Home by Dark. Marta Perry
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he’d never come back to this one-horse town?”
“He grew up.” Colin clipped off the words, as if that might be a sore subject. “So Amanda Mason left this mausoleum to you, did she?” He sent a disparaging glance around the high-ceilinged hall, a few shreds of floral wallpaper still visible that Rachel had missed in her scraping. “Was that her way of punishing you for marrying her precious boy—to saddle you with this white elephant?”
“I don’t know what was in her mind,” Rachel said carefully. Colin didn’t need to know how astonished she’d been to be contacted by her mother-in-law’s attorney after all those years of pointed silence. “But it was very kind of her.”
“Kind?” He looked at her as if she were crazy. “How would you like to list it with me?”
“List...?” Her mind went blank.
“Put it on the market.” He said the words slowly, as if she were deficient in understanding. “You probably know it’s a terrible time to be selling, but I think I can still get a decent price for you, as long as you’re not expecting the moon and the stars.” He paced toward the stairwell, as if mentally measuring the hallway.
Real estate market, of course. “That’s kind of you, Colin, but I don’t plan to sell.”
Colin stopped in midstride, turning to give her an incredulous look. “You can’t intend to live here.”
That was a comment she’d made to herself a number of times in the past month, but hearing him say it made her bristle. “Why not? It’s my house now.”
“It’s a wreck,” he said bluntly. “I don’t know what Amanda was thinking, but she let the place go in her final years. You’d have to sink a fortune in it to get it back the way it was, and I don’t suppose she left you that.”
“No.” Just the house, a small yearly amount to pay the taxes and enough in a trust fund for Mandy’s education.
“Well then, the only thing to do is sell the place.” He made it sound as if she had no choice, but she did.
“I’m not going to sell. I’m going to run it as a bed-and-breakfast.”
Colin stared at her, expressionless. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said finally. “Unless you’ve got an independent income, you can’t expect to get by that way.”
Rachel lifted her chin. Too bad she hadn’t stayed on the ladder, so she could look down at him. “Mandy and I will be fine, thank you. Mason House should go to my daughter, and I intend to keep it running until then.”
“You’ll be lucky if you don’t starve, the pair of you. Jeannette Walker does okay at The Willows, but she’s been at the B and B business a long time.” He shook his head, turned away in frustration and then spun back.
“Look, did Ronnie leave you anything at all to fall back on?”
She stiffened. “I can’t imagine why you think you have the right to inquire into my finances.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed. “I have the right to be concerned about my best friend’s child.”
“You saw Ronnie...what—once in ten years? I hardly think that qualifies you as a best friend.” She stopped, took a breath, forced down the angry words that, once spoken, could never be taken back.
“That should put me in my place, right?” He gave her a crooked smile. “But I’ve never been very good at taking hints.”
“Colin—” Should she apologize? But she hadn’t said anything but the truth.
“Not very good at minding my own business, either.” He walked to the door and then glanced back at her, hand on the knob. “I’ll be around, Rachel. I promise.”
The door closed behind him, leaving her wondering why that promise should sound remarkably like a threat.
* * *
COLIN HADN’T EVEN reached the steps of the wraparound porch when the truth reared its head. He’d messed up badly, antagonizing Rachel instead of gaining her cooperation. The mixture of guilt and something he hesitated to call attraction had played havoc with his self-control.
Not that Rachel had controlled her temper very well, either. She’d come a long way, it seemed, from the shy, innocent little Amish girl she’d been. Her heart-shaped face and sky-blue eyes still had a slight hint of vulnerability, though, and even with her blond hair pulled back, no makeup and wearing a baggy shirt, he’d felt...well, something.
But this Rachel had given back as good as she’d gotten, with a quick flare of antagonism at what she undoubtedly saw as his interference. Small wonder. Marriage to Ronnie Mason would try the patience of a saint.
Colin went slowly down the steps to the walk, the carved wooden railing wobbling under his touch. If Rachel really intended to open this place as a bed-and-breakfast, she’d have to get that fixed before she had a lawsuit on her hands.
He stood back, glancing up at the house. A three-story Victorian, it towered over everything else in the village. Literally towered, since the whimsical Queen Anne design boasted an actual round tower at one corner, forming circular bays in the parlor and the room above it.
Deer Run hadn’t changed all that much in the hundred and some years since Mason House had gone up. Probably the best thing that could have happened to the village was the decision not to run a state route through the collection of homes and stores.
Deer Run had subsided into undisturbed rural slumber, eventually becoming a bedroom community for nearby Williamsport. The Mason place and, across the road, the Sitler place, a not-quite-so-imposing Victorian, formed the west end of the straggle of homes mixed with businesses that was Deer Run.
Colin had to admit that Mason House was considerably more appealing, even in its current state, than The Willows, the only other bed-and-breakfast in town. Even the weeping willow in the side yard was bigger than the one that gave Jeannette Walker’s place its name.
Still, this was a crazy idea on Rachel’s part. He didn’t suppose Ronnie would have left her anything. Or have had life insurance. Ronnie had thought himself immortal—an excusable folly in an eighteen-year-old, but not in a grown man with a wife and child to support.
And now Rachel was about to compound the folly by sinking whatever little money she did have into this white elephant. She and the child would end up worse off than they’d started.
He reached the end of the walk and turned right. The sensible thing for Rachel to do was sell up. The antique furnishings would be worth a tidy sum, he’d think, even if he had trouble getting rid of the house for her. And she wouldn’t need to know that he’d forego his commission on the sale.
She could start over someplace away from the memories this place had to evoke, away from the family that didn’t seem ready to accept her.
With the exception of her little brother, apparently. Benj was a good kid, and he’d have been too small when Rachel left to know what a turmoil her decision had caused. At least she had him to give her a hand.
Colin’s eyes narrowed. Rachel had been wrong about one other thing. Benj wasn’t in the kitchen having lemonade. From where he stood now, Colin could see the boy slipping toward one of the dilapidated outbuildings behind the main house. Sneaking was actually the word that came to mind. Benj glanced around, the movement furtive, before disappearing into what had once been a stable.
What was the kid up to? He knew Benj pretty well, or as well as an Englischer was likely to know an Amish kid. The boy had been doing yard work for him for over a year. He’d have said Benj Weaver was the last person to have something to hide. It appeared he’d have been wrong.
Making a quick decision, Colin started across the lawn, skirting the willow tree. Benj hadn’t come out yet. What could he find to interest him in the old stable? Maybe Rachel had asked the boy to check it out for some reason, in which case Colin was