by Alexis Lynne
“You seem to have some investigative skills. I assumed you moved here to work at the university, but now I wonder if you are a cop or a lawyer.”
“Well, you are almost right. I was a lawyer. I quit my job before I moved here.”
“Is that a hint that I should pay for my half of lunch?”
He laughed, and she swallowed hard, admiring the little lines in the corners of his eyes. Happy lines. He was getting more and more appealing.
“I’m not destitute, yet, and I am accustomed to more expensive lunches.”
“Lobster and Cristal?”
“No, sandwiches that cost twice as much. I moved here from Manhattan.”
That was surprising. She would not have figured he was from such a large city. He seemed more homegrown. “That’s a big change.”
“That was the idea—to eliminate some of the noise and have a simpler life.”
“And being a lawyer didn’t give you that life?”
“No. I like law. I respect it. It appeals to the part of my nature that appreciates order and knowing where things fit, but I was never going to give impassioned speeches about it the way you do with your art.”
“And you didn’t figure that out while in law school? I only needed one semester to figure out I wasn’t going to be an accountant.”
His smile was rueful and a bit guilty. “I was in law school for the wrong reasons. I applied and then worked my ass off to graduate with honors just so I could join a rival firm and piss off my old man.”
“That’s quite a commitment to pissing someone off. Did it work?”
“It did. He didn’t speak to me for two years and cut me out of his will.”
He was dressed casually but expensively, so Tara figured the financial loss didn’t hurt him much.
“Did you ever face him in court?”
“No, thankfully. He would have mopped the floor with me. What he lacked in substance, he made up for in style. He knew the law well and could deliver that knowledge in a way that could cast doubt on even the most damning evidence. He was a master manipulator and a controlling bastard. That’s probably more information than should be shared on a first date.”
Date. She had to tramp down the sudden rush of nerves that word caused. “Don’t be uncomfortable. There must be something about me that screams ‘Tell me all your troubles, even the ones no one needs to know about.’ You wouldn’t believe the things people tell me, and not even people I know well. Total strangers will just unload right after saying ‘how do you do.’”
“Is that a hint that I need to shut up?”
She giggled. A giggle from a near thirty-year-old with a hangover could not sound alluring. “No, not at all. In fact, I’ll reciprocate with my daddy issues. My father couldn’t be called controlling, but bastard is accurate. My parents divorced when I was twelve. He’s a history professor, and he took a position in Charleston, where I’m sure one of the perks for him is having access to young college girls with their own daddy issues.”
“Something he has in common with my father. My sister was born when I was eighteen, to a woman only five years older than me. I didn’t even know about her until almost a year later. He was still married to my mom at the time. What about your mother? You said your stepfather is the mayor, so she must have remarried.”
“She did, several years after she dropped me and my sister with my grandmother, who had just lost her husband, while she moved to Europe to reinvent herself. It took about six years, but she managed it. At least enough to snag one of the richest men in town when she returned. So there. We are now even on first date inappropriateness.”
He laughed as he tossed his empty wrapper in the bag. Then, taking her hand in both of his, he gave her a slow, easy smile, making her insides flop.
“You are a kind woman, Tara, to tolerate such rambling from a man you barely know.”
She wanted to speak, but her wit escaped her. She was too caught up in the gentle warmth of his eyes and his hands cupping hers. None of her previous boyfriends, all two of them, had affected her so easily. He brought her hand to his lips and then rose from his chair, his eyes now showing a trace of something wicked that took that warmth straight to boiling.
Justin’s eyes roamed hers and then slid down to her mouth. He wanted to kiss her, and she held her breath, waiting to feel him reach for her. He didn’t. Instead, he tugged at her hand until they were standing side by side and finished clearing the table.
“So I have daddy issues, no job, and there’s the sister I keep telling you about. Still, I would like to see you again if you aren’t scared off.”
Tara smiled. This was what she needed. Something new, and gorgeous, to look forward to. “Not scared. I have my own daddy issues, my mother certainly wouldn’t call art a job, and I have two sisters I haven’t warned you enough about. Sounds like we’re pretty even.”
He took her hand again as he made his way to the door. “Well, I may not be employed, but I do have quite a job on my hands. The place I just bought needs a lot of work. Is it impolite to ask how you are with a hammer?”
Tara began to speak but stopped in her tracks. Something about his words sent a chill of realization through her. “What?”
“I’m only joking. I hired that guy Brandon to do some of the harder jobs, but I still plan to get my hands dirty, at least some.”
“You hired Brandon?”
“Yes. That wasn’t a mistake, was it? His references were excellent.”
“You bought the farm?”
Of course he did. Unemployed lawyers didn’t sweep into town for no bloody reason.
“I did buy a farm. It’s out of town a way but has great potential.”
This was him. The guy whose money was more important than her dreams. She pulled her clammy hand out of his.
“Are you okay?”
She stepped back. “Fine. Maybe that isn’t my favorite sandwich after all.”
