by Laura Scott
Dalton was a quiet man and a hard worker. He took on most of the heavy lifting, despite her assertion that she could manage, leaving the smaller stuff for her. By one o’clock in the afternoon, she tossed her work gloves down and swiped her forehead on her sleeve. “Lunchtime.”
Dalton lifted his head and nodded. “Sounds great, I’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”
It was the longest sentence he’d uttered since they’d returned from the hardware store. Normally she didn’t mind peace and quiet, but she couldn’t help being curious about the man who’d shown up on her doorstep looking for work.
Curiosity killed the cat, she reminded herself as she headed into the kitchen. Dalton had a right to his privacy and, frankly, so did she. It wasn’t as if she was anxious to reveal her inner secrets, so why would he want to? Best that they stick with simple politeness.
After washing up, she took stock of what she had in her fridge. Her grocery list hadn’t included feeding a man, so she had to make due with soup and sandwiches. Grandma McNally had been a wonderful cook, but Jazz hadn’t been fortunate enough to be blessed with the cooking gene. Good thing her twin, Jemma, was the one who planned to prepare the breakfasts for their little business. She hoped Dalton didn’t mind plain fare. Thankfully, she’d made a pitcher of lemonade last night before going to bed, so she could offer him something to drink.
Dalton came inside but quickly ducked into the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, his hair damp and his hands and face shiny and smelling of soap. He’d stripped off his flannel shirt, and the black T-shirt he wore clung to his muscular chest, stretching across his broad shoulders.
Not that she had any business noticing his muscles or anything else about him.
Jazz set a plate of turkey, tomato, and Swiss cheese sandwiches in the center of the table, then gestured to the pot of soup on the stove. “Soup and sandwiches today, help yourself. And there’s lemonade or water to drink, nothing else I’m afraid.”
Dalton nodded and ladled the beef soup into a bowl, sniffing appreciatively. “Smells great, and I’d love a glass of lemonade.”
She was ridiculously pleased. She poured two glasses for them and brought them to the table. “I’m not the cook my twin sister is, but I manage.”
“You have a twin?”
“Not identical, but yes, Jemma is my twin and she is as blond as I am dark. I’m the baby of the family by three full minutes.” She filled her bowl with soup and then chose a seat across from him at the small table. She smiled when he heaped his plate with two large sandwiches, glad she’d made more than she’d originally planned. “Jemma and I are blessed, or cursed, with four older brothers.”
He quirked his eyebrow. “Four? Surprised you’re here alone, if you have older brothers.”
She laughed. “They’re scattered around at the moment. Jonas is deployed in Afghanistan, and Jake is currently in Dublin. Jeremy and Jesse are busy with their own lives and careers as well.”
“That’s a lot of Js,” he muttered.
“I know, right? Thank our grandparents, Joan and Jerry, who named my father Justin. For some crazy reason, he convinced our mom to continue the J madness.” She sighed. “Doesn’t matter that our brothers aren’t here, Jemma and I can take care of ourselves.”
“But she’s not here, you’re alone,” he pointed out.
“Jemma and her son, Trey, will be joining me next month when school is out for the year. After our grandmother died, she left this house to the six of us. This B and B was my and Jemma’s idea; our brothers simply went along with our plan.”
Dalton glanced around the oversized kitchen. “It’s a nice space. Doesn’t need much work.”
“Not in here, no, but some of the other rooms need updating.” She took a healthy bite of her sandwich, mentally reviewing everything that still needed to be done. “There are seven bedrooms upstairs, each with their own bathroom, and a master suite down here where Jemma and her son will stay. I’m using one room, which only gives us six rooms to offer to our guests. After the summer tourist season, we might be able to convert the area above the garage as an additional living space.”
If they made back some of their investment, and if they were able to keep the place booked the majority of the time, and if there were no more issues with vandalism.
A lot of ifs.
“It’s a huge garage,” he agreed. “Should be plenty of room up there to make a cozy two-bedroom apartment with a small kitchen area and a full bath.”
“That’s exactly my plan,” Jazz said, surprised he shared her vision. “Perfect for Jemma and Trey to have some privacy away from the guests.” She didn’t mind living in the master suite. After everything her twin had been through, she was glad to offer the garage space to Jemma.
But none of that would happen until after the tourist season, which hopefully would bring in decent money.
Dalton nodded and finished his two sandwiches in the time it took her to eat one. When he finished his soup, he began stacking his dishes together.
“I can’t eat that third sandwich, so you should finish it off, and there’s more soup, too.”
He hesitated, then took the third sandwich. She filled her bowl with more soup, and they ate in silence for several minutes.
“What’s the next step after the gazebo is finished?” Dalton asked.
“Depends on the weather. I want to paint it white, then move on to updating the bedrooms. The blue room has some water damage from a leaky pipe, so two walls and part of the ceiling in that room have to be taken down to the studs.” Normally she loved construction projects, but the amount of work looming before her was daunting. Especially since she kept having to fix what the vandals broke. “The bathroom in the blue room, along with the bathroom in the yellow room, need new tile and updated fixtures.”
