No Fox to Give

by Savage, Vivienne

  Now he had to figure out how to keep her.

  13

  One overnight date shouldn’t have changed Maddie’s entire perception of men. Well, not all men. Just the man next door.

  She also shouldn’t have let Eleanor catch her tiptoeing across the yard that morning. Now her friend was all in her business, sitting on a stool in the studio while Madeleine tried to focus on creating art instead of recounting a never-ending play-by-play of the previous night.

  “So, when are you going to see each other again?” Eleanor asked. It wasn’t her day to work at the bakery, since Luke was a capable man when it came to both creating their breakfast menu and handling the early AM rush, thereby taking a load of the stress off her shoulders.

  “I don’t know. He kissed me goodbye and asked when we could do it again. Thing is, that could mean another date, or some kind of friends with benefits thing.”

  “Trust me. He is totally into you beyond friends with bennies. That man likes you.”

  Madeleine sliced wire through the bottom of a finished bowl, separating it from the block of unworked clay she’d sculpted it from on the pottery wheel. She set it aside to dry on the adjacent table. “You’re a romantic at heart. All that true love bullshit is just that. Bullshit. If he wanted more, he’d—”

  Her phone alert went off. Before she could wipe the clay from her hands, Ellie beat her to it, snatching it off the table. “A ha!”

  “‘A ha’ what?”

  “‘Thinking of you, princess,’” Eleanor read out loud from the phone screen, while Madeleine tried to pry it from her hands. “‘What would you like for dinner?’ I dunno about you, but pet names and offers for dinner sound like he’s in it to win it, instead of planning to hit it and quit it.”

  Madeleine snatched the phone out of her friend’s hands. “Did he really?” The phone buzzed again. A second later, a very Not Safe For Work image of Dean’s erection outlined beneath his jeans came through with the message, “Really, really thinking of you.”

  “He’s sending dick pics!” El squealed, clapping.

  “Oh my God, pretend you didn’t see that, you nosy bitch.”

  “Trust me. I’ll be glad to pretend I didn’t. Otherwise I’ll never be able to look him in the face again.” Cackling, she rose from her seat. “In like fifteen minutes.”

  “What?”

  “I asked him to give me an estimate for remodeling the storefront beside my bakery. Right now, I’m leasing the bakery spot, but I want to buy both spaces to expand. I need to own where I work to feel secure there.”

  “You never told me you wanted to expand.”

  “You’ve been nose to the grindstone, er, kick wheel for weeks. It’s still just under consideration. I didn’t really begin to think about it until you looked into the price of the place across the street from me.”

  “Dean will give you a fair price.”

  And if she could believe that he wouldn’t try to rip off her friend, she could believe that he wanted her for her, and not just a quick screw without attachments.

  * * *

  “What do you think?” Ellie asked, hands on her hips. The woman buzzed with nervous energy, barely giving him five minutes to wander around the vacant storefront.

  Her enthusiasm was a little infectious. Already, he was doing the math in his head, figuring out ways to safely cut corners without losing quality. Part of what had built his customer base as a contractor was that he never tried to rip off his clients and preferred to work within their budget.

  It wasn’t strictly about helping out the friend of the girl he liked. He liked Ellie too. She had the feeling of family without being blood, and maybe she reminded him a little too much of his own single mother, so he wanted to help her the way he wished someone had helped their family years ago.

  “It’s not bad. It’ll be as easy as knocking down the wall between both shops if you want to expand. The rest appears to be mostly cosmetic, aside from some slight damage, but I’d need a deeper look before I can confirm that for sure.”

  “How long would Glazed and Confused be closed while you join the spaces?”

  “Not long. Two days at the most. Maybe less. Depends on how complicated you want the portal to be between both spaces.”

  “You’re bullshitting me.”

  “No. I’m not. Give me a few, okay?”

  She nodded, biting her nails.

