Going, Going, Gone: Bid On Love: Bachelor #2

by Samantha A. Cole

  Dylan stiffened, and Nessa knew she shouldn’t have asked that of him. Propping himself up on his arm, he glared at her. “Is that why you’ve stayed with me? So, if you couldn’t get the proof you need, then I’d be more than happy to keep pushing back the sale date as long as I got something out of it. Did you decide to sleep with me before or after you realized there was a good chance the DNA wouldn’t come in, Nessa?”

  Her eyes widened at his harshly spoken words. “I—that’s not why—” She shook her head in astonishment. “I can’t believe you just accused me of sleeping with you to—to—to . . . God, you make me sound like a prostitute!” Rage coursed through her. How dare he? Flinging the covers off her, she stood and grabbed her robe from behind the closet door. She yanked it on and tied the belt tightly before opening the door to the hallway. “Get out.”

  He’d already stood and was pulling on his pants. He was still angry, but his tone had become wary. “Nessa, listen—”

  “No, Dylan. I’m not going to fucking listen. You just accused me of doing something despicable, and, right now, there’s nothing you can add that won’t make me want to start throwing things at you, so get the hell out.”

  Her molars ground together as she watched him pull on his shirt and sneakers with jerky movements. His expression told her he was somewhere between pissed and remorseful, but she couldn’t tell which held more water with him. And she didn’t care.

  Once he was dressed, and made sure he had his wallet, phone, and keys, he stalked across the room. In the doorway, he paused and pivoted toward her. “Nessa—”

  She refused to look at him but held her head high. “Goodbye, Dylan.”

  Without another word, he walked down the hallway. A moment later, her front door slammed. By the time she heard him drive away, she’d already collapsed on her bed in a fit of tears. Damn him.

  With his head in his hands and his elbows on the table in his mother’s kitchen, Dylan moaned. “I screwed up, Mom. I seriously screwed up and have no idea how to fix it.”

  Kaye McBride set a glass of water in front of her son before taking the seat across from him. She’d called to talk to him not long after he’d walked out on Nessa, and, after hearing his tone of voice, had insisted he come to her house. He’d known a mile down the road from Nessa’s place, he’d fucked up, big time. Why he’d thrown those accusations in her face, he’d never know, but what was done was done. He couldn’t undo it, so he’d have to find a way to repair the damage.

  “Then give me the bigger story and let me see what sage advice I can dole out.”

  He chuckled wryly. His mother had never steered him wrong with her words of wisdom, and it was doubtful she’d start now. He felt like such an ass, but the words poured forth. “I accused her of sleeping with me just in case she needed more time to make her case. So she could try to convince me to push back the sale date again if she couldn’t get the proof in time.”

  “Oh, you didn’t.” When he rolled his eyes and frowned, she tsked at him. “You did.” Sighing loudly, his mother stood and stepped into the dining room. Moments later, she was back, placing a shot of whiskey in front of him. When he raised his brow at her, she grinned. “You’ll need it for the courage to fix what you so eloquently said you ‘screwed up.’”

  “It’s 10:00 a.m.”

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere, as the saying goes.” He knew better than to argue with her and downed the alcohol, savoring the punishing burn. “Now, why would you accuse Nessa of that? From what I’ve been able to tell, sex is not something she would use to her advantage.”

  “It’s not.” He knew that for certain. “And I have no idea why I did it. Things had been great. Then she got a phone call that the DNA didn’t come through. She asked if there was any way I could get the sale delayed again, and I just . . . just . . .”

  “Acted like a jerk?”

  “Yeah, that.” He ran a hand through his short hair. “Damn, mom. What do I do? I’ve never felt like this with a woman before.”

  She tilted her head to the side, her intelligent eyes studying his face. “Like what?”

  “Like . . . like I want to be with her all the time. Like I want to spend the rest of my life with her. That if things didn’t work out between us, my heart will be ripped out of my chest.”

