Kitabı oku: «Second Chance Match»

Chapter One

The dream that had sustained Garrett Willows throughout the dark years of his life was at last about to become a reality. Turning in a wide circle, Garrett sucked in a deep breath, reveling in the sweet, clean greenness of April in Texas. He smiled at the rugged outbuildings and elegant old Victorian house that would become his home and business. Surely, God had created no more perfect of a place for him to open his plant nursery. His bright blue eyes twinkled with delight as he dropped his gaze on the older woman at his side.

“Let’s take a look inside,” his companion encouraged eagerly. Magnolia Chatam, one of triplet sisters in their mid-seventies, had long been his personal champion. Small and wizened, with her ubiquitous iron-gray braid hanging over one shoulder, she smiled up at him, her curious amber eyes sparkling. “Kent says the repairs are essentially done.”

When the Monroe house had suffered fire damage a few months ago, Kent Monroe and his granddaughter, Ellie, had moved into Chatam House, the lovely old antebellum mansion owned by Magnolia and her sisters, until the insurance could be collected and repairs made. No one had been surprised by that particular turn of events. The Chatam sisters were constantly taking in those in need of shelter. What came afterward had surprised everyone, though—and opened the door to the future for Garrett.

He nodded his inky head and, pulling the key from a pocket, let Magnolia in through the back of the house. Wordlessly, they wandered across the back parlor to a pair of doors at the end of the sizable room. According to Kent, one door would open into a short hallway that skirted the dining room, and the other would lead into the kitchen.

Choosing a door, Garrett pulled it open then drew up short. An orange metal ladder blocked the way. Assuming that the workmen had left it there, Garrett placed a hand on each of the nearest metal legs and lifted the ladder to set it aside, finding it surprisingly heavy.

“Wow,” he began, clumsily moving the thing only a couple feet. It rocked. And shrieked. Managing to crowd into the small room, Garrett glanced upward in time to see a body falling toward him in a flurry of flailing limbs. “Whoa!”

Heart hammering, Garrett threw out his arms and somehow managed to catch the fellow—or child, given the slight weight—while the ladder stuttered backward.

But what would a child be doing up on that ladder?

No, not a child, he thought, catching sight of the flushed face of a young woman. A very lovely young woman with long, wheat-brown hair tumbling over his arm.

For a stunned moment, Garrett could do nothing more than gape, taking in the triangular face with a dainty nose and big, very dark brown eyes, loosely framed by wisps of straight, golden-brown hair. The slight woman in his arms could not be called beautiful in the classical sense; her face was too unusual for that. But something more than mere shock made Garrett’s heart race. Something about that clean, almost angular face seemed both breathtakingly fresh and oddly, achingly familiar, as if he ought to know her. Yet, he was sure that they had never met.

Suddenly those deep brown eyes darkened to black, the generous lips pulled down in a frown, and a sharp elbow jabbed into his ribs as she began to struggle. Garrett swiftly set her on her feet, aware of Magnolia crowding close behind him. The tiny woman glared at him, her dark eyes sweeping over him accusingly as her dainty hands tugged at the hem of her heather-gray T-shirt. One hand crept up to smooth over the weighty mass of her hair before jerking away again. Garrett doubted that she stood as tall as five feet.

“You could’ve killed me!”

“Sorry. I—I didn’t realize anyone—”

“Who are you,” she interrupted, “and what are you doing here?”

Garrett shook his head, trying to marshal his thoughts, and belatedly stuck out his hand. “Garrett. Willows. And, um…this is my new house.”

“Your house?” She backed up, bumping into the ladder, which rocked precariously before settling once more.

“I’m moving in here and opening a plant nursery.”

Her big, dark eyes widened even further. “This is my house! I’m moving in and opening a shop. I made arrangements with the owner this morning.”

Garrett matched her frown with his. “That’s impossible. I spoke to Kent not four hours ago.”

“Kent? Who’s Kent?”

“Kent Monroe.”

The woman shook her head, catching the butterfly clip that her fall had dislodged from her hair as it flew to one side. Garrett saw for the first time that her T-shirt and baggy jeans were flecked with bits of paper.

“I made arrangements with Ellie Monroe,” she declared.

