by Goode, A. J.
Her House Divided
By A.J. Goode
Copyright 2014 A.J. Goode
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
A Word from the Author
Other Books by this Author
Sneak Peek
For Ida, because I promised.
Chapter One
The late August sun pounded mercilessly through the tinted windows of the lobby, heating the room despite the air-conditioning. Tara Bartlett reached up with her good hand to run her fingers through her thick coppery curls, wishing for the hundredth time that she was brave enough to just shave it all right off.
She shifted in her seat and glanced at her watch. The lawyer had instructed her to be here at precisely two o'clock for the reading of the will, and here it was, two thirty-five. As if she didn't have anything better to do with her time.
Tara smiled ruefully at that thought. No, she reflected, she really didn't have anything better to do with her time. Not anymore.
The man sitting across the room seemed to be as impatient as she was. He kept pacing and then flopping back into his chair, only to jump up and resume pacing a moment later. Although he was tall and lean, she could see the outline of an athletic, muscular build under his red polo shirt and khakis. From his tanned skin and sun-lightened blonde hair, she guessed that he must spend a great deal of time outdoors. She could easily imagine him at a golf course or on a sailboat.
He grinned at her, and she realized that he had caught her staring. She looked away, blushing.
"Any idea how long he's going to keep us waiting?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Lucky for him, we don't charge by the hour like he does," he commented.
Tara had to smile at that. "At least we're inside, away from that terrible heat."
"Well, you know what they say about Michigan weather: If you don't like it—"
"—just wait five minutes." Tara smiled back at him, noticing the small, curved scar at the left corner of his lips.
"Makes you wonder how people ever lived without air conditioning, doesn't it?"
"I can't imagine it," she said. She pictured her own apartment with its central air and cool open spaces – and then felt a pang as she remembered that it would only be her home for another twenty-four hours. After that, she was going to be on her own with nowhere to live and no means of finding a new place.
"Miss Bartlett, Mr. Davis." The receptionist interrupted her thoughts. "Mr. Jacobs is ready to see you."
"Finally!" The blonde man said. He looked at Tara again, watching as she stood and took a moment to steady herself before moving carefully toward the lawyer's office door. Frowning, he held the door for her.
There were three plush brown chairs in front of the lawyer's desk. Two were empty; a tall blonde woman sat in the third.
Tara noticed right away that the woman's impeccable dove gray suit was more expensive than anything she had ever owned. From the roots of her expertly foiled blonde bob to the tips of her dark gray heels, everything about her practically screamed money. The ice blue silk blouse exactly matched her eyes as she gave Tara a quick once-over, before seeming to dismiss her as unimportant.
"Ah, Ethan," the woman purred, smiling at the man standing beside Tara. "This is unexpected."
"Jacqueline." He nodded in her direction and dropped into the chair that was farthest away from her.
Tara tried not to sigh as she chose the middle seat.
The attorney cleared his throat. "I apologize for keeping you waiting," he said, aiming a pointed glance at the tall blond woman. "I'm Ben Jacobs. I represent the estate of Beatrice Ahrend. I asked you to be here today because Mrs. Ahrend mentioned all three of you, Jacqueline Davis, Tara Bartlett and Ethan Davis, in her will."
"I still can't believe Mrs. Ahrend left anything to me," Tara said. In her career as a cosmetologist, Tara had developed a close relationship with many of her weekly clients, but her friendship with Bea had been something special.
"I have doubts about that myself," Jacqueline commented, raising a delicately arched eyebrow in Tara's direction.
"Did Grandma leave her a piece of jewelry or something?" Ethan asked
"Or something." Jacobs was obviously enjoying himself.
"Please get to the point."
"The estate is not large," Jacobs told them, glancing at Jacqueline again. "$5,000 in a trust, some moderately valuable pieces of jewelry, and her home and furnishings. With the exception of one item of jewelry, she specified that she wanted the rest of the estate divided equally between two of you."
"The pearls. That makes sense." Jacqueline stood, smoothing the perfectly unwrinkled front of her skirt. "Of course, I would have liked to own those pearls, but I understand that she wanted to leave something to her pet charity. Ethan, I'll contact a realtor about selling the house as quickly as possible, and I'll see to it that you get your half of the money. And – Tina, right? Tina, if you decide you need the cash rather than the pearls, please call me instead of pawning them. Here's my card."
"Wait –" Ethan jumped up.
"My name is Tara," Tara said at the same moment
"Of course it is. Ethan, let's not have another fight about this."
"If you would all please be seated again." Ben Jacobs was smiling hugely at them. "Jacqueline, I'm afraid you misunderstood. Mrs. Ahrend left the string of pearls to you. Everything else is to be divided between your ex-husband and Miss Bartlett."
Awkward silence greeted his announcement.
"Ben, that is not funny," Jacqueline stated, after a moment.
"Really? You don't think so? Because I think it's hilarious."
"You'll be hearing from my attorney," she snapped.
