“Just like his father.” Actually, to Leah’s thinking, Declan had his father beat on the objectively attractive scale. Whether Declan possessed his father’s notorious con-man charm was a question, but he sure had the Tall, Dark and Deliciously Dangerous gene.
Mallory’s head snapped back around. She pointed her finger in Leah’s direction. “I see you’re not denying the sexy part. That’s a nice change. Good to know your girl parts are working.”
Well, she wasn’t dead. Unfortunately. “I was too busy worrying about the trouble that follows his family. I can ignore his looks.”
Mallory snorted. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe you think you’re going to take him on.”
“Thanks for the support. I’ll hope Declan underestimates me, too.”
The amusement faded from Mallory’s eyes. “And if he doesn’t?”
“I’ll still win.”
Chapter Two
Declan stood on the porch of the stone house, all three crumbling stories of it, and wondered what he’d ever done to piss off the universe. Four months ago he stepped out of the Army uniform that had defined him for ten years. Now he was unemployed and stuck with a one-third ownership interest in a property in Sweetwater, Oregon. The same property with a mortgage hovering on the brink of foreclosure.
Sucked to be him.
Not that the property was a total write-off. Someone generations ago had named it Shadow Hill, which fit a building framed by fireplaces at each end with a turret in the middle. He didn’t know the exact definition of a manor, but he guessed one would look a lot like this place with its acres of rolling hills and open spaces.
The field behind the main house could work as a pasture if someone cleared out the dead tree limbs and forgotten piles of dirt and old wood. Towering pines lined the long drive from the road to the house, surrounding it on two sides, and the Pacific coast sat close enough for a hint of salt to float in the air.
Yeah, the place could be something. It would take piles of cash he didn’t have and months of intense work to make it happen. Daunting but not impossible. Certainly less dangerous than dodging roadside bombs outside Baghdad, and he’d survived four tours of that.
No matter what, making the house livable would probably be less trouble than the woman trying to sneak up on him. He’d heard the crunch of gravel under tires a minute ago, though she parked far down the drive. Even now he sensed her closing in. Smelled the same coconut scent he caught in her hair when he leaned in close to her at the diner.
“Do you live here now?” She asked the question without any warning. Just like that her voice cut through the sunny afternoon.
He turned around, following the now-familiar husky female voice to the redhead standing a few feet behind him with her hands on her hips. She had huge gray eyes and wore a strangely sexy don’t-mess-with-me scowl. Add to that the slim dark jeans and a yellow shirt held on her tan shoulders only by thin straps and things were looking up. Well, except for the part where she made it clear she thought he was a scum-sucking criminal.
Never mind the trespassing, which she was, his biggest issue came from her attitude. She looked at his father’s history and put them in the same category. He’d spent his entire life outrunning his father’s shitty reputation. Having people judge him on his genes wasn’t new, but that didn’t mean it pissed Declan off any less.
“You’re the lady from the diner.”
“Yes.” That was it. No other information. Just a terse word and a glare.
Not exactly the best town welcoming committee. “Do you have a name, Ms. Woman Who Hates Me For No Reason?”
“Leah Baron. Daughter of Marc Baron.”
Okay, maybe she did have a reason. The Baron name figured prominently in Charlie Hanover history, and not in a good way. “Did you follow me home, Leah?”
She cocked her head to the side, letting her hair fall over her shoulder. The sunlight streamed through the wavy strands.
Not that he noticed. He was working damn hard not to notice the pretty round face and the long legs. Guessing what her body looked like under that tiny top was an off-limits topic as well.
“You left the diner over an hour ago,” she said as she crossed her arms over her stomach.
That sounded a bit stalkerish for his liking but he decided to hear her out instead of throw her out. For now. “Is that a no?”
“I figured you’d end up here eventually. I parked down the street and waited.”
Yeah, no doubt about it. He’d been in town for exactly one day and acquired a stalker. Wasn’t that just fucking fantastic.
He’d wait to be flattered by the attention, though he doubted there was anything positive about it, and stay on guard until he figured out her danger level. Right now he guessed she fell into the furious-Charlie-victim category, which was an ever-growing group. But Declan had seen some terrible things during his time in the military and after. He knew how quickly people could turn, and he had no intention of being in her line of fire if she did.
“Let me guess. You came here because, as you pointed out to your friend earlier, I own the place.” He played along, waiting to see what she would do and say. Being alone with her on a twenty-acre property and without a weapon inside ten feet made him more cautious than usual. “I feel as if we’ve already met, what with you knowing so much about me or thinking you do.”
“You shouldn’t have listened in on that private conversation at lunch.”
She had to be kidding. When she just stood there, staring at him with those full lips stretched into a flat line, he got the point. Not kidding.
“So, you’re saying it was my fault you were talking shit about me?” he asked.
