Law of Attraction

by Charlotte Hubbard

  She hugged herself, unaware of how her green T-shirt stretched over her breasts to cling to her curves. “This still feels like a fairy tale, Ross. I…I keep looking for a catch. I mean, how likely was it for me to show up here and find you ready to rejuvenate the home of my dreams?”

  “I’m the catch.” He watched her closely, satisfied that her delight felt genuine. “But in the unlikely event we don’t stay together—or if you’ll feel obligated to me, if I give you this place—we can talk about your rent-to-own idea.”

  Her face reflected the same excited need that twitched in his gut, that need to believe they could weave their separate stories into a happy ending. That did happen in real life, didn’t it? If not, he didn’t want to know. He’d always wanted to see a woman light up with his love for her, and Angie Cavanaugh was glowing like the sky on the Fourth of July.

  “I can’t believe you just—Wait a minute. You’d better spell this out.” A little furrow appeared between her eyes. “How can you give me this place if it’s not yours? Or talk about renting it to me—”

  “I made offers on all four of these bungalows yesterday. The transactions are already in progress.” He smiled at the amazement on her face. “Just another example of how things fall into place when the time—and the money—are right.”

  Angie glanced away, deep in thought. “But if this one was listed for more than four hundred fifty thousand…Ross, that’s more than a million eight hundred thousand…”

  He grabbed her hands. While it pleased him that she didn’t avert her attention from the reality of this deal, he didn’t want the math to ruin the magic for them. “These places have been for sale long enough that the owners agreed to take a loss to recoup the rest of their investment. And because Kyle will adhere to the historical standards required to get some grant money for them, I’ll get some of my money back—and I figure the other three homes will be more salable after they’re rehabbed, too.”

  He smiled, gripping her fingers. “But yeah, it’s still a big chunk of change. Biggest risk I’ve taken in a long while, but it feels so damn good to take that chance, when I see the way this place lights you up, honey.”

  Angie blinked, as though the finances still boggled her mind. “Why are you being so generous?” she whispered as she searched his eyes. “What’s in it for you, if I decide this idea scares the hell out of me?”

  Ross coaxed her against him, feeling the way she fit so perfectly against his body. “I have nothing to lose, sweetheart,” he assured her. And he’d never felt more confident of anything in his life. “I can afford to do this for you. And yes, while I’m hoping you are what’s in it for me, something about making a woman’s ultimate dream come true appeals to me. Makes me feel I can do something worthwhile in this lifetime.”

  Her expression softened and he kissed her, walked her slowly backward to press her against the wall beside the fireplace. Her soft moan fueled his need to taste and touch her all over. He thought of the Murphy bed upstairs, but it had no mattress. The couch was impossibly old and ratty. No telling what sort of bugs lurked in the rug…

  Outside, Pink Floyd blared until a truck door slammed. Ross backed out of the kiss with a reluctant sigh. “Iverson still grooves on old rock. Lemme talk to him a minute while you think about paint and carpet stuff, okay?”

  Once again, Angie became the kid who’d come here on summer vacations, all pigtails and missing front teeth and childlike trust. She nodded, smoothing her hair as though that would erase the way their kiss had inflamed her.

  Ross grinned, because Iverson would surely razz him about all this. As he stepped out to the sagging front porch, he inhaled to clear his head. Rehabbing these homes on Windswept involved more than a million bucks—not an amount he could trifle with just to impress Angie. “Kyle,” he said with a nod. “How are ya, buddy?”

  “No, the question is, how’re you?” The carpenter gave the bungalow a quick once-over. “Good to see your head’s still attached. Can’t imagine any man givin’ Rita the kiss-off without comin’ up a few body parts short, ya know?”

  “Yeah, well, I finally said what had to be said. Should’ve called it to a halt years ago.”

  “And she said…?”

  Ross shrugged. “The usual. Pleading and tears, backed up with threats.”

  “That why her front window’s boarded up?”

  “Yep. Threw a teapot through it—which tells me she’s losing her edge,” he added with a wry chuckle. “Once upon a time, Rita would’ve thrown it at me.”

