Читать книгу Sweet Mountain Rancher - Loree Lough - Страница 12

CHAPTER THREE

THE MINUTE EDEN pulled up to Pinewood, her heart sank.

She parked the van near the deep wraparound porch and hoped the interior of her grandparents’ three-story farmhouse was in better shape than the exterior.

It was not.

A slow tour of the house where she and Stuart had spent so many happy years proved that weathered clapboards and lopsided shutters were the least of her worries.

Last time she’d been here—to deliver the lease to a nice young family—the chandelier had painted a thousand minuscule rainbows on the tin ceiling. Now, years of cooking grease and cobwebs clung to each crystal teardrop. A fresh coat of paint would hide the scrapes and fingerprints that discolored the walls, but repairing the gouged, dull oak floors would require hours of backbreaking labor. Things were worse in the kitchen, where cabinet doors hung askew and floor tiles showed hairline cracks. There were glaring, empty spaces where the stove and fridge once stood. And in both bathrooms, missing faucets and broken medicine cabinets, dumped unceremoniously into the claw-foot tubs, made her tremble with anger.

Eden sat on the bottom step of the wide staircase and held her head in her hands.

“Hey, half-pint.”

She looked up. “Hi, Shamus. It’s good to see you.”

The elderly neighbor drew her into a grandfatherly hug, then held her at arm’s length. “I suppose you’ve taken the grand tour.”

She nodded.

“Bet you thought ol’ MaGee was exaggerating, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly. But I did hope you had overstated things a bit.”

Scowling, he shook his head. “Don’t know how they sleep at night, leaving Pinewood in such sorry shape, ’specially after all you did for ’em.” He studied her face.”

How did she feel? Worried. Sad. Embarrassed, because Gramps had been right: “You think with your heart instead of your head,” he’d said, time and again. “Someday, that good-natured personality of yours is going to hurt you.”

The way Eden saw it, poor judgment, not temperament, had hurt her. She was almost as much to blame for this mess as the Hansons. All the signs were there: Unkempt children. Unmowed lawn. Undone household chores. Late payments—and for the past six months, no payments at all. She’d bought into every one of their excuses. Harold lost his job. Lois’s car was rear-ended, putting her out of work, too. The oldest boy cracked a tooth eating walnuts. The youngest girl broke her toe trying to stop the playground merry-go-round. “Just give us a month,” they’d said, “and we’ll get back on track.” She’d suspected all along that they saw her as a pushover, but she couldn’t evict them midwinter, or midsummer, for that matter.

“Desperate people do desperate things, I guess,” she said at last.

He eyed her warily. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. The Hansons are deadbeats, plain and simple.” His tone softened. “You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can’t pull the wool over this old man’s eyes.”

Since childhood, she’d wondered whether Shamus’s mixed metaphors were inadvertent, or a quirky attempt at humor.

“In your shoes, I woulda booted ’em to the curb after they missed the second payment.”

“Please,” she said. “You aren’t hard-hearted enough to put asthmatic, anemic kids into the street.” Eden hadn’t wanted to do it, either, even after they’d fallen so behind.

“Quit lookin’ so guilty. You did what you had to do. You couldn’t keep paying the taxes, insurance, county fees—without sinking yourself.” He snorted. “You should have let me handle them, instead of Joe Templeton.”

She’d let the owner of the property management firm get away with a lot, too. “Well, what’s done is done, I guess.”

“You’re well within your rights to take the lot of ’em to court. My grandson just got his law degree. Right now, he’s playing gopher to some big shot at a downtown legal firm, and he’s itchin’ to sink his teeth into a case of his own. Bet he’d give you a real good price, just for the privilege of flexing his law muscles against those deadbeats and that lousy excuse for a property manager.”

The way things were going, she probably couldn’t even afford Shamus’s inexperienced grandson.

“Want me to talk to Ricky for you?”

“Ricky...not that little blond kid who used to picked Gran’s roses as presents for Maggie?” Eden pictured his sweet-tempered wife.

Shamus beamed. “One and the same.”

“Wow. Hard to believe he’s old enough to have completed law school.”

“Now, now,” he said, “you can’t change the subject on a fella with tunnel vision. I’ll email his contact info to you, and tell him to expect your call.”

“I appreciate the offer, but...” Even if she could scrape up a few extra dollars to pay Ricky’s fees, Eden didn’t relish the idea of getting entangled in what would likely be a lengthy, unpleasant lawsuit. “Let me do some research first. Get some estimates. Find out what it will cost to bring Pinewood up to code. Double-check my contract with the property managers. Because I’d hate to waste Ricky’s time.” Or my quickly vanishing savings.

Shamus had been a fixture at Pinewood for as long as she could remember. After her grandfather’s fatal heart attack, the elderly widower stepped in to help her grandmother with minor repairs and acted as a sounding board when she needed to purchase not-so-minor things such as replacement windows, the new roof, a car. And since Eden’s grandmother passed, Shamus had become the self-appointed guardian of the house and grounds. It was comforting to have a substitute grandparent of sorts, but Eden didn’t want to take advantage of his good nature. That’s why she’d hired Joe Templeton.

Shamus frowned. “Bring it up to code? Does that mean you’re thinking of moving another tenant in here?”

“Not exactly...” Eden explained the tight spot Brett’s proposal had put her in.

“Aha, I get it now. If this old place can pass all the inspectors’ tests, you want to move the Latimer House boys in here.”

“Only as a last resort. Their lives have already been too chaotic. I hate to uproot them just when they’re settling in and doing so well.”

