Rescuing the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  Faith shrugged, stoic.

  “I guess we should go in.” She had a key, permission to do whatever she needed, and Donovan never said she couldn’t bring guests.

  The mansion looked gorgeous today basking in the full sun blazing overhead. She thanked the Big Guy Upstairs for the weather. Connor deserved thanks, too. He had been busy. Fresh mulch lined the flowerbeds, new trees poked out of the dirt, and happy, pink flowers blew in the breeze. With the sun lighting the mansion’s glittering quartz stones, the trees swaying, and the turrets and their golden points shining regally beneath a blue sky, Pate Mansion looked like a fairy tale come to life.

  What better venue for a charity dinner for children whose lives had been less than fairy-tale perfect?

  Sofie felt herself smile as she stepped out of her car into the perfectly pleasant spring air.

  Ruby walked up a moment later, tucking a large leather planner under her arm and tipping her head back to take in the structure. “Incredible.”

  “Welcome to Pate Mansion,” Sofie told her.

  Ruby’s eagle eyes left the building and scoured the landscaping. Her mouth pinched and head stopped swiveling when she reached the far side of the building. Sofie prayed her eyes hadn’t landed on a scowling, frowning Donovan Pate come to run them off his property with a shotgun.

  She turned her head to find it wasn’t Donovan who had captured Ruby’s eye or, as she noted from her friend’s slacken jaw, Faith’s. It was Connor.

  He bent, jeans curving over his—very nice, if she said so herself—backside, shoveled some mulch, and tossed it around the base of one of the trees he’d been wriggling into a hole when she’d been here earlier this week. Shirtless, a fine sheen of sweat coated his broad shoulders, big arms, and bumps of muscle in between. Military did a body good.

  He turned, noticed the three of them standing in the driveway staring shamelessly, and grinned.

  “Hey, Sofe,” he called out.

  Faith raised a thin, blond brow, her expression saying everything, but she spoke anyway.

  “You know that golden god?”

  “So do you,” Sofie said on a chuckle.

  Faith’s expression begged to differ.

  “He worked at the Wharf for, like, a minute,” Sofie told her friend, then lifted a hand to wave. “Hey, Connor!”

  Faith’s face scrunched further as they approached. “Really?”

  “Busboy,” Sofie said, keeping her voice low. “I thought you knew who Charlie was talking about when she mentioned her handyman.”

  Blankly, Faith blinked. Her friend’s disbelieving gaze tracked back to the sexy landscaper. “She didn’t do him justice.”

  Swallowing a smile, Sofie addressed the “golden god” now regarding her guests curiously. “Mrs. Voss, this is Connor McClain. Connor, you probably remember Faith.”

  A pair of reflective sunglasses prevented her from seeing where his eyes went, but Sofie bet dollars to dandelions they were not scoping out Ruby’s power suit. Faith, on the other hand, her mile-long legs and graceful gait, the sun glinting off her fair hair and illuminating her white knee-length dress… yeah. She’d bet his eyes were locked on Faith Garrett. And Faith’s were unmistakably glued to Connor’s… well… everything.

  “Is Donovan here?” Sofie asked.

  “Inside somewhere,” he answered, stabbing a mound of mulch with the shovel. He propped an elbow on it and nodded at Ruby. “Mrs. Voss.”

  “Ruby, please.” She didn’t show signs of being flustered in his presence, but then, Sofie doubted much flustered Ruby Voss.

  His head swiveled and his mouth split into a smile, dimples punctuating both sides of his face.

  Voice dipping, he drawled, “I remember Faith.”

  Faith bit her lip and smiled, twirling her long hair around with one finger.

  “I… can’t place you,” she murmured, almost demurely.

  “S’okay. It was a long time ago,” he said, his grin staying put. “I didn’t work there long, didn’t look like I do now.”

  He didn’t. Sofie didn’t remember him well, but she got a flash of a somewhat scrawny kid shuffling around the restaurant.

  “You look the same.” Connor’s chin dipped, as if he was taking in Faith from head to toe.

  Beautiful, his low tone implied. He was not wrong. Faith was beautiful.

