Your House or Mine?

by Cynthia Thomason

  “I’ve always wanted to see inside that big old house,” the lady at the dry cleaners told her.

  A young man at the hardware store mentioned that his grandfather had spoken of fast times at the Ashford place, and he would definitely be at the auction.

  After hearing several comments like these, Meg was certain there would be a big crowd spilling over the lawn and into the first floor of Ashford House for the event. And Gloria would be happy with the check she received a few days later.

  At four o’clock, Meg finally took a glass of iced tea onto the veranda, put her feet up, and dialed her home telephone number on her cell phone.

  “Hi, Mom,” Spence said. “How’s it going?”

  “Really well, honey. So, you only have two more days of school. I can’t wait to see you on Sunday.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “I think you’re going to like it up here,” she said. “We have a lot of work to do to get ready for Aunt Amelia’s auction, but we’ll have some fun, too.”

  “Uncle Jerry says I’ll be living with a policeman.”

  “Actually he’s a deputy. That’s what policemen are called up here, and yes, he’s staying for a while.”

  “Why is he living in Aunt Amelia’s house?”

  What should have been a simple answer wasn’t, and Meg paused for a moment to consider how to respond. She’d told Spencer that they would someday own Ashford House and maybe live there, and she didn’t want to try to explain the complicated circumstances surrounding the deputy’s claim. And she couldn’t tell her son that Wade was staying to deter burglars. Finally she said, “He’s a friend of Aunt Amelia’s, a very nice man, and he helps her with some of the chores. He has a daughter—”

  “You mean a girl’s living there, too?”

  “Yes, and the deputy’s father, who—”

  “Oh, great. I thought it would just be the two of us.”

  Spencer hadn’t been to Ashford House in so long, perhaps he had forgotten how huge the place was. Meg tried to allay his concerns by pointing out the size of the house. “There are twelve rooms, remember? We’ll have plenty of our own space.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and Meg didn’t press him. Finally he said, “You know, Mom, Uncle Jerry isn’t too happy that you’re coming to get me.”

  And suddenly you don’t seem too happy either, Meg thought. “Spencer, I know you have fun with Uncle Jerry, and he cares for you a great deal, but you also know that one of the reasons he’s not pleased I’m coming on Sunday is that he’ll have to tell Mary Beth the truth about you and me.”

  “She’s here now,” Spencer said. “He’s going to tell her tonight. We’ve sort of got a plan worked out.”

  Meg’s maternal instincts went on alert again. “Spencer, you know how I feel about lying.”

  “I’m not going to lie, Mom. And Uncle Jerry’s just telling a little lie, but he really likes her. He says guys do some crazy things when women are involved.”

  Meg sighed. Apparently her son was learning a dangerous lesson that, in matters of the heart, the end justified the means. She didn’t need another man in his life setting a bad example. His father had already done that. Dave hadn’t left his son a darn thing when he walked out—not even a trait the boy could think back on and admire. He just left him sad and feeling that he’d done something to make his dad go away. And now Meg had to worry that Jerry was becoming another poor role model for her son.

  Meg hated the miles that separated her and Spence, miles that she could only breach with words, not hugs. “Honey, Uncle Jerry never should have let Mary Beth believe that you didn’t live with your mother,” she said. “That’s the thing about lies. They build on each other until they’re out of control. Now Uncle Jerry has to tell yet another lie so it didn’t look like he was lying in the first place.”

  “I guess it wasn’t a good thing to do,” he admitted.

  “No, it wasn’t. You have a mother who loves you very much. And she can’t wait until Sunday. Enjoy your last two days of school. Is Mrs. Johnson having a party on Friday?”

  “I guess so,” he said without enthusiasm. “But it’s out on the playground, and it’s hot. I figured I’d just bring my Game Boy to school. Mrs. Johnson said it’s okay.”

  Once again Spencer put himself on the fringe of life where he didn’t have to risk being hurt or ignored. Meg’s heart ached for him. “We’re going to have a wonderful summer,” she said, and she wished it were true for both of them.

