She was hired to design his house.

Instead she created a home.

Interior designer Amanda Lowery can turn Blake Randall’s crumbling castle into a Gallant Lake showplace. But helping the real estate mogul with his guarded heart and his troubled, orphaned nephew? A much bigger challenge. With demons in her own past, Amanda yearns to help them both heal. But will she find the family and safety she’s craved…or become a Christmas casualty in Blake’s latest business plan?

JO MCNALLY lives in coastal North Carolina with one hundred pounds of dog and two hundred pounds of husband—her slice of the bed is very small. When she’s not writing or reading romance novels (or clinging to the edge of the bed), she can often be found on the back porch sipping wine with friends while listening to great music. If the weather is absolutely perfect, Jo might join her husband on the golf course, where she tends to feel far more competitive than her actual skill level would suggest.

She likes writing stories about strong women and the men who love them. She’s a true believer that love can conquer all if given just half a chance.

You can follow Jo pretty much anywhere on social media (and she’d love it if you did!), but you can start at her website, jomcnallyromance.com

Also by Jo McNally

A Man You Can Trust

Nora’s Guy Next DoorShe’s Far From Hollywood

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

It Started at Christmas

Jo McNally

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09192-3

IT STARTED AT CHRISTMAS

© 2019 Jo McNally

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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This book is dedicated to my smart,

talented, funny agent, Veronica Park,

for never giving up on this story of my heart.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Prelude

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Prelude

Three days after Christmas…

Big fat snowflakes swirled through the air at the cemetery, making everything look fuzzy three days after the worst Christmas ever. Zachary watched the people walk back to their cars. Big piles of flowers surrounded his mother’s grave.

“Do you think Mom sent the snow?”

“What?” Uncle Blake looked down at Zachary and frowned.

“Maybe…maybe Mom sent the snow. Like a message or something. She taught me how to catch snowflakes on my tongue, like this…” Zachary stuck his tongue out. A white flake landed, melting in a quick, cold burst. Uncle Blake’s face screwed up like he’d just stepped on a Lego, but Zach rushed on. “Remember how much she loved Christmas, Uncle Blake? Maybe she’s still here, but you can’t see her…like the ghost of Christmas future in that story—”

“No.” His uncle’s voice sounded rough and scratchy. “She’s not here, Zach. Your mom isn’t a ghost. She’s just…gone.”

He meant Mom was dead. Zach wasn’t stupid. He knew what dead meant. What he didn’t get was, why wouldn’t people just say it?

Uncle Blake looked up at the snow for a minute. “She loved Christmas so much because it’s for little kids, and she never stopped… She never really grew up.” He knelt in front of Zach, one knee in the snow. “I know this was a lousy holiday, and I’m sorry. I miss her, too. But you’re going to have to be a man now. You need to leave make-believe for the little kids, okay?”

Zach straightened his shoulders. He missed his mom. She was funny, and she gave the best hugs ever. Hugs that made him feel safe, even in the middle of another move or if she was changing boyfriends again. And now he’d never have another hug from her. He blinked his eyes. Would anyone ever hug him like that? Probably not. Hugs were like Christmas—for little kids only. He looked into his uncle’s eyes and nodded.

He wasn’t really sure how to be a man, but if that’s what his uncle wanted, he’d try.

Chapter One

“This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“What? The shopping or the job?”

Amanda Lowery juggled the bags in her hand, laughing at her cousin’s question.

“Both, I guess. There’s no way I’ll get the job after Mr. Randall meets me tomorrow, which means I won’t be able to pay for any of this stuff.”

The two women stood on the sidewalk in Gallant Lake, New York. Like so many upstate villages, a lot of the brick or clapboard storefronts were empty. There were still a few businesses left, and they’d managed to shop in every one of them. There was just a hint of color starting to show in the mountains surrounding the lake, which glittered in the afternoon sun. Labor Day was just over a week away. Soon those trees would be ablaze in the reds and golds of autumn. Amanda and Mel were standing in front of a colorful coffee shop directly across the road from a tiny park overlooking the lake.

“Hey, you got this final interview fair and square…” Mel grimaced. “Well, not exactly fair, but you know what I mean. You’re the one who came up with the plans the guy liked.”

“Yes, but he thinks those plans came from David, not me. He’s expecting a man to show up tomorrow morning. Like I said—stupid.” She looked up at the bright orange coffee shop door. “Come on, let’s get a cappuccino before we head back to the resort.”

After ordering, they settled in at a table by the window. The café was small, but there weren’t many people inside, so Amanda didn’t have to worry about her personal space. Their table was bright blue. The chairs were each a different color. Nothing in the place matched, creating a chaotic, but energetic, atmosphere. As a designer, Amanda would describe the look as bohemian eclectic. Local artwork on the brick walls displayed widely varying degrees of talent. The place smelled of roasted coffee beans, cinnamon and sawdust. The latter was courtesy of the woodworking shop next door.

“Amanda, once this Randall guy meets you and hears that you specialize in historic homes and how many projects you’ve already managed, he’ll forget all about that little ‘mix-up’ and hire you on the spot.” Mel smiled and pushed her dark hair behind an ear. Two older men sitting near the counter were openly staring at her, but Mel was used to it. She had cheekbones most women would kill for. And legs that went on forever. And violet eyes that evoked memories of Elizabeth Taylor. Amanda sighed, glancing down at her short legs and…um…curvy figure. Genetics were tricky. That’s why Mel was a former supermodel, while women like Amanda ended up working behind the scenes with furniture and fabric.

“It wasn’t a mix-up, Mel. It was intentional. I’m a deceiver.” She was so desperate for this job that she’d resorted to unethical business practices. That was so not who she was. But a woman had to eat, right?

Mel waved off her concerns—easy to do when you were rich and famous. “I wonder what these signs are about? I’ve been seeing them all over town.”

Mel pointed at a cardboard sign in the window with the word casino across the front in black, and a giant red circle and diagonal line over it. Amanda hadn’t noticed, too occupied with worrying about tomorrow.

The café’s owner brought their cappuccinos to the table. She was an older woman, with long salt-and-pepper hair and a heavy skirt that doubled as a floor sweeper. There was no doubt where the hippie vibe of the coffee shop came from.

“Here you go, honeys. My name’s Cathy. Anything else I can getcha?”

Mel pointed to the sign. “What’s the story with that?”

Cathy’s smile faded. “Bad news for Gallant Lake.” She shook her head, lips pressed together. “Some big-shot developer bought the old resort a couple years ago, and instead of fixing it up like we’d hoped, he wants to tear it down and build a damned casino. A casino! I mean, what is this, New Jersey? Are we going to be living in one of those De Niro movies now?” Cathy’s face twisted in disgust. “We’re fighting him, though. No way do we want some giant sign of a neon bimbo here in our town, kicking her leg at the sky.”

