A Far Cry from Home

by Peri Elizabeth Scott

  Finding her knee-deep in dust and drywall mud he said, “How’s it going?”

  “Good.” She shoved at a lock of hair, leaving a faint smudge of white plaster on her cheek and he gave in to the urge to wipe it away with his thumb.

  She peered up at him, seeming to hold her breath as his digit made contact with her soft skin. Her hands were as rough and calloused as his own, yet her face was a paradox, smooth and silky, probably like the rest of her. “You had some stuff here.”

  With a tiny laugh, she swiveled away, clutching her trowel. “Careful. This stuff gets everywhere.”

  As she slapped some gunk on a seam, he observed, “This seems to be the last of it upstairs. For the electrical. I’ll help you paint.”

  “This has to dry and be sanded. Ready for paint tomorrow or the next day. But I can do it. Though I should be tending to more pressing stuff.”

  “You can’t do everything.” He knew he’d raised his voice but was powerless to prevent it. She was worn to a nub, thinner and with lines of strain on her face around her mouth and fanning out from her eyes. Not to mention the dark shadows beneath them.

  The trowel shuddered along the wall before she lifted it off and turned to face him. “I have a deadline, Maddox. And a budget.”

  Damnit. He couldn’t go back on that. She wasn’t talking about any reservations, but he knew they were few and far between. Even now, the upstairs safe and spiffed up, sans the new plumbing, people didn’t want to stay at The Inn, especially in this neck of the woods. In fact, the only option was to turn the property over to a developer and hope a housing development would save the grounds at least. Regan was going to be devastated, but he couldn’t see any other way. She’d feel even worse if she poured more money into it. He needed to talk to her about his recent efforts, and soon.

  “How’s that working out?”

  “Fine.” She worried her bottom lip with her top teeth and he itched to soothe the tiny hurt, somehow keeping his distance. “I mean, there will still be those shared baths but I’ll be able to get the rest of the repairs done.”

  “And the dining room? The fireplace?” It was like kicking a puppy as he asked the incontrovertible questions.

  “I can paint the dining room and I’m sure the fireplace will be fine. I’m getting it cleaned.”

  More like, she was cleaning it, and the thought of her clambering up on the damn roof… “The mortar needs pointing.”

  “I saw a do-it-yourself video the other day.”

  Shoving a hand through his hair instead of taking her by the shoulders for a good shake and a punishing kiss, he forced himself to nod. “It gets checked. By a professional. Before a fire is lit.”

  Mutinous sparks lit her eyes and her lips set. “You’re the money guy, Maddox.”

  “And half The Inn belongs to me. Which means half the liability.” And you exhausting yourself, using the rope I gave you to hang yourself, all because I hoped you’d recognize the futility… He kept his features impassive as he bit the words back.

  “I…” Her face softened. “Sorry. I forget we’re on the same team. I’ll figure it out. I know it.”

  Guilt ate at him and he couldn’t help it. He leaned in to wipe at her face again, despite there being nothing to remove. Slowly encroaching on her space for the past weeks, feeding her, taking opportunities like this to touch her, he’d felt like that mythical figure pushing a boulder uphill, in competition with this old money pit that was the love of her life.

  Love. His thoughts stuttered on the word, even as Regan leaned into his touch, her eyes widening as their stares locked. Nothing simple about this drawn-out seduction… He stroked her cheek, the trowel dipping dangerously beside them.

  The moist thump of the mud on the floor startled her and she drew back, blinking. “I’ll wash my face later. As soon as I get this finished.”

  Accepting it wasn’t the time nor place, he nodded and withdrew. “I’ll make dinner.”

  “That’d be great.”

  ****

  There it was again. Puzzled, Regan smoothed over the last seam and cleaned off the tool. Her heart was still beating fast, for it seemed like Maddox was going to kiss her, again. And dirty and dusty or not, she’d almost beaten him to it.

  But if he hadn’t been? She snapped the cover on the pail and breathed a sigh of relief. Saved herself an embarrassment. Maybe.

