She winced as the comment hit its mark.
“Actually,” he continued, “I wanted to see the condition of the alley side first.”
“That’s a good idea,” she recovered, glancing down the length of the building. “I have the keys to the back entrance.”
A fast rifle through the black clutch produced the cluster of keys.
She stepped toward the security door, then hesitated as Sam shifted his weight off the bike. He gestured for her to continue the lead.
He followed, his nose detecting a delightful scent as he watched with genuine approval. He noted how the afternoon sun glinted off her copper hair. Here and there, strands had worked free and the natural curls leapt to life.
Uninvited, the vision of a little girl’s curly red hair against a kitchen’s sunny window invaded his mind’s eye. He heard the spray of an aerosol can and smelled lemon furniture polish as his mother dusted in the next room. She checked on him from time to time, making sure he finished his homework while she completed her cleaning duties.
Homework wasn’t half as much trouble as Miriam Elliott’s pesky granddaughter, but she’d grown on him as a kid and invaded his heart as a teen. He shrugged off the familiar moment and refocused on the steel door where his flame-haired nemesis struggled to throw the heavy bolt.
“Here, let me.” He reached for the keys, tapping Tara’s hand in a signal to move.
She jerked her fist against her body as if he’d soiled her.
So that’s how it’s gonna be. You probably think I’m just a dirty mechanic. Okay, Rusty. Works for me.
He turned the bolt, pushed the door wide and stepped through first. A few feet inside the building he paused while his pupils adjusted to the darkness. Though the place was swept clean of the former tenant, spiderwebs indicated many months without attention. Possibility permeated the cavernous, empty space.
He faced Tara, interested in her reaction to the building.
“This place always reminded me of a dungeon,” she complained. “The best light exposure is upstairs. There should be more to work with on the second floor. Maybe we’ll use this main floor for storage.”
“And what is it you plan to store in here, if you don’t mind telling me?”
“Well, inventory mostly. Since my expertise is in antiques, I naturally want to sell vintage furnishings.”
“Is that so?” He crossed his arms and waited, amazed at her new air of self-confidence. “And how does that meet the requirements of a ‘profitable enterprise that will serve the financial interests of Beardsly, Texas’?” He quoted from the will.
“A lot of consumers stay away from antiques either because they think they can’t afford them, or they don’t know anything about them.”
Tara’s eyes flashed a spark of excitement in the dark room. “If you know where and what to search for, Southern collectibles are quite valuable.”
He couldn’t resist squashing her idea like a bug. “Before you wear your arm out patting yourself on the back, you might want to consider selling something besides old furniture in an old town. Not exactly a commodity that’s in short supply.”
The slight droop in her shoulders said he’d driven home the supply-and-demand theory he’d taught hundreds of college freshmen.
“I hope the second floor works for whatever you sell. Just don’t get any ideas about keeping your inventory down here. I have a business plan of my own.”
“But I’m sure I’ll need this space, too,” she insisted.
“Now listen.” He fixed her with a narrow stare. “You just called this place a dungeon and said yourself the real potential is upstairs.” He had her there. “I’m willing to take the ground floor and approve of whatever you want to do with your half of the building, as long as you afford me the same courtesy. The old lady’s will says we have to cooperate. If you don’t plan to comply, right out of the gate, you might as well pack up and head back to New York.”
He admired the determined curve of her jaw, tensed as she clenched her teeth at his intentional rudeness.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Reckon I would.” He smiled. “I didn’t ask for this opportunity, but I’m going to make the most of it. Nobody’s ever given me anything in my life. I’ve worked hard for what I have. If you’re not willing to do the same, I’ll be happy to take your inheritance, princess.”
Even in the darkened building he could see Tara’s face begin to color. She closed her eyes and started that deep-breathing business again.
“So, what do you say?” He rushed her out of the moment of concentration. Her eyes flew wide in the middle of an openmouthed exhale. She resembled the flame hawkfish in his salt-water aquarium.
“For your information, I know quite a lot about hard work myself. Since I moved to New York, I haven’t accepted a dime from my grandmother.”
“Why start now and spoil your independence?” he challenged. “It’s not too late to get out of Smallsville and back to your real life in the big apple.”
“However twisted her logic may be, she had some purpose for what she’s done and I intend to respect her wishes.”
“Respect her money, you mean.” He stroked his chin, pretending to consider something. “Speaking of money, why don’t we sell both places, split the profits and be done with it.”
“I don’t plan to sell anything,” Tara insisted. “That house is the only home I’ve ever known and I couldn’t bear to part with it.”
His slow applause echoed in the empty space. “I see you haven’t lost your flair for melodrama. You almost had me feelin’ sorry for you.”
“I’m trying to tell you that whatever I figure out to do here I’ll do it with all my heart. I’ll put what money I have saved and all my time and energy into making it a success.”
“Good, then we don’t have a problem.” He moved away from her to walk the first floor’s perimeter, checking for any obvious plumbing or electrical-repair needs. He heard Tara’s hesitant footsteps as she climbed the wide stairs leading to the second story.
“Hold on a minute and I’ll get you some light.” He returned with a halogen flashlight that illuminated a wide arch on the wooden staircase. “Do you want me to go up with you?”
Her gaze followed the steps upward to another heavy security door. She held out her hand for the cluster of keys. “No, thanks. I’m fine on my own,” she insisted, swiping at a spiderweb dangling over her head.
“Oh, come on.” He stomped ahead of her. She followed without argument.
As she’d predicted, the rooms on the second floor were in fair shape. With paint, elbow grease and some luck, Tara could make a go at whatever she came up with.
Watching her pace off the dimensions of the rooms, he became conscious of the traitorous way his mind found her spicy scent tempting. She, however, seemed unaware of his presence, making notes on the small pad she pulled from her purse.
Engrossed in decorating ideas, she penciled on the walls indicating possible paint colors and several wallpaper styles. Light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the west side of the building. Once those windows were cleaned, the old shutters replaced by modern wooden blinds, the place would be warm and inviting during the day.
At night, any lighted activity inside would beckon to citizens crossing the square. But what would attract college students? Hardly antiques. As much as she hated to agree, Sam was right.
There