Summertime Dream (10 page)

“That was easy. See? Better already. What do you think, the kitchen next?

“I’m up for it if you are.”

Calling the kitchen dirty was a gross understatement. Thank goodness for gloves. Every surface was sticky with old grease and grime. Filthy, wrinkled indoor-outdoor carpeting covered the floor. More sloppy magazine and newspaper stacks covered shelves and chairs. Mrs. Falk sure liked to read. Desiccated remains of African violets lined shelves at the windows.

Okay, first, the fridge. Holding her breath, she cautiously opened the door.

Whew. Thank you. Completely empty except for a box of baking soda.

Christopher gave a wide grin, looking just as relieved. “You’re a brave woman. That could have been scary in there.” He shook his head at the piled bags and mess. “There’s too many damned magazines, newspapers, and bags. We’re just uncluttering one area to clutter another. I’m going to throw the clothing bags in the drawing room and stack the newspapers and bags of garbage out on the side porch.”

“Sounds good.”

Christopher grabbed the first pile of newspapers and headed for the porch. Margie lifted a stack of magazines off the counter, uncovering a furry gray body. She shrieked and jerked backwards, stumbled on a rug wrinkle, and she, the magazines, and the dust went flying.

“Margie! Hey, you okay?” Christopher returned at a run.

Her fall half-broken by a squashy trash bag, she lay flat out, blinking up at Christopher through a cloud of dust. “I think so. A mouse on the countertop startled me. I tripped. Bruised my backside though.”

He helped her to her feet, steadying her in the circle of his arm. “Okay? Anything hurt?”

“Only my pride.” Rubbing her bottom, she peeked around him at the counter. Instead of scurrying off, the mouse had held its ground.

Great, a mouse was braver than she was.

“It’s still there.”

Christopher patted her shoulder and chuckled. “Uh, you don’t have to worry about that one. It’s dead.” He took a closer look. “Yep, mummified mouse.”

“Oh, gross!” She cringed. That was almost worse.

“I’ll get rid of it.” Using a scrap of newspaper, he plucked up the mouse and added the little corpse to the trash.

“Why don’t you take a break?” He picked up an old phone directory and flipped through the pages. “I’m going to need a Dumpster, no matter what. Oh, and I should call that guy Shelton. Heard of this company? Stengl’s?”

“Yes. I’ve seen their containers around. Would you mind if I used the keys and took a peek in the carriage house? I’m dying with curiosity.”

“Sure. They’re on the toolbox. Go on, have fun. Just watch out for spiders.” He winked.

“Hah! You better believe it.” His gentle teasing made her exasperating phobias almost bearable.

As she walked down the driveway to the carriage house, her mind shot into instant replay of that crazy hot kiss. The rough deep purr of his voice, “
Wrap your legs around me
.” Heat swept over her and the juncture of her thighs pulsed in remembered pleasure, longing, and frustration. Holy moly, they were like magnets or matches or something around each other. Getting more involved with him would be a mistake. She wasn’t ready for more, and even if she was, he was leaving.

But she
wanted
...more.

If only she was ready for more. If only he wasn’t leaving so soon.

The big doors slid open along a track, squeaking and squealing as she pushed. Distant thunder murmured, dragging her attention to the storm clouds building to the west. Still far enough off she had time to play.

Oh, boy, tons more junk and a dirty, old-fashioned car without plates generously splotched with bird droppings and feathers. Something large had been roosting in the rafters.

Aha! Treasure, of sorts, sitting right where she could reach: two porch rockers. She found a long stick and gingerly poked off the worst of the spider webs. She gave a testing push and shake to the first rocker. The joints felt solid. After dragging the rockers up onto the porch, she set to wiping them with the broom and then finished with a good going over with spray cleaner and paper towels.

“What did you find—hey, those are nice.” Christopher paused in the doorway with a newspaper-filled box.

“They seem sturdy. I hate to tell you, but the carriage house is like the house, jammed full. You even have a car in there.”

“A car? What kind?”

“I’m not sure. Black and white gangster movie kind. Also, you may want to close up the convertible soon.” Another low rumble punctuated her words as she handed off the keys.

“Thanks, will do.”

