Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel

by Laura Moore

  The dream shifted. Now he was the adult man she was coming to know … but just as alone as before. He was seated on a street bench, twilight settling around him. His profile, his posture, too, were fixed while he stared up at the row of houses across the street, their windows aglow, warm gold with life.

  Unlike in the previous dream, she was sure she recognized this street, was absolutely convinced she had lived in one of those rose-brick row houses. She wanted nothing more than to approach Owen on his solitary bench, slip her hand in his, and invite him into the bright warmth of her home. A futile wish, for she knew that he would only turn away in a wordless rebuff. She was reduced to watching, part of the scene yet helpless to act, her heart weeping for the lost little boy inside the man as he was slowly enveloped by the dark of the starless evening, and her straining eyes could see him no more.

  A night spent dreaming of Owen Gage would have rattled her under any circumstances, but for him to appear in the guise of a lonely little boy was especially troubling. Striving to be rational, she reminded herself that it was ridiculous to be swayed by the games her subconscious played.

  Whatever his childhood may have lacked, Owen Gage had overcome the deprivation and developed the skills necessary for a successful life.

  Yet no cool argument could prevent her from recalling how he’d looked in that schoolboy’s uniform, struggling to hide his fear as he made his way through the unfamiliar city peopled by indifferent adults. The image was as stubbornly clear in her memory as if she were looking at a snapshot of him from twenty-odd years ago.

  She cursed her psyche for having latched on to the one representation of him that was sure to pierce her heart and leave her vulnerable. That road led to folly. The worst thing she could do was to get soft and mushy-hearted around Owen.

  As she wielded her makeup brush, she resolved to maintain a strict professional distance. It was too bad that attitude wasn’t shared by the rest of her family.

  Her own little boy couldn’t stop talking about him. Max was at that age where he was intensely curious about what grown-ups did, especially men. When he learned that Owen designed and built homes, he immediately wanted to know whether Owen would be willing to come over and build a super-duper tower with him, maybe even a whole city full of super towers. She blamed her foggy brain for her ill-considered response: she told him that Mr. Gage would be too busy to come and build towers as he was working on Hawk Hill, the house just down the road. Eyes lit with excitement, he’d asked whether Owen would be hammering and sawing and everything. Max was already a tool junkie, a future Home Depot weekend warrior. Before she could figure out a way to divert his interest, he was clamoring for a trip to Hawk Hill to see Owen at work, and she knew he was already imagining hammers pounding long, shiny nails and circular saws buzzing their way through planks of wood.

  Owen remained Max’s principal topic of conversation all the way through his maple syrup–coated waffle and cup of juice. Margot and Travis, working their way through the pot of coffee and bowls of steaming oatmeal, didn’t help matters when they agreed that he should go see Hawk Hill, especially as Mommy would be decorating the interior of the house. That got Kate into the act: she wanted to go, too, so she could help pick out colors. For Kate, so meek and careful, to ask for something, well, what could Jordan say but that she’d try to arrange an afternoon for them to go over and see the work being done on Hawk Hill.

  “And did Mommy tell you Owen’s going to be rebuilding Hawk Hill’s barn, too, Max? Isn’t that neat?”

  Max managed to smear maple syrup over his face as he nodded enthusiastically.

  Jordan shot Margot a look for having fanned the flames to bonfire proportions. Max really liked barns.

  “What?” Margot asked, all innocence.

  “We don’t actually have to help Owen Gage modernize the barn, you know.”

  “Why not? If you and he are going to all the trouble of making over the house, the barn should be equally spiffy. The higher the selling price for the house, the more people will be talking about the work you’ve done. Besides, I like Owen. He obviously felt bad about how Nonie treated you, so he’s provided a brilliant way for you to get back at her. And what about those flowers he brought you? They’re as lovely as Jade claimed—I was sure she was exaggerating. Weren’t those flowers Mommy got from Owen pretty, Katiebug?”

  Kate nodded solemnly. “I like the big fluffy pink ones.”

