Hidden Hills (10 page)

“There was Uncle Eli the caretaker,” she said, the look in her eyes daring him to criticize. “He lived in the cook's quarters.”

Jake frowned. “Lived… what happened?”

“He moved in with his daughter. His health is failing, mainly old age.”

“How old?”

“Eighty-eight last May.”

His anger simmered, just below the surface, at the danger Charlotte and her girls had been in. The stubborn set of her chin affirmed a fight was brewing.

“I can see where he'd be good protection.”

“Now who's being sarcastic?”

“Well, you've got to admit…”

“Actually, he used a baseball bat on an intruder a few months after Mitch died.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“You mean other than the intruder?”

His jaw dropped. “Yeah, that's what I meant.”

“We were fine. But the intruder… not so much so.”

“It's just…” He stopped. She was safe now. “Let's get back to the story — so Mitch died and left you with this beautiful house?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then what's the problem? His life insurance should have covered the mortgage.”

Charlotte's gaze shot to his, but it was her incredulous laugh which made him pull up short. He didn't need a calculator to know she had big money troubles. No wonder she was worried sick.

“How long have you owned this place?”

“Just six months when Mitch passed away.”

Jake chewed his lower lip, wondering if he should have another go at Ralph. His old buddy seemed to have gotten some facts wrong. “So you were married several years before moving here?”

“Yes, why?”

Jake hesitated, relieved at the time frame. “No reason.”

“I see,” she said, her voice strained. “You thought I'd married Mitch for this house, didn't you?”

“No, I…”

Her head snapped, temper flaring hotter than lightning bolts in a July hailstorm. “You're lying. You think I married him for his money!”

“I didn't say any such thing!”

She shot off the bench as if he were poison. “You didn't ‘say' anything, but you implied it!”

“No, I didn't.”

“Oh, no? Then why did you automatically assume this house is paid for and I'm selling it to pad my bank account?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth.” He scratched his head, trying to recall what he'd said to set her off on such a rampage, but came up blank. Maybe the house held bad memories, and if so, he'd make sure she came alone next time.

“Why would you think such a thing?” She paced back and forth, the fire in her eyes ready to set off the smoke detectors in the next room. “You don't even know me!”

“Now, wait a minute.” He forced her back on the bench with a thump. “Let's get something straight. I didn't accuse you of anything.”

“Oh, yes you did!”

“What's gotten into you?”

“Nothing, Mr. ‘I've Been There'.” She drove her point home with a chipped nail against his chest. “For your information, Mitch and I were doing just fine until his grandfather died and left this place mortgaged to the hilt!”

He didn't take kindly to being stabbed in the chest or called a liar to his face, even if it was true. But that was last week — before Charlotte McGregor came along. Now he was willing to put up with a lot more. Why had he listened to Ralph instead of trusting his own instincts? The stabbing stopped when he caught her hand.

“If I said something offensive, then I apologize. I was totally out of line. And you're right, Charlotte — I don't know you, but I intend to.”

For a fact, she wasn't listening, and he'd wasted a perfectly good apology. Something was biting her, and he was pretty sure it wasn't him.

“Men are all alike,” she said. “You think all we want is your money!”

“I said I'm sorry,” he repeated. Minutes passed, and the words hung between them, a glimmer of tears misted her eyes turning them into liquid green pools.

“But most men…”

“I'm not most men.”

Her chin quivered, and even though she blinked hard, the thick lashes weren't much of a dam.

He searched frantically for a handkerchief to catch the first wave. “Don't cry.”

“I'm not.” She hiccupped, ignoring his handkerchief to wipe her face with the back of her hand.

“If you say so.” The storm had passed with a couple of swipes under her eyes. His laughter bubbled up when she hiccupped again, and again, and again.

She tensed at his side. “I fail to see the—”
hic
“— humor in being in debt up past my eyeballs!”

“It's not that.” He squeezed her in a reassuring hug. “Feel better?”

She nodded, using his handkerchief to blow her nose.

Unable to resist, Jake tucked a strand of smooth auburn hair behind her left ear and saw the golden hoop dangling from the lobe. He shifted her head to admire the way they moved.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if steam's still rising.”

“You idiot.” She was grinning when she shoved his hand away. He figured it was a good sign, but then sadness seemed to wash over her when the memories poured out. “Mitch loved this place more than life itself: the house, the land, and the solitude.”

“But I see no reason to bite off more than you can chew.”

“Look around. His great-great-grandfather built this house before the Civil War, and the Yankees never found it.”

His curiosity was stirred. “How could he hide a house of this size?”

“There aren't any fields, never have been. Julius Wills made his money in railroads. He only cleared enough land to hold the house and barn. The rest of the lumber and everything else they hauled in by wagon. When the war broke out, he painted the house dark green and brown including the windows and roof so they wouldn't reflect in the sun. Then they tore out the bridge, planted fast-growing trees and bushes in the wagon tracks, and moved to town to wait out the war.”

“And nobody let it slip about the house being here?”

“Not a soul,” she said, warming to the story. “He promised the townspeople if the house survived, he'd bring the railroad to town.”

Jake nodded. “Wills' Junction. I wondered about the name. So the old man made good on his word?”

“Exactly. And Mitch gave his word to Grandpa Wills. He'd never let this place leave the family.”

Without thinking, Jake reached for her hand, giving it a comforting pat. He understood — about family, loyalty, and a man's word.

“It's a lot of house for a family of four,” he said, her hand still resting in his. “Were you planning to have more little girls?”

She relaxed for the first time in ages. “Girls and boys. We were foster parents.”

“What about now?”

“They've asked,” she replied, regret evident in her tone of voice. “But I had to refuse. It's just too hard on my own.”

“If I had a magic wand, I'd wave it to make things right for you,” he said, realizing it was the truth.

