Saving Sycamore Bay (Destined for Love: Mansions)

by Cami Checketts

  Harrison grinned. “Yes, ma’am. It’s my first priority.”

  “It’d better be.” She swatted him on the rear before taking her husband’s arm and sauntering away.

  Harrison chuckled. He stood next to Grace, watching their Maxima pull away. Had the past hour changed things between them? A guy could hope, but her eyes were as shuttered as ever and her arms were folded tightly across her chest. Uncle Mike’s parting words were obviously not what she wanted to hear.

  Grace pushed out a long breath and muttered, “We’d better get back to work. Do you mind going to the shed and grabbing the white trim paint?”

  Harrison’s neck got warm. “Sure. Sorry I messed the paint up.”

  She laughed at that. “Should make you redo it, but I don’t think it would help.”

  He grinned. “No, probably not.”

  Her smile fled. “Thanks for being here, Harrison … and not giving me unsolicited advice.” She scowled in the direction Uncle Mike and Aunt Geraldine had left.

  “He’s just trying to help the only way he knows how.” Harrison wasn’t sure why he was defending Uncle Mike’s words, but he sort of agreed with him. The will was locked, and this property was too big for Grace to maintain. Harrison had told her he’d stay until they figured it out, but he didn’t see any solution, besides selling, that would put an end to her indentured service to this house. Her parents were gone and that was tough, but at some point she’d have to let the past go and find herself a future.

  Luckily he didn’t voice any of this, as the little bit he did say brought fire to her eyes. “I’ll go get the white paint,” she said.

  Harrison reached out a hand. Things had been better since she’d heard him tell Moriah she was an angel, and here he’d gone and messed it up again. How he missed the simple life of football and school. “No, I’ve got it.”

  Hurrying off the porch, he stomped around the house and to the shed. Why didn’t she listen to sense? Beautiful, smart, fun, and so stinking frustrating. He flung open the shed door and his eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. It reeked of gasoline. Had he spilled when he filled up the lawn mower? It wouldn’t still stink from two days ago.

  Whew. It was so strong he got an instant headache. Get the paint and get out quick. He remembered putting the white paint on the top shelf to the right yesterday. He felt his way that direction, but stumbled over something big and plastic. There hadn’t been anything on the floor last time he was in here. Pulling his phone out, he clicked on his flashlight and shone it down. His eyes widened and the air rushed out of him. The entire floor of the shed was covered with red five-gallon gas cans. These hadn’t been here yesterday. Pushing at a few of them, he confirmed they were full, and the smell told him it was definitely gas.

  He rushed back out of the shed and bumped into Grace. Grasping her elbows, he kept her from falling into the grass.

  “Harrison?” she questioned. “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head and directed her back to the shed. “Look.” He shone his flashlight around the shed.

  Grace gasped. “Who put these here?”

  “I have no idea, but we need to call the police.”

  “Beau?” she wondered.

  He hoped not. Even though the kid was a punk, he knew it would hurt Grace to have it be her old friend. They stepped out of the shed and into the bright sun, trying to clear their noses and heads of the acrid smell of gasoline.

  Before he could dial 911, Grace turned to him, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears. “Maybe Uncle Mike’s right and I need to sell. Someone obviously wants to scare me to death, burn my house down, kill me, or a combination of all three. If they’re trying to scare me, they’re rock stars at it. I can’t take care of this place by myself and you’ve got to get back to your real life sometime.” She blinked, and the tears spilled over her dark lashes and down her smooth cheeks. Her blue eyes were so bright and lovely he wanted to make everything better for her.

  Harrison wrapped her small frame in his arms. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured. “I’m not leaving until we do. I think they’re just trying to scare you, or why would they leave these where they knew we’d find them? If you decide to sell, it will be because you want to, not because someone is trying to scare you away.”

  “Oh, Harrison.” She kind of choked on his name, like she was full to the brim with emotion.

