All That I Need (Grayson Friends) (2 page)

“Don’t you think that was a bit premature?” he asked, glad his voice was normal even if his heart rate wasn’t.

“Yes, but knowledge is never wasted.” She stepped back and looked up at the window overhead. “Do you know that some of the timber in this house came from Yates’s grandparents’ property in Louisiana? He was a bit of a sentimentalist.” She sent Lance a quick grin. “The stained glass in the window overhead is from Paris and the chandelier in the living room is Waterford. They’re his wife’s selections.”

“Women like the finer things.” Lance had learned that lesson the hard way.

Fallon’s brow arched. “So do men. Thaddeus spared no expense to build this house. It took three years. His daughter expanded it even more. From the little I was able to find, she doted on her son and wanted the house to last for generations. It’s a shame that her dreams died with him.” Fallon gave Lance her full attention, her expression so heartrending he had to lock his knees to keep from reaching out to comfort her. “It would be wonderful if that didn’t happen, if the family history could be preserved and be the impetus for other family dreams and legacies.”

His gaze narrowed on her. So, she wasn’t just beautiful and brassy. It was rare to meet someone not in the business who really understood the value and importance of beloved furniture and accessories being a legacy.

There were times when he thought of his own mortality, even at thirty-six. He never planned to marry. What would he leave behind? Who would mourn him? The answers weren’t comforting, so he continued to study Fallon. Unlike most people, his direct stare didn’t make her fidget.

He’d been devastatingly wrong about women before, but something told him that Fallon was telling the truth. This was more than a story to her. Watching her hair dance in the breeze, her steady gaze, he came to a decision.

Instead of being annoyed with Fallon, he really should be thanking her. If she hadn’t put a stop to things that afternoon they met, they would have probably ended up in bed and his life would have been in turmoil again. Besides, he’d like the Yates history and legacy to be preserved as well.

Stepping back inside, he watched her eyes widen, her mouth open. He realized she thought he was going to shut the door in her face. It annoyed the hell out of him that she believed he was that rude. “Come in.”

Her mouth hung open for a second longer, before she snapped it shut. She quickly stepped inside. “Thank you.”

He noted that perspiration dampened the flawless skin on her forehead. Perhaps he was rude to keep her out in the heat. “Would you care for something to drink?”

“No, thank—” Her eyes widened and she was across the room. Reverently her hand grazed the top of an oak-finished chest of drawers. “This is one of Thaddeus’s pieces, isn’t it? His daughter used this for her hope chest.”

Lance joined Fallon. “You did your research well, I see.”

“I wanted to be prepared.” She smiled over her shoulder at him, then turned back to the piece that was as tall as she. “He was a furniture maker before they struck oil on his property. A picture of this chest was the only one I could find of the contents of the house.”

“There are other pieces he made mixed throughout with the more famous makers like Chippendale,” Lance said. “The house is a treasure trove of furniture, artwork, and crystal.”

Her eyes glittered with hope, one hand clamped on the camera, the other on the notebook. “Then you’ll let me do the story?”

He was probably crazy, considering he barely could keep his eyes off her lips. “You can do the story.” He motioned toward her camera. “Feel free to take as many photos as you like. You seem to understand and appreciate the furnishings—that they meant something to the Yateses, they aren’t just things or possessions,” he said.

For a second, her eyes darkened with pain. “Yes.”

He wondered if she was thinking about the incident that had caused her to brand him a thief. “Feel free to look around. I’ll be in my office.” He pointed to an open door to the left. “Just let me know when you’re leaving.”

“Thank you.”

With a brief nod, he returned to his office, hoping he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

*   *   *

Fallon caught herself admiring Lance’s muscular build, the easy way he moved—all right, his butt—and quickly turned away. Now wasn’t the time to go all girlie over a good-looking man. Lance had been gentleman enough to overlook her bad manners in the past, and she had a story to do.

