by Lorin Grace
An hour later she left the hospital with a large bandage on her elbow, a boot on her left foot, and a pair of crutches. Calcaneal fracture, fortunately a very small one, two to three weeks on crutches, and four to six in the boot. She headed toward her car, but Candace stopped her. “You can’t drive.”
“But I need to get my car home.” Mandy leaned on the crutches. Thanks to a shot of some painkiller, the name of which escaped her, her heel no longer throbbed, but she did feel extraordinarily tired.
Candace guided Mandy to her green Saturn. “I’ll come back with someone and get your car later. I can’t believe you drove yourself here. And I can’t believe he didn’t offer to help you. You are right. He is a jerk.”
Daniel scrolled through Mandy’s public profile. There were photos with friends and roommates and a link to a blog featuring some of her portfolio. Digital arts were her forte, but she wasn’t bad with a brush, either. Only a handful of selfies on another account. Most of the photos were of old buildings and architecture—evidence she’d told the truth about wanting to photograph the old place.
Shutting the browser, he got back to the reason he was here. What to do with the old mansion and nearly a square mile of land. Half of the land had been farmed in corn until the farmer he’d rented to had retired two years ago. The fifteen acres around the house had once been lovingly maintained. Now the roses and lilacs grew as wild as the forested areas his great-grandfather had set aside to be left in their natural state. The same great-grandfather stipulated the land could not be sold for one hundred years, the expiration date only weeks away, the anniversary date of some World War I battle he knew little about.
He flipped through the proposals. Although some were very lucrative, most of them would end up destroying the forested area. Only a couple of the proposals allowed him to subdivide the land. He hadn’t considered them seriously until he recalled the summer spent playing in the pond, climbing trees, and counting clouds. Maybe if he tore down the house, he would enjoy the land. He heard some of the Amish farmers to the northeast were looking for farms for their sons. He could sell off the old farmland to them. But he wasn’t sure how to even approach them with an offer. They wouldn’t want the house either, but they might dismantle it.
The third paragraph on the second page of one proposal stood out. Why were the mineral rights specified in such detail?
CHAPTER THREE
Mandy swung her crutches down the art department’s narrow hallway, trying not to hit anything. The old building wasn’t exactly disability friendly. She tapped on the last door.
“Open!”
Balancing on the crutches and holding her bags, she found turning the handle nearly impossible. Her hand slipped a second time, but the door opened anyway.
“Mandy? What happened?” Professor Christensen held the door for her.
Mandy slid the camera case from her shoulder. “I was taking pictures of the Crawford mansion, and something startled me.”
“Did you get any decent shots?”
She shook her head. “Only one. I hope it will be good enough for me to finish the project.”
“Only one?” The professor took a seat at his cluttered desk.
Mandy set the camera case on top of a stack of papers. “The camera fell when I did.”
She bit her lip as her adviser unzipped the camera case. He pulled out the three pieces of the lens and the camera. “Do you have any idea how much this camera costs? How hard did you fall?”
Mandy sat in the only chair not piled with art books. “I looked the camera up last night. I guess I owe the university a big chunk of money.” Mandy cringed. It would take almost three years of work to pay the debt off if she moonlighted and used all her savings. “I know I can’t graduate if I owe the university any money.”
He examined the camera parts, trying to fit them back together. “I’ll talk to the dean and see what we can do about the camera. I assume there is some insurance policy, so you would only owe a portion, but even 10 percent would be a fair chunk of change.”
She shifted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable place for the boot.
Dr. Christensen put the camera parts back in the bag. “How are you at grant writing?”
“I wrote a couple as an undergrad, and I did one for the high school art department.”
He sat back in his worn leather chair. “You might want to sharpen your pencil and see if you can get any grants, which will help. I’m not sure how the university works in these matters. How exactly did you come to fall?”
“I was sitting on the fence, and Daniel Crawford came up behind me and yelled. He accused me of working with some land developer. I guess the rumors are true about him selling the place.” Mandy tried unsuccessfully to keep her voice light.
The professor brightened. “Daniel Crawford is in town? Any chance he’ll help pay for the camera?”
She let out a harsh laugh. He wouldn’t help her to the car—why would he hand over money?
“You could send C & O enterprises one of your grant proposals. They have donated to us before.” He leaned forward, a hopeful gleam in his eye.
“I’m sure that would go over well. ‘The C in C & O helped break this camera when I was almost trespassing on his land. Will you buy a new one for the university?’” Mandy read off an imaginary paper, balled it up, then sent it flying into the trash can.
The professor leaned back and laughed. “I don’t know if that would work.”
Mandy joined in the laughter.
“How is the project, then?” her mentor asked, coming around to the point of their meeting.
“The Crawford place is the last piece.”
“Let’s keep your schedule for your MFA show April 17 titled ‘If Only …’? And hopefully we can work something out with the camera. At the very least you will still have all of your work done and only need to wait until the time the university can be paid to pick up your diploma.” He gave Mandy a half smile. “It’s one of the most original ideas I’ve seen the last several years. Be proud of yourself. Go home, work on your project, and I’ll see you next week. Oh and have the descriptions completed for the printer by the first.”
