Authors: Jannette Spann
Hidden Hills (11 page)
“Did the old man actually say that?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Not in so many words, but the judge is a workaholic, so they wouldn't have seen him anyway.”
“And their mother, where did she fit in?”
“Mitch didn't say.”
“At least their grandpa spent time with them.”
“They were in grammar school when their dad began to make a name for himself in politics. Grandpa said Tom was dirty, and his grandsons weren't going to be a part of it.”
Jake was beginning to like the old man. “So what were the stipulations to his inheritance?”
“Mitch would pay all the debts, without selling off any of the land for five years, and Tom McGregor could never own any part of the estate as long as it's in the family.” She answered as if quoting from the will itself.
“So Ellen didn't inherit, but what about Mark?”
She ran her hand over the piano, wiping dust away. “Mark told his grandpa he'd sell the place to the highest bidder.”
“Does the will say you can't sell it to his mother? It could be in her name and not his.”
“Ellen doesn't want it.”
“But what if Mitch refused? There's no law saying he had to accept.”
“It would have gone into a trust for our girls. No one could have touched it until Maggie reached her twenty-fifth birthday. Grandpa's attorney, William Grant, would have been allowed to sell the land to pay off the debt. I tried to have it put into the trust after Mitch died, but since we had already accepted responsibility for the debt, the attorneys said it couldn't be done.”
It sounded strange, but family disputes usually didn't make sense. Why did Ellen not want to keep her parents' estate unless â and there it was, plain as the nose on his face. He had no proof, and it was just speculation on his part, but if the McGregors waited for the foreclosure, they could buy the place for what the bank had against it, and Charlotte would still owe the thirty thousand.
If he was right, it confirmed the tales he'd heard about the judge. He could only pray God would give them wisdom to stop the McGregors. Keeping his suspicions to himself, he pointed Charlotte toward the door, giving her a gentle push. They needed a change of scenery, and he wanted to know firsthand if Hidden Hills was worth fighting for. “You promised a tour, remember?”
****
Although Charlotte no longer called the old mansion home, there was a certain pride in showing it to someone as attentive as Jake. It was nice having a man actually listen to her.
Leaving the music room they entered the formal dining area, where everything was of massive proportions, from the china cabinet measuring ten feet long by eight feet high, to the mahogany table with eighteen matching chairs. A hutch and armoire filled the other end of the room. She hesitated at the sound of the captain's chair scrubbing against the floor when Jake claimed his place at the head of the table, his expression reminding her of a kid in a candy store.
“Miss Charlotte, would you join me as I gaze upon my cotton crop?”
She laughed, shaking her head at his ridiculous Rhett Butler impression. “I've told you, there aren't any cotton fields â never were.”
He reared back, gently tweaking an imaginary mustache. “I could go for this Old South stuff. Tell me, woman, what've you done with our young'uns?”
The man was a flirt, and their young'uns, as he'd so aptly put it, were chasing one another throughout the empty rooms. She stopped in her tracks when she heard Bruce refer to the house as a museum. Without their personal belongings, the house was as cold and impersonal as one.
“I'll bet this house has touched a lot of lives over the years,” he said, when they were alone again. “Can you imagine the neighbors arriving in their horse-drawn carriages for fancy Christmas parties?”
“I'm afraid I missed the antebellum era.” Her hand slid along the length of the china cabinet. Memories of Grandpa and Uncle Eli were connected to the pleasant meals she'd shared in this room. “But I'll never forget my first visit. Grandpa was so proud of his home. He gave me the grand tour, and I loved sitting by the fire, listening to him tell stories about his childhood. With it being so far from town, his greatest fear was it might catch fire.”
Jake glanced around the room at the vintage wall paper. “I can understand the concern. This place would be gone before firefighters could get here. And the bridge â there's no way it will hold up a fire truck.”
“Grandpa said the lightning rods on the roof were here when he was a boy, but he replaced the electrical wiring throughout the entire house, bringing it up to code. He also installed a sprinkler system on both floors and under the roof.”
