Trolleys went up and down the street with a stop at the top and bottom of the road, and then they were off to other destinations. Their drivers wore old-fashioned uniforms and big smiles. He’d glanced at the sign on the outside of the trolley station and found that there were several routes to take visitors around town and even out to the Christ of the Ozarks statue.
Throughout his walk, he groused about the incident at the fudge shop. When he’d stepped into a T-shirt store, two women who had been in the fudge shop nodded his way and laughed between them. He’d earned a reputation already. Great. He tried to brush it off. It wasn’t like he was planning to settle down here.
The woman behind the fudge counter had jumped to a quick conclusion and stood behind it. If she’d only listened to him …
He’d covered the entire stretch of Main Street by the time Mrs. Morgan returned with a back seat full of grocery bags. “They have one grocery in town. One. And selection is limited, but I found your chocolate-covered cinnamon bears.”
“Thanks.” He pressed the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that had been following him all afternoon.
“Where’s my fudge?” She rubbed her palms together.
He moaned. “I will buy you chocolate from any place in the whole world. Anywhere but that shop.”
She folded her arms, in no hurry to get into traffic. He mirrored her posture; she wasn’t the only stubborn one in the car.
“What did you find out?” she asked.
“Julie Drury apparently raised two very rude granddaughters while building a confectioner’s business for bikers and meddling locals.”
Mrs. Morgan put the car in drive and eased onto Main Street. “She sounds like a strong woman.” She ignored the barbs he’d thrown out at the fudge girls, as the overprotective biker had called them.
The name didn’t quite fit. They weren’t girls. They were women. The one who had refused to sell him fudge had a particularly fiery spirit. Her bright blue eyes could have pierced him.
“I didn’t see Julie—just her granddaughters. For all we know, she’s in an assisted living center or something.” Although it hadn’t sounded that way. It sounded like she was a part of things.
They began the climb out of the tourist area and headed to Adam’s house. Mrs. Morgan already had the GPS programmed, and the electronic voice with an Australian accent guided the way.
“The email came from one of those granddaughters. Brooklyn, I think it was.” Mrs. Morgan slowed down as they got closer to the lake. A light mist grew thicker until they were in the middle of a fog with only ten feet of visibility. The highway wound this way and that, probably following the contours of the lake. Mrs. Morgan slowed down to 35 mph. “She sounded like she really cared about her grandmother.”
He thought back to the beautiful woman who had refused him service and knew in an instant she had to be Brooklyn. “She chased me off with a pitchfork.”
“She wouldn’t be the first woman to do that,” scoffed Mrs. Morgan.
He leaned forward as three sets of eyes reflected in their headlights. His skin prickled, and he remembered the ghost tour. Maybe this place really was haunted.
The eyes continued to stare at them, unmoving, unnatural.
The road jogged left, and their lights swept over three deer holding still as statues. He let out a breath and leaned back again.
Mrs. Morgan drew in a breath. “I wish you’d try to be a little charming.”
He covered his eyes. “Not this again.”
“Not all women are Carrie.”
“Carrie was a train wreck.”
“Like I said, we’re not all like that.”
“You’re a gem.”
She smiled her thanks at him. The GPS told them to take a right off the highway. They slowed down and stopped. In front of them was a dirt road. Dirt. As in unfinished and not paved.
Mrs. Morgan tapped the dash. “Really?” she asked. Mr. Australian Map god didn’t answer. She signaled and made the turn.
They went down the path, slowly. The air was syrupy with moisture, and the windows started to fog. He turned on the air conditioning.
“I can’t imagine someone like Mr. Moreau owning a house on a dirt road.”
He nodded. “Seems out of character for him. But he was adamant that this was a special place.”
Mrs. Morgan yelped and slammed on the brakes, barely stopping before hitting a full-grown tree in the middle of the road. “What in the world?” She maneuvered them around it, hugging the right side, which looked like it had been carved out of marble. The left had a steep drop-off, but they couldn’t see where it went because of the fog. “I wish I had some fudge to settle my nerves.” She glared at him quickly before looking out the windshield once again.
