Magnolia Dawn
Autorzy
Erica Spindler
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15,2K
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13
Chapter 1
Chapter One
A week later Rush stood at the entrance to Ashland, the unrelenting June sun beating down on the road beneath his feet, the heat emanating back up at him in invisible waves. Behind him the Mississippi River flowed peacefully, yet the levee facing it served as a stark reminder of its unpredictable and often-violent moods.
Before him, a grove of magnolias stretched from the road to the house, lining the pathway that led to Ashland Plantation, creating a living canopy of green. The magnificent trees, easily six feet in diameter, were in full bloom, their dark, glossy tops dotted with huge white blossoms. Even from his position beyond the grove, Rush could smell their ripe, sweet scent.
He turned his gaze from the magnolias to the house, visible at the end of the alleyway of trees. The huge Greek Revival structure rose up from the ground to dominate all around it. A living vision of the past, looking at it brought to mind romantic stories of the Old South, of ladies and gentlemen and codes of honor. And it brought to mind other stories—bloody ones imbued with neither romance nor glory.
Rush stared at the house, a dozen different emotions churning inside him. Awe at its magnificence. Admiration for its beauty, for its having endured the ravages of war and weather and social changes that made it both object of beauty and picture of corruption.
But déjà vu? Rush shook his head, frustrated. He couldn’t say for sure.
A woman stepped out onto the gallery. From this distance Rush could make out nothing of her except her sex, and that, only because of the light-colored dress she wore and the way the wind caught the fabric and billowed it around her knees.
Annabelle Ames, he thought. Mistress of Ashland. He’d been in Ames nearly a week, posing as a drifter. As is the way in small towns, people had been only too eager to gossip. He’d learned much about Annabelle and Lowell Ames. Many of the things he’d learned had been less than flattering.
They’d called her a spinster. They’d described her as plain and prim as a Sunday morning, but kind and hardworking, as well. She taught first-graders at the local grammar school, and the children loved her; she could be a bit uppity if she didn’t get her way, and downright regal if crossed.
And she was obsessed with saving her family home. She’d devoted her life to it, spending every free moment—and every spare cent—on its upkeep. They thought her crazy for her obsession.
Of course her brother Lowell, they’d said, was no good at all.
Looking at Annabelle Ames now, at the picture she made standing alone on the veranda of that glorious house, something stirred inside him. Something bittersweet and dangerously close to emotions he’d felt before. Ones like longing. Like alienation.
Rush frowned and hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder, conscious of the music box carefully wrapped and tucked inside. It wouldn’t do to forget the lessons of his past. It wouldn’t do to allow himself to feel too much. He’d come to Ashland for answers, plain and simple. And if, indeed, there were any here for him, he would find them.
Rush tightened his mouth in determination. Annabelle Ames was looking for a handyman to help her make repairs to Ashland. According to Bubba at the Feed and Seed, she’d had no takers and was getting desperate. The same as every year.
Rush smiled and started for the house. Today was going to be Annabelle Ames’s lucky day.
* * *
Annabelle drew in a lungful of the morning air, heavy with the pungency of summer. Yesterday at this time she’d been in a classroom, trying to contain a group of six-year-olds who knew the next day would be their first of summer vacation. And doing it while her own thoughts had been just as focused on the summer ahead.
Annabelle smiled, relishing the freedom of her first day, looking forward to spending the days and weeks ahead at Ashland. The people in town, her friends and colleagues, even her own brother, thought her love of Ashland strange, thought her determination to save it more than a little crazy.
She knew the things they said about her, knew what they called her. She shook her head and moved her gaze over the view before her, taking in the ancient live oaks, draped in Spanish moss, the gardens, wildly overgrown but still thick with azaleas, camellias and gardenias, the classical fountain, its cherubs desperately in need of repair but deliciously whimsical.
Ashland was her home—it had been home to six generations of Ameses. Everything about this place struck a chord of beauty and peace inside her.
But how could she explain that to her critics? How could she verbalize the way Ashland made her feel or how much preserving it meant to her?
She couldn’t; she’d tried. Annabelle smiled. Let them think what they would; their opinions meant nothing to her.
Except for Lowell’s. Her smile faded and she leaned against one of the massive columns, its plaster cool and damp despite the warmth of the sun. What had she done to make her brother resent her so? How could they have veered so far apart that they couldn’t even speak to one another without arguing?
Sadness curled through her. And regret. They were family, all that the other had left. If only they could be close, the way they once had been.
