The House that Love Built Read online

  “You think this color is okay?” Owen balanced the pizza box in one hand and touched the wall in front of them with the other.

  Brooke smiled. “I love bold colors.” She turned to him. “What accent pieces do you have for this room?”

  Owen laughed. “Accent pieces? Uh . . . none. Yet.”

  “There’s a great store farther down Main Street that sells décor from this time period.”

  Owen was in new territory, for sure. He’d never picked out a piece of furniture or art in his life. “I’ll have to check it out.” He motioned her down the hallway and to the kitchen, where he had set up a small table and two chairs near a large window. He put the pizza down on the table, then scurried around the outdated kitchen to find a stack of paper plates and a roll of paper towels. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you fine dining on good china.”

  Brooke laughed. “Well, that’s a disappointment.” She accepted the paper plate and lifted the lid on the pizza box. “I just got plain ol’ pepperoni. Not sure what you liked.”

  “Plain ol’ pepperoni sounds great.” Owen piled his plate with three slices as a bead of sweat slipped down the side of his face. Even with the kitchen windows open and a box fan on the counter turned up high, they were both dripping. “I hope you won’t think this is out of line, but we’re both going to melt in here. The only room I have air-conditioning in is my bedroom.”

  Brooke pressed her lips together and raised an eyebrow.

  Owen scratched his chin. “Best pick-up line you’ve ever heard, huh?” What is wrong with me? Stop flirting.

  “Yes, I do believe it is.” She dabbed at her forehead with her paper towel. “But I think I’m going to have to accept your offer.”

  Owen walked to the small refrigerator-freezer he’d bought to store a few things and make ice until he could figure out exactly what he was going to do with the kitchen. He pulled out two bottled waters. “This okay?”

  Brooke nodded as she picked up their plates. Then she followed Owen down the long hallway to his bedroom.

  Opening the door, he mentally kicked himself. Why hadn’t he thought about this scenario earlier? He kicked a pair of underwear under the bed, hoping she didn’t see, but there was no hiding the two piles of clothes in the corner. On the left was dirty. Clean ones were to the right. “Sorry. I bought a bed, and that’s about as far as I got.”

  Brooke walked to the frame of the new closet as she bit into a slice of pizza. “This will be a great closet.” She turned to him, grinning. “I bet you hate armoires. Most men do. My husband couldn’t stand ours. We had two in our bedroom.” Gazing around the room, she continued to smile. “This is a huge room, and I love the color in here too.”

  Owen pulled up the brown comforter on his bed, then sat down. Brooke walked over and sat down beside him. Frowning, she said, “You’re not going to keep this comforter, are you?”

  Owen loved that comforter, but he knew it was worn out. Probably the only reason Virginia had let him have it. It also made for a lot of brown in the room. “I guess not.”

  “So many times I wanted to change out the comforter in our bedroom, but Travis insisted we keep the one we had.” She shrugged. “It was really old, but he said it was broken in.”

  She’d mentioned her husband twice in the last few minutes. Owen wondered if that was the norm. Not that it mattered. “Where are your children tonight?”

  “My friend Judy invited them over. Her kids are the same ages as mine. So I have a much-needed night to myself.” She took another bite of pizza.

  For the next thirty minutes or so they covered the basics—where they’d grown up and where they’d gone to school—or hadn’t. Neither Brooke nor her husband had gone to college. They’d done well in high school but chose to stay in Smithville afterward and run their businesses. Owen told Brooke a little about his days at Texas Tech, but didn’t bother to mention that’s where he’d met Virginia. Though Brooke liked to talk about her husband, Owen preferred to avoid mentioning his ex-wife.

  “Didn’t you ever want to leave here?” Owen took a gulp of water. “I mean, I thought people who grew up in a small town always looked forward to the day they could leave.”

  “Well, us country bumpkins actually do go to the big city from time to time. Travis and I were huge fans of the theater. There’s a small theater here in Smithville. Maybe that’s how we first got hooked, but we branched out to Houston and Austin. We even went to New York for our anniversary one year.”

