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Jace turned and looked at Kelly. “Maybe,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
WINDSOR HEIGHTS WASN’T exactly on the cutting edge of the twenty-first century, though as Jason drove into town he noticed how different the place looked. Because he had often been away for long periods of time with boarding school, college and working, Jace’s trips back to the Kendall made him more able to see the changes as sweeping rather than subtle. First, the number of cars on the street alone could cause a traffic jam. As far as he knew, there had never been a traffic jam in Windsor Heights. There were new stores along Main Street. He saw that the old dress shop had had a facelift. The bookstore was gone, replaced by an office supply store. The bank, however, was in the same place and while it was five years older, it appeared as new as it had been when it was built.
Jace opened its heavy door and walked through. Nothing here was different. The loan office was in the same place and Jace went directly toward it.
“Jason! Jason Kendall.” Someone called his name. “Is that you? I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen you in years.”
A man behind a glass wall stood up and came out, his hand outstretched. Jace took it, recognizing him only after he was already pumping his hand.
“Kurt Mallard,” Jace said, grateful to find someone he’d once known. “Who would have thought?”
“Come on in and sit down a minute. Tell me what brings you back to Windsor Heights?”
Jace noticed his door had Kurt Mallard, Loan Officer printed on it in small black letters.
“My home,” he said. Jace took a seat. “I’m here about the Kendall.”
Kurt frowned. “It’s a shame about that.” Then his face cleared and the frown was replaced with a smile.
“But it seems the new owner is working miracles restoring it. Have you met her yet?”
Jace didn’t get to answer.
Kurt continued, “She’s a beauty. Got flaming red hair. When she’s in here and the sun shines through that window...” He pointed to a window outside the office “It’s like fire.”
“I’ve met her,” Jace cut in.
Kurt chuckled and cleared away some papers on his desk.
“So you’re the loan officer,” Jace pointed out.
“Never thought I’d make it, did you?”
Kurt had been the other bad boy of Windsor Heights. While the two of them rarely cut up together, Jace knew of him, his antics and the gang he ran around with. None of them were people Jace cared to be associated with. Kurt was on the school’s football team and many people looked the other way at the things he did for that reason. Jace was the prep school kid, the rich kid, the one who lived in the big house. He wasn’t welcome by even the bullies of the area. After that Jace lost track of Kurt. But now Kurt worked at the bank and Jace’s family no longer owned the big house. That privilege was held by a determined redhead unafraid to get her hands dirty.
“Kurt, I’m here for a loan,” Jace said, opting for the cold, hard truth.
Kurt shifted in his chair. “Okay,” he said. “What’s the loan for?”
“I want to buy the Kendall.”
Kurt smiled warmly. “This is great. I’m glad Ms. Ashton is willing to sell it back to you. After all, the Kendall should be owned by a Kendall.” He laughed a hearty sound.
“Well, there’s a slight issue there.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I only got back into town last night. I have a little money, but I’d need a big mortgage.”
Kurt leaned forward. “So far, that seems like something we might be able to work out.” He reached sideways and pulled a packet of documents out of a vertical file stand.
“The only collateral I have is my name.”
Jace watched him visibly recoil.
“Has Ms. Ashton agreed to allow you to take over the mortgage?”
Jace shook his head.
“Does she even know you’re here?”
Again he shook his head.
“I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to help you, Jason. Besides having no collateral and no agreement from the owner to sell, currently you’re unemployed, I assume. The bank requires at least that you have a job in order for me to approve a loan. I’m afraid even filling out the paperwork will be of no use.” He looked at the packet on his desk.
“I do have a job,” Jace said.
“Where?”
“It’s at the Kendall.”
“You have a job at the Kendall?” The eyebrows went up.
Jace nodded.
“How long have you worked there?”
“I only got back yesterday.”
“So you begin tomorrow?” Kurt asked.
“Yes, tomorrow.”
