Page 35 of Flippin' Cowboy
“Grandma, we found something very exciting at the house this afternoon,” Autumn said, infusing her tone with enthusiasm. “We had to call right away!”
“Oh, my!” Grandma Abigail’s cornflower eyes grew wide. “I’m so glad you did. Tell me all about it!”
Winnie began by describing the discovery of the architectural drawings inside the newel post.
Grandma Abigail clapped her hands in delight. “I can only imagine what a thrill that must’ve been. Will that be helpful for your restoration efforts?”
“More than you know,” Nick said. “Now we have the architect’s original vision for the house, and we know what kind of exterior trim to restore.”
“But that’s not all,” Winnie said. Her heart was pounding as she prepared to reveal their next find. “Nick found proof that Caroline’s house used to be a brothel.”
“What? That can’t be.” Grandma Abigail’s expression collapsed into horror. “You must be mistaken, Nick. There’s no way that could be true!”
“I’m afraid that the proof is pretty definitive,” Nick countered. He quickly explained the mystery of the many tiny rooms upstairs which looked original to the building, and the significance of the soiled dove motif in the original window trim.
When he finished talking, Grandma Abigail looked shellshocked. “I—I’ve lived in this town nearly all my life, and I’ve heardnothingabout Caroline living in an old bordello!” She shook her head. “This is going to cause an uproar.”
“That’s why we wanted to give you a heads-up,” Autumn said. “Before we film the scene where you get the news.”
“There will be no such scene.” Grandma Abigail’s lips thinned into a stubborn line. “Even if it’s true that the house was originally a place of ill repute—”
“There’s absolutely no doubt,” Nick interrupted.
“Nick’s right. All the evidence we have so far proves this building didn’t start life as a private residence.” Winnie couldn’t believe she was defending Nick from her beloved grandmother.
“Even if it’s true,” Grandma Abigail repeated, “I absolutelycannotallow my late husband’s family name to be tarnished like this.”
“Does that mean you aren’t going to let us film your reaction shot to hearing the news, Mrs. Snowberry?” Karla asked, stepping into the phone camera’s view.
“Your understanding is correct,” Grandma Abigail said icily.
“Grandma, you don’t really have a choice,” Winnie pointed out. “The contract you signed for the show—”
“—means nothing if I yank the funding for this restoration project,” her grandmother declared. Her blue eyes were steely now. “I won’t allow anyone to besmirch the Snowberry name—Frank’sname—on national television.”
Winnie gasped. She’d guessed her grandma wouldn’t be thrilled by the news, but she hadn’t expectedthis. “But if you pull the funding, we’ll have to stop production before we air a single episode!”
Panic coiled around her insides like a snake, squeezing mercilessly. IfReviving Snowberry Springsdied on the vine, the HomeRenoTV network’s executives would never agree to fund another show for her.
Her career would be over, trashed beyond repair after herRestoring Seattledebacle and all of Geoff’s bad-mouthing. No one would ever want to hire her again to restore their homes. She’d have to start over from scratch.
She’d never had a poker face. Her expression must have betrayed her thoughts, because Nick unexpectedly put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently.
“Abigail, please reconsider before you make any rash decisions,” Karla pleaded. “There are over thirty people working on this show whose jobs are on the line, including your granddaughters.”
“Grandma, please,” Autumn begged. “You know how badly I need this job!”
Winnie bit her lip. She concentrated on pushing down the fear swelling inside her.
Oddly enough, the solidity and weight of Nick’s brawny arm around her helped anchor her. She breathed in and out, trying to calm her racing thoughts and fend off the black cloud of defeat hanging over her.
What could she possibly say to change her grandmother’s mind? She had to come up withsomething!
“Frontier bordellos and the women who worked in them are an important part of our state’s history,” Nick said. “We shouldn’t sweep them—and their contributions—under the carpet.”
“Contributions?” Grandma Abigail asked in open disbelief. “What kind of worthwhile contributions could a bunch of prostitutes have made?”
“You’d be surprised,” Nick replied. “I’ve found records of successful madams donating to local charities, distributing food baskets to their less fortunate neighbors during hard times, buying fire engines, and even supporting community law enforcement organizations with grants.”
