The Sweetheart Bargain (A Sweetheart Sisters Novel)

by Jump, Shirley

  “Why wouldn’t it be any of my business?”

  “Because you have made it abundantly clear that there is nothing between you and me.” And that, she realized, stung. She, the one who’d said she wanted a one-night stand, was, at her heart, exactly what he accused her of being—a picket-fence kind of gal. The only problem—building a picket fence and settling in the ’burbs had been her biggest failure. Her marriage had been over almost before it began.

  “You don’t want to get involved with me,” Luke said, and his gaze shifted to somewhere far off, somewhere she couldn’t see. “So do yourself a favor. And don’t.”

  Seventeen

  Mike walked every square inch of Olivia’s property. Peeked in the attic, looked at the foundation, peeled back a loose section of wall. He borrowed some weird gadget with red and black wires from Luke, then tested the electrical panel. With a flashlight, he ducked under the sinks to inspect the plumbing. All the while, Olivia held her breath.

  After an hour, Mike dusted off his shorts and handed back her flashlight. “Well, I have good news and bad news.”

  Surely the news couldn’t be that bad, Olivia reasoned. She had hope that the house could be something wonderful. After all, she’d left behind everything and everyone she knew for this move. She’d taken a huge chance, changed her whole life, to take on this house. She drew in a deep breath. “Okay. What’s the bad news?”

  “The place is a total gut job. You might as well chalk it up to a lost cause. Sell it for the land and move.”

  She stared at him for a long while, digesting his words. Lost cause? Gut job? Nausea pitched and rolled in her stomach. “And what’s the good news?”

  He gave her a weak, sympathetic grin. “You did one hell of a good demo job.”

  The last little bit of hope Olivia had been holding on to fluttered to the floor. “Are you sure?”

  Mike sighed. “Listen, the last thing I want to give you is false hope. Or put a bow on a mule. This place is in rough shape. A lot of years went by without doing basic maintenance, and that means things are in pretty bad condition. It’s going to take a hell of a lot of work, not to mention a sizable investment, to get this place where you want it to be. The shelter, on the other hand, is in a better state. It’s got some storm damage, but that can be fixed. I can shore up the weak areas, fix a few things for you, if you want. That’ll buy you some time until you decide what you’re doing with this . . .”

  “Monstrosity.”

  “I was going to say project, but you put it much more eloquently.” He grinned, then sobered. “Listen, why don’t I call around, get you some quotes from some contractors. This is too big a job for one person. Heck, for two people.”

  “My budget is only big enough for one person.” She dropped onto an overturned bucket and put her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “My advice? Take your time. The work will be there tomorrow. If there’s one thing you learn in construction, it’s to take your time and measure twice. That goes for everything.”

  She sighed, then got to her feet. “Well, thanks anyway. I appreciate the advice.”

  “Anytime. I’m sorry, Olivia. I wish I could tell you it was all cosmetic, but it’s not. You need new electrical, new plumbing, a new roof . . .” He threw up his hands.

  “It’s okay.” Olivia retrieved Chance’s bowls and the container of food she’d bought for him, then coiled a leash on top of the plastic tub of dog chow. “Can you bring this back to Luke? He’s going to keep Chance for a while for me.”

  “Was that Luke’s idea?”

  “I let him think it was mine.”

  Mike raised a hand, and she high-fived him. “Good for you, getting him to rejoin the land of the living without even realizing he’s doing it.”

  “It was an easy sell, really. He and the dog seem to have a bond and I thought”—she shrugged, and try as she might to keep the caring from her voice, it came through all the same—“it would be good for him.”

  Mike’s blue eyes softened. “You’re good for him, too.”

  She scoffed. “I doubt that. He just kicked me out and told me to forget him.”

  “I never said he was smart.” Mike grinned. “Just that you’re good for him. Trust me, Luke is a great guy. I’d lay down my life for him, without hesitation. And so would any of the guys he served with.” Mike’s gaze went to the small dark house next door. “He’s gone through a lot, more than one man should have to handle.”

  “I wish he’d talk to me about it. Every time we get close, he shoves me away.”

