A Conard County Courtship

The return...

Vanessa Welling never planned to leave home...until her family fled in shame in the wake of the financial catastrophe that shattered their town—and her father’s will to live. If it weren’t for the wreck of a house she just inherited, Vanessa wouldn’t have come back, either. And attractive contractor Tim Dawson and his young son are making it even harder to put the Wyoming town behind her once and for all.

Tim has heard the stories. But Vanessa did nothing wrong and shouldn’t spend the rest of her life paying the price. Can’t she see the positive effect she’s having on the single father and his son? That they have the right stuff to build a future? And Conard County is the perfect place to start over!

“Already?” She frowned faintly. “Here or the motel, huh?”

“Well, I have a guest room if you’d rather. No problem for me.”

The offer was out before he knew it was coming, and then Matthew seconded it. The idea of having someone new in the house seemed to appeal to him.

Vanessa’s hesitation seemed obvious. Matthew was already running on about how they could read his library book together, but she had drawn away. He could feel it. Pulled back into herself.

“Look,” he said finally. “I’ll guide you to the motel if you want, but like I said, mostly truckers and transients stay there. This house is okay if you want to stock it up. I was only thinking about you being here alone if the blizzard gets bad. You’d be stuck, and the phones aren’t working.”

He could swear she felt torn in a bunch of different directions. But then she surprised him.

“If you’re sure I won’t put you out…”

That settled it, he decided. A night or two. As soon as she’d made her decisions about the house, she’d drive away.

Matthew was ecstatic. Tim watched him with a faint smile, but once again reflected on how much that boy must miss having a mother. He hoped a couple of days wasn’t long enough for him to fit Vanessa into that role.

* * *

Conard County: The Next Generation

A Conard County Courtship

Rachel Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

She never expected to find a man in the house. Vanessa Welling stood on the wet sidewalk between two low banks of melting snow and looked at the house she owned but didn’t want. The hatred and pain that rose in her had been planted nearly twenty years ago by the man who had lived in that house, the man who had destroyed her family, and she’d like to set a match to the whole place.

She’d tried to get out of it, had argued with the lawyer who had called her to tell her it belonged to her. Unfortunately, Bob Higgins had deeded it over to her before he died in prison, and the really odd thing—to her, at least—was that he was free to do that even if she didn’t want it. She couldn’t refuse it. She couldn’t give it back, and right now she was responsible for the taxes on the place. She would remain responsible for them and any code violations or fines until she managed to dump it.

Her stomach burned, her eyes felt hot in her head and everything she had tried to bury was rising sickeningly inside her.

Had that man thought this was some kind of atonement? Because it wasn’t. No house could give her back her father or the years lost to his alcoholism. No house could give her back everything else that had been ripped from her at a tender age, wounding her in ways that remained with her.

She had never wanted to see this town again. She remembered how her father felt the people here must be judging him, thinking him a fool for having lost his ranch and every bit of savings to Bob Higgins. His bitterness had branded itself in Vanessa’s heart, and her mother hadn’t done much to erase it. Belinda Welling had been quieter in her response, but despair had filled her days. Her husband’s alcoholism had overwhelmed her, and Vanessa felt that in many ways she had had to raise herself.

Now here she was, owner of the house that had belonged to the beast who had destroyed everything, and she had to at least see to fixing it up enough that she could sell it. Get rid of it. Remove any demand that she ever return here.

The street was quiet, but it was early on a Monday afternoon. Kids in school, parents at work and weather less than hospitable.

The key in her hand felt acidic, hot, as if it would eat a hole in her palm. She wanted to fling it into the snow.

Just get it done, she told herself. Just walk in there, face the memories that lurked and would probably pounce to remind her that this had once been a favorite place of hers to visit. She’d arrange whatever needed to be done, then get the hell out of this town before the whispers started, before people began to ask each other if that was Milt Welling’s daughter and hadn’t he been a fool to trust that Higgins guy with everything he owned?

As she walked up toward the porch, freshly laid salt crunching beneath her feet, she felt a sharp gust of icy wind. After twenty years she had no intuitive understanding of the weather around her, but to her that gust spoke of an approaching snowstorm, as did the clattering of leafless branches on the trees that lined the street.

Or maybe she was imagining it. Why not? She was walking toward the door of a house that had populated her nightmares. All that was missing was some spooky, threatening music.

How over the top could she go, she wondered as she leveled the key at the lock and felt a small burst of self-amusement puncture her anger and apprehension. Bob, the man who had ruined her family, was dead. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. And leaving her his house? Probably his final laugh at someone else’s expense, not an attempt to atone at all. That would fit.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t stolen money from anyone else. He’d just stolen more from her father. As in everything.

