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He smiled. “I enjoy studying people—and women are a particular interest of mine.”
“I don’t doubt that’s true,” she said dryly.
He wasn’t dissuaded by the comment or her tone. “You never did answer my question about why you bought this house.”
“It’s a beautiful house.”
“It might have been a dozen years ago,” he allowed. “Before Mrs. Hadfield got too old and too tight-fisted to pay for the repairs.”
“What happened to Mrs. Hadfield?” she asked, in what seemed to him a blatant attempt to change the subject.
“She passed away about eighteen months ago, left the house to a grandson who lives in California. He put it on the market right away, but there was only one early offer on the property and he refused to sell to a developer, insisting his grandmother wouldn’t have wanted the house torn down and the land divided.”
After that deal had fallen through, Mason had learned from the real estate agent that the grandson had some specific ideas about the type of person Beatrice Hadfield wanted living in her house after she was gone. But he’d refused to elaborate on the criteria, even to the agent, and she’d mostly given up on selling the house—until now, apparently.
“And you know about this unsuccessful sale because…” she prompted.
“Because there are no secrets in a small town.”
“Great,” she muttered. “And I hated feeling like my neighbors were on top of me in the city.”
She really wasn’t his type, but she was female and kind of cute, and he couldn’t resist teasing, “I’ll only be on top if that’s where you want me, darlin’.”
Her chocolate eyes narrowed as she drew herself up to her full height—which was about a foot shorter than his six feet two inches. “It won’t be,” she said coolly. “And don’t call me ‘darling.’”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t mean to offend you…” He paused, giving her the chance to offer her name.
“My name is Zoe,” she finally told him. “Zoe Kozlowski.”
It was an unusual name but pretty, and somehow it suited her. “Mason Sullivan.”
She eyed his outstretched hand for a moment before shaking it.
Rosie barked and held up a paw.
His new neighbor glanced down, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He found himself staring at that mouth, wondering if her lips were as soft and kissable as they looked.
Way too long without a woman.
“You didn’t tell me he could shake,” she said, removing her hand from his to take the paw Rosie offered.
“Another of his many talents,” he said, oddly perturbed that she seemed more interested in his dog than in him. Not that he was interested in her, but he did have a reputation in town for his success with the ladies, and never before had one thrown him over for an animal.
“Now if only you could teach him to respect the boundary line between our properties.”
“That might take some time,” he warned, as she released Rosie’s paw and straightened again. “He’s become accustomed to running through these woods over the past several months.”
“It won’t take any time at all if you keep him tied up,” she said.
Rosie whimpered as though he understood the threat, compelling Mason to protest on the animal’s behalf.
“He’s a free spirit,” he said, then smiled. “Like me.”
She tilted her head, studying him like she would a worrisome crack in a basement foundation. “Do the women in this town actually fall for such tired lines?”
It was an effort to keep the smile in place, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of letting it fade. “I haven’t had any complaints.”
“I worked at Images in New York City for six years,” she said, citing one of the industry’s leading fashion magazines. “I spent most of my days surrounded by men who made their living playing a part for the camera, so it’s going to take more than a smile to make me melt.”
Okay, so she was tougher than he’d expected. But he hadn’t yet met a woman who was immune to his charm—it was only a matter of finding the right buttons to push. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“Just a statement of fact,” she told him, bending to pick up a mug that he guessed Rosie had knocked from her hand with the exuberance of his greeting. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do today.”
He stepped down off the porch, his hand still holding onto the dog’s collar, his eyes still on his new neighbor. “It was nice meeting you, Zoe.”
“It was certainly interesting,” she said, but with a half smile that allowed him to hope she wasn’t still annoyed at Rosie’s manner of introduction.
And as he turned toward his own home, he found himself already looking forward to his next encounter with his new neighbor.
Zoe walked into the house with a smile on her face and a positive outlook for the day despite—or maybe because of—the unexpected events of the morning. Though she couldn’t have anticipated meeting one of her neighbors in the backyard, and so early, she thought she’d handled the situation. She’d even managed to engage in a casual conversation without worrying too much about where he was looking or what he was thinking. It was a gloriously liberating experience.
Mason Sullivan was a stranger who knew nothing of her or her past, a dog owner simply apologizing for the affectionate nature of his pet. He was a man who’d looked at her like she was a woman—a completely normal interaction that followed a year and a half of wondering if anything would ever seem normal again.