Mel smirked, and Amanda knew what she was thinking. Clearly, someone hadn’t been to Vegas lately. Not all casinos were gaudy and gauche. On a more selfish note, Amanda wondered if they’d hired a decorator yet.

“The Gallant Lake Resort?” Mel said. “That’s where we’re staying. It seems nice.” The sprawling four-story stone-and-timber hotel hugged the shoreline of the lake. The decor might be kitschy and straight out of the sixties, but the place was clean and the views were wonderful.

“Yeah, the family that used to own it always took good care of the place. But they could never afford to remodel. Still, there’s no need to tear it down.”

Amanda looked out the window at Main Street, dotted with puddles from last night’s rain. She saw several boarded-up storefronts. “Wouldn’t a casino bring in more jobs and tourists?”

Cathy shrugged. “But at what cost? That resort’s history is a part of us. Old Blue Eyes himself used to sing there! The whole Rat Pack did. Streisand sang for the governor’s birthday party once. People would come up here from the city and boy, would they spend money!” Cathy brushed some dust off the windowsill with the corner of her apron. “The old resorts are being torn down all over the Catskills, and we don’t want to lose ours.” She perched on the edge of a nearby table. Mel smiled, as if enjoying the small-town lack of pretense. “We think if it was spruced up and advertised more, it would bring vacationers back to Gallant Lake again. Maybe the old ski resort would reopen. And the golf course. Business would pick up for everyone.”

“But wouldn’t a nice new casino do the same thing?” Amanda couldn’t stand to be in a casino herself, with people pressing in from everywhere. Just thinking about it made her palms sweat. But if it would bring business to the obviously struggling town…

“Ha! The operative word is nice. Mr. Hotshot wants to build some ugly ten-story high-rise on our beautiful lake. Main Street will be nothing more than a thoroughfare from the highway to his casino. That won’t help my business. He’s buying up houses just to turn them into parking lots. Parking lots!” Cathy laughed and winked. “Of course, we stopped him from turning one of them into a parking lot. We had his big old house declared a landmark and now he’s stuck with it! That boy picked the wrong little town to mess with.”

Cathy was still cackling when she walked away. Mel gave a low whistle. “Whoever that guy is, I hope he doesn’t buy his coffee here. I’m pretty sure Cathy would spit in it.”

Amanda giggled, then reached over to squeeze her cousin’s hand.

“Thanks for coming with me this weekend, Mel. Whatever happens with the job interview tomorrow, it’ll be easier to handle the fallout with you here.” She was pretty sure she knew exactly what was going to happen. She was going to be sent packing. Her stomach clenched. It would be exactly what she deserved.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Mel said. “No matter who he’s expecting, he liked the plans you sent, and he’s going to like you, too.”

Her cousin had no idea how close Amanda was to giving up and going home to her mother’s house in Nowheresville, Kansas, with her tail tucked between her legs—a failure.

“I hope so. If I can get a showcase job like this, it might be enough to start my own solo business.” It would also save her from slinking back home in disgrace after once again trusting the wrong guy. “We should get back to the resort.”

“Yeah, I want to look at that purse you found at the antiques shop. I still say that little key was for a really fancy chastity belt.”

Amanda smiled. Despite her budget woes, she’d found something she couldn’t resist buying. She’d fallen in love with the vintage beaded evening bag from the 1920s. To her delight, she’d discovered a tiny ornate key tucked inside. She and Mel had made up some hysterical possibilities for what that key might unlock.

They grabbed their bags and headed to the rental car parked across the street. Mel was giving another lecture on how Amanda was worrying too much about things. Amanda did her best to tune it out because discussing her worry didn’t make her worry any less.

Mel grabbed Amanda’s arm with a cry as she stepped off the sidewalk. An enormous black SUV sped by, too close to the curb. It hit a puddle, and before Amanda could react, she was drenched. The jerk barely slowed down before speeding off around the corner.

“Son of a bitch!” Amanda jumped back and turned to Mel, who, of course, was perfectly dry. She was also doubled over with laughter.

Amanda looked down. Her pink sweater clung to her, and water dripped off her fingertips. She wanted to be mad. She was mad. But when she looked up and found Mel still giggling, wiping tears from her eyes, Amanda couldn’t help but join her. If there was an edge of hysteria to her laughter, who could blame her?

They were still laughing when they got back to the resort. Mel insisted that they walk right through the lobby with all their packages, despite Amanda’s soggy footprints.

“Cathy said they’re tearing the place down anyway, so what difference does it make?”

“Nathan, are you kidding me?” Blake Randall pressed harder on the gas and sent his SUV roaring up the country road approaching Gallant Lake. “You took our nephew to school a week early so you could take your girls on vacation without him? Who the hell does that to a ten-year-old kid?”

Blake floored it past farms, double-wides and large Victorian homes. His hands gripped the wheel so tight he was surprised it didn’t snap.

“I’ve had Zachary all summer, Blake,” his brother whined over the speakerphone. “Michaela wanted some time with our family.”

“He is your damned family!” He and Nathan were the only family Zach had left. Their father wouldn’t even acknowledge the boy’s existence, so that left him and Nathan to give Zach a sense of family. Even if it was a thoroughly dysfunctional one.

“You know what I mean.” He could hear Nathan taking a deep breath. His older brother always did that when he was trying to find the balls to challenge Blake. “Look, you’re his guardian. We took him for the summer, but it wasn’t a permanent thing.”

“But you already have a family.” Nathan was a father. A questionable one, perhaps, but still. At least he wasn’t as clueless about kids as Blake was. “Why can’t you add one more?”

“Not happening, Blake. Tiffany named you in her will. Not me.”

“Only because she and Michaela hated each other.” Tiffany used to refer to Nathan’s wife as Butt Stick. Blake’s lips twitched at the memory of him and his sister laughing over that name.

“And yet you think Michaela should raise Tiffany’s kid. What sense does that make?”

Nathan had a point. Blake had qualms about Michaela raising her own children. As if Blake was some kind of expert.

“He shouldn’t be at Beakman Academy by himself, a week ahead of the other kids.”

“The upperclassmen are there this week,” Nathan sighed. “The headmaster said he’d be fine.”

Blake slowed to pass a farm tractor driving up the road. Was that thing even legal? He stepped on the gas after he passed it, going too fast for being this close to the village. Sheriff Adams must have been busy somewhere else because Blake didn’t see any flashing lights. Benefits of a one-cop town.

“So Zach’s at school with a bunch of kids four grades ahead of him? That’s perfect, genius. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Jesus, Blake, I’m not an idiot. He’s not in the dorm—he’s staying with the headmaster and his family for the week. Feel free to drive over and get him if you don’t like it.”

Blake chewed his lip. Zach was ten years old. He’d lost his mother less than a year ago. Blake had a feeling everything was a big deal to the poor kid. But still…being at school gave him more structure than he’d have with Blake, or even Nathan and Butt Stick.

“Can you guys at least take him for the holiday break?” Tiffany had died at Christmas. Zach deserved a much happier holiday this year.

