But even if he hadn’t let her die without his forgiveness, even if that grievous sin could somehow be expunged—
The fact that he’d fallen into bed with a bombshell instead of facing the home Charlotte had loved would surely spell his doom. And now he was supposed to hand over the keys of her dream to that same temptress and just… What? Walk away forever? Wipe out that part of his life?
Who would sit in Charlotte’s rocking chair? Who would know that she treasured her grandmother’s biscuit cutter? Understand how many nights she’d spent embroidering daisies on her kitchen curtains?
No. He couldn’t sell the cottage. However desperate he was to escape the pain, it was his penance, his burden to bear. He had no right to move on, to forget her, though sometimes he wished he could just bash every memory out of his head. Once he’d had everything a man could wish for and had thrown heaven away.
Fantasies, he’d learned, carry a price, one he would never finish paying.
He pulled the car into the road and resumed his journey. Time for the next installment on his debt.
* * *
JEZEBEL ITCHED for a set of pruning shears. The trumpet vines tangling over this section of fence were about to topple it. She still knew too little about gardening, but beneath the tiny new leaves dusting the outer stalks lay a labyrinth of dead branches leaching once-white paint from the sweetly carved pickets. Surely some thinning out was in order.
If Marian Smith weren’t in the hospital, she’d consult her. Her nursery brought customers from miles around to Three Pines because her stock was of the highest quality.
But Marian was in the hospital.
And she was Gamble’s mother.
Under other circumstances, Jezebel thought, as she prowled the grounds of this place she longed to own, she would have joined the vigil, at least to the extent of running errands for Marian’s children and friends or making coffee or snacks to help out.
But that was before last night.
She spotted a weed-choked flowerbed and dropped to her knees to lose herself in something productive.
What on earth would Marian think of her now? Jezebel had been celibate since her arrival, for months before that, as a matter of fact. Then, in one fell swoop, she’d laid eyes on Marian’s grieving son—
And lost not only her mind but every shred of good sense she had.
Now here she was, all in an uproar, terrified that her life was irrevocably changed and—
“What the hell are you doing?” a voice roared.
Jezebel spun toward the intruder, lost her balance and fell smack on her behind in the mud.
Backlit by the rising sun’s rays, a powerful, menacing frame towered over her. “Get off my property.” The man’s voice was guttural and fierce.
She shaded her eyes as she struggled to her feet—
And stared straight into the furious face of the man she most did not want to see.
He advanced on her. “You’re trespassing. Beat it.”
She backed into the rock edging and lost her footing again. She grappled for something, anything, to catch her—
Instead, Gamble did.
The touch of this angry stranger had nothing in common with the eager, bone-melting caresses of last night or the man who’d leaped to her rescue. He gripped her arms so tightly she was sure she’d bruise.
“I’ll give you thirty seconds, then I’m calling the sheriff.” He squeezed harder, his face blazing with contempt. “I’ll never sell this house to you, got that? You’re not fit to wipe your shoes on Charlotte’s mat. Get the hell out of here before I—”
Suddenly, she’d had enough. She used her own considerable strength to shove at his chest. “Take your hands off me, or I’ll file charges for assault.” When he didn’t budge, she stomped her heel on his instep as she’d been taught in self-defense class.
He yelped, and his grip on her faltered. She slipped to the side while he hopped on one foot and cursed.
“Don’t you dare manhandle me,” she said.
If his face had been fury before, it settled into icy disdain now as he straightened. “Then don’t ever let me find you here again. You don’t belong. You never could.”
Her racing heart twisted at the scorn in his tone. “You’re letting this beautiful place fall into ruin. What kind of memorial is that?” The second her words were out, she wished she’d recalled them. She was not a hateful person.
But he’d made her feel worthless. For too long, that had been the story of her life.
“Get out.” Visceral menace. “We’re done.”
She had the urge to laugh. You might be surprised. But she restrained herself, certain now that even if she were pregnant, she’d never tell him. She might not be worthy of much, but she merited more than his contempt. Even if she didn’t, her baby did.
And for the sake of that child, she made herself speak up, though she craved to flee. “Tell me why.”
He goggled. “What?”
“Why won’t you sell it to me? You refuse to live in it.”
“Because—” He flung out one hand and indicated the house. “If I were willing to sell Charlotte’s house, it would never be to someone like you.”
She steeled herself against the insult. “There were two people in that bed last night. I didn’t notice any restraints being used.”
He recoiled. “It was a mistake.”
The return barb nailed its mark with devastating aim. A night that she couldn’t forget, he called only a mistake.
The child she prayed she wasn’t carrying…was a mistake.
No. “You’re wrong.”
His head jerked upward. His eyes could have melted steel. He didn’t want to remember the tenderness; she understood that now. Didn’t want any part of kindness, wished for nothing at all from her, really.
But she craved something from him, so she forced herself to breathe deeply and try once more. “Gamble,” she began. “I realize that it’s painful for you to be here—”
“You understand nothing. Someone like you couldn’t begin to—”
She drew herself up. “Shut up. Stop treating me like dirt because you feel guilty that you got your rocks off last night.” No, no, no—get a grip. She exhaled. Fought for calm. “I’m sorry. That was unkind.”
