by Nan Dixon
He struggled with the idea of expanding his business in Savannah. How much longer could he stay without jeopardizing his Boston operations? Sure, everything was running smoothly up north, but he’d always been a hands-on manager.
He locked the condo door and headed down the hallway with Daniel. Additional property in Savannah would mean delegating more of his Boston duties.
Besides, his roots were in Boston. His family, such as it was, was there. His fingers clenched into a fist. The rough-ins on the condos were almost done. There was no reason for him to stay in Savannah. He could spend more time in Boston and let the realty company handle the remaining details. Hell, right now he lived in a B and B, just a step up from living out of a suitcase. There was nothing to hold him to this city.
Except Abby. He sighed. What the hell should he do about Abby?
Well, he was heading back to Boston next week. He’d check in with his project managers. Check out a new site in Lexington. Maybe he should start spending weekends in Boston, put some distance between them. They’d lived in each other’s pockets for almost three months.
“If you decide to acquire another property, keep Forester Construction in mind. You’re a pleasure to work with.” Daniel pushed the elevator button. “I heard Dolley’s worried they won’t get the money for Carleton House.”
“I don’t get it.” Gray held the outside door for Daniel, and they merged into the busy River Street foot traffic. “Abby just told me about Carleton House this morning, yet you seem to know all about it. Do you have the library bugged?”
Daniel grinned. “Nope, just my dad. He’s their honorary father and that makes them my sisters. The girls tell him everything.” He looked at Gray and corrected himself. “Well, almost everything. It took a while to realize you and Abby were an item. Of course, if you hurt her, you’ll deal with the Forester men.”
Daniel’s tone may have been nonchalant, but his words cut into Gray as cleanly as one of Abby’s knives. “And what happens to Abby if she hurts me?”
“Not one damn thing.” Daniel slapped his back. “See you tomorrow.”
The two men headed in opposite directions. Gray worked his way through the tourists who crowded the sidewalks. He stopped in front of the house with the for-sale sign.
Carleton House. Although this place wasn’t as massive as Fitzgerald House, the three-story home still dominated the corner. Black shutters framed the windows, and lacy wrought iron edged each porch.
From the sidewalk, he could see that the shutters were crooked and railings had rusted. The six chimneys looked as if they might collapse in a strong wind.
As he waited for Abby and Samuel, he walked the property line between the two houses. Deep vertical cracks exposed the brick under the stucco. Looking up, he noted a number of roof tiles broken or missing.
His lips pressed together.
When Abby and Samuel arrived, he and Samuel shook hands. Abby’s eyes kept darting to the house. Gray could almost feel her vibrating. She wanted her hands on this place.
“Mrs. Carleton’s a dear,” she whispered. “Her husband died almost twenty years ago. Her son moved to California a few years ago and doesn’t get home very often. She hasn’t been able to maintain the house.”
Walking up the decayed but clean steps, Gray supported Abby’s elbow. He smiled at the blast of color from the trellised roses blooming on either side of an impressive front entrance. The house might be crumbling, but he suspected the furniture and floors would be polished and shining.
The door was opened by a petite older woman. “Abigail, Samuel, come in, come in.”
Gray let Abby handle the introductions, and they all moved into the front parlor.
The smell of lemon oil mingled with the fragrance of the roses displayed in a cut-glass bowl on the entry table. He’d been right about the floors and furniture; they shone.
“Thanks for showing us the house.” Abby bent down and picked up a gigantic gray cat that wound around her ankles. “Hello, Mr. Phelps.”
Mrs. Carleton’s hair was the same color as her cat. “I’m glad you’re interested.”
Abby rubbed the cat’s head. “I’ve always been interested.”
“I made lemonade,” Mrs. Carleton said, pouring glasses for everyone. She bustled around the group like a bee visiting an open flower. “I thought you might like something to drink as you toured the house.”
She led them back into the entry hall. “Carleton House was built around 1880. George, my husband, was never able to discover the architect’s name.”
As they passed the curving staircase, Gray tugged on the wrought iron banister. It seemed secure enough.
“George’s great-grandfather built the home.” Mrs. Carleton’s foot stroked the entry floor. “The marble’s from Italy. The rest of the house has hardwood floors. They’ve never been covered by linoleum or carpet.”
Abby barely stopped in the outdated kitchen. “We’d have the guests eat at Fitzgerald House until we get the restaurant up and running,” she whispered.
The dining room had once been lovely. The bleached-oak paneling and woodwork kept the room light and airy. The twelve-foot-high coffered ceiling boasted intricate plaster medallions in need of repair.
In the second-floor hallway, Samuel leaned over to Gray and whispered, “Does Abby even see the cracks and water stains?”
“How can she miss them?”
“Blinded by love,” Samuel quipped.
Gray twisted a bedroom light switch, but nothing happened. “She certainly won’t be blinded by the lighting.”
Abby ran back into the room and grabbed Gray’s hand. “Come see the music room. Samuel, I think we can make it into a suite. That would be at least two suites. We can have nine—no, ten—possible bedrooms on the two main floors.”
