“All right. Del.” She stepped back to let him into the vacant house.
A beautiful chandelier hung in the foyer. He knew that it and the marble tiles underfoot had been shipped over from Italy in the early 1920s.
“I’ve been reacquainting myself with the house,” Rose said, closing the door behind him and turning slowly toward the main living area, keeping her cane close to her side. “I’d forgotten how much work the house needs.”
He was surprised to experience a stab of disappointment. He told himself his feelings came from having wanted to fix the old place for the past ten years, not from the realization that Rose might drift out of his life as easily as she’d drifted into it.
“Have you changed your mind about the remodeling?”
“Not at all. I’m prepared to see her looking as lovely as she did when she was first built.”
Her comment surprised him. “Have you seen pictures?”
“A long time ago.”
Before he could ask when, she started through the foyer, pointing to the front parlor. “I thought that room could be a combination living room and library. What do you think about bookshelves on a couple of the walls?”
He tapped the large case he carried. “You read my mind. I already have that design drawn up. Which leaves this as the main living area.”
They stepped into an oversize room about twenty-five by thirty. The ten-foot ceilings and crown molding added to the grandeur of the room. The hardwood floors were in need of refinishing but otherwise in good shape. On the right, bay windows let in morning light. To the left was the entry to the kitchen and dining room. A huge fireplace dominated the north wall.
Del pointed at the bricked opening. “That was imported from a castle in England. The stained glass in the dining room came from a chateau in France. There are bits and pieces of the world all over the house.”
“That’s one of the things that intrigues me about the place,” Rose told him. She paused in the center of the room, leaning heavily on her cane. “I don’t agree with the current construction philosophy that if it’s new it must be better. Sometimes what’s old has a unique charm that can’t be duplicated.”
“I agree.”
He noticed that her movements were slow and deliberate, the way they’d been the day before. He wondered if her disability was new-the result of an accident-or if she’d been born with it.
He grabbed a couple of straight-back chairs tucked in a corner of the room. There was also a folding table, flattened and leaning against the wall opposite the fireplace.
“Have a seat,” he said, putting the chairs in the center of the room, then retrieving the table. “Let me show you my plans.”
She settled into the chair and smiled at him. “You noticed me weaving. I’m a little tired, which always affects my balance.”
“Actually I didn’t,” he said, and it was almost the truth. “My mom raised me to offer a lady a seat. This is the best I can do under the circumstances.”
He straightened the table legs and locked them into place. After placing it in front of the two chairs, he opened his large briefcase.
“What do you know about the house?” he asked. “Any of the history?”
She shook her head. As she moved, the long, blond strands swayed back and forth, the gentle wave causing a curve of her hair to brush her cheek. He was once again reminded of a forties movie star…and his ex-wife, which was a strange combination. It was the hair color, he told himself. And the eye color. They were startlingly similar. But Rose and Josie had little else in common. Rose was quiet, elegant and feminine. Josie had been an argumentative whirlwind. Not exactly restful.
He opened his case and slid out the large sheets of paper, then set them on the table. But instead of showing them to her, he took the spare chair and sat down facing her.
“This house was built by a San Francisco shipping tycoon in 1910. It was a wedding gift for his second wife, whom he married shortly after the death of his first wife. Apparently, the first time he married for money and connections, and the second time he married for love. Local legend says they were very happy together, as were the next three couples who owned the place. The Millers were the last. Mr. and Mrs. Miller lived here for fifty wonderful years until they died within a few days of each other. Eventually their heirs decided to sell the house. There have been several interested parties, but no one has been serious about buying it until you.”
Rose raised her pale eyebrows. A slight smile teased at the corners of her full lips. “So if I buy the house, I’m joining a long line of happy marriages?”
“Something like that.”
“I guess I need to start dating,” she teased.
“Absolutely. It doesn’t pay to mess with a legend.”
A legend that explained why he and Josie hadn’t bought the place. By the time they could afford to purchase the Miller place, their marriage had been in trouble. There were many things they had, but “being in love” wasn’t one of them.
“I have great respect for tradition,” she said, then sighed. “I must remember to put ‘get married’ on my to-do list.”
He chuckled even as he tried to ignore the sense of relief at finding out there wasn’t a husband in the picture. Not that it would make any difference to him. He didn’t get involved with clients. Besides, he was seeing someone. Sort of. Actually the relationship was going nowhere. Jasmine was a nice woman but she was too young. They’d reached the awkward stage where she wanted to talk commitment and he wanted to move on.
“But I’ll wait until Mr. Right comes along,” she said, leaning toward the table. “Tell me about your plans for my house.”
He shifted his chair closer to hers and pointed to a drawing of the front elevation of the house. “I think it’s important to maintain the integrity of the original design. The house was built by master craftsmen brought in from all over the country. The stair banister itself is a work of art. There are carved moldings, hand-fitted wood floors, and three exquisite chandeliers. My goal would be to work with everything that can be salvaged and saved, while making the house more modern and convenient.”
She gazed at him while he spoke, her expression intent, as if she hung on every word. “Would you be deeply offended if I said I wanted to remodel the kitchen and bathrooms?”
“Not at all.” He flipped through his papers and put a kitchen design on top. “That’s completely possible while working within the existing measurements of the room.”
He leaned toward the page. “I would suggest ripping out all the existing cabinets. They’ve been replaced twice before, so they have no connection with the original construction. I can make custom cabinets myself, combining a slightly old-fashioned design to match the feel of the house, while giving you modern conveniences such as pull- outs, granite countertops and new appliances.”
“Sounds terrific.”
A faint, sweet, floral scent drifted to him. He inhaled sharply, savoring the feminine fragrance. He wasn’t much of a perfume kind of guy, but like everything else about her, this suited Rose. A knot of tension formed low in his belly-that had nothing to do with his desire to get the job and everything to do with his need to get to know this woman better. He wanted to slip his fingers through her sleek blond hair and feel it slide against his skin like cool silk. He wanted to taste her and touch her and-
He resurfaced to find her staring at him expectantly.
“What?” he asked, knowing he sounded like an idiot. “I mean, sorry. What were you saying?”
“I asked about plumbing and electrical. Will fixing them break the bank?”
“Ah, no. Not at all. Both have been completely redone in the past twenty years.”
“Good.”
She tapped a finger on the plan of the second floor. Her nails were oval and painted a light pink. Josie had never painted her nails. She hadn’t had time. Between her job as a PE teacher, her exercise program and her coaching, she’d been on the run literally and figuratively. She had considered things like long hair, makeup and nail polish a waste of time. When he’d asked her to make time on special occasions, she’d rolled her eyes and told him if makeup was so darned important to him, he could wear it himself. She was what she was. Why did he want to make her over?
