Wife in Disguise Page 2

  Del settled at the far end of the couch and angled toward her. His expression was pleasant, if slightly confused. He still had no clue who she was.

  “Do you want to tell me why you stopped by?” he asked, with the patience of someone dealing with a very shy person. “I assume it has something to do with a house. Are you interested in restoration?”

  Just being this close to him made her feel safe. Josie realized that she’d spent the past twelve months fighting fear. The relief of being able to let it go—even for a few minutes—made her feel giddy enough to float.

  As she looked into his dark eyes, she realized that she’d been insane to expect Del to simply take a meeting with her and discuss their marriage. It had been three years. They were strangers. He wouldn’t care that she needed closure.

  But she also wasn’t willing to walk away. The last year of their marriage had been hell. One fight after another, punctuated by periods of rage. Which meant she should have been over him. Yet ever since the accident, she hadn’t been able to get Del out of her mind. She needed time to figure out why. There seemed to be only one way to get that respite.

  “I’m interested in the Miller place,” she said, surprising both him and herself.

  He raised his dark eyebrows. “It’s a beautiful home, but it will require extensive remodeling. We’re talking about a lot of time and money.”

  Thanks to her injuries and a settlement from the company that owned the truck that hit her, she had plenty of both. “I’m not an expert on old houses,” she said, “but I don’t expect it to be easy. Is this the sort of project you’d be willing to take on?”

  Interest brightened his eyes, and he grinned. “I’ve been admiring that old place for years. In fact I have some plans that I drew up a long time ago.”

  He spoke the words casually, as if they had no meaning. But they made Josie want to run away. She knew exactly when he’d drawn up the plans. It had been during the last year of their marriage, when they had almost had enough money to buy the old place. But it had quickly become obvious to both of them that they didn’t have a prayer of agreeing on anything about the project.

  “If you’re interested, I can show them to you,” he told her. “It would be easier at the house where I can show you what I’m talking about.”

  She nodded her agreement. “That sounds lovely. I, um, suppose we should make an appointment.”

  He rose and walked over to the receptionist’s desk. After grabbing her scheduling calendar, he flipped the page to glance at the rest of the week. “I have some time tomorrow. Does that suit you?”

  Josie swallowed. Did she really plan to go through with this? Was she going to buy the old Miller place and have Del renovate it for her? Shouldn’t she just tell him who she was so they could talk and then she could go about her business?

  Except she didn’t have any business, personal or otherwise. Until her next surgery, her entire life consisted of healing from the last one. She didn’t have a permanent home anymore or a job. Restoring the house would give her something to look forward to and be a part of. If nothing else, she could consider it an investment. When she was finished, she could always sell at a profit. Old restored Victorians were all the rage, even in Beachside Bay.

  “Tomorrow is fine.”

  They settled on a time. Suddenly eager to escape, she braced her weight on her cane and slowly stood. With Del solicitously holding open the door, she made her painful way to the exit.

  When she was about to step outside, she paused to look at him. She knew every inch of his face and body, but he hadn’t recognized her. Not that she blamed him. Not only was her face completely different, but her shape had changed as well. Gone were the lean lines from her aggressive exercise program. She’d gained weight in the past year, filling out in her breasts and hips. Her legs bore scars, especially the left one. If he could see under the flowing folds of her floral print dress, he would be shocked…and repulsed.

  “Thanks, Del,” she said in her throaty voice. “I’m looking forward to hearing what you think you can do with the house.”

  “Me, too.” He smiled, then his mouth straightened and he stiffened. “I’m sorry. I just realized I never caught your name.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, then pressed her lips together. She wasn’t ready to make explanations. She needed more time. A light breeze stirred her hair. It brought with it the scent of the beautiful flowers blooming in the warm spring afternoon. She glanced at his mother’s garden and then returned her attention to him.

  “I’m Rose.”

  The statement came from nowhere, but she didn’t take it back. Instead she started walking before he could ask her for a last name. She would have to come up with one tonight.

  “See you tomorrow,” he called after her.

  She waved without looking back. She didn’t want to know that he was watching her, studying her slow steps, probably wondering what was wrong with her. She made it to her car without incident and sank onto the firm seat. With him still looking on, she backed out of the parking lot.

  As she drove away, she was both desperate to know what he’d thought of her and grateful she couldn’t begin to guess. She was nothing like the woman he remembered as Josie Fitzgerald Scott. On the one hand, he’d divorced that Josie, so he couldn’t have cared about her too much. Of course he’d also married her, so there had been some kind of attraction and affection between them.

  Josie turned left at the stop sign, then headed for the real estate office. If she was going to have her ex-husband restore the Miller Victorian house, then she’d better see about buying it. At least the old place had been vacant for years. That, combined with her ability to pay cash for the place, would mean that she could have a quick escrow.

