He’d passed a national chain supermarket about ten miles out of town but liked the idea of visiting local businesses. It seemed like the small-town thing to do. Besides that, if he wanted to eat dinner, and he did, he had to pick up supplies. There wasn’t so much as a stick of butter at the house. Beck brought beer, which was an interesting housekeeping choice. Declan preferred meat and potatoes and a roll of toilet paper.
As he stepped into the freezer section and eyed up a bag of french fries, he could only hope the food shopping went better than the bank visit of fifteen minutes ago. The manager had been friendly and helpful . . . right up until the point where he started talking about the mortgage on Shadow Hill. The amount wasn’t a mystery. The problem was the battle between a potential estate sale and foreclosure.
Seemed Nanette stopped paying the mortgage long ago. Mr. Temperley and his lending staff gave her break after break, but time had run out. Declan glanced down at the basket in one hand and refinancing paperwork folder in the other. Looked like he had a long, boring night ahead of him reading tiny print on a contract and poring over estate documents.
“What’s in there?” All of a sudden Leah stood right next to him holding a jar of pickles.
Interesting dinner choice. He held up the basket and pointed to the one item he managed to snag as he walked down the aisle. “I have ketchup. I’m thinking hamburgers for dinner. You going with an all-dill diet?”
She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. “I mean the file.”
Yeah, he got that. What he didn’t understand is how she snuck up on him. He’d have to watch this one. If she stood there every time he turned around, they could have a problem. “Explain why my folder is your business?’
“I was being neighborly.”
This time she smiled. Shame it looked so fake.
“Are you serious with that? We’ve known each other a few hours and you’ve been trying to shove me back in my car and out of the state for every minute of that time.”
“That’s not true.” Her gaze focused on a spot over his shoulder and a bit of warmth seeped into that smile.
Dreading what he might see but not wanting to be attacked from behind, he turned around. Instead of an angry mob, two older women shuffled up the aisle wearing similar flower-print dresses. White hair, similar shapes and a cart loaded with what looked like a case of beer and three bags of potato chips.
Maybe he could grow to like this town.
“Hello, Charlotte. Renée.” Leah gave them both a hug before stepping back. With a flourish, she held her hand out to him. “This is Declan Hanover.”
He noticed she emphasized the last name. Said it nice and slow and very loud. She all but pointed and said “Get him!” in the introduction.
He nodded. Even bent over in a weird bow, for some reason. Probably had to do with the fact neither woman stood much above five feet. He towered over them. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
The smaller one put her hand on his forearm and a puff of strong floral perfume hit his senses. He prepared for a verbal strike, maybe a few accusations about his father’s behavior. Instead, he got a soft tap against his skin. “Can you reach the chicken wings?”
He leaned down, sure he misheard. “Excuse me?”
The lady stepped in front of him and touched her hand against the glass freezer case. There was a ring each on three of her twisted fingers. “There on the top shelf. We need them for poker night.”
He blinked and wondered if he looked as surprised as Leah did. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth dropped open. She likely wanted to shout his name again.
To prevent that sort of scene, he opened the door and grabbed a bag. He’d almost shut the door when the second woman, Charlotte or Renée, he wasn’t sure which was which, stopped him with a hand on his lower back.
“You better make it two.”
Sounded good to him. “Absolutely.”
With the wings delivered and the women on their way, he turned back to Leah. From the way she scowled, he guessed that exchange didn’t go quite as she’d planned. Yeah, that was too damn bad.
When she looked at him again, she wore a blank stare. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”
Funny how her grumbling voice suggested she wanted to say something else. “Because I helped a little old lady get wings?”
“Of course not.”
Figuring this was not going to be a quick conversation, he leaned against the cold glass door. “Okay. Hit me.”
“Tempting.”
He had to laugh at that. “I’m sure.”
“You’re in town to close up the house. You want to get in and out. I understand that.” She put her free hand against her chest. Really played up the I-feel-your-pain angle. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I can help you.”
He toyed with the idea of telling her the truth. The more he walked around the area, the more he wanted to stay. Sure, many people probably wanted him and his brothers gone, but the place had promise and the wide-open green space had him craving a home base. He became more convinced by the second that they couldn’t let a few angry voices scare them away from a property with so much potential. That is, if they could figure out a way to keep it.
And then there was Leah. Angry, judgmental and completely hot Leah. He wanted to write her off as trouble and walk away, but when she got in his face he wanted the conversation to keep going, which probably said something about his taste in women. “Help me with what?”
“Getting the house ready.” She shrugged. “Anything, really.”
No way was he buying this newly-reformed-Leah act. “Okay, I give up. What’s your game now?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
People wandered in and out of the aisle and a baby’s scream echoed from the other side of the freezer case, but his attention stayed on her. “The guy at the bank told me you’re smart and—”
Her eyes widened and her voice inched up an octave. “Why are you talking to people about me?”
