God knew hauling Gertrude’s shit to the curb wasn’t doing it.
Plus, he continued arguing with himself, Aless wouldn’t appreciate his new B-and-B falling down around his ears the moment he signed the closing papers. Donovan chipped another stone away and dropped it on the plastic knowing that wouldn’t happen. Yes, she needed a few repairs—Connor’s to-do list was a mile long—but structurally, the house was sound. Pate Mansion may be old, but she had good bones.
Not that he had an ounce of reverence for this house. Not for the curved staircase where he’d ridden the banister and as a result had been given a taste of the parquet flooring. Not the chair rail where he’d raced his favorite Hot Wheels car. Not this very room, where his father had thrown his lit cigarette followed by a full ashtray at him. Quick reaction time, Donovan shielded himself with an arm to deflect the cigarette, earning a burn for his trouble. He lifted a hand and rubbed the scar along his hairline. The crystal ashtray proved harder to miss.
Well, what the fuck ever.
Dog’s shrill bark rang through the air, making him jerk in surprise. The chisel slipped off the stone, slicing his finger. He backed away from the fireplace and, much as he wanted to shout, swore under his breath. Dog was adverse to yelling, picked up on human emotions like a tuning fork. He’d seen it happen. Watched as her ears lowered and tail went down just because Donovan had raised his voice to call to Connor from upstairs. She was sensitive to human energy, likely because she’d been yelled at—and struck—by her former owners.
As a kid, he’d been the same way. Know thy enemy.
He’d picked up his father’s patterns. Knew what mood the old man was in by the sound of his footfalls. Slow and stumbling meant he was lit. Quick and shuffling meant he was pissed. Donovan knew when to wall up, stay silent, not provoke him. He knew when to slip out the upstairs window and shimmy down the maple tree.
He squeezed his throbbing fingers into a fist and, instead of growling a string of curse words, blew out a breath through his nose. Dog had been through enough trauma in her life—no way was he causing her to slink away, repeating the pattern her dipshit owners had started.
“Gertie! Give me that!” came Sofie’s playful voice from the hallway. Another bark, this one muffled, rang into the air.
Donovan held his bleeding hand to his chest and ambled to the doorway. Dog, with a strip of long purple material in her mouth, was backing down the hallway playing tug-of-war. Sofie, hunched at the waist, was following each of Dog’s backward steps, holding the item gently.
“Give it back, girl,” she said softly. “Come on, Gertie.”
“Dog.”
Dog lifted her head and looked at him, teeth still clamped around what looked like a pair of stretchy pants.
“Drop it,” he told Dog.
She wagged her tail left, then right.
He watched her.
She dropped it.
He smirked at Sofie, who screwed her delicious lips to one side.
“Wow. Color you the dog whisperer.”
“You’re wowed easily.”
“Am not.”
His hand began to throb. Ah, hell. Blood ran down his wrist. He held out a palm to catch the next drop before it hit the floor.
“You’re bleeding!”
“I’m fine.”
Sofie raced over to him and wrapped his hand and wrist with the pants. “Bathroom. Go.” She shoved him until he obeyed, lurching toward the adjacent half bath reluctantly.
Just as reluctantly, he allowed in a memory of Caroline. Back when she’d been his grandmother’s live-in chef. He didn’t remember her ever not being there for him.
The cottage at the rear of the mansion was Caroline’s home and had become Donny’s haven on many nights. Nights when his father was drinking and his heavy steps paced the halls. Most of the time he ran to Caroline’s to avoid a beating, but on this particular night, he’d gone there after one.
He came home late when he was supposed to be grounded for what, he couldn’t remember. He guessed his father was waiting on him; had known it in some deep, dark place in his gut. Donny strode boldly through the front door anyway. Now that he thought about it, he wondered if he’d done that on purpose. Daring his old man to lay into him and give him a reason—as if he needed another one—to leave for good.