  Had she done the right thing, she wondered as she drove, or was she crazy? Pretending to be someone else sure wasn’t smart. Maybe she should have just told Del the truth about herself. But she hated the thought of seeing the pity and shock in his eyes. Better for him to think of her as a stranger. All she needed was a little time to get to know him again. Once they were friends, she would confess all and then convince him to talk about their marriage enough to give her closure. After that, she would be free to get on with her life. Free to figure out who she was and what she was going to do, now that everything she’d loved about herself was gone.

  Chapter Two

  Del Scott climbed the front steps of the old Miller place. It was nearly eleven in the morning on the kind of day designed to make every person not living in Beachside Bay want to sell their house, pack up their belongings and move to the oceanside town. The sky was a perfect California blue, the temperatures promised to reach into the mid-seventies and a faint tang of salt scented the sweet breeze.

  Del paused to study the porch and front door of the old place. Both were in need of repainting, but the structure was fundamentally sound. He’d been through the house enough times to be able to picture every room and imagine the possibilities. At one time he’d even thought he might live here. The plans he’d brought along with him were proof of that. That dream had disappeared along with his wife. Although he could regret losing the house he could honestly say that he didn’t have the same feelings about Josie. She was out of his life forever, and he was glad.

  As he raised his hand to knock on the front door, he frowned. He hadn’t thought about his ex-wife in months. Maybe not in the past year. Why had she turned up in his mind now? Was it being back at the Miller place? After all, they’d often talked about buying it. But every time they’d toured it, they’d ended up arguing about remodeling, just like they’d argued about everything else.

  Forget it, he told himself firmly as he knocked.

  As he waited for a response, he listened for the slow step of the soon-to-be owner. Rose. He frowned as he realized she hadn’t given him a last name. She’d intrigued him, which was strange. They’d exchanged only a handful of words. Maybe it had been the way the light had caught her
pale-blond hair. Josie’s hair had been that color, but she’d always worn it as short as a boy, while Rose had soft, feminine waves that slipped down to her shoulders. With her big blue eyes and full mouth, she reminded him of a 1940s movie star. Curvy, sultry and a dozen kinds of trouble.

  Before he could tell himself that sexual attraction to a client was a serious mistake, the front door opened. If he’d been hoping that seeing his potential new customer in person would erase the image he had of her as a temptress, he’d been mistaken.

  Yesterday she’d worn a light-green dress. Today’s was pink. Short sleeves in a gauzy material flirted with her upper arms. The floral print fabric skimmed over full breasts and hips before falling gently to her calves. Makeup accentuated her big eyes and full mouth, and the fact that she was leaning heavily on a cane did nothing to stem his male interest.

  “Good morning,” he said, forcing his voice to sound professional rather than husky with yearning. What on earth was wrong with him? He’d given up unrealized crushes on women about the time he’d turned seventeen and Betty Jo Lancaster had let him go all the way in the backseat of his Mustang.

  “Mr. Scott.” She gave him a brief nod and a quick smile. “You’re very prompt. I appreciate that.”

  “Just part of the Scott family service. We’re on time and we come prepared to do work. The same applies to my crew. If I tell you they’ll be starting at eight, they’ll all be here then. And please, call me Del.”

  “All right. Del.” She stepped back to let him into the vacant house.

  A beautiful chandelier hung in the foyer. He knew that it and the marble tiles underfoot had been shipped over from Italy in the early 1920s.

  “I’ve been reacquainting myself with the house,” Rose said, closing the door behind him and turning slowly toward the main living area, keeping her cane close to her side. “I’d forgotten how much work the house needs.”

  He was surprised to experience a stab of disappointment. He told himself his feelings came from having wanted to fix the old place for the past ten years, not from the realization that Rose might drift out of his life as easily as she’d drifted into it.

  “Have you changed your mind about the remodeling?”

  “Not at all. I’m prepared to see her looking as lovely as she did when she was first built.”

  Her comment surprised him. “Have you seen pictures?”

  “A long time ago.”

  Before he could ask when, she started through the foyer, pointing to the front parlor. “I thought that room could be a combination living room and library. What do you think about bookshelves on a couple of the walls?”

  He tapped the large case he carried. “You read my mind. I already have that design drawn up. Which leaves this as the main living area.”

  They stepped into an oversize room about twenty-five by thirty. The ten-foot ceilings and crown molding added to the grandeur of the room. The hardwood floors were in need of refinishing but otherwise in good shape. On the right, bay windows let in morning light. To the left was the entry to the kitchen and dining room. A huge fireplace dominated the north wall.

  Del pointed at the bricked opening. “That was imported from a castle in England. The stained glass in the dining room came from a chateau in France. There are bits and pieces of the world all over the house.”

  “That’s one of the things that intrigues me about the place,” Rose told him. She paused in the center of the room, leaning heavily on her cane. “I don’t agree with the current construction philosophy that if it’s new it must be better. Sometimes what’s old has a unique charm that can’t be duplicated.”

  “I agree.”

  He noticed that her movements were slow and deliberate, the way they’d been the day before. He wondered if her disability was new—the result of an accident—or if she’d been born with it.

