A Far Cry from Home

by Peri Elizabeth Scott

  “Thank you. It was a shock.” Having the police turn up mid-afternoon during a deluge had been discomfiting, and their news about her father’s car accident spoke to them being bearers of bad news. It had been over a month ago, but it sometimes felt as if it had happened only yesterday.

  “It takes time.”

  His quiet response felt like a balm, accepting and certain, and she managed a smile. Until he turned on taps and flushed toilets and the plumbing rattled in the walls and two toilets made ominous, gurgling noises. Any sense of comfort faded rapidly.

  When he flicked a switch in one of the bedrooms, the overhead light flickered before settling into a warm glow. Unfortunately, while everything was well maintained, the age was apparent.

  “What’s the state of the wiring?”

  “I’m not sure…” Her first lie couldn’t make it past her lips.

  “Knob and tube?” He made it sound like a death sentence and it could well be.

  “Up here, yes. We’ve rewired downstairs. We have lots of smoke detectors and emergency exits.”

  His silence spoke volumes as he moved to a closed room. “What’s in there?”

  “My room.” She wasn’t opening that door and kept walking. Her narrow bed and sparse belongings made it look like a monk’s cell, though nothing about this man had her thinking celibate thoughts, damn it. Despite his obvious antipathy for the state of The Inn, all she had, and he was making her feel more threatened by the moment.

  They made their way downstairs to the sitting room and he stood in the middle, like a lion surveying his territory. Or maybe a panther. And it wasn’t all his. She still owned half. Maybe the top half with the crappy wiring and suspect plumbing.

  More roiling resentment coursed through her and she fought the urge to tell him to get the hell out. The Inn was still her home, as old and worn as it appeared, and no good-looking man was worth a change in her opinion.

  She got herself under control, aware Maddox was observing her, giving her time. Was he watching her with something other than familial interest? Her experience with men left her guessing. She only knew the air in the room felt thicker when he was in the space and it confused her.

  She gazed around. This area was brighter than the dining room, with more windows and gossamer curtains. Various arrangements of furniture dotted the large area and invited—to Regan’s eye—a person to sit and relax. To read or simply look out on the views.

  “This is pleasant.” He moved to the big fireplace anchoring the room and tapped on the chimney breast.

  Regan held her breath against any of the stone falling free, and she was in luck. The chimney itself needed cleaning before it could be used this winter and a thorough check of the mortar had to be undertaken. She’d been setting a few dollars aside, just for that purpose.

  “Can we sit down? But not in that dining room.” His distaste came through loud and clear, evident in the furrow in his brow and his set lips.

  “We can sit in the kitchen, at the island. I’ll make tea while the casserole finishes.”

  Maddox winced, slightly, but she caught it. “Would you prefer coffee?”

  “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger.”

  She had a bottle of wine stuck in the back cupboard, a full-bodied red, but she wasn’t sharing. So he didn’t love The Inn the way she did. He was doubtless used to big city extravagance. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t getting her wine. “Sorry.”

  “Coffee’s fine.”

  He checked out cabinets while she set up the brewer and located plates and silverware. He set the island with the place settings close together and she casually moved them so they were facing one another with the width of the island between them. She wanted to keep it appearing businesslike, away from his intriguing scent.

  That meant not changing into more comfortable clothing, and she decided to view her dressed-up look as armor. She didn’t really want to sit down and talk, certain what he had to say was nothing she wanted to hear, so she bought a few more minutes by locating some cream and sugar.

  Pouring him a large cup of coffee, she doctored her own, smaller version and sat on a stool where she could keep an eye on the stove. Sometimes the pilot light went out unexpectedly.

  “Black’s fine,” he said when she slid the cream his way.

  Of course, he drank it black, all sophisticated, no-frills—unless he favored those bistros. He was out of luck in The Falls. The best he’d get would be one of those frothy, chemical drinks from the units at the gas station on the outskirts, although Sally at the bakery was making noises about stocking fancy coffees. She sipped at hers and nearly moaned at the flavor that burst over her taste buds. Her belly was glad of the sustenance too.

  “So, we’re cousins.” Not actually, but she debated whether or not to share that fact. “Who knew?”

  Those dark, mysterious eyes regarded her, set deeply in his strongly featured face. She knew she was staring but couldn’t seem to help herself. Besides, she didn’t want to hear his take on The Inn. It seemed far more important to decipher what message he was conveying at the moment. Unless she was imagining things.

  “Our fathers must not have had any relationship, at least not since I can recall,” he said. “I knew he had a brother, I saw a family bible in his effects, but nothing to indicate they’d been in contact.”

  And he hadn’t been interested enough to find out. That chapped her a little. Chances were they’d never have connected if it hadn’t been for those damn loan papers. “So, no contact over the past few decades.”

  Nodding, he drank his coffee and she had the sense he was choosing his words. “My mother’s alive, and I have a sister.”

  Regan blinked. She cautiously explored the idea of actually having living family—if pseudo-family members. “Is your sister older or younger?”

  “Younger. Her name is Naomi. Married and with two kids. Expecting another.” He drank more coffee. “My mother became a bit of a recluse when my father died some time back. Heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry. You must worry about her.”