  “Those are called peonies, sweetie.” Jordan leaned over and kissed her daughter’s brow. “Of course Owen Gage has good taste in flowers. With his background he’s probably constitutionally incapable of giving an ugly bouquet.”

  Margot shook her head. “You’re as stubborn as Jade.”

  “Y’all talking about me again?” Jade asked, coming into the kitchen and making a beeline for the cupboard that held her favorite sugar-loaded cereal. She sat down next to Olivia’s high chair, poured herself a heaping bowlful, and then liberally sprinkled some on Olivia’s plastic plate.

  “I’ll make sure Miriam knows who’s to blame for Olivia’s sugar high this morning,” Jordan said dryly as she passed Jade the milk. “And no, we weren’t talking about you.”

  “Jordan’s the breakfast topic,” Travis informed her.

  “Lucky you,” Jade said, grinning.

  “Lucky me,” Jordan repeated. “Here Max, let’s wash your hands and face. They’re a little sticky.” She scooped him into her arms with an exaggerated grunt. “You, Maxwell Robert Stevens, are becoming a very heavy young man! Kate, honey, as soon as you’re finished, you need to run upstairs and get those teeth brushed. Don’t want to be late for school.”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  “You want us to take Olivia down to the barn until Miriam arrives? Then you can go straight to Hawk Hill after dropping these two off at school,” Margot asked.

  “Not necessary, thanks. I told him I’d be there mid-morning.” She wasn’t going to arrive a minute earlier than that.

  “Oh, so the topic really was the new dude in town and whether he has a thing for Jordan,” Jade said.

  Jordan gritted her teeth. “I promise you, he does not have a thing for me.”

  “What kinda thing does he have, Mommy?” Max asked.

  “Good one, guys. Now, could you stop before certain little pitchers’ ears grow even bigger? And more inquisitive?” Not to mention concerned, she added silently. Kate and Max were still grappling with the fact that their daddy had recently gotten married and was off honeymooning in a place called Hawaii with his new wife, Cynthia. She had no idea how they would react to the idea of a man coming into her life. Though Jordan was apparently the only one who could see that Owen Gage had commitment-phobe written all over him, she didn’t want the kids worried needlessly.

  Some might argue she didn’t know Owen well enough to classify him as relationship-averse, but the signs were there. Owen was successful, extremely good-looking, knew how to kiss a woman so that she melted in his arms, yet he was still single at the age of thirtysomething. His smooth charm was doubtless handy in slipping free of ties.

  Another obvious clue that the man was unwilling to commit was that though he loved architecture, he didn’t even own a home. Jordan hardly needed the hours she’d spent in Abby Walsh’s office having her every emotion and habit dissected to figure that one out.

  Margot gave her an abashed look. “Sorry, Jordan,” she said quietly. “We didn’t mean to be indiscreet.”

  “It’s not like you need to lock yourself away, though.”

  “So speaks the girl who won’t even go on a date with Brian Steadman,” Jordan said, before turning on the faucet full blast to drown out Jade’s inevitable retort. Testing the water, she handed Max the bar of soap. “Okay, buddy, scrub away.”

  By the time Max’s cheeks were free of maple syrup, she found to her immense relief that the conversation had moved on to the weekend’s horse show.

  “Do you want to braid Aspen after school today or should I ask F
elix to do it?” Margot asked Jade as she poured more coffee into her and Travis’s mugs. Jade was going to be riding Aspen in the green hunter classes.

  “No, Felix will have enough to do with Gypsy Queen, Mistral, and Sweet William. I’ll do Aspen’s braids. If he could give him a shampoo for me, though, that would rock.”

  “I’ll let him know,” Travis said, getting up from the table to clear the oatmeal bowls.

  “What time are you guys hitting the road?” Jordan asked.

  “Five,” Travis said. “It’ll take a couple of hours to get down to Lexington. We’re entered in a few afternoon classes, but if they aren’t running too far behind schedule, we should be able to leave the show grounds by four P.M.” He sat back down and took a sip of his coffee.

  “Can we go, too, Mommy?”

