While the innkeeper had every right to ignore his request, Greg hoped she would do the right thing and agree to cease and desist or attribute some other fake ghost to be the one doing the so-called haunting. Greg didn’t have a legal leg to stand on, though. The dead couldn’t be defamed, libeled, or slandered, after all. Still, he intended to appeal to the woman’s sense of decency. If that didn’t work, he’d resort to publicly debunking her preposterous claims.
He’d also come here to prove Gram’s outrageous but intriguing claim in several journal entries that the outlaw Jesse James lived well past his infamous 1882 murder and returned to this house—or at least the community of Samuels—long after the last known sighting of him recorded in local history books.
He’d been a history buff since, well, since Gram had instilled a love of the past into him during those five summers together. She’d talked about Jesse James as if she knew him personally, but he’d chalked it up to her play-acting and a wild imagination.
“Daddy, let me out!” Derek banged on the window, and Greg opened the rear door. In seconds, Derek had unbuckled his seatbelt, scampered from the booster seat, and scooted out the door. “Let’s go play!”
Greg sighed. He’d have his work cut out for him on several fronts and only ten or eleven days to do it. But he wasn’t one to give up or back down easily. He’d uncover the truth on both counts—and enjoy this vacation with his son as well.
* * *
Tillie pinned her fob watch to the bodice of the old-fashioned dress and hurried downstairs to await her guests. She’d had to skimp on some of the vintage undergarments in her haste, but had the basics covered. When no knock came to the door, she peeked outside the window to see the man staring up at her bedroom.
Her heart beat like a jackhammer. What a gorgeous man. She reminded herself to breathe. His neatly trimmed, medium brown hair offset a classically handsome face, which boasted a strong chin and jaw line, with a thin, straight nose. But those eyes! They pierced through to her very soul.
Why did they seem so familiar?
Oh, come on, Matilda. He’s looking at the house, not you.
Her late mother’s voice yanked her back to reality. The man no doubt had a wife at home, although it seemed odd that she wasn’t here with him and his son.
None of my business.
But it was her business to greet her guests. What had come over her? She entertained guests of the opposite sex often. Well, usually accompanied by wives or girlfriends—sometimes even male partners. Perhaps Mr. Buchanan was gay.
Just my luck.
As if she had a chance with someone as handsome and sophisticated as Greg Buchanan. Of course, she usually put the brakes on a relationship before it went beyond seeing a play together or having a nice supper somewhere she’d rather not dine alone.
When he let his son out of the SUV, she decided it might be best if she greeted them outside. Brushing non-existent wrinkles from her dress, she stood up straighter. Taking a deep breath and plastering a smile on her face, she opened the door.
She wasn’t prepared for the intensely fierce gaze he shot in her direction before quickly masking it. Or had she imagined it? Why on earth would he be angry at her? They’d never even met.
If he didn’t have his son along with him, she might have been inclined to refuse to provide him a room.
Coming down the two steps onto the cobblestone walkway, she closed the gap between them, extending her hand. “You must be Mr. Buchanan. I’m Tillie Hamilton, the owner of Jesse’s Hideout B&B. Welcome to my home.”
His handshake was firm, but not bone crushing like some men used to intimidate women and weaker males. As she suspected, his eyes did a number on her insides.
“Call me Greg.”
“Greg, it is.”
A tug to the skirt of her dress brought her attention to the boy beside her. “Can I go down your slide?”
“Um, why, of course!” Thank goodness he couldn’t be injured on any shards of glass if he strayed from the playground.
Tillie hunkered down in front of Derek to offer her hand. He stretched out his tiny one with a shy grin. “Hi, I’m Tillie.” After shaking hands, she raised hers, palm outward to him. “High five.” He smacked her hard, and both laughed. “Fist bump,” she prompted next, which made the boy giggle.
“Hi, Tillie. I can spell my name. D-e-r-e-k.”
“She’s Miss Tillie or ma’am to you, Derek.”
“Oh, please. Let’s not be so formal.” The man’s height was even more intimidating from down here, so she stood. He gave her dress the once-over, and she realized her appearance was indeed quite formal.
“His mother and I are teaching him the importance of respect, so if you don’t mind, I’d prefer he address you as Miss Tillie.”
She shrugged and smiled, happy to hear he wasn’t gay but envying his wife.
What made him such a stuffy man for someone so young? He seemed to be about mid-thirties. Definitely no older than forty. She detected no gray in his hair, anyway, and he had a young face.
Her focus returned to his son. She had no desire to undermine his parenting responsibilities. “We’re going to have great fun while you’re here, Derek.”
For the next ten days, she intended to treat them as if they were her own family.
* * *
The woman’s auburn hair caught his eye first—long, curly, and gathered into a half ponytail while the remainder tumbled loose over her shoulders. Her friendly, guileless smile almost took the steam out of his temper. How could such a pleasant woman be perpetrating a hoax on the public?
Before allowing her to work her way under his skin with her beauty and charm, Greg leaned his hip against the side panel of the SUV and crossed his arms.
Tillie was much younger than he’d expected given her name. She didn’t appear to be thirty. To run a successful business like this, he’d expected someone more mature.