Caroline had put in her notice. She was leaving Pate Mansion, leaving Gertrude’s employment, and in a way, leaving him, too. Moving to New York now that her son was out of the military. Once Caroline left, Donny had no reason to stay.
None at all.
He entered her cottage without knocking, head down, hair obscuring his face.
“Hey, kiddo.” She looked up from a book she was reading, her bobbed silver hair swinging, and pinned him with a smile. A smile that faded the moment he brought his chin up.
“Oh my heavens!” Dropping the book, she hustled him into the bathroom, dragging him by the wrist. He was a foot taller than she and twice as strong, but he let her. “Another fight, Donny? What did I tell you about that?”
She didn’t know the truth. He’d never told her.
Pushing him down onto the closed toilet seat, she wet a towel and pressed it to the wide split in his mouth. It’d been numb on the way over here, but now it was hurting like a son of a bitch. He had no idea what possessed him to say what he said next. Maybe he needed someone to know. Maybe he felt like he could finally share with her since she was leaving.
“Dad’s class ring,” he muttered, wincing as she dabbed his bloody face.
Her hands stilled, one on the side of his face, the other wrapped around the towel. His eyes found her worried ones behind a thick pair of glasses.
“How long?” she whispered, her voice frail.
As long as he could remember. He shrugged one shoulder and looked away, ashamed. “Few times.”
“Donny.” She cradled his face with both hands. “No.” She swallowed and he could see the pity well in her eyes. Which shamed him more. “You can stay here. I’m calling the police.” She released him and stood. “You should have told me sooner. I would have protected you. No matter the cost.”
Cost. As in personal cost. He knew she would have protected him. Would have stood against his father and grandmother, lost her job, lost her home. Donny wasn’t about to be the cause for destroying Caroline’s life. She was the best person he knew.
Besides, it wasn’t like he was a helpless kid. He was sixteen; he could fend for himself.
Wrapping a hand around her arm, he stopped her from walking away. “Don’t.” He begged with his eyes, the word “please” unspoken on the tip of his tongue. “I’m leaving. Doesn’t matter if you call the cops or not. I won’t be here.”
“Leaving?” She pressed the hand holding the towel to her chest. “Where are you going to go?”
“I have a job. At a restaurant.” It wasn’t the most upstanding group of guys, but hey, he wasn’t exactly living in the lap of luxury here. “Some of my buddies work there and I’m going to stay with them.”
He released her arm and she sat on the edge of the bathtub, facing him. She touched the towel to his lip again. “You’ll have a scar.”
He had plenty of scars. What was one more?
“I’m fine.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head, sending her gray hair swinging. “All the bruises. Bone breaks. All from Robert?”
Unable to lie to her, he nodded solemnly.
Tears broke free and rolled down the soft skin of her cheeks, making him hate himself for burdening her.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and took her hands in his. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tasted blood from the cut in his lip but gave her a small smile anyway. “We can’t pick our family, right? It’s bad luck I got a dad like him. That’s it. If anything, you—”
Blinking out of the memory, Donovan said aloud, “Saved me.”
Sofie heard. Behind him, she flattened her hand on his bac
k. “What did you say?”
He tongued his upper lip where a barely visible silver scar sat. “Nothing.”
Donovan had said something. But that wasn’t the most pressing matter at the moment, so she didn’t push.
She unwound the material from his hand, aware he stood over her watching her every move. After so fervently attempting to save the pair of pants Gertie snagged a minute ago, she’d gone and ruined them anyway. “Shoot.”
“Didn’t peg you for a velour fan,” he mumbled as she dropped the elastic-waist pants on the floor.
She turned to the sink. “They’re not mine. Gertie brought them to me. I thought they belonged to… someone you know.”
Some petite girl who shared his bed since he’d come back to town. Wouldn’t surprise her. Sofie had managed to wrangle up a date since he’d come back to town. Surely Donovan could rustle up a girl to sleep with him.
