Page 12 of Going, Going, Gone
Chapter Eight
Two hours later, a team from the Archaeological Society of Virginia was scheduled to respond to the Coldrick farm first thing in the morning. Andy and Erik had packed up all the equipment into the latter’s truck and headed back to the college, still excited about being part of the potentially historical find. Nessa had explained to Dylan that although she had her doctorate in history, any further digging was best done by trained archaeologists. There was a good chance more items would be found, and everything had to be properly documented when it came time to formally request the farm be designated as a historical site.
Nessa was still grinning from ear-to-ear as she finished up a phone call to her college’s dean, while pacing back and forth in the house’s empty living room. Dylan leaned against the doorjamb leading to what had been the dining room and watched her. She had to be the most passionate woman he’d ever encountered and, not for the first time, he wondered if she was that passionate in bed with a man.
“Yes, I will. Thank you, sir.” Disconnecting the call, she spun on her heel to face him and let out an exuberant sigh. “I think that’s it. I’ve called everyone I can think of. One of my undergrads will fill in and administer the exam I had scheduled for my American History 101 class at 8:00 am, so I can be here when the team arrives. Dean Mathers okayed everything and will stop here in the morning. He’s all excited because this is big news for the college and will get it some recognition in the academic circles.”
“Ifthe testing proves those shackles belonged to a slave during the era of the Underground Railroad,” Dylan reminded her.
Taking a deep breath, she then let it out slowly and nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I just wish I knew where that damn diary was. It would be the added proof we need.”
Dylan pushed off from the jamb and strode toward her. “If it’s out there, I have no doubt you’ll find it.” That was the truth. Nessa was the type of woman who could do whatever she set her mind to. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. What do you say about going out to dinner somewhere to celebrate?”
“I—” She glanced down at her dirty clothes and then his. At least they’d been able to wash their hands, arms, and faces in the kitchen sink, since with the electricity on, the well’s pump was still working. It had just taken a few minutes for clear water to run after not being used for so long. “Um ... I think we’d get thrown out of any restaurant looking like this.”
Chuckling, he took a few steps toward her. “I think you’re right. So that means we have two choices. We either go to our respective homes, shower, change, then meet out somewhere.” He paused. “Or you could follow me home to my place, use my guest shower, throw on a pair of my sweats and a shirt that you’ll be swimming in, then enjoy my barbecuing talents. In case you’re wondering, I prefer the second option. Either way, though, it’ll be our second date.” Yup, he definitely wanted that follow-up date now more than ever.
An adorable blush stole across her face. “Um ...”
Her hesitation had been expected, and he’d been ready for it. “Tell you what. You can call as many friends as you want and let them know my name, address, phone number, and birthdate for safety reasons. You can also ask my mother if you can trust me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your mother?”
“Um-hm. She just pulled up.” He’d seen her car turn into the drive through the living room window. “I called her while you were on the phone with the archaeological society. She’s almost as excited as you are and wanted to stop by to see the place, even though I told her she couldn’t go down the trap door.”
Before he could say anything more, there was a gentle but firm knocking on the front door. With a wink at Nessa’s gaping mouth, Dylan strode into the foyer and opened the door. He might be bias, but Kaye McBride was a classically beautiful woman. The black hair and blue eyes she’d inherited from her Irish ancestors had knocked Dylan’s father right out of his boots the first time he’d laid eyes on her. According to Gavin McBride, it’d been love at first sight. He’d known from the moment he’d introduced himself and took her hand in his that he’d met the woman he was going to marry and spend the rest of his life with. And he had. For the next thirty-six years, it was highly doubtful Dylan’s father had looked at another woman the way he looked at his bride every day until his death four years ago. Kaye had felt the same way about her husband. As far as Dylan knew, his mom hadn’t accepted any offers of dates that came her way since becoming a widow—and he knew there had been several of them. She’d had her prince, and no one would ever compare in her eyes.
“Hi, Mom.” Towering eight inches over her five-feet-five-inch frame, he leaned down and kissed her cheek, before stepping back and letting her enter.
“Hi, sweetheart. I hadn’t realized how beautiful this house is.” Her gaze took in the surrounding craftsmanship. “I knew I should’ve asked for more information or come to you after Reverend Price rushed through the presentation at the last board meeting. The way he made it sound, this place was falling down. Look at the woodwork. It needs a little pick-me-up, but I’m certain it could be restored to its original glory. Oh, hello. You must be Vanessa Adams. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Dylan hadn’t realized Nessa had appeared in the living room doorway behind him as he’d watched his mother peruse what she could see from the foyer. He gestured between the two women. “Nessa, this is my mom, Kaye.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Nessa said, shaking the older woman’s outstretched hand, after checking to make sure her own was still clean.
“Dylan told me how you’re trying to save this farm, and I think it’s admirable of you. I’m so glad you found some evidence. Will it be enough to convince the powers that be that this house should be a designated historical site?”
Her gaze flickered to Dylan before returning to his mother. “I’m not sure, but I hope so. As I was telling Dylan, I just wish we could find my Aunt Elise’s ancestor’s diary. It apparently has a lot of entries, detailing her family’s participation in the Underground Railroad.”
“A diary?”
Nessa nodded. “Yes. Elise’s great-great-aunt, or something like that, was about thirteen at the time and wrote about it in a diary. Aunt Elise said she remembered reading it when she was a teen, but she didn’t know what’d happened to it. A lot of her grandmother’s things were donated to various museums and historical societies decades ago, and I’ve been trying to track them down. I’ve written letters and emails to over thirty possible places, but I’ve only had a few comply with my request to search their inventory and respond to me.”
“Hmm. Maybe I could give you a hand. I have quite a few connections and could put in a few calls to see if we can move things along. Could you get me a list of those organizations that are still outstanding?”
Nessa’s eyes widened. “Really? Oh, my gosh, that would be wonderful! Yes, I can get you the list.” She glanced around for her purse she’d retrieved from her car earlier. Finding it, she rummaged around and pulled out a pen and a small notepad. “Where can I send it?”
His mother rattled off her email address at the library. “I’ll be there all afternoon tomorrow and can easily go through the list. Even if I don’t have a connection at some places, I’ll probably know someone who does. Since my husband died a few years ago, I’ve become a bit of a philanthropist in my free time, and I’ve made many new friends in the process.”
“Any help you can give me would be greatly appreciated. Thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Actually, mom,” Dylan said with a grin. “You could helpmeout here. I’m trying to convince Nessa she’s safe if she takes me up on my offer for dinner at my house.” He gestured to their dirty clothes. “We’re a little out of sorts to try going to a restaurant.”
A broad smile appeared on his mother’s face as she turned to Nessa. “I can’t remember the last time Dylan introduced me to a woman he was interested in, and if he’s inviting you to dinner at his place, then he’s definitely interested. He doesn’t do that often, at least, to my knowledge. And he definitely doesn’t ask me to speak up for him, but I’m happy to in this case. He’s a complete gentleman, Vanessa. My husband raised our boys to be nothing less. Almost every young lady my boys have dated in the past has remained friends with them long after the relationship ended—from high school through today.” She gestured to the pad and pen Nessa was still holding. “Take down my phone number. If he does anything out of line, you just call me.”
The blush he loved so much bloomed on Nessa’s cheeks as she wrote down his mother’s cell phone number. When she was done, Nessa looked at him, with amusement in her eyes. “I ... um ... guess we’re barbecuing at your house.”
