by Amy Olle
“I’ll call Luke,” Shea said.
Isobel hoisted Maisie higher on her hip. “He’s on duty tonight.”
Noah straightened. “Duty?”
Shea’s gaze swiveled to Noah. “Luke’s a cop.”
Noah cringed. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Afraid not.”
It was Noah’s turn to curse.
“What about John?” Isobel asked.
“He took the boat up the coast for the weekend.” Shea shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s the busiest night of the week. I can’t leave the place short-staffed.”
“My job is important to me, too.”
“Dammit, Isobel—”
“I’ll do it.”
Two heads snapped around.
“I can do it.” Noah inserted as much confidence into his voice as he could manage. “What time should I be here?”
“Not a chance in Hell,” Shea said.
Isobel gasped. “Seamus Michael!”
“We haven’t seen him in fifteen years.”
Isobel’s smoke-gray eyes blazed with fury. “As hard as it must be for you, try not to be an idiot.”
A muscle ticked in Shea’s jaw. “We can’t trust him.”
“He’s your brother,” Isobel said, a space between each word. “I trust him. Without him there to help out after Finn was born, I might’ve lost my mind.”
Intense astonishment siphoned the color from Shea’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shifted Maisie to her other hip. “When I needed him, he was there for me.”
Noah seldom allowed himself to think about those few short years when he’d lived with Shea, his new wife, and their newborn baby. It was the only stability he’d known since his mother’s death, and Noah had loved everything about living with Shea and his family. Even the chaos, disruption, and ball-busting challenge of a newborn.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling?” A swirl of emotions radiated off Shea, and for one brief moment, Noah experienced a stab of pity for his brother.
“You were working at the firm. I couldn’t add to your stress level.” The unwelcome tension stretched tight while Isobel swung Maisie back to the original hip. “I want our children to know their uncle. All of their uncles.”
Shea’s shoulders slumped. “Can you be here by five?”
“No problem,” Noah said.
Shea’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t mess this up.”
Isobel stepped forward, rose up on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to Noah’s cheek. “Thank you.” She dumped Maisie into his arms.
He and the child stared at each other, twin looks of alarm on their faces.
“Take care of your brother for me,” Isobel said to the little girl.
Good advice, seeing as Noah knew less than nothing about kids.
Chapter Nine
In his first hour babysitting, Noah learned three things. First, when choosing which apple to eat, a two-year-old needed to first sample each apple piled in the bowl. Second, Umizoomi was an actual thing, and third, Shea’s kids, at two and three years old, knew disturbingly little about hockey.
“Unca Noah¸ what he doing?” The littlest one, Connor, twisted around on Noah’s lap.
“He’s trying to score a goal,” Noah said.
“Why?” Connor somehow managed to give the word two syllables.
“Because that’s how you win.” Did Shea teach them nothing?
A whistle trilled.
“What happen?” From her position tucked into his side on the couch, Maisie gazed up at him with enormous blue eyes.
“Chicago just got called for a penalty,” Noah said.
Her forehead puckered. “What?”
“You see that guy right there? He slashed a defenseman and has to sit in the penalty box for two minutes.”
Crickets.
Noah shifted Connor on his lap and tried a new tactic. “He was naughty. He hit another player with his stick, and now he has to go to time-out.”
Maisie’s mouth formed a perfect O, and her enormous blue eyes filled with distress.
Noah froze. “What?”
“Is he gonna cry?” she whispered.
Her dismay struck Noah, a direct hit to the center of his chest, and he reared back. “Is he—? Ack, no! There’s no crying in the penalty box. Never, ever. There, see?” Noah pointed to the TV when the camera cut to the player sitting inside the walled Plexiglas jail. “He’s not crying, is he?”
A row of itty-bitty teeth flashed with her smile. Her tiny shoulders almost touched her ears, and she shook her head.
His cell chimed with an incoming text, cutting off his laugh. He straightened his leg, dug his phone from his hip pocket, and retrieved the message.
Do you want these papers or not? it read.
Mina. His smile widened. Four days had passed since he’d lost himself in her wet heat. Four days and his hunger for her had only grown.
He typed a reply and hit send. I want them. Can’t start the work without them.
He’d meant to tell her that part, but she’d chewed him up and kicked him out before he’d gotten the chance.
Her reply came straight away. Where are you? We need to talk.
That’s what he’d said. Four days ago! He hammered out a response, his agitation causing careless thought. At my dad’s house.
The words jolted him. This wasn’t his dad’s place anymore. His dad was dead.
An uncomfortable tension formed in his chest and burned a path to his gut. Heartburn.
Except it didn’t feel like heartburn and tasted like regret. Regret and a sorrow so old he’d forgotten the flavor of it on his tongue.
In his arms, Connor’s head dropped to Noah’s shoulder. Noah reached for the remote and lowered the volume of the hockey game. It was beyond too late for regret and sorrow.
Twenty minutes later, he welcomed the distraction of headlights moving across the living room wall.
