eighteenth-century house, ideas were swirling around in her head as she printed out the pages. Corrine had mentioned Theodora’s garden, and Kara believed it was a coincidence that she’d purchased a book devoted to designing gardens.

  Jeff and Corrine had answered her questions, yet she still had more. The issue of her paternity would come from her mother, but would anyone tell her why Theodora had elected to leave the house to her bachelor son rather than her children who’d married and had children of their own? Wouldn’t it have been better to hear the footsteps and laughter of her grandchildren in the twenty-room mansion than near or complete silence by a single soul?

  Rising slightly on an elbow, she peered at the clock on the bedside table. It was after eight, time to get up and start the day.

  Fortified with a breakfast of grits, eggs and strips of melt-in-your-mouth Smithfield ham, and a cup of coffee, Kara set off for Haven Creek. She’d left a voice mail message for David, and he’d returned her call. When she explained what she’d found in the safe-deposit box, David revealed he was aware that Taylor had stored cash in the box the same way people either put money under their mattresses or in shoe boxes. He’d reminded her she had power of attorney and that she should close out Taylor’s accounts and reopen them in her name within ten days from the reading of the will.

  Her decision to contact the local architectural firm was predicated on their familiarity with the island. There was no doubt their archives would have plans and photographs of the 160-year-old house and outbuildings. Decelerating to less than ten miles an hour, Kara maneuvered into the parking lot behind the two-story building. Her appointment was for eleven and she was ten minutes early.

  Walking around to the front, she opened the door and stepped into a reception area. Rattan chairs and love seats covered with plush colorful seat and back cushions, a raffia rug, and ceiling fans made her feel as if she’d stepped into a Caribbean bungalow. She gave the receptionist her name, then sat down to wait for Morgan Dane.

  Kara’s head popped up when a woman approached her. Tall, slender, and dressed entirely in black—turtleneck, stretch pants, and high-heeled booties—she’d pulled her braided hair into a ponytail. The large turquoise pendant suspended from a thick silver chain matched the studs in her ears. With her flawless sable-brown skin, delicate features, and thin body, she could’ve been a model.

  “Miss Newell?”

  Kara stood up. “Yes.”

  “I’m Morgan Dane.” Her dark eyes sparkled when she smiled. “I know you were probably expecting a man, but my mama decided to name me after my granddaddy.”

  “Kara.”

  Morgan offered her hand, smiling. “Please call me Morgan. Come with me. We’ll talk in the conference room because workmen are painting my office.”

  They sat at a small round table in a conference room with walls covered with black-and-white photographs of historic buildings and homes. Kara recognized Middleton Place and Drayton Hall.

  “Are you familiar with Angels Landing?”

  “The house or the plantation?” Morgan asked.

  “The entire property. I’ve just inherited the house and—”

  “So you’re the one who has the Pattons going ballistic,” Morgan interrupted.

  Momentarily speechless, Kara thought the woman was mocking her until she saw her smirk. “You’ve heard?”

  “Who hasn’t?” Morgan’s expression and tone changed when she said, “When the receptionist gave me your name, I had no idea who you were. This is not gossip, but you should know that a few of the Pattons have been less than complimentary where it concerns you. Harlan in particular.”

  Kara’s jaw tightened. “What I’m about to propose is going to make them even more up
set. I plan to restore the property, and I’d like an appraisal from your firm. I also want to be candid and let you know I intend to check out two other architectural firms before I make a final decision.”

  Morgan laced her fingers together in her lap. “I appreciate your candor. However, I doubt whether the other firms would be as familiar with the property as I am since I live here. Would they know that the east end of Angels Landing is a cypress swamp? That there is evidence of several winnowing barns? And that seven of the original cabins in the slave village are still intact?

  “I’m certain they could,” Morgan said, answering her own questions, “but it would take them a lot longer to gather all the information than I would because I’ve lived on Cavanaugh all my life. I left to attend the Savannah College of Art and Design, and instead of accepting a position with a very prestigious firm in California, I decided to return home because I wanted to preserve the Gullah culture, and that can only be done if Gullahs take care of what has been passed down for generations.”

  “You sound very passionate about what you do,” Kara said, smiling.

  “I’m as serious as a heart attack. I’m more than aware of developers sniffing around the Landing like bloodhounds chasing an escaped prisoner, and I don’t like it. If one person sells out, then that translates into everyone selling out. All they have to do is wave some paper around, and it’s all she wrote. If you sell off ten acres and the developers put up a hotel or an inn—they prefer the term inn because it sounds warmer and fuzzier than hotel—what do you think is going to happen to the Cove Inn?”

  “It’ll probably lose business.”

  “No, Kara. It won’t lose business. It will go out of business. Once you build an inn, you’ll have to feed your guests. A restaurant will be in direct competition with Jack’s Fish House. And of course they’ll have to have a souvenir shop. That would put folks here on Haven Creek in direct competition with what they’re selling in their shops.”

  Kara stared at Morgan, complete surprise freezing her features. She’d sought out the architectural design firm to get an idea of what it would cost to restore her property, not to get a history lesson or listen to a rant defaming developers. First it was David, then Jeff, and now Morgan.