The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (3 page)

After the breakfast dishes were piled in the dishwasher, Trent folded a towel across the counter and looked at her. “So, ready to tour this sorely neglected old lady?”

She let out a sigh. “I thought you’d never ask!”

“Good. On the right, we have a—” His voice took on a teasing tone, “run of the mill Maytag fridge with icemaker and—”

“Trent!” she shrieked and grabbed his arm with both hands. “We’ve spent way too much time in the kitchen. Let’s move on.”

****

The minute she said his name and their skin connected, his breath caught in his chest as if she’d sucker-punched him in the gut. It was exactly like when she’d introduced herself last night and held out her hand for him to take. He wondered if she’d noticed. He didn’t think so. She was too focused on seeing the house. And he was already too focused on her.

Her lips were full, her eyes wide-set, just like he’d seen on TV a few weeks ago when a news commentator explained the perfect facial requirements in symmetry and proportion for the most beautiful women in the world. Rayna would qualify. On her worst day, she’d give the most beautiful girl in the world a run for her money.

His first thought when he saw her tiptoe up onto his porch and peek through the window was,
How lucky can one guy be? A beautiful woman at midnight
.

That thought echoed through his head in a singsong manner. His first look at Rayna Guilbeau wasn’t too different from his first look at this house in the magazine. Odd.

“Trent? Trent! Earth to Trent!”

He zoned back to the present. He needed to get a grip. He was probably more right than he realized when he’d labeled her trouble.

“Let’s go into the living area,” he suggested, not looking at her. “You can tell me what you think of the wood floors and the thirteen foot ceilings.”

“Without seeing either, I can tell you I like both, but I’m more interested in why someone left all this stuff behind? The Realtor said that a lot of this furniture has been here for a long time.”

“Yeah. But it’s not all antiques. Some of it is junk from discount stores, but there’s a lot that will bring a great price.”

“Oh no! You plan to sell it all?”

“That’s my job.”

“Then I assume your family will be joining you here to take a look.”

“No, they won’t.” He pressed his lips together and ground his teeth before he answered. “Actually, they aren’t involved in this deal. I ran it by them but they weren’t interested. This success or failure will be all mine.”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t understand. They didn’t like it?”

“They thought it was too risky. And it is. We don’t usually buy houses.”

The sad look on her face made his heart lurch in his chest. She sympathized with him. He liked that. When she turned in a circle to encompass the entire room, he had to smile. She loved the place as much has he did and wasn’t afraid to show it. He imagined her own heart pounding now, just the way his had the first time he layed eyes on this three story eyesore. He’d never been so taken with a house before. A woman either, for that matter. Her face colored when she caught him watching her. He liked that too. The word
special
flashed before his eyes. He wiped it away with both hands. His original thought had been right. She was trouble. Lots and lots of trouble.

“Why this house, Trent? What drew you to it?”

He brushed the top of his dark hair with his fingers. “Darned if I know. I told you I was sitting in that New Orleans airport, browsing the magazine and...I turned the page and there she was looking like something...” He hesitated, hated to say the word aloud, wondered if she’d know he thought the same about her too. He took the chance. “... special. I couldn’t resist.” He massaged the side of his face. “But now—”

“Buyers remorse?”

“No, of course not. I’m wondering how I’m going to recoup.”

She laughed. “And you called me crazy!”

He grinned. The sound of her laughter made him feel good, connected. “Weird coincidence, isn’t it? Two crazies in one old house that they both fell in love with from a picture in a Louisiana magazine.”

“Jeeze, when you put it that way, it’s a little creepy.” She moved around the room, touching furniture. “How are you going to sell everything? I mean, how do you go about it? And when?”

“I’ll inventory and research everything. And when I find out what’s valuable, I’ll create descriptions, get organized, and then the sale begins.” The expression on her face told him that it wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. “Hey, that’s how I make a living.”

“That’s sad.”

“Sad? What’s sad about buying and selling? And making money.”