Christopher strode down to the carriage house and peered inside. He shook his head, laughing, and then called back over his shoulder. “It’s an Oldsmobile. Maybe 1940’s. Dad would have loved it. Awesome.” He disappeared inside for several minutes.

Thunder rumbled, the breeze blustered, and sunlight faded.

Christopher closed and locked the carriage house and loped up to the porch. “You did good braving the spiders.”

She grinned. “I did, didn’t I? Fortunately, I only had to deal with webs. Want to give the chairs a try?”

“Sure. I lucked out with the calls and we’re all set for tomorrow for the Dumpster and Shelton, too. Now, I just need the electric company to show up, then your friend, Wes Green, and we’re ready to dig in.”

She settled into the big old chair with a bottle of water. A few joints might need a little wood glue, but not bad, not bad at all.

The first raindrops pattered. With a gust of cooler air, the storm rolled in, tossing the trees, and the downpour bucketed. Lightning splintered through the sky over Engberg’s farm.

Christopher stretched back in his chair with a pleased smile.

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

He glanced at the water gushing from the broken gutter. He laughed sharply. “Yeah, strangely, I am. This was all a pain in the—rear at the beginning. Now, it’s getting...interesting. Well, except for the garbage.”

“And mummified mice.”

“And if I start thinking about how much work is ahead.”

“Don’t. One bit at a time. Look how much better things look where we’ve been already, just by doing small bits.”

“You’re an optimist.”

“All the way. I’ve seen bad, so things can only be better.” Lightning shot out flashing fingers followed by a long rolling grumble. A distant slice of sunlight speared below the dramatic storm clouds, glittering over the vibrant rain-washed greens of the orchard and woods. She sighed. “Oh, I love this view. Today’s been great. Thanks for making some of my dreams come true.”

Oh, and that back porch kiss. Oh, my. She’d been well-kissed before in her life, but that kiss—Definitely at the top of fantasies come true.

****

“You dreamed about mucking out an old packrat’s nest?” Christopher winked.

“Exploring history and mystery. Think about it. You might discover why your grandma left here without anyone knowing why. I can’t imagine Mom or I cutting one another off for life.”

“Not everyone is so lucky to have a family as close as yours.” And unfortunately, there couldn’t be any happy reason for his grandma’s shutting the door on her past here.

“They are pretty nice, aren’t they? Even Joe, the old bossypants.”

He chuckled at her choice of words. Well, he couldn’t agree on
nice
for Joe, but the guy did love his sister.

Just another minute sitting here and then he’d get back to shifting trash. However, the drumming downpour and the contentment on Margie’s face lulled him to linger. Even after the rain slacked off to stray spatters and sunlight washed back in with steamy heat, he dawdled in the intimate quiet.

The crunching of a truck over the driveway broke the peace.

“Wonder who that is?” Margie popped up from the rocker and peeked around the corner of the house. “Oh, great! The power company’s here.”

Of course, once the electric was on, they couldn’t resist re-exploring the house, hunting for light switches and lamp pull chains, and jotting a list of needed light bulbs.

Sadly, seeing the rooms more clearly reemphasized the scope of work ahead. But he enjoyed every moment of Margie’s enthusiastic exploration and her uninhibited delight in each little discovery. She circled the library, running her fingers over the old book spines, many glinting with gold ornamentation, reading off titles. “
King’s Geographical Readers
.
Life of William McKinley, Illustrated
.
In Wink-Away Land
.
Lyrical Vignettes
.
The Handbook of Applied Mathematics
.
The Lady of the Lake
. Some of these old bindings are so gorgeous, aren’t they?”

She perched at the dusty writing desk and pulled the chain to the Art Deco lamp. She opened the center drawer from the desk. “Very old Christmas cards, fountain pens, rubber bands, and playing cards. How fun!”

Fun, not. He saw only mounting levels of more work. A place like this belonged in the hands of someone who would appreciate the home as Margie did and see past the decay, the garbage, and the clutter, and focus on the possibilities. A shame this place couldn’t be hers. He could see her here, writing her stories at that desk.

This time, they hiked the spiraling tower stairs. Christopher led the way with a broom, sweeping down the jungle of webs. The view, even through grimy windows, was worth the climb and hot stifling air. The round windows offered a panorama over the treetops in four directions of the town, river, and fields, and the thunderstorm clearing off eastward.

