Hannah And The Hellion (Silhouette Treasury 90s)

by Christine Flynn

  The melodic tinkle of the entrance bell had just faded when Damon jerked the front door back open, causing the bell to peel more wildly. The rain wasn’t much more than a steady drizzle, but the air was so cold his agitated breathing looked like smoke from a dragon.

  He scarcely noticed the cold, or the fact that he was going to get soaked.

  “Lindstrom.”

  In the process of pulling a brown cap over his ears, Neil jerked to a stop and spun around. His disgruntled expression immediately went cautious.

  “I have nothing to say to you, Jackson.” His chin came up, his courage fueled by the knowledge that everyone in the café or driving down the street could see every move the bigger, less-civilized man made.

  Damon took a menacing step forward. “That suits me fine. All I want you to do is listen.”

  “There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear. And by the way, I’m on to you and your phony concern for my uncle. You might as well know right now that I intend to make certain you don’t take advantage of him, either.”

  He started to turn away. Damon’s hand on his arm stopped him.

  “How dare you—”

  “I dare anything I please,” Damon informed him, his voice dangerously tight.

  He immediately let the man go, though it would have given him enormous satisfaction to wipe the arrogant glare off his face. The last thing he needed was the town’s golden boy screaming “assault.”

  “You’d better keep that in mind, too, Lindstrom. I don’t know what you mean about your uncle, but nobody’s taking advantage of him. And I don’t give a damn what you think about me. But I’m the one you’ll answer to if you say anything to harm Hannah’s reputation.” He took another step forward, certain he was missing something, but too angry to care as the fuming man backed up. “You got that?”

  He didn’t wait for a response. He’d delivered his message. All he was interested in now was going home, getting dry and doing what he should have been doing all along. Keeping completely to himself.

  Any other day, news of Arvida Sieverson’s encounter with the display in front of aisle five would have received top billing as a topic of conversation. The demise of forty-two economy-size jars of pickled beets was quickly overshadowed, however, by accounts of Damon Jackson manhandling Neil Lindstrom in front of the Pine Cafe.

  What Hannah found most interesting about the two versions she heard was that one was amazingly accurate. It included everything from Neil’s inflammatory conclusions about Damon’s motives regarding Mr. Lindstrom and Neil’s not-so-veiled insults toward Hannah, to Hannah’s remarks to Damon in the kitchen prior to Damon following Neil out to “cause a ruckus” before they parted in opposite directions.

  Hannah figured either Dorothy or Gunnar was responsible for the accurate accounts. Her money was actually on Dorothy. The ex-postmistress wasn’t known to embellish, and Gunnar, if he ran true to form, wouldn’t get around to saying anything about his interrupted lunch for another couple of days.

  The other version, the one Hattie called from the florist shop to confirm, would have had Hannah fuming if she hadn’t already been so upset.

  “I won’t say I told you so,” the woman graciously allowed the moment Hannah had answered the telephone. “But now you know why everyone’s been so concerned about you renting to that man. Do you need any help cleaning up over there?”

  Hannah didn’t know if the matter had become confused with the pickled beets incident or if someone had decided the truth just wasn’t juicy enough on its own. Hattie had heard that a fight had started inside the café when Neil confronted Damon about stealing from old Mr. Lindstrom and ended with broken glass everywhere and both men yelling and shoving at each other on the street.

  Anyone walking into the café could see that no damage had been done. No physical damage, anyway. Brenda said she swore the few locals who came in that Saturday stopped mainly to inspect wreckage. Sheriff Jansson was the only one who didn’t seem disappointed when he walked in and found the quaint interior as clean and inviting as always. But, then, he’d received a call from Neil about what had happened, so he knew the altercation hadn’t led to bloodshed. Damon had threatened Neil, though, so his day wasn’t a total loss.

