by Dana Marton
“He’s cursed?”
“I am.”
Cole didn’t look sold on the concept. Which just showed how little he knew.
“The women in my family,” she told him, “have a long history of ending up with the wrong men. My grandmother married a coldhearted jerk who drove her to an early grave. My mother chose a series of men who were increasingly large disasters.”
“And you?”
The first man Annie had ever lived with was Xane Ebner in Philly; he was a mellow guy who used to sing in an Earth, Wind & Fire–type band called Green Leaf. They’d met at a concert the band gave to benefit the environment. Xane had been her soul mate for nearly a full year before he’d decided to morph into a self-proclaimed rock-and-roll god who’d gotten into drugs, other women, and her bank account. Last she’d heard of him, he was flirting with pop. Gotta go where the money is, babe.
Annie had moved back to Broslin and run into Joey.
When Joey had asked her out, she’d said yes, without first figuring out what kind of man he’d grown into. She didn’t realize until too late that the adult Joey wasn’t anything like the kind and funny kid-Joey she remembered.
His life had gone off track when he’d been studying for a pharmacy degree, and his cousin, Big Jim, had talked him into mishandling some drugs. That had ended Joey’s career before it could begin. He’d slipped into a series of part-time jobs and more shenanigans with Big Jim. Joey wasn’t stupid; he was just entirely without motivation.
But both Xane’s and Joey’s bad-boy quotient paled next to Cole Makani Hunter’s. The man lived and breathed danger. Cole might not be criminally inclined—that Annie knew of—but if she were smart, she would buy him a T-shirt that said WRONG MAN and make him wear it to their sessions.
“I don’t think my love life is a proper topic in a session,” she said when she realized that Cole was still waiting for her answer to his question.
“What were you doing at the gas station earlier?” she asked him to change the subject.
“Walked down for some cigarettes.”
“You shouldn’t smoke.”
“I don’t. Thinking about starting.”
She fixed him with her stern-therapist look. “I find out you do, and I’ll write self-destructive tendencies in your file.”
His face remained expressionless. “Now you’re scaring me.”
“You’ll be scared when they disable the lock on your door and you get hourly checkups.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “What do you get for blackmail and intimidation?”
She tried not to smile at his wry, understated humor or acknowledge that she liked it. “I’m just worried about you.”
“I don’t have self-destructive tendencies.”
“You punched a brick wall so hard you almost broke your hand.” She let that sink in. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
She was surprised when, after giving her a moment of consideration, he actually did.
“Car almost ran me over. Didn’t hear it coming. Then the guy behind the wheel yelled something at me, but he was half-turned so I couldn’t read his lips. I didn’t know whether to yell back, Don’t worry about it, or Fuck you too.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “So you can stop worrying about the self-destructive thing. Chances are, something I can’t hear coming is going to destroy me. If this place doesn’t drive me crazy first.”
Her heart twisted. But she couldn’t drop the subject. She was one of his therapists. “I bet those tattoos hurt. Some of them look new. Are you punishing yourself with pain? Maybe because you feel like your body is failing you?”
“No.” He didn’t hide his exasperation. “Everybody has tattoos.”
“Not everybody.”
He looked her over leisurely, with an insolent expression she now knew meant he was going on the offensive.
He didn’t disappoint. “You want me to take your word for that? How about you prove it?”
She knew he was trying to rattle her, but his dark gaze still got to her and sent a faint tingle up her spine. Of course it did. Because he was easily the most inappropriate guy for her in a hundred-mile radius.
Good thing Annie was breaking with her genetic destiny. She wasn’t even going to think about being attracted to Cole Makani Hunter. She was not going to be another misguided Murray woman in a long line of misguided Murray women.
You make a mistake once, it’s a mistake. You make a mistake twice, you’re a slow learner. You make a mistake three times, and it’s a habit. Maybe it’s who you are.
Cole was her patient. Annie was going to help him. Then, when he left Hope Hill in a few weeks’ time, she was going to forget about him.
Chapter Five
Tuesday
“READY?” KELLY SMILED. She was dressed in a purple sateen sheath she’d called urban aubergine, and silver stilettos, as if she were heading to a cocktail party instead of hanging out in a construction zone. Her hair and makeup soared to new heights of overdone, but maybe that kind of thing played best for the cameras. “Is this the most exciting thing we’ve ever done or what? Everybody we know is watching.”
Annie could have done without being reminded. She was tricked out too, so over-the-top she could be an announcer at the Hunger Games. She had barely recognized herself in the mirror when the stylist—one of Kelly’s friends—was done with her. She wore a tight, black strapless bodice, a red ballet skirt and, of course, heels—because nothing said house renovation like broken ankles.
You don’t have to enjoy this. You just have to survive it.
And hopefully not go bald in the process. Her hair had enough product in it to grout the kitchen backsplash. Her outraged eyebrows were plucked within an inch of their lives. And her makeup was exaggerated enough to scare a teenager out of her goth phase. Almost as overdone as Xane’s the last time Annie had seen him in concert.
“Ready,” Annie said carefully so as not to crack the thick layer of lipstick on her lips.
All right, fine. She was a little excited. She glanced around. God, let this work.
