A Place to Call Home (Harlequin Heartwarming) Read online

  Never in a million years would he have thought the people behind it would be just this slip of a woman.

  “Oh, no. Family.” She didn’t offer more in the way of explanation, instead pointing. “Look! They’re turning in! Wow! Oh, I want to get another picture!”

  He turned back onto the paved road and parked on the shoulder. “Well, uh, where are they putting the house? They’re not putting it there, are they? They’re putting it farther back, right?”

  She paused in the act of opening the car door. “Yeah. That’s the prettiest spot on the whole thirty acres. Why? Do you know something I don’t? It’s not wetlands. I checked it out. And, see, there’s a rise, but it’s not high on a hill.”

  “That’s the best part of the tract, the most fertile. We didn’t even have to put half the fertilizer on that section that we did on the rest.”

  “You worked for Grandpa Murphy?”

  His head snapped around from his view through the windshield. “Grandpa? You mean Richard Murphy? You’re related to Richard Murphy?”

  “Of course. That’s how I knew about the land. He’s my mother’s dad.” Penelope hopped out of the car. She ducked her head back in. “And anyway, as far as the land’s fertility goes, it doesn’t really matter. I mean, can you see me farming?”

  Her laugh bubbled up, rich and throaty. The double whammy of the day left him numb to it.

  It was bad enough Penelope was indifferent about putting something as permanent as a house on the best farming land in the area.

  But to find out she was the granddaughter of the guy who’d forced Uncle Jake off his land?

  She slammed the door and crossed the pastureland. The breeze caught the skirt of her sundress and with each step the heels of her shoes dug into the earth.

  Two years ago, Brandon had planted soybeans here, soybeans that had produced double what the rest of his uncle’s farm had produced. Now, he saw a pine seedling or two popping up out of the ground. Another two years lying fallow, and this land would be a piney thicket.

  Suddenly the confines of the patrol car closed in on him. He had a good job, sure. He liked being a deputy, helping people.

  So what if it wasn’t farming? So what if most days he spent writing out speeding tickets along the interstate and the only time he felt the wind in his face and the sun on his back was when he was changing some traveler’s flat tire? So what if the only thing he grew these days was the odd tomato plant on the excuse of a back deck he had at his apartment? He was hardly there, anyway. He spent so much of his time off at Uncle Jake’s. Probably he should give up the cramped little place altogether.

  Being a deputy paid the bills, right? It took care of Uncle Jake, who didn’t have two cents to rub together these days.

  Face it. This farming gig was just a pipe dream. You’re thirty. It’s time to grow up, put away childish things.

  Brandon blew out a sigh and heaved himself from the cruiser to cross the field he’d once plowed.

  Penelope stopped short of where the transfer truck was backing across the roughed-in driveway the county had put in. She stretched out her arms and spun around. “My dream! Dirt and a house! I’ve finally got dirt and a house!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  PENELOPE GRITTED her teeth and stretched to reach a huge glob of glazier’s putty from the window. The distance between the top of the ladder and the far edge of the pane seemed insurmountable.

  If she were normal height, with normal legs and normal arms, this job would be a piece of cake.

  Aaargh. What I wouldn’t do for a couple of inches right about now.

  Penelope set her jaw. She would not quit.

  Just think: do this, and you’re done with the windows. Two weeks here, and you’ve got the house livable. Before you know it, you’ll get your studio up and you can start on your project. Just think. In two months, she’d have fifty grand, and she could hire someone to finish up the house. She could do this. She could prove them all wrong, Mom, Dad, everybody who said this was nothing but a fantasy.

  Her pep talk gave her that last, vital half-inch of stretch.

  “Hey! You’re gonna fall!”

  Startled, Penelope screeched and nearly did fall. The tube of putty careened off the ladder, along with the caulking gun. Her putty knife fell to the ground, where a million blades of grass and a couple clods of red Georgia clay stuck to the sticky white putty she’d just saved.

