“Now since Sam’s not here, will you show me around?”

“We can wait for him.” Amanda crossed her arms and stubbornly stood her ground.

“Could be a problem. Especially since I told him there was no reason for him to drive all the way out here.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Price.”

“It usually gets me what I want. Now, will you show me the house, or do I have to call poor old Sam to come out on a hot day like today?”

Amanda turned and muttered something in reply. Her voice was low, but Price could have sworn she called him a bully.

She began the tour in the study, and then she led him back into the hall and into the living room and dining room. Both of these rooms were large, with ten-foot ceilings and marble fireplaces original to the house. Reluctantly she pointed out what she considered to be the best features of each room, realizing that the more attractive she made the house sound, the sooner it would sell. But not to Price McCord.

Price followed her through the house taking careful note of everything about her that had been hidden by her robe on his first visit and decided that Amanda Hamilton had grown up nicely. Among other things, he was acutely aware of the swing of her hips in the short denim skirt as she went from one room to the other. And he couldn’t help but note how the sunlight bounced off her shoulder-length hair turning strands of shiny brown to red and gold. When she stopped and turned toward him, he measured her with his eyes and knew that the top of her head would tuck just right under his chin.

When he realized where his thoughts were leading, he stopped, annoyed with himself. There were more than enough attractive women around to satisfy his needs. He didn’t need to bother with this one. Besides, she was too young. But something about her tugged at him. He had felt it the other day then again today.

Readjusting his attention, Price focused on the interior details of the house. Certainly it had harbored generations whose lives had been touched by happiness, sadness, war, poverty and prosperity. With so much family history, it was a shame to part with it. Price wondered what had prompted Amanda to put the house up for sale.

“How long has this house been in your family?”

She turned to face him. Her anxiety over his scrutiny disappeared. This beautiful home, which was referred to by most everyone who lived in the area as the Hamilton-Sperry house, was a source of pride to her. “Over a hundred and sixty years,” she answered. “It was built by Edward Hamilton for his bride, Eugenia Sperry, before the Civil War. It was one of the few homes around here to survive the war, probably because it’s a little off the beaten path. It is beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Amanda, her eyes shining.

“Yes, it is,” answered Price. It was obvious she loved this house. So why was she selling it?

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll show you the upstairs.”

The entire house was surprisingly light and airy, probably due to the paint colors Amanda had selected several years earlier—several shades of ivory along with white and pale blue. Here and there were a few accent pieces in terra cotta and apricot. Amanda had added the touch of an artist to an interior that could have just as easily been dark and uninspired, yet managing to decorate the house with all the old-fashioned things that were supposed to be there.

Price was amazed. This was exactly the kind of warm, comfortable feeling he had wanted Caroline to create at Queen’s Point instead of the too-perfect model homes he had ended up with. Granted, Caroline’s impeccable taste had prevailed, but the overall result had lacked warmth.

Amanda concluded the tour in the smallest bedroom that overlooked several outbuildings in back of the house.