  For once he didn’t warn Hannah, or chastise her. He just gave her a look that echoed Hattie’s I-told-you-so sentiment and asked if she had overheard the threats. He posed the same question to Brenda, though his manner was considerably friendlier when he addressed her. After all, Brenda just worked there. It wasn’t her fault that her boss had such lousy judgment.

  Like everyone else who’d gaped out the café’s windows when Damon had stormed out, Hannah had seen him and Neil for the brief moments they’d been outside together. She’d also seen Damon walk back through the café without saying a word to a soul. Five minutes later, his black truck had rounded the corner. She told the sheriff as much, then attempted to relate what Neil had said about Damon, since she was pretty certain Mr. Lindstrom’s nephew had omitted the parts that hadn’t served his purpose.

  The sheriff wasn’t interested in what Neil had said, however. All he wanted from her was to know if she’d actually heard Damon’s threats—which reduced her response to a simple, decidedly terse “No.”

  “I guess that wasn’t what he wanted to hear,” Brenda mused after the sheriff had walked out with the muscle in his jaw jumping. “But maybe something good did come of all this.”

  Agitation had Hannah grabbing a sponge to attack a soup spill on the stove. “I can’t begin to imagine what that would be.”

  “Well, you did put a few rumors to rest with that remark about how the two of you aren’t sleeping together.”

  Hannah simply couldn’t appreciate Brenda’s optimism at the moment. Keeping her neighbors apprised of her nonexistent sex life wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d moved here.

  “Of course,” Brenda continued when Hannah just kept scrubbing, “the way Damon acted does leave a lot of room for speculation. He was sort of...well, kind of chivalrous, I guess. When he was yelling at you in the kitchen, he sounded like he was only thinking about you. And the look on his face when he left your office...” she mused, absently thumbing her wedding ring. “You know, Hannah, it’s not every day that a woman has a man looking like he’ll draw blood to defend her honor.”

  “You make it sound as if he was suited in armor and mounted on a white horse when he tore out of here.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she countered, defending her observation. “Damon’s not knight-in-shining-armor material. He’s more the rogue knight on a black stallion. But it’s like you tried to tell the sheriff. I think he was upset with what Neil said about you. I don’t think he heard the other part you told me about. The stuff about him trying to get Mr. Lindstrom’s money. The way you say he is about not defending himself, I almost think he’d have ignored that.”

  Hannah couldn’t discount her friend’s conclusions. They were pretty much her own, anyway. She’d felt certain from the moment she’d seen Damon that he hadn’t heard what Neil had said about him scamming his uncle. He’d looked far more protective than insulted and, as much as he thought of Louie, he’d certainly have said something to her about Neil’s remarks if he’d been aware of them. That had to mean he’d taken after Neil only because of what Neil had said about her.

  She didn’t know what to make of him coming to her defense that way. Considering that all he wanted was for her to forget she even knew him, and as adamant as he was about having people forget he was around, what he’d done made no sense at all.

  “I think he was trying to help, Hannah.”

  Beneath the anxiety, the trepidation and the odd, lingering sense of hurt. Hannah had that feeling, too. “If he was, he went about it all wrong.”

  “I hope you’ll tell him that the first chance you get. Just so he doesn’t get himself into trouble, I mean. Or cause any more for you.”

  Brenda’s sweet concern only reinfor
ced what Hannah had been thinking all afternoon. And the more she thought about it as evening approached, the more imperative seeing him became. She didn’t know what he’d said to Neil, or what he was capable of where the man was concerned. And even though it would only make him angry, she needed to tell him that Neil thought he was after Louie’s money, just so he didn’t say or do anything to Louie that could be misconstrued. But Neil wasn’t her biggest worry.

  She knew how reclusive Damon was, and how he could cut someone out in the blink of an eye. If he was feeling as defensive as she suspected he might, she didn’t doubt that he’d cut himself off from everyone—and that meant ending his relationship with his elderly friend.

  He’d be hurting himself as much as he would Louie if he did that, but he wouldn’t care about himself. She needed to make him understand what it would do to Louie, though. Letting the old guy down now would be harder on him than if Damon had never let him work with him at all. Whether he liked the idea or not, Louie needed him.