Mandy shook the professor’s hand and left. For years she had wished on birthday candles to see Danny again. Too bad no one had told her ten-year-old self to be careful what she wished for. That didn’t keep her from wishing for a miracle now. Between the single photo she had to work with and the money she owed, she would have been better off not even trying for her MFA. Her crutch caught on the exterior door as she left the building. At least she didn’t fall.
CHAPTER FOUR
Daniel read Colin’s text. You win. She hasn’t posted a thing. Bill is paid. Copay refunded.
Thanks. Too bad we didn’t bet. I want your car. You don’t even drive the Lamborghini!
The college graduation gift was a long-standing joke. Colin rarely drove, and when he did, he drove his “nondescript” vehicle.
Ha, ha. BTW, at the rate the social media is pinging in your area, it won’t be long before the P’razzi descends. Stay away from the local diners, says Morgan!
Sorry, looking for someone.
Not many out of towners visited the café and the diner. But neither did Mandy.
I can get her address …
Nope. Already got it.
Daniel turned back to his computer. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t like the contract with the London-based ad agency. C & O’s legal team assured him the wording was routine, but his gut told him otherwise. He’d ignored his sixth sense twice in the past year—first by not dumping Summerset sooner, and now with Amanda. But the leftover rage from finding a survey team on his property earlier that day had taken over. He should have followed his instincts when he’d felt she offered no threat, at least not to his property. His mind was a different story. She had been occupying far too much of his thoughts this week. But it was natural to want to check up on her welfare. Too bad she lived on
a dead-end street, or he would drive by more often.
No way would he ignore his instincts in business, too. Hence the reason he’d spent his Saturday morning cross-referencing British law books. A half hour later his patience was rewarded. He highlighted a paragraph in the contract and emailed it back to legal. Most likely he would need to go to London next week. Once again, he’d created more work for himself.
Daniel opened the fridge. Dang. He’d finished the milk this morning. The freezer contained only two beat-up bags of frozen vegetables. A quick trip to the store was in order. Sitting in the cab of his truck at a four way, he realized he was still dressed for the video conference he’d held early that morning with several board members to debate the sale of the steel side of the company. He hoped he wouldn’t stand out too much. There was one advantage of the small town—no resident paparazzi, and with so many Amish in the area, tourists would be staring at the stable in the parking lot, not looking for celebrities.
Mandy maneuvered across the parking lot on her crutches. Candace didn’t need her input on the groceries, but she wanted to get out of the house. At least the big-box grocery store had motorized carts and she could choose her favorite ice cream. To her dismay, when they entered the store, all the motorized carts were in use.
Candace turned to Mandy. “Do you think you can make it? Do you want to go back and sit in the car?”
The checkout lines stood four customers deep. It would be too warm in the car for as long as Saturday shopping would take. March had graced them with practically perfect spring weather. “I’ll wait over there.” She pointed her chin in the direction of the empty bench near the pharmacy.
“Sorry, I’ll be back in a few.” Candace disappeared down the card aisle.
“Don’t forget the ice cream,” she didn’t yell as she knew Candace wouldn’t hear over the crowd.
To pass the time, Mandy pulled out her phone and opened to her favorite social media site. The first picture in her feed was of Daniel Crawford eating at the local diner. Her friend had captioned the photo “Look who I saw today!!!!” Mandy scrolled down the page. A slew of DC sightings filled the screen. In most of the photos he appeared almost friendly, and, as always, his sandy hair was nothing short of model perfect.
She switched to her page and updated her status. “Crutches are not fun. Word of advice—careful what fences you choose to climb.” She added a photo of her booted foot. It might help put off questions on Monday when she returned to work.
Her longtime roommate Tessa had posted more amazing photos of stained-glass cathedral windows in Vendôme, France. Repairing windows designed hundreds of years ago suited her history-buff roommate perfectly. It would’ve been a fun internship to snag. But Mandy had a contract to teach at the high school and knew very little about stained-glass beyond the introductory-level class she had taken.
“Miss Fowler.”
She looked up to see one of her students approaching.
“What did you do for spring break?” The young man pulled off the hood to his navy sweatshirt like she insisted he do in class.
“I worked on my MFA project because, unlike you, I still had school.”
“No, I mean what did you do for fun to hurt your foot—skydive?”
Mandy laughed at the teen’s intense look. “No skydiving. Just working on my project.”
“Wow, can you get hurt doing art?”
She gave him a smile. “You can if you are not very, very, careful.”
“Zach! Zach!” called a woman pushing a cart with one toddler inside and another child hanging off the back.
Zach looked over his shoulder. “That’s my mom. I better go. See ya Monday.” He walked fast enough not to force his mother to call again but not fast enough to erase the frown on her face.
Mandy opened her favorite game app and moved the candy pieces from side to side. Out of her peripheral vision she noticed somebody with very nice shoes and dress pants standing beside her.
Danny. Every other man in the store wore jeans and tennis shoes, unless they were Amish. She raised her eyes from her phone.
