As she pulled to the curb, Allisons gaze was caught by the building next to the bed-and-breakfast. In contrast to the homey Victorian charm of the white clapboard inn, this building loomed over the street, three stories of Italianate classic architecture dwarfing the smaller buildings around it. She could just make out the brass plate attached to the wrought-iron gate. Blackburn House. So this was her inheritance.
An Italianate mansion dating from the 1850s. The attorneys voice, dry and pedantic, sounded in her mind. It belonged to Laurel Ridges founding family. Your late grandfather purchased it from the Blackburn family fifty years ago. He had it zoned commercial and divided to form several shops and offices.
The attorneys voice had sounded disapproving, either of the property or, more likely, of her.
Allison had mentally translated his description into old and dilapidated, with the architectural integrity of the original house compromised by ill-conceived renovations. But from the outside, at least, the building looked well kept, its paint flawless, small lawn smooth and green, and early spring daffodils in bloom along the front walk. A porch wrapped around the sides of the building, and a round tower anchored each end of the front.
Allison slid out and hauled the cat carrier from the backseat. There it is, Hector. What do you think of it?
Hectors snarl was probably meant to express his displeasure with his confinement, but it echoed her feelings quite well.
At least she ought to be able to realize some profit from the place when she put it on the market. Aside from a few random gifts that had been totally unsuited to either her age or interests, her father hadnt contributed much but a name and an accumulation of genes to her life. Maybe his mother had decided to make a last gesture toward rectifying his failure with her bequest.
We may as well have a look. Dont you think so? Talking to the cat was becoming a habit. Was that a sign that shed eventually turn into an old maid with no one in her life but cats? At least Hector didnt betray her or smash her dreams to bits.
Holding the cat carrier in one hand and fishing for the keys the lawyer had sent her with the other, Allison advanced on the door of Blackburn House.
* * *
NICK WHITING STEPPED OUT into the cool April evening, the lock clicking behind him on the door to the old Blackburn carriage house, now the workshop of Whiting and Whiting Cabinetry. The only way hed convinced his father to go home in time for supper was to assure Dad hed stop back later to check on the shipment of brushed pewter cabinet knobs that had been guaranteed delivery today.
It was important for Nick to be home for supper with Jamie, important to supervise his sons first-grade homework and to go through the bedtime rituals with him. When you were six, that sort of thing mattered.
Not that Mom or Dad wouldnt have been happy to take over, but where his son was concerned, Nick didnt take shortcuts. Jamie might have lost out in the mother department, but hed always know he could rely on his dad.
So hed settled Jamie in the twin bed in the room Nick and his brother had shared as kids, tucking him under the tractor quilt that was Jamies favorite. And then hed driven the mile back into town to the shop.
The package had been leaning against the door, probably having arrived soon after theyd left. He stowed it away in the workshop, pleased the supplier had come through. This meant they could finish Mrs. Phelpss new kitchen cabinets tomorrow, unless she changed her mind yet again. Hed lingered in the shop for a few minutes, looking over the finished cabinets one last time. He liked checking the progress of the work on hand, enjoyed running his palm over the warm maple and the elegant curves of their custom cabinets.
Nick grinned into the dark. Hed seen his dad do the same thing often enough. It must be a Whiting family trait, one that had somehow skipped his brother, Mac. Double-checking the door, Nick headed for his car, thinking about the wedge of cherry pie Mom would have saved for him.
A light from one of the windows of Blackburn House caught his eye as he rounded the corner of the building, and he paused. First floorit was in the bookstore. Ralph or his clerk must be working late, maybe unpacking a new shipment of books. Even as he thought it, the light switched off. Five steps later the light reappeared, in the quilt shop this time.
He stopped, frowning. Sarah Bitler wasnt likely to be in her shop at this hour. Sarah was Amish, and she didnt like driving her buggy along the country roads after dark. Apprehension slid along Nicks skin like a touch, and he reached into his pocket for his keys.
The light went out and the pattern repeated as another came on, this time in his showroom. Someone was getting into the businesses on the first floor of Blackburn House. Yanking his keys out, Nick ran for the back door.
A prowler? It could be the custodian, he supposed, but Fred Glick was usually gone by this hour, and making a final pass through the building wasnt characteristic of his lackadaisical approach to his job.
