Mending Fences (Destined for Love: Mansions) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Cover Design © 2017 Steve Novak

  Formatting by LJP Creative

  Edits by Eschler Editing

  Published by Currant Creek Press

  North Logan, Utah

  Mending Fences © 2017 by Lorin Grace

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and dialogue in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.

  First printing: October 2017

  ASIN: B075DHM1CQ

  For Anita

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  All Mandy needed was four more inches to get the perfect shot, but no matter which direction she moved along the gate, the black-walnut tree blocked part of her view. She glanced over her shoulder. The only vehicle on the neglected lane was her ancient blue VW Golf, or the “Golf Ball,” named for the many dents inflicted by an Indiana hailstorm. Vehicles sped by on the county road beyond. Still, she felt as if someone were watching her.

  Sometime in the last decade, the old wrought-iron gate had been replaced with a standard metal five-row pole gate. The rock columns that supported the archway now crumbled from their lofty height to little taller than her own five and a half feet. Haphazard piles of rubble lay within the fence line—a victim of the tornado that had hopscotched across the area three years ago. New chain-link fencing replaced the old pole fence.

  Mandy tested the gate. The chain didn’t swing more than five inches either way. Climbing on the lowest rail and leaning over the top, she tried again, but the tree still obscured her view. The second rail wasn’t any better, nor the third. On the fourth, her positioning became precarious but gave her the best view so far. After checking to make sure no one was watching, she swung her leg over the top rail and straddled the gate, adjusting her flowing skirt to keep the fabric from tangling around her knees. Grandma Mae’s voice echoed in her head: “Amanda, ladies don’t climb in dresses,” but she needed to take the shot. Not as clean a shot as she would get from inside the gate, but good enough. Mandy leaned as far as she dared to the right and focused through the viewfinder. Click.

  “Hey! No trespassing!” a harsh male voice bellowed behind her.

  Mandy turned to see who, and her world turned upside down. Her foot hit the ground first, but she kept going.

  As the air came back into her lungs, three things came to her—the pain in her left foot, the blue, plastic-looking gun pointed at her face, and the portion of her skirt waving at her from the gate. Ignoring the toy gun, she sat up and yelped. There would be bruises. She tugged the remains of her skirt down. A chunk was missing from the right side, exposing more of her thigh than she was comfortable with.

  The camera. Where was it? Several black lumps lay four feet away. She closed her eyes, hoping she was seeing double. No use. The camera lens lay in three pieces on the cracked asphalt. If she were lucky, the man holding the funny plastic gun would shoot her, and maybe it would fire real bullets and not water. Death would be better than facing her faculty adviser. She turned her attention to the gun holder.

  “Can’t you read?” He waved the gun toward one of the “No Trespassing” signs hanging every ten yards along the fence.

  “Of course, I can. I was on that side of the fence. I am only trespassing because I fell.” She attempted to look him in the eye, but the sun peeking at her over his shoulder forced her to squint.

  “Get up.”

  Standing up in a skirt from her position was no easy feat. Grandma Mae would have a hissy fit if she saw me now.

  “Hurry up.”

  “You can be a gentleman and put the gun away and give me a hand, or you can wait.”

  He chose to wait.

  Mandy suppressed a cry as she stood, then adjusted her weight to her right leg.

  “So, what were you doing? Coming to vandalize the old Crawford place?” Even standing she couldn’t see his face well. The shadow of the hat he wore hid most of it.

  “I think it should be fairly obvious my intention isn’t to vandalize anything.” Mandy pointed to the broken camera.

  “You were climbing over the gate.”

  “I climbed on the gate. I had no intention of setting foot on the ground.”

  “Who sent you?” He waved the gun again.

  Mandy gritted her teeth to keep the sarcastic comments inside. “No one sent me.”

  “That is what the last one said before hightailing it off to the land developers in Chicago.”

  Mandy hopped a step to the gate.

  “Hold it right there.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Will you please put the squirt gun away so we can sort this out?”

  The man shifted. He was younger than she’d first thought, only a year or two older than her twenty-six years.

  She hopped again. “I know you don’t believe me, but in case you haven’t noticed, I am hardly in a position to run away or to hurt you.”