She dropped her arms and glanced around, her gaze brushing over the land with a softness that wasn’t there a second ago. “Are you moving in?”
He figured that was as close as he was going to get to an answer. “Possibly.”
Her anger snapped back into place, pulling her body straight and narrowing her eyes. “You’re not sure?”
Enough nonsense. He shifted his weight back on his heels and spared her a we’re-done-here scowl. “I don’t know yet.”
“You’re a big boy, Declan. You should have a real answer.”
The damn woman didn’t back down one inch. The same look had sent two-hundred-pound-plus sergeants running but the louder he got, the bolder she acted.
“And my answer would be your business because . . . ?”
“Humor me.”
As far as he was concerned, he already was. “I inherited the place from my grandmother.”
“Yes, I know. Nanette Hanover.” Leah grumbled when she said the name.
“Ah right, you traced the ownership to her and intend to challenge it.” He’d heard the claims. Charlie swindled the town and his grandmother ended up with the big house on the hill. The timing sure was suspect but the evidence never matched up to anything other than the purchase coming from the funds his grandmother saved from his grandfather’s insurance policy when he died years before. Declan had checked and double-checked that math several times just because he’d wondered how deep her knowledge and complicity went.
“Everyone knew your grandmother.” An edge moved into Leah’s voice and her gaze traveled over the falling-down porch behind him.
It didn’t take an intelligence specialist to know her issues extended past Charlie to Nanette. Declan knew so little about his grandmother, had spent so few hours with the Hanover side of the family after his parents divorced when he was eight. “I notice you didn’t add that they liked my grandmother.”
“Most did.”
“Not you?”
“Your dad’s reputation is my biggest concern.”
The woman excelled at giving nonanswer
s to simple questions. “Yeah, I heard your thoughts on him the first time. Before you move on to my mother, let’s stop with the family discussion.”
Leah’s jaw clenched and unclenched before she answered. “Fine.”
“Can I help you with something else?” The breeze kept the air cool and pushed out the humidity, but Declan felt inches from a full-on sweat. Being in this lady’s firing line sent his temperature spiking.
“I’ll ask a third time. Are you really moving in here?”
She sure had a lot of questions, or maybe it was more like one question that she liked to ask over and over. Either way, he wasn’t volunteering information. “And as I’ve said numerous times now, I’m not sure yet.”
She balanced her foot against the bottom step to the porch. “I figured you’d come here, assess the place, see all the work it needs, and sell it.”
The woman made everything sound like a character slam. But he had to admit that was his plan, or it had been. Somewhere in the last few hours the idea of selling and running gave way to a crazier thought of settling in. “I’m not afraid of a little hard work.”
“You must have gotten that trait from your mother’s side of the family.”
Score one for Leah. The snide comment had him rushing to defend and make excuses. He hated so much about his father’s past but how it put him and his brothers in the position of backtracking and explaining, of begging people for a chance, pissed Declan off the most.
“I’m not my father. And my mother is off-limits unless you want to explain your trespassing to the police.”
Leah gnawed on her lower lip. “Admittedly, I don’t know much about your mother.”
He mentally gave Leah credit for leaving the avenue of attack so fast, but since she wasn’t backing down from her claims, he kept his guard in place. “No kidding.”
For a second, everything on the property went silent except for the soft rustle of wind through the leaves and the squeak of Leah’s shoe where it rubbed against the rotting wood of the bottom porch step. The warm sun beat down on them, but neither of them moved.
She finally blinked. “Sell me the house and move on. I’ll pay you a fair price.”
Years of training helped him school his reaction. Surprise bolted through him. He hadn’t seen that coming at all.
“Why are you so desperate for me to leave?” And why did that make him so desperate to stay?
“If I can be frank—”
“Were you doing something else before now?”
“The Hanover name makes people around here twitchy.”
“And you’re the town’s goodwill ambassador, sent to run me off the property and save everyone from seeing me?” He said it as a joke but feared it might be true.
“My exact title is Head of Business Affairs.”
She kept zigging and had him mentally racing to catch up. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I handle some marketing and other issues for the town.” The wind caught her blouse and whipped it around her slim frame.
“Like welcoming new homeowners? If so, you might want to work on your skills.” He saw a flash of flat tan stomach before she smoothed the material back down with her hand. He secretly hoped for a sudden windstorm, which proved how sick he was. The spunky redhead hated him, and here he was wondering if every inch of her was tan or just the obvious parts.
She stared at her white sneakers. Kicked and pushed the loose driveway gravel until she formed a small pile in front of her. When she glanced up again, some of the fire had left her eyes. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy.”
“Con man.”
Her body stilled except for her head, which popped up. “What?”
“You called me a con man earlier.” He’d heard the accusation so many times, from so many sources, all of them angry and looking for revenge or compensation, that he learned to shove back. Joining the Army young had been both a way to escape the whispers and a needed setting where he could learn to control his frustration and fight back when it was warranted and wouldn’t get him arrested.
