One Week With Her Husband (Eden Manor Book 3) Read online

  There were dozens of workers around as she parked her car on the side of the long driveway, but she didn’t see Kelly.

  One guy was hauling what looked like old wall panels down to the drive. He wore shorts and a sweaty T-shirt, and his golden brown hair and fresh good-looks made him very attractive.

  He smiled at her as she paused at his approach. “Can I help you?”

  “I was looking for Kelly or Peter Blake.”

  “I’m Peter. Are you Cassandra Vance?”

  “Yes, that’s me.” She smiled and held out her hand, already liking this young man with his kind smile and unjaded appearance.

  He was about as different from Silas as possible.

  “I’m so glad you were able to come. Kelly told me about you.” He let the panels fall onto the grass and straightened up to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. “Do you want to come see the dining room?”

  “Yes. That would be great.”

  As they walked, Peter asked casually, “Are you related to Silas Vance? He’s doing our stained glass and iron work.”

  For no good reason, Cassandra’s stomach clenched in a kind of bittersweet pride. “He’s my…I was married to him.” She cleared her throat, telling mostly the truth. “I kept his name since that was the name I used when I really got started in painting.”

  “Oh. That makes sense. Everyone always raves about his work. We’re excited he’s doing some work for us.”

  Cassandra felt that same silly pride again. Silas was brilliant. Everyone knew it. Her most of all.

  Peter gave her an adorable half-smile. “And we’ll be thrilled if you decide to work for us too.”

  “I really appreciate your interest. I’m hoping it will work out.” She smiled up at the huge, rambling Victorian mansion. “I love this old house.”

  “We love it too. It’s already looking great, isn’t it?”

  “It definitely is.”

  They walked into the dining room together, both of them staring up at the ceiling. The plaster was flat, without the decorative embellishments she often saw on the ceilings of houses this age. It would be a perfect surface for a painting.

  “Wouldn’t it be great?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah. It really would.”

  “I guess this is kind of a step down, since you’re a New York artist and everything.”

  She almost snorted in irony. “It’s not really all it’s cracked up to be. I’m actually glad to be home.”

  “Are you?” Peter’s eyes scanned her face with unexpected scrutiny. “Maybe this will give you a good excuse to stick around for a while.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Maybe it will.”

  He smiled back, and it was like they understood each other perfectly.

  She really liked this young man. And he was a perfect match for sweet, practical Kelly. Cassandra would enjoy working for them, and she’d love to work on this beautiful old house.

  She was going to do it. She could delay going back to New York. Indefinitely, for all she cared.

  She hadn’t planned this. It wasn’t in any vision she had of her life from this point on. But it would be good. Really good.

  “Can I see the old pictures you’d found of the original ceiling.”

  “Sure.” Peter appeared to perk up, like he suspected she’d made her decision. “They’re in the back parlor.”

  She followed him down the hall and paused when he turned around and said, “Just ignore the creepy stuffed cat. We’re still trying to find a place for it, where it won’t scare the daylights out of visitors.”

  She chuckled at his tone, but she was glad of the warning. Otherwise, she’d have found the glassy eyes of the stuffed Siamese cat incredibly unnerving as she studied old photos of Eden Manor.

  It didn’t stop her from discussing a timeline and budget with Peter though, and an hour later she was leaving, having agreed to paint the ceiling.

  Wednesday

  The following day, Cassandra went over to Eden Manor first thing to measure and draft out the ceiling space. She wanted to start planning out the mural, so she could start the work next week.

  She stayed for a couple of hours, and it was almost eleven when she headed over to Silas’s cabin.

  She honked as usual as she drove up in her mother’s car, but she was surprised to see the door to the workshop opening as she parked.

  Silas stepped out, and Cassandra experienced a moment of deep attraction as she watched him approach in his beat-up jeans and a gray T-shirt worn so thin it was almost transparent. He was big and masculine and intimidating, but that only made her want him more.

  He was the kind of guy who should have tattoos but he’d never gotten any—at least none that she knew about.

  “Weren’t you working?” she asked, as she got out of the car, trying to hide her instinctive response to him.

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “You just usually don’t stop, once you start.” She remembered many days of trying to get his attention, once he’d started working for the day. He was intensely focused, which was really nice when he was focused on her—but incredibly frustrating when he was wrapped up in something else and couldn’t pull himself away.

  “I heard you honk.”

  She stared at him for a minute, trying to read his expression. There was almost—almost—a smile beneath his beard. “Oh.”

  “You look hot.”

  “I’m not hot. I was doing some measuring over at Eden Manor, but it’s a pretty cool morning.”

  He made a little grunt. “I meant hot.”

  She glanced down at herself, surprised by the gruff comment. She wore tan capris and a little blouse with a print of tiny roses. She’d worn something flattering without thinking, since she was going to be seeing Silas, but there was certainly nothing particularly sexy about her outfit.

