Possessed by a Stranger (10 page)

Hannah clicked to open a new email addressing
it to the email P. Garret used on her website. She downloaded the
picture file to an attachment. The subject matter was labeled
Abernathy paintings, which should receive his full attention, since
the artist’s name was a well-guarded secret. All of Louise’s
paintings were signed with simply her initials, L.A. written in a
flowing cursive and always in red. If he didn’t know the artist’s
true identity he would now. Him knowing she knew was a point in her
favor. He was playing a game she had already won. Now it was time
to play her game and he was the prize.

Death and pay taxes, the only things certain
in life, had a new addition on Hannah’s list and one with a greater
amount of certainty. Mr. P. Garret would move heaven and earth to
find her after he received that picture. She had seen it in his
eyes and felt it in his kiss. He took what he wanted, but in this
case, he had to find it first.

After changing her clothes and carefully
repacking the paintings and the glass, Hannah carried the box to
her car to lock it safely in the trunk. Two trips later, she said
her final farewell to her apartment with only her purse and her
laptop as the last remnants that she had ever lived there. Sitting
cross-legged on the floor, Hannah sat her laptop across her legs.
She placed the cursor over send. With a tap on the mouse pad and a
mischievous smile on her lips, her fate was sealed. Message sent on
the screen was her cue to pack up the computer and get the heck out
of town.

“See you soon handsome stranger. Happy
hunting.” She hoped not too soon. She assumed there would be a
cooling off period. The time between now and when he actually found
her. She closed the door leaving a huge part of her life in the
empty apartment. A changed Hannah walked out of the apartment
building. A Hannah that bravely stood independently, freed from her
obligations to others. A Hannah that took control of her life,
ready to start over and build a new life, in a place she
belonged.

CHAPTER FIVE

It was love at first sight when she stopped
in front of the cottage. She breathlessly stood outside her car,
taking in the beauty. Excitement and nostalgia consumed Hannah as
she stared at her new home and her great grandmother’s legacy. She
pushed open the rusted metal gate that shrilly squeaked from years
of neglect. She added oil to her list of supplies. Ranging from
saplings to fully matured oak trees had taken over the yard, in
various states of growth.

Hannah stepped the steps taken by Louise
Abernathy, her great grandmother when she was her same age and
madly in love with a man she would lose. The cobblestone walkway
partially camouflaged by grass, weathered the elements through
years of changing seasons. Bad drainage had smoothed stripes across
the walkway in several areas. The damage was nothing a shovel and
some hard work wouldn’t correct.

The high-pitched roof was covered with slate.
Hannah made a mental note to have the expensive roof checked by a
professional whether she found leaks inside or not. Ivy engulfed
the stone walls in a blanket of green. Its clinging stems reached
out in search of the next arrow of sunlight shooting through the
trees’ thick foliage. The rambling plant needed to be trimmed and
thinned, especially around the windows. Some of the decorative wood
brackets looked cracked and probably need replaced. Overall, the
outside of the cottage made of stone, brick and rough-cut wood was
intact. Her cottage had stood the test of time.

She surveyed the circumference to insure the
cottage was secure. She wouldn’t want to be surprised by a
squatter. As a city girl, she knew the pitfalls of entering an
abandoned building. In the country, four-legged intruders should be
a bigger concern or legless slithering things. Maybe, she should
add exterminator to her list of contractors.

Her curiosity won over caution. She turned
the key to unlock the front door of her new home. The heavy slatted
wood door was swollen shut. Chips of varnish had stripped away from
the wood it was supposed to protect. She pulled and jerked on the
door unsuccessfully. Oddly, it opened outwards onto the stoop. The
door went on her list to see if the door was reversible. Knocking
someone off the stoop when she opened the door might be a problem.
She finally braced one leg against the doorframe for leverage. She
pulled the doorknob with everything she had left. Shoot, she was
still locked out.