  Grace circled her arms around his back and cuddled in closer against him. Harrison savored her sweet, clean smell, and how perfectly she fit in his arms. For the hundredth time, he wanted to kiss her and never stop, but this obviously wasn’t the right moment. Maybe after the police left and hopefully figured out who would stack an old wooden shed with gas cans.

  Harrison suddenly felt beat down and hated how out of his control all of this was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to face another day of the uncertainty and odd things that were happening. He wasn’t sure how Grace was holding up as well as she was. He’d been a college athlete, but he’d never been as exhausted as he was right now. Still, it was worth it to be here and hold her like this.

  Grace tossed and turned for what felt like hours. The police had taken fingerprints from the shed and the gas cans and then removed all the gas cans to keep them safe, promising to drive by as often as they could. She had told the police about Beau threatening her the other night. She hated to think Beau would really try to burn her house down, but he’d changed so much the past couple of years that she hardly knew him anymore.

  Sadly, she couldn’t afford any kind of security or help … besides Harrison. She cuddled deeper into her sheets, remembering being in his arms. He didn’t smell like some expensive cologne like Beau, but like clean, mouthwatering man. She wished she could’ve kept hugging him all day and all night.

  A soft bang came from downstairs. Grace sat upright, clinging to the sheet. Had someone broken into the house? She’d been concerned about safety before today, but to see all those gas cans and have it confirmed that someone wanted to hurt her, her house, or both of them had really pushed her over the edge. Sliding open the drawer next to her nightstand, she pulled out her gun, comforted by the cool metal in her hand. She grabbed her phone in her other hand and hurried out the door and to Harrison’s room.

  Footsteps came from downstairs, she guessed the kitchen. Her spine prickled and she didn’t dare alert the intruder by knocking on Harrison’s door. She quietly turned the knob and slipped inside.

  “Harrison?” she whispered.

  No response.

  Tiptoeing to his bed, she saw the comforter was turned down and the sheets were mussed, but he wasn’t in there. She hurried back out of his room, checking the bathroom on her way to the stairs, empty as well. Hopefully it was just Harrison downstairs, but she wasn’t taking any chances as she gripped the gun and quietly made her way down the back staircase to the kitchen. A soft light filtered up the stairs from the kitchen. Her hands were clammy. She reached for the railing with her left hand and dropped her phone. It clunked down several stairs. Grace bit at her tongue, grimacing. If an intruder was here, she’d just announced her whereabouts like an innocent woman walking south of I-10 at night. No mistaking that she was here and could easily be attacked.

  She hurried down the steps as quietly as she could and picked up her phone. The kitchen light turned off, and she gasped. Whoever was down there had heard her and was most likely preparing to do her harm. Should she turn around? Call out for Harrison? Call the police?

  Soft, cautious footsteps padded toward the stairs. Grace froze, not daring to retreat or proceed. Saying a silent prayer for help, she fumbled with the gun and the phone, but managed to get the flashlight turned on and swung it into what she hoped was the intruder’s eyes. “Get out of here or I’ll shoot first and then call the police to clean up your lazy carcass!” she hollered, loud as her papa would’ve yelled if someone had been on his bad side.

  “Grace!” Harrison’s voice floated up to her. “It’s me.”

 
“Oh, thank heavens.” Grace released her tight grip on the revolver as the light in the kitchen was switched back on. The oxygen swept out of her and she felt weak and relieved. She descended the stairs on wobbly legs. Harrison waited for her, concern written all over his handsome face. He didn’t say anything, but took her elbow and led her to the table, where the rest of the peach pie sat beckoning in its tin. Pulling out a seat, he waited until she sat, then gently pushed the chair back in close to the table.

  “Thank you,” Grace murmured. She laid the gun and her phone on the butcher-block table and clenched her still-trembling hands together.

  “Sorry if I scared you, turning off the light like that,” he said. “I didn’t want to be a sitting duck if it was someone besides you.”

  “I reacted the same way, praying it was you, but scared that it wasn’t.”

  A long pause ensued before Harrison asked, “Pie?”