He nodded thoughtfully as he finished the third sandwich. “What’s your deadline?”
“I hope to be open by Memorial Day. I have three guests booked already.” She’d been afraid to book too many, in case the rooms weren’t finished by then. “Jemma will be here to bake and cook for our guests, which is a good thing, since that’s not my forte. Six rooms should be a nice way to kick off the tourist season.”
“Good plan.” He pushed his empty plate aside and then helped himself to a second bowl of soup. She found herself glad she’d included meals since Dalton looked as if he could gain a few pounds.
Had he been sick? Was that why he was living in a campsite working for cash?
After finishing his soup and lemonade, Dalton carried his dirty dishes to the sink, then headed outside without saying another word.
Standing in front of the French doors that provided an amazing view of the lake, she watched Dalton for a moment, admiring the way he dove right back into the job at hand. His biceps bulged as he levered another two-by-four into place.
Stop it. She turned away and focused on washing the dishes. After stacking them to air dry, she headed out to join Dalton. Before she could pick up the drill, her cell phone rang. She frowned when she saw the number was listed as unknown.
It was probably spam, but on the off chance it was a potential guest, she answered. “Hello?”
“Give up, you won’t succeed,” a low husky voice said.
“Who is this?” she demanded, hoping the panic in her voice wasn’t too noticeable. But there was no answer, the caller had already disconnected.
Dalton came over to stand beside her. “Try star sixty-nine.”
With trembling fingers, she did as he’d suggested, but the call didn’t go through, and there was no voice mail message either. A chill ran down her spine as she lifted her gaze to his. “Nothing.”
“What did the caller say?”
“He or she, it was hard to tell, told me to give up because I won’t succeed.” It was freaky to have this sort of a threat so soon after her gazebo was damaged, and she couldn’t help wondering if there was someone outside hiding in the bushes, watching her.
“Yeah, I will.” Relieved that she wasn’t staying here alone, she tightened her fingers on the phone, wracking her brain in an attempt to figure out who resented her this much and why.
If anything, she was the one who had a reason to be upset after finding her groom-to-be kissing her bridesmaid at the rehearsal dinner. She’d called off the wedding, much to Tom’s dismay, although really, what had he thought? That she’d overlook something like that?
Um, no.
But would Tom be upset enough to try to make her fail at opening the B&B? If so, for what purpose? Revenge? He was the one who’d cheated on her, not the other way around.
Besides, sneaking up to destroy her gazebo wasn’t his style. The last she’d heard from Jemma, Tom Duris and Megan, her former best friend, were dating hot and heavy. Seemed as if things had worked out the way they were supposed to, the two of them were obviously perfect for each other. He was moving on with his life, and so was she.
Which meant the vandal had to be someone here in McNally Bay. Someone who’d hated her grandparents so much that they were taking that anger out on the McNally grandkids.
Dalton didn’t like seeing the shadow of fear darkening Jazz’s eyes. Clearly, the vandal had elevated his status to become a stalker.
“Who knows your cell number?” he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “Anyone can find it on our B and B website. I haven’t gotten around to hooking up a landline yet. It’s an added expense I don’t need right now.”
Great, that wouldn’t help narrow down the list of possibilities one iota. “Call Deputy Lewis,” he repeated. “And block that number.”
After blocking the number, she called the Sheriff’s Department. Based on the brevity of the call, apparently there hadn’t been much the Deputy had been able to offer.
“That’s that.” Jazz’s tone sounded frazzled, but her expression was one of sheer determination. “Let’s get back to work.”
He nodded and returned to the section of the gazebo he was in the process of repairing. He liked physical labor, but the exertion didn’t eliminate the feeling of helplessness. Good thing he’d agreed to camp on her property. In fact, he hoped the idiot would come back so he could catch him in the act.
The possibility cheered him up.
They worked in harmony for another hour. The sun grew warm on his back, causing him to sweat. He knew Jazz would let him use her shower, but he didn’t have a large wardrobe to pick from. Only what he could comfortably carry on his back. He made a mental note to make a trip to the laundromat. While he was there, maybe he could ask around to see if anyone held a grudge against the McNally family.
Together they were able to repair one full panel and part of the next one. By six o’clock in the evening, Jazz stepped back, looking at their progress with a smile. “We did good work today,” she said. “If the weather holds, and the vandals stay away, we’ll have this finished by tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” A wave of satisfaction washed over him. There was nothing better than creating something out of nothing. And it was the main reason that he’d gone back to his construction roots after the devastating loss of his wife and infant son.
Just that quickly the brief sliver of happiness slipped away, leaving a gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been.
“Something wrong?” Jazz asked.
“No.” He turned away. “I need to borrow your shower if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Why don’t you use the shower in the master suite?”
“Thank you.” He tucked the tools back into his belt, then carried it to his tent. He stored them near his backpack, then drew out fresh clothes. They were wrinkled, but he didn’t care. When he emerged from the tent, Jazz was putting her own tools away.
