Chapter 5
John’s back ached. He’d already made three trips into town, hauling all the old junk Myrtle had hoarded away in her house. And for a lady determined to get a bed and breakfast running quickly, Lesley sure took her time, studying every bit of furniture in the rundown place.
“What do you think of this piece?” She pointed to an end table by the couch. The front of the drawer had a crack right down the middle.
“Junk.” He slapped a green sticky tag on it.
Princess rolled her eyes and scooted into the hallway. Black and white pictures hung haphazardly on the wall, and she took her time examining each one of them, too.
They were never going to finish.
“You going to stare at those prints all day or get a move on it?” He hoisted the end table over his shoulder.
“Impatient,” she mumbled under her breath.
Him? Impatient? Wasn’t that rich?
His job description didn’t include clearing out old homes, but seeing as how Lesley moved here alone, it was pretty obvious she didn’t have any help. Leo and Beatrice, despite their good intentions, were in no shape to move anything in or out of the dilapidated mansion, and regardless of the petite princess’ independent attitude, she also stood in no physical shape to move some of the heavier pieces.
He glanced back at her. Poised on her tiptoes, she tried to see the photo above her head. She couldn’t have been any taller than five-three. Most of the pieces trumped her in height and weight. He had to help. He might not be crazy about her or the job, but she was a lady, and he, after all, was a gentleman.
The coffee table by his feet appeared salvageable, even though it had seen better days. “You keeping this?”
“What?” Turning the corner of the hall, she poked her head into the living room. “Yeah, I’m keeping it.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Why?” She peeled off a green sticky note, and placed it on a chair with a broken leg.
“It’s ugly, but has some character. It could be nice again.”
She placed her small hand on one cocked hip. “I know. That’s why I’m keeping it.”
He was used to making old and ugly things beautiful again, but most of his clients didn’t see structures like he did. Lesley was open to using her imagination. The idea impressed him, although he didn’t know why. If she thought she could make this big pile of rotten boards beautiful again, then what’s a little ol’ table?
Maybe there was something about her he liked after all.
He readjusted the end table on his shoulder. “I’m taking this one to the truck. Get another pile ready.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” She tossed him a two-finger salute.
Ms. Bea held the door open for him. The sun scorched the top of his head the minute he stepped off the porch. It was hot. Too hot. Sweat dripped off his nose as he threw the load in his truck bed. The house needed AC and soon.
The screen door smacked against the old wood frame, drawing his attention back to the house. Lesley sauntered out with a box load of papers and other knick-knacks. Even the way she walked spoke money. She was too highfalutin’ for him. He couldn’t ever imagine himself with a woman like her.
Hell, what am I thinking?
He couldn’t imagine being with a woman, period. The pain of Sandra still lay fresh on his heart. It’d only been a little over a year. Too soon to think about a new relationship. Not that he’d looked, especially with Miss BMW.
Still, he’d caught himself staring at her, more than once. Her walk, her hair, even her smile was rich. No one’s teeth were that perfect.
“I’ll take it.” He grabbed the box from her.
Thinking of his deceased wife and the pile of bills lying on his desk at home was all the more reason he needed to help the princess. A job as big as the Rosalyn Manor would run at least a hundred thousand dollars in renovations, and that was being frugal. If the lady wanted fancy upgrades, well then, the budget would have to be upgraded to match.
“Thanks. There’s more inside.” Dust covered her blouse. She ran her hands down her breasts and toward her stomach, pushing the dirt back in to the air.
Oh, boy. “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.”
She turned on her gold-colored shoes and marched back inside. Even that silly ball cap she wore looked expensive…and cute.
Damn it.
The heat had gotten to him, and the side effects were scary. He had to get his truck loaded and out of there quick. He needed space from the woman. The lack of air in that old house had started to make his brain and his body feel…funny.
He tossed the box over the side of the truck. Hard. Glass inside the cardboard crunched under the force. Hopping in the truck bed, he pushed containers around with his foot to make more space. Two, possibly three more items could fit before he’d have to make another trip to the donation center and the junkyard. A flatbed trailer was the only thing that could help move all this crap faster. Or maybe an eighteen-wheeler.