“I mean it’s sad that all this stuff, this home will be broken up. It just seems wrong. I wonder why the owners walked away from this furniture and which of it really belongs in this house.” She plopped down on the sofa. “Don’t you ever fall in love with things—wonderful pieces like that old desk?” She pointed across the room. “Or that banker’s bookcase with the glass doors?”

“I won’t answer that on grounds it might incriminate me.” He wouldn’t add his own screwiness to the mix, admit he’d fallen love with the tired old monstrosity, and that since he’d gotten here, he’d actually entertained thoughts of making it his home. He hadn’t said the words out loud, much less given serious thought to them. He’d have to, though, but that was something for another day, maybe a dark rainy day when lightning jabbed the sky. He did his best thinking during thunder storms.

She caressed the sofa as if it were a baby. His heart beat faster. Before he could stop himself, before he even realized what he was saying, he was speaking, showing her too much of his thoughts, his feelings, his heart. He moved toward the vintage writing desk and caressed the top of it.

“Some of this stuff is really special, some of the best treasures I’ve come across in a long time. If I’d lived here, I certainly wouldn’t have walked away from it, but maybe they died off. Maybe if you’re a relative, you crawled on this floor, pulled yourself up on that old desk.” He heard the melancholy in his voice. Not good. He corrected his mood. “Hope you weren’t teething and chewed on the window ledge. I’m sure there’s a lot of lead-based paint in here.”

She left the sofa and bounced over to inspect the window. “I don’t see any marks so I guess it’s safe to say no teethers grew up here.” She leaned on the back of a chair and stared at him. “Funny, this room feels so comfortable to me, but I don’t remember anything. If only I had more time.” She said the words more to herself than to him.

“Time’s no problem. Want a job? Live up there on the third floor and work for me?”

Eyes wide, she stared at him in astonishment.

He shrugged. “I was just wondering.”

The excitement on her face took his breath away. He focused his eyes toward a picture on the wall. When she returned to the sofa and sat, as if his offer had knocked the breath out of
her
, he moved to the window, gazed outside. He formed his words carefully before he turned back toward her. “I need help doing the inventory, organizing this stuff, going through paper work, researching and putting a value on the glassware, the antiques, and all. You interested?”

She still looked as if she didn’t understand, as if his lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear his words, or maybe she just couldn’t believe her ears.

Words finally gushed out of her, a whisper that sounded like a swoosh of wind through a flower garden. At least that’s what he thought of when she spoke.

“You mean you’d actually let me hang around here and help? Live here in my—in this house?”

“If you want to help me.”

She jumped off the sofa and moved toward him. “You’d actually pay me to go through all of this stuff?”

He laughed. “No, I won’t pay you. Who said anything about paying you?”

Her smile disappeared.

He grinned. “That is, I won’t pay you in money.”

Her expression turned suspicious. “Should I be moving toward the door with my keys and pepper spray in hand?”

He waved her words away. “Stop those dirty thoughts! Here’s the deal.” He leaned against the wall. “I’ll give you room and board and give you free run of this dump. You can explore and search and snoop as much as your heart desires. Sound interesting?”

She squinted at him and crossed her arms as if she planned to negotiate. “First say it’s not a dump.”

“Okay, okay, it’s not a dump, now do you want the job or do I need to go grab that old woman walking down the street? She walks by every day so working here wouldn’t be out of her way at all. And she probably knows how to use a computer too.”

“Yes, I want the job, but are you sure you can’t spring for minimum wage so I can at least—”

“I’ll spring for your food and entertainment, and that’s it. Plus, you can even go on interviews if you want to start your job search. This probably won’t take but a couple of months. Maybe not that long. Deal? Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it, I’ll take it! Of course, it’s a deal,” she answered.

He thought she was going to hold out her arms, turn in a circle encompassing the entire room, and burst into song. She didn’t, but she did turn in a circle and admire the entire room with a satisfied smile. She made his heart beat way too fast.

She settled down, grinning from ear to ear. “When do we start? And where?”

