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Was he? “More like surprised,” he corrected, in the lazy tone he used to push people away when they got too close. He met her probing gaze. “I never thought you’d go for the suntanned, superbuff, got-to-live-free dudes who have nothing more to do than spend their trust funds.”
Taylor’s eyes took on a turbulent sheen. “Bart didn’t have any family money. He was disinherited when he dropped out of law school. A lot of his friends, including his fiancée, wanted nothing further to do with him, too.”
“Not unlike the hero in your novel,” Jeremy noted.
“And me.” She paused to examine the bronze statue one of his patients had brought him as a thank you. “My parents and two brothers pretty much stopped talking to me.”
His heart went out to her. Being at odds with family sucked. “How is it now?” he asked her gently, dropping into doctor mode without meaning to.
She relaxed slightly. “Better, since my dad’s heart attack last year. His illness really brought the family together. And it helped that I had a movie deal they could brag about to all their friends.”
“So why don’t you seem happier?” He went back to sitting on the edge of his desk. “Is it because you and Bart split up, and you’re still pining after him?”
She moved behind his desk and dropped into the leather chair. She swiveled back and forth, testing the chair’s ease. “Like the heroine in my novel, I don’t need a man to make me happy.”
“Does that mean you don’t want one ever again?”
“No.” She ran her finger along the edge of his desk. “It just means finding Mr. Right isn’t all that high on my priority list.”
When did her lips get so soft and so feminine? With effort, he returned his gaze to hers. “Then how come you stayed with Bart for so long?”
She challenged him with a knowing smirk. “Since you think my novel is really a roman à clef of my life with Bart, why don’t you just read the rest of it and find out?”
“Because,” he mocked her, “obviously, from the way you just said that, the book isn’t about Bart.”
She leaned forward, propping her elbow on his desk and resting her chin on her hand. “Bravo! You finally got it.”
“Although…” He leaned closer, too. “Aren’t all writers supposed to write what they know?”
She muttered a slew of words that indicated she hadn’t just dated a sailor, she had learned to talk like one, too. “For the last time,” she stood, slapping her palms on the surface of his desk, “The Guy Who Sailed Away and the Girl Who FoundHerself is a work of fiction.” She leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “F-I-C-T-I-O-N!”
Damn, but she looked pretty with all that agitated color brightening up her face, he noted. With effort, he remained where he was and resisted the temptation to touch her. Casually, he asked, “Why are you getting so defensive?”
Still glowering, she refused to answer.
Okay, maybe he should have read more of the book than the first chapter.
It wasn’t that it hadn’t been good. Her writing style was riveting—maybe because it sounded so much like the way Taylor spoke and acted herself. He had stopped because he didn’t like the idea of Taylor with another guy, even in her imagination, which was just plain weird since he and Taylor had never dated. Yet here he was, reacting to her like he was romantically interested in her.
“Can we please just get on with this auction stuff?” Taylor said impatiently. “Paige said there is some paperwork I have to fill out if I want to participate.”
Jeremy reached past her and opened his desk drawer. He retrieved the file that was on top and took out a handout for participants.
Their fingers brushed as she took it from him.
Ignoring the jolt of attraction, he said, “Just fill these out. It’s pretty self-explanatory.”
She nodded. “What kind of things are you looking for people to donate?”
“Whatever you think you can spare that will bring the most money. For instance, Dani Chamberlain is auctioning two tickets to a special screening of the biggest blockbuster movie of the summer, that generally only film critics and reviewers like herself get to attend. Beau Chamberlain is auctioning ten one-day visits to the soundstage of the movie he has in production. That will happen when he finishes all his location work up in Montana and returns to Laramie, in late July. His donation should bring in a boatload of money. My aunt Jenna is auctioning off one of her couture bridal gowns.” Jeremy paused. “Do you have any memorabilia from your upcoming movie that you’d be willing to part with? Those items usually go for pretty big bucks.”
“I didn’t take anything from the set, when we finished filming.”
“Not even a chair with your name on it or a copy of the script?”
Her eyes clouded over. “I didn’t get a director’s chair.”
“What about an extra copy of the script?” he pressed.
“No.” Her shoulders took on a defeated slump. “It would have been such a mess anyway…”
“Why?”
Taylor exhaled. “There were a lot of rewrites.”