“No way. We’re taking the girls on a cruise for Christmas, and Michaela already said—”

“Yeah, yeah. I can imagine what Michaela said.” Blake let off the gas pedal and hung up on his brother. He reached for his coffee and bit out a curse when some spilled on his pants. What a perfect freakin’ day. He saw a flash of pink when he looked up and swore again. A petite blonde stepped off the sidewalk, directly into his path.

Blake swerved. The engine on the big vehicle roared. He’d drifted pretty damned close to the curb, scaring the daylights out of himself and no doubt her. After he passed, he glanced in the rearview mirror and winced. He’d hit a puddle and sent a tidal wave of water over her. She was stomping her feet and gesturing to the taller woman behind her, pushing long, wet hair out of her face.

A nice person would have stopped and apologized. But Blake had learned the hard way that being nice in Gallant Lake got him nowhere. He was not popular, and he’d only attract an angry mob if anyone saw him stopped in the middle of town. He felt bad about ruining the woman’s afternoon, though. Driving away without stopping made him feel uncomfortably similar to the ogre some of the locals painted him as. He didn’t like it.

Speaking of angry mobs, there were five or six picketers just setting up at the entrance to his resort. The small Gallant Lake Preservation Society liked to show up with their handwritten signs, especially if they knew Blake was in town. They loved telling him, loudly and often, that they “weren’t giving up the fight” when it came to his plans for the casino. They didn’t seem to realize the town had given up on itself years before. That had nothing to do with him. Their signs proclaimed the same old mantra.

Save Gallant Lake!

No Casino!

Leave Our Lake Alone!

They were usually well behaved and didn’t interfere with resort traffic. But guests would be asking questions. He saw a scruffy pair of guys at the edge of the group. They didn’t fit in with the generally older protesters, but it wasn’t the first time he’d seen them hanging around. The two always looked ready to take up torches and pitchforks rather than neatly lettered signs. Their anger simmered a little closer to the surface, like it was personal, but Blake had no idea who they were.

The group recognized his vehicle and pressed closer to the entrance, forcing him to slow down to avoid hitting them. He could call the sheriff, but that wouldn’t do any good. The protestors always stayed back off his property lines when the guy they affectionately called “Sheriff Dan” was around. Blake had a sneaking suspicion the sheriff supported the locals more than him when it came down to it.

Once past the entrance, he parked in the employee lot and came in the side door. The old place had character, along with a stellar view. The previous owners had maintained the resort well, even if the interior needed updating everywhere. Those updates would be pointless now since it was slated for demolition as soon as the state senate gave its blessing to the casino plans. He was only a few votes away.

When he’d made the purchase originally, sight unseen, he’d assumed the resort was one of those tired old Catskills resorts whose glory days ended with the Dirty Dancing era. It was a pleasant surprise to see the place actually making a little money with a modest marketing campaign, which took some of the sting out of waiting for those last few votes.

It was smaller than his other hotels, but he ran it with the same attention to detail. He was known for his No Surprises approach to business, and the employees here had been quick to catch on—they took care of little problems before they became big ones.

He saw the muddy footprints as soon as he entered the lobby on his way to the front desk. What the hell? The sun was shining outside, but this looked like someone had walked through here after swimming in a ditch somewhere. He caught a glimpse of pink ahead, stepping inside the elevator. Well, he’d be damned. The blonde he’d almost mowed down in town was a guest at the resort.

It seemed she’d rewarded his behavior with a trail of mud across the lobby carpet, almost as if she knew it was his place. Blake couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. It served him right for not stopping to apologize.

Chapter Two

Amanda paused by the lobby windows to settle her nerves. The resort’s lawn swept down to the lakeshore. A morning mist rose from the water still in the shadows of the mountain. Resting the palm of her hand against her stomach, she focused her energy on pulling air in and letting it out. In with the good air, out with the bad. She’d hardly slept all night, and her nerves were jangling so much she could practically hear them rattling in her head.

She held a cup of coffee in her other hand—one last boost of caffeinated courage. Counterintuitive to her attempt to calm down? Maybe. But she needed to be sharp. It was almost time for her to meet Blake Randall and inform him that he’d been corresponding with someone other than her ex-boss. That he’d sent blueprints for his historic mansion to her, not David Franklin. His request for proposals asked for suggestions on how to put the building to use, preferably as a commercial space, with no indication where it was actually located or what the exterior looked like. It was all very mysterious. When she “accidentally” intercepted the RFP and intentionally responded, she’d provided plans for residential use instead. She loved period architecture and felt the home should be used for its original purpose.

Randall had liked her plans enough to request a meeting to discuss them. Her shoulders straightened. They were her ideas, and they were good ones. What did it matter who they came from? She tried to dismiss the panic fluttering in her chest. She could do this. She had to do this. This job was the key to her being able to start her own design firm. One where she didn’t have to rely on lying, cheating bosses who preyed on their employees.

Her summer had been almost laughable in its horridness. The panic attacks were happening more frequently. Nightmares left her afraid to go to sleep. She jumped at every little thing. No wonder her nerves were on a razor’s edge. She felt like a canvas left out in the sun too long—stretched and dry and brittle.

She turned away from the windows and nearly collided with a guy in a Gallant Lake T-shirt and shorts. The twentysomething came out of nowhere, arguing loudly on the phone with someone about a canceled flight and a job he needed to get back to. Even though he’d nearly knocked her on her ass, the guy barely mumbled an apology before he continued on his way.

The brief, but forceful, male contact set off all kinds of alarms for Amanda. Black spots swirled at the edge of her vision.

A panic attack, her all-too-familiar companion these days, was prowling just under her skin, like a shark smelling blood. Crap. This was the last thing she needed this morning, but ignoring it would only give it more power. She set down her coffee and closed her eyes, trying to relax her muscles one group at a time, from her toes to her head, the way her therapist, Dr. Jackson, taught her.

In with the good air, out with the bad.

Shake off the negative while embracing the positive. So very much easier said than done. But she worked at it, picturing clean, fresh, strong air filling her lungs. She wiggled her fingers and rolled her shoulders. The monster quieted. It was time for her to get going.

Randall’s cryptic instructions said to ask for directions to “Halcyon” at the front desk. She was surprised to get walking directions to a place right next door to the resort. She headed outside and up the clearly marked path into the woods and through a gate in an old iron fence. A few minutes later, she stepped into a clearing and froze. Set high on a hill to her right was a castle. An honest-to-goodness castle, right there in the Catskills.

Her mouth fell open. She blinked. Then blinked again, as if she expected the sight to vanish. Another strange emotion swirled through her amazement, creating a wave of goose bumps across her skin. She couldn’t believe what she was looking at. And yet…it felt as if she’d been here before. That was crazy. Randall had kept the location a deep dark secret in his proposal request. All she’d seen was the first floor blueprint.

The sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. The big house called to her so strongly that she could feel it in her bones, drawing her in like a siren call.

