by Maggie Wells
“Of course I do. Some of those gowns were red carpet material. I totally coveted the coral-colored one.”
“Well, I donated them to Horizons after Mama passed,” she said in a rush, needing to get beyond the connection to her past and into the possibility for a future. “And Mrs. Oliver asked me if I’d be willing make more. For women and for men. She said something about a friend of hers who sells hand-crafted headscarves online—”
“Oh, my God! Etsy! Ebay!” Brooke cried. “Why didn’t we think of this before?”
“I, uh, I don’t know.” Laney warmed to the idea even more now that it had her friend’s seal of approval. “Maybe because it wouldn’t make me the next Calvin Klein?”
“Says who?”
Laney heard the rustle of pages being turned and knew Brooke had pulled out of one the dozens of spiral bound notebooks she kept scattered around.
“Good gravy, Laney, old Calvin’s going to be pissed as hell he didn’t get to stamp his name all over them.”
Her friend’s enthusiasm was infectious enough to warrant study by the Centers for Disease Control, but Laney found she was more than happy to succumb to it. “Mrs. Oliver said something about how cancer wasn’t the only disease out there, and how people would want something they can wear during treatment that would allow them hang on to a little of their dignity.”
Brooke’s response was instant and fervent. “Oh, Laney, she’s so right. I’ve been talking to so many people fighting so many battles on the health front.”
A respected journalist, Brooke had been chronicling the devastation wrought by the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. Beyond the ecological and economic impact on the coastal region, it now appeared some of the clean-up workers were battling various health issues possibly related to the dispersants used to break up the oil. About a year earlier, Brian had joined her in the campaign to shed new light on the ongoing issues, and now they were starting to get some press coverage extending beyond local and regional. A bloodhound when it came to sniffing out the merest hint of a possibility, Brooke would know where to begin.
“You know from what your mama went through, they want someone to treat them like a real person, not a patient.” Brooke’s voice quavered a little. “They deserve that much.”
“I just... I’m not sure where to start. I can handle the creative side, but I’ve never had much experience with the business end of things.”
Never one to let someone she loved run themselves down, Brooke jumped on her. “Bullshit. You’ve been running a boutique for over a year practically on your own.”
“Yes, but that’s retail, not wholesale,” she argued. “And I’m not the one purchasing stock or making sure the light bill is paid.”
“I’m sure you can handle those things,” Brooke retorted, her tone as dry as the Sahara. “We need to do some research, that’s all.”
“By ‘we’ I’m really hoping you mean you, because you know sifting through piles of case studies and stuff isn’t exactly my strong suit.”
“I’ll make you a deal. You run out and find every bridal magazine you can, mark every dress that won’t make me look like meringue—or worse, Scarlett O’Hara—and I will do a little digging on what it takes to set up shop online.”
Laney pumped a fist. “Yes! I was hoping you’d say that!”
“Gee, only twenty-two years, and she’s got me all figured out.”
“I’m quick on the uptake,” Laney said, unable to suppress a grin. “Okay. I need to wrap things up here, then go hit the shops your mother would never step foot in and buy up the big books.”
“I’ll poke around a bit tonight, and we can report back over margaritas tomorrow after work.”
“You’re the best, Shelbrooke. I don’t hate you, even though I should. You’re too damn good.”
“I know I am. The fact that I don’t hate you either is why we’re friends. Though I know you’re hoping some of this perfection will rub off.”
“Perfection. Ha!” It was Laney’s turn to snort. “I hear you eat spray cheese straight from the can.”
“Ah, but you don’t have proof.”
“Yet.” Laney laughed. “I’ll get you yet, my pretty!”
Brooke’s laugh softened to an affectionate chuckle. “See you tomorrow, my wicked witch.”
