Кейси Майклс – The Magnate's Takeover: The Magnate's Takeover (страница 9)
But David wasn’t.
“Stay with me, Libby.”
He brushed aside the silver trays, the empty dishes and the glassware, then drew her once more into his arms. “Stay.”
And she did.
Five
When Libby got back to the Haven View at a little after nine the following morning, David’s kisses continued to linger on her lips, on her throat, on…Well, everywhere. She felt such a warm and nearly tangible glow inside. It was like a fire that seemed to burn and caress at the same time.
By ten o’clock, however, the fire had fizzled out, most likely because of her tears. The roofing inspector had arrived, looked at all the cabin roofs and then handed her an estimate for forty thousand dollars plus tax.
“Keep in mind,” he’d said while shaking his head, “that’s just for the roofing, Miss Jost. It doesn’t include the new gutters and downspouts this old place badly needs. Otherwise, you’re going to see more damage in the future. You can count on it.”
After he left, Libby walked inside the apartment behind the office and crumpled on the floor of the shower, letting the hot spray from above blend with her tears. It had been a long, long time since she’d wallowed in self-pity. The last, and probably the only other time she’d given herself permission to break apart, had been when she was ten years old and her cat, Joey, went missing. This morning she felt the way she had when she was ten, as if something so very close to her heart had just been run over or blown to smithereens.
She cried for a long, long time, until she had no more tears to shed, then she dried off, got dressed and went out to the main room of the office where she found Doug wearing his favorite and ancient St. Louis Cardinals sweatshirt while he flipped through a stack of mail. Funny, she thought. If her memory was correct, he’d been wearing a Cardinals T-shirt all those years ago when he’d consoled her about the loss of Joey.
“Morning, honey,” he said cheerfully. “Did you have a good time in Hannibal?”
“I had a great time in Hannibal.” Libby walked around to the other side of the desk, wrapped her arms around the elderly man’s neck and planted a loud kiss on his balding head. “I love you so much, Doug,” she said.
“Well, I love you, too, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “But what’d I do to deserve such an enthusiastic greeting?”
She flopped onto the ratty floral couch across from the desk. “You were so sweet to me when my little Joey ran away.”
Doug scratched his head with the sword-shaped letter opener he’d been using. “Joey. Just a minute. Now let me think back. Was Joey the gerbil or the cat?”
Oh, jeez. She’d completely forgotten about George the gerbil who’d scampered beneath her bed one day, never to be seen again. Well, now she really was depressed.
“Joey was the cat,” she said. “He was black with little white slippers on his feet.”
“That’s right.” Doug’s whole face seemed to sadden, every line and wrinkle turning downward. “I’m sorry about that, Lib. I remember. You were so unhappy, honey. I’m just glad I managed to soothe your heart a little bit.”
Libby let out a long and weary sigh, thinking her heart could surely use a bit of soothing right now. When she was a little girl, she’d always gone to Doug for his comfort as well as his advice. He was patient and kind and incredibly smart. So why not seek his advice now, she wondered. She wasn’t exactly doing a stellar job all on her own. She probably should have consulted him from the very beginning of this fifty-thousand dollar debacle.
“Doug…” she said, then hesitated. No, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. He’d tell Aunt Elizabeth every last detail and then all hell would break loose. Libby chewed on her bottom lip, still tender from last night’s kisses.
“What, honey? What’s bothering you?” Doug asked. “I know something is.”
“Am I that transparent?” she asked.
“You are to me, kiddo. You always have been. Want to tell me what’s up?”
Libby crossed her arms over her chest, feeling about ten years old again and horribly vulnerable. “What’s up, huh?” She forced a little half-embarrassed laugh. “Well, let’s see. It’s such a mess that I hardly know where to begin.”
But somehow she began, first with the arrival of the mysterious check for the enormous sum.
Doug stopped her right there. “Wait. Hold it right there, Libby. You’re telling me that somebody, some complete stranger, gave you fifty thousand bucks just because he liked your book about dying and dead motels? It was a wonderful book and all, but that’s a hell of a lot of money just to say thanks for a good read.”
“That’s what I thought, too. I thought it was a joke at first. But the money’s completely legitimate. The bank had no problem with it at all. There’s fifty thousand dollars sitting in my checking account right now just waiting to be spent.”
She followed that amazing bit of news by telling Doug of her hopes and dreams of using the money to revitalize the Haven View. She explained her carefully thought-out plans for both interior and exterior repairs, trying to be true to Aunt Elizabeth’s original plans and color schemes.
When she got to the part about the painters, however, it was a bit tricky to maneuver around the facts because she wasn’t really ready to disclose anything about David or her feelings for him. There was no sense complicating this with the mention of a lover who might not even be here in a week or two.
Finally, Libby concluded her tale with the staggering price of the roof repairs, and then lifted her hands helplessly and said, “I’m still not willing to give up this dream of mine, Doug, but I just don’t know how to make fifty thousand dollars go the distance that’s required. I just don’t know if it’s possible. I’d really, really welcome any ideas or suggestions, if you have them. But, please, please don’t just tell me I’m crazy for wanting to do this.”
Behind the desk, he closed his pale blue eyes a moment and pressed his lips together as if he didn’t know what to say or didn’t even want to respond at all, which Libby could easily understand. It was her money, after all, and therefore her problem. And she’d certainly made a mess of it so far.
Then Doug cursed gruffly, something he rarely did, before he curled one hand into a fist and pounded the desktop with it.
“Dammit, Libby. I wish you’d come to me, to both of us right off the bat. I know you meant well making it a surprise, but your aunt Elizabeth and I are way too old for surprises, honey. We like to know what’s what. We
Libby sighed. Doug was absolutely right. She should have informed them. She wished that she had.
“Well, now you know.
He leaned back in his chair, then rubbed his hand slowly across his white-whiskered chin before he spoke. “That’s a generous thing you want to do for her, Libby. I think your aunt Elizabeth will be thrilled as all to get-out to see this old dump looking the way it did in the old days. It’s been hard on her, watching the place go to seed the way it has over the years.”
“Oh, I know,” Libby said. “And I so desperately want to change all that. I want to make her really happy.”
“I know you do, sweetie.” Doug sighed. “But fifty thousand dollars, as grand a sum as it is, just isn’t going to cut it. Not with prices like they are today, and not with all the repairs we’re in need of around here. Your fifty thousand dollars, honey, is hardly a drop in the bucket.” He shook his head so very sadly. “I’m afraid it can’t be done, Libby. Not unless you’re a magician or that secret admirer of yours plans to add a million or two to his original gift.”
Libby dragged in her lower lip and bit down on it, trying with all her might not to give way to another flood of tears. What good would they do?
“Unless…” Doug leaned forward in his chair.
“What? Unless what?”
“Ever heard that old expression, Libby, about there being more than one way to skin a cat?”
She nodded, wondering what in the world he was getting at and why he was smiling all of a sudden when everything seemed so horribly, bitterly bleak. He looked like a damned Cheshire cat, and she wanted to skin
“Do you remember the work I did a while back for Father James O’Fallon when he was organizing his halfway house and homeless shelter?”
Again, Libby nodded. She remembered it well. Doug had volunteered his time as an accountant to help the energetic young priest acquire an affordable facility and to properly set up his charitable organization. That had been years ago, but the place—Heaven’s Gate—was still doing wonderful work by providing food and shelter and hope to those who lacked all three.
“Just what are you getting at, Doug?”