  “You were hoping just to eat it all yourself,” she tried to tease, but it still came out shaky.

  Harrison grinned. “I was thinking about it.” He got another plate, cut her a generous piece, and put it on the plate. “Ice cream?”

  “No, this is fine.” But Grace didn’t pick up the fork he’d set next to her plate.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Harrison admitted, cutting a large bite of his slice of pie and putting it in his mouth. She loved him for giving her a second to calm down and not addressing how nuts she’d just acted.

  Grace watched him chew and swallow, fascinated by the way his mouth moved in rhythm, then how his throat bobbed as he swallowed. She’d never met a man whose movements were so smooth and refined like Harrison—from the football field to escorting her around to eating pie. She’d never been as attracted to or intrigued by a man. Maybe it was also because Harrison was one hundred percent man. He wasn’t an immature boy like Beau or many of the other guys she’d dated in high school and college.

  She tried to pick up her fork to take a bite of her pie, but her hand was still shaking too much. She quickly released the fork onto the table with a soft clunk. “I couldn’t sleep either,” she admitted.

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said.

  “Wasn’t your fault.” She stared at the pie, but the thought of food turned her stomach. Pushing the plate away, she clasped her hands together under the table. “It’s hard to believe someone wants to burn me and my house down.” A tear crested her lid and rolled down her cheek. She was really so alone in the world, and now someone wanted to hurt her beloved home. Why? How could the good Lord take her Mama and Daddy? Why couldn’t Uncle Mike and Aunt Geraldine see how much the house meant to her? They’d lived here for many years and should be fighting for the house more than she was. Yet Uncle Mike couldn’t keep this place maintained on his own and he had a lifetime of experience. What made her think she could succeed?

  She glanced at Harrison, who studied her like she was a fragile China doll. “Sorry.” She brushed the tear away. “I’m not usually an emotional mess.”

  Harrison set his fork down and licked a pie crumb off his lips. “You don’t need to apologize. You have every right to be frustrated and concerned.” He glanced at the old burner stove. “But I promise you, Grace, I’m going to be here for you.”

  Grace wanted to know if he was here for her, or because he’d promised Henry Goodman to be here, but at the moment she didn’t care. She just wanted him, wanted him here, wanted all of him—take your pick.

  She stared at him until he met her gaze again. When he did, his gaze was full of promise, tenderness, and a sexy smolder that made her stomach erupt into butterflies. Harrison pushed away from the table and stood. With slow, deliberate movements, he kept that warm gaze on her and pulled her chair away from the table also, his hands brushing her arm and her side.

  Grace’s breath came in short pants. His intentions were pretty clear and she had that impression again of Harrison being all man. Even though he was kind and considerate, he was going to pursue what he wanted: at the moment he wanted her. It was delicious anticipation, wondering exactly how he was going to claim her and how it was going to feel.

  Harrison gently grasped her forearm and helped her out of the chair. Grace’s knees were weak and knocking together, but for a completely different reason than the fear of a few minutes ago. Harrison turned her to face him and studied her face. Cupping her chin with his large palm, he took a step closer, his muscular frame overshadowing her. His crisp man scent was even stronger tonight.

  Grace tilted her head back and waited, her lips parted slightly with anticipation. Harrison bent down, gently pressing his lips to hers. The touch was brief and sweet and satiated her like an ice cube satiated a thirsting man. Those lips were every bit as perfect as she’d imagined.

  She flung her arms around his neck, lifted up onto her tiptoes, and drank in the feel of his lips on hers like cool, delectable water. He tasted like peach pie and every good dream she’d ever had.

  Harrison may or may not have chuckled at her forward move, but he returned her kiss without hesitation. Lifting her completely off her feet, he swung her around and set her on the edge of the kitchen counter. Boldly running his hands up her back and across her bare shoulders, he took the kiss to the next level of intimacy and deliciousness. She let out a little moan and he smiled against her mouth, then returned to kissing her thoroughly. Grace leaned into his broad chest, happy as punch that he didn’t wear a shirt to bed as she explored the defined musculature of his back with her fingertips.

