The House that Love Built

Five




Owen thought about Hunter Lewis as he finished a late breakfast at the Comfort Café. Getting the kid out of jail on a Sunday had been a challenge, but Owen had woken up this morning with the boy on his mind. He couldn’t help remembering his friend Bruce from high school. Something about Hunter reminded Owen of Bruce—always in trouble, but deep down a good person. No one had ever given Bruce a chance, though. He’d gotten into the system and never managed to break free. Two years after Owen graduated, he’d learned that Bruce had been killed in a parking lot scuffle.

He glanced around him at all the dresses and suits. He figured he was probably the only one in the place who hadn’t come straight from church. Worship services weren’t on his agenda these days, and he doubted they ever would be again. Posting bail for a kid he didn’t know anything about, based on a hunch and a memory, would have to be his good deed for the day. His reward? Poached eggs from the Comfort Café, which made some of the best he’d ever tasted. After scooping up the last of the eggs, he paid his bill.

He was crossing Main Street to get to his car when he noticed the enormous painted gingerbread man standing to the left of the Chamber of Commerce office. One of these days he was going to remember to ask one of the locals why it was there. He shook his head, wondering if he should make a closer inspection. Maybe there was some other explanation aside from his speculation that the folks here just forgot to take down all their Christmas decorations. But he was in a hurry to get home. He’d gotten up early and finished painting his entire bedroom this morning before he left—after sanding down the woodwork with his handy sander—and he was hoping the paint was dry enough now to peel the tape away. He’d painted the room Virginia’s favorite color, a dusty purplish color. Maybe he’d snap a picture of it on his cell phone and send it to her. Surely by now she’d heard from mutual acquaintances that he was living in Smithville. Eat your heart out, baby.

A few minutes later Owen was ripping the tape from the trim in the spacious room. At least twice the size of his and Virginia’s old bedroom, it would easily hold a couple of armoires—the closet was minuscule—and a sitting area.

He stood there for a few moments, mounds of used trim tape all over the floor, and just stared at his purple room. It made him want to vomit. Or cry. He wasn’t sure. The entire room just screamed Virginia. And he hated armoires. He kicked the tape around the floor, then couldn’t seem to shed a large mass stuck to the tip of his boot. Ripping it from his shoe, he threw it across the room and slammed the bedroom door behind him. For the first time since he’d moved to Smithville, he wondered if this entire spiteful venture had been a huge mistake. Was he going to think of Virginia constantly while he meandered around this big old house every day?

His stomach had soured with regard to business too. He had Gary to thank for that. Together, they’d built a successful public relations firm. But for the past two years, apparently, Gary’s preferred relations had been with Owen’s wife. Owen had sold out to his former friend and had no plans to go back into that line of work.

A loud thump turned his attention to the porch, and he was pretty sure he knew what it was. He walked outside and, sure enough, one end of his new swing was on the porch. He’d missed that stud after all.

Fearful he was about to blow, he slowly walked into the house, grabbed his keys, and headed to his car. Four clicks of the key later, it was clear that the black BMW wasn’t going to turn over. The car was only a year old, and he’d never had a problem with it. Why today?

He climbed out of the car, slammed the door, and kicked his foot back. This is what I have insurance for. He was just about to ram his foot into the side of his car when Brooke Holloway walked up. Just what he needed right now—the crazy mom.

“Hi, Brooke.” He forced a smile.

She folded her arms across a white T-shirt. Same ponytail as before, minus the baseball cap, and her jeans had holes in the knees. Her pink flip-flops matched her toenails. No one could make that look work the way she did. But even though she briefly took his breath away, Owen quickly reminded himself about the conversation with her son. Was she really, um, mentally disturbed?

Brooke raised her chin, grinning. “I’m not for sure, but I think I stopped you from kicking your car.”

Owen swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah. I was considering it.” He felt his face turning red. Who’s the crazy one now? Regrouping, he edged closer to her. “Are you lost again?”

Her smile faded. “What?” She put a hand on one hip. “Why do you always think I’m lost?”

He pictured large, oozing red bumps all over her back and cringed for a moment, then forced a smile. “I just . . .” He shrugged, not wanting to get her kid in trouble for either telling on her or spinning such a tale. “I don’t know.”

“Did you check the battery cables?” Brooke shifted her weight, her other hand landing on the opposite hip.