Hannah sat on the rotting step of the stoop
to wait on the contractors she scheduled for bids. Her cottage
wasn’t her first restoration. She loved the sound of “her cottage”.
She felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t felt before. Her thoughts
drifted to another place she belonged, in the arms of a
stranger.

That night was unencumbered without all the
pitfalls of trying to leave a lasting impression so the
relationship would continue, which ironically left a lasting
impression. He crept into her thoughts, like now, and her dreams.
She wondered how desperately he wanted that painting and why.
Playing with fire usually was something she would avoid. She
couldn’t deny the fire that burned in her when she thought about
him, which was beginning to be all the frigging time.

A white ford truck pulled in behind her car.
A sun darkened arm rested on the open window of the driver’s side.
“Miss Greer? I’m the electrician you called.” A husky voice shouted
out the window.

“I’m glad to see you. The front door’s
stuck.” The first of the contractors had arrived, thus, marking the
beginning of fulfilling a long time dream. Hannah knew what a
restoration entailed. She stood alone, drenched in determination.
She walked her own path now and nothing blocked her way. Smiling
contently from the inside out, her only thought was “let the games
begin”.

The beer gutted older man stood beside the
truck, tugging on his pants. The heavy tool belt fought against his
attempt, winning the battle of the butt crack. A younger version of
the man walked around the truck. The shaggy haired younger man
trailed behind the electrician as they walked to the cottage.

“I’m Bob Jackson and this is my son, Seth.
You’ll have to excuse his staring. He thinks you’re the ghost that
haunts this house.” Seth blushed rolling his eyes.

He was in his early twenties or younger,
following in his father’s footsteps, learning the family trade.
Seth, was a country boy, born and raised, with no other path to
lead him from his fated career. The slump of his shoulders, his
feet dragging the bottom of his baggy jeans portrayed his
contempt.

“Relax, if I was a ghost, I wouldn’t need the
door unstuck. I would just walk through the walls. I’m dying to see
the inside.” Bob frowned, as he looked her over before scanning the
outside of the cottage. His thoughts were written on his face. She
was a young female that wouldn’t know a dang blasted thing about
electricity or construction. The cottage was an old money pit,
which would take a fortune to fix, and she was too stupid to
realize the expense. Most people couldn’t or wouldn’t look passed
the obvious to find the beauty hidden underneath.

“Surely you didn’t buy it sight unseen? This
place is going to need more work than tearing it down and building
a new one. Sure you don’t want to level it and save yourself a
fortune? A nice double wide would fit nicely on this property.”
Bob’s condescending tone made her feel a twinge of pity for Seth.
Those were some badass footprints to follow. Bob confused age with
wisdom, leaving her to believe, he thought of this project as a
baby-sitting job. She saw a lot of head butting and butt crack in
her future with her employment of this particular electrician.

“I haven’t seen the inside for quite a few
years. I bought it for the cottage’s historical value.” Actually,
she had only seen pictures when the deed was legally put in her
name. She wouldn’t mention she inherited the cottage. Her ancestry
lineage was her private business. This small community may or may
not welcome a relative of Louise back into the fold. Even with four
generations of separation, the sultry tale had passed down through
each and every one. The recollections she heard vilified Louise.
The Presley’s loss of a son outweighed any sympathy for his
grieving lower class lover.

A couple of hard pulls by Bob, unstuck the
door. He walked inside before Hannah had a chance to enter. She
ignored his grunts of disapproval as he continued through the
cottage. She needed to make a quick assessment before any other
contractors arrived.

The cottage was in better shape than she
expected. Apparently, the ghost of Louise Abernathy had kept any
potential vandals at bay. The large rooms had ten-foot ceilings
making them seem larger. She loved the airy feel after living in
her box of an apartment. The window casings hadn’t survived the
years of neglect. Safety issues and utility cost took precedence
over having them repaired. As soon as she had accurate measurements
she would place the window order for modernized replicates. The
cottage was exactly how she imagined. The history embraced her. She
spread her arms, twirling around the rooms, wanting to soak the
ambiance into her heart. She was finally home.

