Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  With a smile, Casey flipped the lock and sauntered in to sit down on one of the chairs in front of his desk. She admired the bank of windows behind him, looking out across the St. Louis skyline. “I knew sooner or later she’d have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Well, I’m very busy, and I don’t have time for you. So, the answer is no. You can leave now,” he growled.

  “I want to know why, and then I’ll leave,” Casey stated, opening her briefcase to pull out a large file. “Griffin McBride,” she popped the file on his desk, “why, after the wonderful care we gave your grandfather for those many years, would you decide we needed to be shut down?” She sat back, crossed her legs, and waited for his reaction.

  Griffin heaved a heavy sigh and put down his paperwork, reaching for the file. He interlaced his fingers on top of it. “You know?”

  She straightened. “Of course, I know! I’m not an idiot. This is personal for you, but I want to know why!”

  “This is a business decision. When I went to see my grandfather that last time—”

  Casey interrupted, “The only time.”

  “That was not my choice; that was his,” he snapped sternly. A moment later, he shook his head and conceded, “I’m sorry. My grandfather did not inform me of his location. We had been estranged—again, not by my doing—for several years. When I finally tracked him down…well, you know the rest.”

  Casey noted the pain in his voice as he stared out the window. “We took very good care of him. He became a close friend to all of us. Mr. Clayton was one of a kind,” she said. “The stories he told us…” She paused and sighed heavily. “If you don’t believe me, it’s all there in his file.”

  “I know you did,” he stated, still not sparing her even a brief glance. “However, as I said, it’s a business decision. When I was there, I noticed the mansion. It stood in a state of disrepair, looking out over the Mississippi River. The land could also use a lot of tending. You know, it could be the crown jewel again, just like it was back in the day. You don’t have the money to do it, Casey. I admire your initiative, but it would be best if you sold it to me. I’ll take care of it and bring it back to its former glory.” He swiveled around to meet her gaze.

  “This has nothing to do with a business decision on my part,” she snapped. “I know you understand because Mona was in the doorway when your grandfather was dying. I am fully aware that you have the ability to care deeply about family…about legacy. This is my legacy, my family. We are distantly related to the Cruikshanks, and it’s been in my family since its inception. How could I sell it to someone who wasn’t family?”

  He sighed again. “I get it. I really do, but you can’t not sell it. You can’t restore it, and you can’t keep going with the way it is. Are you simply going to let it fall down around you?”

  She stood, tears beginning to fall, and placed her hands on the desk. “I can’t do anything with it because you have blocked me at every move—the zoning commission, the bank. We’ve done our business there for over one hundred years.” She leaned over the desk, moving her face closer to his. “I want to know WHY!” she cried. Stepping back, she put her hands on her face, attempting to gather some of her control.

  Before she knew it, strong arms were wrapping around her, holding her, and awkwardly patting her back. Griffin pushed a handkerchief into her hand, and she accepted it with a small thank you.

  Casey wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and then started to hand it back to him, pulling back at the last second when she realized her error. Peeking up at him, she murmured, “I’ll have it cleaned and sent back to you.”

  He released her when she stepped away from him and sat in the leather chair next to her after she had dropped into her seat. “There’s something I think you do need to hear,” he told her. “You’re right, it is personal. Just as you have the legacy of the house and the land, I have an heirloom from my grandfather.” He cleared his throat. “My grandfather and I were the best of buddies during my childhood. When I was old enough to go on adventures with him,” he smiled slightly, “he would take me to garage sales or visit friends who had hordes of things in their yards. People would actually come to him and say, ‘Hey, I’d like to find this or that,’ and he would find it. Even movie companies came to him for some of their props. We would go on our little trips, and I loved it. I loved him. I still do.”

  “But when I was twelve, my mother ran off with my father’s business partner. They stole the money from the business, leaving it in shambles, abandoning my father and me. My father hated her and her whole family from that point on. He never truly got over it. We moved to Scotland, where he had family. He started a development company, and I followed in his footsteps. I wrote to my grandfather every chance I got but never heard back. It was as if I’d lost both him and my mother at the same time.”

  “When my father passed away, I found the letters I had written. They had never been mailed. My governess had taken them and simply given them back to my father. That was when I realized my grandfather hadn’t given up on me. I immediately began trying to find him.”

  Casey covered his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry, Mr. McBride.”

  “I found him, in the nick of time, but I found him. I don’t know whether it was the pain meds or the impending death, but he wanted to go on another adventure.” He turned to look at her. “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”

  “It was my honor to do so. I understand what you mean about adventures. Going down in that rickety old elevator from his room, he always declared we were on an adventure.” She smiled at the memory. “He had a beautiful soul,” she said.

  “Casey, did he ever talk to you about Mark Twain or anything like that?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her eyes lit up. “He said that you and he had gone on many adventures. He liked to read to you about Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn and that you had even found a letter from Samuel Clemens himself.”

  “Yes.” Griffin sat up, removing his hand from hers. “Did he, by chance, mention if he still had the letter?”