A sick feeling roiled in Garrett’s stomach. As Kent’s granddaughter, Ellie was co-owner of the house. Moreover, Kent tended to indulge Ellie. If Ellie wanted this woman to have the house, chances were that she would. Garrett felt his optimism drain away. So much for his dreams.

Taking a deep breath, Garrett traded worried looks with Magnolia, who stepped up and said sweetly, “I’m Magnolia Chatam. What’s your name, dear?”

The other woman fidgeted for a moment. Finally, she mumbled, “Jessa Lynn Pagett.”

“And when did you speak with Ellie?” Magnolia asked.

She shrugged and twisted up her hair, making a long rope of it and coiling it at the nape of her neck before securing it with the hairclip. Long, tendrils of it fell free, wafting about her face. “I don’t know exactly. Sometime between nine-fifteen and ten o’clock this morning. She had a break in her class schedule and told us to come over to the school.”

“Us?” Magnolia queried with an innocent smile.

Jessa Lynn Pagett’s dark eyes darted to one side. “My friend, Abby Stringer, my son and me.”

At first glance, she hadn’t looked old enough to be a mother, but on closer study, Garrett realized that she could be in her early twenties. He noted that she hadn’t mentioned a husband, so he did it for her. “What about your husband? Didn’t he want to be with you when you spoke to Ellie?”

“I’m divorced,” Jessa Lynn Pagett told him sharply.

More pleased by that information than he should be, Garrett shifted his gaze away and caught a speaking glance from Magnolia. He cleared his throat.

“I know Abby,” Magnolia said conversationally, shifting her attention back to Jessa. “When she retired, Ellie took her place teaching at the elementary school.”

That connection made Jessa Pagett’s story entirely credible. Sighing, Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“So you arranged to rent the place from Ellie,” he said to Jessa, “and I arranged to lease it from her grandfather, Kent. On the very same morning. Swell.”

“All I know,” Jessa declared, folding her arms, “is that my son and I are moving in here tonight and I’m opening a shop in the front room as soon as possible.”

Biting back a groan, Garrett glanced at Magnolia. She had been instrumental in convincing Kent Monroe to have the place re-zoned residential/commercial recently, with Garrett in mind. Neither of them had considered the possibility that the new zoning would attract others with similar goals to his.

“You’ve signed papers, then?” Garrett asked dully. That would definitely give Jessa Lynn Pagett precedence as Kent had suggested that Garrett could sign his lease on Friday, two days from now.

Jessa blanched, giving Garrett a glimmer of hope. “The papers weren’t drawn up yet. But Ellie said we could go ahead and stay here tonight because—” She broke off, biting her lip.

“Because you have nowhere else to go?” Magnolia surmised gently.

Jessa looked away, swallowing.

“Do you?” Garrett asked, fairly sure where Magnolia was going with this. “Do you have somewhere else to stay?”

Jessa lifted her chin. “Not exactly.”

Garrett looked to Magnolia, thinking of something that he’d heard said recently by her nephew, Asher Chatam, an attorney and the fiancé of Ellie Monroe.

“Possession,” the astute counselor had declared, “is nine-tenths of the law.”

In other words, if neither he nor Jessa had signed papers, the one actually in residence could have the upper hand.

Thankfully, Magnolia did exactly what Garrett expected her to do. “Until this is settled,” she said kindly, stroking her cleft chin, “you and your son should, perhaps, stay with my sisters and me at Chatam House.”

Jessa turned a startled gaze on the older woman. “Chatam House. That’s the mansion we passed on the way here. Abby pointed it out.”

Magnolia waved away the description. “It’s just a big old house with a great deal of room.”

A big old house with a ballroom, library, sunroom and more than a dozen bedrooms, Garrett thought wryly. It was the largest house in the entire town of Buffalo Creek, Texas, and had been since before the Civil War.

Jessa shook her head, saying to Magnolia, “We couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“No imposition at all,” Magnolia told her. “You would be entirely welcome, I assure you. We’re used to unexpected guests. We delight in them, in fact. Ellie is staying at Chatam House, you know, along with her grandfather.”