“You’re welcome to take the car and go back tomorrow. I’ll pay for it.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line. “That wasn’t our deal, but I’m willing to change it up.”
He moaned. “What now?”
“I’ll get the fudge—you answer that email.”
He tossed his hands up. “Why do I keep you around?”
“Because I don’t take your crap.” She flicked her hand his direction.
She was right. He valued her honesty. Very few people in the world were real with him. As hard as she was on him about this—and how utterly annoying it was that she wouldn’t let it go—he didn’t want to lose her.
“Fine. I send it right now.” He used his phone to tap out a response as they continued along a winding mountain dirt road. It was slow typing, considering the number of bumps they hit. If they ended up building a new development here, a new road would be the first thing he put in place.
He read aloud as he typed. “Brooklyn.” No Dear Brooklyn or Dear Miss Delano or Hello. “Thomas is my grandfather. He served in the Air Force; however, he hasn’t mentioned a Julie or Eureka Springs. If you have more evidence of their acquaintance, I’d welcome it. A.L.”
“That was very … professional.” The way she said professional made it sound like cold or calculating.
“Thank you,” he responded.
“You have arrived,” said their guide.
They pulled up to a one-story rambler with a two-car garage that did, in fact, look like a small castle. The stacked stone on the exterior was aged and weathered. The front porch was hidden under an overhanging roof. The whole place looked dark and spooky. “No wonder Adam wants to make this over.”
Mrs. Morgan turned off the engine. “Well, let’s see what kind of accommodations we have, shall we?” She popped the trunk, and they retrieved their bags. There was a keypad on the door, and she punched in the access code.
They were just through the door when the lights popped on to reveal an older gentleman wearing a pair of slacks and a polo shirt. He bowed slightly. “Mr. Lockmore and Mrs. Morgan, I presume?” His stately manner could only mean he was the butler.
“Mr. Taylor.” Mrs. Morgan patted her hair. “It’s so good of you to meet us.”
He bowed again. “A pleasure. May I show you to your rooms?”
“Of course. We brought groceries with us. They’re in the back seat of the car.” Mrs. Morgan adjusted her grip on the handle of her suitcase.
Mr. Taylor took her bag from her. “I’ll have them brought in immediately.”
They headed off down the hall. Asher waited to see if they’d notice he didn’t follow. They didn’t. Wrapped up in pleasant get-to-know-you conversation, they didn’t even look his way.
He dashed off after them, rolling his suitcase behind him. He didn’t want to get lost. The house felt bigger than it looked from the outside. At least it had something going for it.
He was shown his room first and then left quite alone.
The master suite was larger than he anticipated. His brain had built a floor plan, much like a digital program in his head. This room probably took up half the building. Large, dark windows ran along the exterior window. He turned up the thermost
at to ward off the oncoming chill.
A four-poster, king-sized bed was in the middle of the far wall. He barely glanced at the rest of the room. It had been a long day, and all he could think of was getting it over with. There was nothing left on his list for the day, and he was clear to read for an hour and then doze off. He shucked off his clothes and climbed between the covers.
There was one thing in Eureka Springs he’d miss when he left—this bed. The duck-feather mattress cocooned him like a flock of angels.
He certainly wouldn’t miss Brooklyn. He flipped to his other side with a grunt and reached for his phone. He didn’t need to think about her at all, especially not while he was trying to relax.
He just couldn’t seem to forget her wink as she’d told him they had the best fudge in the world. That wink had made his heart turn over and back again.
He didn’t want to know why, but he had a sinking suspicion it was because he was attracted to her. She had fresh, smooth olive skin, bright eyes, and a sleek, low ponytail of chestnut hair. And until she knew he was a developer, she’d been looking at him, too.
