A Deliberate Father. Kate Kelly

couple who are anxious to rent the apartment.” She followed him into the master bedroom.

      He whirled around to look at her. “Do you? How much do you think I can charge for a three-bedroom?”

      “Fifteen hundred is a fair price for this community.”

      “How much are you paying?”

      Uh-oh. Either the solicitor, Mr. Swinburg, hadn’t told him or Tanner enjoyed watching her squirm. “Five hundred. Plus heat.”

      He frowned. “For a two-bedroom?”

      “Beulah and I had an arrangement.”

      “Which was?”

      Was, not is. She squared her shoulders. “I can do small carpentry repairs and I’m good with plumbing. And after two years I know all the quirks of the furnace.”

      She felt as if she were being interviewed when he leaned against the wall and crossed his ankles. “And you fix the leak in the roof only when it rains?”

      “I told your aunt when I moved in that she needed a new roof. But if something didn’t directly affect her, she often chose to ignore it.”

      He wiped a hand over his face. “I don’t suppose you do roofs, as well?”

      “No, but I could help someone who knew what they were doing.”

      “What else needs replacing?”

      She looked around the apartment. “The windows down here are new but the ones upstairs aren’t so great. The furnace will last you another few years if you baby it along. The foundation is solid. The house needs a fresh coat of paint.” She didn’t specify inside and out. As for the wiring, that could wait until he asked.

      He wandered back to the living room, looked around and sighed. “There are three other apartments?”

      “There are two one-bedroom apartments on the second floor, both rented. And there’s a small bedsit beside this apartment. It’s tiny.”

      “Is it rented?”

      “No.” Not officially. Nell held her breath, praying he wouldn’t want to look at the room. She’d meant to ask Rodney to make himself scarce today, but once the storm had moved in, she hadn’t had the heart. He was too old to sleep outside, and he was still running a bit of a fever.

      She hadn’t planned on bringing him home two weeks ago. The first time, she’d spotted him squatting on the sidewalk in town, she almost hadn’t recognized him. The older man had lost so much weight, and it had been years since she’d seen him. Rodney Stiles was a face from a past long dead and gone; hearing his familiar voice, although weakened, had stirred up powerful memories. She gave him all the change she had and continued on her way. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him, about how cheerful he and his wife had always been when they delivered the weekly egg supply to her parents’ convenience store. Rodney’s wife, Lucinda, had smelled like cinnamon. She’d told Nell she had strong, capable hands, and that she’d make a good farmer.

      The next time Nell went to Seabend, she brought along a blanket and jacket for Rodney. When she found him on a bench in a small park, he looked like he was a dried-up old twig the wind had blown along the sidewalk. He accepted her gifts, but she could tell he was embarrassed. While eating the hot lunch she insisted he have, she learned Lucinda had died a few months earlier. Since then he couldn’t stand living at the farm. A week later, rain settled in for a few days, and Nell returned to Seabend and found him huddled in a doorway, shaking. Whatever the cause of his shakes, he needed help. She convinced him to go home with her for a few days, just until he was feeling better.

      “Who lives on the second floor?”

      Nell snapped back to attention. “Mrs. Trembley. She says she’s seventy-four, but I suspect she’s older. She and your aunt were…friends.” If bickering could be called a sport, they’d been the champions. With Beulah’s passing, Mrs. T. had started to fade. She no longer had color in her cheeks from the heat of an argument. And she’d stopped dyeing her hair because who else could she goad by saying she looked ten years younger?

      “Friends.” Tanner closed his eyes as if he had a headache. “Rent?”

      “Four hundred,” she murmured.

      His eyes shot open, their dark beam accusing. “What did you say?”

      Nell fisted her hands on her hips. “Your aunt may have been…difficult, but she was kind in her own way.” Unlike her nephew, apparently. “Mrs. Trembley is old, and she doesn’t have a family. It’s only a one-bedroom. You couldn’t get much more for it than four hundred.”

      WELL. WELL. LITTLE MISS NELLIE had a temper. With anger flushing her cheeks and those disturbing green eyes sparking, she was beautiful. Earlier, he’d been mesmerized by the overalls she’d had on. She’d worn a cropped shirt under them, and the brief, teasing glimpses of her flat midriff disappearing into the dark folds of the overalls had been, to put it mildly, distracting.

      Thank goodness she’d changed because Nell Hart’s smooth skin was the last thing he should be thinking about. Instead of the financial asset he needed, he’d inherited a houseful of charity cases and a crumbling mansion. Somehow, something would have to change. He had to make this—for lack of a better word—apartment house, a paying venture. It was the only way he’d be able to sell it for the price he needed.

      “Melody Northrop lives in 2B.”

      “And?”

      Nell smiled. “She’s single and beautiful and pays six hundred a month.”

      He tucked away his answering smile. It was the first time Nell had offered information willingly. Jordan recognized the tactic; get the bad news over with, then soften it up with some good news. He’d let the caretaker bit blind him; she was clearly a great deal smarter than he’d thought.

      “That’s a relief to hear.” But not exactly inspiring. Hard to believe in his neighborhood, which was only forty minutes away, one-bedrooms cost between two and three thousand a month. But as the real-estate agent had pointed out, this was Waterside, not Seabend. Not only were they close to the ocean here, but when the wind blew from the right—or wrong—direction, the smell of manure on the farmers’ fields was also very much apparent.

      That was the strange thing about the east coast of Canada. Million-dollar homes rubbed shoulders with old homesteads. People with money were moving into the area, but the farming families were still reluctant to sell off their acreage, even if it meant living in poverty. That kind of sentiment was frustrating, but opportunities were finally opening up. In twenty years, Waterside would be the next Seabend. If Jordan handled the sale the right way, the house could be a potential gold mine.

      For now, six hundred for a one-bedroom was acceptable. Five hundred for a two-bedroom was not. Even for an in-house handyman. Handywoman. As he watched Nell check the lock on the living room window, he wondered if Aunt Beulah had grown soft in her old age. From the little he remembered about his aunt, the crusty old wing nut had been as tightfisted as they come. What had Nell Hart done for the old lady that an off-site handyman couldn’t? She was a major impediment to the sale of the monstrosity. With the poor condition of the house, he’d be lucky to find a buyer for it, but no one would be willing to take on the house plus a live-in caretaker. She had to go, and he, lucky man that he was, would have to tell her.

      “You could probably get a bit more for this apartment. It is a three-bedroom.”

      He went to the door and waited for her. “I’d like to see the bedsit now.”

      “I need some time to clean it up. It’s not ready.” She gripped the window ledge as if she expected him to drag her from the apartment. Interesting. What or who did she have stashed in the bedsit? Jordan started to smile. Miss Nellie could prove to be an entertaining diversion during his temporary stint here.

      “I need to see if it’s big enough for me to live in. Otherwise, I might have to evict someone.” If he had