A Stranger in Wynnedower Read online

  A Stranger in Wynnedower

  Table of Contents

  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

  A Stranger in Wynnedower

  by

  Grace Greene

  Kersey Creek Books

  P.O. Box 6054

  Ashland, VA 23005

  A Stranger in Wynnedower

  Copyright © 2012 Grace Greene

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art Design by Grace Greene

  Trade Paperback Release: November 2012

  ISBN-13: 978-0615707464

  Digital Release: November 2012

  ISBN-13: 978-0988471405

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the author, Grace Greene.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

  A STRANGER IN WYNNEDOWER

  Love and suspense with a dash of Southern Gothic....

  Rachel Sevier, a thirty-two year old inventory specialist, travels to Wynnedower Mansion in Virginia to find her brother who has stopped returning her calls. Instead, she finds Jack Wynne, the mansion’s bad-tempered owner. He isn’t happy to meet her. When her brother took off without notice, he left Jack in a lurch.

  Jack has his own plans. He’s tired of being responsible for everyone and everything. He wants to shake those obligations, including the old mansion. The last thing he needs is another complication, but he allows Rachel to stay while she waits for her brother to return.

  At Wynnedower, Rachel becomes curious about the house and its owner. If rumors are true, the means to save Wynnedower Mansion from demolition are hidden within its walls, but the other inhabitants of Wynnedower have agendas, too. Not only may Wynnedower’s treasure be stolen, but also the life of its arrogant master.

  In letting go of what she has struggled to control and hold onto, will Rachel gain more than she could have dreamed? Or will she lose everything and everyone she cares about?

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to families—first born, middle child, baby of the family, parents and those who perform the role of parenting, grandparents, extended family, ancestors and generations yet to come. Through a miracle of ‘heart chemistry,’ our loved ones and memories make the places and structures in which we live, our HOME.

  HOME. It isn’t necessarily under one roof, but rather a place represented by the capacity of our hearts, a place that isn’t truly home without the people who matter to us. HOME is the place for which you’ll risk everything to keep it and the loved ones who fill it, safe and sound, and they’ll do the same for you.

  It takes some of us a little longer than others to find our HOME, but when you do, you know it. And that’s my wish for my readers ~ may you find your true HOME and be blessed by the treasure within.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  My love and sincere appreciation to my husband and family for their support—you are my HOME.

  Other books by Grace Greene

  BEACH RENTAL

  KINCAID’S HOPE

  Chapter One

  Rachel Sevier stared at the monstrous stone house, and its rows of blank, dirty windows stared back.

  She’d driven from Baltimore to Virginia, to this area called Goochland. After leaving the interstate, there’d been a pocket of shiny new construction—a small shopping center and houses—but that snippet of civilization was quickly gone and then she was deep in the woods.

  Jeremy had given her directions: drive until the trees crowd in close and the road looks like it’s about to end, then keep driving. She had.

  Wynnedower Mansion, built of gray stone and mellow wood, looked out of place, as if a giant hand had plucked it from the gently rolling hills of England, dropped it into this clearing, and left it to rot amid honeysuckle vines and Virginia creeper.

  Not quite what she’d expected. To her, the word ‘mansion’ meant something a little more upscale.

  Gnats swarmed in the humidity. Rachel shooed them away. Hers was the only car here, and there was no one else, including Jeremy, anywhere in sight.

  Several weeks ago, with graduation barely behind him, he’d told her he was taking a job at Wynnedower as a caretaker. He already had a real job in Richmond and was supposed to be preparing for graduate studies, but he wanted to be independent. It’s a great deal, Rachel, he’d said. No rent in exchange for part-time caretaking.

  Caretaking? Really? She adored her baby brother, six-foot-two, golden-haired and smart—so different from her own appearance that no one believed they were related until they saw their eyes. There was no mistaking their unusual eye color. But handsome or not, he wasn’t trained in security and had no handyman skills. The worst of it was he’d stopped returning her calls two weeks ago, right after he told her he’d met a girl. He’d said it in that special way in which girl didn’t just mean girl—it meant everything bright and shiny and worth living for.

  It was a big sister’s job to inject reality and practicality and she’d done her duty. He hadn’t appreciated it, and it wasn’t the first time they’d disagreed, but he’d never stopped talking to her before.

  Finally, she gave in to worry and moved up her visit. Luckily, the change in timing worked for her current job and for the new job she hoped to get, but she needed to find her brother before she could get on with her plans.

  She tucked her cell phone and keys into the pockets of her suit jacket and locked her purse in the car.

  Scraggly bushes obscured the ground level of the house. A wide stairway bypassed that level and led to the main floor. Rachel paused at the entrance. A broken doorbell dangled by a wire. She settled for knocking.

