Legacy of Love. Christine Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ than the sitting room, with the back left corner walled off into a closet. She stepped around the bed that she and Ma would have to share and opened the closet door. None of the rooms had electrical lighting. That made it difficult to see the small iron sink in the back corner. It had a pump to draw water. She tested the squeaky handle and with a few pumps cold, clear water gushed into the sink. Across from the sink, a rack had been nailed to the wall. Perhaps ten or twelve garments could be squeezed onto it.

      “I hope it will suffice.” Brandon stood anxiously between the bed and the heavy chest of drawers. “I wish I could fit two beds into the room, but the man I hired to open up the place assured me the space was too small.”

      “Yet someone added a sink.”

      He nervously swiped at his face. “Sometime before the turn of the century. It was probably the height of luxury at the time.”

      Anna couldn’t do more than nod at his attempted levity. She rubbed her arms. “It’s cold in here. I hope the pipe doesn’t freeze.”

      Brandon reached around her and pushed the closet door completely open. The brush of his arm sent an unbidden yet pleasant sensation down her back.

      “If it does,” he said, “let me know. I’ll hire someone to fix it. In fact, if anything breaks or doesn’t work—any problem at all—tell me.”

      Though she kept her gaze locked on the clothes rack, she could feel him near.

      He tipped her chin so she looked up into those stormy gray eyes. “I mean it, Anna. If you need anything, tell me. Anything at all.”

      His touch stole her breath. They were alone. Ma faced the fire in the other room and could hear but not see them. Anna’s heart pounded wildly. Was he going to kiss her? Impossible. They’d barely been civil to each other these past two days. Yet he’d just touched her, and that touch made her knees tremble. What would it feel like to be kissed? What if she did it wrong? She’d read about it in novels, but no man had ever kissed her.

      She let her lids drift almost shut, terribly conscious of how close his lips were to hers. Mere inches. And he smelled...well...masculine.

      “Good.” He cleared his throat and stepped away. “I’m glad that’s cleared up.”

      What had happened? Why hadn’t he kissed her? Her chin still burned where he’d touched it. She unconsciously rubbed the spot as she followed him into the sitting room. He stooped to talk to Ma in tones Anna couldn’t hear.

      “Hendrick will bring our things over this afternoon,” Ma answered, her voice honey smooth.

      Clearly she adored Brandon. Every gesture, every concession told Anna so. For whatever reason, this was where Ma wanted to settle, and she would apparently put up with a great deal of deprivation and discomfort to do so.

      “Now give me a hug before you go,” Ma commanded.

      “Ma,” Anna chided. “Mr. Landers is practically a stranger.”

      “You know the saying: strangers are just friends we’ve yet to meet. Mr. Brandon and I have met, therefore we’re friends.”

      A smile softened Brandon’s stern expression. Clearly he had a soft spot for Ma too. Most people did.

      He bent obediently and gave her the required hug. “Please call me Brandon. Mister is a bit formal for friends, don’t you think?”

      Ma laughed as she patted him on the back. “I’ll try. I hope you visit here often.” She winked at Anna. “Though I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to chat with my Anna while she cleans your house.”

      Anna stared at her mother. “You’ll be there too.”

      “Now, I don’t see why that’s necessary. Mr. Brandon is a gentleman.”

      So, that was it. Ma was matchmaking. Had her mother seen how close he’d come to kissing her? Heat rose into her cheeks, and Brandon couldn’t possibly mistake the redness for anything but a blush.

      His stiff response left no doubt how he felt. “I’ll be busy with the bookstore. I’ll leave the house early and return late.” His glance flitted past her. “I suggest you finish your work by six o’clock. Set breakfast in the dining room. Supper can be left in the warming oven.” His tone made it perfectly clear that he saw her as his housekeeper and nothing more.

      Then what had happened in the closet? Or had she been the only one to feel it? Apparently so. It was the same old story. She always fell for the wrong man, and she’d done it again.

      Brandon donned his coat and hat. “You may start tomorrow, Miss Simmons.”

      Anna nodded curtly. “Yes, sir, Mr. Landers.”

      She’d never again make the mistake of liking him.

      * * *

      Brandon should never have brought Anna to the carriage house. She smelled of cinnamon, sweet yet sharp. Try as he might, he couldn’t get that scent out of his mind. That little episode in the closet washroom had only confirmed what he already knew.

      He was attracted to her.

      Add the very real complication that he’d also hired her to clean his house, and he’d have to work hard to avoid her.

      He opened the door to the Cadillac and settled behind the wheel. The solution was clear. Hard labor would erase this ridiculous emotion, and he did have plenty of work to do. The storefront needed an overhaul before he could sell one book.

      He put the automobile in gear and pulled away from the source of discomfort. A few hours in the shop would cast away this confusion.

      Early to work and late returning home. If he kept to that schedule, their paths would seldom cross.

      With a smile of satisfaction, he parked in front of his shop. First order of business would be finding a carpenter. He got out of the car and crossed the boardwalk to the front door. With a turn of the key and a push of the latch, the door opened.

      The room looked no better today, but in the soft morning light, he could envision shelves of books and a sales counter of polished oak.

      A carpenter could make that happen. Unfortunately, the man who’d outfitted the carriage-house apartment didn’t work with wood. He’d suggested a Mr. Lyle Hammond, who might be coaxed out of retirement at the right price. Unfortunately, money was the one thing Brandon lacked. He needed an inexpensive carpenter, such as a youth.

      That pastor had said he could pass the word. No one knew a town’s inhabitants more than a minister. Maybe Brandon would take the man up on his offer—as long as the pastor steered clear of anyone named Simmons.

      Brandon glanced across the street at the cheery little church. Its oak door and railing had been festooned with evergreens and bright red ribbons that fluttered in the icy breeze. No pretentious stained glass graced the front. Instead, an ordinary window looked out on the street. Brandon liked that homey feeling. A church that didn’t put on airs matched the minister who walked through town in a mackinaw coat. If Brandon wasn’t on such bad terms with God, he might be tempted to try the service one Sunday.

      As if on cue, the easygoing pastor exited СКАЧАТЬ