by Anna Argent
She held up her hand to stop him. "No explanations necessary. I understand."
She didn't. Saxon could see in her expression that she was hurt or pissed or both. "If I ask for a raincheck, will you slug me?"
"Not at all." Her words were perfectly polite, but with no warmth. "In fact, why don't you take some food with you. There's way too much for me and Aunt Beth to eat."
Before he could speak, she pulled her hand out of his and hurried to the kitchen. Her movements were smooth and fast as she assembled two burgers and wrapped them in foil. "One for your bother, too," she said. "I hope you're not picky eaters."
"Not at all."
"Good. I made burgers with garlic aioli, arugula, caramelized shallots and baby portabella mushrooms. Parmesan garlic fries with a side of curried ketchup. I have a cherry pie in the oven, but it's not done yet. Sorry."
By the time she was done speaking, she had tucked everything into a grocery sack, which she held out at arm's length.
"I hope you enjoy it." Her statement was a clear dismissal. Polite, but firm.
Saxon stepped closer and wrapped his fingers over hers, capturing them in a gentle cage. "I've hurt your feelings."
Her gaze darted down to where his skin touched hers. Her voice trembled slightly. "Don't be silly."
He wanted to tell her about the missing money and his brother's worry that he might do something rash, but it wasn't his business to tell. For all he knew, she'd tell Aunt Beth, who would tell someone else, and the news would be all over town by morning. Saxon wouldn't do that to his brother. The man deserved his privacy—such as could be found in such a small town.
"I'll make this up to you, Gemma. I promise."
Outside, he heard two brief taps on a car horn.
Mason was here. It was time to go.
"That's my brother. I have to go, but I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure."
The need to lean in and kiss her cheek raced through him, but he ignored it. There wasn't time to kiss her like he wanted, and he worried that if he started, he might not be able to stop. Even worse, he worried that if he tasted her, the memory of that sweetness would throw his concentration, and he really needed to be on his game tonight—just in case things went bad in the city.
Mom would never forgive either of them if she had to come bail them out of jail.
So, rather than kiss Gemma like he was dying to do, he gave her hand a little squeeze before he let her go.
Chapter Seven
Gemma ate in silence while Aunt Beth rambled on about her day. Physical therapy had been hard, and Cotton—the man who drove her every day—had taken her to his place to show her the antique car he was restoring.
"It's the most beautiful thing ever, Gemma," Aunt Beth said. "A light blue Rolls Royce with white leather interior. I felt like a movie star just sitting in it."
"Sounds pretty." Gemma winced at how placating her tone sounded.
"What's on your mind, honey? You've been distracted ever since Saxon cancelled."
Gemma couldn't tell her aunt about the damage to the bakery—at least not if she could find an insurance policy in her aunt's files. And she sure as hell couldn't tell her how excited she'd been knowing that Saxon was coming to dinner. She'd felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, which was ridiculous for more than one reason.
Saxon was way out of her league. Sexy, successful, a member of town royalty…there was no way he was going to look at her twice.
But what stung most was how easily she'd believed that their deal might just work. Thinking that she had a professional in her corner had given her a palpable sense of relief. She'd almost been convinced that everything was going to be okay. She'd feed him and he'd work on Aunt Beth's beloved bakery. All her problems would be solved.
Gemma had been a fool.
Of course, he was going to back out on the deal. Any sane person would. All he needed was a few minutes to realize how short his end of the stick was.
"I'm just tired," said Gemma, which was only half a lie. She was exhausted and sore and bruised.
Tomorrow was going to be even worse.
Still, she'd do what needed to be done, because that's what Fortiers did. They persevered.
"Are you sure that's all it is? You seemed so happy before Saxon cancelled."
"It's just as well. I wasn't really in the mood to entertain tonight anyway."
"Not even a handsome young bachelor like Saxon?" Aunt Beth's eyebrows waggled suggestively.
That made Gemma grin. She swatted her aunt with her napkin. "Stop it. There's nothing going on but neighborly politeness. After all, he's been looking out for you because I wasn't around to do the job myself. I owe him."
"No, I owe him. I'm the one who burdened him, not you. So don't you let him use guilt to get you into bed, young lady. I pay my own debts."
"No one said anything about sleeping with him, because of guilt or any other emotion. I know you'd like to see me put down some roots here, but let's not involve the neighbors, shall we? The reason I don't stay hasn't changed. My career can't go anywhere here. I need more opportunities than a small town has to offer."
Aunt Beth patted her hand. "I know, dear, and I really do want you to succeed and reach all of your goals, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to see you more often. Your work keeps you so busy."
It had. Gemma had worked long hours, seven days a week, to get where she was. She'd sweated her way through every rung of the ladder and now her work was finally paying off.
Assuming this leave of absence didn't send her careening to the bottom of the ladder again.
She would not think about that now. It didn't matter. Couldn't. All that mattered was seeing Aunt Beth back on her feet again, happy and healthy.
"I'll try to make it back more often in the future. I promise."
They finished their meal and Gemma cleaned up the kitchen while Aunt Beth settled in to watch a little TV before bed.