  As much as he wanted to report good news to her, he saw plenty of room for improvement. He saw damage. He found rotten wood and evidence of a mouse infestation, and where there were mice, there could be electrical damage.

  “Hurricane do a lot of damage in these parts?” Dean asked when he was finished with the inspection and taking measurements.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Roof is as bad over this building as it was at my trailer. It’ll need patching, and this ceiling needs to be gutted. You may want me to check over at the bakery, too.”

  “Shit!”

  “Sorry.”

  “No. No. I asked for your honest opinion, and that’s what I want. Even if it’s awful news.”

  He gestured for her to follow him and led her around the empty space, dust bunnies billowing around from the air current generated by their movement. It was dank and dark, the windows caked in grime and the fluorescent strips flickering. “Clean up in here may take a week or two at the most, faster if I have a helping hand. There’s a good foundation to build upon because I don’t have to rip out everything. The water damage is minimal, and the pipes are clean. No rust, no signs of damage or bursting. The insulation around them isn’t half-bad. The electrical looks solid so far. We have some walls to knock down to open the place up.”

  Ellie nodded, teeth worrying her lower lip. “How much to knock down the wall?”

  “Not as much as you think. If we take out only a portion of the wall to create an arch, that’s less work for me.”

  “A portion?”

  He led her to the wall dividing the empty suite from the neighboring bakery. With a piece of chalk, he drew the outline of an opening on the empty space. “Picture it right about here. It’s that easy.”

  “Okay.” She drew in a breath. “The bank loan wasn’t as generous as I hoped. It’ll cover the purchase of both storefronts, but you have to invest in a business if you care about it, right?”

  “That’s true.”

  “So, in your professional opinion, Dean, how much is this going to cost me? Be gentle but honest.”

  “I’m always honest, sweetheart. Now…let’s see.” He whipped out his phone and began tapping into the app he used for making estimates to clients. “We’re looking at a ton of lumber to replace the rotting wood, fresh sheetrock, paint, light fixtures, fresh floors, and tile for the restrooms. You said you wanted three, right?”

  “Yes. Three family restrooms if we can fit it into the budget.” Then she added quickly, “But I’ll take two if it’s a big difference in cost.”

  “Okay. I’ll take that into consideration with the costs. With what you picked out and the measurements of this place?” He tapped a few more numbers in, estimating the price to prime and paint and put in the crown molding to match the lovely bakery next door. The contractor had been a con artist, and Dean was offended by how much Ellie paid.

  It must have been that rural markup, something prevalent in small areas where the only professional had a monopoly and no competition willing to make the distant drive.

  “Shiiiiit…” he drawled, shaking his head at the numbers. “Are you sure about this? It’s pretty bad.”

  Ellie twisted a lock of pale hair around her finger. “That bad?” Her brows inched upward, crestfallen expression fleeting but visible long enough for Dean to know she expected more than what she could comfortably pay. “I mean, that’s fine. I saved plenty of the insurance payout from Greg‘s death in case Emma and I ever had a few rainy days. What is it going to cost me?”

  “Oh…about ten grand.”

  She stare
d.

  Dean kept his straight face. “And dinner every Sunday night because I can’t stand cooking.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Completely.”

  “I can’t let you do that. That’s…that’s way too little. Is that even enough to cover all of the material? I’d be robbing you.”

  “Do you know anything about what goes into construction?”

  “I know you need to buy the building materials out of that figure and the cost of the flooring alone was going to be five, close to ten thousand dollars with trim. And that wasn’t even the quality stuff.”

  “That included labor and installation, El. I’m not charging you the standard rate, sure, but I like you, you’ve made me feel welcome, and I want to do something in return for you.”

  “I made you a berry cobbler and sent over a few breakfast sandwiches. Hardly worth several thousand dollars in labor.”

  “You got me Maddie’s phone number and a foot in the door. That’s priceless.”