That ignited a light in Jessa Lynn Pagett’s dark eyes. “The Monroes are staying at Chatam House?”

“That’s right, and I’m sure that as soon as we get everyone together, we can settle this whole thing,” Magnolia told her, folding her gnarled hands against the waistband of her old-fashioned shirtwaist dress. “Though not tonight. I know for a fact that Ellie has a date tonight with her fiancé, my nephew, Asher.”

Jessa chewed her full lower lip, digesting this information. “I see. So, it would be for just one night?”

Magnolia smiled, saying, “That’s up to you, dear. You can stay as long as necessary. No one will mind.”

Looking around her, Jessa considered. Garrett’s gaze followed hers. Flakes of scorched, yellowed paper that she’d obviously been peeling off the wall littered every surface from the painted counters and shelves to the hardwood floors. She might be small, but she was obviously capable and had been very busy here. He found that oddly attractive. In fact, he found her oddly attractive, which was no doubt a very bad idea.

They were essentially opponents here, each claiming rights to the same property. Attraction could only get in the way. Yet, something about her called to him. Not that a woman like her would ever give a second look to someone like him.

Suddenly, what had, not many minutes before, seemed so sweetly straightforward had somehow become a tangled, confusing mess. And wasn’t that the story of his life?

Oh, Lord, he asked silently, why can’t it ever be simple with me?

Finally, Jessa Pagett nodded. “All right. I accept your invitation. We’ll try not to be any bother.”

“I’m sure you won’t be,” Magnolia replied politely, while Garrett tried mightily to believe it. “Honestly, Chatam House is the next best thing to a hotel these days.”

“Thank you for the invitation. I—I’ll have Abby drop us off later.”

Magnolia gave her hands a clap. “Lovely. My sisters and I will look forward to hosting you. And say hello to Abby for me, won’t you?” Jessa nodded stiffly. “We’ll let ourselves out now and see you later, then.” She started away, snagging Garrett by the short sleeve of his faded red T-shirt.

Blinking, he realized that he’d been staring at Jessa Lynn Pagett for some time. He cleared his throat. “Sorry about…” He waved a hand at the ladder.

Her dainty fingers fluttered nervously at her sides, then she shrugged. “Scared me, but no harm done, I guess.”

He backed away, saying, “I trust you can lock up.”

She gave him a wry smile. “I have a key.”

Slipping his from the pocket of his jeans, he held it aloft. “Me, too.”

And that about summed up the situation. They both had a claim to the place. The only question now was: Whose claim would actually prevail?

Garrett turned and followed Magnolia from the house. He carefully locked the door behind him and once more pocketed the key, his shoulders slumping.

“Now, now,” Magnolia assured him, “all will be well, never you fear.”

“I know,” he told her glumly, stooping to accept her wiry hug. “I know.”

Somehow, it would all work out. If the April afternoon no longer seemed quite as bright as it had earlier, well, it was still a far cry from the darkness of his past.

Thank You, Lord, he prayed silently, tamping down his disappointment and qualms, for bringing dear old Mags and her sisters into my and Bethany’s lives.

His younger sister, Bethany, had married another Chatam nephew, Chandler, last summer, and together they were raising a young son on their ranch outside of Stephenville, about three hours away.

Whatever happens, Garrett went on determinedly, I am blessed. Help me to remember that. Always.

He had the feeling that he was going to need reminders in the days to come.

“I should’ve known,” Jessa muttered, swiping at the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks. Closing her eyes, she turned her face upward, speaking through her teeth, “But just once couldn’t it have been easy? Please, God. How can You let this happen now? Is a safe place in this world too much to ask?”

She’d thought that she and Hunter were finally going to get their lives together, but no. That Willows guy thought this was his house. And maybe it was. Talk about your major complications.

If that wasn’t bad enough, why did he have to be so good-looking, too? The last thing she needed in her life was another handsome man, especially one with electric blue eyes—and a claim on her property. This house here on Charter Street was the perfect place for her to open her florist shop and make a home for Hunter. For a couple hours, she’d thought God had answered her prayers, only to have her hopes dashed.

“Well, what else is new?” she asked herself, scrubbing away fresh tears. It wasn’t as if God had ever really listened to her, after all.

