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Yet here he stood on her property—now his property.
“Dad! This place is so cool.” Skylar, his oldest, rushed past him and yanked open the door. Her light red, crooked pigtails bobbed as she darted inside. She peeked her head back out the door again. “Do you think the Seven Dwarves lived here? It looks like their home, doesn’t it? Like the pictures in my book. Don’t you think so, Ruthy?” Skylar grabbed hold of her younger sister’s chubby hand and gently led her inside.
Kellen took a deep breath. He could make the tiny cottage work. For them. He’d have to. For the good of his girls he’d do anything. After everything, they deserved a safe life—and more. He’d moved here for them. Left a high-paying job managing the elite Casa Bonita Restaurant in Los Angles for them.
No. That wasn’t true, either.
He needed the move—the change of pace and the time together that life in a small town would afford—just as much as they did.
Maybe more.
If he squinted and didn’t pay attention to the cracked drainpipes, the paint-chipped shutters, the overgrown trees with branches pressing against the home and the sixty-some-year-old original windows—sure, the place looked like a hidden fairy-tale house. The kind a secret princess might visit or run away to for safety. No wonder his daughters both stared at it in gap-mouthed wonder when he’d pulled up the drive. At ages five and three, they would see the cottage as a playhouse come to life.
The charm he’d imagined only a moment ago faded away upon entering.
His family couldn’t live here. Not in its current condition. Doilies covered every inch of the front room. It smelled like mothballs and as if someone had spilled tea on the carpet countless times. A mauve color covered what he could see of the walls, but he couldn’t see much of them for the amount of old belongings stacked so high. The kitchen was mustard yellow. Everywhere. Mustard-yellow appliances, counters, linoleum floor and painted walls. He tried to turn on the oven. It clicked, but the burner wouldn’t start.
So it doesn’t work, probably like 90 percent of everything in the house. Excellent.
He yanked at his hair.
Maybe the will hadn’t been a way of God providing. What if it had been a test? What if he’d failed?
Kellen clenched his teeth. What made his aunt think the place would be a good home for a young family of three? It would take him a weekend just to childproof the place, let alone bring it up to code. Electricians and plumbers cost money. Ida had left him her savings—and there was a lot there. But without knowing what type of revenue the West Oaks Inn brought, he didn’t want to start dipping into funds he might need to live on at some point.
“You have to lean your weight into the knob to get it to start.”
The voice came from the doorway of the kitchen. He turned around and raised his eyebrows to the owner of it.
A woman with vivid, pale blue eyes stood there. Her eyes were the exact shade of the snow-fed streams high up in the Rockies where his parents used to take the family hiking every summer. A clear, pure color. She wore little or no makeup, something he could unfortunately spot after being around women in LA who painted beauty products all over their faces. Her skin had a healthy glow without the stuff. She looked—dare he say?—real. Her hair, on the other hand... She could have a lifelong career as the stand-in for the person who played Mufasa in The Lion King musical.
Kellen cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”
“To start the oven.” She sidestepped him and leaned her hip against the oven while she twisted the knob. The burner ignited. “You just have to lean into it at the right angle. You’ll get used to it.”
He shook his head. “I won’t have to.”
“Oh.” She laced her fingers together. “So you’re not staying long term? I was hoping to meet my new neighbor.”
“I’m kind of stuck here.” He glanced out the window over the sink, which looked out onto the overgrown weed forest of a backyard. “Well—this is home for us, for now. If you catch my drift. And my first order of business will be tossing this oven—along with the rest of these old appliances.” He ran his finger over the dust on the countertop. The whole room needed to be gutted.
She crossed her arms. “I take it you don’t want to be here, then?”
Kellen scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’m here. That’s what matters.”
“That oven matters, too. To Ida.”
He clicked the burner back off. “Ida’s dead. I’m pulling this out tonight and putting it on the curb. So, no offense, but I won’t ever need to learn how to lean just right.”
She gasped. “You can’t get rid of that oven.” The woman touched the fridge as if feeling for a heartbeat. “Henry bought all these matching appliances for Ida to celebrate their one-year wedding anniversary. Ida cherished them and has taken the best care of them over the years. They were a gift of love.”
