A Spirited Love (A Five Senses Short Book 2) Page 4

  Jack swiped his arm over the sweat beading on his forehead. “Dave Saunders will be in charge of the reno in Silas’s cottage. That one should be easier. Dave shaved the estimate to six weeks to complete the work. Silas can move in the first part of September.”

  “Rikki really is going to love having him closer. So is Ava. But I’m glad he won’t be living with us.”

  Sam’s last statement stopped Jack. “I thought you loved the old coot.”

  “Let’s just say the three weeks Silas spent with us in March left me in a state of shock. And awe.” Sam tucked the tablet under his arm again and faced Jack. “For an octogenarian, Silas had decidedly youthful taste in music. Do you know he has a preference for loud rap music? I caught the old man shaking his groove thang in the living room to a raunchy Tech N9ne song. You can’t unsee that shit. Plus, he was dancing with Ava, and she had this unholy grin on her face as he sang to her.”

  “He knew the lyrics?”

  “Hell, yeah! Although he did translate some of the nastier words into Swedish before he sang them to Ava. I’m a little afraid my kid might be scarred for life. That night when I put her to bed, you bet I sang every sweet nursery song I knew to her. Rikki is going to be pissed off if the kid’s first words are off-color, especially if they are in Swedish.”

  Jack laughed. “I’ve heard Rik let loose with a string of curses in Swedish, so you could blame her for it.”

  “Hard to believe those words come out of her pretty mouth.” The expression on Sam’s face led Jack to believe Sam was thinking of other things Rikki could do with her mouth. Jack stopped his thoughts before they oozed down a slippery slope. He’d rather think about Jem’s mouth, but now wasn’t the time. He directed their conversation back to the business at hand. “The roofers will be here soon.”

  The loud rumble of a truck making its way up the quarter-mile drive announced that someone had made it to the job site. Jack spun and watched a massive truck hauling a bright yellow dumpster lumber up the roadway. The top of the open container scraped several low branches as it passed. It was followed by a second truck with another dumpster, and then a third flatbed truck loaded with the new roofing material they’d ordered two weeks ago.

  Sam whistled, low and long. “Seeing that parade drives home how big this is, doesn’t it?”

  “Yup.” Jack grabbed the tablet from Sam and pressed the menu button. He pulled up the drawings he’d created. “Once we get into the walls in the kitchen, I’m afraid we might run into problems. Those pipes have been around since God was a boy. Plus, who knows what kinds of critters have taken up residence in the past ten years.”

  Jack suppressed a shudder. He could deal with bugs and spiders, but he hated rats and mice with a passion. “We’ll deal if it happens. We do have a good size contingency fund, just in case. It’ll cover exterminators, too.”

  Sam turned to Jack as the trucks maneuvered their loads into place. When he extended his hand toward Jack, knuckles first in their traditional kick-the-job-off-right ritual, Jack bumped his fist back, then embraced his brother in a bro-hug, thumping him on the back. He knew the grin on his face mirrored the one he saw on Sam’s, eager and full of hope. One of the best things about Jack’s job was working side-by-side with his brother.

  More trucks carrying the construction crew arrived and jockeyed for position in the makeshift parking area in the weed-choked front yard. They were about to get underway on the largest and most personal project of their careers. Anticipation fought with satisfaction for a place in Jack’s gut. With his brother at his side, a new wife, and the possibility of growing his family, everything felt right in his world.

  Chapter 5

  Leaving Avery in charge of the café, Jem ducked out before closing time. She’d contacted Amy Mastin with the Historical Society and requested a meeting with her at the Sea View. Amy had been excited about the prospect of Kerrigan Construction bringing the old beauty back to life. With her dog, Clooney, racing ahead of her into the house, Jem carried a boxed lunch for Jack and a larger box filled with fresh fruit and vegetables for an afternoon break for the crew.

  Despite the violent noise of pounding sledgehammers and debris dropping to the ground, the instant Jem stepped foot into the foyer of the house, a sense of peace surrounded her like a soothing hug from a good friend. The temperature in the house had to be hovering just shy of hell-fire, but someone had opened doors and windows in the rear part of the house, and a fresh, salt-scented breeze drifted through the central hallway.