“My grandmother had a fetish for home shopping.”
She frowned in thought.
Oh.
They were Gertrude’s.
She snagged a towel on the rack behind him, relieved it was navy blue so she wouldn’t have to watch red blood seep through it. The idea alone made her woozy. Well, she’d have to suck it up. He was injured and she was the only other person here.
“Sit.” She gestured to the toilet seat.
“No.”
She wet the towel. “Don’t be a baby.”
“It’s not fatal, Scampi.”
“You have a first aid kit, right? I mean, that’s how you fixed Gert’s paw.” She bent and opened the vanity door, but before she sank to her heels, his uninjured hand grabbed her arm and hauled her back up. She shook him off. “What is with you?”
“Why do you do that?” He wasn’t touching her any longer, but he was leaning close. She backed up until her butt hit the sink. She hadn’t had to go far. In the small half bath, there wasn’t much room to groove.
“Do what?” She glared back at him, having no idea what he was so upset about.
She watched a muscle in his jaw work, then he bared his teeth and said, “Care.”
The word sounded like a curse. She blinked at him.
“I’ve been nothing but a pain in your ass since I came to town, and here you are. Caring.”
She pushed up to her tiptoes, getting in his face. “Too bad.” She pressed the wet towel to his finger. The cut was on the opposite hand as his star tattoo, the one with a branchy tree inching up his forearm. “You have new tattoos.” Keeping pressure on his hand, she was surprised he let her help him.
“They’re not new.” His shoulders had fallen, some of his anger dissipating.
“They are to me,” she said softly. Her eyes tracked up his arm, where more ink peeked out from under the sleeve. “You have so many.”
“Rocks cause scars.”
“Okay,” she said, not fully understanding his meaning. Maybe it would be best to change the subject. “I’m painting the dining room tomorrow. If you don’t mind. It would be nice if I brought some help. Faith and Charlie offered to come over and…”
His palm on her cheek startled her so much, she closed her mouth. When she tilted her face toward his, she found his mouth pulled at the sides, his expression making him look ten years older. His eyes were on her but didn’t seem focused—locked in a memory or a thought.
After they’d stood that way for several seconds, she whispered, “Donny?”
His eyes flickered to hers.
“Are you okay?”
He dropped his hand and backed away from her, snapping out of it.
“I’m always okay,” he grumbled, then left the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
You guys are my best friends, ever,” Sofie said to the two women now pulling supplies out of the back of her car. “Ever. Ever.”
“The bribery part of this day is over.” Faith hefted a bag filled with rollers and brushes.
“Yes, it has already been established that Faith and I will work for pizza.” Charlie pulled out three long extenders for the rollers. They would need them for the high ceilings. “What room are we painting, again? The ballroom?”
“No, the dining room.” Sofie took a bucket of paint and stir sticks from the trunk. “Ruby wants to have the bar in there. The setting is more intimate.”
“Easier to talk the bigwigs out of their money in an intimate setting,” Faith said with a wink.
“And Faith is in charge of the bigwigs,” Sofie added.
“Pssh.” Charlie, hands full, shut the trunk with her elbow. “Faith will talk them out of their money, no problem. Open Arms is as good as funded for the next decade.”
“Aww, I knew I liked you.” Faith smiled. “What can I say? It’s a talent.”
“Ace.” Evan appeared in the driveway, arms out to his sides, frowning at his fiancée. “No lifting.” He took the extender rods from her.
Sofie felt her heart both buoy and sink as her eyes strayed to Charlie’s stomach. “Are you…?”
“What? No! I mean, I’m not. But it’s not like we don’t want… um…” She shook her head fervently.
Oops. Sofie hadn’t meant to put her friend on the spot.
Evan kissed Charlie’s forehead. “Ace. Relax.” He relieved Faith of her armload as well and tipped his head toward Sofie when Donovan came outside. “Your girl.”