  * * *

  The identity of Dean McAvoy may as well have belonged to a real person. He had a social security number, driver’s license, birth certificate, and all the documents that could be obtained with those special numbers and pieces of identification. So, when he went in pursuit of a vehicle, he wasn’t too worried about having to register it to his new persona. Still, Pete had told him to keep it private, avoiding the dealerships.

  After hashing out plans with Ellie, she’d gone rushing away to meet with the property agent, giving Dean ample time to follow up on a few leads on a reliable vehicle from the auto section in the classifieds of the Daily Crisis. The motorcycle, while his beloved and preferred mode of transportation, wasn’t going to cut it for hauling materials.

  The first two vehicles were smelly clunkers. One had an ant infestation, insects crawling out from the interior every so often, and the second carried the perpetual odor of BO. He went from incompatible car to shitty car, checking out a few SUVs as well before noticing a rusting Ford F-150 with a little For Sale sign in its window along the farm road to Swan Lake. The white writing on the windshield said $3000 or best offer.

  The old man selling it, on the other hand, had another story for him.

  “Son, if you’re who I think you are, you can have this ol’ gal if you promise to take care of her. She ain’t much good for nothing but driving around locally. If you head out to Houston, you best commit to spending a load on gas.”

  “Have it? Excuse me? But the price—”

  The old man waved off the cash. “My son put that bullshit on the glass about wanting three thousand for Ol’ Bess. She ain’t worth that. Honestly, with all the help you’ve been offering around this area, I’m just happy to see her in the hands of someone who needs a ride.” The old fellow removed his glasses. “You see these? I won’t be driving anywhere anytime soon. So just take her, son. Be good to her.”

  “The title?”

  The old man shrugged and passed it over to him in an envelope. He placed the keys in Dean’s hand next. “Now if you don’t mind, there’s a beer callin’ my name.”

  14

  Since Dean wouldn’t charge Ellie the full value of his labor, she’d made him promise to shop locally for as many building materials and components as possible for the shop renovation now that she owned the small strip. Most of the buildings were vacant and crumbling, and the owner had been eager to get it off his hands despite another landowner trying to swoop in to buy it out from under Ellie.

  Dean understood the low price once he really got behind the walls, determining he’d overestimated his speed greatly. For the past month, his life had been divided between getting to know Madeleine and performing the renovations for Ellie. It kept him occupied while waiting for the infrequent updates from Pete. Aside from a few unverified sightings of Danny Carlisle, no one had brought him in yet.

  And according to the word on the street, the fucker still wanted Dean dead before he could take the stand. No one else had the balls to testify against one of Texas’s most notorious drug lords.

  That was fine. Dean was in no rush to leave Crisis regardless, and he was beginning to see the bright side to rural living. Even if it did mean a fifteen percent markup at the only hardware store. He grimaced at the prices, wondering why Ellie wouldn’t let him drive a half-hour to the nearest Home Depot. Hepburn’s Hardware was robbing her blind.

  “So,” the old man said conversationally. “What are ya?”

  “Huh?” Dean had a hand on the handle to a bucket of grout when an old man sidled up to him at the only hardware store in Crisis. “Excuse me, sir?”

  “I asked, what are ya? Ya ain’t one of us, that’s fer sure.”

  On one hand, Dean thought he knew what the man was asking, but on the other, he’d never encountered anyone so blunt about it. “Um. Just to clarify things, you’re asking—”

  “The hell kind of shifter are you, boy? Definitely not the bright kind.”

  Whelp. Dean choked back a startled laugh. He’d be insulted if it wasn’t hilarious. “I didn’t realize things were so out in the open here, sir. I’m sorry. No, I doubt I’m one of your kind. I’m a fox.”

  And shit. He wasn’t supposed to say that, but this guy had a mellow kind of grandfatherly mood that just set him at ease.

  Pete was gonna kill him.

  “Ah. Long ways from home then, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose so.” Dean put on a friendly smile.

  “You from the city, boy?”

