Читать книгу: «A Deliberate Father»

Bile burned Jordan’s throat as he forced his clenched fists open.

He could barely handle the thought that anyone, but especially their father, would hurt Jacob and Lacey. That the man would actually threaten their aunt Nell, the woman who was taking such good care of those kids.

Jordan took a minute before he spoke; the last thing Nell needed was another angry guy. “So you’re going to adopt them,” he said in a mild voice.

“Yeah. But I love them, too. I want to adopt them.”

How could he possibly sell the house where they lived until the adoption went through, and Nell and the kids were safe? Jordan closed his eyes, hoping the whole situation would magically disappear. But a minute later, when he opened his eyes, Nell still looked as if she was expecting her world to bottom out. Damn it. There had to be another way out of this mess.

Dear Reader,

Many of us live on a plateau for years, raising children, working, playing. But sometimes life takes a sudden turn, and we have to come out of that stasis and deal with mercurial situations. Not many people embrace change when it’s thrust upon them. Nell Hart and Jordan Tanner are no exception. They’re both so focused on their individual goals, when circumstances draw them into each other’s orbit, neither is prepared for the impact that has on their lives.

I love writing stories about ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. Although it’s a stretch to say Nell Hart is ordinary. She’s kind and compassionate and fierce in her loyalty to those she loves. She does, indeed, have heart. Jordan Tanner does, too, he just doesn’t know it. His fast track to success gets derailed when Nell and her soon-to-be-adopted niece and nephew become part of his daily life. It doesn’t take him long to realize money can’t compare to the richness of family and community.

I had fun writing about the people who live at 879 Dunstan Lane. Nell stole my heart—there’s that word again!—from day one. And who doesn’t love a man who is kind and gentle with children? I hope you enjoy their story.

I’d love to hear from you. You can email me at kate@katekelly.ca or visit my website www.katekelly.ca.

Sincerely,

Kate Kelly

A Deliberate Father
Kate Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Growing up in New Brunswick, Canada, Kate Kelly had long red braids and freckles. Ah, you say, Anne of Green Gables. Not quite. Sunday mornings, outside the church they both attended, Mary Grannan, the author of the Maggie Muggins series, would greet Kate with, “Good morning, Maggie Muggins. How are you today?” Kate doesn’t remember what she replied on those occasions, bedazzled by the wonderful, outlandish hats Mary Grannan wore. Kate has had a lifelong love affair with books, but writing came in fits and starts. She didn’t take it seriously until her forties. Now she can’t get along without it. She has the good fortune to still live on the east coast of Canada with her husband (the children have flown away). She writes, grow herbs and perennials and sails when the wind blows her way.

To June Kelly.

Wish you were here.

Many thanks to Lina Gardiner, the best critique partner ever!

To Norah Wilson, what a ride it’s been!

To the Domino Divas, my gang!

And, of course, to my guys, Adrian, Reed and Rei.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

JORDAN TANNER PULLED UP across the street from the faded purple monstrosity and uttered a dozen different curses, each one ending with Great-aunt Beulah. Not that he wasn’t grateful to have inherited the house—mausoleum, whatever—but he harbored no illusions. As the last Tanner standing, this legacy had come to him through default.

Rain beat against the windshield of his Lexus as the wind tore down the deserted street. The oak he’d parked under groaned from the assault. He should move his car away from the trees. But Dunstan Lane was entirely lined with the old giants, and he knew a stall tactic when he saw one.

Jordan climbed out, unfurled his umbrella and studied his new home through the pelting rain. Not home. Residence. Home was his I-can’t-believe-I-finally-made-it condo forty minutes down the highway. All he had to do was ride out the next few months in the butt-ugly Victorian until the place sold. Then he would return to his real life.

A movement on the roof three stories up caught his attention. Curious, he crossed the street and peered upward. A small woman, maybe a girl, scampered over a dormer, stopped near the edge above him and raised her arms to the sky. You didn’t have to be Einstein to know that was a curse ripping out of her mouth.

He tossed the umbrella aside and broke into a full out run. How long would it take him to get to the top floor? And then? Then he’d figure it out. Talk her down. Break into the third-floor apartment if he had to and find a way onto the roof. No one was going to kill themselves today. Not on his property.