  MARY BETH SAT on the sofa in Meg’s living room and looked up at Jerry. “So he’s talking to her right now?”

  “Yeah,” Jerry said. “My sister called just a few minutes before you got here. I wasn’t really surprised.” Jerry walked from the sofa to the window and looked out on the street. He needed a few seconds to formulate the words in his mind. “Meg’s not a bad person,” he said turning back to Mary Beth. “She loves Spencer. She just goes through these difficult periods in her life when she needs a little time to find herself again.”

  Mary Beth nodded. “I guess I’m happy for Spencer,” she said, “but I still don’t see how your sister could have left him.”

  Jerry gave her a little half grin. “It’s not as if Meg left him with an ogre or anything.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. You obviously love Spencer and he feels the same about you. You’re a wonderful uncle.”

  He sat down next to her. “I try.”

  “How do you feel about Meg coming to get Spencer? About her taking him from Orlando? Will she be responsible?”

  Jerry took Mary Beth’s hand in both of his. “I’m sure she will. Spencer will be fine. Besides, he knows how to reach me if he has to.”

  Jerry rested his elbow on the back of the sofa. “You’ve been a big help to me with Spence,” he said. “But I wouldn’t mind having a little time alone with you.”

  She smiled at him, parting her full pink lips, and lowering her eyelids until her lashes lay delicately against her pale skin. She was the most perfectly put-together female Jerry had ever seen. Maybe she wasn’t the type he’d always gone out with. But Mary Beth was definitely the woman he wanted. He’d been content for a while to wait for her to realize she had feelings for him, to recognize that they could share more than an interest in Spencer and a profitable business relationship. But a man could only stand so much.

  He lowered his arm to her shoulders and wrapped his hand around her arm. She didn’t pull away. That was good. He slipped a finger under her chin and turned her face toward his. “Mary Beth? I think it’s time we notched up our relationship to something more personal, don’t you?”

  She raised her eyes and stared intently at him. He swallowed, forced himself to breathe. He’d said the wrong thing.

  And then she grinned. “Frankly, Jerry, I don’t know what you’ve been waiting for. There could be advantages to being alone.”

  Dumbfounded, he stared back at her. He threaded his fingers through the golden curls tumbling over her shoulders and grasped the nape of her neck. That was all it took. She came to him, all soft and yielding and ready. He kissed her warm mouth and tasted her with his tongue. And she kissed him back with equal enthusiasm.

  Until they both heard the subtle rasp of someone clearing his throat.

  With a groan, Jerry pushed Mary Beth away. “Spencer! Come in,” he said.

  He came through the doorway and sat on the floor.

  “How’d it go with your mother?” Jerry asked in a husky voice.

  “It went great.”

  “Then you’re okay about going away with her?” Mary Beth asked.

  “Sure.” Then, responding to Jerry’s subtle glare, he added, “My mom’s fine now. She had some time to herself, and she’s really anxious to see me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Mary Beth said. “But we’ll miss you here.”

  “Oh, boy will we,” Jerry said. He glanced at Mary Beth whose luscious lips were still moist from their kiss. “About what time will your mom
get here on Sunday?” he asked.

  MEG PUSHED Mr. Cuddles away from her chest and rolled over to grab her wristwatch. She pressed the tab that lighted the digital display. 11:35. “What’s the use,” she grumbled and threw off the covers. She couldn’t sleep despite being exhausted and despite accomplishing nearly all her goals. It had been a difficult day. She’d had trouble concentrating especially when she’d been typing auction advertisements she’d eventually mailed to shopkeepers. The store where she’d used the computer was right next to Mount Esther’s town hall, and when Meg had seen Wade’s car in the parking lot, she’d spent more time watching the vehicle than the monitor.

  And now it was late and she hadn’t seen Wade all day. He’d called and talked to Roone, telling him that he was going to stake out the environmental preserve outside of town. Somebody had been dumping old tires on the protected property, and Bert and he were taking turns watching the site.

