Heating Up (5 page)

When she got to the office, the Griswolds were already there. They'd driven up early that morning.

“You ready?” she asked, knowing they were raring to go.

Although the couple's buyers—a neighboring grape grower who wanted to expand his vineyard—said they could rent back until the spring, they were anxious to be in a new place by fall to give their sheep and alpacas plenty of time to acclimate before the spring shearing. The Griswolds owned a wool and fleece business.

“We sure are,” Walt said, grinning. Dana liked them a lot.

They took her car to the property, which was seven miles outside of town.

“Did you do the research on the well?” Walt asked.

She motioned to the binder she had in the backseat. “It's in there, along with the property survey. It looks like the seasonal creek is part of the parcel. And, Josephine, I talked to a local repairman about the Wedgewood stove. He's pretty sure he can get it working again.”

“Oh, that's wonderful.” Josephine handed the binder to her husband. “What about the roof?”

“The owner says he hasn't done anything for twelve years but that nothing leaks. My advice is that we add that to our list to get him to come down on the price. Maybe even get him to put on a new roof.”

“The well looks good,” Walt said. “According to this, it pumps one hundred and fifty gallons of water a minute.”

“I think our biggest concern is whether we'll like it here.” Josephine sighed. “We have all those fabulous restaurants in Healdsburg, and San Francisco is only ninety minutes away.”

“Josephine, we can't afford to live there anymore,” Walt chimed in.

Dana laughed. “That's the problem with an overinflated real estate market. Even when you make a fortune on what you sell, everything costs a fortune. This is the deal here: no gourmet restaurants, no fair-trade, wait-an-hour-for-your-drip coffee places, and no trendy shops. And the closest thing to culture is cowboy poetry at the grange. But it's real, it's beautiful, and it's affordable. And I think it's the up and coming place . . . but don't take that to the bank just yet.”

“You're a good egg, Dana,” Walt said.

“You guys should stay at the Lumber Baron tonight . . . my treat. Get the flavor of the town, eat at the Ponderosa, maybe check out the mill pond in Graeagle. I'll admit Nugget doesn't have the chichi factor Healdsburg does, but it has its own charm. And more important, it's retained its agricultural roots.”

“That's for damn sure,” Walt said. “Sonoma has turned into a playground for the rich and famous.”

Two hours later, the Griswolds sat in Dana's conference room, writing up paperwork for an offer. Dana had gone to get them cold drinks from the refrigerator when her cell phone rang. Aidan.

“Hi,” she said, surprised to hear from him. “What's up?”

“I got called out on a suspicious fire in Lassen County. Looks like I'm gonna be here a few days. My moving truck is coming and my sister and Brady are in San Francisco. Any chance you could unlock the door and let the movers in?”

“What time?”

“They gave me a window of between two and six. Maybe you could put a note on the door to call as soon as they get there; that way you don't have to wait for four hours.”

“All right. But how will they know where to put everything?”

“I'll have to deal with it when I get home. Could you just make sure to lock up after everything's delivered?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Dana. I'm sorry to stick you with this.”

“It's not a problem.” She wanted to get a start on painting anyway.

After they ended the call she smiled at the Griswolds. “Sorry about that.”

“Don't be silly.” Josephine waved her hand in the air. “Life happens.”

Indeed it did. “I'll call the listing agent to let her know we have an offer and hopefully we'll hear something soon. Should I see about getting you a room at the Lumber Baron?”

“We've got animals that need feeding and it's a four-hour ride back,” Walt said. “As much as we'd like to take you up on your offer, we've got to get home, Dana.”

“All right. Keep your fingers crossed and your cell phone on. I'm thinking we should hear back fairly quickly. There will probably be some back and forth, though.”

“That's what I figured,” Walt said.

Dana got their signatures, made sure the documents were in order, and walked the Griswolds out to their car.

“Let us know as soon as you hear something,” Josephine said.

“I will. It's a good offer. Maybe a little less than he's willing to take, but we've left you some wiggle room.”

She watched them drive away, went inside to email the offer to Century 21 in Quincy, and called to make sure they'd received the email and that the listing agent had her cell number. Before going to meet Aidan's movers, Dana took a detour to Farm Supply with a gift for the Millers.

The store was the size of a warehouse and carried everything from tack and feed to clothes and kitchenware. Grace was at the counter, ringing up a customer, when Dana walked in. She browsed the aisles, waiting for Grace to finish.

“How you doing, Dana?” Grace called across the store.

“Good.” With the customer gone, Dana carried the basket she'd made to the cash register. “I just wanted to thank you so much for all the clothes. You saved my life.” She motioned at the jeans and the boots. “Did Carol tell you my sizes?”

“She sure did. My daughter and I had a wonderful time picking out everything. I'm glad it's working for you. We don't carry the suits and professional clothing you usually wear, but I figured you needed some starter pieces until you could get to a department store.”

“Everything is beautiful, Grace. I brought this for your family. It's Calloway candy from my family's business, coffee, and assorted other goodies.”

“Now, honey, you didn't have to do that. I'm guessing you've got enough going on. Pat was in this morning and said you're planning to rebuild, which I think is a wise decision. That's a lovely neighborhood, and it seems to me a house there is worth something. But you'd know that better than I would.”

“I still have to see what I'll get insurance wise, but nice homes here are going for more than two hundred and thirty dollars a square foot.”

“When are you talking to the insurance people?” Grace asked.

“Monday.”

“That's good, and I hear you and Sloane's brother are sharing Tawny's old house.” Grace let out a catcall whistle. “Now if I were thirty years younger . . . Watch out, Mr. Miller. That man is all brawn. I met him over at the inn; he stopped by to drop something off for Brady.”

