“Mm-hmm. He’s already put your name in for several gigs. Says he wants to make sure that you’re set in this town. You know the mayor can make or break a career, and I’ve told Daddy I want him to make yours.”
He didn’t want a relationship with Jordan, but the idea of his father’s company being fully restored in town was attractive.
“What strings would be attached to these career-making gigs?”
“He wants you to walk away from Alcott Manor.”
“He wants me to walk away from my job at the manor?”
“This is where Brooke died. It’s also where I almost died.” She pointed to the manor. “He says this place shouldn’t be memorialized into a tourist trap. I have to agree with him. Something to think about.”
The thunder of footsteps along the wraparound porch caught his attention, and he turned to see Layla and her daughters hurrying toward their car.
A little girl with long, dark curls led the way. A taller and more blonde girl followed. Layla Alcott waved to him.
Shit. This was not the time and definitely not the place for a high school reunion.
He waved and Jordan turned.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“I need to get to work. Make sure you get that hot water heater fixed.”
“You have children in the manor now?”
“It’s the caretaker’s daughter.”
“You hired a caretaker?”
“Tom did.” He knew this half-honesty would bite him in the ass sooner or later, but he was hoping for later. Much later.
“Mama, I forgot my lunch!” The little girl stopped on the front porch and was clearly panicked.
“I’ll find it. You hop in the car,” Layla said.
“I’m going to be laaaate!” the girl whined.
“I’ll write you a note. Go on.”
“She’s…rather attractive for a caretaker.” Jordan ogled Layla from afar and Mason knew she didn’t recognize her.
“Jordan.”
“I’m just sayin’.” She shrugged as if she made an innocent comment and Mason knew better. Jordan hated competition of any kind and every woman was competition from her point of view. If she mentioned that another woman was attractive, that was akin to hearing a tornado siren in the neighborhood.
“Do I know her?”
Mason gave her a don’t-even cautionary glare before he walked up to the porch. He gathered the bags full of egg and bacon and cheese biscuits and the to go box of coffees.
When Layla walked out of the front door a few minutes later with a soft-sided pink lunchbox and a piece of paper in hand, he handed everything to her.
“Mornin’, Layla.” He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her close, and breathe in the flowery scent on her skin. “Sorry I’m late. I never heard my alarm this morning and I overslept.”
“Mornin’, Mason.” She accepted the coffee and breakfast thanked him graciously. When she took a sip, her gaze never left his.
They walked down the front steps. “There are egg and cheese biscuits in there, maybe you and the girls can enjoy them on the way to school.”
“We will. Thank you so much.”
Jordan waved and marched in their direction. “Hey!” she called in her friendliest, welcome-to-the-neighborhood tone. “How’re you?”
Mason thought seriously about walking in the opposite direction and not coming back.
Layla placed the lunchbox and paper sacks in the front seat. Her shoulders squared off, and he knew she had to recognize Jordan. He also knew Layla was confident that she was nearly unrecognizable herself.
She took a few steps toward the unwelcome welcome wagon heading her way, he thought perhaps to put a barrier between Jordan and her girls.
“I’m Jordan Williams. I’m Mason’s…friend.” She emphasized the word ‘friend’, as if that were code for something more serious, something illicit.
“Yes. I know.”
“I’m sorry. Have we met? I can’t quite place—”
“Yes, Jordan. We’ve met.”
Mason watched Jordan’s head tilt slightly, like a small dog responding to a high-pitched noise. Almost before Layla could say anything else, Jordan frowned. Some clue tipped her off.
Her upper lip lifted on one side, and there was a near-quiet grunt. That derisive, wow-so-unfair noise she could make, as if the person in last place just won a race she forgot she was competing in. Her response was rude and unguarded and he wanted to caution her, to say watch yourself or something like that. He didn’t because it wouldn’t have done any good. Jordan was a spoiled child in these types of situations.
Layla smoothed the front of her light blue scrubs, then she rested both hands on her hips.
A pose.
A nervous laugh tickled the inside of his chest. He chose to ignore how her hand seemed a little shaky when she ran it over her now-slim stomach. He just silently cheered her on and hoped on some level that she could feel his support.
“I’m Layla.”
Jordan simply couldn’t stop herself. “Oh my God—” She looked Layla over from stem to stern. When she finally seemed to realize that she’d stood there long enough she said, “Well, congratulations. I guess. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to lose all that weight.”
She had shifted that quickly, that effortlessly from shock to mean girl mode. When they were in high school Mason attributed her and her sister’s snarky behavior to things that girls just did to one another. After the years passed, he realized this wasn’t the case.
Layla didn’t grunt in return or even shift her expression, but she did smile in his direction. A sweet, soft smile that highlighted his memories of his dream of her from the night before.
In a flirty move, she flipped her hair behind her shoulder, and that’s when he saw it. Or about a quarter of it. A bruise just above her collarbone and at the bend of her neck.
