She blinked, ignored the obvious missing cowboy, and took in what was there. The large house with its extensive, if somewhat overgrown, flower and vegetable gardens and the appealing orchard had clouded her vision for a moment. The house was beautiful once. Now it was a sad wreck, an empty shell of what had once been a stunning home if the photos could be believed. The bull-nosed front porch with its scrolled ironwork now hung down at one corner like a drunken ranch hand struggling to stand upright. The sky shone through the holes in the guttering, which was barely holding onto the roof with rusty hooks.
The sash windows—some with the glass still intact, others with gaping holes where once small colored panes threw rainbows over the floor—reflected back at her, sad eyes of a long forgotten and unloved home. The ledge under the window on the porch hung down. It almost touched the rotten boards but held on by a lick of paint, nothing more.
Sassie looked over her purchase, mentally kicking herself. How ridiculous was this? If not for her impulsiveness and hot Irish temper, she would still be in the city working in the bar surrounded by the people she’d come to love. Pity, in a way, she’d seen through her scumbag of a boyfriend, especially now, after looking at her new home. Which was worse? A man using her as a cover for his sordid love affairs or being the new owner of the “delightful Victorian home with loads of appeal and rustic charm, nestled in a small Colorado town surrounded by rolling green pastures and roaming cowboys,” as the advertisement described. But clearly it wasn’t.
“Well now. It is what it is, I suppose.” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and tried to look at it differently. This is what she got for falling into the same trap of giving everything to others. Her da had told her many a time to stop smothering her brothers, but did she listen? Not likely. Motherless boys needed all the extra love she could give them, and look where that got her. Feeling like the unpaid maid. Not that they meant it, poor boys. It was her own fault. But that was then and this was now.
Focusing on the garden to still the panic rising in her throat, she reached for a small pink rose, almost strangled by the weeds growing around it but still proudly bearing blooms. There was no point crying about it now. She’d gone and bought the place in a fit of defiance, ignoring the estate agent’s suggestion for a visit to make sure it was “just the right place for you.” The carrot he’d dangled was that she could take possession immediately. The cost factored into it as well, and she could see why it was such a bargain. Her haste to get away from the loser she’d lived with—no, looked out for—was the final nail in the coffin
The picture in the local real estate office window had given her the idea of forging a new career path. Perhaps she could use some of her gram’s inheritance and turn it into a bed and breakfast. There was more than enough money in her bank account if she was careful with it, and Sassie was nothing if not prudent with her money. It came with being Irish and raised with a penny-pinching father living on a fixed income. But she loved looking after people, and cooking came as second nature. After all, she’d single-handedly raised her brothers when Mam died, leaving her poor father with seven children, the youngest only a babe and Sassie a budding teen at thirteen.
She brought the rose to her nose and took a deep breath, savoring its sweet fragrance, letting it soothe her. She could do this; she would do this.
She took a step forward over the cracked, paved walkway and then another. Casting a critical eye over the porch and the rotten boards, she calculated the amount of work to be done. A shiver of apprehension rolled down her spine. Tentatively, she took another step toward the front door.
The real estate agent had given her a door key, but it wasn’t really necessary, not looking at the way the front door sat slightly ajar, sagging on one corner. She pushed it open and a bird flew out. She squealed; its shrill cry scared the daylights out of her. She stood with her hands over her face, letting her heart settle. Once she was breathing normally again, she pushed the door all the way open and took a step inside.
She ran a hand over the peeling embossed wallpaper and smiled. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine standing in a fancy saloon, girls in velvet gowns and men with cigars playing cards. Her Mam would have liked it. To her right, an open door beckoned. Inside the spacious room, sun streamed through tall windows. A grand entertaining room, high ceilings edged with ornate plaster sconces. Sassie stepped in farther, twirled, and sighed. It would be a beautiful space once she cleaned it up, made a few repairs, and added the right furniture.
Her happy thoughts started to sneak back, pushing away the doubt that crawled up her throat.
She continued through the house—five bedrooms in all. At the rear, she found the kitchen overlooking the garden, in sad need of a total facelift. Large and airy it may be, but the kitchen cabinets were in bad repair, a couple of the doors lying broken on the floor, others hanging at odd angles. Around the sink, the countertops swelled with damp.
A huge pantry gave her the shelf space she would need and looked sturdy enough to use. A coat of paint would brighten it up. Surely, the garden would be the easiest thing to fix. A couple of hours trimming overgrown bushes and pulling weeds. How hard could that be compared to the work the house needed? Sassie
