The House on Blackberry Hill - SAMPLE

Chapter Three

Abby couldn't stop the peal of laughter that bubbled up from her chest and out her mouth. The situation was all so surreal. She looked at Tom Arseneault's expression—puzzled and then annoyed—and laughed some more. It felt good. Tom Arseneault had pushed her buttons with his scowl and God's-gift attitude and it was liberating to push right back.

This really took the cake. Hadn't she just been thinking she needed to find a contractor and poof! Here he was. Didn't he look like just the kind of man who could make her every wish come true?

It was like the universe suddenly plopped everything in her lap, including a gorgeous man, and then sat back, rubbed his hands, and watched the show as she decided what to do with it all. God, she decided, had a warped sense of humor. She was willing to play along. To a point.

"I don't need a handyman for this place," she joked, catching her breath. "I need a demolition crew!"

He looked so horrified at the idea that she giggled all over again.

"That's not remotely funny," he said shortly. He took a step forward and she felt a little thrill as she looked up into his rugged face. He was over six feet tall and from the looks of his arms in his shirt, solid muscle. She swallowed. Lumberjack Man was very...virile. She caught her breath as he towered over her. Funny how she didn't feel as threatened as she should by his size and proximity.

"The condition of this place is a travesty," he admitted. "But it's also town history and needs to be preserved, not knocked down. What are you planning to do with it, then? Don't tell me you're seriously going to tear it down. Because I'll have something to say about that."

He was dead serious and looked genuinely upset. It was just a house, albeit a magnificent one. She thought back for a minute to the walls of books in the library. Well, maybe not just a house, but why on earth would Tom Arseneault take it so personally?

"What's it to you? Last I checked it was my name on the deed. And I don't recall my lawyer mentioning any Arseneault having a claim to the property."

"Are you serious? Have you been inside yet?" His eyebrows lifted so that they nearly touched the black curl of hair that dropped over his forehead. "In its heyday, this house was the center gem of this town. The old gossips still talk about the Roaring Twenties parties that happened before they were ever born. Jed Foster imported most of the furniture from his journeys around the globe."

Ah yes, of course. All the mahogany inside was impressive, to be sure. She was tempted to make a comment about ill-gotten gains and colonialism except Mr. Arseneault seemed to take the house quite to heart. Besides, it all belonged to her now, didn't it? It wasn't an entirely comfortable feeling.

"I haven't had time to examine everything properly."

He took another step forward, encroaching on her space. "There are even rumors about it being haunted since the war, at least if the old timers down at Breezes Café are to be believed. The mansion is a town icon."

She took a step back, alarmed by his assertion of it being haunted, especially after her strange sensations at the cellar door and stairs. "If it's such a relic, then why did it ever fall into such disrepair?"

He shrugged. "Marian Foster turned it into a home for unwed mothers, and then she lived in it alone for years. Rumor has it she spent a fortune maintaining it before closing it up when she could no longer care for herself."

"How long ago?"

"Ten years, easy. It's stayed vacant since then as Marian insisted that it remain untouched. Some say she was a little..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Dementia, probably," he said, quieter now.