What the Heart Wants Read online

  The phone rang in the kitchen. She worked her way around the dining room chairs and sideboard she’d temporarily shoved into the kitchen, then stretched across stacks of her great-grandmother’s 1920s formal china and plucked the phone off its hook on the fourth ring.

  “Thomas residence,” Allison said, as she managed to rescue a wobbling soup bowl. “Oh!”

  “Pardon?” a male voice on the other end asked.

  “Sorry, just a disaster averted. I almost broke a J & G Meakin 1920s bowl. Last time I did that I was ten, and in trouble for a week.”

  A warm, rich chuckle came over the line. “That’s good. That you didn’t break it, I mean. I’m Kyle Mitchell. We met earlier, I think, if you’re Allison.”

  His voice, still brimming with amusement, made her temporarily forget her bone-deep weariness. She pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and collapsed in it. “Yes. I hope I didn’t come across as rude this morning. Some years ago, my grandmother made the mistake of allowing the house to be photographed for a field guide of old homes, and after it came out, she had a flurry of people knocking on her door, thinking the house was open to the public.”

  “Perfectly understandable. Listen, I just wanted to extend an invitation to you. Our historical preservation society meets once a month, and I thought you might be interested in joining us this Thursday evening.”

  That voice... Over the phone, with nothing to distract her from its smooth baritone, Allison soaked in its resonance, its hint of good-natured humor. For a moment, she was tempted—not just by his voice, but her memory of him on the sidewalk. Kyle Mitchell had looked friendly enough earlier, and totally unlike her memories of the typical historical society members who’d visited with Gran during Allison’s teen years. Maybe it would be nice to meet some folks in Lombard who weren’t ten years past retirement age.

  The stacks of china and the glut of furniture in the kitchen reminded her of her priorities. “I don’t know. I’m a little busy now—Gran’s in a rehab facility and I’m trying to get the place in shape for her to come home.”

  “Oh, well, of course.” His voice dimmed with just enough disappointment to be flattering. It made her wish she’d said yes. “If you need some help or advice, just let me know. I love working on old houses.”

  Allison snorted, startling Cleo, who’d curled up atop the fridge. “You must be a masochist, that’s all I can say. Right now I’m trying to rip up old carpet, and really struggling to move a china cabinet. You don’t know of any moving companies that would send out someone, do you?”

  “Not a moving company...but I’ll help. I don’t have to teach classes today, so I’d be glad to. I know how heavy those things can be.”

  “Oh—I wasn’t hinting—”

  “No, no. Give me ten minutes. That okay?”

  “Thanks! I won’t say no.”

  Ten minutes later, she opened the door to see Kyle. He’d ditched the jacket and button-down for a T-shirt that, unlike hers, was clean and dust free. Automatically, she realized what a fright she must look like.

  “I’ve been—”

  “Working. No problem. Anybody who does anything on an old house knows it’s a dirty job. Lead me to this china cabinet.”

  But Kyle stopped short in the front hall. He stared up at the ornate cornices and moldings, at the staircase, then craned his neck to see in the front parlor. Allison tried to view the home as he must, but she was at a disadvantage, having grown up here.

  He grinned. “This blows me away. A perfect example of a side-hall Second Empire. So often these old houses have been wrecked inside—too many ‘modern’ improvements.” He shook his head.

  “Right. Luckily, our family’s motto has always been ‘If it was good enough for Ambrose, it’s good enough for us,’” Allison told him. “Hardly anything has changed.”

  Just then, Cleo zipped past Kyle with a yowl, and Allison warned, “You’d better watch out. She always makes a return trip.”

  “Wow. That’s—”

  “Ninja cat.” Allison moved on to the dining room and swept a hand around. “As you can see, one of the few things that Gran did change was to put carpet in the downstairs.”

  “Get a load of that pink. Now that is pure, bona fide original, Mamie Eisenhower pink.”

