by Amy Olle
Beautiful Ruin
A Nolan Brothers Novel ~ Book One
AMY OLLE
A good archaeologist always finds what he’s digging for…
When Mina Winslow buys her ancestral home with plans to restore it to the beautiful sanctuary it once was, she discovers more than she bargained for. Soon, she's face-to-face with a man from her past. The one man she never stopped longing for.
Renowned archaeologist, Noah Nolan, swore he’d never return to the small, remote island in Lake Michigan. After agreeing to complete a short-term excavation project, he realizes the site belongs to the woman who inexplicably rejected him years before. A woman he’s never forgotten – or forgiven.
When Noah’s affinity for uncovering all things lost, forgotten, and buried stirs Mina’s repressed memories of a terrifying secret, she must find the courage to unearth the past, or risk losing the treasure of her heart forever.
Chapter One
Mina Winslow felt naked, exposed to his probing gaze.
A niggle of panic closed the back of her throat, and she inhaled a deep, steadying breath, only to choke on the mildew and decay in the stale air.
At her side, Sam directed a flashlight in slow arcs. Dust particles swirled in the flashlight’s beam, which revealed rotted floorboards and islands of mold clinging to the walls of the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Winslow mansion.
“Well?” She rubbed her hands against the chill inside the house. “What do you think?”
Sam killed the light. “Congratulations. It’s a shithole.”
Her laugh coalesced into a puff of white in front of her face. “It has potential though, right?”
In fact, years of neglect had caused extreme damage to her ancestral home. When Mina’s grandmother, Rose, had become ill all those years ago, the house had fallen into disrepair. Rose had grown weaker, sicker, and all the while, the brutal north Michigan climate had lashed at the home. Much the way the cancer had eaten at Rose’s body.
“There are structural issues,” Sam said. “We’ll need to rip out the plaster walls to get at the mold, put on a new roof to stop the leaks, upgrade the electrical and plumbing, and put her back together again.”
Mina pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down. “How much will it cost to do everything?”
He sighed and bent his head over the clipboard he’d carried with him while inspecting the house. “Her damage is... extensive.”
A beat of panic drummed in Mina’s chest. “She can be saved, right?”
He scratched a spot on the back of his head. “It won’t be easy, or cheap.”
“Right. How much did you say?”
His long, lean face screwed into a grimace while he tallied the home’s list of imperfections.
The silence stretched out, until the flow of oxygen to Mina’s lungs rasped to a halt.
His hand dropped to his side. “You’re looking at upwards of fifty thousand.”
A hiss of air wheezed from her.
“That’s only to make her functional,” he rushed to add.
Mina wasn’t listening. She was busy running her own calculations.
The house’s poor condition had knocked the sale price down to a manageable five figures, for which she intended to pay cash with a portion of her unused college tuition funds. On top of that, she’d created a detailed spreadsheet mapping out the renovation, a steady job, and when she opened her doors as a bed-and-breakfast this time next year, the generated income would cover the cost of upkeep.
“You’re going to buy it, aren’t you?”
Mina’s smile knocked loose. “I think I am.”
His critical gaze swept around the room once more. “You sure she’s worth it?”
When she surveyed the space, she didn’t see the ruin and rubble drawing Sam’s eye. The view through the wall of glass doors along the back of the house, of a wide lawn giving way to sand and sea, pulled her in. The sun hung low in the sky over Lake Michigan and bathed the world in pink and orange, with a touch of lavender.
As a teenager, Mina had lived in the house, and she remembered the grand home before its slide into disrepair. She’d been happy here.
Safe.
She shook off the memories. There was no reason to revisit the past.
Not ever.
For the second time in her life, this house marked a fresh start for her. After the last year, she only wanted to move forward.
“She’s worth it,” Mina said. “Do you think you can help me bring her back to life?”
“Oh, I can do it.” Sam’s words dripped with confidence.
She frowned. “Will you do it?”
He gnawed on his lip a moment and then shrugged. “Why the hell not?” He shot her a cheeky grin. “It’s not my money we’re throwing away.”
To her disgruntled dismay, Mina discovered a houseful of virile men intimidated the hell out of her. Power tools, shouted commands, and bickering greeted her at every turn, and she hadn’t yet adapted to the, uh, colorful language.
So when Sam came looking for her, he found her barricaded in the library.
“We’ve got an issue.”
She continued to stare at the two dozen paint chips taped to the wall. “I’m getting tired of hearing you say that.”
“I’m tired of saying it, believe me.”
First, a family of raccoons living in the fireplace had necessitated both animal control and chimney repair. Not large expenses, but ones not accounted for on the spreadsheet.
When spring rains had flooded the basement, they’d learned that only an extensive, expensive re-grade of the land around the house would resolve the issue long term.
Next, plumbing upgrades had revealed the placement of the old well was no longer up to code. Mina had waited with her heart in her throat to hear the cost to drill a new well.