However, twenty minutes later she wasn’t so sure anymore. The house was as fantastic inside as it was outside, the furnishings beautiful. Thaddeus’s wife had liked English antiques, and so had their daughter. There was none of the heavy masculine stuff Fallon had half expected. The only leather she had seen was in the game room, a pool table. To do the story, she needed to be able to talk about specific pieces of furniture and what they meant to the family.

If she had had her mind on the article instead of on a certain part of Lance’s anatomy, she wouldn’t have forgotten that important detail. There was only one way to correct matters. She started down the elegantly curved staircase with a mahogany handrail and didn’t stop until she was in front of the door Lance had indicated. She knocked.

“Come in.”

Plastering a cheerful smile on her face and hoping she wasn’t disturbing him, she opened the door. He sat behind a massive desk in a room filled with bookshelves. This room had been the Yates library.

Lance lifted his dark head, his gaze direct and his expression patient. On either side of him were undraped floor-to-ceiling windows. Framed by sunlight, he was gorgeous. The thought ran through her mind that he didn’t smile as easily as the man she’d met weeks ago. A pity.

“Yes?” His voice, once warm and tempting, was now coolly professional.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but were there any diaries that might put significance on the individual pieces of furnishings or household articles?” she asked, crossing to stand in front of his desk. “As I said, Mr. Yates was said to be sentimental. The house is a showcase, but I want my readers to know the why and the how.”

“Yes. Thaddeus Yates and his daughter left notes, but they’re part of the auction and I’d rather they not be handled,” Lance explained, removing his eyeglasses.

Disappointment slumped her shoulders. “I see.”

He seemed to hesitate, then came to his feet and around the desk. “’I’ve read the notes and am familiar with everything. If you’d like I could give you a brief tour.”

“Lance, thank you.” He really was a nice guy. “That would be wonderful.”

“We could start in here.” He turned toward the built-in bookcases on the walls. “Thaddeus had these made in New Orleans. Some people just purchase books to fill out a library because of their binding or size, but Thaddeus loved to read and so did his wife and daughter. Each book was selected by one of them.”

Fallon lifted her camera and took a couple of shots, then walked over to the shelf and pulled out a slim book. “
Wuthering Heights
. I wonder, was the mother or the daughter the romantic?”

“Safe to say it wasn’t Thaddeus. Men know better.”

Fallon frowned. “You don’t believe in romance?”

“Not many practical men would.” Lance opened the library/office door. “We can continue upstairs. You’ll note that, although extensive remodeling has been done, the original wood molding around the fireplaces and walls remains. This way.”

Fallon wasn’t ready to leave the conversation on romance, but she wasn’t given a choice. Replacing the book, she turned to follow Lance.

*   *   *

As they went through the house and as she listened to him talk, she realized he cared about the furnishings. It wasn’t just money to him. He seemed to understand what the house meant to the mother and daughter who had acquired most of the furnishings.

Back downstairs, Lance led her to the dining room. “Surrounding this late Georgian dining table is a suite of Empire chairs. It can comfortably seat twelve. Thaddeus’s daughter, Colleen, personally picked this out on a trip to England.”

Fallon snapped a photo, then lowered the camera. “Clearly she intended this for large family gatherings.”

“Her son, Herbert, was two at the time,” Lance said. “While traveling she wrote that she and her husband wanted more children. Her son understood the legacy. Ten years before his death, he had his last name changed to Yates.”

Fallon’s fingertips grazed the table’s polished surface. “Like the sterling flatware you showed me in the linen closet, she wanted these things to be handed down to the next generation, but it didn’t happen.”

Not a flicker of emotion crossed Lance’s face. “No, her son never married.”

“I hope the new owners love and appreciate the house and the furnishings as much as Herbert’s mother,” Fallon said.

“Why would you say that?” Lance asked with a frown.

She hunched her slim shoulders. “She just put so much into this place, had such hopes. It’s sad that they had to die with her son. Maybe with the next family living here, that won’t happen.”

Fallon heard a door open, then close. Voices.

“That will be my employees returning from lunch,” Lance explained.

Fallon glanced at her watch and gasped. Her gaze quickly lifted to Lance’s. She’d been there almost two hours. It had been easy talking and listening to Lance. But he hadn’t given off any signals that he was interested in picking up where they’d left off—before her unfair accusation.

