Roen John Wright turned his Jeep onto the long drive paved with crushed seashells that led directly to Liz Lowery’s Tower House. As he came around the last curve, he hit the brakes and just stared.
The century-old Queen Anne Victorian, with its three stories, wraparound porches, corner turret, and leaded windows, was the reason he’d become an architect. He’d always wanted to restore it, but Liz Lowery had consistently refused every offer of work he’d made her. Work was hard to find for a guy with no experience. Pequot Point, a small town on Long Island’s North Fork didn’t offer many opportunities but Virginia did. He spent almost a decade there restoring similar beauties, building his reputation.
He was home now. Back on Long Island because Dad had called him last autumn and said they needed him. He’d promised his dad he’d do whatever it took to help build a solid reputation for Restorations Done Wright, the new name they’d picked for his grandfather’s old handyman business.
And he’d promised himself he’d get his hands on Liz’s house. Liz had passed away after a brief illness a couple of weeks ago, in February. He’d heard the property had gone to Liz’s granddaughter. He remembered Angela Austin spending summers with Liz. Pretty little thing with huge brown eyes and a ton of shiny dark hair she always kept coiled in a single braid. Never spoke to him, though. Probably heard all about the Wright men being so honorable.
A distinct snort from the shotgun seat made him laugh. “Okay, Lady G, no need to be sarcastic.” He gave the dog a scratch on her head. He loved her and she adored him right back. Not many others he could say that about. The dog was a chocolate Lab he’d raised since puppyhood. He’d never let her down and never would.
He hit the gas and continued up the drive to its terminus, a large circular clearing in front of the enormous house. As he got closer, he noted missing shingles, cracked trim, sagging porches, and several covered up windows.
He tingled in anticipation.
Then he saw the black Volvo parked beside the Santa Fe he’d seen Angela drive around town. “Hell, Lady. We may be too late.”
Doreen Duncan was here, owner of Pequot Point Realty.
While he sat trying to figure out his game plan, the front door to the great house opened and Doreen walked down the porch steps.
“Okay, girl, here we go. You do your thing and I’ll do mine, okay?”
The Lab’s ears twitched and she grinned the way good dogs always did. He climbed out of the Jeep and let Lady loose.
“Hey, RJ!”
“Doreen. Land the commission?”
“No and I’ll never get over it,” she said with a grin. “She’s all yours.”
When he turned and saw Angela Austin framed in the door, that tingle of anticipation returned.
ANGELA AUSTIN STOOD BESIDE HER best friend and had to stifle her gasp.
Roen Wright, object of her teenage fantasies, climbed out of a Jeep. She’d been twelve the first time she’d ever noticed him. He’d been fourteen or fifteen and comfortable in his skin, unlike her. He was tall with a mop of dark curls and strikingly unexpected blue eyes that often appeared silver.
He must be thirty-two or thirty-three now and age had merely honed the hotness he’d had in truckloads back then. His shoulders were broad and he walked with a powerful grace that made her wish she could walk beside him, holding his hand.
Stupid. Wishes were pointless. Gran had always said that.
He wore sunglasses and wasn’t it a sin against nature to hide those gray-blue eyes of his? Last she’d heard, he’d moved down south. She hadn’t heard he was home.
“Angela? Hi. We’ve never been introduced but I know your family from around town. I’m RJ Wright. This is Lady G.” He spoke from the bottom of the porch steps, a polite smile on his face.
For the first time, Angela noticed the brown dog sitting patiently beside him.
“Hi.” Her voice squeaked.
He waited a beat, lifted the sunglasses to the top of his head, pulling back his hair to reveal those amazing eyes.
Lindsey cleared her throat. “I’m Lindsey Greene, Angela’s friend.”
He reached up, shook Lindsey’s hand, but remained at the bottom of the steps. “You live here, too?”
“No, I live in the city. Come on in.” Lindsey said pointedly and Angela’s face burned.
His smile dialed up a notch and he climbed the steps. He was taller than she remembered, much taller than her own five-foot-seven. He wore jeans, work boots, and a jacket with Restorations Done Wright on the left side. A well-worn leather messenger bag hung off one shoulder.
They stared at each other until a throat cleared for the third time.
“RJ. What brings you by?” Lindsey asked. She led the way to the room Angela’s grandmother had always called the front parlor, spearing Angela with a get-it-together glare.
Angela all but collapsed onto one of the pair of sofas that faced each other in the center of the room. Her eyes widened when he folded himself with ease down to the opposite one, the dog again sitting at his feet. Lindsey remained in the archway.
“Well, my family and I have a business. We specialize in restoring and rehabbing old structures like this one.” He lifted his head, gazed around the room, surely cataloguing all its flaws, then slid a hand into his pocket to retrieve a card for her. “I heard y’all inherited this place and came to offer our services.”
His voice was like melted chocolate—smooth, sweet, and when had he developed that sexy drawl?
He leaned forward, lost the fake smile. “I’m really sorry to hear about her passing, Angela.”
Tears stung her eyes but she nodded. “Thanks. It’s been rough.”
“Do you have any plans for—”
“What’s the G for?” She cut him off.
He blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your dog’s name.”
“Oh.” He shifted. “Godiva.”
“Was she named for the 11th century wife of the Earl of Mercia or the chocolate?”
He shifted again. “The chocolate. She’s a chocolate Lab and Godiva’s my favorite chocolate, and I, you know, went with a theme.”
Charmed to her toes, Angela smiled. Roen blinked. Lindsey cleared her throat again.
“Have a cold?” Roen asked Lindsey.
Lindsey faked a sneeze. “Don’t mind me.”
When Roen looked back at Angela, Lindsey gave her two thumbs up.
Angela took the leap of faith.
“Um, well, here’s the thing,” she began, excitement starting to mount. “It’s been one hell of a month. I’ll tell you what I just told Doreen. I am the sole owner of this place.” She flung out her arms, encompassing the property. “The terms of my grandmother’s will were clear. I can’t sell it. I can’t parcel it out. My family wants to fight that, but since I’m also unemployed, I decided to use the life insurance benefit Gran left to convert it to a B&B.” She didn’t bother sharing the story about St. Stephen’s University cutting their library staff so they could hire another football coach.
It was too humiliating.
She watched the emotions ripple over his face—shock, interest, happiness. It was his pure undisguised joy that sealed the deal for Angela.
He grinned. And this time, it was a real smile, like he’d only just remembered how, and it was as potent as his melted chocolate voice.
398.2, she decided. If she had to pick a library shelf for RJ Wright, it would be with the fairy tales and other heroes.
AN HOUR LATER, ROEN AND Lady G were back in his Jeep. The house needed a lot of work but it had good, solid bones. It was as special as he’d always imagined it would be.
Liz Lowery was all over that house. So was Angela. He would try to preserve those touches of whimsy—photos of Liz wearing one of her hand-knit sweaters, waving from the porch. The growth chart on the kitchen wall marking heights for Angela and her cousins, Matt and Chelsea, clearly younger than Angela, judging by their height differences. The old oak table in the kitchen, its scars like memories pressed between the pages of a book.
He waited until he’d reached the huge boulder that marked the turn to the tower house drive, hit the brakes and let out a whoop, scaring Lady G into wild barking.
“We got the job, girl. Do you know what this means?” He grabbed her face in his hands and put a kiss right on that wet little nose. “It means we’re back in business. And once the business is steady, you and I are back to Virginia and on our own again.”
Lady barked.
“Yes, ma’am. Just you and me.”
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