  Sofie glanced at her friend and watched her lashes lower as she studied her shoes. Oh yeah. Chemistry burned between those two.

  Not that Sofie could blame her. If Faith was in the market for a man, this man would be a good man to be in the market for. They bid the man adieu and headed inside.

  In the foyer, Sofie stepped aside and let Ruby and Faith walk ahead of her. She shut the door, ensconcing them in darkness.

  “The kitchen is through there,” she said, gesturing to her left. And is the nicest room in the mansion. “You can see where the kids will be helping prepare the food.”

  “Well, the front of the house looks amazing,” Ruby said, her smile genuine.

  “Gorgeous,” Faith chimed in, but Sofie was pretty sure the “gorgeous” part had more to do with Connor than the flowerbeds.

  “Connor is very good at his job. It’s only going to get better.” The foyer was dim, and knowing what awaited them in the next room had Sofie holding her breath.

  Red walls, brown carpet, dark furniture, the dining room was as warm and welcoming as Vlad the Impaler’s castle.

  “We were thinking a coat of paint in here will brighten this room up.”

  Sofie turned to Ruby, who was regarding the room with a look of uncertainty. From behind her, Faith mouthed the word “Paint?”

  Sofie nodded. Yep. Paint. It hadn’t been in her original plan, but the gloom in here bothered her enough she was willing to suffer manual labor.

  “Cream, or maybe a soft goldenrod. I figured we could take care of it ourselves”—at this, Faith’s eyebrow hiked up her forehead—“that way we wouldn’t have to pay a painter from the budget.”

  “We.”

  The voice came from over her shoulder and did not sound happy.

  “Donny—er, Donovan.” She plastered a smile onto her face and turned around. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Lying,” he said. “That’s new, Scampi.”

  She pleaded with her eyes for him to behave. Clearly, the chip on his shoulder had only increased in size.

  “Mrs. Voss of Open Arms, the charity for abused children,” Sofie introduced, “meet Donovan Pate, Gertrude’s grandson.”

  She licked her lips, suddenly nervous. What she needed was for him to cooperate. Sure, she hadn’t asked to paint in here, but if the place was becoming a future bed-and-breakfast, she couldn’t imagine the new owner arguing a color change. The space was ideal. But dreary.

  Ruby took a step past Sofie and clasped both of Donovan’s hands in hers.

  His eyebrows lowered in confusion. Or maybe discomfort.

  “Gertrude was a shining example of the goodness in our town,” she gushed.

  Sofie prickled on his behalf. If she hadn’t been sure of the strain in his and Gertrude’s relationship before, his creased face and drawn mouth made it loud and clear. Hopefully, to Ruby, the lines etching his brow looked like grief.

  “When she approached us to give a portion of her wealth, I was overjoyed,” Ruby continued. “Open Arms has been helping abused children for years and finding new, excited sponsors is a gift.” She continued holding his hand in hers. “Your grandmother mentioned you several times. It’s an amazing honor to meet the grandson she was so overwhelmingly proud of.”

  Through his clenched jaw, Sofie could swear she heard his teeth grind.

  Please, please. Say something nice.

  “Thank you,” he said after an extended silence. “It’s a worthy institution you run. I’m honored to be a part of it.”

  Phew.

  Ruby’s smile was genuine and heartfelt as she let go of his hand. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”<
br />
  So am I. Sofie flicked her eyes up at him. He didn’t so much as glance her way, but she knew he watched her in his periphery.

  They toured the kitchen, Donovan taking the lead. He suggested where to set up the kids the night of the dinner. Being a restaurant guy, he understood where the prep area would work best, as well as where the expediters could tray the food before taking it to the ballroom.

  “The kids won’t carry the heavier dinner trays, I’m guessing.” He looked to Sofie for that information.

  Rapt by his take-charge confidence, she nearly missed her cue. “Hmm? Oh yes. The catering company is providing servers. They’ll do the heavy lifting.”

  “Maybe you could order some smaller trays so the children could take dessert out?” Ruby asked. “I want them fully involved.”

  “I will do that today,” Faith said. “Would you like to see the ballroom next?”

  “That would be great.”