  As for what she might need, she didn’t dare let herself consider it as she pulled her little blue sedan between the melting mounds of snow on either side of his driveway and ran through the dark to his porch.

  Chapter Ten

  Damon’s ramshackle house sat south of the inlet, nearly obscured by the deep woods that ran right up to the edge of a sheer, forty-foot cliff. The dense stands of pine protected the place from the worst of the winds that swept across Lake Superior, but the ravages of time and the elements had long ago taken their toll on the old Jackson place. With the snow melted from the roof, the sag over the garage was clearly visible in the light anchored below its peak. The weathered siding, even illuminated only by the porch light, was splintered and peeling, trails of rust tears running from its nails.

  The only thing that didn’t look in danger of tumbling down was the stone chimney rising beyond the dormers and the new glass storm door. The place was as decrepit as his boat had once been, but Hannah was fighting the cold and nerves and it wouldn’t have mattered if the inheritance he was so determined to keep was a pea green teepee as long as he hurried up and opened the door. All she wanted was to get this over with.

  He answered on her third knock. She didn’t take it as a good sign that he took one look at her, then closed his eyes and lowered his head as if he wished he’d hadn’t answered the door.

  He’d changed clothes after getting soaked that afternoon. A stark white undershirt stretched over the broad expanse of his chest, exposed by the sides of the denim shirt hanging open over it. Jeans, washed nearly white in places, clung to his lean hips. He hadn’t bothered with a belt. Or to comb his hair. From the way the dark strands spiked up in places, however, it did seem he’d run his fingers through it a few dozen times.

  “May I come in?”

  He seemed to know she wasn’t going anywhere until she’d stated her piece, but there wasn’t a shred of invitation when he unlatched the storm door and pushed it open. When he hadn’t said a word by the time he turned away, leaving her to close the doors behind herself, Hannah knew that the calm she’d hoped for would not prevail.

  Tension radiated from him in waves as he moved to the middle of the small, neat little room. She stayed back by the door, lowering the hood of her blue slicker and slowly popping its snaps while she dripped on the rug. The brown carpet was worn, in need of replacing, but the tan sofa looked new. So did the television that displayed a wild car chase and the word mute. On the end wall, a fire crackled in the stone fireplace. The painting above it was of a huge schooner under full sail. It battled a foaming sea as hostile as Damon’s expression when he turned back to face her.

  “You don’t listen very well, do you?”

  “I was just wondering if you would listen at all.”

  He eyed her evenly, gray eyes distant. He was in no mood to spar. “I’m not going to argue with you, Hannah. You shouldn’t have come here.”

  Even prepared for it, the cold rejection stung. “I don’t want to argue with you, either,” she quietly informed him, drawing her own defenses around herself. “I just want to talk to you about Neil. And Louie.”

  “What about Louie?” he muttered, clearly preferring to ignore the man’s nephew.

  “Are you going to pick him up in the morning?”

  Had Damon looked at all confused, Hannah would have conceded that her concerns were completely misplaced and that she really didn’t know him at all. But he didn’t even blink. He just stood watching her, solid and immovable as a mountain, his jaw working furiously.

  She had no idea what thoughts warred in his mind before he glanced away and motioned toward a small table visible through the narrow doorway. It was covered with brass fittings he obviously intended to polish.

  “I’m going to do what I can here for a while. Alone,” he carefully emphasized. “I have to wait for the sealer to dry before I paint, anyway. There isn’t that much for him to help with.”

  There was no satisfaction at all in having her suspicions confirmed. “He doesn’t always help you now,” she pointed out, refusing to condone his rationale. “Half the time, he just watches you, or sits and visits. It’s your company he wants.” She motioned toward the table herself. “You could bring him here if you don’t want to go to the shop.”

  “And what do you suggest I do with him after the boat’s finished? Take him out on the lake with me every day?”