Hannah faced the electrician, plumber,
carpenter, painter and roofer for a briefing. Seth, stood behind
her. She was used to him shadowing her. He had followed her around
like a puppy dog during her initial inspection. She thought about
turning around suddenly to yell “Boo”. The possibility of running
across a country critter prevented her from scaring off her
potential protector. She would have loved to have seen his
reaction.

Hannah handed the men job scopes for the
project. They glared, rolled their eyes, and she even heard a few
grunts of disapproval. “Here are list of ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’ in
conjunction with your expertise. The main thing you need to
remember is, nothing is removed, torn into, or damaged in anyway
without my explicit written approval. Read over the scope carefully
before submitting your bid. If you have any questions please ask as
your looking over the cottage. I have the original blueprints along
with the blueprints for the downstairs bathroom addition.”

Bob, the man always in charge, interrupted
Hannah. “Well those gaslight fixtures have to be replaced unless
you don’t want electric lights. Are you going to pick them out or
do we add them to the bid?” With a hardy chuckle, Bob asserted his
authority over electrical issues.

“Whoa, let’s get something straight. I’m not
remodeling, I’m restoring and keeping as much of the original light
fixtures as possible. I can convert the gaslight chandeliers into
electric. Most of them look like they are made out of iron and I
can refurbish them. If you look over your scope, you’ll see
materials are not to be included in your bids.”

Bob, wasn’t willing to relinquish his
self-appointed management status. “You realize we get paid by the
hour. Any delays on your part are a waste of your money.” His
chuckle was a lot less hardy this time.

Hannah was experienced with multi-tasking
testosterone filled contractors. Starting each new project, she
found it imperative to set the ground rules upfront and establish
who was footing the bill. Otherwise, the project could be turned
into a disaster. All these men carried drills, hammers, electric
saws and wrecking bars they loved to use. Making sure they used
their tools of destruction correctly would be a full time job.

“Let me assure you, there will not be any
delays attributed to me. A trailer will be dropped here tomorrow
with materials. I suggest you take down all the fixtures first.
That way I can assess their condition and start work on the
keepers. The painters will be scheduled to follow your progress to
paint and repair the ceilings. By the time you are done running the
new wiring, I will have the original chandeliers ready to be
reinstalled or replacements. I need this work done quickly, so if
you need to hire extra help to keep up, just add that to your
estimate.” With Bob under control, the rest of the contractors fell
into line.

Workers and work kept Hannah preoccupied for
weeks on end. Electricians, plumbers, roofers, painters, gardeners
and a small cleaning crew, none of which understood restore versus
remodel, had to be hand held through the process. She reeked of
bleach and lemon oil when she tumbled onto her inflatable air
mattress at night. Mr. P. Garret must reside in her air mattress
because as soon as her tired body hit the sheets he appeared in her
thoughts.

Without a second to reminisce during the day,
she reserved the dreamy moments before she fell asleep to relive
her wonderful night. She created different scenarios in her mind
where they met again. Him knocking on the front door of her
cottage, her walking along the country road, and her favorite, a
huge ad in the newspaper begging her to contact him were a few of
the beginnings to her fantasy. All of them ended with her naked in
his bed. So, even if it was a fantasy, she fell asleep every night
feeling his arms holding her tight as her head rested on his firm
chest.

As soon as the cottage had running water and
some electricity, she had relinquished her motel room to take up
residence in her new home. With sweat, knowledge, and a waning
patience, she earned her contractors’ respect. Her restoration was
efficiently planned and coming up to the three-month completion
date, on track, to finish on schedule.

Her furniture was scheduled to arrive
tomorrow. She looked forward to seeing her truck drivers as much as
her furniture. At least they knew what they were doing. Things
should slow down now, giving her time to breathe without gasps of
astonishment at the newest blunder her contractors committed.
Something as simple as a bathroom break had cost her thousands of
dollars and a two-day delay. The plumber decided to run the pipes
through the wall instead of underground. Some days, relieving your
bladder turned out to be a costly necessity.