Gemma kissed her aunt's head and hauled her tired ass upstairs. It was still early, but she wasn't going to have any trouble falling asleep tonight.
She set her alarm for five so she could get an early start on the bakery tomorrow and closed her eyes.
Instead of falling into sleep as she expected, her mind raced with thoughts about all the work she had to do, the stakes that were riding on her success or failure, and Saxon.
Mostly Saxon.
At least he'd been nice about backing out of their deal, rather than letting her get her hopes up for days before letting her down. She really couldn't blame him for his decision, and she was going to tell him that the first chance she got. There could be no hard feelings between them, because once Gemma was back at work in St. Louis, she'd feel safer knowing that he was still watching out for her aunt.
Sleepless hours ticked by as faint shadows of tree branches moved across her bedroom ceiling.
When the clock read three in the morning, Gemma gave up on sleep and hauled her sore body out of bed.
Today was going to be a long one.
***
Saxon finished what was possibly the best burger of his life, then made Mason pull over so he could drive.
His brother was a wreck. Angry, worried, erratic. The truck had been all over the road, because he couldn't stop checking his cell phone.
"You should eat something," Saxon said. "The food is amazing, and eating will make you feel better."
"I'll feel better when I know what the hell is going on. Diana isn't answering my calls or texts."
"Did you tell her you were coming?"
"Hell no. I'm not an idiot."
"Does she usually get back to you when you leave messages?"
Mason turned and stared out the passenger window. "She forgets to charge her phone a lot."
Red flags waved in Saxon's head. "What, exactly, are you expecting to see tonight?"
"Proof."
"Of her stealing from you?"
Mason was quiet for a long time. "
I think she's got another boyfriend."
"Whoa. Okay. Wow." Saxon let the news settle from a dull roar of shock to a low hum of disbelief. "Are you sure?"
"No, which is why I installed the GPS tracker, why I'm driving three hours to see where she is, and why I needed you to come along." He turned to face Saxon again. "I'm afraid of what I might do if I catch her in the act."
"How long have you suspected?"
"Six months. Maybe eight."
"Why not confront her?"
"That's what Grandad said, but it's more complicated than that. We've been together for years. I wanted to marry her."
Saxon made note of the use of past tense. Wanted, not want.
"Do you love her?" he asked.
Mason scrubbed a broad hand over the stubble covering his head. He sounded weary. Defeated. "I don't know. I think so. I loved the idea of her."
"Maybe we're getting ahead of ourselves. There could be a reasonable explanation for everything that's happened."
"Like what?"
Saxon was stumped for several seconds. "Like she has an ailing relative she takes care of and she's been taking time off for that. Maybe even stealing to help pay for bills."
"Diana is not the caretaking type. If she'd had a problem like that, she would have brought it to me to fix it." He shook his head. "It's something else. I can feel it."
Something bad.
The words went unspoken, but Saxon could practically hear his brother's mind working.
Two hours later they wound their way through the one-way streets of downtown Kansas City, past all of the trendy, renovated areas, into a part of the city that had seen better days.
Saxon found the address, then drove past it two blocks before turning around. "How do you want to play this? Sneaky or confrontational?"
"If there is something going on, she needs to know I know or she'll deny it. Besides, I'm feeling a bit like a battering ram at the moment."
Mason moved to open the door, but Saxon grabbed his arm before he could. "Do you have any weapons on you?"
"Just my pocket knife."
"Leave it in the truck. If things go badly and the police are called, I don't want it on you."
"What the hell do you think I'm going to do?"
"I don't know, but you asked me to come to make sure you don't do anything rash. That's what I'm doing."
"Fine." Mason tossed the pocket knife in the cup holder between the seats and got out.
The address belonged to a small cottage style house with a porch sprawling across the front. It was set high on a slope with concrete steps leading up from the sidewalk to the lawn. A few more wooden steps led to the porch, which was showing its age.
White paint peeled away from the siding and railing. The porch was littered with rusting exercise equipment, a cracked dog kennel, and a swing that had fallen from one of its supporting chains. A dented barbeque grill perched in one corner with empty charcoal bags stuffed under a full one.
Cobwebs clung in the corners above, and several wasps' nests had been left from the past summer to welcome their new spring guests.
"This is supposed to be some kind of building supply company?" Saxon asked.
"That's what the invoice said."
"Maybe we're at the wrong place."
Mason tapped on his phone a few times, checking something. "Her GPS location is here. She's in there somewhere."
The men walked up the wooden steps to the front porch. Mason rapped on the screen door, which popped from its warped frame and fell crooked.
No one answered.
"I know she's in there," Mason said.
Just then, the sound of female laughter and splashing water floated up from behind the house.
Mason started down the stairs, doing a fair impersonation of a human battering ram, before Saxon stopped him.
"Wait a second."
Mason stopped. "What?"
"Take a breath, man. Find some composure. Don't go rushing off half-cocked."
He pulled in a deep breath, then nodded. "I'm good."
