Saving Sycamore Bay (Destined for Love: Mansions) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Destined for Love: Mansions

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Cancun Getaway

  Excerpt from Kiss Me in the Rain by Lindzee Armstrong

  Free Book

  Also by Cami Checketts

  Saving Sycamore Bay

  Destined for Love: Mansions

  Cami Checketts

  Birch Creek Publishing

  Copyright

  Saving Her Plantation: Destined for Love: Mansions

  Copyright © 2017 by Cami Checketts

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedication

  To my football-loving husband! It’s so fun to write a novel where I can bug you with really important questions like, Would a cornerback or an outside linebacker have better-looking biceps?

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Destined for Love: Mansions

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Cancun Getaway

  Excerpt from Kiss Me in the Rain by Lindzee Armstrong

  Free Book

  Also by Cami Checketts

  1

  Harrison Jackson smoothed his brand spanking new navy-blue suit coat, checked his tie, and rapped on the boss’s door. Was the rap too hard and demanding, too soft and wimpy? Come on, man, calm down. Yet it was hard to calm down. First day on the job with Goodman and Giles Accounting Firm in downtown Montgomery and he was being called into the owner’s office. He had no inkling if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but his stomach was in knots and his palms were sweating. He felt like he was waiting to run out onto the field before a home football game. Those last few seconds before running down the tunnel were almost worse than warm-ups. He just wanted to be in the game, not waiting for it.

  “Come in,” Mr. Goodman called.

  Harrison eased the door open and stepped inside. Keep those shoulders back, he remembered. It was his mama’s voice, and he really needed it right now. He straightened his back and gave a forced smile. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Mr. Goodman’s face split into a smile with teeth almost as bright as his bald head. He stood and offered his hand, pumping Harrison’s larger hand with his. He was within an inch of Harrison’s six-four, but half as thick. “Come in, son, have a seat.” He gestured toward the leather chair. The office had a great view of the Riverwalk and downtown Montgomery; the water was peaceful today and the sun shone off the glassy surface.

  Harrison resisted rubbing his sweaty palms on his clean pants and wished he could be peaceful like the water, but not shining. He hated it when his forehead and nose got shiny—a neon sign announcing his nervousness. Why had he imagined in college that he could roll with the heavy hitters in the world of accounting? He loved numbers and people, but sometimes his confidence faltered around the ultra-wealthy and powerful. You’d think he’d be used to those types by now, since they’d financed his schooling and wanted to chat with him after every Auburn football game, to be his buddy because he could knock another player on his butt.

  “We’re so thrilled that you’ve joined Goodman and Giles, Harrison.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Call me Henry, please.”

  “Um, yes, sir, Henry.” Harrison’s tongue was all twisted and his eyes were wide. Why was the boss asking him to call him by his first name?

  “I have a question for you, son.”

  “Shoot. I mean, sure. Ask away.” He rubbed his palms on his pants before he could stop himself.

  Mr. Goodman—er, Henry—took a long breath. “Do you like adventure, Harrison?”

  “Adventure? Sure, who doesn’t like adventure?” He chuckled nervously. He’d chosen to get a master’s in accounting. Didn’t that basically scream you had no desire for adventure? His sister Moriah, she was all over adventure, and she and her new husband, Jace, were traveling the globe taking in all the adventure their son Turk could handle. Harrison was happier at home—working hard at school and playing football with his buddies on any break he had. Sure, he hated sitting hour after hour, but someday he’d be able to afford a stand-up desk. Then his life would be close to perfect.

  “I have a crazy proposition for you, son.”

  Harrison’s back was now dripping sweat to match his palms. He just wanted to crunch numbers and be polite to clients, maybe coach a youth football team in his free time. Was that too much to ask?

  “My best friend passed away last month.”

  “My condolences, sir.”

  Henry nodded. “His daughter is all alone in this world and I promised I’d take care of her.” He paused as if Harrison should say something.

  “That’s very honorable of you.”

  “It would be if I could actually do it.” He picked up a pen and clicked it a few times, glaring out the window at the picturesque view. “I’ve got to do right by her and she needs someone … someone strong, young, and able to stand up for her.” He focused back on Harrison and nodded like Harrison was a prized stud horse that was going to make him a fortune.

  Harrison had seen that look in many a coach’s eye. He didn’t like it. Sometimes it made him feel like the supermodel who kept trying to tell the world she had a brain, but nobody could see past her face.

  “I’ve prayed long and hard about this, and you’re my answer, son,” Henry said.

  “Answer to what?” Harrison tugged at his tie. This conversation was causing him more stress than studying for the CPA had. At least his boss was a praying man. That gave him some comfort.

