The Single Dad Next Door

Maggie snatched up a cream-colored teacup with hand-painted leaves around the gold rim. They looked as if they were blowing in the wind—always in motion. The cup was beautiful. Ida had scoured countless resale shops and country fairs in order to find the best cups for her collection. She never settled for second-rate or mass-produced china.

Kellen appeared next to her elbow. “I haven’t put prices on anything yet, so just make an offer on whatever you see that you like and let me know.”

She spun around and was almost nose to nose with him. He had no right to smell so good. Against her better judgment she took a deep breath—fresh lemon with a slight mossy scent. Whatever cologne he wore she wanted to spritz it in her room before she climbed into her reading chair with a good book. It made her feel cozy in the same way she wanted to open her windows after a good rainstorm just to enjoy the air.

Who puts cologne on to work a garage sale?

An overmanicured man. That’s who.

Exactly the type she didn’t like to be around.

Maggie took a step back, making space. “How can you do this to Ida?”

He tilted his head. “I’m not doing anything to Ida. How can I?”

“By selling all of her stuff. You’re hurting her memory.” Maggie gestured to wave her hand over all the possessions scattered on the lawn. “You’re basically saying you didn’t care about Ida at all.”

Kellen shrugged. “For starters, I didn’t really know Ida. It’s hard to care about someone you hardly knew.”

“But that’s just it. You can know her. See?” Maggie shoved the delicate china cup into his hand. “She loved drinking her daily tea from these mismatched cups. She had a different mug she used each day of the week and special ones for her friends. The one you’re holding she used on Saturdays. It was precious to her. It should be to you, too.”

He turned the cup around and around in his hand. “I guess it’s interesting—if you can call a mug that.” Kellen set it back in a box with the rest of Ida’s china. “But I don’t drink tea and it wouldn’t hold enough coffee for my taste. My preference leans toward huge, ugly travel mugs. Anyway, I have no use for her china, so it can be sold.”

Maggie picked the mug back up. “This cup has life because Ida loved it. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Kellen’s face fell—as though he was suddenly disappointed or tired. “Things are just that—material possessions. That cup holds no more life than a mailbox. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that we should be more concerned with the time we have with the people we love than with objects that can be lost or broken or taken away at any minute. In the end, accumulating stuff doesn’t matter. At least it shouldn’t.”

He couldn’t understand. He’d never get it.

Maggie’s arms trembled as she took a deep breath, easing the rage boiling right under her skin. Besides, who did he think he was—trying to teach her some sort of spiritual lesson? She knew better than anyone that time with people was the most important thing of all.

Maggie also knew that people left without warning, both in death and because they decided Goose Harbor wasn’t exciting enough for them to stay. In the end, their belongings helped her remember them and she saw no harm in holding on to a few old possessions if they allowed her to recall a few good memories. Was that so bad?

Maggie pursed her lips. “Ida mattered. Why can’t you see that? These things are your heritage. She chose to leave you her legacy and you’re tossing it all away.”

“No.” He rested his hands on his waist and surveyed the lawn. “The money I’ll make selling all of it—that is my heritage.”

“So that’s all you care about—the bottom line?”

Kellen laughed, once, in a clipped manner. The laugh held no humor. “I care so little about money...” He looked down the road and didn’t speak for a moment. The muscle on the side of his jaw popped. “What I care about is providing a good life for my girls. That’s what I’m doing.” His vision landed back on her.

Maggie blinked back tears. “How much for the mug?”

“You can have it. No charge.”

She had to get back to the inn before she started all-out crying. He’d already judged her for being materialistic. If she stayed any longer she’d start running her hands over everything that had belonged to Ida, remembering a story that went with each item. She’d turn into a blubbering mess and he’d think she had a screw loose. No one needed that.

Maggie nodded to him. Afraid to even thank him for letting her have the mug. On her way back home she made the mistake of walking past a table full of Ida’s old books. Maggie knew many of them were first editions and worth hundreds. Kellen probably didn’t know and would give them away for a song. Maybe he deserved that. Then again, if he needed money to provide for his girls, she should tell him. She stared at the pile, biting her lip.

One book had fallen onto the dewy ground. Maggie bent to pick it up and then froze. She turned and stalked back to Kellen. “Her Bible?” Her voice rose. “You were going to sell her Bible? There is something seriously wrong with you.”

Kellen’s eyebrows formed a deep V. “Excuse me. I think you’d better—”

“If you cared about nothing in that house—” she stabbed her finger in the direction of the cottage “—if you sold every piece of it and bulldozed the entire property, you should have kept this. Out of everything, at least her Bible should have mattered.” Maggie fanned the book open. Every available space on the pages was full of handwritten notes in Ida’s shaky script. Each page was covered with pink, green and orange highlighter, and most of the text had been underlined at one point or another.

Maggie thrust the book into his hands. “These pages record a woman’s faith journey. Do you see her notes in the margin? Every word in this book meant something to her. She held this Bible every day and it changed her life.” Maggie no longer fought the tears as they fell down her cheeks. She snatched the Bible back, pressed it to her heart and crossed her arms over it. “You don’t care about anything or anyone, do you, Kellen Ashby?”

He didn’t even deserve to share Ida’s last name.

Kellen worked his jaw back and forth. One of his girls giggled as they ran through the side yard together. He glanced at them and then back at Maggie. “I think you better leave.”

“I’m keeping Ida’s Bible. Someone who loved her should have it.”

“Fine. Just go.”

She turned her back to him but couldn’t hold her tongue. “Are you going to tear down her house?” If he did, all of Ida would be gone. Forever.

“Not yet.”

So he would someday. More than likely soon.

She clutched the Bible to her chest, splaying her palm against the grooves of the cross on the front cover. “But the cottage is beautiful. It has so much charm and fits in this town.”

“Frankly I don’t care about charm. I care about a house that fits the needs of my girls.” His eyes trailed to take in the West Mansion behind her. “For now I’m going to gut the place and get rid of everything. I have a truck full of my things on its way here that I need to make room for.”

“You’re heartless.” Where had that come from? Maggie never spoke like that. But this man, so far, brought out her worst.

He stalked forward, lowering his voice so his daughters, who were walking toward them, couldn’t hear. “You can think whatever you want about me. But hear this. That house—” he jutted his thumb toward the cottage “—I own it. Ida left it to me. So you don’t get a say in its future. For once in my life, no one is going to tell me how I should act or do things. Especially not a woman who has been freeloading off my aunt for who knows how long.”

“Freeloading?” Maggie jerked her head back.

“I guess I forgot to tell you.” He smirked. “Ida left me the inn, too.”

Ice water filled her veins. She’d wondered...but hearing him say he owned her family home was much worse than she’d imagined.

When she didn’t speak, Kellen continued. “So I’d be careful if I were you, Maggie. Because I have the right to sell the mansion, too.”

Maggie spun back toward the inn and staggered through the yard. She fumbled with the latch on the gate that connected the two homes. At the moment she wished the three-foot-high picket fence was a ten-foot-tall cement wall so she couldn’t see Kellen or the cottage. So she could block them out and pretend he didn’t exist. But what did it matter?

He owned the West Oaks Inn.

Kellen Ashby could kick her out and tear down or sell the home she’d grown up in. The man who didn’t care about the past owned her only connection to hers.

The legacy she’d lost.

Numb, Maggie opened the back door and strode past the mess in the kitchen.

She’d better start packing her things, because with the way she’d just spoken to her new boss, she could guarantee she was very soon to be homeless and unemployed.