  “Lexington is a little too far away for us all to go, Max.”

  “But Jade’s riding,” Kate said.

  “Now I know how chopped liver feels.” Margot laughed. Though the kids adored Margot and Travis, Jade was the supernova.

  “Don’t worry, Kate,” Jade said. “There’ll be lots of chances to see me ride Aspen.”

  “And we need to stay here tomorrow and take care of the other horses with Ned and Andy. We’ll be really busy.”

  “I can help Ned with the wheelbarrow. I’m really good at pushing it,” Max said.

  “He’d like that,” she assured him. “So Kate, are you finished with breakfast? Then let’s get upstairs and brush those teeth.”

  She arrived at Hawk Hill with her sixteen-foot tape measure, her notebook and pen, a brick of color chips from her favorite paint company, and a number of folders filled with kitchen and bath design ideas. Armed with these tools, she was nevertheless unsure how useful they’d be in keeping her focused if Owen elected to use his charm on her. She didn’t dare contemplate how she’d react if he kissed her again.

  The sight of two trucks parked alongside his Audi TT made her almost giddy. Nothing to worry about, she told herself. The work crew would provide an excellent bulwark.

  Walking past a large Dumpster and sawhorses with planks of lumber neatly stacked beside them, Jordan looked up at the house. What a difference two weeks had made. New cedar shake shingles covered the roof. The shutters had been removed from the windows, and scaffolding erected alongside both chimneys. Noting the fresh yellowy-brown of new clapboard siding to replace the rotted and warped areas, she realized Owen hadn’t been exaggerating about having a hardworking construction crew.

  She didn’t bother ringing the doorbell as the front door was propped open with a brick to let the spring air in. She stepped onto a brown paper path that had been laid to protect the hardwood floors and followed it toward the male voices.

  Though she was sure the scrunching of her steps on the paper had been drowned out by the U2 song playing on the radio, Owen must have been listening for her. He immediately turned his head as she entered what had been the Barrons’ living room, empty now except for two armchairs covered in canvas. His gaze was surprisingly intense, simultaneously sweeping and penetrating, as if he could assess her mood with a single look.

  Perhaps he could. It struck Jordan that she had acted far more emotionally around Owen than she normally did in public. He’d certainly seen how hurt she was by Nonie’s malicious gossip, and he’d been very much on the receiving end of her outrage, his unsuspecting face her target. As an intelligent man, he’d most likely gathered all sorts of clues about her yesterday at Rosewood—how easily he could make her respond to his kisses and searing touch topping the list. Reserved and collected around others, she’d revealed more facets of her self to Owen in their short acquaintance than many people had ever been permitted to see.

  He wasn’t the only one blessed with powers of observation, however. She was confident in her growing ability to read him. For instance, after the look he’d aimed her way, brief and intense as lightning, his gaze became shuttered, his expression carefully bland. Polite but distant.

  She wondered how early he had learned that particular trick from his career-diplomat parents.

  But after last night, she preferred impeccably mannered aloofness over riotous kisses, which led to troubling dreams, both kisses and dreams threatening to turn her carefully ordered world topsy-turvy.

  “Good morning,” she said, assuming her best professional manner.

  “Good morning. Doug, Jesse, this is Jordan Radcliffe. I’ve asked her to do the interior design for the house. Jordan, these are two of my crew. Doug Brandt’s my foreman, and this is Jesse Frye, my carpenter. They’ll be on site most days.”

  Thank God. The more people around, the better. “Hello,” Jordan said with a friendly nod at the two men. Doug Brandt, with salt-and-pepper hair, looked to be in his early fifties. Jesse was a good deal younger; Jordan put him in his mid-twenties. In work boots and jeans, their cellphones stuck into leather cases that hung from their belts, they were attractive men, well built and amply muscled. What surprised Jordan was that Owen, looking his well-dressed self in a crisply ironed, blue-on-blue-striped shirt with navy blue trousers and brown loafers, was just as much of a masculine presence as the two brawnier men in their cotton T-shirts and worn jeans. She would have much preferred to find him too showy in comparison. No such luck.

