by June Faver
And his emotions were so entangled in the Victorian “Painted Lady” that his great-aunt had loved so much, he couldn’t imagine anyone else moving in.
He heaved a gigantic sigh, crossing his arms over his broad chest. It was quite a large house and would be perfect for a family. He wondered if he would ever have children to run up and down the staircase or circle around the porch. Perhaps he wasn’t good daddy material. He wasn’t sure he could make a lifelong commitment to one woman and to the prospect of fathering small humans.
Nah! Not my bag.
And yet the image of Reggie’s young daughter popped into his head. He thought he could take on a beautiful duo like those two.
He had decided to give Reggie plenty of space. He didn’t want her to think he was micromanaging her. And he wanted to see what she could do on her own. She was, after all, the editor of the Rambling Gazette. He was certain she would grow into the job.
To keep out of her way, he would have to have a plan because the desire to glue himself to her was almost irresistible. He could call friends in New York and make arrangements to fly up to see them. About a week should do it.
Then he could come back and ask her how it was going. That should be cool enough. He recalled all too well how it felt to be the recipient of Miss Reggie Lee’s acerbic commentary. He wanted to keep things easy between them.
Sighing, he went through his morning tai chi routine. A simple pleasure, but it kept him limber and reminded him of his other martial arts accomplishments. A man who had owned bars had to be able to take care of himself and put down trouble should it walk through the door.
After his twenty minutes of exercise, he plopped down in one of the wicker rocking chairs, sending a cloud of dust rising in the air. Smiling to himself, he remembered Aunt Rosie rocking in this very chair and asking him about school. He’d even told her about Reggie Lee Stafford. She had laughed and told him that she’d bet Reggie Lee liked him.
He knew better.
His brows knitted together as he realized he really didn’t want to leave Reggie just when they were finally talking. He didn’t want to risk letting the door close again.
This was a brand-new experience for him. He was used to turning away when things got too cozy. No strings. No entanglements. No responsibilities.
It wasn’t as though he had left a string of broken hearts in his wake. He had always made it clear at the onset that he wasn’t the forever type of guy. And he made sure his female friends had a good time while it lasted.
But this was Reggie Lee Stafford, his dream girl. The girl who had scorned and abused him and was now at least willing to talk to him without sneering. Some adolescent part of him wanted retribution for all her taunting, but the rest of him just wanted to thaw her out.
A picture flashed through his brain of Reggie’s daughter, Shannon. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect child. Thankfully, she looked nothing like Kenny Landers.
And discovering the sweet, vulnerable side of Reggie was creating havoc with his libido. He was having trouble sleeping at night. He tossed and turned, imagining holding her in his arms, thinking about how her skin would feel pressed against his, how her hair would look spread out on a pillow.
He stretched out his legs and propped his feet on the porch railing.
It was loose. He rocked it back and forth. And the paint was flaking. Maybe he could pick up some sandpaper and a few tools when he drove into town a little later. Maybe a gallon or so of paint and a scraper.
He had the skills to make the repairs to Aunt Rosie’s house…my house. He had learned a lot when he had purchased his first run-down bar. He knew how to spruce things up, at least for the short haul. But this was his house now. He wanted to fix it right. Maybe the guys at the hardware store could offer a little advice.
He stood up and reached for the keys in his pocket. Maybe he could fix up the house and manage to stay out from under Reggie’s feet while she spread her wings at the Gazette. Good plan.
* * *
That was the plan.
Too bad it didn’t work. When he’d driven into town, little had he dreamed that he would find Reggie Lee at the hardware store.
She looked up and flushed when their eyes met. “Are you stalking me?”
Guilty. “This isn’t where I imagined you would spend your time.” He gestured to the tools she had assembled on the counter.
“I’m not on my time,” she said. “I’m on Gazette time. Arnie said he needed a ratcheting screwdriver to adjust the something or another on the offset. I thought I would get it for him so the offset printer would be ready to roll when we go to press.”
“And you thought you might need a chisel too?” He stifled a chuckle.
“Oh, I, um… This is for me. The back door at my dad’s doesn’t close right. The strike plate needs to be reset so the dead bolt closes in the right place. As it is, there’s a big gap, and the hot or cold air leaks in.”
“I didn’t realize you were so multifaceted. You could do double duty in maintenance.”
She grinned. “I’m just trying to be green here.”
He cocked his head. “That’s a great idea, Reggie. You could write a column with tips and advice for saving energy and cutting costs around the house. Everyone would like that.”
The dark-brown eyes warmed. “And you think I could write it?”
He made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “Piece of cake. You can gather lots of information off the internet.”
“Hmm… Sounds like fun. Thanks for the good idea, Frank.”
For some incomprehensible reason, he felt a rush of warmth flood his chest. Was it the note of pleasure in her voice? Or the flash of dimples when she grinned? Perhaps it was the admiration that shone for one brief moment in her gaze? Whatever the source, it was at that instant that Frank Bell admitted the truth to himself: I am falling in love with Regina Vagina. He cleared his throat. “Glad you approve.”