“Just go.” He turned his back.
“I’ll leave, out of respect for how much you loved her, but you ponder something after I’m gone.” His head was in motion, already shaking her off, but she refused to let him deter her. “Ask yourself this, Gamble Smith—what would Charlotte do? If she couldn’t stand being here because it hurt too much without you, would she let all the love in this place go to waste? Because I love it, whether or not you believe I’m worthy, and I’d do my best to care for what you and Charlotte built.”
He rounded on her. “You didn’t know Charlotte,” he growled, “and you don’t know me.” He jabbed one finger toward her car. “And you’re on my property.”
She remained when she longed to run, though tears blinded her eyes.
Then, when she felt she’d proved her point, she made her way out of what could have been paradise.
* * *
ONCE SHE WAS GONE, Gamble sagged to the porch steps, drained by the fury that never seemed to fully leave him.
What would Charlotte do?
That cut deep.
None of your business, bimbo.
But even as he thought it, he wondered at himself. Charlotte would never tear around like a rampaging bull; that was for sure. She would not aim to hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.
But she hurt me. She left me. The insidious voice taunted him, the same demon that had sucked the marrow out of him in those lost months after her death.
He forced himself to his feet to escape its lure. To fight another spiral down into that pit of despair.
Then face it. Her house. Your house. Home.
He shook his head violently. This wasn’t his home, not anymore.
S
o why can’t you sell it?
Because—
He couldn’t explain it. His feelings about this place were a vicious tangle of love and hate and lost hope. He couldn’t separate the pain from the love. Couldn’t be here and not remember—
Gamble, take a break. Come swing with me. His eyes moved inexorably toward the porch swing he’d built and hung for her, just where she could sit and watch the sun set. Laughing eyes and welcoming arms. Let’s snuggle.
And he had, so many times. He’d awaken to find her bundled up in her grandmother’s wedding-ring quilt on a brisk morning, gaze fastened on a mockingbird singing to greet the day. Or with a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade waiting for him, its rounded sides beaded with moisture against a sweltering summer afternoon.
Or sitting in his lap in the moonlight, drowsy and replete with sweet passion.
Another image speared into his brain at that moment: a woman as different from Charlotte as blazing sun is from cool starlight. Abundant curves and no-holds-barred sex, her eyes daring him to leap from a cliff and discover just how wild the ride could be, until he’d lost his mind right along with her.
Just the thought of it had lust curling in his gut.
Gamble slammed his palm against a post. Here, in Charlotte’s domain, the mere idea of another woman was unconscionable. He’d never been unfaithful to her, never even considered it. If their lovemaking had had to be more careful and had required him to rein himself in, such was a price he had paid gladly.
Don’t be so careful with me, Gamble. I won’t break.
But she’d been wrong, no matter how much she’d wished otherwise. She hadn’t been the one forced to walk the floor at night, trying to decide if this spell would worsen or fade, who must calculate when they could weather the crisis and when it was too dangerous not to haul her back to the hospital where too many hours of her life had passed.
He’d do it all again, gladly, in exchange for that oasis she’d supplied, that place where his restless spirit had found such peace. Not many people got to live with an angel, and few deserved it less than Gamble Smith.
If she couldn’t stand being here because it hurt too much without you, would she let all the love in this place go to waste?
No. She wouldn’t. But Charlotte was the angel, not him.
He glanced around and noticed, for the first time, the true price of his neglect. Being here was making him crazy; until his mother’s fate was known, though, he couldn’t leave, however badly he craved to.
First things first. Noah would be ready for his car, and Gamble owed an apology to his siblings. However deeply mixed were his feelings about selling, that was no excuse for jumping down Levi’s throat.
Gamble scanned his surroundings and made a silent promise to return. His gaze paused on the flowerbed Jezebel had been weeding, mud on her long, graceful fingers and on the back of the curve-hugging jeans.
His body, damn him, still responded to her. Would say yes again in a heartbeat, if offered.
Except the house stood between them now.
He wanted out of Three Pines desperately. He couldn’t wait to get back to New York.
For the moment, though, that wasn’t an option, so he’d go to the hospital to check on his mother, then make the rounds of his siblings and eat crow.
And pray that the day of his departure wasn’t far off.
* * *
CAL WAS KNEE-DEEP in pine mulch when Lily returned, working alongside sixteen-year-old Kenny Davis to fill the bags that bore Mama’s signature label—scarlet rosebuds surrounding the script Blossom Central. It was dusty work, so he wore a bandanna over his nose.
“I told you to use a mask.”
He glanced up but kept shoveling. “I like this better.”
“You’re just too vain to wear one.”
He lowered the bandanna, leaned on the shovel and winked at Kenny. “What did I tell you? The woman can’t resist me.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “You’ve sucked too much dust up your nostrils. It’s clogged your brains.”
Instead of an answering insult, he squinted at her, then handed the shovel to Kenny. “Take five, kid.”
Kenny grinned. “It’s more fun watching you two.”
Cal ruffled his hair. “You’ll get other chances, I’m sure. Scram.”
