How would Tasha have reacted if she’d known the Victorian was his childhood home? It didn’t surprise him that he’d never seen her all the years she and her mom observed the house. Their family had become used to holiday clusters of people admiring the home, until their presence was almost like white noise. And most Christmases, while his dad often worked, he and his mom usually went out of town to visit his aunt.
He wanted to save the house for himself and those strangers like Tasha who gazed at it with dreams in their eyes. Where in the world was he going to find a woman willing to marry a stranger, and like a revolving door, just as quickly become a divorcée? Someone with similar morals and character that he could trust being in close proximity with for three months.
He also needed a lady he could easily cut ties with when the agreement was over, without messy emotions getting in the way. He’d been down that road before, where women claimed they were happy just being friends, but ultimately wanted more from him, convinced they could change his mind.
Tasha invaded his thoughts again. His heart went out to her, especially during the holidays. He knew what it was like to be alone in the world. His aunt Zora had been his last living close relative. It had given him pleasure to know that the Victorian brought Tasha joy, that something he was connected to had brightened her spirits and made her happy.
There was something as fragile as china about the diminutive stranger with the highlighted brown shoulder-length corkscrew curls and cocoa-colored satin-smooth skin. Her features were topped off by a beautiful, Cheshire cat–like endearing smile.
If the eyes were the windows to the soul, he’d seen a latent sadness beyond the bright, inquisitive sparkle in Tasha’s almond-brown eyes. Something he recognized because he’d often seen the same look in his beloved mother’s eyes. The source of his mother’s perpetual wounded-dove expression had been his father. The man who sacrificed his son and wife on the altar of ambition. His workaholic father’s career had been his first love. His family had come in a distant second. Bile gurgled and burned Zed’s throat at the thought.
He could admit that he had his father’s same workaholic tendencies. But that was where the similarities ended. He’d vowed long ago to never do what his father did to his mother. His work was his first love, too. And that was the way he liked it. He wouldn’t put a woman and family in second place, like his father did with his mother, leaving her with a shattered heart.
Which is why he could never marry for real.
Tasha seemed to tick both boxes he wanted for his temporary wife, with her vehement declaration that marriage wasn’t every woman’s endgame and the mention of her faith, which meant they had similar beliefs and she probably could be trusted. Neither of them was interested in long-term commitment. And while her emotional investment in the home was nowhere near his, she did have a special attachment to the place, so she might be more willing to help save it.
Might their meeting have been serendipitous? There was only one way to find out. Maybe he could find her at Union Station.
He quickly made his way into the house, intent on fulfilling his reason for coming there—to turn on the faucets to drip because of the subzero temperatures forecast for the night. Old houses and burst pipes were no fun. He’d been there, done that.
Afterward, he jumped in his truck and guided the vehicle toward the highway to Denver and Union Station.
As Zed’s truck navigated the winding highway to the city, tension built in his gut, like a tightening fist. By the time he maneuvered his vehicle into a metered space downtown, he had to take deep breaths.
He peered at Union Station, the historic structure that he’d known so well as a child. The place mostly held sad memories of saying goodbye to his dad, a railroad executive and later an airline executive, who was often away from home, even during the holidays.
His parents had married and had him late in life. He remembered his father, his black hair speckled with gray, always distinguishably dressed, standing stoically in Union Station, as Zed cried his heart out each holiday they parted. The cavernous building would carry the sound of his cries. His dad, embarrassed at his son’s public outburst, would say in an even tone, “Son, you must learn how to be a man, in control of yourself and your circumstances.”
Zed had wanted to yell, But I’m not a man. I’m a boy who wants his father home for the holidays. That’s all!
The memories had choked out any joy he had of the beautiful venue during the holidays. Until he just quit going to the place.
“You got this,” he whispered to himself.
He exited the truck and headed toward the building. Streams of holiday revelers were clumped together, entering as he did. Glittering decorations adorned most surfaces, and the low buzz of excited voices filled the spacious room.
Walking just beyond the gold-roped stations that parceled off the massive Christmas tree loaded with oversize ornaments, he scanned the room, looking for Tasha’s bright teal coat. When he finally caught sight of her, she was looking his way, surprise on her face. Tasha weaved through the crowd toward him.
“Are you following me?” she asked.
He was grateful to note a hint of teasing in her voice. He certainly didn’t want to come off the wrong way. “Maybe, Tasha-without-a-last-name-because-we-have-to-be-careful-these-days-and-you-don’t-know-me-like-that.”
Tasha’s unusual cackle filled the air. “Thank you for just making my birthday.” Regret instantly skewed her features. He guessed she hadn’t meant to disclose this fact.
He couldn’t hide his surprise. “It’s your birthday?”
She grimaced. “I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t usually go around advertising my birthday.”
“Why not? It’s a big day. Everyone deserves to be celebrated on their birthday. So how was it growing up, having a birthday so near Christmas?”
