once more, he pulled a small pad and pencil from his pocket and sat on a windowsill in the parlor to jot down his thoughts and make note of a few measurements he’d taken. The morning sun warmed his back through the rippled glass panes. He was in no hurry to leave and had nowhere to go.
CROWDING EVERYTHING on the hot side of the griddle, Sarah managed to finish the morning cooking without losing her mind. An hour and a half later, the last table cleared as a tourist family of four that had run her ragged finally left. At least her regular customers had understood her dilemma and been patient with the poor service, so she’d cut a percentage off each ticket, even though she needed every penny of income. As soon as the front door clicked shut, she grabbed the phone and called Aaron’s cell number. No answer. Furious now, she punched in another number and drummed her fingers on the counter waiting for an answer.
“Hello?” she said in surprise when a woman answered. “I’m trying to reach Aaron. He didn’t show up for work today.”
“I know, Miss Sarah.” The woman’s voice wavered. “I’m his mother, Martha, and I just got home. He’s so sick he can hardly lift his head off the pillow. He only managed to call me a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, I see.” Sarah’s anger waned. “Does he need a doctor?” She didn’t know the family very well, only that Aaron worked and saved most of his money by living at home.
“I think it’s just a stomach bug, but if he’s not better tomorrow he won’t be in.”
“I understand. Please have him call me when he feels better to let me know when he’ll be back.”
“I will. He really likes that job, so I know he’ll be there as soon as he can.”
Sarah settled the phone into place on the wall cradle and leaned against the counter for a weary moment before tackling the messy tables. She filled a large garbage bag and hauled it out the back door to the Dumpster. Glancing up, she noticed movement in her uncle’s old house on the hill. She shaded her eyes against the bright sunshine and frowned. Somebody was definitely sitting in the window. Who was on her property and why?
Several vehicles were parked at her best friend Kaycee Rider’s veterinary clinic next door, but on this side a lone black extended-cab pickup with a fancy camper shell sat in the parking lot. She glanced at the magnetic sign on the door, which sported a colorful “house” logo with the scrolled letters VRR intertwined and overlaid on a red C. Below that Vision Restoration and Renovation and an out-of-state phone number appeared.
Some consultant Harry had called in? He hadn’t mentioned any outside firm to her. She started up the hill, noticing Kaycee and an assistant in the corral behind the clinic working with a lame horse.
Quietly she went through the open door. Lock it next time. From the arched doorway between the entrance hall and the main parlor, she could see the stranger who’d eaten in the café sitting in the bay window, his dark head bent over the tablet on his knee as he wrote.
“Excuse me,” Sarah said.
He looked up and shot her a heart-stopping smile. “I see you survived the breakfast crowd.”
“What are you doing in here?” she demanded.
“Interesting house,” he said, rising.
“This is private property. Are you working with Harry Upshaw?”
The little boy beside him stopped playing with the toy in his hand. He looked up at Sarah with big brown eyes and crept behind the man’s legs, peeking around at her.
“Was that the contractor you were talking to in the café?”
“Yes, he’s going to start working on the house next week.”
“Nope. I don’t work with anybody.”
“Then what are you doing in here? Did it occur to you to ask permission before you trespassed?”
“You were somewhat rushed this morning.” He tucked his pad and pencil into his shirt pocket. “It’s a beautiful old house.”
Sarah stared at him. “You’re the first person who’s said that in a long time.”
“Obviously well built. Just a bit run-down. Most of the problems are cosmetic.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m going to remodel it and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast.”
“Remodel? This house deserves to be restored.”
“Love to, but I can’t afford it.”
His lips pressed together and his brow knitted.
“That’s too bad.”
“Why?”
“I’d hate to see a fine old mansion like this messed up any more than it already has been. The craftsmanship is irreplaceable.”
“What business is this of yours?”
He blew out a long breath, rubbed his hand across his mouth and said, “It belongs to me now. Your brother Bobby sold it to me.”
CHAPTER THREE
SARAH SUCKED IN a shocked breath. She clamped her fists against her hips and glared at him. He hoped she wasn’t the fainting kind.
“That’s a lie!” she snapped, alleviating his worry that she might swoon. But the nearly imperceptible tremor in her chin belied her bravado.
He almost smiled at her pretty face, which was suddenly as pale as porcelain except for a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. Her turquoise eyes were shooting sparks.
“No, ma’am, it’s not. I’ve got the documents in my truck, if you want to look them ov—”
She gave an adamant shake of her head, unleashing several red curls that immediately fell across her forehead. Brusquely she shoved them back. “I don’t care what papers you’ve got. Bobby can’t sell this property to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m buying it from him.”
“You’ve got a legal document to that effect?” Cimarron asked, recalling the earlier conversation he’d overheard between her and the local contractor.
Wyatt’s hands squeezed Cimarron’s leg in a death grip. He fought the urge to shake the boy off so he could concentrate. Sarah hesitated for a second, lips pressed tight.
“No, not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“We have a verbal agreement. It’s always been understood that he would sell the house to me.”
“An ‘understanding’ is not going to hold water. I’ve got a legal bill of sale.”
He considered ducking to avoid the daggers being thrown from her eyes.
“I