Pink granite walls rose from the ground as if the structure had just grown there. It seemed a natural part of the landscape, in spite of its soft color. It was at least three stories tall, with a sharply angled slate roof dotted with dormers. Two round towers anchored the lakeside corners, complete with pointed roofs like upside-down ice cream cones. There appeared to be another larger tower in the front of the house. A stone veranda stretched across the back, with five sets of French doors opening onto it.

The floor plans hadn’t done this place justice. Halcyon was breathtaking. Amanda walked around to the front, noting signs of decades of neglect—overgrown shrubbery, dusty windows with no drapes and a general air of abandonment. The driveway circled around a long-forgotten and empty fountain. She walked up the stone stairs to the covered porch. The scale of everything made her feel like Alice in Wonderland, especially as she approached a massive wooden door. There wasn’t a doorbell. She smiled to herself. The only appropriate doorbell for this place would be one you rang by pulling on a long velvet cord.

Amanda knocked, but there was no answer. She looked to the driveway. There weren’t any cars there. She knocked again, using the side of her fist this time. Still nothing. She walked back around to the lake side of the house, looking for any signs of life. It had to be the right place, but why wasn’t anyone here?

Up on the veranda, she paused to take in the view. The huge yard was surrounded by trees all the way to the water, and the only sound was that of the wind and the birds. It gave the feeling of being far removed from the world. When she turned to face the house, she noticed one of the doors stood ajar. Her skin prickled.

Maybe Mr. Randall was running late, and left the door open for her? Or maybe this was an elaborate ruse for someone to get a defenseless woman into an abandoned house, the monster whispered. Her pulse ratcheted up another notch.

No. She’d been corresponding as David Franklin, so no one was expecting a female. As long as she was here, and the door was open, why not explore? If Randall didn’t show up, she’d head back to the resort and consider the missed appointment as karmic retribution for all of her lies.

Her footsteps left prints in the dust on the floor. She crouched down to wipe the dust away. The floors were honey-colored marble. The high coffered ceilings were made from mahogany. The walls bore some truly hideous Victorian wallpaper with flowers and gazebos and birds and…just way too much stuff. The massive fireplace was topped with a wooden mantel that stretched to the ceiling with an ornate carved scene of Saint George slaying a dragon. There were only a few pieces of furniture in the large room, and they were covered with drop cloths.

She wanted to see more of the house, and she had been invited—sort of—but she still felt like she was trespassing. She caught a glimpse of massive iron chandeliers in the large room in the center of the house. Maybe just one quick look.

This house was sensory overload for a designer like her. Light flooded through tall leaded windows in the center hall. Twin iron chandeliers hung above her, with their curving black metal forms arching over the hall like protective birds of prey. The fireplace here was more subdued than in the other room, covered in the same golden marble as the floor and carved with a rose motif. She traced her fingers along the mantel, wondering what stories it could tell.

That’s why she loved old homes so much—each one held a unique story. New homes had “potential,” but she preferred a house with history. Someone had spared no expense a hundred years ago to create this beautiful space. And now it stood empty and smelled of dust and disuse. She absently patted her hand on the roses carved in marble, feeling sympathy for the sad old house.

She heard something that sounded as if it came from inside the house. Footsteps?

“Hello? Mr. Randall?”

There was only silence in reply. It must have been the wind she heard. Or perhaps it was just her overactive imagination kicking into high gear. She shrugged it off and continued exploring. Next to the front door, a stairway wound its way up the inside of the large tower. On the far side of the room, a semicircular glass atrium stretched across the end of the house. The glass was cloudy with age and neglect, and the mosaic floor covered with long-undisturbed dirt, but the atrium had been spectacular at one time.

The sketches she’d sent with her proposal were in black and white, created in a software program specifically for that purpose. They were filled with structural and furniture dimensions, accompanied with detailed lists of required supplies. They were accurate. But she knew now they weren’t enough. Not for this house. Plans for this house needed color and emotion.

Amanda rested her hand on the paneled wall near the atrium, then closed her eyes and tried to get a feel for what the house might have looked like originally. It was a trick she’d used before to get a sense of the older apartments in the city she’d been hired to decorate. If only walls actually could talk. She pictured the atrium sparkling with candlelight, the metalwork along the roof painted bright white and the colorful floors restored. Exotic rugs scattered across the floor of the salon, creating cozy sitting areas by the fireplace and in front of the library. Lush but comfortable furniture filled this room and the living room. Everything she pictured reflected a sense of family and love.

None of that had been reflected in her proposal to Blake Randall. She pulled her ever-present sketchbook out of her bag, along with a fistful of colored pencils. She didn’t have a lot of time, but she had to try to capture the personality of this home.

She lost herself in the drawing process, letting her creative muse take over. Flipping the pages hurriedly, she sketched the salon, then the dining room, which she’d envisioned as a home office. Eventually she went back to the living room, imagining it with touches of modern technology mixed with classic colors and…oh, wouldn’t sailcloth curtains be perfect in here!

She heard another noise, and stopped her frantic sketching. She was sure it came from inside the house. Was it from upstairs, or the room next door? She tucked her sketchbook back into her bag and headed for the open door to the veranda, ready to flee if needed. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Was that a footstep behind her?

“Hey!” The loud male voice stopped her in her tracks.

Panic slammed her heart against her ribs, and her vision blurred. Before she could force her feet to move, a large hand gripped her upper arm and a deep voice growled at her.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?”

Sometimes her panic manifested itself as rage, and she was thankful for that rage right now. It was the only thing keeping her on her feet. Instead of fainting dead away, she yanked her arm free and turned to face the man who’d just sent her panic levels into the stratosphere. Her knees threatened to buckle. Breathing felt like a battle between her lungs and the air she needed.

“Don’t touch me!” she said with a hiss.

He released her immediately, but he was now blocking her exit. He was older than her—maybe midthirties—and tall. She was wearing heels, and still her head barely reached his shoulders. His features were sharp and his jaw strong. His eyes were the color of espresso, and thick black hair curled down the nape of his neck. He was dressed casually, as if he’d been working outside and just walked in.

She swallowed hard and tried to control her pounding pulse. She’d read once that the tiniest animal, when cornered, could become ferocious beyond its physical size. She drew herself to her full height, ignoring the barest hint of a smile that flickered across the man’s face when she pointed her finger and started lecturing.

“You’d better get out of here while you still have the chance, because Blake Randall will be here any minute now to meet me!”

His right brow arched sharply, but instead of leaving, he leaned back against the door frame and folded his arms on his chest, a wide smile on his face.

“Is that right? Blake Randall? Well, that’s interesting. Because my appointment is with a gentleman, not a nosy, trespassing woman.”

Amanda’s mouth fell open. This was Blake Randall. And she was an idiot. She’d just blown any possibility of getting the job that was her last hope. The thought of crawling back to Kansas in defeat made her skin tight and clammy. She stepped back and bumped against the door, stumbling when it swung further open behind her. She hated this feeling of her feet being encased in cement every time she panicked, leaving her clumsy and slow.