  Eyeing her work, she reconsidered. He had been planning to kiss her, despite their near argument, or maybe because of it. She needed to talk with him, really talk. Maybe confess… Because she wanted the air clear between them almost as much as she wanted another kiss.

  She washed up as best she could and thought about changing, but he’d seen her at her worst and she decided there was no reason to waste any more time. So, she clomped down to the kitchen, making a mental note to return later with a mop to erase her ghostly footsteps.

  Maddox wasn’t in the room, although there was a package of chicken out on the counter, Oscar eyeing it from his perch by his food dish. She placed it back in the fridge—no sense in tempting fate, as in the cat, and paced through the house.

  Not hearing him, she looked outside and saw a vehicle parked out front. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but perhaps he was and she thought to go in search of him to find out.

  Chapter Five

  Faint, feminine laughter drew her down the path where it curved around the back of the house. The crystalline sound wasn’t anything like the death knell she’d read about, but when she rounded the corner her chest took an invisible blow that staggered her to a halt.

  Her lungs strove to draw some form of oxygen into their depths but despite her parted lips and flaring nostrils, breathing was beyond her ability. Karen Winters posed prettily against the split wood fence, one hip canted, shoulders back to better display her breasts, shaking back that luxurious mane of blonde hair as she laughed up at Maddox.

  A slender, perfectly manicured hand rested sweetly on his forearm and Regan could see the faint stroking motion even at a distance.

  It wasn’t that he was doing anything other than smile back at the beauty and murmur something else to make her further express her mirth that brought Regan’s world down around her. It was the fact that it took the vision unfolding—informing—before her very eyes, to literally knock some sense into her. Her body throbbed as if an open wound.

  Anger, at herself, flavored with gut-wrenching despair, warred deep inside before she managed a quick hit of air and broke her frozen stance. Quietly, she turned on her heel and hustled away toward the relative safety of The Inn.

  Despite all of her private remonstrations and quashing her need to read anything into Maddox’s kindnesses, she’d been nurturing a stupid hope. He hadn’t wanted to kiss her. Nor do anything else with her. Not when he could have women like Karen.

  The fairytale she’d been selling herself was her own fault in entirety. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want the responsibility of rebuilding the old inn and running it as a business. He’d made that clear from the beginning, agreeing to a probationary period only when she’d played the sympathy card.

  Her teeth set and gritted in shame when she thought about how quickly she’d played it. She swiped at the stupid moisture leaking from her eyes as she swallowed a bitter laugh. Karen Winters was Maddox’s kind of woman, not Regan Ferguson, not when one compared the two. Never mind all the other beauties Maddox could effortlessly surround himself with.

  Casting a glance downward at her stained jeans and sloppy shirt, her broken-down boots with the knotted laces made her grimace, and she knew her ditchwater-brown hair had partially escaped the braid she’d wrestled it into that morning. The strands would be curling against the humidity and making her look like an abandoned waif without a hint of sophistication. Not to mention the lack of makeup. And no perfectly manicured, soft hands with polished nails for her.

  Kissing her all covered in drywall dust and mud. Right after he’d admonished her for working too har
d. She’d misread the situation.

  Maddox was merely being kind, giving her the chance to fail so he wouldn’t come off looking like the bad guy. He’d made it clear in the beginning. Sell The Inn, walk away with a profit, and split the proceeds. Right now it was half of pretty much nothing with the exception of a few bookings she’d prayed for. She hated to think of a developer waiting in the wings with bated breath, but when a person had an epiphany…

  How had he stood living here the past weeks, albeit the time punctuated with several business trips to get his fix in the big city? And doubtless, some of that time spent with stunning, sexy females. His dedication to her, his adopted cousin, was admirable—and rubbed like salt in her burning humiliation atop of the stupid jealousy.

  He wasn’t hers in any shape or form, and that one stupid kiss, those looks she caught coming her way when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, his interest in her welfare, they added up to nothing more than nothing. She should be thanking Karen for tearing the blinders from her eyes.

