Attic! Jay slapped his forehead. How could he have forgotten the attic? Probably because he’d wanted to forget the attic.
In truth, Jay hadn’t even been up there to check it out. It might be cramped, or huge, he had no idea. Maybe cleaning it out would be fine, no problem, easy fix.
Hoarders hoarded on their main floors and not their attics, right?
It would probably be fine.
Okay, this could be very bad.
Don’t let your worries show, man! Be cool.
“Easy. I’ll have it done by nightfall if you can get one of those roll-off dumpsters over here for me. There’s probably a dormer window up there I can use. I’ll jettison every box and junk trunk through the window, straight into the trash.”
“Not so fast.” Burt dragged his finger down the side of the paper from the file. “Trashing isn’t an option.”
Burt spouted legalese so pointed it hurt Jay’s eardrums, but Jay got the gist: before Jay could post the house for sale, the contents of the attic must be inventoried.
Inventoried!
That, and they must be made available to any other surviving relatives of Jingo Layton. Well, that list would be comprised of Jay and his mother. Ceri Layton Wilson, a.k.a. Mom, had sworn never to set foot in Massey Falls or the mansion ever again.
“You’re sure redoing the whole downstairs isn’t sufficient?” Jay didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. This one property sale could erase most of his student debt. He could start out his career at the vet clinic in Reedsville at a net zero. What new doctor could say that?
Still, he seriously didn’t want to clean out a hoarder’s attic.
Burt checked the time on his phone. “Look, Jay. Or, I should say, Dr. Wilson. I’m heading out to meet another client. I like what you’ve done down here. It’s top quality work. We can get the official listing up right away—as soon as the attic is done to Jingo Layton’s specifications.”
Jay wasn’t getting out of doing the attic. “Okay. So, timeline-wise, do you think tomorrow afternoon is a reasonable expectation?”
“I’ve been up there.” A low chuckle escaped Burt Basingstoke’s throat. “Word of warning, son. It’s not going to be a one-man job. I’d advise hiring someone to help you. That, or make a friend. I know you’re fairly new around here, but getting help is the only way you’ll be done before New Year’s. Trust me.”
A friend. Around here? Jay had barely met anyone other than clerks at the hardware store.
“Besides. If you had a friend, maybe we could induce you to stay in Massey Falls.” Burt tugged his scarf tight against his neck. “Think about it, Jay. The Layton Mansion ought to have a caretaker with Layton bloodlines.”
Oh, brother. Local guilt-pressure. Just what he needed.
Burt left in his big luxury sedan, and Jay eyed the stairway to the next floor, which he would have to climb to examine the attic, and—
Crrrack! Something cracked, crackled, and thudded on the grand ballroom side of the house. Raccoons? Foundation settling? One of the yard’s towering elm trees damaging the entire roof? It could be anything. Jay broke into a jog to check on the source of the sound.
Blast it! If this house fell apart now, he’d never get it sold in time.
Leela
Leela Miller lay on her back in a pile of brambles outside the Layton Mansion. Thorns stuck through her coat sleeves and down under her scarf, pricking her neck and throat. Poking around here without permission had been a huge mistake. Twenty-five-year-old women did not window-peep.
Her bare hand gripped the splintered two-by-four of the window frame, onto which she’d been hanging for balance while peeking in the window. Turned out it wasn’t the Rock of Gibraltar she’d needed. In fact, now it was more the Matchsticks of Gibraltar, and she was officially a vandal.
Couldn’t the wintry sky all just fall down on her? A hollow laugh of despair rang from her throat. This wasn’t happening.
“Oh, Leela! We broke the Layton Mansion!” Emily tugged Leela to her feet with the strength and vigor of her sixteen-year-old enthusiasm, and Leela brushed dried rose leaves off her coat. “I’m so sorry. I should have held the firewood log steadier so you could look inside the window, not let it wobble and tip you into the roses. I’m so sorry.”
Leela shouldn’t have asked Emily to hold a log in the first place. Making a younger cousin a partner in crime was wrong on a lot of levels. She gripped what was left of the broken window frame. What was she supposed to do with it? Splintered wood didn’t repair well. Or disguise well, either.