Entering the house, John watched Lesley sweeping some broken pieces of glass. She now had headphones in her ears, and shook her booty as she danced across the old, battered wood floor in the living area. Distracted by her behind, he forced himself to look away from her assets and tapped her on the shoulder.
She jumped and spun around, yanking the buds from her ears. “Good gracious, you scared me.” Noise screamed from the devices dangling from around her neck.
“We’ve got to start moving some of these bigger pieces around so we can make room for more furniture. I’d like to place most of the items in this front room for now. Easier to move out of the house if we have to.” He bounced on the hardwood. “Besides, from what I can tell, the floor seems stronger in this room. The boards don’t give way as much, and I want to make another trip to the donation center soon.”
The sooner the better.
“Okay. Hand me that dust pan, please.” She pointed to the collector sitting on the end table.
He passed it to her then regretted the pleasantry as she bent down to retrieve the dirt, her behind right in his line of sight.
Geez.
Everything she did got under his skin.
When she stood, he snatched the pan and broom from her grasp. “Let me take that.” He swiveled himself away from her, not giving her a chance to see how much she bothered him. Heat grew in places he had forgotten existed or remembered how to work.
You do not like her.
You do not like her.
You. Do. Not. Like. Her.
Despite her not being his type, his body knew when it was in the presence of a good-looking woman. His type or not, she was attractive.
John tossed the trash in a wastebasket and got a hold of himself before he crossed back to the living area. She turned her music off and placed the device and ear buds on the mantel.
“Are you sure you’re up for moving furniture? If we wait a few days, I could get a couple of hired hands out here.”
She held up her hands. “I’ve got two, and I work for free. Let’s do it.”
He couldn’t say he didn’t admire her determination.
“Let’s start with the chest.” She followed him as he walked over to the oak cabinet and pulled out a few sliders from his back pocket. “Here.” Handing her the round disks, he said, “I’m going to lift, and you put that underneath the foot. Got it?”
“Yep.” She squatted down to the bottom of the chest.
When he bent to lift, their faces were inches apart. A slight birthmark sat above her left eye, and his gaze instantly went back to the freckle by her mouth.
Damn dot.
He forced his stare back to his hands. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.” John hoisted one edge of the chest. When she signaled that the slider sat under the cupboard’s foot, he dropped the piece back to the ground.
As she stood, a fire poker snagged the back of her shirt. The sound of threads popping had her eyes bulging wide. She reached back, and her fingers poked through a new hole in her blouse. “Oh, man.” Her blue eyes glistened.
“It’s just a shirt, princess. Nothing to cry over.”
“But this is Hermes.”
“Air what?”
“Not air. H-E-R-mes.” She sniffled and let go of her shirt.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s designer.”
“Why would you wear designer clothes to empty an old house?” Highfalutin’ or not, the idea just seemed…well…dumb.
“I don’t have anything else, and all of my other laundry is dirty.”
Dirty? Didn’t people like her use laundry services? “Why?”
Her eyes still held a glossy sheen. A part of him couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to her tears than the rip of the shirt, or her pile of dirty laundry.
“I was living out of a motel…” She stopped herself and shook her head. “Never mind. That doesn’t matter. Let’s just keep going.”
A motel? Her? Why?
He was not going to ask. Instead, he blurted, “Well, do your laundry tonight, and then you’ll have some clothes you can work in.”
He bent, lifted the cabinet, and she glided the slider under another foot, muttering, “Gee, thanks for that great advice.”
“Washing machine broke about a week ago.” Bea walked into the living room and picked up the broom.
“Of course.” Lesley placed another slider under the cabinet’s back foot.
Her gaze glued to the floor, and he could have sworn he heard a sniffle. God, he did not do waterworks. If this crazy princess was crying over a washing machine…well, there was a laundromat a few miles up the road. Or…
He remembered his own stack of laundry at home. He could help her, and in return, she could help him. Assuming this princess even knew how to do laundry.