She gathered her purchases and her handbag. “If you’re not stalking me, what are you shopping for today?”
“I’m thinking about updating Aunt Rosie’s house. My house. There are a lot of things that need to be repaired.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” The dimples quirked again. “In fact, that sounds like a series of articles to me. There are a lot of people around here who were friends and admirers of Miss Rosie. I’m sure they would take an interest in the refurbishment of her home.” She gave him a long look. “That is, if you would allow me to invade your inner sanctum and write a story about your property. It’s such a beautiful house.”
“Ah—I, um…” He was dumbstruck. Not his usual state. He hadn’t considered refurbishing the entire house. Just piddling around with a few little repairs to keep him busy. Her vision sounded way too much like a long-range project. One that might take months, no, years to complete. Responsibility. Commitment. “Great idea.”
“It will make a fabulous layout. I can see before-and-after photos.” She clapped her hands together. “In color!”
He felt his airway constricting. “Right,” he wheezed.
She was beaming. “I have always loved that house. You could make it a showplace.”
He sucked in air. “Really? It sounds like you might be the one to—advise me. You want to help me with the project?”
Her eyes opened wide. “Are you serious? I’d love to work with you on the refurb. I love historical houses.”
Her eager expression was setting off fireworks in his brain. If he played it right, he could work closely with Reggie Lee and not arouse her suspicions.
He struggled to keep a straight face. “I would appreciate your help. I don’t know anything about decorating a historical house.” He lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “I sure don’t want to mess up Aunt Rosie’s home.”
“Don’t worry. It will turn out beaut
ifully.”
As he watched her cute behind sashay out of the hardware store, he heaved a deep sigh. This is going to be expensive.
Chapter 5
Reggie Lee was thrilled.
Her hands were shaking when she tried to insert her key into the ignition of her SUV. She finally managed to get the car started but sat inside gripping the steering wheel.
She had been excited when Frank had suggested that she write a column with energy-saving tips. That was one of her pet themes anyway. “Going Green,” she said, trying it on as a title. “Greening the Hill Country.” She shook her head. “Green…? Green…?” Lame. Totally lame. “Green Mansions. Green Sleeves. Green with Envy. Green Around the Gills.”
She turned the steering wheel and slowly eased out of the parking space. She could always come up with a title, or Frank would probably have some suggestions. She liked his suggestions. She couldn’t believe how rapidly her opinion of him was changing. From adolescent albatross to adult entrepreneurial genius. And if he were truly planning on refurbishing the Grady house, that meant he was planning on staying around for a while. A smile quirked her mouth.
Reggie couldn’t think of a project she would like to take on more than the Grady house. She had held many long conversations with Miss Rosie during the years she had worked for the Gazette. From the time Reggie had been a high school cub reporter until Miss Rosie became ill, she had always been an eager listener to the older woman’s stories about the history of the house.
Horace Pace Grady’s father had built the house, and when Horace had chosen the young and lovely Miss Rosie Bell to become his bride and moved her into the family home, she had expected to produce future generations of Gradys. She hadn’t planned on remaining childless, but that was before in vitro fertilization, and her husband hadn’t been interested in adoption. He had been more interested in business acquisitions than family.
When her only nephew and his wife had been overwhelmed by the responsibilities involved in raising a teenage boy, she had gleefully taken the child on. And when they had been killed in an accident, she’d mourned them deeply. But when she subsequently became the guardian of their only son, she was overjoyed. Miss Rosie had shared with Reggie Lee that Frank became the son she had always wanted. He was smart and handsome. He had good manners and was respectful. She couldn’t have asked for anything more.
At this point, Reggie would bite her tongue, failing to enlighten the dear lady as to the “Regina Vagina” taunts. It was a sin of omission.
But she had always enjoyed visiting Miss Rosie and taking tea in her lovely home. Now Reggie had an opportunity to help restore the house to its former glory, and she was excited about the project.
Reggie considered her present situation: a divorced single parent who couldn’t afford to provide her child with a home on her own, so she had gone running home to daddy. Not that she didn’t appreciate it. She felt safe and secure in her childhood home, and her dad was an upstanding male image for Shannon, but he kept the house as a shrine to her mother, refusing to update any of the decor. Like every little girl, Reggie Lee had played house and dreamed of the home she would have someday. In the meantime, she would help Frank fix up Miss Rosie’s house and enjoy the fleeting fantasy that it belonged to her.
Good thing because it’s unlikely that I will ever have a house of my own.
She pulled into the editor’s parking space in front of the newspaper office and turned off the motor. This was the only tangible result of her promotion. She still hadn’t completely moved into Phil’s office yet. Maybe it was time. She stepped out of the car, strode up the stairs, and pushed the door open, ready to take on the challenges.
When she stepped inside, she was greeted with the sound of raised voices.
“I told you I want to take over The Social Scene!” Rhea McAllister shook her finger at Milton Mayweather. “It’s a perfect complement to my Dear Irene column.” The Social Scene had been one of Reggie Lee’s columns, reporting events around the area.
