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Twenty
DELILAH
We spent a few minutes assessing the situation, with Duncan eventually determining it was worse than we initially realized. Our raccoon problem was plural, meaning there was probably a whole family. We saw pellet-sized evidence of varying sizes, plus we could hear the scratching noise behind more than one wall.
“I’ll pick up traps in the morning,” the ranger grumbled. When I made my most shocked face, he shook his head and smiled. “Safetraps,” he amended. “The catch and release kind.”
We were deep enough into the darkness now that I was more than a bit lost. Duncan took his time leading me back through the rooms, pointing out different features of the hundred-year old estate. This side of the mansion was much bigger and fancier than the side we were living on. The rooms were wide and vaulted, with detailed paneling and intricate crown mouldings and all sorts of other stuff that would, when finished, be breathtakingly beautiful.
“Did old man Jackson always own this place?” I asked.
“I think so,” Duncan replied. “Either he had it built, or he bought it shortly after it was constructed.”
We were moving slowly, since we were both barefoot. More than once Duncan took my hand to help me step around something. After the third time, he simply refused to let go of it.
Or maybe it was even me, not letting go of him.
“Whatever happened here though,” he said, “it happened all at once. Like the Jackson family just up and left.”
“How do you know?”
“Just look around,” said Duncan. “Projects were dropped midway through being done. Some of these materials have been sitting here for five or six decades. They were here when the guys and I started.”
“You, Liam, and Julius.”
“That’s right.”
“And your friend…” I started slowly.
“Roman.”
“Yes.” I hesitated. “Did he grow up here? Or—”
“Roman was way more than a friend, he was more of a brother to us,” Duncan cut in. “A comrade in arms.”
“I see.”
“And no, he never really knew this place. He’d seen photos, and he’d visited the grounds once or twice. And he talked about it all the time. He described it in such painstaking detail the three of us felt we knew it, even before we got here.”
“Why?”
“Because this place was his birthright,” Duncan continued. “His legacy. All throughout our time with him, Roman spoke of fixing it up. He wanted to get it ready for his wife, when he eventually chose a wife. And for his children, when he finally had them.”
I could sense the sorrow in his voice as he spoke. I didn’t want to press too hard, but there were still some things I wanted to know.
“At least he got to accomplish those things,” I pointed out. “He married a beautiful woman. He had two gorgeous kids.”
Duncan nodded, silently squeezing my hand around the next pile of construction materials. We stopped abruptly, and he turned to face me. His jaw was clenched, his expression fierce yet strikingly handsome. For a moment I thought he might chastise me, or tell me to let it go.
Then a shiver ran through my body, causing me to shudder involuntarily.
“You’re cold.”
It was freezing on this side of the house, especially considering what we were wearing. I was still in my sleep-shirt, which came down to my knees, but beneath that I was practically bare. Likewise, Duncan’s T-shirt and boxers left a lot of exposed skin.
“Come on,” he said, sliding one warm arm around my waist. “Let’s get back.”
We walked in silence this time, our intrusion having scared the raccoons away for the time being. Somewhere along the way Duncan began rubbing my back. His big palm slid gently up and down, warming me up, comforting me as we moved through the ancient rooms and halls.