  Penelope spotted the cause of the upset: the grouchy deputy, this time sans uniform. He wore jeans, paired with a cotton tee that showed off his chest in a way that his browns hadn’t. And now that he was without the Smoky Bear hat, she could see that his dark brown hair was clipped short.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you. Brandon Wilkes. I was the deputy who—”

  “Yes, I remember you. Sorry. I don’t usually startle that easily, but I didn’t hear you.”

  “You were busy applying that putty. Need a hand?”

  “I think I’ve got it. It’s high back here.”

  Brandon put his hands on his narrow hips and surveyed the bungalow. “You’ve had a lot done to the place in the past week or so.”

  “I’ve done most of it myself. Except, of course, for the foundation and the roof. The movers put a pier foundation under the house, and I hired a roofer.”

  Penelope climbed down from the ladder and joined him. She inspected the house, ticking off the progress she’d made. A new foundation, a new roof to replace the old one messed up by the move, electricity and well pump hookup, new locks.

  The house was still in sore need of a paint job, but the pressure washing had improved the looks of the house immensely. A thousand more jobs awaited her.

  “I—my uncle lives next door, just up the road. I figured I’d check up on you.” Brandon grimaced. “I mean, check in on you. To see if you needed any help.”

  Penelope decided his slip was Freudian. Since when did grouches with badges offer assistance? She started to say something snarky about being perfectly capable of looking after herself. She stopped short, though. Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. This was the South, she reminded herself. After bouncing around big, impersonal cities like L.A. and New York, that would take her some time to get accustomed to.

  “Thank you.”

  “I would have called...but I couldn’t find a listing for you.”

  “I haven’t bothered with a landline yet. I have a cell phone.”

  “You really need a landline. Our E-911 system doesn’t pick up the location of cell phones. A woman like yourself, living alone out here...” Brandon trailed off. His attention dropped to her bare left hand. “I mean, I guess you’re living alone out here.”

  Was the deputy trying to hit on her? She suppressed a smile. “It’s just me and Theo.”

  “Theo?”

  “My cat.” She pointed to the window. “The Siamese?”

  Brandon’s gaze followed her gesture toward the long and lanky white cat peering out the windowpane.

  “That’s a Siamese?” he asked. “I thought they were brown.”

  “Flame-point. They’re white, with apricot ears and paws and tail. Everything you’ve heard about Siamese? Well, multiply that by ten and you’ve got your typical flame-point.”

  One of Brandon’s eyebrows arched. “He doesn’t seem to think too much of me.”

  “It’s me he’s mad at. I’ve had to keep him cooped up until I could get the windows fixed. Now he’s got the run of the house and he’s plotting his escape back to New York.”

  “New York? I thought you said you were from Oregon?” Brandon treated her to intense cop-like scrutiny. What was this, an interrogation? Did he think she was lying?

  “I grew up in Portland, moved to Bend when I was a teenager. But New York was my latest stop.” She retr
ieved the putty knife and scraped the blade against the ladder. “Here.” She handed it to him. “Since you’re here and you offered, I’ll take you up on it. Can you do me a favor and clean the rest of that putty along the top edge?”

  Brandon hesitated before agreeing and clambering up the ladder. The move let Penelope see that his jeans fitted nicely over his long legs. The faded denim was as much an improvement over his browns as the T-shirt. “I’m kind of surprised you got the house set down on a foundation so quick,” he observed as he deftly wielded the putty knife.

  Hmm...skills and looks. Not a bad combo, not bad at all, she thought.

  “It was part of the bargain with the movers. They’re the ones who put me in touch with a roofer. Once you move a house, the roof has to be replaced as soon as possible, and this one especially. The whole interior has hardwood floors. I didn’t want them damaged.”

  Back down on the ground, Brandon inspected his work and was apparently satisfied. “So the house was what? Built in the thirties? Forties?”

  “Mid-thirties, despite the Depression. Want to take a look inside?” For a moment, Penelope couldn’t believe she’d offered. He was a complete stranger. And a big one at that.

