The roof was shot. So was what had once been a huge brick chimney. The porch hung askew, as if it were clinging to the house by metaphorical fingernails. Almost all the windows were gone. The massive front door was tightly closed as if to safeguard the place.
A bad joke.
There was nothing here to safeguard, and Luca made that clear with a blunt statement.
“This is a disaster,” he said.
“In its present state,” Cheyenne replied.
“Let me rephrase that. The house should be razed.”
“I have no intention of having it destroyed.”
“It is unsafe.”
“It’s unlivable, not unsafe.”
Luca sighed. “Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. The house is not worth salvaging.”
“It is.”
“Dammit, Ms. McKenna…”
“The house was built in 1842. It’s withstood blizzards, hurricanes and tornadoes. It even survived an influx of Yankee soldiers during the Civil War. It’s salvageable, Mr. Bellini, and I want it salvaged.”
Luca looked at her. Her head was up; her eyes blazed. Her lips were set in a firm line.
He wondered what it would take to soften those lips. To have them part in sweet, eager anticipation of his kiss.
Dio!
A muscle danced in his jaw.
When he got to New York, it might be smart to cancel that business meeting and spend the evening with a woman. He knew a lot of people in the city; he’d met several women at parties and charity functions over the last months. He was certain it would not be difficult to find one who’d be more than happy to spend some time with him.
Clearly, his celibacy needed to come to a swift conclusion.
“Did you hear me? I know the house needs work, but—”
“Stay here,” he ordered, and he took a cautious step onto the porch.
“The inside needs work, too, and—”
“A shocking revelation,” he said grimly.
He was almost at the door when he heard her footsteps behind him. He swung toward her and caught her by the shoulders.
“Perhaps it is you who did not hear me. I told you to stay where you were.”
The look she gave him could have brought on a new Ice Age.
“Do not tell me what to do, Mr. Bellini.”
“Then do not behave foolishly, Ms. McKenna.” Luca’s eyes narrowed as he looked down into hers. “I have to fly east later today and I won’t be able to do that if I’m stuck here, waiting for an ambulance to arrive.”
Her teeth flashed in a smile that drove the temperature down another ten degrees.
“Such charming concern for my welfare. I’m touched.”
“Just stay where you are while I take a quick look around. Do you understand?”
She wrenched free of his hands, folded her arms and glared at him. He figured that was as close to a ‘yes’ as he was going to get and he crossed the porch and stepped cautiously through the door.
Surprise, surprise.
The floor seemed sound enough. He squatted down, rubbed away some leaf litter and ran his hand over the wood he’d exposed. Oak. And, under layers of time and dirt, undoubtedly handsome.
He took his handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiped his hands and got to his feet. He looked up. The ceiling rose a full two stories; an enormous crystal chandelier hung from it. Another surprise. The chandelier seemed intact.
He moved further into the house.
The wide staircase to his right hadn’t been that lucky. Same as the porch, it seemed to be clinging to the house for its very life.
He took a step back, and bumped into Cheyenne McKenna.
“Dammit,” he said, swinging toward her, “didn’t I tell you to stay outside?”
“I’m not good at taking orders,” she said, “or haven’t you figured that—”
A dark shadow swooped down the decrepit staircase. She gave a little cry and Luca caught her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him.
“A bat,” he said.
She gave a quick little laugh.
“It took me by surprise.”
“That’s the thing about bats. They almost always take you by surprise.”
“I’m not really afraid of them.”
“No. I didn’t think you would be.”
“I don’t believe in all those old wives’ tales. You know, that bats will get into your hair…”
It was an inane conversation.
Equally inane was the fact that he was still holding her. That she was still letting him hold her. That he could smell her shampoo or maybe it was her perfume, something that reminded him of wildflowers, and it seemed to be scrambling his brain.
Her pupils were wide and dark. Her lips were parted. Her breathing had quickened….
And then she stepped back. Or he let go of her. Perhaps both things happened at once. Either way, they moved apart. She went out the door. He waited a couple of seconds before following.
The sun, blazing down from the cloudless sky, was very, very hot.
Cheyenne turned toward Luca.
“Well?” she said briskly, “what do you think?”
“I told you what I think.” He sighed. “But it isn’t what you want to hear.” He hesitated. “I haven’t seen the second floor.”
“Neither have I, but the realtor said that it probably needs—”
“Work. Si. I am sure that it does.” Luca shrugged his shoulders. “The house can be rebuilt.”
“You see? I told you it could!”
“Understand me. It can be rebuilt. I’m not making that recommendation, and that it can be rebuilt is not the same as it being salvageable.”
“What’s the difference between the two?”
“Money,” Luca said briskly, as he started downhill toward the outbuildings. “It will cost you more to rebuild than to tear the house down and start from scratch.” He frowned as the barns and sheds came into better view. “As for these buildings…”
“The first barn, that big one, is fine,” she said as she hurried to keep up with him. Her legs were long, but she was having trouble matching his stride. The gentlemanly thing to do was to slow down, but he was not in the mood to behave like a gentleman.
“I’ll determine that.”
“I don’t like your attitude, Mr. Bellini!”
“You are not paying for my attitude, Ms. McKenna, you are paying for my expertise.” Luca stopped outside the first barn. “In fact, you are not paying me at all, which is even more reason that I don’t have to put up with your attitude. Am I making myself clear?”
Her face flamed.
“That’s enough,” she said sharply. “I’m taking you back to El Sueño. Travis can come here instead of you.”
“He can. But he’ll tell you the truth, just as I am.” Luca’s smile was all teeth. “And after you finish explaining that you aren’t interested in the truth, he’ll shake your hand, wish you well, and say goodbye.”
She glared at him. Then she marched past him into the barn.
He hesitated. Then he thought, what the hell. She was his ride back to El Sueño. He might as well see this through.
This time, she was right. The barn was in excellent condition. It was old, probably older than the house, but the timbers were strong and the floor, walls and ceiling were all intact. The structure needed a good cleaning, but not much beyond that.
“How many horses will you keep?”
“I’m not sure. Ten. Twelve. Why?”
“You can easily put in stalls for that many.”
They moved on to the other buildings—the second barn and several storage sheds.
All had to go.
Even what remained of the paddocks was a joke. The rails and pickets still standing looked as if a kid could topple them with a touch.
The bottom line was that Sweetwater Ranch was what an American client of Luca’s had rightfully called a money pit after Luca had explained the cost differences between gu
tting and rebuilding a summer house outside Florence, or putting up one that was new.
Cheyenne McKenna had already made herself clear on how she felt about that.
The best Luca could hope was that she had paid for the land, not what stood on it. Not that it was his money; he just hated to see anybody scammed by a snake oil salesman passing himself off as a realtor.
Finally, they’d seen everything. They headed for the truck.
He would tell her, one last time, something she didn’t want to hear, but he’d built his career and reputation on honesty, starting a decade ago when he’d started Bellini Design and Construction on a shoestring. Now, the company was worth millions, but honesty was still its cornerstone.
Damn, it was hot!
Luca peeled off his jacket—why in hell he hadn’t done that sooner was beyond him—undid his shirt cuffs and collar, loosened his tie, pulled it off and dumped it and his jacket into the truck.
Then he looked at Cheyenne McKenna.
She was feeling the heat, too.
Her hair was damp.
Straight as it was, tiny tendrils curled delicately at her temples.
Her T-shirt was damp, too. It clung to her like skin. Was she wearing a bra? He could see the faint outline of her breasts through the cotton.
He could see the sweet thrust of her nipples.