Me Without You

“Thomas Crane was the architect, right?” she asked as she walked over to the kitchen where the destruction was the most severe.

“It was one of Crane’s last commissions,” Frankie replied.

“Do you have the original plans?”

“Fortunately, yes. The set has always been kept out in my father’s workshop so it survived the fire.”

Cassandra lifted a sheet of thick plastic and stepped through what had been the kitchen door. Even though the fire had been a month ago, the pungent stench of smoke and ash hung in the air.

“This part of the house wasn’t added on later, was it?”

“No, it’s in the plans,” Frankie said. “When our father converted the mansion into a B and B in the seventies, all he did was bring up the kitchen to restaurant code. He didn’t make any changes to the structure.”

Cass looked around, assessing the load-bearing walls. They seemed mostly solid, though someone had buttressed one with a couple of two-by-fours to make sure it didn’t sag. She glanced upward. The ceiling was burnt through in places so she could see past the joists to the second floor.

She pointed over to the scorched back staircase. “I’d like to go upstairs, but not using those.”

“The ones in front are safe,” Nate replied.

A half hour later, the group was out on the lawn again.

“So what do you think?” Frankie asked as they piled into Sean’s massive Mercedes-Benz.

Cass gathered her thoughts before answering. “I’d have to see the plans and reflect a little before I could give you even the roughest estimate of time and cost.”

“But you don’t think we need to tear the wing down and rebuild it from scratch, right?”

“God, no! Although you will have to go slowly because you should save as much as you can. Given the historic nature of the house, a contractor who has respect for its pedigree will be the best choice for you.” Her voice drifted. “I tell you, the workmanship on the moldings in those front rooms is remarkable. The hours of labor…Thank heavens that balustrade going up the main stairs wasn’t ruined. You just don’t see that kind of curvilinear detail very often. Amazing what the human hand can do with a tool, isn’t it?”

She closed her eyes, savoring the images she’d stored up.

What a house.

When they pulled up to Gray’s, the group unpacked themselves and went through the back door into the kitchen. From around the corner, Ernest came barreling at them, stopping to greet each of the arrivals like he was the official ambassador of the household.

“So will you do it?” Frankie asked.

“Do what?” Cass replied while taking off her coat and stepping into the kitchen.

“Be our architect and general contractor.”

Cass stopped, but not only because of the question. Alex was across the room, sitting at the table.

With a flush, she saw his body arching up under her hand.

She looked down quickly.

Which was actually a good thing. Because she’d just dropped her coat on the dog.

“Well?” Frankie prompted. “We can pay you. The insurance company is going after the manufacturer of the gas stove that started the fire. Money’s not going to be a problem.”

“I, uh—”

Actually, I’d like to go lie down now. Because being in the same room with your brother this morning is making me dizzy and incoherent.

Sean stepped forward. “Cass, are your bags packed? We gotta hit the road, woman.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes. They’re in my room.”

“I’ll get them.” As Sean strode through the kitchen, he nodded at Alex. “Moorehouse.”

“O’Banyon,” Alex shot back.

The sound of the rough, low voice took Cass right back to the man’s bedside. Where she’d touched his body. Where she’d watched him move. Where he’d—

Get a grip.

Well, she’d sure had one last night….

Cass shut her eyes, wondering if anyone else in the room had noticed the floor was weaving underfoot.

“Cassandra, I saw the way you looked at our house,” Frankie said. “You’re perfect for this project.”

Cass shook herself to attention and sensed Alex’s eyes narrowing on her. She had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate her working on his family’s home.

“Why don’t the three of you talk it over,” she hedged. “I’ll go back to my office, check in with my partners, see what the schedule looks like. I know you’re going to want this project to move fast if you hope to open for the season in—when was it?”

“June,” Frankie said. “If you started around the first of December, you’d have seven months.”

Sean came back, Vuitton duffel bags and suitcases hanging off him like he was a bellboy.

“I still can’t believe how much stuff you pack,” he said as he headed to the back door. “Gray, you sure you know what you’re in for, signing on for one of these fashion types?”

“I’m buying a trolley,” the man said as he tucked his new wife under his arm.

“Good idea. It’s either that or a back brace.” Sean shot Cass a wink as he went on by. “Now let’s do it, beautiful.”

The assembled masses filed outside with Ernest leading the way. Libby went with them, no doubt to catch the dog before he tore off.

Cass stayed behind, swallowing through a dry throat.

She couldn’t leave without one last look at Alex.

Lifting her eyes, she met his own. They were what she expected. Cool. Remote.

“I hope everything goes well for you tomorrow at the doctor’s,” she said.

He nodded once. “Thanks.”