"Dammit Grandma, why didn't you tell us?"

Angelique shook her head and swiped the tears off her cheeks. A double life wasn't what she expected to find in a journal carefully tucked into the trunk she opened with the tenth key she tried.

The key ring was hanging on a hook beside the west gable window in the attic. She managed to pry the stubborn panes open with a crowbar. The ancient glass didn't shatter. The first piece of luck in the dilapidated Victorian home she inherited.

She had three months to refurbish, renovate, and make it presentable for sale. There was no way she could afford to keep it. Not with Renewals still in the first few years of operations. The line of credit her fledgling company had approved by the bank had a finite term of six months.

The bones of the house were good. The exterior was merely faded, with gingerbread detailing which needed a good clean up with a few missing pieces replaced. A good color scheme would do the trick and put the curb appeal back into the picture. Landscaping was a whole other story. Again, nothing a bit of hard work wouldn't alleviate.

The mechanicals weren't working. With the utilities turned off, the next thing was to get an electrical feed started for the renovation and get the trades in to inspect the plumbing, H-Vac, and other systems. Turning the water back on was on the list too. Last time Angelique visited, the house was creaky, but in good enough condition. In other words, it felt like a two-hundred-year-old mansion.

The door at the top of the stairs slammed shut and she realized the wind shifted when rain spattered the floor beside her. It took every bit of her strength to pull the window down, but she patted the sill and made herself a promise.

This house would shine in three months. Enough to pay off the bills her grandma couldn't keep up with over the last years of her life.

Angelique jumped when she heard pounding on the front door. No one but the bank knew she was in town. Who broke privacy protocols?

Leaving the journal and her grandmother's tragic romance behind, she made her way down to the lower floor. Passing the front parlors on either side of the main hallway and the dried-out woodwork there, she went to see who had the audacity to demand her time. Through the stained-glass panels on either side of the carved oak door, she spotted her visitor.

He was tall, and wasn't the least bit bothered by the rain pelting down and splashing up in small fountains as it hit the crumbed cobblestone walkway. It was mid-June, and the heat was already more than she could handle. He must have been on the veranda for a while. His blonde crew cut was dry, and the leather motorcycle jacket he wore emphasized broad shoulders and a narrow waist.

Angelique was back for the first time in over five years, and the humidity close to the Mississippi River was intense. She liked the drier climate in eastern California and Nevada. But there was a plus. Styling her hair in the morning wasn't a nightmare. Just pull a hair pick through her curls and let it dry. Even with it growing out a bit, the tight ringlets stayed in control as long as she gave them a quick treatment of conditioner before the end of her shower.

God, the guy's built. But where do I know that face from? Right. The community newspaper. His family owns half the town and there's a new development in planning. They're buying up river properties. Why is he here? I'm not in the footprint they are designing for. The resort and condo development will be good for town economy. Speculation, I'll bet. They're not getting their hands on this property before I get those debts paid. Justin Arlington, you can stick it up your rear.

He raised his hand and pounded on the door again. She wondered if he had eyes in his head. There was a perfectly good brass knocker. The ring was placed to encircle the peephole, struck her as ironic considering the graceful tulip design of her sidelights. She yanked the door open.

"Go away! I'm not selling this house until the end of September. If I'm a little behind schedule it will be October."

"But..."

She interrupted him and continued. "I'm not getting stuck with Grandma's bills. This place has huge potential and I'm going to get it back in shape. Talk to me in November if it hasn't sold."

She slammed the door closed and waited. Was he going to leave or did she have to make a call to the Sheriff about a trespasser?

He winked at her.

What was his problem?

Then after scanning the windows along the covered section of the porch, he nodded before he walked away. Angelique watched him swing a leg over his Harley and shook her head. Justin started the bike and it purred like a kitten. She'd heard the raucous rumble could be tamed. No wonder she hadn't heard him arrive.

I wish he was anyone but the Arlington heir. I wish I could have the connection Grandma and Grandpa had. They were so in love. Even after forty-five years together you could see it. They still held hands when they went for a walk. And what about Gran's first love? A Vietnam soldier who never returned. And the kid she gave up. I wonder if Grandpa knew? I want what they had. A love for all time.

She leaned her forehead against the door, silent tears running down her cheeks again. Did she have time for the research needed to track down her unknown Aunt? And what would her mother say when she told her she had a sister? She grimaced at the thought. Moira DeCoeur O'Keefe didn't give a damn about anyone but herself. Or about their roots in the small bit of Creole Territory buried in Illinois.

At least getting construction supplies wasn't a huge deal. There was a lumberyard in town, and she didn't need to replace framing. Just match the damaged woodwork in the interior and the missing gingerbread shingling on the exterior. The stained glass needed repairs, and she already found a shop for that.

Brushing her tears away, she said, "Grandma, I'm going to make this place shine. Like the pictures in the album. And I'm going to find my aunt. She has to be better than Mom."

A/N The prompt is mentioned in the fourth paragraph from the end of the chapter.