He pounded up the fire escape, stopping only to sight the woman. She was squatting now, even closer to the edge, and swinging something in her hand. He pulled his head down and pushed on, his breath searing his lungs. Waste of energy to shout. Probably some crack crazed teenager. Probably one of his tenants. He hit the landing outside the top-floor apartment. Nailed to the side of the house was a ladder that went the rest of the way up. Thank God.

He grabbed the bottom rung as he spared a quick check on the crazy lady. Yup, still there, but she had turned away from the edge, her attention focused on the shingles.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, mister.” A thin voice wafted out from a window that opened onto the fire escape.

Jordan shot a look behind him but the curtains obscured whoever had spoken. Another nutcase, no doubt.

“There’s a woman on the roof,” he hollered over his shoulder as he hoisted himself up the first rung. “I think she’s going to jump.”

A small boy poked his head out the open window. “She’s fixing the roof. You better wait until she comes down.” The anemic-looking child pushed his heavy framed glasses farther up his nose and looked him over. “You got a cold beer?”

“Excuse me?”

“She thinks cold beer is yummy. If you give her one, she might not yell at you.”

Jordan stepped back onto the landing and leaned over the railing until he caught sight of the woman. Now that he was taking time to notice, yeah, that was a hammer in her hand. The soft thump of hammer meeting nail reached him as he watched her duckwalk away from the edge.

He hunched his shoulders against the relentless rain. “Does she always work on the roof during a storm?”

“Not always.” The kid looked like he was having a midlife crisis at the age of, well, whatever age he was. Somewhere between eight and twelve. His thick black glasses swallowed his face, giving him a pinched look, as if he spent a lot of time scraping the bottom of the peanut butter jar. He started to shut the window.

“Hang on a sec. What’s your name?”

“Jacob.” He banged the lower edge of the window with his fist. It slid down another two inches.

“Jacob, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Like how rotten the old house was, and exactly who lived in it. Beulah’s solicitor hadn’t mentioned children. And where was the caretaker? Could it possibly be the tiny woman repairing the roof?

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Jacob said through the glass.

Of course he wasn’t. But Jordan would probably get more out of the kid in five minutes than a wily old caretaker. He hadn’t talked to his aunt for at least ten years but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten her. Beulah had been borderline crazy, in his opinion, and like attracted like. The five apartments in the house probably housed all sorts of misfits. Like the woman on the roof for instance. “If we introduce ourselves, we’re not strangers. I’m Jordan.”

He pasted on his I’m-a-nice-guy smile, the one he used right before he told his clients how much it was going to cost them to save their companies. Jacob sent him a withering look. “That’s not the way it works.”

Okay, the kid wasn’t stupid. Time to talk business. “Give you a couple bucks if you answer some questions.”

“About what?”

“About the—umph.” Jordan crumpled to his knees as someone ambushed him from behind. An arm wound around his neck, cutting off his air supply. What in blazes? He grabbed the slender arm and tugged. If he could get to his feet, he could fall backward and shake off—

“I’ve got a hammer in my hand,” a voice grated in his ear. “You move, and I’ll use it.”

The woman from the roof.

“Call 9-1-1, Jacob. Tell them we have an intruder,” she said.

“Perry will come when he hears our address,” Jacob shouted through the window.

Roof Lady swung her hammer under his nose. “What kind of sicko sneaks up a fire escape in the pouring rain and offers a child money to talk to him?”

Jordan eased back on his heels, his attacker plastered to his back like Spider-Woman. “You don’t want to call the police.”

Her grip tightened around his neck. “Are you a friend of Tony’s?”

“I’m Jordan Tanner, Beulah Winer’s nephew.”

Her arm went slack, and he heard her suck in a sharp breath.

“Oh, boy.” Jacob slammed the window all the way shut.

She climbed off his back. “Mr. Tanner?”

“Yeah.” He got to his feet and wiped the rain from his face as he turned around on the small landing. The woman barely reached his armpit. With her huge green eyes and small pointed face, she reminded him of a drowned kitten. He looked pointedly at the hammer in her hand until she slipped it into the hoop on her tool belt.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re early,” she said in the same voice his secretary used when he was late.