  Meg put on her robe and went downstairs. Maybe a glass of milk and a couple of cookies would at least make her inner clock think it was bedtime. After winding through the dining room where Amelia’s unwrapped purchases now sat on top of the table, she heaved her shoulder against the swinging door. It met an immovable object on the other side at the same time a loud ooomph! sounded from the kitchen.

  Cringing at the damage she might have inflicted, and praying she hadn’t knocked Roone on his backside, Meg gently pushed the door with the flat of her hand. But it was Wade’s startled expression she saw when she stepped into the room. She bunched the yoke of her robe into her fist, and emitted a most unladylike squawk.

  Wade rubbed his shoulder with one hand while balancing a plate holding a half-empty glass and a piece of pie swimming in a pool of milk.

  Meg stifled a giggle. “You’re home.”

  “Yep. And trying to recover from your sneak attack.” He set the plate down on a counter and frowned at the door. “Tell you what. I’ll be Curly and you be Moe.”

  As she breezed by him she picked up his plate. “I’ll get you another piece. Sit down.”

  He did and she cut two more slices, one for him and one for herself. She brought two glasses of milk to the table and sat across from him. “Did you catch the tire dumper?”

  “Sure did. A fella with a wheel and hubcap store in the next county. I guess he couldn’t dirty his own territory so he chose to pollute the environment of Mount Esther.” He took a large bite of pie and talked around it. “I questioned him about the break-in here, by the way. He didn’t do it.”

  “So, what did you do with him?”

  “Bert took him to the county lockup. He’ll see a judge in the morning and probably be out by noon. But I don’t think he’ll bring any more tires to Mount Esther. And if Bert has his way, he’ll be spending the next four Saturdays picking up garbage along the pedestrian cat-walks to the limestone caves in the preserve.”

  “What a pity,” Meg said. “He’ll miss the auction.”

  Wade smirked. “I’m sure he would have been a big bidder.” He took a swallow of milk and said, “Did you make the pie?”

  “Almost,” she said. “I bought it.”

  “Okay, then, I can tell you. It’s not very good.”

  “Do you want some leftover lasagna? Your father made enough for an army.”

  Wade chewed on the last bite of the not-so-good pie. “I’ll pass. I had a sub earlier.” He leaned back in his chair and gave her an odd, indecipherable grin. “Mostly I just want to look at you.”

  Meg wished she had a huge glass of ice cubes she could pour down the front of her robe. It was the only thing she could think of to combat the sudden burst of heat infusing every inch of her body. She’d never been very good at flirtatious comebacks. “Oh, well…” She stood up and carried his plate to the sink.

  “And that was a stupid thing for me to say,” he said. “Truthful but stupid.”

  She turned around, leaned against the counter. “Under the circumstances, probably.”

  His gaze passed from her mussed-up hair to her fuzzy slippers. “But you’re cute, Meg,” he said. “I like looking at you.”

  He stood up and came toward her. Every muscle in her body tensed at the same time she thought she might melt to the floor like a warm puddle of butter.

  “And I liked kissing you,” he said. “I thought you should know that.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  He reached up and ran his hand down her hair, her cheek, her jawline. She stood rigidly, her chest rising and falling with each effort to keep from panting.

  He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “Damn. I want to do it again.”

  He leaned closer. She placed the flat of her hand on his chest. “Wade, don’t. We shouldn’t get involved this way. Not when there are so many problems. This house. Our kids might not get along. Your dad resents me.” Your past.

  She was saying the words, knowing they were true, but wanting to take them all back. It had been so long since a man made her feel like she had last night at the spring. But this was not the right time nor was this the right man.

  “I think our kids will get along fine,” Wade said. “And Pop will adjust to whatever he has to. But if all this stuff bothers you, I don’t like it, but I understand.” He took a step back from her. “But if I can’t kiss you, I’m going to bed. Because it doesn’t make much sense for a man to stand in the kitchen with a sexy woman in her nightie and talk about tires and garbage dumps.”

