Serenity's Deception (Texas Sorority Sisters Book 1) (10 page)

I
mposter.
The best word to describe how BJ felt as she pressed the intercom button on the white-stone column.

“Rose Mansion.” The masculine voice wasn’t Horace T.’s. Of course, it wouldn’t be. With the mansion can staff or were they called servants?

“Hi, I’m BJ Spencer here to—”

“Yes, Ms. Spencer, I’ll open the gate immediately.”

 A bubble of laughter and raised brows accompanied her giddy reaction as the huge iron gates swung back on well-oiled hinges allowing her to access the estate—
her estate
, is what the lawyer said. The ride lasted forever as she drove down the winding, white aggregate drive with huge trees, manicured lawns, and flower beds on each side that would take an army to keep the grounds in such good shape.

 When she finally reached the circular drive, the view opened up to a palatial two-story, Hill Country stone mansion. She’d seen the mansion before when she was a little girl from down below looking up. But it hadn’t prepared her for up close and personal.

Pulling the Jeep under the covered drive supported by huge, white columns, she could envision buggies with matching horses arriving for parties when the mansion was first built. The wide stone walkway with steps leading up to the impressive, oversized leaded glass doors would very easily have accommodated ladies in their antebellum hooped dresses along with their escorts. Neither the belle or the escort would have had to give way.

A man in a black suit and tie stood outside the front door, a warm smile of welcome that spoke of a friendly demeanor. When she parked, he came around the car and opened her door.

“Good morning, Ms. Spencer. I’m Sidney Stone, your steward.” Graying at the temples, his light brown hair was cut short, a little longer than military style, but just as precise. He stepped back allowing her to slide out of the Jeep.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stone.” Nervous and definitely out of her element, she offered her hand before realizing her gaffe. Though seemingly a little discomforted, he accepted her friendly gesture, his grip warm and welcoming.

“Sidney, please ma’am.” He reminded her of the chauffeur in the movie
Samantha
sans the hat. The difference, he wasn’t her father, and she
was
the owner of the mansion. Come to think of it, she would soon be wealthy too, just not marrying the rich son. All she had to do … stick out the year in the same house with Jason.

How did she get herself into such a mess?

“Sidney it is.” She nodded her head. “I’m supposed to meet Mr. Hampton here.”

“He’s waiting inside, ma’am. May I take your bags?”

“Yes, thank you. They’re in the back.” She pointed to the backseat and waited as Sidney retrieved her overnight bag and small suitcase.

“If you will follow me, please.”

Sidney looked to be in his late sixties, with a barely perceptible paunch. He looked vaguely familiar. She figured she’d seen him around town or he’d possibly driven Ms. Madelyne to Heritage House when BJ had lived there.

They climbed the steps. He ushered BJ into a huge oval foyer. Two half-moon staircases on each side flowed from the second floor balcony and spilled into the entryway. A painted cobalt sky with floating clouds adorned the twenty-foot high ceiling, much like the one she’d photographed the night she’d met Pastor Joe returning from his walk.

A crystal chandelier hung down over a round mahogany entry table with a large vase loaded with vibrant flowers, their fragrance filling the room. Immediately thoughts of how this would be a lovely place to shoot photos of a bride in her wedding dress. A feature Brides Monthly might be interested in for their magazine. She made a mental note to take some photos and send off an email to Jim Stegle, editor and chief, to see if there would be any interest.

“Right on time.” Horace T. stepped through a door on the right. “Follow me. We’ll get started.” He glanced at her companion. “Sidney, after you have delivered the bags upstairs, please ask everyone to join us in the study. Say ten minutes?” Horace T. didn’t wait for an answer. He stood back, motioned for her to enter the room first.

“Ms. Spencer? Excuse me, please.”

She notice Horace T. didn’t seem to like Sidney’s interruption. She turned. “Yes?”

“If you will allow me to have your car keys, I’ll move your Jeep to the garage.”

“Oh, certainly.” She dug into her purse, held out her keys but felt strange for doing so.

“I’ll place your bags in the green room. I think you’ll love the view from the balcony. When you’re ready to go up, I’ll show you the way.”

“Thank you, Sidney. I appreciate your help.”

When she entered the room, BJ thought they were alone. She saw the silent, lone figure occupying a wingback chair. His face stoic, lips in a straight line. Jean-clad, Jason sat with his ankle resting on his knee. This time he wore a pale yellow polo shirt that brought out his tanned skin and the fact that he’d been spending the last week under the hot sun. No boots … tennis shoes this time.

She wondered if he were happy or displeased that she’d opted to take the bequest?

“Hello, Jason.” She gave it her best shot and smiled, hoping there wouldn’t be the renewed tension of last week.

“BJ.” He gave a short nod.

Pleased that he used the shortened version of her name, but still weary of his stiff bodily language, she thought it best not to press her luck.

