Page 23 of Flippin' Cowboy
After two hours, he reluctantly acknowledged that she did indeed know her stuff. Time after time, she pointed out old, dangerous knob-and-tube wiring that needed replacing, ugly postwar floor tiles that were likely asbestos, and other issues.
To his surprise, their on-camera discussions of how they each envisioned bringing the building’s historical charm back was surprisingly free of rancor.
Not only was Winnie completely professional, but they were also both on the same page regarding the major work needed to make this building livable again, and to bring it up to code.
To Nick’s gratification, Winnie proposed stripping the paint from the few remaining pieces of remaining original woodwork and trim. She suggested a chemical dip-and-strip for the staircase’s railings, spindles, and newel post.
Then it was time to head upstairs, the part of the building Nick had found the most confusing on his initial walkthrough yesterday.
The downstairs rooms followed a typical floor plan for a Queen Anne-style Victorian home, with a large parlor and a sitting room opening up on either side of a wide entrance hall. The sitting room on the east side of the house connected to a library, which in turn connected to huge dining room at the rear.
The unfortunate 1960s renovation had stripped out most of the house’s original interior features but left the layout of the rooms intact.
On the west side of the house, the main staircase divided the parlor at the front of the house from the kitchen, pantry, and china closet at the back. A narrow set of servants’ stairs were tucked away behind a door in the short hallway connecting the kitchen to the dining room.
Upstairs, though, the layout was just plain weird.
“What do you mean, weird?” Winnie asked when he voiced this thought during their ascent on the wobbly stairs.
“A house of this size typically had four large bedrooms on the second floor, with a shared bathroom off the hall and a dressing room attached to the primary bedroom,” Nick replied. “This house hassixteenrooms on the second floor. And they’re tiny. I’m wondering if this building was originally designed as a hotel or boarding house, rather than a single-family residence.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Winnie said flatly.
The bright key lights suspended from a mobile rig gleamed off her pink hard hat as she turned to examine the hallway, with its rows of doors on either side.
Because of the risk of falling plaster from the water-damaged ceilings, Nick and the camera crew also wore hard hats, though theirs were plain white.
She continued, “My great-great-grandmother, Caroline Snowberry, built this mansion, and she lived here until she passed away in 1924. These rooms must’ve been constructed later, maybe during the 1920s, when Mr. Bonham bought the house and turned it into a hotel.”
“I disagree,” Nick said firmly, trying to ignore the cameraman circling him for a close-up shot. “Look at the construction. It’s lath and plaster, just like the walls in the rest of the house.” He bent to poke at a section of water-damaged wall and pulled away a piece of crumbling plaster. Triumphantly, he held it up to the camera. “See the horsehair mixed into the plaster? That means this wall was constructed before 1920.”
“And I’m telling you that this was my great-great-grandmother’shome, not a hotel.” Winnie swung around to face him.
“How can you be sure that it wasn’t both?” Nick asked, letting his exasperation well up. “In the old days, a lot of people took in boarders to help with the bills.”
“Caroline Snowberry might’ve been a penniless young widow when she arrived in Montana back in 1870, but she was the richest person in town by the time she built this house,” Winnie said, planting her hands on her hips. “She donated the money to build the first school in Snowberry Springs, and she paid the teacher’s salary for years. Does that sound like someone who had to run a boarding house to make ends meet?”
Intensity lit up her features. Her cheeks were flushed under the thick layer of foundation, and her eyes were bright with passion.
“No,” Nick admitted, resolutely pushing down his desire to discover what her plump, glossy lips tasted like. What the hell was going on with him? He didn’t like Winnie-fucking-Snowberry, and he sure as hell didn’t want to date her.
Except his traitorous cock was informing him that yes, yes, it most definitely wanted to date her.
He added, “But something isn’t adding up here. Tell you what—I’ll do some research at the Montana Heritage Center and see what I can discover about this building’s history.”
“Want to bet that I’m right about my own family history?” Winnie asked with acid-laced sweetness.
“And… cut!” Karla called.
She approached them. “Winnie, Nick, great job on the walkthrough. We got some great footage today.” She put her hand on Nick’s arm. “Nick, just one teeny suggestion. The audience needs to know what you’re thinking at all times. Try to talk about everything you’re seeing, and any ideas you have for the restoration. Other than that, you’re a natural at this.” She raised her voice to address the crew. “That’s a wrap for today, everyone. Great work!”
“I have to go make some calls,” Winnie told her producer. She turned on her heel and marched downstairs.
“Thanks. Are we filming here tomorrow?” Nick asked. “I mean, it’s Sunday.”
Now that he was done for the day, a wave of fatigue washed over him. Performing for the camera sapped him like an honest day’s work with a hammer and drill never did.
“Nope,” Karla assured him. Then she smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “We’re all going to be at the ranch, filming the Snowberry family’s weekly Sunday dinner. Abigail wants you to bring your sweet boy, too.”