“Well, despite this misfortune”—she wielded the board—“I did see inside.”
Emily dropped the log, which she’d hauled back to the woodpile. It clunked. “You did? Are there chandeliers?” She came running back to Leela’s side.
“The whole ballroom had them. And ceiling medallions.”
“I swoon for a ceiling medallion.” Emily threw herself back and made a snow angel. “Oh, I really hope the new owners let you use it for the Christmas Cookie House! They just have to!”
No kidding. If only the owners could instantly see how important the event was to the town—and to Leela. “Especially after my rash, irrationally exuberant promise to the Ladies’ Auxiliary this morning. There isn’t anywhere else that will work. Not in this amount of time.” It was the Layton House or nothing, now that Una Mae had yanked her own house.
“So, correct me if I’m wrong, Leela.” Emily waved her arms up and down to make the angel’s wings. “The deeper reason we’re here is because you enraged the president of the Ladies’ Auxiliary when you refused to go with her lecherous son as his date to the Holiday Ball, right?”
“Pretty much.” Una Mae had had it out for Leela ever since Leela turned down the date invitation. Maybe before, but Leela couldn’t point to why.
“You were smart to say no.” Emily shuddered. “If I were you, I’d rather chew rocks than be stuck in the talons of Felix Coldicott all night, listening to his lewd suggestions. I hear he collects spiders. To feed to frogs. Which he then feeds to … I’ll stop, but the pattern continues.”
Now Leela shuddered. “Felix isn’t my type. That’s for sure.”
“She can’t exactly hold you personally responsible. Doesn’t Una Mae know she’s raised a pervert?”
“Probably.” Which was probably why Una Mae must be desperate to get the guy a date to the high-profile event—and why she’d be willing to hold her own historic home for ransom until Leela capitulated. Which she wouldn’t.
Because somehow Leela was going to track down the new title-holder of the Layton Mansion and get him to let her use it for the Cookie House and the Holiday Ball. The place had a ballroom, for Pete’s sake. It screamed solution! for her dilemma.
There had to be property records or something she could research to get a name and address for the owner.
Leela helped Emily out of her snow angel, careful to keep it intact, with no footprints inside the lines. An angel would never have a muddy footprint on her dress or sleeve.
“I don’t suppose you could ask your dad to find out who owns this place?” Leela asked as Emily brushed snow from her jeans. “He knows about all the properties in town.” Leela’s cousin-in-law Burt Basingstoke knew his business.
She probably should have gone to him first, actually, because trespassing like this, and breaking stuff was a criminal offense, and—
Footfalls pounded toward them, almost squeaky in the freshly fallen, moisture-heavy snow. “Is someone out here?”
It was a man’s voice.
They’d been caught trespassing! Or else someone was there to attack them. Attacks were unheard of in Massey Falls, but still, women couldn’t be too careful. Strangers without their hometown values could wander through town and prey on unsuspecting girls.
Leela stared down at the splintered wooden board in her hand. The possible weapon of defense grew to a thousand guilty pounds, but she gripped it hard. Just in case.
The ma
n appeared around the brick corner of the house. “Who’s here?” he asked again.
Whoa, there, Comet and Cupid. What choir of heavenly angels had deposited that guy in this town? Dark hair and eyes, a perfect build, and a voice that could melt butter. She reached for the side of the house to steady herself. But she missed, and toppled into the brambles again. Whoops. She popped to her feet.
“Hi. Were you interested in the house?” he asked, looking Leela over. His gaze landed on the broken window frame above her head, and then down at the board in her hand.
She chucked it into the brambles. Yeah, she’d get that later.
“Interested! Obsessed is more like it.” Emily laughed nervously at Leela’s side.
“Hey. Yeah, sorry.” Couldn’t Leela melt into the snow? “We, uh, were just trying to get a look inside.”
“If you want that, I have a key to the property.” He must be the real estate agent. Rumor-mongers around town had whispered the mansion would be coming up for sale soon. “You didn’t have to sneak.”