John scooted around her to switch sides. “You know…” He placed a hand to his chin and leaned back a little. “There is a laundromat up the road, but they just have two washers and two dryers, so you could be waiting a while to even start.”
“Great,” she mumbled.
“Or…I’ve got a washer and a dryer you could use. No line.”
“Yeah?” She cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the price?”
She caught on quick.
“No price, really.” He gave a subtle shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve just got a couple of loads that need doing, too. I mean, while you’re washing yours, you could just throw mine in as well, right?”
After a moment of consideration, she nodded. “Okay. I guess that’s reasonable, until I can get a new one.”
“Great.” He suppressed a smile. No sense in telling her he had more than a few loads; she would find out soon enough.
“Ready?” Bending, he placed his hands on the bottom of the chest.
“Yep.” She squatted and readied another slider.
“Okay.” With a grunt, he lifted.
Lesley placed the last disks on the floor. “Okay, drop it.”
When he lowered the cabinet, one of the doors swung open.
She stood and pulled a wrinkled, leather book from a shelf. “What’s this?”
“Looks like an old Bible.” He pushed the heavy cabinet against the corner wall.
She followed him and opened both doors to the chest. “There’s nothing else in here but this. Don’t you think that’s strange? Aunt Myrtle had almost every surface covered with junk, and here, this big old piece is empty, except for this Bible.”
From John’s limited dealings with Myrtle, the woman appeared to be a fruitcake, so no, it didn’t appear strange at all. “Your aunt was a little odd.”
“What do you mean?” Lesley palmed the book.
“You didn’t know your aunt was different?”
“No. Now explain,” she huffed.
Geez, she really didn’t know. He let out a sigh. “She lived most of her life as a recluse in this big old house. No one in town ever saw much of her. She had everything she could get delivered or had Leo go pick it up so she wouldn’t have to leave home.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because my sister delivered muffins every week. Emma would have to leave the basket on the doorstep. An envelope would be taped to the door for her, or sometimes Ms. Bea would greet her on the porch. Your Auntie M wasn’t much of a people person.”
“That’s not strange. Lots of people are socially awkward.”
Ha! Awkward was an understatement, but he could tell he would lose this battle. No sense in wasting his energy. “Maybe so.” He shrugged.
“Perhaps she forgot the cabinet was empty?” Lesley played with the hook on the old tome. “I’ve never seen a Bible have a clasp. Bea?”
The lady hobbled closer to them, her pink house shoes shuffling on the floor. “Yeah?”
“Do you know why there is nothing in the cabinet?” Lesley opened the doors wider.
“No, ma’am. Miss Myrtle had her reasons, I reckon.”
“You never asked her?”
“No.” The older woman shook her white, curly head. “Not my business.”
And none of it was his either. The temperatures were skirting on the outside of fry-a-man-alive high, and all he wanted to do was see a little progress on this declutter job and eat. His stomach began to growl thirty minutes ago.
John wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Can we keep moving?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Princess turned the Bible over in her hands. An old picture of a young girl wearing a dress and stockings slipped out from the pages. “Wait, who’s this?” She bent to retrieve the photo.
Damn it. She had to stop bending. Her behind did nothing to help the heat he experienced.
The housekeeper glanced at the picture. “That’s your aunt when she was a girl.”
Lesley examined the photo. “That face looks so familiar.”
“She is your family.” John leaned in closer to stare at the picture. Sweet perfume tickled his nose. Bad idea. He pulled back. “You must have seen old photos of her before. Maybe something on the wall over there.”
“Yeah, when she was older. I have one of us together when I visited her as a girl.” Lesley shrugged. “But there isn’t anything of her as a young girl on the wall.”
“You have her eyes,” he noted. The resemblance stopped at the eyes. Thank goodness.
“Yeah, I do. I feel this strange tingling in the back of my mind, like I should know something that I’ve forgotten.” Lesley flipped the picture over. There wasn’t anything written on the back. “There’s an empty frame hanging in the hallway. This picture looks like it will fit, but why would she take it out and place it in the Bible? And why leave the empty frame on the wall?”
