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“Okay. I’ll check in later, then. Bye.”
“Bye.” Cassie hung up and dropped the phone into a pocket, aware that she didn’t have any time to waste, either. She had less than a month to make Tanner feel connected to Fairfax House, to New Haven.
“Is your business a family operation?” Tanner’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.
“No. There’s only me. But I’m all for the idea. I think a family that works together, stays together.” She had observed too many couples drift apart while chasing after different dreams; her sister was a perfect example.
Tanner looked as if he’d taken a bite of lemon. No surprise there.
“Why do you ask?” she persisted.
He shrugged. “I just assumed. Why else would you know if a worker is hurting for money, or if their kid has a game?”
Cassie smiled. Questions, the first sign of interest. “That’s the beauty of small-town life. It’s second nature to me, since I’ve either grown up with or around these people. I always prefer to use local subcontractors, people I can trust.” When she cared, remembering the important things was easy. “I take it things are a little different where you come from?”
“You could say that.”
Darn. A closed door. Somehow, she needed to spark Tanner’s interest in the house, in his family history. Maybe she should start with what fascinated her the most about the mansion. “This may sound crazy, but I have a favor to ask.”
Tanner raised his eyebrows. “A favor?”
She rarely allowed distractions during work, but she had more than one job to do. The price and the time frame for the repairs to the kitchen had already been agreed upon. Her other job, her promise to do all she could to convince Tanner to make Fairfax House his home, was a freebie, no invoice required. “Would you mind if I went upstairs for a look-see?”
“Do you suspect more water damage?”
“No. The damage was limited to the separate roof above the kitchen. This is sort of personal.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’ve been in this house many times, but my sister and I were never allowed to go upstairs. It seems silly, I know, but the spiral staircase always reminded me of a beanstalk.”
She paused and grinned. “I desperately wanted to be like Jack and climb that sucker. Later, when I got closer to Mr. Frank, it seemed too much of an invasion of privacy to ask. Not to mention sort of odd. But I’ve always wondered what was so special or scary about the upstairs that kept it out of bounds.”
“But you’ve been working in this house. If it was that big of a deal, why didn’t you just look on your own?”
“I was tempted. But it felt disrespectful.”
“Some willpower.”
“Tell me about it. But now that you’re the owner, I won’t feel guilty if you say it’s okay.”
Tanner unfolded his long frame. Dark eyes shined with amusement. “Lead the way.”
“Great.” She hurried through the parlor and formal living room to the ornate staircase, breathless with anticipation. The last time she recalled feeling this excited was as a child on Christmas morning. Well, maybe as an adult last Christmas. She hadn’t changed that much. The fact that Tanner followed closely behind only added to her eagerness.
Maybe she could hook his interest with one of her favorite stories. “This staircase originally came down into the dining room. Your grandmother mentioned how much better it would look this way, and the next day Mr. Frank brought in an architect. He would’ve done just about anything for her.” Anything except admit he’d been wrong about what mattered to her most—their son.
Cassie paused at the bottom step. The stairs seemed to have shrunk over the past twenty years, but what lay beyond was huge and she felt daunted by the immense responsibility before her. She had learned not to take promises lightly; she would not let Mr. Frank down.
“Go on.” Tanner urged. “But don’t get your hopes up. I did a quick inspection last night—I was too beat from driving straight through to do more. It’s just hallways and rooms.”
Cassie refused to buy into his pessimism. Although she had asked to explore as a ruse to snare Tanner’s interest in his family, she was still excited to finally have the chance to appease her curiosity.
She slowly made her way up the wooden steps, trailing her hand along the smooth banister. She’d waited a long time for this opportunity and wanted to savor every moment. “I’ll bet Mr. Frank is smiling right now. He always warned me that I had an overactive imagination.”
“I don’t get it, Cassie. Once you got older, what made you want to hang around an old guy you weren’t even related to?”
Her plan had worked! More questions, the first step toward understanding. “My father died when I was nine. My mom and sister found comfort in doing things together. Cooking, baking, sewing. Things I was dreadful at. That’s why I enjoyed puttering around with my dad in the yard and garage so much.” Having lost that connection, she’d never felt so alone in her life. And guilty.