In the past eighteen months, she’d lost everything that mattered: her husband, her job, her home, and—most devastating of all—her sense of self. She’d packed most of what she had left into a tiny storage unit, loaded a dozen boxes in the back of her car, then driven out of the city, determined to start her life over again somewhere new. What she really wanted was to go someplace where no one knew who she was, where no one would look at her with pitying glances or talk to her in sympathetic murmurs. Someplace where she could pretend she was still the woman she used to be.
What she’d found—on a visit to Claire, her best friend and confidante—was a charming Victorian house that caught her attention so completely she actually stopped her car right in the middle of the road to stare.
It was an impressive three stories of turrets and towers despite having been badly neglected and in desperate need of repair. The roof on the wraparound porch was sagging, the chimneys were crumbling, paint was peeling, and several of the windows were boarded up.
As Zoe studied the broken parts of the whole, she had to fight back tears. There was no doubt the house had once been strong and proud and beautiful. Now it was little more than a shadow of its former self—abandoned, neglected and alone.
Just as she was.
She almost didn’t see the For Sale sign that was mostly hidden by the weeds that had taken over the front garden, but when she did, she knew that it was meant to be hers. She’d pulled her car off the road and into a gravel driveway as overgrown with weeds as the yard, then picked up her cell phone and dialed the number on the sign.
For the past year and a half, she’d been looking for some direction and purpose, and here, at last, she’d found it.
Or maybe she really was crazy.
She acknowledged that possibility as she set her mug in the sink. But even if she was, she was committed now. The house was hers—along with the weighty mortgage she’d secured for the purchase and improvements. And though there was a part of her that was terrified to think she’d made a huge mistake, another—bigger—part of her was excited by the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead.
She was going to fix up this broken-down house and turn it into a successful bed-and-breakfast. Although there were several such establishments already in town, none were as majestic as the building that was now her home. Or as majestic as she knew it would be when she was finished with it.
She glanced at her watch, noted that it was almost eight o’clock. The architect—who happened to be the husband of the lawyer who’d helped her purchase the property—was due to arrive in a little more than half an hour.
She was excited about meeting him, anxious to get started. But she also felt the first niggle of doubt, a twinge of uncertainty. It was one thing to spin elaborate dreams inside her mind, and something else entirely to share these hopes with someone who could help her realize them—or destroy them.
As she made her way across the dusty floor, questions and doubts dogged her every step.
What was she doing?
It was what her friends and colleagues had asked when she’d walked away from her job at the magazine. They’d expressed sympathy for what she’d been through but on the whole agreed that the best thing for Zoe was to maintain the status quo as much as possible. She thought it ironic—and more than a little irritating—that so many people who hadn’t been through what she had could have so much advice about how to cope.
It was only Claire who really understood. And it was Claire who agreed Zoe should live the life she wanted to live rather than the one she had; Claire who knew that sometimes a person needed a new beginning in order to continue. And Claire had been thrilled when her friend had chosen Pinehurst for that fresh start. Admittedly, her excitement had been tempered by apprehension when she’d seen the house Zoe intended to buy, but her support had never wavered.
As Zoe batted away a cobweb, she wondered what her former colleagues in Manhattan would think now. Then she shook her head, refusing to let her mind continue along that path. She didn’t have time for doubts or recriminations—she needed to get ready for her appointment with the architect.
The taps creaked and the pipes groaned, but Zoe managed to coax water out of the shower head in the main-floor bathroom. It wasn’t very warm or clear, but it was enough to wet a washcloth to scrub over her face and her body. Trying to rinse the shampoo out of her hair was a different story, and she wondered if she should have spent the money on a motel room last night—at least then she could have had a hot shower with good water pressure. But she knew the renovations on the house would be costly, and what was left in her bank account after medical expenses and the down payment wasn’t exactly extravagant.
She banished the negative thoughts. Although the real estate agent had warned her that the house needed a lot of work, Zoe wasn’t afraid of rolling up her sleeves and getting her hands dirty. In fact, she looked forward to it and even believed the work might be therapeutic for her. What worried her was the work she couldn’t do herself—the cost of hiring electricians and plumbers and whatever other tradespeople she might require. Hopefully, Jessica’s husband would be able to tell her exactly what she needed and maybe make some recommendations.
Another quick glance at her watch warned that she had less than ten minutes before he was expected to arrive. She felt the twist of anxiety in her belly as she pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt. She didn’t know what to expect, what the architect would suggest, what the cost would be.