  He lowered the gun. “This isn’t a squirt gun; it is the newest prototype of printable gun.”

  “That thing can shoot real bullets?” The thought that the plastic gun didn’t squirt water caused a tremor to pass through her.

  “It can, but in this case they are rubber.” He slid the gun into a holster at his back.

  Mandy hopped another step. “If you can give me a hand, I will le
ave. I seem to have injured my foot.”

  The man shook his head and walked over to the end of the gate, inserted a key in the padlock, and removed the chain. Instead of coming to help her, he walked over to the remains of the camera. “That looks like one expensive camera.”

  Mandy limped, using the gate for support. “Tell me about it.”

  “What did you say?” The man picked up the pieces and strode over to intercept her.

  “I was agreeing. It is a very expensive camera.”

  Cradling the camera pieces, he blocked her way. “Probably more than a teenager like you can afford. Who paid you to come here?”

  “Can’t you read? The camera is clearly marked ‘University Property.’” Mandy jabbed a finger at the UPC inventory sticker.

  “Why would the university want pictures of this place?”

  “They don’t. I do. I borrowed the camera for my MFA project, and I’m not a teenager.”

  For a split second, Mandy thought she saw a flicker of something other than anger, but it was difficult to tell with the brim of his hat shading his face.

  “You’re bleeding.” He pointed to her arm.

  Blood trickled from her elbow. “Just a bit.” Not like a few drops of blood were her biggest problem at the moment.

  “Aren’t you going to do something about that?”

  “Like what? Rip the rest of my skirt off and wrap it?”

  The man walked around her and retrieved the portion of her skirt still clinging to the upper rail. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” His chivalry was unparalleled. She wrapped the remnant around her arm. He stood close enough now that she could see him clearly. She would know those blue eyes anywhere. “Danny?”

  He stepped back. “No one calls me that. I don’t care what you think you know from the tabloids. You don’t know me.”

  “Yes, I do. The summer you lived here—”

  “Stop.” He shoved the camera and lens parts at her. “Just leave.” He pushed the gate open wide.

  Mandy felt him watching as she dumped the pieces in the camera bag she’d left on the side of the road. “And to think Grandma Mae thought you would grow up to be a gentleman,” she muttered as she hoisted the bag to her shoulder. She winced when the strap hit a bruise.

  Daniel froze in place, his hand on the gate. “What did you say?”

  “I said Grandma Mae was wrong about you.” Mandy limped to the car, the tears she had managed to keep at bay now escaping. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. The old Danny would have helped her.

  When she checked the rearview mirror, he still stood at the gate.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As the Golf disappeared in a cloud of dust, Daniel went inside the gate before locking it. Memories of the one summer he was allowed to be a child poured back as fast as he had downed Grandma Mae’s lemonade.

  How had he not recognized Amanda Fowler? The last photo he had seen of her had been from her high school graduation invitation sent by Grandma Mae, which he had ignored like all the Christmas cards that had stopped coming a while ago. She hadn’t changed much since the photo was taken. Her hair might have been longer—hard to tell with it up in a ponytail—but it was still the soft-brown color of the deer they used to watch. And those eyes sparkled as vibrantly as they had twenty years ago. She had been wearing a skirt rather than cutoff jeans and the twigs she’d once had for legs … better not even go there.

  He pulled out his phone and punched speed dial. “Hey, Colin, do me a favor. Flag the local hospital and emergency clinics for a Mandy, or Amanda Fowler? Then make sure the bill is paid in full.”

  The voice on the end of the line grunted. “You know how hard that is with HIPAA.”

  “Not as hard as you tell me it is.” Colin had been his roommate from the time they were both ten years old at the boarding school they’d both detested until college, when they’d chosen different paths. Top of his class at MIT, Colin could probably get into any computer in the United States if he wanted to. Good thing they were still friends as well as business partners, like their fathers.

  “Are you at the Indiana property?”

  Daniel shifted his phone to the other ear. “Yes. I still can’t decide what to do with it. I love the pond and the hills and all the trees, but Grandfather’s monstrosity of a house, not so much. And before you ask, she hurt her ankle, and, no, I didn’t touch her. She had an accident that was kind of my fault.”

  “Do I need to give legal a heads-up?”

