“But you did.” They had that in common.
She nodded. “I couldn’t forget this place. I spent lots of off-duty hours climbing around here, taking measurements and pictures, then I’d go back and sketch renovations or get bids. Even when I left Austin and went to work at the Atlantic City property, I’d worry about whether or not someone else would buy this place out from under me. Then when the company—” Her eyes darkened, and she seemed to shrink a little. “When I left the company, I knew it was time to put my dream into action. I’ve sunk every penny I have into this, along with a dear friend’s investment and now…” But she didn’t finish.
He wanted to prompt her to continue, but he’d learned enough about Queenie to understand that she’d clam up completely when pressed. At least the shape of her problem was more defined. She had to make this work, not only for herself but for someone she cared about.
Abruptly the vulnerable woman gave way to the executive. “Anyway, doesn’t matter. A few years from now, Hotel Serenity will be legendary, and those who didn’t believe in me will choke on their…” Abruptly she turned from him. “Never mind that.” Faint color stained her cheeks as if she regretted even the smallest of confidences. A bright smile replaced it, the gracious hostess firmly in place. “So you walk in—”
“Let’s start at the front gate,” he suggested. “The walk up here looks amazing.”
The hostess smile was replaced by a real one. “It does, doesn’t it? Even when the vines were swallowing up the porch, the possibilities seemed so obvious to me. I knew there was a sanctuary waiting underneath it all.” For once, her gaze on him was warm. She led the way to the front gate. “To keep the feeling of refuge for people who treasure privacy, there will be an electric gate off the driveway that leads to the parking lot. So guests will actually enter from here.” She led the way to a side gate. “These vines will be allowed to take over the fence to a degree. That way, anyone driving by will catch small glimpses of the roof, but that’s all. My guests will have a sense of being tucked away in a secret garden, a place to escape the world. Time out of time is what I’m after… A private universe in which they’re comfortable and safe.”
He could picture it, and he wondered at the life that had led her to create such a space she would then have to share with others. If it were his, he’d keep everything to himself.
What was it within Sophie that needed peace? She was fierce in her determination to create that haven for others, but Cade sensed she sought her own sanctuary. But from what?
He put a hand on her arm. She started to speak, but he shook his head. Closed his eyes. “Listen.” A faint hum that he knew to be traffic was layered over with birdsong and the rustling of squirrels in the trees overhead.
But mostly there was stillness. Peace.
“I was in a monastery in Tibet once,” he said before opening his eyes and looking at her. “I stayed there an extra day because there was a cloistered garden… It felt like this. As though your heart beat a little slower. Like each breath went a little deeper.”
Her beautiful green eyes were wet. “Exactly. Thank you.”
Then the rumble of a pickup at the driveway broke into the moment.
“The crew is here. I really should go.”
“Is it okay if I wander through on my own?”
She appeared torn. “I’d like to show you myself, but…” Her gaze shifted to the workers spilling out of the truck.
“Go talk to them, then, and I’ll wait.”
With a grateful smile she hurried away.
SOPHIE WAS STILL PONDERING his remarks as she rushed back from assigning the crew’s tasks for the day.
He got it, the spirit she was working to capture here. Perhaps that shouldn’t surprise her—his photography clearly demonstrated that Cade MacAllister saw far beneath the surface to what lay beyond the physical beauty of the places he’d been.
But it was the emotions he’d understood that had truly shocked her.... She’d assumed that someone who by his own admission didn’t like dealing with people would be tone-deaf to emotional nuances he didn’t want to feel.
Want to feel…that was key. Just because he preferred not to spend a lot of time with his fellow human beings was not an automatic sign that he lacked the ability to relate to them.
She’d have to think about that. Not that she could afford to get that involved examining Cade’s psyche, but having him understand what she was trying to accomplish mattered if there was the slightest chance they could come to an agreement to allow his art to be displayed here…and oh, how she couldn’t help getting her hopes up that they could. At first she’d only thought of the marketing boon, but knowing that he could see, really see into the heart of what she was trying to create here made her want desperately for his photos to complete the ambience she was dead set on realizing.
Cade would be the cherry on the sundae—not him, she hastened to correct herself—his photos. The last thing she could afford was to get distracted by him.
Just then she opened the front screen door and caught sight of him standing in her entryway, tall and male and deliciously rugged.
She bit her lip and thought she could still taste him. Not the cherry, no.
Cade MacAllister was the whole yummy sundae.
“Hey,” he greeted, spotting her.
“Hey.” She nodded back, suddenly self-conscious. Get a grip, girl. She gathered her wits to give the most crucial tour of her life.
CADE LOOKED AROUND AS she gestured to a space adjacent to the stairs. “Okay, I’ll have a library table here which will serve as a greeting point for guests when they first arrive. There will be a basket waiting for each one, filled with a selection of local delicacies tailored to the individual guest’s tastes. Hand-dipped chocolates, local wine, beautiful fruits in summer, home-canned preserves and breads in winter…” Sophie warmed to her task as she led him first to the left of the wide staircase. “In here is the library, cozy chairs, a wide selection of books including local authors, good reading lamps.”