  “Don’t go feelin’ so confident, Costello. She could make tonight’s rehearsal memorable in ways we don’t wanna think about.”

  Again Ross shrugged. “Not much I can do about that. Rita makes her choices, same as the rest of us. With all those witnesses at practice, she’ll look clingy and sick if she makes a big scene. Worse comes to worst, we’ll play without a singer.”

  “Like she’ll go along with that.” Kyle took a long drag on his cigarette and then smashed it beneath his boot heel. The lines of his face deepened with his grin. “But I gotta hand it to ya for callin’ a halt. Woman like that never really loves a man, just keeps draggin’ him through the same ol’ dirt till she wears him out. So…what’s up here?” The carpenter’s gaze lingered on the dormer, then followed the pitch of the roof down to the porch pillars. “What’s put the burr up your butt to remodel these places? Won’t come cheap, even if I give ya the good-buddy discount.”

  Ross gripped the porch post. If he didn’t tell the truth straight on, Kyle would figure it out as soon as he met Angie. “Things have happened,” he hedged, “and what with the real-estate business being pretty sucky right now—”

  “I smell a snow job. Ross Costello might be walkin’ in high cotton, but he doesn’t throw his dough at saggin’ bungalows. Not without a damn good reason.”

  Ross’s lips twisted. “Okay, so I’ve met somebody. She came to this little place for vacations when she was a kid.”

  “God, don’t tell me you’ve got another one on the string.”

  “It’s not like that this time!”

  “Ya shut off Rita’s faucet and grabbed onto this new gal’s—”

  “Hey, watch your mouth! She’s inside. Waiting to meet you.” The warning came out in a more strident tone than he’d intended, but Angie could hear every word they said. “Besides, I’ve latched onto some low-interest loans and grants for rehabbing historic structures. Maybe that’ll kick-start the local real-estate business, when buyers see we’re serious about our heritage and its preservation.”

  “Uh-huh. Preservation.” Iverson’s forehead creased with sun-bronzed ridges from decades of working outdoors. “At least you’re not too old to make up new excuses. Maybe I better meet your new, uh, friend, before ya dig yourself a deeper trench.”

  “Razz me all you want, but you’ll know in a heartbeat that Angie’s from a totally different planet than Rita.” Ross felt like a college kid introducing his new squeeze to his parents, seeking Iverson’s approval. Yet why did he need that? Hell, at his age, if he couldn’t choose a woman for his own reasons, why would any woman pick him?

  He stepped into the living room, sensing Angie had just ducked out so he wouldn’t catch her eavesdropping. Chuckling, he nodded toward the kitchen. “I asked her to recall how these rooms looked when she was a kid, and—if that style still suits her—we can come close to restoring this little home’s original charm. Angie’s all about charm, trust me.”

  In fact, there she stood, gazing out the kitchen window toward the beach. A hint of girlish guilt lingered in her grin: she’d been listening to them, all right.

  “This room used to be green, like a Granny Smith apple,” she mused aloud. “Same glass-front cabinets above the sink, but they were painted white. Definitely needs new appliances, but I’m wondering if you can find a fridge to fit that space anymore.” Angie turned then, to playfully widen her eyes at him. “Everything’s so much…bigger these days.”

 
Ross nearly choked on the sexual vibration behind that remark. “If anybody can do the job, this guy can. Angie Ca-vanaugh, meet Kyle Iverson—ace restoration guy, who also plays a mean trombone if you pour enough drinks in him.”

  She reached forward to shake Iverson’s hand, poised and pretty. Kyle, however, appeared so dumbstruck he couldn’t have found his instrument if it were resting on his lap. “I…Hey, real pleased to meet ya,” the carpenter stammered. “Not to worry ’bout that fridge. We’ll make it all fit. Great little place, this cottage.”

  The heat flared as though he’d turned the oven up full blast. Emotions ran rampant in the guy standing beside him. Confusion and pain and disbelief colored Kyle Iverson’s aura, and Ross suddenly felt his friend’s craving for whiskey and another cigarette. What was that about?

  “We’ll consider whatever improvements you suggest, and once you’ve got enough info, I’d like you to write up a bid,” he said to dispel the tension in his pal. “Not that I’m asking anyone else to submit one. You’re the only guy who’ll do the place justice.”