  “Yeah. I don’t quite think that shade was what Pops had in mind when he told her to order it—”

  “I don’t see why not. That was every woman’s dream color in 1954.” Kyle stepped into the dining room, gawked at the floor-to-ceiling bay window with its intricate cornices, and turned around to take in the space. His eyes lit on the chore before them: the hulking, huge china cabinet.

  “Oookay.” He shook his head. “That cabinet took a small forest of mahogany to build.” He crossed the room and slid his palm against its smooth dark wood. “This is late Victorian? Is it original to the house?”

  “Yep. Bought brand-spanking-new in 1888 and shipped all the way from Philadelphia. Like I said, what was good enough for Ambrose...”

  Kyle caressed the mahogany, then trailed a finger down the intricately carved panels alongside the breakfront. She couldn’t help but notice his large, strong hands, with neatly trimmed nails. They seemed more suited to handling an ax than a professor’s red pen.

  He glanced up at her, the amusement in his voice now crinkling the corners of his eyes. “They did believe if one carved flower or cherub was good, two would be better, didn’t they? When I offered to help, I was thinking of a china cabinet built in the thirties or forties, a colonial reproduction. Maybe I was a bit ambitious and rash in my offer. I mean, I do work out a little, but...”

  Ah, yes, the evidence of that was right before her eyes. Kyle’s T-shirt couldn’t hide nicely defined biceps and a well-constructed chest. Whatever he was doing in the way of weightlifting was working well. Allison grinned, glad for his muscles to assist her with this job. “If you can help me move this, I think you can skip working out for a week. Or three.”

  “So what was your plan? Originally, I mean?” he asked her, his eyes back on the heavy Victorian china cabinet, which was a good eight feet tall.

  She walked over to stand beside him. Her hands, too, traced the smooth dark finish. Maybe it wasn’t to her taste, but she could admire the craftsmanship that some gifted cabinetmaker had poured into his labors, and she liked how Kyle could appreciate it, as well. “I didn’t think I had a prayer of moving it very far, but hoped that I could shift it enough to take the carpet off the nail strip behind it, cut the piece out, then move the cabinet back. Most things I can at least wiggle and wobble. But that critter? Uh-uh.”

  “It’s not fastened to the wall, is it? For support?” Kyle bent to examine the rear panel.

  “No. I know Gran has had it moved before—you know, for carpet cleaning. It was a bear then.”

  He turned around, studied the room again and nodded slowly. “I think your plan is the best one. So how about this? Why don’t we start ripping up the carpet, get it all torn out except for under the cabinet, and then use a piece of the discard upside down to protect the floor? That will make the cabinet easier to shift into place, too.”

  “Ahh.” Allison smiled in appreciation. “That’s a brilliant tweak to my plan. I was worried about scarring the floor. I have no idea what sort of shape it’s in, but I didn’t want to add work. However...”

  “You see a problem?”

  “I’m all for free labor, but you didn’t sign on to help me rip out carpet.”

  “Hey, I’m curious. I want to see what that atrocious carpet is hiding. Unless...are you too tired? You’ve been moving all this furniture this morning. Maybe you want a break?”

  Allison chuckled. “We Shepherd women never tire. We have Davinia’s blood in us. If you’re game, I’m game. It’s not often I get a sucker to help me out.”

 
Soon after cutting, yanking and tugging, they both oohed and ahhed as Allison rolled back a swath of the Mamie pink to reveal the heart pine floor.

  “A good cleaning and a coat of wax, and this will be good as new,” Kyle said, clearly admiring the dusty but still intact planks.

  “And nothing for Gran to trip over.” Allison knelt beside him and skimmed the satin smooth surface of the wood with her index finger. “It’s definitely pretty. The upstairs floors aren’t nearly in this good a shape.”

  “This is the original? From when the house was built?” After her nod, he said in a low voice, “Almost a crime to have covered this up in the first place.”

  She frowned and sat back. “I don’t think it’s so bad to make a house your own. I mean, like you said, in 1954 it was every woman’s dream color. Gran didn’t have her own house, and this was her way of making it hers and new and modern.”

