Hardheaded (Deep in the Heart Book 1)

by Kim Law

  He had to one-up her on this, too?

  Oh hell no. This was their opportunity. She’d keep the attention on them if she had to strip naked in the middle of the room and climb on top of the—

  Trenton’s gaze lasered to hers as if reading her thoughts. Trenton and Heather knew Jill had a bit of a hair trigger when her ire was up. Heck, the entire town knew it, though she had done an excellent job of reining it in over the last five years.

  But Cal had a way of making that hair trigger exponentially worse.

  “Just don’t look,” Heather muttered behind her coffee cup.

  “Trust me. I don’t intend to.” But she didn’t miss when the cameraman moved closer to Cal. She barely kept herself from crushing her own to-go cup in her hand. “Why is he even here?” she gritted out. “And what in the world is he doing over there?”

  “Just sitting at the counter.” Trenton watched through her lashes. “Greeting Loretta.”

  And no doubt Loretta was greeting him. Probably after losing the top two buttons of her top. She and Cal had a long-term on-again, off-again thing—which was off at the moment since he was dating Marci—but from everything Jill had heard, Loretta was determined to turn it back on.

  Of course, Marci sang a different tune. She was busy running around town, telling anyone who would listen, that she would be the one to finally snag the youngest Reynolds.

  High-pitched laughter trilled through the room, followed by a deep rumble that could only come from Calhoun Reynolds, and . . . dammit . . . Jill couldn’t help it. She turned. Because he should not be in—

  He was staring at her.

  He sat on a stool at the far end of the counter, his dark hair slightly mussed by the spring winds, and the scruff of his beard shadowing his face in a way that only accentuated the strong line of his jaw. Loretta batted her eyelashes at him while he carried on a seemingly normal conversation . . . but the deep-brown depths Jill had done her best to avoid since returning to Red Oak Falls were focused on her.

  The camera covering Jill moved in tighter.

  “Let’s just go,” Trenton whispered behind Jill.

  But instead of taking the advice of her youngest foster sister, Jill took in the rest of the dining room. Because she was stubborn like that. Her eyes roamed over women, men, even all the babies who would normally have already been dropped off at day care by that time of day. And she noted that every last one of them was looking from her to Cal.

  And she knew that every last one of them was fully aware that she and Cal didn’t speak. Ever.

  That she and Cal had once run off to Vegas to get married.

  And that Cal had returned—alone—after only one day.

  With cameras now positioned on both her and her ex, the crowd seemed to be hovering on the edge, waiting to see what would happen next. As if wondering if Cal’s appearance in the café was by chance—or if her past with him would somehow be worked into the show.

  And then Jill’s stomach sank. She faced the lens that was now practically in her face, imagining she could see through the layers of glass to the blue eyes on the opposite side. Then she slowly turned her head to seek out Patrick. But as had happened the night before, the producer’s gaze didn’t quite meet her own. And Jill finally had a full understanding of the situation.

  Texas Dream Home hadn’t merely wanted Bluebonnet Construction for the novelty of them being an all-female crew. Or because they were foster sisters who’d been thrown together in the worst of circumstances. They’d also unearthed Jill’s marriage. As well as her quickie divorce. And they were looking for drama.

  She turned an accusing stare on Cal. What a sellout. That was why the focus of the show would be on her. Had he made them pay him to show up at the diner today?

  Or maybe he had done it for free. Because he was such a “good guy.”

  And just what was he supposed to do now that he was there?

  The bastard. He’d been out to ruin her since she’d come back home. The two of them might never speak, yet somehow, he was always there. Putting in bids on every renovation job Bluebonnet tried to get. Charming the ever-loving pants off anyone who so much as considered giving them their business.

  So what was his plan now? To pop up wherever she happened to be for the next six weeks, simply to keep her off balance?

  Or would he take it a step further? Was he there to make her lose her temper?

  She pressed her lips together at that thought. If they’d brought him in to make her lose her temper, that meant the producers were also aware of her past anger issues. And that they intended to exploit them.

  A low growl began in the back of her throat. What would they do next? Have Cal show up on the set?

  Her stomach pitched. This whole thing was nothing but a joke to them.

  Just as it had been in Hollywood, little was as it seemed. Everything was about taking. Using. It was “what can you do for me?” She’d known something had been off about the setup for the show. She should have listened to her gut. If it walks like a skunk and smells like a skunk . . .

  She glared at Cal. And he definitely had a stench about him.

  His returning look gave nothing away, his features masked with stoicism. But at that point, she wasn’t looking for anything from him. The show clearly knew the facts. And for the sake of entertaining television, they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work juicy gossip like her and Cal’s past into the episodes. She wouldn’t pass it up, either, if she were producing the show. Especially when that juiciness was all twisted up with another local contractor—

  Her mouth went dry before she could finish the thought. Surely they hadn’t . . .

  She jerked her gaze back to Patrick, but this time, the man didn’t even pretend she was still in the same room. He’d turned his back to her.

  They had.

  Bile rose to the back of her throat.

  She fought the urge to put her hands over her mouth, clenching them in her lap instead. Damn him. He had no right. Cal wasn’t just a plant to get under her skin. He was their competition.