Kellen had met Uncle Henry all of once. He knew Henry had been the mayor of Goose Harbor for quite some time before he died. But that was really all he knew about his father’s oldest brother. The Ashby family had never been very close. Not with the age difference between the two brothers. Henry was sixteen years older than Kellen’s dad. No wonder they hadn’t kept in touch. Kellen’s family was close with his mom’s siblings growing up. Not the Ashbys.
“Well.” He shrugged. “It’s mine to get rid of, so...”
The woman shot him a glare.
His daughters pounded into the room.
Skylar—his little motormouth—ran right up to his knees and started tugging on his hand. “Outside there’s a cat with kittens living by the bushes. Can we keep them? Please, Dad? Please?”
Kellen lightly turned both his daughters around to face the woman in the room. “These are my girls. Skylar.” He placed his hand on her head. “And Ruthy.” His quiet three-year-old buried her chin into her chest and clutched his hand.
Disregarding the kitchen floor that badly needed to be mopped, the woman lowered herself to one knee to look the girls in the eye. “It’s wonderful to meet both of you. There haven’t been children living on this block in ages. You’ll have so much fun in town.”
“I don’t think I caught your name,” he said as he lifted Ruthy into his arms. Ruthy shoved her forehead against his shoulder.
“I’m Maggie. Maggie West.” She offered her hand and he shook it with the wrong hand because his right arm held his daughter.
Ah. Now it all made sense.
This was the woman named in his aunt’s will. What had the instructions said? That Kellen owned the inn but had to provide a place for Maggie West to live and let her continue working there.
He narrowed his eyes. Did she know she was protected in the will? The lawyer said that it would be up to Kellen to decide to tell her, but Ida might have told her when she drafted her legal paperwork. Or Maggie had suggested it to her. How much sway had the woman practiced over his aging aunt? Perhaps Maggie was a freeloader. Or had played on his aunt’s emotions in order to be taken care of by a rich woman with no kids.
Women were good at hiding their motives. Experts at displaying fabricated emotions. Cynthia had taught him that lesson all too well.
Kellen would have to keep an eye on Maggie West—figure her out as best he could, since he was stuck providing for her at the moment.
All the people he’d run across in the past twelve years had been fueled by greed or want of fame. If it was fame Maggie was after... No, she didn’t look as though she knew who he was. Maggie showed no signs of knowing that he’d once been a member of the rock band Snaggletooth Lions. So that—at least—was a small blessing.
He’d endured explaining to more than enough women that he signed away the rights to his royalties when he’d broken with the band. They all left the second they discovered he wasn’t rich and had no plans to pursue fame ever again. Not that he’d been famous. Not really. The Snaggletooth Lions signed their record deal and made it big a month after he left the band. But people who looked up the Snaggletooth Lions online knew about his early involvement—that he’d written most of their songs that filled the radio air these days.
“I’m Kellen Ashby.” He let go of her hand. “Ida’s nephew.”
Maggie tilted her head. “The one who’s a dentist?”
So Ida had bragged about his brothers and not him. He worked his jaw back and forth and swallowed hard. Why leave him the house, then? Easy. She’d pitied him. Like the rest of his family.
Poor Kellen—the prodigal. Walked away from the church. Kids out of wedlock. The washed-up band member. His daughters spend most of their life in day care while he works eighty hours a week at the restaurant to pay their bills. Why couldn’t he have turned out like his brothers? Like Bill or Tim or Craig?
He shook away his mother’s words as they jumbled around in his head. “No. I’m afraid that’s one of my far more successful older brothers. I have three to brag about if you want to hear their accolades sometime.”
“I see. Maybe another time.” Maggie took a step back. “Well. It was nice meeting all of you. I better get back over to the inn. You know where I am if you need anything or have questions about the house.”
He pursed his lips. No help from the woman named in Ida’s will would be needed. “I think we can figure things out just fine on our own. But thank you for the offer.”