Her stomach was certainly roiling, but not from lunch. She tamped down the urge to scream, instead allowed all the resentment she felt since the first time she lost the house serve as her shield against another disappointment.
“I don’t—”
“I’m sure you have things to do, and so do I. I don’t want my aunt thinking I’m a slacker.”
Before he could say anything, she guided him out the door and then turned away, not looking back to see if there was any of the regret in his eyes that she was determined not to feel.
Chapter Six
The parking lot of the local farm co-op/building supply store was filled with dirty SUVs and old pickup trucks. Justin’s European sports car looked as out of place there as it did on the farm. He would have to replace it with something more practical soon, but for now, he stuck out like the city boy that he was.
As soon as he walked in, Justin spotted Brandon by the counter and, as he moved toward him, could see that he was talking to a group of men, all of whom were eyeing him as he came closer. He nodded when he reached them and then waited a moment for Brandon to introduce him. He did not. He just eased off the counter and took two steps back and gestured to a cart next to him.
One of the men laughed and pushed his worn baseball cap back from his forehead. “If you’re waiting on Brandon there to have some manners, you might as well stop. The boy has none. His poor grandmother complains about it all time. The dear girl is often in need of comforting.”
Brandon scowled. “Stay away from my grandmother, Willie.”
The older man blew out a breath and shook his head. “Time goes too fast. One day fathers are warning you away from the pretty girls, and the next, it’s their grandsons who’re keeping an eye on you.” He held out his hand, and Justin took it with a slight smirk. “Will Hester. You must be the man who bought the old McNair place.”
“If you mean the farm off Highway 64, that’s me.”
“That’s the one. The McNair family owned it for more than a hundred years, so you’ll likely hear it called that as lo
ng as it’s yours. What are you planning on doing with the place?”
Justin slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, today we’ll be working on the attic floors and maybe sanding the beams.”
“What about the farm?”
“I have no idea.”
Will laughed. “That land has gone unused for a while now. It’s going to need some work, whatever you do. You might consider getting some goats for the field.”
Justin couldn’t decide how to interpret the man’s advice, so he decided to ignore it and ask what he really wanted to know. “What did the McNairs do?”
The man shrugged. “A little of everything, but really just enough to feed themselves and then the girls Mary was raising. They’d sell at the farmers’ market, but George always had jobs on the side. I wouldn’t get my hopes up if you are planning on making any money off it.”
Justin might not have his cousin’s instincts, but he knew when he was getting sized up. It annoyed him, as everything had the last few days.
“Right now, I’m just concentrating on getting the house fixed up. Everything else will come in its own time.”
Brandon thankfully had had enough of the conversation, too. “All right, Willie, we have work to do. You can save your gossiping for another day.”
“See what I mean, no manners. You boys have a good day.”
Justin nodded and then turned to follow Brandon, who had taken the cart toward the back of the store. He stopped in front of a large pallet of the wood flooring they had previously picked out and began stacking cases of it onto the cart.
If there was a classic image of a mountain man, Brandon fit it. He was taller than Justin by a few inches, and with his faded jeans, work boots, and flannel shirt, he could pass for Grizzly Adams any day of the week. The shaggy dark hair and beard made him all the more authentic.
“Willie’s more full of shit than the fertilizer section, but he doesn’t mean any real harm. He’s just trying to get the scoop on your financials and marital status because, so far, it’s all conjecture. Well, your financials anyway. Everyone assumes you’re not married after the way you went after Tara.” He narrowed his eyes and stood up straight. “You’re not, are you?”
“No, I’m not. I didn’t ‘go after her.’ We had lunch. It doesn’t seem to matter anyway since she blew me off.” He had seen her a couple of times around town. Each time, she firmly ignored him. He had no idea what he had done, and the confusion irritated him.
Brandon rubbed the back of his neck and relaxed his stance. “Yeah, sorry about that. Tara’s been going on for weeks about the asshole who stole everything she ever wanted. We’re all pretty sick of hearing about it nonstop, and I thought it’d be funny to see her realize you’re actually a decent guy. How pissed was she?”
Justin dropped the last case of wood onto the cart. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you tell her about buying the farm?”
They walked toward the paint section to pick up the off-white paint Marley had picked for her walls.
“I did, and right after, she pushed me out the door.”
Brandon’s expression tightened. “Tara made an offer on it, but yours blew hers out of the water. It was her grandparents’ place. She was raised there after her folks ran off.”
Justin’s stomach dropped to his knees. “Shit.”
“She didn’t yell at you about it?”
“I get the feeling she’s not the yelling type.”
Brandon nodded and pressed his lips together. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Tara’s more of a let the resentment fester and eat away at you kind of girl rather than the type to explode and then come to her senses. That’s more Charlotte’s style.”
They were quiet for a moment as they loaded more supplies. Justin was relieved to know why she had turned on him, but it did not lessen his disappointment. “So how do I fix it?”
“Fix it?”
