The House on Blackberry Hill: Jewell Cove #1 (Jewel Cove) by Donna Alward Page A

before the war. How old is that woman, anyway?”
    “No one knows for sure. Methuselah old.”
    Her light, lyrical laugh sent something wicked winding through his veins.
    “I guessed over ninety. She’d have to be to remember Edith.”
    “You’re right.”
    “She’s sharp as a tack. I don’t have family anymore, but I do have history. That’s what this is.” She blinked, pausing for a moment as if deliberating. “When I first got here I didn’t want to know about Marian. I was too angry, you know? I told myself I didn’t care about someone who clearly hadn’t cared about me.”
    “What changed?” he asked.
    A ghost of a smile tipped her lips. “I started to realize it might not have been all her fault. I’d like to know why my gram ended up so separated from the rest of her family. I’d like to find out all I can before I go, you know?” She swept out her hand. “And now this. It’s like finding treasure.”
    She went forward and knelt before a solid cedar chest. He watched as she carefully lifted the lid and then peered inside.
    “What’s in there?” he asked, unable to stop himself from being curious.
    “It’s clothing,” she said, leaning forward. “Oh, my gosh, look at this.” She held up a long dress. The deep purple fabric shimmered in the light and even Tom, who was oblivious to this sort of thing, could see that it was beautifully crafted and impossibly old, the fringes hanging in layers. “It looks like it was from the twenties,” she continued. “Can’t you just see it? With one of those fashionable headbands over crimped hair, and loops of black pearls to go with it? Someone in the Foster family tree was a flapper, Tom!”
    She rooted around more while Tom leaned against the door frame, simply watching the way her face lit up. It was so much better to see her this way than the way she’d looked when she’d admitted that her family was gone. He was smiling to himself when he heard her catch her breath and her hands stilled.
    “Ohhhh,” she breathed. “Oh, my.”
    “What is it?”
    She turned her head and looked up at him, eyes shining. “It’s a wedding dress. Maybe Edith’s.” She got to her feet and gently lifted out the gown. “It’s so gorgeous,” she whispered, holding it up to herself. “Look at the lace. It’s a bit yellowed, but properly dry-cleaned it would lighten a lot. The sleeves and the sash, and oh, look at this lace panel.” She grinned. “You were right. This is a treasure. I’m going to have to come up here and go through everything properly.”
    She turned in a circle, the skirt of the gown trailing in her wake.
    It was an odd time and place for Tom to have the urge to kiss her. The attic was dusty and smelled a little like old newspapers, and the single bulb threw a harsh light into the storage room. But Abby looked so vulnerable and strong all at once, childlike in her enthusiasm but womanly too as she pressed the satin and lace to her curves.
    She dropped the gown from her body and folded it carefully, laying it on top of the other items in the chest. His eyes were drawn to the curve of her hips as she bent to shut the lid. Because her hair was pulled back, her features were highlighted. Granted, she wasn’t wearing makeup but he rather liked the natural, fresh look to her skin—it was very girl-next-door. She did fill out a pair of jeans quite nicely, not to mention the fitted top. All in all she was extremely attractive in an understated way.
    Dangerous.
    The lid latched, she turned around and faced him again, and the air in the attic was still as their eyes met. There was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and the moment spun out, silent, their gazes locked until he was sure she was thinking about it, too. Curiosity. The temptation to touch.
    And wouldn’t that be a fantastic way to screw up a big potential contract.
    He cleared his throat. “I’ll bet if we looked, we could find a servant’s stairway that