by Bird, Peggy
“Make sure that stubborn father of yours takes care of himself. I bet he’s missed you so much that he can’t wait to show you how much he appreciates his only son.” She rubbed a thumb across his cheek, noting the freckles that had appeared after all his time spent working in the sun.
“And you make sure you continue to have your coffee dates with Camille. Ask her if she’s got a friend or two she can bring with her. You can make it a party.” He’d sat back on his haunches, and she wanted to swim in the blue of his eyes.
Standing up, Beau glanced at the doorway. They both took a deep breath.
“Oh! Wait right here. I have one last thing to give you.”
Eva hurried down the hallway and into her father’s office, maneuvering her chair around the desk to the canvas she’d hidden behind the floor-to-ceiling drapes. Balancing it on her lap, she sped back to where Beau stood in the entry hall. She turned the painting around and held it out.
“This was supposed to be for your mother.” He grasped it gently, his eyes watery.
“And now it’s for you. Give it a good home, would you?”
“Eva, I—”
“No. Don’t.” She held her hand up. “Just tell me goodbye.”
“Goodbye, rosebud.”
Thankfully his back was to her, because he wasn’t even all the way down the stairs before the first teardrop fell.
Chapter Nine
Four weeks later
Beau lingered over a cup of coffee, leaving his father to open the bookstore for the morning. The man was finally feeling better, grousing about having been cooped up in his house for two solid weeks while he recovered from pneumonia. Opening his laptop at the kitchen table, Beau smiled. There was a new email from Eva.
She’d hired a private nurse and was doing her best to be pleasant, she wrote. He rolled his eyes, knowing it wasn’t as difficult as she let on. Eagerly, he continued reading. She had tried to drag the hose from the patio to the rose garden by herself with little success and admitted she needed a gardener. Beau punched a triumphant fist in the air. And since she’d have a new gardener, she might as well put him to work. So she’d ordered some new varieties she’d seen online. Good for her.
Leaning back against the creaky wooden chair, Beau finished the email, then snapped his laptop shut, and stared out the kitchen window at the green dumpster in the alley below. He missed seeing Eva’s roses from nearly every room on the right half of the manor. He missed passing a doorway and catching sight of Eva gazing adoringly at her flowers.
Knowing his father would be downstairs waiting for him, he cleared his breakfast plate and coffee cup from the table, rinsed them out, and headed down the back stairs to the bookstore. Taking a deep breath, as he did every time he stepped inside, Beau sighed. That sense of calm, the way the old-book smell would settle into his bloodstream, causing an almost Zen-like state, was just the tiniest bit dulled.
He looked forward to a visit from Mr. Phillips today. With any luck, the man would point him toward his next purchasing trip. He just hoped it wasn’t too far away. His father was only just starting to feel more like himself. He’d better stick closer to home, just to be safe.
“I told you I’d open today. You could have slept in.” His father’s bushy mustache wiggled as he frowned, pudgy hands on his hips.
“Didn’t want to.”
“Then take the day off. Go to the movies. Curl up with a good book.”
“Maybe I want to hang out with my pop.”
“You’re too clingy,” the old man grumbled.
“Eh, you love it.” Beau pulled his father against his side, kissing him on the top of his bald head and laughing as the man struggling to get away.
“Mr. Phillips has been going on and on about that Burroughs collection. He thinks you walk on water, you know.” His pop patted the hand gripping his shoulder before finally extricating himself.
“I’m hoping he gives us another lead when he drops by today.”
“It’s yours to run with. You earned it. That is what you wanted, right? To take over the traveling part of the business?” His father eyed him speculatively.
“Yeah, of course.” Beau realized it for the lie that it was. “No. You want to know what I think? We got that Burroughs collection for nothing.” Unless you counted one broken heart. “Mr. Phillips paid us three times what it was worth.”
“’Course he did, knowing what you went through to procure it. One month alone with … her.”
