Read Online Christmas on My Mind by Janet Dailey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Janet Dailey
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houses, set along a winding street. The oaks and sycamores that overhung the walks were bare of their leaves, but the area would be an oasis of pleasant shade in summertime. It was clearly the nicest part of town. How lucky Ben was to have grown up in a setting like this.
Clara had worried about her getting lost, but Jess knew enough to keep track of where sheâd been. Taking note of the street signs and the direction she was walking, she was confident sheâd have no trouble finding her way back.
Coming to a stop sign, she took a right turn in the direction of Main Street. The houses in this neighborhood were more modest. Scattered here and there were signs advertising small home businessesâlawnmower repair, custom sewing, dog grooming, and more. There didnât appear to be a problem with zoning laws here, if Branding Iron even had such regulations.
She reached another corner and paused, debating which way to turn. Flipping a mental coin, she went left. This time she found herself on a short one-way backstreet, not much wider than an alley. A single block in length, its far end merged with Main Street, coming out between the post office and Merleâs Craft and Yarn Shoppe. The half-dozen houses here had an old-fashioned look, with broad front porches and gingerbread trim. But they were smaller than the homes in Claraâs neighborhood, with faded siding, sagging steps and weedy yards. It was as if the people who lived in these places had been here for decades and grown too old to care for their properties. Still, this little street, so close to downtown, mustâve been charming in its day.
The shabbiest home of all had an overgrown yard, boarded up windows and a No Trespassing sign on the rickety metal gate. Intrigued, Jess stopped to look at it.
Judging from the untrampled weeds growing up through the wooden steps, the place had been vacant for months, at least.
It looked as if it might have a second floor, if the windowed gables were any indication, but it was hard to tell from outside. The exterior, gray asbestos siding with faded blue shutters, looked as if it hadnât been painted in fifty years. Leafless vines of Virginia creeper had grown over the porch to hang like tangled brown curtains from the eave.
Nailed to one of the porch supports was a hand-lettered sign: FOR SALE BY OWNER. POSSIBLE CONTRACT WITH DOWNPAYMENT.
A phone number was written at the bottom. Almost before she had time to think, Jess had her cell phone in her hand and was keying in the number. One of the ladies in yesterdayâs committee meeting had mentioned the need for a place to stay in Branding Iron. Could this old house, so close to the center of town, be fixed up as a bed-and-breakfast?
Questions flew through her mind as the phone rang on the other end. Was the place even livable? Could she afford to buy it? Would the bank give her a loan if she needed it, to make the necessary repairs?
A woman answered. Yes, the house was still for sale. It had belonged to her grandfather, whoâd passed away last winter. The family had hoped to find a buyer to fix it up, but no one had expressed any interest until now. Yes, she lived just a few minutes away and would be happy to come over and show it.
As she waited, Jessâs head spun with ideas. From the street, she could see an overgrown driveway leading back to a closed garage behind the house. That would mean, Jess hoped, extra storage space and room for guest parking. If the house has only one bathroom, she would need to add another, a major expense. That could be a problem. But she was getting ahead of herself. It wouldnât do to get excited about the place until sheâd had a look inside.
A twenty-year-old CadillacâJess guessed it must have belonged to the grandfatherâpulled to the curb and stopped. The woman who climbed out appeared to be in her forties. She was nicely dressed in slacks and a down jacket, but her manner seemed harried, as
Clara had worried about her getting lost, but Jess knew enough to keep track of where sheâd been. Taking note of the street signs and the direction she was walking, she was confident sheâd have no trouble finding her way back.
Coming to a stop sign, she took a right turn in the direction of Main Street. The houses in this neighborhood were more modest. Scattered here and there were signs advertising small home businessesâlawnmower repair, custom sewing, dog grooming, and more. There didnât appear to be a problem with zoning laws here, if Branding Iron even had such regulations.
She reached another corner and paused, debating which way to turn. Flipping a mental coin, she went left. This time she found herself on a short one-way backstreet, not much wider than an alley. A single block in length, its far end merged with Main Street, coming out between the post office and Merleâs Craft and Yarn Shoppe. The half-dozen houses here had an old-fashioned look, with broad front porches and gingerbread trim. But they were smaller than the homes in Claraâs neighborhood, with faded siding, sagging steps and weedy yards. It was as if the people who lived in these places had been here for decades and grown too old to care for their properties. Still, this little street, so close to downtown, mustâve been charming in its day.
The shabbiest home of all had an overgrown yard, boarded up windows and a No Trespassing sign on the rickety metal gate. Intrigued, Jess stopped to look at it.
Judging from the untrampled weeds growing up through the wooden steps, the place had been vacant for months, at least.
It looked as if it might have a second floor, if the windowed gables were any indication, but it was hard to tell from outside. The exterior, gray asbestos siding with faded blue shutters, looked as if it hadnât been painted in fifty years. Leafless vines of Virginia creeper had grown over the porch to hang like tangled brown curtains from the eave.
Nailed to one of the porch supports was a hand-lettered sign: FOR SALE BY OWNER. POSSIBLE CONTRACT WITH DOWNPAYMENT.
A phone number was written at the bottom. Almost before she had time to think, Jess had her cell phone in her hand and was keying in the number. One of the ladies in yesterdayâs committee meeting had mentioned the need for a place to stay in Branding Iron. Could this old house, so close to the center of town, be fixed up as a bed-and-breakfast?
Questions flew through her mind as the phone rang on the other end. Was the place even livable? Could she afford to buy it? Would the bank give her a loan if she needed it, to make the necessary repairs?
A woman answered. Yes, the house was still for sale. It had belonged to her grandfather, whoâd passed away last winter. The family had hoped to find a buyer to fix it up, but no one had expressed any interest until now. Yes, she lived just a few minutes away and would be happy to come over and show it.
As she waited, Jessâs head spun with ideas. From the street, she could see an overgrown driveway leading back to a closed garage behind the house. That would mean, Jess hoped, extra storage space and room for guest parking. If the house has only one bathroom, she would need to add another, a major expense. That could be a problem. But she was getting ahead of herself. It wouldnât do to get excited about the place until sheâd had a look inside.
A twenty-year-old CadillacâJess guessed it must have belonged to the grandfatherâpulled to the curb and stopped. The woman who climbed out appeared to be in her forties. She was nicely dressed in slacks and a down jacket, but her manner seemed harried, as
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