Beautiful Ruin (Nolan Brothers #1)

by Amy Olle

  Noah shoved both hands through his hair and leaned back in his chair.

  Mina loved him. He hadn’t been able to say the words back to her. That she hadn’t expected him to rankled a bit. Even so, he’d made her repeat them. He was a bastard for doing so, but he didn’t regret it.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face and rested his chin on one palm.

  What the hell was he doing here, with her?

  He stared with an unfocused gaze at the computer screen for several minutes.

  He typed a quick reply and hit Send.

  It was full-on darkness when he woke her sometime later. He moved over her and took her mouth in a soft kiss. He licked the small hollow beneath her damaged ear. She opened for him and he thrust inside her.

  He made love to her that way, with an underlying urgency he didn’t understand.

  He didn’t need to understand, he told himself before he was lost in her soft, wet sex.

  In three months, he’d be in Ireland, working on his next excavation.

  And Mina Winslow would be nothing but the past once more.

  The following Friday night, a boisterous crowd packed the pub. She checked in on a table of college-aged men to see if they were ready for another round. One of the guys wanted to order some food, and Mina leaned close so she could hear him over the music. She jotted down his order and reached for his menu.

  Then caught the guy across the table leering down her blouse. She jerked upright. A smirk twisted his ugly mouth. Mina scooped up the menus and hurried away.

  She put in the order and tried to shake off the sickening churn in the pit of her stomach. It was a bar. These kinds of things happened. Heck, if she worked it, she might even increase her tips.

  The thought repulsed her. She lacked the talent for innocent flirtation, let alone seduction.

  Heather seated another large group in her section, and soon Mina was too busy to spare another thought for the frat boy with the brazen gaze. She filled drink orders and fetched food. She delivered an overburdened tray to one table, and as she backed away, she tripped over a large foot and bumped up hard against a big body.

  Hands reached out to steady her. Her mind was slow to recognize the nature of the touch. Not chivalrous or courteous. Not the innocent outcome of an overcrowded barroom.

  This touch was intimate.

  Questing.

  And wholly unwanted.

  Mina whipped around, holding the tray between herself and the groper like a shield.

  A part of her mind recognized him as the leering frat boy even before she turned. So she wasn’t surprised, but when his fingers bit into the flesh of her behind and a glint came into his eyes, the hairs lifted on the back of her neck. His aim was not to flirt.

  His intent was dark. Cruel.

  Icy talons clamped around her heart, freezing her from the inside out. Her vocal chords iced over, and a meek “Don’t” was all she managed to squeak out.

  His seeking hand slid between her legs, rough and forceful. Terror gripped her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t defend against or deflect him.

  A cruel smirk twisted his lips. He saw her fear, and liked it.

  Someone jostled him and he pitched forward into her. She shoved the tray hard and he stumbled back. His heel caught on a chair leg.

  The scene unfolded as if in slow motion. He started to fall, and he flailed his arms in large windmill circles, blindly grappling for balance.

  Then Shea appeared to grasp the groper by his elbow and steady him.

  Vivid blue eyes locked on Mina’s face and Shea jerked his head at her. “My office. Now.”

  Still struggling to recover from those moments when the past had seemed to be repeating itself, she stood frozen to the spot while Shea hauled the groper bodily toward the front entrance.

  By slow increments, she became aware of the curious gazes of patrons on her. They’d seen the way he’d touched her. Revulsion ripped through her.

  She backed away from the crowd and then turned to flee. On weak legs, she made her way toward Shea’s office.

  A few feet from his door, a man bounded through the door of the men’s restroom and crashed into her.

  She fell back with enough force to smack into the wall, and a jolt of pain exploded in her shoulder.

  “Sorry, darling.” Hands gripped her waist.

  Nausea rose up. She slipped past the man and stumbled the rest of the way down the hall to Shea’s office. She slammed the door shut behind her and sagged against the wood.

  The muffled thump of music leaked through the walls.

  She understood the shame and revulsion she felt were disproportionate to the incident. The guy was a jerk—a drunken jerk—and he’d copped a feel. So what? It happened all the time, in bars in every city, every night. It was not a big deal.

  Yet her skin crawled and her throat clogged with fear and helplessness.

  She pushed off the door and sank into a chair at Shea’s desk.

  He would fire her.

  At the thought, relief overwhelmed her.

  Noise from the bar swept into the small office with Shea until he shut it out with the door.

  He dropped into the chair next to hers and ran a hand over his head. The same way Noah did when tense.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Fierce blue eyes fixed on her face. “Don’t you dare be sorry.”

  “I won’t make you fire me. I should’ve quit weeks ago.”

  “I wasn’t going to fire you. I wanted to give you a few minutes to collect yourself,” he said. “You want to quit?”

  The palms of her hands grew clammy, and she rubbed them over the denim on her thighs. “I’m a terrible waitress.”

  A dimple popped out in Shea’s left cheek. “I wouldn’t say terrible.”

  Unbelievably, she smiled. He was being so nice. Which only intensified her guilt.

