Do you want the chilled bottled water? Or would you rather have something else? I finished the coffee, but I have soft drinks—all the diet variety, I’m afraid—or I could make hot chocolate.”
“Right now just water would be great.” Moving by instinct, she found the glasses in the upper cupboard beside the sink. “You want any?”
“I’m fine.”
She chose to get water from the tap and drained a whole glass before she left the sink, then filled it again halfway and ventured to join him at the table. “Working?”
“Yup. Almost done.”
“Don’t let me disturb you.”
Sipping her water, she closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the storm outside, and the sounds the house made in response. A gust of wind could cause the slight creaking from somewhere upstairs. If snow was falling, it was mixed with ice that rattled against the window glass. Without even looking she was grateful not to be out in it.
Or, frankly, by herself.
For some reason, being in this town had made her feel isolated. Maybe because she’d left behind the friendly faces of her coworkers and her immediate neighbors in her apartment building.
Maybe because since she’d arrived, she’d met three strangers and knew very little about any of them. Matthew probably couldn’t be included in that, though. There was little doubt as to what he thought about anything.
But Earl, even though she’d talked to him a number of times on the phone, was still a stranger. And for all she was sharing Tim’s house tonight, she knew very little about him except he was a contractor, he had a son and he’d lost his wife.
Just an outline. But what did he know about her? That she worked with dinosaur bones in a museum, that her family had lost everything to Bob Higgins and that she didn’t want this house that had fallen into her lap.
He probably wondered why that was. Not everyone would look at a free house as a problem, even if it did need work.
She had to admit she wasn’t sure herself why she was reacting so strongly. Yeah, the man had cost her family everything and turned them into wanderers. Yes, her father had drunk himself to death, but that had been his choice, not Bob’s. She’d suffered because of what had happened nearly twenty years ago, but this seemed to go beyond bad memories.
Maybe it had bored a hole in her soul, somehow.
With a snap that startled her eyes open, she heard Tim close his computer case. “Done,” he said. “For now, anyway. When the numbers start to look like fish swimming through a tank, it’s usually a good time to stop.”
She liked his ready sense of humor. She envied that it seemed to come so easily to him. She wasn’t a very humorous person herself. In fact, if asked, she’d probably classify herself as...too reserved, she decided finally. Not sour, but reserved.
“So, about your house,” he said. “It’s structurally sound. A couple of roof rafters could use replacing because they got wet at some point, but there’s no dampness up there now. You could probably let those skate.”
She nodded, feeling unready to discuss this, but knowing she couldn’t evade it indefinitely. After all, she’d come back to take care of it, and an inheritance from Bob that she hadn’t turned down was the last of his savings. She figured since he’d dumped his white elephant on her, she needed the money to fix it up and pay the taxes. She just hoped it was enough. Lowly museum assistants didn’t make huge salaries.
“To make the house interesting to a buyer, there are some basic things we need to do. Caulking. The weatherizing in the windows and doors is cracked, unattended for too long. The attic fan is dead. The floors sag and are weak in a few places.” He stopped. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. The question is, do you want to pull it together just enough to hopefully attract someone by marketing it as a major fixer-upper? That’ll cost you a pretty penny in terms of what you can make off it, and frankly, with the amount of cosmetics it needs, that might not even work. You saw the paint sagging on the wall. I don’t like that.”
“It’s ugly,” she agreed.
“It’s more than ugly. It might be lead based.”
Her heart lurched. “I thought that was illegal!”
“It is now. But it was only in 1978 that it was banned in housing. Now how many walls do you think got painted over with latex or oil-based paints and never stripped?”
Her mind was dancing around as if she had hot coals inside it. She didn’t want to hear this. Want to or not, she was stuck with it. “We should knock it down and clear the lot.”
“Maybe. I’m going to have an inspector check the place out first.” He popped open his computer. “I reckon if there’s lead, knocking it down and clearing out the remains will cost as much as a basic fixup and getting rid of as much lead paint as we might find. And—here’s the important thing—unless you can sell that empty lot, you’ll still owe taxes as if the house was on it.”
She was flummoxed. “Really? Really?”
“Best and highest use.”
That did it. Vanessa put her head in her hands and muttered, “I want my dinosaur bones.”
“Earl mentioned that you wanted to donate the house, but ask yourself if it would be ethical to give it to a church or preschool before we deal with any health threats.”
Her head snapped up. “Of course not!”
He smiled. “Good.”
Then his question struck her. “You certainly didn’t imagine that I’d pass that lead paint along, especially to children.”
“In this world,” he said slowly, “you never know. I’ve had people come to me who wanted to cover a multitude of sins with fresh paint or linoleum.”
“So Bob Higgins wasn’t the only con artist around here.”
“I wish I could say he was.” He rose and stretched his arms, making her acutely aware of his flat belly. “Let’s go back to your bedroom. No, I’m not sending you to bed, but I want to be sure you know where everything is and feel free to use it.”
This time, having escaped her self-absorption, she knew instantly that this room had once been the master bedroom. Those forget-me-nots and the colors were his wife’s choices, she had realized earlier, but now they took on meaning that almost made her squirm.
“Private shower, too,” he remarked, pointing to a closed door.
She wanted to ask outright but caught herself. No point in prodding this man’s wounds. She ought to understand that herself. “Where do you sleep?”
“Upstairs, just down the hall from Matthew. He used to have nightmares and be scared there was something under his bed.”
She suspected that was only part of the reason, but it was good enough. “I hope he’s outgrown that.”
“Mostly. It still happens occasionally. So, when we can get out into the world, do you want to go