“You were right, the woodwork is beautiful. I wish Diego and Jesse could see this.” He walked into the center. “If I didn’t have work clothes on, I’d try out the chairs.”
“Go ahead. This will not be a fussy place.”
He sank into one and laid his head on the cushioned back. “This is great.” He scanned the shelves for titles. “Some good books, too.”
“You like to read?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. My folks raised us all to love books. I always have one in my backpack when I’m on a shoot.”
“What are you reading right now?”
He couldn’t decide if that was simple interest or a challenge. “A Confederacy of Dunces, one of my favorites.”
She looked shocked. “Seriously?”
“Why? What do you think I should be reading?”
She flushed. “I don’t know, just… I’m sorry. Reading tastes are very personal.”
“So what are you reading right now?”
Her shoulders sagged. “Nothing. And it’s about to kill me. I adore books and generally am in the process of reading one at all times, but right now…”
“Tell me one favorite, so we can be even.” When she hesitated, he cocked an eyebrow. “Only fair, Queenie. I showed you mine, you show me yours.”
“Jerk. So do I try to impress you by telling you I love Thomas Hardy or admit that I’m a sucker for a beach read?”
“Which is the truth?”
“Both.”
“Good. Makes you more interesting. A well-rounded woman.” His gaze scanned her. Lingered.
“O-okay!” she said brightly and swiveled, escaping across the entry. “In here will be groupings of sofas and comfy chairs for conversations or simply watching the firepla
ce. Plus more lamps for reading.” She took him through the dining area and explained the ingenious tall windows that opened onto the porch, talked about the slate pathway she wanted to have to lead to the pergola.
They entered the kitchen. “I like this room best,” he said.
“The kitchen? Why? Do you cook?”
“I can—our mom insisted we all learn—but I rarely do, unless you count the occasional fish over a campfire or such.” He glanced down at her, his lips curving. “But that’s not why this room’s my favorite. At least for now. Once I kiss you somewhere else that might change.”
She battled a smile and won. “Very funny.” She did an about-face, but he would swear that as soon as her back was turned to him, she let the smile free.
“Through here is the pantry.”
He whistled in appreciation. “This is as big as my mom’s. Except hers is always full of stuff she’s canned, along with enough food to feed an army just in case she has guests, which she does half the time.”
“I’m hoping to have a garden so that we can do the same one day.”
“You a gardener, Queenie?”
“No, not at all. I’ve lived in hotels or apartments for too long, but I’ve been studying. I like learning new things, and a garden makes sense, don’t you agree?”
“Making sense is important to you, isn’t it?”
A line appeared between her brows. “We need to pick up the pace.” She all but raced ahead. “Here are the service stairs so the staff can access rooms more quietly and without disturbing anyone in the common areas. They also lead to the attic room I’m using for now.”
“How much service? Isn’t this more like a bed-and-breakfast?”
“No. I want the homey, comfortable feel of a B and B, but the guests will be treated to five-star service. For at least the first year, I’ll live onsite and will have day help, plus I’ve hired a gifted chef who will prepare individual meals upon request. This will be first-class all the way. Casual doesn’t mean sloppy or second-rate. At the prices they’ll be paying, they’ll expect that.” She paused to demonstrate a state-of-the-art communications system plus wiring for routers, modem and satellite dish.
She mounted the stairs then halted. “Sorry, I didn’t think to ask if you could climb stairs.”
He scowled. “You just worry about yourself, Queenie. I know my limits.”
She frowned right back. On the second floor, she guided him through a series of rooms, each one generous and with its own bath. “It wasn’t easy to get steam showers in each room and whirlpool tubs in half of them without destroying the beauty of the spaces. It’s a good thing historical designation restricts only the outer appearance. I want to honor the heritage of the place without sacrificing comfort.”
“You’ve already got furniture in these,” he observed. “Who’s your decorator?”
“I am.” She trailed a finger over the top of the gleaming Mission bureau she’d discussed with Maura. “Some of these pieces I’ve been collecting for years.”
“You’ve had this place planned all that time?”
“No. Oh, I knew I wanted my own property one day, but I kept getting promotions, so for the last few years I had assumed it would be in a management capacity, maybe with a piece of ownership or a franchise or something. Nothing like this. But everything changed the second I saw this house. All the furniture refinishing I’ve done over the years has certainly paid off, even if I’ve paid a bundle in storage.” She frowned. “I’d sure like to have those fees back right now.”
“Refinishing?” He glanced around. “You did these?”
“Most of them. I like taking something that seems hopeless and making it shine again.”
“Pretty impressive.” He’d been raised to respect anyone willing to work with their hands.
“But I’m running out of time, and I have half a dozen more pieces to finish. I’d always planned to complete it all myself, but I hadn’t counted on becoming a jack-of-all-trades at the same time.”