  There was no shade on the porch. She tapped her shoe, tugged at the neck of her blouse and fanned the front of her jacket. She should’ve waited until after she’d arrived before getting into this suit.

  The suit was out of place here. Dressy and expensive, it was not in the budget, but it made a bold statement and was perfect for the event she planned to attend in Richmond that evening. She straightened her skirt, brushed off a speck of lint, and knocked again.

  No answer. She tested the knob, barely touching it, yet the door swung slowly inward on silent hinges.

  The foyer was the size of her apartment living room, but without a stick of furniture or decoration. Ahead, a wide opening led to a larger room.

  She leaned inside and called out, “Jeremy?”

  Her voice traveled through unseen rooms and echoed back emptiness.

  Rac
hel stepped inside and eased the front door closed. As she crossed the bare wood of the foyer her heels clattered. No one had responded to her call; she was surely alone here. Even so, she removed her shoes and tucked them under her arm.

  This room was vast and high-ceilinged. The walls were a mess of half-stripped wallpaper and dingy paint, and none of the work looked recent, but the air was surprisingly, deliciously cool. She paused to soak it in. To her right, a wide staircase climbed halfway to the second floor, did a U-turn and continued upward.

  Did she dare?

  She’d risk anything for Jeremy.

  Dark wood balusters led the way. Upstairs, doors and shadowy alcoves ringed a spacious landing. A hallway continued onward, but she didn’t follow it because the only light filtered up by way of the stairs. The doors on the landing each presented the same paneled surface with faceted glass door knobs set into cast iron plates.

  She turned the knob of the nearest door. Locked. The door directly across was locked, too. She stooped to peer through the keyhole.

  A gruff shout jolted her. “What are you doing?”

  He was a tall man, broad and unshaven, with long, unruly black hair. His jeans were rumpled and worn, and marred by paint smears. He wore an unbuttoned, wrinkled cotton shirt over a white t-shirt.

  Rachel stumbled back a few steps, then steadied herself. She pointed her spiked heels at him. “Who are you?”

  The dark hall deepened the shadows beneath his brows, making his face impossible to read. She felt his eyes take in her shoes, her suit, then drop down to her nearly bare feet. She felt even shorter than she was.

  “You’re trespassing. Get out,” he said, his voice rough and uncompromising.

  “Is Jeremy Sevier here?”

  “If you’re a jilted girlfriend, that’s not my problem. If you’re hunting antiques, you’re a looter.”

  “Looter?” Outrage pushed her fear aside. “I’m his sister. Where’s Jeremy?”

  “Sister? He didn’t leave a note. Get out.” He turned and walked toward the alcove.

  “Wait, tell me what you mean. He left? Why?”

  He looked back and glared. “Ask him when you find him.”

  “You said he didn’t leave a note. What did you mean?”

  “What I said. He didn’t notify the property management company he was leaving, so unless he sends a postcard from wherever, I don’t expect to hear from him.”

  Fear curled up hard and cold in her belly. “How can you be sure he simply left?”

  “What?”

  “That something didn’t happen to him?”

  He moved a few, deliberate steps toward her. “If it did, it didn’t happen here.”

  Past her first shock and with her eyes better adjusted to the low light, Rachel realized that his clothing, though shabby, was clean. She detected a whiff of soap. The wild hair that had looked stringy was actually still drying, and the stubble on his face obscured the strong bone structure.

  “Are you the owner?”

  He made a rude noise. “Owner? Right.” He pointed toward the stairs. “The door is that way. Leave or I’ll call the police. Trespassing is a crime.” He walked away, dismissing her.

  Rachel waited, breathless, disbelieving his behavior and expecting him to return. Her hands fisted. This man was no help. An impediment, that’s all he was. And he’d left, arrogantly assuming she’d follow orders, so he was also foolish.

  She went to the stairs, but only descended a few steps, then waited as the sound of his footfalls grew distant. If she moved quickly, she could check the other doors before he returned.

  The door opposite the alcove was unlocked. It opened. The brighter light straggling in through the grimy window was a welcome sight.

  The corded plaid spread on the bed—she recognized it. She’d purchased one for Jeremy years earlier. He’d taken it with him to college, and this one was bedraggled enough to have been in use for a decade, but it was a common style and proved nothing, really.

  A comb, a few pennies and a green dry cleaners’ tag littered the top of the dresser. Old paperbacks were stacked in a corner. Nothing identifiable as Jeremy’s.

  Unlike the floor below, the air up here was musty and hot. Rachel tossed her shoes onto the bed. Through the window, she saw her car below. She pushed up on the window sash. It was out of alignment and budged only one stubborn inch. She gained another inch on the second try but left it at that lest she break a nail. After all, she had plans for the evening, plus the job interview in the morning.