  “No, this one won’t sue.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Daniel stopped at the front door of the caretaker’s house and punched in his code on the security pad. “I bet she doesn’t even hit social media with the tale.”

  Colin laughed. “You’re kidding. Is she eighty?”

  “No, she turned twenty-six on February 9.”

  “Woah, there, how well do you know this woman?”

  “Not the way you are thinking, Colin. Don’t even go there.”

  “How do you know Miss She-Won’t-Tell?” Colin’s curiosity was annoying but justified. Over the last few months, every time Daniel even blinked at a woman, she tried to turn the gesture into some scandal to have her fifteen minutes of fame with one of America’s most eligible bachelors, as determined by some group of publicists trying to sell magazines.

  “Well, enough to know she was raised better than that.” Better than me.

  “That is no guarantee.” Daniel heard Colin’s rapid typing on the keyboard. No doubt he had flagged every one of Mandy Fowler’s social media accounts. “I need better than that.”

  “She called me Danny.”

  Silence reverberated from the other end of the line. Daniel’s thumb hovered above disconnect when Colin’s voice came back on. “She checked into the county hospital ER. She is the little girl you used to talk about, isn’t she?”

  Not little anymore, but just as cute. “Colin, get the bill paid.”

  “Done.”

  “And, Colin. Stay out of the rest of her files. Anything not in the public eye stays out of yours. Got it?”

  “Sure.” Colin paused for a second. “If this is the Mandy I think it is, think before you act.”

  Too late for that.

  Candace came rushing into the emergency room. “Mandy! How dare you send a text like that.” Several heads turned toward her voice.

  Mandy leaned forward and tried to shush her roommate. “People are looking.”

  “Let ’em look.” But Mandy’s roommate lowered her voice and took the molded plastic seat next to her.

  Mandy rolled her eyes. “You say that because you like them looking.”

  Today Candace sported an oversized black art-deco T-shirt and vibrant blue-and-violet hair, one of her favorite wigs. She turned to a gawking toddler and smiled. The child laughed and pointed. “Look! Clown!” His mother picked him up and moved to the other side of the room.

  Candace turned back to Mandy. “So, what happened? ‘Fell at C Mansion. Meet at ER. DC is a jerk’ is hardly enough information.”

  “I went to take a photo, and the—”

  “Excuse me, Mandy Fowler?” A nurse parked a wheelchair in front of the two women. Mandy moved to the chair and jerked her head so Candace would follow.

  “Is she family?” The nurse didn’t make any attempt to mask his skepticism.

  “She’s my cousin.” Eighth, twice removed? Something close to that.

  The nurse studied them both, no doubt comparing Mandy’s fair skin to Candace’s olive for a moment before signaling Candace to follow.

  Mandy endured the nurse’s questions and having her vitals taken. She tried not to watch Candace’s reaction to the story she related of how she injured her foot.

  The nurse looked up from the computer he was using. “You climbed a fence wearing a skirt?”

  “Hence the rip.” Mandy toyed with the frayed edge of the ruined vintage ’90s broomstick skirt.
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  The nurse raised his brow and continued typing.

  As soon as he left, Candace pounced. “You didn’t tell the nurse what startled you? DC? As in the famous, rich one whose grandfather owned the old mansion north of town?”

  “Daniel Crawford came up behind me and accused me of trespassing.”

  “The Daniel Crawford? Is he as handsome as his photos?” Candace mock-fanned herself.

  Didn’t matter how handsome he was. Those piercing-blue eyes could not overcome his rudeness. Mandy didn’t want to get into that now, so she shrugged.

  Candace moved beside the gurney. “There has got to be more to the story than that.”

  Why isn’t the doctor here yet? “Okay, how about he is the rudest, most bullheaded, most condescending, ungentlemanly person I have ever met. Grandma Mae would tan his hide if she could see him now.”

  Candace’s penciled-in brows disappeared under her blue bangs.

  Someone tapped on the door. A balding doctor stuck his head in. “Miss Fowler?”

  “That’s me.” Anticipating his next question, Mandy rattled off her birth date like a prisoner in a French novel.

  The doctor manipulated her foot one way, then another. “I don’t think it’s broken. Let’s double-check with some X-rays.”