Right Where He Belongs. Rebecca Russell
the soonest possible moment, Tanner planned to sign over the deed to Fairfax House to the highest bidder, the exact thing his grandfather would have hated. Sweet, poetic justice for himself, and his parents, the people his grandfather had hurt the most.
The family estate claimed the corner lot of prime property in the sleepy farm town of New Haven, Ohio. The old but elegant two-story mansion reminded him of an aging queen who refused to budge from her throne of power. A well-maintained barn stood like a sentry next to the house.
The hot July sun bounced off a massive bay window. He shielded his eyes with one hand to get a better look. Someone had obviously been busy. A pristine white exterior explained the odor of fresh paint that coated the humid air. The excellent condition of the wraparound porch suggested recent repairs.
He hesitated at the bottom of the steps leading to his family’s estate, overcome by a sudden wariness. Painful memories of his one and only visit as a naive, excited five-year-old boy threatened to surface, but he pushed them away. He was a grown man now, in control of his own destiny.
No tears today.
Tanner took the porch steps two at a time. He grabbed the key from the back pocket of his worn jeans, opened the heavy front door and stepped inside.
Cool darkness greeted him, a startling contrast to the midday sunshine he’d left outside. He found a switch, and with a flick, light sprinkled downward from an ornate chandelier. A thick Oriental rug covered the hardwood floor. Impressive, but not important.
From the back of the house, a clattering erupted and he froze. “Who’s there?” he called out.
He made his way toward the sound, cautious, but not frightened. He knew little about small towns, but doubted he’d find much to fear. Anyone who owned and managed a construction company could certainly handle getting rid of an uninvited guest.
“I’m in the kitchen, Mr. Fairfax,” a feminine voice answered. “Just walk straight ahead.”
So, the stranger was a woman. Another surprise. He passed by a blur of rooms on either side as he followed the clamor to the sliver of light that escaped beneath a door at the end of the hall. He opened the door and detected an almost sweet, oddly familiar odor. An herb? A spice?
No matter. He stepped inside. The intended curt “hello” died on his lips. In the midst of the spacious kitchen stood a tall, slender woman dressed in white, paint-splattered bib overalls. Wisps of mahogany-brown hair escaped from a painter’s cap. Dark-green eyes sparkled and her hundred-watt smile knocked the breath out of him.
With an intensity he couldn’t help but admire, she vigorously wiped down scratched cupboards painted a murky brown. The same dreary color had been forced onto the paneling that covered the bottom half of the walls. Faded, water-stained wallpaper drooped in one corner. Tools littered the countertops. A large bucket and mop hugged a corner; several folded tarps dotted the floor.
“Who are you and how did you get in?” he finally managed to ask.
“I can explain, Mr. Fairfax.”
The warm friendliness in her voice erased all other questions from his mind, beckoned him to move closer to her, but he stood his ground as she sidestepped the bucket, mop and tarps.
“I’m Cassie Leighton, owner of Leighton’s Custom Remodeling. Your grandfather hired me to do repairs before he died.”
She held out her hand, then pulled it back, an apologetic grin on her face. No wedding ring, he noted, for no other reason than habit. “Sorry,” she said, then grabbed a rag out of a back pocket and wiped her hands. “I didn’t know I was such a mess.”
Surprise hit Tanner hard. He had actually been eager to discover if the touch of her hand packed the same wallop as her smile. Maybe he was coming down with the flu or something.
“Mr. Fairfax?”
He took a much needed deep breath, confused by the fact that his earlier annoyance over an intruder had vanished. “How did you know it was me out front and not some burglar?” he asked, more comfortable with suspicion than his strange reaction to a woman he’d just met.
“Not much crime in New Haven. And the minute you arrived at Mr. Samuels’s office, his secretary beeped me and I rushed over.” She openly studied him from the top of his head, to his T-shirt, faded jeans and scuffed boots. “She warned me that you looked just like your dad.”
Her intensity reminded him of his own when he examined a piece of wood for knots or uneven grain. He wondered if he measured up, then just as quickly dismissed the notion. He’d always taken the comparison as a compliment, so why doubt it now? Besides, it wasn’t as if he had trouble getting a date when he wanted one.
He was just unnerved from hearing a complete stranger talk about his father as if she’d known him, Tanner reasoned, which was impossible. Both of his parents had been dead for so long now that he could hardly remember the sound of their voices and other details he thought he’d never forget.
“Yep, you definitely have the Fairfax hair and eyes,” Cassie said, still smiling.
A sign he had passed inspection and wouldn’t be tossed into the scrap pile? “Why wasn’t I warned someone would be here?” he asked, annoyed he cared at all about what a stranger thought of him, even if the stranger happened to have a natural beauty that made him think of hayrides and campfires.
Wait a minute. He’d never gone on a hayride, let alone shared a campfire with a woman.
Crazy thoughts. Not like him at all. Lack of sleep, he reasoned. The long drive from Texas had left him punchy.
“Mr. Samuels might not have realized his secretary beeped me. She knows how I feel about this house. We thought you were arriving tomorrow, so I had planned on cleaning up tonight.”
Tanner shrugged. “I ended up leaving Tyler early and drove straight through.”
“You don’t have much of an accent for someone from Texas.”
“I guess it’s because neither of my parents had one. Is it a problem that I arrived early?”
“No problem at all. It’s just that I—” A muted ringing interrupted Cassie. She reached deep into a bib pocket, pulled out a cellular phone and checked the I.D. of the caller. “Excuse me, but I’ve been trying to reach this guy all morning,” she explained. Her long, slender fingers gripped the small phone next to her ear. He wasn’t surprised to see short, unpolished nails that were as practical as her overalls.
Most women he came across would just as soon run or hide from the prospect of getting dirty, but Cassie had chosen a profession that almost demanded it. He imagined such a woman could get ready for a date in no time; wouldn’t think twice about ruining her makeup and hair for the chance to walk in the rain.
Damn. What was it about Cassie that made him think such foreign, mushy thoughts? As for how she might behave on a date, he’d never know and didn’t care. He had a game plan: get in, settle a score, get out. No complications.
In need of a distraction, he focused on Cassie’s phone conversation. Impolite, sure, but his peace of mind mattered more at the moment.
“No, Mike, that won’t do,” Cassie insisted. “We promised to have all the fixtures in by tomorrow, even if it is Saturday. Call Danny in. He could use the extra money, but don’t bother asking Georgie. I told her she could leave early for her daughter’s soccer game. I’ll stop by the site later.”
Tanner appreciated the firm way she dealt with her employee, although he was surprised she knew so much personal detail about her workers. Turnover was high in construction; remembering just the last names of his transient employees proved a challenge.
She punched a button and slid the phone back into its hiding place. “Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Fairfax. Anyway, it’s wonderful that you’re here. And don’t worry about the mess,” she added, as if she could read the doubt in his mind. “I’ll be done cleaning up in no time.