My Special Angel Page 2
He glanced at the barn and shuddered. The entire building was leaning dangerously to the right. Nadia lifted down the children and chuckled as they scampered away in a flash of dark eyes and giggles. Opening the corral gate, he watched as she removed the bridle and gave IRS a gentle pat on his rump. The stallion tossed his head, glared at Owen, and trotted into the corral. Owen latched the gate. “I don’t think your horse likes me.”
“He’s miffed because you didn’t give him a treat. He’s used to having everyone pass him a goody. IRS is just a big old spoiled baby.” She laid the bridle across the crooked, splintered fence and absently picked at a hunk of peeling white paint. One day she hoped to be able to afford to fix up IRS’s home and to fill every acre of the Kandratavich Ranch with his progeny. He was the keystone of her dream. IRS represented everything she had been sacrificing for these past years. He was ‘the Kandratavich Ranch,’ a permanent home for her family at last. Her wandering days were over. She was born in Hungary; by the time she was a month old, she was living in Russia; and by her third birthday she was in what was then Yugoslavia. She was fluent in six languages by the time she was eight and had seen two thirds of Europe by her sixteenth birthday. She would be elated if she never had to step a foot off the Kandratavich Ranch.
“Nadia?”
She jerked back to the present. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
The secrets had reentered her eyes. “Where did you go?”
A faint tinge of pink darkened her cheeks. “I was sweeping the cobwebs.” She turned and started to walk toward the house.
He fell in step with her. “Sweeping cobwebs?”
“Isn’t that what you call it?”
“Oh.” He chuckled softly. “You mean, shaking the cobwebs.”
“Same thing.” She stepped up onto the porch and opened the screen door. “Sweep or shake cobwebs, and dust will still fly everywhere.” She held the door for Owen. “Come in for a moment. I will be right down.”
Owen stepped over the threshold and softly shut the screen door behind him. Nadia had already disappeared out of the spacious kitchen. He frowned as he glanced around the room. The counters were empty. No toaster, microwave, or even a dirty coffee cup. The walls had at one time been painted a bright yellow, but over the years they had faded into a dull-looking cream color with only the outlines of pictures or other items revealing their original color. In the spacious area where a table for eight could easily have fit, sat a small table and two wobbly-looking chairs. But Nadia had added a touch of color by covering it with a vibrant hand-painted silk scarf.
He slowly walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. His frown grew deeper. Only three things cluttered the otherwise-empty room. Two massive light-blue throw pillows, a stack of books and magazines, and an old floor lamp with a ripped and battered lamp shade. Nadia had thrown another silk scarf over the lamp to hide the shade. This one had a reproduction of a famous Picasso painting on it. Faded lace curtains hung at the windows, and the impressive brick fireplace still held the winter ashes. He slowly made his way over to the mantel and picked up what appeared to be the only trivial item in the room, an eight-inch cheap metal souvenir replica of the Statue of Liberty. He turned it over and read the inscription on the bottom of the statue: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free ...” He heard Nadia softly treading down the stairs and gently replaced the statue on the mantel. Nadia and her family had come to America searching for freedom, and by the look of the empty house they weren’t planning on staying in Crow’s Head, North Carolina, to find it.
Nadia was halfway down the stairs when she spotted Owen. “Oh, there you are, Mr. Prescott.”
“My father was called Mr. Prescott. I’m Owen.”
“Was Mr. Prescott?”
“My parents passed away about six years ago in a plane crash.”
To lose both father and mother was terrible; to lose both at the same time was tragic. “I’m sorry.” She gently touched his forearm with her fingers.
“Thank you.” He could see her sadness and feel the comfort in her touch. He tenderly captured her fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. A simple act of consolation ignited a bonfire. Heat scorched his fingers and raced up his arm.
Nadia’s eyes widened a fraction before she jerked her trembling hand out from underneath Owen’s. She quickly slid it into the deep pocket of her skirt. With the other hand she held out the money. “Here is the rest of your aunt’s money.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want the money, Nadia.” He glanced around the empty room. “You need it more than my aunt does.”
She stubbornly continued to hold out the money. “Kandrataviches don’t accept charity, Owen.”
“Don’t look on it as charity, then. Consider it a loan.”
“I already owe the Prescotts enough.” She thrust the bills into his hands.
Owen had held out his hand to push the money away but ended up with it anyway. “I don’t understand. I’ve never loaned you any money.”
“Prescotts sold me this ranch.”
He held the money out to her. “Just because Prescott Realty acted as the realtor doesn’t mean you owe them money. I’m sure everything was concluded on the day you made the settlement.”
“Yes, that is true, but Prescott Mortgage Company holds the deed to this ranch.” She cocked her head and studied Owen’s baffled expression. “Don’t you know what properties you own?”
“Yes. No.” He glared at the money in his hand as if he’d never seen a dollar before. “I mean, I don’t know.” Now he was really confused. From all appearances Nadia and the rest of her family couldn’t afford to pay the mortgage on a ranch of this size. He’d known the ranch was in run-down condition when it was placed on the market and how excited Don Adamson had been when it finally sold after two years. But how did Nadia get the mortgage past Bill Meyers? The manager of the Prescott Mortgage Company ran the place with an eye on the bottom line at all times. “The mortgage company doesn’t own the ranch, Nadia; you do. We just lent you the money to buy it, that’s all.”
