closeted themselves in Kaycee’s home office in the rear of the rambling ranch house. Kaycee made coffee in a pot on a side counter and they sat down to do a bit of research.
“What’s the name of his company?”
Sarah repeated the company name she’d seen on the truck logo.
“His name is Cimarron Cole.”
“Cimarron? Interesting name.” Kaycee clicked the mouse a few times, searching. Within seconds, over a thousand hits popped up.
“Wow,” Sarah said softly.
“Wow is right,” Kaycee agreed. The first entry was his Web site. She clicked. “Double wow.”
The impressive home page was a sophisticated layout with photos floating across the page, fading and merging. Always there was the same sequence. First, photos from several angles of a house in terrible shape, and then a montage of construction scenes, ending with spectacular restorations.
Kaycee slid the mouse to Sarah. “You go where you want to.”
Sarah began clicking links to various projects Cimarron had done—the final results always breathtaking. She leaned forward in her chair, with a different perspective now. Okay, so he could do what he said. In fact, he could make her house more grand than she’d ever dreamed it could be. His house. Not hers. She felt the sting of tears again. She wanted her bed-and-breakfast so much it hurt. She’d anticipated the excitement of different guests each week. She just wanted things to be the way they were before.
She clicked on his bio, and a photo of him popped up, along with a statement of his professional creed. No hint of family or personal information.
“Is that him?” Kaycee said, eyebrows raised.
“It is.”
“He’s a hunk.”
Sarah gave a wry grin. “He looks better in person. For what it’s worth.”
“Dang, Sarah. Too bad he’s the villain.”
“Yeah. Too bad. He’s got a sweet little boy with him, too, about the twins’ age.”
“That’s interesting. No wife?”
“Not that I know of. And he doesn’t seem to want the child at all.”
“Looks like you’ve got a plateful, all of a sudden.”
“More than I ever wanted, I assure you.”
Another click brought her to a page that listed the homes Cimarron had restored or refurbished. At the beginning of his career he’d apparently contracted out to others, restoring private family homes and historically relevant property.
Over the years, those jobs had given way to his own projects. Before-and-after photos of each house had a short caption underneath noting the beginning and ending dates of each project and usually included photos of the smiling new owners. A plantation house he’d just completed in Louisiana was on the market for several million dollars. No doubt he realized a significant profit on every house, otherwise why would he keep doing it? He’d recover his investment in Sarah’s house ten times over—when he sold it. Sarah’s optimism caved, leaving an empty spot that opened up like a sinkhole and swallowed her future.
Kaycee ran her finger lightly down the screen along the list of houses and prices. “He flips houses. Restores them and sells them off.”
“Looks like,” Sarah murmured. “What am I going to do?”
“If you need help buying it back or paying a lawyer, you know Jon and I will do as much as we can.”
Sarah put her hand over Kaycee’s on the desk. A true friend, who would no doubt dish out plenty of money for her. But this wasn’t Kaycee’s battle.
“Thanks. I know you would, but I don’t think it would do any good. I can see why he’s dead set on restoring the house and making a killing off it. But you never can tell…Maybe fate will intervene.”
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