“Let me give you a little something to think about, half-pint. When soldiers get the order to pack up and move from one base to another, or some corporate type accepts a transfer to a new city, their families go with them. Whole kit and caboodle. The kids might not like it, at least not at first, but they adjust. Same as you and Stewie did when you came here from Baltimore.”

Eden had to admit, he made a lot of sense. Still...

“You homeschool those boys, so it isn’t like they’ll need to transfer into a new district. Something else to think about. I can help out if you’re shorthanded. Teach the boys to use power tools, maybe even put ’em to work on a big vegetable patch out back.”

Shamus would love that. With his only son and every grandchild but Ricky out in California, he spent a lot of time alone. It might be a great arrangement for everyone concerned—if moving became necessary. If she could convince city authorities to allow her to relocate the boys. If she managed to come up with the money to make the house safe and comfortable for them.

If...the biggest little word in the English language.

Shamus leaned against the newel post. “Can I ask you a question, half-pint?”

“Sure, as long as it isn’t ‘how do you expect to find a man, settle down and have kids of your own while you’re in charge of those ruffians?’”

He laughed quietly. “I imagine you’ve heard that one a time or two.”

“Or three.”

He saluted her. “On my honor,” he said, smiling, “I will never ask you that question.” His expression grew serious. “So whatever happened with that police report I made the day those deadbeats moved out and took half of your stuff with ’em?”

This was the first she’d heard of any police report, and she said so.

“Would’ve sworn I told you when I called to say they were leaving.” Shamus shook his head. “By the time a squad car rolled up, the crooks were long gone, along with your light fixtures, cabinets, appliances...” He shook a bony arthritic finger. “You better believe I told those officers everything I saw. Showed ’em the pictures I took with my cell phone, too. One cop wrote down your phone number, promised to call you to see if you wanted to press charges. When I didn’t hear from you, I figured you’d gone soft on ’em, again, and were too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Probably just as well that no one from the department called.”

“Let me guess...because they’d throw those criminals in the slammer, and their kids would end up in foster care?”

“In separate houses, no doubt.”

“Yeah, that’d be a shame. Isn’t their fault they were born to a couple of losers. Still...” Shamus started for the door. “Soon as I get home, I’ll email Ricky. Anything particular you want me to tell him?”

“Would you mind holding off on that, actually? I have a lot of research to do and a lot to think about, remember.” She squeezed his forearm. “Okay?”

“If nothing else, you’re proof that giraffes don’t change their stripes.” Chuckling, he shook his head again. “Remember what your grandpa said? Your heart has always been bigger than your head—a good thing, so long as it doesn’t hurt you.” He stepped outside, pausing on the porch. “Don’t wait too long to get the wheels of justice rolling, though. Call me when you change your mind.”

“I will. And thanks, Shamus. Why don’t you stop by next time you’re on our side of town, have supper with us. I know the boys would love seeing you.”

“Might just do that.” He shuffled down the walk. “Probably the only way I’ll find out what’s going on with this place,” he mumbled, jerking a thumb over one shoulder. Then, in a louder voice, “You have every right to be reimbursed for the time, trouble and money it’ll cost to replace everything they took, you know. And you don’t need to feel guilty about it, either!”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” she said, but he was already out of earshot.

Eden returned to her seat on the bottom step and dialed Joe Templeton. After the obligatory greetings, she asked when he’d last visited the property.

“Not since I delivered the eviction notice. Why? Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem,” she said through clenched teeth. “Lots of problems. If I made a list, I’d get writer’s cramp. Or carpal tunnel. Or both.”

“Gee, Eden, I’m sorry to hear that, but—”

“I’m coming back over here in the morning, and I’m bringing my camera. I’d like you to be here when I document this...” She looked around and ground her molars together. “This mess.”

“I, ah...”

His phone hit the desk with a thunk and Eden heard him riffling papers. “What time did you have in mind?”

“Seven.” At that hour, he couldn’t use the old “other meeting” excuse. “That’ll give us time to evaluate things without taking too big a bite out of the rest of your day.” And speaking of eating, Joe didn’t know it yet, but he was going to explain how he’d allowed this to happen—and why he hadn’t notified her about it earlier—over coffee and eggs at Breakfast King.

“Oh, and, Joe? Bring your camera, too.”

“Okay, but why?”

“We’re compiling photographic evidence for a possible lawsuit, that’s why, and two cameras are better than one.”

She listened patiently as Joe explained how unlikely it was that they could find the Hansons, let alone get them to stay in one place long enough to file suit.

“Besides,” he said, “you know the old adage, ‘can’t squeeze blood from a—’”

“I thought you might say something like that.”

“Anyone who’d all but destroy the place they called home can’t be expected to do the right thing and reimburse me for the damage done,” Eden said.

With the wisdom of Gramps and Shamus ringing in her ears, Eden said, “See you tomorrow, seven sharp. And don’t forget the camera. I’ve had too many pictures go missing to trust my cell phone.”

“See you in the morning, then,” he said, hanging up.

She’d paid Joe a handsome monthly fee to oversee Pinewoods, and he’d let her down, big-time. Admittedly, that was partly her fault. If she hadn’t been so concerned that spur-of-the-moment inspections might hurt his feelings, she might have nipped things in the bud before they became problems. Starting tomorrow, she’d lead with her head instead of her heart.

“Better watch it, Quinn,” she said, locking the front door behind her, “because this exercising-your-rights stuff feels good enough to be habit-forming!”