The Passions of Chelsea Kane

by Barbara Delinsky

  Judd watched for her reaction. She struck him as the type to comment, however civilly, on Hunter’s rudeness, and for a minute she looked as though she would. She tipped up her chin. Before any words came out, though, she lowered it again.

  He wondered if she found Hunter attractive. Many women did. His disinterest made him intriguing.

  He wondered if Hunter found her attractive.

  “How long you staying?” Oliver asked gruffly.

  It was a minute before she refocused on him. “At least through the weekend. I have to go home to work for a few days, then I’ll be back here for a week or two. I’ll be dividing my time between both places. Come to think of it, I may be spending more time here. I mean, it’s summer and all. The city is unbearably hot.”

  Judd had the distinct impression that she was improvising, that she really didn’t know her plans, which surprised him. Janine had always had an agenda. He assumed this one did, too.

  Oliver scowled. “You should have said something. We didn’t take your bein’ here into account.”

  “I don’t see the problem.”

  “Of course you don’t,” he snapped. “You don’t know anything about what’s going on here.”

  “Which is why I’ve come,” she said.

  “Well, I don’t know where you’re going to work.”

  She looked around. “Obviously not here, unless you’ve been crating things up to make more room. Is there a purpose for these cartons? Spring cleaning, maybe?”

  “We’re moving.”

  “Moving? Where to?”

  “Downtown.”

  One look at the twitch at the corner of her mouth and Judd knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that the center of Norwich Notch hardly qualified as “downtown,” as she knew the term. She was also thinking that “downtown” in Norwich Notch was only two blocks away. She was also thinking that someone was making use of her money already.

  “I been wanting to do it for years,” Oliver professed with a look that dared her to object. “There’s space to let on the second floor of the Quilters Guild. The ladies own the house. They been looking for a tenant so they can give the rent money to the local soup kitchen. Can’t no one argue with that cause.”

  “His wife is head of the guild,” Hunter said.

  Oliver stared at his back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “No meaning. Just a statement.”

  “Well, it’s unnecessary. The fact is that by selling this place, we’ll have enough money to pay the rent over there for ten years. They’re not asking much. It’ll be good for them and good for us. We oughta be in the center of things.” He turned back to Chelsea. “There’s room up there for an office for me, one for Fern, and one for Judd and Hunter. Don’t know where you’re goin’ to work.”

  Chelsea looked far from discouraged. “Is there a third floor?”

  “An old unfinished attic.”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  “Attic, I said.”

  “I’m an architect. I work with attics all the time.”

  “Unfinished attic.”

  “Add some insulation, some skylights, a free-standing spiral staircase front and back, and you’ve nearly doubled your office space, all for the same rent.” Her eyes twinkled. “Think of the storage space you’ll have. You can clear the clutter from Fern’s office and let the poor woman breathe.”

  “Fern isn’t complaining,” Oliver said.

  “She probably doesn’t know how. Give me time. I’ll teach her.”

  Judd had to hand it to her. She had guts. Either that or she didn’t understand how truly conventional the Notch was.

  “Do that,” Oliver warned, setting both fists on the desk, “and you’ll be run out of town. Listen up, missy. Just ’cause you bought into this company doesn’t mean you got any right to try to change things around here. You leave Fern be.”

  Chelsea grinned.

  Oliver’s face darkened correspondingly. “What’s that look mean?”

  “It means I like the idea of having an attic office. If I make it light enough, I’ll be able to put in a drafting table and do my work there. I assume you’re installing plenty of telephones. I’ll need two lines. How about a fax machine?”

  Oliver looked blankly at Judd. The specifics of office equipment were his territory.

  “I’ve ordered a fax,” he said. “And computers, one in each office, including those at the quarries. They’ll be linked, so we won’t have to physically run data around.” Computers were his sideline. He had developed a fascination for them in college and had fed it while working in Pittsburgh. Back in Norwich Notch, he had spent his nights designing small business programs that sold for good money. In the process he had kept abreast of the latest technological advances. Computerizing Plum Granite was a piece of cake.

