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Mayfield Manor had been in her family for three generations before she and her younger sister had inherited it. Even though Lily had obviously abandoned the family home as well as her only living relative, Pauline felt a deep obligation to maintain it. In addition to her strong affection for the old house, she still clung to her dream of someday replacing her female boarders with a family of her own.
When she came around the corner of her street, she saw the bright-blue tarp covering the corner of the garage roof. Except for some sawdust and a few drag marks in the gravel of her driveway, all signs of the fallen limb were gone.
As soon as she emerged from her Honda with her purse and her laptop, a dusty black car with out-of-state plates pulled into the driveway behind her. Her elderly boarder, Dolly Langley, was perched in the passenger seat next to an unfamiliar man wearing sunglasses.
As Pauline waited, he got out from behind the wheel, moving with surprising stiffness for someone with such an athletic build. Nodding to Pauline, he circled the car and opened Dolly’s door. As spry as a little white-headed bird, she hopped out, holding on to his hand.
“Pauline, wait till I tell you what happened,” she chirped in the British accent that all her years on this side of the pond had failed to eradicate. “I found this nice young man on my way home from the market.”
Her satisfied smile stopped Pauline cold. Widowed a decade before, Dolly insisted that a woman of Pauline’s age could be neither happy nor complete without a man to share her life. Had Dolly brought him home for her, in the same way a cat might offer a dead mouse?
“I appreciate the endorsement,” the stranger said in a husky voice as he bowed over Dolly’s hand, “especially from a lady as lovely as you.”
Dolly’s wrinkled cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink, and she patted her tightly permed hair with her free hand while Pauline studied him with mixed wariness and curiosity. His black hair was cut short above his lean face. Even dressed as he was in a blue chambray shirt and jeans, stubble darkening his angular jaw, he would certainly be called a prize catch by most women.
Still clinging to his hand, Dolly tugged him forward, her eyes twinkling behind her trifocals. “Come and meet my landlady. She’s the one I told you about.”
Oh, Lord. Pauline’s mind reeled at the possibilities her chatty boarder could have disclosed.
Maintaining an air of quiet dignity might have been easier if Pauline’s blouse hadn’t been streaked with dust from digging through freight, if her makeup hadn’t completely worn off and her hair hadn’t been restyled by the breeze blowing through her open car windows on her drive home.
As the man slipped off his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket, she met his gaze squarely. Without the tinted lenses, his eyes were a startling shade of silver that contrasted sharply with his dark lashes. The intensity of his expression sent a shiver of awareness through Pauline as unwelcome as it was startling.
“This is Wade Garrett, fresh from San Francisco,” Dolly said, releasing his hand. “Wade, Pauline Mayfield, my landlady.”
Despite the polite smile that transformed his expression from intimidating to innocuous, Pauline hesitated before offering her hand.
She was being silly. As a member of the Waterfront Business Association and a candidate for the Crescent Cove city council, she had learned to cloak her shyness. Even so, his firm grip sent a jolt of reaction up her arm. Before she could identify the sensation, he released her.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said with no indication that he, too, had felt the momentary shock.
“You, too,” she replied automatically, relieved that she could speak without stammering. “And it was kind of you to give Dolly a ride.”
“I was walking back from the market, and the strap on my grocery bag broke,” Dolly interjected as he reached into his car, a luxury model beneath the road dust. “The oranges rolled right into the street, but he pulled over and chased every one of them down for me.”
He held out the damaged bag to Pauline, who managed to take it without touching him again.
Dolly patted his bronzed forearm. “Where are you staying?” she asked him. “I’ll bake you some nice banana bread. You aren’t allergic to nuts, are you?” She glanced at Pauline. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for putting such a helpful person in the hospital.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he protested, hooking one thumb into his wide leather belt. “I was actually on my way here when I stopped.”
“Here to this house?” Dolly asked. “Well, isn’t that nice.”
He must have spread the tarp earlier, Pauline realized, wondering how he’d transported a ladder. Perhaps he had a truck, too.
“Let me show you the apartment above the garage,” she said, reaching into her purse for her keys. “I keep the door locked.”
His thick brows shot upward. “Did Wallingford call you already?” he asked. “That was quick.”
Perplexed, Pauline hesitated. “Kenton Wallingford?” If Wade was connected with that no-good scam artist, she wasn’t sure she wanted to have anything to do with him.
Wallingford had a reputation for get-rich-quick schemes that inevitably failed, taking other people’s money in the process. “I don’t know how you heard about me,” she added, “but if you think the two of you can go around undercutting Steve Lindstrom’s prices, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Wade held up his hands, palms outward as though to ward off a blow. “Whoa, hold on,” he exclaimed. “I don’t know about any damage and I have no idea who Steve might be—unless he’s trying to rent the apartment from you, too.”
