Beautiful Ruin (Nolan Brothers #1)

by Amy Olle

  “I might say the same thing to you. You’re making a fool of yourself,” she mocked. “You sound like a mobster.”

  “I’m the mayor.”

  “Close enough,” she muttered.

  “Be careful with him.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care?”

  He threw back a swallow of his whiskey. A piece of ice crunched between his teeth. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough. I’m running for Congress.”

  “Congratulations. You’ll fit right in, but what does that have to do with me?”

  “The media will be creeping around. I thought we could try not to write the headlines for them this time.”

  “Is that what you thought?” She tapped her index finger against her chin. “Well, geez, let me think, what can I do to ensure you don’t make an ass of yourself? Again.”

  Drew released a martyred sigh and dragged a hand through his blond-streaked hair. “We’ve been through a lot together. I’d hoped we could stay friends.”

  Mina ducked her chin.

  “How are you doing? How’s the house?”

  “I’m fine. The house is fine.”

  “You need anything?”

  “Got fifty thousand dollars?”

  He laughed. “I heard you were in a tough spot. Why don’t you let me help?”

  The mere suggestion made her skin crawl. “Your girlfriend okay with that?”

  “Phoebe has no say in this.”

  “She’s had plenty of say up to now,” Mina said. “And, no, I’m not taking money from you.”

  “Not a handout but a loan,” he said. “I’ll even charge interest if it’ll make you happy.”

  Mina’s reply died on her lips when a heavy shadow fell over the table. She looked up into Noah’s hard-set features.

  Her heart sank.

  “Mr. Mayor.” He slid into the booth beside her.

  “Dr. Nolan.” Drew eased back in his seat. “You have a way with the fiddle.”

  “You should see what I can do with a flute.”

  Their gazes locked and held, until a smirk curled Drew’s lips and his pale eyes shifted to Mina.

  “Take care of yourself.” He slipped from the booth and disappeared into the crowd.

  Noah’s knee bounced. “Why is Drew Alexander offering you money?”

  Words clogged in her throat. She scanned the pub and pinpointed Shea behind the bar pouring drinks, while across the room, Luke and Jack had joined a table of women.

  Noah’s dark gaze fastened on her. “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is he to you?”

  She swallowed convulsively. “My ex.”

  Revulsion twisted his features. “Why did you ask your ex-boyfriend for money?”

  “Fiancé. And I didn’t ask.”

  His knee halted. “Fiancé?”

  “Ex-fiancé.”

  Revulsion turned to disgust and a curse slipped through his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You were going to marry him,” he bit out.

  “It was a mistake and we are both well aware of it. It’s over.”

  “So why does he believe you’d take his money?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know how he found out—” The words died off when the puzzle pieces snapped together.

  Phoebe. She’d told him about the loan request. So much for client confidentiality.

  “How he found out what?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “That I don’t have any money.”

  After a beat of silence, a startled laugh burst from him.

  She should be used to such reactions from people, and she was, except she didn’t want to believe Noah was like all those others.

  Her heart ached with the knowledge. “It’s true. I’m broke.”

  He gaped at her.

  “It’s shocking, I know. A Winslow without money. It’s like a Kardashian without a TV camera.”

  Noah sighed and some of the tension drained from his shoulders.

  “It’s okay if you find it funny,” she said, more to convince herself than anything else. “Most people do.”

  “Mina—”

  “I wasn’t going to take his money.” She rushed on, desperate to smooth the anger from his face. “Even though I could really, really use it for the basement, or the well, or the excavation—”

  “Mina—”

  “I went to the bank and tried to increase the amount on my home equity loan, but they refused to even consider it now that I’m unemployed.”

  At some point during her ramblings, his expression softened. “What about your family?”

  “It’s only my mom and me and she isn’t... able to help.”

  “I wish you’d told me.”

  Inexplicably, tears pushed to the surface. She turned them back. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because maybe I could’ve helped.” A hard edge crept into his tone. “We could’ve delayed the excavation.”

  “I didn’t want to delay. The sooner I finish the house, the sooner I stop hemorrhaging money.”

  His jaw clamped tight, except for a small twitch at the jawline. “I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

  Cold misery swept through her. She’d disappointed him.

  He slid toward the edge of the booth. “I’m going to be out of town for a few days.” He spoke with a businesslike indifference that left her feeling empty and alone even before he shifted away.

  “Where are you going?” She couldn’t stop herself asking.

  “To a conference.” He climbed to his feet. “Don’t worry, I built the time away into the schedule I gave you, so it won’t negatively impact the timeline.”

  “Noah...”

  “C’mon,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mina’s training with Heather began on Tuesday.

  On Wednesday, her injured wrist started to ache from carrying the heavy trays, and by the end of her shift, she struggled to smooth the evidence of pain from her face.

  As she approached one couple with their order, her wrist gave out, and she dropped the tray on their table with an indelicate thud. A pint teetered. She leapt to steady it but only succeeded in hastening its spill. Amber liquid splashed across the tabletop and rolled into their laps.

  Gushing apologies, she used a towel to sop up the spillage.