Desperation tinged her voice. “If you had a magic wand, I'd wrestle you for it and make things right myself.”

“Now there's an idea.” He wiggled his brows, smiling when her cheeks glowed. A woman as refreshing as Charlotte was a rarity in his world. She reminded him of a soft rose tossed into a river. The current could carry her along, but it couldn't sink her.

“What about your mother-in-law?”

“Ellen doesn't want it,” she replied. “And as for Mark, his brother — well, let's just say you couldn't pay him to live here.”

“So, if you've bought the Parkers' house, then you must have a buyer lined up.” He was beginning to think her problems weren't as bad as she thought. Then again, the upkeep on the mansion would be overwhelming, even for him.

“Not a nibble in the last six months. And it appraises for much more than I'm asking. Are you sure you want to know everything?”

A grim smile tightened the lines around his mouth. It was even worse than she'd let on. “I think I'd be lying if I said no.”

She hesitated before taking the plunge. “Now, you've got to remember I've thought long and hard about this.” At his nod, she continued, “I'm only renting the Parker house until this one sells. Then I'll buy it, and Mrs. Wilson will make a commission off both properties. It's a good deal.”

“Sure,” he agreed. “If this one sells.”

“It's got to! Just the commission from this one alone will be more than most people make in a year.”

“How long are you talking about?”

“Maybe five months?”

“You've had no offers, but you expect her to sell it right off the bat. Have you even thought about being realistic?”

“Something's got to work. I can only afford three more payments.”

“What difference will three payments make?”

“If I'm lucky, the bank will let it slide another three months before they foreclose.”

Never in his thirty-six years had he met anyone in such desperate need of a lesson in finance. Her logic amazed him.

“Charlotte.” He tried to phrase his suggestion so as not to set her off again. “Why not let the bank foreclose now and keep the money?”

“Because I can't! Mitch borrowed thirty thousand from his parents when we bought this place. If I let the bank foreclose, I'll still owe them money.”

“Then why not declare bankruptcy?”

“Because it might sell,” she said. “Don't you understand? I need it to sell.”

He rubbed her shoulder for comfort. “I can understand, but promise you'll talk to me before you let the bank foreclose.”

According to Ralph, the family had money — big money. The father was a judge, the other brother was a doctor, and the mother could be a social butterfly for all he knew. Anger surged through him. Not at the woman sitting beside him, but at the man she'd married. His mind raced ahead. “What about life insurance?”

“Mitch borrowed against it too.” Her eyes were as sad as her smile. “I find it hard to believe you've ever been in this kind of mess.”

“You're right. I haven't.” He closed the distance between them to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “And I can't understand how he could do it to you.”

She cut him short. “Mitch worked hard, and he was a good husband and father. Dropping dead at thirty-two wasn't part of his plan.”

“Oh, come on now — I didn't mean…” More tears ran down her cheeks. His arms enfolded her, letting her cry on his shoulder. Whether they were tears of grief or just frustration, he wasn't sure. She'd finally trusted him enough to confide her troubles. Her tears spent, she tried shoving him away, but he wasn't going anywhere. This was where he belonged.

“I'm sorry, Charlotte,” he murmured softly, rubbing her back. “Something will turn up. It always does.”

He wanted to take advantage of the situation, but it wasn't the right time. Reluctantly, he let go when she pulled back to wipe her eyes.

“I keep telling myself that,” she said, blowing her nose again on his soppy handkerchief.

“Have you talked to your father-in-law about your situation?”

“No, and I'm not going to.” Her shoulders straightened. The momentary lapse in self-control was gone, and her resolve appeared stronger than ever. “I'm a grown woman with two little girls to raise, and with God's help, I'll do it.”

Jake remembered what he'd been through. “I admire your spunk, but if it hadn't been for both sets of grandparents helping after Betty died, I couldn't have made it.”

“My parents have helped. Mom stayed the first six months after Mitch passed away to take care of us. I would have been lost without her. And it isn't as if his parents have ignored us. They're wonderful to the girls, but I refuse to dump my problems in their laps.”

Outside the window, his boys were wrestling, no doubt trying to impress the girls. He pecked on the window, motioning for them to cut it out. Being the oldest, Jeremy had always been the leader and the most dominant. Once an idea settled in his head, it was hard to get it out. Jake wondered if Charlotte's husband had been that way.

“Your in-laws must have known about the heavy debt on the estate. Couldn't they have persuaded your husband not to buy since he obviously couldn't afford…”

“Now wait a minute. I didn't say we couldn't afford it. Had Mitch lived, there would've been some tight years, but we would've made it.”

Being a tightwad, he wanted to argue the point, but he knew better than to say anything else. After all, he didn't know the guy. Then it hit him.

“Your father-in-law persuaded Mitch to buy it, didn't he?”

Her sharp glance indicated more to him than she was willing to admit. She shot to her feet, pacing back and forth. “The fact is, we didn't buy it in the normal sense. Mitch inherited the estate along with its debts and stipulations. He died before we got around to refinancing.”

Jake relaxed on the piano bench, intrigued by what she'd said. “Go on.”

“I don't know where to begin.”

He gestured for her to join him on the bench, pleased she was opening up about herself. “Why not start with his grandpa?”

“That would be Charles Wills. He was Ellen's dad, and he never cared for Tom McGregor. The old man said Tom wanted this house. When Grandpa discovered they were planning to marry, he banned Tom from seeing her. A month later they eloped, making him furious, and even though Ellen was his only child, he practically disowned her.”

“Did they ever make up?”

“Eventually, after the boys came along, but his opinion of Tom only got worse.”

“Sounds like a bad situation.”

“It was. Mitch said his grandpa wanted him and Mark here so they wouldn't spend too much time with their dad.”