  Faith led Ruby out of the room, leaving Sofie and Donovan alone in the kitchen. “Thank you,” she told him.

  He didn’t acknowledge her gratitude, instead offering, “Something to drink?”

  She moved her tongue around her dry mouth. “Please.”

  Being alone with him had a way of making her parched.

  He opened and closed the refrigerator. She accepted the bottle of water, noticing a weird, yet oddly familiar, smell coming from the closed door to her left. Faint scratching sounded from behind the panel.

  “Is that…”

  “A dog.” He leaned past her and turned the knob, opening the door a fraction.

  Sofie peered through the crack. Striking pale blue eyes peered back. “A wet dog.” That’s what the smell was. Wet dog plus shampoo. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

  “I don’t.”

  Okay…

  “Is it friendly?”

  “Seems to be.” He opened the door wider and Sofie squatted. The dog reminded her of the Saint Bernard her aunt used to have, but this one was mixed with something else. Shepherd, maybe?

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Girl.”

  “Hi… uh, what’s her name?”

  “No name,” he answered tersely. “Found her out back.”

  “Hi, girl.” The dog wagged her tail, though it was positioned low. She took a step in her direction and Sofie held out a hand. She noticed the pooch favored one foot. It was bandaged. “She’s hurt.”

  “Yeah. Cut herself on something.”

  “Poor girl,” she cooed. She offered a hand but didn’t pet her yet. “I can’t believe she hasn’t chewed the bandage off.”

  “She chewed through three of them.”

  Donovan stood, hip leaning on the edge of the countertop, arms crossed. She tried to picture him bathing a dog and changing its bandage three times. Tried to picture him being attentive… caring.

  She tilted her head and took him in. He stood there looking solid. Strong. Safe.

  An illusion.

  Donovan Pate was anything but safe.

  The dog’s wet nose touched her hand and Sofie smiled and reached to pat the dog’s head. The mutt’s eyes fluttered shut, her ears flattening as if expecting a blow.

  Sofie pulled her hand away.

  “She’s been abused,” Donovan pointed out.

  Her heart squeezed. It was like a macabre theme.

  “You can tell by the way she flinches,” he muttered.

  Sofie tried again, extending her hand slowly. The dog backed just out of reach and watched her through pale eyes from a safer distance. Eyes the same color as Donovan’s.

  She’s been abused. You can tell by the way she flinches.

  Sofie’s hand gestures the other day had made the man in this room react in a similar way. She stood, clasping the water bottle with both hands.

  Donovan shut the utility room door with a soft click. “Don’t take it personally.”

  She met his gaze, wondering if he and the stray had more in common than unique eye color.

  As if he sensed her thoughts, he pressed his lips together and, just like he had the other day, walked away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Donovan chipped away at the fireplace in front of him, listening to Dog snore on the sofa where she’d made herself at home. He hauled her off there twice before giving up and letting her have her way. She’d only be here temporarily, so he justified the potential bad habit wouldn’t hurt anything.

  After Sofie had joined Ruby and Faith in the ballroom, Donovan had wandered into the great room to keep his hands and head occupied with something other than the forlorn look Sofie gave him earlier.

  He didn’t want her sympathy. Didn’t want her to feel bad for him—to feel bad, period. So, he’d stayed out of sight, avoiding her, though he did overhear the ladies navigating the halls to the front door on their way out. He didn’t meet them to say good-bye, but he’d clearly made out their echoed laughter through the vents. Specifically, Faith’s voice mentioning Sofie’s “hot date” tonight.

  His “hot date” had been frozen pizza shared with Dog. He supposed he should get some food for her if she was going to stay here. He couldn’t keep giving her people food. And no way was he taking her to a shelter until her foot healed. He couldn’t trust a group of volunteers to give her the care she needed. What if they shoved her in a cage and left her unattended? What if she chewed the bandage off again? What if she got an infection?

  Dog snored loudly from the sofa, big front paws—one bandaged, one not—thrown over the edge of the cushion. Her eyes were shut tight. Yeah, she was staying here until she was well. He had turned back to the fireplace, when he heard the door to the room squeak open.

