by Lyn Cote
Even though she was bored beyond words, she sure hoped Jake didn’t bother her today. After all, she’d shown the man every available house in town and he still hadn’t settled on anything.
Every house except one, of course. Elizabeth groaned, fell down in her leather desk chair, took a long swig of diet soda. “I won’t show him that one,” she said into the still afternoon air. “I won’t do it. I can’t let him have the one house I’ve always dreamed of restoring.”
Feeling guilty, she searched inside the right desk drawer until she found the picture of “her” house. It was run-down, almost falling apart, but oh, how Elizabeth longed to make it her home. She sat staring at the turn-of-the-century Victorian structure, wishing she could make enough cold hard cash to renovate the charmer back to its original beautiful self. No one else would even consider looking at the house, not even Hannah, who loved to restore old houses. It looked haunted, rotten, old and forgotten, its turret sitting like a battered hat atop one side of the three-story stone-and-brick structure.
But Elizabeth couldn’t forget it. If only…
Hearing the door jingle, she quickly dropped the picture on her desk and tried to look busy. Brandy breezed in, laughing. “Look who I found down at the diner.”
Elizabeth looked up to find Jake standing there, holding a plastic container in each hand. “I brought you an ice cream sundae,” he said by way of a greeting, his silver eyes laced with sparkling amusement. “Brandy says you’ll do just about anything for pralines-and-cream ice cream with caramel syrup and whipped cream on top.”
“Pity, I just ate,” Elizabeth said, although her mouth watered with unabashed cravings.
“Oh, come on, it’ll melt if you don’t hurry and dig into it,” Jake said, opening the container to reveal the creamy concoction. “I had them put extra nuts on top, just for you.”
The way the man said things…Elizabeth’s inside fairly shivered with anticipation. “Well, maybe a bite or two.” Grabbing the spoon he so thoughtfully offered, she dipped it into the ice cream, then took a big bite. “Mmm, that is good.”
Jake placed a hip on her desk, then started eating his own chocolate ice cream while Brandy finished off her milkshake with a great slurping gulp.
“Sorry,” she said, giggling. “You know, Jake, you’re spoiling us. We won’t know how to act when the flowers and candy stop coming, and you quit buying us ice cream.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Elizabeth said, her spoon returning again and again to the deep container in front of her. “We’ll gain fifty pounds if he keeps this up.”
Jake gave her a look that brought little chill bumps to her bare arms. “I think you could stand a few pounds.”
“She works out on her treadmill,” Brandy said, making a face. “Elizabeth isn’t the outdoors type.”
“Really, now?” Jake finished off his ice cream, then tossed his container in the nearby trash can. “You might be missing out on a lot there, Lizzie. Ever floated the river?”
“Excuse me?” Elizabeth said, her appetite suddenly dwindling. That’s what she got for eating too fast.
“You know, you take an inner tube and float along the river, letting the current take you wherever it may lead.”
“I know what it is, but I don’t do rivers,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “I’m not a water person.”
“She almost drowned once,” Brandy offered up, her big eyes wide with innocence.
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
Jake looked from one to the other. “Well, did you, or didn’t you?”
“I just fell off a raft. And everyone laughed at me. I thought I was drowning, so I kinda got all frazzled until someone pointed out I could stand up. The water was up to my waist.” She tried to be solemn, but the glint in Jake’s eyes was too much for her. Before she knew it, Elizabeth was laughing so hard tears were rolling down her eyes.
Jake and Brandy laughed right along with her.
“Okay, so I looked like a raving idiot, but I didn’t like water then and I don’t like water now.”
“And she doesn’t like to walk outside,” Brandy informed Jake. “She just likes that expensive treadmill.”
“Would you mind?” Elizabeth asked, her brow lifting. “I think there’s some filing for you to do in the conference room.”
“Oh, sure,” Brandy said, grinning. “She also doesn’t like to talk about her weaknesses,” she threw over her shoulder in departing.
“Brat,” Elizabeth said, smiling at Brandy’s back.
“She’s a sweetie pie,” Jake said, grinning down at Elizabeth with such a brilliance the air-conditioning couldn’t cool the room enough. “And a hard worker, just like her boss.”
“We aim to please.”
“You are very pleasing, in every possible way.” He gave her that slow, lazy look that kind of strolled its way down her face to her lips. Then he reached out a finger to her mouth. “You have a little dab of caramel, right there.”
His touch was like a warm wisp of heat, just passing by. Their eyes met, held and then he dropped his finger as if he, too, had been burned by it. “It’s gone now.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice croaking out the word. She looked down at the papers on her desk, the typed words blurring in a heat of longing. Grabbing a stack, she pretended to be looking for something important. In her flurry of shuffling, the picture of her house fell out of the pile.
And landed right near Jake’s lap.
“What’s this?” Jake asked, picking up the picture, his eyes brightening with a flare of interest as he settled back against the desk.
“Oh, nothing.” Mortified, Elizabeth tried to grab it away, but Jake had an iron-tight grip on the photo.
“Have I seen this one?”
“Uh, well, no.”
