For His Daughter. Ann Evans

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СКАЧАТЬ his head. Rosa was too generous, too willing to forget. “He won’t stay,” he said again, more forcefully this time. “We’ll open up our home and our hearts and they’ll both be gone by Christmastime. Mark my words.”

      Her poise could not be shaken by the pessimism of his tone. She simply nodded, as if accepting that possibility. “I have decided that this is a chance worth taking. Meeting your son halfway is no more frightening in the long run than living a life without him.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      RAFE WAS GLAD TO HAVE EASTER behind him. He wasn’t comfortable with family holidays, with their lollipop colors and enforced gaiety. There were too many opportunities for mis-takes.

      But Mom’s cooking was excellent as usual and the family seemed relaxed and pleased by the lodge guests’ eager participation in the planned festivities. Watching the kids collect Easter eggs on the lawn hadn’t been too bad, though he’d bet half of them would be sick by dinnertime from eating too many sweets.

      His daughter had been on her best behavior. Nick and his wife, Kari, had brought their new son, Ethan, to the festivities, and Frannie always seemed enchanted by the sight of the baby. When she was allowed to hold him, she lit up momentarily and then settled into the responsibility with the most serious look on her face that Rafe had ever seen.

      Whatever her reason for good conduct, that, and the fact that Rafe and his father had managed to pass a fairly civil holiday, made him breathe a huge sigh of relief.

      The control he exercised around his father could easily fail him. He’d say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. And then where would they be? Rafe was trying desperately not to fight in front of Frannie. Hell, when it came to getting along with Pop, he was desperate, period.

      On Monday, he drove down the mountain, dropped Frannie back into her kindergarten class, made final arrangements for his daughter to be babysat on occasion by one of the teachers there and then headed downtown. Before going to the newspaper office, he wanted to make a stop at the makeshift construction office he’d put together at the Three Bs. Now that the holiday was over, renovations on the buildings would kick into high gear once again.

      He parked on the street and was pleased to see that there were already several trucks and vans there, the workers getting an early start. Standing on the sidewalk, he couldn’t help once more admiring the workmanship that had gone into the place.

      The inspectors he’d hired to give it the once-over had told him the Three Bs was structurally sound. It would take a good bit of money to make it comfortable and functional, but right now, thanks to years of saving and the money Wendall Crews had left him, money wasn’t tight.

      Rafe knew he could have found a newer, more affordable, more practical place to call home, but he had a silly attachment to this building. He had an unexpected fondness for Victorian architecture—a sense of history tucked into crazy corners and fancy turrets. Maybe because he’d spent too many years living in nondescript apartments in too many nondescript neighborhoods.

      But it was more than that, somehow. Perhaps it was the odd belief that if he could bring the Three Bs back to its former grandeur, he could resurrect his old life here as well.

      His father would probably laugh at that idea.

      A door slammed behind him, and Rafe turned to find an older man getting out of a battered truck. In the front seat, the biggest German shepherd Rafe had ever seen hung out the window, whining like a puppy when the man joined Rafe on the sidewalk and left him behind.

      The guy gave him a short nod, then tossed his chin toward the building. “Gonna be a mess of work to get this place back to what it once was.”

      “Probably,” Rafe agreed. “But it will be worth it.”

      “Heard you were back in town. You don’t remember me, do you?”

      Rafe looked at the man more closely, but couldn’t place the face. “Afraid not.”

      “Leo Waxman. Waxman Electric. Good friend of your father’s.”

      Rafe held out his hand. “Of course, I do remember. You used to have a lot of shepherd pups in a shed behind your house.”

      “Still do on occasion,” the man said, obviously warming to the subject. Behind him the dog began an earsplitting whine, and Leo turned toward the truck. “Hush up, Brutus.” He swung back to Rafe. “I missed the town council meeting the other day. Heard you got elected publicity chairman for the festival.”

      “Yep. If you’re here to tell me you want the job, I won’t fight you for it.”

      “Nah. I’ve got no interest in the festival, and definitely no interest in trying to get those three committee knuckleheads to agree on a plan.” He indicated the building again. “But I also heard you bought this place, among others, and that does interest me. You plan on living here, or selling for a profit?”

      “I figure four spec condos, plus my own place. Then I want to see about redesigning a few other buildings I’ve picked up downtown on First Street.”

      “You gonna need help with the electric? If so, I’m your man.”

      Leo handed Rafe a business card, and for the next few minutes they talked about what it would take to bring the building up to code, the improvements and modifications Rafe wanted to make to the existing structure. The electrician seemed eager for the work, knowledgeable and forthright. In spite of the differences Rafe had with his father, he knew Sam would never have kept the friendship of someone who couldn’t be trusted to do an honest day’s work.

      Agreeing to get together later in the week, Rafe and Leo shook hands.

      Leo grinned. “You know the Three Bs history?”

      “That’s part of what drew me to it in the first place.”

      The Three Bs, built in the 1880s, had originally meant beds, baths and breakfast, and had catered to the area’s silver miners looking to strike it rich. But widow Ida Mae Culpepper had discovered a more profitable way to make a living, and the social club had become very “social” after a few months in operation. The Bs soon translated to betting, booze and bad women.

      Then during the Korean War, Myrtle Culpepper had taken over, following in her great-grandmother’s foot- steps to transform the establishment into the perfect place for enlisted men to listen to lively music, drink good liquor and spend a few hours of pleasure in the company of what the newspapers of that time had called “agreeable companions.”

      Evidently drawing on some memory, Leo laughed. “You know, your father and I spent many a night in this place.”

      That Rafe didn’t know, and he was surprised. “Really?”

      “Oh, not when it was that kind of place. That was before our time. After Vietnam it got turned into just a social club, a place where a bunch of old leathernecks could compare war stories and drink a few beers. I used to play piano back then. Your dad used to pick up extra bucks by playing fiddle with the band.” He slid an amused glance at Rafe from under bushy brows. “Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”

      His father a musician? How could that be? No one, not even their mother, had ever hinted at such СКАЧАТЬ