She nodded, once, and left. Kellen watched her pick her way across the yard and enter the back door of the huge Victorian mansion next door.
“Can we keep the cats?” Ruthy finally spoke.
“You’ve always wanted a kitty, haven’t you?” He brushed her strawberry blonde bangs to the side and kissed her forehead.
Skylar bounced up and down beside him. “Our old landlord said no—but you’re the landlord now, Dad. Pleeeease.”
The past five years had been full of him saying no to Skylar asking for something. Or telling her to be quiet or settle down so she didn’t disturb the other people in the apartment complex they’d called home. He’d had to scold her so many times when she was just being a normal, excited kid. And shush her when she’d cried again and again, asking him why she didn’t have a mom.
A knot he didn’t realize was even there unwound from around his chest. For once he could say yes and let her enjoy a normal kid thing.
Holding tightly to Ruthy, Kellen got down on one knee. “No more landlords, sweetheart. This place is all ours. Go ahead and bring the kitties in, but keep them in your bedroom for now, okay? We’ll see how many there are and pick one or two to keep and find homes for the others.”
Ruthy couldn’t get out of his arms fast enough. She trailed her sister as they bolted outside.
Kellen straightened up and looked back across the yard to study the mansion next door. The mansion he owned. The mansion his family should be living in right now. Ida’s lawyer, Mr. Rowe, had shown him the inn’s floor plans, and the private section was especially large. Four bedrooms and ample living space. Of course, he’d have to see it before he could decide what to do.
His girls deserved a big place to wander around in. Room to play on the floors and a place big enough for those ugly plastic play kitchens to fit and corners that could house a box stage for puppet shows. After being a father who was never around, he now wanted to give them the perfect home to put down roots in.
He just needed to get a better handle on Maggie before he could decide how to shove her out of the inn.
Chapter Two (#ulink_b157bfba-d381-56ee-8088-351c6c74b2c0)
“I’m sorry to call you so early, but I don’t know what to do.” Maggie cradled the phone against her cheek as she peered out the kitchen window.
The Dumpster had arrived at eight in the morning. A Dumpster in Ida’s front yard. Kellen’s daughters buzzed around the cottage’s backyard without any clue that their father was in the front yard destroying a chunk of their heritage. Why couldn’t anyone understand that?
Watching Kellen pull Ida’s belongings one by one onto the yard made Maggie’s throat clam up. It felt as if someone had tied a heavy rock over her rib cage.
Paige, Maggie’s closest friend in town, yawned on the other end of the phone call. “It’s okay. I’m usually at school by now, but we’re still on spring break.”
“It isn’t the weekend yet?” Maggie spun around to see her calendar fixed to the refrigerator with duct tape. It wasn’t even on the right month anymore, and if it had been, she wouldn’t have been able to see the date anyway because most of the calendar was covered by magnets holding up pictures, notes and recipes. Since she worked almost every weekend because that was mostly when guests came to the inn, she always seemed to have her days of the week wrong.
“Still just Friday.” Paige’s voice started to sound more normal now. Maggie definitely woke her up. “What’s eating you, Mags? Bad guest? Is it that rude guy from Ohio again?”
Rude guy from Ohio? Mr. Boggs? He wasn’t rude. Just a terrible flirt. He’d asked Maggie out on a date again the last time he was in town, but she’d said no. Mr. Boggs was nice enough in a bushy-mustache-and-balding sort of way, but he lacked the qualities on her list of things she wanted in a man. She’d fallen for a guy who didn’t tick off everything on the list before. To make matters worse, Mr. Boggs was an art teacher—she’d dated the artist type once before, and that had ended terribly. Never again.
“Not that.” Maggie surveyed the mess she’d made while fixing breakfast. Eggshell pieces littered the counter. Flour spilled onto the floor making it look as if a pack of raccoons had ransacked the place. Sugar trailed along the edge of the huge sink. Dirty plates and spatulas covered every other spare spot. The sweet scent of the morning’s cinnamon rolls and maple sausage still lingered in the air. It mingled well with the sourdough bread turning gold in the oven.
