The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

“And the house? It’s a right beauty, isn’t it?”

Was there a right or wrong answer to this question, too? “It’s definitely something. A little worse for wear.” She gave him a small wink. “A diamond in the rough, perhaps.”

His florid complexion seemed to redden even more. “That’s a fine way to put it,” he agreed. “Your great-aunt Marian took a lot of pride in her place until she got sick. It’s a shame that it’s fallen into disrepair.”

Abby suddenly remembered what Tom had said about the town pressuring Marian to turn the house into a museum. Was that the reason for the warm welcome this morning?

“I’m sure it’s nothing that some paint and elbow grease can’t fix.” She lifted her chin a touch. “It was built to last, just like the Fosters, wouldn’t you agree?”

Why she felt the sudden surge of family pride, she didn’t know. But she met Luke Pratt’s gaze evenly.

A spark of admiration glinted in his eye. “I would. It was Jedediah Foster’s pride and joy—at least that’s what the records say.” A small smile touched his chapped lips. “We sea captains are made of sturdy stuff.”

“Fisherman turned mayor?” she asked politely, a bit charmed despite herself.

“Captain Luke Pratt, retired U.S. Navy,” he clarified. Was it just her, or had his shoulders straightened ever so slightly when he said it? “So Miss Foster, what are your plans for the house?”

Niceties out of the way, she affected a nonchalant shrug. “I haven’t decided yet. I only just arrived yesterday.”

“That’s good news.”

“It is?”

He rested his hands on the edge of the table. “Why settle on something so soon when there are options to consider?”

“And you’re going to tell me about one of those options, naturally,” she responded, curling her fingers around her coffee cup.

“Have you been inside the house?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know how much history is there. The house is important to this town—as a landmark and a testament to the long history here. It would be perfect as a museum. Both to preserve the history and, of course, as a tourist draw to our town.”

“Didn’t you approach my great-aunt about this years ago?”

He sat back. Abby mentally thanked Tom for the heads-up; this certainly wasn’t due to any communication on Marian’s part but Mr. Pratt didn’t know that. Without intending to, Tom had given her the upper hand. Or at least helped her level the playing field.

“Well, yes. Not me personally, of course. But previous councils…”

“And her answer was always no.”

“She might have said something about the house remaining in family hands.”

Abby kept hearing that and it puzzled her each time.

He cleared his throat. “What we’re proposing isn’t to buy the property from you. It would still remain yours—just like Marian wanted. But we’d propose renting it from you. In keeping with Foster tradition, we would ensure that the articles inside were family pieces and not random articles brought in as indicative of the period. It would, in all ways, remain Foster House.” He smiled. “Or as the locals know it, the House on Blackberry Hill.”

There was that name again. “And would you be paying for the renovations needed to make it happen?”

He paused.

“Of course not.” She answered her own question. “You want me to pay to fix it up and then hand it over to you, am I right?”

“We would be paying rent,” he insisted. “The historical significance alone—”

“Which I appreciate,” she relented. “Tell me, Mr. Pratt. Sentimentality aside, why didn’t you just offer to buy the house?”

Sharp blue eyes met hers. “The town can’t afford to buy it outright.”