  “If you’d seen some of the hideous updates I’ve witnessed, you’d understand what I meant,” Kyle said. “At least this was carpet and not permanent. The worst I saw was when someone decided they didn’t like their oak because it wasn’t ‘uniform’ in color, so they poured concrete over it to transform it into a really bad do-it-yourself terrazzo. Didn’t even try to salvage the old floor. Awful.”

  Irritation pulled at Allison. She tried to smother it, tried to attribute it to the fact that she’d been working like a dog almost the entire morning and was tired, hungry and dirty. Kyle was helping her. She shouldn’t be annoyed with him.

  But then he added, “Yeah, people don’t know what they have with these old homes. They just don’t appreciate them properly.”

  “Oh, really,” she snapped. “I know what I’ve got on my hands—a huge old place that’s two times the size Gran needs, filled with plumbing and wiring that are obsolete and that I can’t get anyone to work on.”

  He held up both hands. “Easy, easy. I live in an old house myself—a Sears kit home built in 1926. So I know how aggravating living in an old house can be.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ha. You’ve got a house fifty years younger than this one...and think what technological innovations came in that half century. Electricity. Plumbing. Real, modern plumbing. And drywall. An amazing invention, drywall.”

  “Okay. Truce. I can see you love the old place,” he said. “Now how about we finish this job?”

  “Sorry. I get so frustrated with this house. I want it safe and nice for Gran. That’s all. And here I am, chewing on the nice guy who got roped into more than he offered.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Gran would not have approved of how rude Allison had been. Even when her grandmother was telling someone off, she did it with impeccable manners.

  Kyle laid a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. People are allowed one meltdown per afternoon when they’re renovating a house over a century old. And I’ll spot you a bonus daily mini-tantrum, since Belle Paix was built before the turn of the century.”

  Allison smiled, warmed by his good nature, and patted his hand.

  An hour later they returned from dumping the last section of carpet by the side street bin. Allison stood beside Kyle as they stared at the big china cabinet, still in its original place.

  “Are you sure,” she asked, “you don’t have a bunch of historical committee buddies just like you? You know, with strong backs and accommodating ways regarding free labor?”

  The corners of his mouth quirked. “Sorry, no. Looks like it’s just you and me.”

  “Good thing we’ve got a great team approach going, then. Let’s do this.”

  Allison watched, her breath catching, as the ropy muscles in Kyle’s arms flexed when he used the hand truck to lever up his end of the cabinet. Would they be able to move it?

  “How am I doing?” he asked.

  She pressed her hands against her side. “Good—careful! Careful! It’s wobbling—not so high!”

  Kyle didn’t argue, but lowered it. “Better?”

  “Yep! Thanks for not arguing—most guys would.”

  His breath came in a grunt of effort as he walked the end of cabinet the few inches to the carpet strip. “No point. Saving. My. Breath.”

  Finally, after a few more near misses, the cabinet was on the scrap of carpet. Allison knelt in the close confines between it and the wall to start the task of ripping up the last section. She jumped when Kyle squeezed by her.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Here, let me give you a hand.”

  His nearness seemed to cause her fingers to slip. All she could focus on was his scent, clean and crisp and slightly citrusy. She stared down at the carpet and tried to smother a helpless little laugh at how such a small thing rattled her.

  “Having trouble?” he asked. Without another word, he leaned over her to tackle the carpet edge. Of course, it came loose without any hesitation, and she felt her cheeks flare doubly hot. “I think I got lucky,” Kyle told her.

  He was close enough that she could see a nick where he’d cut himself shaving that morning. Close enough to allow her to drink in that divine clean scent of his. Her pulse hammered in her throat.

  “I’ll take this piece out,” she mumbled, and managed to move away to give him—and her stupidly sensitive nose—space.

  A few minutes later, the carpet was cleared, and they tackled the china cabinet once more. It landed with a solid thunk where it belonged.

  Her heart racing from exertion and stress, Allison wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “That thing can stay there for another hundred years as far as I’m concerned,” she commented.