She had to admit, she was disappointed. She’d certainly messed up. Perhaps it was for the best. She was leaving in less than a week. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

“It’s all right.” He lifted his long-fingered, manicured hand toward the door. “I’ll show you out.”

Fallon followed Lance out. In the open area, she saw two young men and an older woman going up the staircase.

Opening the front door, Lance stepped back so she could pass. As soon as she did he said, “Good-bye. If you have any more questions, or want to come back, you’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” She tossed her notebook in the car and placed her camera in the case, then straightened. Lance still stood on the wide porch. He could just be being polite, but maybe he’d been thinking about what might have happened between them just as she had.

“You want to meet at Brandon’s restaurant for dinner around seven?”

Lance’s gaze narrowed. She’d caught him off guard and it pleased her immensely. “It will make up for my poor behavior when we met, and thank you for not holding it against me today.”

He stared at her a long moment, as if trying to figure her out. She’d like to think she was one of a kind.

“I’ll see you at seven.”

She grinned and felt like dancing. She hadn’t realized how important the answer was to her until he’d agreed.

“Seven it is.” Waving, she got in her car and pulled off. Through the rearview mirror she saw Lance still standing there. He was such a dichotomy. Who was the real Lance, this self-composed man or the flirtatious one she’d met weeks ago? She was determined to find out.

Chapter 2

Fallon tried to convince herself that it was just a business/thank-you dinner. Not even changing her dress twice before settling on an off-the-shoulder raspberry-colored dress convinced her otherwise, nor did the three changes of sandals and earrings. However, she gave up trying the moment she saw Lance, tall and mouthwateringly delicious, waiting outside the restaurant for her.

Her heart did a crazy jitterbug; her legs weren’t quite as steady as they’d been moments earlier. He stood a few feet from the long line of people waiting to enter the Red Cactus.

She was ten minutes early. She’d told herself it was to allow time to park and not because she was anxious to see him again. She rolled her eyes. It was bad when you started lying to yourself.

Lance reached her in seconds, his dark brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”

So he was perceptive. “Just thinking,” she said. At least that was the truth. “I tried to make reservations, but they were booked. You want to wait?”

“I admit, I’m not the patient type when waiting for a table,” he told her. “Fortunately, I took the precaution of calling and making reservations, just in case.”

She smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

Long, lean fingers gently took her arm. Her skin heated, tingled.

They continued inside the restaurant, past the stares of those waiting in line. Fallon was almost compelled to explain that they weren’t cutting, they had reservations.

Lance didn’t appear to notice. He stopped in front of the hostess’s podium. “Reservations for Saxton at seven.”

The pretty young woman in a slim-fitting black dress smiled and picked up two oversized menus with red boots and cacti on the front. “Certainly, Mr. Saxton. If you and your guests will follow Lacy, she’ll seat you at your table.”

Smiling, Lacy accepted the menus. “This way, please.”

Lance’s hand moved to the small of Fallon’s back and she almost yelped. Heat radiated through the cotton fabric as if on bare skin. Lance could really be a problem—if she let him.

“Here you are,” Lacy said.

Lance pulled out a chair at the table for two for Fallon, took the seat across from her, and accepted the menu. “Thank you.”

“Your waiter, Shawn, should be with you shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?” Lacy asked. “Wine, cocktail, or flavored tea perhaps?”

“Fallon?” Lance asked.

Fallon wasn’t much for alcohol, but tonight seemed to be the one to be a little daring. “Black mojita.”

“Pomegranate iced tea.”

“I’ll get those right out,” Lacy said, and left.

Fallon propped her arms on the table and hoped she wasn’t too obvious, but the man certainly was easy on the eyes. “How are things shaping up for the auction?”

“Good. The catalog with the most expensive pieces arrived this morning,” he told her. “The employees you saw this afternoon are finishing up listing the smaller items.”

“From what I saw, you all have a humongous task ahead of you,” she said. “The glassware alone is extensive and impressive.”