“Rent it!” she echoed, shaking her head in confusion. “Why would Steve want to rent from me when he’s got a perfectly nice house of his own? If you aren’t here to repair the damages to my garage, why are you here?”
Dolly’s bemused gaze shifted back and forth between them as though she were watching a tennis match on the telly, as she called it.
Wade narrowed his gaze. “My only connection to that slimy scum-sucking weasel, Wallingford, is that after he took my deposit money and then broke the lease I had with him, he said you might have a vacancy over your garage.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Dolly exclaimed, clapping her hands. “That apartment has just been sitting empty.”
“I’ll take it,” he replied, smoothing his hand over his close-cropped hair. “It’s been a long day and I’m so dam—darned tired that I’m about to pass out.”
“You poor man,” Dolly exclaimed with an imploring glance at Pauline. “We just have to let him stay.”
His fatigue was obvious and his situation unfortunate, but Pauline had no choice but to turn him down.
“A tree limb fell on the garage roof during the storm last night,” she explained. “The apartment has a lot of water damage from the rain, especially the bathroom.”
“How long will the repairs take?” he persisted.
The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver of reaction through Pauline, like some low-level jolt of electricity. Ever since he had first climbed out of his car, she had been trying to ignore the tug of attraction. If Dolly sensed it, she would hound them both.
“Steve hasn’t given me a schedule yet.” Pauline wished Wade would give up and go away so she could breathe normally.
“Ah, him again.” Wade included Dolly in his half-hearted grin. “Wallingford warned me that every motel in town would be full because of some festival this weekend. Any suggestions of somewhere I could find a bed for tonight?”
None Pauline was about to voice out loud.
“Why don’t you rent him a room in the house?” Dolly suggested. “The master suite is empty.”
“I’ll take anything,” Wade said quickly. “And I’ll be happy to provide references if you’d like.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Dolly replied breezily. “We know you’re trustworthy.”
And we know that how? Pauline wondered. Just because he’d picked up a few oranges and hadn’t kept one for himself? “I don’t think—” she protested.
“And you should give him a discount for that awful bedroom wallpaper,” Dolly added firmly. “It’s enough to give a monk nightmares.”
Pauline liked the old-fashioned floral print, and Mr. Garrett didn’t look like any monk she’d ever seen, but Dolly was on a roll.
“The suite does have a private bathroom with a claw-foot tub,” she told Wade, “and a nice little sitting area that gets the morning sun. There’s even a lovely desk and a matching chair, should you need a place to work.”
“Sounds perfect.” He looked at Pauline expectantly. “I’ll risk the wallpaper. How much would you like up front?”
“I can’t rent you the room,” Pauline said firmly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t take male boarders.”
“You’re kidding!” His smile disappeared abruptly. Without it, his thoughts were hard to guess, hidden behind his laser-sharp gaze. What if he was a lawyer contemplating a sexual discrimination case against her?
“Oh, Pauline, surely we owe him something,” Dolly chided in her best retired-teachers tone. “You could bend the rules this once.”
* * *
“Rules?” Wade echoed as suspicions began to form in his overtired brain.
Wow, he had to hand it to old Mrs. Langley, who had fooled him completely. Despite her glasses, she must have the vision of an eagle to have spotted his California plates and dropped her grocery bag before he’d driven past her. Who would have thought the narrow, bumpy side street along the top of the bluff would be such a fertile hunting ground for desperate tourists in search of lodgings and con artists in search of victims?
Her granddaughter, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as good an actress. Her intentions were obvious—to express initial reluctance in order to wring as much rent money from him as possible.
He was about to ask whether Wallingford was also in on their scheme when a huge yawn overtook him. He swayed on his feet. By the time he’d managed to clamp his jaw shut, he realized that he didn’t care what the room cost or how ugly its wallpaper was. If he didn’t get horizontal soon, he’d fall asleep where he stood.
“But you’ll make an exception for me, right?” He took out his wallet. “How much?”
Was that annoyance pleating her brow as she pushed her dark-blond hair off her forehead? Had he given in too quickly and ruined their little game?
“I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t be fair to my other boarders,” she insisted, spreading her hands wide like a supplicant pleading for understanding. “They don’t expect to run into a half-dressed male in the upstairs hallway on their way down to breakfast.”
“Which boarders might that be?” Dolly demanded, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Not that tarted-up divorcée who’ll be renting the Rose Room. And not me. That only leaves you to be affected by half-naked men, my dear.” She parked her balled fists on her skinny hips. “Get over it.”
Despite his exhaustion, Wade was amused—and rather touched—that she would champion him. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the situation entirely.
