Read the book: «A Place to Call Home»

Two weeks, he reminded himself. For O’Halloran Security, he could put up with anything.

Even Abby Porter’s smile.

Quinn paused, silently judging the distance between the buildings before cataloging everything else around him. The lodge. The cabins. The boathouse. Even the trees. It gave him an immediate sense of what fit so he would instantly know if something didn’t.

So far, the only thing that didn’t quite fit was Abby’s reaction to him.

She got as tense as a new bowstring if he got too close.

Her bright smile and unexpected sense of humor rose easily to the surface, but several times during the tour Quinn had sensed her retreating within herself. And the flash of panic in her eyes when he’d told her that he planned to stay on-site had bothered him, too. For a split second, she’d seemed…afraid.

Or was he imagining things?

KATHRYN SPRINGER

is a lifelong Wisconsin resident. Growing up in a “newspaper” family, she spent long hours as a child plunking out stories on her mother’s typewriter and hasn’t stopped writing since! She loves to write inspirational romance because it allows her to combine her faith in God with her love of a happy ending.

A Place to Call Home
Kathryn Springer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I sought the Lord, and he answered me;

he delivered me from all my fears.

Those who look to him are radiant;

their faces are never covered with shame.

—Psalms 34: 4, 5

To Anna

Because I have no doubt there will come a day

when you dedicate a book to me! Remember,

“He who began a good work in you will carry

it on to completion.” That’s a promise!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

“Quinn? There’s a headache waiting for you on line two.”

Ignoring the phone, Quinn O’Halloran shot a wry look at his secretary and reached for the cup of coffee he’d poured over an hour ago instead.

“Mel Burdock,” he guessed.

Faye McAllister shook her head. The movement sent the slender gold chains on her bifocals dancing. “No, Burdock’s more like the tension headache that climbs up the back of your neck and camps out in your temples. This guy—instant migraine.”

“Feel free to correct me on this, but I thought I hired you to intercept the migraines.”

“You did. But this is the third time today I’ve intercepted this particular one.” Faye aimed a scowl at the phone. “When I told Mr. High and Mighty that your policy is to return phone calls between four and five o’clock, he didn’t seem to think it applied to him. He insists on talking directly to you but won’t say what he wants. And—” another scowl “—he refused to tell me his name. Must be from out of town.”

Quinn suppressed a smile. Faye took pride in her ability to deal with anyone who walked through the door of O’Halloran Security. It was one of the reasons he’d hired her. Quinn preferred to work behind the scenes and let Faye handle the customers. Those she didn’t manage to scare away usually ended up signing a contract.

Glancing at the clock, he mentally scrolled through the rest of his afternoon schedule. If he ate lunch in his truck on the way to Mel’s, it would give him an extra five minutes to deal with the anonymous headache on the line.

“I’ll take it in my office.”

“I’m sorry.” Faye huffed the words. “If I let a salesman get through, I’ll bring in doughnuts tomorrow morning.”

Quinn grinned. “Are you kidding? If you let a salesman through, you’ll bring in doughnuts for the next month.”

After topping off his cup, Quinn followed the worn path down the center of the carpet to the oversize closet in the back of the building that doubled as his office. The red light on his desk phone continued to blink out a warning. A testimony to the caller’s patience. Or stubbornness.

With a shake of his head, he picked it up. “O’Halloran.”

“It’s about time,” a voice snapped.

Faye was right. Instant migraine.

“Good morning, Mr.—”

“Alex Porter.” There was a significant pause, as if he expected Quinn to recognize the name. “Porter Hotels.”

Now Quinn recognized the name.

The deluxe hotels had their roots in Chicago, where Quinn had lived for eight years before returning to Mirror Lake, Wisconsin. Under Alex Porter’s management, offshoots now sprouted in other major Midwestern cities. Not only did they successfully compete against the larger, well-known chains, but the fact that Porter Hotels remained a family-run enterprise made it even more unique.

“What can I do for—”

“I want to hire you.”

Quinn let out a slow breath. No wonder the guy had raised Faye’s hackles. Everything Alex Porter said came out sounding like a command instead of a request. As if he expected his name would open doors that were closed to mere mortals.