David Durenne, the producer, was watching Kelly with rapt interest, but Kelly didn’t notice. Which probably meant he was a nice guy.
The family love curse was pretty widespread. Kelly was expanding her Realtor business because her loser ex had successfully sued her for alimony. Ricky had cheated on her then left her, and now Kelly had to support him financially while he frolicked around with his cliché twenty-year-old hairdresser.
If there was a loser jerk within a hundred miles, one of the Murray women found him. Guaranteed.
The producer held up a finger, his eyes going unfocused as he listened to the bud in his ear.
“Hold on,” he said. “We have a thirty-second delay. Weather update. Tropical Storm Rupert was just upgraded to a hurricane. It’s making landfall in Kingston, Jamaica.” He frowned as he listened. “Might come up the Eastern Seaboard.”
Before Annie could worry too much about it, the man began counting back on his fingers.
“Five, four, three, two, one.”
The cameras began rolling.
“Good morning,” Kelly cooed. “I am Kelly Murray, and this is my cousin, Annie. Two savvy single ladies doing business. We’re going to show you today how to double the value of your real estate property for sale.”
Annie barely flinched at the word single. Totally expected it. She held on to her pleasant, neutral expression as her cousin went on about the importance of picking the right location when thinking about flipping.
“So tell us about how you created a sanctuary for those poor darling animals.” Kelly held her smile for the count of three, then turned it all off.
“They’re cutting in the footage we shot of the llamas earlier.” She grabbed her compact from her back pocket to pat more powder on her face. “People want a personalized story.”
Done with the compact, she stashed it away and pulled out a travel-size can of glitter hairspray. She fluffed Annie’s ha
ir with one hand and sprayed with the other.
While Annie tried to choke as quietly as possible, her cousin flashed a look of approval. “There. You look like a lady. You never know who might watch this thing. Maybe we’ll catch the eye of a hot doctor or a sexy lawyer. You have to look like the kind of wife a professional man would want.”
“Coming back in five, four, three, two, one,” the producer called out as the hairspray disappeared.
Kelly turned on again, flipping the beauty-contestant switch that Annie decidedly didn’t have. They had very different upbringings. Not Kelly’s fault. Resenting her for it would be stupid, and Annie didn’t. Yet she was aware of an emotional gap between them.
“Unfortunately, as you can see, the house is in rough shape,” Kelly said.
The cameras panned around.
Kelly had actually made the mess on purpose. The place looked like a dump. Annie tried not to wince at the thought of the whole town seeing her like a slob, a borderline hoarder.
“Especially the kitchen.” Kelly led the way. “And your dream is one big open space, right?”
No. Annie wanted to leave the walls where they were. But her cousin insisted that the show would work best if the difference between before and after was dramatic.
Since Annie had agreed to let Kelly do what she wanted with the house as long as the end result was a substantial increase in equity, she said, “That would be great.”
“All right, then, guys,” Kelly called to the crew, “let’s knock this wall out of the way!”
Six stud muffins in ripped jeans and tool belts sprang up to obey, swinging giant hammers. They weren’t as big as Cole Makani Hunter, nor as mean-looking. These guys were the smiley, friendly handyman types who played well on TV—ridiculously handsome to the last man, picked for the camera, probably straight from the YMCA where Kelly went for yoga classes.
Not that Annie was going to start comparing every guy she met to Cole. She pushed the SEAL from her mind while her cousin retreated from the room to escape the dust.
The camera filmed the men. Right until they cut to commercial break.
Everybody hurried to the bathroom to take their places for the next segment.
“Five,” the producer said, flashing Kelly a smile, “four, three, two, one.”
Kelly whispered to Annie, “Look like a lady.” Then she said into the camera, “Welcome back. Now here, we are turning this tiny hole of a dark bathroom into a sumptuous spa bath.”
A spa bath being another thing that Annie hadn’t wanted, but Kelly said luxury was the latest rage.
Kelly gave the signal for Rob, the guy who’d been waiting with the jackhammer. The twenty-two-year-old college student from West Chester University had gym muscles on top of his gym muscles.
Annie had talked to him for a few minutes earlier. His goal was to graduate without debt. He’d been on the cover of a couple of romance novels written by a local author before he’d snagged this gig. He knew jackhammers because he worked construction during the summers.
He was nearly as tall as Cole, but not as wide in the shoulders . . .
Not thinking it!
Annie made sure to keep the smile on her face. Kelly was right—they did need to look professional. Annie had patients watching at Hope Hill.
The jackhammer went wild in the tiled shower stall, the noise deafening, debris flying. Then a different kind of noise. And then the shower stall caved. The next second, the outer wall of the bathroom fell away with a crash that shook the floor under them.
The jackhammer stopped.
As the dust slowly settled, Annie could see the backyard and the fence on the far side of the yard. For a moment, she thought she saw a dark figure at the edge of the cornfield that began past her fence. Then the figure disappeared—probably Joey—and Annie refocused on the giant hole in front of her. She’d lost a wall. An entire fricking wall. An outside wall!
That was not supposed to happen.
The words tumbled from her lips before she could call them back. “Fucking spa bath.”