  On Thursday, she stood beside Emily at the cemetery as they buried Emily’s mother. Father John said a prayer, and Emily laid a bloom of lavender atop the casket before they lowered Audrey Rutherford Cole into the ground.

  The melancholy stayed with Mina through her shift that night at the pub.

  A packed crowd and live band made hearing her customers difficult. The men’s deep baritones caused her the most trouble, and she wrote down several orders incorrectly. She had to ask Shea to comp the meal of one particularly perturbed guest.

  Her pride stinging, she ducked behind the bar and worked at filling drink orders for the table of five seated in her section.

  She missed her desk job.

  She missed the half-dozen fingernails she’d broken in the last week alone.

  Worse yet, she missed Noah.

  The busy week didn’t make her forget the expression on his face when betrayal had turned to disgust when he’d learned she’d almost married Drew.

  Who was he to judge her? He didn’t know what it’d been like for her.

  Because you didn’t tell him.

  Well, why would she?

  A long, woeful sigh pushed through her lips, and she rotated her sore wrist in every direction, searching for a position that might alleviate the ache in the ligaments.

  No matter how convincingly she argued her case inside her head, she couldn’t shake the notion she’d let him down. She was a devout people pleaser, and no amount of self-righteousness was going to convert her now.

  �
��Oh. My. God.” A piercing cackle carried above the pub noise and grated along Mina’s spinal cord. “You’re a waitress?”

  Weary dread stole over Mina. She ignored Phoebe Taylor and the snickers of the other women with her at the bar. Their cruel laughter drew the attention of others seated nearby.

  Mina placed the last pint on the tray and hefted the bulky platter.

  “Excuse me.” Phoebe smacked her hand on the bar top until Mina acknowledged her.

  Then she lifted her tumbler and jiggled the empty glass so the ice rattled.

  Mina couldn’t squelch the contempt from her voice. “I’m not your waitress.”

  Phoebe’s face screwed into a murderous sneer. Mina ate her satisfied smile as she delivered the drinks.

  Friday morning, the noise from the crew woke her at seven a.m.

  She entered through the kitchen door at the back of the house and got to work. Sometime later, Sam found her in the hall, staring down at three small patches of stain on the hardwood floor.

  “Which one do you like?” she asked him.

  “What color is going on the walls?”

  “Something light.” She scratched a phantom itch behind her ear. “Probably beige-ish.”

  “Then I vote for the dark one.”

  She smiled. “Good choice.”

  Sam’s brows pulled together. “You got a minute?”

  “Not if there’s an issue, I don’t.”

  A smile softened his long angular face. “I wanted to give you a heads-up that I’ll be off on vacation in a couple of weeks.”

  She swallowed an expletive. “How nice.”

  “Eddie’s in charge until I get back.” He scowled. “He’ll keep things on track and deal with the subcontractors. He’s the most knowledgeable of the crew and should give you the least amount of trouble.”

  She struggled to muster even a hint of enthusiasm. “Sounds good.”

  With a covert glance left and right, Sam dropped his voice. “Keep your eye on the others. Sometimes, they need to be... motivated.”

  “Motivated. Got it.”

  He frowned at her. “Do not let them take advantage of you.”

  “All right.” She infused as much conviction into the word as she could manage.

  “I’m serious. You have to let them know who’s in charge.”

  She swallowed back bile. “Who’s in charge?”

  He leaned in. “That’d be you.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  He gave her a smack on the back, which sent her lurching forward. “Good luck, and have fun.”

  “Oh, you, too,” she muttered to his retreating back.

  In the days Noah had spent away, fall had descended on Thief Island. It appeared as though the world had caught fire, torching the treetops in crimson and orange, amber and ochre.

  The crisp, sweet perfume of falling leaves teased his nostrils when he stepped from his truck. Mist kissed his skin and he ducked his head against the gusting wind.

  At times, Thief Island reminded him of Ireland. Like now, when the weather built and burst off the lake to sweep over the land. In a half-hour period, the conditions might swing from mild and sunny to overcast, dump buckets of rain, pounding hail, only to calm again, allowing the warm sunshine.

  It was odd being back. The place felt familiar. Like home.

  He might as well have skipped the academic conference. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus, as thoughts of Mina Winslow had coiled through his mind, pushing out everything else.

  Mina Winslow and Drew Alexander.

  Mina Winslow, naked and open, for Drew Alexander.

  Apart from murder or intoxication, Noah knew of no way to drive the images from his head. So he’d left the conference a day early and driven straight from the airport to the northernmost coast of the island.

  Back to her.

  He rounded the main house and stalked toward the carriage house, the thoughts he’d been battling with all week thrashing around in his head.

  I hate that he touched her. Hate that she let him.

  It should’ve been me.

  But you weren’t here.

  So what? She should have told me.

  Why? You left fifteen years ago and never so much as sent a postcard.

  And when she had told him, what had he done? Stalked off to pout.

  Absorbed with this inner brawl, Noah failed to spot Mina among the hedges until a crack of sound split the air and he jerked around.