“What if I promise to keep my clothes on when I’m not in my room?” he asked, only half joking.
“It’s not that,” Pauline replied, ignoring his attempt at humor. “This is a small town.”
He gaped at her. “And how is that a problem?”
“You probably won’t understand.” Her fair complexion had turned rosy with color. “It just so happens that I’m running for city council, and the locals tend to be pretty conservative—except for the shed people, of course, and the summer crowd that does whatever it wants and then leaves again.”
Shed people? He was beginning to feel as though he had crossed more than a state border when he’d traversed the bridge over the Columbia River from Portland. Perhaps he had also wandered into some weird parallel universe.
“Fiddlesticks, it’s not like the two of you will be staying alone in the house. I’ll chaperone you,” Mrs. Langley offered.
“There you go, Miss Pauline.” Wade struggled to keep from shaking his head in disbelief. “Your good name will remain intact. Just tell me how much.”
“It’s not the money,” she said.
As Wade groped for a way to change her mind, his glance swept past her SUV—an older model—to the house with its steeply pitched roof and ornate detailing. The light-blue exterior and purple trim were faded. The gravel driveway, although neatly edged and free of weeds, was rutted and uneven. Even the leaded windows in the double garage doors had two cracked panes.
It struck him that a place like this must need constant attention.
Without warning, Mrs. Langley reached up abruptly and squeezed his upper arm with her cold, bony fingers.
Struggling to smother yet another yawn, Wade nearly bit the tip off his tongue as his jaws snapped shut.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yelped, jerking away from her clutches.
“He’s got some muscle there,” she observed. “Perhaps we could put him to work.”
Pauline was already shaking her head. “Never mind, Dolly. It’s not a good idea.”
“Balderdash!” Mrs. Langley exclaimed. “If you’re worried, lock your bedroom door.” She gave Wade a warm smile. “I can never remember to lock mine.”
Good God, was the old gal flirting with him? As he stifled a chuckle, he realized where she was headed.
“What if I were to do the repairs to your garage,” he asked, earning himself a wide grin from his elderly champion. “And I’ll move out there as soon as possible.” He’d worry about what he was actually getting into after he closed the deal.
Pauline’s pretty hazel eyes widened. “Do you have remodeling experience?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, his knotted muscles starting to loosen as he sensed her imminent capitulation. “I restored my first house in San Francisco.” No need to add that he’d contracted out the plumbing and electrical work. What he didn’t know, he’d find out.
Pauline threw up her hands in obvious resignation. “All right, you’ve got a deal. Maybe no one will notice that you’re here.”
Chapter Two
Pauline led her very first male boarder up the curved staircase to the second floor of her house, his solid tread thudding on the steps behind her as he toted his luggage. She could practically feel his gaze on her back, right between her shoulder blades.
If not lower.
Silently she reminded herself that she was a worldly woman of thirty-four, not an impressionable teenager. Even so, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been so aware of a man’s presence.
“That’s a beautiful window,” Wade said, glancing up when they reached the landing. “Is it original?”
“As far as I know.” Pauline gazed fondly at one of her favorite features in the house, a round stained-glass image of a peacock. The jewel tones of the bird’s intricately worked tail feathers glowed softly in the dying light from the sun.
Even though he had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, pride wouldn’t allow her to give him rooms that weren’t spotless. She had whirled through the master suite with a vacuum cleaner and a dust cloth while Dolly had fed him a bowl of stew.
“You’ll be here at the end,” she said over her shoulder as they walked down the carpeted hallway. “There’s a private sitting area as well as the bathroom Dolly mentioned.”
“Have you owned the house for very long?” he asked.
Everyone in town knew Pauline’s history. “I’m the fourth generation to live here,” she explained, pausing. “My great-grandfather renamed it Mayfield Manor.”
“It must be satisfying to have such a legacy,” he remarked.
“I suppose. But growing up in a small town also has its disadvantages.” She opened the double doors and stepped aside.
“Didn’t get away with much, huh?” he teased with a wink as he walked past her.
“You could say that,” she murmured, following him inside.
While she brushed a fleck of dust from the top of the tall dresser, he dropped his bags on the faded Persian rug next to the wide bed. Even though the burgundy draperies were open, she switched on the hanging teardrop lamp so the light shining through the blown-glass globe would add a rosy glow to the room.
“Wow,” he said as he looked around. “I didn’t expect anything like this.”
Pauline wasn’t entirely sure that his comment was positive. This had been her parents’ private sanctuary, and she liked the traditional way her mother had redecorated it in shades of burgundy, dark green and cream. The bold floral wallpaper was a dramatic backdrop for the mahogany furniture and cream satin comforter.
