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CHAPTER ONE
ZANE LOVED THIS OLD HOUSE.It represented everything that he’d never had as a child. Love. Warmth. Security. Happiness. The massive, three-story structure had once been in the family, but had been sold after the death of his grandfather fifteen years ago. Zane owned the house now, and he intended to make up for the years of neglect it had suffered.
He leaned against the support column on the wide veranda that circled the grand home. As it had in his childhood, the view of Lake Michigan mesmerized him, calming his spirit. There was peace here, something that had been sadly lacking in his life up to this point. He was a man who’d willingly involved himself in war, and over the years he’d been paid handsomely for his services.
Almost unconsciously, he rubbed the ache in his injured leg. The pain worsened as the day progressed, not that he minded the discomfort. It reminded him that he was alive and that two of his men, two of his friends, were not. It reminded him that he had yet to seek his vengeance.
Zane walked to the end of the porch, recalling his days as a child when he’d raced with careless abandon across the lush green lawn. There would be no more children chasing butterflies and dreams here. No children who would hide on the limbs of the maple tree and imitate the chatter of the birds. At least none he would father.
The state of disrepair that had fallen upon the house had shocked Zane. The housekeeper he’d hired five months earlier to care for the place had said little of its condition. Upon his arrival three months ago, Zane immediately ordered repairs. It soon became evident that a new furnace and updated electrical system would only scratch the surface of what was required.
That was when he’d decided to call Jordan Larabee, a good friend and a well-known Chicago contractor. Jordan had recommended that Lesley Walker, an architect, have a look at the house and offer suggestions. Zane agreed to talk to the woman.
He had to admit that he was going through a lot of trouble and expense for a house he didn’t plan to live in long enough to enjoy.
A car turned off the main road and into his driveway. Zane checked his watch. Lesley Walker was punctual—he’d say that for her. The car slowed and pulled to a stop in the circular driveway in front of the house.
The door to the driver’s side opened and one long, shapely leg appeared. The body that followed fulfilled the promise of that one leg. The woman was tall, agile and strikingly attractive. She wore a gray business suit: jacket and pencil skirt. Zane approved. Her chestnut-colored hair bounced against the top of her shoulders as she turned toward him. Her deep, dark eyes met his and she was unable to hide her shock.
Occasionally Zane forgot about the scar that marked his face. It started at the corner of his left eye and cut a jagged line that crisscrossed down his cheek, ending below his lip. The scar, like the ache in his leg, was a reminder of a debt yet to be collected.
In the past year, he’d discovered how uncomfortable the general public was with physical deformities. He shouldn’t expect Ms. Walker to react differently than anyone else. In her eyes, like in those of the children in the nearby town, he was a monster.
Zane was mildly surprised when she didn’t look away as others routinely did. Instead, she held his gaze. Most people, he’d discovered, were uneasy with less than perfection. Her eyes softened and something passed between them. Something warm. Something gentle. Something strong.
Zane was uncomfortable with softness. He’d known little of it in his formative years, and avoided it by choice as an adult. It was a luxury he could ill afford in his chosen profession. As a soldier for hire, he had learned early on to freeze out his emotions. Out of necessity, he held back any part of himself that made him vulnerable.
“Ms. Walker?” Zane asked crisply and moved toward the porch stairs.
“Yes, and you must be Zane Ackerman.” She stood in the center of the walkway to examine his home. He noticed the way her gaze widened with appreciation as she took in the front of the house. “This is beautiful.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you making the drive,” he continued, his voice clipped and businesslike.
Her gaze turned back to him, and against his will he was drawn into the warm gentleness that surrounded her. “I enjoyed it.”
She returned to her vehicle, reached inside her car and brought out a thick writing tablet. “I’ll admit Jordan’s phone call piqued my interest.”
Once again she looked toward the house, and Zane had the opportunity to study her. She was lovely in ways he found difficult to define. If ever he was tempted to get to know a woman, it was now. But Lesley Walker was an emotional luxury he dare not indulge himself with—not while Schuyler lived.
Zane smiled to himself as he watched the appreciation Lesley felt for his home reveal itself in her eyes. With all its flaws, after years of neglect and indifference, she saw the beauty it had once been and would be again. Lesley Walker looked beyond the superficial—she saw beneath the obvious. Without being aware of what he was doing, his hand went to his face. Only when his fingers touched his scarred cheek did he realize what he’d done. Unnerved by the effect she had on him, he dropped his hand and returned his attention to the architect.
“I’m so pleased Jordan thought to contact me,” Lesley said with enthusiasm as she walked up to the porch to meet him.
They exchanged brief handshakes and she handed him a business card. Zane noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and wondered how it was that a woman he sensed to be as wholesome and maternal as Lesley would not be married.
“Would you like to see the inside first?” he asked, struggling to maintain emotional distance. It would be far too easy to lower his guard with her, but that was something Zane couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow.
“I’d love to see the house.”
Zane led the way through the front door. Many of the rooms were small and he had thought to take down wall open up the living area. He mentioned his ideas for the remodeling project. Without comment, Lesley wrote down his suggestions, then asked a series of pertinent questions, taking note of his responses.
“I found the original plans for the house tucked away in a cabinet in the library.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take them with me and study them,” she said, as they walked from room to room. Every now and again she pointed out small details he’d barely noticed himself even after a few months.
When they came to the library, he rolled back the double-wide mahogany doors and waited for her reaction. This was Zane’s favorite room. Rooted in his memory was a picture of his grandfather sitting by the fireplace and reading. It was something he often did himself. Zane spent more time in the library than in any of the other rooms.
“Oh, my,” Lesley whispered as though she were standing on holy ground. “This is perfect just the way it is—I wouldn’t change a thing.”