  “And that scares the living daylights out of you.”

  It’d been a statement, not a question, but he still answered it. “Yeah . . . yeah, it does.”

  “Well, that’s why you acted like a jerk.”

  His eyes narrowed at her. “Huh?”

  Reaching across the table, she placed her hand on top of his. “Honey, everything you’re feeling is normal. You think you found the love of your life, but you’re scared she might not feel the same way about you. So, in that sometimes-dense, male noggin of yours, it’s better to push Nessa away before you lose your heart to her, just in case she decides to walk away, stomping on it on her way out the door.”

  Dylan bit his bottom lip and let her wise words flow through him. He’d never been in love before. Yes, he knew what it was like to love and to have that love returned in spades—his family was living proof—but to be in love was something he’d never experienced . . . until now. “Was it really love at first sight for you and Dad?”

  The corners of her mouth ticked upward, and her eyes twinkled. “For him, yes. That afternoon we met? It was right after the Memorial Day parade. Your dad walked up to me and introduced himself. We spent the rest of the day with a combined group of friends at the carnival. Before we said goodnight, Gavin said he was going to marry me someday. I thought he was nuts . . . cute, but nuts. It took me two dates to realize what he’d known right away. Sometimes that lightning bolt moment hits right away . . . sometimes the storm is a little slower rolling in. But, either way, if it’s right, the sky will light up like the Fourth of July.”

  A smile spread across his face. “You’re a helluva woman, you know that, right?”

  “Your dad told me that all the time.”

  “As he should’ve. So . . . how do I fix this mess I’m in?” he asked, ready to grovel at Nessa’s feet if necessary.

  She patted his hand and stood. “I’ve got an idea. It was the reason I’d called you in the first place.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sitting on Faith’s couch, Nessa tried to keep her tears at bay, as she stroked Wink, a one-eyed cat that’d been rescued as a kitten and spoiled rotten ever since. Nessa barely remembered teaching her two classes earlier before arriving at her friend’s front door. She was still in shock that Dylan had accused her of using him. Of practically pimping herself to get her way. After he’d stormed out, she’d cried her eyes out until there’d been nothing left. Then she’d showered and pulled on her big-girl panties. It wasn’t the first time she’d had her heart ripped out, but it was the first time she’d felt like the damage was irreparable.

  “Here. Happy hour requires us to be happy, so wine will pave the way.” Faith handed her a glass filled to the rim with pinot grigio before sitting next to her. She clinked her glass against Nessa’s in a toast as Wink jumped from one comfortable lap into the other, purring loudly. “Here’s to men who aren’t douche canoes or cunt waffles. I’m not sure where the only dozen or so of them live, but hopefully one day we’ll come across them, so we can tag them for migration purposes.”

  Despite her watery eyes, Nessa chuckled and shook her head. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. It sounded good in my head. Mind you, I’m one glass up on you.”

  “Bad day for you too?”

  Faith was a paralegal for a divorce lawyer. She often saw the sad results of failed marriages, some of which involved spousal and child abuse or neglect. “You remember that story from the Bible that freaked us out in grade school. The one about the two women claiming the child was theirs, and the king said cut the child in half and give one to each. The one woman agreed and, instead of letting that happen, the other aske
d the king to give the child to the first woman. That was how he figured out which was the real mother. She’d rather give him up than see him be harmed. I’ve never wanted to be a bible thumper before, but there are days I wish I could shove that passage into some parents’ faces. It’s always about them and getting revenge for whatever reason. And it’s the kids that suffer.”

  Nessa knew better than to ask for details, since Faith had to follow the same client/attorney confidentiality laws her employer was bound by. So, instead, she tried to lighten the mood. “Yeah, I remember that. I also remember Tommy Grossman bringing his sister’s doll and a Star Wars light saber into Sunday school the following week, wanting to act it out.”

  Faith giggled. “Yup. Didn’t surprise me at all when he became a surgeon.”

