gave herself a mental shake. This wasn’t some character she was creating for her next book but a real, live individual with strengths and weaknesses, failings and flaws. Rule one—no romanticizing him. It would just lead to disappointment, and Greg had given her enough of that for a lifetime.
He eased to his feet, his six-foot-plus frame towering over Lucy. A sharp crease ran the length of his jeans legs, and his shirt, visible through the open parka, was pressed, as well. When was the last time she’d seen a man in a pair of starched, creased jeans? Probably never. Whose wife had the time to do that for him?
“Is there a Mrs. Lewis?” she asked without thinking.
His dark eyes turned a shade darker. “No.”
She waited for more—I’ve never married or There used to be—but that was all. No with a scowl. “Any kids?”
“God, no.” That was said with another scowl that made her want to draw Lucy safely behind her, out of his sight. A neighbor who didn’t like kids—wonderful.
“Can me and the puppies play?” Lucy asked.
Jayne was about to answer when she realized that the question was directed to Tyler instead. He might not like kids, but Lucy hadn’t noticed yet.
He touched the bigger of the dogs and said, “Go on.” Both animals immediately sprang to their feet, and they ran after Lucy, leaving Jayne alone with Tyler.
Unable to think of a thing to say, she turned for her first good look at the house. The snow did much to soften its dilapidated facade, even lending it an air of old-fashioned charm, but that wouldn’t last long. Already she could see the drips of melt coming off the eaves. By the next day the snow would be gone, and so would the charm, but the dilapidation would remain.
“A great old house,” she murmured disgustedly, still able to see the pleasure of fond memories in Greg’s face as he’d talked about his grandmother’s home. Great old lies was more like it.
“Not quite what you were expecting?”
She glanced hastily at Tyler. She hadn’t meant for him to hear the words, hadn’t even really meant to say them out loud. She shrugged. “Not quite. Was there ever an orchard around here?”
He gestured across the road, to the neat rows of trees on the far side of his fence. “Apple trees. Edna used to own the whole mountaintop. I bought everything except the house and the acre it sits on.”
Score one for Greg. And the house did have hardwood floors—scarred, neglected, in dire need of refinishing, but wood all the same. Presumably there had been a garden twenty-five years ago, as well. So he hadn’t made it all up.
Tyler shifted uncomfortably, packing down the snow under size-twelve boots. “I made an offer on the rest of it before she died, but she turned me down. She wanted some part of the family land to leave to the family.” His features quirked into a grimace that made clear what he thought of such sentimental nonsense. “I’ll make you the same offer.”
Jayne looked back at the house. It was old, plain and needed money and a large dose of sweat equity. It made their house back in Chicago look luxurious in comparison. It was too cramped even for just the two of them, with no room for her office. Whatever money he offered could be a down payment on a more suitable place.
Unfortunately for Tyler—and maybe for herself—she was a sucker for sentimental nonsense and she liked a challenge. Why else would she have stayed married to Greg for so long? Why else would she be trying to support herself and Lucy on a solidly midlist author’s income? She wasn’t a Miller by blood, but Lucy was, and if her great-grandmother had wanted the house to pass to someone in the family, it should. God knew, Greg hadn’t given her anything else…besides those big brown eyes, that charming smile and that fearless approach to life.
But, sentimentality aside, Jayne was also practical. It was one of the things Greg had liked the least about her. “Right now I have no plans to sell the place, but if I change my mind—” she looked again at the dangling shutters, the crooked porch, the paint flakes barely clinging to the wood “—you’ll be the first to know.”
Her answer seemed to satisfy him, judging from the silent nod he gave. He probably thought she was naive and inexperienced—a city girl who didn’t know what she’d gotten herself into, who wouldn’t last into summer and most certainly not through winter. And he might be right. She had been naive. Even knowing Greg’s penchant for exaggeration, she’d believed everything he’d told her about the house. But the place had potential, and she was a big believer in potential.
“Well…” She stamped her feet to get her blood circulating. “I’m freezing here and I need to see about breakfast. Lucy, let’s go in and warm up.”
“Aw, Mom—” Lucy broke off when her stomach gave a growl that would have done either of the dogs proud, then grinned. “Wanna have breakfast with us, Tyler?”
Say no, say no, say no, Jayne silently chanted, and she swallowed a sigh of relief when he did.
“No, thanks. I’ve got things to do.”
Lucy grinned again. “Can Cameron Diaz have breakfast with us?”
“They’ve already eaten.”
“Yeah, but they look like they could eat again.”
“They look like they could eat you.” Jayne swung her up into her arms, then brushed away some of the snow that covered her from hood to boots. In unison with her daughter she said, “Oh, Mom…” As Lucy rolled her eyes, Jayne took a few backward steps toward the house. “Thanks again for the firewood. We really appreciated it.”
As he’d done the night before, he simply nodded, then walked away. She watched him for a moment before turning and trudging toward the house.
Her house. Her daughter’s ancestral home.
Their future.
Chapter 2
By noon the snow was dripping so heavily that at times it sounded like rain, plopping off the roof and puddling on the ground underneath. Tyler stood at the front window, eating lunch—a sandwich in one hand, a Coke in the other—and gazing across the yard. Supposedly he was watching the dogs run. Instead, he was seeing another snowy scene, this one a hundred and fifty miles and eighteen years away.
An unexpected snowstorm had crippled Nashville, blanketing everything in white and closing the schools early. The buses had been waiting at lunchtime, and the kids who walked to school had been lined up at the office to call for rides. Since they’d had neither a home phone nor a car for Carrie to come and get him, Tyler had hidden in the boys’ room and waited until the school was quiet—the buses gone, the luckier kids picked up by a parent. Then he’d sneaked out of the building and had run all the way home, his jacket too thin and his shoes too worn to provide any protection from the snow.
Despite the frigid temperatures, he’d removed his shoes and socks outside—Del didn’t like the kids tracking in dirt or snow—then let himself into the house. His first clue that something was wrong was his mother. She’d sat at the kitchen table, Aaron in her lap and Rebecca clinging to her side. Carrie hadn’t laughed at his hair, frozen in spikes, or offered him a towel or fussed over him at all. She hadn’t done anything but give him