At least she and Hunter had a place to spend the night. They’d already overstayed their welcome at Abby’s retirement complex, which restricted guests to visits no longer than four nights in a row.

Jessa shuddered to think what they’d have done without Abby, who was an old friend of her mom’s. When Jessa had finally gathered the courage to leave behind her old life and rebuild here in Buffalo Creek, Abby had not only offered temporary sanctuary, she’d come after them in her old car. She had even thought of the Monroe place for them, having seen a change of zoning notice in the local newspaper. Her personal connection with Ellie Monroe had made the idea seem heaven-sent. Jessa had reached an agreement with Ellie about leasing the place even before she’d seen inside the house, but as soon as she’d walked through the front door, a sense of well-being had come over her, a feeling of home.

So much for that.

Not that she would just roll over and give up. She’d fought fiercer battles, after all. No, she was going to stay, at least for the night, at Chatam House. With the Monroes. And find a way to plead her case. The worst that could happen was that she’d get her money back, some of it, anyway.

Sighing, she dropped her head into her hands. Oh, why, had she let herself spend hard-earned cash on ladders and such to fix up the house, a house that might not even be hers? She groaned aloud, thinking of the business license for which she’d applied that very day. Why couldn’t she have waited until the papers on the house had been signed?

The pounding of small feet on bare hardwood jerked her from her pit of regret. She rubbed her face with her hands and put on a smile just as her six-year-old son, Hunter, burst into the room from the kitchen, his shaggy, nut-brown hair flopping.

“Mommy! Abby teached me my lessons already.”

“Taught, not teached,” Jessa corrected, opening her arms. Hunter collided with her in a glancing hug. “Wasn’t that nice of Abby to take over your schooling for the day?”

“Uh-huh,” Hunter replied absently. He seemed much more interested in the bits of paper littering the place, dragging the toes of his canvas shoes through them. “It snowed.”

Jessa chuckled. “Kind of. Unfortunately, this snow won’t melt. It has to be swept up.”

Abby appeared in the doorway. She glanced around, remarking, “I see you’ve made some progress.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jessa told her glumly. Pointing Hunter toward the kitchen and the laundry room beyond, she instructed the boy to see if he could find the broom and dustpan. He ran off to do so, giving Jessa the chance to inform Abby of the mix-up with the house.

“Good grief,” Abby commented, the wrinkles in her square face deepening as she considered the situation. She ran a hand over her short, thin, salt-and-pepper hair. “What are you going to do?”

“We’ve been invited to stay at Chatam House,” Jessa said, reaching out for the broom as Hunter ran up, dragging it behind him.

“Chatam House!” Abby exclaimed. “By whom?”

“Magnolia Chatam. She said to tell you hello.”

Abby’s thin eyebrows lifted upward, creating a series of grooves in her forehead. “Magnolia is one of the Chatam triplets. We worked together on a panel for the Historical Society.”

Jessa had heard all about the Historical Society. With some three hundred buildings of historical significance in town, the society wielded a good bit of influence.

“And who is the man again,” Abby asked, “the one who says this is his house?”

That moment when Garrett Willows had caught her in his arms swept over Jessa. She’d been perched near the top of the ladder, reaching for a long strip of paper that dangled just above her head, and the next thing she’d known the ladder had rocked and she’d been falling. Then suddenly a pair of strong arms had caught her and pulled her safely against a broad, rock-hard chest. She’d felt his heart racing in tandem with hers, and though all fear had swiftly passed, she’d felt an insane urge to loop her arms around his neck. A pleased smile had hovered over her lips as she’d gazed up into his handsome face, and then she had realized that he had made her fall and her good sense had, thankfully, come rushing back. Mortified, she’d scrambled out of his arms and tried to catch her breath.

Jessa shrugged, as if he hadn’t made much of an impression on her. “Garrett something-or-other.” Abby shook her head, so Jessa went on. “Tallish.” Six feet, at least, maybe an inch or two over. “Black hair.” Thick, coal-black hair that shadowed his square jaws and made his bright blue eyes all the more piercing.

She shivered. Men that handsome always disturbed her. This one…something about this one frightened her, and it wasn’t just his claim on her home. It was more an odd sense of familiarity coupled with instant attraction.