“It's strictly a roommate situation,” Dana wanted her to know. It wouldn't do to have people gossiping about her.

“Well, maybe you could fix that, if you know what I mean.” Grace arched her brows.

Dana never would've guessed that sweet, gray-haired Grace Miller, who ran the feedstore with her husband, was an oversexed cougar. She really needed to get to know the women of Nugget better.

“We're strictly platonic.”

Grace made a face like
what a shame
, then launched into an entirely different topic. “Anything going on with the Rosser place?” Next to McCreedy Ranch, it was one of the largest cattle spreads in the county. The owner, Ray Rosser, had been charged with murder for shooting a man he claimed had stolen his cattle and needed to sell the ranch to pay his legal expenses. People here hadn't stopped talking about it.

“Nothing. I'd hoped a cattle company would be interested in it, but it's a huge investment. And with the drought, people are culling their herds, not looking to expand. At least we've managed to temporarily lease the property to a rancher from the valley who's trying to fatten up his cattle on whatever grazing land he can find.”

Until moving here, Dana had never sold agricultural land. With no knowledge of farming or animal husbandry, she'd become a quick study. “Grace, if anyone comes through here who's interested, let 'em know Ray is motivated.”

“I bet he is.” Grace made a face. “According to Owen, he's pretty much signed over everything he owns to his legal team.”

Dana thought it was probably true but wasn't at liberty to discuss it. “I have to run to the new house. But again, Grace, I can't tell you how much I appreciate the clothes. What you did for me . . .”

“Honey, we're all here for you. You remember that.”

She felt warmed by the words and chided herself for not making more of an effort to get to know people. She just wasn't good at putting herself out there.

It was one thirty, leaving her just enough time to grab a burger at the Bun Boy, Nugget's only other eating option besides the Ponderosa, before heading to the house. She ordered at the drive-through speaker, drove to the window, and waited until a kid—probably a Nugget High student—handed her a white sack. On the short drive over, she ate half the fries and stayed in the car with the air conditioning on to finish her burger. Afterward, she tossed her wrappers in the trash and began unloading. Paint, the new bedding, and bags of supplies she'd bought in Reno. In her new bedroom she changed into painting clothes and a pair of old tennis shoes and went in search of a ladder, finding one in the garage.

Over the next hour, she taped off the moldings, covered the floor, and started priming the walls. She used a brush to cut into the tight spots between the wall and ceiling but made real progress with a big roller. In no time, the pink began to disappear. Before getting her license she'd worked in a real estate office that did a lot of its own house staging for clients. That was where Dana had learned to paint, as well as a handful of useful decorating tips.

By the time the room was primed, her bed came, and Dana had the delivery men set it up in the middle of the room so she could continue painting. In the heat, the primer would dry fast, and she might even be able to get on the first coat of color—a hydrangea green that would complement beautifully her new pink-and-green-striped bedding.

Not long after the bed guys left, Aidan's moving truck appeared. Like with her bed, she had them cluster the living room furniture in the middle of the room. She hoped to have it painted before Aidan returned. He actually had some pretty nice things, including a sectional sofa that looked like it came from a Pottery Barn–type store. The ex-girlfriend must've picked it out, she told herself, and again wondered what the story was there.

She wasn't sure if he wanted to paint his room—the color was nice and already went with his stuff—so she directed the movers to set the sleigh bed against the wall with the nightstands on each side. Okay, Dana was probably being sexist, but his bedroom furniture also had the mark of a woman. Not that the pieces weren't masculine enough, just a little too matchy-matchy. Aidan didn't strike her as the coordinated type.

Although he'd been pretty good about marking the boxes. Still, she would've used a black marker with a fine point. Less likely to bleed that way. All the cartons were starting to make the small house claustrophobic, so Dana went outside to get a breath of fresh air. That was when her phone rang.

Hoping that it was the listing agent on the Griswolds' property, she checked the display. New York.

“Dana Calloway,” she answered.

“Hi, Ms. Calloway. I'm planning to visit next week for a few days and was wondering if you could show me some properties.”

“Absolutely.” Dana hadn't had any clients from New York yet. “Did you get my number from Carol at the office?”

“No. I tried the office and got a machine. Your number was on the ad in the
Nugget Tribune
.”

Good
, Dana thought. Advertising in the online newspaper was bringing them business. It amazed her how many people across the country subscribed for the real estate listings. Nugget might not be Tahoe or Palm Springs or the Napa Valley, but slowly it was starting to attract buyers looking for vacation and retirement homes at a good price.

“What specifically are you looking for? Houses, property, something in an upscale planned community with lots of amenities?”

“A place for horses with a house.”

“Do you have a number of acres in mind?” The more information Dana got up front, the better she could narrow down the options.

“No, not really. I'll know it when I see it.”

In Dana's experience, people who said things like that just wanted to play. But you never knew when a lookie loo might turn into a real buyer. “You want to go out next Friday? I could make arrangements for a few viewings. Once we see a couple of places, I'll get a better feel for what you have in mind.”

“Wonderful,” the woman said, then briefly paused. “I will need you to sign a confidentiality agreement, however. Will that be a problem?”

Confidentiality over what
?
Who was this woman
? “Are you a celebrity?” Dana couldn't help but ask.

“Something like that.” She laughed, but Dana thought it sounded harsh and bitter. “It's difficult on the phone . . . and I can't explain it unless you're willing to sign the NDA.”

“I'll be perfectly frank with you: I've never been faced with this sort of thing before.” The most famous person Dana had ever sold a house to in Tahoe was a Sacramento anchorwoman for one of the local network affiliates. In Nugget, none of her clients had been famous. “I'll have to talk to my agency's broker. I don't think it'll be a problem, but I'd like to check first.”