The trouble was, Quinn thought with a trace of bitterness, it probably did. He’d dealt with people like Alex Porter before and had no desire to repeat the experience. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a position to turn down business. Any business.

Pride or a paycheck?

Over the past year, while trying to resurrect the business his father had spent the last years of his life determined to bury, Quinn had discovered the cause and effect relationship between the two. Sometimes the first one depended upon the second.

“Are you buying a condo? Building a hotel in the area?” Quinn searched his desk drawer—the Bermuda Triangle of office supplies—for a pen that actually worked. “O’Halloran Security custom designs security systems to fit the needs of each client. We can set up an appointment to discuss the details—”

“I don’t need a new security system.”

Quinn frowned. “I thought you said you wanted to hire me.”

“I do. You recognized my name, and I recognized yours when I was researching businesses in the Mirror Lake area. I don’t need an alarm system. This is…personal.”

Personal.

Quinn’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Sorry. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I don’t think so.”

“O’Halloran Security is strictly buildings. I don’t provide personal security.” Not anymore. “I’m sorry you wasted your time. But I have an appointment now, so you’ll have to excuse me. There are other reputable agencies in the Chicago area. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

To walk you to your limo, Quinn added silently.

“It isn’t for me. It’s for my younger sister.”

Something in Porter’s voice stopped Quinn from hanging up the phone. A hint of emotion that cracked the surface of the cool, CEO voice. “Just hear me out.”

Don’t ask.

“Please.”

Coming from Porter, the word sounded as if he’d started speaking a foreign language. So, against his better judgment, Quinn asked.

“What’s going on?”

“Abby turned in her letter of resignation at the hotel a month ago and bought a run-down lodge a few miles outside of Mirror Lake. She plans to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast.” The disapproval leaking into Alex’s voice told Quinn how he felt about his sister’s decision. “You must have heard about it.”

“Maybe.” Quinn deliberately kept his voice noncommittal as a conversation he’d overheard stirred in his memory.

Although he tried to keep to himself, he had heard a rumor about the sale of the former Bible camp while waiting for his breakfast one morning at the Grapevine Café, where local gossip brewed as fast as Kate Nichols’s industrial-strength coffee.

“So far, Abby refuses to listen to reason and come back to Chicago where she belongs. It looks like I’m going to have to play this her way for a while.”

“So why did you call me?” Quinn’s lips twisted. “You need a bodyguard to keep the local riffraff away from her?”

That was ironic. At one time, his family portrait would have appeared beside the word riffraff in Webster’s Dictionary.

Alex chose to ignore the sarcasm. “A few weeks ago, someone started harassing me. Vandalized my car. Painted some, shall we say, rather unflattering graffiti on the window of my office. There haven’t been any overt threats made, but I want someone to keep an eye on Abby until my private investigator finds out who I angered.”

“That could take a while,” Quinn said under his breath.

To his amazement, Alex laughed. “It might,” he admitted. “I’m not concerned about myself as much as I am about Abby. She is…fragile. I can’t believe she’s serious about opening a bed-and-breakfast, but it doesn’t change the fact that right now she’s miles away from civilization, living in a house with hook-and-eye locks on the doors and windows that won’t close all the way. I want to be sure she’s safe.”

Some memories were so bitter he could taste them. “Then you should have done your homework. Because if that’s the case, I guarantee you called the wrong person.”

A tense silence stretched between them, and Quinn guessed it was because not many people had the guts to point out that Alex Porter made mistakes. Maybe he’d save Quinn the trouble and hang up first.

He didn’t.

“You spent four years in the Marine Corps. Seven years with Hamlin Security,” Alex recited evenly. “You moved back to your hometown a year ago to take over your father’s locksmith business after he died. Since then, you expanded to specialized security systems designed for summer homes and luxury condos.”

Apparently Porter had done his homework.

All those things were true. But Porter had left out a six-month gap in Quinn’s employment history. “You forgot something.”

“That you got a raw deal while you worked for Hamlin? Doesn’t matter.”

Didn’t matter?

Under different circumstances, Quinn might have been flattered. Except that he couldn’t believe someone could neatly condense the last thirteen years of his life and then dismiss the single event that had ripped it apart. Especially when it had cost him his career—and his reputation.