“Jesus, relax.” His voice lost some of its growl. “I’m just sick of people trying to sneak into this place like it’s some shrine instead of being private property. What do you want?”

Amanda’s lungs were rapidly constricting. In with the good air, out with the bad. She was having a hard time envisioning anything good in this situation. He ran long fingers through his hair, clearly running out of patience. She blew out another breath and her vision cleared. Her voice only trembled a little.

“You’re Blake Randall?” She did her best not to grimace when he nodded once in reply. “The door was open, Mr. Randall. I assumed you were inside. I’m your ten o’clock appointment.” She knew she should hold her hand out, but her aversion to touch made her avoid handshakes at all costs. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. “I’m Amanda Lowery.”

He barked out a laugh. “Do you think I don’t know who my appointment is with? It’s with—”

“David Franklin of Franklin Interiors. Yes, I know. I used to work with David. I was an associate at the firm. I’m the one who responded to your email.” Someone at the office had taken a little too long closing her email account after she’d left. Randall’s email had seemed like a gift—an answer to her prayers—when it showed up in her inbox a month ago.

“You responded as David Franklin.”

“I responded as a representative of the firm.” What she’d done was beyond unprofessional. Probably illegal. But she’d been desperate. She hadn’t actually signed David’s name to the emails, but she hadn’t signed hers, either. She’d deceived this man. But what choice did she have after David smeared her reputation and left her unemployable?

“So you’re here representing Franklin Interiors and their proposal?”

“Well…um…no. It was my proposal.”

“So you work for another firm now, and you’re trying to poach me from Franklin?”

“Not exactly. I’m…um…self-employed.”

Panic started whispering more loudly in her head. This was a mistake. What if he called David? What if he called the police?

Instead, he just laughed. “Wow—you lost your job at Franklin Interiors.” His gaze sharpened. “Fired or quit?”

“A little of both, I guess.” When she’d confronted David for taking credit for her work, he’d slandered her with their clients. He and she had basically raced to get the words out after a client told her what he’d said. She was pretty sure her “I quit” beat his “you’re fired” by a few seconds.

“And now you’re bluffing your way into an interview for the renovation of a million-dollar mansion? You look like you’re barely out of college.” He stared at her for a long moment, and she just stared back, unsure if she should flee in embarrassment or stand and fight for the seemingly hopeless chance of getting this job. She pictured herself back in rural Kansas and straightened. She had to fight.

“I’m twenty-eight. I worked at Franklin for four years. I created the proposal that got your attention and led to this appointment. This house is magnificent, and I really ne—want this job.”

He snorted. “Magnificent? This pile of rocks is a pain right in my ass.”

Her panic was briefly forgotten. He had to be joking. This house was… She looked around and wondered once again at the connection she felt to the dusty, neglected structure. This house…was where she needed to be. She had to get this job. He hadn’t thrown her out yet or called the cops, so that was something. He looked around the room as if trying to see what she saw.

“Everyone in town forced me to keep this place standing, but…”

Something clicked in her brain.

“Wait—is this the historic landmark they were talking about saving?”

“Who was talking?”

“The lady who owns the coffee shop was telling my cousin and me about it. She said some idiot wants to destroy the resort and a bunch of houses so he can build some awful casino. Everyone in town hates the idea, and hates the guy trying to…” Her voice faded off as she watched a variety of emotions cross his face, from amusement to anger to…regret? Her cheeks flamed. “And that guy would be you, right? You own the resort, too?”

He gave her a mock bow. “Blake Randall, the villain of Gallant Lake, at your service. But don’t believe Cathy when she says everyone hates the idea. The casino will provide a lot of jobs for people around here if I can ever get approval from Albany.” He frowned. “Cathy and her friends in the Gallant Lake Preservation Society managed to have Halcyon declared a landmark, so I have to put it to use, which is why I asked you…well, not you, apparently…to give me a proposal. Another firm suggested converting this into an office building, and leasing out whatever space we don’t use.”

“Using this house for offices would be criminal.” She might have been having the worst summer ever, but she knew her stuff when it came to vintage homes like this. It was her specialty, and her knowledge gave her a spark of courage. “This was a family home once, full of love and laughter. It could be that kind of home again.”

He looked at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language. There was a spark of interest in his expression, but then he drew back and shook his head.

“Look, it took some guts to worm your way into an appointment under false pretenses, and I admire your ambition. But—”

“You liked my proposal just fine when you thought it came from Franklin Interiors. Have you suddenly stopped liking it?”

He shook his head. “Your proposal was the best one I received for residential use, but I’m not convinced a twelve-bedroom castle can ever really be a home.” He looked around the dusty living room. “Even if I was, don’t you think this project is a little over your head?”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“No. Because you’re young, you’re alone and you can’t possibly have the experience or the resources for a job like this.”

His arms went wide, gesturing around the room, and she stepped back, rattled by the sudden movement. He wasn’t going to hire her. There was no sense in begging. This had been her last hope, and she wasn’t going to get the job. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She’d have to go home to Kansas, where all her nightmares began.

She should get out of here now, while she still had some shred of dignity. She raised her chin, determined not to show him what a blow he was dealing her.

“It’s clear your mind is made up. Excuse me.” She moved toward the door, praying he’d just let her pass without coming any closer.

His brow arched high.

“That’s it? You’re not going to fight for the job after going through that elaborate ruse to get yourself here?”

This was nothing more than a game to him. He thought she was some nice young girl pretending to be a real designer. Wasn’t that what David had called her? As much as she wanted to prove them both wrong, she had to leave. Now. There was a panic attack barreling down on her like a freight train, and she didn’t want any witnesses. Especially one who already thought she was a poser.

She started to walk past him and out the door, but her feet refused to cooperate with her bravado, and she stumbled. Damn it! Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reaching for her. No!

Her arms flew out. He grabbed at her. Shit! She tried to push him away and break her fall at the same time, but she ended up on the stone floor, looking up at him as he gripped her shoulders.

“Careful! Are you o—” Their eyes met. “Miss Lowery? Amanda? Can you hear me?”

His hands were on her. His hands were on her! She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her body trembled, making her head rattle against the marble floor. Her vision faded. The pain in her chest was so overwhelming she wondered if she was dying. She must have said as much, because a deep voice answered from much too close.

“You’re not dying. You just need to breathe. Hold my hand and squeeze. Try to breathe.”

“Can’t…hurts… Panic attack…” Strong arms gathered her up.

No! But she didn’t have the strength to struggle. Every ounce of energy was spent trying to pull oxygen into her lungs.

“Tell me how to help you.” She could hear fear in his voice, and it raised her panic level even higher. She heard a keening wail of pain and realized it was her. Her lungs were on fire, and she could barely form words.

“Don’t…touch me…”

A gruff burst of air blew across her cheek. “That’s not an option.”