“That’s pretty normal, isn’t it?”
She chewed on her lower lip. “Not to the extent it happened on Sail Away.”
Judging from her expression, her time in Hollywood had not been pleasant. “Why so many?”
She stood and retrieved her purse. “Zak and Zoe were in competition for screen time, number of lines, likeability of their character, you name it. Neither was happy unless he or she felt they held the advantage.”
Was that what she was running from? Or was there something more? “That must have been hard to be around.”
Her expression became inscrutable once again. She looped her shoulder bag over her arm and waved off his concern. “It’s over now.”
Was it? Something about the way she was acting said it wasn’t. “So I guess there’s no chance you could get Zoe and Zak to participate in the auction?”
Her expression went from sober to droll in no time flat. “Honestly, Jeremy, I wouldn’t even ask.”
TAYLOR LEFT Jeremy’s office with the promise she would donate something to the auction, but no idea what that would be. She was nearly to her car when Jeremy jogged up behind her. “Got plans for this evening?”
“No.” Wondering what he was up to now, she looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
He grinned. “Ever torn down a wall?”
She looked at him quizzically. “Also…no.”
Undeterred, he walked beside her as she made her way to the driver side. “Want to try it? You can paint my face on the drywall first. Might help you work off some of that aggression.”
“When and where?” she asked.
“My ranch—as soon as we can get there. You want to follow me?”
Curious to see the land he’d purchased, she nodded. “Sure.”
The drive out to Lake Laramie took twenty minutes. It was another ten to the entrance to Lago Vista Ranch. On her own, Taylor probably never would have found it. That’s because the sign across the top of the welcoming wooden archway had been knocked off some time ago and lay splintered and broken in the waist-high weeds. And that was just the beginning of the air of neglect.
The gravel lane leading onto the property was choked on both sides with mesquite, cedar and sage. Closer to the lake, there were deep thickets of blackberry bushes, glistening with ripening fruit, just begging to be picked. Midway onto the private property, the lane diverged in two directions. Jeremy took the one to the right. As they bumped along the path, one vehicle after another, the ground sloped downward. Finally, they topped a rise and a steep decline. The sprawling lake was in view. Under the deep blue Texas sky, the lake was a shimmering aqua blue.
At the lake end of the lane was a weathered dock. Taylor parked and got out to soak up the view.
Part of the lake was open to the public and set aside for camping, hiking and other recreational activities. The rest of the property fronting the water—like Lago Vista Ranch—was privately owned. From where they stood, she could see vacation homes dotting the shore. The occasional marina. Private boat slips. A popular restaurant overlooking the lake. Out on the water, there were sailboats and cruisers. Everything you would expect on a perfect summer evening.
“I can see why you bought the ranch,” Taylor murmured appreciatively. “The view alone…”
“I come here and sit some evenings to decompress.”
Taylor liked to do the same thing when she was writing. “There’s something so soothing about the water,” she murmured. In fact, the proximity to Virginia Beach was why she had settled in the Chesapeake area of Virginia.
His smile was slow and sexy. “Want to see the rest of the property?”
“Sure.”
They backed up their vehicles, and turned around carefully.
Taylor led the way back to the fork in the lane, and still in the lead, followed the path they had yet to take.
Once again, the property had a deep aura of neglect, or maybe it was just wilderness. There was barbed wire along the edges, along with the occasional weathered No Trespassing sign, but no effort had been made to cultivate the property into the well-manicured ranchland prevalent in Laramie County.
Even if someone came in and took down the underbrush, thinned out some of the trees, and mowed the high grass in the meadows, it wouldn’t stay that way, Taylor noted.
Jeremy must have one hundred acres here, she guessed, as they came upon another rise. And there, in the middle of a small clearing, was one of the oddest dwellings she had ever seen.
The central part of the one-story ranch house was rectangular in shape and built of white stone. It had double windows on either side of the massive oak door, and a wide front porch shaded by a steep tin roof. Toward the back, there were two narrow wings, jutting out at ninety-degree angles from the main part of the house. These were made of stucco. One was painted bright turquoise, the other bright coral.
“Go ahead.” Jeremy held the door as she got out of the driver side of her Jeep. He exhaled in resignation, appearing to brace himself. “There’s nothing you can say I haven’t heard before.”