Her name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place her. Those sparkling emerald-green eyes would be impossible to forget. Tillie’s accent was milder, too, than he’d expected. Had she lived here in Kentucky her whole life? Or were some areas less prone to a southern twang than others? The woman was a mass of contradictions.
She cocked her head. “Have we met before?”
Her question had him wondering the same thing again. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Hmm. You’re familiar to me for some reason.” She shrugged.
“Weren’t you raking leaves on the other side of the house when I drove up?”
“Yes, I was.” A blush crept into her cheeks. Charming. His gaze swept over her full-skirted dress and low-heeled pumps. “That was some quick change.” Did her past include a stint as an actress in the theater?
She laughed. “I was running behind.” As if embarrassed, she changed the subject and pointed to the cargo area. “May I carry in one of your bags?”
Greg pointed at Derek. “I’ll take care of the luggage if you help me corral my son before he makes a beeline to that slide without us.”
“By all means. This house is rather compartmentalized inside. It once was used as a traveler’s rest. Your room is on the other side, so it might be easiest to come through the front entrance and up the stairway rather than wind your way through the house. Follow me.” She took Derek’s hand. “Come with me, honey.”
Greg wouldn’t admit he knew exactly where his room would be, not ready to reveal his identity yet, so he scrambled to retrieve their two bags from the cargo area. Derek’s small, colorful one sported a sunglass-wearing Mickey Mouse. Greg’s was large and basic black.
“I can do mine!” Derek broke free of Tillie and took the handle only to drag it on the wrong side.
“Here, son, remember Mickey needs to be facing up.” Greg quickly flipped it over, and Derek rejoined Tillie, who led them around to the front of the house on the brick walkway. Derek struggled with his bag, but Greg had learned he liked doing things himself so let him take his time to
navigate the bumps in the path.
Greg couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked, the gentle sway of her hips mesmerizing him. When she stopped and started to turn his way, he quickly shifted his gaze to the front entrance.
Thoughts of Tillie vacated his mind as, once more, the house called him back to those earlier visits. The prisms in the fanlight would cast enchanting rainbows on the foyer floor on sunny afternoons like this one. Perhaps they’d see them even now.
Tillie pushed open the wooden door and indicated for them to precede her. He imagined countless guests must have entered the home this way over the past one hundred seventy-five or so years. A sense of history overcame him. He couldn’t wait to tour the house to see how she’d changed it from what he remembered.
Realizing she waited for them, he lifted both suitcases up the steps and into the foyer. Inside, the past slammed into him like a battering ram to the chest. Visceral images superimposed over a hallway that hadn’t changed one iota in the almost twenty-five years he’d been away.
He set down their bags inside. The wide central hallway was much shorter than he remembered. Its bare plank floorboards hadn’t been painted over, though, maintaining the checkerboard pattern he remembered. He had to respect Tillie for keeping the character of the original house.
“Rainbows in the house?” Derek tried to capture one of the prism reflections only to squeal with delight when the rainbow temporarily tattooed itself on his hand. Greg smiled at his son. They’d had pretty much the same effect on him as a boy.
“Follow me.” She led them up the stairway and into what would be the master bedroom if this were a single-family home. While he’d been inside this room before, his memories had faded. The covered canopy bed, velvet-covered chaise, and fireplace fought to dominate the room.
“The bathroom is en suite and through there.” She pointed to a door across the room. That room had been added after he’d last been here, because there had only been one bathroom when Gram lived here, off the kitchen. Well, that and the outdoor privy, which he had to admit had fascinated a city boy like him. “Derek, that will be your closest bathroom, too. Your room is right through here,” she said, guiding them into the hallway again and to the small room at the front of the house. “You’ll be right next to your dad.”
His grandmother had used the adjoining room as her sitting room, but past owners with children probably had used it as a nursery.
She must have noticed Derek’s lack of enthusiasm about sleeping alone in a strange room.
“Feel free to keep the doors open between the two rooms. Your rooms are the only ones on this side of the house, and you’re my only guests during your stay.”
“Can we keep them open, Daddy?” No doubt being in a strange house would make him a little nervous to be disconnected from Greg at night.
“Of course.”
She met Greg’s gaze. “And if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable, don’t hesitate to call. I’m rarely farther away than the kitchen.”
“Oh,” she said, pointing to the two rooms, “there are skeleton keys in each of the doors. You can lock up whenever you leave, if you’d like, but there’s no real need. Now, I’ll get out of your way so you can settle in.” She started for the stairway before turning back. “I almost forgot. Supper will be about six. Feel free to make yourself at home up here, in the parlor, or any of the common areas.”
“I wanna go outside, Daddy!” The boy jumped up and down, tugging on Greg’s sleeve.
Greg chuckled. Maybe having Derek to himself without Nancy to call on to bail him out would help him build a stronger bond with his son.
Tillie’s face became strained. “Yes. Of course.” Why had she hesitated? “The playground is yours to enjoy, too. I built it five years ago and have added new equipment or features to it every year.”