“I asked Jason here for your arrival. I would like to introduce you to the servants, show you about the house to allow both of you to make up your mind about the sleeping arrangements … ah … pick out your suite.” Horace T. turned a darker shade.

BJ flushed. It sounded a bit sorted, like they were moving into the same room together, not separate ends of the house.

Jason never twitched a lash.

“Do have a seat.” Horace T. waved her to the camelback love seat while he chose the other wingback. “Of course, Jason knows the servants and house already. But since you mentioned over the telephone your need for special arrangements for your office and equipment, I figured Jason could help in that area.”

“Thank you.” BJ wasn’t sure she wanted Jason’s help, but refusal might look odd, as if she were holding a grudge.

“I would suggest you open a checking and savings account at Serenity Savings. That will make it easier for you to deposit the checks you receive from the estate. And easier to get cash when you need some.”

“Thank you. I’ll look into the bank when I move in.”

“And that will be?”

He’d been so quiet, Jason’s voice startled her. “Oh.” She looked at him before glancing at Horace T. “Didn’t you say we had to move in no later than the fifteenth?”

“Yes. That’s the very latest.”

She glanced over at Jason. “I’ll be moving in no later than the fifteenth. The movers are scheduled for the thirteenth and I’ll be here later that day to ensure everything is put in place properly.”

Sidney appeared in the doorway.

“Come in, please.” Horace T. stood.

The servants and workers, four in all, filed into the room.

Horace T. turned to BJ. “You met Sidney when you arrived. He is the steward. He makes sure everything in the house and on the premises is running smoothly and efficiently.” He addressed him. “Sidney, please introduce the staff to the new mistress of the house and explain their duties.”

Sidney, with casual pomp and ceremony, began in order of rank.

The housekeeper, Martha Mathis, wore a black dress with white collar, not too different from the headmistress of Heritage House. Martha, with short, curly, brown hair and a sprinkling of gray, dipped her head and gave BJ a sweet, full, round smile. Her plump grandmotherly face glowed. BJ fell in love with her instantly.

“Martha does all the cooking and some light work inside the house and directs Doris Jean, the day maid, in her duties each day. Martha has an apartment off the kitchen, and takes Thursdays off. That is, unless you wish otherwise.”

“Thursdays are fine.” At this point BJ didn’t even know why she would need servants. She’d always taken care of her own personal needs.

Sidney next introduced the maid, Doris Jean. The woman looked younger than BJ, maybe in her late twenties, and though slender looked to be capable. Doris Jean’s hair, the color of weak tea, was apparently hard to control by the look of the frizzy strands framing her thin face. The maid didn’t live on-site, but worked at the mansion Monday through Friday. Her duties were to keep everything clean and in running order.

BJ smiled. So far the people she’d met were welcoming and didn’t seem upset she was taking the place of the late Mrs. Loveless.

Sidney motioned for a man, dressed all in khaki and sturdy black shoes, his floppy brim hat bunched in his hand, to step forward. “This is Tom Wilks. He’s been the head gardener for the last forty years. Anything you want changed he’ll make sure it’s done.”

Tom nodded, but didn’t speak. He fidgeted slightly, no doubt more comfortable outdoors.

BJ smiled, hoping to set the man at ease.

 “We have another man, Jerry Rueger, but he’s off today. He works Monday through Friday helping Wilks with whatever is needed.” The steward stepped back and inclined his head toward Horace T.

The name Jerry Rueger, and the thoughts of him being on the grounds, was a little disconcerting. Maybe Jerry and his brother Ben had turned out differently than what they were in high school. People do change. She was proof.

 “Thank you, Sidney.” BJ inclined her head.

The little group stood respectfully watching BJ. She scrambled for what she should say … what they expected of her.

“I’m pleased to meet you all. What little I’ve already seen of the house and grounds, everyone has done a splendid job. My work is such that it keeps me busy and often away from home. After I move in, I’ll probably be gone on photo shoots or out of sight in my office most of the time, so I should be of little trouble to you. But there is one thing I desire above all else.” She noticed the questioning looks. “For my comfort, I would be pleased if you would address me as BJ and not Ms. Spencer. It’ll make me feel more at home and a part of the family.” She noticed the puzzled looks. “Thank you for your warm welcome.”

BJ turned to Jason and Horace T. but neither moved or spoke and didn’t look likely to do so. She turned back to the servants, shrugged her shoulders with a grin, “I guess that’s all.”

As they began to file out, Martha stayed behind. “Ms. Sp—BJ?” Undoubtedly ill at ease using BJ’s nickname.

“Yes?”

The informal atmosphere BJ wished to incorporate would take time, but it would have to be. She refused to stand on ceremony even if she lived in a multimillion dollar mansion. If she didn’t feel comfortable here, she wouldn’t be able to last the year.

