“Don’t let it worry you. If you buy this place, I’ll come over and show you how it’s done. You’ll get the hang of it. Trust me. I’ve run into at least one thing that makes me feel stupid every day since I walked back into this family.”
She smiled at him. Liam was uneducated but street-smart, while she was the opposite. She could analyze business proposals worth millions of dollars but couldn’t turn on a radiator.
Mr. Leighton showed her two more properties farther north, but none of them sparked an immediate sense of home like the cozy German townhouse with the hand-carved mantel and lovely wooden moldings.
She insisted on returning to the townhouse later that afternoon for another look. This time, Liam asked Darla to join them because she had the critical eye of an artist to help evaluate the house. Once again, he made the estate agent wait outside while they toured the home.
“You can’t trust those guys,” he said. “If they sense you like the place, they’ll tell the owner, who will start jacking the price way up.”
He was probably right, but this place might be worth it.
Darla seemed equally impressed with the craftsmanship as she admired the hand-carved mantel. “This is rare blackwalnut. And look! Here’s a turaco bird nestled among the ivy. I’m beginning to suspect your German homeowner was really Swiss, not German.”
“Why?” Natalia asked, leaning in closer to admire the curious bird hidden in the vines.
“The turaco bird is the national bird of Switzerland.”
“I’ve heard of Switzerland,” Liam said. “That’s where the pope lives, right?”
The odd statement hung in the air.
“What makes you say that?” Darla asked.
“Everyone knows about the pope and the Swiss guard. I saw a picture of those guys once. Crazy outfits.”
Darla’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “The pope lives in Rome. He has the Swiss guard because in the Renaissance, the Swiss mercenaries were the best fighters in Europe. Plus, since they’re from a neutral country, they aren’t perpetually jockeying for position inside the Vatican.”
“Oh.” A flush stained his cheekbones. “I guess that was a dumb thing to say.”
Darla flashed him a wink and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re handsome enough to make up for it.”
Natalia paid no more attention to them as she continued walking the perimeter of the room. Everywhere she looked, the house brimmed with hidden treasures. The nook created by the bay window would be a perfect place to read on long winter nights. Amber light from the late afternoon sun cast a comforting glow into the room. This place felt like it could be a home. She set her hand on the mantel and surveyed the cozy parlor.
“I’m ready to buy it.”
Darla hugged her in excitement, but Liam was appalled that she was willing to pay full price instead of haggling. She disagreed.
“Haggling will draw things out, and I’m afraid I might lose it.”
Liam covered his eyes and groaned. “You’re an idiot if you pay asking price. Youalwayshaggle over a purchase this big. They won’t respect you if you don’t.”
He was probably right. Emotions must never enter into a business decision.
It took three days of negotiation, but in the end, Natalia had her townhouse for an excellent price and was ready to step into the next chapter of her life.
7
Dimitri saw no other people for the next two weeks, and with each passing day, he doubted his ability to survive the winter alone. As much as he feared the roving gangs of bandits, finding a group to join might be his only way to stay alive. It was almost November, and his need for human contact was almost as strong as his painful cravings for real food and decent rest.
One night the scent of woodsmoke and cooked meat penetrated his fog of exhaustion. All senses on alert, he crept toward the scent of a campfire. The nickering of a horse sounded in the forest ahead, and Dimitri snuck closer, taking cover behind a tree to squint at the group.
There were six of them, a ragtag lot. Their garments were a mishmash of western and tribal clothing. Some wore traditional sashes tied around their middle like the nomadic people of the region, but others wore the striped tunics of a penal colony. Flickering light from the campfire illuminated two of the men’s faces. They had the look of many of the nomadic peoples from this part of the world.
It would be hard to join them if he couldn’t communicate. He hunkered behind a spruce tree, blowing into his hands to keep them warm as he considered the risk.
A shout sounded from the camp.
He’d been spotted. His heart surged, and his mouth went dry. He wasn’t strong enough to flee and had no choice but to fall on their mercy.Dear Lord, please be with me.
