“Okay. You were right. This is not easy.” She was already huffing and puffing. “I feel like I’m the one being walked.”
They ran another few blocks before the dogs calmed. Huffing and puffing himself, Daniel said, “Are you going to be okay?”
She knew what he meant. Was she going to be okay with her ex and his girlfriend-non-girlfriend staying at the inn, a constant reminder of what she’d lost?
Daniel knew only about the divorce, not her precious Rose.
A whimper escaped her. A whimper Daniel misinterpreted.
“Do you still love him?” The question lashed like a whip.
“I do not.”
“You sure? I distinctly remember you telling me that love lasts forever.”
“Real love does. With Jazz, I had attachment and gratitude, nothing more.” Even back then, her heart had belonged to Daniel. She saw the truth now.
I think you’re perfect just the way you are.
It was funny how one sentence—one moment—could impact a life forever.
He stopped and she did the same, realizing they’d come full circle. They were back in front of the salon.
“Why did you look like you wanted to cry?” he asked.
A car drove past and honked. Virgil and Anthony waved at the driver and pretended not to eavesdrop when it was obvious they were straining to hear every word.
“Let’s talk about it later.” Or never.
No, she had to tell him. He deserved to know the truth. And she needed to be prepared for any reaction. Unconcern. Pity.
Pity might kill her.
He turned away, his posture rigid. “Come on. We should probably return to the inn.”
The abrupt change in his mood threw her. What had she done? Besides temporarily deny his request for more information. He’d done the same to her on multiple occasions, and she hadn’t thrown a fit.
Men! Were they even worth the hassle?
As Daniel jogged away, sweat trickling between his shoulder blades, his butt tight in his running shorts, his muscles bunching, she sighed. Yes. Yes, they were. At least, this one was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE NEXT THREE DAYS passed in a blur. With the increased number of guests, Dorothea’s duties expanded. She cleaned the rooms, did all the laundry and helped her mother in the kitchen. She also hunted for knickknacks for the theme room. As soon as she clocked out, Daniel would take her on a date, every night ending in a different location…or locations—wherever they happened to be when his control snapped. In a dark alley. In his bedroom at his dad’s house. In a car, which he parked on the side of the road. Once, he took her to a field of wildflowers and, lit by his truck’s headlights, seduced her on the hood.
As they’d lain wrapped together in the dark of night, a full golden moon steeping the moment in romance, he’d said, “I’m running a background check on Jazz. A dirty one, where we dig into all the hidden nooks and crannies.”
“Why?” she’d asked. “I mean, other than the obvious. He’s my ex, yes, but he has no part in our relationship.”
“I don’t like the way he’s stalking you. What if he’s dangerous?”
“He’s not.” He was just annoying.
More than a dozen times, Jazz had cornered her. Just to talk, he’d said. To explain the terrible mistake he’d made, to make things right with her. He hadn’t wanted to cheat on her, he’d added, but he’d needed the job—for her, to be the one to support their family; that meant he’d needed Charity’s approval. But through it all, he’d never stopped loving Dorothea. Blah, blah, blah.
The only thing he’d said that had gotten her in the feels was Rose’s name.
After the fall down those steps, Jazz had visited Dorothea at the hospital. In fact, he was the one who’d called 911. He’d chased after her, had seen her go down. As she was wheeled back for surgery, she told the doctors not to give updates to her soon-to-be ex-husband, and most definitely not to allow him inside her room. The only detail they’d shared with Jazz was Rose’s death because, technically, her condition had nothing to do with Dorothea’s, and he was the father.
She’d expected, maybe even hoped, he would fight his way in to see her, but he hadn’t, and the knowledge had hurt.
Now he was back, claiming he was ready to fight for her.
Why now? What had changed?
“Learned anything incriminating yet?” she’d asked Daniel.
“Only that he cheats on his taxes.”
Not exactly surprising.
In another not so surprising turn of events, Holly, who saw Jazz as a surrogate father or goofy uncle, had begun cornering Dorothea, too.
He loves you.
He realized he messed up, and he’ll never do it again.
You have to give him another chance.
Dorothea was willing to do anything her sister asked—except that. A life with Jazz would never make her happy. But every time she tried to tell her sister the marriage was over for good, Holly had cursed Daniel, then cursed Dorothea herself.
Even Charity had cornered Dorothea. She required relationship help, she’d said, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her romance with Jazz had crumbled like a condemned house, and she had no idea what to do. She thought he might be seeing another woman.
Shocker! The man who’d cheated on his wife to be with another woman might be cheating on his girlfriend? What were the odds?
Charity had also asked for Dorothea’s help with the town members. Apparently she and Jazz interviewed many of the residents, but no one had given air-able answers to any of their questions.
They support me, Dorothea had realized. Thanks to her mother, news of Jazz’s infidelity had spread.
Dorothea understood her mother’s reasoning—revenge—but come on! What happened to loyalty?
Lately Daniel was the only one who put her needs above all others.