Just before her father passed away, he’d asked her to promise to be less of a tomboy. Her mother didn’t need more to worry about, and she fretted that Cassie would never fit in. Once he was gone, they would all need to lean on one another.
Cassie had tried to act more like her sister, a girlie-girl, but it proved such a bad fit, she’d given up. So much for keeping promises. “Your grandfather, bless his heart, saw how lost I was and found things for me to do around this house.”
She realized, looking back, that the old man had been just as lost as that frightened young girl. Before long, she even thought of the house as a lost soul—locked in dark colors and heavy wood, unhappiness and regret in every corner.
Such a treasure deserved a second chance. If Tanner decided to put down roots in New Haven he could bring the house into the light, turn it into a home, not just a pristine, cold showcase.
More importantly, though, Tanner would have found where he truly belonged. He’d lost so much already. “Let’s see what’s behind door number one.” Cassie opened the door and strolled inside the room, surprised to find she had been holding her breath.
Darn. Just peach-colored walls, elegant furniture and a lingering scent of mothballs.
Tanner followed Cassie inside the room. He pictured her, lonely and missing her dad, racing off to do repairs in the old house, and felt a sharp tug on his heart.
He knew how working with your hands could soothe your soul. After he’d lost his parents in a car wreck when he was seventeen, a nonprofit group called Mentors, Inc. had hooked him up with a master carpenter who specialized in framing and building cabinets on-site.
Tanner had thrown himself into the part-time job to curb his loneliness. Wood was solid, yet he could coax it to his will. He determined the shape, texture, even the color. Control of any kind had worked like a bandage against the open sore of helplessness that had raged inside of him.
He doubted he’d have to explain to Cassie how that job had become a lifeline to an angry, scared kid in search of direction and purpose.
At least he’d been old enough to declare himself emancipated, and could make his own decisions about his future. He had stayed with neighbors, who were also close friends to his parents, until he graduated from high school and got his own apartment. Man, he hadn’t thought about those dark times in ages. Didn’t care to, either. He’d rather contemplate the fascinating woman next to him who was real, unpretentious and obviously unaware of her effect on him.
Who was he kidding? She probably had the same effect on all men, was probably involved with someone. No. He wouldn’t think about her personal life; it was none of his business.
“The antiques are so beautiful.” Cassie’s soft voice pulled him back to the present. “Too bad they can’t talk. I’ll bet they have wonderful stories.” She slowly ran her hand along the curved back of a cherry rocker.
She hadn’t simply touched the chair, she’d caressed it. He marveled at how she milked the simplest of pleasures for all they were worth.
At breakfast, observing her lost in the taste, smell and feel of the pastry had thrown him off balance. In no time, his cool politeness had been replaced with a keen awareness of the sensual woman across the table. He’d found himself relaxing, had even razzed her about a simple thank you after she’d shrugged off his compliment for promptness.
Minutes later he had agreed to explore the upstairs with her. The spontaneous act had felt natural, which amazed him, since he’d denied that part of himself for so many years. He had learned quickly that spontaneity was for other people, not for someone like him who had lost his parents, his anchors, much too early in his life.
Cassie’s slow ascent up the staircase she’d been dying to climb for years had impressed him, made him wonder if she would approach lovemaking with the same drawn-out passion….
Tanner nearly groaned at the thought. In less than a month he’d return to Texas. He had no business thinking of her in that way. Damn. He needed a distraction. “What do you think this room was used for?” he asked as he opened the doors of an intricately carved armoire.
“It might have been your dad’s, if that picture means anything.” She walked over to the nightstand, picked up an ornate silver picture frame and offered it to him. “Do you recognize anyone, Tanner?”
He wanted to walk away, but couldn’t. Cassie placed the frame in his hands, the heavy metal cool to the touch.
He traced the outline of a young boy with familiar dark hair and eyes sitting on the back of a red convertible, no doubt the Thunderbird Cassie had mentioned earlier. An obviously proud father stood off to the side.