He flipped back to the cartoon about the zoomi things and moved to the front hall, a slumbering two-year-old slung over his shoulder.
At first, he didn’t recognize the prim princess standing on the other side of the door. Not so much because of the neat slacks and frumpy blouse but the cold, composed way she held herself back. Near but far away. Untouchable.
Heartburn congealed into an angsty ball in the pit of his stomach. Where was the hot woman he’d almost fucked on her dining room table?
Her gaze touched on the child in his arms, and she softened, just a little. “You could’ve mentioned the other day things were on hold until I signed your papers.”
Noah shifted Connor, his human shield, to the opposite shoulder. “I was distracted, remember?”
Hectic color washed over her face and neck. “You couldn’t find anyplace in the conversation to slip it in?”
“The mayor interrupted before I got the chance.”
Blueberry thunderbolts flashed in her eyes. “Is this a game to you? Am—am I a game to you?”
The smile froze on his face. “Are you serious?”
She stared up at him with large, solemn eyes.
“Tell me,” he said. “What kind of game do you imagine I’m playing?”
Her lashes swept down, shutting him out. “I don’t know. It’s just...” She shook her head. “Forget it.”
Noah stilled. “Are you...? Are you crying?”
She blasted him with a withering glower. “No, I’m not crying.”
He breathed. “Oh, thank God.”
Connor whimpered and lifted his head but only turned to lay his other cheek on Noah’s shoulder. Mina smoothed a hand over his small back, and he relaxed once more in Noah’s arms.
“Just so you know, I haven’t been sitting around all week waiting for you to sign the release,” Noah said. “I’ve applied for a permit and started to gather supplies.”
“A permit?” Her brow furrowed.
“It’s required.”
>
Her shoulders slumped. “Let me guess, you can’t start until it’s granted?”
“That’s right.”
“How long will that take?”
He hated the ring of defeat in her voice.
“A couple of weeks.”
She stabbed at her temples and rubbed.
“To be honest, I can’t do much else until I have more money.”
Her spine snapped ramrod straight. “I’ve got your money. Almost. I’ll, uh, get it to you... soon. “
“Then I’ll continue with preparations.”
“Great.” Her orthodontia-perfect white teeth bit down on her bottom lip with brutal force.
“I found a grant opportunity I think I’ll apply to. It’ll take a few months, but if we’re successful, you might be able to recuperate some of the costs.”
“Really?” A slash of hope cut across her features. “That’d be great.”
He eyed her with suspicion. “If you don’t have the money, we can wait—”
“I don’t want to wait.” With a glance at Connor, she dropped her voice. “Will you send me an invoice, or should I mail a check somewhere?”
“I’ll get something to you.”
Her arm shot out, and his now-rumpled, trifold papers poked him in the bicep.
He took them from her trembling hand. “I’m not the enemy here. You know that, don’t you?”
She hesitated a moment longer than he liked. “I do.”
“Good. Because we need each other.”
The color leached from her face. She shook her head and fell back a step. “No, I need a well, and I need this excavation to be over as soon as possible.”
He couldn’t bear the panic in her eyes. “I’ll do everything I can to make that happen. Trust me. Please.”
Her eyes turned glassy. “I can’t do that.”
His gut twisted around her words with a sickening wrench.
“I’m sorry.” She whipped around and shot down the walkway. Ducking behind the wheel of the BMW, she cranked the engine.
Connor startled in his arms and Noah bit back a curse. He crooned something nonsensical until Connor’s head dropped back down.
He could only watch as the taillights of Mina’s Beemer faded into the blackness of the night sky.
A week later, as Mina wrestled a rolled-up swath of old carpet through the front door, Noah’s Colorado rolled up her winding drive and parked among the trucks and vehicles scattered round the front lawn.
The carpet roll wedged in the doorframe while she stopped and stared.
Noah climbed from the cab. He wore a baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses that obscured his eyes. His full mouth pulled into a tight line as he yanked a backpack from the truck bed and slung it over his shoulder.
Finally, he glanced in her direction. “Permit’s in.”
That was all. No mischief. No teasing at all before he stalked toward the east side of the house and disappeared from her view.
From the safety of the main house, she watched him move around the site, measuring and making notes. The next day, he arrived early and stayed late. By the time he left, he’d staked out large, square sections and delineated them with bright yellow rope tied to two-foot-tall wooden spikes.
The following day, he dug in the dirt, and the day after, as well.
On Tuesday, he showed up with a group of eight other people, who she assumed were his students.
Noah talked for a long while, gesturing with his hands and moving through the roped-off area to point at something. They broke off into groups of two and three, with each group working in a different square while Noah wandered the site. He stopped on occasion to give instruction or to hunch over something one of the students pointed to in the ground, but mostly, he hung back and observed.
She was fascinated, watching him.
After the students left, he worked alone. When the sun hovered at the horizon, he drove his truck over the rough terrain of her yard and angled it so the headlights’ bright beams shone across the site. He continued working.
That night, just before she crawled into bed, she peeked out to find he still worked to the glow of headlights.