He kicked the blankets off, feeling much too warm. The sooner he was out of here, the better.
Chapter Five
Brooklyn
Brooklyn trudged up the steps that led from the shop to the apartment above, where she, Crystal, and Grandma lived. They closed at eight, but she’d spent an hour and a half setting the place to rights. Working at night was so much easier for her than waking early to get things done. But when her tank ran out, it was out.
She entered the family apartment and found Grandma Julie rubbing peppermint oil into her arthritic elbow.
“Candy arm giving you trouble?” Brooklyn kissed her head of brown hair and settled into the recliner next to her. It had been Grandpa’s once upon a time, but the girls had long since taken it over. A pink blanket lay across the seat, because neither she nor Crystal appreciated cold leather. Even in the summer, it was a jolt.
Grandma nodded. “It feels better on days I work than it does when I take the day off.”
“You’re doing different motions on days off. The doc said that was normal.”
Grandma rolled her eyes and wiped her hands with a baby wipe. She had dispensers of them all over the house. Said they were perfect for just about any job. Brooklyn had seen her dust with them, get a stain out of a T-shirt, clean her hands, and wipe tears, among countless other little chores.
“I heard there was some excitement in the shop today.” Grams changed the subject.
Brooklyn feigned innocence. “What excitement?”
“Robert said you kicked someone out.”
Robert Merrick was a trolley driver. He and Grams went way back.
“Technically, it was Mark who kicked him out.” She smiled, thinking of the way Mark had stood up for her and Crystal, calling them the fudge girls. “I just refused to sell him fudge.”
Grams shook her head. “I taught you better than that. You’re supposed to sell him the fudge first and then kick him out.” Her eyes twinkled with laughter.
Brooklyn giggled. “You’re despicable.”
Grams laughed. “What made you refuse service, anyway?”
The image of the developer in his dark glasses and tight shirt brought heat to her face. “He was condescending.” Agitated, she pushed to her feet and began picking up diet soda cans. As a general rule, the three of them were clean people, but they loved their diet soda. “He had this perfect cut shirt and stupid wavy hair and a cleft in his chin that was just so … perfect.” She spat out the last word.
“Were his eyes perfect too?” Grams teased.
Brooklyn stopped pacing and put her hands on her hips. “Someone’s feeling sassy tonight.”
“That’s a yes.” Grandma threw her good arm in the air in triumph.
“I couldn’t tell if his eyes were perfect or not,” she countered. “He wore dark sunglasses. But I could see that they were full of greed. He wanted the Sweet Shoppe.”
Grandma’s eyes dropped to her elbow. “Maybe I should sell to him. I’m not getting any younger, and you girls have put off your lives to stay here and help.”
“Whoa!” Brooklyn threw her arms up like she was trying to stop a runaway horse. “Let’s not get all crazy. Crystal and I are happy to take over the place. Really, it’s what we want. And we want you with us—for always.”
Grams’s eyes softened. “Thanks for that. But I know how much we bring in, and it’s not enough to pay for help when I need it. I have to start thinking about aging. I don’t want to, but I need to, and there’s no way you girls are going to change my diapers.” Her eyes narrowed in challenge.
Brooklyn shrugged. “You changed ours.”
“That was different, and you know it.”
Brooklyn sighed. “You’re not senile quite yet, so how about we put off getting old for another night?”
Grams considered her. “You may be able to persuade me …”
“Go on.” Anything to keep Grams in a good mood. The last thing Brooklyn wanted was to make her all mopey and down.
“With a good description of this hot developer guy.”
“Grams!” Brooklyn fell into the recliner, her mouth hanging open. “How do you know he’s hot?”
“Ha! I guessed. But now I know you think he’s hot, so spill.”
Brooklyn sat up a little. What was the harm? The guy was gone, and Grams needed some cheering up. “Let’s just say he looked as good going as he did coming.”
Grandma hooted.