“That’s not going to be long enough. For a mortgage, which you don’t qualify for, we need several pieces of paperwork, including your last three check stubs. I’m sorry Jace.”
“I have those. I worked in South America.”
“Good. What did you do there?”
“I’m an engineer. I worked on a water pipeline.”
“Do you own any property?”
Jace shook his head.
Kurt frowned. “I can give you the paperwork. It will tell you what we require, but without a willingness to sell from Ms. Ashton, it’s likely a waste of time.”
Jace stood up. “Thanks anyway,” he said. Jace knew it would be a problem getting money, but he had to try. His son’s well-being was at stake. He shook hands with Kurt and left.
Out on the street, Jace went to his car and got in. He didn’t start the engine. He sat thinking, wanting to come up with something he could do to get his house back. Kurt had said he was a Kendall and a Kendall should own the property that had been in his family since the Civil War. With the way he’d been treated, sometimes even he wondered why the house meant so much to him. It shouldn’t. But it did.
When he left years ago, angry at the world and everything in it, he wanted nothing but to get as far from the Kendall as he could. But running away didn’t take the place out of him. He missed it, missed the horses and the riding. He missed the familiarity of it, even the safety. While his father and brother weren’t model parent and sibling, he had enough distractions to ignore their influence on him. And he did what he liked.
Yet when he was in South America he longed for the Kendall. He told himself Ari was the reason for his return and that was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Jace had been stumbling around the world, trying to forget, but it was useless. He missed home, wanted to go back. Ari was only the catalyst he used to make the decision.
And now he was here. And everything was different. He was back, but he wasn’t home. He was still the stable boy, trying to win over the new lady of the manor.
* * *
SHELDON PULLED THE door of his beach bungalow closed. He was headed to the dock to complete a day’s work. He squinted at the bright sunshine. Then he heard the laughter. He knew it was in his mind because it was Laura’s laugh, her sound. He thought of the photo of her in a frame next to his bed. Her picture was the only thing he’d kept from the Kendall.
She was gone now. Sheldon wanted to remember her only as she’d been in the photo, smiling, dressed in a beautiful gown and standing on the staircase at the Kendall. Their lives were tangled, twined together like the never-ending root system of the common mangrove tree.
After he and Laura married, Jason took off. Neither he nor Laura spoke of him. It became a silent, wordless rule.
Sheldon always wondered why his father never thought of Jason as a son. Not wanting to risk the old man’s wrath, Sheldon hadn’t asked for a reason. Laura felt it was a sore point with Sheldon, since initially she had come to the Kendall with Jason, and Sheldon, following his father’s lead, had almost nothing to do with him, either. It’s as if he didn’t exist in their world. But that world had disappeared.
Sheldon went back to work. He bent down and scraped. The barnacles fell off the hull and onto the tarp he’d placed on the wharf. He thought of Laura. She’d been the light of his life. Everything he did and thought revolved around her. He’d been a better man with Laura.
After Laura died, Sheldon had no fight left in him. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t concentrate on anything, especially the Kendall. When he came out of his grief enough to notice the farm, things had fallen apart. He didn’t know how much time had gone by exactly. It was too late when he tried to save the place. He knew it wouldn’t work anyway. He wasn’t a good manager. He wasn’t his father. And he no longer had Laura to help him. The farm had been failing for years, but he’d hidden the information from Laura. If he’d told her maybe they could have saved the place, but his life was built on bad decisions.
And treating Jason as if he didn’t belong and wasn’t part of the family was one of them.
“Mr. Kendall,” a familiar voice spoke to him.
Sheldon looked up. “Good morning,” he said. Audrey Thompson stood in front of him. She was a small woman, slightly overweight. He was fifty-one and he estimated she, too, was probably in her early fifties. She spoke to him daily when she walked along the marina. It was part of her exercise program she told him. Audrey was raising her grandson. Her daughter, a single mom, died after her car was struck by a drunk driver when the child was six. He was nine now.
