The July Guy Read online

  …

  Anita studied the two-story, white, clapboard house that was now hers. She could believe it was one of the oldest houses in the area. It needed a new coat of paint, at the very least. Some of the gingerbread needed repairing. The roof looked in good shape, even if it seemed to tilt a little. The landscaping could definitely use some help. Those were quick fixes and would surely add to the asking price.

  She needed to get as much money as she could for it.

  How quickly her life had changed. As soon as she’d gotten the phone call from Carter Colburn, she’d altered her summer plans. She’d be spending July in Lakeside, New York, instead of the Greek Isles. The chance to be able to keep her mother in her current long-term memory care facility would make the sacrifice worth it.

  Before she’d found out about her inheritance, she’d worried about having to dip into her vacation fund. Some might call her selfish for taking the trip each July, but it was how she filled her creative well. She did nothing but work eleven months out of the year. She needed her July.

  She walked around the house to the lakefront. A wide wooden deck stretched the entire length of the house and overlooked the water. Lake Margaret, she’d discovered from her research. Her fingers already itched to capture the gorgeous view on canvas. Maybe it wasn’t as spectacular as Santorini, but the way the sun glittered on the surface of the water was breathtaking. The sailboats in the distance made her smile.

  A million-dollar view? She doubted real estate around here commanded those prices, but she’d find out soon enough what she could expect.

  Her art supplies were in the trunk. She hoped to get at least one new canvas completed before she had to get back to work, even if she had to deal with the house, too. And of course, she had to find her July guy. Her summer flings were what kept her going the rest of the year. When you only had a one-month fling, there wasn’t time to get disappointed or heartbroken. But there was plenty of time for fun.

  Who would have thought she’d inherit a lake house in a small village in western New York from a grandmother she’d never met? The salvage man next door knew more about her grandmother than she did.

  Mmm. The salvage man. Good with his hands. She had no doubt.

  Had she found her July fling already? Her July men were usually creative souls, the kind to spout love poems or paint her portrait or write songs about her. She doubted Noah Colburn had ever written a poem in his life.

  He was a man with his roots in his community. Mayor, for God’s sake. He wasn’t at all her type. But that’s what life was, or should be. An adventure. And once she made her mind up, what was the use of thinking about it? Jump in with both feet. That was her motto.

  Those intense eyes. The silver threads running through his thick hair. The broad shoulders and callused grip. Tingles danced along her skin as she imagined those sure hands on her body. His masculine body pressing her into the mattress. Pillow talk might be interesting this summer. She had to make sure she saw him again. Soon.

  She climbed the steps to the worn deck, but the drapes had been pulled across the wide expanse of windows. Glancing up, she saw large windows took advantage of the view from the second floor as well. She’d have to wait to get the keys before she could see what the inside of her mother’s mother’s house looked like.

  Anita whirled away from the house and rushed to her car. It was time. She put the Mini into gear and shot gravel as she backed out of the driveway.

  Carter Colburn’s law office was easy to find. It was located in one of several storefronts lining the main street in Lakeside. A small woman with spiky red hair and purple glasses looked up from a desk inside the door. Anita gave the woman her name, and she smiled.

  “Yes, Ms. Delgado. He’s expecting you.” She stood up. Her head came up to Anita’s shoulder. “Right this way.”

  Carter Colburn met her at the door to his office. His hair was a lighter golden brown and his shoulders not as broad as Noah’s, but the resemblance was there. The steady eyes. The easy smile. Carter filled out a suit as well as his brother did jeans and a T-shirt. When she shook his hand, there was no buzz of awareness that sent shocks up her arm and through her body. Not like she’d felt with Noah.

  “Come right in. I have everything ready for you.”

  She followed him into a tidy office dominated by a massive desk and a couple of leather chairs. Two nice waterfront prints hung on the walls. To postpone the awkward discussion about her grandmother and the property, Anita blurted, “I met your brother this morning.”

  He didn’t look surprised. “Which one?”

  So there were more than two Colburn sons? “Noah. He’s working at the house next door. I had a little extra time, so I stopped to take a look at the property before I came here.”

  Carter rounded his desk and gestured to one of the chairs. “Have a seat, Ms. Delgado. What did you think of the house?”

  “It’s a beautiful location. The house looks old, though. I hope it won’t take too much work to get it in condition to sell.”

  “I can’t guarantee what shape it’s in. Aggie fell and broke her hip, then was in a nursing home for a while before she passed. Before that, she was pretty spry.” He toyed with the pen on his desk. “You don’t plan to keep it? Fix it up? It was a gorgeous house in its day.”

  “I live and work in Philadelphia.”

  “It would make a great vacation home.”

  She never went to the same place twice for her summer vacations. “No. And I don’t have any attachment to the house.”

  “If you’re interested in selling, I’ve been approached by another attorney who has an interested buyer ready to make an offer.”

  Could it be that quick and easy? “Yeah, I’d like to hear the offer.”

  “I’ll get you the information then. Do you have any questions about the property?”

