Family of Three

“Really? Where are you going to stay?”

“Here,” he exploded. “This is my house.”

Alysia plucked the document from his hands and surveyed it with a great deal of satisfaction. She was nothing if not stubborn. An hour ago she would have shredded the lease with a sigh of relief. Now she was determined to re main. “This is a legal contract saying it’s mine for the next three years.”

“I’ll buy you out of it.”

“Not interested.”

“I’ll pay you double,” Jacob insisted, resisting the urge to wring the woman’s neck. He abhorred violence, but he’d been through too much during the past few months: doctors, hospitals, hopes raised, hopes crushed, his daughter suffering and discouraged. They desperately needed a change.

“I’m not interested,” she repeated. “I like it, even if it is falling apart. Don’t you care about this place at all? How can you let it fall down around your ears?”

“It isn’t falling down,” Jacob denied, his pride stung by her obvious contempt. And it couldn’t be true. He paid a realty company to check the place regularly and do cleaning. They would have notified him about damages. He explained this fact in clipped tones.

“Sure.” She tossed her head. “They probably came in twice a year and dusted. I also found about a million stupid mousetraps all over the house baited with petrified cheese. No self-respecting mouse would have gone near them.”

“But the yard. it’s in great condition.”

“No thanks to your maintenance company. It needed a lot of work, but it’s been worth it. I just love flowers, don’t you?” she said enthusiastically. “I can’t get much of a vegetable garden started in this climate, but the flowers are fantastic.”

He recalled a brief impression of numerous flower beds and boxes around the house and barn. The overall effect was charming, and Jacob had been pleased by the extra effort made by the caretakers. Now it appeared the realty company wasn’t responsible. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Oh no, they’re doing great. Didn’t you see my lobelia and those big, fat petunias?”

“I mean about the house!” From the twitching at the corner of her mouth, Jacob guessed she’d known what he meant. Brat. He swallowed his own flash of amusement. The last thing he needed was to start liking this woman.

“Exaggerating? Just come with me.” Alysia didn’t even check to see if he was following. She began listing the various problems plaguing the crumbling structure, her ire growing with the inventory. She couldn’t believe somebody would neglect such a beautiful old place. His family home no less!

“Did you say dry rot?” he interrupted.

She spun around and poked her finger in his chest. Despite her respectable height he still towered over her. “Yes, dry rot. It’s only affected the north side, but the flooring needs to be replaced in at least two rooms, maybe a third.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Alysia pushed him into the rear parlor and pointed to the gaping hole in the center of the ceiling. “Seeing is believing.”

“When did that happen?”

“Unfortunately, when I was standing on the floor above it,” she said with a dry note. His eyes widened and focused on the plaster cast adorning her right arm. “Exactly,” Alysia informed him. “I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jacob said remorsefully. “You could have been killed. I didn’t know. I’ll pay for the damages. I mean, your doctor bills and such.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Aren’t you worried about being sued?”

Everyone reaches a point when they’ve been pushed too hard, for too long. Jacob had been at that point for months. “Go ahead,” he snapped. They glared at each other.

If the woman wanted to sue his pants off, who cared? There were plenty of lawyers to handle that sort of thing. And thinking of lawyers, he was going to have a word with Matt Braeden about leasing his house to such an obnoxious, abrasive, irritating and graceless female. She was a disaster. The holes in her clothes revealed more skin than they covered—ragged jeans, a sweatshirt stretched and worn beyond all recognition, bare feet and a filthy face. No wonder she had fallen through the ceiling. She was such a mess she couldn’t have done anything else!

“Jacob?” a voice cut through the tension. “Where are you?”

They glared another few moments, then he straightened, taking a few deep breaths. They didn’t help. “In here, Mother.”

“Goodness.” The tall, pleasant-faced woman gazed up at the jagged hole. “How did that happen?”

“Ask Miss McKenna,” Jacob said, stomping out of the room.

As the sound of his cursing faded, Alysia looked with interest at this new person. “Hi, I’m Alysia.”

The older woman smiled, diminishing the worry clouding her eyes. “Jacob can be rude, but he doesn’t mean anything by it,” she said. “My name is Grace Kirkland.” She pointed to the hole in the ceiling. “So, what’s the story. or do I want to know?”

That made Alysia laugh, though the memory wasn’t really funny. “It happened when I fell through from the floor above. The floor sort of trembled and all at once I was flying through the air. I don’t know what hurt worse…my arm, or my pride.”

“Miss McKenna?” growled a now-familiar male voice.

“Mr. Reynolds! I didn’t hear you storm back in.”

He pulled a pen from his pocket and focused on an object in his hand. “I’m writing you a very generous check. We’ll stay in a motel while you move your belongings.” He tore the slip of paper from the book.

Without even reading the numbers he’d written, Alysia ripped the check into several small pieces. Before, she’d been annoyed with him—but not really, truly angry. Now she was livid. What nerve! Stalking forward she dropped the pieces into his breast pocket. “The answer was no, Mr. Reynolds.”

“You can’t insist on sticking to the lease.”

“I’ll stick to it, and you will, too.”

“What lease?” Grace asked calmly.

“The one your son and I both signed and had notarized,” Alysia explained with relish.

Reynolds groaned and started to sink into the nearest seat. She snatched his arm and jerked him upright. “What?”

“Don’t touch anything.”

“You mean I can’t sit down in my own house? I own every stick of furniture in the room.”

“No,” she said impatiently. “I mean, it needs to be restored. Everything in the house needs work. If you sit on that Queen Anne chair you’ll turn it into kindling.” Alysia patted the wood lovingly.

A choked laugh came from Mrs. Kirkland. “Her concern wasn’t for you, son. It was for the furniture.”

“I can see that.” He stared at Alysia as though she were an alien life-form.

Grace cleared her throat. “Do you have someplace we can sit down? Safely?” she asked.

“Sure.” Keeping a wary gaze on Jacob, Alysia led them to the kitchen. A set of oak chairs and a sturdy oak farm table rested in one corner. She motioned. “Have a seat.”

“We have a problem,” Grace said, putting her hands in her lap. “Several months ago my granddaughter chased her dog into a construction site. There was an accident and Tracy was badly injured. She’s had several operations on her back and legs and is better—physically—but emotionally she’s depressed and convinced she can’t walk. The therapist thought a change of scenery would help.”

Alysia nodded. “How awful…! Of course you and your granddaughter can stay. But the ogre leaves.”