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The three kids bumped around inside the small kitchen. Pixielike Paige, the oldest and clearly the leader, said, “Sydney wants to show us the upstairs. Can we go?”
“Lana may not want a bunch of kids traipsing through her house.”
Lana gave a wry laugh. “Nothing they can hurt. Let them go.”
At a wave of Davis’s hand, the three kids took off in a rush, pounding up the wooden steps. Sydney was eager to share her room, such as it was, and Lana suspected the other two wanted to explore the “haunted house.” She didn’t hold it against them. She’d have done the same thing as a kid.
“Are the stairs secure?” Davis glanced toward the front of the house, though the entry stairwell was invisible from here. The kitchen was an add-on to the 1910 dwelling and as such, ran lengthwise across the back of the house where it met with the back porch. Long, narrow and inconveniently arranged, the kitchen could use some serious modernizing. Someday.
“We’ve been up and down quite a few times and I’ve not noticed any loose boards or weak areas.”
“Good. Stairs can be an issue in older homes.”
“These are sturdy oak, I think. Anyway, that’s what I remember.” Not that she’d paid much attention to the house other than her attempts to get out of it as often as possible.
“The place appears to have good bones. Old houses usually have better construction materials than newer ones unless there’s dry rot.”
“I hope that’s true in this case.” She shoved a bundle of old newspapers, yellowed with age, off a bar stool and onto the floor. “Have a seat?” she asked, not altogether sure he’d want to.
“Sure.” To her relief he didn’t seem all that bothered by the dirt and grime. Truth was she’d lived in worse. So had Sydney, bless her sweet, accepting soul. At least here in Whisper Falls they had a roof over their heads that no one could take away. Eventually, things under that roof would be clean and tidy and hopefully, free of the past.
“I’m glad you came over. Really glad,” she started, twisting her hands on the back rung of a wooden chair. She was still amazed he’d returned after learning her identity. “I’ve been thinking about you.” Her face heated. “I meant I was reconsidering your offer.”
During the past few hours of bagging trash and scrubbing, she’d thought about Davis Turner. Beyond the fact that her skin sizzled when he’d smiled and her blood had hummed when she’d opened the door and found him standing there again. She wasn’t too happy about noticing him so much, but she did need his help.
“I could use your expertise. I have a little money put aside. Not a lot but enough to address the most important needs of the house.” She bunched her shoulders, aware of the knot forming at the base of her neck. She’d have a doozy of a muscle spasm if she wasn’t careful. “Other than covering the holes in some of the walls, I don’t know what those are.”
“I can look around, make a list, give you some advice if you think that would help.”
“Would you?”
“Sure. No problem. Got a pencil and paper handy?”
“Now?”
“No time like the present. That is, if now works for you.”
“Of course. Thank you. Now is perfect.” If she could find a piece of paper.
Feet pounded on the floor above their heads. Both adults raised their eyes toward the ceiling.
Lana was poignantly aware of the oddity of having Davis Turner in her house. He wouldn’t have been caught dead here as a teenager. He’d been a Christian, raised in church, the boy teachers and parents put on a pedestal as the way all teens should behave.
Lana Ross had been his antithesis.
“What are they doing?” Lana asked.
“Don’t know but that floor is solid or we’d be covered in ceiling plaster.” He flashed that smile, lighting up the dim room.
The man had a killer smile. And two kids. It suddenly occurred to her that he’d never mentioned a wife. But then, half the world was divorced. She supposed he was, too, or his wife would have accompanied him on this neighborly expedition.
Lana rummaged around in the kitchen drawers, not surprised to find a dusty pad and a scattering of stubby, round-point pencils. Mother had always kept them there.
Davis took the writing materials and rose. He was considerably taller than her, even in her high-heeled boots, and filled the narrow kitchen with his masculine presence. Her awareness factor elevated. Above the kitchen’s dust and must, he smelled of men’s spice—just the faintest whiff but enough for her foolish female nose to enjoy.
Focus on the mission. Think of Sydney.
Even if she hadn’t had a date in two years, Davis Turner was way out of her league.
They started through the house talking about the structure and basic needs, as well as noting cosmetic needs. After a bit, the kids came thundering down the stairs, a breathless chattering group that made Lana’s heart glad. Sydney’s happy face said it all. She’d made friends. Being back in this awful house just got easier.
“Can we go out in the backyard?” Paige asked. “Sydney said there was a cellar.”
The cellar. Like a giant vacuum, the word sucked the pleasure from the room. “Stay out of that cellar.”
Her sharp tone stopped the children in their happy tracks. “Why?” Nathan’s eyes widened. “Is it haunted?”
Lana rubbed her suddenly cold arms. She hated that cellar, hated the darkness, the damp musty odor and the creepy crawlies inside. “I haven’t cleaned it yet. Spiders, snakes, who knows what could be in there?”
“Eww. I don’t like spiders.” Paige shivered. “Can we go outside and play in the yard? Sydney said there’s an apple tree.”
Lana nodded. “Go on. Have fun but watch out for anything broken or dangerous. I haven’t explored out there yet.”
“Okay.”
With youthful energy, voices excited, the trio zipped out the back door, leaving it standing open, spilling the sunshine and cool, clean air of Indian summer inside. Lana didn’t bother to close it. She wanted to keep a watch on Sydney. Airing the house while the weather was favorable wasn’t a bad thing either.
“Your children are really sweet.”
“Thanks, so is yours. They’re great kids, though they can be a handful at times. Paige has, shall we say, ideas that sometimes lead her and her brother into trouble.”
Lana didn’t bother to correct his mistake. It was better for everyone if he and the town assumed Sydney was her child. “But Paige seems like such a nice little girl.”
“She is. I don’t mean that.” He hunkered down to look up into the fireplace. “Don’t light this until it’s been inspected and cleaned.”
“Okay. I heard noises up there. Probably birds.”
“Or bats,” he said with male matter-of-factness.
Lana crossed her arms as she gave the fireplace an uncertain look. “You would have to mention bats.”
“Bats won’t hurt you.”
“Remind me you said that when I’m in traction with a broken leg from running out of the room.”
He laughed at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling upward. “Tough Lana Ross afraid of a bat?”
He had no idea what he was talking about. She’d never been tough. She’d only pretended to be. “Don’t tell Sydney, okay? She thinks I’m fearless.”
He dusted