“Yeah. How do I get past the resentment? You seem to know her pretty well. You must have some idea of how to go about it.”
“She’s my cousin. Fixing things with women isn’t exactly something I’m good at.”
Justin could believe that. “Come on. You must be able to give me some clue.”
Brandon shook his head. “Tara can hold a grudge better than anyone I know. Though she is usually rather sensible, she was determined to have that farm even though she couldn’t afford it and the repairs would be more than she could handle. For her to have wanted it that badly, she’s not going to get over her indignation for a long while.”
“You’re not very encouraging.”
“You want smoke blown up your ass, go talk to Willie. Look, man. Tara hasn’t brought enough men around for me to know how she behaves around them. I got no advice except a warning that it could take some time. If you are going to be around and not lose interest like the last owners, you’ve got that. Tara loves this town. If you’re part of it, she might learn to tolerate you, too.”
Tolerate. That wasn’t exactly what he had been hoping for.
“How did her family lose the place to begin with?”
Brandon stopped loading the cart and looked Justin over as if he were deciding whether or not he was worthy of the family secrets. The sizing up business was getting old.
“Their grandfather died before Tara and Shelby went to live there, so it was just their gran and them after Fran and Michael took off.”
“Fran and Michael are their parents?”
Brandon nodded. “After they divorced, Michael took another job and moved to Charleston. Fran stayed in town a while longer, causing trouble. Michael’s parents were still living then, and Fran was an embarrassment to them. They paid her to leave town. She did and left Tara and Shelby with Mary.”
“How old were they?”
“Twelve and fourteen, I think. Fran stayed away for six blessed years. When she came back, presumably after the money ran out and Michael no longer had to pay her child support, the girls were away at college, and Mary was sick with some sort of lung disease.”
“And Fran pounced.”
“Yep. She took up with Tom Jackson, who had just lost his wife to cancer, and managed to get a legally binding will signed and filed before anyone got wind of it.”
“So the mayor is a crook, too?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly, but I’ve never known anyone who’s led by his dick more than him, and Fran’s got a good hold on him.”
“Did they not know their grandmother was sick?”
“Whenever they would call, Mary would downplay everything, and Fran didn’t tell them the truth either.”
“Why? What would she have to gain by lying to them?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I think she was jealous. If you had seen the farmhouse before Fran fleeced it, you could easily see how important the girls were to Mary. She doted on them. Fran had always preferred to be the center of everyone’s attention and could get ugly if she wasn’t. Charlotte finally got wind of what was happening and called them home. They were at least able to say goodbye.”
“And Fran sold the farm?”
“And everything in it—vintage pieces, antiques as old as the house, all the livestock and farm equipment. Tara and Shelby didn’t even have mementoes left. Shelby begged Fran not to go through with the sale, and Tara just seethed, knowing that if Fran had dollar signs in her eyes, there was no reasoning with her.”
“And then a couple from Florida bought it, visited a couple of times, and then ignored it completely.”
“Pretty much.”
They had made their way through the checkout and out to Brandon’s truck, where they unloaded everything onto the bed.
“This is a small town. If even the old men at the co-op gossip, then surely everyone knows about this. How did Jackson get elected?”
“This area is pretty much split into threes. There’re the old timers and the families who have been here for generations, the new blood that the univer
sity brings in, and the ones who live here for three quarters of the year but claim residency and have registered to vote. Those last two tend to see party affiliation more than character. You heading straight to your place?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right behind you.”
Justin folded himself into the car, digesting what Brandon had just told him. He shouldn’t feel so much regret and anger for someone he barely knew, but he did. Tara had experienced a miserable childhood, much as he had, and then found a place to belong, only to have it ripped from her—twice. If not for Marley, he’d sell the place to Tara, whatever the loss was. But he truly believed this would be a place of healing for his sister, especially after seeing her reaction to the attic. He would not give that up, not for an attraction that was obviously going nowhere.
Chapter Seven
Tara shifted the box of supplies to her hip so she could knock on the door of her friend’s classroom. Liz Shaw looked up from her desk and smiled, quickly coming to the door.
“Hi. Do you need a hand?”
“No, just tell me where to put it.”
Liz led her to a long table beside her desk that held two slow cookers filled with melted soap starter. Tara placed the box on the table and started pulling out items. Liz taught sixth grade at Sylvan Hills Junior High and had Tara come in twice a semester for arts and crafts projects. While the school did have art classes, both budget restrictions and the lack of motivation of the aging art teacher limited the variety of what the students learned. Liz believed that if kids were exposed to enough of the world, they would find something of it that they enjoyed, and that is especially true of art.
So armed with a small budget supplied by her aunt, Tara planned easy and fun lessons with an attempt to tie in to whatever Liz was teaching in other subjects. Because their history lessons were now in an era where the trend in hygiene was no hygiene, Tara thought soap making was appropriate.
“I hope you know what you are getting into, Liz. Your classroom is going to stink of perfume for at least a week.”