His mouth went dry at the sight. It hadn’t been there last night when they had dinner. The flowered dress she’d worn had a wide neckline and wouldn’t have hidden a mark so prominent. But he remembered from his dream that he hadn’t been able to leave her neck alone. The softness of her skin and her candy-sweet taste made him kiss and suck on her until he’d unexpectedly left a mark.
They had even joked about it.
Jordan was prattling on about something or other, and he could barely hear her. Layla didn’t seem to be listening to her either. She caught him staring at her neck, and she adjusted her shirt to cover it and brought her hair around to the front of her shoulder. When their eyes met, she appeared as alarmed as he felt. He clamped his open mouth shut and tried to swallow.
“I need to talk with you,” he said to her, though he wasn’t sure what he would say. There couldn’t possibly be a connection between what was on her neck and his dream. That was ridiculous. Stupid, even.
He felt the manor looming over the three of them and wanted nothing more than to drive Layla and her daughters away. His heart stomped against the walls of his chest.
“I’ve got to run the girls to school, but I’ll be back after work,” she said softly.
Jordan stepped forward and shifted a glare between Mason and Layla as though she suddenly realized she was being ignored, as though there was something going on between the two of them that didn’t involve her.
“Layla—” he said.
“Well, I guess the weight loss wasn’t the hardest thing you’ve been through lately, not from what I read in the papers anyway.” She gestured to the house and then leaned to the side to look at Layla’s girls in the car. “How are y’all doing?”
Layla stepped in front of her and blocked her view. “We’re fine.”
“Enough. Let’s go.” Mason grabbed Jordan by the arm. He didn’t know why the bruise on Layla’s neck made him want to protect her, but it surely did.
She moved toward Layla. “Good. I’m glad. Because I’d like to think you’ve come a long way since high school when you killed my sister.”
“Jordan!” Mason stepped in front of Jordan to get her attention.
“I still can’t live a normal life, thanks to you.”
“Mason, I’ll see you later.” Layla’s voice was strong and confident.
She got into her car and drove away, and he could almost hear the ding of the gold bell that signified the end of the round. Layla had won that one. But he knew that Jordan would make certain there was another.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’d seen Layla and that she was living here? She killed Brooke. And you remember what she did to me.” Jordan rubbed the back of her head as though her skull had just fractured, and she still had an unsettled debt with Layla.
Mason took her by the arm and re-escorted her to her car with a renewed purpose. When they arrived at the driver’s side door he gave her an answer he hoped she would listen to. “Because Layla and the manor and my life, for that matter, are none of your business. The police cleared Layla, that’s over and done with. You and I don’t see one another anymore and we both need to move on. At the very least, don’t come to my place of work and her home and accuse her like that. Are we clear?”
She pouted again, but this time there was a glare in her eyes. “You’re making a mistake, Mason.”
“Actually, for the first time in a long while, I’m not.” He opened her door for her and ushered her inside. When she was seated, he said to her, in part to reassure himself, “You and Brooke were drunk that night, Jordan. You and I both know that. There’s no telling what really happened.”
He hated talking about that night, it had been bad for everyone.
“What’s gotten into you? We both lost someone we loved.” She squinted at Mason, studying him. “Are you with her? Are you with Layla?” Jordan pointed in the direction where Layla had been standing.
“Who I’m with is none of your business.”
“Really. Well.” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Wouldn’t that be funny if the city inspectors never managed to approve all that work on Alcott Manor? Might be hard to become the tourist attraction her family wants it to be.”
He fought the crawl of obligation that had eaten its way through him for too many years and caused him to make some pretty stupid decisions. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“People who ruin other people’s lives need to be punished.”
“Don’t do this,” he said.
“Then stay away from her and this place and give us another chance.”
“I don’t think so.” Revenge was what she wanted. She couldn’t let go of the stupid idea that Layla had been the one to hurt her and kill her sister.
“We can make a go of it this time.”
“You’re messing with people’s lives here. Their livelihoods.” He waved in the direction of the manor.
“And what did she do to me? I had a future as an attorney before I got hurt. Now I have trouble reading and writing. That woman ruined my life. I can’t believe you would spend any time with her. If she deserves anything at all, it’s to be paid back in kind,” she said.
“This is her property, and this is my job.”
“You might want to get a different client, Mason. I’d hate to see your business struggle with permit approvals and banks loans and such.”
“Don’t threaten me, Jordan.”
She flashed him a your-choice smirk and hit the gas.
He jumped out of the way, watched her car leave the property, and knew that she meant what she said. He’d talked her and her father out of trying to destroy Layla and Alcott Manor when Brooke died. Neither she nor Brooke had ever had been comfortable with his friendship with Layla. He wondered if they saw something between Layla and him before he did.
Jordan’s car engine roared in the distance. He was the only one who could talk her out of this. But she would want his loyalty in return, at the very least to stay away from Layla. He wouldn’t do that, and she would make sure her father ruined him, his business and Alcott Manor.
He thought of Layla from the night before. With her flower print dress unbuttoned, and the rest of it falling behind her, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He’d given up everything to be with her, to rekindle what had once been lost and to build something for the future.
