by Laura Scott
Somehow, she sensed there was more to the animosity Leon Tate felt toward her family than simple competitiveness.
Dalton wanted nothing more than to confront the old man but held back the way Jazz had asked him to. After all, she would be here in McNally Bay long after he was gone.
A fact that continued to gnaw at him, no matter how much he reminded himself how much he liked his life just the way it was.
The problem was that he didn’t want to leave Jazz. And that scared him to death.
He was distracted from his troublesome thoughts by Leon Tate walking slowly past their booth, leaning heavily on his cane. Dalton braced himself for the worst, determined to protect Jazz if the jerk said anything derogatory or spiteful.
This time, he wouldn’t hesitate the give the old geezer a piece of his mind.
But he needn’t have worried. Jazz looked the old man directly in the eye and smiled brightly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tate. Wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it? Hope you both have a nice day.”
Leon and the woman behind him looked surprised, knocked completely off balance at the cheerfulness of Jazz’s tone. Dalton choked back a laugh as the Tates glanced at each other, then moved past without saying anything.
“There you go. My dad always taught us to kill them with kindness,” Jazz said with satisfaction. Then she pointed at him. “Although you almost blew it by laughing in their face.”
“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expecting you to greet them like that.” He chuckled. “Have to say, it was pretty funny to watch them struggle not to respond in kind.”
She beamed. “Right? I loved it. But hey, there’s always next time.”
Only next time, he might not be there to see it. Maybe he could stick around for a while longer. See if anyone else in town needed some handyman work done.
Ashley, the same server they had last time they were in, came over. As before, she looked harried. “Lemonade and iced tea?”
“Good memory,” Dalton said. “Works for me. Jazz?”
“Make it two lemonades. I wouldn’t want to be too predictable.”
“Ashley, who was that woman with Mr. Tate?” Dalton asked. “His daughter?”
“Yes, her name is Mary Tate, and she’s been staying with Leon ever since his wife passed away from cancer.” Ashley’s smile was distracted. “Let me get those drinks for you, then I’ll take your lunch order.”
“I’m not surprised they’re related,” Jazz said thoughtfully. “Although that still doesn’t explain why on earth she felt the need to run into me with a shopping cart.”
“No idea.” Dalton didn’t like knowing that the Tates had struck out against Jazz. He firmly believed the Stevenson brothers were the masterminds behind the vandalism, but there was obviously something else going on in this small town.
He wished he knew what it was.
A glance at the white board confirmed the special of the day was shepherd’s pie. Sounded good to him. When Ashley returned with their drinks, he asked for the special and so did Jazz.
His stomach rumbled loudly, making Jazz grin.
“Glad your appetite has returned.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised by her astute observation. “I’m sure the hard work we’ve been doing has helped.”
“Really?” She lifted a bow, regarding him curiously. “Are you saying you didn’t work hard for Mrs. Cromwell?”
He frowned. “Of course, I did.”
She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. “Dalton, when I met you, your clothes hung off your frame as if you hadn’t eaten a decent meal in months. Since you’ve started working with me, you’ve been chowing down food like crazy. And it’s a good thing. I’m glad you’ve put on a couple of pounds over the past few days. It suits you.”
Her admiration was difficult to ignore. He curled his fingers into fists, aching to haul her across the table and into his arms.
There was something about Jazz that called to him in a way he hadn’t experienced since meeting Debbie.
“Um, thanks. I think.” He could feel the tips of his ears burning, so he changed the subject. “After lunch, I’ll start sanding the bathroom in the yellow room, if you want to begin painting in the blue room. It’s best if the painting in the main bedroom is finished before dust starts to fly.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jazz agreed. “I’m an expert at painting by now.”
In his humble opinion, she was an expert in a lot of things, especially home renovation. “You’re an incredible woman, Jazz.”
This time it was her turn to blush, and the pinkness of her cheeks made her green eyes sparkle. He reached across the table to cover her hand in his, but before he could say anything, Ashley came out of the kitchen carrying a tray.
“Two shepherd’s pies,” she announced. “Careful, the cast iron pot is really hot.”
He reluctantly released Jazz’s hand and sat back against the seat so Ashley had room to set down their meals. The shepherd’s pie came with a mini-loaf of brown bread.
“Very Irish,” he said in admiration.
Ashley’s smile was wan. “Yeah, I wouldn’t know. But it definitely tastes good.”
“Have you been to Ireland?” Jazz asked as she poked her fork through the crispy potato covering the pie.
“No, but my grandmother immigrated from Ireland, and she was a great cook.”
“Kind of funny that we’re both Irish,” Jazz said. “And immigrants at that.”
“True.” He took a small bite. “Hmm. This is tasty, but can’t touch my Nana’s.”
“Is your grandmother still around?”
“No. She passed away five years ago now. But she was an incredible cook. And an amazing woman.” He missed his Nana and once again thought about the fact that he hadn’t been in touch with his parents since Debbie’s and Davy’s funerals.
“I’ve thought about tracing my Irish roots,” Jazz went on. “Family history is so incredibly interesting, isn’t it? Maybe I could trace your grandmother’s heritage, too.”