  Anita shifted in the leather chair. She shouldn’t feel uncomfortable explaining the situation to the attorney. “I don’t understand why my grandmother left it to me. Did she leave anything else? A…a letter or something?” Something to give her some answers.

  “I’m sorry. No. ‘The property and everything therein.’ That’s all it says.” Carter glanced back down to the paper on the desk in front of him. “It does say ‘to my beloved granddaughter.’”

  “Beloved? Really?” Anita held back a burst of anger, but her face still heated. “Did she say anything to you when she made the will? Anything about me?”

  God, I sound needy.

  “I took over the practice when the previous attorney retired. He’s the one who talked to your grandmother.” Carter glanced at her hands clasped in her lap. “You didn’t get along?”

  “I never met her,” Anita snapped, then immediately regretted taking that tone. It wasn’t his fault her family was so dysfunctional. She took a deep breath. “I thought she was dead. My mother told me she died before I was born.”

  If she could believe her mother, her grandfather had died in the war—which war, she’d never specified. But obviously, her mother had been a bald-faced liar. Was it true her grandmother lived here by herself for over sixty years? Or had her grandfather lived here some of that time also? What could she believe? Was there truth to anything her mother had told her?

  Carter frowned as if he heard her thoughts. “She lived alone in that house for as long as I can remember. I heard she had a daughter, but she must have moved out before I was old enough to remember her. I’ll bet my parents knew her. I mean, they knew Aggie, too, but they would be more your mother’s age. I can ask them.”

  Carter held out the keys, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to reach out and take them. “There’s nothing I want to ask about my mother. I know everything I need to know.”

  “She’s still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry, I assumed if your grandmother left you everything, it was because your mother was deceased.”

  “There was bad blood between them.” That was an und
erstatement.

  “Families can be complicated,” Carter said smoothly.

  “Didn’t my grandmother still have money in the bank?” If she did, she probably left it to a charity, not her daughter.

  “I’m afraid there were no other assets. No safety deposit box. No stocks. Nothing in the bank. Evidently, she’d withdrawn it all over the past few years. She didn’t have any money left.”

  So her grandmother had outlived her assets. That didn’t bode well for the condition of the house. Anita accepted the keys. “It was nice to meet you, Carter Colburn. Thank you for taking care of this.”

  “If I can be of any other help, please let me know.”

  “That’s what your brother said, too.”

  “Noah loves to work on old houses. I’m sure he’d be happy to help with whatever you might need.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Anita shooed away the racy thoughts of what she might need from Noah. Now wasn’t the time. But would asking for Noah’s help on the house be the gateway to spending the month together?

  The Colburn and Sons Salvage truck was still parked next door when she returned from the lawyer’s. She was tempted to walk over and see what Noah was up to. She might be able to catch a glimpse of him flexing his muscles and working with his talented hands. And she could drop a hint about that fling.

  Every year, she spent her vacation in leisure. She sketched and painted to her heart’s content. Soaked up the local art culture. And enjoyed rolling in the hay, and the bed, and on the floor with a new man every year. It was her way to recharge and fill her creative well.

  House first. She’d picked up a sandwich and an iced coffee on the way back to the house. She juggled them along with the key. It slid smoothly into the lock and the plain white door opened silently.

  Why was her heart racing? It was just a house. No big deal. The door opened into a long, narrow entry hall. A washer and dryer sat side by side just past the doorway. Hooks ran the length of the wall, and a long black raincoat and a beige hooded jacket hung from two of them. A pair of rain boots and some canvas sneakers sat neatly on the floor. She should have realized the house would still be filled with all of her grandmother’s things.

  When Agatha Swanson was carried out of the house after she fell, had she known it would be for the last time?

  There shouldn’t have been that sick twist of grief in Anita’s stomach. She shouldn’t care about a woman who’d thrown her unmarried daughter out of the house when she became pregnant and then ignored both daughter and granddaughter for the next forty-five years.

  The entrance hall led into a U-shaped kitchen. She set the coffee and sandwich bag on the scarred countertop. The appliances were harvest gold, the walls papered with autumn leaves. She groaned. This room should have a total upgrade before she put it on the market.

  She opened the refrigerator and found it empty. Someone must have come in here and cleaned that out at least. The dining room furniture was old, heavy, dark. More wallpaper covered the walls, this time with an ugly green paisley print. There’d need to be a whole lot of stripping going on in here. The hardwood floors looked in pretty good shape, though.

  She crossed to the living room and drew open the curtains. The view there took her breath away. She longed to capture all those amazing shades of blue and green. The gently sloped lawn led to the lake. Neighboring docks stretched into the blue water, moored boats bobbing with the gentle waves.

  Gorgeous. Relaxing. Could be a half-a-million-dollar view.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows took up the entire back wall, giving her an expansive view of the lake. French doors opened up onto the long wooden deck she’d seen earlier. A fireplace took up most of one of the other walls. An ugly wooden mantel, pitted and broken, surrounded it. It looked as if someone had hammered on it with a fireplace poker or a baseball bat. Maybe both.

  Anita frowned. Was that a sticky note stuck on the edge? She peeled it off. She had to pull her reading glasses out of her purse to make out the small, shaky writing.

