No, she didn’t know. Catherine couldn’t recall her grandmother saying that to her. Of course, Gram had traveled to Minneapolis for their visits and Hope House was rarely a topic of conversation.
Now she knew why he seemed so at ease in this house. There was a time when she felt she was Abigail’s primary confidant. Will had been here for Gram and she hadn’t. She’d trade it all for an hour with her now.
“I live in the guesthouse,” he added as if it were an afterthought.
Catherine blinked. Gram hadn’t mentioned that either.
“I’m a relatively recent addition to the property.” Tanner looked amused by her surprise. “Six months, remember? Living in the guesthouse is part of my payment for my work. Abigail and I struck a deal.”
What exactly did that mean?
He thrust his hands into his pockets. “It was my understanding that she was going to surprise you when you arrived. From what I gathered, Abigail was sure you’d be pleased because you’d grown up here and your family home had so much history.”
He gave her a shrewd stare. “She thought you felt the same way about Hope House that she did.”
Will might as well have pounded a stake into her heart. Of course she loved Hope House! But her life was very different from Gram’s. What’s more, she’d been away from home except for summer breaks and visits since she was eighteen years old. She loved Pleasant and Hope House, but it was part of her past, not her future. Maybe it was a good thing that Gram hadn’t understood that. It might have hurt her to know they weren’t on the same page.
“How did you and my grandmother meet?”
“Through my cousin, who reroofed the house a year ago. She called him when she was looking for help with the renovating and he suggested me. I went uptown for supplies. I’m on my way to Hope House to work right now,” Will said. “Do you want to come back with me?”
“I’d like that. I’ll be right back.” She could feel Will and Emma watching her as she left the kitchen. It was as if they were worried about her. Especially Will.
That was puzzling. She’d just met the man and knew very little about him other than he was a very handsome man. And, of course, Abigail had liked him. She hoped Gram was right to put her faith in him.
She returned wearing the same jeans and T-shirt with a powder-blue sweatshirt. She’d pulled her long tumble of hair into a knot at the base of her neck. On her feet was a pair of her favorite flip-flops.
It occurred to her that for the first time in months she felt free.
No power suit and low-heeled pumps today. No arm-taxing briefcase full of legal papers, no court dates, no judges or bailiffs and no guards at courthouse security. And no way to mess up someone’s life. She was free. Even the tragedy of the moment couldn’t erase the relief she felt.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she said, “Sorry I’m so casual today.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re a beautiful woman, Catherine. Most ladies would give anything to look like you.” Then, to her delight, he blushed.
Catherine kept her eye on him as they said good bye to Emma and crawled into his pickup truck. He was extremely appealing, with that day-old growth of stubble on his cheeks. His dark hair was thick and rumpled and his eyebrows dark and straight over his remarkable eyes. He was tall and leanly muscled, dark-eyed and exuded an aura of strength—both physical and mental. No wonder her grandmother had been so cavalier when Catherine had asked about work around the house. Will had been her secret weapon against quickly growing grass and wood decay.
The thoughts of her grandmother brought tears to her eyes again. Abigail had been her entire family. Her absent aunt and uncle hardly counted. It was all gone now—Gram, her job, her condo…. Only Hope House remained to be dealt with.
This was a fresh start, something she’d been wanting for a long time. She was eager to take on a new opportunity but not when she was feeling guilty about it. About selling Hope House.
Pleasant was just what its name implied. As they drove down Main Street, Catherine watched the picturesque storefronts go by. The Nook, part gift shop and part quilt shop, had a colorful banner flying from the eaves that announced a sale. Across the street was an antiques store called Becky’s Attic, which was owned by a high-school friend of Catherine. Because it was near lake country, Pleasant had a steady flow of visitors all summer long that supported the shops and during long winters for ice fishing and sledding. A feeling of stillness washed over her as she viewed the unchanging storefronts and recalled shopkeepers who had been behind their counters since she was a child.
She also had a growing awareness of the man beside her. His physical presence was compelling.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
“There are a lot of memories for me here,” she said softly as she shifted more closely to the truck door. Her attraction to him was disconcerting.
“Good ones, I hope.”
“Very.” She studied his profile as he drove. There was gentleness about his features that surprised her. She liked it. Maybe she was too accustomed to hard-edged attorneys. Even if her coworkers had had soft sides, they tried never to let them show.
“You’re lucky—about the good memories, I mean. I would have given anything to have grown up in a place like this.” He said it so emphatically that she stared at him quizzically.
“This is a perfect place for a child,” he explained. “He can have freedom to roam and yet enough people watching out for him that he can’t get into much trouble. You know that stuff about it taking a village to raise a kid? This is that kind of place.”
“A kid like you were?”
“Me? No. I was a little wildcat according to everyone who knew me. It would have taken an entire metropolis to do much with me. I was thinking about my nephew, Charley.” He smiled slightly. “You met him yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, the one who threw a dump truck on top of me.”
“Charley lives with me now, although my brother and sister-in-law would like to change that. His mom, my sister, Annie, had cirrhosis. She died about five months ago.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He looked pained. “It was difficult to watch someone throw her life away, but my sister couldn’t quit drinking.” He strained to get the words out, as if he didn’t want to talk about this but couldn’t help himself. “Charley had a tough life growing up with an alcoholic mom. My sister loved him, but she couldn’t keep her act together, even for him.”
They pulled into the driveway of Hope House before she could respond. Today she looked—really looked—at the yard and gardens. The lawns were lush green carpets, so soft-looking she yearned to walk over them barefoot. Not a leaf or a twig marred the expanse. The variegated hostas had tripled in size since her last visit and the beds of moss roses were bright and colorful as bags of jelly beans. What had this man put the plants and grass on? Steroids?
“The yard is spectacular. You’ve done an amazing job with the whole place.” The old porch swing she’d loved as a child had been restored and was piled high with yellow, blue and white floral pillows. Even the white wicker furniture, which had been hidden away in the storage shed, was now inviting instead of decrepit. “It’s as if you gave the whole place a facelift. I could really enjoy this spot if…” She paused.
“If your grandmother were here to enjoy it with you?” he asked perceptively.
“Yes.”
“If it’s any comfort to you, your grandmother is here. She walked me through every decision and every repair she wanted me to make. This place is Abigail.”
That