Owen didn’t know a thing about cars. He was missing the male mechanic gene. “No, but I will.”

She raised an eyebrow as one side of her mouth curled into a smile. “You do know how, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” He rolled his eyes, wishing she would leave. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I just walked my daughter to a friend’s house, and I’m on my way home. I heard you trying to start your car, then looked up just in time to save Mr. BMW from a good kick in the door.” She laughed—more like a cute little giggle—and Owen couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, thanks. You probably just saved me a five-hundred-dollar deductible and a lot of grief.”

She tapped a finger to her chin. “Listen, I have to ask you something . . .”

Oh no. “What’s that?”

“Have you found the bunker?” She bit her bottom lip and bounced on her toes, and for a moment, she looked about twelve years old.

“What bunker?”

Brooke moved a little closer. “I bet you didn’t know that there is a story behind your house.”

“Uh, no. What’s the story?” Owen was intrigued, if a bit skeptical—unsure what to believe from anyone in her family.

“Well . . .” She took a long breath. “According to some of the older locals, John Hadley built the house for his bride in 1939. He was still a young man but impressive—had built the lumber business he inherited into quite an operation. He met Adeline Doyer on a trip to San Antonio, and apparently theirs was quite the love story. They were both more or less alone in the world, and they dreamed of having a large family.” She waved an arm toward the house. “Thus, the size.”

Taking a deep breath, she went on. “Anyway, John and Adeline still didn’t have any children two years later when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and Mr. Hadley enlisted to fight.” She paused, holding up a finger. “But then, just a few months after he was sent to the Pacific, Adeline received word that he’d been killed in action.”

Owen scratched his forehead. “I thought this story was about a bunker.”

“I’m getting there.” She reached both hands to her head and pulled her ponytail tight before she took another deep breath. “Apparently, when John Hadley went to war, Adeline had her hired man build a small bunker somewhere in or under the house.”

“Why would she do something like that?”

“It actually wasn’t uncommon back then. We can get pretty big storms around here—hurricanes and such.”

“This far inland?”

“You’d be surprised. We can still get lots of wind and rain and sometimes tornadoes. But I suspect Adeline was just feeling really insecure, being there alone without her husband. And remember, Pearl Harbor had just happened, and no one knew if there would be other attacks. She wanted to feel safe, and the bunker seemed a way to do that. Anyway, when Adeline got word of Mr. Hadley’s death, she bolted out of town and disappeared, leaving nothing but a note for her attorney on the kitchen table.” She grinned broadly. “Guess who has that note?”

“I’m guessing you?” Owen smiled at her enthusiasm.

Brooke nodded. “Yep. Before the attorney died, he gave it to my husband, knowing that he was a preserver of old letters, photographs, things like that. He owned a store here in town called the Treasure Chest. He loved anything old—books, antique toys, and all kinds of other vintage items.”

Owen’s curiosity was growing. “What did the note say?”

“I’ll find it and show it to you, but it basically left an Arkansas forwarding address and instructions for him to sell the house and all the furnishings. And it said . . .” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Trying to remember the exact words.” Her eyes flew open as she snapped her fingers. “Oh, I know. It said, ‘All of my worldly treasures are those of the heart, buried safely beneath this house that love built.’” She shrugged. “Everyone around here thinks that Adeline Hadley stashed something of importance in the bunker before she fled town.”

“Like what?” Owen shifted his weight as he folded his arms across his chest. “I haven’t found any bunker.”

Brooke frowned. “Neither did the two women who bought the house from Adeline. They were sisters whose husbands had both been killed, and they took in boarders to make a living.”

“Hmm.” Owen wasn’t sure he bought the story. “How do you know the bunker isn’t outside somewhere on the grounds?”

“I don’t for sure.” She shrugged. “And maybe there is no bunker at all. But like I said, folks around here think that the bunker is somewhere in the house and that Adeline left something important there.”

“Hmm,” Owen said again as he waited for her to go on.

Brooke pushed back a strand of blond hair, her features animated. “The two sisters didn’t do much to the house, except to have central air installed back in the seventies.”

“Which isn’t working,” Owen grumbled.

Brooke frowned. “Well, it’s disappointing that you haven’t found the bunker either.”