Just as she turned the key in the lock, the door opened and she stood face-to-face with a tall man wearing a khaki work shirt, dusty jeans, work boots and a loaded tool belt slung around narrow hips. His eyes were the same gray as the leaden sky above, his face perfectly chiseled and showing some faint smile lines around his mouth and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His dark brown hair was tousled and dusty. Um, wow?

“Hi,” he said, his voice deep and pleasant. “Something I can help you with?”

Well, this was totally unexpected. This was her house, yet there was a stranger in it. Could he help her? But then her memory kicked in. Hadn’t the lawyer said something about sending someone to look over the condition of the house?

She found her voice at last. “I’m Vanessa Welling. Who are you?”

His dark eyebrows lifted, then he smiled. “Ah. I guess Earl didn’t tell you he’d hired me to check out the place, and he told me he didn’t expect you before the weekend. I’m Tim Dawson. I’m a building contractor—Earl sent me. If you want, I can wait outside while you look around. Or just come back another day.”

Why should he do that? But then she realized he must think that she might be uncomfortable about entering an empty house occupied by a man she’d never met before. She ought to be, but strangely she wasn’t. Anyway, if anyone should leave, it ought to be her. She didn’t want to be here at all.

The door still wide-open, both of them poised to leave, Vanessa shook her head a little and thought that her life had turned into a series of vignettes written by someone else from the minute Earl had told her she’d inherited this house. Nothing had run in its usual course since then.

“No,” she said. “You’re working. Frankly, I’d be happy never to see the inside of this place.”

“I heard from Earl you didn’t want it. That stinks.” He stepped back, giving her space to enter if she chose. “It always bothered me that someone could just deed a property to someone else even if they don’t want it. Never understood that one.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.” Hesitantly, she stepped through the door into the wide foyer. It had once been an elegant house, but it had been a long time since anyone had lived here. Some of the wallpaper was peeling. “How bad is it?”

“The place got winterized before the previous owner...left, so there’s surprisingly little damage to important stuff. Plumbing still works, in other words. No broken pipes. Right now I’m finishing up work on the heater to see if I can get it operating again. It’s an old model, but I don’t imagine you even want to consider a new one.”

“Not if I can help it. I don’t want to live here, I just want to get to the point where I can get rid of it without having tax liens and code violations follow me through life.”

“I can see that. Well, I was just going out to my truck to get a valve, so take a look around. I’ll be happy to answer any questions I can.”

She watched him walk out the door, thinking that it was criminal that a man that good-looking had walked into her life in the last place on earth she wanted to be.

She watched him cross the street to a white truck with small lettering on the side. That explained why she’d never guessed someone would be in here.

Then she forced herself to turn and face the inside of the house. To face memories that should have been good but had turned to ash.

* * *

Vanessa Welling was a pretty woman, Tim thought as he crossed the wet street and opened a compartment on the side of his pickup. Maybe more than pretty, but since she was clearly unhappy at the moment he couldn’t be really sure. Right now, she was simply a catalog of externalities: auburn hair, mossy-green eyes, a bit on the tiny side.

Earl Carter, father of the local judge, was a font of history when it came to this county, especially the ugly legal parts. The story of how Bob Higgins had managed to rob the Welling family blind was the stuff of novels or movies...except according to Earl, this kind of thing happened all the time. Con men, con jobs—and the Wellings hadn’t been the only ones robbed. Apparently, a number of others had fallen for Higgins’s financial planning business, to their detriment, but only the Wellings had lost more than a retirement fund.

Sad story. Vanessa would have been a kid when it all happened, but from what Earl had said, she remembered enough to be filled with loathing. Imagine inheriting the house of the man who had ruined your family. Tim couldn’t make up his mind if Higgins had been diabolical or regretful.

Anyway, Vanessa had a problem to deal with, and he’d bet she wanted to make her decisions and get the hell out of Conard County as fast as she could.

Shame, because he’d like to get a chance to know the woman behind that haunted, heart-shaped face. Not that it mattered, really. Just a reaction to a new face. He had his hands full enough raising a seven-year-old boy whose mother had died. A change of pace might be nice, but it would be transitory.

He was just crossing the street again with the valve he wanted in hand when a black Cadillac pulled up. It was an older car, kept in scrupulously good shape by its owner, Earl Carter. Earl pulled up against the curb on the far side of the street and rolled his window down. “She’s here?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I just got her message.” Earl, a pleasantly plump man who was awfully popular around town for a lawyer, shook his head faintly. “Sorry, I didn’t think she would be here so soon.”

“It’s not a problem. But she’s clearly not happy to be here.”

“No kidding. I’m sorry I couldn’t find her a way out. Is she inside?”

“Yeah. I just came out to get a valve for a gas line.”