“So when are you doing the refinishing? At night,” he decided without waiting for her answer. “That’s why the dark circles. Surely you know that’s not smart. Send them out. Let someone else do the rest.”
“Absolutely not. They’re mine. When this place is finished, it will sparkle, and I’ll know, even if no one else does, that I had a hand in every room.”
“Not if you wind up in the hospital.”
“I won’t,” she snapped. “And if you insist on badgering me, we’re done with the tour.”
“Fine,” he said curtly.
She sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s only that…”
“You’re exhausted,” he finished for her. “What would you say if one of your employees was working all day and halfway through the night?”
“I’d probably send him home to bed.”
He waited.
“Look, I’d knock off early if I could, but I have so much to do and there’s no more time. You don’t understand.” But her posture spoke for her. She was worn-out.
“I thought you wanted to hang my work.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“If that’s what it takes. Sit down while you talk to me. Give me more details about what you’re after.”
With obvious reluctance, she settled into a chaise. To keep her there, he leaned against the door jamb.
She stared at the ceiling. “Picture windows. That’s what I’m after. Abstract images are too easy to ignore, and paintings still make you think you’re separate…what I’m after is to heighten the fantasy each suite represents by taking guests that one step further into another universe. I want photographs, but not ordinary ones. I want them to tease the eye, to cause a second look and in the end to resist categorization.” Her lids seemed heavy, and she fell silent. For a moment he thought she’d gone to sleep, which would be the best thing for her, but then in a dreamy voice she continued.
“I want to make the viewer feel as though he landed on another planet or into an alternate universe…sort of the way you do when you’re traveling and you stumble upon a fabulous spot that’s not in your guidebook and is all the more extraordinary for it.” Her gaze fastened on his. “You’d know that feeling.”
He nodded. He’d been in some amazing locations…a tiny Buddhist temple in the jungles of Thailand, a Mayan altar at the edge of a ravine in the rain forest, places so private only a few outsiders had ever laid eyes on them. And he might never again.
“I want to give people an oasis in the midst of a city, a chance to escape for an hour or a day or weeks from all that’s pressing in on them, like reading a good book can take you away or listening to music or meditation…” Her voice slowed. “A rest for the soul and the imagination. A place to be comforted and soothed and pampered but one step more—a place to see possibilities. A place to dream, that’s what I’m after....” She grew quiet again, her body relaxing.
“Close your eyes. Describe your dream image.” He kept his voice gentle and low.
Another long pause. “The edge of nighttime. The possibility of magic you feel just as day gives way and the sounds shift and slow....”
Cade watched as she slipped into slumber, as her breathing slowed and her body relaxed. He kept watching for longer than she would probably be happy about, uneasily aware that he was cataloguing her features.
And liking too much what he saw.
Slowly, with care for squeaky old wood floors, he made his way downstairs and outside to see what he could about buying her time for a much-needed nap.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CADE AND THE WORKMEN had quickly come to an arrangement, facilitated by his mastery of Spanish—an inevitable consequence of growing up with his Latino half brothers Diego and Jesse Montalvo. His mother, Gra
ce, had been widowed before she met Cade’s dad, Hal, and Cade and his siblings had been embraced by the Montalvo family.
Not that Spanish was his only language; he had a passing knowledge of a few more. He didn’t like leaving himself in the hands of a translator if at all possible. Talking to people, even if no one in his family believed he knew how, was the best way to find the hidden gems. Sharing meals over campfires or in crude huts…you had to meet people on their home turf, not barge in as though you were superior. Locals knew the magic places they would never share with strangers, especially not Americans who wouldn’t try to meet them halfway.
There was so much variety, so much wonder in the world. As Sophie had noted, there was magic in seeing the different.
A tiny prickle at the back of his neck had Cade freezing in place, caught by hope.
He knew that feeling. Oh, God, he missed it. He remained still, praying for the return of the signal, the fire that had formed his life.
After an endless span, he had to accept that it was gone, and he mourned it afresh. Please. He’d never begged in his life, but he was begging now. Please let me feel it again. The thought of living the rest of his days without that inner eye scared him as no risky climb, no jungle menace ever had. That razor-sharp awareness of a dimension beyond the ordinary…it had been his life. If he never felt it again…
What was the point of a life in which he was blind like most people? Rooted in place?
Cade’s fists clenched on the lopping shears he was using. He wanted out of this dark hole he was in, and he wanted out now.
SOPHIE STIRRED AND STRETCHED. She’d been having the most amazing dream. Cade was with her and…
Cade. Her eyes flew open. She sat up so quickly she got dizzy. She’d fallen asleep in the middle of—where was he? She glanced at the watch on her wrist and stifled a shriek of horror. Three hours had passed.
Three. In that amount of time, she could have… Oh, no! The paint store was closed now, and she needed more stain for the side table she was refinishing.
A Texas Chance Page 8