She must have blacked out, for she only recalled hearing the number spoken in her own, albeit uncharacteristically shrill, voice. “Twenty thousand dollars?”
Her spreadsheet had required a complete overhaul, and the next time she’d gone to the bank, she’d requested the paperwork to apply for a home equity loan.
Now, she risked a glance at Sam. “What is it this time?”
He ran a hand through his sun-kissed brown hair and scratched his scalp. “The well. Again.”
“Now what?”
“They’re pulling out.”
“What?” Her heart lurched. “Why?”
“They found... something...”
She blinked at him.
He held out a small hunk of rust. “At first, they thought it was only trash and tossed it into a pile with some pieces of broken glass and metal scraps.”
He dropped the crusty object into her palm. No more than two or three inches long, it held surprising heft. “What is it?”
“An arrowhead.”
She frowned.
Sam stuck something under her nose. “We need to contact the state archaeology office and ask them to send someone out to inspect the area. The crew won’t resume installation of the well without their written approval.”
Mina took the business card.
Tiny black typeface danced before her eyes. “An arrowhead, huh?”
“That’s what they say.”
She shot Sam a pointed look. “What do you think?”
Wrinkles formed between Sam’s eyebrows. “I suppose it’s possible.”
Her boss at the university, Walter, had been a faculty member in the anthropology department before he’d accepted the promotion to dean five years ago. Maybe he could give her some advice, or even help her find someone to check out her backyard right away.
A tiny morsel of hope impla
nted in her chest and drove out the creeping hysteria. “This might be a good thing.”
“Oh? How so?”
“What if it’s something super cool, like an old fort or a settlement of some kind? Maybe it’ll attract people. People who’ll turn into guests.”
“It may.” He made a noble effort to hide the doubt in his voice. “But for now, your renovation is on hold.”
The point of the arrowhead pushed into her palm. “The entire renovation?”
“Not everything, but we’ll have to reshuffle some contractors to work around the fact there’s no water.”
Mina frowned. “Can’t we move the well someplace else?”
Sam was shaking his head before she completed the question. “Code requires we put it on the east side of the house, opposite the septic system. We can’t push it farther out than it is now without running into tree roots from the grove. We can’t come north because of buried power lines, and there’s not enough property between the house and the beach.”
Mina brushed aside the panic threatening to close the back of her throat.
She’d talk to her boss first thing in the morning.
Her goals were still in front of her. A little delayed, and a lot more complicated, but still within her reach.
For now.
Noah Nolan gaped at the man across from him. “You’re offering me a job?”
Walter Ambrose peered over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. “Are you interested?”
Not even a little, Noah thought.
“Classes start at the end of this month and run through mid-May,” Walter said.
There was no way in hell Noah would be staying in Thief Island until next May. He pushed a hand through his hair and considered his next words.
When he finished what he’d come back to do, he was as good as gone again.
This time for good.
Mistaking his hesitation for actual deliberation, Walter launched into a sales pitch. “We’re a small school, but we have a lot to offer our faculty.”
The wooden chair groaned beneath Noah when he shifted in his seat. “I’m sure you do—”
“The student body is made up of mostly in-state kids,” Walter explained. “They’re hardworking and bright enough—when they choose to apply themselves.”
Noah bit back a sharp reply. He had a low tolerance for educators quick to attribute any problems in the classroom to deficiencies in their students.
“I’m flattered,” he said instead. “But I’m not looking for a job. I’m on sabbatical.”
The word tasted like failure on Noah’s tongue.
Sabbatical.
His department chair had first uttered the offensive term last spring. At first, Noah had thought she was joking, but she’d gone on to express her belief that he’d lost his fire. She’d suggested he take time off from teaching at the university to recharge. To reawaken the passion that had driven him to the top of his academic field in only a few short years.
Her accusation had pissed off Noah.
Mostly because he knew she was right.
So he’d taken a year-long sabbatical, and for the first month of his “rest from work,” he’d sat around his flat in Dublin with nothing to do except think.
And drink.
He’d teetered at the edge of an existential crisis when the letter had arrived from the States.
“I thank you for the offer.” That much was true, at least. “I’m not able to commit to anything long-term.”
A regretful smile fought its way across his grizzled face. “I understand. I appreciate you hearing me out anyhow.”
Noah pushed to his feet. “Thanks for letting me use your library while I’m in town.”
“Sure, sure.” Walter’s attention returned to his desktop, overloaded with enough paperwork to necessitate he spend time at the office even on this day, a Saturday.
His fluffy white brows slammed together, and he rescued an arrowhead from amidst the spread of documents. Late eighteenth century, Noah would guess.
Then Walter’s dull blue eyes fastened on Noah’s face. “You wouldn’t by any chance be interested in something short-term, would you? Just a little side project that’s come up.”
Noah’s eyebrows inched upward. “What kind of project?”