The ringing of her cell phone jolted her awake. Sunlight squeezed in around her closed curtains, and she fumbled for the phone on her nightstand.
It was the accounting office where she’d applied for a secretarial position, calling to request an interview. She bolted upright in bed and smoothed a hand over her tousled hair, as though Marianne, the office manager, might be able to see her through the connection. They scheduled Mina’s interview for the following afternoon.
That week marked her first payday with no paycheck. She needed this job.
The next afternoon, she donned her spoiled rich girl getup and made the short drive to the accounting office downtown. Throughout the interview with Marianne, a swarm of butterflies banged around in her stomach, but their talk went well, and Mina left the small, tidy office feeling relieved and optimistic.
She drove down Main Street toward Lakeshore Drive, and her mind turned to other things.
To Noah. That’s all her mind ever turned to these days.
She hurled a defeated sigh into the air, even as she wondered if Noah would be at the site when she returned.
An upcoming traffic light flipped to yellow. She slowed the Beemer and rolled to a stop.
He hadn’t asked her for money for the excavation. In fact, he hadn’t spoken to her at all since he’d started the dig. She recalled the deadened look in his eyes when she’d refused to give him her trust.
She chewed her bottom lip.
As it stood, she’d cobbled together half the estimated cost, and the prospect of a steady income went a long way to calming her money-parting apprehensions. But how would she come up with the other half? Did she risk another delay if she didn’t get something to him soon?
She stared through the windshield, her mind working the puzzle until a large blue-and-white sign screamed for her attention.
Al’s Autos. Now buying and selling new and used cars!
A car horn honked, and she startled to realize the light had turned green. She eased through the intersection, switched on her turn signal, and steered the BMW into the car lot.
Chapter Ten
After thirty minutes and a less-painful-than-expected barter with Al, Mina drove from the lot, not in her four-year-old mint-condition BMW but in a ten-year-old pickup truck with rusted-out floorboards and a broken air conditioner. Any doubts she might’ve had dissolved with the five thousand dollars she’d netted in the exchange.
At the house, with a pinch of disappointment, she discovered Noah wasn’t at the site.
She freed her hair to the humidity and fumbled through her grocery bag for her cell phone. Her fingers moved over the keypad.
I have your money. Her hand stilled over the keys a moment. Want me to bring it to you?
In the bedroom, she stripped out of her clothes and pulled on a work shirt.
Her phone’s display winked at her. She retrieved her phone from the bed and opened the text from Noah.
I will never refuse an offer of money, his reply read.
She laughed. Where are you?
His instructions came amidst her frantic search for her favorite blue jeans.
My office—404 Hannah Hall.
She stumbled over the edge of a throw rug. She stared down at the phone cradled in her hand as the adrenaline zinging through her body slackened and clogged in her veins.
But she was too desperate—er, eager—to care about his precise location.
Forty-five minutes later, she hastened down the long corridor of the nineteenth-century campus building. The soles of her sneakers padded against the concrete floor and echoed off the familiar cement block walls. She ran a clammy palm down her blue-jeaned thigh and fussed with her unruly hair.
She rounded the corner, and Noah’s lilting accent drifted out to her through his open office door. She peeked inside to f
ind him behind his desk talking with a youthful-looking girl sitting across from him.
“Mina!” Noah’s bellow rang out.
Mina jerked in surprise and winced when she bit her tongue.
He sprang from the chair and swooped down on her. “Come in, come in,” he said.
She hung back. “I can wait—”
“Sit,” he barked. “Lindsay, I’m afraid we’ll have to pick this up another time. I’m late for a meeting.”
Lindsay gave Mina a quick once-over and retrieved the backpack at her feet. She slung her bag over one shoulder, and the motion caused the scrap of material stretched across her breasts to shift and twist in scandalous ways.
A sympathetic shiver passed through Mina. The poor girl must be freezing. In fact, it was obvious that she was.
“Thanks, Dr. Nolan. See you in class Wednesday.” Lindsay’s singsong farewell elicited a grunt from Noah.
Mina averted her eyes from Lindsay’s perky breasts only to behold her shorts. Shorts so short the curve of each firm butt cheek peeked out from beneath the hems. Despite a familiar envy at never having been able to pull off such an outfit—even at eighteen—Mina had to admire the girl for her courage.
Mina snuck a glance at Noah, expecting to find his male attention riveted to the girl’s impressive features. Instead, he stood with his arms folded over his chest, his focus pinned to the far wall over Mina’s shoulder.
Alone, Mina leaned close. “Will that be all?”
He scowled. “She’s been here every damn day this week,” he hissed. “She’s incapable of understanding the most basic concepts.”
“I’m guessing she understands just fine.”
Noah’s eyebrows slammed together, his confusion evident.
“Something tells me you’re pretty popular with your students, Professor Nolan.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Your female students.”
She saw the moment comprehension struck.
He recoiled, revulsion contorting his features. “That’s disgusting. She’s a child, for fuck’s sake.”
“Hardly,” Mina muttered.