Jake's eyes were drawn toward the ceiling where twelve inch crown molding circled the room. “Why the roof?”
“He said lightning usually strikes the roof.”
“It sounds like the old man was quite a guy,” he said, rising from his chair. “But I want to know how he got the pipes in the first floor ceilings without having to refinish the plaster.”
“By removing some boards in the upstairs floor.”
Jake eyed the ceiling again. “It makes sense. A sprinkler system sounds expensive. Is there enough water pressure to run it?”
“Not only enough for the house.” She led the way to a set of French doors opening into a pool room. “But for six bathrooms â provided you don't flush them all at the same time. Our water comes from an artesian well. Mitch said his grandpa installed the pool so he'd have a second water supply. We have solar panels on the back side of the roof and an automatic generator to pump water from the pool to the sprinklers, if the power is off.”
“Why the solar?”
Charlotte laughed. “You wouldn't ask if you'd ever tried to swim in water coming straight from an artesian well. Put your hand in the pool.”
Jake did a quick squat and touched the water. “It's warm.”
“Exactly. Can you imagine what it would cost to heat this much water with gas or electricity?”
“Are you saying he built all of this just to operate the sprinklers?”
Her gaze traveled around the room before trying to answer his question. The sculptured ceiling with its carved crown moldings matched the other rooms in the house, but the floors were made of marble. Floor-to-ceiling windows doubled as a wall, and when folded accordion-style, they opened the entire room to the outside. It was easy to see why this house had been the love of Grandpa's life.
“I only knew Charles Wills for a few years,” she said, with Jake following her back the way they'd come. She stopped long enough to relock the doors to the pool room to keep the kids safe. “Mitch and I brought the girls to see him a couple of times a week. He was obstinate, opinionated, and his fascination for new technology made him ahead of his time. The girls were crazy about him, and he was like the grandpa I'd never had â I loved him dearly.”
“Sounds like I missed out by not knowing him.”
“You would've liked him.” She knew it was true. As much interest as Jake had shown in the sprinklers and pool, it seemed the library had stolen his heart. The rows of built-in bookcases filled with an odd assortment of reading materials had drawn him like a magnet. He stopped long enough to finger through some of the older editions.
“This was Mitch's home office.” In her mind, she pictured the room as it had been before his death. She'd wanted to keep his computer for their girls, but her father-in-law had been adamant, saying it belonged to the firm.
She'd given in, as she had on so many things since joining the McGregor family, just to keep the peace. Those days were gone, or would be as soon as she sold the house and repaid the thirty thousand. Her train of thought was interrupted by Jake holding up one of the books.
“Why are you leaving these behind?”
“Mitch's mother wants them.” She wondered why she felt compelled to explain to a stranger, while refusing to acknowledge to herself why she was giving in again. “They belonged to her mother, so by rights they're hers anyway. I'm supposed to call if I get a prospective buyer so she can remove them.”
He frowned, but to her relief, he replaced the book without comment and followed her to the next room. She stopped to twiddle her thumbs⦠taking the girls through the mall was faster than touring the house with Jake. He was forever getting sidetracked when something unique caught his attention.
She gripped his arm, pulling him into the master bedroom, which was empty except for the velvet drapes, and held her finger to her lips. Silence filled the air.
“Listen.” The faint sound of scuffling feet and muffled voices echoed from the walls.
His eyes followed the sound around the room, a lazy grin capturing her attention. “A hidden passage?”
She nodded. “From here to the library.”
The laughter reached his eyes when it became apparent the voices in the wall belonged to Jeremy and Bruce.
“You wouldn't.”
“Why shouldn't I?” His soft voice teased her, but the blue eyes sparkled with whatever he had in mind.
She wanted to agree, but⦠“They said they were sorry.”
“Yeah, right!” His quiet laughter made her feel like the most gullible woman in the world. “Let me know when they've pushed your last button.”