  “She lives in a gated community and prefers her own company, though I do try to stop by often.”

  She didn’t have a lot to offer about her family. “My … mom passed from cancer some time ago and Dad and I rubbed along okay. We had The Inn to keep us going.”

  “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” And he looked sorry, his mouth slightly pursed and his eyes warm with sympathy. She supposed he knew what it was like, having lost his own father. He likely knew that time was the only thing that helped a little.

  “It’s been difficult,” she admitted. “But life goes on.”

  They sat in relatively comfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of the appliances and the ticking of the clock. A faint drip in the sink reminded Regan to change out the washer when she found a moment.

  “This place is a money pit.”

  Wow. So much for a little bonding. Straight for the jugular. “There are some repairs outstanding,” she allowed.

  “Regan. Please don’t minimize.” He watched her with those dark eyes. Deep set beneath sooty brows, the lashes were swoon-worthy and complemented the now charcoal-black irises. She admonished herself to quit writing sonnets to them. He was saying things she didn’t want to hear!

  Exasperation tightened the skin over his cheekbones, and his handsomeness nearly made her speechless. How was he so familiar to her? She’d known him maybe two, three hours and she could read him, or at least sense his moods. Not that it made his assertion any easier to swallow.

  “We’ve been holding our own,” she argued.

  “But now there’s only you,” he said, his tone gentle and understanding.

  Her heart twisted at the reminder. She tried hard not to think about her father, torn between sadness and anger, both over his careless driving and careless financial acumen. “I can do it.”

  The oven timer buzzed, a welcome distraction, so she hopped up and carefully removed
the egg dish. It steamed and the aromas it gave off were fantastic. She breathed them in, craving the momentary comfort, and then set it on the island. A spatula would work as a serving spoon, so she dug one out of the utensil drawer.

  “Do you have the capital to fund the repairs?” Maddox watched her over the rim of his coffee cup.

  Shoveling egg mixture onto their plates, giving him an extra heaping spoonful, she shook her head. “I have to do everything in stages.”

  He waited for her to be seated before matching her enthusiasm for the meal, his utensils flashing as he placed eggs onto his fork. “It’s a shame you don’t have siblings to help.”

  Taking a deep breath, she told him the truth, knowing someone would eventually spill the beans. “My … parents couldn’t have children, Maddox. I’m adopted.”

  Something took place in that instant. He stilled, his fork midway to his mouth, and this time she couldn’t read him, although something inside of her leaped to interpret the message. It was over as quickly as it transpired and he took another taste of the meal.

  “This is really good. I haven’t had something like this since I was a kid and our housekeeper baked stuff for me and my sister.”

  Curiosity pricked her interest hard, what with that strange reaction, but his praise seemed honest. He actually did like it, she supposed, even if it was lowbrow. He didn’t reference her adoptive status, so he was either trying to avoid the subject, spare her, or it didn’t matter.

  Her appetite wasn’t as sharp, what with his less than stellar impression of The Inn, but she took a few bites. He didn’t seem to mind sharing with her so she asked, “Are you married?”

  “No. Still single. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five, nearly. You?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “What do you do for work?”

  “I have a finance company in Boston and some subsidiaries.”

  He had a company. Didn’t run it. He owned it. An idea niggled in the back of her brain. She thought it through, using the food and drink to give herself a little time.

  Gathering her courage, she put it out there. “Could you … loan me the money to make the necessary repairs? With the appropriate interest, of course. I’d pay you back. I don’t owe the bank too much.”

  A moment passed before he said, “Have you approached the bank for additional funds?”

  She ducked her head. “I have. But they weren’t really willing.”

  “Did you have trouble making payments in the past?”

  It killed her to admit it, but if he checked things out—and he had a right to—he’d find out anyhow. “We got behind sometimes.”

  A tiny silence stretched out and she forced herself to look at him. Now, his eyes were like melted chocolate, warm and soft, somehow. “Regan, I wonder if you shouldn’t take a step back and really look at your situation. Perhaps I can help you—”

  “The Inn is important to me,” she hurried to say, effectively cutting off whatever help he might offer outside of a loan. She couldn’t let him tempt her, driven by the need to hang onto something familiar.

  “I understand that. But have you considered the fact The Inn is far off the beaten path? And the other little things?”

  “Like wiring and plumbing?” she asked, bitterness coloring her tone.

  “And the fact people don’t like sharing bathrooms. And there’s little for people with children to do. That means you’re catering to an older group. And those who are still traveling have money and will expect so much more.”

  How did he know all of that to be able to throw the facts out there so blithely? She hardly knew how to respond. “There are still people who appreciate historical charm.”

  He was kind enough not to challenge her assertion that The Inn and its contents had a claim to historical. “Enough to make it worth your while? And make you a living?”

  Her lack of bookings probably meant he was right on the money, but she was stubborn and this was all she knew. “If I had the money to fix things up, it would be different. And you haven’t even seen the grounds.”

  “Then, if you’re finished, show me.”

