Homecoming

By Donna Steele

Upon the death of her grandmother, Ashley returns to sell the family home. There she discovers Matt comfortably ensconced in the guest house, taking care of the family estate.

His love for the architecture and past grandeur of the old mansion tempers Ashley's memories of neglect and abuse at the hands of the matriarch, and the town. As she and Matt work together, they begin to get the place, and their lives, back in shape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Donna Steele
• Release date: Jun 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393961765

Donna Steele

Women strong enough for love. Donna writes science fiction, paranormal and small town romances about women coming into their strength and having the courage to find and accept love. Now that she has retired from going into an office every day, she created an office at home and writes full time. Talk about living the dream! She was the girl at the party who was yearning for the quiet corner and a book to read (go Rory Gilmore!), and has been writing in her head since she learned to read. Getting those stories down on paper (or in her laptop) has been more fun than she ever imagined it could be. The possibilities of science fiction have always drawn her and she's read them all, there just needed to be a little more romance in them. She finally got up the courage to write them herself and is delighted to be able to share these stories with you. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal Chapter of RWA and the Heart of Carolina Romance Writers. She can be reached at www.steelestories.com, www.facebook.com/donnasteeleauthor, or https://twitter.com/steele_donna

Book preview

Chapter One

Ashley Winsted pulled her Prius into the driveway and stopped. She made no move to exit the car, shoving her russet colored hair back. She was in no hurry to get out and face what was before her. Just being back in this town made her chest tighten.

She had forgotten the sheer size of the house. Or she’d made herself forget. The structure had always dominated this block, hell the whole town. But it hadn’t been kept up for years. Now it only looked tired.

She scanned the yard, bushes overgrown, but not too shaggy yet. In any case, Mattie Winsted would be appalled. The outside wasn’t perfect. The inside didn’t matter, but what one could see should always be perfect, completely in order. Nothing was more important to Mattie than appearance. Nothing.

The house desperately needed paint and the bushes at least a trim if not removal, though the lawn had been freshly mowed. A Victorian house always needed painting, didn’t it? Ashley sighed and forced herself to open the car door. She stepped out and stretched. It had been a long drive, but at least she should have some privacy and quiet here to work. Her eyes immediately went to the cupola room over the large wrap-around porch. She’d coveted that room for more years than she wanted to admit. Still did, if truth be known. Why did it continue to hurt after all this time?

Coming here was difficult. It had been nearly ten years since she’d left. And the time away had been good. No longer that skinny, shy girl without a father, she hadn’t missed this place for ten seconds.

Maybe no one would recognize her. With the freshman fifteen she’d put on, she had finally reached a hundred pounds after only a few weeks being away from the drama and stress. Mattie had never starved her, but her five-foot-eight frame always appeared anorexic while she lived here. Now at a hundred and twenty-five, she curved nicely, thank you very much.

She shook her head to dispel those thoughts. The negativity didn’t help. She had work to do. She would think about the luggage later. First, she needed to see if the house resembled the ones she saw on that hoarders show. Probably not the first floor; people would be able to see. But upstairs? Who knew? She headed toward the door, forcing her hesitancy away.

Using her key, she entered the front door and stopped. Nothing seemed to have changed except maybe the level of dust. There was no one to clean any longer. That would have to be remedied after she was through emptying it out before she could sell the place.

Every possible type of dust catcher resided on the little table by the door. She sighed deeply, knowing it wasn’t only the dust making it hard to breathe here.

Cleaning this place out in order to sell it could take months, hell, years if she really delved into everything. Ashley stepped into the formal parlor and looked around.

This wasn’t a room she’d been allowed to enter as a child. No one did except when the bridge club came or the ladies circle or the garden club. Even now, she felt as though she should remove her shoes. The only time she had been welcome was on Christmas morning, since the tree had to be positioned in front of the picture window for the best view from outside. Even then it had been grudging. Appearances mattered.

Once again, too many things in too small a space made her think she was suffocating. And none of these things had any sentimental value as far as she was concerned. She might have to ask someone to come and give her advice. She didn’t want the things to bring up lousy memories but dumping them in the trash might be a mistake.

Maybe a lit match would do the trick.

She was still more than a little surprised Mattie bequeathed the house to her. Giving it to the town, or some charity, would not have been a shock to Ashley. But it had been in the family for four generations. Only she remained, though in Mattie’s eyes she would always be undeserving of the honor of the name she bore and her position due to it.

