Lisa Jackson - Confessions

Her small cottage was a far cry from this, the three-storied “cabin” that had once been the Monroe summer home. The manor—for that’s what it was, in Nadine’s estimation—looked as if it should have been set in a rich section of a New England town. Painted slate gray, with navy blue shutters battened against the wind, it was nestled in a thicket of pines and flanked by overgrown rhododendrons and azaleas.

This was where the Monroes spent their summers, she thought, surprised at her own bitterness—where Hayden had courted Wynona Galveston before the accident that had nearly taken the young socialite’s life. He’d never called Nadine, never written. Nadine had told herself that the pain and disappointment were long over, but she’d been wrong. Even now, she remembered her father’s face when he’d come home and caught her trying to sneak out and visit Hayden before he was transferred to San Francisco. She’d begged and pleaded until Ben had agreed to take her over to County Hospital while her mother had been working at the library, but George Powell, his shift shortened that day and for many days thereafter, had come home early and caught them. Thin lines of worry had cracked her father’s ruddy skin, and anger had smoldered bright in his eyes.

After sending Ben out of the room, he’d rounded on his daughter. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?”

“I can’t, Dad. I love him.”

She’d been banished to her room, only to come down later and find her parents engaged in another argument—a horrid fight she had inadvertently spawned.

“I’ll kill that kid,” George had sputtered.

“Daddy, you wouldn’t—”

He changed tactics. “Well, I’ll let him know how I feel about him using my daughter. No one’s going to get away with hurting my little girl.”

“You think you can stop him?” Donna had interjected bitterly, pinning him with a hateful glare. “Haven’t you learned yet that those people have no souls? How could you hurt a man like Hayden Monroe? The way you hurt his father? By giving him everything we ever owned.”

“Stop it!” Ben had snarled. “Just stop it!”

At that point Nadine’s father had nearly broken down; it was the only time Nadine had seen him blink against tears in his usually humor-flecked eyes.

Now, years later, she saw the irony of the situation. Obviously, because her name was no longer Powell, the attorney who’d paid off her father hadn’t recognized her. Instead, he’d offered to hire her at an exorbitant rate to clean the place from stem to stern. “...and I don’t care how much time it takes. I want the house to look as good today as it did the day it was built,” Bradworth had ordered.

That would take some doing, Nadine thought, eyeing the moss collecting on the weathered shingles of the roof.

She’d almost turned down the job, but at the last minute had changed her mind. This was her chance to get a little of her father’s lost fortune back. Besides, anything to do with the Monroes held a grim fascination for her. And she needed to prove to herself that she didn’t give a fig what happened to Hayden.

So now she was here.

“And ready to wreak sweet vengeance,” she said sarcastically as she grabbed her mop, bucket and cleaning supplies.

The key she had been sent turned easily in the lock, and the front door, all glass and wood, opened without a sound. She took two steps into the front hall, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Cloths, which had once been white and now were yellow with age, had been draped over all the furniture and a gritty layer of dust had settled on the floor. Cobwebs dangled from the corners in the ceiling, and along the baseboards mice droppings gave evidence to the fact that she wasn’t entirely alone.

“Great. Spiders and mice.” The whole place reminded her of a tomb, and a chill inched up her spine.

To dispel the mood, she began throwing open windows, doors and shutters, allowing cool, fresh mountain air to sweep through the musty old rooms. What a shame, she thought sadly. French doors off the living room opened to an enclosed sun porch where a piano, now probably ruined, was covered with a huge cloth. Plants, long forgotten, had become dust in pots filled with desert-dry soil.

It looked as if no one had been to the house in years.

Well, that wasn’t her problem. She’d already been paid half her fee in advance and spent some of the money on Christmas presents for the boys, as well as paying another installment to the care center where her father resided. The money hadn’t gone far. She still had the mortgage to worry about. Soon John would probably need braces and God only knew how long her old car would last. But this job, which would take well over a week, quite possibly two, would stretch out the bills a little. And the thought that she was being paid by Monroe money made the checks seem sweeter still.

Covering her head with a checked bandanna, she decided to work from top to bottom and started on the third floor, scouring bathrooms, polishing fixtures, sweeping up cobwebs and airing out the rooms that had obviously once been servants’ quarters. Paneled in the same knotty pine that covered the walls, the ceiling was low and sloped. She bumped her head twice trying to dislodge several wasp’s nests, while hoping that the old dried mud didn’t contain any living specimens.

As she turned the beds, she checked for mice or rats and was relieved to discover neither.

By one-thirty she’d stripped and waxed the floors and was heading for level two, which was much more extensive than the top floor. Six bedrooms and four baths, including a master suite complete with cedar-lined sauna and sunken marble tub.

Summer home indeed. Most of the citizens of Gold Creek had never seen such lavish accommodations.

In the master bedroom she discovered a radio and, after plugging it in and fiddling with the dial, was able to find a San Francisco channel that played soft rock. Over the sound of rusty pipes and running water, she hummed along with the music, scrubbing the huge tub ferociously.

As she ran her cloth over the brass fixtures, a cool draft tickled the back of her neck.

Suddenly she felt as if a dozen pair of eyes were watching her. Her heart thumped. Her throat closed. She froze for a heart-stopping second. Slowly moving her gaze to the mirror over the basin she saw the reflection of a man—a very big man—glaring at her. Her breath caught for a second, and she braced herself, her mind racing as she recognized Hayden.

Her insides shredded and she could barely breathe. He looked better than she remembered. The years had given his body bulk—solid muscle that was lean and tough and firm.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his blue eyes harsh. His face was all bladed angles and planes, arrogant slashes that somehow fit together in a handsome, if savage, countenance. His hair was black and thick and there was still a small scar that bisected one of his eyebrows. And he was mad, so damned angry that his normally dark skin had reddened around his neck.

Her heart broke when she realized he didn’t remember her. But why would he? He must’ve been with a hundred girls—maybe two hundred—since they’d last seen each other in the middle of a sultry summer night.

“I was hired to be here,” she said, still unmoving. Her voice caught his attention and his eyes flickered with recognition.

“Hired?” he repeated skeptically, but his eyes narrowed and he studied her with such intensity that she nearly trembled. “By whom? Unless things have changed in the past four hours, this—” he motioned broadly with one arm “—is my house.”

“I know that, Hayden.”

He sucked in his breath and he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “I’ll be damned.”