If only she could make him happy.
Anna forcefully turned her thoughts from ones of her brother to ones of Ashland and the job she had to do. She had the summer, only three short months, to undo the damage of nine. A meager one hundred and twenty days to keep destruction from Ashland’s front doors. And an even more meager amount of money to do it with.
She had to begin repairs, handyman or not. She drew in a deep breath. Skilled help would make a world of difference in what she could accomplish this summer. With someone who knew what they were doing, she could get two, maybe three times the repairs done that she had last year with the high-school student she’d hired.
But where would she find help like that when she had only minimum wage to offer?
A man appeared from beneath the magnolia canopy, and Anna straightened. He walked toward her, his stride long and brisk. From this distance he looked big and powerfully built. Dressed casually, in worn blue jeans and white T-shirt, he had a duffel bag flung over his shoulder.
Anna sensed his gaze upon her, although he didn’t call out or lift his hand in greeting. Her heart began to thrum, her palms to sweat. She knew everyone in Ames; she’d never seen this man before.
Anna took a step back from the gallery railing. The river and hundreds of acres of undeveloped land isolated Ashland Plantation from the rest of the community, and she was absolutely alone here.
Turning, she strode to the door and whistled. A moment later Blue, her black Labrador retriever, shot through the door. He caught the stranger’s scent immediately, and growled low in his throat.
“Good boy,” Anna whispered, slipping her fingers through his collar to hold him at her side. She crossed to the steps and waited for the stranger.
The man stopped at the bottom of the stairs and tipped his face up to hers. Her first thought was that he reminded her of Blue, big and brawny and deceptively fierce. Her second was that he was handsome, in a brash, outdoorsy way. His sandy hair was thick and almost wavy; his eyes, a rich hazel, were creased at the corners from years of amusement or squinting against the sun. Although a man of her age, there was something boyish in his demeanor, as if he laughed often and enjoyed life fully.
As she silently assessed him, he smiled. The lifting of his lips, slow and somehow cocky, cut a deep dimple in his right cheek. The smile transformed his face from handsome to irresistible. And transformed him from an ordinary man to a charming rogue. A sexy rascal. The kind of man who made her feel awkward and plain.
The kind of man a woman should never trust. Especially a woman like herself.
“Good morning,” he said, his dimple deepening. “By any chance are you Annabelle Ames?”
Not only big and handsome, but Yankee, too. She silently swore. “By any chance,” she replied haughtily, “can I help you?”
“Maybe.” He smiled again. “But maybe it’s I who can help you.”
She tightened her fingers around Blue’s collar, but arched her eyebrows coolly. “Is that so?”
He laughed and climbed the stairs to stop before her. He held out his hand. “Rush Cousins. I’ve come about the job.”
Annabelle gazed at his outstretched hand a moment, then placed hers in his. His fingers closed over hers gently, yet she could feel their strength. His skin was warm against hers, his palm callused. His touch made her feel small and vulnerable. And trapped.
Heart thundering, she slipped her hand from his. He seemed not to notice her discomfort, and crossed to one of the columns, to a place where the plaster had chipped away to reveal the understructure of mud and brick. “Beautiful place,” he murmured. “Must be a devil to keep up.”
“Or a joy,” she countered. “Do you know much about the construction of plantation homes?”
“I’ve done some reading about them. Recently.” He moved his fingers over the column. Although he was big and rough looking, there seemed something gentle, almost tender, about the way he explored the surface of the column.
“Then you’ll know that all the bricks were made right here on the plantation.”
“From river clay,” he finished for her. “The mortar is an incredibly durable combination of moss and mud. As I understand it, except in rare cases, only indigenous materials were used in building plantations. River clay, moss, cypress and oak.” He moved his fingers over the surface again, and again she caught herself staring at them. “Fascinating stuff.”
She dragged her gaze away. “I don’t recognize you, Mr. Cousins. How did you hear about the job?”
He crossed back to her. Taking a folded paper from his T-shirt pocket, he handed it to her. “From this.” Anna didn’t have to unfold it to know it was one of her Help Wanted signs. She took it anyway.
“I saw it in Bubba’s front window,” he continued. “I only arrived in Ames a week ago.”
“Really? From where?”
“Boston.”
As if sensing his master’s unease, Blue growled again. Anna put her hand on Blue’s head, to reassure the animal, but also to remind the man that she wasn’t alone. Rush Cousins didn’t seem a bit concerned, even though the dog could rip him to shreds, given the word.