She opened the closet door and slid the back wall panel to the left. Out tumbled the boys, knocking her backward when they rushed from the hidden passage, gasping for fresh air. Like a flash, they were gone.
Jake's arms locked around her, preventing the loss of her dignity and igniting flames she'd thought were long gone. For such a thin man, he was strong and solid, and the longing she saw in his dark, blue eyes took her breath away. Many moons had passed since she'd felt the intensity of that particular look, and while her mind said run, her feet were frozen to the spot.
Neither spoke when his arms pulled her close. The warm hands working their way up her neck sent shock waves of desire so unexpected she gasped. Her eyes fixated on his firm lips, and her arms locked around his waist, not letting go. His long slender fingers stroked her shoulders and neck, igniting fires along her nervous system. Her breath caught in anticipation when his fingers touched her cheek to brush a tendril of hair to the side. He whispered her name and her eyes drifted shut when his lips descended toward her. Somewhere a door slammed, but Charlotte's brain remained in a deep fog as his warm lips became more demanding. She pressed closer, wanting the kiss to last forever.
“Dad! Where are you?”
Charlotte groaned when Jake broke the kiss and stepped back. Forever was way too short. The eight-year-old skidded to a halt, colliding with her backside, propelling Charlotte into the strong arms she'd just left. To her chagrin, the pleasure was short-lived when the boy pulled his dad from the room.
“You've got to see this, Dad! It's awesome!”
Her hand touched her moist lips as sanity returned. How could she respond so completely to a man she hardly knew when her heart still belonged to Mitch? What scared her even more was she wanted it to happen again.
Jake went as far as the edge of the woods where the narrow tracks of an old log road were still there, hidden just beneath several layers of pine straw. Knee high saplings, as thick as grass, smothered one another for room to grow. The only sound was a squirrel chattering overhead, letting him know he was trespassing in their serene world. He couldn't help but compare the overgrown area with the immaculate front yard. Listening closely he could just make out the sound of running water, probably the creek they'd crossed or maybe the artesian well Charlotte had told him about.
“Come on, Dad.” Bruce tugged impatiently on his arm. “We'll never get there if you don't hurry.”
“What's the rush?”
“Dad!”
“Hold your horses.”
Jake was content with taking in his surroundings, but Bruce wouldn't give up. “There's lots of stuff, Dad. She's got a corral with a wagon, and a tractor, and on the other side of the barn is a real pasture. But the best is down this trail. We found it all by ourselves!”
He didn't mind the undergrowth of briars and dead limbs on the old trail half as much as the hungry mosquitoes and gnats circling relentlessly, attacking at will. The need for insect repellent was clear, and he knew he'd have to check the kids for ticks when they got home.
“Bruce, do you know where you're going?”
The boy froze, doing a ninety-degree turn before pointing to his right. “Sure, it's⦔
Everything appeared the same to Jake, and if it was confusing for him, it had to be for the boy. Each step they took stirred the damp leaves and caused more mosquitoes to swarm.
“Over here!” The shout came from somewhere to their left, and he recognized the flash of red up in a tree as being Jeremy's shirt. Bruce ran ahead, leaving him to follow.
Standing beneath the giant oak tree, a wide grin crossed Jake's face when his eyes traveled upward. His boys were perched on a platform, a relic from the past. It was probably the only thing remaining of an old tree house.
“Careful,” he said, watching Bruce lean over the edge flashing a hundred-watt grin.
“This is great, huh, Dad?”
Jake circled the tree house, paying close attention to the underside of the floor. He could see why his boys were so excited, as he himself was unable to take his eyes off the construction. It appeared safe, since most of the boards had been recently replaced. The platform rested on the bottom limbs of the tree, suspended by metal cables from the higher branches. Their crisscross pattern allowed the round platform to move independently when the wind blew â sort of like a big donut with a tree in the middle. Bark had grown around the ends of the cables, making them a part of the tree, but other than that, the rusty bolts holding the frame were the only clues it had been designed many years ago by someone with engineering skills. It could be the original structure was as old as the house itself.