“I’ll go in with you. Two strange men in one day might be too much.”

Tim almost laughed. They would still be two strange men in the otherwise empty house with her. Hardly likely to make her feel easier, except that Earl slightly resembled a teddy bear. The years and some beer had given him a bit of a belly and softened his face. He looked kindly by nature.

“Well, come on, but she was looking as if she wanted to burn the place down.”

“Probably does,” Earl said, climbing out. He might be the last man in town who wore a business suit routinely. Even his own son, the judge, often wore jeans under his judicial robes.

“Let me call inside first,” Tim suggested. “Let her know we’re both here. This can’t be easy for her.”

“It’s not,” Earl said. “Not at all. Bet she hits the road just as quick as she can.”

“Maybe.” He wasn’t about to predict what anyone else would do. Dangerous game, that.

“She didn’t want this place,” Earl mused, pausing on the walk before heading for the porch. “She may change her mind, though. With a little work, this house will become prime real estate. Great location, good size. She should make a pretty penny if she shapes it up.”

“Sure, we sell so much prime real estate around here.” Tim’s tone was dry. Given the kind of work he did, he knew how sluggish the market was locally. Nothing new for this town. Boom or bust. Right now, it was more bust.

“Cut it out, boy,” Earl said. “We’ll get that ski resort and this house would make a good bed-and-breakfast.”

“Now that’s prime optimism,” Tim answered. “That ski resort has been a pipe dream forever. I’d bet the landslide finished the idea, even if Luke is back to checking the geology for a developer.”

“Someone’s paying him,” was Earl’s answer. “So someone is interested in doing it.”

Someone had been interested in the possibility of a resort on the mountainside Tim’s entire adult life. So far nothing had been done beyond clearing a few ski trails, a small investment in downtown improvement with brick sidewalks and Victorian lampposts, and a survey of the hotel site. Then the landslide. Tim just shook his head and wondered if being an eternal optimist was part of how people survived around here. He tended to lean toward optimism himself, despite everything. He had a kid to think about.

“Let’s get going,” he said. “I need to finish work on the heater in time to go pick my son up.”

Earl glanced at him. “He doesn’t walk home?”

“Not when a blizzard is in the forecast.” Tim nodded toward the sky. “Rapid temperature drop this afternoon. Whiteout conditions.”

“You don’t say. I should pay more attention, I guess.”

Tim smiled as they climbed the porch steps and he opened the door. Earl was a gadabout when he wasn’t being a damn good lawyer. Why would he pay attention to the weather report? He could get to his son’s house or Mahoney’s to have beer with friends. Unless court dates had to be postponed, the effects of bad weather on Earl would be minimal.

Opening the door and leaning in, Tim called out, “Ms. Welling? It’s me, Tim, and I’ve brought your lawyer with me. Earl Carter.”

As he and Earl crossed the threshold, he heard hurried footsteps from the back of the house. Still wearing her jacket, with her hands stuffed in her pockets, Vanessa managed a smile.

“So you’re Earl Carter.”

“One and the same.” Earl smiled. “Lots of time on the phone, but nothing like face-to-face.” He stuck out his hand, and Vanessa freed hers to shake it. “Well, what do you think?”

“About the house? Besides the fact I don’t want it? It needs work, Earl. I supposed Mr. Dawson knows how sound it is generally, but paint is sagging on some of the walls. Sagging! I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.”

“Bad paint job,” Tim remarked. “Old paint. Lack of care. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“This place looks like a headache,” she said frankly. “I wish you could have stopped Bob Higgins from doing this to me.”

Earl shook his head. “He did this all on his own. I never knew about it until he died. Then everything landed on my desk.”

“It landed on me like a ton of bricks,” she said. “I never wanted to come back here. Never.”

Tim decided it might be a good time to step out of the conversation. “I need to go put this valve on the heater so I can get it up and running again. It’s getting cold in here. There’s a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Why don’t you two help yourselves?”

He headed down to the basement, acutely aware that without heat, given the coming cold, this place could suffer a lot of damage now that he’d turned on the plumbing again. Eventually that heater should be replaced, but he had a feeling Vanessa Welling wouldn’t be the one to do it.

* * *

In the chilly kitchen with Earl Carter, Vanessa pulled out a chair and sat at a table she remembered all too well.

“Bet you remember this house,” Earl remarked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She really didn’t. Good memories had been turned into a nightmare by the man who had inflicted this house on her, and she had little desire to look back.

“You used to play with the Higgins kids, didn’t you?”

She looked at him. “I think I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“You did,” he acknowledged. “But I don’t want to talk about your memories. That was a lead-in to how you’re sitting here. After Bob Higgins was arrested, his wife took their two kids and left. I got to wondering why she didn’t sell the house at some point, then I learned why. She never owned it. It was his, lock, stock and barrel.”

