Hidden Pleasures - Brenda Jackson [37]
He gave her an arrogant smile as he removed his Stetson. “No, I don’t think so. Come on, let’s go inside.”
For a moment Galen stood back and watched as Brittany entered what had been her mother’s home. He then followed her inside, closed the door behind them and glanced around. The interior looked a lot bigger than the exterior but everything inside, from the Early American–style furniture to the heavily draped windows, had a sense of home.
His gaze moved over to Brittany. She was no longer standing in the middle of the floor but had moved over to a vintage-looking desk and was looking at a picture in the frame. Deciding not to stare, he glanced around again.
It was evident that although the outside showed signs of deterioration and neglect, the interior did not. Everything looked well cared-for and maintained, even the hardwood floors. It was clear that the person who lived here believed in being clean and neat. The place gave off a feeling that its owner had merely stepped out a minute and would be returning momentarily.
“Nice place,” he said to Brittany, mainly to get her talking again. She’d gone too quiet on him and continued to stare at that picture frame. Was it a picture of the woman who had been her mother?
When she didn’t acknowledge his remark, he knew she had effectively tuned him out, although not intentionally because her manners wouldn’t allow such a thing. Emotions had taken over her, and he wasn’t used to dealing with emotional women. Usually that was when he would cut and run like hell. But he wouldn’t be going anywhere today. He felt as if he had a vested interest in this woman, which really didn’t make much sense. All he wanted was to get her in his bed so she could soothe the ache in his pants. What he didn’t understand, and what he was trying like hell to figure out, was his insane fascination with her.
And at the moment he didn’t like her wandering around this place sinking deeper and deeper into a maudlin state of depression he refused to accept for her. He’d rather have her mad than sad. But right now he wanted her talking.
She glanced over at him and the look in her eyes was like a kick in the gut. It was as if he felt her pain. She hadn’t known the owner of the house, nor would she recognize her if they’d passed in the street. But none of that mattered. The woman who used to live here had been her mother. The woman who’d given birth to her.
The woman who, for some reason, had given her away.
He waited for her to say something. The look in her eyes said she was ready. He wasn’t Dr. Phil by any means, but he figured she needed to express her feelings, get them out in the open.
“I think I look like her,” she said, holding the picture out for him to see.
He moved away from the door, crossed the room and took the picture frame she offered. He studied the image of the woman standing beside a tall man. She looked younger than Galen had expected, which meant she’d had Brittany at an early age. Probably a teen pregnancy. “Yes, you do favor her,” he said honestly. “I wonder how old she was when she gave birth to you.”
“Sixteen. According to her attorney she died at forty-four.”
He nodded as he handed the picture frame back to her. “You want to check out the other rooms?”
“Sure.”
She walked slowly and he did likewise beside her. The kitchen was nice and the bay window provided a view of a lot of the land. It seemed to go on for miles. And the view of the mountains was just as impressive as the one from his place. No wonder those men at the auction mart wanted to demolish the house and build a hotel on the land.
He walked around the kitchen to the table. Just like the rest of the house, the table and chairs were Early American and fit perfectly in their setting.
Brittany then moved to the window and was looking out at the mountains and all the land. He decided to keep her talking.
“Do you know if she had any other relatives?”
She turned around. “According to her attorney, Mr. Banyon, she