She was moving, flying. Being carried. He was shifting her around and fishing for something in his pocket. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen to hold on to consciousness.

From far away, she heard a disembodied voice and snippets of conversation.

“Julie?…yes, Amanda Lowery…staying at the resort…panic attack…at the house…” Amanda rested her head on a solid shoulder. It was almost a relief to give up her fight against the inevitable darkness. The last thing she heard were soft words against her cheek.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

There was a fairy-tale princess sleeping in his bed, right down to the flowing locks of golden hair. She had the face of an angel. An angel princess. Blake scrubbed his hand down his face, leaning back in the tall chair.

“You keep doing that and you won’t have any skin left on your face.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Amanda Lowery’s cousin standing behind him. He gave a soft, humorless laugh.

“It’s been one hell of a morning, Mel.”

The tall brunette leaned her hip against the back of his chair. “For all of us. The doctor said she’s okay, though. He gave her a pill. She’s just sleeping.”

Sure, she was sleeping now. But an hour ago, she’d taken ten years off his life. The panic had consumed her like wildfire, and there hadn’t been a damned thing he could do to stop it.

He’d carried her up to his room in Halcyon while calling Julie, the assistant manager of the resort. Within minutes, a pissed-off brunette charged into his upstairs suite, ready to rescue Amanda and accusing him of all kinds of things. Fortunately, Julie had been just a few minutes behind Mel, along with a doctor staying at the resort. Julie convinced Mel that Blake wasn’t an ax murderer, and was actually the guy Amanda had an appointment with. Once Mel calmed down, she confirmed what Amanda had tried to tell him—that it had been a panic attack.

“Why were you so insistent on keeping her here?” Mel asked. “After you knew she’d tricked you into interviewing her?”

Mel sat carefully on the edge of the bed, looking first at Amanda and then at him. It had been no surprise when she’d reluctantly confirmed to Julie that she was the famous fashion model known as Mellie Low. Every move this dark-haired woman made was intentionally graceful, as if there was always a camera on her. If he was in the market for a relationship, she was far more his usual type than Amanda—tall, elegant and coolly confident. But he wasn’t in the market. That wall he’d constructed around his heart after losing Tiffany was high and solid. Completely impenetrable. He relaxed back into the chair and met her questioning eyes calmly.

“I’m not a monster, Mel. She just about had a heart attack in my house, and nearly gave me one in the process.” He dropped his voice. “I keep a few furnished rooms here for when I’m in town, so it made sense to bring her up here.” He looked up and noted her skepticism. “At least it made sense at the time.”

Mel studied him hard for a minute, and he felt sorry for anyone who got on the wrong side of this woman. Her eyes were sharp as razors. If she ever decided to be a cop, that violet glare would have suspects confessing their guts all over the place. She was trying to protect her cousin, and he respected that. It wasn’t the kind of family he’d grown up in, but it was the way families were supposed to be.

“She’s safe here, I promise.”

Mel’s shoulders relaxed a bit at his comment, raising a red flag in his mind.

“That hasn’t always been the case, has it? She hasn’t always been safe?”

“No.” She hesitated a moment and glanced at Amanda before answering in a hushed voice. “She’s had a tough summer. Lost her job. About to lose her share of a shared apartment. And she was…” Mel straightened as if she realized she was speaking out of turn.

“Someone hurt her,” he said softly.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, but Blake could see the truth in her eyes. Someone had put their hands on the pretty princess sleeping in his bed. That’s why she told him not to touch her. Was it a boyfriend? A stranger? His fingers curled into fists against his legs.

“And the panic attacks?” Blake was trying hard not to care, but he couldn’t stop asking questions.

“You’ve seen firsthand how bad they can be.”

He nodded. When she’d first landed on the living room floor, he’d thought she was having a seizure. Then their eyes had met and he’d known she was trapped in some nightmare he had no part of. The glassy terror in her eyes would haunt him for a long time to come.

She’d been skittish before that, but he’d figured she was just feeling guilty about the little game she was playing. When she’d stumbled and he’d reached for her, there was nothing funny about the way she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. She’d scared the hell out of him, that’s for damned sure. He was still afraid. He couldn’t shake it for some reason.

“How often does that happen?”

Mel shrugged. “It’s a fairly new development, so I’m not sure.”

“Is she getting help for it?”

She started to nod, then caught herself. “That’s none of your business.”

Amanda was getting help. That was good. But Mel was right. It wasn’t his concern.

Amanda moved, and he and Mel froze, waiting until she settled on her side with a soft sigh, curled up like a child. Her hand lay on top of the blankets. He had the strangest urge to reach over and take her fingers in his, but he suspected Mel would disapprove. Besides, he’d never been much of a hand holder, except with his young nephew.

“The two of you are close.”

Mel smiled. “There are actually four cousins all together, and we Lowery women are more like sisters. I just happened to be the closest to Gallant Lake this week, visiting a designer in New York. I thought her plan was so crazy it might just work, but if it didn’t, I wanted to be here for her.” She looked at him. “Did it work?”

Good question. “Well, she pulled off getting the appointment, but…”

“She’s good, Blake. You’d be damned lucky to have her.” He glanced at the woman in his bed, and Mel frowned. “As your interior designer, I mean. Did she show you her portfolio? It should be in her bag…” Mel got up and searched through Amanda’s leather bag, pulling out a spiral-bound notebook. “I think her photos of other projects are on her tablet, but here’s her sketchbook.” She handed it to him.

He opened the notebook absently. Hiring Lowery would be a colossally bad idea. He prided himself on making shrewd business decisions, and she couldn’t possibly handle this… He blinked. He was looking at a drawing of Halcyon. But not the Halcyon he knew. Not even the Halcyon he saw in her original proposal. This Halcyon had life to it. And color. The living room had a sectional sofa facing the fireplace, with a flat screen on the wall. And a gaming console in the far corner. In a castle. Could he really do that? He flipped the page. This was the room that had intrigued him the most about her original proposal—the one he thought came from David Franklin. She wanted to turn the dining room into a huge home office. He’d need that if he ever decided to live here.

He’d never been one for settling down in one spot, but now that his nephew was going to be a part of his life, maybe it was time. And maybe this was the place. Amanda’s drawings made the old castle look like a home.

Chapter Three

Amanda was having the weirdest medieval dream. She was in a massive, heavily carved mahogany bed. The room was large and round, with a marble fireplace. Ribbed cathedral ceilings arched so high that she couldn’t see the top of them in the shadows. Tall windows were set into the walls, framed with heavy damask curtains.

A wingback chair was pulled up close to the bed, and a man was sitting there with his feet propped up on the mattress, watching silently. But this was no knight of the round table. Unless knights wore jeans and a T-shirt. Black hair curled down over his forehead.

Blake Randall.

This was no dream.