“Oh, this is awesome. I think I see the roof of our restaurant.” She danced from window to window, her excitement keeping her attention away from noticing the webs and dead insects littering the curved sills.

What had Grandma Loretta thought as she looked out these windows? Had she seen a hometown she loved or merely a place she had to escape?

“Thank you! This is great!” She spun away from the window, delight sparkling in her eyes, and kissed him.

The press of her lips was a siren call and his mouth opened to hers before he could put himself on guard.

Going to keep denying you want her?

Somehow, he clung to enough sense to keep the kiss slow and sweet. Things had gotten way out of hand earlier. He must stay in control. He would. He clamped his hands onto the windowsill. I’m leaving. She’s too young. It’s just kisses. I’m not going to do anything stupid and complicate either of our lives.

Ha, right.

Gathering his crumbling resolve, he pushed her gently away. “It’s roasting up here. We should head downstairs.” That came out too harshly.

She blinked, confusion filling her dreamy eyes. “Ah…right.”

As they descended in silence, he kicked himself for ruining a nice moment.

At the bottom of the tower stairs, she stopped abruptly. Puzzlement sharpened her expression. “I just realized something very strange. Come on.”

First, she led him to Reba’s room. She peered around, and shook her head. “Downstairs. I think I’m right. How odd.” He followed her into the sitting room. She scanned around the room. “Very weird.”

“What?”

“Look around. There aren’t any photos. No family pictures of anyone. No painted portraits. No photo albums. My whole family has pictures of everyone everywhere. You’d think there’d be something. A wedding picture. Tintypes. A baby album. Something.”

That was weird. He hadn’t noticed any either, but he’d been focused on the scope of the mess, not the details. “Maybe they’re just put away. Or just buried under the mess. You could hide anything under all these piles.”

Framed paintings and prints decorated the walls, all landscapes or flowers. Not one family portrait from any era, just dead roses, bric-a-brac, books, and the creepy doll circle. He opened the top drawer of the nearest cabinet. Envelopes, pencils, a blackly tarnished silver fork, rubber bands. More jumbled clutter filled each drawer he opened. So much damned work loomed ahead if he intended to properly sort out the valuable family stuff from the trash.

The hunt reenergized Margie. Parlor, living room, room after room, not a single photo.

Depression slammed down. He was tired, hot, and desperate to get clean. If only he could see this place as Margie did, as if it had magic and mystery to explore. But in the end, clearing and disposing of the home was simply a messy responsibility he had to handle expediently.

Most of all, he hated how this place had made Grandma Loretta a stranger.

“Let’s lock up for the day. I’m beat. I need a shower.” Tomorrow he would contact a real estate agent and initiate the necessary arrangements to get the place listed. Maybe when the Dumpster arrived tomorrow and he could unload all this crap efficiently the place would be less disheartening.

“Okay.” She shut the buffet drawers and looked up, concern drawing her eyebrows together.

Ah, right, he was scowling. He didn’t mean for his sour mood to bring her down. He unclenched his jaw and, for her, raised a smile. “Are we still good for supper at your family’s place? You’re not too tired?”

“No.” She plucked at her shirt and wrinkled her nose. “But I thoroughly agree on the need to shower.”

Back at the motel, he stripped off his sweat-soaked clothes, the chill air conditioning raising goose bumps. He was glad for the AC, but, unfortunately, the old unit only had two functional settings left: stuffy and arctic.

He stepped under the shower spray, his mind randomly chewing over the day. He needed to find a Laundromat or buy some work clothes. Even with Margie’s help, getting everything accomplished by Saturday was impossible. He needed to prioritize, outline a plan of attack, and line up companies to take over the work he couldn’t complete on his own. He turned his face into the hot rush of water, soaping up and scrubbing away the day’s sweat and grime, slowing as house quandaries dissolved under the far more enticing complication of Margie. Those kisses on the porch, her soft curves under his greedy hands, their bodies moving together...

He groaned, abruptly and miserably hard. Shit.

He’d come on way too strong. Brain and manners had been abandoned in the heat of things, and if her brother hadn’t luckily interrupted, he might have asked way too much of her.