“Bubba said you were anxious to find someone.”
Anna frowned, wanting to throttle the loquacious Bubba Percell. “Did he?”
“Called you desperate, actually.”
Embarrassed color heated her cheeks. Desperate. The images that word brought forth—ones that had nothing to do with finding a handyman—stung. That’s how the people of Ames thought of her. And she had no doubt that that was how they’d described her to this stranger.
Anna stiffened her spine. This big, overconfident and rude Yankee could go jump in the river. She wasn’t about to hire him. She didn’t need him or any other man. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cousins, but Bubba was wrong. I’m quite discriminating.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.” He smiled again. “I’m a builder by trade. I’ve done a lot of restoration and renovation work on the East Coast. In fact, I’ve worked on places older than this one. I suggest you give me a chance. You won’t regret it.”
Arrogant, Anna thought. Pushy. The last kind of man she wanted on Ashland. Yet, if he had the experience he said he did… She folded her arms across her chest. “Boston’s a long way from Mississippi. May
I ask what you’re doing in Ames?”
He hesitated a moment, then slipped his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans and shrugged. “Road trip. I’d never seen the South and the opportunity presented itself. So here I am.”
He wasn’t telling her everything. His answer had an awkward, almost rehearsed quality to it. As if it didn’t fall off his tongue naturally. Anna searched his gaze, wondering what it was he’d kept hidden. And why.
He hiked his bag back onto his shoulder. “Forget it. You’re obviously not interested, and there’s always a job for someone with my qualifications.” He descended the stairs and started for the magnolia grove. “See you around.”
“Wait!”
He stopped and looked back at her, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew he had her. Damn him.
“I’m only interested in summer help.”
“By September, it’ll be time for me to move on.”
“I pay minimum wage.”
“Room and board?”
“Room only. There’s a kitchen in the guest quarters.”
“Partial board. I expect cold drinks during the day, and the noon meal.”
Anna narrowed her eyes. The man would endlessly irritate her. What she’d have liked to do was send him packing. But she needed his help, Ashland needed his help. If he had the credentials he promised, he would be a godsend.
She thought of the way he’d moved his hands over the chipped column. This was a man who had worked with his hands, a man who respected craftsmanship and the materials of building. She hadn’t a doubt about that. And nobody else with any kind of restoration experience or skills was going to apply. She hadn’t a doubt about that, either.
She needed him, and as dismayed as that made her, it was a fact. She drew in a deep breath and let it out on a huff. “You’re hired, Mr.—”
“Rush,” he corrected.
“Mr. Cousins,” she repeated stiffly. “We’ll start first thing in the morning. Come, I’ll show you your quarters.”
Without waiting for him, she started down the stairs and around to the rear of the house, dog at her side. Rush gazed after her, his eyes narrowed. Eighty-five degrees in the shade, and he had frostbite.
Annabelle Ames had the lady-of-the-manor act down to a T. He should know—growing up he’d been dished a lot of that act. He didn’t take that garbage anymore, not from anybody.
Yet her hand had been strong, Rush recalled, remembering the feel of it in his. Although small and delicately shaped, her skin had been tough from hard work. And her eyes… Rush cocked his head in thought. He’d caught a glimmer of something incredibly soft and uncertain in her eyes. Something that called to him on some sort of elemental, protective level.
Rush laughed to himself and descended the steps two at a time. The romantic atmosphere of this place was affecting him. Annabelle Ames was exactly what she seemed, nothing more and certainly nothing softer.
But that didn’t mean he had to play by her rules. And he wasn’t about to let some uppity Southern belle treat him like he was less than what he was. He was as good as anybody, and he made his own rules.
Always.
He called it survival.
Rush caught up with her and matched his stride to hers. “Ms. Ames?” he asked, angling her an amused glance.
She looked at him. “Yes?”
“Are you going to call me Mr. Cousins all summer?” His question surprised her. He saw the emotion flit across her features before she had a chance to mask it. “Truthfully, Ms. Ames.”
“Well, I…” She sucked in a quick breath and shook her head. “Probably not.”
“So why don’t we save ourselves the aggravation and drop the formality now?” He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans and smiled. “How about it, boss?”
She smiled slowly, as if in spite of herself. The curving of her mouth softened her face, making her look younger, less…determined. In fact, Rush realized, she was attractive. Not technically pretty—her features were too strong for that. But there was a quiet beauty about her, a strength of character and feature, a quality that made her face different.
“All right,” she answered slowly. “You may call me Anna.”