  Clooney trotted to the center of the parlor and dropped to his haunches, tail wagging, attention focused on the area in front of the fireplace. She stopped and called to the dog. “Clooney, come on. Let’s go find Jack.”

  The Weimaraner gave a quiet woof, but kept his rump glued to the floor.

  Barry, one of Jack’s longtime employees, worked on one side of the room and greeted her with a wave. He dropped his screwdriver into his tool belt and reached to take the large box. “Hey Jem. Just like old times when we remodeled the café. I miss those lunches.” He followed her toward the back of the house.

  “Jack asked if I’d consider catering lunches once a week for the crew. Of course I told him yes.” Jem smiled over her shoulder at him as she entered the kitchen. She’d left her curly hair in the messy ponytail she swept it into this morning, and it bounced against her neck.

  “My favorite perk of this job.” Barry’s chuckle was deep and musical as he deposited the container on the one counter remaining in the kitchen. He rubbed his belly. “I can already taste your meatloaf sandwiches.”

  Jem spied Jack through the oversize windows at the south end of the space. He was in the yard, blueprints in hand, speaking to Dave Saunders, his crew chief. Dave gestured toward the roof. Shards of discolored terra cotta tiles fell like rain drops, shattering and splintering into pieces when they hit the ground.

  Jem braced her hip on the counter as she set down the boxed lunch and watched Jack point something out on the blueprint. He pulled a pencil from behind his ear and made a note on one edge.

  Sunlight played tag through the trees in the yard, but Jack and Dave stood in the center of a clearing, as though standing in the middle of a spotlight. Behind them, a bulldozer scraped weeds and the top layer of soil away, leaving brown earth exposed. Jack had rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows in deference to the warmth of the day. Standing with his legs spread wide, blue jeans hugging his muscular thighs, his tan work boots planted firmly, Jem couldn’t remember him ever looking more virile. Not even when he’d worn a suit at their wedding in the Las Vegas chapel when they’d gotten married.

  Jem had thought she’d never love him more than she did that day. But at the moment, deep emotion, desire and intense longing, swamped her, knotting her stomach. Breath stuttered in her throat, and it felt as if her heart was expanding in her chest, nearly bursting out of her ribcage. She pressed her fist against her breastbone, as if to hold in the pulsing emotion. Tears prickled the back of her eyes, and she blinked hard. The sudden surge of happiness grew to epic proportions as she tumbled deeper in love with her husband. All because he stood wrapped in the sunshine at a noisy construction site.

  Pushing away from the counter, she picked up the lunch and made her way out the door to greet him. When he looked her way and grinned, her steps faltered, and she lost the ability to breathe. Dizziness claimed a spot in her brain, tunneling her vision to a halo of light glowing around Jack. It was as if she was seeing him through the eyes of a love-smitten stranger.

  When he swiped his arm over his brow, the spell broke. Jem blinked against the glare in the yard and gasped in a breath. Jack handed the blueprint to Dave, before sauntering toward where she stood, feet rooted to the ground.

  Heart racing, Jem lifted her hand in greeting as Jack approached. Once he reached her side, he laced his fingers through hers and tugged her against his chest, greeting her with a kiss. The voltage between them never ceased to surprise her. Each time he c
laimed her mouth it was as though a switch flipped, sending a hot current rushing to her legs. Today, that tide was especially intense despite being in the midst of a crowded construction site with Jack’s workers laughing and shouting and demolishing things all around them.

  Jem raised her hand to caress his stubbled cheek as she pulled her lips from his. “Hi,” she whispered.

  “Hi, sugar.” He raised his hand to hers and dragged it to his chest, the point of contact pulsing with energy between them.

  Jem handed him the box she held. “Brought you lunch and a snack for the guys. Have you got time to take a break?”

  “Sure, there’s a picnic table at the end of the path. Let’s go sit.” Jack tugged her along as he began walking. Once he released his grip, he draped his arm over her shoulders. She grasped his wrist and stroked her fingers across the back of his hand.

