Chapter 1
Cam
I was dusty and exhausted.
It had been a six-day work week and my back was freaking killing me. I’d been point on one of the major house remodels we just buttoned up. November was supposed to be the start of our slow season at Murdock Brothers, but the word slow didn’t seem to be in our vocabularies.
Sully, my big brother, was thrilled. Me, not so much. The holidays through February were my time to work on specialty projects. I was more than happy to work in the family business. Truthfully, ever since I came home, I realized how much I missed and loved it.
The challenge of it kept me interested in ways I would never have imagined.
However, the winter usually afforded me some time to do the furniture remodels I rarely had time for lately. I’d always had an affinity for repurposing things that people threw away. Or, in my case, hand me downs from my brothers.
Being one of six meant there wasn’t a whole lot of money to go around when we were kids. Being the second youngest meant things were in pretty bad shape by the time they were mine. Like the old kitchen table with a rickety leg that had become my desk in 8th grade.
My first official project.
My father had been patient showing me how to fix the warped wood of the tabletop and how to use the lathe to spin a new leg to match the rest. I’d been hooked.
More than fifteen years later, I was a master carpenter. If there was a built-in to do for a renovation, it usually fell to me. Some days I felt like the carpenters in those home renovation shows. My brothers came up with impossible situations and I was just supposed to figure it out.
Which was why I stayed so interested.
I loved a puzzle.
But my first love was refurbishing old pieces I found at estate sales, garage sales, and flea markets.
Sometimes the hidden gem was actually little more than IKEA in disguise.
It had its charm too. Slapping some paint on it and some new hardware made it last a few more years instead of being dumped in a landfill.
But the moments where I found rare wood and antiques hidden under layers of paint—those were the days I lived for.
When the long nights of restoration were worth it.
Antiques—especially ones in disrepair—were my weakness.
Lucinda Delacroix, the matriarch of the Delacroix dynasty, had suddenly passed away. She and her line were the definition of old money in Indigo Valley. The fact that they were selling off her antiques surprised the hell out of me.
Then again, it was a lot of house for Marcella—Lucinda’s daughter. As far as I knew she was the last Delacroix in Haven. Maxine, the granddaughter, had moved away long ago. Maybe Marcella was going to sell the old mansion.
I turned onto Alpine Road and whistled. Dang there were a lot of cars in the driveway.
I would be lucky if there was anything left to look at.
Sighing, I parked at the bottom of the drive. Hell, there was even a discrete tag on the mailbox. I climbed the steep drive.
This house looked over most of the valley. From Hope Street you could actually see this house from nearly every vantage point. I imagine that was on purpose.
Lucinda had been a bit of a handful according to my mother. Wealthier than sin and she didn’t have a problem letting everyone know it. Benevolent donations always came with strings.
As I got closer to the house, I frowned.
There were some distinct signs of wear. Oh, it was well tended and swept, but the bench by the door had a lot of dents and chips in it. And the planter had a ring of rust stains along the base.
I stepped through the front door and my fingers literally itched to touch the walnut console table in the foyer.
The scent of beeswax and pine tickled my nose.
I trailed my fingers over the edge of the table.
Distinct care had been made with the furniture which made me excited to take a look around.
Even if there were only a few small pieces left, I would probably make out.
I passed the stairs, which were blocked off, and the foyer opened up to a massive family room.
The mantel of the fireplace literally made me drool.
It was a massive piece with intricate carvings.
A secretary desk sat in front of the window with the drop-front writing surface pulled down. I crouched to check the support rails.
They were in rough shape, but it would only need a little bit of rehab. The drawers slid open smoothly with little warping. It needed a refinish. From what I could tell there was a bit of smoke damage, but overall, a great piece.
I snapped a photo of the desk and the tag to see if it was still for sale.
I wandered around the large room, checking over the Windsor chairs around a small table as well as the curved settee by the fireplace.
I was more into woodworking, but I’d been known to do some reupholstery when warranted. The fabric was a bit worn in spots but might be able to be saved with a deep clean.
I moved through the living room into the dining room and my chest tightened at the mahogany dining table and chairs. That would be a pretty penny and flipping it wouldn’t be very good on the ROI, but damn it was some serious craftsmanship.
I kept moving through the house, surprised there was another sitting room past the dining room. But the view of the backyard told me exactly why it was there.
The back gardens were stunning even if they were a bit on the overgrown side. I was pretty sure my brother’s best friend would kill to take a crack at it. Wyatt Howard was a genius with landscaping, and we’d been working with him more and more to extend our services.
But November was upon us, and winterizing was the name of the game this time of year. I bet it would look hella pretty with a layer of snow though.
I drifted over to the massive cabinet. It had a mix of leather-bound books and quite a few empty shelves where things had been sold off.
I spent at least three hours wandering around the bottom half of the house. I could only imagine what was upstairs.
