by Nancy Warren
“Don’t you miss having a man in your life?” Julia lowered her voice. “Don’t you miss sex?”
“I have lots of men in my life. Realtors, clients, friends.”
One of Julia’s eyebrows went up. “And sex?”
“I have sex.” Even to her ears she sounded defensive. “Okay, not a lot of sex. It’s been a while, but sex for me means commitment. I can’t do casual.” She shrugged. “Ever since my engagement ended...” She’d believed Drake, who was a lawyer, was perfect for her. They’d worked together on a few closings. They were both hard-working and ambitious. It wasn’t until they were talking wedding dates that they’d realized how little their agendas meshed. He wanted to move to New York to a bigger firm. She was building a business in Seattle. He wanted children right away. She felt they should wait a couple of years until the marriage had strong roots. A year ago he’d gone to New York without her. Since then she’d thrown herself into work and hadn’t missed Drake as much as she would have imagined.
“He was a moron to pick New York over you.”
“Thank you. I agree!”
“So, your big news?”
“I got an amazing listing today. It’s my big break. Uncle Ned, an old friend of my father’s, called me out of the blue and offered me the Bellamy House.”
Julia’s eyes widened once more. “That beautiful old place on the hill?”
“Yeah. The woman who owned it died a couple of months ago. Uncle Ned is her executor. There’s a grandson and he okayed the sale.”
“That’s terrific.”
“I know.” She turned mock serious. “There’s just one problem.”
Julia grabbed her hand. “It needs staging?”
“Yes! The problem is I need it staged right away. I think I have the perfect buyers. I hate to ask you, but do you think you could stage it tomorrow? I’d love to show them the place Thursday morning.”
“Miracles are what I do.” Julia morphed from love-addicted friend into professional home stager, tapping at her tablet, then nodding. “Do you have the key to the place?”
“Yes.”
“If you can show me the home tonight, I’ll figure out what I need and by tomorrow night, you’ll have your miracle.”
“I can’t wait to show you. This house is going to change everything for us.”
2
ROB’S BACKPACK WEIGHED a thousand tons as he hauled it out of the back of the cab. His eyes were dry and gritty and his leg hurt like a son of a bitch. Fog had grounded the plane in Chicago turning a relatively straightforward eight-hour trip into a two-day ordeal. He’d never yet figured out how to sleep on airplanes. Not a real plus for somebody whose job required constant travel.
But he was finally home. Or as close to a home as anything he’d ever known.
As he stood gazing at the big old house, a pang of sadness hit him that was as vicious and intense as his bullet wound.
His grandmother was gone.
He hadn’t even made it home for her funeral, her death had occurred so quickly. Not that she’d have wanted him there, but he’d have liked to have been for his own sake. They’d seen each other a few months back when he’d come to visit between assignments. Had she seemed more frail?
Worse, had she known her end was near and not told him?
He shook his head. No.
At eighty-eight his grandmother had impressed him as being mentally as sharp as ever. She’d even chided him to hurry up and get married and give her some great-grandbabies before she got to a hundred. Naturally he’d told her the truth. That he’d never settle until he found somebody like her. Hadn’t happened in thirty-five years. He doubted it ever would.
She’d laughed and told him he’d have to set his sights lower. He grinned at the memory. No. His grandmother definitely hadn’t planned on dying.
Damn it. He was going to miss that woman.
There were affairs to settle and likely some papers to sign. Right now though all he could think about was a huge glass of Pacific Northwest water, the kind you could drink straight from the tap, a long, hot shower, and sleep.
Long, uninterrupted sleep in a real bed.
As Rob hefted his pack and limped up the path he noted that somebody had swept the front steps recently and even planted blooming bushes in the brick planters.
For early September the night was cool, but to a man who’d spent the past few weeks in the African desert, almost everywhere seemed cool.
He couldn’t imagine who would have planted bushes, or why. His brain was way too tired to puzzle out such minor mysteries. Tomorrow. He’d think tomorrow.
* * *
AS A REALTOR, HAILEY liked to think of herself as a matchmaker putting the right house together with the right buyer. As of today she had a new unattached single waiting for the right person to fall in love with it—a loft condo downtown that she’d listed this morning, thanks to a referral from a satisfied client. She was new enough to the business that every referral, every listing and especially every sale filled her with pride.
Now she was ready to make another match.
She had a gut instinct that the Bellamy House she was about to show Samantha and Luke MacDonald was going to be a fit. A real-estate marriage made not in heaven but in the offices of Dalbello and Company, where she worked fiendish hours to make her mark in a competitive business.
Like any good matchmaker, she’d prepped carefully, hiring Julia to stage the faded but solid turn-of-the-century Craftsman and bringing in cleaners and a window washer. Hailey had planted cheerfully blooming winter kale and pansies at the entranceway in an effort to keep the buyers’ eyes from going immediately to the neglected garden. She wished she had the time and resources to do more, but this was an estate sale.
Everything was as perfect as she could make it. The sun shining on the gleaming diamond-paned windows showed the gracious contours of the home that must have been a real showpiece in its day.