* * * *
Harley shifted his weight to his right foot and planted the sole of his left flat against the wall. He stared at Delaney’s door, knowing he was taking a huge risk in being there. It wasn’t difficult to uncover where she’d gone once Tarrington House had been vacated. The apartment was leased to Brooke Hastings, but rumor had it Brooke had moved her stuff into Brian’s new house on Dauphin Island. A word with the super confirmed Laney’d taken over the lease. The screwdriver in his multipurpose tool had ensured no one would make it past the not-so-secure security door in the foyer without a key again.
Well, no one who wasn’t experienced with installing and dismantling locks.
Satisfied she’d be safe enough, he’d shoved the tool back into his pocket and trudged up the stairs to wait outside her door like the stooge he was. His back was tense. So was his neck. Between site inspections, meetings that seemed to last a lifetime, the crazy...whatever with Laney at lunch, and an afternoon spent refinishing the swallowtail parquet he’d found buried under carpet installed before he was born, he figured he’d earned twenty minutes in his hot tub when he got home. He wished he didn’t have to spend them alone.
More than anything, he wished he could get over Laney Tarrington and move on with his life.
But that wasn’t happening. Especially considering he was standing outside her door like a puss. Christ, if he didn’t watch himself, he was going to turn into one of the bumbling, stammering morons chasing after the girl in those mind-numbing made-for-women’s-television movies his mother loved so much.
Don’t send me any more flowers, Harley. It’s hard enough to go there when I have to. Okay?
Because he had a double helping of pride and barely a lick of sense, it took him nearly half the afternoon to realize Laney was donating the bouquets he was sending to the place where her mother passed away. Like a moron, he was spending hundreds of dollars on flowers and candy in hopes of impressing her, and she was giving them away in hopes of brightening someone’s last days.
The wood floor took two passes with a belt sander as he tried to strip down what made Laney tick in his mind. Truth was, she made no sense to him. Laney was a woman who’d been raised with everything and now had nothing. He grew up with barely a pot to piss in and now he could buy and sell most of the town. But somehow their reversals of fortune weren’t the great equalizers he thought they should be. No matter what promises he made to himself on his return from California, when it came to Delaney Tarrington, he would forever be the bumbling, stammering moron.
He was only bigger and a lot more masculine than those guys in the movies.
Chuckling to himself, he crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his back against the scarred plaster wall. The neighborhood, while enjoying a good bit of gentrification, was not exactly the best in town. He’d been surprised when Darla at The Pit barbecue joint spilled the beans about her living in Brooke’s old place that the puzzle pieces came together in his mind. Of course, she wouldn’t go back to Tarrington House. Too many memories and no escape.
According to his sources, Laney’s daddy’d been almost totally absent in the weeks before the beautiful Creole girl he’d wooed and wedded passed away. Brett Tarrington left Laney alone. Like he had. Turns out, there wasn’t much difference between the two of them after all.
“Blood will tell,” he muttered, invoking the same snide observation used against him nearly his whole life. “Such bullshit.”
Discreet inquiries made it clear Daddy Tarrington had left his daughter to deal with a lot more than grief and a crumbling mansion. Tarrington House was set to go on the auction block the following week. In the six m
onths he’d been gone, her father had driven the family name and finances into the ground, her mother had been ravaged and taken by cancer, and Laney’d been forced to sell most everything of value to make a dent in the medical bills. From what he’d heard, the house itself was so heavily mortgaged that sale at auction was unlikely to leave much left over to pay the debts.
All in all, Delaney Tarrington was a mess of a girl in a mess of trouble.
If he were a smart man, he’d simply abide by her wishes and walk away. He was no one’s idea of a white knight. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d promised himself a long time ago that one day he’d have everything he ever wanted. Money. A beautiful wife. A fancy old-money house. Respect. He’d known from the start that including Laney in any part of those plans would be an uphill battle, but she’d been a challenge he couldn’t resist.
