Сандра Браун - Thick as Thieves

She tipped her head toward the table. “Have a seat.”

He didn’t sit. He crowded in beside her at the counter to look out the window above the sink. He had to duck slightly. “That cypress grove blocks any view of the lake. Ever thought of thinning it out?”

“It’s so far from the house, I hadn’t given it any thought at all.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. How much acreage do you have?”

“Nothing significant. Twenty maybe?”

“Some would consider that significant.”

She didn’t see that the size of the property had relevance, but he seemed to make a mental note of it, then walked over to the back door and tested the lock as he had on the front door. It rattled when he jiggled it. He muttered something, but Arden didn’t catch what he said. He pulled open the door and looked out.

“Anything in the garage?”

It was detached from the house. A few days after moving back, she’d looked inside it, but, as remembered, it had been cleaned out. “Lisa and I had no use for tools, the lawn mower, and such. She either sold or donated everything.” She didn’t say, Including Dad’s car . Arden had cried when the new owner drove away in it.

She carried two mugs of coffee to the table. He joined her there. She had never considered the chairs around the table as being too small until he sat down in the one across from her. She remembered being struck by the proportions of the rocking chair on his front porch.

He didn’t use the handle on the coffee mug, but picked it up by placing his fingers around the rim. He sipped from it between his thumb and index finger. All this without taking his eyes off her.

“Who owns this place?”

“What do you mean?”

“Whose name is on the deed? Yours or your sister’s?”

“Both. We own it fifty-fifty. After our mother died, Dad had a local attorney draw up a will. He told us it was only a precaution. Should anything happen to him, Lisa and I would be provided for.”

“So this will has been executed?”

She nodded.

“He’s dead, then?”

“Declared to be. Wallace had—”

“Who’s Wallace?”

“My late brother-in-law. He kept a regiment of lawyers on retainer. Now Lisa does.”

“The lawyers had your father declared dead?”

“We waited for ten years before petitioning the court. It’s a process, but at the end of it, his estate was probated. Lisa and I got clear title to the house, which we needed in order to sell it.”

“But you haven’t. How come? Did you always plan to come back?”

“No. Lisa certainly didn’t. But she stalled on selling it for sentimental reasons. I didn’t give it much thought while I was trying to establish myself.”

“As what?”

“As anything,” she said on a light laugh.

“Such as?”

“Well, let’s see. My first job out of college was in public relations. I wrote press releases for a promising new record label in Nashville. It folded. I worked as an assistant to the curator of a New Orleans art gallery. She ran afoul of the IRS. I and a friend invested in a cupcake bakery. It went bankrupt, and so did the friendship.” She stopped ticking off her failed attempts at a career and gave him a wan smile.

“You get the idea. Anyway, every once in a while, Lisa would circle back to the subject of putting the house up for sale, but she never acted on it. It had no priority. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. Anyway, here it’s sat for all this time.”

“Going to seed.” He looked around the kitchen, but eventually his gaze returned to her. “Why now? Why come back and take this on?”

“None of your business.”

He snuffled at her sharp rebuke. “Actually it is. If I start this project for you, and it turns out that the house doesn’t even belong to you, and I get sued by somebody, I’ll be up shit creek. See, I don’t have a regiment of lawyers on retainer.”

“I’ll email you a copy of the deed.”

“Are there any house plans to go with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Blueprints would be helpful.”

“I’ll see that you get copies of everything.” That would take some finagling. She hadn’t yet broached the idea of renovation with Lisa, and she predicted that her reaction would be negative. On steroids.

As though reading her mind, he said, “What about your sister? Is she onboard? The house is half hers. What’s she think of your project?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Burnet.”

“I’m careful that way. Do you have your sister’s thumbs-up?”

“In all honesty she didn’t warm to the idea of my coming back here, to this town.”

“Why?”

She gave him a pointed look. “I’m sure you know why.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. You’ve got a lot to live down. I admire you for trying. But I gather your sister doesn’t feel the same.”

“No, she doesn’t. After the loss of my baby, she urged me not to stay. I won out.”

He looked at her for so long and with such intensity, she had to will herself not to squirm.

At last, he said, “Tell me what you have in mind.”

“What I had in mind when I came here was to make a home for my daughter and me. Lisa’s former bedroom was to have been the nursery. I was going to turn my parents’ bedroom into a playroom with a built-in mom-office tucked in under the sloped ceiling in the corner.”

“Good use of otherwise wasted space.”

“That was the idea. And that room gets a lot of sunlight.” She’d fantasized scenarios of her playing with her gurgling baby girl while dust motes danced around them.

Now, thinking back on the many domestic tableaus she had imagined, she slid her hand beneath her hair and massaged the back of her neck. Quietly, she said, “For obvious reasons, my needs have changed.”

He sat there without saying anything, abnormally still, and she wondered if his ability to remain like that for an extended period of time had been a facet of his military training. It would certainly be of benefit to a soldier. But it was unsettling to anyone who came under his scrutiny while he was at it. At least to her it was disquieting.

Eventually he reached for his mug and took another sip of coffee. “Do you have a particular style in mind?”

“Something different.”

“From what?”

“From what it is.”

“That would entail a clean sweep.”

“I realize that.”

His long legs had been stretched out at an angle to the table, ankles crossed. He pulled them in now, placed his forearms on the table, and leaned toward her. “Forgive my bluntness. Can you afford this?”

“I won’t know until you submit an estimate.”

“Right.” He thought it over. “I’ll make up a list of things. Not the pretty, sexy stuff. The basics. Wiring. Plumbing. Roofing. Like that. I’ll attach a high-end estimate, as well as a low-ball one. Pricing will depend a lot on your choice of materials.

“If you don’t like my ideas, if you can’t afford to have the work done, if you decide your sister’s advice was sound and move back to Houston, all you owe me is a hundred bucks for putting in the time. Sound like a plan?”

She swallowed, but her voice still came out huskily. “Mr. Burnet? How did you know I had moved here from Houston?”

There was the merest flicker in the blue eyes before he shrugged off her question. “It’s general knowledge.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t told a single soul.”

“That’s the scuttlebutt. Beats me how it got around. I don’t even remember who told me.”

“Like you don’t remember where you were when I was pointed out to you.”

He gave a huff, trying to blow it off. “Is that a big deal?”

“I don’t know. Tell me why anyone would be discussing me with you .”