It hadn’t been hard to pick out McMillan’s home. It was architecturally challenged. A total eyesore with chipped cornice trim, two crooked windows and missing bricks. She’d researched the Colonial inside and out. Had spent a chunk of her last paycheck on architecture books covering the period.
She’d bluffed her way through much of her life. Fabrication came as naturally to her as breathing. Envisioning the Colonial fully restored, she propped her portfolio against a dark, pinepaneled wall and entered the formal living room, left off the entrance hall.
After a dozen steps, Keely slowed. Her eyes went wide and her jaw slack as red and green Christmas lights blinked their welcome. The décor was complemented by dark green lawn furniture and an electrical cable spool functioning as a table. A wooden sign hung on the wall above an enormous home theater television: A GOOD FRIEND WILL COME AND BAIL YOU OUT OF JAIL, BUT A BEST FRIEND WILL BE SITTING NEXT TO YOU SAYING, “DAMN, THAT WAS FUN!”
Through a scarred wooden portal leading into the dining room, she caught sight of a dismantled dirt bike on a tarp smudged with grease. Every drawer of the nearby Craftsman tool chest stood open. Dirty rags littered the floor. The scent of oil was overpowering.
Her smile broke, and relief settled bone-deep. Any redecorating would be an improvement over the way McMillan now lived.
More confident, she informed the Daughters, “On our first meeting, Mr. McMillan and I discussed the living room. He confided that his favorite season is autumn, when the sun glistens off the trees surrounding the house. We agreed the room should be decorated with that warmth. Glazed yellow walls that glow like aged maple leaves on an October afternoon. All highlighted with sage, burnt orange, and russet red.”
“I’m an autumn as well,” Rebecca piped up, pleased.
Keely glanced at the man she’d labeled “fall”. Too masculine to be handsome, he radiated a raw intensity that intimidated her. Enigmatic eyes, a deceptively casual stance. She had a hunch he was a ticking time bomb.
“Mr. McMillan wants authenticity rather than reproduction,” she pressed forward. “A camelback sofa in apricot velvet, chintz-covered slipper chairs, and oriental carpets.”
“A fine rosewood piano,” Rebecca chimed in.
“An antique secretary. One with scalloped pigeonholes and paneled doors,” Helen Adler Paine suggested.
Charlotte Maitlan Moss swept her blue-veined bejeweled hand toward the double-sashed windows, now covered by bedsheets. “Sheer inner curtains beneath tailored swags.”
“A tea caddy,” added Olivia Morris Tuthill.
“Definitely a tea caddy,” McMillan muttered darkly.
“Perhaps a tall-case clock by Simon Willard,” Rebecca put in enthusiastically.
“Mr. McMillan’s already placed the clock.” Keely motioned the Daughters toward the entrance hall. There, she pointed to the wide landing at the top of the twin staircases. “He’d like the grandfather clock centered between a row of newly constructed windows.”
“Impressive,” echoed the Daughters.
Keely moved to the east staircase. “Mr. McMillan also suggested a tri-corner table bearing a silver tray, holding candlesticks and an oil-burning lamp,” she said straight-faced. “Something that would call to mind a time when candles were carried upstairs to light the way to the second floor.”
“A lovely idea.” Rebecca looked at Psycho with new respect.
The man remained silent.
Climbing the first step, Keely let her imagination go. “Polished hardwood floors, a low fire burning in the hearth…” She ran her hand over the banister and paused. “Teeth marks on the newel post?”
“Mr. McMillan’s dogs,” Rebecca informed her. “The black mongrels have chewed the history right out of the house.”
“They’re Newfoundlands, Becky,” McMillan said denfensively. “Six months old and full of themselves.”
At this mention of the pups, loud barking drew everyone’s attention down the center hallway to the back of the house. Trailing McMillan, the Daughters marched out the rear door with Keely on their heels.
Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Two of the biggest dogs she’d ever seen had broken from a fenced run and now romped playfully about a small cemetery, set back from the house.
“Boris, Bosephus,” Psycho called to the Newfies, who totally ignored him.
“Those animals are as undisciplined as their owner,” Rebecca huffed.
Undisciplined and mischievous, Keely noted as Psycho jogged across the lawn toward the dogs. The man was fast, but the pups were faster. He didn’t reach them in time. To everyone’s horror, one dog lifted his leg on a headstone, while the other started digging at the grave site. His front paws scooped like a bulldozer. Chunks of grass and dirt went flying.
Rebecca gasped, swooning. “That’s the Lowell Family Cemetery!”
Keely caught the matron’s arm, held her upright.
Helen Adler Paine shuddered. “Colonel Lowell must be rolling over in his grave.”
Keely watched as Psycho grabbed one Newfie by the collar, only to have the second pup escape. “Boris!” she called out, hoping to draw one of the dogs toward the house, and away from the graves.
She drew him all right. One hundred pounds of drool loped across the yard in her direction. Boris had no brakes. His front paws struck her chest and knocked her to the ground. He sniffed her crotch, then slobbered all over her suit and licked her cheek. He had the worst puppy breath on the planet.
Beside Keely, Rebecca hyperventilated. Scrambling to her feet, Keely snagged Boris’s collar and held on tight. It wouldn’t take much for the Newfie to drag her across the yard.
From the corner of her eye, she saw that Psycho had penned Bosephus and was coming after Boris. He took charge of the pup with one hand, then patted her down with the other, checking for broken bones.
He probed her shoulder, her clavicle, and smoothed down her lapel. Her heart skipped when his fingers brushed her breast, then swept over her grass-stained skirt. His palm curved her hip, swept her butt. Lingered a moment too long on her left thigh. He skimmed dirt off one calf, traced a new ladder in her nylon. Then met her gaze. “You hurt?”
Not hurt, but downright tingly. There was nothing caressing in his touch, yet she felt aroused. Her nipples peaked and warmth filled her belly. “I’ll live.”