  “I can’t leave Montgomery. My wife’s kidneys are failing and she has to have dialysis three times a week.” He shook his head sadly. “My kids are all out in the world—doing great, mind you, but not any help to me with their mama or with our sweet Grace. Bless that girl’s heart. All alone in the world … and something nefarious is going on, I tell you. She’s thinking about selling the family home to a shyster, and there is no reason for it. The money should be there. Her daddy wouldn’t have left her without enough money to survive and care for their estate. I’ve checked all the books and the money’s there in the estate, but there is something wrong with the will. It’s my belief they’re trying to force her to sell or marry that loser Beau. Oh, I tell you! I don’t trust the lawyers involved any more than a snake in the grass. Do you understand what I’m saying, son?”

  Harrison stared at him and tried to recap the surprising emotional outburst. He’d always thought his boss was calm and collected. “Your friend’s daughter is in trouble and you can’t help?”


  “Yes! You’ve got it. So you’ll go help her?” Henry leaned forward eagerly. “I’ll pay you double your salary, and when you come back to Montgomery I’ll give you a dream list of clients—my clients. I need to start stepping down anyway and take better care of Maribelle. I promise I will make this worth your while, son. Thank you so much for being willing to help.”

  Harrison had no clue when he’d agreed to help. Double his salary sounded nice—okay, better than nice—and taking over Henry’s clients would be a dream. But how could he just pack up and go … where exactly and for how long? “Wh-where is Grace, and what can I do to help?”

  Henry sprung up from his chair, rushed around, and pulled Harrison to his feet, shaking his hand again and slapping him on the back. “Oh, thank you, son, thank you!” He paused to wipe at his eyes.

  Harrison looked away, giving the man a moment to compose himself and wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He was trying to ask questions, not commit, but here he was like a sheep stuck in quicksand.

  “The family home is just outside of Mobile, down near the water. Beautiful spot,” Mr. Goodman continued. “You’re such an answer to prayers. I told Maribelle that you were it. That you could protect Grace from whatever is happening in that house, and that you were smart enough to fix her financial problems too. Bless you, son, bless you.”

  Harrison couldn’t even think of a response.

  2

  Grace Addison looked around Sycamore Bay, her family’s ancestral mansion, morosely. She’d worked since five a.m. and still hadn’t made much progress painting the trim in the formal dining room—if only there wasn’t so blasted much area to paint. The white trim was everywhere, a great contrast to the blue-gray walls, but oh my, it was exhausting. Every day of the past month had been the same: she rose early and scrubbed, painted, tried to restore, fix, or maintain something on the house and keep up the yard as well, but she was falling further and further behind. Finishing up her master’s in school counseling seemed like a faraway dream.

  Beau made fun of her for trying so hard, but she loved this house almost as much as she’d loved her daddy. She smiled and crossed herself. Rest his wonderful soul.

  But that stinking Beau … if they hadn’t been friends since they were born, she’d tell him to go crawl in a hole. Their mamas had been best friends, but now they were both gone—his mama to a horrific car accident and her mama to cancer. Now her daddy was gone too. She and Beau were basically alone in the world, because his daddy didn’t deserve the term of endearment. She had her high school friends, college friends, and friends from church who all cared, but Beau had always been there. Well, most of the time it’d been the other way around, and she’d taken care of him after his daddy whooped his rear, but now Beau was back home from college, too, and had promised he’d help her save her beloved house.

  The doorbell rang, and she clenched the paintbrush tighter. It was either somebody telling her she owed them money or Beau here to tease her about working like a commoner. She’d show him common, paint a stripe right down his perfect nose.

  Setting the paintbrush on the tray, she tried to straighten her shirt and her hair, but what could she possibly do with the blonde curls tied up in a kerchief and paint splattered all over an old Auburn U football T-shirt? She sighed. Her days of screaming for her favorite football players seemed long, long ago.

  She hurried across the grand entry and swung the door wide. “H-hello,” she said, the annoyance in her voice fizzling out to a reverent whisper.

  Standing on her threshold was the most handsome man she’d ever seen in real life. He was no stranger to her, as she’d cheered for him every weekend in the fall. His deep brown skin was smooth and his lips were just awe-inspiring—full, shapely, and so delectable. She and her roommate, Isabelle, used to stay up late at nights discussing what it would be like to kiss those lips. Then there were his deep brown eyes, the type that made a woman want to stare into them for hours. Not to mention his tall, well-built frame. Ooh, she could just picture him in his football uniform. Here he stood on her front porch, dressed in a deep blue suit and smiling apprehensively at her. If possible, he’d gotten even more handsome since last fall. What was he doing on her doorstep? Lord have mercy.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” he said all formal-like, sticking out his hand. “I’m Harrison Jackson.”

  “I know who you are,” she breathed out. She put her hand in his and felt for a moment like she’d found heaven. “Number twenty-two, best cornerback in the NCAA.”