  Casey looked at him with a perplexed expression, the frown drawing her eyebrows a little closer together. “He said he had given it to you. Did you lose it?”

  “He didn’t give it to me. It’s gone. I think it’s somewhere in your home, Casey.”

  “You think he hid it in my house? Why?”

  “The letter talked about his friend John Cruikshanks and how happy he was to be addressing the community of Hannibal as a famous writer instead of a simple wanderer of the world.”

  “Mark Twain did visit my ancestor once, but to have it verified would be phenomenal!” She bounced on the chair. “I mean that would be real proof that my home should be listed on the historical registry.”

  Grabbing the folder, she opened it up. “There are tons of papers in here. I didn’t look through all of them, only the ones to prove we took good care of him. Mona saved all the notes he wrote to her, even scribbled special requests.”

  She began flipping through the papers frantically, but he dropped his hand onto the folder, closing it. “If you find the letter, what are you going to do with it?” he asked.

  Casey stared at him, totally baffled. “I’d give it to you, of course. I mean, I’d hope you would at least help me prove to the Historical Society that the mansion is of historical significance so I can get funding.” Suddenly, she remembered the reason for her visit and clutched the folder to her bosom. “Would you use it to take away my home?” It would be very easy to do. If he had the paper, plus his funding, he could convince the Historical Society to let him restore it the way it used to be and even add the golf course.

  The moment stretched on, and Casey dropped her gaze to her lap. “I see. Well, I guess that means I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

  “Casey, I could restore it to its former glory.”

  “For what?” she snapped. “So you could say you found it, that you did it? So that it could stay some cold, old mansion that doesn’
t have any life or love within its walls? Everything would go through a team of contractors. You wouldn’t be personally involved like me. It wouldn’t have a soul. If that’s what you think your grandfather wanted you to do with that letter and my home, then you’re wrong. You didn’t know him at all.” She stood and backed away.

  Griffin motioned to the folder. “That belonged to my grandfather; therefore, it belongs to me.”

  She threw it at him, the paper scattering across the floor. “Take it then, but don’t expect to gain access to my home.” Lifting her head proudly, she marched to the door. “I’d wish you good luck in your search, Mr. McBride, but I wouldn’t mean it. I’d rather you to go to hell.” She closed the door quietly and rushed to the elevator to make her escape into the sunny outdoors.

  Chapter 4

  Casey

  A month passed with Casey scrambling to find a way to save her home. During that time, her last hospice patient passed away quietly in her sleep. Without family or friends around her, it was up to Casey and Mona to make sure her last wishes were fulfilled. After that, the women cleaned the room and deposited her meager belongings into a plastic tub. There, they would remain with the rest of those forgotten souls until Casey could either conjure a miracle or be forced to sell the home to Griffin.

  Casey came down the massive staircase to find the object of her thoughts waiting at the bottom. He was standing there pristine in his fancy suit, and she felt like one of the dust bunnies she had dragged out from under the bed. “I really don’t have time, Mr. McBride. We lost our last client this week, and we have a lot of paperwork to go through.” She moved onto the last step with her head held high and attempted to brush past him, but he grasped her arm gently.

  “You look exhausted,” he said.

  “Thank you. A girl always likes a compliment,” she sneered sarcastically, yanking her arm free.

  He ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t mean…” Griffin sighed heavily. “I saw you attending the services at the cemetery. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  Casey glared at him with disdain. “I’m hurting, that’s how I’m doing. It’s always tough to lose one of our clients, but no one cheats death. If you’ve come to make an offer, my home is still not for sale.”

  Her eyes scanned the space, studying her house and trying to see it through his eyes. The grand staircase was bigger than most large living rooms. A gigantic landing above that, which was made for dancing, divided two smaller staircases that went up to the next level where the orchestra would play. She could imagine Samuel Clemens standing there, giving a speech to the throngs of high society of the era.

  And here I am, trying desperately to save my home and bury those who were forgotten by most of their relatives.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he said, bringing her out of her introspection.

  “If it involves me selling, the answer is no.” She sauntered toward the kitchen.

  He followed. “You can keep your home,” he blurted impatiently.

  She spun around quickly, catching the swinging door before it hit him in the face. “What did you say?”

  His hand landed on the door and pushed it open, crowding into her space and forcing her against the old wooden prep table. “I said you could keep your home. I’ll front you the cost for the repairs to return it to its former glory. In exchange, you give me the land for the golf course and the resort. I’ll set up a separate area for the clubhouse. We will be partners, but if the letter is ever found, it’s mine. Agreed?”

  Casey’s mind was reeling. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought to go into business with Griffin McBride. It would solve all of her problems, but at what risk? “What’s the catch?” she asked suspiciously.

  Griffin smiled softly. “No catch, Casey. We both want the same thing—to preserve our legacy. Do we have a deal?” He stuck out his hand.

  Casey tried to think of something, anything that might not be in her favor, but the fact remained, his offer was the answer she’d been searching for. Her mind was blocked, too focused on the positive and unable to think about the disadvantages. With a deep breath and feeling as if she was jumping off the very cliff her beautiful home sat upon, Casey shook his hand. “It’s a deal.”