He rubbed his hands together. “I love an eager beaver. I’ve already started down here in this room. Maybe you can research these items on the Internet and write a description for each piece. Everything needs to be identified and assigned a number. I still need to go through the desk drawers and look at all the paperwork. Not sure what to do with it though. There are desks and file cabinets all over the house in every room.” He felt like he was rambling.

“Paperwork? What kind? Surely there are names I can trace.”

“Nope, just a corporation. That’s who I bought it from too. Odd isn’t it, just like you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and he reciprocated.

“Oh Trent,” she said. “I appreciate this so much. You’re being too good to me.”

He shook his head. “Not really. I’m not paying you. You’re working for room and board. I’m getting free help. I feel like a scumbag.”

She hit him on the arm. “You’re not a scumbag. I appreciate it more than you can imagine. Is it because you know how badly I want to be in this house? To explore and investigate?”

“Of course not,” he answered. “It’s because I believe that old saying about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer. If you’re here, I’ll know where you are and everything you do. You won’t be trying to break in.”

“Tease all you want, but I know you’re just trying to help me.”

He couldn’t deny it, but deep down in his gut he knew he was asking for trouble. She
was
trouble but worse, she was probably
in
trouble and didn’t even know it. He wished he knew how much and what kind.

Chapter 2

After three days with Rayna’s nose to the grindstone, they’d established a comfortable routine. They worked without talking—at least to each other. Trent often mumbled to himself or shouted gleefully when he discovered something of value. Rayna found herself smiling as she listened to him. He was the odd one.

Already, Trent stirred feelings in Rayna that she’d never experienced. He was like the best friend she’d never had, the confidante she’d always longed for. Laughing with him, being teased and teasing back, made her happier than she’d been in a long while. Worry niggled at the back of her mind. Was she developing a crush on him? Maybe not. Maybe she just liked him so much because she didn’t know anyone else in Oklahoma City.

But it was much more than that. He was considerate, generous, fun, and good-natured—and handsome without being conceited and full of himself. He had told her that since he was the youngest in the Jones family, he was spoiled and always got his way. She found that hard to believe. She fought falling for him, but she could tell she was starting to care.

She’d never had a boyfriend. Too much of a loner to have friends. She didn’t even go to her senior prom. Probably wouldn’t have, even if she had been asked. She could have never found the right dress. All the girls in her class were into slinky, strapless dresses so why open that can of worms? She didn’t want to have to explain her life, her scars, to anyone—especially in high school. And how would she explain these things to Trent? He hadn’t known it, but he’d said a mouthful when he told her boy plus girl equaled trouble.

She vowed to watch herself with him. Still, when he looked at her, the way he looked at her made every nerve-ending tingle. It was as though he viewed her as one of his precious antiques. And that brought her to another matter.

As appealing as he appeared, the one thing that bothered her about him was his enormous love for money. She didn’t find
that
appealing. She didn’t want to fall for someone who had nothing but money on the brain. When he researched and learned the lofty value of one of his possessions, he’d whoop it up as if he’d discovered a cure for the most dreadful disease.

No, she wanted a man grounded in hard work, with a job that didn’t depend on other people’s loss. Still, he was darned cute, and she owed him for letting her browse and snoop to her heart’s content. That he’d allow her to stay to herself on the third floor of Wounded Heart without interference surprised and thrilled her.

“Yee Haw, look at this!” His words echoed against the tall ceiling. “A Mont Blanc fountain pen in the original box. This will bring some pretty pennies!”

Rayna made a face.

“What? You don’t like pretty pennies?” he challenged.

“I’ve always heard that things are only worth what someone is willing to pay,” she said.

“Is that Cajun wisdom from one of your alligator hunter friends? Maybe one of those Swamp People?”

She ignored his gibe. “Sounds pretty wise to me,” she quipped with a fistful of papers. “I feel as though I’m going blind reading all this stuff. I’m going back to the Internet and start writing descriptions. But first, want me to fix us some sandwiches?”