He spoke as soon as she made eye contact. “I owe you an apology, I didn’t realize you were hurt bad. I mean if I had, I would have helped you. I thought you were faking it.”
“Why would I do that?” She fought the urge to say more.
Daniel sat down next to her. “I don’t know. I was sure you were with one of the land developers. But that’s before I realized who you were.”
“You remember me now?”
“Yeah. Your parting comment about Grandma Mae …” He shrugged and gave one of those half smiles always on the covers at the checkout stands. “Did you get the photo you needed for your class?”
She moved a few inches away. He unnerved her—and not the way the coach did at school. “It wasn’t for a class. I needed the photo for my MFA project, and I only ended up with one photo, not as clear as I hoped.”
“MFA in what?” He seemed genuinely interested.
“Master of fine arts in visual arts, digital emphasis. That photo is all that’s standing between me and my degree.” Why is he being nice? Doesn’t he see the people looking our way? Too bad the boot and crutches kept her from joining Candace.
“Tell me about this project you’re doing.”
She fumbled with the phone before scrolling to a picture of the abandoned ’50s gas station out on the old highway. “I’m creating an ‘If Only …’ theme using digital art to envision what the future could have been for various buildings if they’d had different owners or pasts. Like this old gas station on Highway 30. This is what it looks like today.” She swiped to another photo of the same gas station, modernized, with cars and people going in and out. “Had the station not closed, it might look like this. Or what if someone had turned it into a race-car museum?” She flipped to the next photo. Vintage gas pumps gleamed, and a family walked toward the door from an adjacent parking lot where a field now lay fallow.
Daniel leaned over the little screen. “How many of these have you done?”
“Five different buildings. The mansion was supposed to be the sixth and final piece. I only got one shot—usually I have fifty or more to work with.” She kept her voice even as she closed the photo app and scooted back. He hadn’t intended to sabotage her project.
Daniel’s face paled slightly. “Sorry. I should’ve handled the situation better. Your parting shot about Grandma Mae was perfect. But I was sure you were somebody else. Not a reason to treat anyone poorly. Even if you had been one of those leeches … If I let you in to take photos close range, would that help?”
She smiled. “To be honest, new photos might save the project. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”
“What kind of trouble?” He leaned forward.
Mandy scooted another half-inch away. “The camera and telephoto lens will cost over $60,000 to replace. I can’t graduate until it’s paid off.”
“Doesn’t the school have insurance?” His eyebrows knit the same way they had when he was eight and she’d told him Grandma Mae didn’t have cable.
“My faculty adviser is considering what insurance will cover. But he suggested I write grant proposals.” For a moment, Mandy thought of hitting him up for a grant, but the request would be as laughable as it had been in Dr. Christensen’s office.
He checked his watch. “What if you come out this afternoon, say, around three, and I’ll let you in to take all the pictures you want.”
Mandy bit her lip. “I’ll have to bring my roommate. I can’t drive until I’m off the painkillers.”
Someone cleared their throat. “You ready to go?” Ice-blue curls framed the amused look on Candace’s face. She must have been standing there for a while.
“Daniel this is Candace, my roommate. Candace, Daniel.”
He stood and shook Candace’s hand. Mandy wished Candace were standing closer to her so she could smack the starstruck expression off her face.
&nbs
p; “Candace, Daniel invited me out to take better photos of his mansion. Can you give me a ride around three?”
Candace’s gaze flicked from Daniel to Mandy and back. “I’m sorry. I have an appointment this afternoon.”
Mandy tried not to glare. When they’d entered the store, their afternoon was completely free. On the drive over, they’d discussed going to their favorite thrift shop in hopes of finding another vintage broomstick skirt to replace the one destroyed on the gate.
“I’ll pick you up if you trust me with your address,” Daniel said.
Mandy opened her contacts page of her phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text it to you.”
Daniel laughed. “That is about the most original line I’ve had anybody use to get ahold of my phone number.”
She willed her blush to stay away. “I don’t want your phone number for me. If I go missing, I want the police to know the last person I texted.”
He studied her booted foot and crutches. “Understandable but unnecessary.”
Candace burst into laughter as Daniel and Mandy exchanged information on their phones.
“I’ll see you at three.” He left in the direction of the deli.
Candace watched him go before turning her attention to Mandy. “I got ice cream in here. We better get home. I think there is enough melting going on.”
Mandy ignored the comment, balanced herself on her crutches, and followed her roommate out of the store.
CHAPTER FIVE
A midnight-blue American-made pickup—not what Mandy expected. She let the blinds drop and turned to face Candace. “I thought you had an appointment.”
“I do. Watching you go out with Daniel.” Candace twirled the end of the hot-pink scarf tied around her head.
“You better make yourself scarce. He’s coming up the walkway.”
He’d changed into jeans and a T-shirt with the logo of an area restaurant. She went to open the door and stepped out to keep him from seeing Candace.
At the truck, Daniel held open the door. Mandy studied the high seat. If she didn’t have the boot and crutches, it wouldn’t be a problem.