"Yes, I'm sure I will." Jacobs' grin didn't fade at all as Jacqueline turned and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Ethan turned to Tara, who was staring at the lawyer in open-mouthed astonishment. "Who, exactly, are you?" He asked.
"I-I'm her hairdresser," Tara stammered. "I was her hairdresser. She left me her house?"
"Half of her house," Ethan corrected her.
"Mr. Jacobs," Tara asked, her voice trembling. "Mr. Jacobs, what do I do with half of a house?"
"As I see it, you have three options. You can sell it and split the proceeds—"
"I'm not selling my Grandmother's house," Ethan stated. "I grew up there."
"Or one of you can buy out the other's share." Ethan glanced at her, but she shook her head. Right now, she needed a home more than she needed money. To be honest, she really needed both, but finding a place to live was a far more pressing need.
"Or?" Ethan asked.
"Or you can find a way to share it," the lawyer told them
"Share it?" Tara stared at him. If Jacobs had suddenly sprouted a second head and turned orange, she couldn't have been more horrified. Considering the mess that was her life right now, she had made the vow that she would never again, under any circumstance, live under the same roof with any man. No, there was absolutely no possible way she was going to set herself up for another round of that kind of trouble.
S
he glanced at Ethan. He looked equal parts horrified and outraged. Her eyes were drawn once again to that tiny scar in the corner of his mouth, and she found herself wondering how he had gotten it.
Ben Jacobs was saying something about paperwork and signatures. Tara felt her face grow warm as she tried to focus on his words.
"Ethan, of course you know where the house is," he was saying. "Miss Bartlett –-"
"I know where it is. I've been there." Every Friday afternoon for the last five years, in fact. Well, every Friday afternoon up until three months ago.
"Well. All right then. Let's get the paperwork out of the way, so I can give you your keys."
Tara risked another glance at Ethan Davis. He was glaring at her. At any other time in her life, she would have been intimidated by his blatant dislike. Now, however, it just made her that much more determined to hold onto the one thing that actually belonged to her: a house. More accurately, half of a house. If he wanted a fight, she was more than up to the challenge.
"Ready when you are," she said.
Chapter Two
Ethan was so angry that he barely noticed the sweltering heat when he stepped outside. He couldn't believe that his grandmother had allowed herself to be fooled by a gold-digger like Tara Bartlett. He had to admit that she was beautiful, and that there was something helpless and vulnerable about her. He had almost been taken in by her act himself – between her tentative, halting way of moving and that whispery, trembling voice, he had actually felt a little bit sorry for her until those last moments in Ben's office, when he had seen the hard glint of determination in her wide green eyes.
He shook his head and stepped gingerly into his blue Ford Expedition. It was like sliding into an oven.
While he waited for the a/c to kick in, he thought about his grandmother's home. It was small and tidy, just as the lady herself had been, and really didn't have much value by itself. However, it stood on prime beachfront property in an area where most of the old family-owned homes had been sold and converted into seasonal rental properties. Over the last years of her life, his grandmother had been under a great deal of pressure to sell out to any one of a number of developers who were all but drooling over the property.
The worst of them was his ex-wife, Jacqueline, who had managed to stay friends with Bea even after the divorce. Ethan had suspected that Jacqueline’s kindness toward her had been more about staying in the will than any real affection for the elderly woman, but Bea had refused to listen to any of his arguments on the subject.
Ethan allowed himself a small smile, gratified that his grandmother had been wise enough to see through Jacqueline’s act. He wasn't sure that he was up to another legal battle with his ex-wife, but he also knew he wasn't in any shape financially to buy out her portion of the cottage had she been the one to inherit with him. He felt his stomach twist at the thought of owning anything with her.
The smile faded when he saw Tara Bartlett move slowly past him on the sidewalk. She was a complete mystery to him, but right now he didn't trust her any more than he trusted his ex-wife. He took advantage of the darkly tinted windows to study her unobserved.
It would have been easier to understand if the person including Tara in the will had been a man. Although she was a bit shorter than he usually liked, he had to admit that there was a soft curviness to her shape that was very definitely pleasant to look at. She was dressed demurely for today's appointment, but there was no disguising a figure that was so nicely rounded in all the right places. Ethan could only imagine how skillfully she could have fooled a man less jaded than he.
But that didn't explain his grandmother's being taken in by her. His frown deepened as he saw that Tara's heart-shaped face was flushed and damp with sweat. She wiped at her brow with a shaky hand. His grandmother had always been a sucker for a sob story, and Tara certainly knew how to present herself as fragile and needy. He guessed that she had probably figured out how to exploit the older woman's sympathy.
She may have been a gold digger, but she was also obviously struggling to keep moving in the oppressive heat. Ethan frowned, trying to pinpoint exactly what was causing her apparent weakness and limp. Not a limp, really; he tried unsuccessfully to come up with a better word for it. It was more accurately a stiffness to her gait, as though something, somewhere, hurt. She moved slowly, carefully, with her shoulders drawn up stiffly and her head tilted at an odd angle, staring straight ahead as though her life depended on not looking to the left or to the right.