“Why are you up on the roof when— You’re the caretaker.” The conclusion he’d been trying to avoid couldn’t be ignored any longer. Round one to Beulah Winer. He’d assumed she’d left him the house because he was the last living member of their not-so-illustrious family, but only five minutes in, and it wasn’t stacking up that way.

He’d hoped the house would provide the means of cementing the financial security he’d always dreamed of and very nearly achieved. But he’d failed to take into account the fact that his great-aunt was the benefactor. There was a good chance Beulah had left him the house to torture him.

“That’s right, I’m the caretaker.” Roof Lady elbowed past him and after a couple of thumps, yanked the window open and slid through. Jordan barely had time to register her trim butt before she turned and eyed him. “Do you have any ID?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Hadn’t she been listening? He owned the building.

“You were lurking outside my window, trying to bribe my kid with money. I’m calling the cops if you can’t prove who you say you are.” She grabbed the phone from the kitchen counter and cradled the hand-set under her chin. Her right hand stole down to rest on the head of her hammer.

“I thought—” he got out through clenched teeth as he wrestled his wallet out of his soaked pocket “—that you were a jumper.” He flipped his wallet open and held up his driver’s licence. “Jordan Tanner, at your service.”

BEULAH WINER HAD BEEN MEANER than a swarm of wasps on a hot summer day. And just as crazy. She hadn’t been particularly fond of Nell—she hadn’t been fond of anyone as far as Nell could tell—and Nell had returned the favor. Like everyone else living in the house, she’d made a wary peace with the spiteful old lady, had even helped her as much as Beulah allowed. In return, Nell had found a safe harbor for the past two years. A safe harbor that was quickly sinking out of sight.

“You thought I was going to jump off the roof?” She slid the phone back on the counter. With a sinking stomach she studied his driver’s licence. Even with his hair plastered to his head and rain trickling down his face, Jordan Tanner still managed to look as self-assured as his photo. He had a stubborn chin and clear blue-gray eyes with a black rim around the iris.

“I didn’t see the hammer from the street,” he said as he pushed his dark hair off his forehead. “All I saw was a…woman up on a roof in a storm.”

Nell narrowed her eyes. Okay, so she was drenched. And of course he had to arrive before she had a chance to change out of her overalls and get rid of her tools, but— What was she doing? The only thing that need concern her was getting Mr. Tanner in and out of the building and her life as quickly as possible. And if that meant playing nice for the next hour or so, she could do that. She didn’t have to like it, but she could do it.

She bit back a smile as she demurely motioned for him to crawl through the open window. She knew she should suggest meeting him at the front door, but watching him clamber through the narrow opening was much more appealing. He shot her a hard look, as if to say he knew exactly what she was up to, then in one graceful move, somehow managed to maneuver his wide shoulders through the small frame. She took a step back when he straightened to his full height, the room dwarfed by his size. She should have guessed he’d rise to the challenge.

“If you give me your suit jacket, I’ll hang it up in the bathroom and grab us some towels. Unless you want to go home and dry off. Come back later.” Hard to keep the hopeful note out of her voice.

“I’d prefer to look around now.”

With a heavy heart she accepted his sodden jacket and trudged off to the bathroom. Of course he wanted to look at the apartments today. From the little she’d been able to squeeze out of the tight-lipped solicitor who’d handled Beulah’s affairs, Tanner was a business consultant who lived in Seabend, the upscale seaside community just twenty minutes out of Halifax. Seabend had become so crowded with trendy coffee shops and boutiques, Nell barely recognized it anymore. The only reason Waterside hadn’t developed in the same way was because they were another forty minutes down the road, making them a solid hour from the city. Tourists trickled through in the summer, but they stuck to the waterfront where a few stores had sprouted. Thankfully, people like her, who lived a few blocks back in the old neighborhoods, were left undisturbed. Heaven forbid Tanner should waste time making a second trip here. She rolled her eyes. God save them all from consultants.

In the bathroom, she scrubbed her face with a towel and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were huge, and if anyone bothered to notice, they’d see the slight tremble at the right corner of her mouth.

She gripped the edge of the sink with both hands and leaned into her reflection until her breath steamed up the mirror. You will not be afraid. You will go out there and tell that man he needs you to run this place. You will…. She rested her forehead against the mirror. She couldn’t lose her apartment. Jacob and Lacey had finally started treating the place like home. She’d never find another one for such a low rent in this neighborhood. If they had to move, her little patched-together family would suffer—and so would her chances for adopting her niece and nephew.

