by Macy Beckett
It was over. His dream of finally owning the Gallagher land, of building his home there, was over. But why? Why the hell couldn’t he catch a break, just this once? Looking at the neighborhood, you’d think God Himself had reached down and flicked the roof off Luke’s house before leaving everyone else to live in peace. It wasn’t enough that he’d lost his mama, been played by his ex-wife, and then booted out of the army. Now he was pushing thirty with no money, no prospects, and he didn’t have a place to sleep that night. He’d have to go crawling back to Pru. Again.
The light crunch of glass beneath shoe soles sounded from the foyer, and from the slow, tentative footsteps, he knew it was June. Damn it, why hadn’t she stayed home? The worst part of all this shit was knowing he had nothing to offer anymore. He didn’t want to face her. Not like this—a worthless, broken man inside his literally broken home.
“Hey,” she whispered from behind.
Luke turned to the window. June’s voice was thick with pity, and he didn’t want to see it in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“You didn’t call.”
“Look around. I was occupied.” Which was a lie. He’d done nothing all day—there was nothing he could do.
He heard June step forward slowly. “The furniture’s insured. Just so you know.” When he didn’t respond, she continued in a softer voice, “Decorations, too. I paid the extra nineteen ninety-nine. It’s not something I’d normally do, but I just—”
“Good to know.” Until then, he hadn’t given a thought to all the staging crap she’d rented. At least he wasn’t on the hook for thousands of dollars worth of furniture he hadn’t wanted to begin with.
“How about the house?” she asked, placing one hand lightly on his shoulder. “Is it insured?”
Luke shrugged from beneath her touch and moved toward the back door, picking up chunks of drywall and wood off the floor as he went. Although he’d paid for the house in cash and insurance wasn’t mandatory, he’d bought a cheap policy. But it was only worth the appraised value at the time of purchase—less than twenty-five percent of what the property had been worth when it went on the market a few days ago.
“Yeah.” He tossed the debris out into the backyard. “But it won’t pay much.” If he really stretched his dollar, he’d have enough to buy supplies for a new roof, maybe new floors and drywall, but there’d be nothing left for labor, appliances, or landscaping. And there’d sure as hell be no compensation for the hundreds of hours he’d spent busting his back in this place.
Several minutes ticked by in silence before June cleared her throat and said, “I feel like this is my fault. If it weren’t for Trey’s accident, you’d’ve had this house finished and sold weeks ago.” Even though Luke couldn’t see her face, he knew she was chewing the inside of her cheek and staring down at her shoes, just like every time she thought she was in trouble.
Ever since they were kids, June had taken her licks and kept trailing after him—no amount of roughhousing or teasing could ever repel her. For whatever reason, she’d convinced herself that she loved him, and unless he forced her to let go, she never would.
“You’re probably right,” he said, closing his eyes and hating himself for what he was about to do.
“How can I help?”
“Help?” Luke whirled around and finally faced her. “Like you helped Karl break his nose?”
June’s mouth formed a little pink O, and she shook her head, sending her brown curls in motion.
“No?” he said, raising his voice. “How about the way you helped Trey off the roof? Is that how you wanna help?”
“Don’t.” Her voice seemed so tiny in the open kitchen, but she squared her shoulders bravely and tugged at the hem of her white tank top. “Don’t be like this—”
“Oh, I know! What about the time you helped yourself to an armload of snake venom?” Luke was shouting now, charging ahead until he could see the faint mark he’d left on June’s shoulder when they’d made love. He quickly tore his gaze away and looked directly into her welling eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, your help is toxic, and your luck is deadly. Everything was fine until you came back to town.” Then he pointed to the front door and said in the coldest voice he could muster, “Take your help back to Austin, and ruin someone else’s life.”
