he was being told to wait and felt a tinge of annoyance. It was bad enough to be stuck with this assignment, but dealing with a rude client would make it even worse. He couldn’t see anything else in the darkened interior.
He shifted his feet slowly and rubbed the arms of his jacket, wishing he had thought to bring gloves. It seemed to be getting chillier by the minute. After what seemed like an eternity, the car door opened. A foot emerged, dressed in what he was sure was an expensive black leather heel. It was followed by a slim leg, and then the woman rose gracefully out of the car. Joe’s breath caught in his throat.
The lines on her face indicated she was older than Joe, but she was stunning. Blond hair was swept back into a tidy knot at the back of her neck, and she appeared dressed for a dinner party in a fitted black dress with a red wrap. She wore black driving gloves. Her lips matched her wrap, and as she approached him her hips swayed seductively. Even in heels she was still several inches shorter than Joe. Her skin was fair, and he could just detect a smattering of freckles across her nose. She put a cell phone into her clutch and looked up at Joe expectantly.
“Mr. Klein?” she said softly. Her tone was amused. “I’m Linda Jordan. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
Joe blushed as he realized he was staring. He had been married for twenty years, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such an immediate rush of heat seeing a desirable woman. He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts.
“Yes, yes, ma’am. Joe Klein, from Polson Realty.” He held out his hand. She looked at it for a moment before carefully sliding her hand into his for a small pump, and then she drew her hand away.
“I’m sure you are eager to get out of the chill and see the property. It is a lovely home that needs just the right owner,” Joe said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Would you like to step inside, Mrs. Jordan?” he asked, gesturing toward the wide front patio.
“Of course,” she said, but she didn’t move. Slowly she turned in a circle, taking in the house and grounds, finally settling on the view of the lake stretching out before them across the road. “I’m not from around here. This is quite a lovely area, yes?”
“This is a great area with lots of local history and culture,” Joe said, switching into sales mode. “I actually grew up in the neighborhood myself and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.” Focusing on the job at hand helped keep his mind off the house and woman in front of him. He quickly reviewed some of the facts he had pulled from the file on the house that afternoon.
“The house was built in the early 19th century by an entrepreneur named Joseph Bradford. This area was the place for the well-to-do businessmen and industrialists who were looking for quiet living away from the city, but still close enough to the conveniences. There is a sense of exclusivity being so close to the water. Of course, the city grew up around the neighborhood, but it still maintains that solitary feel given all the properties that border the lake feel more like small estates.”
Mrs. Jordan nodded as she followed him up the concrete steps and onto the wide patio. It ran the entire length of the front of the house. She seemed entranced by the house, drinking in the architectural detail. She placed a hand on the stone railing and gently slid her fingertips up to the top. Joe thought he saw a small smile creep across her face, but when she looked at him again her face was still. He cleared his throat and continued.
“The Bradfords owned the home for only a couple of years when Joseph fell into some bad financial troubles. He was forced to sell the house to help pay off his debts. The house has passed through several owners since then. Given its rather impressive size, it drew interest from some local businesses. It was used for a time as both a home for orphaned