“I have lunch ready and can serve you whenever you wish. If you’d like, I can arrange it on the patio since it’s such a nice day.”

“Thank you, Martha. That would be very nice. How ’bout a half hour?” She turned and looked inquiringly at Jason and Horace T. “Do you think that will be enough time to conclude our business? Or we could talk over lunch.”

“A half hour should leave plenty of time. But don’t count on me for lunch. I have business this afternoon. But you and Jason go ahead.”

She glanced at Jason.

 He lavished a huge smile on Martha, one BJ almost felt envious she hadn’t received. “Sounds good to me. You know I always love your cooking, Martha.”

The woman blushed. “Oh, go on with you.” She looked at BJ. “I’ll have it all set up and ready. Jason knows the way to the patio.”

“Thank you, Martha.” Why didn’t Jason bring his wife? Wouldn’t she be waiting lunch for him? This wasn’t good. Weren’t we supposed to have boundaries? I don’t remember any of them including lunch together without his wife.

Come to think of it, his wife is never mentioned.

W
e
ary of discussing estate matters, BJ felt relieved when the attorney stood to leave.

“Call me when you return to move in. We’ll set up a time to sign the documents transferring ownership of Rose Mansion.” Horace T. stuffed file folders into his briefcase.

“I’ll do that.” She stood, Jason remained seated.

Horace T. moved toward the door. “Jason, your documents should be ready by Wednesday.”

Jason nodded

When the door shut, BJ was glad the attorney was gone, until she realized she and Jason were alone in the big library that appeared to be getting smaller with every beat of her heart. She was acutely aware of his presence filling the room, his musky cologne, his quietness, his …

Wandering over to the window and glanced out. She itched to be outdoors with her camera away from these emotions stirring inside her.

“Shall we check to see if lunch is ready?”

BJ jumped. Jason’s deep baritone voice sounded mere inches from her ear. She could almost feel his breath on her neck. Swinging around abruptly, she almost walked into his arms. Quickly sidestepping, her hip hit an occasional table. With one hand, Jason rescued the wooden table and vase before it could topple to the floor, and steadied BJ with the other.

She knew he asked a question, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what. His close proximity called for a quick getaway, but for now distance would do. She moved from his grasp then walked around him. A burning awareness where his thumb and fingers had encircled her arm shot heat through her body. She prayed her discomfort would go away, but could already feel the color hitting her cheeks.

“Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

He quirked a brow. “Go to lunch.”

“Of course.” She headed out the door, not caring that she didn’t know which way to go. Fortunate for her, she turned in the right direction.

Jason’s deep-throated chuckle from behind unhinged her nerves. If there were only some way to get out of having lunch with him. She couldn’t without looking foolish and immature.

A half hour is all lunch would take, or at the most, an hour. And during that time, Jason should be shoving food in his mouth and so would she. Surely she could get though lunch without a hitch. Now, if she could only control her raging hormones.

He’s a married man. He’s a married man. He’s a married
. The French doors opened out onto a flagstone patio. Two plates with an assortment of food sat on top of a round marble and wrought iron table. The chairs were at a perfect angle to afford a view of a large portion of the estate grounds, which were astounding.

Huge, gnarled oak trees, with branches
twisted and bent,
stretched on forever and flanked one side of the terrace offering perfect shade from the afternoon sun. BJ vowed, once she moved to Rose Mansion and when the weather allowed, she would spend a majority of her evenings right here eating dinner or curled up with a good book on one of the many comfy-looking chaise lounges placed around the patio.

Jason pulled out a cushioned chair waiting for her to sit down before helping her to scoot up to the table.

“Thanks. This view is spectacular. And the lawn and gardens are beyond belief.” She pointed. “That oak tree would be a child’s dream. And the small lake—do you suppose there are fish—”

His rumble of laughter stopped her flow of words and sent a chill up her spine.
Ignore it.

“You’ve said less than a dozen words to me today, and now you’re spilling over with them. What gives?” His inquisitive stare made her squirm.

BJ turned her gaze toward the lake to keep from looking at Jason. “Sorry. You must understand how awkward this is for me.” She looked back at him.

“I’m well aware.” His blue eyes turned stormy grey. “No need to be anxious. I’ll neither bite or attack you.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“BJ, for the next year we will be in each other’s company for one reason or another. Whether we like it or not, that’s the way it is.”

“I agree.” She offered him a friendly smile.

“We used to be friends, or at least I thought we were.”

His words stabbed and caused the smile to dissolve from her face. Fortunately, Martha picked that moment to serve the iced tea. For the time being all conversation ceased and BJ was able to hide the wound he had inflicted. She regained her composure.

“Yes, the lake does have fish.”

“I beg your pardon.” She looked back at him as though he were speaking Chinese.

Jason pointed down toward the lake with his fork, a laugh teasing his lips. “The lake. I said it has fish.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” She smiled, desiring to show him she could be friendly also.