The young couple scheduled to see the place arrived at eleven as scheduled. “I think you’re really going to like this one,” Hailey said, passing them a feature sheet. “It’s just come on the market and I immediately thought of you.”
She unlocked the shiny black front door and light spilled into the foyer bringing out the gleam on the newly waxed oak floors. It was amazing what a good cleaning could do to a house. Not that the previous owner hadn’t been a good housekeeper; Hailey could tell from the order in the home that she had. Still, in the months since Agnes Neeson had died, the house had been shut up and grown dusty. Today the air smelled not of must as it had the first time she’d viewed it, but of the lilies and roses that Julia had placed in a glass vase on the entranceway table.
Her heels clacked on the original hardwood floors as she pointed out the spacious dimensions of the dining and living areas, the original heritage features such as the hand-carved fireplace mantel and the built-in glass-fronted cabinets. Julia had indeed worked a miracle, hauling clutter and the dated furniture to a storage facility and replacing it all with modern pieces and splashes of designer color in cushions and throws.
She could tell Samantha and Luke were excited and she shared a little of the thrill. Who wouldn’t want a great house like this? It was barely in their price range but she knew they could do it. She glanced over at the couple, arguing good-naturedly about where they’d put his wine fridge and how hard it would be to baby-proof the place.
“You could put in a new kitchen, the space is here,” she said as she walked them through it. Personally she liked the big old cupboards and the cheerful yellow walls. She suspected though that the MacDonalds would probably prefer stainless appliances and granite countertops. When Samantha reminded her husband that they’d have to build renovation costs into their budget she knew she’d guessed right. He groaned theatrically, but his grin indicated he was excited about the home, too.
Hailey loved being single in the city. All the same there were times, like now, when she got a glimpse of another life. A man
at her side, a baby on the way—and a home.
She loved the way Julia had artfully tossed a purple woolen throw over a gray couch to give the impression that someone with great taste and no clutter lived here.
“Four bedrooms?” Samantha asked.
“That’s right. One’s ideal for the baby’s room, there’s a nice-sized room for a guest bedroom, a home office, and the master is a treat. Come on, I’ll show you.”
They reached the top landing. She first showed them the two smaller rooms and the main bathroom, fine but nothing special. Then she opened the door to the master. “This is my favorite room in the house. There’s a vintage four-poster that you might be able to buy with the house if you’re interested. It’s a large room with wonderful dimensions, a window seat, a fireplace and a full en suite.” She flipped on the overhead light. She knew the room by heart but wanted to watch their faces when they saw the blissful space.
Hailey ushered them into the room. “What do you think?”
She was so ready for squeals of delight that Sam’s reaction was puzzling. The woman’s eyes opened wide. She blinked, looking over at her equally stupefied husband.
Hailey turned around and saw that the white bedcover she’d so carefully smoothed to rid it of any wrinkles was marred, not by a wrinkle, but by a big unshaven man in a blue-and-green checked work shirt, worn jeans and socks that didn’t match.
He was sound asleep.
Two grubby sneakers sat on the Aubusson rug where he’d obviously kicked them off prior to napping.
Silence reigned for a moment.
“Does he come with the place?” Samantha asked.
Sleepy blue eyes blinked at them out of a lean, weathered, stubbly face. The stranger’s overgrown brown hair was more tangle than style. He regarded them, seeming to consider the question, and cracked a smile. “Everything’s negotiable.” His voice was low, a little husky from sleep.
Sam giggled, thank heaven, though Hailey didn’t find anything amusing about finding a homeless guy with a whacked sense of humor snoozing in the house she was trying to sell.
His gaze then focused only on her and she felt the strangest sense of connection with this utter stranger. For a second their gazes held, her heart sped up and she felt as though something that had been out of place suddenly had clicked back in. She closed her eyes against the strange sensation.
She tried to ask “Who are you?” and “What are you doing here?” but in the rush to get it all out her brain short-circuited and instead she asked, “Who are you doing here?”
The twinkle in his blue eyes deepened and when he smiled she noted he had Bradley Cooper–white teeth. No homeless guy she’d ever seen had teeth that gleaming. “I’m not doing anybody here.”
Sam giggled again as if they were at an impromptu comedy club.
“I meant what are you doing here?”
He yawned and settled himself onto his back. “Until you showed up I was sleeping.”
You didn’t get to be a top Realtor—okay, an up-and-coming Realtor—without a lot of tact, so she didn’t take off her shoe and throw it at his head, as much as she was tempted. “Okay, let’s try the other question. Who are you?” she asked, in a calm, clear voice.
“Robert Klassen. And you are?”
“My name is Hailey Fleming. I’m a Realtor and this house is for sale.”
He put up two hands with nails that could use a scrub and rubbed his eyes. “Is that why the place looks like a furniture store? I barely recognized it. My grandmother sure never had such modern taste. The only thing I recognize is this bed.” He glanced at the MacDonalds. “She died in it.”
Sam made a startled sound, and took a step back, glancing around as though a ghost might be hovering in the room.
Hailey’s sale fell through in that moment. She knew it as well as she knew that if she had her way that bed would see another casualty very soon.