All questions he cared nothing about finding the answers to.
“The mystery may go unsolved.” John clapped his hands together. “Now, can we keep moving?”
“Knock, knock,” a familiar voice called from the entryway.
Lord, they were never going to get done.
“Oh! My first guest,” she squealed. “Well, I mean, besides you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She suppressed a grin. “Come in,” Lesley answered. She slid the picture back into the pages of the book.
Uncle Milton’s loafers clicked on the old damaged floor. His uncle’s navy slacks and buttoned-down dress shirt made him look like he attended a work conference—in a war zone.
“Hey, Uncle Milton.” John greeted him with a handshake.
“John. Your parents send their love, and your mom said to call her.”
“Of course she did.” Living on the other side of the country, he could never call his mom enough according to her. “Uncle Milt, this is Lesley DeLoach, the heiress.”
Princess placed the book on the mantel by her ear buds. “Nice to meet you.” She wiped her hand on her jeans before offering it to his uncle.
“So nice to officially meet you.” Milton shook wholeheartedly. “I’m sorry again about your loss.”
The word loss had John spiraling back to Sandra. Loss was a part of life. He understood that, but he didn’t want to accept it.
“John?” Lesley placed a hand on his biceps.
Warmth radiated through his arm. “Huh? Yeah?” He jerked away from her touch.
A look of dejection spread across her face. “Mr. Hambrice here wants a tour of the house. Do you think it’s safe?”
“Sure. Just watch where you step.”
Milton gestured with his arm. “I’ll follow you then.”
Princess reached a hand to the back of her shirt. “I’ll leave you gentleman to it. I need to visit the powder room.” She then turned and sauntered down the hall, the rip in her shirt visible beneath her fingers.
He heard the shutting of her bedroom door before he turned back toward his uncle.
Milton leaned in and whispered. “What was that about?”
John peered at him. “What?”
“With your arm. You acted like she electrocuted you.”
Because that’s exactly what she did, and while he’d been thinking about his deceased wife. Whatever it was he felt when she touched him didn’t seem right with Sandra on his mind.
“Nothing. It was nothing.”
“Oh, I see.” Milton placed his hands in his pockets. “She’s very pretty.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He shuffled across the room and tossed some old papers from the floor in a cardboard box. If he remained busy, he didn’t have to look at his uncle. He didn’t like lying to the man.
“Sure, you didn’t.” Milton grabbed some papers from the floor and helped him with the task. “Sandra’s not coming back, you know?”
“I know,” he barked.
“And it’s okay to move on.”
“I know,” he barked again and stood. “But don’t go getting any ideas.” Pointing a finger to the direction of the bedroom, he continued, “She’s as irritating as they come.”
“How so?”
“She’s clumsy for starters. She’s the size of an ant but tries to stand tall and assert her authority. She’s stubborn, and everything makes her cry. She wants this place to be a bed and breakfast when it’s all said and done. I haven’t informed her that Bakersville isn’t a high travel vacation spot, not since the cola plant closed down, anyway.”
“We still get some visitors, and this place could make a wonderful bed and breakfast.”
“You’re right. It could, and it would, or I should say, it will, but I don’t know if I’m up for the job.”
His uncle crossed his arms. “Why’s that?”
Because she’s making me feel things I shouldn’t.
“It’s almost a gut job.” He waved his hand around the room. “There isn’t much besides some furniture that can be salvaged. I’m going to have to knock this place down to the studs. You know I don’t have the man power to do that.”
“Have faith, John.”
Every time he faced adversity, his uncle would say “have faith.” His wife had also left him with the same message before she died.
Have faith…in what?
“Now, how about that tour?” Milton asked.
“What?” John glanced back at the older man.
“The tour. You ready?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” He tossed the papers he held into the box. “Step lightly.”
Mindlessly, he led his uncle into the kitchen area and showed him the rest of the downstairs. He pointed to rooms and mentioned some of his ideas, but his uncle’s words kept rolling around in his head.
Have faith.
What exactly did that mean?