“You hold the papers that say it is mine.” She slowly started to walk toward the kitchen with Owen.
“Only until you pay off the loan.”
“Then it’s not mine.”
“Technically, yes, but—”
“And can’t you sell the ranch to someone else?”
“Not unless you default on the loan.” Owen groaned. “Didn’t they explain all this to you when you applied for the mortgage?”
“Yes. Mr. Meyers was quite clear. For twenty years I make payments, then I get the papers. Until then you own part of the ranch.”
Owen gazed into her intelligent, stubborn eyes and groaned again. Everything she said was true, but other people didn’t look at their mortgage company as part-owner of their homes. “What about your parents? I’m sure they could explain that I don’t own any part of the ranch.”
“They never had a mortgage.” A smile teased the corner of her mouth at the thought of her parents having a payment book.
“What about your uncles?”
Nadia’s smile grew into a full-blown grin. “This is the first piece of property that a Kandratavich has ever owned.”
“Ever?” cried Owen.
“Ever,” answered Nadia with pride. She glanced around her kitchen and smiled. “I offered my good fortune to my family, and they have accepted.” She frowned momentarily as she opened the door for him. “I’m afraid there’s a lot they don’t understand about the American way of life. Most of their information comes from old movies they watched while waiting for their visas.”
“Let me guess.” He ran his hand over his throat. “Were any of them old cowboy movies?” He didn’t want to leave just yet.
Nadia fought the blush stealing up her cheeks as she remembered the mock hanging. “I guess I should warn you that my father and uncles watched every cowboy movie they could get their hands on.”
“My brothers Stevo and Mikol favored Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon and Kevin Costner in Bull Durham.”
“This is getting better by the minute.”
“My sister Sonia and her husband, Gustavo, became obsessed with Errol Flynn. My brother, Nikita, idolizes Cary Grant, and my other brother, Gibbie, thinks he’s Elvis on spring break.”
Owen studied Nadia’s gorgeous face while waiting for the punch line. There had to be a joke somewhere in there. The most intriguing woman who had ever entered his life was living with the entire Actors Guild. “Exactly how many members of your family are living here, Nadia?” He glanced out of the open screen door and spotted two of her uncles working on the corral fence.
“Counting myself?”
“Sure.”
“Thirty-one.”
Owen silently groaned. The chances of finding Nadia alone at home were about as good as hitting the lottery. Curiously he asked, “What movies did you watch?”
“I’ve been living in the United States for five years now. My illusions about America vanished a long time ago.” She walked out onto the porch and waved at her uncles.
Owen stood on the porch and saw his car off in the distance where he had parked it earlier. Why did she have to sound so sad when she mentioned vanishing illusions? Who had crushed her dreams? He jammed the money into his pocket. Now was not the time to argue about it. There were too many questions about Nadia and her family that needed answering first, and he knew just the place to find some of those answers: the Prescott Mortgage Company.
He reached out and took her hand on the pretense of shaking it. A small, jubilant smile teased his lips when he felt the slight trembling in her fingers. He had not imagined it; she was feeling it too. “Good-bye, Nadia. It’s been an experience meeting your family and a definite pleasure meeting you.” He tenderly ran his finger over her wrist and felt the rapid pounding of her pulse.
“Are you going to press charges against them?” The violent trembling in her fingers had to be from the fear she felt for her family, didn’t it?
“Should I?” His grip tightened, and his gaze bore into hers.
“That wasn’t my question.”
He glanced over to the corral and encountered the hostile glares from her uncles. Could he in good conscience leave without doing something about the Kandrataviches? He owed the people of Crow’s Head more consideration than that. “Will you talk to them about selling bottled water to unsuspecting folks?”
“I promise to give them such a lecture that their ears will blister.”
“While you are at it, could you cover the topic of hanging one’s neighbors?”
“I’ll put hanging before swindling.” She was going to give her family more than blisters on their ears. How did they ever expect to get jobs and become respectable members of the community if they acted like outlaws?
Her serious expression pulled at his heart. Her shoulders didn’t look broad enough to carry the weight of her entire family, but they were. He released her hand and slowly raised his fingers to her forehead. With a tender stroke he smoothed out the worry wrinkle marring the graceful brow. He wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her. His gaze locked in on her sweet mouth. Correction: He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her worries away. “Then I guess I won’t be stopping at the sheriff’s office on the way home.”
Nadia released the breath she had been holding. “Thank you, Mr. Pres—I mean Owen.”
He stepped off the porch before he could change his mind and kiss her anyway. There was work to be done, and if her uncles’ glares were any indication, her family could use some cooling-off time. “Try to keep them out of trouble.” He turned and headed for his car.