From the brambles the broken board screamed an accusation. You are a vandal. You broke the house!
“Heh-heh. Sorry about that.” Leela rubbed the back of her neck. Blast it. She was apologizing too much. “Little mishap.”
“Um …” Emily tugged on Leela’s coat sleeve. “I think I’d better go tend my brother’s puppies.” Emily dashed, stepping right in the center of her snow angel. She sped like a hare down the sidewalk toward her Society Row house a few doors down.
Cowardly accomplice. There were no puppies at the Basingstoke house.
“I will repair it.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs.—?”
“Leela Miller. Miss, not Mrs.” Oh, geez. Was she flirting? If so, she was really out of practice. Why was her neck getting so hot? She didn’t even have her scarf on. “Please let me make it right. I don’t want to be someone who breaks something and leaves.” Not ever.
“Why”—he raised a flirty eyebrow—“exactly did you break it, may I ask?” Well, he could ask all day if he kept flashing her that alluring grin.
“When I’m not busy breaking people’s window frames, I’m helping the Ladies’ Auxiliary plan their annual fundraiser by looking for a last-minute venue. Our original locations fell through this morning.” Possibly my fault, but also not my fault one bit.
“Venue?”
“The Layton Mansion would suit the event so perfectly.” Gorgeous, right on Society Row, great for the curious minds of Massey Falls—plus, the ballroom! “It has always been my favorite house in town. It’s a lot of people’s, in fact.”
“But I heard old Jingo Layton never let anyone inside. How could it be a favorite of yours? Or anyone else’s?”
“Based on curb appeal, I guess. And vivid imaginations.” At least that was true in Leela’s case. “I’ve been imagining Christmas mornings by the fire in there for years.”
Uh, what mischievous inner-elf had possessed her to admit that?
“Yeah,” Jay craned his neck up toward the third story windows. “Uncle Jingo did have a hermit-hoarder thing going on.” The dormers were dark up there. “I’m Jay Wilson, by the way.” He stuck out his hand, and she shook it.
“Nice to meet you.” Holy amperage, Batman! Leela had encountered lots of handsome customers while working at the bookseller’s shop back in Reedsville and nothing like this near-electrocution handshake had ever occurred. “If you know the new owners, would you ask them about letting the Ladies’ Auxiliary use the Layton Mansion for the Cookie House this year?”
“The cookie what?”
“Cookie House. Huge Christmastime fundraiser? Annual event. Famous, really. Surely you’ve heard of it.”
“I’m picturing a giant house out of gingerbread.” Clearly, he hadn’t heard of it. “I mean, I like gingersnaps. They’re my favorite, but there’s a limit to how much gingerbread can be appreciated at once. A whole house of it, well …”
Seriously? No. No way. How could someone expect to sell real estate in Massey Falls and not have heard of the Cookie House? It was like living in New York City and not hearing of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
Leela would help the guy, give him the lowdown on it, and then maybe he’d help her get in touch with the new owners of the Layton Mansion. Quid pro quo here.
“Listen, Jay. You need to know about this event or you’ll never succeed in Massey Falls. Trust me. Massey Falls is the Cookie House and Holiday Ball.” Which, as a prospective member of the Auxiliary, she’d have to attend. Probably stag. Humiliating. “Be there or be square, as they say.”
Jay did have a killer square jaw. So square might be acceptable, in his case. Even admirable. I am such a nerd.
“Good to know. My mom grew up here, but I’m a newcomer.”
Well, his mom, whoever she was, hadn’t done Jay any favors by not cluing him in on the most important cultural aspects of Massey Falls. Leela would have to fill in the gaps in his education. After all, he was cute—if electrically dangerous—and she’d hate to see him make a fool of himself in town before he even got started on his real estate career.
“Then I’ll give you a Massey Falls insider tip.” How could she convey the appropriate level of importance to him? “The Ladies’ Auxiliary does all the community’s major service projects year-round. They provide eyeglasses for the elderly. They keep up the landscaping flowers at Garson Park. They deliver meals to the home-bound.” Including to Dad now and then. Which probably killed him, to some degree, every time Mrs. Philbert’s minestrone appeared.