  He grabbed a couple of straight-back chairs tucked in a corner of the room. There was also a folding table, flattened and leaning against the wall opposite the fireplace.

  “Have a seat,” he said, putting the chairs in the center of the room, then retrieving the table. “Let me show you my plans.”

  She settled into the chair and smiled at him. “You noticed me weaving. I’m a little tired, which always affects my balance.”

  “Actually I didn’t,” he said, and it was almost the truth. “My mom raised me to offer a lady a seat. This is the best I can do under the circumstances.”

  He straightened the table legs and locked them into place. After placing it in front of the two chairs, he opened his large briefcase.

  “What do you know about the house?” he asked. “Any of the history?”

  She shook her head. As she moved, the long, blond strands swayed back and forth, the gentle wave causing a curve of her hair to brush her cheek. He was once again reminded of a forties movie star…and his ex-wife, which was a strange combination. It was the hair color, he told himself. And the eye color. They were startlingly similar. But Rose and Josie had little else in common. Rose was quiet, elegant and feminine. Josie had been an argumentative whirlwind. Not exactly restful.

  He opened his case and slid out the large sheets of paper, then set them on the table. But instead of showing them to her, he took the spare chair and sat down facing her.

  “This house was built by a San Francisco shipping tycoon in 1910. It was a wedding gift for his second wife, whom he married shortly after the death of his first wife. Apparently, the first time he married for money and connections, and the second time he married for love. Local legend says they were very happy together, as were the next three couples who owned the place. The Millers were the last. Mr. and Mrs. Miller lived here for fifty wonderful years until they died within a few days of each other. Eventually their heirs decided to sell the house. There have been several interested parties, but no one has been serious about buying it until you.”

  Rose raised her pale eyebrows. A slight smile teased at the corners of her full lips. “So if I buy the house, I’m joining a long line of happy marriages?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I guess I need to start dating,” she teased.

  “Absolutely. It doesn’t pay to mess with a legend.”

  A legend that explained why he and Josie hadn’t bought the place. By the time they could afford to purchase the Miller place, their marriage had been in trouble. There were many things they had, but “being in love” wasn’t one of them.

  “I have great respect for tradition,” she said, then sighed. “I must remember to put ‘get married’ on my to-do list.”

  He chuckled even as he tried to ignore the sense of relief at finding out there wasn’t a husband in the picture. Not that it would make any difference to him. He didn’t get involved with clients. Besides, he was seeing someone. Sort of. Actually the relationship was going nowhere. Jasmine was a nice woman but she was too young. They’d reached the awkward stage where she wanted to talk commitment and he wanted to move on.

  “But I’ll wait until Mr. Right comes along,” she said, leaning toward the table. “Tell me about your plans for my house.”

  He shifted his chair closer to hers and pointed to a drawing of the front elevation of the house. “I think it’s important to maintain the integrity of the original design. The house was built by master craftsmen brought in from all over the country. The stair banister itself is a work of art. There are carved moldings, hand-fitted wood floors, and three exquisite chandeliers. My goal would be to work with everything that can be salvaged and saved, while making the house more modern and convenient.”

  She gazed at him while he spoke, her expression intent, as if she hung on every word. “Would you be deeply offended if I said I wanted to remodel the kitchen and bathrooms?”

  “Not at all.” He flipped through his papers and put a kitchen design on top. “That’s completely possible while working within the existing measurements of the room.”

  He leaned toward the page. “I would suggest
ripping out all the existing cabinets. They’ve been replaced twice before, so they have no connection with the original construction. I can make custom cabinets myself, combining a slightly old-fashioned design to match the feel of the house, while giving you modern conveniences such as pull-outs, granite countertops and new appliances.”

  “Sounds terrific.”

  A faint, sweet, floral scent drifted to him. He inhaled sharply, savoring the feminine fragrance. He wasn’t much of a perfume kind of guy, but like everything else about her, this suited Rose. A knot of tension formed low in his belly—that had nothing to do with his desire to get the job and everything to do with his need to get to know this woman better. He wanted to slip his fingers through her sleek blond hair and feel it slide against his skin like cool silk. He wanted to taste her and touch her and—

  He resurfaced to find her staring at him expectantly.

  “What?” he asked, knowing he sounded like an idiot. “I mean, sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I asked about plumbing and electrical. Will fixing them break the bank?”

  “Ah, no. Not at all. Both have been completely redone in the past twenty years.”

  “Good.”

  She tapped a finger on the plan of the second floor. Her nails were oval and painted a light pink. Josie had never painted her nails. She hadn’t had time. Between her job as a PE teacher, her exercise program and her coaching, she’d been on the run literally and figuratively. She had considered things like long hair, makeup and nail polish a waste of time. When he’d asked her to make time on special occasions, she’d rolled her eyes and told him if makeup was so darned important to him, he could wear it himself. She was what she was. Why did he want to make her over?

  He hadn’t been able to answer that before, and he still couldn’t. He didn’t expect a woman to be perfectly groomed at every moment of the day, but he also enjoyed knowing that she’d taken a little extra time for him.