The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) Read Online Free

story eyesore. He’d never been so taken with a house before. A woman either, for that matter. Her face colored when she caught him watching her. He liked that too. The word special flashed before his eyes. He wiped it away with both hands. His original thought had been right. She was trouble. Lots and lots of trouble.
    “Why this house, Trent? What drew you to it?”
    He brushed the top of his dark hair with his fingers. “Darned if I know. I told you I was sitting in that New Orleans airport, browsing the magazine and...I turned the page and there she was looking like something...” He hesitated, hated to say the word aloud, wondered if she’d know he thought the same about her too. He took the chance. “... special. I couldn’t resist.” He massaged the side of his face. “But now—”
    “Buyers remorse?”
    “No, of course not. I’m wondering how I’m going to recoup.”
    She laughed. “And you called me crazy!”
    He grinned. The sound of her laughter made him feel good, connected. “Weird coincidence, isn’t it? Two crazies in one old house that they both fell in love with from a picture in a Louisiana magazine.”
    “Jeeze, when you put it that way, it’s a little creepy.” She moved around the room, touching furniture. “How are you going to sell everything? I mean, how do you go about it? And when?”
    “I’ll inventory and research everything. And when I find out what’s valuable, I’ll create descriptions, get organized, and then the sale begins.” The expression on her face told him that it wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. “Hey, that’s how I make a living.”
    “That’s sad.”
    “Sad? What’s sad about buying and selling? And making money.”
    “I mean it’s sad that all this stuff, this home will be broken up. It just seems wrong. I wonder why the owners walked away from this furniture and which of it really belongs in this house.” She plopped down on the sofa. “Don’t you ever fall in love with things—wonderful pieces like that old desk?” She pointed across the room. “Or that banker’s bookcase with the glass doors?”
    “I won’t answer that on grounds it might incriminate me.” He wouldn’t add his own screwiness to the mix, admit he’d fallen love with the tired old monstrosity, and that since he’d gotten here, he’d actually entertained thoughts of making it his home. He hadn’t said the words out loud, much less given serious thought to them. He’d have to, though, but that was something for another day, maybe a dark rainy day when lightning jabbed the sky. He did his best thinking during thunder storms.
    She caressed the sofa as if it were a baby. His heart beat faster. Before he could stop himself, before he even realized what he was saying, he was speaking, showing her too much of his thoughts, his feelings, his heart. He moved toward the vintage writing desk and caressed the top of it.
    “Some of this stuff is really special, some of the best treasures I’ve come across in a long time. If I’d lived here, I certainly wouldn’t have walked away from it, but maybe they died off. Maybe if you’re a relative, you crawled on this floor, pulled yourself up on that old desk.” He heard the melancholy in his voice. Not good. He corrected his mood. “Hope you weren’t teething and chewed on the window ledge. I’m sure there’s a lot of lead-based paint in here.”
    She left the sofa and bounced over to inspect the window. “I don’t see any marks so I guess it’s safe to say no teethers grew up here.” She leaned on the back of a chair and stared at him. “Funny, this room feels so comfortable to me, but I don’t remember anything. If only I had more time.” She said the words more to herself than to him.
    “Time’s no problem. Want a job? Live up there on the third floor and work for me?”
    Eyes wide, she stared at him in astonishment.
    He shrugged. “I was just wondering.”
    The excitement on her face took his breath away.