Julianna Morris - Family of Three

“No.” Her chin raised when he started to protest. “I won’t have heavy-handed construction workers messing up this beautiful Victorian. It needs to be restored by an expert.”

“But I’m an architect. I think I’m capable of having the job done right.”

“I’m talking about a historical building. Restoration is completely different from architecture.”

Jacob rubbed his forehead wearily. “You said the plumbing and wiring is antiquated. That doesn’t sound safe. I don’t want my daughter in a place that isn’t safe.”

“You should have thought of that earlier. Didn’t it occur to you the house could be falling down, despite your wonderful caretaker? No one has lived here for over twenty years.”

A lot of things hadn’t occurred to Jacob, including the possibility of having a strange, tawny-haired young woman camped in his grandparents’ home. “Let’s argue about it later. Tell me, what makes you such an expert?” he asked.

“Oh, that.” She shrugged. “I have a bachelor’s degree in archaeology, and a master’s in history. I also did an internship with the Smithsonian,” she offered. “And I worked for a museum in Philadelphia for a few years.”

He could hardly believe it. Jacob could have sworn she wasn’t more than twenty years old. Master’s degree? Smithsonian internship? What was she doing on the Oregon coast running an antique store? She had to be nuts. “Will you at least agree to plumbers and electricians?”

“Only if I get to pick them. If you don’t mind, that is,” she said without a pause. “They aren’t expensive and they know what they’re doing.”

“They must be paragons if you recommend them,” he murmured. “Being such an expert yourself.”

Alysia just laughed at the mocking barb. She was still rather annoyed with Reynolds—but she could see his exhaustion and knew his daughter’s accident must have affected him deeply. He seemed devoted to the child. Had worry caused the faint frosting of silver at his temples?

A man who loved his child so much couldn’t be all bad. For a moment she was tempted to forget her claim on the house. She wanted to stroke his face and soothe the tired lines. Alysia grinned wryly, imagining his expression if she tried. Jacob Reynolds wasn’t the type to be soothed. He was a four-square American male, the kind who wanted their women helpless and clinging. Could a man like that ever change? It was an interesting thought. Challenging. She liked challenges.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said in a friendlier tone than before. “You can hire a crew to repair the dry rot on the north side, and they can finish repairing the roof.”

“Finish?” he echoed.

“Yeah. I did some of the repairs before I broke my arm.”

“You were up on the roof? That’s dangerous.” Jacob jumped to his feet and stomped around the large kitchen. “I won’t have it,” he said without thinking.

Sticking her feet out, Alysia contemplated her toes. She wiggled them experimentally. “That’s an atavistic male response,” she informed him. He wheeled and glared at her. “And useless, since you don’t have the right to order me around.”

“I’m not ordering you around,” Jacob said stiffly, knowing he’d blundered. But damn it, he didn’t want her on the roof! Wasn’t one broken arm on his conscience enough? Just then she tried to scratch under the edge of her cast, making him feel an added stab of guilt. “This is still my house. I don’t want you risking your neck on my property.”

“The roof needed to be repaired,” she declared. “What should I have done. waited for an act of God?”

“I didn’t know about it.”

“Your lawyer did.”

He opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. Matt had been trying to contact him but he’d ignored the messages. “I’m sorry. My life has been a little hectic.”

“That’s okay.” Alysia could afford to be generous. The house would be restored her way—with care and love—and it would stop draining every penny of her reserves.

“Why did you choose my house?” Jacob asked, defeated. “For that matter, what made you choose the Oregon coast?”

“I liked it.”

“Is that all? You must have checked into the market potential here…the business prospects for antique sales.”

She shook her head. The decision to quit her job and move to the Northwest had been spontaneous. Alysia had been poking around Astoria when she’d run across the deserted house and barn. She’d been enchanted and outraged at their condition. Local legends said the place was haunted, particularly the nearby ocean bluff. But legends didn’t scare Alysia, neither did hard work.

“But you must have checked. You signed an extended lease, for heaven’s sake,” Jacob exclaimed, offended that anyone, even a scatterbrained brat, would be so reckless. “Don’t you know anything about business? It usually takes years to start making a profit. And out here…you’re not even in town. You can’t survive in the country.”

She chuckled. “I’m already doing quite well. Although, my profits have been eaten up trying to repair the house.” Her eyes darkened to a mischievous jade green. “But I’m sure it will get better now that you’re here—the big strong man, capable of handling things for a helpless woman.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“Sorry.” Alysia grinned, unrepentant. In a funny sort of way he looked just like a grumpy little boy. His dark hair was mussed from his fingers and he had absentmindedly tugged the confining tie from his neck. It was kind of endearing.

She hadn’t told him the whole truth; she hadn’t felt it necessary. Actually, Alysia was quite capable of managing a successful business. In addition to her position at the museum, she’d been doing antique restoration for years, along with a kind of “finders” service for the filthy rich. If someone wanted a particular antique—say a Louis XV bombe chest—then she found it. Her clients were the sort of people who didn’t care how much a thing cost as long as they got it.

“What made you decide on my house?”

“The Captain.” Alysia pointed to the corner of the

kitchen, where a wicker basket rested next to the cast-iron wood stove. A pair of sleepy eyes peered over the rim of the basket.

“Good God, it’s a cat.”

“Perceptive of you. Don’t you like cats?”

“I can’t stand them.”

“Oh.” She nodded in understanding. No wonder they clashed. Cat people and noncat people were mixtures that simply didn’t work. “I’ll bet you like dogs.”

“That sounds like a criticism.”

“I like dogs well enough.” Alysia jumped down from the counter and crossed to the basket. The Captain deigned to let her scratch behind his ears. A purr rumbled from his broad chest. “But dogs are slaves. Cats are citizens.”

“That’s absurd. Felines are unpredictable, stubborn and egotistical. Dogs are much nicer.”

The Captain rose and stretched, then jumped out of his nest. He weaved around Alysia’s legs. “I like their independence,” she said calmly, wiggling her toes in the animal’s long fur.

“What did that rotten animal have to do with your picking this house?” Jacob asked, stepping closer.

Alysia bit her lip, distracted by her unusual response to Jacob’s presence. Her skin tingled and her pulse was definitely faster than normal. Goodness, she’d been living like a hermit too long. Sure, the man had a body that appeared scrumptiously proportioned under his formal attire, but she’d never been the weak-kneed type of female.

“Well?” he prompted.

She glanced up. “Um, I was looking around the property when I heard this howling in the barn. Somehow he’d gotten trapped and was making a fuss. Anyway, no one claimed him. He acted so much in charge that I called him ‘The Captain.’ When I learned a sea captain built the house, it seemed to be fate. I made a few calls and wound up leasing the place.”