A gutsy photographer and a reclusive architect knock heads over her need to photograph his boarded-up house.
To satisfy the requirements for her Master’s Degree in fine art photography, Amy Millington needs to photograph architect Charles Harding’s childhood home, but his boarded-up house holds painful memories for Charles and he allows no one inside. Without those photographs Amy cannot secure her daughter Marta’s future, but he denies the gutsy widow’s request.
Amy notes his sadness and with Marta's help, teaches Charles to again have fun. In doing so, he learns to appreciate her art and allows her inside his house. He still refuses to enter his house until the day Marta disappears inside and he discovers her in a forgotten wine cellar clutching his mother's long-lost suicide note. Knowing the reason his mother shot his father, then turned the gun on herself, frees Charles from his past. Can he also free Amy from her painful past and teach her to love again?
Excerpt
The receptionist on a mission to block her path was no match for Amy Millington. On a mission herself, she darted past.
Her destination loomed ahead, the two closed mahogany doors leading to the office of Charles A. Harding, Architect.
So far, so good.
Now to outsmart the sedately dressed secretary seated at the desk just outside those doors. This formidable woman screened the architect's calls and had, on a daily basis for the last two months, refused Amy's request for an appointment.
Failure to accomplish her mission meant postponing graduation for six more months. No way. Too much was riding on her master's degree. Maybe even a Guggenheim Fellowship. Amy's new career, for sure, and with it, a secure future for her daughter. No way would she allow Harding's secretary to stop her now.
Taking a deep breath, Amy charged around the woman's desk to the doors and yanked, sending one crashing back against the wall.
The dark-haired man seated behind a massive desk looked up, surprised. His finely tailored suit matched the toasted pecan color of his eyes. His white shirt seemed almost too harsh for his silk tie softly patterned in rust and bark.
Amy's heart beat erratically, making her lightheaded right when she needed to be at her best. She didn't have much time. Building security would show up soon.
She met the man's unreadable gaze and forced her best smile. Three more strides brought her close enough to inhale the woodsy scent of his aftershave. "Mr. Harding, I--"
His threshold guard interrupted. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harding. This young woman wouldn't stop." He frowned, but a hint of curiosity lit his eyes.