  When he finally pulled back, she was feeling decidedly dizzy and was grateful she was sitting down. Cupping her face with both palms, Harrison murmured, “You’re beautiful, Grace Lee Addison.”

  Grace let out a giggle, embarrassed at how girlish it sounded but too happy to care very much. “How’d you know it was Lee?” Her mama used to call her Grace Lee and Beau called her Gracie Lee, but she didn’t use her middle name much.

  “Every girl I know has the middle name Lee.”

  Grace laughed again, but the intimacy of the moment had disappeared. She slid off the counter, brushing against Harrison’s chest. He smiled down at her and she wanted to kiss him again, but figured she’d been forward enough for one night.

  “I’d better get some rest,” she finally said.

  “I hope you can sleep now.”

  “The kissing was a great distraction.”

  He grinned, and she had to grab the countertop for support. He truly was an exquisite man to look at, but his gentle interior and willingness to help her made him even more attractive.

  She turned to go back to bed, filled with warmth, joy, and Harrison’s kisses. What would she do if Harrison hadn’t come? She reached the stairs, but the thought that wouldn’t leave since she’d overheard the phone call with Henry begged an answer, now. Why had he truly come? He was smart, good-looking, hard-working. Why wasn’t he at home succeeding in his new career instead of helping some woman he hadn’t known until a few days ago? “What did Henry pay you to come help me?”

  Harrison leaned back against the counter, folded his defined arms across his chest, and swallowed before answering. “Double my salary and a promise of turning his clients over to me when I return to Montgomery.”

  “Thank you for being honest.”

  He studied her but didn’t say anything. She really wanted him to say something—claim it wasn’t about the money now, reassure her if he’d known her he would’ve come for nothing. It was silly and so immature of her, and she was reminded once again that he was a man and not the type to fill the air with empty words.

  “Night,” she whispered, then turned to tread back up the stairs, cursing herself for tainting that kiss with a question about money. Of course Henry offered Harrison something big to get him to leave his home, family, and career and come save the silly damsel in distress. Why did it open a cavity in her chest, achy and oozing, to think that Harrison was only here for the money and that kiss couldn’t possibly have meant to him what it mea
nt to her? She didn’t know that, but she couldn’t shake the feeling.

  10

  Harrison awoke with a smile on his face, the remembrance of Grace on his lips, and an absolutely brilliant idea. He texted Moriah quick and she agreed it was perfect, but he had to recruit some more help. At breakfast he got the opportunity he needed when Grace ran outside to grab a couple of peaches for them. She’d been on her phone googling paint color ideas for the kitchen, but she left her phone on the counter to go outside and the lock screen hadn’t gone back into place. He scrolled through her contacts and placed a quick call to Aunt Geraldine. She readily agreed with his plan and promised they’d be there the next afternoon.

  Things seemed comfortable between him and Grace throughout the next day and a half, but she was quiet and neither of them tried to resume the intimacy from their kiss. He kept worrying that she was dwelling on why he’d come here originally, not why he had kissed her. The money was not important to him—she was. But how to tell her that without sounding trite or like he was assuming she wanted him to stay for reasons beyond Henry Goodman and his job?

  About four o’clock in the afternoon, he took the paintbrush from her hand and said, “The paint looks great. I need you to go shower and pack an overnight bag.”

  “Excuse me?” She stared up at him and put a hand on her hip, Southern-girl style. He loved it.

  “We’re going away for the night.”

  “Excuse me,” she said again. A wrinkle creased her forehead. “What kind of girl do you think I am?” The accent was thick and irresistible.

  He couldn’t resist touching that wrinkle and smiling. They’d been alone the past four days and she hadn’t taken exception. “We won’t be alone and your beloved Sycamore Bay won’t be unattended. C’mon, Grace Lee, let me take you away and forget about your worries and your strifes.” He sang the last part.

  She laughed then. “I like your deep voice. You’d be perfect for ‘The Bare Necessities.’”