She groaned. “Combined presents. Honestly, I hated it. Still going through therapy over it,” she joked.
He chuckled. “Well, then, we can’t let this day go by without a celebration.”
She shook her head. “No, really, it’s okay. I didn’t tell you about it to obligate you.”
“Believe me, I never do anything I don’t want to do.”
She observed him for a moment, as if contemplating her decision. “Okay. I’m in. And by the way, my last name is Jenkins.”
“Nice to know, Ms. Jenkins. And on that note, my last name is Evans. Do you like breakfast food?”
“Love it. I can eat breakfast any time of day.”
“Great. Then how about Snooze, the breakfast place?”
“Sweet.” Tasha studied him as they started to walk toward the restaurant. “Is Union Station a holiday tradition for you, too?”
He tensed up. “It used to be. I haven’t been here in a long time.”
“You never answered my question. Why are you here?”
“I’ll explain. In time. Let’s eat and celebrate you.”
She wound with him through the river of people to the restaurant.
“So are you from Vista Peak?” he asked.
“No. I grew up in Denver. When I went away to college, my mom moved to Vista Peak. After college I moved there, too.”
“Was that, like, a few years ago?”
“Ha. You got jokes. I’m thirty-six. It was more than a few years ago. But I liked your veiled way of finding out my age. Smooth.”
He laughed. “I guess I could never be accused of being stealth. Just so you don’t feel so alone in sharing, I’m thirty-eight.”
While they waited to be seated, she told him a little more about herself. He was surprised to learn she was a wedding coordinator, considering her stance on marriage for herself. However, she’d admitted to being a hopeless romantic when it came to others.
“My dream is to open my own wedding-venue business to supplement the weddi
ng planning. It would be a one-stop shop thing. Not only would couples get me as a wedding planner, but I’d provide a photographer, light catering and a simple, inexpensive quaint venue. Here’s the really cool part about the business—I’d like to donate a portion of the proceeds from every transaction to organizations that support women’s causes, like homelessness, domestic violence, economic disparity. My clients would be able to choose which organization they’d like to support with the five percent of their sale. That way I’d feel that even if it’s in a small way, I’m contributing something positive to others’ lives.”
He was at a loss for words. Which didn’t happen often. Tasha’s dream and selfless giving heart impressed him. “Wow. That’s amazing.”
“You know how people are always talking about changing the world?” Tasha asked. Her excitement was palpable.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve always thought that was so broad, kind of unrealistic for most people, really. But we can change our world. Our personal sphere of influence. That’s what I aim to do. I believe it’s part of God’s plan for my life. However, it’s a pipe dream right now.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“I’ve got a lot of debt. School loans and other stuff. All I need is a blessing.” She finally paused and let out a nervous little laugh. “I’m probably boring you. When I’m passionate about something, I can go a little overboard.”
“You’re not boring me at all,” he replied. A game plan was forming in his mind on how to pitch his idea to her.
“I’m sorry. I’ve gone on and on about myself. Blah. Blah. Blah. What about you? What do you do for a living?” she asked.
“I’m a professor and dean of the school of architecture over at Vista Peak West College.”
“That sounds so interesting.”
“Originally, when I went to college, I wanted to be a writer, but I’ve always also been fascinated with buildings and functional spaces where people live and work. So I switched to architecture. I was an architect for ten years. I liked designing things that were functional, sustainable, beautiful and ecological and a haven of sorts where people could live their best lives. I also liked the thought that long after I was gone, people would thrive and live out their lives and dreams in something I created. Now, as a professor and dean, I get to ignite that dream in others.”
“So your influence becomes exponential,” she replied.
“I never quite thought of it like that, but yes, you’re right,” he said.
“Well, just always promise to use your powers for good,” Tasha joked, her voice in a mock sinister tone.
He chuckled.
The restaurant buzzer went off, alerting them their table was ready. They were seated and reviewed the menu.
Tasha ordered the Hawaiian Surprise entrée—pancakes drizzled with caramel, pineapple and pecans. She told him how, growing up, her mom always made pancakes that were the size of a skillet for her on Saturdays, and when she’d first seen silver-dollar-size pancakes, she thought the restaurant cook had made a mistake.
“There was just something so special about those laid-back childhood Saturdays. The random sound of lawn mowers, kids playing, barking dogs—endless golden sunshine. Sweet times. I miss those simple times. I think we need more of those.” She sighed. “Eating pancakes always brings that enchanted feeling back for me.”
“Sounds wonderful,” he said. He cut into his turkey sausage omelet and scooped up a healthy bite of the food. “I usually made my own breakfast.” His temples tensed.
There’d been too many quiet mornings alone. His mother had often sequestered in her room, struggling with crippling bouts of depression from his dad’s absences, and he’d been left to fend for himself.
He paused, as if trying to decide whether to say more. “I mostly ate cereal. If I wanted to switch it up a bit, I traded the regular milk for chocolate.”