Taking a moment to keep from snapping at his father and a long, deep breath for balance, Beau responded, “Eva is not like that. Not really. I got to know her. She’s taken a lot of hits in life and did what she had to in order to protect herself.
“I think,” he continued with his original thought, “that we should take a break from traveling. I think I want to get to know my pop while I’ve still got him.” To hell with not showing his feelings. It was high time he stood up to his father and told him what he wanted.
“You aren’t the meek boy I sent into the lion’s den some weeks ago.”
“Had to grow up sometime.”
“Did a damned good job of it, too.”
The bell over the door announced their first customer of the day. Beau turned to find Mr. Phillips, his pencil-thin legs carrying him quickly toward the back of the store. He looked excited.
“Good morning, Beau. Alistair. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Mr. Phillips, always good to see you. What can we interest you in today? Maybe you have word on a collection we could acquire for you? Beau’s your man.” His father rocked back on his heels, a wide grin splitting his face.
“I can’t thank you enough for those books. The Burroughs collection was in exquisite condition. And the others she let you take, in addition? You made my year!
“But that’s not why I’m here. I’ve just heard from friends who live in Rochester. They say a lot is going on out at the Mitchum estate since you’ve left. Contractors’ trucks, deliveries, a real hullabaloo. I figured since you spent a whole month there, you might be able to shed some light on this for my curious friends.”
Beau had never realized Mr. Phillips was a busybody. Not that it mattered. He had nothing to report. In the scant few emails he’d received from Eva, she had yet to mention having any sort of work done on the manor.
“Pop?”
“Go, go. I can run this store with one hand tied behind my back.”
Patting his pocket to make sure he carried his cell phone, Beau made a beeline for the door. He overheard Mr. Phillips’s overloud whisper to his father.
“This is the same woman who scared off at least six other buyers before your son, correct?”
“Not quite the same.” Pop chuckled.
• • •
“If you’re going to be spending some time out here, you ought to think about putting in some matching flagstone like your patio is made of. A nice fire pit. Some Adirondacks—for your guests.” Mr. Kirkpatrick tensed his shoulders, clearly expecting Eva to shout at him as she had in the past for his insensitivity.
And quite honestly, her first instinct was to snap. Camille continued to be her only guest. Though she had promised Beau that she’d work on changing that. She swallowed, sending the gardener a warm smile and feeling her own tension melt as his shoulders relaxed. She’d been damned lucky to be able to hire him back, and she refused to mess things up for herself again.
“Why don’t you come up with a design or two and we’ll go over them together?” Beau had suggested those same things. A comforting warmth spread out from her chest as she thought about the man who had knocked her safe little world off-kilter.
“You want to do it up proper, you’ll have to pull out this ramp. It’s kind of makeshift, really. I can tie in both levels of flagstone with a walkway that you can navigate with no troubles. And I’d recommend switching out that sliding glass door with something more practical.”
Take out Beau’s ramp? He’d be crushed. Eva looked b
ack up the way she’d come. It still had that fresh-cut lumber smell. Her brows furrowed in consternation. But from an aesthetic standpoint, Mr. Kirkpatrick was right—a matching flagstone pathway really would tie in both areas beautifully. And it wasn’t like Beau would ever see his handiwork dismantled.
“Yes, Mr. Kirkpatrick, you are absolutely right. Replacing the ramp with a flagstone walkway would tie in with the look of the rest of the manor. Make sure you add that to your design concepts. I look forward to seeing them.” She nodded, gave one last lingering glance at her roses, and rolled herself back up the ramp to the patio.
Back inside, Eva went off in search of the housekeeper. Mrs. Potter had been harder to win over than Mr. Kirkpatrick. The woman had demanded double the salary she’d been earning before, but Eva paid it willingly, knowing she owed the woman much more for the way she’d treated her before ultimately firing her for no other reason than she was afraid if she waited any longer, Mrs. Potter would have taken her son and quit.