  Shea shifted forward in his seat and propped his elbows on his knees. “If you’re worrying about that guy, don’t. No one has the right to touch my staff. Ever. He will not be back.”

  The trembling in her hands eased at that, though the weight of shame pressing on her chest squeezed tighter.

  They sat in silence a moment.

  Then she pointed at the ledger lying open on his desk. “You should put all that in a spreadsheet.”

  Shea looked at the ledger crammed with handwritten numbers and notes scratched between the lines and in the margins. “Can I have my fingernails yanked out instead?”

  They shared a smile.

  “We’ve only got another hour before closing,” he said. “You wanna call it a night?”

  She did, desperately so, but she pushed to her feet. “No, I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “So, you’re not quitting?”

  She shook her head, but when she opened her mouth, “Maybe?” slipped out instead.

  Shea smiled. “I understand.” The lines of worry around his eyes deepened, and his hand swept over his hair once more. Then stilled.

  He head snapped up and his electric-blue eyes shone. “I have a better idea.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Winter settled over northern Michigan like a mantle, shrouding the earth in a thin layer of pristine white snow. Noah finished the excavation, and his research moved indoors, where the focus would turn to cataloguing artifacts and searching for clues about the person or persons who might’ve lived on the land of Mina’s ancestors.

  He turned his truck into the gravel parking lot of the little stone building located on the southernmost tip of the island. The Catholic church sat atop a hill overlooking a frothy sea. Snow crunched beneath his Timberlands as he moved up the walkway. The peacefulness of the spot must’ve affected him, for he couldn’t help but marvel at the way the fresh fallen snow changed the landscape, littering the earth with shards of diamonds and swaddling them in a mantle of quiet.

  He’d forgotten so much about this place. Now
that his time to remain on the island neared its end, he couldn’t stop noticing such things.

  He’d tried to broach the subject of his leaving with Mina a few nights ago, but she’d been distracted and...

  And what?

  Nothing.

  Except, he couldn’t bear it if she didn’t care.

  Inside the church vestibule, he stomped the snow and slush from his boots.

  Then he realized he was not alone. A man sat in the front pew, his head bent.

  Noah wavered a moment but then moved to the front of the church and slid into the pew beside his uncle. They sat in silence for a time. Over the years, they’d spent many hours sitting together in these pews.

  Noah recalled the day he’d confessed to Father John that he’d lost his faith.

  “What makes you say so?” John had asked calmly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try to explain it.”

  “That’s it. I don’t know.”

  A soft glow had entered John’s eyes and he’d nodded. “You have questions.”

  Noah shook his head. “I’ve asked my questions, but the answers don’t make sense.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Sister Anne said Mom’s in Hell because she disassociated with the Church.”

  “That’s bullshit. Sister Anne knows nothing about your mother’s personal relationship with God.”

  “Every time I ask her a question, she tells me to pray to God that he’ll restore my faith.”

  Father John’s soft chuckle had surprised Noah.

  “Sister Anne doesn’t understand that there’s more than one way to believe.” Father John had gazed at the altar while he spoke. “To wonder and seek truth is to walk the path of true faith. Without questions, and even doubt, faith becomes a static, lifeless thing. It becomes self-serving. Always doubt, Noah, for doubt is sacred.”

  It’d become their parting salutation. “Take care. Always doubt.”

  Now, Noah looked at the man he respected above all others. Light lines etched the skin around John’s eyes and mouth, but everything about him was relaxed and open. A man at peace.

  “When did you resign?” Noah risked asking.

  “Fifteen years ago.” The answer came short and quick.

  “Can you tell me why?”

  John’s weighty sigh disclosed a heavy heart. “Let’s just say I grew disillusioned. I’m down with Jesus and consider myself a man of faith, but the Church, the institution of the Church, well, they betrayed my trust.”

  “That must’ve been hard for you.”

  John smiled and leaned back in the pew. “Nah.” His eyes shone. “I was inspired.”

  “Had a religious experience, did ya?”

  “Not so much as that, no. Just a punk-ass kid who forced me to have a long, hard think on things.”

  Noah laughed. “A kid, huh?”

  “A punk-ass kid.”

  “Yeah, I caught that. What’d he do?”

  “A lot of noise followed this kid around, and some hard choices were put before him. He could’ve taken the easy route, done nothing, and let us all go on about our lives. Instead, he did the right thing. At great personal cost to himself and his family, for no other reason than because it was the right thing to do.”

  John regarded Noah with serious eyes. “He stood up for truth and goodness, the world be damned.”

  The back of Noah’s throat squeezed shut and he forced words out. “Yep, sounds like a punk-ass, all right.”

  “That he was.” John hoisted his tall frame off the pew bench and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “Want me to open the records room? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  Noah stood. It was probably a long shot, but he hoped one of the old church tomes might provide a name or nugget of information about the identities of the treasure keepers.

  “They let you keep the key?” Noah asked as he retraced his steps to the vestibule.

