Page 63 (1/1)

Chapter One

Spencer Dean stopped his Harley-Davidson WLA motorcycle in front of the driveway that led up the hill to Austin's dilapidated Drysdale Mansion He'd inherited the classic World War II era bike froht word Richie wasn't dead, after all Just gone

He'd been gone for alo co back Nobody Spence loved ever came back And God knew they all fucked up

With a rough growl of irritation at his own ine and dismounted, then walked the short distance up the cobbled drive to the gate It was locked, of course, the real estate agent's lockbox dangling froht iron

Spencer hesitated, his head tilted back so he could take in the full majesty of the place Or, rather, so that he could visualize the1876 hoenerations, it had been the residence of the Drysdale family, movers and shakers in early Texas and Austin politics Located at the end of an exclusive street a few , the four-thousand square foot ho example of Second Empire architecture

Henry Drysdale had overseen the construction personally, deter wife As far as Spencer was concerned, he'd succeeded brilliantly, and the Drysdale family had occupied the home until the nineteen seventies when the last member of the family sold the property to a sh-end B&B The coone bankrupt, and the house had fallen into disrepair Since then, it had changed hands dozens of times, but no owner had ever put in the tireatness

Now the house was a sad e, failed renovations and odd choices Spencer wanted to change all that Hell, he'd wanted to breathe life back into this place ever since he and Richie had broken in when Spence was only a teen They'd spent hours--no, days--exploring the rundown place And while they were inside those walls, everything else fell away It was just Spence and Richie, without the Cri Richie to slide deeper into the gang world that their father had tried so hard to shield them from

Spencer had been fifteen when Richie had been arrested, and even after Richie was gone, Spence had coht It had been his private place A sanctuary And until Brooke, he'd never brought another soul with him

They'dbehind boarded-up s Picnic blankets thick on the floor He'd been lost in love with her Her intelligence and ambition humbled hiave herself to hi abandon

He'd cleared the various nests and debris out of the fireplace, and they'ddiscovery for the sake of roht, and when she'd slowly pulled off her dress and stood before hi, he'd known that no man on earth had ever been luckier

He'd never understood why she loved a guy like hioddaht he'd sworn that somehow, soht, shiny jewel of a home A mansion that was equal to her beauty Just like Henry Drysdale had done for the woman he loved

That dreao

So what the hell was he doing here now?

Wasn't that the question of the hour? He was here because this house was his great white whale It hat he wanted, what he craved To own it To breathe life back into it And, by doing so, to prove that he deserved to master it