The little boy in question, Charles, raced around the corner, nearly plowing into Eva’s wheelchair in his hurry to get to his next adventure. She gasped, reaching out for his skinny little arms and steadying him before he tumbled. An unruly lock of hair slipped rakishly over one eye, and he grinned up at her, revealing a gap between his front teeth that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him.
“Goodness, Charles! Where’s the fire?” She chuckled.
“What fire? I didn’t touch that candlestick. I swear!” His eyes darted this way and that. Not exactly the picture of innocence.
“Of course you didn’t, sweetheart. I just wondered where you were off to in such a hurry.”
“Mama says I’m not allowed near the stables or the empty pool. I got bored playing on the lawn so I came in to explore.”
“You know”—she leaned in conspiratorially and ruffled his soft locks—“those stables weren’t always empty. I got my first pony when I was your age. She was a gorgeous chestnut. I named her Dandelion.”
“But how could you ride a horse when you’re stuck in that chair?”
“Charles Potter, you apologize this instant!” Eva’s housekeeper stood at the end of the hall, hands balled into fists on her hips, her chubby face ruddy with anger.
“Please, Mrs. Potter, it’s a legitimate question. I wasn’t always in this chair, little one. I got to spend my whole childhood running and climbing and being silly.” She waggled her brows and crossed her eyes, causing the child to laugh in delight. “Why don’t you go see what sort of bugs and worms you can turn up out in the yard, Charles? You can tell me all about it at dinner later.”
Happy to avoid his mother at the other end of the hall, the little boy slipped into the living room and clattered out onto the patio.
“Really, Miss Eva, I am sorry he was so thoughtless of your situation.” Mrs. Potter ambled up the hallway, ducking her head in apology.
“Poor Charles doesn’t have enough to keep him busy around here. It’s a shame the stables can’t be opened for him, and the pool. Oh, Mrs. Potter, he’d be a natural on the back of a horse. I just know it.”
“I can’t let you spend the money to have those things brought to rights again just for one bored little boy.” Mrs. Potter clucked.
Eva was about to wave off the expense as nothing but stopped. What if it wasn’t just for one boy? What if it was for a whole group of children? Charles could have playmates at the manor if the stables and the rest of the facilities were returned to working order.
No, not just working order, but accessible to people of all abilities. Her mind raced with the possibilities. If Mr. Kirkpatrick could build a walkway here, surely he could do more of them between the stables and the pool. And if they were to install an elevator in the manor, the guest rooms that were completely unused could be filled with beds. They’d have to hire a cook, one who was used to feeding large crowds. And instructors that would know the best way to teach a child how to ride, swim, or do archery, even if they didn’t have full use of their bodies.
And she wouldn’t have to be alone.
Chewing her lip, Eva felt a rising excitement, an enthusiasm for life that she hadn’t felt since Beau had left. Her first instinct was to type off an email to him, asking his opinion. Oh, how she longed to hear his voice, to see his breathtaking cerulean eyes just one more time. But she hadn’t pushed him away. Not Beau. He’d left of his own free will. His father needed him more than she did.
No, she’d just have to use this new project to keep her mind off the fact that Beau had his own life and she had hers. They’d had a great time together, and she would cherish it always. But it was time to stop going through the motions and actually live.
“Mrs. Potter, have I told you how happy I am that you came back? If you haven’t started dinner yet, let’s order pizza! Ooh, from that place that also delivers pints of ice cream.”
“Pizza and ice cream for dinner? You sure my Charles didn’t put you up to this?” Mrs. Potter narrowed her eyes.
“Life is short, Mrs. P. We’ve got to live it to the fullest. Make sure one has pepperoni, black olives, and mushrooms. Oooh, and extra cheese. And order a pint of chocolate. No, cookie dough. Heck, order both. And two of whatever Charles wants.” Tonight they were celebrating.
Chapter Ten
Excitement thrummed through his veins as Beau drove through the iron gates this time. Quite a contrast from the trepidation he’d felt before meeting Eva. Corny as it sounded, he felt like he was coming home. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she discovered him on her doorstep again.