  Sorry for the mantel. Your grandfather used to take his frustrations out on the woodpile, but I can’t lift an ax.

  Anita’s hand began to tremble. She sank onto the old brown sofa as she stared at the little slip of paper. Her grandmother had left her a message about a fireplace mantel? An ax? On a Post-it?

  Who was this woman?

  Anita’s throat grew dry, and she remembered the iced coffee she’d left in the kitchen. As the cool, sweet coffee moistened her throat, she took a harder look around the room. The white cabinets had seen better days. Scuffed linoleum covered the floor. A huge, old microwave sat in one corner of the counter, a yellowed Mr. Coffee in the other. Then she noticed a note stuck on the stove.

  The left back burner doesn’t work. Never had it fixed. Didn’t need more than one burner.

  She was not going to feel sorry for this woman.

  Anita snatched the paper off the stove. She wouldn’t need more than one burner, either. She stuck both notes on the front of the refrigerator. How long had they been there? Were there more?

  She didn’t see any more obvious Post-its in the kitchen, so she went back into the dining room. A flash of pink caught her eye in the china cabinet. She opened the glass-paneled door and lifted it from a shelf laden with dishes decorated with a delicate floral pattern.

  This china was my mother’s. She brought it with her from Sweden.

  Anita crumpled it in her fist. She didn’t want all these messages. Didn’t want to know the history of the woman who hadn’t wanted her. But she was on a mission now. She had to find all of them, if only to destroy them.

  There was a large bedroom off the living room. A moss-green bedspread covered a double mattress. A pair of slippers peeked out from under the bed. Another sticky was affixed to the carved headboard.

  Pleasant dreams.

  She left the room and dashed up the narrow staircase to the second floor. The closed door at the top of the stairs had three pink squares stuck across the panels.

  This was your mother’s room. It’s pitiful to have left it as it was, but I still miss her.

  If your mother wants anything in here, she can have it, otherwise, throw it all away. I couldn’t bear to do it.

  Women in our family are stubborn and tend to overreact, and they find it very hard to forgive.

  Anita’s hand trembled as she brushed her fingers over the words. She didn’t tear them off. She didn’t open the door. She couldn’t do it now. Maybe not ever. Maybe she’d hire someone to come in and clear it out.

  There were two more doors in the upper hallway. One led into a bathroom covered in blue porcelain tile.

  Hope you like blue.

  The other door was closed. There was no pink paper stuck there. Anita’s heart pounded in her ears. This last room was the one that faced the lake, the one with all the windows. The light would be incredible. Had her grandmother known? How could she have known?

  Anita held her breath and pushed open the door. The windows she’d admired from outside gave a magnificent view of the lake and did let in tons of natural light. The ceiling had been opened to the rafters, and the empty room had been painted white. An artist’s easel sat in one corner. A note was stuck on the crossbar.

  This studio is for you, Anita.

  She dropped to her knees and cried.

  Chapter Two

  Late the next morning, Anita hopped into her Mini and headed the mile and a half back to town. She needed groceries. She needed to get away from the house.

  By the time she’d dragged in all her belongings from the car the night before and then carried the art supplies up the stairs to that amazing studio, she’d been exhausted. She’d given up dinner for sleep. She’d been too tired to change the sheets on the bed, so she’d curled up on top of the soft chenille bedspread and slept better than she had in months.

  Today, she was shaking off the odd, conflicting emotions and moving on. No sense in dwelling on a past she couldn’t chang
e or even understand. She saw the sign to Colburn and Sons Salvage on the way to the grocery store. Her heart raced when she thought about seeing Noah again.

  The long concrete-block building was painted white, and a huge sign that said Showroom hung next to a wide door on the right. There were several cars parked in the lot, and half a dozen weathered metal whirligigs were displayed along the front. Noises rang from the other half of the building, saws and hammers, shouts and laughter.

  When Anita stepped inside, she heard more laughter, this time from a long counter along the back wall. A wave of nostalgia or…loneliness swept over her.

  Lonely? She wasn’t lonely. That was ridiculous. Her life was overrun by people at the university. She knew people all over the world. She could walk up to a stranger and strike up a conversation in three languages. She knew lots of people.

  But how many were friends?

  She strolled through the showroom, admiring the many repurposed items, tables and picture frames and decorative pieces. If she stopped in here every day for the entire month, she doubted she’d see everything that was for sale. There were even a couple of paintings hanging from ornate hooks.

  Anita neared the back of the showroom. Two women stood behind the counter with Colburn and Sons Salvage T-shirts on. They were chatting with three other women who may or may not have come in to buy. They weren’t talking salvage, or vintage light fixtures, or ornate picture frames.

  They were talking about her.

  “I heard she’s going to sell Aggie’s house.” The comment came from one of the women behind the counter, a thirtysomething with bleached blond hair.

  “What did you expect?” asked a short, stocky woman with jet-black hair on the customer side of the counter. “I never saw her visit her grandmother. Not once. Why would she want to keep the house?”

  Everyone got into the conversation then.

  “It’s got all that land,” commented an older woman with long salt-and-pepper hair. One of the customers.