After being shown the music room, Gray and Samuel checked out the basement while the women talked about the chandeliers. This had to be the original foundation, with rocks jutting out of the wall. Sections of the floor were dirt, other sections sported uneven, cracked concrete.
“Did you notice the exterior cracks?” Gray asked.
“Yup,” Samuel replied. “And the cracks between the ceiling and walls in the southeast corner of the house. Might require foundation work.”
“Need a structural engineer’s evaluation.”
“That’s my thought, too.” Samuel dusted off his hands. “I know a good one.”
“Why don’t you set up a walk-through with him?”
Samuel’s bushy white eyebrows leaped into his hairline. “You thinking of buying this place, or is this Abby’s project?”
“I’m getting ahead of myself. Abby asked for my input.” That wasn’t quite true. He’d volunteered. Abby never asked for anything. Never confided, never solicited his opinion. “We should both mention the foundation to her.”
Samuel rested a hand on the low ceiling and stared at him. What did the man think Gray planned to do—snatch this money pit out from under Abby’s nose? The idea was preposterous.
Wasn’t it?
But if he bought the house and took on the restoration, he could lease the place back to the Fitzgeralds. The idea spun through his head like a top.
They joined Abby and Mrs. Carleton in the backyard. The garden area wasn’t fancy. Nothing compared to the whimsical setting Bess had created next door. There was a small terrace with a stone barbecue and a modest vegetable plot. A profusion of rosebushes saturated the space with color, but the wisteria vine covering the carriage house looked wild.
“Bess will have a field day,” he whispered in Abby’s ear.
She poked him in the ribs as they neared the carriage house. “The walls look solid.” She turned to Samuel to see if he agreed with her assessment.
He wiggled a loose door. “Hmm?”
> “Is the carriage house structurally sound?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. If you’re going to use it as guest rooms, the challenge will be the plumbing. Brick needs tuck-pointing, too.”
“So have you seen what you need to, Abby?” Gray asked after they’d said goodbye to Mrs. Carleton.
“God, yes. It’s enough to make me drool.” She practically pulsed with excitement. “Do you know how many more rooms we could add?”
They walked through the garden and into the Fitzgerald House kitchen. Abby pulled out a tray of sandwiches and bars and put the kettle on for tea. “What do you think?” She looked expectantly from one man to the other.
Gray let Samuel take the lead. The older man sketched out possible ideas on Abby’s tablet. “Assuming you decide to live in the smaller carriage house, here’s what I think you could do.”
As Samuel talked and drew, Gray couldn’t help but be impressed by his vision.
“So you suggest keeping a kitchen over there?” Abby fingers constantly bounced on the table. Gray had never seen her so keyed up.
“I’d recommend you keep something. People will want tea or coffee in the morning, unless you include coffeemakers in each room.”
“Absolutely not. I’d still want to brew our coffee, not those awful small coffeepots.” She tapped her nose as she thought out loud. “The dining room has those lovely carved pocket doors. We could use that room for small dinner parties if guests wanted to. If we have an event in the ballroom here, we’d have a space for something intimate at Carleton House.”
“That’s something to think about.” Samuel made a note. “Honey, there are a lot of other problems with the house. Second-floor wiring needs to be brought up to code.”
“But you can fix it, right?” Abby leaned over the table. “There’s nothing really glaring, right?”
Gray spoke up. “You may have foundation issues.”
“Really?” Abby bit her lip.
“A structural engineer needs to evaluate why there are cracks in the exterior and interior walls. You may have to repair the foundation.”
She looked at Samuel.
He nodded his head. “I’ll contact Garretson and see if he’ll do a walk-through. That’s probably your biggest problem.”
“Thanks.” She stopped chewing her lip and went to work on her thumbnail. “The other problem is getting the bank to understand what an opportunity this is.”
“I know you’ve always wanted Carleton House.” Samuel squeezed Abby’s hand.
“I never thought it would come on the market so soon.” She sighed. “Can you run a ballpark cost? I won’t hold you to anything, but the bank will need numbers.”
Samuel stood and patted her shoulder. “You bet. I’ll get something to you in a couple of days.” He took a sandwich. “Best be getting back to work.”
Before Samuel went upstairs to check on his crew, she gave him a hug.
“You want this, don’t you, Abs?” Gray asked once the older man had gone.
“So bad I can taste it. Let’s say we get another eight to ten rooms out of Carleton House. We’ll be up to thirty rooms. Thirty. It’ll change the whole dynamic of our B and B.”
Just as she had that morning, she paced and talked. “More staff, full-time cooks and servers, expansion of the catering. My restaurant.”
Abby held out her hands. “My sisters wouldn’t have to hold down their other jobs. Since we can’t afford to live in Fitzgerald House any longer, at least we’d work together—as a family. That’s what I want.”
Her face was flushed, and her green eyes shone. Curls escaped the clip she’d used to pull her hair off her shoulders.
She was so alive.
Gray didn’t want to see Abby’s smile fade. The Fitzgeralds deserved a break. Maybe he could help.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rule #36—Make sure you don’t turn Mary and Joseph away. There should always be room at the inn.