“Maybe.” He knew his tone lacked enthusiasm.
They finished their meal, and he paid Ashley, leaving a nice tip because he had a sense the young woman needed a bit of extra cash.
Driving back to the McNally Mansion didn’t take long. “I’ll carry in the boxes of tile, you grab the paint.”
“I’m strong enough to carry tile,” Jazz protested.
“If you drop them, they’ll shatter.”
She rolled her eyes and reached for the paint. “Fine, but make sure you don’t drop them either.”
“I won’t.” He made three trips to the truck until he had all the tile up in the respective bathrooms. As he returned to the main level, he could hear Jazz talking on the phone.
“Really? That’s great, Jemma. I’m thrilled you’ll be here in just two more weeks.”
Two weeks? Dalton hesitated, a sharp pain stabbing deep into his chest, right in the spot where his heart once sat.
Sounds as if Jazz’s twin will be coming out to join her in two weeks. Which is great for Jazz because now she can open rooms earlier than originally planned.
And he’d need to move his things out of the master suite.
Jazz came rushing out of the kitchen. “Dalton! Jemma is quitting her teaching job early! She’ll be here in two weeks.”
“I heard,” he said, forcing a smile. “That’s great news.”
“It’s all because of you.” Jazz threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “Thank you, Dalton. Thank you so much!”
He clutched her close, loving the way the softness of her body molded to his. She felt perfect in his arms, as if she belonged there.
He wanted her. More than he thought possible. He tipped her chin up and slowly, deliberately, captured her mouth with his.
11
Dalton’s kiss was incredible, a rock amidst a stormy sea. Jazz clung to him, hoping and praying he’d never let her go.
But of course, he did.
Still, he didn’t push her away as he’d done previously. Keeping his arms wrapped around her, he lifted his head and gazed intently at her face, almost as if he were memorizing what she looked like.
“Wow,” she murmured. “That was amazing.”
“Yeah, it was.” He pressed his lips against her temple. “I wish . . .” His voice trailed off, and she would have given up her portion of the B&B to hear what he’d been about to say.
He didn’t finish his thought.
She swallowed against a lump of frustration. Yes, he was allowed to grieve over losing his wife and son. Yes, he had the right to live his life as a drifter if that’s what he really wanted.
But she didn’t for one minute believe that to be the case.
Dalton hadn’t chosen to live his life as a drifter moving from one spot to another. He was doing it out of guilt. For whatever he’d supposedly done to cause their deaths.
The worst scenario she could think of was driving while intoxicated and causing a crash that had claimed their lives. It seemed out of character for the man she’d come to know, but maybe things had been different a year ago.
Regardless, he’d suffered more than enough.
“Do you think your wife would want you to live alone for the rest of your life?”
He stiffened against her but didn’t pull away as she half expected him too. “I’m not sure, but it’s what I deserve.”
“And would she agree with you about that?” she pressed. “Would your wife think you deserve to live a lonely existence drifting from one place to another living in a tent?”
“Probably.” He grimaced and loosened his grip. She didn’t move away from him, though. She grasped his shoulders, wishing she could shake some sense into him.
“I don’t believe you. A woman you loved couldn’t possibly be that vindictive.”
He looked startled by her comment. “Debbie wasn’t at all vindictive. She was wonderful. I didn’t deserve her.”
“Dalton.” She let out a heavy sigh. “You must realize no one is perfect. We all make mistakes. Maybe you screwed up, but I’m willing to bet there were mistakes Debbie made, too. The whole concept of marriage is give and take. Compromise. Learn to focus on the good and downplay the bad.”
He lifted a brow. “Says the woman who walked away from her groom the night before the wedding.”
“True. But that only proves my point. I made mistakes and so did Tom. In our case, some of them were bigger than others, like Tom’s mistake in kissing my bridesmaid.”
“That’s not your fault,” Dalton swiftly interjected. The way he jumped to her defense was sweet.
“It was partially my fault because I mistook affection for love. I never should have agreed to marry him in the first place.” She cupped his cheek with her hand. “I finally figured out that Tom didn’t really love me and I didn’t love him. If you want to know the truth, Tom’s kisses never made me feel half as special as yours do.”
“Don’t say that,” he protested. “You’re killing me, Jazz,” he added in a low husky voice.
“Ditto,” she countered. Moving up on her tippy toes, she pressed a soft, sweet kiss against his lips. “Now, it’s time to get to work.”
He stared at her for another moment, before nodding and turning away. Wondering what he was thinking would only drive her crazy, so Jazz tried to push her insatiable curiosity out of her mind.
Setting up for painting took a while, but once she had everything draped and the woodwork protected with tape, she went to work.
She used the white paint first, covering the light blue that had been on the walls previously. Her back ached from leaning backward on the ladder to do the ceiling, but her efforts were well worth it.
The sound of Dalton using the electric sander in the yellow room, a loud humming noise behind her eighties tunes, brought an odd comfort. She was becoming so used to having him around; he’d leave a gaping hole in her life when he decided to leave.
Was there any possible way to convince him to stay? As soon as the thought teased her mind, she shook her head. Nope. Dalton had to be the one to make a choice. A decision. Battling through his guilt and memories of the past long enough to find a way to forgive himself.