He would not allow them to be over before they began.
Asher Cardill paced back and forth behind the front windows of Alcott Manor, he wanted to know what was being said. From their body language, he could guess what was happening.
Layla had her defiant face on, the one she always wore when her girls were around and she felt the need to protect them. So he would assume that Jordan—dear Jordan—had been her usual passive aggressive or socially competitive self. Probably both if he remembered her correctly.
It had been Jordan and Brooke who opened the door for him to waltz into Layla’s life. He was grateful to them, really, for beating Layla down so dutifully. In a very genuine way, Brooke and Jordan were just younger versions of Jayne Ella. Another woman who paved the way for Asher to have a place in Layla’s life.
The triumvirate dispersed, leaving Mason to go to work on the manor. Asher followed him closely. Mason put his box of supplies on the floor and leaned on the old kitchen table he was restoring. He was clueless. He probably thought he had just had some run of the mill sexy dream the night before. Little did he know.
Last night, Asher had been pacing the house when he heard Layla think of him. He didn’t know what she had been thinking necessarily, but this bolus of energy hit him and he just knew it was hers. It was sort of like hearing a unique telephone ring where you knew exactly who was calling.
He’d heard it before, felt it even, during her last dream. Layla thought of him, and that was his way into her dream world. When he heard her call this time, he followed it. Yes, if the traps he’d laid in the manor didn’t pay off, this was how he would pay Mason back and keep Layla with him forever, all in one fell swoop: Dreams. Layla’s dreams.
19
Layla stood just inside the entryway of the Alcott Manor summer quarters and strained to hear sounds that might be Asher. Displaced footsteps, the echo of his laughter, or an inexplicable thump—anything that might be a sign of his presence.
The ancient home’s construction was so solid, it had survived the direct hit of a hurricane and years of neglect. The quiet on this lower level was different than in a modern-day structure. The silence was thick and palpable, as was the weight from the house above her.
It had been a short work shift this morning, only four hours because her kids had early release from school. She had hoped to relax with a cup of coffee and a book in these few minutes she had to herself, but now that she was alone she didn’t like the feel of the quiet. Asher’s mug, his appearance in her dream, her general sense that the house watched her kept her unnerved.
What is real? What is true? She thought of the advice Dixie gave her long ago, questions she could ask herself to get a sense of grounding and direction.
He was dead. That was true. Also real.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
She said it over and over in her mind to give herself strength. Could he hurt her if his spirit were still here? Probably not. Though the idea of him lurking in her unguarded private life was disturbing.
A knock made her drop her purse and her keys hit the floor in a muffled thunk. She covered her mouth and nose with her hands until she saw Mason lean in front of the side window and wave.
She opened the door, and he asked, “Did I startle you?”
She placed her hand over her heart that jitterbugged inside her chest. “It’s okay. Come in.” After the starring role he had played in her dream the night before, she thought to give him a kiss and a hug hello. She moved toward him, then caught herself.
That hadn’t been real.
Yes, as predicted, imagined events from the night before led to a confusing day after. At least for her. Mason seemed perfectly at ease as usual. Until, apparently responding to her, he leaned
in, stopped, then kissed her on the cheek.
Heat simmered between them, and she wasn’t sure where to rest her focus. The carpet, his shoes, his chest. Now she held two secrets from him. Still, she wouldn’t have given up her dreamtime with him last night for anything, the closeness they had shared was well worth this embarrassment. She forced herself to maintain eye contact but couldn’t keep her hand from fiddling with her gold earring.
Then he was the one who looked away, but not before he stole a glance at her neck and tried to make small talk. Did he see the mark? She adjusted her shirt to make sure the area above her collarbone was good and covered.
Once upon a time they had known each other so well they could have asked one another anything. No topic was too sacred. Now the sands of uncertainty shifted between them.
He hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets. She noticed his neatly clipped nails and a flash memory of his touch from the night before flew like a shockwave across her mind. Her face flushed warm. She wished she could lean into him with the warmth of that memory. Tragically, today lacked the intimacy she had found with him in her dream, but that was part of the price she paid for choosing dream-option closeness.
The terrier that her daughters had named Winston ran into the room and jumped at their legs.
“A lot has gone on here, huh?” he said and gave Winston a scratch behind the ears.
Layla eyed the dog uneasily.
Winston licked Mason’s hand several times, then hopped onto the couch and snuggled against the cushions.
“What?”
He gestured to the back lawn. “The campout.”
“Oh. Yeah.” A wave of guilt and regret nearly knocked her to her knees, and she wished she could be honest with him about everything that had happened ten years ago. She wished she could just pour it all forth in a swift babble and get it over with. Even if it meant he walked away, at least she wouldn’t have to haul the weight of the secret with her any longer.
“Y’all doing okay here?” He was gorgeous in a classic way, with dark hair and light brown eyes. But it was his vulnerability that buckled her knees. She found herself wishing the night before hadn’t been a dream and that circumstances allowed for something real with him.
A Murder at Alcott Manor Page 15