  Iverson looked like a rabbit ready to bolt. But he put on a smile as he released Angie’s hand. “Thanks, Costello. Hope I can live up to your expectations. Shall we, uh, look around?”

  Fourteen

  WHO was this guy, really?

  Angie didn’t have to be psychic to sense Kyle Iverson’s agitation when she’d grabbed his moist hand. What had he almost blurted out? Was he staring because she’d sprouted a second head? Or was she was so different from Ross’s other women, he couldn’t believe it?

  Kyle stood taller than Ross. Lankier. He appeared older, perhaps in his late fifties, or maybe his leathery skin and smoker’s voice made him seem as if he’d chosen some roads less traveled. His sandy hair was clipped short. His hands bore the scars of his carpentry. His jeans and chambray shirt were well-worn but clean, and his footsteps echoed solidly as he crossed the wooden floor in his boots. No doubt he’d do a fantastic makeover on this house, but the way he gawked at her gave Angie the willies.

  Once he concentrated on the house, however, Iverson’s passion for restoration overrode his evident nerves. “You just don’t see so much efficiency in so little space anymore,” he remarked as he ran a hand along the newel post. “Did ya realize these places were Sears kit homes, Ross? Yep—you could order different models from their catalog, and they packed all three thousand-some pieces into a boxcar along with instructions.” Iverson smiled at the arched curve of the openings between the living room, kitchen, and dining room. “A pro could put a bungalow together in a week or two, and the average do-it-yourselfer could theoretically build a home like this in a couple-three months. All for a couple thousand bucks.”

  “Sweet.” Ross clapped him on the back. “Who knew you’d be such a font of knowledge about this stuff? But then, why wouldn’t you be?”

  Iverson glanced up the stairway where the wallpaper was yellowed and dated. “Betcha we’ll find Sears stock numbers rubber-stamped on the rafters. And there’s probably a sales brochure in the attic, tellin’ about this model. Guys back then stashed that stuff, hopin’ future generations would think it was cool.”

  Angie did find it cool, even if she sensed these guys were chattering like magpies because she was with them. Stalling.

  “This place still has the original built-ins, and the pillared porch, and a closet tucked under the stairs…” Kyle sighed as if nostalgia nearly overwhelmed him. Then he gazed at her straight on, with hazel eyes like an old hound dog’s. “You must think I’m some sorta weirdo, gawkin’ atcha this way, but—well, you remind me of somebody I used to know. Met her right here in Harmony Falls, when I was a kid on vacation.” He ran his hand over his short hair as though considering how much to say. “Guess we all had a summer like that. Haven’t thought about her in years.”

  “Ah, summer love,” Ross rhapsodized. “If I had a nickel for every kiss I stole when a girl’s folks weren’t looking—”

  “You still wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel!” Kyle retorted.

  “Hey! Trumpet players make the best kissers!” he shot back. “Why do you think I suffered through band in school? Sure as hell wasn’t so I could practice marching routines at the crack of dawn.”

  Iverson snickered. “Had to be the cheerleaders, then. That’s why I stayed in band. But guitars still gotcha more girls than a trombone.” He turned toward Angie then, his smile more relaxed. “You play?”

  She shook her head, caught up in their teasing. “Sang in chorus, but I gave it up once I graduated. Dad was not inclined to support a starving artist.”

  They were slowly ascending the stairway, sounding each other out. Wasn’t that odd, though? In her years at the hospice, where families dealt with death on a daily basis, she’d never hesitated to share their lives, and hers. And while she liked Kyle Iverson, she still felt his discomfort as he climbed the steep stairs behind her, his eyes at the same level as her butt.

  “This front room was always mine,” she said, mostly to keep some conversation flowing. “My folks used the bedroom downstairs, so I pretended the whole upper story was my apartment. Only children spend a lot of time in their fantasies, I guess. Except for the wall color, this room hasn’t changed at all. This is even the same furniture that’s been here since—”

  “Before nineteen seventy.” Iverson got ghostly pale. “You’ll have to excuse me, Angie, but—” His voice cracked as he grabbed Ross’s shoulder. “You and I gotta talk, buddy. If this is some of your hoodoo-voodoo stuff, just leave me out. Got it?”