  “I’ll second that.” Kyle had collapsed on the floor, his formerly pristine T-shirt now as grimy as hers. “How they cleaned under that thing, I don’t know.”

  “Oh! I forgot to wax the floor under it!”

  Kyle lay back on the oak planks, his eyes closed. “I promise, if the floor police come put you in jail, I’ll bail you out. That thing is not moving. At least, not by my hands.”

  “Well, it’s not like anybody will see under it. Okay.” She joined him lying on the floor, staring up at the coffered ceiling. “Thank you.”

  They lay there, exhausted, quiet. Every muscle of Allison’s body was quivering with fatigue. She wondered if Kyle felt as weary as she did. Probably. He’d had the heavy end.

  The clock in the hall let loose a mellifluous series of chimes. “Look at the time. I’ve got to get cleaned up to visit Gran.” Allison scrambled up, adrenaline coursing through her. “If I don’t hurry, she’ll be in physical therapy, and after that she’s too tired for a good visit.”

  “Let me get out of your hair, then. That is, if I can manage to find as much pep as you have,” Kyle told her. “You’ve worn me out.”

  She extended a hand down to him. “Least I can do is help you up,” she said.

  His hand in hers felt strong and capable, but she knew that already from their work together. He certainly wasn’t the stuffed shirt she’d thought him, when he’d been on her sidewalk a million years ago this morning. Maybe she should offer him supper one night in appreciation.

  Kyle stood, took in the windows and the expanse of the dining room. “I can imagine that I’m back in 1888, and this room is brand-new. Those windows...wow.”

  “Yeah. Those windows. They’re going. I’m getting Gran some double-paned ones that won’t leak air like a sieve.”

  He stared over his shoulder at her, his eyebrows drawn. “You can’t.”

  “Yes, I can. I have the money. A window guy’s coming out next week.”

  Kyle’s frown deepened, out of concern, not anger, she thought. “No. We have rules. Ordinances. Any exterior change to a house in the historic district has to be approved. By the historic preservation committee. Didn’t you know that?”

  “But as long as they look right, I don’t really see a problem, do
you? I mean, I’m not putting in art deco glass block windows. I’ll pick out good-looking ones. Maybe get vinyl-clad. Easier to take care of.”

  “Whoa, no.” He shook his head, then held up a hand, as if what she’d just said pained him deeply. “No. You can’t do that. We have a list.”

  “A list?”

  “Yeah. Of manufacturers to provide historically accurate windows. And no double-paned ones. Plus, these look to be in pretty good shape, I’d advocate repairing them instead of replacing them.”

  Allison crossed her arms over her T-shirt and surveyed him. “Whoa, yourself. You can’t tell me what I can do with my own home—well, Gran’s. This house has been here forever. Surely it’s grandfathered in.”

  “These ordinances protect you, protect the value of your home. Trust me, you’d hate what the house looked like with modern windows.”

  “I hate seeing the power bill every month, that’s what I hate. Do you know how drafty these things are?” Allison realized her hands had moved to her hips and her voice possessed an edge to it. She tried to drop the attitude raging through her. Still, Kyle’s know-it-all tone irked her.

  “I hear that all the time. And my house is the same way. The price you pay for living in a place that has character.”

  Allison took in the stubborn jut of his jaw. This guy wasn’t budging. Surely, though, these rules couldn’t be as cut-and-dried as he made them out to be. Surely she could figure out a compromise, a workable solution. The city couldn’t dictate that she remain in a house exactly as it was in 1888.

  She decided to change the subject. No point arguing about this any longer, at least not today. “I appreciate your help, but I’ve got to get cleaned up and get out of here if I’m going be on time to visit Gran.”

  “I’ll see myself out. Thanks for letting me help.” Kyle’s smile was easy, free from the momentary irritation she’d spotted earlier.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t have managed without you.”

  He was halfway up the hall, but called over his shoulder, “Sure you could—you’ve got Davinia’s blood running through you, right?”