“I have a business. And it isn’t babysitting the rich and famous.” Been there, done that. Still pulling out shrapnel.

“I need the best. That’s you.”

“What you need to do is buy your sister a rottweiler and remind her to lock the doors at night,” Quinn shot back. “It sounds to me like you’re overreacting to a threat that doesn’t exist. And even if one does, it’s in Illinois, not Wisconsin. She’s probably safer here than anywhere.”

“I’m not taking any chances when it comes to Abby’s safety.” A hint of steel sharpened the words. “I want someone with her who’s experienced in sensing potential threats.”

That was funny. Because Quinn was sensing one right now. A threat to the life he’d started to rebuild.

It was proving to be challenging enough to erase the stain of having the last name O’Halloran without people getting wind of the reason he’d returned to Mirror Lake. Quinn figured if they knew the truth, he’d have to start at square one again. If he was allowed to start at all.

From the sound of it, the only thing Abby Porter was in danger of was being smothered by an overprotective brother. Getting involved with the Porters would be a bad idea, for more reasons than Quinn could count.

“I can’t help you.”

“You mean you won’t help me.”

It boiled down to the same thing. “I can give you some names,” Quinn offered reluctantly. “Talk to some people I used to know.”

Not that he could guarantee those people would talk to him.

“You’ve heard of the White Wolf Run condominiums, right?” Alex asked. “Jeff Gaines happens to be a close friend of mine.”

“Really?” Quinn’s voice was stripped of emotion.

Apparently, Porter had not only done his homework, he’d done the extra credit. O’Halloran Security had put in a bid on that job.

A wave of frustration battered Quinn’s resolve. This was the difference between the haves and the have-nots. When you belonged to the first group, all you had to do was open your wallet to get your way.

“I can put in a good word for you,” Alex said.

The underlying message was clear. If Quinn agreed to work for him.

The confidence in Porter’s voice rankled. And brought back that pride versus the paycheck issue again. Designing a security system for the White Wolf Run condos would boost Quinn’s income enough to wipe out some of his start-up debt, install an air conditioner in the sweltering office and allow him to replace outdated equipment. It would also go a long way in securing his business’s reputation in the area.

And your own.

Quinn ignored the mocking voice that infiltrated his thoughts.

“How does your sister feel about someone invading her personal space?” He wasn’t agreeing to anything yet. Just…inquiring.

“It doesn’t matter because Abby isn’t going to know why you’re there. Or that I hired you.”

Quinn’s internal alarm system went off. “What do you mean she isn’t going to know why I’m there?”

“She can’t find out that I’m involved in this. We had a bit of a disagreement when she turned in her resignation. Abby refuses to accept any help from me. She can be a little…stubborn.”

Apparently a Porter family trait.

“What a shock,” Quinn muttered, silently adding that bit of information to what he’d learned about Alex Porter’s younger sister so far.

Impulsive. Temperamental. Stubborn—Quinn translated that as spoiled. Oh, and what was the other word Alex had used to describe her?

Fragile.

All of them added up to one thing.

Trouble.

“Abby is focused on getting the place ready for her grand opening in August,” Alex continued. “Her carpenter, Daniel Redstone, just won an all-expense-paid, two-week vacation with a professional fishing guide. You’re going to take his place.”

“How lucky for Daniel,” Quinn said dryly.

“A person makes their own luck.” Alex dismissed his comment. “You’ve helped Redstone out in the past when you were short on cash. That makes you an obvious replacement for him. No one will think twice about it. Neither will Abby. You’ll be able to keep an eye on her and in between pounding nails and painting the outhouse, you can install a security system.”

“You are…” Quinn paused. With so many issues to choose from, it was difficult to pick a winner.

“Thorough.” Alex filled in the blank.

Quinn had been leaning more toward arrogant. Or smug. But he guessed that description fit as good as any.

“Two weeks. Until Daniel comes back.” It was all Quinn was willing to spare. Other than Faye, he only employed two part-time employees. Both men were responsible and would appreciate the extra work, but Quinn didn’t want to look as if he were shirking his responsibility. People already told him that he resembled his father. The last thing Quinn wanted to do was act like him.

“Two weeks,” Alex agreed. “24/7.”