  She tipped her head. “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be. We’re not talking anything ultrasophisticated. The operation doesn’t call for that.”

  “Not yet,” she said. “Maybe soon.” Her eyes were warm. “Does the second-floor rental space need much work?”

  “Some.”

  “Have you started it?”

  Judd shook his head. “We just signed the lease.”

  “When can I take a look?”

  “Whenever you want.”

  She nodded, seeming to mull something over. While she did, he looked at the dress George had made such a big deal about. Granted, it was on the short side, which was fine, since she had great legs. But it wasn’t racy. It was loose and swingy. He wondered how full her breasts were. He couldn’t see much of them beyond an alluring hint.

  He was thinking that she was just the right height for him, tall enough so that he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck if he kissed her, short enough so that he wouldn’t feel he was kissing an Amazon, when she asked, “Who’ll be doing the work?”

  The work. On the new office. Judd disciplined his thoughts. “Russell Ives. He’s a local contractor.”

  “Is he good?”

  “I wouldn’t use him if he wasn’t.”

  “Even if he was your cousin and desperate for the work?”

  Oliver’s voice cut in sharply. “What kind of question is that? Everyone’s related to someone here, and there’s loads desperate for work. You think Judd would hire on someone who’d do a half-assed job? Think again, missy. We don’t run Plum Granite that way.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to hear that,” Chelsea said without missing a beat, “because I want someone first-rate for my house.”

  “What house?” Oliver asked, but her eyes were on Judd again.

  “How many men does Russell Ives have?”

  “Enough to do most any job.”

  “What house?” Oliver repeated.

  “The one I just bought,” she told Oliver, then said to Judd, “Enough men to do your work and mine at the same time?”

  “Enough for that.”

  “What house?” Oliver demanded.

  “Boulderbrook!”

  In the explosion of silence that followed, the only sound was the whir of the fan in Fern’s office and the patter of Buck’s paws as he meekly returned to Judd’s side. Chelsea looked from face to face. Hunter turned around.

  With the scrape of his chair on the old planked floor, Oliver came to his feet. “You bought Boulderbrook?” he asked slowly.

  Judd had always prided himself on being able to read Oliver’s thoughts, but this time he was stumped. He couldn’t tell if the man was surprised, appalled, or downright angry.

  Chelsea must have been similarly confused, because she drew herself up, seeming braced for all three. Cautiously she said, “Is there a problem with that?”

  “Why’d you buy Boulderbrook?”

  “Because I want it,” she said as though that was reason enough, and Judd supposed for her it was. She had the kind of money most Notchers couldn’t conceive of, much less dream of possessing. He had more than many of the others, but even he fe
lt out of her league.

  “You paid good money,” Oliver prodded disbelievingly, “for something you’ll live in a week or two here or there?”

  “Once I set up a studio, it’ll be more than that. I’ll be here more than I’m in Baltimore. It doesn’t make sense to stay at the inn each time. I need flexibility. Buying is the obvious solution.” Judd thought he detected a note of humor in her expression. “Unless, of course, you were to offer me a room at your place.”

  “I’m not offering you a thing!” Oliver declared, then demanded, “Who showed you Boulderbrook?”

  “Rosie Hacker.”

  “Figures,” he spat. “Brassy woman interferin’ in work that men around here been doing perfectly well for years.” He grunted. “Boulderbrook. She ain’t been around long enough to know better.”

  Looking mystified, Chelsea asked, “What’s wrong with Boulderbrook?”

  “It’s a mess.”

  “But I’ve always wanted to live in an old country farmhouse.”

  “There’s rats all over the place.”

  “It needs work,” she conceded.

