Not to mention his company specialized in restoring old homes. There was something about bringing back the majesty the builder had envisioned when he’d put the place together that gave Cash a sense of satisfaction unlike anything he’d ever known. It was redemption—the thing he always sought for himself but was never able to find.
Mr. Goodall approached slowly as if Cash would bolt out of there. “This home has been in your family for over 150 years.”
A strangled sound escaped Cash’s throat. He’d love a project like that. Instantly, his mind jumped to the type of building materials available in that time period; the hand-carved wood alone would be a work of art. His hands opened and closed, wishing he had a hammer and a nail setter. “I guess I could take a look around.”
Mr. Goodall checked his grin. “Be my guest.”
Cash ascended the steps and stepped through the door. To his right was a grand staircase so covered in dust he wasn’t sure what the original color was, but if he had to bet, he’d say it was cherry. Goose bumps prickled on his arms. Beyond that was a library with built-in bookshelves.
On his left was a parlor with a fireplace, small yet probably usable once it was clean. He walked straight down the hallway ahead of him and was suddenly in a large family room. There must’ve been a wall here dividing the dining room from the family room at some point, but it had been taken out to make the space bigger.
He peeked inside the kitchen, finding ancient appliances and dried leaves piled up in the corners. The back of the house was open to the wilderness through giant windows, allowing fresh light to filter through.
He checked the frames and determined that the windows had been added later than the first build. A nice touch, and one he’d probably keep—ifhe decided to take on the project.
He shook his head. “What was Grandfather thinking? Letting this house sit here all this time.” There was also two bedrooms, a bath, and a door to the crawl space. The back yard sported a root cellar. No doubt there were mason jars full of fermented fruits and vegetables lining the shelves, perhaps the work of his great-grandmother.
He closed his eyes and listen for the sounds of years gone by, of the people working, living, loving in these walls. His people. And suddenly, he understood. Grandpa wasn’t making fun of him by leaving him this decrepit home; he was giving him a link—something he’d never had in this life—a link to his ancestors, a link to his family.
Maybe Grandpa was telling Cash he belonged in the family that had built this house with their bare hands, added onto it over the years, and tamed the surrounding forest. Maybe he was more Diamante than his twittering and gossiping cousins. Maybe he was more Diamante than all of them put together. His chest swelled and his eyes burned with emotions he’d rather keep in check.
Cash walked out of the house, sliding on his aviators to hide the moisture, and headed for his motorcycle.
Mr. Goodall scrambled to keep up with him. “Wait! Where are you going?”
Cash climbed onto his bike and put up the kickstand. “I’ll take it.”
Mr. Goodall beamed like a new father. “Wonderful. Wonderful news.” His face suddenly fell. “There’s one little catch.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to indicate just how small this catch really was.
Cash kicked the kickstand down and leveled him with a stare. “What catch?”
“Well, your grandfather thought it would be best if you were a bit more settled before assuming ownership of the home.” Mr. Goodall couldn’t look at any one tree for longer than two seconds.
Cash slid his sunglasses down his nose and peered over them at the little man. “What did he mean bysettled?”
“Married, for one. And then you also have to have the house livable within six weeks.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.
Cash stared at him, dumbfounded. “Six weeks for this level of restoration is impossible. The exterior alone could take half a year.” Painting it a light gray would be perfect for the time period. With dark green shutters, or white, depending on what paint flaked off during the refinishing process.
Mr. Goodall dug through his satchel again, pulling out a file, which he opened to reveal a legal document with small print. “It’s all laid out right here. The house doesn’t have to be finished; it just has to be livable, and you have to be living in it with your wife.”
“Wife?” Cash shoved the paperwork back at the lawyer, not wanting it anywhere near him. Marriage was not …Hewas not marriageable material. “I don’t even understand why that’s an issue.”
Mr. Goodall gritted his teeth. It was as if he agreed with Cash but was bound by his agreement to be the executor of the will to bear the bad news. “Your grandfather wanted to assure that the property would remain in the family. Therefore, he requested that you have a child before you inherit. I assured him that was taking it too far. Our compromise was that you got married.”
Cash chuckled. “Leave it to Grandfather to have a compromise that’s completely unreasonable.” A sense of love for the old man washed over him, one that he’d never felt so strongly when Grandpa had been alive. The old man had been demanding and frustrating and yet trying to do what he’d thought was best.
Without any romantic prospects, or even a date for this Friday night, Cash had no chance of inheriting the land or the house that had struck his creative chord. Darn it all, he wanted the house and the vision it created in his head. He also wanted some of the heritage that came from caring for the last thing that had been on this land for over 150 years. “What happens to the place if I don’t have a wife?”
“The home will be donated to the city of Moose Creek.” He kicked a pebble. “They want to turn it into a tourist destination.”
Cash righted the bike. “Do not give this land to anyone else. I will find a way.”
A whole new set of worry lines appeared on Mr. Goodall’s face. “How are you going to do that?”
Given Cash’s parentage, he could understand Mr. Goodall’s stress. However, Cash had no idea what he was going to do. “I guess I’m gonna have to find a woman.” With that, he started the motorcycle, cutting off all attempts at conversation. As he drove away, he knew there was only one place he could go for help.
Chapter 2