Nadia leaned against one of the peeling porch’s posts and allowed herself the luxury of watching him stroll away. She usually thought jeans were the sexiest pants a man could wear, but the gray dress pants accenting Owen’s rear did a superb job. Was it the pants or the man under them that she found so fascinating? She bit the inside of her cheek as he walked away. She should be congratulating herself for her magnificent acting job. Not once that she was aware of did she drool, gape, or sigh over his gorgeous body. It had been years since she last enjoyed the intimacy of a lover’s caress or the pure satisfaction of mutual pleasure, but she knew potential when it landed on her front doorstep. And Owen J. Prescott radiated more potential than she knew what to do with.
Why, after all these years, did her hormones have to kick in, especially with Owen? He was the town’s golden boy, the perfect southern gentleman, and she was entirely wrong for him. With a heavy sigh of regret she pushed away from the post and reentered the house. Why was it that you always hungered for what you couldn’t have?
Chapter Two
Owen softly closed the file after reading it a second time. He now understood Bill Meyers’ decision to grant Nadia a mortgage. Not only had she put two thirds of the money down on the ranch but her collateral was a lucrative music contract. Nadia Kandratavich was on her way to becoming a famous international singer.
An hour ago he had caught Bill just as he was locking up the office for the evening. Bill had graciously offered to stay and answer any questions, but Owen had insisted Bill go on home to his wife and family, hastily assuring the man this had nothing to do with the way Bill was running the mortgage company. In the years since he had inherited the numerous businesses, Owen had purposely stayed out of the picture and let the managers run them, unless his opinion was asked for. His days were spent doing what he loved to do, designing buildings and homes and keeping his fingers in the running of his own construction company.
He leaned back and propped his feet up on Bill’s desk as he glanced out of the office window overlooking the town square. The setting sun was gleaming off the bronze statue of his great-great-grandfather, General Jeremiah Prescott. Old Jeremiah would have had a fit if he could see what his great-great-grandson had done. A proper southern gentleman never invaded a young woman’s privacy. Owen laced his fingers behind his neck and grinned. Then again, maybe old Jeremiah would have understood. After the Civil War Jeremiah had defied society and married a part-Cherokee maiden named Morning Eyes.
Owen glanced once more at the brown folder he had tossed onto the desk. Nadia was still shrouded in mystery. Why did she leave New York, where she was singing in a nightclub that paid her an astronomical salary, to move to a small, out-of-the-way town like Crow’s Head? The nearest nightclub was in Asheville, a good thirty-five miles away. The contract had specified that Nadia was to write and record an album in four different languages by the end of the year. There was even an option for a considerable amount of money if she could produce the same album in two more languages by December 31. Nadia either had one hell of a job cut out for herself or she was fluent in at least six languages besides English. The part that really baffled Owen was that the contract called for songs that a renowned nightclub singer from New York wouldn’t even think of singing. The album was to be a children’s record with a title song called, “Animals Under My Bed.”
With a heavy sigh Owen stood up and placed the file back into the cabinet. Some of his questions had been answered, but now there were twice as many others. He glanced at his watch as he hurriedly locked the office and got into his car. Tonight was Aunt Verna’s bridge night, and with any luck he could make it home and into his office before any of her lady friends cornered him about eligible nieces and granddaughters. Sometimes he thought Verna’s Thursday-night bridge club was an elaborate front for Matchmakers Anonymous.
* * *
Nadia stubbornly glared at her aunt Sofia and shook her head. She could think of a thousand ways to spend her Saturday, this was not one of them. “I don’t want my tea leaves read.”
Sofia pushed the antique bone-china cup across the counter toward Nadia. “You must.” The cup had be
en in her family for generations, and she had lovingly held it in her lap during the entire flight to her new home in America. “Your mother had the dream again last night.”
“Mama always has dreams.”
“This is the sixth time she has had this same dream.” She pushed the cup closer to Nadia’s fingers. “Drink. Let me put her mind to rest.”
“How can you put her mind to rest when she doesn’t even know what the dreams mean?” Nadia’s fingers lightly grazed the cup and saucer. Years before, Sofia had read her leaves and predicted a move of great distance for the entire family. Nadia had foolishly thought they would be leaving Russia and heading for Germany, Poland, or some other Eastern European country. Who would have thought six years ago that they all would be living in America?
“She knows the dreams concern you. She’s afraid her love for her oldest child will cloud her judgment.”
Nadia couldn’t resist teasing her aunt, who was like a second mother to her. “Don’t you feel any love for me, Sofia?”
“Foolish questions deserve no answers. Now, drink.”
Nadia picked up the cup and glared at her aunt over the top of it. “I don’t want to hear about any tall, dark, and handsome strangers.”
Sofia placed her hands on her well-endowed hips as Nadia drank the tea. “I only say what I see, nothing more.”
Nadia finished all but the dregs of the tea. With a triumphant smile she turned the cup over onto the saucer. “You will find only music, hard work, many responsibilities, and great happiness there.” She purposely pushed the image of Owen Prescott from her mind. It was bad enough the man plagued her dreams—must he intrude on her every waking thoughts too?
Sofia waited a couple of moments for the liquid to drain out of the cup before slowly turning it back over. She carefully carried the cup over to the light pouring in from the window. With both hands cradling the cup, she stood there staring down into it.