The rumors that had been making the rounds in town popped into his mind. Laurel Ridge couldnt seem to decide whether it was being plagued by a prowler, a Peeping Tom or a sneak thief. Maybe now hed get the answer to that question.
Nick held the knob firmly as he unlocked the back door, wary of any betraying creak as he eased it open. Stepping inside, he considered his brother Macs reaction if Nick actually caught the prowler. Mac, Laurel Ridges police chief, had been skeptical from the start about the rumors, saying it was probably a manifestation of cabin fever after the long winter.
Nick slipped past the storerooms at the back of the building and slowly opened the door that led to the front part of the house. The wide hallway that ran from this point to the front of the building was deserted, but a patch of light lay on the marble floor. Staying in the shadow cast by the wide center staircase, Nick moved silently forward. To judge by the location of the light, the intruder was in their showroom. He heard the sound of movement, as if something brushed against a cabinet.
If he went to the showroom door, hed be seen instantly. But he could slip in the door that led from the hallway to the office behind the showroom, and he might be able to get close enough to see without being seen. Pulse racing, Nick crossed to the office door and fumbled for the key. He realized he was enjoying this small adventure, and he had to laugh at himself. Maybe a guy never outgrew all those cops versus bad guys scenarios of childhood.
Holding his breath, Nick pushed open the door and sidled into the office. No one was here, but a stream of light spilled from the open door into the showroom. He worked his way around the desk and groped the wall next to the door. He paused there for a moment and then cautiously peered into the showroom.
The rows of cabinet doors on display made an effective screen. He couldnt see the guy from here, but he could hear footsteps, followed by a soft thud as something bumped one of the cabinets.
Nick held his breath and moved soundlessly farther into the showroom, taking cover behind a Peg-Board displaying hardware styles. The footsteps came nearer. Frowning in concentration, Nick counted the steps, estimating the prowlers location. One step, twohe must be within a foot now, so close Nick imagined he could hear a breath.
Muscles tense, he waited. The instant he saw movement, he lunged, grabbing the form. Several things happened at once. He realized he was clutching a female, he felt her swing something and he heard the crack as it hit his leg with numbing force. Another crack, a banshee shriek and an orange ball of fur plummeted toward the floor.
Muscles tense, he waited. The instant he saw movement, he lunged, grabbing the form. Several things happened at once. He realized he was clutching a female, he felt her swing something and he heard the crack as it hit his leg with numbing force. Another crack, a banshee shriek and an orange ball of fur plummeted toward the floor.
The cat turned on a dime, hissed and spat at him, spine arching. The woman, yanking free of his grasp, looked as if shed like to do the same. Nick had a quick image of shining auburn hair, pale creamy skin and bright green eyes that seemed to shoot sparks of rage.
What are you doing? Are you insane? She held what he now realized was a cat carrier, its door hanging by one hinge. She raised it threateningly, and he had no doubt shed hit him again at an unwary movement.
He raised both hands, palms out, and took a step out of range. Take it easy. I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing in my shop?
Your shop? she echoed.
Nick saw the doubt enter her face, and a delicate pink stained her cheeks. The green eyes were framed by uncompromising brows, and her heart-shaped face had a stubborn cast along the line of her jaw. As for her lips...for a moment he was distracted, and he forced himself to focus.
Thats right, my shop. Im Nick Whiting. This is the office and showroom of Whiting and Whiting Cabinetry. I repeat, who are you? How did you get in? Or maybe I should just call the police. He sketched a gesture toward the pocket that held his cell phone.
Thats not necessary. Her chin lifted. Youre Mr. Whiting? Im Allison Standish. She said it as if it should mean something to him.
It did. Youre Ms. Standish? The long-lost granddaughter Evelyn left this place to?
I havent been lost, Mr. Whiting. Her tone was cool. But, yes. Im the new owner of this building, so I have every right to be here.
He raised an eyebrow, wondering if it would infuriate her. You may or may not be the owner of Blackburn House, but this is my shop. According to my lease, Im supposed to be notified in advance if the owner wants access.
Nick had no idea if the lease actually said that, since it had been negotiated by his father years ago, but if it didnt, it should.
I see. Her tone was icy. I suppose I should have a look at all the leases, shouldnt I?