Mamie Fitzgerald
“HERE ARE SAMUEL’S IDEAS.” Abby spread his Carleton House sketches on the kitchen table in front of Bess and Dolley. They scooted their chairs closer. “He thinks we could get ten to twelve bedrooms, plus meeting rooms and a small kitchen without too much modification. The main food would still be prepped here, but we could cater meals there, too.”
“What about the carriage houses?” Bess asked.
“When we have the money, we’ll finish the Fitzgerald carriage house with a couple more rooms.” She tapped her finger on the drawing. “And then the restaurant. The Carleton carriage house could be used for family living space. I asked Samuel to design apartments for us with some common areas.”
“That might work. We’d be big, Abs.” Bess raised an eyebrow. “Are we ready for such a change?”
Abby didn’t answer. She looked at her sisters’ bright faces.
“If we get the money, yes,” Dolley qualified. She squeezed Bess’s hand. “I think we’d be able to cut back on our non-Fitzgerald House hours. Maybe eliminate them altogether.”
Bess grinned. “That would be wonderful.”
“I wouldn’t mind running my own website building business from here,” Dolley said.
Abby looked at them. They’d be able to work and live together. “Absolutely.”
“Okay. All for one and one for all and all that.” Bess waved her hand. “What’s Samuel’s estimate?”
Abby flipped the number up.
“Gwaaack!” Dolley wrapped her fingers around her throat and pretended to choke herself.
They waded through blueprints, numbers and assumptions.
“It’s a lot to take in.” Bess pushed away from the table. “Are we sure we want to take the risk?”
“Yes,” Abby said.
“I’m a yes,” Bess said.
Abby and Bess looked at Dolley.
“Of course I’m a yes. We’re family.” Dolley looked each sister in the eye. “But we could overextend.”
Abby’s heart skipped a beat, then another. “But we could gain more. We could work together, one hundred percent of the time.”
Her sisters nodded.
“So—we go back to the bank?” Abby asked.
Dolley nodded, heaving a small sigh of resignation. “Don’t get your hopes up, anyone. And don’t quit your day jobs.”
* * *
CHERYL PUSHED THE day care door open.
“Hi, Ms. Henshaw,” the receptionist said. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.” She handed the receptionist a check for this week’s tuition.
For the last three weeks of April, she hadn’t needed to use her tip money to pay for Josh’s care. With Gray’s and Abby’s help, she was getting her financial feet under her.
“Go in and get Josh. I’ll have your receipt printed by the time you come out.”
“Thanks.”
Cheryl had been lucky to get a spot at this day care, and at a reduced cost. The center was clean, provided a healthy lunch and it was on her way to work.
She walked into the older kids’ room. Josh was playing some sort of board game with his new best friend, Zach.
“Hi, Mom!” he yelled. “I’m almost finished.”
The teacher waved, kneeling next to a table of three girls.
Cheryl looked at the wooden board. Josh and Zach had different colored and shaped blocks of wood. Zach handed Josh a tall round piece.
Josh held it in his hand, staring at the small board. He grinned and placed the piece on an open square. “Quarto!”
“What? No way!” Zach shook his head.
“Solids,” Josh crowed, pointing at four pieces on the board.
“Shoot.” Zach nodded, putting the pieces away. “I’ll get you next time.”
“’Kay.” He gave Zach a high five. “See you tomorrow.
Standing, Josh threw his arms around her legs and gave her a big hug. “Hi, Mom,” he repeated.
“Hi yourself.” She hugged him back. “Get your backpack.”
She checked out the name of the game. Quarto. She’d have to see if the thrift shop had it. The Chutes and Ladders set they’d bought last month was falling apart.
“Bye, Sarah.” Josh waved as the receptionist handed Cheryl her receipt.
They turned right when they left the day care, and Josh rattled on about his day. He grew silent as they walked by the gelato store.
Her little boy had learned never to ask for anything. But he stared at a little girl licking a cone.
She had a ten-dollar bill in her pocket. Since she’d covered tuition for the week, she’d planned to add it to her tips and see if she could get herself some cheap jeans.
Jeans could wait. “Do you want a cone?”
His eyes grew big. Brad’s eyes. “Really?” he asked.
“Really.”
He rushed to the door. “Thanks!”
He stood at the counter, looking at the bounty of flavors. “What’s that one?”
“Cherry.”
“And that?”
“Lemon cheesecake.”
Josh scrunched up his mouth. “Do I like that?”
“It’s my favorite.” The girl behind the counter dug out a small spoonful. “Here’s a sample.”
He tasted it. “I do! I like it!”
Cheryl bought him a small cone and watched as her son happily licked it up.
“Want some?” Josh held up the cone as they headed down the steps to River Street.
She took a little taste, not wanting to take too much from her son. “Mmm, delicious.”
She kept her hand on Josh’s shoulder as they joined the crowded sidewalk. Unlocking the apartment door, she let them in and took his backpack off his shoulder. “Go eat at the table.”
He made sure not one drip went anywhere but his belly.
She carried his backpack into the kitchen, emptying the paper and pictures. He loved to color and draw. Maybe next year when Josh was in kindergarten and her day care tuition was less, she could afford to get him some art lessons.
