Lacewood, page 3
“A little fresh air will do wonders.” Katie said the words out loud and was startled when her voice echoed and reverberated back to her in the nearly-empty room. She hurried to a window on the south side of the house and wrestled with the monstrous pane until at last it moved. The panel only rose a few inches, but the effect was instantaneous. Warm air full of birdsong and the alluring fragrances of spring rushed in, creating a completely different atmosphere.
Sunshine spilled in as well, creating dappled pools of light on the floor. This was the type of thing Katie remembered from her time in the country...nature in all its glory. She wanted to smell and hear it, feel and enjoy it, even when working inside.
The intense satisfaction from that simple act made Katie sigh with happiness. Yes, this was a far cry from a condo at the beach—or even a rustic cabin in the mountains. But her jet-setting days of glamor and glitz were behind her. Lacewood was home, providing a haven she needed and longed for.
Katie walked through the imposing foyer, trying to avoid the shards of glass glittering in the sunlight. Her mother would never approve of this, that’s for sure. She often scolded Katie for wrapping herself in a cloak of isolation rather than enjoying the spotlight. Katie always responded by pulling the cloak even tighter.
The mere thought of what her mother’s reaction would be made Katie cringe, and then smile. For the first time, she was in charge of her life. No more trying to be what someone else wanted—or the world expected.
Turning her attention back to the house, Katie took in the desolate, dark, and barren room. Once she’d unpacked her things it would feel more like a home and less like a dirty, dilapidated barn. She’d bought a small microwave and coffee maker on her drive down, and packed everything she’d need to get by for a week or so. In addition to the necessities like her laptop and clothes, she had two coolers of ice, food, and a variety of flashlights and lanterns.
This wasn’t going to be easy, but this is what she wanted, Katie reminded herself. Instead of being waited on hand and foot, she would be able to measure the result of a hard day’s work by her aching muscles and the calluses on her hands...the way her father had, and his parents had, and certainly their parents before them. When her father reminisced about the old days, he always had a special glint in his eye. Now she was beginning to understand why.
Katie’s sandals made a scuffing sound as she walked down the corridor to the room in the back. This was where she planned to put her air mattress and belongings until other parts of the house were made livable. Sizeable yet homey, the room had a masculine feel to it, and an aura of protection and warmth.
Infatuated by the floor-to-ceiling bookcases encompassing two entire walls, Katie stood in the doorway and pictured the cherished volumes that once filled the shelves. Nothing remained of them now except the faint, musty smell of mildew, and a few scraps of paper that appeared ready to turn to dust.
Walking over to a built-in seat on the far wall, Katie rested her knee on the wooden ledge, and unlatched the French-style window behind it. She gave the pane a hopeful push outward, and was surprised when it creaked open with relative ease. A gentle breeze lifted the tattered remnants of a lacy curtain, rewarding her with the sweet scent of lilacs.
Leaning forward as far as she could, Katie tried to find the source of the fragrance, but discovered nothing but a tangle of weeds and untrimmed trees. Disappointed, she lowered herself to the window seat, trying to imagine the multitude of generations who sat in this very spot, reading, daydreaming, or simply gazing out over the wide expanse of flowers in the garden.
Of course, she had to use her imagination a little. The confusion of vines and vegetation that stretched out before her resembled a rain forest or a jungle more so than a garden. But even without flowers, this house was abundant with exactly what her soul needed.
Peace and quiet.
No more disruptions or distractions. No more interruptions or intrusions. On any given day, she could do as much—or as little—as she wanted. The debilitating headaches that had plagued her since childhood had all but vanished in the last month. She hadn’t even bothered to refill her prescription medications, or pack anything stronger than aspirin.
In that regard, the healing powers of the house were already evident. “I’ll fix you and you’ll fix me.” Katie felt silly making the promise out loud, but it was true. The house’s issues were countless and vast—but they were mostly superficial, paling in comparison to her deep-seated ones.
Pulling out her phone, Katie prepared to make the call she’d been dreading. Better to get it over with before the news begins to spread.
As she dialed the number, she steeled herself for the conversation to come. Her mother would be frantic with disbelief and dismay when she learned Katie made this decision without her. She would ask the inevitable question and demand an immediate answer. “What in the world are you DOING?”
Katie smiled with a deep sense of contentment at what her response would be.
Living.
Chapter 4
“YOU’RE NOT ACTUALLY staying here, right?” Elliott C. Fairfax III pulled a handkerchief out of his hand-tailored suit and batted at some cobwebs near his head before entering the room.
Katie placed the groceries he brought for her on the bare floor before answering. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s disgusting.”
“It’s a little dusty.”
“It’s filthy.”
“But it has possibilities.”
Elliott cast one eye toward the crack in the plaster overhead. “Yes, like the possibility of a piece of the ceiling falling down on your head at any moment.”
“All it needs is a little cleaning—”
“And a lot of fixing.”
“Okay. I’ll grant you it needs some fixing.” Katie put her hands on her hips. “But nothing a little TLC can’t take care of.”
“I think you mean TNT,” he replied, still looking around. “A stick of dynamite and a bulldozer would do wonders.”