  But her gut told her this guy was okay. Open, honest face. Nice brown eyes. A lot of smile lines.

  “Sure,” he told her.

  Inside, Penelope pushed away doubts, say, thoughts of how harmless Ted Bundy had looked to his victims, as she showed Brandon through the house.

  They ended in the dinky kitchen with its 1960s atrocity of a kitchen-remodel. Brandon stared, his uncertainty about what to say plain on his face.

  “It’ll get better. I’ll rip out the cabinets, restore a lot of the old look,” she rushed to assure him.

  “It’s...the whole house is...rough,” he said finally.

  “Yeah. But it’s got great bones.”

  “And you’re planning on doing this yourself? You must be handy with a hammer.”

  Brandon Wilkes scored more points with Penelope because his expression was one of admiration; not a drop of disbelief or condescension tempered it.

  “I know my way around a toolbox. It’s the big stuff that’s hard for me. I know how to do it, but when you’re a shrimp like me...”

  He didn’t even offer a short joke. Another point.

  “Well, I’ll be glad to offer some free labor if you need it. Let me know. If I can’t, I’ll point you in the right direction.”

  “Great! Maybe you could suggest someone who could help put up a barn or a shelter?”

  He frowned. “Like a pole barn?”

  “Pole barn?”

  “Yeah, just a barn with poles for framing and then the exterior sheathing is fastened to them. Usually has a metal roof.”

  “Sounds about right. How tall can they be?”

  “How tall do you need it?”

  “Um...” She did some mental calculations. “Twenty feet at least, plus any extra I could get from the pitch of the roof.”

  “Whoa. What are you putting in there?”

  “My work. I’m an artist. A sculptor. I do outside sculptures for businesses and corporations.”

  “You mean, like statues and stuff?”

  “Uh...not exactly.” Penelope opened the flap of a cardboard box still waiting to be unpacked on one of the dingy Formica countertops. She pulled out a small model of her latest project. “Like this.”

  Brandon stared at it, the same befuddled expression on his face that he’d had when he’d tried to think of something to say about the kitchen. After a long moment, he blurted, “What is it?”

  Penelope slid a finger along the narrow ribbons of stainless steel. “I call it Love at Infinity. See the infinity symbol here? And how it wraps around these two vertical pieces?”

  Brandon pointed to the highly polished surface. “There? Yeah, I see the infinity symbol. And the wavy vertical lines are supposed to be, what?” He screwed up his face as he examined the piece.

  Penelope laughed at his underwhelmed expression. “You’re not a fan of abstract art, are you? Those two pieces represent man and woman.”

  “Doesn’t look much like a man or a woman to me, but...” Brandon shrugged. “I don’t know much about art. So you’ll build this bigger?”

  “Much bigger. This tall section here tops out at just under twenty feet.”

  “And people actually buy things like this?”

  Penelope chose to let his comment slide. What had she expected anyway? He was a completely different breed from the usual artsy crowd she ran with. “Yes, yes, they do. Matter of fact, the commission for this one will bring me fifty thousand dollars.”

  Brandon whistled. “That’s a lot of money for three pieces of stainless steel.”

  “Not just any three pieces of stainless steel. You have to know how to build it.”

  “And have somewhere to build it. I don’t think a pole barn would work. Not tall enough. But I’ll be thinking. Where do you plan to put the barn?”

  “Out behind the house. Maybe with big sliding doors on casters or wheels. It won’t look right with the house, but...” Penelope shrugged and set the sculpture down. “My work’s what pays for the house, and I’ve got to have a studio. So I guess I can’t complain.”

  “You know, this kind of house looks out of place in the middle of a field.”

  The comment took her by surprise, for one, that he would understand the aesthetics of a bungalow and its setting. For another, the sudden change in topic. “Well, yes, I guess so,” Penelope said. “But I couldn’t afford to be picky. Besides, I’ll plant some fast-growing trees, and in a few years, it won’t look the same.”

  She could have sworn he winced. What was so bad about trees?