He couldn't help himself. His grandmother had, after all, done her best to teach him to be helpful to those in need.
"Miss Bartlett?" He called, stepping out of the Expedition to stand in front of her. "How far away are you parked? Can I offer you a ride to your car?"
"I'm fine." Her chin came up to a determined little point.
"That's not what I asked," he said. "It's a hot day, and I thought I'd be a nice guy and offer some help."
"I don't need your help," she told him. She tried to step around him, but suddenly lost her balance and would have fallen if he hadn't caught her.
His fingers tingled as he touched the bare skin of her arms; cold and sizzling hot at the same time. He heard her gasp and wondered if she was feeling the same sensation. They were close enough for him to smell her flowery perfume and see the handful of freckles scattered across her creamy skin. Her deep green eyes widening with surprise, she took a shaky step away from him.
"Th-thank you," she said, barely above a whisper. "My balance is a bit . . .off. . . since. . ." She cleared her throat and gained control over her voice. "I'm only walking as far as the next bus stop. I don't have a car right now. But thank you for your offer."
"The bus? Don't be ridiculous. I'll take you home."
Tara drew herself up to her full height, barely above his chin. "Mr. Davis—"she began.
"Ethan."
"All right," she agreed. "Ethan. You can be as nice as you want to be, but I will not sell you my half of Bea's house. That's where I'm going right now, to my new home. If you're going to insist on driving me somewhere, then drive me there. Otherwise, get out of my way."
"Fine. That's where I'm going, too," he said stiffly. "To my new home. And I have no intention of selling you my half, either. But we can go look at it together, if you like."
Tara hesitated before nodding curtly. He held the door for her and helped her climb up into the passenger seat. He had to admit to himself that he was acting as much out of curiosity as out of any desire to be polite; he wanted to see if touching her bare arm again would cause that same strange sensation he had felt before, and he wasn't disappointed
Ethan shook himself. This was utterly ridiculous. Oh, she was good. No wonder his grandmother had been taken in. Tara seemed like such a defeated, lost little soul that anyone would be fooled into wanting to help her. If not for the occasional glint of hardness in her eyes, he would have been tricked, too.
Well, two could play at that game. If she was interested in little mind-games to get him to give up his half of the house, he could play, too. She was going to try the pity card; he'd just have to go along and let her think she was winning him over. He had his own cards, and Ethan Davis was not a man who was used to losing.
Especially not when the stakes were this high.
Chapter Three
Bea Ahrend's house was the first in a row of beach houses that lined Lake Shore Drive. It was a tidy white building with blue trim and a wide front porch that seemed to beckon passers-by to sit down and enjoy the shade in one of the comfortable-looking wicker chairs. The house was surrounded by a waist-high brick wall, and the previous owner had made up for the cement courtyard by decorating with potted geraniums and flowering cacti. A heavy black anchor on the peak gave the place a definite nautical air, and a hanging piece of driftwood had been hand-lettered with the words "The Seashell".
"All of the cottages along the Front Row used to have names," Ethan explained. "I remember some of them. The Hideaway,
the Jonathon Livingston, the Lemon Drop. Grandma loved to sit out on her porch and make fun of some of the names."
"And drink her iced tea," Tara added.
"I put lemon in her tea once. Thought she was going to throw it in my face." He grinned at the memory.
"She was a sweetheart, but she sure let you know when you did something wrong! The first time I did her hair, I used the wrong size rollers. It turned out too tight, and she made me shampoo it out and re-set it! I thought she hated me, but she requested me every week after that. She was my very first 'regular' client."
"She was always strict like that," he said. "If I didn't make my bed just so every morning, I wasn't allowed to play outside until I re-made it to her standards. She actually bounced a quarter on the sheets to make sure they were tight enough."
Tara wondered about his parents, wanting to ask him why he had been raised by his Grandmother. But she decided that now was not the time. "Shall we go in?"
He nodded.
Tara took her time getting out of the vehicle, reflecting that giant SUV's were definitely not the vehicle of choice for people recovering from major surgery. Or for anyone under six feet tall, for that matter. She slid her feet down to the running board and awkwardly grabbed for the handle with her left hand.
Ethan was suddenly there, guiding her. "Careful," he warned her. "That first step is a doozy."
"Thank you," she murmured. She caught her breath when his large, warm hands encircled her waist. It took every ounce of strength not to lean in closer and drink in his clean, masculine scent—a scent so different from Randy's overpowering cologne and aftershave—
At the thought of her ex-fiancé, Tara straightened and looked at the house. Without another word, she turned on her heel and headed toward her new home. No matter how wonderful Ethan smelled, she was not going to think of him as anything other than the obstacle that stood between her current run of hard luck and her one chance at owning her own home. She wasn't going to be distracted by his charming smile or sparkling blue eyes.
