Loving Her Nemesis

by Zoe Ann Wood

  He wanted to know more about her. When she’d come over to his yard to complain about the noise, he’d been struck by how gorgeous she was, a grown woman with luscious dark hair and deep brown eyes. But they’d started off on the wrong foot, and if the current morning practice session was any indication, she wasn’t ready to be friends just yet.

  It was a pity. Jade had been intriguing as a teen, and Ben was drawn to her even more now. He wished he could ask her why she’d ditched him all those years ago, but he suspected she didn’t want to rehash the past. And maybe it was better to keep it buried. He wasn’t moving here—he’d be leaving again as soon as this house was finished, and he was confident his father was in good hands.

  Jade finished the piece, then launched into rhythmic exercises again. Ben sighed and reached for a pair of noise-canceling headphones he used whenever the hammering or drilling got to be too much for him. He popped them on and tried to get comfortable, but they were too bulky for sleep. Maybe he needed to invest in earplugs.

  Groaning, he finally got up and started the coffee in the tiny kitchenette. It was too early to start making noise in the house, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get some work done before his meeting with his father’s nurse at nine.

  As it was, he was half asleep by the time he needed to leave. He’d ended up doing his accounting, and the task always numbed his brain. For a brief, hopeless moment, he indulged the thought of canceling the meeting and crawling back under the covers. But he and nurse Sawyer had been playing phone tag for days, so this was his one chance to catch the man currently responsible for his father’s well-being.

  Ben dragged on a sweater and downed the rest of his cold coffee. He was halfway to his car when the front door of Jade’s house opened, and the woman herself appeared on the porch.

  “Morning,” she called out, her voice bright.

  He narrowed his eyes. Did she know her music woke him up before dawn? Ben didn’t want to accuse her of it yet, even though he was probably within rights to call the cops himself—five in the morning was extreme. But if they were going to coexist peacefully during the time he needed to spend here, it wouldn’t be prudent to antagonize her further.

  He did need to talk to her, though, so he strode over to the wobbly fence and raised a hand in greeting.

  “Hey, I’ve wanted to talk to you.”

  She came closer, with her messenger bag slung on one shoulder. “What’s up?”

  Ben just looked at her for a moment. How was she this put-together and fresh-looking after waking up that early? He didn’t mind hard work, but he’d never been an early bird.

  “Er, yeah.” He rubbed his chin, realizing he needed a shave. “I’ll need access to the pipes.”

  Jade cocked her head to the side. “The pipes?”

  Ben pointed at a large rosebush at the very end of the fence, right by the road. “The plans say the hatch is underneath all that.”

  She glanced over. “That’s my grandma’s rosebush.”

  “Right.” He swallowed, wondering how to phrase what he needed to say. In the end, he decided the unvarnished truth would be best. “I need to cut at least some of it away to access the main water pipe. It’s where the main valves are for both houses.”

  Her eyebrows creased in a frown. “But it’s on my property.”

  “Yes, but I received a note from the previous owners. Your grandfather agreed with them to share the hatch. It’s an old system, and since our two houses are the last on this road…” He trailed off, letting her come to her own conclusion.

  He didn’t want to chop away that rosebush. Only a couple of pale-yellow blooms remained now, the petals decaying and browning at the edges, but he could imagine what it would look like in May. A six-foot-tall, glorious cascade of fragrant roses. But there was no other way to shut off the water completely, and he’d need to do that before re-doing the pipes.

  She was glaring at him now. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

  “What?” Ben gaped at her.

  “With all the noise! And now you want to destroy my grandma’s roses!” She flung an arm out in the direction of the Victorian. “You’re just getting back at me for calling the cops on you.”

  Of all the crazy things… “I’m not ‘getting back at you,’” he snapped. “This is what construction looks like.”

  “Oh, okay,” she retorted. “So, you’re not the least bit angry that I did that?”

  Ben took a deep, calming breath. “I’m not. Luke St. Clair knew me on sight, and it wasn’t a big deal. I just…” He stared at the rosebush, trying to think of a solution. “I need to access that hatch. I’d rather we just come to an agreement, because going to the town records and pulling out the official documents will take time.”

  Jade’s shoulders slumped. “You’re sure there’s no other way? I mean… Why did my grandma plant roses there if it’s so important?”

  Ben couldn’t help but grin. “Because the hatch is an ugly old thing, and she wanted to hide it from view?”

  Jade’s lips turned up just slightly at the corners, and he counted it a win. That smile had struck him like lightning back when he was a teenager, and it did strange things to his insides now. She used to be shy and quiet, though—no trace of that girl remained in the woman standing in front of him. She was a fighter, and he enjoyed this conversation far more than he should.

  “Look,” he said quickly. “I’ll try to do minimal damage. I could even replant the bush for you if you’d like?”

  Jade hummed thoughtfully. “That might be a good idea. I don’t want to see it butchered every time our pipes need fixing.” She pointed at a spot on the other side of her front yard. “There. Could we put it over by the oak tree?”