  Chapter 5

  Casey

  Six weeks later, Casey could hardly recognize the outside of her homestead. Gone were the weeds in the gardens, and in place of the old rotten trees, laid a smooth lawn, beautifully manicured bushes, and colorful flower beds. There was even a vegetable garden on the side near the kitchen—just as there had been back in the day. She had to hand it to Griffin, when he said he was going to get to work immediately, he meant it.

  “Casey, we don’t have time for you to daydream,” Mona chided, coming to stand next to her. “Staring out the window like a woman mooning after a good man…” Mona chuckled as Casey blushed. “You’ve got a magic touch with Griffin.”

  “There was no touching, Mona.” Casey blushed even redder. “He offered me a proposition that would take care of all of our problems, and I graciously accepted.”

  “Bet you wished there was a little touching. I’ve seen the way you look at him, about the same way he looks at you.” Mona clapped her hands in glee. “Yes, that man has got it bad for you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just grateful for the help. I still feel bad that we haven’t found the letter, though. I don’t know what I’m going to do if we don’t find it, Mona. I can hardly expect the man to continue doing all of this if the letter isn’t here.”

  And that was the worry she had overlooked when she accepted Griffin’s proposal. What if he was wrong? What if the letter isn’t here?

  “Don’t you worry about that. I know Mr. Clayton liked his adventures. It’s got to be here. Remember when he took his wheelchair up and down the hall pretending to be a ghost?”

  Casey laughed out loud. Clayton had been a character.

  “What’s so funny?” a deep male voice whispered directly behind them. Both Casey and Mona shrieked in fright.

  “Good grief, Mr. Griffin, you about made me pee my pants!” Mona slapped his arm.

  He chuckled, winking at Casey, who smiled back. She tried not to stare. Griffin McBride in a suit was devastatingly handsome, but in a white T-shirt and ripped jeans, he was a bad boy come to life!

  “We were talking about how your grandfather would ‘ghost’ through the house, using the creaky old elevator to try to scare Mona. It seems you inherited his prankster nature,” Casey teased.

  “Oh, he was the master at it. Used to sneak up on me all the time, especially when we went camping. Nothing like an old ghost story. After he was done, imagine an old man in a ghillie suit jumping out and making a ten-year-old boy scream like a girl.”

  Casey laughed so hard at the image, tears came to her eyes.

  “I can laugh now, but back then, I didn’t talk to him for a week. He told me it built character, and I needed to be able to laugh at myself because there were plenty of people in life who were going to laugh at me anyway.”

  Mona shuffled toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry. How about a sandwich, Mr. Griffin, sir?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to something to eat, but stop calling me Mr. and sir, Mona. I’m just plain Griffin or Griff.”

  “You ain’t plain nothing, darlin’,” Mona said as she winked at Casey. “Why don’t you take this man into the morning room and pour him a glass of that sweet lemonade? I’ll bring lunch out as soon as it’s ready.”

  Casey ushered Griffin down the hall to the morning breakfast room where they could sit in the comfortable air conditioning. The bank of windows there allowed them to watch the progress of the men working outside. She handed him a large mason jar filled with ice and Mona’s lemonade. “It’s hard to believe how much has been accomplished in a few short weeks.”

  “Not to bash your abilities, but it does go faster when you have an entire crew to order about.” Griffin moaned softly as the lemonade s
lid down his throat.

  “Yes, but do they have my flair for the fabulous?” she replied with her saucy attitude. Waving her arms wide, she encompassed the newly renovated room. “After all, I did pick out the pretties in here.”

  “You took three weeks to pick out the ‘pretties,’ and I had to rush in a few of the orders,” he replied dryly.

  “Did you?” She was immediately contrite. “How much extra? I’ll make up the difference.”

  Griffin grinned. “You’re determined to pay your way with this project, no matter what, aren’t you?”

  She nodded emphatically.

  “Don’t worry about it. It feels good to get my hands dirty again, for the pain in my sore muscles to wash away in the shower. It’s therapeutic.”

  “I’m sorry you haven’t had any luck in finding the letter, Griff.”

  “It’s okay, Casey. It’ll turn up. We still have a lot of house to renovate.” He strode toward her.

  “I know. It’s just frustrating for me, so I’m sure it’s incredibly frustrating for you.”

  “Anxious to get rid of me?” he asked as he refilled his glass at the sidebar.

  “Not at all,” she stammered, blushing, hoping she didn’t sound breathless. He was standing close to her and smelled of sweat, dirt, and man. It was intoxicating to her.

  “Glad to hear that,” he murmured close to her ear. “You smell nice.”

  “Th-th-thank you,” she stuttered. Her heart was practically beating out of her chest.

  “My pleasure.” He turned her in his arms. “My grandfather said I’d find happiness here. The old man was right. May I?”

  “May you what?” she whispered, looking at his lips.

  “This.” He lowered his head and kissed her softly. Her mind reeled from the pleasurable sensation.

  “Come and get it. Oh!” Mona yelled from the doorway, her arms laden with a tray of food.