  “You have a dog,” Connor announced from the threshold.

  Dog snorted awake, lifting her head from her paws. She gave a halfhearted bark.

  Tossing down his tools, Donovan sat on his butt on the dust-covered plastic in front of the fireplace. “She’s not mine.”

  Connor looked from the dog sprawled over the couch cushions, then back to Donovan. “Sure as hell looks like she’s yours.” He approached, making kissy noises. Dog wagged her tail cautiously.

  “Watch her foot. And she doesn’t know you, so be careful,” Donovan warned.

  Connor lifted his hand, palm down. Dog licked it. “Oh yeah,” he said as he scratched her chin, “she’s vicious.” Dog rolled to her back and exposed her belly, which he then scrubbed with his other hand.

  Donovan shook his head.

  “Hey, girl,” Connor said in a soft voice. Dog’s tail wagged, beating the back of the sofa like a furry ball bat. “You are a beautiful girl. Aren’t you? Yes, you are. Oh, yes you are.”

  “This how you get chicks to come home with you, too?”

  Connor’s mouth cocked into a half smile. “Your daddy’s a jealous guy, isn’t he?” he asked Dog.

  Daddy. A buzz like an electric shock hit his limbs. He knew Connor was giving him shit, but still… Donovan a parent? Not good. Not even for a dog.

  Connor rose to his feet and Dog righted herself, careful not to put weight on her injured paw. Her mouth smiled, tongue lolled, and tail continued thumping. Happy as a fucking lark.

  “It’s late,” Connor said. “I’m stopping for the day. Thought I’d grab a shower, then a beer. Interested?”

  “Not showering with you, man.” Donovan nodded to Dog who was staring a hole through the back of Connor’s head. “She’s starting to look like your dog.”

  “I’m never home. Plus my apartment doesn’t allow dogs.” Connor scrubbed her head, which she allowed, then turned back to Donovan. “So?”

  He didn’t have the overwhelming urge to run into townsfolk while at the local watering hole, but he could use a few hours away from this place. Being in this house was making him cagey. For that reason, he asked, “Where?”

  “Salty Dog.”

  Dog barked, one chuff.

  “Sorry girl, misleading name. No dogs allowed.” Connor surveyed the damage wreake
d on the fireplace. “Looks like you need a break from… whatever it is you’re doing.”

  What Donovan was doing was obsessing, and trying not to think about Sofie with Scott Torsett. Trying not to think about whether he took her to dinner, or if they stayed in…

  Or if he’d tried to kiss her good night. If Sofie had let him.

  Donovan’s lip curled.

  If he stayed here and continued working, those thoughts would persist. Turning from the debris littering the plastic beneath the fireplace, he brushed his hands on his jeans, knocking dust from his palms.

  “You know what?” he told Connor, “I could use a break.”

  From thinking of Scampi, mostly.

  The bartender at Salty Dog slid two foaming beers down the bar top. The place was fairly busy, making Donovan wonder if Evergreen Cove had turned into more of a party destination than it used to be. Or maybe it always had been. He never really hung out “in town.” Most of his partying happened in his apartment.

  And had included the guy sitting at his left elbow.

  “Back in the day,” Connor called over the din of voices, “this time of night, we’d be neck-deep in a bottle of booze.”

  Donovan sipped his beer and smiled. “Surprised you remember.” Connor had been eighteen, underage, and suffering from a wild streak. His friend’s life had been nothing like Donovan’s. The opposite, actually.

  Connor’s parents and siblings were overly involved in his life. He’d started working at the Wharf in defiance of his father wanting him to work for the family business. Shortly after, he started hanging out with Donovan. Connor was a bright kid, and Donovan didn’t have a problem with him crashing at his apartment. Before too long, his friend was there more than he was at his own house.

  Kind of like he was now.

  Connor banged their beer glasses. “To working together again.”

  Donovan could hardly believe he was back in town. Drinking with Connor. So close to Scampi. A thorough drink of beer wet his arid throat, dry from the dust he’d inhaled for the past several hours.

  “I have an ulterior motive.” Connor put his beer on the cardboard coaster in front of him, keeping his eyes on the base of the glass.