  “Me either.” Nessa took a few sips of wine, the taste barely registering. Her heart clenched as she remembered the picnic Dylan had brought to the movie in the park. He’d been so sweet—the perfect gentleman courting her, letting her decide when the time was right to take the next step in their relationship. The more she thought about what’d happened between her and Dylan that morning, the more she realized a lot of it was her fault. “I think I screwed up.”

  Faith’s eyes narrowed. “You? I thought Dylan was the one who screwed up. What exactly happened?”

  All she’d told her friend was “Dylan’s an asshole,” when she’d first arrived. Now, she regretted saying even that. Letting out a heavy sigh, she grimaced. “Nothing I really want to repeat. And honestly, his anger was in response to something stupid I’d said, and instead of seeing it from his side, I blew up at him. We both said things—well, I hope he regrets his words as much as I regret mine.”

  “That sucks. So, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. But I think we need to take a break from each other. At least for a little bit.” With the Coldrick farm hanging between them, Nessa wanted to find out one way or another if it could be saved, but she didn’t want Dylan to think she was using him. If their relationship could be salvaged, then it would have to be with a clean slate. No second doubts. She had four days left until the farm was sold. Until then, she’d work her ass off tracking down the last organizations on her list, even if she had to visit each in person and crawl through their basements and attics on her own.

  Three days later, it’d taken everything within Dylan not to go crawling to Nessa and beg for her forgiveness. He’d texted her the morning after their fight, apologizing, after she hadn’t answered his phone call. At first, he’d thought she’d still been seething and had refused to answer when she saw his name and number, but a half hour after his text, she’d responded with one of her own.

  I was in a meeting and couldn’t answer. I’m sorry too, Dylan. I said things I regret, but I’m also still hurting. I think we need some time apart. Maybe after this thing with the farm is over, we can sit down and talk, but until then, I think it’s best that we not see each other.

  His first instinct had been to drive over to her condo and demand they talk right then and there until she forgave him for being an ass, but he’d suspected that would make things worse. She’d wanted some time, and he’d give it to her. In the meantime, he and his mother had been doing a little research. His mom had met a friend of hers, Alice Barnes, for breakfast the other morning—the same morning he and Nessa had fought—and it’d been the reason she’d called to talk to him. Kaye had mentioned Nessa’s theory about the Coldrick farm being part of the Underground Railroad, including the artifacts that’d been found and the diary that was still missing. A longtime benefactor of the local library, Alice had been acquainted with Elise Coldrick. She recalled that many, many years ago, the library had displayed a collection of vintage items from the Coldrick family for several months. Some things had been from the early 1900s, but others had been even older than that. Usually after displays were taken down, all the items were returned to their donor, but sometimes they were packed up and stored in the library’s basement—which was where Dylan and his mother were for the third afternoon in a row. Their time had been limited due to work and prior commitments, but they’d spent hours pouring through boxes and boxes and more boxes—there had to be close to 700 of them. He’d lost count after a while, and they were only about two-thirds of the way through them. If he had to be here all night to find the box they were looking for—if it was even there—he would. He wanted nothing more than to be able to show the world that his Nessa had been right.

  Dylan sneezed from the dust, and, not for the first time, asked, “Why are they keeping all this crap?”

  Many of the boxes were filled with books that’d been taken out of circulation for one reason or another, mostly because they’d been damaged or there were extra copies the library didn’t have room for on the upstairs shelves. There were also decorations for every freaking holiday, including some Dylan had never heard of. Other boxes contained junk—plain and simple. Seriously. What the hell is a hand-cranked egg beater doing in a box with a taxidermied squirrel named Henry?

  Moving another box out of the way, Dylan used his pocket knife to slice open the packing tape. He was just about to dig into the contents when his mother gasped beside him. “Dylan! I think I found it!”

  Slowly she lifted a glass case out of the box on a table in front of her. Inside was what looked like a leather-bound journal, well-worn with time. The delicate pages had yellowed long ago. His mother set the case on the table after Dylan quickly moved the box out of her way. “Look!”