  Narrowing her eyes at him, she said slowly, “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re acting weird.”

  “I just gave you a compliment. What’s weird about that?” He was starting to sound more like his normal gruff self.

  “You don’t normally do that.”

  “We haven’t seen each other in three years. How do you know what I normally do?”

  “Because I’ve known you most of my life. I know what you’re like. And you don’t go around saying nice things, just because.”

  “I’ve told you you’re hot before.”

  She was strangely exhilarated by this silly argument, so she found herself continuing it, even though she knew it was going nowhere. “Sure—when you wanted sex.”

  “Maybe I want sex now.” His eyes flashed briefly hot.

  She hid a shiver. “Well, you’re not going to get it.”

  “Too bad. You still look good, though. I like your hair like that.”

  Her hair was hanging loose like it often was, but she’d pulled back the top section with a little clip. Her lips parted as she stared up at him, trying to put together clues about his behavior. Then the answer occurred to her in a flash of insight. She gasped. “Are you trying to be charming?”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “You heard me. I asked if you were trying to be charming.” Her cheeks warmed as she processed what this might mean.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “You’re never charming.”

  “I can be charming.”

  “No you can’t.” She laughed helplessly at his offended glower and curt tone. “You couldn’t charm someone to save your life. You always end up getting annoyed or impatient when the person doesn’t respond the way you want them to, and then you start to glare and curse.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” he muttered with a stony look.

  Cassandra just laughed again and put a hand on his chest in an affectionate gesture that caught her completely unaware. “See. I told you.”

  His expression changed as he gazed down on her. The frown b
ecame something soft, almost awed.

  Her breath hitched as she couldn’t look away.

  “I can be charming if I try,” he murmured, a rasp in his voice she well recognized. He’d always sounded like that when he was turned on or emotional.

  She wondered which was true of him at the moment.

  “No, you can’t,” she replied in a hushed tone. “But you have other things going for you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like…” She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. She wanted him so much she couldn’t even see straight.

  Then she suddenly remembered this was Silas, and he’d broken her heart more than anyone ever had. Day after day, he’d broken her heart—making it clear he wasn’t going to let her be a real part of his life, no matter how she pleaded for him to.

  She couldn’t let him hurt her like that again.

  With a shaky breath, she dropped her hand and took a step back.

  His expression changed immediately—became guarded and wary again.

  Trying desperately to think of something natural to say, she managed, “Do you want to show me what you’re working on?”

  He shook his head. “I had another plan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” Without waiting, he turned around and walked around toward the back of the cabin.

  She sighed. This was more like him. Expecting her to follow without any sort of explanation.

  She could just stay where she was stubbornly, but it would lead to another silly argument. She had forty-five more minutes to spend here, so she might as well see what he’d had in mind for them to do.

  She followed him to a familiar trail in the woods, so she knew where they were going before they finished the five-minute walk.

  They’d visited this small lake many times over the years. They used to sit and fish for hours back in high school—using the harmless activity as an excuse to spend time together.

  She looked down at the two fishing poles he must have set out earlier and then up to his face. “Seriously?”

  “Why not? You have to do something to kill an hour.” His mouth twitched just slightly in the bare resemblance of a smile.

  “I’m not dressed for fishing.”

  He gave her a quick once-over and then leaned down to dust off the rock they’d always sat on. “It will be fine.”

  She chuckled and lowered herself to sit down. She might end up with dirt on her butt, but that wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was right. At least fishing would give them a distraction, so she wouldn’t have to spend the whole hour doing nothing but talking to him.

  “You remember how?” he asked, handing her one of the poles.

  She rolled her eyes and cast the line out onto the still water of the lake. It was surrounded by the trees of the woods, and glints of sunshine sparkled here and there, where it wasn’t blocked by overhanging branches.

  Silas settled himself next to her and cast his line too. Then they sat together in silence.

  It was familiar in a way that made her chest ache. They’d done this so many times before. In fact, they’d been fishing here before the very first time they ever made love. She’d been seventeen, and she’d been so sure he was the only man she would ever love.

  So far, that had turned out to be the truth.

  “We came here to fish after your prom,” Silas said after a minute, evidently thinking of the very same thing. “Remember?”

  “Of course I remember.” They’d been all dressed up—although it had taken weeks of pleading to get him to wear something decent—and they’d come out to the cabin afterwards, fishing in the dark and then going back into the cabin to have sex.

  She cleared her throat, so the emotion wouldn’t overcome her. “My pretty dress was ruined.”

  He gave a huff of amusement. “The zipper got stuck.”

  “I meant it was ruined by the dirt from sitting here fishing. Although, now that you mention it, that tear didn’t help.”

  “What do you expect? I really wanted to get that dress off you and the damned zipper wouldn’t budge.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at his dry tone. He’d been eager and passionate and so young. She had too. She’d been so full of dreams of their future. A life spent together, making beautiful things, making beautiful babies, eventually making something of themselves as artists.