Which was how he’d almost convinced her to shower with the lights on. In the end, she’d chickened out, using Jude as an excuse. Jude had created a website that would allow her to live stream news about the weather—if ever she decided to do so. Every morning he gave her a crash course in using and maintaining it, and she used the lessons as an excuse to avoid a sexy lights-on shower with Daniel. The refusal irritated him, and she had a sinking suspicion he was now avoiding her.
Despite his loyalty—or maybe because of it?—he never stayed overnight with her at the inn. He always returned to his dad’s place. When he returned the next morning, he would be bleary-eyed and cranky.
Only once had she asked him to stay with her, but he’d refused.
“Better this way,” he’d said.
“For who?”
“You.”
Maybe he was right, but she’d begun to fret. Did he crave his next challenge? Did he regret being with her?
Twice he’d asked her about her scars and her inability to have a baby. She hadn’t given him any answers. If he couldn’t trust her enough to spend the night together, how could she trust him with her darkest secrets?
To her consternation, her silence only widened the gulf between them.
Dorothea finished cleaning Charity’s room, a particularly humiliating task. Not that the news anchor had left any kind of mess. Charity had actually been quite…charitable. She’d picked up her own trash and made sure her dirty towels were piled in the tub rather than strewn across the floor. Jazz hadn’t been so tidy, had left soda cans and candy bar wrappers everywhere.
Today, Dorothea decided not to clean up after him. She’d left clean towels on his bathroom sink and taken off. Considering she’d paid for his schooling, cooked his meals for years while working two jobs, she’d done enough for him.
Ready for lunch, she returned her cart to the storage closet. On her way to the kitch
en, she stopped to check out the progress of the theme room.
The door was ajar. Odd. Daniel, Harlow and Jessie Kay wouldn’t have forgotten to shut it; there was a sign taped to both the outside and inside, acting as a reminder. And the lock engaged automatically.
Frowning, Dorothea stepped inside—
And screamed. No. No, no, no. Someone had dumped buckets of paint over the beautiful murals. Clumps of red, blue and orange had dripped onto the brand-new hardwood floor. The one of a kind curtains and comforter were shredded, the pieces scattered throughout the room like confetti. The headboard Daniel had exhausted himself carving was gouged from top to bottom and as splattered with paint as the floor.
Who would… Why would… How…
Her mind skipped from question to question without finishing a single one. The horror of the destruction was simply too much to process.
A sob welled in Dorothea’s throat as she backed out of the room.
“Daniel,” she screamed. One step, two, she began to run. “Daniel!” She didn’t care that things were strained between them. She wanted him. She wanted him right now.
Jazz came barreling out of his room, his expression twisted with concern. “Dorothea? What’s wrong?”
She bypassed him, shouting, “Daniel!”
“Dorothea,” Jazz called. “Let me—”
Her pace increased. Tears burned her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “Daniel!”
“Thea!” She heard Daniel’s gruff, familiar voice a split second before he snaked around the corner and caught her. His strong arms enfolded her, holding her tight. “What’s wrong, love? What happened?”
“The paint. The material.” Her tears flowed faster as her chin trembled.
“I don’t understand.” He cupped her cheeks in a gentle grip. Gentle, but forceful enough to ensure she faced him. He’d never looked more tortured. “Help me understand what’s going on, and I’ll fix it. I swear to you, I’ll fix everything.”
Finally the sob she’d managed to stave off escaped.
“She was coming out of a room,” Jazz said, coming up behind her. He must have followed her. “I—”
Daniel pointed an accusing finger at him. “What did you do?”
Jazz raised his hands, palms out. The color drained from his cheeks. “I did nothing. I only sought to help her.”
“The room,” she managed to squeeze past the lump growing in her throat. “Someone trashed the room.”
“The theme room?” Daniel asked, his voice now deadly calm.
She nodded, and oh, the cruelty of the act. The absolute maliciousness. What had she ever done to deserve this? Who had she hurt so badly they decided to destroy her dream in retaliation?
Daniel picked her up, cradling her against his chest. He kissed her temple before carrying her up the steps without jarring her.
Inside her room, he eased her onto the bed. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
“No. Stay with me.” She clutched his shirt, trying to hold him in place. Clinging was beneath her, and it embarrassed her to the depths of her soul, but her strength was gone. Zapped. She would rather have Daniel than her principles.
“I’ll be right back, love,” he vowed, his voice so tender it tore something deep inside her. “I just want to look at the damage.”
A moment passed. She forced herself to release him.
After a prolonged hesitation, he disappeared out the door.
I give up. She dragged her knees to her chest, huddling on the mattress. Shaking. Wallowing.
A cry sounded deep inside her: Enough! She’d had to pick herself up a thousand times before; this would be no different. This wasn’t even a big deal. It set her back, sure. Set her back a lot, even. She couldn’t afford new flooring. Harlow might not be willing to redo the murals, and Jessie Kay might not be willing to sew new curtains and a comforter. Daniel would definitely redo the headboard. It was the sheer nastiness of the act that undid her.
Only a few people had unrestricted access to the room. Harlow, Jessie Kay and Daniel, of course. And Carol and Holly, who had master keys.