Her voice trembled, and one tear spilled onto her cheek, but she stood a little taller and rested her fingertips on his chest. “I told you I wasn’t leaving, and I meant it. I love—”
“You never could take a hint.” Luke wrapped his palm around her fingers. He probably held on a beat too long, but he managed to set them by June’s side and let go. “You’ve followed me around since we were kids. It’s time for you to stop acting so damn needy and leave me alone for once.” Then he turned away before she had a chance to see the pain on his face. “Go on. And don’t come back here again.”
He sucked in a deep breath and held it while June made one of those awful choking noises that came from trying not to cry. He felt like the biggest shit on the planet, but she’d be better off without him. He knew this as certainly as he knew the sun would rise in the east the next morning. Finally, after the longest few seconds of his life, she left the kitchen, and the quick crunch, crunch, crunch of glass beneath her shoes echoed from the foyer.
Luke’s rib cage seemed to constrict and crack, the jagged, calcified edges of bone virtually piercing his lungs. He ached to run after June and snatch her into his arms—he knew she’d forgive him—but that would only prolong the pain. It was time to focus on the future, lousy as it might be. At least he had nothing left to lose, so life couldn’t possibly get any worse.
He got to work cleaning up the wreckage, confident that tomorrow would be a better day, if only by default.
Chapter 23
Luke reached behind his neck and tugged off his dampened T-shirt. Even though fall temperatures had finally kicked in, demolition work was brutal, and it always made him sweaty as hell. He stifled a yawn and tipped back a cold Mountain Dew while watching Trey use a rented forklift to haul another load of shingles onto the front lawn.
He owed his buddy a lot, and not just for his help with the house these last two weeks. Trey’d offered to let Luke crash on his sofa, which had saved him the humiliation of asking Pru if he could move back home. And when the Gallagher land had gone to auction the week before, Trey had done his damndest to keep Luke distracted—he’d even sprung for beer at Shooters that night. It didn’t change the fact that a stranger now owned his land, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.
“That’s the last of it,” Trey said, limping over on his new walking cast to join Luke on the front stoop. “I’ll tarp it later.” He eased down onto the bottom step and groaned in relief.
Luke yawned behind his fist and nodded. “Thanks.”
“Am I keepin’ you awake?”
“Haven’t been sleeping. Just need this caffeine to kick in.”
“I know my couch isn’t too comfortable, but, hell, you’ve slept on worse. Remember that field exercise—”
“It’s not that.” It was the dream, the same one he’d had every night since June left town. Little details changed, but the basics stayed the same. She’d stand before him, smiling with outstretched arms, and whisper, I love you, Luke. I love you so much. But when he’d run to hold her, everything would change. Slowly, her face would transform from adoration to disgust, as if she’d seen a rotting carcass on the side of the road. Then she’d shake her head and hold one palm forward. You hurt me, Luke. You’re just like your worthless daddy. I could never love you. No one could ever love you.
Then he’d wake up gasping like a drowning man and lie awake the rest of the night. “Hey,” he asked Trey, “if someone offered you a million bucks to have nightmares every night for a year, would you do it?”
“I dunno.” Trey shrugged. “Probably.”
“Yeah, that’s what I used to think.” But not anymore. Seeing June again and again—coming so c
lose to having her in his arms and then suffering that heartbreak and rejection every time—was mental torture. No amount of money was worth it. Thinking about her made his guts ache, and even though he tried to force her from his mind, she crept in whenever she damn well pleased. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment. Probably balancing the books for her new bar or something like that. Did she ever think about him?
“Why’d you ask? Having nightmares?” Trey snorted a laugh and elbowed him in the knee. “Maybe you’re the one with the vadge, my friend. You wanna borrow my old teddy?”
“How ’bout I ram it up your—” Luke forgot all about his buddy’s teasing when a caravan of nearly two dozen cars and trucks pulled into view. Each vehicle slowed to a stop on the road’s shoulder. Then, like ants scurrying around a dead grasshopper, people exited their cars and swarmed his front lawn. “What’s all this?”