Anna. It fit her in a way her full name didn’t. It was strong and straightforward. No muss, no fuss. Rush smiled. “One more thing. Do you think you could tell that beast I’m okay? He’s still looking at me as if he’d like to take a chunk out of my backside.”
Anna laughed. Her soft, cultured drawl came out as an even softer, throatier, laugh and the sound played over his nerve endings, affecting him like a fine old wine. It was the kind of sound that made a man’s mind wander, his pulse quicken. It had Rush wishing she would laugh again.
“You needn’t worry,” she said. “Blue won’t attack you unless I give the command or you threaten me. He’s very well trained.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Rush muttered wryly, eyeing the animal. “Remind me to get on your good side.”
“If you’re as experienced a builder as you say, you’ll be on my good side.”
“And if I’m not?”
“I’ll sic Blue on you.”
This time, it was he who laughed. “I think you mean that.”
“Believe me, Mr. Cousins, I do.”
They reached the building, a small, single-story frame structure with a wide front porch, and climbed the steps together. “This was the overseer’s home,” Anna murmured, opening the door, “back when
Ashland was a working plantation. After the original structure burned in the forties, this one was built.”
She crossed the threshold, and Rush followed her inside, his senses swimming with a sense of déjà vu so strong he couldn’t speak. Anna seemed not to notice and continued to talk. “You’ll find everything you need here. Linens in the closet over there.” She pointed to her right. “The bedrooms are…”
At the back. There are two. Rush drew in a deep, steadying breath. He knew this floor plan; he recognized the light fixtures, the placement of windows, the brick fireplace.
“Use the first,” she continued. “The other is smaller, like a…”
Nursery. Rush moved his gaze in that direction, wondering if he would feel this same overwhelming sense of recognition when he looked in that room for the first time. Wondering, too, if he wasn’t losing his mind.
Anna moved toward the door. “The kitchen has a passable selection of cookware, dishes and the like. Sorry, but there’s no phone. If you need to make a call you can make arrangements with me. And if you need anything else, or have any questions, well…I’ll be around.”
He had questions, all right, questions about who he was and who had lived here years ago. Rush met her gaze, fighting to hold his impatience back. He was unaccustomed to waiting or inaction, and he liked neither. He forced an easy smile anyway. “It’s a nice place. Who did you say used to live here?”
“The plantation manager and his wife. But Ashland hasn’t been a working plantation in forty years.” Anna expelled a frustrated-sounding breath. “Daddy leased and sold off the land, bit by bit, years ago.”
Forty years. Two years after he was born. Rush flexed his fingers. “It’s been empty that long?”
Anna gazed at him a moment before answering. “No. The overseer and his wife stayed. They rented the place for a while. Macy continued to keep house for us. Her husband found work in Greenville.”
“They didn’t have any children?”
She drew her eyebrows together, obviously surprised at the question. “They had a son. He died as an infant.”
An infant? Or a young boy? Excitement coursed through Rush, and he had to work to keep it from showing. Could it be this easy? After a lifetime of wondering, could he have found his past so quickly and with so little effort?
“Why the interest?” she asked, gazing steadily at him.
He should have known she wouldn’t keep her questions to herself. Even after only an hour with her, he knew that wasn’t her way. Again, he forced a casual air. “This place has so much history, it almost begs for a story to be told.” And there was one particular story he was interested in hearing. “Do you mind if I spend the day looking around the plantation?”
She hesitated, and her small smile disappeared. After a moment, she nodded. “Fine. But the interior of the house is off-limits.”
He stiffened at her tone. “I hadn’t planned to come traipsing through your home without invitation.”
“I hadn’t meant to imply that.”
Like hell. He walked toward the door, anxious to get rid of her and look around. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have a phone installed. At my own expense, of course.”
Again she hesitated, then inclined her head. “Fine. I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Good.” He held the door open for her. “I’ll see you at eight in the morning.”
She followed him to the door and stepped out onto the porch. There, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Two more things. You’d better be as experienced as you say you are, or I won’t think twice about firing you. And second, I sleep with Blue at my side and a gun under my pillow.”
Rush stared at her a moment, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll take that under advisement, Annabelle Ames.”
She met his gaze evenly. “You do that, Rush Cousins.”
Without another word, she turned and walked away. As she disappeared around the front corner of the house, he tipped his head back and laughed, reluctant admiration curling through him. Annabelle Ames was one tough lady. He might not enjoy working for her, but it certainly wouldn’t be dull.
