by Laura Scott
He tried not to listen as Jazz showered in her room down the hall before going downstairs to the kitchen. Since she wasn’t there, he turned the radio to his favorite country station and worked for another forty-five minutes, hanging one full sheet and then fitting in a second one at the corner. When he finished, he stepped back and surveyed the work yet to be completed.
They’d easily finish the rest of the drywall before noon. The taping and first coat of mudding could be accomplished afterward. If the rain would hold off, they might be able to start painting the gazebo while they waited for the drywall joints to dry.
Not a bad plan, he thought with a satisfied smile. He turned, shut down the radio, and headed downstairs, where Jazz was moving around in the kitchen.
“Do I have time to shower and change?” he asked, conscious of his disheveled and sweaty appearance.
“Sure, but make it quick. Dinner will be ready in fifteen.”
He didn’t argue but hastened to the master suite to meet her deadline.
The mouthwatering scent of garlic bread and oregano greeted him when he returned in fourteen of his allotted fifteen minutes. “Smells great.”
“Here’s the salad.” She thrust a large bowl of tossed greens and cherry tomatoes at him. “Plates are in the cupboard over the dishwasher.”
He found the plates, silverware, and tall glasses. As promised, there was a large pitcher of lemonade in the fridge, so he filled their glasses. She pulled the garlic bread from the oven, and his stomach rumbled with anticipation, making her laugh. After cutting the bread into narrow slices, she brought the garlic bread and spaghetti and meatball sauce to the table.
“Enjoy,” she said, gesturing to the food.
“After you,” he insisted.
Maybe she was as hungry as he was because she didn’t hesitate to fill her plate and her salad bowl. He followed suit.
They ate in silence for several long moments. One thing about physical labor, it clearly helped work up an appetite. “This is excellent,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re easy to please,” she teased.
“I am, but this is still amazing. Despite your lousy taste in music, you’re multitalented, between doing home renovations and cooking meals.”
She shrugged but looked pleased. “My music is fine. And what can I say? There’s something about fixing a place up that appeals to me. I take after my grandpa that way. It’s one of the reasons I initially went into the real estate business.”
He thought about how he’d decided to become an architect. “Designing something beautiful from the ground up is also very rewarding.”
“Designing takes a special talent.” She eyed him quizzically but didn’t press for more details about his past. “I can’t believe how fortunate I am to have your help with this. At this rate, we’ll have the other two rooms finished before Memorial Day without a problem. In fact, tomorrow morning I’m going to open the other rooms to reservations.”
His gut clenched, and it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her not to depend on him to be there that long. He was already itching to move on, away from the coziness of this place.
But Jazz’s green eyes were bright with anticipation, so he swallowed his instinctive protest and forced a weak smile. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“If we can keep all the rooms booked for the summer, we can work on the apartment over the garage.” She seemed to realize what she’d said. “I mean, I’ll be able to begin working on the apartment over the garage.”
He didn’t say anything in response, focusing on his meal. It was crazy to feel guilty over leaving the work on the garage to Jazz. She was more than capable. Sure, there was often heavy lifting that needed a second person to assist with, but that didn’t need to be him.
Jazz finished eating and picked up her plate. Her cell phone rang, and she frowned as she looked at the screen. “My sister. Please excuse me.” She answered the call as she walked into the living room. “Hi, Jemma, how are you?”
Unwilling to eavesdrop, he finished his last meatball and carried his dirty dishes to the sink. He filled one side of the large sink with soapy water and began washing their dishes by hand, the way Jazz had done the evening before.
The call was long, and he hoped that wasn’t bad news. Jazz was still on the phone when he was done washing, so he dried the dishes too, opening cupboards until he figured out where everything belonged.
He put away the last of the silverware when Jazz returned to the kitchen, her eyes puffy and red, evidence of recent tears. He tossed the dish towel down and crossed over to meet her. “What is it? What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said, her voice low and husky. He was troubled by the way she didn’t meet his gaze. “Thanks for doing cleanup duty.”
“Jazz.” He cupped her slim shoulders in his hands, hating seeing her so upset. “You don’t seem like the type to cry over nothing.”
Her green eyes filled once again with tears. “I’m worried about my sister. Her ex-husband is acting out worse than ever. I tried to talk her into bringing Trey here to McNally Bay sooner, but she’s a teacher and insists on staying until the end of the school year.”
“I’m sorry for what she’s going through,” he murmured. “Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head. “No, and the frustrating part is that I can’t do anything more either. Jemma and I are normally close, but when it comes to dealing with her ex, she pulls away from me. Makes me so mad.”
“Maybe she’s worried you’re going to think less of her if she tells you too much.”
“That would never happen,” Jazz said quickly. But then she frowned. “Although now that you mention it, you could be right. I’ll mention that to her the next time we talk. I appreciate your insight.”
Dalton wished there was more that he could do for her and instinctively drew her into his arms, offering support.
To his surprise, she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest, holding on tight. The rain-drenched lilac scent of her teased his senses. He pressed his lips against her temple, far too conscious of how much he enjoyed cradling her close.