  Harrison let out a grunt that sounded like a laugh and retrieved his hand. “Um, thank you, ma’am.”

  Her eyes widened and she wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you act like it isn’t true. I watched every game of your college career and I know you’re the top, just like my mama’s pecan pie is the best in the South.” Well, used to be the best in the South.

  This time he did laugh, a deep chuckle that warmed her clear through to her toes. “I appreciate the compliment, ma’am, but if I’d been the best I would’ve been drafted, not working as an accountant.” He grinned, and those white teeth flashing against his dark skin made her feel a bit faint. “Not that I’m complaining. Accounting’s a good career, lots of opportunity.”

  She eyed him up and down. That fit body was going to be stuck behind a desk all day? That was like cooping up a snow leopard or a tiger. “No, no, no. You can’t be an accountant. You are a football player, you must play!”

  Harrison laughed again. “I’m fine, really, ma’am. I’m doing what I want to do.”

  She eyed him, confused by his response and not sure he was being square with her, but then a bigger question begged an answer. “What are you doing on my front porch?”

  His smile dimmed. “Mr. Goodman sent me.”

  Henry. Her dad’s best friend. He was like an uncle to her. He and her Uncle Mike, her daddy’s former right-hand man, were better uncles than any of her blood relatives. “Is Maribelle doing all right?”

  “Not really, ma’am. Mr. Goodman felt his place was with her during her dialysis. But he has a lot of …” His mouth twisted as he searched for the right word. “Concern for you, so he sent me to help.”

  Henry had just become her favorite person. He cared enough to send help and to send it with style. Harrison Jackson. It was like a superstar walking right through her front door. How long was he planning to help? If she could talk him into staying in one of the eight bedrooms upstairs, maybe she’d get some rest at night. Nobody and nothing was going to get through all of those muscles.

  Grace stepped back, blushing at the thought of him sleeping in the next room over. “Where are my manners? Come in, let me get you a glass of lemonade.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  They walked side by side back to the kitchen. Her mama would be appalled that she didn’t care about having a guest sit in the formal room and bring him refreshment, but Grace was tired—tired of the pomp and circumstance, tired of serving and working, and just all around tired. She’d worked her tail end off. If she wanted to sit in her sunny kitchen and drink lemonade next to this fine-looking man, she’d ignore her mama’s censure from heaven.

  She glanced up, way up, to Harrison’s strong jawline. He must’ve felt her gaze, because he gazed down at her. His slow grin made her stomach tumble. “You are Grace Addison, correct? I kind of assumed.”

  Grace laughed and gestured to her paint-covered clothing. “You probably thought you’d find me dressed a little classier than this.”

  They made it to the kitchen and Harrison held the swinging door open for her. Just the sight of his strong body and that arm holding the door made her feel faint again. Maybe having him stay here wasn’t such a good idea. She’d never get anything accomplished besides ogling him.

  “Truth be told, ma’am, I kind of envisioned a big old hoop skirt with your hair in curls and you daintily holding a teacup.”

  Grace loved the teasing lilt to his voice. “Gracious me, sir, I’ll go
put on my corset and hoops right now.” She laid the Southern drawl on thick enough to frost a cake.

  Harrison’s deep chuckle reverberated through the large kitchen, filling up all the nooks and crannies that had survived without laughter this past month. She smiled in return, falling completely in love with his laugh, and gestured to a chair by the butcher-block table. As a child, she’d spent many an hour in here with their cook and close family friend, Aunt Geraldine, and her mama. Generations before, the prejudice was thick, but her parents had dispelled with all of that. They loved their employees like family, which worked well since they all lived and worked under the same roof. Grace had been raised by Aunt Geraldine as surely as her mama, but with money as tight as it was now, she’d had to let everyone go when her daddy died. Aunt Geraldine and her husband, Uncle Mike, claimed they were ready to retire anyway. Luckily Daddy had set up a fund for them that the lawyers couldn’t touch and they’d bought a little house a few miles down the beach.

  Grace tried to understand why her daddy hadn’t done the same for her. Her lawyer, Ike, was a very nice man who patiently explained things to her, but he couldn’t change the twenty-year-old will any more than she could. She was only allowed two thousand dollars a month to live and maintain Sycamore Bay, unless she either sold the house, married, or turned thirty. Thirty was a few years off, marriage probably further than that, and she’d work two jobs before she sold her house. Two thousand dollars a month would’ve been a fortune twenty years ago, or even back in her college days, but she was finding it wasn’t much to maintain a house and property. She was still making payments to the plumber for the septic tank backing up into the main floor bathroom, and it would take a year to get on top of the bill the electrician had left in her mailbox for updating the outlets to the fridge and stove after they shorted out two months ago. Uncle Mike used to maintain the place, but when she went away to college, Uncle Mike must’ve gotten overwhelmed and worn out. Things were pretty run-down.