He made a derisive sound and folded his arms over his paunchy middle. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m the obvious choice. I’m an excellent photographer, and besides, I’ve been here longer.”
“Don’t you be ridiculous!” Rhea stomped her foot. “I’ve been here longer than Reggie Lee, and she was just promoted to editor.”
A hush fell over the newsroom as everyone turned to stare at Reggie. She felt her cheeks go scarlet. Clearing her throat, she tried to recover her composure. “Is there a problem?” She raised her chin and gave each of the combatants a cool stare.
The onlookers were immediately galvanized into motion, discovering they had things to do. Phones were answered whether or not anyone was on the line. Chairs were scooted back, and fingers flew over keyboards.
Rhea and Milton glared at each other and then turned away with mumbled assurances that nothing was wrong.
Reggie stood like a statue for a moment and let her gaze control the room. She turned to the receptionist, Gayle. “Any calls for me?”
Gayle fumbled through the notes and turned over a half-empty cup of coffee, saturating the papers on her desk. She shook the papers over the trashcan and mopped at her desktop with a handful of tissue. “So sorry.” Big blue eyes looked anguished.
Reggie frowned and accepted the wad of damp, smeary sticky notes between thumb and finger. She headed for her new office and draped the wet notes over the side of her trashcan to dry out. She hoped there wasn’t anything vital recorded there since the ink appeared to be running and the notes were gummy with the sweetened brew. She went to Phil’s private restroom to wash her hands and stood staring at herself in the mirror. It hit her like a bolt of lightning. This is my office. My bathroom. My staff, dammit!
She swallowed and ran her dampened fingers through her tangled hair. She focused on controlling the desire to give in to tears. It was time to really move into her new office and take charge.
* * *
Gayle was mortified. Now that Reggie was her boss, it seemed that everything Gayle attempted went wrong. She had carefully stacked Reggie’s phone messages together and then spilled her double mocha latte on them.
Reggie looked like thunder when she accepted the sodden mess and stormed off to her office.
Gayle sat back down at her desk. She’d never thought her life would end up like this. The lowest-level employee. Less valued than the janitor.
Maybe it was time to rethink her occupational possibilities. Unfortunately, in the small town of Rambling, there were few employment opportunities for someone with only a high school education…someone who had spent the last eight years answering phones, taking messages, and writing ads for lost pets.
She was pretty sure she would make a lousy waitress. And the only preschool in the area was fully staffed by the owner and a helper.
What else could she do? Clean houses? Mow grass?
She had always thought she would become a journalist. She had taken journalism in high school and thought she would be able to start in a clerical position at the Gazette and work her way up.
The only problem was there was no turnover. Not until now. And there had been no growth, so no need for adding positions.
Gayle heaved a huge sigh and propped her chin on her fist.
Well, there was a little switcheroo going on now. Phil was gone. Reggie Lee had moved into his office. And people were fighting over who would acquire Reggie’s old column.
Gayle would have loved to throw her hat in the ring but figured after spilling her coffee on Reggie’s messages, it was not a good time to attract her notice. Better to just remain invisible. At least she had a job.
A little paycheck is better than no paycheck.
* * *
Frank stood staring down at the headstone.
ROSE ELLEN BELL GRADY. BELOVED WIFE OF HORACE PACE GRADY.
The kind and g
enerous woman who had taken him in when he was a rebellious teen was in her final resting place beside the husband who had preceded her. The woman who had loved him when he was not exactly lovable. The only person who had truly cared for him in his youth.
She had been quite beautiful as a young woman, when she had caught the eye of the wealthy bachelor, Horace Grady. Their marriage had been like a fairy tale, to hear her tell it. Frank recalled the sweet smile on her face whenever she told her great-nephew about her strong, intelligent husband. Horace was an astute businessman who had a special knack for acquiring real estate. That real estate had supported Aunt Rosie after her husband was gone…and Frank inherited it upon her passing.
Frank squatted down on one knee to touch the garland of roses carved into the rose-colored granite headstone. “Aunt Rosie, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
After all she had done for him, he had been too busy to attend to her needs. Truly, he had called her often, telling her about his business acquisitions. She had shared very little with him, just reciting a few routine facts that he would expect of her. She had told him about the vineyard and the various other fruits growing in her orchard. She had informed him about the weather, the rain or lack thereof.
But she had never complained. Aunt Rosie had never mentioned any physical problems or decline in health, but she had never failed to inquire about Frank’s health and well-being and offer motherly advice.
And yet he had been unavailable when she needed him. He had taken off for a spur-of-the-moment trip with friends, and there had been no particular plan in place beforehand.
But, a week later when they had returned, he had learned of his great-aunt’s demise and subsequent burial in the cemetery where most all residents of Rambling, Texas, wound up.
Now, he was in Rambling, trying to deal with the properties that Miss Rosie had bequeathed to him. He felt that he needed to make it up to her. To atone for his absence.