Kenny complied, emerging from the pile with his usual gawkiness.
“Wait,” Lily said. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“I told him to ditch.”
“You what?” She whirled on Cal. “Calvin, you have no right—”
Kenny started laughing. “It’s okay, Lily. We have a teacher in-service day.”
“Spoilsport,” Cal said. “Beat it. But be back in ten minutes. We got fifty bags to fill yet.”
“Slave driver.” Kenny waved as he walked away.
“You’re a terrible influence on that impressionable boy,” she complained. Kenny had a serious case of hero worship.
“Ever’body oughta have an example not to follow.” He stopped before her, his eyes too assessing. “What’s wrong, chère? Your mama okay?”
She shrugged. “No worse, but no better.”
“Thought she might like to have her own flowers around her. Maybe the scent of them might bring her back, if for nothin’ more than to chew my ass out for cuttin’ her precious blooms.”
Lily had to smile. “She will, too. I’ll go arrange them.”
He ducked his head. “Already did.”
She blinked. “You? Created a bouquet?”
“What’s the big deal? You cut some stems, stick ’em in a vase.”
“Which blooms?” Lily was already charging toward the workroom. “Calvin, the Nichols wedding is next weekend. If you’ve raided the flowers Mama has been coddling for months and get Gladys Nichols riled, I swear I’ll—”
His shout of laughter brought her up short.
“It’s not funny. I can’t leave you for a minute, can I?” She spun on her heel, ready to rip into him.
He intercepted the finger she was about to jab at him. “But you’re not sad anymore, are you, chère?” He released her and stepped back. “I’d rather see you spitting mad. Your mama needs you to fight, not cry over her. She’s tough, and she’s gonna come out of this just fine, you watch. Now, some of us got to work around here.” He parted ways at the workroom door.
Just before he moved out of hearing, she spoke up. “So did you pick Mama’s blossoms or not?”
He paused. “I’ll leave that up to you, sugar. But you gotta admit, it’s a good idea.” He saluted and left.
“Good idea, my foot.” But she was smiling as she reached for the door handle.
“Lily. Ms. Smith.”
She looked over her shoulder. Went very still. “Ms. Hart.” She’d never decided quite what she thought of the woman, despite her mother’s rapport with her. Now, on the heels of Gamble’s reaction and the shocking news that he’d been with Jezebel last night, Lily found herself speechless.
Furious, actually. How dare this woman set her sights on Lily’s grieving brother? Whatever resignation Lily had felt about Jezebel wanting the cottage evaporated into pure steam. “Can I help you?” she said without welcome.
Jezebel towered over Lily, but at the moment, she seemed smaller. Uncertain. “I—” She glanced around as if seeking help. She wore a perfectly ordinary white T-shirt tucked into worn jeans, yet Lily couldn’t help peering down at herself, dressed nearly the same but without any of the flair. She had about as many curves as Kenny, while Jezebel in a gunnysack would still be a raving beauty and stop male hearts wherever she went.
Which made it even more reprehensible that Jezebel had used the stun force of her body to hijack Gamble into God knows what foolishness.
“I have a lot of work to do,” Lily snapped.
Jezebel recoiled. “I’m sorry. Of course you’d be busy with your mother gone. I stopped by the hospital to check on her just now. I’d like to get her some flowers.”
&
nbsp; “Why?”
The woman seemed startled. “Your mother has always been so nice to me. I care about her.” Her eyes glistened. “You must be worried sick. If there’s anything I can—”
“I think you’ve done enough.”
“What?”
“Don’t play the innocent. What happened—you decide to ensure the sale by seducing my brother?”
Jezebel’s reaction could not have been more telling.
“Oh, no.” Lily felt sick. “You did. You honestly took advantage of a man who’s heartsick over the only woman he’ll ever love, just so you could buy the house he built for her.”
“I didn’t—”
Lily advanced on her. “You make me want to puke. Of all the lowdown, lousy things to do. My mother may be fooled by you, but I’m not. It figures that a stripper would come up with a tactic like that. You and your No Profanity jar and your meals for the lonely—you’re a fraud, aren’t you? Men can’t see past that overblown figure of yours, but that won’t work on me, I assure you.” All the horror of her impotence to bring her mother back to them coalesced into the certainty that here was something she could do: shield her brother from this conniving seductress. “Go away and don’t return. We don’t need your money, and my mother only felt sorry for you. And if you ever come near my brother again, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”
“Lily.” Cal’s voice from behind her, sharp with command. “Stop.”
She yanked her attention from Jezebel and pounced on him. “Don’t you tell me what to do. You’re no better than she is. As a matter of fact, you’d fit together just right—an ex-con and a not-so-ex-stripper. Why don’t the two of you just get out of my sight and go—”
Cal gripped her arms and shook her gently. “She’s gone, Lily. Quit this. She’s not who you’re mad at.”
She slammed a clenched hand into his chest. “Don’t you tell me what I’m feeling. And if you insist on taking her side, then you can just pick up your check, you hear me?” She struggled to get away from him, to no avail.
“I’m not going anywhere but to drive you to the hospital.”
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