“Hmm,” Abby mused, “could be another nephew. There are too many Chatams to shake a stick at, and not just around here, either.” She straightened. A busty woman with skinny legs, she wore a boxy shirt and shorts that displayed bony knees. “Well, it’s all for the good. After a few days at Chatam House, you and Hunter can return to me. That will give us at least a week to find another place for you.”

“In other words,” Jessa said morosely, “you think he’s going to get this place.”

Abby opened her mouth as if to deny it, but in the end, she merely sighed. Jessa figured she was right, but she pushed her hopelessness aside.

No. Not this time.

She had a verbal agreement with Ellie Monroe, entered into in good faith. Money had changed hands. Not much of it, granted, but money, nonetheless. She had invested in the place already and started scraping off the nasty, stained wallpaper in the butler’s pantry that was so perfect for her purposes. She had every right to this property, and she would not stand by while some man took their home from her and her son. Not again.

Not ever again.

Meanwhile, she would plan how best to approach this matter. Looking down at herself, she grimaced. She could start by putting her best foot forward. She hoped Abby had an iron.

As usual, the tea tray had been prepared while Garrett and the Chatam sisters attended the midweek meeting at the Downtown Bible Church that evening. Hilda, the cook, poured hot water into the silver pot before Garrett carried the tray from the kitchen. Despite the mouthwatering aroma of Hilda’s famous ginger muffins, Garrett felt in a grim mood. Jessa Pagett and her son should have arrived hours ago, but Hilda reported seeing “neither hide nor hair” of their expected guests thus far. Had she decided to stay at the house on Charter Street, after all? He didn’t suppose it mattered, in the end. She was bound to get the place if that’s what Ellie wanted.

Reaching the elegant foyer, he skirted the sweeping, marble staircase and turned into the large, antique-filled front parlor. It tickled him to see Odelia Chatam cuddled up on the settee with Kent Monroe while Mags and Hypatia pretended not to notice from the wing chairs placed around the low, piecrust table.

The Chatam sisters, maiden ladies in their mid-seventies, were as different as triplets could possibly be. Hypatia was all silver and silk, as regal as a queen. Odelia could not have been more endearing in her flamboyant costumes and oversize jewelry, her hair a soft, wild cap of white curls. Kent obviously adored her, but her many nieces and nephews didn’t call her Auntie Od for nothing. Magnolia, on the other hand, his own dear Mags, brought to mind visions of garden spades. Tough and no-nonsense in her funky galoshes and shirtwaist dresses, she possessed a heart of pure gold. As did they all.

“Here we are,” Hypatia said, turning as Garrett carried the heavy tray to the table.

“Tea is served,” Garrett announced unnecessarily, his words punctuated by the sound of the brass knocker on the front door.

“Our new guests have arrived,” Hypatia concluded, as Magnolia moved briskly toward the foyer.

“About time,” Garrett muttered. Aware that his heartbeat had sped up, he slowly straightened and turned toward the open, doublewide pocket door, parking his hands on his hips just below belt level.

Several seconds of muted conversation ensued before Magnolia reappeared with Jessa Pagett and a young boy in tow. Mags made short work of the introductions.

“Allow me to make known to you my sisters, Hypatia and Odelia. Garrett you’ve met. And this…” She waved a hand at Kent, who was even then lumbering to his feet. “Is Kent Monroe. Everyone, this is Jessa Lynn Pagett and her son, Hunter.”

Jessa had changed into crisp, dark slacks, a tailored, off-white blouse and dress shoes with tall heels. Wisps of light golden-brown hair framed her face, the mass of it having been twisted up in the back. She smiled and nodded, but he felt her wariness.

The shaggy-haired little boy with her looked to be about four years old and seemed equally curious and uneasy. His plump-cheeked face showed nothing in common with his mother’s triangular one, but his dark, troubled eyes were miniature versions of hers. In his baggy jeans and yellow plaid shirt, he looked like someone Garrett had used to know.

Himself. After his dad had died.

Garrett’s heart turned over in his chest. There were other houses, he told himself. And this would not be the first or the last time that he suffered disappointment.