Guests didn’t go hungry while staying at the West Oaks Inn. Maggie made sure of that. She’d enjoyed her day off yesterday but sprung into action to make meals for today’s guests.
The mess could be taken care of later. However, Kellen needed to be dealt with now. “Ida’s nephew moved in next door.”
“Is he cute?”
“Yes.” She pressed the tips of her fingers over her mouth.
Why had that come out so quickly?
Maggie felt heat on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the bread baking in the oven. But what else could she say? Kellen Ashby had the type of blond, mussed hair that looked as if he rolled out of bed that way but probably took him an hour of styling to accomplish. His strong jaw brought ample attention to perfectly shaped lips. When he talked, she’d fought the desire to watch his lips move—there was an art in the way he spoke and a melodic tone to his voice that had made her want to linger in their conversation. He struck her as the type of guy who popped up the collar on his coat even when it wasn’t cold out.
Basically not her type. At all.
He couldn’t even play a convincing Prince Charming in a B-rated movie. Well, in the looks department he could—but as yesterday’s ogre act about Ida’s appliances showed, the personality similarities were nonexistent.
Paige growled on the other end of the line. “You can’t just say yes and be done with it. Describe him.”
“He has two little girls.” She glanced around the curtain again. “I haven’t spotted a woman yet, though, so I don’t think there’s a wife. But who knows? Maybe she’s arriving later.” Better to assume he had a significant other and be proven wrong. “So let’s just say he’s attractive and once again another taken man in Goose Harbor.”
“Well, if you didn’t call me to dish about the new guy and get dating advice, then what did you need?”
“I think he’s getting rid of all of Ida’s things.” Maggie all but pressed her nose to the window to get a better look. Ida’s prized oven was out on the lawn. After Maggie told him how important it was. Did the man have no heart?
“And that’s a problem?”
“Paige, I don’t think you get it.” Maggie gripped the counter. “Those are Ida’s things.”
“Technically, if he inherited the house, then those are now his things.”
“No. They’re Ida’s. They’ll always be hers.” Maggie picked up a small porcelain rooster that had belonged to her mother. The painted feathers caught sunlight as she twisted the figurine around and around. “Shouldn’t he care about what was important to her?”
“Maybe you should ask him about it.”
“I can’t just walk over... Wait.”
Kellen stalked down to the end of the driveway and stuck a garage-sale sign in the ground.
“Oh no. No. No.”
“What, Maggie? You’re starting to get me worked up. It’s like talking to you as you watch a horror movie.”
“You might as well be.” It was one thing to think he was moving stuff outside to take stock or to part with a few of Ida’s belongings. But it was a whole different matter if he planned to sell all of Ida’s precious treasures. “I have to let you go. That man is about to get a piece of my mind.”
“Hey, Mags—one thing.”
Maggie patted her shirt, and a cloud of flour puffed into the air. “What?”
“Well, please say you won’t be mad.”
“Fine.” She tucked her shirt in. No time to change. Besides, arguing with Kellen didn’t require a wardrobe update. “Just tell me quick, because I need to get over there.”
Paige took a deep breath. “I want you to keep in mind that Ida chose him—not you—to hand her belongings to. Remember that when you speak to him. Ida was a smart woman. I’m sure she had her reasons.”
Paige didn’t get it. How could she? Paige grew up in a wealthy family, still had both her parents and ended up married to an amazing man. Maggie would know. Paige’s new husband, Caleb Beck, used to be Maggie’s brother-in-law. Sure, Paige had experienced some hurt in life. But one broken engagement couldn’t compare to losing a loved one to death. And Maggie had experienced the loss of four so far.
Ida had cared about those things Kellen was chucking into the Dumpster. So should he.
“Talk to you later.” Maggie hung up.
Slipping on an old pair of loafers, Maggie flung open the back door and stormed into Ida’s yard. Her heart pounded harder with every step. Kellen had set more of Ida’s belongings in the yard than she’d been able to see from her vantage point in the inn. Side tables. Old frames with family pictures still inside. Mismatched teacups lined the edge of one table.