  “So how’s the first day going? Looks like there’s been quite a bit of progress in the kitchen.”

  “So far so good. The roofers have half the old tiles cleared and haven’t uncovered any issues that will require a lot of cash to fix. Almost all of the cabinets are out of the kitchen, and they’ll start opening the walls soon.”

  Jem took a seat at the old redwood table. “No major snags?”

  Jack dropped onto the bench across from her and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Early days, yet.”

  Jem looked over her shoulder at the massive house behind them. Clooney loped across the yard toward them, tail swishing furiously side-to-side. The dog planted his butt in the weeds and rested a paw on Jack’s thigh.

  Jem opened the container and unloaded Jack’s lunch. “I have a good feeling about this, Jack. You’ve said yourself they built homes like this to last. Oh, and the woman from the Historical Society should be here soon. She asked if she could document the progress for an article she’s thinking about writing for some antique magazine.”

  She unwrapped the butcher paper protecting a sandwich. Spreading it wide as a placemat, she laid the meal on the table.

  After pushing his sleeves farther up his arms, Jack reached out and scratched between the dog’s ears. “I don’t see why not. I’d like a copy of the final article. I want to frame it for my office. The Massachusetts Historical Society wants to send someone out, too. We’re generating all kinds of great PR for the construction company and for you and Malin.”

  “Yes, you are. And it’s appreciated.”

  Jack took a large bite of his turkey sandwich. “Hey, you put the Dijon sauce on it.”

  Jem smiled at him as she plucked a ripe strawberry from another container. “This place is going to be magnificent once you, Sam, and the crew get done.”

  When she bit into the fruit, juice trickled down her chin. Jack paused his chewing and tracked the nectar with heated eyes. She swept the trail clean with the end of her finger, then licked it away. Without taking her gaze from him, she selected another berry and lifted it to her lips, intending to work the hell out of this chance to flirt with her husband.

  “Jem!” Barry shouted as he walked the path toward her. “You have a visitor.”

  Damn! “Amy must be here. After you finish your lunch, find us to say hello.” She dropped the berry back into the basket, stood, and brushed off the back of her jeans. She leaned over the table and pecked his cheek. “See you in a bit.” Clooney jumped up and raced back to the house ahead of her.

  As she stepped away from the table, she felt his gaze on her backside as tangibly as she’d felt his hand there when she’d straddled his hips and kissed him awake this morning. She could almost hear his thoughts as she walked up the path toward the house. He’d be mentally rearranging his schedule to see if he could get home any earlier than normal tonight. And she’d be ready. She already knew which lacy underthings she’d be wearing as she waited for him in their king-size bed. She ducked her head to hide her heated cheeks and irrepressible smile, brushing non-existent crumbs from her T-shirt.

  Once she reached his side, Barry turned and led her up the walk. “She’s waiting in the parlor for you. Giving the guys working on the walls hell. Just like her, always busting somebody’s chops.”

  The last thing she needed was for the woman to alienate Jack’s employees. Jem quickened her pace. “Do you know her?”

  “Went to school with her. She was always up in people’s business, telling them how to do things, like the pep squad or the decorating committees for dances. But she was almost always spot on. One time, she told the football coach he had the wrong player at center. Damned if she wasn’t right. They won the next game with the guy she wanted in the position.” Barry laughed as he shook his head. “Like she was a football savant, or psychic, or something.”

  Barry remained in the kitchen as Jem made her way toward the front parlor. Raised voices echoed as she approached. She turned the corner into the front room to see a little dynamo guarding the fireplace. She’d dropped a bulging satchel to the quarry stone hearth and propped her fists on her hips, facing down Chuck, who grasped a bad-ass sledge hammer. Clooney stood at attention next to Amy, gaze locked on the belligerent man.

  “Don’t you dare swing that at this paneling.” Amy spread her feet as if bracing herself. Light from the solarium windows glinted off her glasses.

  The guy jabbed a blunt fingertip toward Amy. “Lady, I was told to gut this room. Down to the studs. That includes this section right here.”

  “Whoever told you to do that is an utter ass!” The woman’s upper lip curled as her brows lowered.