Katie frowned and shook her head. “You’re my agent, a friend. I thought you’d be happy for me. Maybe offer some encouragement...”
“Okay. I encourage you to come back to New York with me and will be happy when you’re out of here.” He scanned the room again with a shudder of revulsion. “I brought you enough food to last a week because I wanted to give you time to settle into your new home. I didn’t realize you were living in something only slightly more sophisticated than a cave.”
“Did my mother send you?”
Elliott glanced away from Katie’s accusing eyes, suspiciously eager to change the subject. “Honey, I know you’re burned out. You need some time off. I get it. But this...” He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “This is going a bit too far.”
“Too late. It’s mine, and I’m staying.”
“This is ridiculous. How will I even get in touch with you about contract offers? Do they have phone service around here?”
“Send a note by Pony Express.” Katie bent down to move a box of cleaning supplies out of the way. She was trying to lighten her agent’s mood, but he didn’t crack a smile. In fact, he seemed to be trying to decide if she was serious. When his nine-hundred-dollar Italian shoes crunched on some broken glass, he froze in place, and winced as if afraid to look down and see what he stepped on.
“This is crazy,” he complained under his breath as he carefully repositioned his foot.
Katie picked up a broom and began sweeping the glass into a pile, which only served to increase the particles of dust hanging in the air. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. I wanted some peace and quiet and I know I’ll find it here.”
“You can find peace and quiet in Central Park. It’s not nearly as dirty.” He put the handkerchief back to his nose as he noticed the new cloud of dust.
“Depends on your definition of dirty,” Kate shot back.
“Just like it depends what your definition of civilized is.” He fixed his unsmiling gaze on hers. “This is like another planet. Where’s the nearest store?”
“I think it’s only about three miles.”
“Excuse me? Did you say three miles?”
Katie smiled. Naturally he was upset, since he would cringe at the idea of having to travel three blocks to find a good restaurant or gourmet food store.
“Where do you get a cup of coffee around here?” Elliott flapped the handkerchief over his head as if clear away more cobwebs while he walked into the next room.
“From my coffeepot, as soon as I get it set up.”
He stopped abruptly in the doorway of the parlor. “Where’s your TV? Do you have internet service? What in the world are you going to do all day?”
“Take long walks, sit on the porch, write, drink beer...” Katie sighed. She’d found peace. A reconnection to her roots...far away from the materialistic, covetous world she’d escaped.
“Wait a minute. Stop.” Elliott put his hands up, palms out, and then forced a laugh. “For a minute there, I thought you said you were going to drink beer.”
“That is what I said. Champagne doesn’t taste nearly as good after a hard day’s work as an ice-cold beer.”
“This is getting out of hand,” Elliott said in a serious, low tone. “You can’t possibly want to live like a hermit and be completely antisocial. Remember how you used to enjoy getting all dolled up and going to cocktails parties in the city?”
“To which I reply, No-o-o.”
“But you went,” he countered. “You acted like you enjoyed it—and the society pages loved you.”
“I pretended to enjoy it.” Katie crossed her arms. “To please my mother. Big difference.”
“You had me fooled. You must be a helluva good actress.”
“Thank you.” Katie bowed. “My therapist would be glad to know you believe I actually enjoy being around people.”
Elliott’s brow creased in confusion. “Speaking of which, how in the world are you going to get a therapist down here?”
“Why would I need one? I’m going to relax. Keep to myself. I won’t be attending events solely to please Mom...Speaking of which, did she send you?”
“No, she didn’t send me...exactly.” Elliott wiped his forehead with the handkerchief. “I mean, she did want me to see if you would go to the next—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
“That’s because I don’t even care. I’m not going.”
“But she has this wonderful new gown she wants to show off, and your figure is perfect—”
“N. O.”
Elliott took a deep breath, as if to respond, but Katie cut him off. “I told her, and I will now tell you, I’m done with it. No more public appearances.”
“Except for the thing in the fall,” Elliott reminded her.
“Yes, of course except for the thing in the fall. But after that, I’m completely through.”
He glanced around distractedly, making it obvious he was seeking a subtle way to change the subject. “So, what are your neighbors like? Have you met any yet?”
“No one but the sheriff.” Katie shrugged. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“Sheriff?” Elliott stood motionless in the middle of the room. “Does he carry a gun?”
Katie had to close one eye to remember whether or not the kind, blond-haired man with the broad shoulders carried a gun. “Yes. He carries a gun. It’s what sheriffs do in the country.”
“Country? You mean the Wild West.”
Katie couldn’t help laughing at the incredulous scowl on her agent’s face. “Seriously, Elliott. Not having a Starbucks or an Italian restaurant every few hundred feet does not make this the Wild West.”
“Men walking around with guns on their hips do.”
“I know this takes a little getting used to...”
“Getting used to? You’re a city girl, born and bred.”
“Yes, born and bred, but I lived with Grammy every summer.” Katie sighed. “The best days of my life.”
“Really? Running around barefoot in the dirt and going fishing were better than having a view of the Manhattan skyline from your penthouse living room?”