She sat up with a gasp, pulling the blanket with her. Peeking under it, she was relieved to see she was still fully clothed, sans shoes. Blake didn’t react, watching as if he thought she might bolt. And she was seriously considering it. Her memory came back in fragments—collapsing in the living room, being carried up a winding staircase. She couldn’t quite make sense of it all, but she didn’t feel in danger.

“Where am I?”

Blake sat up and dropped his feet to the floor. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. His voice was soft and deep.

“You’re in my suite at Halcyon.”

“What time is it?”

“One o’clock.”

“Does my cousin know I’m here, Mr. Randall? Does anyone?”

His mouth quirked into a smile.

“I didn’t kidnap you. Mel just left to get some lunch.” His smile deepened. “And I think we’ve been through enough together to be on a first-name basis. Call me Blake.”

“Oh, my God—did you carry me up here?” she all but squeaked.

“It wasn’t a big deal. There aren’t that many furnished rooms in this place, so this was the logical choice.”

Dr. Jackson kept telling her she had to deal with the past in order to move on, but they needed to rethink that plan if it was going to lead to impossible situations like this, with her waking up in some stranger’s bed. Blake must think she was some pathetic, weak little creature, and that wasn’t who she was. She wouldn’t let it be.

“There’s almost smoke coming from your ears from all that worrying you’re doing. Relax.”

“I should go…”

“Mel will be back soon. Get some more rest, and after lunch I promise I’ll release you.”

Her eyes narrowed at those last words, but his smile said he was joking. She settled back against the headboard, doing her best to ignore her burning humiliation and impending homelessness. Back to Kansas. Goodbye career.

“Hey…” Blake moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?” To her shock, he reached toward her face. She froze. He gently brushed her cheek with his thumb to sweep away a tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed.

“What’s wrong? I made a fool of myself today. I lied to get an interview with you, and then I had a panic attack in the middle of it. It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.” She forced herself to stop talking. If she couldn’t get her emotions under control, she deserved to go home to Mom. Maybe she’d find some nice job in a furniture store selling people plaid sofas.

“Come on, you had a panic attack. That’s a physical condition that’s out of your control.” His hand dropped to rest on the mattress next to hers. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Clearly, I’m a long way from okay. You’ve been kind, but I’ve taken enough of your time. I need to go.”

“Stay…” His hand rested on hers, and he stared at it as if he was as surprised as she was.

They both heard Mel’s footsteps, and quickly pulled their hands away from each other before she walked in. She looked back and forth between the two of them suspiciously before fixing her gaze on Amanda, who was wiping the last of the tears from her face.

“What happened?”

“I’m fine.” Amanda’s hands were shaking. She tucked them under her arms and tipped her head toward the box Mel carried. “I’m also starving.”

Her cousin stared hard at her, then shrugged. “If you’re up to it, there’s plenty of food.”

They ate together at the kitchen island, Blake and the two women. Mel was staring at him with sharp skepticism. And Amanda wouldn’t look at him at all. He set her sketchbook on the marble counter.

“I looked at your drawings.”

Amanda straightened. “You went through my bag? While I was unconscious?”

Mel started to stammer. “N-no, honey. I did. I wanted him to see your portfolio and the sketchbook was there, so…”

“Those were just dash-offs, not something I’d ever show to a client, Mel.”

Blake spoke before Mel could respond.

“Amanda, you were right this morning. I did like your original proposal. That’s why I set up an appointment with someone who turned out to be you.” He smiled at the flush of color on her cheeks. “And these sketches really make your ideas come to life.” He opened the book. “I mean, a sectional in the living room? With a wide-screen TV? You seriously think that can work in a castle?”

“Sure. Victorian is all wrong for this place, and for you, I’m guessing.” He grunted in agreement. He hated all the pink and green wallpaper. She nodded with a smile. “Halcyon’s architecture is solid enough to support whatever style you want. I’d stick with the classics but give it a modern twist with some pops of color and fun accent pieces.” She was in her element now. She might be young, but she knew her stuff. Her proposal had been highly detailed and professional. Even those dashed-off drawings were compelling.

“You really think this can be done?” He gestured to her sketch of the office.

“Of course. It’s mostly cosmetic work. There’s no actual construction, other than the bookcases in the office. The only reason the budget is so high is because of the sheer size of the place and massive amount of horrible wallpaper you have to remove.”

“I need it completed before Christmas. Is that doable?” Nathan clearly had no interest in giving Zach a family Christmas, so it was going to be up to Blake. His chest grew tight. He’d never bought a Christmas decoration in his life, but he had to do something for the boy. Amanda was staring at him with wide eyes.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re hired.” He set her sketchbook on the counter. He didn’t believe in impulsive decisions, but this just felt right. “You’ve sold me on your vision. So tell me how long.”

“Aaand this just turned into a business meeting,” Mel laughed, “which is my cue to leave. I might still make my spa appointment after all.” She gave Amanda a quick hug. “I knew you could do it, sweetie.” Mel looked at Blake. “You’ve made a good decision.”

“I haven’t accepted the job yet.” Amanda’s chin jutted out in defiance.

Interesting. A few hours ago she’d been begging for it.

Mel laughed again. “You two don’t need me to figure that out. Just don’t overdo it after this morning. Got it?” That last question was for him.

“Got it.” Satisfied, she left them alone.

Amanda looked a little shell-shocked, and he wanted to give her time to absorb her new job. But her silence dragged on so long he started having doubts. He flipped through the sketchbook again.

“Are you suggesting painting the wrought-iron chandeliers orange? That’s not a pop of color, it’s… I don’t know…an explosion?”

“It’s not orange, it’s paprika.” She sounded prim and defensive. “It’s a spice color. It brings a touch of fun and whimsy to the space. This should be a home where you feel free to kick off your shoes and relax without feeling guilty about it.”

“I doubt fun and whimsical are words people normally associate with me.”

“So surprise them.”

He looked back at the drawings. “You’ve surprised me. Are you taking the job?”

She hesitated. “Don’t hire me out of pity, Blake. I don’t want your charity.”

He gave her a steely glare that usually had his employees quaking in their shoes. She blinked, but didn’t look away when he spoke. “I run a billion-dollar business. I don’t make decisions based on pity. You’re a designer out of work. I’m looking to hire a designer. Do you want the job or not?”

Her willingness to walk away from a job she needed and obviously wanted surprised him. Finally she sighed and pushed her plate away. “Let’s take another look together and discuss it.”

“I promised Mel we wouldn’t over—”

“I’m not talking about taking a grand tour. But this kitchen is too modern—it’s an add-on, right?” He nodded. The 1990s kitchen was efficient, but generic. Amanda grimaced. “I can’t feel the house in here.”

Blake had no clue what that meant, but he followed her into the main hall. She rested her hand on the mantel and smiled a secret little smile that made his pulse quicken.

“This was once a home so full of love.” She looked up at him through long lashes. “Do you know its history?”

“Yes. The stories are full of romance and tragedy—”

“Tell me the stories.” Her gentle smile wasn’t a secret this time. It was aimed at him, and it caused him to stutter.