Naturally she would, possibly to his sorrow. Maybe he shouldnt have mentioned it. He took the opportunity for a long look at her. Sleek chin-length hair the color of polished mahogany, earrings a delicate tangle of silver and jet, jacket of butter-soft leather and a silk shirt that molded full breasts, a skirt that flirted with her legs and a pair of high-heeled boots that looked capable of kicking if necessary.
Well. With this woman taking over Blackburn House, there might be a lot of changes coming.
* * *
ALLISON MADE A concentrated effort to collect herself. Her nerves, already shredded by the events of the day, hadnt been up to this additional assault. It was taking every bit of control she had to keep her courage up with this obnoxious character. If he was typical of the tenants shed have to deal with, the sooner she sold this place, the better.
She bent to pick up the cat, smoothing her hand over Hectors ruffled fur. Poor thing. Hed had a bad day, as well. It was a shame he hadnt managed to run his claws into Whitings leg.
Glancing up under her lashes, she assessed the man. Light brown hair, cut in a short, almost military style, and tanned skin. He had a jaw that proclaimed his stubbornness, and at the moment it was set like granite.
He met her gaze, and his eyes were a shade somewhere between gold and brown that reminded her of topaz. His gaze seemed to grow intent as he realized she was assessing him, and she looked down, trying to ease an affronted Hector into the cat carrier. He snagged the dangling door with one paw.
Look at this. Youve broken my cat carrier. Tears stung her eyes. Ridiculous, but this really was the last straw. How can I walk into the bed-and-breakfast carrying a cat in my arms? I cant expect the owner to accept that. She wasnt eager to have a cat on the premises as it is.
Whiting knelt next to her, and a flicker of alarm went through her at the quick movement and his unexpected closeness. She caught her breath. How did she know he was really who he said he was? She shouldnt be lingering in an empty building in a strange town alone with a man she didnt know.
You hold the cat. Ill deal with the door. His tone warmed, filled with amusement, as if hed guessed what she was thinking.
Speechless, Allison gathered Hector into her arms and eased a little away from him. She watched Whitings hands as he worked on the carrier. They were square, strong, workmans hands, a little scarred but deft and capable. In a moment hed popped the door back into place.
That should do it. His hand moved toward Hector, who reacted with a hiss. Whiting retreated prudently and held the cage door instead while she stooped to bundle Hector inside. I dont think that cat likes me. He rose, putting a hand under Allisons elbow to help her up.
Its the traveling he doesnt like. Hes had a rough day. As she had.
Looks like hes not the only one.
It was all she could do not to wince. If thats your idea of a compliment, I dont think much of it.
Whiting grinned, the sun lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. My mother says I have all the finesse of a bulldozer. I just meant Well, youve had a long drive from Philadelphia, and its late to be inspecting a building, besides being assaulted by a stranger who breaks your cat carrier with his leg. Ill help carry your stuff over to Mrs. Andersons place.
How did you know thats where Im going? Or that Ive come from Philadelphia?
Allison was instantly suspicious, but the gaze that met hers was guileless.
You said you were staying at a B and B. Theres only one in town. And everyone has been buzzing about the unexpected relative scooping a piece of the pie.
Oh. She felt foolish, which was probably what hed intended. Thanks, but I can manage my own things. She straightened, grasping the carrier and her bag. Good night.
He nodded. Waiting until shed left the showroom, he switched off the light, locked the door and strode off toward the rear of the building.
That was that, she thought, rather surprised that hed given in so easily. He looked like the kind of person whod keep pushing, as if being female meant she couldnt manage to carry anything heavier than a feather fan. She made her way to the front door, paused a moment to admire the frosted patterned glass that must have surely been original to the building and let herself out, locking the door behind her.
By the time she reached her car, Nick Whiting was waiting there for her. She glared at him. I thought wed already established that I can manage my own bags.
You can, but you dont have to. He leaned against the car, blocking her entry, seeming immovable.
Allison wasnt going to stand here all night arguing. She shoved past him unceremoniously, pulled out her suitcase and laptop bag, and clung to the handle when he attempted to take the suitcase from her.
I can manage, she repeated.
He raised one eyebrow, a trick she found annoying. Come on, give me a break. It would reflect badly on my parents if I didnt help you.