She’s obviously proud of the equipment, so why do I get the feeling she’s not thrilled that we want to use it? Or did she not want them to go outside? Before he could figure out what the problem was, Tillie stopped mid-step on her way to the stairs and faced him, her smile firmly in place again. “Oh, I’m baking cookies for dessert tonight. I hope you both like chocolate chip.”
Greg’s favorite had been oatmeal-raisin ever since Gram had made hers for him. Not that he’d ever found any since that came close to those. But Derek loved cookies of any kind.
“Who doesn’t?” Greg responded. “Thanks.”
Her smile lit her face even more, if that were possible. “Great. And I’m happy to work out menus to suit your preferences for any meals you’d like to have here.”
When he’d booked the rooms, he’d asked to have dinners here, too, providing him with more opportunities to figure out her game. As a bonus, having a home base for two meals of the day would give Derek a routine to help things run more smoothly during this time away from his mother.
The boy would be in bed by nine o’clock, even though their days would be filled with a number of excursions, including paying his respects at his grandmother’s grave. Long overdue.
“Sounds good. I should warn you Derek would survive on fast food if given his choice—pancakes, hot dogs, and chicken nuggets mainly.”
Tillie laughed, a sound that came from deep in her chest. Before his attention could stray in her direction, she tossed her parting words over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve charmed more than a few boys into falling for my goodies.”
I’ll bet you have.
This time she continued on her way, and he watched her go down the stairs until he could no longer see her. Mentally, he shook his head clear of the spell either Tillie or the house—or both—had cast on him. He smiled at his son. “Sure. Let’s unpack real fast so you’ll have time to run around the yard a while before dinner.”
Twenty minutes later, Derek bounced up and down as he started toward the stairs. This was the happiest he’d seen him since they’d left his mother’s yesterday morning.
“Hold on to the banister!” he called before joining him on the staircase.
“Hi, again!” Tillie greeting them as they stepped off the stairs. She came from the doorway to the L wing of the first floor where the kitchen and dining room were located. She wore an apron over her elegant dress and wiped her hands on a dishtowel as she walked toward them.
At the foot of the stairs, she hunkered down. “How do chicken strips sound, Derek?”
“Yea! With fries?”
“Of course!”
Obviously, she knew how to charm little boys.
Well, don’t expect to charm me, Tillie Hamilton.
Rising, she addressed Greg. “Oh, the parlor is through this door.” She pointed out the only door he could see—across from the stairs. “Unlike the typical L-shaped Federal home, there’s no way to go directly from the front hallway into my office on the other side of this wall.” That had been his grandfather’s office. “The prior owner told me that had to do with the fact that the house had originally been built as a stagecoach inn so the Samuels family wanted to maintain private living quarters as well. They could easily lock off their bedrooms and parlor from where the overnight strangers were staying.”
He’d seen many Federal-style homes before—even renovated some—but had never seen any with as unique a floor plan as the one in this house.
“Consider it your living room during your stay. I’m happy to serve you coffee, tea, milk, and snacks in the afternoons or whenever you’d like provided I have a little notice. I’ll also leave snacks and fresh fruit on the table in the dining room through there.” She pointed to the doorway through which she’d entered.
“Thank you, but we’ll probably be off sightseeing most afternoons. I have a long list of places to take Derek.”
“If you need any recommendations, let me know. On the end table in the parlor is a wicker basket filled with brochures on local attractions, too.”
The house had been a maze of rooms as a kid. He smiled, remembering how he�
�d gotten lost in the rooms of this house in the past, sometimes on purpose. Gram encouraged him to explore, though. She often told him he’d one day live here, but that hadn’t come to pass thanks to—
Wait a minute. Tillie Hamilton. It wasn’t her face that was so familiar, but her name. Matilda Hamilton was the “dear friend” who inherited this house from Gram. Tillie. All he’d remembered from seeing the attorney’s letter nearly fifteen years ago was the name Matilda. He’d definitely pictured someone close to his grandmother’s age.
Had she been hired to take care of his grandmother on her deathbed? Did Tillie charm Gram out of her house?
He intended to find out before he left here.
Chapter Two
Who is that man?
Tillie couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d met before, although he’d never been a guest here in the years she’d operated her bed and breakfast. She didn’t know anyone from Minnesota, did she? What was it about his gray eyes that seemed so familiar?
The air had practically vibrated between them. Perhaps his classic handsomeness addled her brain. Most of her guests were older, but Greg Buchanan was in his prime. As if a sophisticated city man would be interested in a country homebody like Tillie.
She re-entered the kitchen to drop more chocolate-chip cookies on the baking sheet, trying to put that nagging thought out of her mind. With the three of them taking two meals a day here during their stay, no doubt she’d come to know them better and perhaps even pinpoint where they’d met, if indeed they had.
Looking down, Tillie noticed the tattered recipe card that must have shown up on the counter while she was showing her guests to their rooms. Oatmeal-raisin cookies! Finally!
“Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Foster!” These cookies had always been her favorites. Why had the dear woman taken so long to share it with her? Actually, she hadn’t dropped a new recipe onto Tillie’s kitchen counter in quite a while.
Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1) Page 3