Just One Night. Nancy Warren
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in the months since Agnes Neeson had died, the house had been shut up and grown dusty. Today the air smelled not of must as it had the first time she’d viewed it, but of the lilies and roses that Julia had placed in a glass vase on the entranceway table.
Her heels clacked on the original hardwood floors as she pointed out the spacious dimensions of the dining and living areas, the original heritage features such as the hand-carved fireplace mantel and the built-in glass-fronted cabinets. Julia had indeed worked a miracle, hauling clutter and the dated furniture to a storage facility and replacing it all with modern pieces and splashes of designer color in cushions and throws.
She could tell Samantha and Luke were excited and she shared a little of the thrill. Who wouldn’t want a great house like this? It was barely in their price range but she knew they could do it. She glanced over at the couple, arguing good-naturedly about where they’d put his wine fridge and how hard it would be to baby-proof the place.
“You could put in a new kitchen, the space is here,” she said as she walked them through it. Personally she liked the big old cupboards and the cheerful yellow walls. She suspected though that the MacDonalds would probably prefer stainless appliances and granite countertops. When Samantha reminded her husband that they’d have to build renovation costs into their budget she knew she’d guessed right. He groaned theatrically, but his grin indicated he was excited about the home, too.
Hailey loved being single in the city. All the same there were times, like now, when she got a glimpse of another life. A man at her side, a baby on the way—and a home.
She loved the way Julia had artfully tossed a purple woolen throw over a gray couch to give the impression that someone with great taste and no clutter lived here.
“Four bedrooms?” Samantha asked.
“That’s right. One’s ideal for the baby’s room, there’s a nice-sized room for a guest bedroom, a home office, and the master is a treat. Come on, I’ll show you.”
They reached the top landing. She first showed them the two smaller rooms and the main bathroom, fine but nothing special. Then she opened the door to the master. “This is my favorite room in the house. There’s a vintage four-poster that you might be able to buy with the house if you’re interested. It’s a large room with wonderful dimensions, a window seat, a fireplace and a full en suite.” She flipped on the overhead light. She knew the room by heart but wanted to watch their faces when they saw the blissful space.
Hailey ushered them into the room. “What do you think?”
She was so ready for squeals of delight that Sam’s reaction was puzzling. The woman’s eyes opened wide. She blinked, looking over at her equally stupefied husband.
Hailey turned around and saw that the white bedcover she’d so carefully smoothed to rid it of any wrinkles was marred, not by a wrinkle, but by a big unshaven man in a blue-and-green checked work shirt, worn jeans and socks that didn’t match.
He was sound asleep.
Two grubby sneakers sat on the Aubusson rug where he’d obviously kicked them off prior to napping.
Silence reigned for a moment.
“Does he come with the place?” Samantha asked.
Sleepy blue eyes blinked at them out of a lean, weathered, stubbly face. The stranger’s overgrown brown hair was more tangle than style. He regarded them, seeming to consider the question, and cracked a smile. “Everything’s negotiable.” His voice was low, a little husky from sleep.
Sam giggled, thank heaven, though Hailey didn’t find anything amusing about finding a homeless guy with a whacked sense of humor snoozing in the house she was trying to sell.
His gaze then focused only on her and she felt the strangest sense of connection with this utter stranger. For a second their gazes held, her heart sped up and she felt as though something that had been out of place suddenly had clicked back in. She closed her eyes against the strange sensation.
She tried to ask “Who are you?” and “What are you doing here?” but in the rush to get it all out her brain short-circuited and instead she asked, “Who are you doing here?”
The twinkle in his blue eyes deepened and when he smiled she noted he had Bradley Cooper–white teeth. No homeless guy she’d ever seen had teeth that gleaming. “I’m not doing anybody here.”
Sam giggled again as if they were at an impromptu comedy club.
“I meant what are you doing here?”
He yawned and settled himself onto his back. “Until you showed up I was sleeping.”
You didn’t get to be a top Realtor—okay, an up-and-coming Realtor—without a lot of tact, so she didn’t take off her shoe and throw it at his head, as much as she was tempted. “Okay, let’s try the other question. Who are you?” she asked, in a calm, clear voice.
“Robert Klassen. And you are?”
“My name is Hailey Fleming. I’m a Realtor and this house is for sale.”
He put up two hands with nails that could use a scrub and rubbed his eyes. “Is that why the place looks like a furniture store? I barely recognized it. My grandmother sure never had such modern taste. The only thing I recognize is this bed.” He glanced at the MacDonalds. “She died in it.”
Sam made a startled sound, and took a step back, glancing around as though a ghost might be hovering in the room.
Hailey’s sale fell through in that moment. She knew it as well as she knew that if she had her way that bed would see another casualty very soon.
“She didn’t die here in the house,” Hailey said through gritted teeth. “She passed away peacefully in hospital.” She doubted the MacDonalds would believe her. For some reason they believed this guy. Was he really Mrs. Neeson’s grandson? If he was, she had to tread carefully.
The house bore no signs of a break-in and the scruffy backpack leaning against the wall shouted Drifter. However, a pretty fancy camera bag leaned beside it. Hadn’t she heard the grandson was some kind of photographer?
Her unwanted visitor didn’t leap off the bed and race for the door, rather he simply grabbed hold of the two green silk accent pillows behind him and propped himself up. Even wearing mismatched socks, he was imposing, undeniably gorgeous in that annoying unkempt way that only certain men can pull off.
She had absolutely no idea how to proceed. Not that she had years of experience under her belt, but she doubted a scenario like this happened very often to any agent, no matter how experienced. And she really, really needed to keep this listing. It was her biggest break yet in an industry that was tough to crack. The estate lawyer was an old family friend giving her a chance. For some shaggy backpacker to come in here and take it away from her was too much.
However, until she got this mess sorted out there wasn’t much she could do, so she pulled herself together and turned to the MacDonalds. “I am so sorry. There is obviously some kind of a mix-up that I will have to sort out before we go any further.”
“We understand,” said Luke. He stepped back out into the hall. “It’s too bad though. It’s a great house. Perfect for our needs.”
“I know.” At least she had the satisfaction of knowing she’d been correct about the match. Thanks to tall, dark and shaggy, it wouldn’t fatten her bank account, but at least she knew she was on the right track. “I promise to get things figured out, and when I do, you’ll be the first people I call. In the meantime I’ll put together some more houses that will work for you.”
As they went down the stairs, Sam glanced back over her shoulder. “Did the previous owner really die in this house?”
“Of course not. If she had I’d tell you. Agnes Neeson died in hospital. She was almost ninety and lived here happily until a few days before she passed on. It was a stroke. She died peacefully without ever regaining consciousness. We should all be so lucky.”