  Because, in retrospect, just how much did The Inn mean to her, now that she was alone in the world and fighting an uphill battle? So much backbreaking work for little to no gain. It was time she accepted that retreat was the only sensible option before…

  Before what? She passed a weary hand over her face. She’d already fallen hard for the enigmatic Maddox. In the very beginning, she believed she could read him, but since the moment they’d shaken—and kissed—to seal that stupid deal, had she really? Or maybe she simply didn’t have the experience, the wherewithal, to decipher the man.

  That didn’t change the way she felt about him or how her body continued to respond whenever he came within proximity. Stupid country bumpkin. She huffed a bitter laugh and set away her self-pity. First things first. Once The Inn was out of the way and the money issue solved, maybe she could enjoy a cautious, normal connection with Maddox. And his mother and sister. It would kill her to see him with other women, but at least he’d still be in her life without The Inn looming over them. Better half a loaf than none. Maybe.

  She squared her shoulders, happy she’d gotten her priorities straight. Taking the wide stairs in a near run, once again tracking dust—and dirt—along with her, she dragged out her cell phone as she shut herself in her room. She’d feel things out with a realtor, show him she could face reality and be worthy of that admiration and respect he showed her.

  “Active Realty, Margo speaking.”

  “It’s Regan. Regan Ferguson.”

  “Hey! I was just thinking about you.” The older woman’s voice took on a nervous undertone.

  “You were?”

  “Oh, you know.”

  Regan didn’t, and her curiosity was piqued before she took herself in hand. “I was wondering about listing The Inn.”

  “Oh, honey! So you and Maddox have had the talk. That’s so great. I’ve known you forever, me and your mom being friends and all, and I must say I wasn’t comfortable holding out on you.”

  A trickle of cold warning worked its way down Regan’s spine. She managed a noncommittal, “Hmm.”

  “All it’ll take is your signature, but I’ve got two buyers lined up. It’s nice to have a choice, don’t you think? Although both terms are pretty enticing.”

  Regan’s knees gave out and she sat on the edge of the bed with an unceremonious splat, her body bowing forward. “Buyers? Two?”

  “Did he say differently? Nothing’s changed since we met, oh, it must be a week or so now. The deadline is in about five weeks.”

  That would fit within the three-month time frame he’d given her. Regan’s spinning head managed to do the simple math. “Five weeks,” she croaked.

  “They want it badly enough to sign up for that amount of leeway,” Margo explained. “Both developers, and Maddox and I know how you feel about that. But progress, you know. Good for you and the town. One has actually submitted an environmental plan. A nice carrot, considering how you worry about the effects of developments on the land. And of course, you should!”

  Margo rattled on for some time while Regan tried to apply some other rationale and exonerate Maddox. But in the end, it became painfully clear. He’d lied to her—if by omission. He’d let her half kill herself in crushingly long days to make the necessary changes to bring The Inn up to acceptable standards, bankrolling the paltry attempts, but putting a ceiling on that amount. And all the while plotting behind her back so that when she was forced to accept failure there wouldn’t be more time wasted, searching for a buyer. Cruel to be kind…

  How stupid was she? He’d been patiently humoring her, no doubt telling his mother and sister that he needed to do right by his cousin, the country pauper. Why else would he have done it? She didn’t dare come up with any scenarios, seeing as a hefty dollop of humiliation had already been applied to her situation, and with her own heavy hand.

  “Regan?” Margo evidently determined she was speaking to a deaf and dumb audience.

  “Sorry. Lost in thought.” Her fingers clenched around her phone. A red tinge marred her stare as she gazed at the plank floor, wishing for some way to hurt the man who had unfairly inherited a half of her home and business, all because her father hadn’t a lick of business sense.

  Any stupid, longing thoughts regarding him were banished by the fact of his recent action.