She glanced around with a more critical eye. Was it a pipe dream to believe she could turn this run-down old home into the proud beauty she knew it had once been?
Well, pipe dream or not, it was hers now—and she was determined to give it her best shot.
The phone was ringing when Mason walked through the front door with Rosie. The dog ran across the room to his water dish and began slurping noisily; Mason picked up the receiver. “Sullivan.”
“You’re there. Good.” Nick Armstrong sounded frazzled, which wasn’t at all like the man Mason had known since college and worked with for almost fifteen years.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I need you to cover an appointment for me this morning.” Then his voice dropped a little as he said, “Hang in, honey. We’re almost there.”
After a brief moment of confusion, Mason realized the second part of his friend’s comment wasn’t directed at him. He also noticed that despite the soothing words, there was a note of panic in Nick’s tone.
“What’s wrong with Jess?” he asked, immediately concerned.
“Her water broke. Only about half an hour ago, but her contractions are already coming hard and strong and way too close together.”
Now Mason understood the panic.
Nick and Jess had both waited a long time for the baby they were finally having, and the thought that anything might go wrong at this stage was too horrific to even contemplate.
“Breathe, honey,” Nick murmured to his wife.
Mason heard Jess’s response—sharp and succinct and completely unlike the cool, poised woman she usually was. That’s what having a baby did to normally calm and rational people, he guessed, and was grateful that parenthood wasn’t looming anywhere in his future.
Marriage and babies? He shuddered at the thought. Hell, just the suggestion of commitment was enough to make him break out in hives. He’d learned a long time ago how completely love could tear apart a person’s life, and he wanted no part of any of it.
His best friend had chosen a different path, however, and Mason was willing to help in any way he could. “Concentrate on your wife,” he said. “I’ll take care of the business.”
“Thanks, Mason.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He winced in automatic sympathy as he heard Jess swear again in the background. “Tell Jess I’ll bring her a pint of strawberry ice cream from Walton’s later.”
“She’ll love that,” his friend said. “I gotta go now—we’re pulling up at the hospital.”
“Wait!” Mason said before his friend could disconnect.
“What?”
“When and where is this appointment?”
He took the information from his friend and smiled as he hung up the phone.
This day, he thought, just keeps getting better and better.
Chapter Two
Zoe recognized Mason as soon as she responded to his knock at her front door.
He’d shaved and changed into khaki pants with a shirt and tie rather than the jeans and T-shirt he’d had on earlier, and he didn’t have the mammoth beast with him, but the deep blue eyes and sexy smile left her in no doubt that it was her neighbor.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“We have an appointment,” Mason said, unfazed by the lack of welcome in her question.
“You’re Jessica’s husband?”
“No.” His quick response was confirmed by an emphatic shake of his head. “I’m his business partner. Nick sent me along with his apologies for not being able to meet with you personally. He was on his way to the hospital—it looks like Jessica is going to have the baby today.”
It had been apparent to Zoe when she’d been introduced to Jessica Armstrong that the other woman was nearing the end of a pregnancy, but she hadn’t realized she was quite that far along.
“I know you were expecting Nick,” Mason continued. “But I’m sure you understand that he needed to be with his wife right now.”
“Of course,” she agreed immediately. But she couldn’t help remembering when she’d been in the hospital, without her husband by her side. It hadn’t been a happy occasion but the beginning of the end of their marriage.
“Zoe?”
Her attention snapped back to the present.
“Sorry,” she apologized automatically. “My thoughts were just wandering.”
“Would you rather reschedule when Nick is available?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to reschedule. I just want to know what has to be done to fix this house.”
“How much time do you have?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just suggesting you take a good, hard look around you,” Mason said.
She did, and she saw the beauty that had been neglected. The gleam of the hardwood under the layers of dust, the sparkle of the leaded-glass windows beneath the grime, the intricate details of the trims and moldings behind the spider webs. She saw history that needed to be preserved and promise waiting to be fulfilled. But she wasn’t comfortable telling him any of those things, so all she said was, “The real estate agent assured me that the building is structurally sound.”
“The foundation looks solid,” he admitted. “But the roof needs to be replaced, the chimneys need to be reconstructed and the porch rebuilt. And that’s just what I could see from the outside. If you really want a home here, it would probably be easier and cheaper to tear this building down and start over again.”