“T-tell you what?”

“Tell me the stories of Halcyon. Knowing the history of a home helps me get a feel for its personality.”

He shook his head. He wasn’t a storyteller. No one had read him fairy tales as a kid. No one had read him anything. Even the nannies were too busy for such frivolity. He wondered if Zach liked stories. Had Tiffany used to read to her son? “There are plenty of people around who know the history better than I do. I just wanted the land, not the legend.”

“There’s a legend? Now you have to tell me!”

He leaned against the mantel and racked his brain for the history of Halcyon. He’d been disgusted with the whole stupid story right up until the moment Amanda Lowery fell in love with it.

“The house was built in the late 1800s by a wealthy banker from New York named Otis Pendleton. His young wife, Madeleine, fell ill, and they thought the country air might cure her. She got better, and apparently Otis had money to burn, so he built her a castle here. He stayed in the city during the week and came here on weekends to see her and the kids.”

Amanda walked over to the ebony staircase and sat on the steps. He followed her.

“Are you tired? We can do this another time…”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “I’m fine, just taking it all in. Finish the story.” He stared at her, and she gestured for him to get going. She was a bossy little thing when she wasn’t a nervous wreck. He sat on the stairs below her, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Pendleton lost everything in the stock market crash in the twenties. He took his own life, jumping out the window of his twentieth-floor Manhattan office.” Amanda gasped. “Some people insist his brother pushed him. I guess there was bad blood there. The children were sure Otis never would have left Madeleine alone, because they were so much in love.”

Amanda sighed wistfully, looking around the empty hall. He had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t seeing an empty room. She was picturing it as the Pendletons’ home. He wasn’t surprised she was a romantic. He was only surprised that he suddenly felt a bit of a romantic himself just telling her.

“Madeleine was grief stricken and took to her bed upstairs. She died before they could evict her and auction off the house. Supposedly she haunts the place.”

“It’s haunted? Have you seen her?”

He rolled his eyes. “Have I seen Madeleine Pendleton walking around Halcyon? Uh, no.”

Amanda looked over her shoulder and up the winding staircase. He knew she was hoping to see some ghostly apparition, but there was nothing to suggest the place was actually haunted. Well…nothing other than some creaky stairs at night and the odd scent of roses in the solarium.

“What happened after Madeleine died?”

“Halcyon’s been a little of everything—a boardinghouse, a motel…rumor has it, it was a brothel for a few years. It was deserted for a long time. A young couple with more money than good sense bought it back in the nineties and poured their penny stock fortune into it, trying to make it into a bed-and-breakfast.” He glanced up. She was hanging on every word. “They’re the ones that added the kitchen and the elevator. But there wasn’t enough income to cover all the work they did. They closed it up ten years ago, and I bought it last year.” It was surprising how comfortable it was to sit here and talk with her. He looked up at the wood ceilings, feeling more affection for the house than he’d felt since he’d bought it. “Most buildings fall into disrepair very quickly when empty, especially old ones, but this one held up surprisingly well.”

“You’ve told me the stories, but what’s the legend?”

He groaned. “Legend has it that Madeleine won’t be happy until the place is a private home again, and that’s why no business has survived here. I guess that means you’re right. It wouldn’t be a good idea to put offices in here.”

She smiled, but it faded quickly at his next question.

“Are you taking the job?”

“I don’t know, Blake. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“You don’t think you’re capable of a project like this?”

She sat up sharply. “Of course I’m capable. I specialize in period homes. I can handle this.” She gestured around her.

Blake gave her a triumphant grin.

“You are taking the job. And you can do it by Christmas?” It was suddenly imperative that he give Zach a happy Christmas this year to erase the memory of the last one.

“It’s a lot of work to get done in a few months.”

“You’ve convinced me this place can be a home, and I happen to need one. By Christmas.”

Her forehead furrowed. “You don’t have a home?”

“I use the owner suites at whatever resort I’m at.”

“How many resorts do you own?”

He shrugged. “Five. You still haven’t answered my question. Can you have it done by the holidays?”

“Some of the furniture will need to be ordered and may not be here in time…” Amanda looked around, and he could tell she was calculating in her head. It was a hot look on her. Damn it. He stood and moved away. Where the hell did that thought come from?

Her face scrunched, then relaxed, as if coming to a conclusion she approved of. “With enough skilled people, I could probably get most of the work done in time. I’ll need a place to live…”

“If you want to commute from the city, I can send a car for you.”

“Umm… I’m actually…between apartments right now. It would be easier to find a rental here in town.”

He kicked himself. He forgot Mel had told him Amanda was losing her apartment.

“Stay here at the house.”

He probably should have thought that idea through before saying it out loud.

“What?” She stood, her gaze darting around the empty hall. “Here? No.”

“Look, it’s a big place. There’s a nice suite upstairs with a balcony. I’m leaving for Hawaii and Bali in mid-September—I won’t even be here part of the time. I’d give you a room down at the resort, but September’s probably booked solid for leaf season.” He could tell she was considering it. “You can order your meals from the resort, of course. We’ll configure lodging and meals as part of the package. I’ll have Julie make all the arrangements. Her brother’s a contractor, and he’s done good work at the resort and around town. Bobby can handle what you’re planning to do, and he can find workers locally. And don’t worry about being alone here. The security system is excellent…” He was practically begging, and he had no clue why. He just knew he wanted her to say yes. She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, all business.

“I’ll need a week or two to pack my things and get settled. I’ll need to meet with the contractor as soon as possible so we can set up a schedule.”

“I’ll call Bobby in the morning to set up a meeting.”

He wasn’t prepared for her next question.

“You don’t even like this place, so why spend the money? Why the rush to be ready for Christmas?”

He started to answer, but emotion tangled up his words and kept them from coming out. He looked up at the high ceilings and blew out a deep breath.

“I have a nephew. He’s my responsibility now that my sister is dead.” He ignored her small sound of sympathy. “Being a nomad worked for me before, but that needs to change. I’d never considered this place an option before you showed up. It’s close enough to the city to be workable for me. And Zach…well, a boy should like living in a castle, right?”

She started to laugh, then apparently realized he was serious. Yeah, he was damned serious. He had no clue what a ten-year-old boy liked.

“Blake, every child in the world would love to live in a castle.” She patted his arm affectionately. “I’ll make sure he loves this one when I’m done with it.”

They exchanged business cards and cell phone numbers, then Blake called the resort and had someone pick her up so she wouldn’t have to walk. He watched her go down the front steps. Her long blond curls swayed in counter rhythm to her hips. Damn, she was the real deal. Talented. Creative. And drop-dead sexy.

She was working for him now. Her voice and face changed when she talked about design work. She lost her nervousness. And she’d be living in his house. He closed his eyes and grimaced. What the hell had he just done? He may have just created his very own hell here at Halcyon.

The sooner he was off to Hawaii, the better.

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