“Absolutely. And I like the view here even better.”
Both of their gazes spontaneously turned to an oversized window where a jumble of trees and shrubs had taken over what was once the garden. A vine had even found its way through a crack and was climbing up the inside of the pane.
Elliott reached over and put his hand to her forehead. “I think you have a fever.”
She swiped it away. “I’m not sick. In fact, I’m feeling better than I have for a very long time.” He stared at her a moment. “You do look good. You have color in your cheeks...even without makeup. You seem...happy.” He frowned, obviously not quite sure what to make of the situation, or how hard to push the woman whose family helped his firm make more money in the past three years than all his other clients put together.
Reading his thoughts easily, Katie glared at him. “Are you really worried about me? Or are you worried you’ll have trouble handling my mother without my help?”
Elliott shot her one of the priceless smiles she knew cost him a small fortune. “You know I’m only worried about you, baby.”
Katie felt a little sorry for Elliott. She knew he was here to check up on her because of the rumors floating around New York. Heck, some of them had even made their way into the tabloids. One claimed the house purchase was a ruse—that Katie was actually at a beach resort in South America recovering from some unknown addiction. Another insisted she’d had a breakdown and bought a run-down, dilapidated old house during a period of decreased mental capacity.
It was Elliott’s job to dispel the rumors, set the record straight, and protect his client’s reputation. Katie knew she was pushing him way beyond his comfort zone.
“Speaking of being worried, do these doors even lock?” He glanced around, his face twisted in alarm again. “You ought to get some deadbolts.”
“Deadbolts? For what? The only thing that comes back this far is the wind.”
“Which is kind of my point,” Elliott said dryly. “It’s dangerous to live alone in the woods with who-knows-what lurking out there.”
“The only thing lurking out there are squirrels and rabbits and birds.”
“Again, my point. You can live anywhere in the world, and you chose this rinky-dink, hillbilly town and this run-down, abandoned property?”
“I can’t explain it.” Katie studied the room, noting its potential, not its pitfalls. “This place called to me.”
“It called to you.” He repeated the words, not as a question, but as if he had to hear them from his own lips in order to understand what she meant. “Let me guess. It said, help me, I’m falling down.”
“Elliott, give me a break.”
“I’m trying to, honey, but this just isn’t you.”
“Actually it is me. What you saw before wasn’t.” Katie spoke in a low, serious tone. “You of all people should understand. Remember how liberating it was when you came out?”
“Oh heavens, don’t go there.” Elliott waved his hand. “Coming out of the closet in downtown Manhattan is a little different from coming out to be a recluse in the middle of nowhere.”
“It’s not the middle of nowhere.” She shook her head and inhaled deeply. “It’s home.”
Elliott blinked repeatedly, as if by doing so he could change the view. The once-elegant wallpaper in front of him drooped in long strips, exposing the plaster wall beneath. As he lifted his gaze, Katie hoped he would focus on the priceless quality of the chandelier—not the brown spot around its base.
“It isn’t safe to live here,” he said, taking a couple of steps back. “That thing could come crashing down at any time.”
“You worry too much.”
“And you look at the bright side too much.” He took her hand and steered her away from the area. “And yes, I do worry when a ceiling is about to cave in. You don’t belong here. You’re a bestselling—”
“So?” Katie didn’t let him finish, but tried to temper her words. “Elliott, I know you’re trying to protect me. I know what they’re saying about me back in New York and that my mother is on your case—but I haven’t lost my mind.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “I’ve found where I belong.”
Katie chalked up their difference of opinion to values and upbringing. Elliott thought of her house as the individual elements of wood, stone, columns and beams, that to him were old, tattered, inadequate, and useless.
She, on the other hand, thought of Lacewood as a collection of features that somehow managed to remain steadfast and persevere despite decades of neglect and hardship. That alone made the house worth saving.
Bending down to pick up a paint scraper, Katie gestured toward the ladder on the other side of the room. “Someone left me a ladder. If you want to stick around, you can give me a hand...”
He took a step back. “Who, me?” He sounded appalled, as if she’d asked him to pick something up for her at the local Dollar General. At the same time he brushed some imagined dust off his Armani suit, making it clear the mere act of standing in the room was beneath his normal standards. “I think I’ll pass. I’ve got to get back...” he glanced out the window at his car “...to civilization.”
“Okay. Well then, thanks for stopping by. And thanks for the groceries...and the roses.” Katie nodded toward the bunch of yellow roses, now wilted and droopy from Elliott’s long drive.
She knew he brought them to brighten up her new home, but right now they were anything but vibrant and cheerful. “I’m going to grow my own flowers—all kinds—and pick fresh bouquets every day.” When Elliott didn’t respond, she came out of her daydream. He appeared to be frozen in the middle of the room.
“Who. In. The. Hell. Is. That?” He pointed a shaking finger at the portrait over the fireplace.
“I’m not sure yet. A previous owner, maybe.” Katie studied the woman’s image again. A lustrous coil of hair crowned her head, and her melancholy brown eyes gazed out imploringly.