Ashley jerked upright at a sound from the second floor. Was someone in the house with her? In her opinion nothing in the house was worth stealing. Truth be told, she’d probably help anyone carry stuff out just to get rid of it. But did she act like one of the strong, kick-ass heroines in the books she wrote and march upstairs demanding answers, or slip out the front door and call 911?

Whoever it was, they certainly weren’t being stealthy and, she realized, were headed down the stairs. Before she could step back into the parlor, a male voice spoke. Hello? Ashley? Sorry, I planned to be out of the way before you got here.

He knew her? She had never seen this man before. She would have remembered someone who looked like him even after ten years. His dark hair was long enough to curl at his collar and that t-shirt fit like a second skin. A hard-bodied hunk was definitely an anomaly in this town. How had he gotten inside the house, and how had he learned her name?

I’m Matt Taylor. He held out his hand after wiping it on a rag.

Instead of taking the hand, she asked, Matt Taylor, what are you going in my house? She tried for a conversational tone and she stood her ground, glancing up to meet his eyes. He had to be at least six foot one with very broad shoulders.

He smiled and despite her nerves, she relaxed a little. He had a nice smile and his eyes twinkled. She forced herself to think of Ted Bundy. Something must have shown in her expression, because he halted and even took a step back. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your realtor called and said he couldn’t turn off the water in the upstairs bath, so I took a look at it.

Realtor? She didn’t have a realtor. How did you get in?

The back door. It wasn’t locked.

She closed her eyes for an instant. Of course not, she had returned to Bethaman. I have a realtor? she finally asked.

Again he grinned. Well, maybe not after this. Are you familiar with a Ken Fisher?

Ken was a realtor? She visualized the slightly overweight kid from school and finally nodded.

"Okay, yes, I know, well knew Ken. He called you?"

Look, you just arrived. I’ll get out of your way, but if you need anything—

She stood there for a moment, feeling stupid and thick. God, she hated this feeling. Was it merely from being in town? Instead of giving in to the feeling, she straightened her spine. As the only family left, she would be handling everything. I don’t suppose you have the name of anyone who does yard work?

I can take care of it. You’re talking about the bushes?

Yes, they’re little shaggy.

I agree. And the big one at the corner needs taking out. It’s half dead anyway and it’s gotten too big for the space.

She stared. Had she been here ten whole minutes? When had she lost control? Uh, good idea. Can you handle it?

I’ll get right on it. You need help with your luggage?

No. I’ll take care of that later. I want to look around a little. God, she must sound stupid.

I’ll get out of your way then. He headed for the back of the house without another word, leaving her feeling strangely lonely standing in the hall. What the hell had just happened? Had she hired a handy man? Shaking her head to shove him from her mind, she continued her exploration of the first floor.

The dining room had not changed from when she’d left all those years ago. She was confident the good china had not been touched—it was only for show anyway. At least it resided behind glass doors and should be relatively dust free. The wallpaper had been hung before she could remember. The seams had begun to pull away and was so far out of date it was hysterical. She’d always hated it and the thick dark curtains that added to the gloom. Between all the flowers on the wall, the stuff sitting around, and the heavy drapes that kept out the light, it was no wonder she suffered mild claustrophobia. It felt as though the damn house grew, looming over her as she wandered through it.

Parlor, formal dining room, and music room slash library completed the front of the house. Every room overflowing with stuff, maybe crap was a better word.

She turned her back on all of it and headed for the part of the house she’d been allowed to use.

The size of the kitchen took her aback after living so long in New York. It had been some time since she’d thought about having so much space. This kitchen could have resided in a completely different house. Relatively clutter free and fairly efficient-looking, the room took up the whole rear of the house. The appliances needed updating but didn’t look too bad.

She smiled at the eat-in area where she had consumed all of her meals as a child, as well as a sitting area off to the side. She had watched TV or studied here in the evenings so the formal parlor could stay pristine. How many hours had she spent in the little sitting room?

She had forgotten the kitchen table. Large enough to feed ten, it also served as the prep area for cooking. No need for an island back when this place was built. Maybe at one point there had been people to eat around it. If so, it was long before her time. The top surface had been painted white, which amused her as a child. No tablecloth needed. The white surface needed freshening up as well and maybe she could paint the chairs a deep green—Whoa, what was she thinking? She wouldn’t be eating here.

Abruptly she turned her back on the room and made her way to the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she began her climb. Reluctance tugged at her, slowing her pace.