Pulling up to the manor on the horseshoe-shaped drive, he glanced at the trucks already parked there. An electrician and a contractor. This was quite the undertaking. Odd that she hadn’t told him about this in her latest email. He’d have loved to share in her enthusiasm.
The front door was wide open and the hall deserted, so he stepped inside, looking around for the elusive lady of the manor. Footsteps thundering down the steps had Beau looking up in confusion. Seemed that rule about the upper floor being off limits was now null and void. “Charles! No running in the house. How many times do I have to tell you?” a matronly voice, clearly not Eva’s, hollered from the top of the stairs.
A little boy, about five years old or so, came racing around the corner, hell-bent on getting out the front door. Beau stepped in his way at the last moment, steadying the child so he wouldn’t fall when he was forced to stop so abruptly.
“I’m looking for Eva Mitchum.” He’d squatted so he could look the boy in the eye as he spoke.
“She’s out on the patio with Mr. Kirkpatrick. They’re bringing in the cement mixer today, and Mama says I get to watch!” Tugging his arm out of Beau’s grasp, the boy scrambled out the front door and disappeared from view.
Beau’s head spun like he’d just followed Alice down the rabbit hole. Little boys running through forbidden parts of Eva’s house. Contractors’ trucks clogging her once-empty driveway. Cement mixers. Beau pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook it off. Time to find out what the hell was going on.
He found her out on the patio, wheelchair pulled up to the wrought-iron bistro table, head bent over a set of blueprints next to an older man. Whatever was in the plans delighted Eva, because her expression was one of pure joy.
Suddenly reluctant to intrude on her meeting, Beau paused in the doorway. He should go. Half-turning, his hand on the wooden doorframe, he suddenly realized the sliding glass door was missing! Staring down at his feet, he found the cumbersome track gone. In its place was a smooth frame, level with the ground, which went with the brand-new set of French doors. It was exactly what he’d envisioned for her.
“This is perfect!” He hadn’t meant to speak.
Both heads turned to him at once, one curious and one absolutely radiant in its welcome. He’d been terrified that she’d hate him for intruding on her quietly structured life. But she’d been making a few
changes, he could see. And one of them was how she reacted to seeing him again.
“Beau! I’m so happy you’re here. Come meet Mr. Kirkpatrick. He’s redesigning your ramp.”
Beau stepped out onto the patio, reaching out a hand toward the man at the table, only to gasp when he saw his entire handiwork had been ripped out. Anguish pulling his expression into a painful grimace, he could only stare. All his hard work gone. He didn’t understand.
“I know. I should have told you through email that this was happening. But I didn’t want you to think I appreciated what you did any less. I didn’t think you’d ever see it.”
“I didn’t expect to return.” He gritted his teeth.
“You’d left. You told me your father was too sick to be on his own. I figured you’d be too busy running the bookstore to give a thought to me.” Her eyes held a touch of sadness. “Why are you here?”
“I’m going to go see if our cement mixer has arrived yet. Good meeting you, Beau.” Mr. Kirkpatrick stood up, clapping him on the shoulder as he exited the patio.
“My father is much better. The x-ray showed pneumonia, which he wouldn’t have gotten if he had gone to the doctor when I’d first bugged him to. We got him on a treatment plan, which included a lot of supervised bed rest. Do you know what it’s like to have to lecture a seventy-year-old man as though he were a child? It’s exhausting.”
“You still haven’t told me why you came.”
“Curiosity, mainly. That customer who bought your grandfather’s collection dropped by. He’d heard there was a—what did he call it—‘hullaballoo’ going on at the Mitchum estate. You seem to have left that out of your rare emails.”
They no longer had an audience so he could have dropped the pretense, told her why he was really there. But the dismantled ramp hurt more than he cared to admit. Giving her a nonchalant shrug, he studiously avoided looking toward the gaping expanse of yellowed lawn where his ramp had been.