“Just trying to understand who I’m dealing with.” Really, Mr. Temperley joked about Marc Barton coming over with a welcome cake and suggested staying away from him. That was it. Nothing Declan didn’t already know, but he decided to let Leah stew about it.
“What you see is what you get,” she said.
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Look, you want your days here to run smoothly. I want you and your brothers to leave.” The charming cadence to her voice gave way to rough, choppy sentences. “I can be an ally in making sure you don’t have trouble.”
He was pretty sure there was some truth in that middle part. The rest? Pure female crap. “Trouble?”
“There are some folks who might not like you being here. Might not serve you food or wait on you in stores.” She glanced in the freezer case as she said it.
Not that he hadn’t thought about that problem. He’d gone online and traced out where he could shop outside of Sweetwater if it came to that, or if her father tried to use his clout to ban all Hanovers from public spaces. If it came to that, he’d take Beck’s advice and get out.
But something about her tone raised his defenses. Also made a nerve at the back of his neck tick. “That sounds suspiciously like a threat.”
“I’m stating a fact. Having me on your side will limit the bumps.” She opened the case and took out a diet dinner.
But now that she mentioned it he wanted to know. His brewing headache wouldn’t ease until he did. “Well, let’s see if you’re right.”
“What?” She dropped the box back in the case and spun around.
“Come on.” He heard her footsteps tapping behind him, but he kept going as he rounded corner after corner and finally found a man wearing a name tag and an apron. “Sir, may I ask you a question?”
The
man rocked back on his heels and shot Declan a broad smile. Everything about the guy said welcome. “Sure.”
Declan dropped the folder in his basket, ignoring Leah’s focused stare at it, and held out his hand. “My name is Declan Hanover.”
The man’s gaze bounced from Declan to Leah and back again. “Okay.”
“Do you mind if I buy groceries here?” There. He asked and now he waited.
And waited.
Art Schneider, or so the tag said, just stood there with a blank stare. People walked around them and one guy mumbled something about blocking the onions. Finally, Art spoke up. “I don’t get it.”
“He’s Charlie Hanover’s son.” Leah dropped the bomb with a satisfied smirk on her face.
Art’s smile came back and his hand went out. “Nice to meet you.”
Leah stepped between the men. “Art, did you hear what I said?”
The older man glanced over her head and shot Declan a man-to-man look. “Do you have money?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re welcome here.” With a nod and an awkward pat on Leah’s shoulder, Art was off.
Declan watched the older man return to stacking apples on the display case. Relief flowed through Declan until it clogged his throat. So simple and accepting. He wished he’d run into more people like that in his life.
He turned back to Leah. “There you go.”
Silence echoed back at him. She stood there, frozen in the spot, with her hand still in the air. The pickle jar hung from her fingertips. She looked at it, then at him, before dropping the jar in his basket. “I need to get back to work.”
The pale face and drawn cheeks . . . not the reaction he expected. “Leah?”
“Enjoy the ketchup.”
She took off and ducked out of sight before he could stop her. He wasn’t sure what just happened, but he knew they weren’t done. Not even close.
Declan felt a presence looming over his shoulder a second later. He turned to see Art standing there and the sense of winning the argument vanished. A defensive wall rose in its place. “Change your mind about me already?”
Art shook his head. “There will be those in town who give you a hard time. Who remember what happened.”
“I know.” Boy, did Declan know that.
“There’s already been some talk.”
“About me?”
“People don’t know you. That’s my point. Charlie caused a lot of trouble.”
“It was his specialty.”
Art leaned in and his voice dipped to a whisper. “All I’m saying is be careful who you trust and where you go.”
Good advice. Declan intended to follow it.
Chapter Four
Leah dropped the last box in the middle of the family room of her small house. A muscle at the small of her back pinged as she stood up and stretched. She bit back a groan because she had to be too young to groan. Too young for body aches and pains, in general.
She yanked her falling sweatpants back to her waist and cursed the stupid string for slipping out of the hole during the last wash. But her bigger concern was the location of her glass of wine. She’d lost it twice in the last half hour.
That was the one good part of the evening—wine. Of all the things she could be doing, this chore had not been in her plans. Not exactly the best way to spend a Friday night, or any night. But it had to be done.
After seeing Declan at the diner and grocery store yesterday she couldn’t just plan to handle the Hanover issue. She actually had to do it. Then there was the run-in with Declan at the post office this afternoon. An actual physical crash right into his chest. She’d turned the corner to head back to the boxes and clipped him coming out of the space. Smacked into him with a thud.
No wonder he accused her of following him. She did seem to end up wherever he happened to be. And she would have fought back, launched into another argument to get him to leave town, if her hands hadn’t landed on that chest . . . if he hadn’t smelled so good.
Damn him.