  “You from around here, Jordan?” Jesse asked.

  “I grew up in the house just next door, right up Piper Road. So I guess I’m as local as they come, though I did live in D.C. for several years.”

  “Jordan and her sisters live in a terrific Greek Revival that’s escaped being destroyed by a mess of modern additions. How do you suppose that happened, by the way?” Owen asked. “It’s a pretty rare occurrence.”

  “Luck, I suppose. For the most part the Radcliffe women all loved Rosewood just as it was. Nicole, my sister Jade’s mom, insisted on redoing the kitchen and the baths—and given her and Dad’s scale of entertaining, she was probably right. But she, too, understood that Rosewood should stay as it was. And the men in our family have always preferred to spend money on our horses.” Or on toys she added silently, remembering with pain her father’s extravagance in buying his own Cessna and his insatiable love of expensive cars.

  “Jordan and her sisters raise horses, the family business,” Owen explained to Doug and Jesse. “I’m going to use their barns as a model for when we rebuild the barn here at Hawk Hill.”

  “Horse barns, huh? That’s a departure for Gage and Associates.”

  “Expanding our repertoire, Doug. Gotta keep you and Jesse on your toes.”

  “I don’t have a problem building a horse barn. I like horses. Though I can’t say I’ve ever been around them much,” Jesse said.

  Jordan smiled. “Well, I guarantee that whoever buys Hawk Hill will really appreciate a newly renovated barn. Horses are pretty much the main reason people move to a place like Warburg.”

  “I did notice that the hardware store in town sells almost as much horse stuff as anything else,” Doug said.

  “And they also stock carrot and corn treats in the pet food section of the grocery store,” she told them.

  “Gotcha.” Jesse grinned. “We better make that barn a showcase.”

  “Hey, Jesse, you almost finished replacing the clapboards?” Owen asked.

  “Still have the north side to finish. Then I was going to start repairing the pilasters.”

  “Sounds good. Get as much done as you can today. Monday’s forecast is for rain.”

  “Okay.” He gave Jordan a friendly nod. “Nice meeting you, Jordan.”

  “It was nice meeting you, too.”

  “Hey, Jesse, will you pick me up the turkey with jalapeño jack when you do the run to Braverman’s?” Doug said.

  “Sure. Are you going to want anything, Owen?”

  “I’ll take the roast beef with mustard on pumpernickel.”

  “How about you, Jordan?”

  “Oh, no, that’s all right. I’ve—”

  “Jordan’
s got to pick up her kids at school,” Owen answered for her. “She’s got three of them.”

  There was a barely perceptible pause, and then Jesse said, “So that’s one turkey and jalapeño jack and one roast beef on pumpernickel with mustard.”

  From the way Jesse beat a path to the door, one would have thought motherhood was contagious, Jordan thought with amusement. What she found especially intriguing was that Owen had felt it necessary to announce to his workmen the fact that she had children.

  But she didn’t have the chance to analyze his motives, for Owen had decided the time for idle chitchat was at an end.

  Turning to Doug, he said, “Now that Jordan’s here, I’d like for the three of us to go through the layout for the kitchen and bathrooms so we can tell the electrician and the plumber what we need and where. And Jordan, we’ll need your order for materials and equipment as soon as we can get it.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  “Then let’s get started.”

  Jordan had never been in the Barrons’ kitchen. From the peeling blue-and-white-checkerboard linoleum floor, metal cabinets, and Formica counters, she guessed its last renovation had been at the beginning of the Barrons’ marriage. The sleek Italian espresso machine—obviously Owen’s—looked positively space age in the decidedly tired kitchen. The kitchen’s dimensions were more than ample, though, especially with the addition of the butler’s pantry nestled between the kitchen and dining room.

  Times had changed so much since the Barrons’ style of kitchen. Nowadays kitchens were a much more public part of the house. They had to be aesthetically pleasing for when family and friends were gathered around, and they also had to be designed to maximize their versatility and efficiency.