“And why haven’t I?”
“Uh, because, well, it’s so old and rundown, I just thought—”
“Let’s go see it right now.”
“I have things to do—”
“Right now, Lizzie. I like this one.”
Well, that just figured. Rolling her eyes to the heavens, Elizabeth placed her arms across her body in a stance of resistance. “You won’t like it, Jake. It needs major renovations. It’s falling down as we speak.”
“I want to see it,” he said, a stubborn glint coloring his eyes a steely gray. “I can see the potential and now I’d like to see the inside of this old house.”
“I’m busy,” she hedged, moving papers around on her desk.
“I’m not,” he reminded her, his hand halting her. “And I am still your client, right?”
“Uh, right.” She looked up at him, then sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll show you the Lockwood house, but just remember, I tried to warn you.”
“I’ll remember,” he said as he pulled her out of her chair. “And I’ll also remember that for some reason, you deliberately kept this house from me. That doesn’t make very good business sense, Lizzie.”
She grabbed her briefcase and cell phone. “Well, I haven’t been thinking very clearly lately.”
He stood over her, a big bear of a man with a frown on his face. “Is that because of me?” When she didn’t answer right away, the frown turned to a triumphant smile. “I’ll take that as a yes, and because that pleases me, I’ll forgive you for holding out about this house.”
“It’s not because of you and I don’t need any forgiveness,” she said, the heat of his keen assumptions making her sweat in spite of the cold air coming out of the overhead vent. “I didn’t show you this particular house because it just doesn’t seem to be your style, if you get my drift.”
“No, I don’t get your drift,” he said, his eyes skimming over her. “What exactly do you consider my style?”
She scooted past him toward the door, her cream linen trumpet skirt belling out around her legs. “All brawn and brash, all-consuming and very aggressive.” Turning at the door, she said, “This house is old and historical
, Jake. It has meaning and tradition. It’s been around for a very long time, but the last Lockwood descendant moved his family to Little Rock. He just left the house and told me to keep it on the back burner unless I found a serious buyer, which I haven’t. It needs someone who intends to live there for more than a few months or a couple of years.”
It needs a happily-ever-after, Elizabeth thought. But then, that only happened in romance novels and fairy tales.
Jake studied her for a minute, his frown back. “Oh, I get it. You think I don’t have staying power. You think I’ll just whiz through town, build my resort village, then move on to the next project.”
“Something like that.”
He came toward her then, causing her to back into the door. “Maybe it’s just that you don’t think I have any good intentions at all—toward Prescott or toward you. Is that it, Lizzie? You don’t want me to see that house because you think I’ll abandon it, and…you?”
“I’m just the salesperson,” she said, lifting her chin to stare him down. “So leave me out of this.”
“I can’t do that,” he said, his hand on the door. “You are very much a part of this. Whether you like it or not.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” she replied, whirling so fast she almost hit the door frame.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to fall flat on my face, so you could say ‘I told you so.’”
“Not my problem.” She gave him a scowl, then called out to Brandy. “I’m going to show a house.”
“Okay, boss,” came the quick reply from the other room. No doubt her capable assistant had been eavesdropping.
“You sure are going to show a house,” Jake told her as he followed her out the door. “You’re going to show me every inch of that house. And then I’ll show you that you’re wrong about me.”
“I’d love nothing better.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“It’s at the corner of Hemlock and Spruce.”
“Got it.”
“Good.”
They rode across town in silence.
A very loud silence.
Chapter Six
Jake broke the silence as they pulled up to the house. “Wow.”
Elizabeth had to agree with him there. “Wow is right. It’s just such an amazing house.”
“When was it built?” he asked after they got out and stood on the cracked sidewalk near a cluster of old azaleas.
“Eighteen ninety-five,” Elizabeth replied. She knew the entire history of the Lockwood house, but she stubbornly refused to tell Jake that. She didn’t want to encourage him.
Jake lifted his dark head, his eyes brightening to a shimmering silvery-blue that reminded her of stars at night. “Look at those windows, and those rounded corners.”
“Yes, there are round-windowed walls in the front parlor, the master bedroom above that, and of course, the turret tower,” Elizabeth said, warming up to the house, if not the client interested in the house. “It could be turned into a showplace, the way it used to be. But it would take a small fortune.”
“I have a small fortune,” Jake said, unabashed and unashamed, from the sincere look on his face. “Let’s go inside, Lizzie.”
Elizabeth’s heart did a beating protest, but her feet moved in spite of that. She’d never said no to a client. She couldn’t do it now, but her mind was reeling with the possibility of losing this house to Jake. Elizabeth couldn’t stomach the thought of him coming in and gutting the house, changing everything, rearranging things to suit his larger-than-life ideas.
Maybe he won’t like it, she told herself as she unlocked the front-door lock-box. Yeah, and maybe cows really are purple.
Reluctantly, Elizabeth pushed at the huge stained-glass double doors, causing the aged wood to creak open like the lid to a treasure chest. They entered the front hallway, the smell of decay and neglect strong in the scorching heat, the swirls of dust balls dancing around their heads like invisible ballerinas.
