A Difficult Woman. Jeannie Watt
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won’t be enough to cover both schooling and living expenses. If we could refinance this for even a few years…” Tara lifted her chin. “I want Nicky to have a decent shot at life.”
The manager shook his head, making no attempt this time to feign regret. “I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan,” he said in a “business is business” tone. “Payment is due October first.”
“So I have to chose between my brother’s education and the balloon payment.”
“If that is your situation, then, yes.”
“And if I can’t make payment at that time?”
“I believe you will eventually lose your collateral.”
There was no mistaking his meaning.
The bank would take her house—the house her great-grandfather, one of Night Sky’s founders, had built for his growing family over a hundred years ago. The house that had been the one source of constancy in her turbulent life.
Tara hitched her chin up a notch.
“Not if I go to another bank and take out a loan to pay off your loan.”
The man fiddled with the gold pen for a moment before he said, “You may find it difficult to get a loan in your current situation, unemployed and with your only collateral already tied up as a lien on another loan.” He raised his beady worm eyes to meet hers. “Practically impossible, I would guess.”
This guy was playing hardball.
“If it looks like you will not be able to make this payment—” the worm’s voice broke into Tara’s thoughts “—for the sake of your credit rating, you might want to sell the house first and use the money to settle this loan.”
Sell the house….
The words echoed in her head as she slowly raised her gaze to meet that of the man across the desk from her.
Her jaw tightened as she suddenly understood exactly what was happening. This man had been well aware of the fact that she was going to have to choose between Nicky’s education and making the payment, and he was going to take advantage of it—most probably for one of his best customers. The Somerses would like nothing better than to get their hands on her house, for both punitive and economic reasons. Tara’s property abutted the rear of theirs and provided the perfect opportunity for them to expand their empire of vacation retreats for the rich and semifamous.
The manager met her gaze blandly, with just the barest hint of smug satisfaction.
Tara narrowed her eyes slightly as the comforting calm of battle settled over her, a calm that, from the man’s subtle shift of expression, was being misread as acceptance.
“Sell my house….” Tara spoke the words thoughtfully as she gathered her purse and papers. She rose to her feet.
“Sell my house,” she repeated matter-of-factly. She didn’t speak loudly, but she did speak clearly, and the manager’s eyes darted around the room, as though trying to ascertain whether she was attracting attention. She was. He cleared his throat.
“Just a suggestion for your own financial—”
“I will sell my house when hell freezes over.” Tara raised her eyebrows as she politely inquired, “Does that time frame work for you?”
“Miss Sullivan…” the manager protested as two customers, whose fathers had presumably not tried to abscond with federally insured funds years before, sent curious looks their way.
“I can promise you two things,” she continued. “First, your bank will get its money. Second, Martin Somers will not get his slimy hands on my house because the bank is not going to foreclose.” Tara allowed herself a grim smile. “And you can tell him that.”
“Miss Sullivan, I have no such intention—” But Tara simply raised her fingers to her lips.
The man hushed, probably because he didn’t want to risk having her stay a second longer than necessary. She held his beady gaze for a moment, then turned and stalked out of the bank.
It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind her that she indulged in several deep shaky breaths. Her heart was pounding. What? What on earth was she going to do now?
Tara strode to the Camry, yanked the unlocked door open and dropped behind the wheel, slamming the door shut behind her.
Nicky needed more money than she’d ever made in a year, including salary and freelance work….
Tara leaned her head back and closed her eyes, fighting tears of frustration. She should have known it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing ever was. She opened her eyes, determined.
No financial institution was getting her family’s house. It wasn’t going to happen. Nicky was taking his internship and she was going to make the balloon payment. On time.
Now, all she had to do was to figure out how.
TARA HAD BOTH a throbbing headache and a sketchy idea of what to do by early evening. She stood for a moment at her bedroom window, watching as Matt got into his old, but meticulously cared for, Ford pickup—almost a twin to her own old truck—and drove away, leaving a rooster tail of dust in the red light of the setting sun. The dust slowly settled and Tara turned to lean against the windowsill.
Her finances hadn’t seemed that bad prior to her visit to the bank that morning. She wasn’t rolling in dough, but she’d had enough money to meet her monthly bills, including the mortgage she’d inherited, and she had Aunt Laura’s life insurance to pay for Nicky’s college expenses. But now, even if she cashed out her meager 401K and added it to Aunt Laura’s life insurance, she still didn’t have enough.
Damned bank manager.
She’d sunk too much money into the house; most of the remaining supplies and furniture were either already purchased or contracted for, and sitting in storage, or were awaiting pickup. Even if she returned what hadn’t been used, it was only a drop in the bucket. No, she had only one direction to go. Forward. She’d put this house together and do her best to get a loan or grant or private money before October 1.
She let out a sigh and then realized she’d been sighing way too much for one day. It smacked of defeatism. She’d had to be tough for herself and Nicky while they were growing up. She wouldn’t let herself break down now.
She crossed the room to the staircase, running a hand over the stripped banister as she descended. She’d been trying to decide between dark oak or walnut stain. It looked as if she’d better decide soon.
The clock chimed six as she went to the kitchen to get her paintbrushes. She’d be able to get in at least five more hours and still be in bed before midnight, which was about the time Nicky would be getting home. He planned to stay for ten days and do what he could to help with the house before heading back to Vegas to finish his last classes during the summer session. She hadn’t told him about the balloon payment and she wasn’t going to, because she knew he’d postpone school in a heartbeat if he thought she were going to lose her house.
But she wasn’t going to lose the house.
Not without a fight, anyway, because if there was one thing Tara knew how to do, it was how to fight.
HOW DO YOU SAY no to a man who’d been more of a father to you than your father or your stepfather had been?
You don’t, Matt thought as he strode up the walk to his temporary home. At least not right off the bat…especially when the guy was trying to help.
The Anderson house, as it was known to the locals, was more of a cottage than a house, built after World War II as housing for a tungsten mine and then moved in to town when the mine closed down in the early 1960s. A living room, two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bath—more than enough room for a man trying to put his life back together. It was one of Luke’s rentals and Matt had it to himself, since the old man had figured he’d want privacy. He’d been correct. Matt did not