  Owen felt himself blushing. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re a country bumpkin.”

  She laughed. “Sure you did. But that’s okay.” Brooke sat taller. “I reckon us country folks don’t get ’round as much as you city folks.”

  Owen laughed out loud at her put-on accent. “I stand corrected.”

  “Seriously, though, we thought about leaving. But this was a great place to grow up, and it’s still a wonderful place to raise kids.” She paused to take a swig from her water bottle. “It’s slower here. And truthfully, I don’t think I’d be happy in a big city.”

  The jury was still out on that for Owen. He’d grown up in Austin. City life was all he’d ever known—until now.

  Brooke set her empty pizza plate on the bed and picked up a paper towel to wipe her hands.

  “More?” Owen started to stand up.

  “No. You go ahead. I’m full.”

  Owen ate two more pieces of pizza and still wasn’t ready for her to leave. When she pulled a band from her wrist and twisted her hair into a ponytail, Owen was drawn to the way her blouse cut to a low V down her back. There were no oozing red bumps that he could see. She seemed perfectly normal. Better than normal. And no allergies? Hmm. All of a sudden his blood seemed to be pumping harder, and he thought it might be best to get her out of his bedroom.

  “I bet you’re ready to look at the rest of the house.” He paused. “It’s really hot, though.”

  She stood up, grinning. “That’s okay. I’d love the grand tour.”

  “Are you going to be pushing on walls to find the bunker?” He chuckled. “There’s one built-in bookcase upstairs, but I’ve never leaned against it or anything—you know, to see if it rotates into a secret room.”

  “Well, I just might.” She slapped her hands against her white pants. “Although, the bunker would be below the house.”

  Owen motioned for her to step in front of him, a little intrigued himself. “Downstairs we have the entryway, powder room, living room, formal dining room, and kitchen—plus this bedroom, of course, and the full bath right next door. Where do you want to start?”

  She shrugged. “Let’s just start here and work our way around.”

  Owen followed Brooke around the downstairs for the next five or ten minutes. They were checking out the last room, the kitchen, when she turned to him and laughed. “This is dumb, isn’t it?” She was glistening with sweat—they both were—but she was a feast for the eyes nonetheless. And absolutely nothing about her hinted she was anything other than sane.

  “Listen, I have to ask you something.” Owen finally led her back into the kitchen. Don’t do it. You don’t care. You don’t need to know.

  “What’s that?” She positioned herself in front of the fan and lifted her ponytail behind her.

  Owen leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles. “You said earlier that you weren’t allergic to anything. Is that true? Nothing?”

  “Uh, not that I know of.” She scrunched her face up. “Why?”

  Owen was already out there, so why stop now? “Just wondering.” He held up a finger. “And one more thing. Do you get lost easily?”

  Brooke’s hands slammed to her hips. “Okay, what’s going on? You keep asking me if I’m lost. Do I look lost?” She glanced down at herself with an exasperated grin.

  “Remember when I told you I met your son? Spencer, right?”

  “Yeah. I remember.”

  Owen closed one eye tight, took a deep breath, and hoped for the
best. He opened his eye and looked down at her. “Spencer told me that you aren’t right in the mind and that you get lost a lot.”

  The color drained from her face. “He did what?”

  Owen shrugged. “That’s what he told me.”

  Brooke shook her head, frowning. “Why would Spence say such a thing?”

  “That’s not all.”

  “Uh-oh. What else?” She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.

  “He, uh . . . well . . .”

  She threw a hand up. “Just spit it out.”

  Owen cocked his head to one side, sighed, and said, “Well, he told me you have an allergy and that you have big red bumps all over your back.” Owen squeezed his eyes closed when she jumped from the chair.

  “Are you making this up?”

  “No, I promise.” Owen held his palms up and toward her. “He said they were big red bumps oozing with—”

  “Oh good grief! Stop. Please.” She bent at the waist and propped her hands against her knees for a few moments.