Maybe…maybe Harlow had returned to her bullying roots?
As soon as the suspicion formed, Dorothea disregarded it. No way. The expectant mother had changed, and she loved her work. She wouldn’t destroy it.
Jessie Kay loved Daniel like a brother and wouldn’t hurt him by hurting Dorothea.
Daniel wasn’t the kind of man who sneaked around.
Carol hated what Dorothea was doing to the inn, but she hated conflict more. Besides, she wouldn’t sabotage her own daughter. Well, not with anything more than gossip. And Holly wouldn’t hurt her this way. Like Daniel, she didn’t operate in the shadows. She took credit for her work. The good and the bad.
Someone must have picked the lock, then. Jazz? Charity? Or maybe someone Daniel had dated, who was ticked at Dorothea for winning him long-term? Or longer term.
But how would that someone have entered the inn and walked the halls without anyone inside the inn noticing? Or the new security system alerting Dorothea’s phone?
Okay. So. She had to rethink her list of suspects.
Jazz and Charity were at the top. Jazz could have trashed the room, returned to his own and waited for Dorothea to discover what he’d done. Then, when she screamed, he could have…what? Comforted her in her time of need?
Charity could have done it out of spite.
Another sob racked her, defeat swamping her. Don’t think I can pick myself up this time.
Just when she’d thought her life was on the right track, happiness finally within her reach, this happened. Something else to knock her down.
This isn’t who you are anymore. You will get up and fight!
Yes, but who or what was she supposed to fight?
Start with the misery. Then—the culprit. Whoever committed the crime must do the time.
She quieted. Her puffy eyes burned, and her nasal passages were so swollen she had to breathe through her mouth, but she stood on shaky legs and marched into the hall.
Daniel rounded the corner and stalked toward her, his expression dark and fierce. He held a laptop so tightly his knuckles were white. Despite the menace surely flowing through his veins, he stopped beside her and gently smoothed the hair from her damp cheek.
“You need to see this, sweetheart.”
The endearment struck her as odd, even though he’d used it and others many times before. But her head hurt, and she couldn’t quite reason out why.
“You know I’ve been working on your security,” he said as he led her back inside the room. He placed the laptop on her desk.
“Yes.”
“I put cameras in every hallway.” He typed as he spoke, and video feed popped up on the screen. “Last night, Holly showed Jazz the theme room. They were inside three minutes, twenty-two seconds. She shut the door when they left.”
“Jazz went back,” Dorothea said on a gasp. The bastard!
“No.” One word, but he’d never sounded more ominous. “But Holly did, soon after Harlow left for lunch.”
No. No! “She wouldn’t.”
Except, on the screen, she watched as Holly entered the theme room alone, a kitchen knife clutched in her hand, her features tight with determination. She stayed inside five minutes and fifty-one seconds. When she left, she was covered in paint splatters.
Dorothea was the next person to enter.
Sickened, she clutched her stomach. “Why would she do such a thing?” She asked the question, but the answer was obvious. Why else? To hurt me.
Maybe Daniel’s rage was contagious. One second Dorothea was miserable, the next she was livid, her blood seeming to boil. How dare her sister strike at her like this! Like a good-for-nothing coward. How dare her sister strike
at her at all. She’d been hurt enough.
Once again she marched into the hall. Daniel latched onto her wrist to stop her, but she wrenched free and hurried down the steps. At Holly’s door, she knocked with so much force she thought she might have cracked the bones in her hand.
Daniel remained behind her, silent.
Holly appeared, and it was clear she’d been crying, her face as red and puffy as Dorothea’s. She still wore her paint-splattered clothes.
“You…little…brat.” Dorothea threw the words at her sister as if they were weapons. “You’re selfish, spoiled rotten and malicious.”
Holly didn’t waste time with false denials. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry! Do you know how many times I’ve apologized to you for going to college like a normal teenage girl? For not wanting to call you when all you ever did was curse at me? How about I forgive you the way you forgave me, huh?”
“I’m sorry,” her sister repeated.
“You wanted to hurt me. Well, congratulations. You’ve hurt me.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I j-just wanted J-Jazz to comfort you. I wanted Jazz to help you repair the room so you guys would get b-back together and—”
“Get it through your stubborn head. I will never get back together with Jazz.”
Carol must have heard the commotion, because she rushed out of her room…and froze. “Girls?”
“Shut up, Mother,” Dorothea snapped. “Go back inside. Or do you need more gossip to spread?”
“I…I thought I was helping you. People needed to know what you’d suffered.”
“Shall I tell everyone what you’ve suffered?”
Paling, Carol backed up a step. “You’re upset. We’re all upset. Let’s walk away and calm down. Okay? All right?”
Jazz and Charity raced down the hall.
“Listen to me, Dorothea. Jazz is sorry for what he—” Holly said.
“I don’t care!” Dorothea screamed. “You have no idea… You can’t imagine…” Another sob welled up and tried to clog her throat, but she gulped it back. She’d been a punching bag most of her life, and she was sick of it. “I can’t look at Jazz without remembering everything I’ve lost.”
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