Taylor walked around the weed choked front lawn. It looked like an acre had been cleared around the domicile. Beyond that was the same overgrown tangle of scrub, trees and weeds she had encountered on the rest of the property.
“It’s…interesting.”
Jeremy fell into step beside her. “It’s bizarre.”
She walked around toward the back. As she got closer, she noted the stucco had been applied over what looked like pale orange brick. Patches of it shone through, around the edges. “I’d love to hear the story behind this.” She indicated the home.
Jeremy stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Taking her hand, he drew her out of the heat and into the shade. “The original owner built the four rooms in the center. He primarily used the place as a fishing and hunting retreat. It’s pretty rustic. He wasn’t much on upkeep and he sold it to a couple who dabbled in amateur architecture. The husband loved the South Beach area of Florida. The wife adored historic Charleston, South Carolina. They wanted to expand the house. They couldn’t agree how. So they compromised by building his-and-her wings in the stucco-over-brick-style of historic Charleston and painted them the vivid tropical colors of South Beach.”
“Wow.”
He let go of her hand as casually as he had clasped it. “The previous owners ended up getting divorced, and the property had to be sold as part of the settlement. Naturally, given the air of neglect there weren’t many prospective buyers even willing to consider taking on such a big project. I came along,” he announced proudly, “and got it for a song.”
Taylor stepped onto the V-shaped patio located between the two wings. There was no doubt the property could be turned into something, but it would take one hell of a lot of work. “How long have you had it?” she asked.
“Two years.”
She noted the pile of construction debris located next to the back door. It certainly appeared to be a work-in-progress. “And you’ve never lived here?”
“Once I show you the inside, you’ll understand why.” Jeremy unlocked the patio doors. The air inside was stifling. It felt like the heat of an oven rushing out at them. Inside the main room, the floor had been stripped down to the cement slab. There was no kitchen to speak of, just a cooler where a refrigerator should have been and a freestanding metal sink more suited to a laundry room, with an old-fashioned spigot. The remaining drywall had big gouges in it.
“You tore out all the cabinets?”
“They were rainbow-painted aluminum,” he explained.
“Oh.”
“The refrigerator had been shut off, still filled with food, in the summer heat. There was so much mold and bacteria in it, it had to go, too. Not that it would have been worth much—it was in pretty bad shape. There’s no central heat or air.”
“Then…?” she asked.
“The fireplace is it, when it comes to heat.”
Taylor blinked. “For the whole house?”
“Wings and all, yep.”
He led her toward the front of the house. “Initially, these two rooms were bedrooms, the Realtor said.” Jeremy indicated the two closed-off rooms on either side of the front door. “I think they should be formal rooms, living and dining, so I plan to take out the center part of each wall here to open them up.”
Taylor got the picture. “Which is where the sledgehammers come in.”
“Right.”
She looked around. “There’s no guest bathroom, I gather?”
“No. The original owner went with the outhouse for that. I tore that down and put in a port-a-potty.”
Taylor took a moment to consider that as she walked back toward the main living area. Although still stifling-hot, the fresh air flowing in from outside was cooling the space slightly. “How did they bathe, if they didn’t have a bathroom?”
“Lake?” Jeremy guessed. “I don’t know. Fortunately, the second owners—the couple who ended up getting divorced—had a full bath put in each wing.”
“So you have plumbing out here?”
“I will—when I get a new septic tank put in.”
Taylor nodded, thinking, “No wonder you got it for a steal.”
“Let me show you the rest.” Jeremy led the way into one wing. It was a large bedroom, painted a hideous color of purple, with matching carpet and walls. The theme continued into the adjacent bath. Taylor couldn’t help but stare. “I didn’t know they made counters and bathtubs that color.”
“Apparently you can paint them. Or get them recovered. I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do. I’d like to tear it all out and put in marble. Or maybe ceramic tile. I’m not sure.”
They ventured across to the opposite wing. It was done all in hot pink. Taylor was so busy looking around, she ran into him. He reached out a hand to steady her.
“I keep saying this,” she shook her head, “but wow.”
“I know.” He grimaced.
Taylor focused on the bright side. “Both bedrooms have a good layout. They’re spacious. They each have a bath. Big windows. Plenty of light.”