It wasn’t love at first sight, or anything so trite. Actually, the first time he’d seen her he’d wanted to slap the smug smirk from her face. He’d made it through to sixteen before his mama called in all her chits. From him and from the snooty school where she worked as food service director. One little fight and his years of skating through the public school system were through. One afternoon, he’d taken the bus across town to meet her after work so he could be measured for his official St. Patrick’s Academy blazer. The job wasn’t only the best she could do in terms of salary, but also for him. Unlike most other kids he knew, his mother was home when he was home. Her presence alone kept him out of trouble for a long time, a perk she said made serving food to a bunch of rich kids more palatable. Even though he was their age, and wouldn’t have deigned to talk to any adult voluntarily, it galled him to see his mother sitting on the bench in front of the school, alone and ignored. The cafeteria uniform she wore made her invisible to the spoiled teens lingering on the school’s lush grounds.
A few of the girls shot curious glances in his direction as he approached, and some of the guys stiffened, but no one said a word as he crossed the lawn. The heavy wooden doors swung open with a crash, and a high-pitched peal of female laughter filled the air. He’d looked up as his mother stood. The small crowd gathered on the stoop parted when two beautiful young girls emerged. They couldn’t have been in high school yet, but their age didn’t seem to matter. It was obvious the pair ruled the school. The spring breeze caught the hem of the dark-haired girl’s gauzy skirt, flipping it up to reveal a mouthwatering stretch of toned, tanned thigh. Like any red-blooded male, he stood transfixed.
Then he heard a snort of derision and the spell was broken.
Harley remember tensing, prepared to do battle with the little snot if he had to, but her scorn wasn’t directed at him or his mother. Instead, it was aimed at the lanky brown-haired guy who’d dared to approach her friend with spiral notebook in hand. Harley smiled now, remembering how incredibly nerdy Brian Dalton had been back then, and marveling at the man’s transformation. It reminded him of the first house he’d ever flipped. One would never have guessed the bland brick and frame ranch house had anything special to offer, but Harley saw its potential. He watched the empty house grow shabbier and shabbier with every summer he spent working construction. And he’d watched his mother fade a little each time she started a new school year at St. Pat’s.
He recalled watching perky blond Brooke smile as she answered nerdy Brian’s question, but the scowl pulling at Laney’s lush mouth made it clear Brian wasn’t welcome to linger. Proving he was indeed the brainiest guy around, Brian peeled off the minute they reached the bottom of the steps.
The security door rattled, jolting Harley out of his thoughts. He smiled as he caught a muffled string of very unladylike curses as she fiddled with the lock. The hinges screeched and Harley’s boot hit the floor. He stood up straight, his feet braced wide and ready for battle. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he opted for shoving them into the back pockets of his battered Wranglers. As always, his breath hitched a bit when he first caught sight of her glossy dark hair. He’d seen those inky waves spill over her pale, freckled shoulders and flow across a pillow, but for the life of him, he didn’t think he’d ever get his fill. Something about her called to him, and he’d be damned if he knew how to stop falling for her over and over again.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted as she zeroed in on him. Her steps slowed, but she said nothing. Watching him warily, she kept coming, refusing to halt her approach even when confronted with an unwelcome visitor. He admired her pluck, but at the same time wanted to throttle her for not turning tail. Damn it, for all she knew he was some kind of goddamn psycho stalker.
“I’m not a psycho stalker.” As far as successful lines went, Harley had to give himself low marks for that one. If there was one thing he knew about women, it was it rarely paid off if you used the truth as your opening ante.
She topped the final step and stopped a safe ten feet away. “So you say, but the evidence to the contrary is starting to pile up.”
“I know.” He pulled one hand free from his pocket and scrubbed away the wave of weariness swamping him. “I have a couple things to say, then I’ll go.”
“Okay.” She raised an eyebrow to match the skepticism in her tone. “What do you have to say?”
“I’m sorry I left like I did.” He blurted the apology. “I knew I was going. I should have told you I was going. The way I treated you was lower than low,” he continued, warming up to the subject matter. “But to be honest with you, I was pissed off and frustrated.”
