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“I hope not.” Cooper introduced himself. “I was curious about that For Sale sign and thought I’d drive by the place and take a look before I troubled you with a phone call.”
The man’s eyes, pale blue beneath the brim of his hat, took Cooper’s measure. “Well, now that you’re here, you might as well take a closer look. Clem Porter’s the name. And you—” His gaze shifted toward Jess. “I take it you’re the missus.”
“No, just a friend,” Jess corrected him swiftly.
“Too bad. You two make a right handsome couple. Anyhow, you can follow me back to the house. I’ll give you a look-see and answer any questions you might have. I’m anxious to sell. Got my eye on a little beach place in Mexico—good fishing, good beer, and friendly señoritas.”
Cooper cleared his throat. “Before taking any more of your time, could you tell me your asking price—with the discount for cash? Mind you, I’m not making an offer. I just want to know if the property’s affordable before I see it.”
“Sure.” Clem Porter nodded, pausing to scratch the dog, who was dancing around his legs. “With or without the livestock?”
“That depends on what it is,” Cooper said.
“The steers I was raisin’ have been sold off for beef. But there’s a couple of good horses with tack, this old tractor, and a wagon. You’ll see some hens, too, but they’re already spoken for. I’ll throw the other animals in for free. And I’ll shave another two hundred dollars off the price if you’ll take Glory. She’s a great dog, but I can’t take her to Mexico with me. And you said cash, right?”
“If I decide to make an offer, which I haven’t. Right now, I don’t need an exact price, just a ballpark figure.”
“I understand.” He was silent, figuring in his head. “For cash, here’s my asking price.”
The figure he gave Cooper was about half what he’d gotten for his Seattle condo with a view of Puget Sound. Cooper could buy this place for cash, use some of the leftover money to fix it up, and maybe sell it for a profit if he decided not to stay.
But what was he thinking?
He and Jess climbed back into the Jeep and followed the tractor to the house. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said. “Are you usually so impulsive?”
“Not at all. I’m just curious.” Cooper steered the Jeep around a deep pothole. “And it sounds like a good deal—an amazing deal, compared to real estate prices in Seattle.”
“You may change your mind when you see the place close up,” she said. “Take a look.”
Chickens scattered across the weedy yard as Cooper pulled up next to the tractor and parked. The single-story frame house stood a few yards away, screen door hanging ajar by one hinge. A cracked front windowpane had been mended with silver duct tape. The wood siding bore the last peeling traces of white paint.
But most of the damage was just wear and tear that could be fixed. Looking beyond its dilapidated condition, Cooper could see that the house had good lines and was solidly built—no sags in the roof or walls. But he’d need to inspect the frame for termite damage and make sure the plumbing and wiring were in decent shape, before . . .
But what in blazes was he thinking? For all its attractive price, this rundown place could turn out to be a money pit.
“Come and have a look.” Porter shoved the broken screen door aside and opened the front door. “My wife ran off and left seven years ago, after the kids were grown, so the place could use a woman’s touch. But fixed up, it would be great for a family. The school bus stops out there at the end of the lane.”
“That’s good to know, since I have a thirteen-year-old boy,” Cooper said as they entered through the front door, the dog tagging behind them.
“Well, he’d have plenty of playmates out here. Most of these ranch families have kids. The McCoys on the next place over have a boy a little older than yours.”
Skip McCoy. One checkmark in the negative column.
The inside of the four-bedroom house showed signs of long neglect—the stained, worn carpet; the cheap, peeling linoleum in the kitchen; the grease-spattered stove; and the old-fashioned sink piled with dirty dishes. The place probably had mice or even roaches. But the stone fireplace topped by a beautifully carved mantelpiece looked good, as did the moldings and well-made cabinets. Lifting up a loose corner of the carpet, Cooper saw good quality oak flooring underneath.
“Did you build this house?” he asked.
“Nope. Bought it off this lady whose husband had died. He was some kind of craftsman—had a workshop out back where he made stuff like tables and cupboards. The place could be right nice if it was fixed up.”
Yes, it could, Cooper thought.Almost nice enough to make up for having Skip McCoy’s family as neighbors.
“How’s the plumbing?” he asked.
In answer, Porter turned on a faucet. A stream of clean, clear water shot out. “The water’s from the well outside. In all the years I’ve been here, it’s never run low. And I’ve kept the windmill working fine. Bathroom’s down the hall. It ain’t too clean right now, but there’s some nice tile on the floor and around the tub and shower. Everything works.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Cooper said. “How about the barn?”
They went outside, Glory wagging her tail behind them. The barn was a small one; the two big geldings—a grulla and a pinto—were past their prime but gentle. Trevor would like the horses, Cooper thought. He might even learn to like the dog.