  “I’m only telling you this because your son went out of his way to make sure that I found you totally repulsive. He even told me that you were allergic to flowers, however that is relevant.”

  When Brooke straightened, her face was bright red. “I am so embarrassed.” Then she burst out laughing, and Owen couldn’t help but laugh along with her. “I think I know what this is about.” She shook her head. “I got some flowers at home last week, and somehow I think Spencer must have thought they were from you. I just can’t believe he’d lie like that.”

  Owen’s heart sped up. He shouldn’t be surprised that someone was sending her flowers. She was attractive and single.

  But for some reason he had to work to keep the smile on his face.

  Brooke followed Owen up the stairs, but all she really wanted to do was go home. She wasn’t sure she’d ever stop blushing. How could Spencer say all that? Brooke understood that Spencer didn’t want her dating anyone, but she was surprised that he would lie like that just to make sure Owen thought she was crazy and hideous.

  They went room to room, and Brooke tried to pretend she was still intrigued about the possibility of a secret room or bunker. But she’d lost her excitement in light of Owen’s news—until they walked into the fifth bedroom upstairs. It was much larger than the others and dirtier, almost as if no one had ever lived in there. A large water stain in the corner of the ceiling and down one wall hinted that the roof was in need of attention.

  The room was also home to the built-in bookcase, which did pique Brooke’s sense of adventure. She checked all around the floor before she focused on the bookcase.

  “Go ahead.” Owen nodded to the shelves, which were about four feet wide. “I know you’re dying to put your weight into it and see if it swings into another room.”

  Brooke forced a smile. Wait ’til I get my hands on you, Spencer. The few times her children had needed spankings, Travis had handled it while Brooke put her hands over her ears. She hadn’t needed to spank them since Travis died. Now Spencer might be too old for a spanking, but she couldn’t have him lying. Although she had to question what she was most upset about—the lies or the content of his stories.

  “That’s a very cool bookcase.” She ran a hand along the dusty surface, then leaned one shoulder against it and pushed.

  “If you fall through onto the other side, I’ll be along shortly.” Owen laughed but then tapped her on the arm. “Step aside, my dear.”

  Dear? It was playful, but still . . .

  Owen threw his weight against the structure until he grunted, but the bookcase didn’t budge. Had she really thought it would? The whole idea seemed silly now. “I don’t think it’s going to budge,” he said as he wiped his forehead.

  “Well, we tried.” Brooke turned to leave the room. “I don’t think the bunker would be aboveground anyway. If it exists.”

  “Wow. You give up easily.”

  I’m embarrassed and want to go home. She turned around. “Tomorrow, when I get into the store, I’ll look for the pictures and the letter. Maybe that will give you some clues.”

  She left the room and started down the stairs. She could hear Owen following.

  “Don’t be too hard on Spencer,” Owen said as if reading her mind.

  They had reached the landing, but Brooke kept going down to the entryway before she turned around. “I’ll try not to.”

  Owen grinned. “I’m just superglad to hear you’re not crazy and you don’t have those, uh, things on your . . .” He flinched as Brooke held up her palms again.

  “Please. I don’t want to hear.” She couldn’t help but grin.

  “Thanks for the pizza and not making me endure another meal alone.”

  If that was a hint for her to invite him to dinner, she wasn’t biting. Spencer would probably kick him in the shins or something. “Thanks for showing me around.”

  She was almost out the door when Owen said, “So . . .”

  Eyebrows raised, she stopped and turned around.

  “I was going to ask you when you thought you might be over with the pictures and letter, but why don’t I just give you my cell number.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to her. “Don’t have the company anymore, but the cell number’s still the same.” He pointed toward the BMW in the driveway. “Can I offer you a lift or walk you home?”

  “No, no. I’ve been walking these streets at night since I was a kid. It’s no big deal.”

  “Do you let your children walk these streets at night?”

  “Well, no. They’re too young.”