Owen chuckled, still unsure if she was making all this up. “Maybe the two women found the treasure and just never told anyone.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. They lived there until they died, and once they’d stopped taking in boarders, they were pretty reclusive and kept to themselves. The handyman who built it left town about the same time Adeline did—just kind of disappeared without telling anyone where it was. And the house has been vacant since the last sister died—well, until you bought it.”

“So no one’s found Adeline’s bunker.”

“Not that I know of. Even Mr. Hadley doesn’t know where it is.”

“Wait a minute. I thought you said he was killed.”

“Apparently that was a mistake. In fact, Mr. Hadley is still alive today, in his nineties. He’s in the same retirement villa where my mother lives.”

“So did he and his wife get back together?”

“That’s the really sad part. She left town before the mistake was discovered. He’d been badly wounded, then captured by the Japanese. He spent the duration of the war as a prisoner on some Pacific island, with everyone here thinking he was dead. They didn’t find out he was alive until the end of the war.”

She smiled. “I’m told the entire town gave him a big party when he returned. But by that time his house was sold and his wife was gone, and he wasn’t able to track her down for a long time. He finally learned she’d remarried and left Arkansas, moved around a bit, and then died in childbirth out in Wichita Falls. Not sure when that was, but I do know Mr. Hadley never saw her again. And he never remarried.”

Owen shook his head. “That’s a sad story.” And you seem so normal right now.

He waited to see if there was more. Apparently there wasn’t. They stood there awkwardly for just a minute as he remembered Brooke’s mention of her husband.

“So . . . are you divorced?” It was totally off topic, but maybe the woman despised her ex-husband, and they could find common ground and entertainment by bashing their exes. Or maybe her husband had left because of her illness.

Brooke’s face instantly went somber. “Travis died two years ago in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry.” Owen had wished on more than one occasion that Virginia was dead, although he knew he didn’t mean it. As painful as divorce was, he couldn’t imagine what he would do if she’d died.

“We would have been married twelve years next week.” She stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “What about you?”

“Divorced.” That’s all he had to offer at the moment.

Brooke nodded. “Do you have children?”

Owen felt himself tense. “Uh, no. No kids.”

“I have two. Meghan is six, and Spencer is ten.”

“I met your son. He stopped by yesterday morning.” Owen avoided her eyes, scratched his forehead. “He was, uh, looking for you.”

She chuckled. “I doubt it. He was probably hiding from me. He got upset with me about something and ran out the door. Yesterday, when I saw you, I’d just gotten a phone call that he was at the hardware store.” She paused. “I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

Oh, he was a regular cornucopia of information about you, lady. “Absolutely no bother.”

“So how are the renovations coming?” She peered around Owen toward the front door.

“Well, my paint is sticking this time.” His dark eyebrows slanted in a frown. “Although I wish it wasn’t sticking in my bedroom. I hate the color I just painted it. I’m hoping I can just paint over it.”

“What color is it?”

“The name on the can is ‘Dusky Mauve.’”

She grinned but quickly covered her mouth.

“I know.” Owen had to laugh. “It’s a little bit girly.”

“Well, now, I didn’t say that.” She reached up and tightened her ponytail. “What color do you want it to be?”

“Black.” That just came out, but Owen didn’t even try to withdraw it.

“Really?”

“No. Guess that’s just my mood today. I hate the purple bedroom.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Also, apparently I missed a stud hanging the porch swing, and it fell.” Nodding toward the driveway, he added, “And my car won’t start.”

“Hmm. That all stinks.” Her voice was firm, but Owen could see the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Could always be worse.”

He grunted. “I guess.”

“Where were you headed?” She nodded to the car. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

“No, but thanks. I wasn’t really headed anywhere. Just too mad to stay and look at my girly bedroom and my broken swing. Guess I’ll add broken car to the list.”

“Jack’s Auto will be open at seven thirty tomorrow morning. They are your best bet. Good guys, and fairly cheap.” She peered around him toward the house. “You know, my husband was always fascinated by this house—and the letter the attorney gave him. I hope you find the bunker.”

Owen grinned. “You’re really intrigued about that, aren’t you?”