  “Aah… Sure?” Ben nodded, keeping his face impassive, even though the place she picked wasn’t ideal. Too much shade from the oak and the ground was probably all wrong for the bush. But he didn’t want to argue with her, and with careful fertilizing and watering, the plant might just survive.

  Jade studied him for a moment. “What’s wrong?”

  He blinked. “Hmm?”

  “You look like you swallowed a lemon.”

  Ben wanted to protest, but she wasn’t wrong. What threw him was the fact that she seemed to be attuned to his expressions. He’d perfected his poker face while dealing with difficult clients whose aesthetics differed wildly from his. Yet Jade saw right through him.

  “The rose needs more sunlight,” he explained, “and good drainage.”

  She considered him for a moment, then inclined her head. “Where would you put it, then?”

  He studied her property and finally pointed at the front of her driveway. “There.”

  “Okay.”

  Ben raised his eyebrows. “Okay? Just like that?”

  She didn’t smile, but her eyes lit up, the deep coffee-brown color radiating warmth. “My grandma would never have forgiven me if I was the reason her beloved roses died.”

  He glanced past her toward the porch. “Is she…?”

  He didn’t finish the thought, but Jade shook her head.

  “She passed away three years ago, four months after my grandfather,” she told him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  He didn’t know her grandparents at all, but the way she spoke about them told him she’d loved them.

  “Thanks,” she said, offering him a grateful look. “They left the house to me, which was really nice of them.”

  Ben wanted to ask her about them, about her parents, and her life since high school. But she gripped the strap of the messenger bag more tightly and took a half step back.

  “I need to run,” she said. “Or I’ll get a late slip.”

  He grinned. “Do teachers get those too?”

  As soon as he said that, he wanted to smack himself. He’d asked his father about her over the phone and had learned that she worked as a music teacher. But now he sounded like a crazy stalker. However, Jade didn’t seem to
notice his slip—maybe she was more used to small-town life and the fact that people knew each other here.

  “We should,” she said. “Mrs. Lyons is still late to class every single day, you know.”

  Ben let out a startled laugh. “Mrs. Lyons? She’s still teaching there?”

  Their history teacher had been old even when they’d been students at the high school and had been notorious for running late. It had been during one of those late-start periods that he’d asked Jade to prom, and he wanted to know more than anything whether Jade was thinking of that day right now.

  But she just nodded, gave him a little wave, and hurried to her car. She drove off without looking back at him. Ben stood, watching her disappear around the corner. He’d be her neighbor for just a couple of months, yet their interactions were already more involved than he preferred. He kept his work contacts separate from his private life. Not that he had much of that these days.

  With a sigh, he turned back to his own car. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get too caught up in her. He never got caught up. His entire work revolved around being able to move fast from one project to another, switch cities, switch acquaintances. And he liked it that way.

  5

  Ben

  Ben dragged himself up the garden path to his father’s two-bedroom house and entered without ringing the doorbell. From the moment they’d moved to Hidden Hollows, his father had adopted the mentality that only good people lived in small towns, and he refused to lock his front door during the day.

  It used to annoy Ben to no end. He’d watched too many horror movies as a teenager to share his father’s rosy view of small communities. Now, he was aware that his father was more likely to be killed by cholesterol than a crazed serial killer. He supposed the unlocked front door didn’t matter so much anymore when his old man refused to care about his health.

  “Hello?” he called from the hallway. “Dad?”

  “In here,” his father’s gruff voice sounded from around the corner.

  Ben strode into the kitchen, where he found his father at the table, finishing up a breakfast that consisted of eggs and bacon. His blood pressure went up a notch, and he glanced at the frying pan still on the stove. He took in the cup of coffee sitting next to his father’s plate—enough creamer stirred into it that the liquid had turned a pale brown.

  “Are you trying to kill yourself?” Ben growled. “Because I know of faster ways to commit suicide.”

  His father’s broad face went ruddy at his words. He pushed himself back, picked up the newspaper from the table, and shuffled into the living room. Ben noticed how unsteady his gait was, and worry gripped his heart.

  “Dad, I’m serious, you can’t go on like this.” He followed his father into the room, watching as the older man lowered himself into his favorite, creaky armchair. “Your doctor said—”

  “I know what he said,” his father grumbled. “And I don’t need you to rub my face in it. You’re no doctor.”

  Ben threw his arms up. “I don’t have to be a doctor to know that you’re not supposed to eat bacon if you’re minutes away from having another heart attack!”

  He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but his father’s blatant disregard for his own health exasperated him. This was why he’d come to Hidden Hollows. His father’s physician had contacted him, concerned that his father was no longer capable of taking care of himself following a light heart attack. A heart attack! Ben hadn’t even known that his dad had had heart problems, yet here they were.

  The doorbell rang, interrupting their argument. Ben blew out a breath and stalked to the door. The man standing on the front step was young, in his early twenties, a lanky guy with dark brown skin and a wide smile.

  “Hello, you must be the younger Mr. Charles,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Dylan Sawyer.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Ben replied, stepping aside to let the man enter.

  The nurse greeted Ben’s father, who merely grumbled in response. That didn’t seem to bother him. Instead, he put on disposable booties over his shoes and marched right into the kitchen, obviously familiar with the layout of the house. Ben had hired him on the doctor’s recommendation and now wondered whether he was paying the younger man enough to deal with an ornery grump such as his father.