She clung to him for several long minutes, and frankly, he was in no rush to let her go. She fit in his arms, perfectly. Almost as if she belonged. When she finally stirred, subtly shifting from his embrace, he had to force himself to loosen his grip.
“Okay?” he asked, lifting a hand to smooth ebony strands of hair from her face.
She offered a sad smile and nodded. “Yes.” She rose up and pressed a light kiss against his cheek. “Thank you.”
His throat was so tight, he couldn’t speak. He told himself to step away, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from her mouth.
Then his desire overrode his common sense. He captured her lips with his in a gentle, soul-rocking kiss.
6
Jazz lost herself in Dalton’s embrace, enjoying the gentleness of his arms around her and the way his mouth claimed possession of hers. The temptation to lean on him, soaking up his strength was strong, but something happened and he suddenly broke off the kiss and eased away.
She gulped, badly needing oxygen into her lungs, and forced herself to stand on her own two feet. She wasn’t sure why he’d stopped kissing her but figured she’d done something to turn him off. How embarrassing. “I, um, should probably head upstairs.”
Dalton stared at her for a long moment, and she would have given a lot to know what he was thinking. “Good night,” he said in a low gravely tone. He sidestepped around her and disappeared into the master suite.
She leaned her hip against the table and lightly touched her still tingling lips. Their embrace had been all too brief, but her heart pounded erratically, and she felt as if she’d been sideswiped by a semitruck, dazed and confused.
It was her first kiss since walking away from Tom.
And she’d liked it. Very much. Probably too much, considering Dalton had made it clear he was a drifter an
d not sticking around for the long haul.
And even if he was going to stay for the summer, she couldn’t imagine being in a relationship with a man who lived in a tent. Nothing wrong with embracing a simple lifestyle, but she was building a business here. Planning a future.
Seeking a home. And maybe, someday, a family.
She let out her breath in a heavy sigh. Okay, kissing Dalton couldn’t happen again. From this point forward, he was off-limits.
After heading up to her room, she washed up and crawled into bed. But still her thoughts continued to whirl. Telling herself not to think about the guy was easy to say, but not simple to do. Just knowing they’d be working side by side the following morning, finishing up the drywall in the blue room, was enough to make her toss and turn most of the night.
The following morning, she was woken by the sound of hammering. Remembering how the vandals had hit her gazebo, she leaped out of bed and rushed into the hallway. But there wasn’t a reason to continue downstairs, the pounding was coming from the blue room. And in the background was an awful country singer’s twang.
She walked over to look inside. Dalton was already hard at work, replacing what looked like the last piece of Sheetrock.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He must not have heard her approach because he spun around so fast he stumbled and nearly toppled over. “Oh, sorry.” He grimaced. “I guess I woke you up.”
“Nah, I sleep through hammering combined with terrible country music all the time,” she said in a deadpan tone.
Guilt flashed in his eyes. “I just wanted . . .” His voice trailed off, and suddenly she understood.
Their kiss had scared Dalton so much he wanted to finish up the work here as quickly as possible so he could move on. She supposed she should be glad he was willing to stay long enough to complete the drywall work.
“It’s fine.” She waved a hand dismissively. “How does scrambled eggs and bacon sound for breakfast?”
“Whatever you’d like is good with me, I’m not hungry.” He turned and went back to hanging drywall.
She watched for a moment, wondering about what had put the bleak expression in his eyes. He hadn’t opened up to her about his past and likely never would. None of her business, after all.
But as she turned away, she thought that his keeping his emotions bottled up inside wasn’t healthy.
Thirty minutes later, she went back upstairs. “Dalton, breakfast is ready. And don’t tell me you’re not hungry because that won’t fly with me.”
He glanced at her stony expression and must have sensed he was in for a fight because he acquiesced. “Okay, thanks.”
They pretty much ate in silence until she brought up the work plan for the rest of the day. “It’s supposed to be sunny and nice for the next two days, so I thought I’d start painting the gazebo.”
“Good idea. After I tape and mud the drywall seams, I’ll come out to help.”
“Great.” The work was moving along faster than she’d dared to hope and all because of Dalton’s help. She picked up her mug, took a sip of coffee, and eyed him over the rim. “I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“It’s a job you’re paying me to do,” he said, dropping his gaze to the half-eaten food on his plate.
“I know, but I still appreciate it.”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “As soon as I’m finished here, I’ll be moving on. Making my way to Illinois or Wisconsin.”
It was something she’d already known, but hearing him say the words out loud made her chest tighten with regret. “I understand.”
“Do you?” He shook his head and attacked the remaining food on his plate, as if he was in a race against time, like there was some invisible clock in his head that no one else could see. When his plate was clean, he rose to his feet and then carried his dishes to the sink, disappearing from the kitchen as if the devil himself was breathing down his neck.
Jazz sat alone at the table, wrestling with the knowledge that Dalton had basically given her a warning not to place too much importance on their kiss.