  Chuck hefted the yellow-headed sledge in front of him like a gladiator clutching a sword. He flexed his fingers, then tightened his fists around the handle. “Move, lady.”

  Jem hustled toward the hearth. She laid her hand on the worker’s arm. “It’s okay, Chuck. Ms. Mastin is from the Historical Society. She’s here to document the project. Maybe you could give us a minute. Hey! I brought some snacks. Left a box of fruit, veggies, and dip on the counter in the kitchen. Go help yourself.”

  Chuck let the sledge slide through his hands until he grasped it by the head. “Did you bring some of those butterscotch brownie cookie thingies you make?”

  How could she have forgotten what a sweet tooth this guy had? She patted Chuck’s arm. “Not this time. I will tomorrow. Special batch, just for you.”

  With one last glance at his pocket-size nemesis, Chuck exited the room, grumbling and stomping his feet as he made his way toward the kitchen.

  Swiveling toward her guest, Jem smiled apologetically. “Crisis averted. Hi, Amy. I’m Jemima Kerrigan. Jem.”

  Amy brushed strands of her ash-blond hair off her forehead and extended her hand toward Jem. Her grip was strong, nearly punishing. “Nice to meet you. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw him about to take a swing at this piece of art.” She released Jem’s hand and turned to caress the Beechwood mantle. Clooney settled on the stone hearth and laid his head on his paws.

  Jem resisted the urge to shake off the pain of Amy’s grip. She flattened her hand against her jeans. “It is pretty, isn’t it?”

  “It’s the work of Benjamin Cyrus, master carver. Many of the ornate wood details in this house are his creations.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Amy looked aghast. “Really? God, his work is legendary here in the northeast. His hearts and cupid carvings should be declared national treasures.”

  They were pretty, but national treasures? “Sorry, not from here originally. But we’ve noticed the entwined hearts throughout the house. Even the key to the front door carries the motif.”

  A dreamy expression filled Amy’s brown eyes. “The hearts in this house are especially nice. The story goes that when Edward Baron hired Cyrus to carve for him, he insisted on original artwork and made Cyrus promise to never recreate the pattern anywhere else. Supposedly, it was based on a drawing Mary Baron had done before they were married.”

  “So that’s who built the house? Edward and Mary Baron?”

  Amy nod
ded. “Edward owned a fleet of cargo ships and sailed nine months out of the year. He was still single and in his forties when he met and married Mary George. Theirs was a great love.”

  Jem’s world tilted as a wave of unexplainable vertigo washed over her. Pressing her hand to her forehead, she said, “Wait a second. The wife’s maiden name was George?”

  “Yes.” Amy stooped next to the bag she’d dropped on the floor and slipped the leather straps from the buckles. She rummaged around and finally retrieved a slim book. She stood and offered it to Jem. “I brought you a copy of the biography the society did as a fund-raiser in the 90s.”

  The book was light in Jem’s hand. On the cover, there was an old black and white photo of the front porch. Although the image was grainy, Jem could make out people seated on the steps in clothing suited to the era of World War I. “My maiden name is George. My dad’s family came from Delaware.”

  Lips widened into an O, Amy extended her hand for the book. When Jem passed it over, she flipped through several pages until she located what she was looking for. “Mary George’s family came from Delaware. Ocean City area. They owned a factory there. She met Edward when he made port with a shipment of Irish wool.” Amy rolled her eyes up and to the left at the paneling above the fireplace, as if drawn to it.

  “I remember my dad talking about the Ocean City branch of the family. I believe he said they made livery at the factory for servants in Mary’s era.” What were the chances she’d be related to the original owner of this gorgeous old house? The notion of working in her ancestor’s home, completing the circle of life, thrilled her.

  “There isn’t much information available about Mary before she moved here. Most of the history we have is post-marriage.” Amy handed the book back to Jem. She turned her attention to the mantle. “We know she was a huge philanthropist in Granite Pointe. Her charitable projects are detailed in the book. She worked tirelessly to help the families of the men who sailed with her husband. It’s said she really loved children and would invite the sailors’ kids to play in the gardens in the summer and in the playroom on the third floor in the winter.”