“Hey,” Trey said, holding one hand out in a defensive gesture, “it wasn’t me. I told them you wouldn’t like it. June arranged all this before she left.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“She talked to the preacher at Miss Pru’s church, then she tracked down every single family Helping Hands has ever worked with.”
“And?” Luke stood, feeling little prickles at the base of his skull.
“And all these people are here to help. You know, to rebuild the house.”
Holy sheep shit. He couldn’t believe June had done this. She had to know it would drive him crazy to have a hundred strangers milling around his place—to be indebted to all those people when he could do the job himself. “Why would she do that?” he muttered to himself more than Trey.
“Why?” Trey shook his head and scoffed. “Because she loves you, numb-nuts.”
***
“Slow down, Lucas.” Pru’s large hand reached out and snagged his belt loop. Luke stopped, but nodded toward the sixty-foot extension ladder propped against his brand-new roof. “I know,” she said with a quick nod, “but take a minute to drink somethin’.” Her blue eyes narrowed, and she thrust a water bottle at his chest. “That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a fake salute and a smile in his voice. Chugging the icy water, he took a moment to observe Pru and her flock of church ladies as they prepared to feed the masses. They gossiped and chirped happily while arranging platters of ham sandwiches, potato chips, and chocolate chip cookies on the folding tables they’d assembled in the backyard.
He’d never thought it possible, but the crowd worked like a well-oiled machine. Trey had grouped everyone by ability, and then he’d assigned each group a task. From framing the roof and nailing on shingles to basic cleanup, everyone—no matter how skilled or raw—pitched in. It reminded Luke of an Amish barn-raising he’d seen once in a photo documentary. If things continued this well, the roof and drywall would be finished by the end of the day. Another group had promised to return tomorrow to help install the new wood floors, and yet another the following day to paint, stain the floors, and landscape with donated flowers and shrubs.
Luke realized it was possible to have the house ready to show within a week. It was still too late to buy his land, but the prospect of having all that money in the bank made his chest feel lighter. And since he was in no hurry this time, he could hold out for the highest offer. If the final bid was high enough, maybe he could track down the SOB who’d bought the Gallagher property.
“Hey, Luke.” A round-bellied man pushed back his tattered Stetson, revealing a bush of wiry gray hair. “You probably don’t remember me. Jim Robins. You replaced all my windows after a hail storm a few years back.”
“Sure.” Luke extended his hand. “Mill Creek Drive, right?” It had been one of Helping Hand’s first projects.
“That’s the one.” Jim’s face brightened, and he gave a vigorous handshake.
“Thanks for coming out.”
“Nah, I’m the one who should be thanking you.” The old timer pulled a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “Been pretty useless since my knee went out. Feels good to give something back, you know?”
It had been like this all day—Luke trying to show his gratitude, but receiving thanks instead, especially from the Helping Hands families. Even though it seemed backward, he kind of understood. Nobody liked being on the receiving end of charity—he sure didn’t—and it must’ve been a relief to pay off that imaginary debt. Still, he made a point to stop and shake the hand of each volunteer before the day ended.
Eight hours later, Luke stood on the front stoop waving as they all drove away. Well, all but one. Old Judge Bea lingered inside the kitchen, pretending to inspect the repairs, but Luke could tell he wanted something. Bea wasn’t the kind of man who lingered. If he wasn’t on his way to supper, he had an agenda.
Luke picked up a few discarded water bottles and tossed then into the kitchen’s recycling bin. “Hey, Judge. I’m about to head back to Trey’s. Want me to walk you out?” Which was his most tactful way of saying, Saddle up and ride out, old timer.
Bea leaned against the island countertop and lowered his white caterpillar eyebrows. Clearing his throat, he pulled a folded sheet of paper from inside his jacket pocket. “Wanted to give ya this in private.”
“What is it?” Luke wiped his palms on his jeans and reached for the document. He opened it and stared blankly at a solid block of legal text. “Am I being sued?”