“They look happy in that picture, don’t they?”
Tanner returned the frame to Cassie, determined not to show a reaction to the photograph. No way did he want to imagine his grandfather as a typical, doting dad. He was a monster who had hassled his family. “Nice car.”
She gazed at him expectantly, but he had nothing to say that she’d want to hear. “Let’s check the next room,” she finally said.
Up and down the hallway, her enthusiasm built with each step. Her excitement proved contagious. Tanner followed, grateful for a distraction. How could someone so curious possess the willpower not to sneak upstairs on one of her many visits? Despite himself, he was impressed.
She hurried to the next room. “Jill is going to gloat. She never believed there was anything special up here.”
“Jill. That’s your sister, right?”
“Right. The one without an imagination.” Cassie stopped in front of the last room. “What made you choose this room, Tanner?”
He blinked. “Choose it for what?”
“Your room. None of your stuff was in the other rooms, and this is the only one left.”
“I tossed my dufflebag in the room downstairs.”
She raised an eyebrow. “In case you didn’t notice, the bed downstairs is a double. All the beds that we’ve seen up here are queen or king-size. But hey, whatever floats your boat.”
She turned her attention to the next room. “I sure hope this one is more interesting.” She opened the door and stepped inside.
Tanner followed close behind. “More interesting, maybe, but nothing exciting.” Heavy, stale air assaulted him. Light poured in from high windows and revealed a long, narrow room that ran the length of the house. The perfect space for storage.
“Wow,” Cassie murmured. “Looks like a Hitchcock movie set.”
“The only things missing are a few rabid birds.” A sloped ceiling created a tunnel affect. At one end stood an enormous oak rolltop desk and shelves that sagged under the weight of too many books. The opposite side of the room held an armoire and several trunks. Cobwebs cloaked every surface.
“Just look at that Victrola, Tanner! I can almost hear big-band music and picture giggling teenage girls teaching one another the latest dance steps.”
He watched Cassie rush across a massive, faded, Oriental rug to the Victrola.
“I knew it! Jill and I would’ve had a blast in here. And of course, probably destroyed every breakable thing in sight.” She took a rag from a back pocket and flicked it across the lid of the antique, destroying at least one spider’s home while she whipped up a miniature dust storm.
She sneezed and waved her hand to clear the air, a grin on her face all the while. A blanket of dust and a maze of sticky cobwebs failed to dim her excitement. The sparkle in her eyes made him want to keep giving her reasons to be excited. A dangerous thought. He planned to leave as soon as possible so there wouldn’t be time to…to what? Build a relationship?
Not an option.
Once again he needed a diversion and stopped at the first thing in front of him, a fancy table with a glass case on top. Four rows of tarnished spoons nestled against faded black velvet.
“Tanner, look. I found some old letters addressed to your grandmother. What did you find?” Cassie approached him and gasped. “These collectibles are from all over the world. You should get a safety deposit box.”
Vivid childhood memories popped into his mind. His truck-driving father had always brought back a souvenir spoon from each town he visited as a gift for his mother. They had explained how the spoons symbolized their freedom. The real collection and more could’ve been theirs if they had agreed to let his grandfather run their lives. He had insisted they return to New Haven, or send Tanner to live with him in order to benefit from the opportunities money and status provided. Of course they had refused.
Tanner had thought it silly how happy the cheap gifts had made his mother. Now, as he gazed at the impressive collection, he understood why she had claimed that a spoon from Peoria was more valuable than a collectible from Paris.
His throat tightened. A strange wetness appeared behind his eyes at the reminder of how much pain his grandfather had caused his parents. He was more convinced than ever that he’d done the right thing by coming to New Haven. Finally, he could make good on the promise he’d made to his parents while he knelt at their graves so long ago. Delayed justice, but sweet just the same.
He didn’t need the money, only the satisfaction he’d feel when he sold the very thing his grandfather had valued over family.
“Tanner? What’s wrong?”
Chapter Three
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