Home Sweet Home. Kim Watters
want is for you to paint and wallpaper over everything. That’s quicker and easier.” She started pacing, determination with a hint of hesitation in each deliberate movement.
She glanced at her watch but Cole deduced she was really running through an imaginary calendar in her head. Frustration nipped at him. He wanted to do the job right and in the process uncover the secrets of the attractive woman at the same time he peeled away the layers of paint and faded wallpaper. He’d certainly be here long enough.
He softened his voice and unwillingly pulled his hand from the banister. “You can’t want to continue to cover up the beauty of this place. I believe your grandparents wanted to restore the place back to its original state. And that would involve stripping the paint down to the wood and re-staining it.”
“I’m not Charles or Sally.” Her gaze swept up the long staircase leading to the second level as if trying to see it through his eyes. “I suppose it would look much better, but I don’t have the time.”
“Why not? What are you going to do with the place?”
“Reopen the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast.”
Cole’s fingers curled into fists. Like he’d told Abby, this house was a gem and he could see the possibilities. In fact he could almost hear the clink of silverware and the lull of conversations coming from the dining room to his right, or guests sitting in comfortable lounge chairs in front of a roaring fire in the parlor to his left, or better yet, a posse of children clomping down the steps. These types of houses were meant to be lived in. Cherished. Filled with love and laughter. But after being inside its four walls, the spirit of the house needed mending, as well.
“My first guests arrive the Friday of the Founder’s Day Festival,” she continued and he heard an edge to her voice and saw her stiffen as if daring him to challenge her.
“That’s a little over two months away.” Incredulous at the deadline, Cole bit down on his tongue. His stomach churned. He owed Abby in a huge way because she was giving him the chance to clear his name. He’d do everything in his power to make sure the house was done in time even if he had to cut corners in not so obvious places and go without sleep during the entire job. “Fine. I’ll have it done by the festival.”
Abby faced him. Fear, determination, and what he sensed as abandonment, all warred for dominance in her expression. A faraway look glazed her eyes, yet her backbone remained fused into a rod. Her lips thinned as she pulled them into a grimace before her determined words spilled out. “This place needs to be ready by the end of April. I’ll help, too.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Plus six more people if anyone besides Abby would work for him.
Cole had an idea there was a lot more going on inside her brain than she divulged, but he let it slide. He had two months to draw her out if he wanted to. Especially if they were going to be working side by side during the remodel. A thought that chased away all the moisture from his mouth. He should get in his truck and hightail it back to Phoenix, but he wouldn’t walk away from his final obligation. Or Abby.
“Let’s take a look at the rest of the house and see what we’ve got to do.” Cole ushered Abby toward the front and into the parlor to the left, making sure to keep three paces behind her. Not only because he sensed she needed the distance, but because he needed it, as well.
His heart sank once he stepped through the double doors. No crown molding remained and the ceiling medallions had been removed. Plus the servant’s entryway and back wall had been covered by floor-to-ceiling wood paneling that had not been painted and darkened the room.
“Not very inviting, is it? Especially the mauve paint, the uneven chair rail and the fake brick finish on the fireplace.” Abby’s words created an instant headache.
Cole rubbed his eyes in hopes that the room would miraculously change when he reopened them. No such luck. This room would take a lot of time to correct. More days than he’d budgeted for, even with Abby’s help. “Not inviting at all. This parlor should be the most formal spot in the house and the most beautiful. This is where the guests would wait for the owners while the servants would bring them food and drink. Nothing remains of the original architecture. Okay then, let’s see what else we’ve got.”
His optimism elevated a bit at the sight of the wall-to-wall shag carpeting covering the living room’s hardwood floors. At least the hideous rug should have protected the oak underneath. And barring any unseen problems, the walls could be covered by a fresh coat of paint, or covered with wallpaper. He pivoted around. More things that showed promise were the original large ornate mantel and fireplace dominating the interior wall and the stained-glass portion of the windows at the top of the panes buried under several layers of paint. The integrity of this room had survived the multiple attempts of remodeling over the years.
“Pretty ghastly, isn’t it?” Abby’s shoulders slumped and pretty much matched his current mood.
“Actually, it’s better than the parlor, but I’m not crazy that they partitioned off the back for an office even though I suppose it was necessary. They could have done a little better job in keeping with the lines of the house.” Maybe he should retreat to the kitchen and grab his coffee cup. But the more awake he became, the worse the house would look. Once he pulled up the carpet though, he hoped the floors underneath wouldn’t be that bad.
“I have no idea what your ancestors and grandparents were thinking when they changed the interior so much.” Cole scratched the back of his neck as he paced around the mismatched furniture interspersed with the antique pieces. With luck, Abby might be able to find some replicas and recover the antiques if she ventured to Phoenix. Maybe his sister could give Abby some ideas with the interior design if he could pry her away from her shop and daughter for a few days.
“You knew them?”
“Of course. Everyone in town did.” His fingers touched the cool surface of the fireplace. Solid. Good. He squatted down and stuck his head partially inside. Hopefully it just needed a good cleaning. He pulled his head out and rose to his feet and turned to face her. “I used to shovel their walk, rake the leaves and mow the lawn when I was a kid. Your grandmother always brought me out a cup of hot chocolate or a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade. Even though we were never allowed inside, she treated me like I was one of the family.”
Cole watched the color disappear from her face as she sank down onto the brown couch. A frown marred her pretty features, yet he couldn’t hear the mumbled words that passed through her lips. Resisting the urge to cross the carpet and sit down next to her, he thrust his hands into his jean pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. His fingers found the change left over from his convenience store sandwich bought last night.
Something wasn’t right and he sensed he should tread with caution but somehow the question slipped out. “You never came to visit. Why?”
“I didn’t know they existed until I inherited this monstrosity.”
The regret and bitterness caught him off guard and her green eyes held his captive. Then it hit him, unsettling his nerves. In his brief survey of the room earlier, he saw no family pictures. No heirlooms. No personal items of people that had spent their lives here. Nothing to indicate that this was a home and not just a building with four walls and a roof.
This time he commanded his legs to move and he planted himself on the cushion next to Abby. He picked up her chilled hand and held it firmly in his grip. She tried to shy away from him and Cole sensed a war going on inside her, but he wouldn’t let her untangle her fingers. The pad of his thumb rubbed a circle on the back of her hand as he tried to infuse a bit of warmth into her.
“But how—” Cole answered the question himself. While Sally Bancroft had been a loving, giving person, her husband, Charles, could frighten a charging black bear with a look. The daughter had run away a few years before Cole was born. Obviously, she’d kept her own daughter’s birth a secret. “I’m sorry, Abby.”
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten times. The day slipped away, yet Cole didn’t have the energy to move as he sat