  She stood then, without another word or a backward glance to anyone, and she walked straight out of the building. Except, she didn’t quite make it out as poised as she would have liked. Because right before slipping into the bright morning sunshine, she kicked the crap out of two empty chairs.

  Chapter Three

  “Be a lady. You are from Texas, after all. But when the occasion arises to kick some rear, never show mercy.”

  —Blu Johnson, life lesson #97

  Trenton’s four-door Titan sped down Highway 71—a camera crew following closely behind—as Jill sat stewing in the middle of the front seat. Over the last week, she’d heard time and again that Texas Dream Home chose one team from the community where the houses were to be renovated. Not two. The producers had even hinted at this same thing when she’d first talked to them.

  And Bluebonnet Construction was the one!

  Yet clearly, that wasn’t always the case.

  She growled under her breath as she had at the diner. She couldn’t believe she’d been played like that.

  It’ll put your business on the map, Jill.

  You’ll never want for anything again.

  Both those things had been said to her before she’d agreed to sign the contract. Though Heather, Trenton, and Aunt Blu had already convinced her to jump in with both feet, she’d requested a phone call before putting pen to paper. She’d wanted to talk specifics.

  The producers she’d spoken with had answered all her questions, saying what Jill needed to hear, and in all honesty, everything had come across as aboveboard during that call. They’d even been up front about their intentions to use Jill’s, Heather’s, and Trenton’s backgrounds as personal interest stories. The unusualness of the three of them having all been orphaned late in their childhoods would show their connection, while how they’d come to arrive at Bluebonnet Farms would endear them to viewers.

  Jill had expected t
hat. Their years in foster care would have to be part of the story. It was how they’d met. Why they’d ended up starting a company together. Just as Aunt Blu would eventually be interviewed, as well. Viewers would find it heartwarming to know that out of such tragedy, happy endings could be found. And she was prepared for all of that.

  Yet for some reason, she had not been prepared for Cal. At all. Once they’d been chosen to be on the show, Cal hadn’t crossed her mind.

  It had crossed theirs, though. In a big way. But what she wanted to know now was if they’d uncovered her past all on their own, or if Cal had gone to them. Had he somehow found out about Aunt Blu entering them into the competition and reached out to the show? He and Aunt Blu used to be close. And Jill knew they stopped to chat any time they saw each other in town.

  But if he had done that, then why? Did he hate her that much?

  She hated him that much. But still . . . she had a right to that hate. Because he’d been the one to leave!

  She fought the urge to growl again. She and Cal had both been too hotheaded back then, but he’d simply refused to see reason that morning. It had to be his way or no way. No delays. No consideration of her wants. What had made it even worse, though, was how he’d been unwilling to believe in her. Even for a second. No matter how much she’d begged.

  He’d offered only ridicule—and then he’d walked away.

  She’d wanted to kill him.

  “We’ve got to at least go to the houses,” Trenton said. Her eyes remained on the road, her hands at ten and two, while Heather had an arm wrapped around Jill’s shoulders. Heather patted Jill’s thigh as Trenton’s eyes flicked from the road to the rearview mirror.

  “I can’t believe they brought your marriage into this,” Heather said, attempting to soothe.

  Heather was the comforter, but all three of them fully understood that it was so much more than bringing her marriage into this. None of them had openly stated as much, though. Yet. They’d simply driven. And fumed.

  Heather patted Jill’s leg again.

  And Heather had soothed.

  “It’s Aunt Blu,” Trenton said as her phone rang through the truck’s speakers.

  “Don’t answer it.” Trenton’s phone had rung three times in the fifteen minutes since they’d driven away, all calls coming from Blu. No doubt someone had been dialing Blu’s number at the same time as Jill had been exiting the café.

  Trenton glanced in her rearview again. “Maybe we should just”—she cut a look at Jill—“they’re still following us, Jilly.”

  “And likely recording us,” Heather added softly.

  Jill squeezed her eyes shut. “Fine,” she forced out. “Just go. You’re right. They’re not going to stop, and I’m doing nothing but making us look like idiots. Let’s just go and get it over with.”

  Only, she had no idea what she was supposed to do once they got there.

  “We didn’t say you were making us look like idiots,” Heather argued half-heartedly.

  Trenton said nothing.

  Jill kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t go through with the show now, could she? How could she possibly hold it together if she had to deal with Cal for the next six weeks?

  Her chest ached. She’d truly been excited about doing this.

  Heather’s phone rang then, deep in the shoulder bag that had dropped to the floor of the truck, and Heather reached down for it at the same time that Trenton made a left and headed back toward Pear Street. Though they’d been driving since leaving the café, it had mostly been in a large loop. They weren’t far away from the houses.

  “Tell her we’ll be there soon,” Jill muttered. She hated letting Blu down.

  Except, the look that flashed through Heather’s eyes indicated that it wasn’t their foster mother on the phone.

  She answered anyway.

  Jill couldn’t hear the person on the other end, but Heather’s eyes flicked to Jill as she listened. Her throat moved up and down with a swallow. Then she nodded, closed her eyes, and nodded again.