  Mike’s nod was filled with sympathy. “Don’t give up on him. Okay?”

  She glanced at the property next door. Luke’s house had gone back to the way it was before—shuttered and dark, the blinds drawn. Then she looked back at her house—the monstrosity. She worked a smile to her face. “How could I do that? Apparently, I’m the champion of lost causes.”

  * * *

  Greta brought the extra-large coffee cup to Thursday’s Quilting Club, the one printed with MY DAILY SHOT KEEPS ME FROM KILLING PEOPLE on the front. Given the way things had been going, she was going to need the oversized cup of morning strength. She’d called Luke this morning and when she’d asked about Olivia, he’d told his grandmother to ask Olivia for answers. Then he changed the subject. “Ladies, no quilting today. We have to strategize.”

  Esther’s eyes widened and her face paled. “No . . . no quilting?”

  “Esther, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “Maybe not in your world,” Esther said, “because you don’t have a grandchild waiting for a powder-blue-and-white quilt for his twin bed.”

  Greta shot Esther her death-ray eyes. It didn’t work. Esther stayed upright and breathing. “If you help me, then I’ll have great-grandchildren, and then I will happily quilt with you.”

  After she spouted that lie, Greta had to take not one, but two sips from the coffee cup. Thank God for Maker’s Mark.

  Pauline snorted. “I’d pay good money to see you happily quilting, Greta.”

  “Hush up, Pauline,” Greta whispered. Then she forced a work-with-me smile to her face. “Ladies, this is serious. We have an emergency.”

  Esther leaned in close. “Greta, if you’re having trouble getting to the ladies’ room, they make these special panties that—”

  “For Pete’s sake, Esther, that’s not what I’m talking about. And for your information, my bladder is just fine.” She took a third sip. A fourth. Lord almighty, if she’d known it would be this tough to keep them on track, she’d have brought along a thermos of bourbon. “It’s a romantic emergency.”

  “Speaking of romantic, Greta, is that Harold Twohig I see waving at you through the window?” Pauline said, gesturing toward the easterly wall. “Oh my. I think he just winked too.”

  Greta kept her gaze averted from that testosterone-loaded offense to humanity. “I am still trying to digest that cardboard they served for breakfast, Pauline. Do not mention that man or I might throw up in Esther’s purse.”

  Esther nudged her pocketbook farther under her chair and shifted away from Greta.

  “I’m talking about Luke and Olivia,” Greta said. “Things are heading south, fast, between them.”

  “Maybe they aren’t meant to be,” Esther said. “I once dated a man for two years, only to realize that he wasn’t the one. But if I hadn’t dated Mr. Wrong, I never would have met my Mr. Right.” She sighed. “I so miss my Gerald. He was a sweetheart.”

  “Well, I am sure that Luke and Olivia are right for each other. They just need some help to see that.”

  “I thought you said that they were talking and spending time together,” Pauline said. “What happened?”

  Life, Greta wanted to say, but no, that wasn’t quite it. Something far more complex had come between her grandson and the pretty blond therapist. Luke, she suspected, kept putting up walls, and Olivia kept turning away instead of trying to climb them. Greta could hardly blame t
hem, after all Luke had been through, and after Olivia had gone through that terrible divorce, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t about to give them a little push in the right direction.

  “I’m not sure. Olivia was at Luke’s house for a barbecue last night, it didn’t go so well, and they haven’t talked since. When I ask Luke, he won’t tell me anything. When I ask Olivia, she brushes me off. So I think we need to intervene.”

  “Please don’t say we’re going to skip lunch to do it,” Esther said. “Today is chicken and dumplings. You know how I look forward to chicken and dumplings.”

  “We don’t even have to leave this building,” Greta said. She leaned toward Pauline. “Doesn’t your son work for Home Depot?”

  “Yes, he got promoted to manager of the drill department the other day.” Pauline beamed. “Anyone who needs a drill knows my son is the one to ask.”

  “Well, I need a favor, and it doesn’t involve a drill.” Greta looked around, didn’t see Olivia anywhere, then told Pauline her plan.