“See, I told you it’s in bad shape,” she said, turning to bump into Jake’s hard chest.
“I haven’t seen the entire house, Lizzie,” Jake pointed out, his breath warm on her hair. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she had a great view of the dark chest hairs swirling just above his chambray shirt collar. “And I intend to see it, all of it. So stop stalling.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, pivoting to march into the room to the right. “Here’s the parlor. The other side was used for a formal dining room. There’s a kitchen on the left and a study on the right through those doors. There’s a half bath under the stairs.”
Jake pushed her ahead of him as they moved through the rooms where a few pieces of furniture stood draped in dusty white sheets. “I’d put a nice den back here,” he said as they entered the study. “Lots of dark paneling and lots of books. A big walnut desk over there.” He pointed toward a spot by two tall windows.
“I always envisioned a den or study back here, too,” Elizabeth said, forgetting she was supposed to be discouraging him.
They moved toward the long kitchen on the backside of the downstairs. “I can just see yellows and reds in here,” she said. “Bright colors with lots of floral.”
“That would be nice,” Jake replied, his smile soft as he stared at her.
Elizabeth felt the intensity of his eyes on her like a spot of sunshine coming through a dark room. Moving to stand by the bay window in the breakfast room, she said, “It’s hot in here.” Unable to fathom having to sell her dream house to Jake, she could only stand there and stare out at the sloping backyard, visions of camellia bushes and magnolia trees playing through her head.
“You want this house, don’t you?” Jake finally asked, coming to stand beside her. “Is that why you didn’t want me to see it? Because you want it for yourself?”
Elizabeth couldn’t look at him. She didn’t want him to see the truth in her eyes. “Don’t be silly. I just thought—”
“You thought I wouldn’t understand,” he said, his words full of some emotion she couldn’t name. “You thought I’d come in here and change this house, but you already have plans for this house. Big plans.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, turning at last to face him. “I can’t afford to buy it and renovate it, and anyway, I have no illusions regarding this old house, Jake. Except this should be a happy house.”
He nodded, his eyes moving over her face with a heated concentration. “And what exactly makes a happy house, Lizzie?”
She shrugged, shifted on her high-heeled mules. “I have this thing about houses. I guess it’s why I became a Realtor. I can just tell when a house needs a family. Some houses are just too sad. They don’t have that special feeling. I can sell those, but I always feel as if I haven’t been quite honest with the buyers. But when I have a happy house to sell, I just know that the family is going to grow and thrive there. I so want this to be a happy house, the way it was over a hundred years ago. I want it to have a big family running up and down the stairway and halls, and I want it to have old rocking chairs on the wraparound porches and a big swing out there where the porch curves toward the carriage drive. I want it to have lace curtains and four-poster beds in every bedroom, and fat, drooping ferns and bright-red geraniums sitting in planters by the front doors. I want this house to be a good, solid house, Jake, a happy house, to make someone a happy home. It can be a good home again. It will be someday, somehow. It’s just waiting for the right family to come along.”
Jake turned to her then, his gaze moving over her in that lazy, meandering way that seemed to stop time. “So you don’t want me to live here? Because I’m not a family man, right? Is that why you didn’t bother telling me about it?”
She thought she saw a trace of sadness and regret in his eyes, which only added to the mystery of him and made her want to apologize for deceiving him. “Something like that, I guess.”
He inched closer, then touched a hand to her bangs, his f
ingers playing through her hair with an intimate disregard that left her baffled. “I like this house, Lizzie. I like it a lot.” He leaned closer. “But I don’t intend to live here alone.”
Jake watched the play of emotions moving like changing clouds over Elizabeth’s face as she stammered a response. “Oh, you…you have someone in mind? Someone back in Texas?”
He had to grin at that, even though memories of a someone came playing like an old movie through his head. Pushing the memories away, he concentrated instead on the woman in front of him. She was here and she was real.
And she looked downright disappointed at the prospect of him settling down in this house with someone else. That disappointment only fueled his hopes. “No, no one back in Texas. More like someone right here in Prescott.”
“Oh, you’re…seeing somebody then?”
“Yep, I sure am. Been seeing her for a while now.”
She backed away, straightened and stood taller, her chin lifting out in that stubborn way he’d come to know and appreciate. “Funny, I had no idea. I mean, this is a small town and I haven’t heard—”
“I’m looking at her right now,” Jake said, advancing on her with one long stride, his pulse matching tempo with his need to hold her close.
She looked confused and flustered, a soft peachy blush moving down her face. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” he said as he curved a hand around her neck and hauled her close. “You will very soon, Lizzie.”
Then he kissed her good and proper, with a firm branding that he hoped laid claim to her heart. Jake intended to buy this house, and he intended to move into it with his new bride.
But first, he had to convince the woman in his arms that she was the one, that she was his intended, and that he was the man for her. Because, after being around her for weeks now, after getting to know her and watching her and listening to her, working with her, and seeing what kind of person she really was underneath that business and bluster attitude, Jake couldn’t imagine living in this great, rambling house with anyone but Elizabeth Sinclair.