The thought that Jacob and Lacey could be taken away from her, that she might not gain custody, was unacceptable. She wanted to howl every time she thought of the kind of life they’d have with their abusive father, Tony. The adoption should have been final ages ago, made easier because she was a relative. But Tony had contacted Child Welfare a few weeks ago and expressed concern that his children weren’t receiving the best care. In Nell’s opinion, his real concern was getting parole, and if he had to use his children to get it, he would. As a result of his bogus complaints, she and the children were now being subjected to an intense home study. It scared her to think of what would happen to Jacob and Lacey if he was granted custody after he got out of jail. Who would take care of them?

She was determined to be pleasant to Tanner. Mr. Tanner. She couldn’t afford not to be.

She slipped into Lacey’s bedroom, yanked off her wet clothes and dragged on her green silk blouse and black slacks. Her hope of impressing upon Tanner that they were a normal family had been blown out of the water when she’d attacked him on the fire escape. But at least she could look halfway decent while she showed him the apartments. Running a hand through her damp hair, she hurried toward the kitchen. Jacob had probably disappeared into his room, and she didn’t like the idea of Tanner exploring on his own.

Halfway to the kitchen, she skidded to a stop. Standing in the middle of her tiny living room, Tanner looked almost approachable in bare feet. Nell paused briefly to evaluate her new landlord. Jordan Tanner was a big man, over six feet tall, and yummy enough to make her want to take a second look. From the way his dark hair spilled elegantly onto his forehead, her best guess was his cut wasn’t the fifteen-dollar special from the local barber. The faint lines around his eyes suggested he was in his mid-thirties. His white dress shirt had damp splotches on it, and he’d loosened his conservative gray tie so it hung at a crooked angle. He’d removed his wet socks and shoes, and his bare feet gave him an oddly vulnerable appearance.

He turned as she walked into the room. Her toes tingled as he surveyed her from top to toe. “Sorry about earlier. I should have known better than to offer Jacob money. Seeing you on the roof rattled me.”

“Apology accepted. I probably overreacted.” There was no probably about it. She’d almost beaned the guy with her hammer. “Maybe we should start over. My name is Nell Hart.” She held her breath as she stuck out her hand. He could make her life miserable if he chose.

A smile broke out on his face, and she swayed toward him as her hand disappeared inside his warm clasp.

“So.” She pulled away and rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. “This is my apartment, obviously. It’s a two-bedroom. It’s not very big, but good enough for us. You’re welcome to look at the rest of the rooms.” She clamped her runaway mouth shut and led the way out of the crowded living room. His dazzling smile had loosened something inside her, like her good sense.

She wondered what he thought of her living space in the same breath that she wondered what difference it made. When they’d moved in, she’d painted the walls white, minimized the furniture and taken down the curtains to give the living room a bigger feel. But it was never going to be anything other than a small room with too many people using it. “They’re the kids’ rooms, so—”

“Kids? As in more than one?”

Her back stiffened as she knocked on Jacob’s door. “That’s right. Jacob and Lacey.”

“Two bedrooms, two kids. Where do you sleep?”

“We’re working on that. Jacob? Mr. Tanner would like to see your room.”

“Call me Jordan.”

She sent a weak smile over her shoulder. A shiver worked through her. Too much man, standing far too close and smelling delicious. Like spice and mystery. Breaking the cardinal rule of entering without permission, she burst into Jacob’s room.

Her nephew’s bedroom was in its usual frightfully well-organized state, except the blankets had been pulled off his bed. He’d made a tent in one corner by draping two blankets over his desk. She knew he was hiding inside; she could hear him breathing.

Nell felt crushed. He’d built his first tent the day after her sister, Mary, had died. He’d emerged to attend the funeral, but it took her another two weeks to coax him out again with the promise of ice cream and a visit to the science museum. For months after his mother’s death and his father’s incarceration, Jacob ferreted out quiet, dark spots to curl up in, seeking asylum. A habit he’d stopped until now.