Chapter Two
Mina lifted a wine bottle to her lips, tipped her head back, and drained a long swallow of cheap merlot. The liquid slid down her throat, soothing in the oppressive, late-summer heat. She lowered the glass and licked the sticky sweetness from her lips.
Her limbs grew heavy, and the ballroom, where she sat on the cool wood floors with her legs outstretched, took on a cozy glow about her.
Outside, soft rain began to fall. She plucked the flimsy fabric of her T-shirt away from her body as a breeze wafted in through the French doors to lick her heated skin. A sigh of relief eased from her.
Cut short when her gaze slipped to the cruel violence of upturned earth slashing across the pristine landscape of her backyard, and her stomach gave a little wrench.
Three weeks had passed since the crew had found whatever it was they’d found out there, and the delay on the well had caused a domino effect of delays. Walter had given the arrowhead a cursory glance and declared it authentic. As an anthropologist, he wasn’t qualified to help her figure out what was going on, but he’d promised to work with the state office in finding someone who could and sending him or her out as soon as possible.
As of yet, no one had shown up.
Mina drowned the rising panic with another nip from the bottle.
With a start, she realized she was no longer alone. A presence infused the air, and she turned her head to find a man standing beneath the archway.
The fading light threw shadows across the room and obscured his features. She could tell only that he was tall and broad-shouldered, strongly lean.
One of Sam’s guys returned to retrieve a forgotten tool or misplaced hardhat. With her bad ear turned toward him, she hadn’t heard his approach.
She climbed to her feet. “Let me guess, you forgot your favorite drill?”
“The door was open.”
At the man’s deep Irish brogue, she stilled.
The newcomer moved toward her with the smooth, fluid grace of someone comfortable with his body.
Her smile faltered and her heart tripped over in her chest.
How many times over the years had she thought she’d glimpsed him only to realize it was some other dark-haired man, someone else’s schoolgirl crush?
He stepped from the shadows, and she found herself ensnared by dark, deep-set eyes, which might be brown or black but with traces of amber glinting throughout. Sort of like molasses.
Her stomach dropped with a dizzying swoop. She swayed. “Noah?”
For several long seconds, he stared, pinning her in place with those eyes.
“Hello, Mina.” His voice was deeper, his accent more pronounced than she remembered.
His gaze slipped down the length of her body and wandered back up without hurry. Slow as, well, molasses. She felt the perusal like seeking hands before his eyes gripped hers from beneath the sweep of black lashes.
Despite the muggy heat, a shiver raised gooseflesh across her skin.
“It’s been a long time,” he said. “How are you?”
Her thoughts scrambled. Lonely. Lost. Drunk.
“Good,” she lied. “You?”
He shoved his hand into the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts. “Good.”
She wanted to thread her fingers through his dark hair. Shot through with streaks of caramel and golden honey, the soft strands curled at the ends, teasing the tips of his ears and his nape.
Caramel, honey, molasses....
It struck her then she shouldn’t have skipped dinner in deference to the alcohol.
Noah’s gaze dropped to the bottle in her hand. He gifted her with a lopsided grin. “Drinking alone?”
She held out the wine bottle to him.
>
With a quirked eyebrow, he drew nearer and took the bottle. He raised the wine to his lips, and the muscles of his neck worked as he drank.
At the sight of him, head thrown back and mouth pressed to the place where hers had been only moments before, an unfamiliar hum of sensation chased through her body.
A worn T-shirt hugged his broad shoulders and sinewy biceps and exposed a portion of the Celtic cross tattooed in black ink on his right arm. Beneath the collar of his shirt, a flash of silver glinted in the fading sunlight.
Mina’s heart gave a little pinch. He still wore the St. Nicholas pendant.
She stared, trying to calibrate her fantasies—uh, memories—to the flesh-and-bone reality.
With a choked cough, Noah wrenched the bottle away and shot her a hard look of indignation. “This tastes like shit,” he said, his soft, full mouth stained ruby red.
“They were buy one, get one free.”
His low, throaty chuckle moved through her, transporting her to a fall night half a lifetime ago when they’d laughed together.
Hours later, he’d gasped in her ear when she’d taken him inside her body.
The tip of his tongue appeared to lap at the moisture on his lips.
Outside, the chorus of crickets quieted, and a low rumble of thunder rippled across the distant sky.
Mina faked a calmness she didn’t feel. “What are you doing here?”
He rolled his shoulders, as if to shake off the shadows. “Seemed like a good time for a visit.”
She blinked. “No, I mean, what are you doing here? In my house?”
Noah stiffened. “Your house? You live here?”
“Well, not here, inside the house. I’m living in the carriage house out back while I renovate.”
The last traces of softness fell from his face. “You own it?”
His gaze, alert and exacting, whipped around the room, taking in every detail, from the dulled marble fireplaces at either end of the room to the crumbling plaster and tired hardwood floors, their poor condition visible even beneath the scattered array of power tools and sawdust. A curious smile played on his lips while he stared up at the faded frescos of impish cherubs soaring on the ceiling overhead.