  Ben stuck his head into the living room. “Nurse Sawyer and I are going to discuss your health plan,” he announced. “I’d like for you to join us.”

  His father didn’t reply. Ben considered repeating his words on the off chance that his dad hadn’t heard him, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. The man’s hearing was excellent. It was his temper that needed fixing.

  With a dull feeling settling in his stomach, he followed the nurse into the kitchen.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” he asked, pouring himself a cup.

  “Thanks,” nurse Sawyer said. “I just had some.”

  Ben shrugged and sat on the chair opposite. “What can you tell me about my father’s health?”

  The younger man withdrew a folder from his messenger bag and flipped it open on the table. “Your father’s cholesterol levels are dangerous. His blood pressure is also too high, so the doctor prescribed him medication for both.” He tapped the spreadsheet on the paper. “What he needs to do is take his pills regularly, of course, but his chances of getting better are slim if he doesn’t improve his lifestyle.”

  Ben winced. The nurse sure had a way of cutting through to the issue. “Okay. So—you’ll convince him to stick to a healthy meal plan?”

  The man lifted one eyebrow. “I’ve been here four times now, and your father has informed me—and I quote—‘a little glass of bourbon a day didn’t kill his daddy, and he sure won’t be giving up the one thing that makes his days bearable.’” Dylan Sawyer put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “That little glass of bourbon a day will kill your father, especially since I doubt he ever stops at just a glass. So will the bacon, the frozen dinners, and all the sugar he consumes.”

  “Yeah.” Ben put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

  “He needs someone to take care of him. He’s recovering from a heart attack, so he won’t be able to do the chores around the house or go shopping or anything. I’ll help with the medical stuff, physical therapy, and so on.”

  “But you can’t tidy and cook for him—I get it.”

  Ben stared out the kitchen window at the overgrown back yard. He’d seen how neglected it was when he’d first arrived earlier that week and now wondered how long his father had been feeling sick before succumbing to that heart attack. Why hadn’t he called Ben to let him know he wasn’t coping anymore?

  They’d never had a very close relationship, but Ben made a point of calling him often, to talk about football if nothing more, and yet his father had never complained about his health. Ben thought about his last visit—wow, had it really been seven months ago?

  Back in February, he’d passed through Hidden Hollows, making a short detour on his way to a job in Knoxville. His father had seemed okay then, but Ben had a sneaking suspicion he’d known even then that his health was deteriorating.

  “Could you move into the house?” the nurse asked. “At least until he’s back on his feet?”

  Ben considered it. He’d been considering it ever since he received that call from the hospital three weeks ago—the one that had nearly stopped his heart. He was listed as his father’s emergency contact, and he’d raced to finish his previous project in Atlanta in order to move to Hidden Hollows and stay near his father. But move in with him?

  Was he selfish for wanting to keep his independence? Maybe. Yet the thought of returning under his father’s roof put his back up. He’d rather stay in his little trailer, showering with cold water in the crappy, ancient bathroom in the run-down house. He’d need to rip that out sooner rather than later.

  His father had never made it a secret that he didn’t like Ben’s career, and Ben was in no mood to listen to
his father’s criticism. His decision not to go pro with football had disappointed his dad, especially after he’d gone to college on a football scholarship. But as much as he’d enjoyed the sport, Ben had found a different passion when he’d started working at a small construction company in college. At first, the job was a means to pay for Friday nights out, but then he wanted to learn as much as he could about the trade while still getting his business degree.

  There was also the fact that his father couldn’t afford nurse Sawyer on his own. His dad’s pension and savings had covered his hospital bills, but as a retired school janitor, he wasn’t exactly rolling in money. Neither was Ben—his investments were doing great, but they weren’t of the kind that he could easily cash out. He’d have one less thing to worry about if he could get the Williams house on the market soon.

  “It’s not an option, currently,” he told the younger man. “If I’m here, making sure he doesn’t eat his body weight in saturated fat, I can’t be working on my project.”

  Dylan Sawyer didn’t seem to judge him. “Then I’d suggest hiring a housekeeper to get his groceries and cook for him.”

  Ben had been thinking along the same lines. “Any recommendations?” He didn’t relish the idea of interviewing a long list of prospective candidates. “I could call the doc. He might have someone in mind.”

  Whoever it was, they’d have to be immune to rude remarks. He didn’t wish the job on anyone.

  The nurse thought for a moment. “Maybe my momma’s neighbor, Betty Smith. She lives down past the town library.” He grimaced, scribbled the address on a piece of paper and pushed it toward Ben. “I know she does housekeeping sometimes, though I don’t know if she has a regular gig at the moment. Might be worth talking to her.”

  Ben pocketed the note. “Thanks. I’ll stop by her house later.”

  “Mm. Just…” Nurse Sawyer paused for a second as though searching for the right words. “Don’t be put off by her, uh, temper. She’s an okay lady once you get past all the…” He made a vague waving gesture but didn’t finish his sentence.