  Esther tsk-tsked, but Pauline sat with the idea for a while before she leaned forward in her chair. “Okay. I’ll see what he can do—if you help me with this week’s column.”

  Greta smiled. Thank God. Some sense in this group. “What’s the question?”

  Pauline rifled in her purse and came up with a typed letter. “This is the one I picked. I’m trying to jazz up the column, but it seems all I ever get are lonely-hearts letters. What I wouldn’t give for a good meddlesome mother-in-law or prodigal son problem.”

  Greta waved that off. “Make up your own. Heck, with the amount of drama in this town, it’d be like writing for The Young and the Restless.”

  “We can’t do that.” Esther blanched. “It would be . . . lying.”

  “And your point is?” Greta asked.

  “Well, it’s wrong. Plain and simple.”

  “Lying is only wrong if it’s done for nefarious purposes,” Greta said. “There are lies that help people and lies that hurt people. Like, when I told you that dress you wore the other day was pretty. I was lying. I knew if I told you the truth, it would hurt your feelings and that would be mean.”

  Esther’s face fell. Whoops. Damn Maker’s Mark. Greta had just told the truth—by accident.

  “You didn’t like my dress?” Esther said.

  Greta glanced at Pauline. The other woman nodded. “Go ahead and tell her. She might as well hear it from us.”

  “Hear what?”

  Greta laid a hand on Esther’s. “Neon isn’t your color, dear. It washes you out and frankly makes you look like death warmed over. Not to mention, it hurts my eyes. I need a visor just to say hello in the morning.”

  “Oh.” Esther pouted. “What about my patterns? The plaids? The florals?”

  Greta grimaced. Pauline kneed her under the table.

  “Because I have this fabulous new lilac plaid dress that I want to wear with my floral scarf. You know, the dark purple one? No neon in that.” Esther smiled.

  “Sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to see it,” Greta said. With a straight face.

  “Me either.” Pauline ruffled the letter. “Okay, back to the question at hand. I’ll read it: Dear Common Sense Carla, I am a single man in his late fifties who likes long walks on the beach and margaritas by the pool. I think I have a lot to offer, but I have yet to find the right match. Should I try an online dating site? Or resign myself to being alone? Signed, Single Stud.”

  Greta waved her hand. “That’s an easy one. Tell him to get a personality. That’ll turn that dud into a stud.”

  “Greta! How do you know he has no personality? He could be a perfectly charming man.”

  “Esther, the man doesn’t do anything but walk on the beach and sit by the pool. That is a dud in my book. Get him to take some salsa lessons or join a fishing club or something. My Lord, just his letter about put me to sleep.”

  “Me too,” Pauline said, and gave Esther a somber nod. “Greta has a point, Esther. He does sound like a dud.”

  “My Gerald was the kind of man who would take long walks around the neighborhood every night, as soon as his plate was cleared. Why, sometimes he’d be gone two hours, and I’d fall asleep waiting for him. And I thought he was quite the stud.”

  “Sounds like he was that indeed,” Greta said. She put on a nice smile. It never hurt to be polite, even to the dead. She glanced at Pauline. “So, our plan’s a go?”

  “Yes, indeedy,” Pauline said. “I’ll make the call right now.”

  “You mean you will after we finish our quilting today,” Esther said. “We still have the morning room to ourselves for thirty minutes. Plenty of time to tack some squares or trim some edges.”

  Between Esther’s insufferable passion for quilting and Harold Twohig’s constant epileptic waving, Greta thought it was little wonder she needed some Maker’s Mark to keep her from becoming homicidal in her old age. She hoisted her mug, thanked the stars in heaven she’d brought the big cup today, and took a long, long sip.

  Eighteen

  Luke stood on Olivia’s porch, with the dog plopped down beside him, and wondered what the hell he was doing. He didn’t need to deliver this message in person. He could have just sent the driver over here and stayed out of the whole thing. So why had he offered to do it?