She dropped her head in her hands and rubbed her temples. The stupid kiss wouldn’t have happened at all if she hadn’t been so upset after hearing the latest news from Jemma. The fact that Randal had actually tried to take Trey out of the K-3 preschool program was shocking. Thankfully, the teacher intervened and Randal had taken off, but still a close call.
What if he’d succeeded? Randal could have been long gone before Jemma would have known Trey was missing.
She made a mental note to call Jemma again later that afternoon, once her sister was finished with school for the day. There had to be some way to convince Jemma to come to McNally Bay sooner than later. Satisfied with that idea, she began cleaning up the breakfast dishes.
But even as she prepped for her job of painting the gazebo, she remembered the deep concern in Dalton’s eyes as he rushed over to hold her when she’d finished talking to Jemma. The way he’d pulled her close and pressed a kiss along the side of her face.
No matter what he’d gone through in the past that had sent him drifting through life, in that brief moment, Dalton, a basic stranger, had shown more care and concern about what had happened to her than Tom ever had.
Truthfully? The feeling of warmth and comfort he’d shown her was something she’d secretly cherish long after Dalton was gone.
Dalton worked with a single-minded intensity that helped keep memories of the heated kiss he’d shared with Jazz tucked away in a small corner of his mind.
The sooner he finished the work, the faster he could leave.
He repeated the words over and over in his mind like a mantra.
Leaving now or staying longer than it would take to do the drywall work wouldn’t be fair to Jazz. He was determined not to do anything that would hurt her in any way.
Which meant he needed to protect her, even from himself.
One thing about construction work, it was mindless physical labor. Good for wearing out the body, but not so great at keeping the mind preoccupied. It was a little scary how much he’d been tempted to explain to Jazz about how he’d lost Debbie and Davy, all because of the choice he’d made to put work before his family.
The knife twisting deep into his heart brought an odd sense of comfort. He should suffer for being a pathetic excuse of a husband and father. Debbie and Davy hadn’t deserved to lose their lives. Especially since he could have prevented it.
If he hadn’t allowed greed to get in the way.
While growing up as an only child, his parents had pushed him to be independent. He soon realized that they were anxious to get him out of the house so they could follow their dream of traveling across the globe. He was happy for them but also hadn’t seen them since the funeral almost a year ago.
A sliver of guilt speared his heart, reminding him that he hadn’t kept in touch with them since he’d walked away from his old life. Family had once been as important to him as it seemed to be for Jazz.
Until he’d carelessly tossed his own family away.
The walls of the house seemed to close in around him. The need to hit the road, to move on to his next job was strong.
But he’d made a promise. And this one, he wouldn’t break.
When he finished mudding the joints, he cleaned up the mess, then headed outside. Jazz wasn’t around, and he noticed that she’d gotten the lower part of one section painted. Realizing she had likely gone to get the ladder, he rounded the house toward the large three-car garage.
His footsteps slowed when he saw the Sheriff’s Deputy vehicle sitting in the driveway. Jazz and Deputy Garth Lewis were standing and talking near the driver’s side door.
He hesitated, ignoring the weird flash of jealousy that wasn’t at all welcome, debating if he should stay back to allow them privacy. But then Jazz caught his eye and gestured for him to join them, so he crossed over.
“I was just giving Ms. McNally an
update on our investigation,” Deputy Lewis said.
“I’m telling you, Tom isn’t involved in this,” Jazz insisted. “I’m sure he couldn’t care less about me after all this time.”
“What did you find out?” Dalton asked, pinning the deputy with a direct gaze.
“No direct evidence that he’s involved, but he’s in debt up to his eyeballs, and the two times I’ve sent a Chicago PD officer to talk to him, the guy either hasn’t been home or is hiding inside avoiding the police.”
Dalton narrowed his gaze. “Which means what? You haven’t been able to determine if he has an alibi for the timeframe of the vandalism?”
“Exactly. We’ve checked, and he hasn’t used any credit or debit cards in the area.”
“Because he’s not involved,” Jazz repeated, her tone full of frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense, even if he is having money trouble, why would that cause him to come out here to vandalize my property?”
“Maybe he thinks you owe him for calling off the wedding at the last minute,” Deputy Lewis pointed out.
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “And vandalizing my property somehow replaces the money he lost? Besides, I paid my share of the wedding fees, we walked away fairly even on that score.”
“Maybe he thinks he deserves some of your grandparents’ inheritance?” Dalton glanced between Jazz and the deputy. “It’s possible he thinks causing the B and B to fail means they’d have to sell the place.”
“That doesn’t make sense either,” Jazz argued. “I asked when we learned of the inheritance, and according to my grandmother’s lawyer, even if Tom and I had gotten married, the money and property of the estate would still belong to me and of course my siblings. An inheritance is not part of the Equal Marital Property Act.” She sighed. “Besides, we weren’t married, so he wouldn’t have a claim, regardless.”
Dalton still thought revenge was an angle, but then he remembered the old guy at the diner. “Leon Tate,” he said.