  Up to her ankles in mud, she wielded an axe overhead and brought it down with brute violence on a helpless rosebush. Whack!

  Her ponytail hung limply to one side, and auburn ringlets sprung loose in all directions. Her cobalt-blue eyes were shining, and her chest rose and fell with each deep, desperate breath she dragged into her lungs.

  His feet rooted to the spot. His body hummed, electrified by the sight of her.

  She was unbearably beautiful. A wood nymph. An earth goddess. All moss greens and burnt oranges, lost in mist and fog.

  Wielding an axe.

  He wanted her. There’d never been any denying that uncomfortable fact. He only wished he didn’t want her quite so much.

  The wind kicked up to bite at her hair and shirttail and send a throng of dried leaves skittering across the lawn.

  “You’re back,” she said. A true statement, delivered with a large dose of who gives a shit?

  So, she was mad at him.

  He flashed a smooth grin, the one that always whipped color into her cheeks. “Miss me?”

  Nothing. Not even one of her polite, fake-ass smiles. Her blue eyes swirled with distress.

  His chest tightened.

  “Stop it,” she snapped.

  “Stop what?”

  “Looking at me—” Her hand flitted through the air as if she might snatch the words from the sky. “Like that.”

  “Something’s happened.”

  An exasperated sigh leaked from her. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

  “I know. Will you tell me what happened?”

  Axe in hand, she eyed him, considering. The weight of expectation grew heavy.

  She ran a hand through her hair, and her fingers caught on the sagging ponytail. With a vicious tug, she yanked the rubber band from her head, and her auburn hair fell about her shoulders in tousled disarray.

  Her face crumpled and she ducked her chin. He moved to go to her, but she twisted away.

  Axe blade met rosebush with a ruthless whack! “They’re all laughing at me.”

  “Who’s laughing at you?”

  Whack!

  “They don’t even try to hide it.” Whack! “They hear my last name and think they know me.” Whack! “My life is a joke to them.” Whack! “I’m a joke to them.”

  She hoisted the axe once more. Noah seized the handle midair.

  She surrendered the blade without a struggle, and he cast it aside as she staggered from the hedges, her exit from the mud punctuated by the undignified sucking sound of her rubber boots releasing from the thick sludge.

  In the grass, she stumbled and he caught her arm. His face inches from hers, anguish-filled blueberry gumdrops hit him like a punch to the gut.

  “I’m an awful waitress.” Her voice sounded suspiciously watery. “I can’t remember the drink orders and keep mixing them up. God forbid anyone wants to eat anything not exactly as it’s listed on the menu because I’ll screw that up, too, and why are the trays so blasted big? It’s like they want us to drop them.”

  “It’s your first week,” he said. “Give yourself a break.”

  She spun to face him. “I spilled an entire Coke inside a woman’s purse.”

  Noah only just stopped himself from wincing.

  “It was a big purse. Huge.” She motioned with her hands. “And it was jam-packed with... sticky... wet... stuff.”

  He did wince then. “Okay, that’s unfortunate, but no one can expect you to be mistake-free while you’re still learning. Waiting tabl
es is a hard job and you’re brand new. With a little time, you’ll get the hang of it.”

  She scowled at him. “Stop being so reasonable.”

  “I’m sorry.” And he was sorry—truly, desperately sorry for every hurt and setback she’d ever experienced to put that hitch of vulnerability in her voice.

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “It makes them happy when I fail.”

  “I’m sure no one is—”

  “Yes, they are.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. Her brow crinkled with frustrated confusion. “I don’t remember high school all that well. Was I a terrible person?”

  Noah swallowed the lump lodged in his throat.

  Had she been a terrible person?

  The memories rushed forward to crowd his mind.

  She’d been painfully shy, and sweet.

  They’d met junior year, when he was assigned the seat behind hers in English Lit. Three weeks into the semester, which also happened to be the first day he’d bothered to show up for class, she’d turned in her chair, smiled her crooked smile, and shyly offered to share her notes with him.

  He couldn’t help but smile back. Granted, he’d been drunk that day.

  She was studious, serious. He wasn’t. She’d scold him when he skipped, and then give him her notes anyway when he asked for them. He showed up on test days, and when his scores still rivaled hers, her annoyance warred with her admiration.

  A competition of sorts had grown between them that semester, with Mina eking out the win. Though it’d taken a whole grade deduction for poor attendance to drop Noah’s A beneath her A minus.

  Senior year, the subject was math, and Noah had attended more often those first few weeks than he had the entire previous school year.

  At Halloween, they’d hooked up, but when classes had reconvened after midterm break, she hadn’t been there.

  He’d forgotten about that.

  Then she’d returned, but she wouldn’t talk to him. Wouldn’t even look at him.

  A few weeks later, his life had blown up in his face and he’d fled the island. They wouldn’t lay eyes on each other again for fifteen years.

  He shook off the burden of the past to find she watched him with devastated eyes. Torment clung to her, and his heart hammered a bruising beat in his chest.

  “No, wait, don’t answer that.” She stabbed at her temples and rubbed with brutal force. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to know.”