When Saxon was satisfied that his brother was back in control, they walked around the side of the old house and toward the sound they'd heard earlier.
Water splashed again, and now they could hear a low motor running, but no more laughter.
Mason rounded the corner first. Saxon was right on his heels, which was why he hit the solid wall of his brother's back when Mason came to an abrupt stop.
The house had a deep back porch similar to the front. It was in just as bad a shape, and just as cluttered, but the centerpiece was a new, gleaming hot tub, complete with colored lights and a built-in TV.
Inside the hot tub were two women, kissing. Not the friendly peck-on-the-cheek kind of kissing, but the soulful, fused-mouths, dancing tongues, desperately horny kind of kissing.
One of those women was Diana. The other was a young—too young—blonde. Both were topless.
Saxon thought his jaw might have dropped open, but he was too numb with shock to be sure.
Mason, however, seemed to digest this new development with brutal swiftness.
He walked over to the hot tub. Neither woman—or girl, as the case was—noticed him until he was three feet away. When they did, the blonde let out a shrill squeak of surprise.
"What the hell?" Her voice was high and squeaky, making her seem even younger than the sixteen Saxon pegged her as.
"Mason?" Diana began, her voice low and sultry, even in her surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Is this what you do when you come to Kansas City?" he asked, his voice deathly calm. "You said you were visiting girlfriends, but I had no idea you meant the romantic kind."
"It's not what you think it is," Diana said.
"Who's he?" the young blonde asked, her tone turning more caustic with every word. "Are you cheating on me?"
Diana ignored the girl. "She doesn't mean anything to me."
"What?" screeched the girl.
"I don't care," Mason said. "We're over."
"No, baby. Don't be like that." Diana rose from the water like some kind of beautiful ocean goddess.
Saxon kept his eyes averted from his brother's half-naked, soon-to-be-ex girlfriend, but moved close enough to Mason to grab him if things went south.
"I'll have your things in boxes before noon tomorrow. Both at home and at work."
"You can't fire me."
"I can. I have. You're fired."
"I'll report you," she said, her tone shifting to a threat.
"For what?" he asked. "I'm not the one who stole from the company. You are. And if you don't want me to press charges, then you'll leave quietly without causing a scene."
Her expression crumpled and tears pooled in her pretty eyes. "Mason, no. Please don't do this. I'll make it up to you. All of it. I love you." She reached for him, but he took a long step back.
"If you'd loved me, you never would have cheated on me and stolen from me in the first place. I never want to see you again."
Mason turned on his heel and walked away. He hadn't raised his voice or cussed or even displayed any anger.
The whole thing had been as cold as a business transaction.
Saxon hurried after his brother, rushing to keep up. "Are you okay?"
"Fine."
Mason was heading for the driver's door, but Saxon beat him too it. No way was he letting his brother drive in this state.
They were back on the highway heading home when Saxon asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. It's over. We will never speak of this again."
Chapter Eight
Gemma was back at the bakery long before dawn. Three cups of coffee had given her enough energy to keep moving forward, despite her lack of sleep.
She unlocked the front door and went inside the dark space. The brass bell tinkled merrily, bringing back fond memories of summers spent at her aunt's side. The smell of vanilla and yeast permeated the white eyelet curtains and decorative quilts lining
the walls. Stronger than those pleasant aromas was a pungent, musty smell that didn't belong—that of mildew and rooms left closed up for too long.
She hoped she would be rid of that nastiness soon, because no one wanted to buy baked goods from a shop that smelled like condemned building.
Yesterday she'd been able to clear away the pile of soggy plaster ceiling on the floor, and pry up all of the floorboards that were swollen, warped and beyond repair. A few more boards at the perimeter of the water damage she'd left, hoping that when they dried, they'd be salvageable. Looking at them again today had her questioning that choice.
The basement beneath the bakery was only used for storage. Aunt Beth had made improvements to the space years ago, pouring a concrete floor over the packed earth that had been there for decades. The basement walls had been painted with a white waterproofing compound, but there were signs that a leak had sprung somewhere downstairs.
Some of the wooden shelving Aunt Beth had installed for storage had gotten wet, but Gemma couldn't tell if the water had come from the leak in the floor above, or from a crack in the foundation wall she couldn't see.
What really worried her was the steady drip that had come from a pipe snaking between the rafters in the basement. She'd shut off the main water valve to the building, but still had no idea what the problem was—even after several hours of YouTube videos she'd watched on the subject.
The building was old—built way before there were any kind of codes or restrictions—and nothing she'd seen in her research looked like the rat's nest of snaking pipes and wires she'd seen downstairs.
Today's agenda included moving everything off the shelving behind the sales counter so that she could figure out how many more cabinets she was going to lose from the roof leak. The three nearest the leak she'd removed yesterday. Their battered carcasses now waited for the construction trash bin she planned to order as soon as the disposal company opened. For now, she'd piled everything in the alley behind the bakery to get it out of the way.
The idea of moving all of that heavy wood and plaster again to pile it into a Dumpster made her muscles cramp in protest.
Suck it up, she told herself. This is for Aunt Beth.