“You have got to be kidding.” There was overprotective and then there was downright paranoid.

“That’s my offer.”

“The person harassing you hasn’t bothered your sister.” Quinn raked a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

“I told you.” Alex’s voice was as cold as spring water now. “I’m not taking any chances when it comes to Abby’s safety.”

“You want me on-site. Round the clock. For two weeks.”

“That’s right.” And before Quinn had a chance to turn him down flat, Alex proceeded to tell him what he would pay for the inconvenience. “Do we have a deal?”

Everything inside Quinn warned him to walk away. But he couldn’t. Not if it helped O’Halloran Security succeed.

“We have a deal.”

Quinn reminded himself that he’d walked through the fire before. Only this time he had an advantage. He knew how to avoid getting burned.

Chapter One

Abby Porter didn’t realize she had company until Mulligan’s tail began to thump a welcoming beat against the ground.

Swinging her feet over the side of the chaise longue, she began a hasty search for the sandals she’d kicked off. She’d located one and was in the process of looking for its mate when Mulligan lumbered to his feet.

As the dog trained his gaze on the corner of the house, Abby ignored the shiver that sowed goose bumps up her arms.

Thank you, Alex.

Her older brother’s scare tactics were finally getting to her. All part of his plot to get her to come back to Chicago where he could keep a protective eye on her.

“Not a chance,” she muttered, tamping down her unease. If she was going to be an innkeeper, she had to get used to people coming and going.

“Who is it, Big Guy? Who’s here?”

In response, Mulligan let out a friendly woof. Which told Abby absolutely nothing. The dog’s instincts weren’t exactly an accurate barometer when it came to assessing a potential threat. A week ago, she’d had to intervene before he got up close and personal with a porcupine during their morning walk around Mirror Lake. Mulligan loved everything, from the squirrels that scolded him from the branches of the oak trees to her reliable, good-natured carpenter Daniel.

Relief swept through her, causing the goose bumps tracking her arms to subside a little, when Abby remembered that Daniel Redstone was supposed to stop by to pick up his paycheck before he left on vacation.

For some reason, he’d expected Abby to be as excited as he was when he’d won an all-expense-paid trip with one of the best professional fishing guides in the state of Wisconsin.

Abby hadn’t been excited.

The elderly handyman might have worked at a speed that hovered between slow and a dead standstill, but the final result of his effort was no less than breathtaking. If it hadn’t been for Daniel’s promise to send over a suitable replacement to fill in for him, Abby would have been tempted to offer a sizeable—but anonymous—donation to the fishing guide’s favorite charity if he agreed to cancel the trip.

That the thought had even crossed her mind told Abby that she was already showing some early symptoms of “Alex Porter Syndrome.” A disease characterized by an intense desire to control the universe.

In the end, she hadn’t had much of a choice but to agree to send Daniel off with her blessing. And consider it another surprise to add to the growing list of surprises she’d encountered since her move to Mirror Lake.

Mulligan’s low woof thinned to a whine, and Abby quickly figured out why.

The man rounding the corner of the house wasn’t Daniel Redstone.

This man was younger. Much younger. He wasn’t stoop-shouldered and thin as a fly rod, either.

Lost tourist?

Abby rejected the thought immediately.

There was nothing lost about the man. He moved with the kind of fluid, confident stride she’d always envied. The kind that said he didn’t simply know his place in the world, he’d carved it out himself. Khaki cargo pants paired with a plain cotton T-shirt accentuated the man’s lean, muscular frame but made it difficult to pinpoint what he did for a living.

Abby’s eyes narrowed. It would be just like Alex to send one of his minions to keep an eye on her even after she’d told him not to. She loved her brother to pieces but he did have a tendency to bully people to get his way.

She hadn’t expected Alex to take the news of her departure well, but she hadn’t realized how strongly he would respond to what he labeled her “defection.”

A few short months ago, his reaction would have caused her to give in, but this time it had only made her that much more determined to break out on her own. It was time. And the way things had fallen in place, it seemed that God Himself had gone before her to clear the path.

She could only pray that Alex would eventually come around and accept her decision. If Abby were honest with herself—another thing she’d been practicing lately—she had to admit that it was partly her fault that Alex didn’t have a lot of confidence in her. For a long time, she hadn’t had much confidence in herself.

