than one hundred years old, and Stewart Manor was still a sight to behold.
Rafe Covelli drove his truck through the wrought-iron gates and gazed at the three-story structure. Years ago this place had been one of Haven Springs’s most regal homes. Even the missing shingles and peeling trim paint couldn’t take away from the grandeur of the architecture.
Ever since he’d been a kid, it had fascinated him. He’d ridden by on his bike and stared at the big, haunted-looking house, wondering what it would be like to live in such a place. His imagination had dreamed up all sorts of secret passages, hidden rooms and a few ghosts.
None of it was true, of course. The grand house had been built for wealthy businessman William Stewart, who had been mayor of Haven Springs at the turn of the century. His son, William, Jr., and his wife had lived here along with their only child, a daughter named Hannah. As a boy, Rafe remembered nice Miss Hannah, who’d never married and lived in the house until her death three years ago.
A distant cousin inherited the estate, but not wanting the big house, he put Stewart Manor up for auction. The town’s landmark sold for a fraction of its worth. This was the first time someone other than a Stewart was going to live there.
Rafe stopped his truck in front of the house and noticed the woman standing on the porch. It looked like he was about to meet Haven Springs’s newest resident, Ms. Shelby Harris.
Grabbing his clipboard, he climbed out of the cab. He made his way up the walkway, flanked by overgrown weeds, to the porch steps.
“Ms. Harris?” He tipped his baseball cap with the Covelli and Sons logo. “I’m Rafe Covelli.”
The woman appeared to be in her late twenties. She nodded. “Thank you for coming by, Mr. Covelli.”
“No problem. I’ve been working in the area. We’re doing the facade restoration on the houses up the street.”
When Rafe climbed the steps, he was surprised to find that the woman was nearly eye to eye with him. He was over six feet, so Shelby Harris had to be at least five-ten. A quick glance told him her height was all in a pair of long, slender legs, encased right now in a pair of nicely fitted jeans. His gaze moved to her narrow waist, then to the cotton T-shirt that did little to hide full breasts. His pulse began to race in appreciation. It had been a while since a stranger this appealing had come to town. The last had been Jill Morgan, who recently married his younger brother, Rick. Rafe’s gaze moved to her oval face, framed by short brown curls, and his heart did a somersault as he met the most incredible green eyes he’d ever seen.
His scrutiny seemed to make her nervous and she glanced away. “As I told you on the phone, I plan to turn Stewart Manor into a bed-and-breakfast inn.”
Rafe let out a low whistle. “And I explained that was going to take some work. And money.”
“I’m not afraid of work, Mr. Covelli,” she said. “But if you can’t handle the job...”
The woman was prickly as a cactus. “I didn’t say I couldn’t handle the job.” He stepped off the porch and squinted into the bright August sun, looking up at the massive structure, then began to calculate the things that needed immediate attention. The gables along the top story were badly in need of repair—the wood was weathered and rotted in some places. That was Rick’s specialty; maybe he could drag his brother out here to do the job. The roof was in bad shape and needed to be replaced. That meant the inside had to have rain damage.
He glanced back at her. “How much time and money do you have, Ms. Harris?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”
The look on her face told him he was in trouble. Damn. He’d seen that same expression on his sister’s face too many times. This was serious. Something was up and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what. “Okay, talk.”
Her back straightened stubbornly. “Most of my ready cash went into buying this house. It will be a month or so before I have more available. Right now I need to be a little frugal. I thought maybe we could work out some sort of...deal.”
Rafe knew he should turn around, climb back into his truck and drive off. He had enough of his own problems without giving away his time. But something kept him rooted to the spot. Maybe he was curious about why a single woman wanted to buy this old house and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. And the longing in her sparkling eyes made him ask, “What do you have in mind?”
Shelby stepped into the sun, which brought out the coppery highlights in her dark hair. “Because of the historical status of this house, all the facade repair is covered under the federal grant money.”
Rafe nodded. “We’re already handling that.”
“Yes, I’ve seen your work around town. You’re very good. But I need more done. I would like you to check the roof and have a look at the front rooms inside. Tell me how much it would cost to fix it up—” she hesitated and took a deep breath “—a little at a time. The bare necessities. Enough so I can open for business.”
Rafe held back his smile. “Haven Springs isn’t exactly overflowing with tourists.”
“But with the summer there’s the lake traffic, and then in the fall people come to see the foliage. I plan to advertise—there are people who like to stay in historical homes. After a few months I’ll be able to afford to continue the work on restoring Stewart Manor.”
There was that stubborn attitude again. Her full mouth drew into a pouty bow and something stirred in his gut. Damn.
“Let’s have a look, then.” He returned to the porch and walked to the heavy oak door with its oval cut-glass center. He opened it and stepped over the threshold into a huge entryway. A dim coolness greeted him as he stood on the bare hardwood floors. A magnificent chandelier hung from the high ceiling, edged with oak crown molding. The staircase across the hall made its way to the second story. Several spindles were missing in the banister, and a few of the steps were also missing.
“You’d better stay off the stairs until I’ve checked them out,” he said as he turned to his left and entered the front room, what used to be called the parlor.
Shelby stood back and watched the cocky Mr. Covelli move around her house. So he thought she was helpless. That she had to be warned about obvious dangers. Well, she had news for him. She’d spent her entire life taking care of herself and could do it just fine.
She’d asked around and knew he was her best chance for a fair deal. Worse, he knew it, too.
She went after him only to find him standing at the three double-hung windows and eying the frames. Then he glanced down at the ornate woodwork along the baseboards. He squatted for a closer look. She couldn’t help but notice the nice curve of his rear end, the way his muscular thighs strained against the fabric of his worn jeans. Her gaze moved to his chambray shirt as the muscles of his broad shoulders and back flexed. A shiver of awareness raced through her. She quickly raised her eyes to his face and found him in deep concentration. His bronze skin bespoke his Italian ancestry and the fact that he worked in the sun.
His eyes were chocolate brown and mesmerizing. His coal-black hair was cropped short around the ears. He pulled off his cap and his thick mane still appeared neatly combed. She somehow knew that was the way Rafe Covelli’s life was. All in neat, organized order. Everything cut and dried. Black or white.
The