  “I am. I thought I’d get away from that hell and see what it’s like to live in a real town.”

  The old man’s chest puffed out. “Damn right you’re in a real town now. There ain’t no place better than Crisis. I heard you’re the one doing the renovation over yonder at that doughnut shop.”

  “I am, sir, yes.”

  “Good. Nice little lady there. Shame what happened to her husband, but it’s nice to see someone set on helping to build Crisis up. One day, this place won’t be a small town anymore. Right now, these folk gotta drive to Huntsville and Lufkin and Livingston and all these other towns to get the things they need. I can’t tell you how nice it is to have a young feller around who don’t have his mind on ripping us old-timers off. Ya go on over to the checkout and tell Lilly I said to give you a discount.”

  Dean blinked. “I don’t think—”

  “Didn’t we already establish thinking isn’t your strong suit?” The friendly smile on his craggy face only widened, turning wrinkles into deep canyons. “Ah, right. You don’t know me from shit, though, do ya? Forgive my manners, son. Suppose I should introduce myself. John Hepburn.”

  “Oh.” Then, with a little more understanding, Dean repeated himself. “Oh.” Because the name rang a bell and he realized the guy was the owner and also on the city council. “Dean McAvoy.”

  “Like I said, I know who you are.” He tilted his head. “Who ya really are. You’re safe here in Crisis. In fact, you might see your problem with that guy going away real soon. We put some people on that. Now you go on and have a good day.”

  Increasingly bewildered, he headed over to the checkout. He didn’t need to tell Lilly to discount his purchases—she must have picked body language up from the old owner, because she input it on her own.

  * * *

  The phone chimed with Dean’s special ringtone while Madeleine was submerged to her neck in the tub, soaking away the stress of trying to keep up with a high-powered businesswoman throughout the day.

  Charlotte had a lot of energy. They’d spent the afternoon in the office picking color and discussing the plans for Art in Crisis. Maddie already knew wanted Dean to be the contractor charged with the job. It wouldn’t be easy, but she’d already seen the beautiful work he’d completed for Ellie so far. The man was good, and she trusted him with her baby.

  A gorgeous paintbrush-shaped sign announced the studio’s name in a font resembling colorful dripping paint, situated just across the street from
Glazed and Confused. Originally, she’d considered building next to Ellie, but the space was small, and her friend already planned to lease out one of the adjacent retail spaces to a man hoping to sell Thai cuisine with his mother.

  Crisis was growing. Growth was good. Growth meant the town wouldn’t remain stagnant. Growth meant competition and affordable prices. Growth meant more profit for business owners no longer dependent upon locals to buy their wares.

  Growth meant their hometown could be a place they were proud of, not a town teens fled as soon as they turned eighteen.

  “Hey,” Dean’s smooth voice came through the line. “What are you doing?”

  “A bath and a book. Figured I’d stay in tonight. Why?”

  “I got ribs on the barbecue, shrimp and grits in the oven, and a bottle of cider in the fridge.”

  Maddie’s mouth watered. Shrimp and grits? Ellie must have shared her recipe. “Well, bring ’em on over.”

  “Kinda figured we could park somewhere and watch the meteor shower. You know, a private viewing.”

  “We can do that in my backyard.”

  “Sure. But it’s not the same, and it sure as hell isn’t private. Tell me how many relatives of yours live around that area of the lake.”

  “Martin, Marcus, Antonio, Henry, David, Portia—”

  “The entire northwestern corner of Swan Lake is some part of your extended family. Do you honestly think for even a minute that we’d get a moment of peace and quiet? Any privacy?”

  “Well…” Maddie pursed her lips. Her cousins had a nose for food and they would invite themselves over quickly for ribs. “When you put it that way, no.”

  “Exactly.”

  That was how she wound up dressing for ribs on a balmy summer evening, only to find her beau waiting for her on the porch with a blindfold in his hands.

  “What the hell? I’m not into Fifty Shades of Grey.”