Legacy

All paul clermont wanted to do was to conduct his business, rid himself of one unwanted family inheritance and then get out of the heat and humidity of Indigo, Louisiana. He'd been doing exactly that--until a woman he'd never met screeched into the driveway in a spray of gravel. She'd jumped out of her car and planted herself between him and the real estate agent who held a For Sale sign. "You can't sell this building," the other woman said. "I'm the owner," he explained. "I can sell it if I want to." The tall, lean brunette parked her fists on her hips. She was an attractive woman, with a long, neat French braid running down her back. A few stray tendrils wisped around her face, tickling at the soft pink of her cheeks. She was beautiful--if he ignored the look of annoyance on her face. "All these months, we've been trying to contact you.Nowyou show up to sell the place?" He quirked a grin at her to show her he wasn't evil incarnate. His ex-wife, however, might disagree. "I'm making a business decision, nothing more. And I think Sandra here--" he thumbed in the direction of the agent who stood mute and frozen in place, holding the sign "--has no issue with me selling this place. Why do you?" The temper in the brunette's vibrant blue eyes simmered steadily. "Because I care about this building, unlike you." The blasted Louisiana heat had soaked Paul clear through, even though it was October. If there was a god of humidity, this place would be his headquarters. Paul had been in Louisiana for a few days, doing a follow-up story on hurricane recovery efforts, and had decided to stop by to finally see the property his family had bragged about for years. Clearly, none of them had paid a visit here recently, at least not in this century. "If you like this place so much," he said, "buy it yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get this...thisthing--" he waved at the dilapidated building beside them "--listed." "It is not a thing," she said. "It's alegacy." Paul took in a deep breath to calm himself. At the same time, a small chunk of siding fell from the wall--more proof the place wasn't worth the land it sat on--and tumbled to the ground, landing in a jumble of vines and weeds. The rest of the plantings were, he had to admit, well-tended, as if someone had been working on the grounds but hadn't yet tackled that particular section. Window boxes beneath the tall, elaborate front windows were filled with blooming flowers, and small, carefully trimmed shrubs bordered two sides of the building's exterior. The opera house had been beautiful once, that was clear. The two-story building had been designed in an imposing Greek Revival style, with tall, arched windows that framed carved double doors large enough for Goliath. A wrought-iron balcony formed an impressive presence. Paul glanced up, following the lines of a magnificent cupola, which looked freshly restored, along with the roof. He considered taking out his camera again. His gaze drifted over the opera house, seeing it with his photographer's eye--rather than that of a jaded owner--and for a brief moment the place inspired a feeling of magic, and a direct link to the past. But then, as he looked closer, he saw the flaws. The peeling white paint, a split window frame, the torn curtains inside. It was a gorgeous building--that was falling apart at the seams. He'd taken a few shots of it when he'd first arrived, intrigued by the intricacies of the design, the elegant air amid such a rustic setting. But that was all he wanted, a picture or two that he might be able to sell to his editor down the road, or to some architectural magazine. As he looked at this "family legacy," Paul figured his uncle Neil, who'd died two months ago, had either a mean sense of humor or a visioJump, Shirley is the author of 'Legacy ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373389490 and ISBN 0373389493.