The stranger spotted her and veered down the uneven brick path leading to the gazebo. As he drew closer, the ruggedly handsome features became more defined. Strands of silky, ink-black hair lay even with the five o’clock shadow darkening his angular jaw. Mirrored sunglasses—Abby had never been a fan—concealed his eyes.

“Hello.” Ignoring the second crop of goose bumps that sprouted up her arms, Abby forced a smile. She spotted her flattened sandal in the spot where Mulligan had been dozing and discreetly toed it back on. “Can I help you?”

He stopped several feet away, close enough for her to see her distorted reflection in his sunglasses. “Are you Abby Porter?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m here to help you.”

Abby blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m Quinn O’Halloran.”

The name meant nothing to her. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Daniel Redstone sent me.” He yanked off the glasses and Abby found herself staring into a pair of slate gray eyes. “I’m your new carpenter.”

“My new…” Abby couldn’t push the rest of the sentence past the knot in her throat. She tried again. “He didn’t mention you’d be coming over today.” Better. The squeak that had made her voice sound like a rusty screen door was barely noticeable now.

He shrugged. “According to Daniel, you’re under a tight deadline and need to keep the project moving along. I thought I’d stop by and take a look around to get a feel for things before I start.”

“I am under a deadline but—Mulligan, no!” Abby lunged for the dog, who’d finally summoned the courage to inch close enough to swipe his tongue against Quinn’s hand. She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. We’re still working on basic etiquette.”

“You’re a golfer.”

“Golf?” At first the meaning behind his statement didn’t sink in. When it did, Abby smiled. “No, I borrowed the term because I adopted Mulligan from the animal shelter an hour before he was to be euthanized.”

“Another chance.” The pale gray eyes lit with sudden understanding.

“It seemed to fit.” Abby ruffled one of Mulligan’s floppy ears. “And I happen to think everyone deserves a second one, don’t you?”

Quinn didn’t answer. Because Abby Porter’s megawatt smile had momentarily short-circuited the hardware in his brain.

He knew her.

No, Quinn silently corrected the thought. He’d seen her before. On billboards strategically placed around the city of Chicago. Wearing black velvet and pearls. The reigning princess of Porter Hotels.

Only this princess looked different. And not only because of her smile. Honey-blond hair, caught in a casual knot at the base of her neck, accentuated delicate features dominated by a pair of eyes that were silver-green like an aspen leaf.

Instead of black velvet, she wore figure-hugging jeans, a paint-splattered T-shirt and a pair of sandals decorated with the gaudiest plastic daisies he’d ever seen.

But looks could be deceiving. He’d learned that the hard way. As far as Quinn was concerned, a diva in blue jeans was still a diva. Before she’d been aware of his arrival, he’d caught a glimpse of her reclining on the chaise longue with a book propped in her lap. Obviously she was so motivated to get the inn ready for her grand opening that she was taking a break before the day had barely started.

Quinn steeled himself against her smile, unnerved that it had had such an effect on him.

“Do you think you can spare a few minutes to give me a tour of the place?” He leveled a pointed gaze at the chaise longue.

“Of course.” Abby’s smile faded.

Quinn wasn’t quite prepared for the direct hit to his conscience. If he’d forgotten the reason he’d changed his professional focus from providing security to buildings instead of people, a few seconds in Abby Porter’s company had brought it crashing back. Buildings were easy to figure out. People, not so much.

They fell into step together, and Abby switched into tour guide mode.

“The main lodge started out as a private vacation retreat for a wealthy family, but eventually they donated it to a local church.” She gestured toward the sprawling two-story split-log home that Quinn had passed on his way to the gazebo. “The congregation built five additional cabins on the water and turned it into a retreat center and Bible camp. Eventually, though, they couldn’t keep up with the larger, more modern camps and had to turn it over to the bank.”

Quinn could empathize. He knew all too well what it felt like to struggle to keep a business afloat.

“After that,” Abby went on, “it ended up in the hands of a developer. He planned to replace the lodge with condos but later realized it wouldn’t appeal to tourists who wanted a full recreation lake…and easier access to civilization. Most of the people who come back to Mirror Lake think of it as a second home rather than a vacation spot. They appreciate the slower pace.”