  With a final sip, she wiped her lips and squirmed off the stool. Maddox’s gaze swept over her once again and that spark flared. She blinked, and it was gone, leaving her wondering if it had even happened. Whatever it was. A fire lit in her belly and had nothing to do with the peppers in the omelet.

  At this rate, the way her emotions kept flipping she’d never keep her head straight.

  Chapter Two

  She was adopted. Not that he gave a damn about the first-cousin connection—he hadn’t known about her until a few short days ago, let alone met her, and any hint of incest was swept aside without a thought. But the desire he’d felt for her in the lawyer’s office need not be colored by any legal restrictions. To say he was elated was an understatement.

  Hardly his usual type, Regan’s full-bodied, athletic form had instantly piqued his interest, but it was more so her staunch determination written large in her big eyes and on her lovely face. No, not beautiful by societal standards, but fresh and open. Inviting. Appealing. Hard pressed—in every sense of the word—to describe it, he’d felt himself enraptured and reluctant to let her brush him off.

  Maddox rarely denied himself anything he truly wanted, and while cognizant of the pitfalls of any romantic arrangement with Regan, considering their current situation, his interest in her ranked right up there with something he definitely wanted.

  He followed her outside, admiring her easy, fluid movements, his gaze lingering on her full, heart-shaped ass. A few tendrils of her richly colored chestnut hair had escaped the formal knot at her neck to trail down her back in intriguing curls. He fisted his hands at his sides to preclude touching them to explore their texture, fearing that might not be all that he touched.

  Once in the yard, the tour went considerably better. He was able to comment most favorably on the landscaping and the woodland setting. He paid attention to all the little things obviously worked hard on to showcase both native and different plantings. The tasteful water features drew in songbirds and amphibians alike and their sounds were soothing and complementary to the rest of the space. Now, this was his idea of a country inn. It was unfortunate the inside wasn’t equally reflected, despite Regan’s efforts.

  “The grounds are incredible. Who designed them? And how are they maintained?”

  A faint pink flush washed over her high cheekbones. “That would be me.”

  “You.”

  She nodded, and he made no attempt to hide his admiration. He got the sense she had no conceit, but anyone needed an ego boost, especially after the obvious inside issues. And it wasn’t like he had to fake it. “This is your forte, then, and it’s marvelous. Inside the house was your father’s.”

  He wished to call the words back at her visible wince, but she smiled and said, “Right. The grounds have been used for numerous events that require photographers.”

  “And do those people stay at The Inn?” Torn between wanting to seduce her and protect her from what was a backbreaking uphill battle, he had to somehow split his focus.

  “Some do.” He watched her swallow and heard her innate honesty in her reply. Another admirable quality. “Few actually do, and because of the reasons you’ve already seen. But there has to be some way of changing that. Maybe a different marketing strategy?”

  “Let’s talk inside.” He’d be able to think with his business head away from the oasis that surrounded him. Though maybe not, what with the way she looked at him as if he and he alone could fix the situation. He forced his libido to take a backseat as he led the way back inside, to the kitchen, where he brewed more coffee.

  Her wide brow furrowed a little, perhaps at the way he commandeered events, but he always started out the way he meant to go on. And The Inn was half his now and he needed to do what was best. She perched at the island, sitting quietly, as if waiting for him to speak, recognizing he was de
ep in thought.

  When they were both sipping the hot beverage, he said, “I’ll give you a budget for the more immediate renovations. The ones that focus on safety. And I’ll put my marketing firm on getting you some promotion. If you can put together enough bookings to cover expenses and make payments in that time period, I’ll reconsider selling. You can manage The Inn and I’ll take my cut.”

  “Are you doing this out of pity? I mean, we aren’t even real flesh and blood.” She shook her head. “Never mind. None of that matters. I’m happy with any opportunity. What time frame are you looking at?”

  Pity? She hardly inspired pity. She might want to run for the hills should she learn what she did inspire. He was a passionate man, demanding, though he somehow sensed she’d be able to keep up with him. “Three months. Winter isn’t that far off and getting reservations for that season will likely be much harder. So it’s best if you can get some paying customers beforehand. But I won’t have anyone at risk, so the first thing on the agenda is the wiring. Then the plumbing and the other things I know you’re aware of.”

  He meant the punky boards on the porch and the shaky banister. At minimum. Message received, by the look on her face.

  Pulling out his phone, he poked at it and finally named a figure. Regan gasped. “That much? I … I suppose it’ll take that, every bit of it. Thank you. I’ll keep you updated. And I’ll pay you back, over and above half the profits.”

  “Updates won’t be a problem. I’ll be staying here, in one of the guest rooms unless—until—you have a call for it. I’ll have to travel back to Boston periodically, but I’m used to spreading myself thin.” Many things would happen in three months, especially exploring the depths of their connection. The idea of managing his business from Vermont was a bit daunting, but he was going for it.

  “What?” Her entire face colored, the flush beginning at the base of her throat, perhaps even lower, past the modest neckline of the silky shirt. His gaze tracked in that direction, lingering for a moment on her full breasts and when he again looked into her eyes he recognized his interest was definitely reciprocated. Even upon receiving such bad news at the lawyers she’d paid him attention past a familial—and adversarial—association.