“Chocolate milk and cereal?”
He chuckled. “I was an interesting child, to say the least.”
“You obviously haven’t changed.”
He gazed at her. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
“Most definitely.”
He warmed at her kind words. Shaking his head several times to free himself of his contemplation of the past, he tried to figure out how to broach the subject of marriage with her. An idea came to him. “Tasha, question for you. Do your friends give you a hard time about not being married?”
“Uh, yeah. All the time.”
“Mine, too. Ad nauseum.” He whooshed out a long breath. “What if I told you I may have a way for you to make some substantial cash to achieve your business dream, as well as get your friends off your back about marriage once and for all?”
A flicker of concern flashed across her face, and he sensed her guard was going up. He got it. He was virtually a stranger and she didn’t know where he was going with the conversation.
Zed gulped, as if readying himself to be submerged under water for a lengthy period, then uttered words he never thought he’d say. “I was thinking we could get married.”
Chapter Two
Tasha sat stunned. What was going on? Had she been transferred to an alternate universe?
“Let me explain,” Zed said. “I’ve got a beyond brilliant proposition for you.”
She stared at him as if he were a Martian. “That much I got, Einstein.”
His mouth curved into a half smile at her comment. “I have an idea that might benefit us both. Remember the Victorian where we met?”
She nodded.
“It belongs to my family.”
She was even more confused. “You live there?”
“Yes, I once did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s a long story. You were a stranger. I never thought I’d see you again. I didn’t consider an explanation necessary.”
“And now you do?”
“Yes. The house originally belonged to my paternal grandmother, Gigi. She gave it to my parents as a wedding gift. My dad died unexpectedly of a heart attack when I was a teenager. Not too long afterward, my mom got sick. She put my aunt Zora on the house deed, too, in case something happened to her. Ultimately, it did. My aunt Zora died recently, and I’m the only surviving family member.”
“So the house is yours now?”
He rolled his tea-with-lemon-colored eyes. “Not exactly. That’s where you come in.”
Tasha tried to connect the random dots of his conversation. It still didn’t make sense.
“Here’s the long and short of it. My aunt’s will stipulated I can only have the place if I’m married. Otherwise, she’s specified that it be sold to developers and torn down.”
Tasha gasped. She couldn’t imagine the lovely historic home no longer being there. The place had been special to her mother and herself. It would almost be like losing a small part of her own past, too. And the thought of the exquisite historic house becoming yet another razed property incensed her. It was unthinkable that the vintage gem might be replaced by some boxy, generic McMansion.
“There’s more,” Zed said.
Tasha massaged her tense temples. “Wait. Give me a moment. My mind’s still reeling.”
He covered her hands with his own. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s a lot to take in.”
They sat quietly for a moment, observing the animated holiday restaurant crowd.
“Here’s the thing, Tasha,” Zed finally continued. “My aunt and mom were hopeless romantics. Amazingly, my mom always believed in love, in spite of what she went through with my dad. Until their dying days, they wished for me to be married. They couldn’t accept my decision that marriage wasn’t a part of my plans.” His eyes widened and resettled. “Like, ever.” His lips formed a rigid, determined line to match his iron-clad declaration.
Tasha marveled t
hat she’d stumbled upon yet another commitmentphobic man. It was like she was a magnet for these guys, or something. Not that it mattered anymore. No, sirree. I’m good on my own.
She had the Lord and she had great friends who were like family. What was that old saying? You couldn’t choose your family by blood, but you could choose your family by heart. She’d done that. She didn’t need anything else.
Tasha tried to ignore the sudden acid reflux that gurgled up in her chest.
Zed sighed. “So basically, the will’s stipulation was Aunt Zora’s last attempt at fulfilling their wish for me.” He shook his head in apparent amazement. “Her intentions were good. I know she loved me.” He momentarily stared at the sea of people around them. “Aunt Zora stated in her will that I could only have the place if I’m married for at least three months and live with my wife in the house during that time.”
Tasha shook her head, as if to try to clear the thickening cobwebs. “Why three months?”
“She knew me. She figured I’d get a quickie marriage and annulment to get the title to the place. Which is exactly what I would have done.”
“I still don’t get the three-month thing.”
“My aunt Zora was a bit quirky. She loved statistics and analytics. She was always quoting the statistic that it takes sixty-six days for a habit to form. She probably threw in the extra month for good measure. I think she figured if I lived with someone in the Victorian for three months, that it would allow time for something to possibly happen between me and my new spouse. I’m guessing she hoped I’d fall in love. She probably didn’t want to force me to stay in something that I didn’t really want, so if after the three months things didn’t work out, I could still have the house and walk away from the relationship. But in her mind, at least I would have given marriage a chance.”
He gazed at her intently. “Bottom line—I’ve got to be married to retain my childhood home, the residence that holds irreplaceable memories. A place I don’t want to lose.”
Claiming His Christmas Inheritance Page 2