“To be exact, I said your father was a con man.”
The conversation was burned into Declan’s brain. “Actually, you said—”
“Okay, I get it.” She held up her hand. The way her cheeks puffed in and out, she kind of looked like she wanted to slap him. “We can agree not to like each other on a personal level because this is a business discussion.”
“I like you just fine.” He shrugged. “Sure, you strike me as a little too judgmental for someone your age, which is what, mid-twenties?”
Her hand fell back to her side. “I . . . what does—”
“Exactly.” He had her sputtering. At last he had some control over the conversation. “But we can work through that. I’m thinking the prickly thing you do is mostly surface, possibly more of an act than a reality, and underneath you’re . . . well, let’s go with potentially charming. I’ll hope that’s true.”
If her eyes got any bigger they might pop. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t dislike you.”
“Why?”
Good question. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’m trying to, but I can’t seem to muster it.”
Which was true. Her voice had played in his head during his blow-off-steam drive after the diner. She didn’t say anything now. Just stood there blinking and frowning. He’d guess she wasn’t the type to be struck speechless, yet her body froze. He couldn’t blame her. He kept waiting for his distaste for her to rise, but nothing happened.
She slipped a bent business card out of her back pocket. “Do you have a pen?”
The question was so out of context to everything that came before that she had him jogging up the porch steps to grab one off the clipboard he put on the rocker earlier. It took him another second to realize he’d unwittingly followed an unspoken command. “Here.”
She snatched the pen and clicked it against her thigh to bring up the point. Flipping the card over, she scribbled something then held the paper out to him. “Here are my work and home numbers.”
“Wasn’t expecting that.” His brain misfired. He couldn’t telegraph his hand to lift and grab the thing.
“It’s for our talks about the property sale. Nothing else.” She reached for his hand and turned it palm up. She shoved the card in and curled his fingers around it.
“So, I shouldn’t call you for pleasure?”
She dropped his arm as if he’d burst into flames. “The only thing we have in common is this house. Everything else is off the table.”
He stared at the private number, repeating it in his head until he memorized it. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“I’m not a mark for one of your cons.”
He tucked the card into his front pocket. “We’re back to that, I see.”
“What?”
“The judging. The part where you insist we know each other. You act like you’ve been poking around my past—not Charlie’s, mine—and found some big piece of evidence to damn me.” Not that she’d be the first one to try. “Sorry, but there is nothing to see here. I’m not Charlie.”
The color drained from her cheeks. “We can work out a deal.”
The area around her mouth took on a weird green cast. The ladies never resorted to vomiting when he spoke and he kind of wanted to keep that streak alive.
“What if I want to get to know the woman before I talk business?” he asked before she could dry heave.
“Call me when you’re serious.” She spun around and took that fine ass back in the direction of the sporty two-door parked just off the driveway.
“Oh, I’ll call.” He turned the card over in his hand. The woman was a mystery. One he intended to unravel.
“She seems . . . is nice the right
word?” A not-so-subtle throat clearing came a beat before the sarcasm.
Declan turned around to see his baby brother, Beckett, leaning against a paint-chipped porch post. Declan jogged up the steps and shook his brother’s hand before pulling him into an awkward backslapping hug.
They shared the same basic build and eyes. Beck’s hair was lighter and longer, until it almost touched his collar, and he carried his body with a carefree confidence Declan envied. Beck was just shy of twenty-nine, almost two years younger and miles apart emotionally. Beck still believed in things, in people. Declan had released that naïve hope long ago.
“I didn’t know you were here,” he said.
“Just arrived.”
They’d been close as kids, but Declan’s years of travel for the Army dropped a wedge between them. So did their ongoing debate about Charlie. Being the youngest, Beck missed most of the knocks at the door by the police and threatening calls from alleged victims. He went to law school and was entrenched in the idea of innocent until proven guilty.
In Beck’s mind, Charlie got a bit of a raw deal. He’d done questionable things but hadn’t been convicted of anything, so he still deserved some respect. Funny how no one else in the world seemed to agree with that characterization.
Beck nodded in the direction of the car zipping too fast in reverse down the rugged drive. “I see you’re already making friends in Sweetwater.”
“She’s Baron’s daughter.”
Beck’s wide smile fell. “Marc Baron?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Beck whistled as he shook his head. “Man, that’s trouble. I’d pick a different temporary bed partner if I were you.”
Leah. Bed. Yeah, Declan didn’t hate the idea. “I met her an hour ago.”
Beck snorted. “What’s your point?”
Definitely time to change the subject. “Is Callen here yet?”
“He left a message saying he was on the way. He should be here soon, if he’s not in town already.”
No Turning Back Page 2
