Authors: Renee Simons
"What happened to … Lucinda Mayfield?"
"She has … died?" Fernando seemed nearly to choke on the words. His lips compressed into a thin line and a muscle tightened along his jaw.
Luc put a hand on his father's arm. "You knew her."
"A lifetime ago."
His voice had gone hoarse. A hand swiped at the tears shimmering in his eyes. "Once we were good friends. I should have realized something was wrong when she did not reply to our letter. It was only her failure to do so that convinced me the house was no longer of any importance."
"I'm sorry. If I'd known, I would have been
more gentle
with the news."
His father's boney shoulders lifted beneath their faded chambray cover and then relaxed. "You could not have softened this blow. I have so few friends left I can ill afford to lose another."
"This particular friend was very special, I think.
Una amiga del corazón
."
"A friend of the heart.
Yes, she was that."
Luc wasn’t sure how he felt about this piece of his father’s past. “Why haven’t I ever heard about her?”
“She was … before your mother. Lucinda and I were young with too many differences between us.” He sighed. “We made many mistakes.”
“What kind, Papá?”
His father’s eyes misted with regret.
“The kind that change lives.
That can’t be undone by saying, ‘I’m sorry’. "
“Did you try?”
“She went back to St. Louis with her family. My letters were returned.”
“But they kept up the taxes on The Mansion.”
Fernando gave him a wry smile.
“At Lucinda’s request, no doubt.
So I would understand that nothing remained but her connection to the house.”
“And Mamá?”
“She was just a girl, but already held in high regard by our people for her nursing skills. We were the same, she and I. I knew we would do well together. I’ve never been sorry.
“I’m sure she would agree.”
“I hope so.”
Fernando breathed deeply as he glanced over at his son. "Who is this young lady
? '
Callie', did you say?"
"She's Mrs. Mayfield's granddaughter."
A strange light flickered in his father's eyes, something Luc couldn't decipher.
"I will talk with her," his father said.
Lately, Luc had felt an urgency nagging at him, as if, somehow, time was running out. At nearly 40, the concern seemed out of proportion to his age, but it existed nevertheless and fueled his desire to see the valley project succeed. "We can't afford to let ourselves be sidetracked by sentiment
,Popi
. Our plans go beyond one old building, plans that could benefit the whole valley and secure the future for you, Mamá and the family. I hope you'll keep that in mind."
"You will arrange a meeting." The steel in his father's tone gave Luc a glimpse of the lawyer and political activist his father had once been. He resigned himself to the fact that he might delay that meeting for a day or two, but never prevent it. "I'll see what I can do."
His father repacked his pipe, put a match to the fragrant tobacco and drew a deep breath. A shifting breeze brought the odor of the animals. Luc joined in watching the flock. A gap in the leaves above him revealed a patch of bright blue that recalled eyes the same color. A few hours later, when those eyes looked at him from the freshly painted canvas on his easel, he knew trouble had found him again. As the image wavered briefly before growing steady again, trouble of another kind chilled him to the bone.
In
Albuquerque
, the morning passed quickly. Callie had talked with several contractors, most of whom seemed more interested in remodeling than restoring. One, at least, had something constructive to offer.
"I'm not interested in these old buildings," Curtis Levin said, pointing to the architect's plans. "But I know of a firm that specializes in them." From his inside jacket pocket, he took a pen and a gasoline charge slip and wrote on the back. "I'll give you the name and phone number."
He handed her the piece of paper. "Nick does good work. You give him a call. I'll bet you can work out a deal with him."
Callie tucked the receipt into her note pad and walked Levin to the door. She expected an architect in about ten minutes. Callie checked the appearance of the sitting room in the suite she'd rented for the first week of her stay. After J.D. Connor left, she would pay a visit to the contractor.
Her hand still rested on the door knob as a knock sounded in her ear. The peep hole showed a blonde-haired woman of about her own age. She opened the door, noticed the portfolio and ushered the woman inside. "J.D. Connor?" she asked.
"Joellen Dolores Connor," the woman said, "but J.D. sounds less like a southern belle and the guys on my projects find it easier to deal with."
Callie took the woman's outstretched hand. "Callie Patterson. Can I get you some coffee?"
J.D. laid her portfolio on the table. "Why don't you go through that while I do the honors?"
"Thanks. Black, please." Callie examined J.D.'s designs and elevations, treatments for modern buildings, mostly, but several for older houses. "Which do you like better — the new buildings or the old?"
J.D. handed Callie a cup and sipped from her own.
"The old.
They have such character."
Callie pulled out the architect's drawings of The Mansion and placed the folio beside one of J.D.'s elevations of a Victorian house. The architect smiled.
"All right," she drawled.
"An honest to God restoration."
She looked at Callie. "Am I right?"
"Yes, but we’ll also be converting it to commercial use.” Callie explained her ultimate goal for the building. “What do you think of the idea?"
"I think it's great.
As long as we retain the integrity of the original.
I'm so tired of people wanting to remodel and modernize rare old places like this, especially out here where everything is pueblo or colonial Spanish or pseudo something-or-other. I hate the compulsion to turn them into houses they weren't meant to be."
"My feelings exactly."