“That fits,” Vanessa said tautly. The guy didn’t even take care of his family. He’d made sure everything was his, even their house.

“So, anyway, I only looked into it to find out how it had come to you. When you said you didn’t want it, I hunted his ex-wife up and suggested that you might be willing to give it to her. She was as interested as you were. Didn’t want to even think about it. So here we are.”

“So he ruined everyone’s lives.”

“That’s how it looks. She’s remarried. Even changed the last name of the children.”

Vanessa nodded slightly and looked down as Earl put a mug of coffee in front of her. That looked better than anything she’d seen since arriving here. Well, except for Tim Dawson. “I hate this, Earl,” she said, reaching out to grip the mug in both hands for its warmth.

“No better man than Tim Dawson to take care of it for you. He’ll be quick, he won’t overcharge and he won’t do more than you want and need him to do.”

She raised her gaze to his. “But what about selling it?”

“We’ll get that done somehow, too. We haven’t got the busiest real estate market, but a house like this, reasonably priced, should sell. And you can afford to price it reasonably, because your only sunk costs are going to be for basic repairs and taxes.”

She hadn’t thought about that, and it made her feel slightly better. She could sell it for a song, then it wouldn’t be her problem anymore. Or maybe she could even find a place to donate it, once she was sure it was safe. A house left basically abandoned for twenty years might have all kinds of safety problems. No termites, though, according to Earl. That had been the first thing he had checked out.

So...it would be okay, she told herself yet again. Lately that had become a mantra.

Earl let her have some silence, for which she was grateful. She was still trying to deal with the mess of emotions coming back here had awakened in her. She had a lot to be angry about, a lot to be sad about, and feelings she had put away long ago had all surfaced with her return, with having to deal with this house.

The past had become present, through no choice of her own, and for the first time she considered just how much she hadn’t been able to get over. No, it seemed more like she had plastered over all the cracks and the plaster was giving way. She’d even started having bad dreams again.

Some things were better left buried, and she wished all of this had remained in its grave. What the hell had Bob Higgins been thinking? He’d had no conscience about robbing her family into abject poverty. Why would he have gotten one at such a late stage in his life?

Chilly air stirred suddenly, and she heard a distant whoompf that probably indicated Tim had started the heater. Considering that he had the water running now, that was an excellent thing.

A minute later he appeared, wiping his hands on a rag that he jammed into the back pocket of his jeans. “All set. They make much more efficient models now, but this will do. It shouldn’t break down, anyway. And when you’re ready to go, I’ll winterize the house again.”

He grabbed some coffee of his own and joined her at the table.

“I was just getting ready to leave,” Earl announced. “I have a three o’clock meeting. If you need anything, call me.” He handed her a business card along with a warm smile, then walked out.

When Vanessa remained silent, Tim spoke. “I guess this hit you like a ton of bricks.”

“To put it mildly.”

He just shook his head, unsure what he could say. “I’ve got to run soon as well. I need to pick up my son from school. I’ll bring him back here so we can have some time to discuss what has to be done and whether you want to do any more than that.”

She nodded. “How old is your son?”

“Seven. Anyway, we’re going to be getting a sharp temperature drop anytime now, and I don’t want him out there walking in subzero temps.”

“I’d forgotten.” If she’d ever really known. “It can change fast, can’t it?”

“Very fast. And we’re just sliding into winter, so nobody’s really ready. Blizzard tonight, maybe. If you can stand it, you might want to stay here rather than at the motel. We can get you some food in so you don’t have to hoof it or drive to get a meal. The thing about the motel is that it’s used mainly by truckers and transients. You might feel safer here, much as you hate it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He stood. “I’ll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes...unless you’d rather I didn’t come back.”

For once since getting here she didn’t feel like hesitating. “No, come back. I’d like to meet your son.”

He nodded once with a smile, then left the kitchen. She listened to his boots cross the foyer, then the front door opened and closed.

Earl had done his best, Tim was a nice guy and maybe she could survive this trip after all.

But the thought of being snowed in here? She shuddered. There’d be no way to avoid the memories then.

* * *

From what Earl had told him, Tim guessed this visit had to be a painful one for Vanessa. Although she’d been a child his own son’s age when her family’s life had fallen apart, she probably remembered enough to find it uncomfortable to return. While it was old news, when Bob Higgins had died in prison, people had recalled his life and crimes, and inevitably Tim had learned something about the man.

He’d apparently set himself up as an investment adviser and had a few impressive pieces of paper framed on his office wall. He’d even been licensed by the state. Everyone knew him, most people liked him and it hadn’t taken him long to get his business rolling.