“She didn’t die here in the house,” Hailey said through gritted teeth. “She passed away peacefully in hospital.” She doubted the MacDonalds would believe her. For some reason they believed this guy. Was he really Mrs. Neeson’s grandson? If he was, she had to tread carefully.
The house bore no signs of a break-in and the scruffy backpack leaning against the wall shouted Drifter. However, a pretty fancy camera bag leaned beside it. Hadn’t she heard the grandson was some kind of photographer?
Her unwanted visitor didn’t leap off the bed and race for the door, rather he simply grabbed hold of the two green silk accent pillows behind him and propped himself up. Even wearing mismatched socks, he was imposing, undeniably gorgeous in that annoying unkempt way that only certain men can pull off.
She had absolutely no idea how to proceed. Not that she had years of experience under her belt, but she doubted a scenario like this happened very often to any agent, no matter how experienced. And she really, really needed to keep this listing. It was her biggest break yet in an industry that was tough to crack. The estate lawyer was an old family friend giving her a chance. For some shaggy backpacker to come in here and take it away from her was too much.
However, until she got this mess sorted out there wasn’t much she could do, so she pulled herself together and turned to the MacDonalds. “I am so sorry. There is obviously some kind of a mix-up that I will have to sort out before we go any further.”
“We understand,” said Luke. He stepped back out into the hall. “It’s too bad though. It’s a great house. Perfect for our needs.”
“I know.” At least she had the satisfaction of knowing she’d been correct about the match. Thanks to tall, dark and shaggy, it wouldn’t fatten her bank account, but at least she knew she was on the right track. “I promise to get things figured out, and when I do, you’ll be the first people I call. In the meantime I’ll put together some more houses that will work for you.”
As they went down the stairs, Sam glanced back over her shoulder. “Did the previous owner really die in this house?”
“Of course not. If she had I’d tell you. Agnes Neeson died in hospital. She was almost ninety and lived here happily until a few days before she passed on. It was a stroke. She died peacefully without ever regaining consciousness. We should all be so lucky.”
She kept her bright smile intact until she’d seen the MacDonalds out and then she dropped the happy act and turned back to confront the complete stranger who was doing his best to upset all her careful plans.
Hailey had no intention of letting that happen and tall, dark and disheveled was about to find that out.
3
ROB YAWNED AND STRETCHED, wanting to close his eyes and finish that long sleep he so desperately needed. He heard the front door slam and groaned; clearly he wasn’t alone in the house.
With ominous certainty he knew the woman who had so rudely woken him was on her way back to the bedroom. And he didn’t think she was going anywhere anytime soon.
He listened as she marched up the stairs, striking the creaky section in the middle of the sixth step. There was another creaky spot on step eleven and she struck that one, too.
This house had no secrets from him.
When she appeared in the doorway of the bedroom he was ready for her. Not at so much of a disadvantage.
Of course, his grandmother would have been horrified to see him lounging on the bed, leaning against stacked pillows he didn’t recognize any more than anything else in this room.
He felt almost as though he were in a dream where things were familiar but weren’t. The woman currently surveying him was real though. No question there.
She was also hot, he realized, surveying her. She looked pissed off yet confused and unsure of herself all at once. An interesting combination.
He liked the neat way she’d put herself together. She had long blond hair and eyes that couldn’t make up their mind between gray and blue and so made you keep noticing them, to wonder.
She wore a black skirt and white blouse with chunky black jewelry. She had nice legs
. She might have a nice smile; however, at the moment her lips were so tight together they could be sewed shut.
Then she opened them. Not to smile unfortunately. To speak.
“We have to talk.”
He let his head fall back, and if it weren’t for all the fancy pillows on the bed he’d have hit the walnut headboard. “Four most frightening words in the English language.”
He almost got a glimpse of her smile, but to his consternation she managed to suppress it. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”
“Yeah. I think so, too.” He glanced around the room once more. “Did you move in here or something?”
“Of course not. I told you, I’m a Realtor. I’ve listed this house for sale.”
“Well, unless my grandmother spent the last months of her life redecorating her house in condo-modern, somebody else’s stuff is in here.”
She looked at him as though he was missing half his marbles. He was tired, but he couldn’t be that tired.
“I had this home professionally staged.”
When it was clear he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, she continued.
“We clear out the clutter and bring in pieces and accessories to showcase the home in the best way possible. I think the improvement is amazing.”
“It doesn’t look like my grandmother’s house anymore.” Except for the big bed which he’d instinctively been drawn to last night. It had reminded him of home, tradition, his grandmother.
As he stared up at her, suddenly the four-poster filled him with other thoughts. Adult thoughts. Her slim hands wrapped around the bedposts while she writhed in passion. He blinked, glancing away before she could catch the lust in his eyes.
“It’s not supposed to. The concept of staging is to inspire the buyer to see the possibilities and leave them space to imagine their own furniture and personal items in the home.”
There were all sorts of things he could reply, such as, he wanted his grandmother’s stuff brought back. Even as tired as he was, still he knew that what he really wanted was his grandmother back and that wasn’t going to happen. So he went on the offensive. “You need to move all this crap out of here.”