  Owen closed the door behind him. “You don’t need to be walking home alone either.”

  “Not really necessary, but okay.”

  The short walk home turned out rather pleasant. Brooke listened to Owen detail his move to Smithville—how he’d sold just about everything he owned in an effort to start fresh, and how he really didn’t know the first thing about restoring an old house. This did not come as a surprise.

  “So why did you do it?” Brooke slowed down as they approached her house.

  Owen stopped when she did and shrugged. “I needed a change. I needed to get away from my ex, Virginia.”

  Clearly he was still bitter—or not over—his divorce. “I guess change can be good. For some people.” She shifted her purse on her shoulder. “Thanks for walking me home.”

  “Thanks again for the pizza. I guess just call me when you feel like coming back over with the letter and pictures, and we can have another look around. Wouldn’t it be something if we did find a hidden room or bunker somewhere in that house?”

  “I’ll get Lennie to cut me a key tomorrow, then I’ll call you soon.” Brooke’s stomach churned at the thought of going into the Treasure Chest, but it was time. “Good night.”

  Owen walked back home, feeling better than he’d felt in a long time. It felt good to have someone to talk to.

  Brooke was clearly still hung up on her husband. She’d talked about him a lot. And Owen was still hung up on Virginia, despite the circumstances. But maybe he and Brooke could be friends. It would be nice to have a female friend. Maybe eventually he would feel comfortable enough to talk to her about Virginia. Perhaps a woman’s perspective would shed some light on exactly what had gone wrong. Maybe he’d done something wrong he wasn’t aware of. Or maybe Virginia was just a terrible person and no amount of analyzing would make any difference. Either way, he’d enjoyed the company and the pizza.

  As he climbed his front porch steps, he slowed down. “Where’d you come from?”

  Lounging in front of the door was a large black cat sprawled out like he—or she—owned the place. Owen wasn’t superstitious by nature, but he’d had enough bad luck to last him a lifetime. He was relieved to see a small white patch on the cat’s tail, but he still wished the animal would go away.

  He wasn’t much of a cat person. Most felines he’d met were finicky and uppity, and once as a boy he’d been
attacked by a cat his mother brought home. He glanced down at his forearm. Even though the scar was gone, the memory was clear.

  He stepped forward, assuming the animal would run away. It just looked up at him and blinked. He stepped around it and opened the front door. The feline jumped up suddenly and darted across the threshold.

  “Oh no you don’t.” Owen dove for the cat, but the animal was quick, running past him and straight up the stairs. “Whatever.” He walked to his bedroom and closed the door to his nice cool room, too tired to deal with the animal tonight. Maybe there was a way for it to get out. If not, he’d chase it out in the morning and take care of any accidents upstairs. That part of the house was still in rough enough shape that he wasn’t really worried.

  His room was silent apart from the hum of the AC. Tomorrow he was going to buy a television. He was surprised he’d lasted this long without one. Dozing off with his iPhone running Pandora was getting old.

  After a quick shower, he crawled into bed and was just setting the music to play when he heard a loud crash upstairs, then footsteps that sounded like a herd of animals.

  The cat.

  He briefly considered going upstairs to nab the animal and put it outside where it belonged, but once he lay back on the bed, that idea got as weary as he was. Despite his body’s need for sleep, his mind wouldn’t shut down. Virginia’s face was all over the place, occupying parts of his mind that he wished he could close off forever. Sometimes the pain and bitterness comingled with such longing for the past that it was hard to breathe. It was easiest when he was angry and could convince himself that he hated Virginia. But the anger was a loose Band-Aid that always fell off—usually late at night when he was alone.

  Squeezing his eyes closed, he fought the images of that night almost a year ago—the night he walked in on Virginia and Gary. His friend and business partner had tried to tell him it wasn’t how it looked, but Virginia had made no excuses. She’d filed for divorce the following week, confessing that the affair had been going on for a year.

  He fluffed his pillow, stared out the window into the darkness, and wondered if he would ever stop loving her.