Only then would he be able to move on.
At least Jemma would be coming sooner than originally planned. Her twin and nephew would help fill the gap created by Dalton’s leaving. She’d have to fill Jemma in on the weird dynamics between the McNallys and the Tates. Maybe after they got to know more of the locals on a first-name basis, she’d be able to understand the source of Leon Tate’s animosity.
The bedrooms weren’t large, so she managed to finish up the first coat close to dinnertime. She stood in the center of the room, swinging her hips to “We Got the Beat” by the Go-Go’s, and surveyed her work. Not bad. Since she’d chosen the navy-blue wall to be the one behind the headboard of the four-poster bed, she began shifting the furniture around so she could start on that one in the morning.
The power sanding had stopped an hour earlier, so when she finished in the blue room, she walked over to check on Dalton’s progress.
The bathroom walls were smooth and ready for new tile. Dalton had cleaned up all the dust and had replaced the fixtures on the sink. The ones for the shower were set off on the side, ready to go once the tile work was completed.
Dalton wasn’t anywhere around, so she headed downstairs to look for him. He wasn’t in the main living area, nor was he in the kitchen.
Dark clouds gathering outside drew her attention. She moved closer to gauge the potential storm when she caught a glimpse of Dalton heading over to the Stevensons’. Had one of the brothers finally showed up?
She hurried outside to catch up with Dalton but slowed her pace when she saw a tall, beautiful redhead greeting him with a warm handshake. The stab of jealousy was ridiculous but didn’t stop her from smoothing a hand over her hair, hoping there weren’t too many white paint flecks clinging to the dark strands.
The redhead saw her and waved her over. “Oh, you must be Jazzlyn McNally! We’ve talked on the phone, remember?”
“We have?” Jazz asked wryly, as she crossed the lawn to meet them. News to her.
“Yes, after your grandmother passed away.”
“Oh yes. That was a difficult time,” Jazz murmured.
The woman’s smile faltered. “Of course. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Jazz, this is Melanie Ryerson,” Dalton introduced the redhead. “She’s the real estate agent handling the Stevenson property.”
“Nice to meet you.” Jazz glanced at the house, noticing how run-down it appeared up close. “Are either Mark or Rich here?”
“No, I’m afraid not. But I thought you both would like to take a quick tour, you know, just in case you know of anyone who might be interested in buying a lakefront property.”
“My budget is tied up in the B and B,” Jazz said in case the realtor assumed she was rolling in dough. “But I’m nosey enough to want to look around.”
“Me, too,” Dalton said. “Let’s take a look before the storm blows in. Have you shown it to many potential buyers?”
“Just one couple so far.” The wattage on Melanie’s smile dimmed. “There is a bit of work that’s needed inside, and they weren’t interested in taking on a fixer-upper.”
“Renovations are Jazz’s specialty,” Dalton said, flashing Jazz a grin. “Aren’t they?”
“I’m up to my eyeballs in my current project, remember?” She followed Melanie up onto the porch and into the house. A dank, musty smell made her wrinkle her nose. “This place could use a good airing out.”
“True, but look at all the potential here.” Melanie’s attitude was undaunted as she gestured to the living room.
“All I see is water damage on the ceiling,” Jazz said. “I’m assuming there must be a bathroom upstairs?”
“Yes, two of them actually. One in the master bedroom and one placed between two smaller bedrooms.” Melanie be
amed. “You know, it’s not easy to find a house this size with three bathrooms, not to mention two-and-a-half baths.”
Jazz exchanged a look with Dalton. Melanie Ryerson was a saleswoman through and through. No doubt she’d attempt to sell bottled sand to people living in the desert.
“The kitchen is right here.” Melanie led the way into a smallish kitchen area with a large dining room attached. “Look at the view of the lake!”
Again, in her point of view, it was a waste of space to have the dining room overlooking the lakefront. A room with a view should be the living room, not a formal dining room used only on rare occasions.
“Who designed this place anyway?” Jazz whispered to Dalton.
He chuckled and shook his head. “Not a skilled architect, that’s for sure.”
“The kitchen cabinets could be repainted,” Melanie continued. “New counters and appliances would also work wonders in here.”
“Kitchen remodels are pricey,” Jazz commented. “I can see why a young couple would be intimidated by a project this size.”
Melanie’s smile grew brittle. “Considering the location, this place is a hidden gem.” She opened the door to the combined laundry area and main floor powder room that was generally okay. Then she led the way upstairs to the second floor.
The master bedroom looked decent enough; the bathroom was outdated, but otherwise functional. It was the second full bathroom between the two guest rooms that was a complete disaster. Clearly it had flooded more than once, the linoleum on the floor was bubbled and curled. In the spots where she could see the subfloor, she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be black mold.
“This room would need to be completely gutted, down to the studs,” Dalton said as if reading her mind. “The floor could be rotten, so you should watch your step in here. Bring anyone in weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds and you’ll likely find him on the floor in the living room below.”
Melanie’s temper flared. “Are you purposefully trying to upset me? I thought you would appreciate knowing the potential here, but apparently all you care about is pointing out its flaws.”