Birdie's Nest Read Free

front steps of their home. She stopped beside her silver Ford Mustang convertible. How in the heck would she be able to get in wearing this get-up? Her hat was taller than the roof. She’d have to leave the top down and drive slow to preserve her hair-do.
    Birdie sighed. How on earth did I get myself into this mess? I should have approached Samuelson at his office and turned down his invitation .
    She slid the seat as far back as possible. The width of the bustle allowed her to reach the accelerator and brake. Did she look as ridiculous as she felt? Probably. Thank goodness the boat dock was nearby.
    Nineteenth century society folks, here I come!
    * * *
    The Brazos Belle stood at the dock decked out in party streamers of green and maroon to match Samuelson’s company logo. A costumed butler took Birdie’s invitation and escorted her across the gangplank. “Everyone’s aft on the upper deck, miss. Up those stairs. You won’t miss the crowd.”
    “Thank you.”
    Voices and laughter grew louder as she approached. What a sight. Men and women in period dress graced the deck, milling about in conversation, eating hors d’oeuvres, and drinking wine and cocktails. She lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and made her way to the rail to observe as they cast off. Maybe she could hide out over here for a while.
    Watching the ripples of the river glide by soothed her. Though plantation owners had built their homes near the Brazos for economic reasons, she didn’t doubt they’d enjoyed the calm breezes blowing in off the water and picnics on its banks. As a child, she’d often played along the grassy area, which no longer belonged to her family but to the public, as did the road that ran alongside the expanse of water.
    The boat was almost abreast of Birdie’s Nest. Red brick, her home sat on the remaining five acres of family land a hundred yards from the road with a matching brick drive leading to the covered side entrance. Four white columns graced the two stories. A porch ran the entire length of each of the two floors. The carriage house, located at the rear of the estate, had been used for rental property since the nineteen forties. The house looked larger than it actually was. Thank goodness a past ancestor had provided funds for the property’s basic upkeep. Otherwise her home would’ve been sold years ago. What a shame they’d not made arrangements for the taxes and insurance as both ate away at their budget.
    Now Samuelson wanted to tear down her family home and use the land for his financial gain. The county had given her sixty days to pay the back taxes. On the first of August the house would go on the auction block and be snatched up for a pittance by Samuelson. The man thought to do her a favor and pay the taxes, if she’d sell Birdie’s Nest to him. That wouldn’t happen. Somehow she’d raise the money before then, sell some antiques or family jewelry if she had to.
    “Miss Braxton!” She turned to find Samuelson bearing down on her. He stopped at her side. His gaze traveled her body, spending too long at the cleavage above the brooch. His perusal turned her stomach. She wanted to deck him. “You are stunning. If I didn’t know better I’d think I’d stepped back in time, right into the late nineteenth century. Where did you find such a wonderful costume?”
    “My Aunt Patty’s friends in the DAR helped her locate it.”
    “I see.” He nodded toward Birdie’s Nest, an irritating smile plastered on his face. The man was a salesman through and through. “I couldn’t help but notice you admiring the property.”
    “I’m admiring my home, Mr. Samuelson.”
    “Yes, of course.” He took her elbow. “Come meet some of our investors.”
    “Couldn’t we talk first? I have a few things I want to say.” Like don’t count on buying my home.
    “After I make the introductions, we’ll talk. They’re anxious to meet you,”
    She allowed him to escort her to a group of three couples,