  He walked away from her and left the kitchen without looking back. And Meg stared down at her large, comfy robe that was just fine on cold lonely nights in Orlando, but seemed terribly frumpy right now. Then she sighed and looked at the swinging door that had just closed on a man who’d had the wonderful grace to call her a sexy woman in a nightie.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE NEXT THREE DAYS PASSED in a flurry of activity for Meg. The phone rang constantly at Ashford House with people asking about the auction. Between taking calls, she continued organizing Amelia’s belongings, and with Roone’s help, she carried pieces from the attic to be included in the sale.

  She also made time each day to visit her aunt at Shady Grove. Amelia’s mental capacities seemed to be declining rapidly now. There were still moments when she recognized Meg, and during those times, Meg asked her about the deed. When Amelia could not give her a definite answer, Meg didn’t press her.

  Wade concentrated his refurbishing efforts on the interior of the house, taking down old rotted wainscoting, resealing windows, and patching cracked wall boards. On Saturday morning Meg remarked that he was fixing the house as if he were convinced that it would be his.

  He’d smiled at her as he dipped his trowel in plaster. “I am convinced. Almost as convinced as I am that you’re never going to stop looking for the deed.” Then he’d taken her hand, pulled up a desk chair and urged her to sit. “But since one of us is probably going to end up with this house, I think we should discuss a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like sanding the kitchen cupboards before I paint them. Is it all right with you if I get started on that project?”

  “Sure,” she’d said with a devilish grin. “But just don’t choose the color yet. I might not like it.”

  Late Saturday night, the house was quiet. Wade was patrolling. Roone was watching television. Jenny was sound asleep recovering from the slumber party she’d had the night before. Meg went out on the veranda, sat in the cushiony softness of an old padded wicker chair, and put her feet on the porch rail. Light from the parlor filtered through Amelia’s lacy curtains and turned the veranda’s maple floorboards a burnished gold.

  After a few moments she noticed for the first time that a few of the spindles looked different from the rest. They were newer, sturdier, and lacked a coat of paint. She realized that Wade must have replaced them some time ago, probably before she arrived, and she smiled at his efforts.

  And then her smile faded because the skill and pride Wade put into each project aro
und the house touched a chord of sadness inside her. He had done so much to make this house his. His mark was in nearly every room now, in the screen he repaired in her bedroom, in the new plaster in the parlor, the more efficient plumbing in the bathrooms.

  If she had to lose Ashford House, Meg knew the home would thrive under Wade’s guardianship. Perhaps he truly believed that this house was healing him, and for that reason he would protect and preserve it in the years ahead. Certainly he’d made himself a part of Ashford House history in the weeks he’d been in Mount Esther. Still, Meg had been a part of that history since the day she was born, and her ties to the house couldn’t be discounted because of a little hard work and twenty thousand dollars.

  Headlights appeared at the beginning of the lane, and Meg recognized the sound of Wade’s patrol car. She was as accustomed to the purr of the engine as she was to the whine of his drill, or the hiss of sandpaper as he caressed a rough piece of wood. Or his mock-stern warning to teenaged girls who celebrated the start of summer by playing music too loud on a Friday night.

  Wade’s sounds were becoming as familiar to her as were the features of his face, the gestures that spoke his thoughts when words did not. She stood up and grasped the veranda post as the car pulled to the house. Wade got out, arched his back and released the deep, contented sigh of a man who had come home. And it was that sound more than any other that unsettled Meg because it seeped into her heart and made her know that deep down, despite her best efforts, she’d started to imagine what it would be like if Wade were coming home to her.

  MEG ARRIVED at her home in Orlando just after noon on Sunday. Spencer ran out to her car the minute she pulled in the driveway, and she pulled him to her in a huge bear hug. After a week, she relished the feel of his arms around her waist, his cheek against her chest.

  And she admitted to herself that Spence had fared quite well under his uncle’s supervision. Despite the fact that Jerry used his nephew to attract a new girlfriend, Spencer had obviously been well-cared for.