  Dylan saw what she was pointing at. A typed label was attached to the top glass pane. Diary of Emily Coldrick—1848-1851. Donated by Mr. & Mrs. Frank Coldrick.

  “They were Elise’s parents. Alice mentioned them the other day.”

  Staring at the diary, Dylan realized he had no idea what to do next. As much as he wanted to open the case and read the pages, he didn’t think that was a good idea. After all, the artifact was over 160 years old. Thankfully, his mother knew what to do. Pulling her cell phone out of her purse, she began making calls.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Walking into the local courthouse a little before 10:00 a.m., Nessa was still confused as to what she was doing there. Kaye McBride had called her cell phone two hours earlier and asked Nessa to meet her at a hearing room on the fifth floor at ten. When she’d asked why, the older woman had been vague and promised to explain when Nessa got there. Since she didn’t have a class until this afternoon, there had been no reason she couldn’t go and find out what was going on.

  After passing through the security measures, Nessa boarded an elevator and rode it to the fifth floor. Stepping out, she glanced to the right and then left, figuring out which way she had to go. When she found the correct room, she entered the open door and was surprised to see it was set up like a large conference room instead of a courtroom. Several people were either standing or sitting at the long table that was surrounded by over a dozen chairs.

  “Vanessa!”

  Kaye’s voice caught her attention, but it was the sight of Dylan standing next to his mother that caused Nessa to freeze in place. The older woman approached and gave her a friendly hug. “I know my son was a jerk. He told me, and I would’ve been just as furious with him as you if I were in your shoes. He’s very sorry. I hope you’ll give him another chance after the hearing.”

  There was so much in those three sentences that confused Nessa that she didn’t know where to begin. He’d told his mother about their fight and she’s siding with me? Give him another chance? After the hearing? Nessa settled on that last question. “What’s going on? What hearing is this and why am I here?”

  “Come, and we’ll explain in a minute.” Kaye hooked their arms together and escorted her across the room to where Dylan stood with two other men. All three were dressed in business suits, but Dylan outshined the others. Damn it. Why did he have to look so drool-worthy?

  He smiled at her. “Hi.”

 
; “Hi. What’s going on?”

  Before he could open his mouth to respond, a door at the rear of the room swung open and a gray-haired gentleman, wearing a black judicial robe, strode in. “All right. Please be seated and let’s get started.”

  More confused than before, Nessa sat in a chair that Kaye directed her to. Dylan and his mother flanked her in their own seats. The judge sat at the head of the table. To his left was a female court reporter with a steno machine. The two men Dylan had been speaking to sat on his other side, while across the table, two men and one woman, who was about Nessa’s age, took their seats. The man sitting directly across from Nessa looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him. Other than that, she didn’t recognize anyone else except Dylan and his mom.

  The judge rapped a gavel on the table once. “Today’s hearing is for both parties to give reason why the sale of . . . let me see.” He glanced at a stack of papers in front of him. “The sale of Coldrick farms should be approved or denied. Will all parties present please state your name for the record?”

  One by one, everyone in the room said their name aloud along with their company name if it applied. The two men to Dylan’s right were lawyers, as was one of the men and the woman on the other side of the table. Nessa recognized the name of the man she’d thought looked familiar. Reverend Price was the leader of one of those fanatical churches. She’d seen him in the news numerous times, usually protesting and thumping his Bible for anything he perceived to be a sin in his book. Nessa knew the type. They stretched the passages in the Bible to suit their needs. Everyone who wasn’t up to their standards was going to hell.

  After Dylan introduced himself for the record, he turned to Nessa and indicated she should do the same. “Um . . . Vanessa Adams.”

  She didn’t know what else she was supposed to say, so she remained quiet, but Dylan added, “If I may, your Honor, Professor Adams teaches at Tidewater Community College and has a PhD in History.”