  “Thank you,” Heather whispered. “I’ll let her know.”

  She hung up as Trenton hit Pear Street, and the first thing Jill saw was Cal’s black four-wheel-drive truck.

  “That was him on the phone.” Jill didn’t bother phrasing it as a question.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jill eyed the empty driver’s seat of the truck before scanning the remaining vehicles and people milling about on the closed-off street. There was no sign of Cal. “What did he want?”

  Heather didn’t immediately answer.

  Trenton pulled to a stop twenty yards behind Cal’s truck, muttering under her breath about how she couldn’t believe they’d done this to them, but Jill ignored her. Her only concern at the moment was what Heather had to say. But when Heather continued her silence, Jill turned to her, finding her foster sister’s usually serene eyes riddled with anxiety.

  “What did he want?” Jill repeated. She was hanging on by a mere thread.

  “He wanted to . . .” Heather sounded as miserable as Jill felt. “He snuck off to call us. He wanted to make sure you understood that he is our competition—”

  Jill grunted in disgust.

  “And he said that he”—Heather swallowed—“feels bad for blindsiding you like that.”

  “Then why did he do it?” Trenton bit out. Her tone announced that her anger was a close second behind Jill’s.

  “He didn’t say why he did it,” Heather continued with a grimace, “but he said that once he got in the café and . . . saw your face . . . that he regretted it.”

  Hurt battled with anger. Jill had known he’d had to be involved.

  “He apologized?” Heather made the sentence sound like a question.

  Jill didn’t bother pointing out that his apology wasn’t accepted.

  “He also offered to tell them that filming would have to be delayed.” Heather licked her lips. “Whatever we need him to say, he’ll do it. Whatever you need to happen so that you don’t walk into the upcoming meet and greet mentally unprepared.” She scrunched up her face and finished with reluctance. “After the way you left the diner, he’s concerned that you might lose your . . . shit. On camera.”

  Jill’s eyebrows shot up. “My shit?” The audacity of the man. “Cal is worried about me? After he set me up?” She didn’t buy it for a second. “If he’s that concerned, why do it to begin with? Why go to them with the idea?”

  “But he didn’t.” Heather’s voice came out with urgency, and Jill swore it also carried a positive lilt.

  Jill just stared at her.

  “He said they came after him,” Heather explained. “That he didn’t even apply to be on the show. He didn’t even know anything about the competition until they sought him out.”

  Jill blinked. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

  Not that it would make it a lot better. He’d still agreed. He’d still kept it hidden from her.

  Heather nodded, the light in her eyes now matching the positive spin still heavy in her voice. “That’s what he said. And they made him sign a contract saying that he wouldn’t tell anyone. That he wouldn’t tell you.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I don’t,” Trenton grumbled from the other side of the truck.

  “I . . .” Heather began, but when Jill glared at her, she let her words trail off.

  Heather and Trenton had always had her back when it came to Cal leaving her the way he had. Or so they’d said. But Heather and her damned soft spot.

  Jill never knew when it would rear its head at the wrong time.

  “I’m just saying . . .” Heather tried again, but her words once again trickled to a stop.

  “You’re saying what?” Jill’s voice was hard. Her anger ran deep. “That I shouldn’t be mad about this? That since he supposedly didn’t go to them—and because he’s now apologized so sincerely—then I should just forgive him for being a part of it? Is that what you’re telling me, Heather?”
she continued, her words now coming out in a heated rush. “Well, hell. Maybe I should also swallow my pride and show how excited I am to be facing my lying jerk of an ex-husband. Would that make you happy, too?”

  “I’m not saying any of those things,” Heather argued.

  “Then what are you saying?” Jill yelled.

  “The cameras are still watching us.” Trenton spoke in a rapid clip of words, and Jill whipped her gaze to her other foster sister. Heather’s hand touched Jill’s thigh once again, and as if doused with a bucket of ice water, Jill’s fury flagged. Her hands trembled. She knew it wasn’t fair to take her anger out on Heather.

  She also knew that Heather truly did have her back. Always.

  Even if she might believe that Cal wasn’t entirely the brand of evil Jill knew him to be.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Jill whispered to both of them. She covered her mouth as she spoke, just in case the cameras had zoomed in that far. She did not want to face Cal. Not in any sort of situation. She’d sworn to herself that she’d never so much as speak to him again, and she intended to keep that promise.

  She also didn’t want to be on the other end of competing with him, because truth be told, there had to be a reason he won all the decent jobs in town. Other than just their bad luck.

  Maybe he really was that much better than they were. He had years more experience, and he’d already been incredibly skilled as a teen. Jill had seen it firsthand when he’d worked at the farm for Aunt Blu.

  But it was just as possible that Bluebonnet Construction lost out on all those contracts because they weren’t good enough. Or more likely, because everyone in town still worried about her and her “anger issues.” That thought had been in the back of her mind since day one of opening their doors, even though neither she, Heather, nor Trenton had ever suggested it.

  “They’re looking for drama,” Jill told her foster sisters now. She had to get herself under control. She’d been through worse than this. “It’s what I’d do if I were creating the show. Drama makes for good TV.”