Jackie Braun - Saying Yes to the Boss

Dane lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “That’s cosmetic. The structure appears good.”

“For the most part,” she agreed. But since the house was all she had left of her family, it pained her to see it in such shabby condition. “It needs new shingles, though, and part of the floor on the side porch is a casualty of dry rot.”

“Basic maintenance,” he said with another shrug, unaware that Ree had been racking her brain for months trying to figure out how she could afford those necessities. “Get it fixed up and you could turn it into a world-class bed-and-breakfast. The view alone would have customers lining up at the door.”

“I’ve thought about that,” she admitted.

She had more than thought about it, actually. But opening her home to paying overnight guests still required an initial investment. It would take money—and a lot of it—to whip the Victorian into the kind of condition it needed to be in to attract high-paying clientele and hire the required staff. In the meantime, the bank wasn’t likely to extend that kind of credit to a woman who had no stable source of income or track record for running such a business.

It was breaking her heart to think that despite all her efforts, she might wind up selling the place after all.

Dane’s low whistle pulled her back to the conversation. “Did you know that your banister is made of quarter-sawn oak? They don’t make homes like this grand old lady any longer.”

“No, they don’t, which is why I don’t want to see it destroyed by some developer who isn’t as interested in preserving history and beauty as much as he is in making a quick buck.”

“So don’t sell.”

She wiped her mouth on a napkin as the familiar panic settled in.

“It’s not that easy. I own the place outright now. My grandmother left it to me when she died. But the taxes…” With a sigh, she slumped against the back of the chair.

“Steep, I’m sure, especially for this much frontage on Lake Michigan.”

“And especially for me at the moment.” It galled her to admit, “I’m sort of between jobs.”

Actually she hadn’t had a steady job in years. During the time she’d tagged around after Paul, she had worked as a freelance writer for a travel magazine. The pay was decent when she sold something, and living out of a tent, or at times a small trailer, had kept expenses pretty minimal. But her journalism degree hadn’t seen much of a workout since she’d returned to Peril Pointe. In any case, even with the aid of a nurse, caring for her grandmother had been a full-time job. Ree now had her résumé in with the local newspaper and a northern Michigan magazine. But even if she secured full-time employment, the aging Victorian with its constant upkeep and eye-popping taxes would remain well beyond her budget.

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