  A mischievous smile turned up the corners of John’s mouth. “Father Michael thinks I’m trustworthy.”

  He unlocked the door to the small storage room. “Enjoy.”

  In short order, Noah compiled a stake of dusty, leather-bound books and began combing through them. He jotted down notes and page numbers, but nothing game-changing revealed itself over the next two hours. When dusk settled over the island, he set his pile aside with plans to return and finish his review in the following weeks.

  Outside, Noah ducked his chin against the wind whipping off the lake. Spiky pellets lashed against his skin. Not snow but not rain either. A sort of chunky ice rain.

  He fell into his truck, cranked the engine, and turned the heat on full-blast. A few minutes later, he hunched forward and, peering through a small patch of clear windshield, pulled out onto Lakeshore Drive.

  He headed north. Toward Mina’s.

  She’d work another hour yet at the house, so he’d let himself into the carriage house with the key she’d given him and start dinner.

  He hadn’t asked her for a key, just found it on the counter one morning with a Post-It note. He’d stared down at it for many long moments, his heart thundering in his ears, before he was able to pick it up and slip it into his pocket.

  In case you need it, the note read in her neat script.

  So casual. So simple. So trusting.

  So why the hell hadn’t she told him about the jerk with the grabby hands?

  Maybe it was only that she hadn’t found the opportunity. For several weeks now, they’d both worked nonstop, giving as many hours as possible to their projects. Some nights they were too exhausted to do anything more than lie in the dark, talking, until they drifted off to sleep.

  He enjoyed their routine, and in a few short months, a contentment that’d eluded him all his life was suddenly, simply, present. He’d been discontented and alone for so long—lonely—he’d been lonely for so damn long it was good not to feel it so acutely. Not to contend with his overactive mind.

  With Mina, the questions stopped.

  His cell phone started to ring in his coat pocket. At a stop sign, he fished for the phone but missed the call. He logged into his voice mail and listened to the message from Shea inquiring after the whereabouts of Mr. Whiskers. In the background, Maisie’s cries of distress threatened to drown him out.

  The day before, Noah had collected Maisie and Connor from daycare and delivered them to Shea at the pub. He twisted in his seat and reached with one hand to explore over the floorboards.

  Bingo.

  With a quick check in either direction, he executed a U-turn. At Shea’s, he entered through the side door and cringed when he stumbled into Shea washing dishes at the kitchen sink.

  “You saved my night,” Shea said.

  Noah set the toy on the kitchen table.

  “Haven’t seen you around much lately.” Shea’s stiff shoulders belied the casualness of his words.

  Noah rolled his shoulders. “I’ve been working a lot. Long hours.”

  Shea turned from the sink, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “What is it that you do exactly?”

  “I’m an archaeologist,” Noah said. “And I teach.”

  Shea’s expression cleared. “You’re a teacher? What grade?”

  “College.”

  A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Well, that makes sense.”

  That was it?

  Helpless to the disbelief, Noah’s mouth slackened.

  Then Shea’s features pinched, as if he’d bitten into something sour or was constipated. “You’re, uh, welcome to crash here anytime you want.”

  Noah narrowed his eyes.

  “Especially if the lake ices over in the next few weeks and the ferry stops running.”

  Noah didn’t see any reason to lie. “I’ve been staying at Mina’s.”

  Shea tossed the towel to the countertop and folded his arms across his chest. “I didn’t realize you two were that close.”

  Noah responded to the accusation
in Shea’s tone. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

  Shea bristled, and Noah thought he might engage, but in the end, he turned, a disappointed sigh his only reply.

  “If you have something to say, just say it,” Noah snapped.

  Shea leaned a hip against the counter. “She’s a good girl.”

  “And you think I’m not good enough for her.” Noah knew he wasn’t good enough for her, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Shea.

  “That’s not what I was saying.” Weariness dragged at Shea’s shoulders. “She’s been through a lot, and I’d hate for her to get hurt, or humiliated, again. She doesn’t deserve it.”

  Noah straightened, too shocked by Shea’s word choice to be offended. “What do you mean, humiliated? Are you talking about her engagement?”

  “I only witnessed it from an outsider’s perspective, but man, it must’ve been brutal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Shea folded his arms. “A national tabloid set up camp in town for a while. They printed some pretty disgusting stuff.”

  Noah’s stomach lurched. A niggling, persistent unease had hovered in the back of his mind for weeks now. What he’d at first chalked up to Mina’s shyness, he’d started to think was something else. Something closer to caution, bordering on fear. The sex was amazing, hot and heartfelt, but she remained elusive somehow, just out of his reach.

  He’d shrugged off his misgivings. It was understandable, given Drew’s infidelity and general stupidity, and they were having an affair. So what if she wanted to hold something of herself back? He wasn’t about to fling open the closet door and march out his demons and skeletons.

  This tidbit of information went a long way toward explaining what niggled.

  “Be cool, okay? I like her.”

  Noah liked her, too. A lot. Rather than put his fist through a wall, he pulled his car keys from his pocket and turned toward the door.