Seeing Declan touched off a spinning inside her she couldn’t slow down. So, he was nice to old ladies. She snorted. Actually stood there and snorted. But, whatever. Big deal. Charlie charmed more than one woman Charlotte’s age out of her heirloom jewelry. Declan learned those skills from the best.
Leah kept telling herself all of that, but her arguments unraveled as soon as she thought them through. She’d read about him in her files and seen him hanging around town, heard what he said and how reasonable it all sounded. None of it fit together with how she thought he would be. She’d expected him to be smarmy and obvious, but he came off so normal. She hated that. Normal was hard to hate.
Fingernails clicked against glass. “How long are you going to stand there making noises and generally freaking me out?”
At Mallory’s voice, Leah broke out of her mental wanderings. She glanced at her friend sitting on the couch and sipping on her red wine. She slouched back into the cushions and had her feet up on the coffee table.
Must be nice to be normal. Leah envied Mallory, and now Declan, that gift.
Leah tapped the top box of her towering pile. “Since I’m doing all the work myself, it could be a while.”
“I am not getting involved in your delusion.” Mallory waved her hand as she sat up and reached for the bag of pretzels she’d dragged out of the kitchen while Leah carried boxes out of her car. “No. Thank. You.”
That was not the first reference to her impending boarding of the insanity train. Leah tried to pretend it wasn’t true, but she only slept a few hours per night and now saw Declan’s face every time she closed her eyes. That had to be some sort of mental issue.
She’d been trained from a young age to despise Charlie Hanover. Her father pounded her responsibility into her brain back when her days were filled with crayons and dolls. Her task was clear: one day she would grow up and right the wrong, get Shadow Hill back in the Baron family.
For years the obsession grew and festered. When she woke up a year ago and realized every dinner conversation with her father centered on Charlie, she’d stepped back, or tried. She needed a life. She knew that because Mallory kept saying it. Leah finally listened, even went out on a few dates with Ted, the newly divorced vet just outside of town who cried at the mention of his ex-wife’s name.
All Hanover talk had just moved off the front burner of her life. The boxes sat in storage and she didn’t have to think about the Hanover name every single day. Then Nanette died, and Ed said he’d heard through a friend at the courthouse the Hanover boys were coming to town.
Now Leah had to convince them to go or, worse case scenario, buy them out. For her father’s mental and physical health, not to mention her own, she needed them to leave town as quickly as they’d come. “This is an investigation.”
“You have a degree in marketing.” Mallory garbled the words while chewing on a pretzel.
“Actually, it’s in—”
“I don’t care. My point is you have seven boxes here.”
Okay, admittedly that sounded . . . off. Leah feared some murder cases had smaller files. “I’ve been following the Hanovers for a long time.”
“I will skip the part where I tell you this is crazy and jump ahead to some questions.” She pointed at the older boxes on the bottom of the pile. “Whose handwriting is on the three white boxes?”
“My dad’s.” And that’s where the crazy gene had taken hold.
“Ah, I see. He started checking up on Charlie, and somewhere along the line you picked up the ball and collected four more boxes of crap.”
Leah wished the pizza delivery kid would hurry up and get there. “You don’t understand.”
“I do.” Mallory snatched another pretzel. “Do you?”
“Dad’s boxes contain t
he paperwork from Charlie’s original con against the town. He emptied the town’s accounts and set up a fake set of books to cover his tracks.” When Mallory’s eyebrows inched up at each word, Leah’s sentence fumbled. “Also in there is some information about Nanette’s purchase of our house—”
“Declan’s house.” This time Mallory stuck her whole hand in the bag. “Technically, Declan and his brothers’ house.”
“For now.”
“And why did you start collecting boxes?”
“For a short time I picked up the ball and investigated.” Leah toned down her involvement as much as possible. Mallory knew most of the history and had seen a few files, but Leah used to store the files in the office closet. Hid them because, well, she knew how Mallory would react. Kind of like she was now. “Mostly, I was trying to see if Dad missed anything. That led me to the brothers.”
“Up until now I’ve seen two files.” Mallory held up two fingers and scissored them in the air. “Where did all the boxes come from?”
The corner of crazy and needs-medication. “My dad’s garage.”
Mallory stood up, never easing her death grip on the wineglass. She walked over to the boxes and ran a finger over the top. “Of course. Totally logical.”
First with Declan and now Mallory. When Leah spelled it all out and let her brain wrap around the words and analyze them, it all sounded so over-the-top, but she’d been on this path for so long that she wasn’t sure how to jump off.
Ignoring the dizziness spinning in her head, Leah tried to make it all sound a bit less shaky. “Look, I gave up the fight against Nanette a long time ago. I was going to forget all of this, but then she died and now the sons are here. That brings everything up again.”
“You’re bringing everything up again. And, babe, it’s not healthy. This fight is over. I mean, what do you hope to accomplish with—” She flipped the lid off and grabbed a file. “Declan’s high school records? Good grief, Leah. How do you even have these?”
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