  That was an understatement, Judd knew. Among other things, Boulderbrook needed new plumbing and electrical systems, a new roof, porch, bathrooms, and kitchen. The floors and moldings needed to be stripped of layers of old paint, the walls scraped and recovered, the fireplace rebuilt.

  And that assessment came from a brief view he’d had of the place eight years before. The only changes since then would have been ones that time, the elements, and wildlife had made.

  “It needs more than work,” Oliver roared. “It needs to be burned to the ground.”

  “It’s made of fieldstone,” she pointed out. “It won’t burn.”

  The calmer she was, the angrier he got. “Don’t be smart with me, missy. You’re comin’ up here to a place you know nothin’ about. If you had any brains, you’d listen to someone who does know somethin’ about the place.”

  “I’m not afraid of work.”

  “Boulderbrook needs more than work!” he barked. “It needs a ghostbuster! It’s haunted! Or didn’t Rosie Hacker tell you that?”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

  “Don’t ‘oh, please’ me. It’s haunted. Ain’t that so, Hunter?”

  Hunter, who had his hands under his arms, looked dismayed. “It’s haunted.”

  “Hear that?” Oliver said to Chelsea. “And you better listen. He’s heard the voices himself.”

  “What voices?” Chelsea asked.

  “Little children,” Oliver told her. “They live in the walls.”

  “Oh, please.” She turned to Hunter. “You didn’t really hear voices, did you?”

  Hunter didn’t answer.

  “You heard them?” she asked in disbelief.

  He continued to stare, as though waiting for her to laugh at him. Only she didn’t. She turned curious. It struck Judd that curiosity was part of her character.

  “Is the barn haunted, too?”

  Hunter shook his head.

  “Just the farmhouse. It must have a history.”

  “Of course it does,” Oliver snapped. “Everything has a history.”

  “A history that would lend itself to haunting?”

  “Must have, since it’s haunted.”

  She raised her brows, inviting him to fill her in. When he didn’t, she turned to Hunter. “Do you know the history?”

  “No one knows the history.”

  “Did any children actually live there?”

  “Long ago.”

  “It’s been empty for years,” Oliver said. “Normal people won’t touch it.”

  “But you still hear voices?” Chelsea asked Hunter.

  “I don’t go near there. Haven’t since I was five.”

  “Which was how long ago?”

  “Thirty-two years.”

  “Ah.” She threw up a hand in dismissal. “There you go. Thirty-two years ago. Ancient history.”

  But Hunter shook his head. “People still hear them.”

  “What do these voices say?”

  He was silent.

  “Did they ever threaten you?”

  Judd waited to hear the answer. The voices were another of the rumors surrounding Hunter, since he had been the first to report hearing them. Yes, others had claimed to have heard them in the intervening years, but those others were mostly kids, daring each other to dash into the house on the darkest of moonless nights. There were various theories as to the nature of the voices. None had ever been proven one way or another, but the townsfolk generally steered clear of the house.

  “No one’s ever been threatened,” Hunter said.

  Chelsea smiled. “Then they’re harmless, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Still smiling, she faced Judd. “I want that farmhouse. Will your man Russell do my work?”

  Judd suspected that if she smiled at Russ the way she was smiling at him, the contractor would do most anything she wanted. Janine had had a smile like that, too. “I suppose.”

  “She can’t buy that house,” Oliver protested.

  “When can he start?” Chelsea asked Judd.

  “As soon as you tell him what you want done.”

  “The men won’t work there,” Oliver argued. “The place is haunted. Tell her it’s haunted, Judd.”

  But Judd wasn’t sure that it was, and besides, he knew how hungry Russ and his men were for work.

  “I’ll pay well,” Chelsea said, sweetening the offer. “Will you speak to him for me? Arrange a meeting for this weekend? There are things he can get started on while I’m in Baltimore. I’ll do up detailed plans when I get back. The sooner we get going the better.” To Oliver, as though he’d never uttered a cross word to her, she said, “I was wondering if you and your wife would be my guests for dinner at the inn tonight.”