“Often when I’d visit Aunt Maddy, I’d throw a line in and catch a couple of bass. Martha would cook them for us. Some good eating.”

“How fun.”
And this all belongs to me.
She still couldn’t believe her fortune.

She placed her napkin on her lap and reached for her fork. “What size is your ranch?”
A good, safe, innocuous question
.

He tilted his head giving her a studied look, his features softened. “Well, for Texas, my ranch isn’t overly big. I own outright around five thousand acres, lease another six more.”

“Five hundred and six acres sound pretty big to me. I—” His boom of laughter brought her up short. “Did I miss something?”

“Just five hundred and ninety four thousand acres is all. I ranch eleven thousand acres.

‘Oh, sorry. I misunderstood.” She pushed her food around the plate, not sure she could eat a bite. “I know you have longhorns.” She saw his eyes narrow. “Heard you mention them in the meeting with Horace T. How many do you have?”

He smiled. “What got you calling Hampton Horace T.?”

 “Just seemed to fit the man.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think it had something to do with his staunchy appearance. Just knew I couldn’t think of him as Mr. Hampton, didn’t seem to fit.”

Jason wore a cute smirch on his lips, nodding his head. “I know what you mean. Horace T. fits him far better.” He jabbed a piece of tomato with his fork. “What do you do exactly?”

She gave him a quizzical look wondering why he didn’t answer her question about the longhorns.

“Work.” He shook his head. “I heard Horace T. mention a gallery. What kind of gallery do you have?” He shoved the juicy red slice in his mouth.

She remembered how those same lips felt on hers.
Stop, right now!

BJ took a few seconds wondering how much she wanted him to know about her business then decided this was far safer ground than sparring or thinking uncomfortable thoughts. “I’m an art-photographer. I work with mixed mediums of sorts.”

“What does that mean?”

“I take photographs. Afterward, I take those same photos, enlarge them, and turn them into works of art by adding other mediums to the picture—paints, stains, paper, cloth, gesso. You name it, I use it.” She smiled. Her work was her life and she couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather do. Photography to her didn’t have that job-like feeling. More like play.

“And do you sell your works of art to the public?”

“Yes. My gallery is on The Strand in Galveston. It does a fairly brisk business. Plus, I sell to other galleries too. That’s how I make my living.”

Her plate barely touched, she noticed Jason had finished his food. But then, she wasn’t really hungry. The trip, the meeting, and seeing Jason had taken its toll.

“I never remembered you having an artistic bent in school.”

She didn’t take exception to his choice of words. His expression was thoughtful, without a hint of the animosity. “I didn’t have one. Picked it up at UT.”

She wiped her mouth with her napkin and shoved her plate away before relaxing up against the back of her chair, elbows on the armrests. “How many cattle do you have on your ranch?”

The change of subject startled him, took him a little off guard. She wanted to see if he’d answer the question this time.

Jason squinted off in the distance. “Hmm. Well, at the present time, I have close to a couple thousand, what with the spring calving and all.”

“Wow. All longhorns?”

The smile he offered could only be described as endearing … like the boy she remembered. “No. About half are longhorns, the other half Hereford. But the number will vary depending upon the time of the year. Right now, I have about five hundred calves almost ready to be sold at auction and a few more will be ready in another month or so.”

“You have quite an operation.” She witnessed his easy smile and the sparkle in his eye that could only mean pride in his business. “Does your wife help you on your ranch?”

 For some reason his eyelids came down, shielding like shutters, blocking out the world. His expression tight and unyielding.

What had she said? Could it be that he didn’t like her asking about his wife?

“My wife …” His cell phone ring interrupted. “Excuse me, please.” His look could have frosted a glass. “Jace here.”

She fiddled with the silver on the table wondering why the sudden change of mood while Jason continued to hold a one-way conversation.

“Don’t do anything. I’ll be there less than twenty.” He snapped the lid shut on his phone, slipped it back into the leather holder, folded and placed his napkin on the table. “I hate to leave so abruptly, but I’m needed at the ranch.” He stood. “Have a good night’s stay and a pleasant trip back to Galveston. I’ll see you in a little less than two weeks.”

“I hope nothing serious happened.”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t bother getting up. I know my way out.”

She turned, watching him stroll back into the house.

Her thoughts weighed heavy while she gazed at the scene before her without taking in the beauty. Her world was spinning out of her control. Within a short span of time, so much had happened—changed. One thing for sure, she didn’t like it. She was fairly sure her new world would not be for the better.

As far as lunch with Jason, she thought she had handled him in a casual, friendly manner, just as she would any other business associate. But in reality, she couldn’t fool herself. She’d fought hard to keep control of her wayward thoughts—his smile, his voice, his ability to reach deep inside her and make her feel things she had buried deep and thought forgotten.