  None of those dreams had come true.

  She sighed and stared out at the lake, feeling strange—poignant and excited and comfortable at the same time. Being with Silas was different from being with anyone else. She still felt at home with him, although all of this seemed thrillingly new at the moment.

  She could feel him looking at her, so she glanced over, only to find him staring out at the lake. She wanted to say something but didn’t know what.

  As she watched him, he slanted a look over at her, his mouth twitching slightly.

  A swell of emotion rose inside her, so intensely her chest hurt again.

  It would be very easy to assume his behavior meant that they could get back together, she could have everything she used to have with him, she could surrender to feelings that had never gone away.

  But nothing had changed—not for real. She had to be smart about this.

  She turned back to her fishing rod and tried to clear her mind. She’d always enjoyed fishing, and not just because she’d done it so often with Silas.

  They sat without speaking for more than five minutes, but it didn’t feel awkward or tense. It was nice, comforting.

  In fact, it felt so nice that eventually Cassandra realized it was dangerous to her. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.

  She was trying to think of something casual to say to break the emotional closeness when she felt a tug on her line.

  She gasped and held on with both hands instinctively.

  “You’ve got one?” Silas asked, turning toward her with a smile.

  “Yeah.” She readjusted her grip when the pull from the line intensified. “It feels like a big one.”

  “There aren’t any big fish in this lake.”

  “I don’t know.” When the other end of her line fought her attempt to pull it in, she stood up and held on tight. “This feels likes it’s bigger than a fish in this lake should be.”

  “Remember that night you thought you saw a sea monster? Maybe you’ve finally caught him.”

  She chuckled at his dry words, but she focused on keeping a good hold on her rod. She’d never felt anything so strong on a fishing line before. She’d always only caught little fish that had been easy to pull in.

  “Damn, it must be big,” she murmured, carefully maneuvering the line back. She was sweating a little now, and her hair blew into her face. She was excited in a way she hadn’t been in a long time.

  “You got it?” Silas had gotten up too, and now he was standing right beside her.

  “Yeah. I think so.” She gasped when the resistance on the line intensified all of a sudden. She leaned forward before she was able to stabilize her stance.

  Silas’s arm slipped around her, holding her steady with silent strength. He didn’t try to take the rod away from her, though, and he didn’t even try to boss her or give her advice.

  She was determined to pull in whatever this was, although it wasn’t moving now. “It got stuck or something.”

  “It must not be a fish.”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t really feel like it. What else could it be?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if people dump things in this lake.”

  “As long as it isn’t a dead body.”

  She struggled with the line for a few minutes until it finally moved freely. Then she gasped as the resistance disappeared almost completely, and she fell backward against Silas’s chest.

  “Okay?” he murmured thickly, his voice right at her ear.

  “Yeah.” She was breathles
s, and not just from the struggle on the line. He had his arm wrapped around her waist and his front was pressed into her back. It was like he was embracing her, and she didn’t want it to end. “What is this thing?”

  “Definitely not a fish.”

  “No.” She was able to retract the line now, and in a few seconds an object appeared at the top of the water. It was dark and ungainly and without real form, but she recognized it immediately.

  It was a cloth bag—one she used to use as a picnic basket back in high school.

  And she knew immediately what she’d dragged up from the bottom of the lake.

  “Damn,” Silas breathed, as he must have recognized it too.

  She pulled the bag in, heavy from its contents and from being waterlogged for so long. When she got it to the edge of the lake, Silas bent over to pick it up and release the line that had caught on it.

  She felt strangely shaky as she accepted it from him. She had to work to open the drawstring. The rope and the fabric hadn’t held up well in the water, but they were synthetic so they hadn’t disintegrated completely.

  Water spilled out over her as she pulled the bag open.

  Inside was a heavy champagne bottle—just cheap champagne you could get at the grocery store. There were also two plastic wine glasses and a wad of something wet and formless that had once been a blanket.

  The champagne bottle was in the best shape, and she pulled it out to stare at it silently.

  She and Silas had drunk the bottle of champagne one night to celebrate her winning a regional art contest. He’d brought the champagne, and she’d brought the glasses, some snacks, and a blanket for them to sit on, and they’d celebrated under the stars by the lake. They’d made love afterwards and were lying together when they’d heard a car driving up to the cabin.

  Both of them were underage, so Silas had wrapped up the bottle and put everything in the bag and thrown it into the lake, just in case it was the cops.

  It wasn’t the cops. It was Cassandra’s father, coming to look for her since it was past her curfew.

  Cassandra remembered the night so vividly that her eyes burned, her throat hurt. They’d been so young, so unjaded, so completely into each other.

  And she’d dreamed that night of a life with Silas—of spending forever together, of being a successful artist, of having a family with Silas.