Sofie froze, watching as Donovan approached their little group. They weren’t quite at the “your girl” stage. They weren’t ever at the “your girl” stage, come to think of it. Evan sent her a wink, one turquoise eye vanishing and reappearing as a smirk slid onto his face. Yeah, he did that on purpose.
Donovan slipped the paint bucket from her hand, his fingers brushing hers as he did. “Making me look bad, Scampi.”
Faith and Charlie hustled inside. Traitors.
“Thought you liked looking like a scoundrel,” Sofie called after Donovan as she followed him to the house.
He turned his head slightly and she caught sight of his lips twitching.
At the house, he walked inside. She was about to walk in behind him when he kicked the door closed. Slammed it right in her face! Shocked, she froze for a few seconds before reaching for the knob.
The door opened and Donovan, hands free, shrugged a shoulder. “Scoundrel.”
She didn’t want to smile. Didn’t want to have any moment of levity or understanding with this man. But a small smile found her face anyway. Which was dangerous because where he was concerned, a little went a long way.
Or all the way.
Folding her arms over her breasts, she remained on the porch. “I’m not coming in now.”
“Yes. You are.”
There was no doubting his tone. He was teasing her. Which was fun.
Dangerous.
That, too.
Holding her ground, she shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“Scampi, get your ass in here.” Mock seriousness. His light eyes were sparking with mischief. She could see it. She could feel it.
An errant zing of excitement flitted through her veins, making her want to challenge him. She didn’t move, save to lean forward, purse her lips, and enunciate one word. “No.”
He dropped his hand from the knob, stalked toward her in two long-legged steps, and bent over. A second later she was in the air, then upside down, holding on to his pant loops for dear life. He hauled her inside, his shoulder squeezing a giggle from her diaphragm as he carried her into the foyer. When her feet hit the floor she was laughing and pushing a tangle of brown hair out of her face.
Then she found herself staring at his mouth, needing his mouth…
A protracted moment stretched between them and gradually, she became aware she had an audience. They had an audience. A very, very interested Charlie with a huge smile on her face. An aghast, open-mouthed Faith, and Evan, who wasn’t smiling or gaping, but one dark eyebrow had lifted in a show of mild interest.
Evan broke the silence.
“Re
ady to go?”
“Yeah,” Donovan answered.
Evan leaned over and kissed Charlie good-bye. “Be back.” Then to the rest of them he said, “Be good.” His gaze lingered on Sofie a bit longer than the others, she noticed.
“No promises,” Faith said.
“I’ll”—Sofie cleared her throat, realizing what she was about to say sounded very familiar and domestic—“lock up before I leave.”
“We’ll be back before then, Scampi. Dog!” He put his teeth to his lip and whistled, high and sharp.
The dog trotted into the foyer from the kitchen where she’d disappeared earlier.
“You’re taking Gertie?” she asked.
“Fumes.”
So he wasn’t only protective over her, but the dog as well. That made her feel better… sort of. The guys left the house. She shut the door behind them and turned to face her friends.
Faith propped her hands on her hips. “Any more attraction between the two of you, and Charlie and I would’ve had to man the fire hose.”
“For real,” Charlie said, betraying her right alongside Faith. “Ten-shunnn.”
Faith nodded her agreement. “Cut it with a knife.”
Sofie held her hands out in front of her, mainly because she was afraid her friends were making a point she really didn’t want to have made.
“Donovan and I are enduring one another for however long it takes to get this mansion ready for the charity dinner.” She clapped her hands. “Painting! That is what we are about to do right now.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow and crooked her lips, the mannerisms resembling her fiancé’s. “Nice segue.”
“Yeah,” Faith said. “Smooth.”
Sofie grinned, changing the subject again. “Coffee?”
Her friends let her have the reprieve. Faith laid out the plastic on the floor, and Charlie opened and stirred a bucket of paint. Donovan had already moved the table and chairs and the buffet against the one wall they were leaving red as an accent.
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