She’d tried to hide her anxiety about the inevitable changes headed their way, but obviously she hadn’t succeeded. Jacob had enough to carry on his thin shoulders; she’d wanted to protect him from additional worry. Like her, he’d had to grow up too hard, too fast. “What’s going on, Jacob?”

“Just reading.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.” He sounded so forlorn.

Tanner leaned against the doorjamb and studied the room. “I remember making tents like that when I was a kid. This isn’t a bad room. Could use a second window.”

Or better yet, a replacement for the existing window so she wouldn’t have to cover it with plastic in the winter. Not that Tanner was ready to hear the gritty details. She had a feeling he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his caretaker was a woman with two children. Just wait until he found out about her low rent. At least he’d made it sound normal that Jacob was hiding under his blankets. Maybe it was normal. Maybe she was overreacting.

“Lacey’s room is across the hall. It was clean last time I looked.” Melody had taken Lacey shopping for the afternoon. Nell had tried to coax Jacob to go with them, but he’d refused. She opened the door a couple inches, peeked in and breathed a sigh of relief.

The room was tidy. Sort of. If you looked past the brightly colored ribbons and scarves that festooned the walls and furniture. Lacey had wanted a complete refit, but the budget had stretched only to visiting secondhand stores to hunt for small pretties. She hated saying no to the kids; they rarely asked for much and had accepted her frugal lifestyle with such quiet dignity it sometimes frightened her. She wanted them to stamp their feet, to whine and demand that they get to be kids just like their friends. But they were still too scared, too battered from the curves life had thrown at them.

“It would make a great office,” Tanner commented, looking over her shoulder.

Nell’s mouth twitched. Instead of pointing out the room was already occupied, she snapped the door shut. “Would you like to see the downstairs apartments now?”

He looked at his bare feet. “Is there an inside staircase?”

As tempted as she was to lead him back out to the fire escape, she succumbed to her good sense. “This way.”

She trotted out of the apartment and down the two flights of stairs, taking a sadistic satisfaction in the knowledge that Tanner was doing the grand tour in bare feet. “This was your aunt Beulah’s apartment,” she explained as she unlocked a door on the first floor. “You probably know that.” Not that Nell had seen him in the two years she’d lived here.

“Auntie and I weren’t close,” he commented drily as he followed her into the apartment. “Not bad. Refinished hardwood floors. Lots of light. It’s changed a lot since the last time I saw it. That was years ago. Did you do the renovations?”

“I did the floors and painted the walls and helped install the new windows.”

He walked through the empty apartment, switching lights on and off as he went. “Even the kitchen’s half-decent.”

Nell busied herself with checking the tap at the kitchen sink. She’d discovered it dripping yesterday and had replaced a washer. Not that she doubted her work; keeping busy was her way of staying out of trouble. She hated to admit it, but even wet and wrinkled, Tanner looked like trouble.

“I know a nice young couple who are anxious to rent the apartment.” She followed him into the master bedroom.

He whirled around to look at her. “Do you? How much do you think I can charge for a three-bedroom?”

“Fifteen hundred is a fair price for this community.”

“How much are you paying?”

Uh-oh. Either the solicitor, Mr. Swinburg, hadn’t told him or Tanner enjoyed watching her squirm. “Five hundred. Plus heat.”

He frowned. “For a two-bedroom?”

“Beulah and I had an arrangement.”

“Which was?”

Was, not is. She squared her shoulders. “I can do small carpentry repairs and I’m good with plumbing. And after two years I know all the quirks of the furnace.”

She felt as if she were being interviewed when he leaned against the wall and crossed his ankles. “And you fix the leak in the roof only when it rains?”

“I told your aunt when I moved in that she needed a new roof. But if something didn’t directly affect her, she often chose to ignore it.”

He wiped a hand over his face. “I don’t suppose you do roofs, as well?”

“No, but I could help someone who knew what they were doing.”

“What else needs replacing?”

She looked around the apartment. “The windows down here are new but the ones upstairs aren’t so great. The furnace will last you another few years if you baby it along. The foundation is solid. The house needs a fresh coat of paint.” She didn’t specify inside and out. As for the wiring, that could wait until he asked.

He wandered back to the living room, looked around and sighed. “There are three other apartments?”

