Until She Met Daniel

His admiration appeared genuine, which it ought to be. The entryway was an architectural masterpiece. Quickly, Mandy walked through the hallway and into the kitchen at the rear of the house.

“It’s been remodeled with all the latest conveniences,” she said. “Old Man Bertram left money to do it, though it’s too bad he didn’t put in the modern kitchen before he died. His housekeeper cooked on a fifty-year-old stove and says she still has nightmares.”

Mandy opened a drawer to reveal two garage door openers and various small gadgets to use around the house.

“There’s food in the freezer. Casseroles started arriving two days ago. We were going to have milk and fresh food in the fridge, only since we got mixed up about your arrival date, I’m afraid it’s still empty.”

“I’m sorry if I upset the plans.”

Mandy shrugged. “It’s not your fault. We just wanted to have it extra nice when you got here.”

“We?” Daniel asked. “How are you involved?”

“I was asked to be on the welcome committee. Anyway, the bed in the upstairs master bedroom is made, so that’s done. It’s on the right at the front of the house as you go up.”

“Thank you,” he said and began walking her to the front door.

“Oh, drat.” She mentally slapped her forehead. “I forgot your office keys. I’ll go get them now.”

“You’ll be at City Hall tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Yeah. Well, barring a blizzard or something,” she qualified.

“Right. Just unlock my office door if you have to step out. I have enough to do here. I can wait until tomorrow for the keys.”

“Sure. Say, you’d better turn up the hot water heater in the garage. It’ll just be lukewarm, otherwise.”

“Thanks.”

He turned and disappeared into the house, much to Mandy’s relief. There was something overpowering about Daniel Whittier, making her glad to escape.

* * *

BLEARY-EYED, DANIEL looked out the window at his Jeep Cherokee. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to park it in the garage and catch a nap. Not only had he gotten no sleep the night before, he’d been short on it for the past month. He was thirty-five now, not eighteen, and it was catching up to him.

Daniel walked through the pleasant sunroom off the kitchen and sure enough, the opposite door opened into a spacious garage. He parked his Jeep in the garage, closed the automatic door and then went up to find the master bedroom Mandy Colson had mentioned. He sank onto the bed, thinking about her. Lord, the woman had made his exhausted brain spin with her verbal detours and runaway mouth.

But she had an engaging smile that probably turned her boyfriends into melted butter and delighted the senior citizens she worked with.

His head hit the pillow. More misgivings about his move to Willow’s Eve were attacking. He’d envisioned a tidy ranch home, not a Victorian monster—this place was so huge they’d rattle around like dried peas in a pod. Worse, Samantha might find it overwhelming, or even frightening. Somehow he’d have to find a way to make her feel safe and secure, despite all the changes in her life.

Closing his eyes, he willed himself to sleep. Perhaps everything would seem more promising once he wasn’t so tired.

* * *

FOUR HOURS LATER, Daniel woke with a start, and it took a moment to orient himself.

He’d been grateful when he was offered the job in Willow’s Eve. The timing was perfect and would provide employment while he considered the future. Most of all, it had gotten him cleanly and quickly away from Southern California. Moving was probably best, even if Celia and the mayor hadn’t started dating. Celia was never going to develop maternal feelings, and his daughter would find it increasingly painful as she recognized that her mommy was more interested in Prada shoes than her own child—if she didn’t realize it already. It would be better for Samantha not to be constantly reminded of that hurtful truth. It was hard to feel unwanted, and even worse at only five years old.

He unpacked the Jeep and stacked everything in the kitchen before exploring the various rooms. The Victorian contained a significant amount of furniture, though some of the pieces were so old-fashioned they were practically antiques. Hell, most of them were antiques. It was handy that the house came furnished since his ex-wife had taken almost everything when she left. Daniel hadn’t cared as long as she didn’t use Samantha as a bargaining chip.

The Victorian had both a formal living room and a flowery parlor connected by French doors; Daniel stood between them, trying to picture his recently purchased dark gray-green leather couches in place of the elegant settees and needlepoint-upholstered chairs. The modern couches wouldn’t match the historic architecture, but they’d be far more comfortable. He and Joyce could discuss it before making a final decision.

Joyce.

Daniel chuckled to himself, wondering what the locals would think about his former mother-in-law living with him. It was unusual, but it was best for Samantha. The two of them were currently living in his town house. Joyce was a terrific lady, and having her in Willow’s Eve meant that Samantha wouldn’t need to go into child care. They were following him in a couple of weeks, depending upon how quickly he got things settled. Grabbing his smartphone, he dialed Joyce’s cell number. He’d called earlier to report his safe arrival in Willow’s Eve, but there had been little else to recount. Now he could tell Joyce and Samantha about the house.

“Hello, Daniel,” Joyce answered. He heard the smile in her voice. “Have you seen the house?”

“Yes. It’s a very large Victorian, in excellent shape. I’ve gotten some sleep and I’m putting everything away.”

“Is any furniture needed?”

“Not exactly.” He glanced around the room. “The existing stuff is old, though in good condition. But most of it doesn’t look comfortable.”

“Can some be removed?”

“The city council offered to store whatever isn’t needed.” He thought of Mandy. “The welcome committee made up a bed and put in basics like towels and hand soap. Not to mention stocking the freezer with home-cooked casseroles and other food.”

“Goodness. I didn’t think people still did that.”

“Me, either. It must be a small-town custom.”

“But it makes it easier for you right now. When the movers eventually deliver all our stuff, just leave the boxes until we get there. That way, you can focus on getting settled at work.”

Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll think about it, but I’d also like to have the house look more familiar for Samantha, with her own things around. Naturally, I’ll let you decide about your own boxes.”

All of Joyce’s belongings had been marked with her name, and he wanted to respect her privacy. After the movers picked up everything from his town house, Joyce and Samantha would stay at her apartment, since it was furnished.

“I’m not worried about that. But...uh...” Her voice dropped. “I just found out that Celia and Dirk Bowlin are getting married in a few weeks.”

He rubbed his jaw, not surprised. The six-month anniversary of his and Celia’s divorce had passed, and some people saw that as the minimum benchmark for getting remarried. Since Bowlin was a politician, conscious of his image, he’d follow any conventions he thought might influence voters.

“Don’t worry about it, Joyce.”

“It’s going to be a small affair, but they’ve asked Samantha to be the flower girl.”

Daniel didn’t ask if it would be a white wedding, though he was quite certain there’d be photographers—Celia loved pictures of herself, and the mayor would want potential publicity shots. Then he suddenly realized one of the reasons Joyce was concerned.

“Flower girl? Does that mean you’ll need to stay until after the wedding?”

“Celia is having a dress made and wants studio photographs done, that sort of thing, so I think staying is best. But it wouldn’t be much longer than we originally planned.”

“I see.” Yet Daniel’s gut tightened. While it was highly unlikely his ex-wife would try to reopen the custody issue, he couldn’t suppress moments of suspicion about her motives.

In the background, he heard his daughter’s voice pleading, “Can I talk to Daddy, please?”

“Sure, honey,” Joyce said.