“That’s noble.” Jay sounded unimpressed. A breeze wafted the scent of soap and peppermint off his person. Mmm. He smelled clean.
“All those activities take funds, and the Cookie House is how they pay for them. Everyone in the community comes and buys cookies—at generous prices—from a beautifully decorated historic home.”
A home like the Coldicott Mansion, usually. Fussy and decorated to the hilt with Christmas kitch. Last year, Leela had heard, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer had been a star player, and they claimed Una Mae had saved all the Rudolph stuff for a repeat.
Except not this year, thanks to Felix and his unwelcome attentions to Leela. The guy’s last three girlfriends had been exotic dancers, for pity’s sake. Leela, with her barely kissed lips and former bookshop manager résumé, was not his type.
And vice versa.
Jay seemed to be considering. “Well, the Layton Mansion isn’t what I’d call beautifully decorated. It’s bare. No one lives in it now.”
“All the better. Then we won’t have to store furniture to make room to display cookies.” In fact, with an empty house, they could display exponentially more cookies. The Layton Mansion could make this the best year for the fundraiser ever. “I really think the community would turn out in force if the new owners would allow us to use the Layton Mansion for the event. You’ll talk to them for me, won’t you? It’s for such a good cause.”
Her eye fell on the busted window frame. She’d wrecked the place. She wasn’t bargaining from a very strong position. In fact, her position looked a lot more like kneeling and begging.
He had to say yes that he’d help her. He just had to.
Jay
Jay couldn’t peel his eyes off this Leela Miller girl. It wasn’t just because she had the most stunning blue eyes, or that she had a whole bird’s nest of rosebush leaves poking out of her light brown hair. It was more the sincerity of her plea, and the goodness of it.
So noble. And gorgeous. And what was up with the second he’d touched her hand? Zappo. Could static even build up when a person walked through snow? Unless it had nothing to do with static and everything to do with Leela Miller’s electric touch.
Too bad he couldn’t help her. At least not by allowing a huge event like a fundraiser to delay getting the Layton Mansion on the market. Basingstoke was using the enticement of taking occupancy before Christmas as a lure for cash buyers—which made sense. Families
didn’t want to move during the holidays, and they’d want a gorgeous Victorian mansion, with its large hearth and high ceilings for a giant Christmas tree, to be part of their holiday memories the first chance they could get.
And getting new owners in meant good things for Jay, too.
This pretty-eyed girl’s Cookie House thing could totally interfere, no matter how noble.
“When is this shindig?” he asked anyway.
If he’d thought Leela’s eyes were bright before, they went up by a thousand lumens now. “Are you saying you’ll help me persuade the new owners? Oh, Jay! I knew from the second I saw you, you were going to be important to me. I mean—to helping me with the Cookie House.”
He noted the slip-up and flattered himself with it for a brief moment, even though it couldn’t come to anything, since he’d be gone to Reedsville by the end of the month, if the fates allowed.
“The third Tuesday in December. And you won’t regret it.”
Wait. He hadn’t agreed to anything yet. Yeah, and he should tell her he was the new owner. Like, now.
At first, he’d thought she’d been kidding around, acting obtuse about who owned the place, when it was obviously Jay, so he hadn’t spoken up. Now it felt awkward, and a little too late. He’d embarrass her if he mentioned it now.
He walked toward the house, fingering the front door’s key, and Leela met his pace through the new snow. “You should at least see the inside before you go on requesting the house.” Jay shouldn’t be doing this. He should just assert a definite no. But he was going to show her his work. I mean, I went to all the work. It would be nice to share the result with someone who obviously likes the house already. “It might not meet your expectations.”
“Oh, it will meet them, I’m sure.” She followed him up the steps to the porch.
“Where do you work, Leela?” Might as well get to know her a little. He fumbled with the key, putting it in the lock—even though he hadn’t locked it when he’d gone running to check out Leela’s commotion. But he didn’t open the door yet.
The Christmas Cookie House: A Sweet Holiday Romance (Christmas House Romances) Page 2