“There are two one-bedroom apartments on the second floor, both rented. And there’s a small bedsit beside this apartment. It’s tiny.”

“Is it rented?”

“No.” Not officially. Nell held her breath, praying he wouldn’t want to look at the room. She’d meant to ask Rodney to make himself scarce today, but once the storm had moved in, she hadn’t had the heart. He was too old to sleep outside, and he was still running a bit of a fever.

She hadn’t planned on bringing him home two weeks ago. The first time, she’d spotted him squatting on the sidewalk in town, she almost hadn’t recognized him. The older man had lost so much weight, and it had been years since she’d seen him. Rodney Stiles was a face from a past long dead and gone; hearing his familiar voice, although weakened, had stirred up powerful memories. She gave him all the change she had and continued on her way. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him, about how cheerful he and his wife had always been when they delivered the weekly egg supply to her parents’ convenience store. Rodney’s wife, Lucinda, had smelled like cinnamon. She’d told Nell she had strong, capable hands, and that she’d make a good farmer.

The next time Nell went to Seabend, she brought along a blanket and jacket for Rodney. When she found him on a bench in a small park, he looked like he was a dried-up old twig the wind had blown along the sidewalk. He accepted her gifts, but she could tell he was embarrassed. While eating the hot lunch she insisted he have, she learned Lucinda had died a few months earlier. Since then he couldn’t stand living at the farm. A week later, rain settled in for a few days, and Nell returned to Seabend and found him huddled in a doorway, shaking. Whatever the cause of his shakes, he needed help. She convinced him to go home with her for a few days, just until he was feeling better.

“Who lives on the second floor?”

Nell snapped back to attention. “Mrs. Trembley. She says she’s seventy-four, but I suspect she’s older. She and your aunt were…friends.” If bickering could be called a sport, they’d been the champions. With Beulah’s passing, Mrs. T. had started to fade. She no longer had color in her cheeks from the heat of an argument. And she’d stopped dyeing her hair because who else could she goad by saying she looked ten years younger?

“Friends.” Tanner closed his eyes as if he had a headache. “Rent?”

“Four hundred,” she murmured.

His eyes shot open, their dark beam accusing. “What did you say?”

Nell fisted her hands on her hips. “Your aunt may have been…difficult, but she was kind in her own way.” Unlike her nephew, apparently. “Mrs. Trembley is old, and she doesn’t have a family. It’s only a one-bedroom. You couldn’t get much more for it than four hundred.”

WELL. WELL. LITTLE MISS NELLIE had a temper. With anger flushing her cheeks and those disturbing green eyes sparking, she was beautiful. Earlier, he’d been mesmerized by the overalls she’d had on. She’d worn a cropped shirt under them, and the brief, teasing glimpses of her flat midriff disappearing into the dark folds of the overalls had been, to put it mildly, distracting.

Thank goodness she’d changed because Nell Hart’s smooth skin was the last thing he should be thinking about. Instead of the financial asset he needed, he’d inherited a houseful of charity cases and a crumbling mansion. Somehow, something would have to change. He had to make this—for lack of a better word—apartment house, a paying venture. It was the only way he’d be able to sell it for the price he needed.

“Melody Northrop lives in 2B.”

“And?”

Nell smiled. “She’s single and beautiful and pays six hundred a month.”

He tucked away his answering smile. It was the first time Nell had offered information willingly. Jordan recognized the tactic; get the bad news over with, then soften it up with some good news. He’d let the caretaker bit blind him; she was clearly a great deal smarter than he’d thought.

“That’s a relief to hear.” But not exactly inspiring. Hard to believe in his neighborhood, which was only forty minutes away, one-bedrooms cost between two and three thousand a month. But as the real-estate agent had pointed out, this was Waterside, not Seabend. Not only were they close to the ocean here, but when the wind blew from the right—or wrong—direction, the smell of manure on the farmers’ fields was also very much apparent.

That was the strange thing about the east coast of Canada. Million-dollar homes rubbed shoulders with old homesteads. People with money were moving into the area, but the farming families were still reluctant to sell off their acreage, even if it meant living in poverty. That kind of sentiment was frustrating, but opportunities were finally opening up. In twenty years, Waterside would be the next Seabend. If Jordan handled the sale the right way, the house could be a potential gold mine.