  Margo asked, “Do you want me to come there? I can easily bundle up the file and be there—”

  “No!” She caught herself and listened for anything that might denote someone else—Maddox—inside the house. “No, that’s fine, Margo. I’ll drop by your office.”

  “When?” The older woman didn’t bother to hide her eagerness, so the commission was probably substantial.

  But timing was the question. She needed a little time. Time to pull herself together and make a new plan. “Tomorrow morning?”

  “I could see you at ten, or a little after.”

  “I’ll be there.” She hesitated and then went for it. “And Margo? I want this to be a surprise for Maddox, okay?”

  “Ah, like a wedding gift.”

  “What?”

  The other woman coughed. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s just that he seemed so… That is… Well, I’ve been reading historical romance novels. You know, dowries and such.”

  There was absolutely nothing Regan had to say to that, although those same romances were her go-to in the past. Why on earth would Margo even consider Maddox and her in that configuration? She squinched her eyes shut and absently rubbed her sternum with her free hand. Those stupid fantasies… They’d obviously spilled over into daytime and she hadn’t been vigilant in hiding them.

  Had the town’s people taken notice? Had she given herself away with desperate, longing glances when she and Maddox had been in town together, picking up supplies and groceries? Dear Lord…

  “I’ll see you at ten.” She coaxed her tone into sounding relatively normal.

  Forcing her fingers to relinquish their grip, she carefully set her cell on the night table, staring around the room. If she considered everything else in the rest of the place, her head would explode. All the antiques…

  Was there anything she simply couldn’t leave behind? The enormity of her subconscious decision stole her air again, and for a few moments, the only sound was her faint panting. And Maddox’s betrayal had provided additional impetus to make a quick, firm break. She should be grateful to him. A snarl of laughter rent the quiet space.

  When she mastered herself, she accepted the fact there was nothing outside of her room she couldn’t live without, years of strangers staying at the property had inured her to expect pilfering and loss. Years of dwindling finances had necessitated the sale of the more portable, valuable items.

  With a sigh, she focused on the task ahead, knowing it would keep her reasonably sane. Pulling a large, ancient, hard-cover case from under the bed, she took two smaller ones from its depth and began to pack. It went quickly. She had little in the way of cloth
ing, most of it the jeans and shirts reflective of hard labor, and a couple of jackets. A coat and two pairs of shoes joined the rest and she tucked two photo albums along the sides, grateful she’d scanned the rest of the pictures and stored them electronically.

  When her door creaked open she froze, staring at it with her heart literally beating in her throat. But it was only Oscar, who sauntered in to give her one of his amber-eyed stares before turning his attention to her luggage.

  With a curious grunt, he clambered into the open case and huddled down into the bunch of fabric.

  “You’re coming too,” she promised and perched on the bed to smooth his fur. “We have each other, fella.”

  A rusty purr emanated from his chest and he butted his head into her hand, eyes slitting shut in apparent relief. The feel of him settled her further and she gathered her thoughts. Her decision to give up The Inn was a good one, no matter that it pinched and how it was brought about. Like being immersed in cold water, shocked, she’d seen it clearly.

  It was her cousin sneaking around her back that cut her to the quick. A familial betrayal and those hurt a lot. Another story she was sticking to. The good news was she had no reason—no need—to stick around. Might as well take advantage of Maddox on site to deal with the sale while she … left.

  The place she intended to flee to—no, that wasn’t accurate, she was relocating—seemed perfectly reasonable. Montana had colder weather than Vermont, so the jeans and flannel wouldn’t be out of place there. Maybe she’d buy some cowboy boots… A little hitch in her throat had her swallowing down a sob.

  With a final stroke to Oscar’s back, she returned to her packing.

  Her serviceable underwear, sleepwear, and some toiletries, plus a change of clothing for the road went into the small tote, and her laptop and all the necessary attachments in the middle-sized one. And she was done, aside from a couple of small pictures and trinkets. Those she tucked in her purse. A few pieces of worn clothing would remain behind, and she had clothes for the morning.