  Oliver looked at her as if she were deranged. “Whatever for?”

  “To celebrate our partnership.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because I’d like to meet your wife. Isn’t she curious about me?”

  “No. You’re business. She doesn’t get involved in business.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Ain’t too bad,” Oliver snapped. “It’s the way it is. You and my wife wouldn’t have two words to say to each other.”

  “I don’t know,” Chelsea mused. “She could give me a woman’s view of the town.”

  “Waste of time. You’ll be gone in a year.”

  “You hope.”

  “I know. Judd’s got fifty men lined up to add to the payroll if the work ever comes in. Your time’d be better spent bringin’ in that work than goin’ out to dinner, missy.” His eyes sharpened. “And you’d best rethink buyin’ Boulderbrook. That’s the stupidest idea you had yet. Only a fool’d want to live there.”

  “As I see it, only a fool believes in ghosts,” she said and, turning to Hunter, asked in a teasing way, “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”

  Judd knew what she was thinking. She was thinking that Oliver was older and more superstitious, but that Hunter was her own generation and hip. Janine would have thought that way. She could rationalize most anything, which made her a great divorce lawyer. It made her a lousy wife, since the rationalization was always in favor of me over us.

  Hunter didn’t say a word, though his jaw was clenched tight.

  Oliver boomed at Chelsea, “You gonna go ahead an’ buy it?”

  “Yes.”

  He pointed a rigid finger at her. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Anythin’ happens there, it ain’t gonna be my fault. Got that?”

  JUDD STOPPED BY AT THE INN THAT EVENING. HE DIDN’T usually, but the quarrymen were throwing a party for the bartender, who, once upon a time, had been one of their own.

  From the lobby, he saw Chelsea. She was in the dining room, sitting alone at a corner table, reading a book while she ate. Large round glasses sat on her nose. She looked adorable.

  Ha
d he had a drink or two, he might have approached her. After all, she was alone in a new town. She had no friends here, no family. It was sad, really.

  But he was stone sober and aware of two things. First, Chelsea Kane wasn’t helpless. If she was alone, it was by choice. Second, she was danger with a capital D. And he had worries enough of his own, without that.

  Nine

  Chelsea spent Sunday driving back to Baltimore. She arrived too late to call anyone, partly by design.

  No sooner had she stepped foot in the office Monday morning, though, than Kevin called.

  Her heart tripped at the sound of his voice.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said lightly. “How’re you doing?”

  “You missed Carl’s wedding.”

  Her heart tripped again. Less lightly she said, “I know.”

  “You were invited. Sissy said she called you.”

  “She did. But I couldn’t go.” She couldn’t possibly have sat by and watched Carl marry Hailey. “It would have been too hard.”

  “Would it have been too hard to tell me about Carl yourself? I wasn’t prepared for Sissy’s call.”

  “I tried to prepare you. More than once.”

  “You never mentioned there was another woman.”

  “I didn’t know it myself until last week.”

  “But you and Carl were so close!”

  So close. Chelsea nearly laughed at the irony of that. She was carrying Carl’s baby, and the man had just married someone else.

  “What happened?” Kevin asked. “How in the devil did Carl come to marry her instead of you?”

  Chelsea did laugh then, but the sound held a touch of hysteria. “He fell in love with her.”

  “But he loves you!”

  “Not the same way.”

  “And you’re not upset?”

  She took a steadying breath. “How can I be upset if Carl is happy? He’s always been one of my closest friends. I wish him the best.”

  The line went silent for a minute. Then, in a low, accusatory voice, Kevin said, “You blew it, Chelsea. He was your last best chance. He stuck by you all these years. He put up with your shenanigans. But this thing with New Hampshire did it.”

  Chelsea was stung. “Is that what he said?”

  “He didn’t have to say it. It was obvious. If you’d stayed here and concentrated on him, he wouldn’t have turned to another woman.”