This time her jaw dropped in sheer disbelief, but she recovered quickly. “Because I slept with you?”
“Because you jerked my chain for so long. Because you danced around me like one of those harem girls for God knows how many months, then you’d shut me down.”
“Harem girl?”
“You made me crazy. Christ, Delaney, how was I supposed to know you were going to finally go through with it that night?”
“So not telling me you were leaving town was some kind of payback?”
“No! It was some kind of chicken shit.” He hurled the words at her. “I wanted you so bad I was too chicken to tell you I was going before I slept with you. I thought maybe you’d change your mind, and I’m enough of a selfish bastard to do whatever it took to get in your bed.” He threw his hands up in disgust. “There! Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Not really.”
“I was scared. Does that make you feel better?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a hip, an all-too-familiar sneer marring her gorgeous mouth. “I figured that out already, but it’s nice to know you used your time in the land of fruits and nuts to become so self-aware.”
“Oh, I’m aware, all right.” Planting his hands on his hips, he took a single step forward, then leaned in a bit to close some of the distance without completely invading her space. “I’m aware absolutely nothing has changed for me. I still want everything I wanted when I left, including you, for some odd reason.”
“Get over it,” she shot back.
This time, it was his turn to curl his lip at her. “You don’t think I want to? You don’t think I tried?”
“Try harder.”
The challenge struck him like a glove across the face. The heat of anger drained from his blood, leaving only tepid resignation pulsing through his veins. “Is that what you want? Truly?”
She blinked, and suddenly those big, dark eyes were luminous with unshed tears. “I’m tired, Harley. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.”
“Yeah.” Swallowing the boulder stuck in his throat, he nodded. “Okay, yeah. Okay.” He waved a hand toward the stairs. “I’ll just...”
She stepped aside, flattening her back against her doorjamb as he passed. When the heel of his boot hit the first tread, he heard her whisper his name. He stilled but didn’t turn to look at her. He couldn’t. He was afraid he’d bumble and stammer and everything he wanted to say to her would come out in moron. Better to keep
quiet and listen. Really listen.
“I don’t know how to handle you,” she admitted at last. “I’m not sure I have what it takes.”
He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Sugar, you’ve been handling me for years. I’m not sure I can take much more of it.”
“Something has to give,” she whispered.
Gritting his teeth, he sucked air in between them. “Here’s my final offer,” he said at last, his voice gruff with the weight of what he needed to say. “I’ll give you space. Use it. Figure out if you want me, want us, once and for all.” Bracing a hand on the wall, he twisted his torso to meet her gaze full-on. “Because I’m done chasing you, Delaney. You’re going to have to come to me if you want something from me. Understood?”
White teeth sank into her lower lip. He almost groaned out loud as she gave him a slow nod.
Feeling slightly more confident than he had mere minutes ago, he returned the nod. “And when you do come, be ready. I mean really ready, because I’m done playing games, Sugar. When you say go, you and me, we’re going all in.”
Chapter 4
Laney jammed her thumb in her mouth, then closed her eyes and moaned in ecstasy as she sucked the dregs of Bubba’s famous sauce from her skin. When she stirred from her barbeque-induced bliss, she found Brooke openly staring at someone beyond Laney’s shoulder.
Since stealth had never been her strong suit, Laney didn’t even attempt it. Instead, she twisted in the booth and peered through the packed restaurant until her internal radar homed in on their former classmate, Darla Kennet.
The Pit was a Mobile landmark, and Darla was the much-beloved BBQ joint’s queen bee. She certainly had tenure locked up. As far as Laney knew, Darla had landed the job waiting tables mere days after she’d dropped out of St. Patrick’s and been kicked out of her parents’ house their senior year of high school. She’d been there ever since, serving up Bubba’s hickory-smoked meats with sides of slaw and sass.