“No, it’s a deed transfer. Came across my desk this morning.”
“Deed?” What the hell was this? Luke didn’t recall transferring ownership of any properties recently. The last house he’d flipped had closed more than six months ago. He brought the form to the window to read it by the fading sunlight. The property description listed his old address—the house where his mama had lived, and the surrounding acreage—with Mae-June Augustine as grantor. He shot Bea a questioning look.
“She didn’t tell me anything,” the judge insisted with a shrug, “but it’s yours now. She beat all the other bids fair ’n’ square and signed it over to you.”
“This must be a mistake.” Or a really cruel prank. Luke shook his head and tossed the document on the counter. “June didn’t have any money. It was all tied up in that—”
Oh, shit. A bowling ball settled in Luke’s stomach. He knew exactly where she’d found the cash, and the realization almost made his knees buckle. She’d somehow sold her bar—the one she’d worked ten years to open—and walked away from her dream. He couldn’t believe she’d done it. “Why?” he whispered. Why would June give up everything for him, especially after the way he’d treated her?
The answer was finally clear, her sacrifice an unmistakable message where words had failed. She loved him. She really loved him.
Chapter 24
“Alegras, bonita.” Esteban tucked a wayward curl back into June’s twist and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Smile. It hurts my heart to see you like this.”
“Hurts your tips too,” added Tony, the bar manager. He used to call her boss, but now, their roles were reversed. And he wouldn’t let her forget it.
June flashed the brightest smile she could manage and shifted uncomfortably in her leather pumps. She’d gotten used to going barefoot or wearing sneakers back home, and now her old wardrobe felt unnatural. By the end of each shift, her feet throbbed in pain, but she was grateful for the work. It not only helped rebuild her anemic checking account, but provided a distraction from her thoughts too.
“I’m fine, Esteban.” She squeezed his arm. “How’s the temperature in the back tank? They get it fixed?” It wasn’t her job to manage those details anymore, but she couldn’t help asking. “I’d hate to lose any more jellies.”
“All taken care of.” He gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder before strolling toward the back office with Tony.
It turned out Esteban had grown to enjoy managing the day-to-day operations at Luquos while June was away, and when she’d asked him to buy h
er out, he’d happily agreed. It was what she’d wanted, but going from owner to bartender just plain sucked. Watching Esteban receive all the praise and attention on opening night while she’d served drinks in the shadows had left June with a perpetual lump in her throat.
She sighed and rested her elbows on the bar’s immaculate lacquered surface. Soft jazz played from speakers in the ceiling while the gentle glow from the aquarium wall provided the only light. Tranquil, for sure, but Luke was right. It was kind of boring. Without the rush of a noisy crowd, each shift dragged on like a three-legged turtle.
There’d be no escaping her thoughts on a slow night like this. She’d try to focus on creating a new drink recipe or perfecting an old one, but in the end, she’d probably end up replaying her one night with Luke, just like she always did. What they’d shared during those hours had transcended sex—they’d loved with everything, body, spirit, and beyond. Coming so close to reaching her goal—to reaching Luke’s heart—seemed to make the disappointment of losing him even more devastating. Weeks had passed, and she still couldn’t look at a hammer or screwdriver without breaking down in tears. And considering all the maintenance the back tank had needed, she’d cried a virtual tsunami watching the workers come and go.
A middle-aged man in a dark suit approached the bar, and June straightened to take his order. “Welcome to Luquos,” she said with a forced smile. “What can I make for you tonight?”
“I’m looking for Mae-June July Augustine.” He leaned in close, then shook his head and snickered. “What a fracked-up name, huh?”
The smile fell from June’s lips. “That’s me.”
“Oh. Sorry. This is for you.” He handed a large manila envelope across the bar. “You’ve been served. Have a nice evening.” Then he turned on his heel and strode away, just like that.