The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

Besides, Jewell Cove could use some new blood to stir things up. It had been awfully dull lately. The gossip mill needed a new topic of conversation. Why not Abigail Foster and the Foster mansion? It was a damned sight better than ruminating over Josh’s return and reviving long memories.

She tucked the phone into her back pocket. “Remind me who you are again?”

He smiled, determined to get it right this time. “The best contractor on the mid-coast. And the answer to all your troubles.”

CHAPTER 3

Abby couldn’t stop the peal of laughter that bubbled up from her chest and out her mouth. The situation was so surreal. She looked at Tom Arseneault’s expression—puzzled and then annoyed—and laughed some more. It felt good. Tom Arseneault had pushed her buttons with his scowl and God’s-gift attitude and it was liberating to push right back.

This really took the cake. Hadn’t she just been thinking she needed to find a contractor and poof! Here he was. She hadn’t rubbed a genie’s lamp but he’d appeared just like Aladdin, and didn’t he look like just the kind of man who could make her every wish come true?

It was like God had suddenly plopped everything in her lap, including a gorgeous man, and then sat back, rubbing his hands, to watch the show as she decided what to do with it all. God, she decided, had a warped sense of humor. But she was willing to play along. To a point.

“I don’t need a handyman for this place,” she joked, catching her breath. “I need a demolition crew!”

He looked so horrified at the idea that she giggled all over again.

“That’s not remotely funny,” he said shortly. He took a step forward and she felt a little thrill as she looked up into his rugged face. He was over six feet tall and from the looks of his arms, he was solid muscle. She swallowed. Lumberjack man was very … virile. She caught her breath as he towered over her. Funny how she didn’t feel as threatened as she should by his size and proximity.

“The condition of this place is a travesty,” he admitted. “But it’s also town history and needs to be preserved, not knocked down. What are you planning to do with it, then? Don’t tell me you’re seriously going to tear it down. Because I’ll have something to say about that.”

He was dead serious and looked genuinely upset. It was just a house, albeit a magnificent one. She thought back for a minute to the walls of books in the library. Well, maybe not just a house, but why on earth would Tom Arseneault take it so personally?

“What’s it to you? Last I checked it was my name on the deed. And I don’t recall my lawyer mentioning any Arseneault having a claim to the property.”

“Are you serious? Have you been inside yet?” His eyebrows lifted so that they nearly touched the black curl of hair that dropped over his forehead. “In its heyday, this house was the center gem of this town. The old gossips still talk about the Roaring Twenties parties that were held here before they were ever born. Jed Foster imported most of the furniture from his journeys around the globe.”

The sheer volume of antiques would fetch a pretty penny at an estate auction, wouldn’t they? But she didn’t think it wise to say that out loud right now. This Mr. Arseneault seemed to take the house quite to heart.

“I haven’t had time to examine everything properly.”

He took another step forward, encroaching on her space. “There are even rumors about it being haunted since the war, at least if the old-timers down at Breezes Café are to be believed. The mansion is a town icon.”

She took a step back, alarmed by his assertion of it being haunted, especially after her strange sensations at the cellar door and stairs. “If it’s such a gem, then why did it ever fall into such disrepair?”

He shrugged. “Marian Foster turned it into a home for unwed mothers, and then she lived in it alone for years. Rumor has it she spent a fortune maintaining it before closing it up when she could no longer care for herself.”

“How long ago?”

“Ten years, easy. It’s stayed vacant since then as Marian insisted that it remain untouched. Some say she was a little…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Dementia, probably,” he said, quieter now. “Not crazy. Just not in the same reality, you know?”

“And now she’s left it to me.”

“Seems that way.” The tone of his voice made it sound like the fact only confirmed her aunt’s precarious state of mind.

She met his gaze honestly. “Believe me, I’m just as confused as you are. I never met the woman. In fact, my grandmother Iris, Marian’s sister, never even mentioned having a sister. The Fosters never saw fit to give her a red cent when she was alive, so leaving it to me now is confusing to say the least. I didn’t even know Gram came from money. God knows we could have used a bit of it from time to time.”

“You could be the one to come in and restore the house. Bring her back to her former glory. I’m pretty sure her bones are sound. She just needs sprucing up…”

“With your help, of course.” She injected a fair dose of sarcasm into the words. It didn’t escape her notice that he referred to the house as “her.” Good grief.

“Come here,” he commanded. Tom reached out and gripped her wrist, tugging her through the still open door and into the foyer.

She shook his hand off. “What are you doing?” She put her fingers on the skin he’d touched. His hands were so big his fingers had dwarfed her tiny wrist. What was worse, she’d found it exciting, being tugged along in his wake. She hadn’t exactly felt threatened. She’d felt … exhilarated. That was more surprising than anything else that had happened today, and that was saying a lot.

Their gazes clashed and she felt the strange swirling again. There was something in the dark depths of his eyes, some sort of awareness that made her breath catch in her throat. Finally he stepped forward, picking up her hand in a gentle way that sent her heart knocking against her ribs. “Trust me, okay?”

She watched, fascinated, as Tom’s lips formed a sexy half-smile that did nothing to remove the heat in his gaze. With her hand cradled in his, Abby had the sensation of being enveloped—completely and utterly. It wasn’t just his size, but the sense of the muscled physique beneath the cotton shirt and his control over it. All that manual labor had honed him into a strong specimen of manhood, but there was something honest about him as well. And standing there in the foyer of her newly inherited home, Abby suddenly realized that she did trust him … to a point. She may not know Tom Arseneault but she knew he wouldn’t harm her.