“That’s why you chose to turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast rather than a resort,” Quinn guessed. “It will attract the type of clientele looking for peace and quiet.”

Abby gave him an approving look. “It sat empty for almost five years until my Realtor happened to mention it a few months after I started looking. Believe it or not, I had to beg her to show it to me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But the first time I saw it, I knew it was perfect.”

Quinn looked over at the lake, as clear and smooth as window glass, beyond a stand of towering white pines. He’d moved to Chicago after his tour of duty because he’d been ready to take on the world. Ready for a fresh start where no one knew the name O’Halloran. The energy and pace of the city had matched his lifestyle. Or so he’d thought. Until he moved back to Mirror Lake.

That first night Quinn spent in his childhood home, temperatures had dipped into the forties, but he’d crawled out the window of his old bedroom and sat on the roof.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to see the stars at night. To drive for miles without seeing a single house or apartment complex. Quinn may not have wanted to return to the town where he’d grown up but he hadn’t expected to feel a tug on his soul, as if he were still connected to it. Especially when his memories of the place weren’t exactly the Hallmark kind.

Sensing that Abby was waiting for a response, Quinn’s gaze moved from the lodge to the weathered cabins strung like wooden beads along the shoreline. Work, work and more work. But he was reluctant to strip the sparkle from Abby’s eyes. Again.

“It’s got potential,” he heard himself say.

Abby turned and smiled up at him. “I think so, too.”

Once again, Quinn wasn’t prepared for the force of Abby’s smile.

Focus, O’Halloran.

“What time does the rest of the crew usually get here?”

Abby shot him a puzzled look. “The rest of the crew?”

“The work crew,” Quinn clarified.

Abby’s low laugh went straight through him. “Now that Daniel is gone, you’re looking at it.”

She couldn’t be serious. “You and Daniel have been doing everything yourselves?”

“That’s right.” Abby reached down to fondle Mulligan’s ears. “I hired some teenagers to do some painting, but they have other jobs so they’re only available on the weekend.” She skipped up the wide plank steps and opened the front door. “I moved in at the beginning of June and started working on the main house right away. It was in fair condition but I’m still in the process of…”

The rest of the words dissolved in Quinn’s ears as he stepped through the doorway into the great room.

The place was a wreck.

Fair condition, Abby had said. The grand opening was a month away but Quinn saw three months of hard labor. At least.

No wonder her Realtor had tried to discourage her from purchasing the property and her brother had had a fit.

Quinn didn’t have to be a professional carpenter to see that the hardwood floors needed to be varnished, the walls painted and another coat of stain applied to the tongue-and-groove pine ceiling.

Abby tilted her head and a strand of sun-streaked blond hair molded itself to the curve of her cheek. “So, what do you think?”

“Wow.” That about covered it.

Abby grinned. “I’ll show you the kitchen.”

Can’t wait, Quinn thought.

He followed her, silently adding projects to the list with every step. New baseboards. New trim. New light fixtures.

It didn’t make sense. Abby Porter was an heiress. She had the resources to level the entire place and have it rebuilt in a week. So why was she doing the bulk of the work herself?

“The kitchen is original to the lodge when it was built in the 1940s, so it has a lot of vintage charm.” Abby paused in the doorway.

Vintage charm. A Realtor’s term for gold linoleum and chrome-trimmed Formica countertops.

He stepped past her, bracing himself for what was behind door number one.

“Your eyes are closed,” Abby said.

So they were. Quinn opened them. “They’re adjusting to the change in light.”

He had to look. No getting around it.

Relief crashed over him when he stepped into a room that could have been featured in a home decorating magazine. Given the fact the place was going to be a bed-and-breakfast, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Abby had devoted most of her time and effort to the kitchen.

She’d stayed true to the time period by keeping the original glass-front cupboards and painting the bead board walls a sunny shade of yellow. Old-fashioned dish towels had been recycled into valances.

The marble-topped island in the center of the kitchen blended seamlessly with the vintage decor but the granite sink and gleaming stainless steel appliances were definitely modern, state-of-the-art tools for the serious cook.