  Angie stared after them as the carpenter quickly steered Ross downstairs. Their footsteps drowned out their muttered conversation, but all was definitely not well. What was going on here? Why was Kyle so hung up on this house, citing a date from long before she and Mom and Daddy vacationed here?

  “Me?” Ross’s voice reverberated in the room below her. “Hey, you’re the one who was jumpin’ out of his skin up there! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “You have no idea—”

  “Your eyeballs nearly popped out!” Ross shot back. “If you’ve got something going on with Angie, you’d damn well better say so!”

  Angie hovered near a round heat grate in the floor, holding her breath. Ross sounded ready to pummel his buddy because of her! And while that felt vaguely exciting, she didn’t like the idea that two old friends might come to blows over a mysterious misunderstanding. She’d never before seen Kyle Iverson. She was sure of it. Yet he seemed so jumpy, had been tongue-tied since the moment Ross introduced them.

  “Look, this isn’t somethin’ I go spoutin’ off about,” Iverson rasped below her, “but that summer I was talkin’ about? I got that girl—Patty, her name was—pregnant, and her mother brought her back to this house, to that room upstairs, to have the baby. Ask Lenore if you don’t believe me. She was the midwife.”

  The bottom dropped out of Angie’s stomach. She had an inkling where this story was headed, and it made her whole body twitch.

  “So, what are you saying?” Ross asked in a calmer voice. “If that was back in seventy, you couldn’t have been—”

  “Seventeen. Couldn’t support a family. Not on the best terms with my folks, so Lenore arranged for the baby’s adoption right away.” Kyle exhaled loudly. “Haven’t seen Patty or the baby since, but I’ve wondered about ’em plenty over the years. And…well, we named the baby Angela. And that gal upstairs is the spittin’ image of Patty, so you can see why I’m gettin’ jittery here. Hell, I thought she was Patty! And when you introduced her as—”

  “Holy shit,” Ross murmured. “I’ve had some flashbacks and vibrations from Angie being in this house, and about someone I sensed was her mother. But I had no idea that was your energy I channeled as…I don’t know what to say, pal.”

  Angie’s heart thudded erratically until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. Lenore’s face flashed before her: surely her mentor wouldn’t have kept such a momentous secret from her unless…unless i
t wasn’t true! The room went airless, and she felt ready to pass out or maybe have a stroke or—

  She rushed down the stairs. By God, if Iverson was making this up as some convoluted excuse to bilk them for more money, or—

  Yet when she got to the breakfast nook, where she and Mom and Daddy—her real parents—had shared countless meals over the years, she couldn’t miss the bewilderment in Kyle’s eyes. He looked older. Really spooked. He fumbled a cigarette from its pack, and the end of it made his face glow red when he inhaled, as though he couldn’t suck enough air through it.

  Angie looked at Ross and then at Iverson again. “Okay, so I wasn’t supposed to be listening,” she rasped, “but I know who my parents were. Mom and I shared everything, and I’m Bill Cavanaugh made over. So whatever you’re trying to pull here, saying you and some girl named Patty had a baby in that room upstairs…well, that’s fine and dandy. But that baby wasn’t me.”

  The carpenter inhaled again, held the smoke so long that Angie wanted to breathe for him. With those sad hazel eyes set in a web of crow’s-feet, he looked endearingly sincere, a nice older guy she’d be happy to help with this home’s makeover. Yet he looked ready to cry. Stood there shaking his head as he gazed at her with ghostly wisps of smoke encircling his face.

  “I swear I’m not makin’ this up,” he mumbled. “The last thing I’d want is to hurt ya, honey. I…I had no idea any of this would come to light again after so many years.”

  Ross looked speechless. Just kept staring from her to his longtime friend.

  “So what are you channeling now?” Angie rasped. “You could’ve warned me about Kyle’s history in this house before—”

  “That’s the part I don’t understand, babe. I’m thinking back to those vibes I had the other day, when I described you as your mother’s look-alike and you corrected me. Remember?”