Which, as she later found out, was the last thing she said on live TV.
The camera guy immediately cut the feed, while the producer shouted, “Out. Out. Out. Get out to safety!”
They all ran for the back door, the closest exit. When Kelly stumbled in her high heels, the producer picked her up and carried her.
Annie came to a stop in her backyard, barely hearing the team’s shocked exclamations over the blood pounding in her ears.
Her phone pinged. On reflex, she pulled it from her pocket. Text message from Joey. The eighth one today.
She’d been determined to have a good week, but as she stood there staring at the hole in the wall, her stomach churning, she had to admit defeat.
Her job still hadn’t been made full-time.
Her ex would not give up stalking her.
Her new patient was difficult. An understatement.
And her house stood open to the elements.
With a hurricane coming.
“It’s not that bad, right?” Kelly’s eyes swam in guilt. She was standing on her own feet once again, although the producer hovered nearby. “You can find the positive in anything. Say something.”
Annie tried. She really did. But she ended up shaking her head. There weren’t enough affirmations in the world.
Chapter Six
BY THE TIME Cole watched Annie drive up the long driveway at Hope Hill, everyone there knew what had happened to her house. She was going to stay in one of the empty rooms tonight because her place had to be inspected for structural damage. Cole sat on the front porch of the main building in an Adirondack chair one of the inmates had built. Patients, Annie would correct, but she wasn’t fooling him.
A calico cat slept in the next chair. Cole had seen about half a dozen cats around the facilities so far. They came and went as they pleased. He ignored the cat and focused on the woman.
Annie drove a green Prius. Naturally. The only way she could be truer to herself would be to ride a bicycle. Maybe she did that too. Cole wouldn’t be surprised if she only drove the car once a week.
He didn’t go to greet her or offer to carry her luggage. He hadn’t been waiting for her. He was taking a break. He only watched her because there wasn’t much to look at out here.
She didn’t appear hurt. She appeared . . . admired. A dozen guys crowded around her, some staff, some inmates.
Since the parking lot was well lit and they were heading his way, Cole could read a couple of lips.
“Are you OK?”
“Let me take that.”
“Man, that’s terrible.”
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
If they could, the men would have picked her up and carried her in their arms.
One of the guys wore a T-shirt that said MAY THE TREES BE WITH YOU.
Sucking up much?
Not that Cole cared. The patients and staff at Hope Hill could do whatever they wanted as long as they left him alone. And as long as they didn’t figure out his real reason for being here.
Annie smiled at the numb-nuts, laughed at something T-shirt guy said, asked how they’ve been. They wanted to take care of her, but she would have none of it and pulled her own suitcase. They followed her like eager puppies.
She was no sex kitten. She had to be close to thirty. Some of the guys were a good five years younger than she was. What did they see in her? Weren’t they bothered by all the woo-woo? Absorb negative electrons from the earth through the bottoms of your feet.
Cole stood from his chair and left her to her groupies. Might as well head off to the cafeteria and grab dinner. He had work to do tonight, but not until later.
After a bean burger and sweet potato fries—a miracle that nobody had choked the cook yet—he went to the gym. He couldn’t do weights with his injured arm, but he could run on the treadmill. Since most people were still at dinner, he had the place to himself. He liked it that way.
He ran until sweat poured down his body, until he pounded everything out of his brain, until nothing remained but his burning lungs and muscles. He was still running when Trevor Turner came in, a twentysomething former marine.
The kid made a beeline for the treadmill in the corner.
At a normal gym, the equipment faced the wall mirrors. Here, the equipment faced the room, because everybody here preferred having their backs to the wall. They didn’t like people behind them. Military habits die hard. As in never.
Another guy came in and went straight to the weights section, straight to bench-pressing. Alejandro Ramirez. Every time he lowered the weights and the bar dropped into place, Trevor startled. He sped up his treadmill, maybe to block out the clanging Cole couldn’t hear.
As Cole’s boots slapped on the rubber, he knew he had to be making noise too. Thump. Thump. Thump. He was no lightweight. Each step rattled the machine.
Trevor’s eyes jumped from Cole to Alejandro, then back. As both men kept up a steady pace with their own efforts, Trevor’s face became a mask of misery.
Did the noise bother him?
Cole shut off his machine and went over to the water fountain next to Trevor for a drink.
Trevor slowed his own treadmill but didn’t stop completely. “How long are you in for?”
Cole appreciated the wording. “As long as they deem it necessary. Initial sentence is four weeks.”
“You think any of this works?” The kid’s gaze held an edge of desperation.
“I know it does.” Cole said what the kid needed to hear. “I had a nap yesterday without pills.”
“Oh, man.”
The longing that brimmed in Trevor’s eyes twisted Cole’s cold, hard heart. He took another drink. “You should see the ecotherapist.”
Never thought he’d say those words in million years. Maybe the cafeteria had seasoned the bean burgers with brainwashing powder.
Trevor’s expression lit up. “I’ve been seeing Annie. Isn’t she great? Reminds me of my mom. Soft and strong at the same time, you know?”
Cole did know. Although, when he looked at Annie, he certainly wasn’t thinking about his mother.