  Rachel shrugged off her suit jacket and hung it on the door knob. With the door open and the window up a bit, the fresher air made the heat more bearable. The silk shell stuck to her back. She pulled it away from her damp skin.

  She searched the room. The closet was empty except for plastic hangers. In the drawers, she found a few socks with threadbare heels and an old pair of jeans. There were so few personal items. Yet this was where she’d expected to find him and she found it hard to give up that idea. Then she hit jackpot—a sweater she’d given him two Christmases ago.

  Relief washed over her. She leaned against the dresser, elbows resting on the scarred wood and her face in her hands. Jeremy hadn’t been a kid in a long time, but she’d raised him, bandaged his scrapes and fussed at him to do his homework. As he grew and towered over her, she’d worked to support him. He’d always be her baby brother and he was the only family she had left.

  The lack of possessions in the room suggested he’d moved out, at least in part, perhaps in haste. Next, she’d talk to his employer—his real employer, not this guy.

  Who was this man, anyway? A handyman? A new caretaker? Had Jeremy already been replaced? She slapped the top of the dresser.

  A waft of cooler breeze caught her by surprise and caressed her face. She closed her eyes, relishing the relief brought by the stronger draft—until the door slammed shut.

  Momentary blankness swamped her. Rachel gripped the edge of the dresser and drew in a long, slow breath. Calmly, she walked to the door, twisted the knob and pulled. Nothing.

  “Hello?” She called out in a reasonable voice, then louder, “Hello?”

  The man must have opened an exterior door. The air had sucked through like a wind tunnel, pulling the door along with it.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  She grabbed the knob and rattled it, shaking the door. She added her other hand, getting a firmer grip on the knob.

  Whoa, Rachel. No need to panic.

  She released the doorknob and brushed her moist palms against her skirt.

  Breathe deeply. Think it through.

  He had opened a door, probably the front door for the draft to have such force. He’d see her car and come back. If not, no problem. She had a phone. She could call for help. She’d deal with trespassing issues later.

  Rachel patted her sides. No pockets. No jacket. She turned to the bed, but only her shoes were there. Her jacket wasn’t on the floor; therefore, it was on the other side of the door, out of reach, with her phone in the pocket.

  She drew in a long, deep breath, closed her eyes tightly and focused, willing it to happen. She visualized that rude man from his dark hair and shirt to the jeans with paint marks and the broken down loafers. He gets angry when he sees the car and realizes she ignored his order to leave. He storms up the stairs. Her red jacket hangs from the doorknob like a flag. He sees it and understands what has happened, that this falling down house has trapped her.

  Her heart pounded.

  No panic allowed.

  She slumped against the door and sneezed.

  More than a century of dust, long settled into the sinews of the house, seemed to swell and fill the hot air. Stuffy and a headache-maker, for sure. Now, thinking about heat and dust, she was thirsty, too.

  The mattress dipped as she sat on the edge and stared at the door. Perspiration prickled at her hairline, and rivulets trickled down her spine.

  She squashed her fear by focusing on reality. This del
ay jeopardized her evening plans. Time wise, it was a good thing she was already dressed for the reception because, if that awful man rescued her soon, she could still make the museum reception.

  Oh, Jeremy. Where are you?

  Suddenly she saw what was right in front of her: a gap of about one-half inch, maybe a bit more, between the door and the floor. Rachel dropped to her knees and peered through the opening.

  Her jacket had fallen to the floor.

  It was a dark, reddish mound in the dim hallway. If she could snag the material with a hanger, she could pull it, along with her phone, through the gap.

  The pantyhose would never survive a sprawl on the floor. They were hot, too. She slipped them down her legs, then folded and tucked them into the top dresser drawer along with the lonely socks, presumably Jeremy’s. The scatter rug would protect her skirt from the dirty floor.

  Plastic hanger in hand, she lay down on the rug. It scrunched up beneath her. She smoothed it out and tried again. Cheek to the floor, she pushed the hanger through. Slowly, the crook went into a fold. She coaxed the red fabric toward the door.

  Sweat broke out in the parts of her body that had been dry until now. She ignored it, as well as the grainy feel of the dirt between her cheek and the floor boards, and focused on the jacket. It slid, making a soft brushing sound against the floor. It came loose, but close to the door. She stretched her fingers through the opening. It was a snug fit and the bottom edge of the door scraped her skin, but lightly. She touched the fabric with the tips of her fingers.

  A shadow fell across the jacket.

  She held her breath. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Her fingers were sticking out. He had to know she was here. She pulled her hand back, rose to her knees and banged on the door.

  “Please, help me. Get me out of here. I’m trapped.” Ear to the door, she listened in vain. “Hello? Who’s out there?”

  She pressed her cheek to the floor and watched as the shadow moved. A floorboard creaked, and then there was nothing except the jacket and that narrow view of the hallway.