  “You know...I was planning—” Brandon started, then broke off.

  Penelope waited him out. He started again. “At one point, this land belonged to my uncle. Well, to me and my uncle. Did you know that?”

  “No. No, I wasn’t aware of that.” She folded her arms and waited some more. Alarm bells sounded in her head.

  “Yeah. Murphy—your grandfather—I don’t know how to put this politely. But he and his brother-in-law hatched up a tax scheme to put a squeeze on Uncle Jake, and my uncle was forced to sell this section of his land.”

  “Really.” Didn’t sound a bit like the story Grandpa had told her. Penelope’s thoughts raced as she tried to predict where Brandon was going with this conversation.

  “Yeah. Really.” A sharp edge bit at Brandon’s words. “This land—where you’ve got your house sitting—it’s the best cropland of the whole tract...of Uncle Jake’s old tract, I mean.”

  “Uh-huh.” What was this guy’s agenda? Maybe her gut had steered her wrong after all.

  Brandon rubbed his hands together, shuffled his feet on the scratched finish of the hardwood floor.

  “I was...I came here today to see if you’d be up to making a trade. This plot of land for another. The one I had in mind is a much better site for the house. It’s got maples and sweetgums, lots of shade for the summer.”

  “But I’ve already got the—”

  “And we could, um, throw in the cost of moving the house...and maybe, the foundation. The cost of moving it shouldn’t be that much.”

  She’d been wrong. This guy was a nut, albeit a cute one. He actually thought—

  “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah. I’m inclined to that way of thinking...or that maybe there’s some sort of treasure buried here.”

  His face heated up. “Nope. No treasure. This—it’s only that I’m more than a little attached to this land. Maybe it’s just that it is such good land. Or maybe it’s because of the way my uncle lost it. I don’t know.”

  “I’m re
ally sorry. I can’t imagine how you must feel...but I’m really happy with my land. And I don’t even want to think about moving this house again. I’ve got two months to get my sculpture built and delivered.”

  Brandon looked as though he might argue. Then his jaw tightened and he stuffed his hands in his back pockets. He stood there for a long moment before moving stiffly toward the door leading to the hall.

  “Well. Guess it was worth a shot. Though why I ever thought any granddaughter of Murphy would understand where I was coming from...”

  She heard his footsteps echo off the empty rooms, and then the front door shut with a loud thud.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “TOLD YOU that girl was moving fast. Here, have some more rice and peas.”

  Before Brandon could stop Uncle Jake, the man had dumped a clump of sticky rice and some field peas onto Brandon’s chipped stoneware plate. A cook Uncle Jake most definitely wasn’t, not that he could afford better food.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy these past couple of weeks, Uncle Jake. Not only have I been working my regular nightshift, but we’re short during the day, too.” Brandon tried but failed to keep the defensive note out of his voice. If only he’d come up with the land swap idea sooner, before she’d re-roofed the place, maybe then she’d have been more receptive.

  “I know. You’re always busy. That sheriff of ours keeps you bustin’ your chops. Hardly ever see you these days.”

  Uncle Jake flopped back in his chair. After a moment of silent concentration, he attacked his own second helping of rice with gusto.

  Brandon knew that look. He’d seen it often enough since he and his mom had moved in when Brandon was a skinny ten-year-old and his brother was an even skinnier eight-year-old.

  “You’re thinking I was wasting my time, aren’t you?”

  The old man looked up from his dinner plate. “Well...folks don’t want to split up their land, especially not a woman who’s got a house set down.”

  Brandon snorted. “Not much of a house if you ask me.” But then, with eyes that would see it like a stranger would, he saw his uncle’s dining room, with its stacks of books and newspapers, its yellowed white walls and the vinyl rug curling up in one corner. Uncle Jake took up more time repairing his pigpens than he did his own place. Since Brandon’s mom had passed away three years ago, Uncle Jake had sure let the place go. The house wasn’t much of an improvement over Penelope Langston’s bungalow.