That goofy picture would probably be there as long as the house stood.

The foyer was the showpiece of the house. Always had been. Pride filled Sarah as she watched Bodie’s eyes fill with appreciation of the room.

An appreciation she hoped each guest would feel when they visited Hamilton House.

“I had the floors redone and the paint freshened,” she said, unable to hold in her excitement, “but otherwise, this is how this room has looked since the house was first built.”

Even when her aunt’s financial situation had worsened, she’d kept this room pristine, knowing that it was the first thing a visitor would see and that it would shape their opinion of the house. It was also the threshold Aunt Jean’s beloved groom had once carried her over the first time she’d entered the house as his wife.

“Well, except for the light fixture,” she corrected, eying the intricate metal and crystal chandelier. “I know it’s old, but I’m not positive it’s the original fixture or if it was added at some point. And obviously, the photos are newer additions. But otherwise, this is Hamilton House as it should be.” She spread her arms and slowly turned. “This is what I want to restore the rest of the house to.”

Chapter Three

Feeling as if he shouldn’t touch anything—and maybe that he shouldn’t even be inside the house—Bodie took in each room.

No doubt, Hamilton House had been a showplace in its day, and Sarah was intent on returning it to its former glory. Her pride and love for the place oozed from every pore. The fact that she belonged here did, too.

After the terrible places he’d been, this old house, and Sarah’s connection to it, seemed an oddity. That anyone could be so caught up in a house, could so obviously belong within its walls, fascinated Bodie.

Or maybe it was Sarah who fascinated him.

She didn’t wear a wedding band, or any jewelry save a gold chain around her neck. The attached pendant was hidden under her collar.

“You’re doing this by yourself?”

She shook her head. “I’ve had an architect, contractors, electricians, plumbers, floor people, roof people, pest control people, the Historical Society, painters, and dozens of others giving their input or working. I can’t take credit for much of the actual labor. My home restoration skills are minimal at best.” She gave him an impish smile. “Mostly, I’m overseeing things.”

He’d wanted to know whether or not she had a husband or significant other to help her. Still, she’d answered his question.

“Why?”

Her warm brown gaze met his. “This was my aunt’s home. I spent a lot of time here while growing up.” A faraway look settled onto her face as she continued. “Later in life, she dreamed of turning the house into a bed and breakfast so it would be filled with love and laughter and people again. When she died, she left me the house and her dream.”