  Because he’d told himself he could kill two birds with one stone and give her an update on how the dog was doing at the same time. Yeah, right. That was why he was here, knocking on her door. As if she couldn’t see that answer for herself. The damned dog lived with him now, but still spent half his days in Olivia’s yard, visiting with the puppies and Olivia.

  He wasn’t here to deliver a message or a canine update and he knew it. No, he was here because he regretted running her out of his house after the barbecue a few days ago like a door-to-door salesman trying to hawk overpriced cleaning products. Because that night they’d almost made love had stayed in his mind. Long after the sun went down and the heat of the day began to abate, he had thought about the taste of Olivia’s lips, the way she had curved into him, how soft and silky and tempting she had been beneath him. The fire she had awakened in him, a fire he both welcomed and spurned.

  He didn’t need a woman in his life, or a relationship. Hell, yes, he wanted and needed sex, but sex often came with strings and Luke was not a strings kind of guy, not anymore. If there was one thing he’d figured out about Olivia Linscott, it was that she was the kind of woman who put down roots, planted herself, and made connections. She got involved—

  And he didn’t.

  Well, he kind of had with the dog. And with the letter he’d mailed.

  He shifted from foot to foot. Hell, this was a mistake. He didn’t need to get any closer to Olivia, or anyone, for that matter. If he did, she’d want to know the truth about Luke. The story behind the scar.

  And that was the one thing he never intended to share. He’d keep it buried deep inside and maybe someday the pain would ease enough and allow him to breathe again.

  “Come on, Chance. Guess she’s not home.” Luke started to turn away when he heard the door open. He paused, then started forward, down the stairs, remembering to avoid the broken step.

  “Hi, Chance,” she said. “And Luke.”

  Greeting the dog before him stung a little, but he deserved it. He’d been an ass. He just hadn’t found a way to change out of the jerk suit. Even Mike had been spending most of his days away from Luke’s company. Finding reasons to be in town, or maybe just finding reasons to get close to Diana Tuttle, Luke wasn’t sure. He was driving everyone away, and he just couldn’t seem to stop.

  He cleared his throat, turned back. “I just came by to tell you that there’s a delivery guy in my driveway. He says he’s got cabinets on the truck that you ordered. For some reason he had my address instead of yours.”

  “Hmm. Really?” She leaned against the jamb and ran a hand through her hair, displacing the blond waves. They resettled around her shoulders, enticing, pretty. “I t
hought I canceled that order. And I definitely didn’t have them delivered to your house.”

  At his feet, Chance and Miss Sadie greeted each other, tails wagging and dancing around and under each other. Clearly, two lost friends getting reacquainted, even if they saw each other every day. “Either way, there are cabinets in that truck for you.” He thumbed toward his driveway, telling himself to get out of here, that he was just here to deliver a message, nothing more. “Since I’m not planning on redecorating, do you want me to send him over here?”

  She sighed. “I think it would be a waste of time. I’ll go tell him to take them back.”

  “Waste of time? Why? After all the work you’ve done?”

  “Mike took a look at the house and called it a lost cause.” Resignation laced her words together. “He thinks I should just sell it for the land and let it go.”

  Mike had the experience to back up his advice. He probably took one look at the house, then at Olivia, and figured one inexperienced woman on a limited budget should be smart and move on. Mike, however, didn’t know Olivia the way Luke did. She had a hell of a lot of gumption and determination, and Luke had no doubt she could also pull off a miracle inside these walls.

  “Do you want to do that?” he asked.

  “It’s not a question of want, Luke, it’s a question of being practical.”

  He climbed the stairs and stopped in front of her. The scent of her perfume danced in the air. “Have you always been this practical?”

  She let out a laugh. “Too practical. Until I up and decided to move here. New job, new place to live, new life. And so far, the only thing that’s working out is the paycheck every two weeks, and even that has its challenges. So I’m not sure being impractical has had any upside.”

  “Don’t forget the hunky guy next door.”

  “Oh, yes, Lois’s husband, Doug, is quite the hottie.” She laughed.

  He shifted a little closer and tugged off his sunglasses so he could see her smile better. “I like it much better when you’re laughing, Olivia.”