But the hour was growing late. There were a fair number of lookie-loos who only wanted to snoop around and see what was in the house, but there were some serious collectors as well.
I recognized a few antique dealers from Saratoga sniffing around at the larger pieces.
It made me wonder how steep the prices would be.
I had dozens of pages of notes and a phone full of photos of pieces I was interested in—and a few that were probably out of my price range—but I hadn’t spotted anyone talking people up.
I assumed Marcella would have hired someone to do this kind of work.
I quickly swept through the rooms on the lower floor, finally spotting someone in a blazer with an iPad in hand.
When she turned around, my mouth instantly went dry as dust. “Maxie?”
She frowned. “Cam?”
“Yeah, uh. Wow, it’s been a long time.”
She walked around the secretary desk I’d been eyeing earlier.
Her eyes were tired, but clear. Those big, green eyes had always slayed me.
Jet black hair floated around her shoulders in soft layers of waves making the deep burgundy jacket even more bright in the timeworn room.
There was a bit of pallor to her warm black skin, but her high cheekbones were dusted in makeup to hide it.
Her full mouth was stained a deep crimson stain drawing my attention there.
Maxie Delacroix had been the last person I expected to find, but damn if she didn’t still rock me back on my heels. It had been years since I’d seen her, but somehow, she was more beautiful. She’d lost the teen softness of our high school days leaving only a stunning woman in her place.
“I thought you were down in Georgia.”
She smiled sadly. “I was. They needed me home.”
I moved in closer, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry about Lucinda.”
“Me too. She always seemed larger than life. Hard to believe she was actually mortal.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Lucinda in a nutshell.”
She huffed out a laugh. “My grandmother was a force. And she left me quite the mess.”
“How’s your mother doing?”
She shrugged. “Difficult. Avoiding this place like always.” She waved her hands. “Sorry, you definitely didn’t need to hear all that. I’m just exhausted.”
“It’s okay.” I didn’t really know what to say. Indigo Valley was a small town and Maxie had been around my siblings’ friend group for as long as I could remember. She was a few years older than me and always just out of reach.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
I cleared my throat. “Always wanted to get a look at this old house. You have a lot of pieces I’m interested in.”
She tilted her head. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. If I could, I’d take half the house. The Chippendale pieces alone are enough to make my—” I cut myself off and cleared my throat. Lusting after her family heirlooms was a bit tacky. “It’s a great find for someone like me.”
“And just what would you do with them?”
Feeling a landmine or three suddenly around me, I chose my words carefully. “I’m a furniture restorer as well as a carpenter. Most of the pieces are in great shape, but some definitely need some TLC.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Like which ones?”
“Well, take this secretary desk for instance. Great bones.” I crouched down beside her and tried to ignore her truly stupendous legs showing from the knee-length skirt.
I focused on the underpinnings for the writing surface of the desk.
“But the railings here are in rough shape. I’ll have to take it all apart and patch or possibly replace them. ”
She crouched down with me and her warm vanilla scent hit me like a fist. “How did you know about that?”
“I’ve been here for hours.” I gave her a soft smile. “I hope that doesn’t make me a creep. This is like a candy store for me.”
“Oh.” Her gaze dropped to my mouth before bouncing back up to meet my gaze. She licked her full lips before tipping slightly.
I caught her and helped her standing again. “Careful. Those skyscrapers don’t look the best for balance.”
She laughed. “You’d be surprised what I can do in a pair of heels.”
Fuck me, I wish. “I’ll take your word for it.”
She nibbled on her lower lip. “How many pieces are you looking at?”
I dug out the small Moleskine notebook out of my back pocket and handed it over to her. “Just a few.”
She opened it, silently flipping through the pages. Her eyes met mine. “Are these your drawings?”
“Sorry, I meant the pages toward the back.” I leaned in to show her, but she pulled the notebook out of reach.
“Not done looking at these.”
“It’s just my idea book.”
She lightly flipped through each page quietly. “If your craftsmanship is half as good as your drawings, you must be very good at what you do.”
“I try.”
She closed the notebook without turning to the last few pages, then held it against her chest. “Are you single?”
I frowned. “Pardon?”
“Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”
I laughed. “Neither.”
She shrugged. “It wouldn’t matter to me.”
“How progressive of you.”
The corner of her wide mouth tipped up. “I’m wondering from a business standpoint.”
“I don’t think I’m following.”
“Sorry, I’m living on my fourth day of three hours of sleep. I have a business proposal for you.”
“Okay. I was hoping for a deal for a few of the bigger pieces. I’m listening.”
“Oh, I have the deal of a lifetime for you.”
“Is that right?”
“You can have everything you want in this notebook and then some.”
“Just like that? We haven’t even negotiated a price.”
“The price is me.”
My chest tightened. “I beg your pardon?”
She couldn’t know that was one thing I’d always wanted and never dreamed possible.
“All you have to do is marry me.”