  His sarcasm was wasted. He was pretending to be practical. Hannah knew he was only being self-protective. “We both know he wouldn’t be up to that,” she informed him flatly. “But I know he’s offered to come down to the dock after you’ve unloaded your catch in the afternoons and help you get ready for the next day. You’re not being fair to him, Damon. He doesn’t want to stop spending time with you.”

  His gray eyes locked on hers, as cool as quicksilver, as hard as diamonds. “You’re still expecting fair? Haven’t you figured out by now that ‘fair’ isn’t something that happens around here?”

  He jammed his fingers through his hair, looming closer as her accusation festered. “And just for the record,” he said, seething, fury tightening his voice, “I’m being a lot more fair to him than that nephew of his is being to him, or you or me. Neil was badmouthing you right in front of your customers, and I’m the one,” he grated, jabbing his finger at his chest, “who got blamed for causing trouble because I told him to back off. I’d say that’s about as fair as him accusing me of planning to hit an old man up for his money when all I’ve been doing is minding my own business. Wouldn’t you?”

  Hannah didn’t realize how she’d dreaded raising the subject until she realized she wouldn’t have to. “I didn’t know you knew about that.”

  “Oh, the sheriff made sure I did. He wanted me to know that I’d be the first person he looked to if Louie is missing so much as a dime. Anything happens to bruise Neil the Wonder Boy’s pretty face and I’m on the block for that, too.”

  He had every right to the anger burning inside him. The accusation, the rumors, the suspicion. None of it was justified. Not anymore. He’d grown beyond the man he’d been ten years ago. But feeling his quiet rage slither along her nerve endings, she didn’t know who was more at fault for not seeing that. The town. Or him.

  “I’m not talking about everyone else, Damon. All I care about is you and how your actions affect one old man. He needs to help you. You won’t be protecting yourself at all by staying away from him, either. It’ll just look as if Neil was right and that he scared you off before you could do anything.”

  She knew by the dark flicker in his eyes that she hadn’t phrased something quite right. Either that, or he was about to take exception to her insinuation that he was running away. Too upset to care, she held her ground and matched his glare.

  “And one other thing,” she said, cutting him off before he could get started and make her forget what all she’d come to say. “I know you were trying to help this afternoon when you took off after Neil. I appreciate it.
I really do. But you’re not the only one who can take care of himself. I can take care of myself just fine.”

  The sound he made as he scanned her upturned face was nothing short of rude. “How? By living in a state of perpetual denial?”

  She’d sounded so certain seconds ago. At his unexpected attack, her voice lost its strength. “I don’t live in denial.”

  “It’s exactly what you do,” he snapped. “You rationalize and justify and refuse to see anything that threatens you or your idea of what your life is supposed to be in this place. If you can’t overlook it, you make excuses for it. You did it when those waitresses quit, and when you’ve tried to explain why your business is slow. You were ready to do it when you went into the kitchen after Neil popped off in the café.”

  His voice grew lower, rougher. “The way you deny things is what I was talking about when I said you have to take the effect I have on your business seriously. You never have done that, Hannah.”

  There was a difference between denying something and trying to make the best of a situation. Hannah would have pointed that out, but she had the feeling Damon would only insist it was the same thing, and she didn’t care to defend the only way she’d ever had of coping with what life dumped on her.

  “I know what you were talking about,” she said, feeling exposed and vulnerable and desperately afraid that she was losing the emotional shield that guarded her feelings for this man. “You don’t need to get angry with me or use your reputation as an excuse to push me away. You’ve made it clear enough that you don’t want me, Damon. If you don’t even want to be friends, then at least have the decency to be as up-front about that as you have been about everything else.”

  She had the horrible feeling that he heard the shaking in her voice. But she kept her chin up, her stance defying challenge. As long as she could meet him head-on, he’d never know how vulnerable she was to him. He’d never know how it broke her heart to see him holing up inside himself when he had so much to offer. Or how she ached for him in ways she had no choice but to deny.