J.D.'s eyes deepened to midnight blue. "I'd like the chance to work with you on this project." She leafed through the folio of sketches and floor plans for The Mansion. "I know this lady. Played there as a kid. Bringing a rarity like her back to life would be a dream come true."
"My great grandfather built the house and I have very definite ideas about its restoration," Callie said. "Would you have a problem with my taking an active role?"
"You'd have final say on every aspect, as long as you respect my training and experience to keep this project on track."
"Once we get on track. We have one major problem that will hold us up for a while.” An image of dark eyes and a stubborn jaw flashed briefly in her mind. “I'm negotiating for renewal of the land lease which expires in the spring. We can't get under way until that issue is resolved. And there's some plan in the works for the valley that could affect us."
"We can do the preliminaries in the meantime, can't we? I hate wasting time just sitting around. And truthfully, I just finished a project so I'm available."
"In that case, welcome aboard," Callie said with a smile and an outstretched hand.
J.D. took it,
then
picked up her coffee cup. "You want a refill?" Callie shook her head. "If you haven't picked your contractor yet I can recommend someone." J.D. went to the coffee maker, refilled her cup and returned to the table. "You could call this nepotism, but I'd like to recommend my husband's company."
"Why?"
"He shares my love for these grand old places. His guys do really good work and we understand each other. I wouldn't have to waste time and energy in proving myself to them. We long ago got over that particular hurdle."
Callie nodded. "Making your way in a man's world brings a special kind of headache. I've been there." She rose and went to the window, parting the sheers to look out on the parking lot and trees beyond. Why not, she thought. Hiring them as a team might work out very well. She turned back. "Give me his phone number. I'll meet with him and look at what he has to offer before I decide."
"Fair enough," J.D. said.
Callie took the business card the other woman handed her. "This name looks familiar." She looked at the slip of paper Curtis Levin had left and smiled. "Well, it seems your husband's company has already received an endorsement from another contractor. Do you know Curtis Levin?"
J.D. nodded. "They've worked together. I respect Curt's judgment, even when Nick isn't concerned."
The architect closed her portfolio and walked to the door. "Let me know what you decide."
"You're on the job no matter what," Callie said. "When do you want to see the house?"
"Tomorrow?"
The woman laughed. "I can't wait to get my hands on her."
"Meet me in the coffee shop downstairs at eight. We'll grab some breakfast and head out to Blue Sky."
J.D. nodded and left. Callie dialed Nick Forrest's number. If he checked out, she would have another hurdle behind her.
Though not a wordy sort of man, Nick seemed sincere and knowledgeable about how he would tackle the restoration. Callie liked his no-nonsense manner and after breakfast the next morning, she and J.D. inspected The Mansion from cellar to tower. As they climbed the staircase to the third floor, J.D. trailed her hand along the rail. The once satiny wood had been gouged and scratched, the glossy finish long ago worn away by use.
"I'd hate to tell you how many times I slid down this banister as a kid." She sighed. "A couple of
decades
worth of hellions have inflicted a lot of damage."
"Did you live here?"
J.D. shook her head. "When the place was vacant, we found a way in and came here to hang out."
"We'll find a wood restorer to put things right. If I can just make this happen...."
"You will." J.D. knocked on the cap of the newel post. "C'mon, let's see if we can locate the source of the water damage you found."
The attic door faced them as they climbed the stairs. Callie led the way and switched on a powerful lantern so they could look around. The inspection revealed that most of the damage occurred on one side of the building, where water leaks from the roof had flowed down the inside walls.
"We need a new roof," J.D. said.
"What about the damage that's already occurred?"
"We'll need to assess whether the wood framing down below has been affected. That could mean taking out a wall or two."
"And the girders and joists holding up the first floor?
Don't we need to replace them before allowing the workmen inside?"
"Absolutely.
Let's make a list for Nick." J.D. looked up from her notebook. "It is Nick?"
Callie nodded. "I like his outlook and his price."
"Thanks. This means a lot to me.
To both of us."
The last stop on their tour took them back down to the library. Built-in bookcases rising ceiling high around the room had been painted to match the electric blue walls.
"Ugh," J.D. said with a shiver. "What a horrible thing to do to a room." She gave Callie a sideward glance. "Or do you like the color?"
Callie laughed and handed her the note pad on which she'd written, "Strip bookcases down to bare wood and refinish. Replace missing cherry paneling."
Out in the entry hall, they looked up at the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
"There's a chandelier of Italian crystal waiting in a crate," Callie said.
"We'll have it hung as the final touch," J.D. added.
Callie looked at her watch. "It's two-thirty. Are you hungry?"
"Starved.
You?"
"I'm famished. How does the Miners' Rest.
sound
?"
"Haven't been there in years, but I'm hungry enough to risk it."
On the way to J.D.'s car, Callie asked, "Why don't you like the place?"
"A regular greasy spoon, as I remember."
"I've eaten there a couple of times. I think you'll be surprised."
A few minutes later they pulled up and parked near the front entrance. Deep in conversation, Callie failed to notice Luc Moreno until his voice broke through to her.
"Ladies?"
He held the door open for them.
She looked past J.D. to the tall, smiling man behind her.
"Good afternoon, Sheriff." She kept her voice pleasant, despite her annoyance over his opposition and the unwelcome flutter in the pit of her stomach.