Brooklyn laughed. “I love you.” She stood up and kissed her once more. “I’m going to bed.
“I’m going to wait up for Crystal. I’ve got one more season of Downton Abbey, and then I can see the movie.”
Grandma had put off watching the episodes as they came out, preferring to binge watch them all at once. It had nearly killed Brooklyn keeping it all to herself. She’d waited on bated breath for every episode and planned her day around sitting up with caramel popcorn and drooling over cute English guys.
“Sounds great.” Her phone vibrated, and she pulled it out to check her email. Her heart stopped as she stared at the return address. A.L. Holy crap! She tucked her phone behind her back. “Night.”
Grams gave her a funny look. “Good night.”
Brooklyn did her best to walk like she wasn’t dying to get to her room and read the email. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it.
“Brooklyn … grandfather … Air Force … more evidence.” She looked up at the ceiling. “What more evidence?” She wracked her brain. “The letter.” Surely A.L. would know what his grandfather’s handwriting looked like. She rolled her eyes. The letter was in the shop.
With a quick breath, she swung the door open. Grams was in her recliner with her legs popped up, munching on popcorn. “Did you forget something?”
Brooklyn was overcome with the sense that someone was missing. She glanced at the empty seat to Grandma’s right. Crystal was right—while they were a tight family, Grams would be happier with someone at her side. Maybe he’d want to watch war documentaries instead of Downton Abbey, but they’d work it out.
You shouldn’t be alone either, came a small voice.
One love story at a time, she replied. And Grams has been waiting a lot longer than me for her happily ever after.
Besides, she’d tried giving her heart away once. Billy had taken it with him when he left Eureka Springs, and he’d never brought it back.
“Yeah. I left … something downstairs.” She hurried past Grandma and through the door to the landing before jogging down the steps. Her nerves were on high alert, making every sound louder and every light brighter. She’d need some time on the lake to work the kinks out of her neck.
On the main floor, she paused to see if Grams had followed her out. There wasn’t a sound, so she bolted to the kitchen and found the letter right where she’d left it in the recipe box.
“Dear A.L., This is the l
etter I mentioned in my email. I’m hoping you recognize the handwriting …”
Holding her breath, she took a picture and sent it off. Maybe, just maybe, if this worked out, she’d believe in taking a second chance at love. And then she could open her heart up to someone new.
Chapter Six
Asher
The next morning, Asher was awakened by the sun as it poured into his bedroom. He moaned. He’d forgotten to close the blinds. Getting up was always harder than staying up. Stumbling to the window, he groped for the control panel to close out the world. He cracked his eyes open to look beyond the glass and gasped.
The fog that had settled so deeply over them the night before had begun to lift and revealed a world of stunning beauty. The lake was calm, mirror perfect, and an inviting blue-gray that reminded him of a certain fudge woman’s eyes.
Throwing those thoughts off the mental train, he studied the hill on the other side of the lake. Green elm and ash trees filled the view, with brown, rich earth filling in between. Seattle was green and Seattle was beautiful, but the Sound was noisy and active most days, churned up by storms and the constant rains.
This place was peace that called out to him to lay his troubles down and breathe in the light, clean air.
A desire to stand at the water’s edge filled him. He dressed quickly and ran out the front door, remembering a staircase on the side of the garage that might lead him down to the water. The property sloped, something he’d have to take into consideration as he laid out future lots.
As he jogged down the steps, he chuckled to himself. What had appeared to be a bungalow in the dark last night was actually a four-story mansion built into the side of the hill. His overly large room was only a small portion of the building. Adam certainly had surprised him with that one.
From this side, the house did resemble Adam’s castle in Seattle. There was a turret on the back, but it was not visible from the road. Interesting. So much could be done with a property like this. Adam’s great-great-grandfather had a good imagination and enough sense to have the bottom floor of the building on a solid slab of rock. He wondered how it had been anchored in.
Her Billionaire Mistake (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 1) Page 4