She was quiet, still staring at the house, then she looked back at him. “I can show you the letter, although there wasn’t much else in it except what I already told you. And I think there might be some photos at my husband’s store that could help you restore the house to its original state—if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“Sure. I’d like to see the pictures.” Owen wasn’t sure if he’d be able to restore the house to its former glory, but it would still be fun to see what it looked like in its prime. “And the letter, I guess. I can stop by the store to get it anytime that’s convenient for you.”

“Anytime?” Brooke tipped her head to one side. “Don’t you have a job or something?”

“I used to. I was in public relations but recently sold out to my partner to move here.” He was hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

“I haven’t been in the Treasure Chest, my husband’s store, since . . .” She paused, took a deep breath, and stared to her left. “Since before he died. The landlord let me leave the inventory there until he found a new tenant, and no one has ever wanted it.” Her voice trembled just slightly. “So all Travis’s stuff is still there.”

“Hey, don’t get the pictures if it’s going to upset you.” Owen didn’t want her to do anything that might cause her some sort of emotional setback.

Brooke stood a bit taller and gave her head a decisive nod. “No, I probably need to take that next step. It’s been almost two years.” She blinked several times and then gazed off down the street as if lost in thought.

Owen forced himself to think of that alleged rash on her back. Otherwise he’d have to admit how attracted he was to her. That surprised him. Brooke didn’t look anything like Virginia, who spent countless amounts of money on her hair, makeup, and who knows what else. Brooke was more of a natural beauty. Without a speck of makeup, she was gorgeous.

Think about those terrible bumps. But even that thought was doing little to deter Owen’s eyes from running the length of her body. Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice. She was staring around him at the house again.

“I’ll tell you what,” she finally said. “I’ll get the letter and the pictures for you sometime this week. But”—holding up one finger, she locked eyes with him—“I get to have one really good look around your new house.”

Owen laughed. “You want to look for the supposed bunker.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. And I want to see the house too. It’s been locked up so tight for the past ten years.”

“Sounds like a deal. Any day is fine with me.”

Brooke ran her hands along the sides of her jeans and nodded. “Great.” She turned to leave, but spun around. “Do you want me to bring a pizza or something?”

Owen’s entire body went stiff as the warning bells sounded loud and clear in his head. This was starting to resemble more than a quick tour through the house—and that was not good.

Normal or nuts, Brooke was probably looking for a husband and father for her children, and Owen was not what she was looking for. He certainly didn’t want to do anything to lead her on, especially if she was a bit off in the head.

But as she stood there smiling at him, Owen’s mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Sure. Pizza sounds great.”



Brooke reprimanded herself all the way back home. She’d been right that it was time to open up Travis’s store. Maybe getting the pictures and letter for Owen could be the first step. But what in the world had made her offer up pizza, almost like it was a date or something—a date she’d set up.

If she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that Owen Saunders was the first man she’d been attracted to since Travis, but it wouldn’t be fair to lead him on. Brooke knew in her heart that she would never love another man the way she loved Travis. Everyone else would come in a distant second, and that made having any kind of relationship seem selfish. She would only be using a man for companionship—maybe someone to say she looked pretty from time to time or a strong guy to help with chores around the house. And that person would have to love her children. But Travis had been her first. Her only. She couldn’t imagine kissing someone else, much less . . .

She shook her head to clear the thoughts. She’d wanted to investigate that house for years, but the two sisters who owned it after Mrs. Hadley had been very private back when Brooke was growing up. She had gone over there once when she was about ten to sell Girl Scout cookies. The older of the two women had left her standing on the front porch while she went to get her checkbook, dashing her hopes of seeing inside. The most she’d done over the years was look in the windows.

If nothing else, she now had a chance to poke around the old place. She was doubtful that the bunker even existed, but having a look around would be a nice distraction from, well, other things in her life—like the flowers from her father. What nerve he had, thinking she’d want anything to do with him. Not only had he cheated on her mother, but he had abandoned both of them. Mom had been young enough to find someone else back then, but she’d always said she could never love another man the way she loved Harold Miller. How could she say that about a cheater?

Brooke felt the same way about Travis, but her husband hadn’t been anything like her father, thank God. She wished her mother could have found someone to share her life with over the years.

She rounded the corner toward home, feeling a bit agitated. Upset about the flowers from her dad. Nervous to face the Treasure Chest. Excited to look around the Hadley mansion. And strangely unsettled by the tingling that ran up her spine at the thought of seeing Owen Saunders again.