He wanted to ask where she’d learned her construction skills but feared that would only invite prying questions into his own personal life. Questions he had no intention of answering. So, he simply waited for her to finish, then followed her inside. She pointed him to the master bathroom, then headed upstairs, presumably to her room.
The hot shower felt wonderful against his sore muscles, but he didn’t linger. He towel-dried his hair, grimacing at his reflection in the mirror. He needed a haircut and a shave, not necessarily in that order. When he realized he only cared about his looks because of what Jazz might think, he turned his back and quickly changed into a clean pair of blue jeans and a brown T-shirt, then pulled a plain navy-blue sweatshirt over that. Then he took a moment to roll up his dirty clothes in a tight bundle that he could store inside his backpack.
When he emerged from the bathroom, he was greeted by the mouth-watering scent of pizza.
“I’ll take those for you,” Jazz said, crossing over with her hand outstretched. She was wearing fresh clothes as well, her hair damp from a recent shower. He was impressed she’d beaten him down here. “I’m doing my own laundry anyway.”
He hesitated, thinking about how his plan to ask around town about who resented the McNallys. Deputy Lewis was likely doing the same thing, but he knew people often avoided saying too much to the cops. Not that they would necessarily open up to a stranger, but he thought it was worth a try.
“You’re not going to make me waste water, are you?” Jazz asked impatiently. “It’s no problem to add your stuff to mine.”
He knew she was only doing this for his benefit, since she would obviously have more clothing than he could carry around with him. Yet allowing her to wash his things would save him time in the long run, so he nodded and handed them over. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” She took the clothes and disappeared down a set of basement stairs.
The cheese on the pizza was beginning to brown, so he glanced around for a pair of oven mitts. By the time he found them, Jazz had returned.
“I’ll get it.” She plucked the mitts from his hands and pulled the pizza out of the oven. “I’m sorry it’s nothing more than a cheap frozen pizza. I’ll head to the grocery store tomorrow.”
“You won’t hear me complain,” he said, meaning it. A man in his position ate what was offered, never knowing when or where he’d get his next meal. “And I don’t expect three meals a day, breakfast and dinner is fine. Or breakfast and lunch, whatever is easier for you.”
She used a pizza slicer to cut the pie into large triangles, then pulled out two plates. When they were seated at the table, she looked him directly in the eye. “A man with your work ethic could get a job anywhere.”
It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer. When he bit into his pizza, the sauce was hot enough to burn his tongue. He took a hasty sip of his lemonade.
“So?” Jazz said, her gaze questioning.
“So, what?” He didn’t like where this was going. Although he had to admit he’d expected these types of questions before now.
“Why don’t you have a regular job?”
“I don’t want one.” He took another tentative bite of his pizza. “I like my life the way it is. Drifting from place to place. No strings.”
She stared at him for a long moment. He ignored her, concentrating on his meal. She must have noticed his reluctance to talk, because she didn’t ask anything more.
Dalton ate in record time, then politely excused himself.
Outside, the night air was rapidly turning cool. He stood staring at the lakeshore, enjoying the gentle sound of waves lapping against the rocks. For a fraction of a second, he considered packing up his stuff and hitting the road.
He shook off the impulse, knowing that he needed to stick around long enough to protect the place. Besides, Jazz had respected his privacy by dropping the subject, so there was no reason to run.
Hadn’t he figured out by now that he couldn’t run from his memories? He’d tried, but they relentlessly followed him no matter how much distance he put between himself and
the side-by-side gravestones he’d left behind.
He shoved the image aside and forced himself to watch the rippling waves instead. When a sense of calmness returned, he decided to walk along the property lines, familiarizing himself with the area.
A small wooded area flanked the east side of the house, providing a natural barrier from the dwelling on the other side. The rest of the space was fairly open, though, and he could see another house to the west, about half the size as the B&B, set at about the same distance from the shore as the McNally Mansion.
He didn’t see any lights indicating anyone was home. He needed to remember to ask Jazz about who lived there. Maybe the occupants didn’t like the idea of having a B&B nearby.
When he’d completed his rounds, Dalton decided to move the tent so that it was hidden by the gazebo. If the vandal came from the house next door, he or she wouldn’t see the tent until he was practically on top of it. When he’d finished that task, he crawled inside and removed his shoes and socks. He debated stripping off his jeans, then decided against it.
He slid into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes, hoping, praying the nightmares of his past wouldn’t return. It felt like five minutes later when the sound of footsteps crunching on frost covered grass woke him up.
Bolting upright, he kicked away the sleeping bag and tugged the zipper of the tent upward.
By the time he crawled out, he only caught the barest glimpse of a shadow running away, heading directly for the house to the west of the mansion. Dalton didn’t hesitate but took off after him, wincing as his bare feet found several rocks along the way.
“Stop! I’m calling the cops!” he shouted. But to no avail. The figure didn’t hesitate, disappearing around the corner of the house.
Then, Dalton heard the sound of a car engine.
He didn’t stop running, not even when he reached the white house, but he was too late. He searched but found nothing. No car, no evidence that anyone had been there.
The vandal had gotten away.