The Last Man She Expected

by Michelle Major

  “I have my own space.”

  Carrie blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your dad may have held court in this town, but he didn’t own everything. I’m under contract with Bobby Hawthorne.”

  The breath hissed from between her suddenly dry lips. How had she not heard about that? She and her sisters had been working closely with Magnolia’s mayor, Malcolm Grimes, and the rest of the town council as well as local business owners to implement a plan for revitalization. They weren’t to blame for Niall’s stranglehold on the community, but each of them felt a responsibility to make things better.

  “I asked for a confidentiality clause,” Dylan said matter-of-factly. “After you derailed my plans to buy one of your father’s buildings, I wasn’t going to take a chance on you blocking me again.”

  “Bobby owns the entire block across from the gallery.” She shook her head, willing her jumbled thoughts to become ordered. “That’s far more square footage than what the space we own would have afforded.”

  He gave a curt nod. “I’m expanding my initial proposal. We’re going to redo the whole block with shops, restaurants and lofts on the second floor above each storefront. Just so we’re clear, my company is also buying and developing the old textile factory and the land that borders your dad’s farm. By the time I’m finished, no one will even care that Niall Reed once lived here. Magnolia will belong to me.”

  Carrie’s throat tightened, and she glanced around wildly. There had to be another explanation or something she could do to stop him. Dylan had gutted her when he’d accepted the bribe from her father to break up with her. She didn’t trust him or his motives. He’d been so intent on leaving Magnolia and making his mark on the world. He’d hated their sleepy town and everything it represented.

  He’d sworn to her that he would never come back so his return to Magnolia didn’t make any sense.

  “You despise this place.”

  “I despised your father,” he clarified. “Now that I’m back, anything he had I want. I’m going to destroy every last shred of his legacy.”

  Carrie’s father had many faults, but she still loved him. It might be different for Avery and Meredith, but part of the reason she was determined to set Magnolia on a better course was so that her family wouldn’t bear responsibility for ruining the town. She’d become more independent, but twenty-eight years as the dutiful daughter wouldn’t be undone. Loyalty was ingrained in her.

  “I won’t let you,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

  “You can’t stop me.” He moved closer, using his size to block out her view of the rest of the darkened street. All she could see was the collar of the gray sweater under the wool overcoat he wore. The street was eerily silent, as if even the rustle of the wind had quieted in deference to Dylan’s overpowering presence.

  Carrie felt her nostrils flare as the scent of him—spice and clean shampoo—enveloped her.

  “If you’re trying to intimidate me,” she said, forcing an even tone, “it won’t work. I know you. You might be ruthless and heartless, but you aren’t a bully.”

  “Maybe you aren’t the only one who’s changed.” She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. At five foot nine, Carrie was tall, but he still towered over her. His large body felt like shelter from some nonexistent storm. She’d liked that feeling of being small, of deferring to his size and strength, when they’d been together.

  She liked it even now, although she had no intention of surrendering to him no matter how much he blustered.

  “Stay away from me, Dylan,” she told him, proud that her voice didn’t tremble. “From me and my sisters. You have no business in this town, and I’m going to make sure everyone sees that.”

  Clutching her tote bag to her body, she tipped her chin and elbowed her way past him.

  * * *

  DYLAN MUTTERED A curse as he stood on the front lawn of the house he’d rented for the next six months.

  An eerie blue light glowed from the window of an upstairs bedroom, which meant Sam was awake and playing video games.

  This had been a crap night, and it was about to go even more off the rails. They’d only moved in the prior day, with Sam alternately surly and outright antagonistic.

  Dylan didn’t blame the kid. Fifteen was a rough time for any teenage boy, let alone one who’d lost the only family he had in a plane crash then been stuck with a guardian who was laughably unequipped to take responsibility for another living being.

  Dylan might be a success in business, but his single-minded determination had forced him to sacrifice his personal life. Not that he’d particularly minded. After having his heart shattered once before, he was in no hurry to repeat the venture.

  He sure as hell hadn’t expected to run into Carrie Reed on a quiet street tonight. In Boston, where he’d lived in a modern loft downtown, his inability to sleep hadn’t been a problem. He could always find a party or neighborhood bar for late-night companionship. Or, as he’d taken to more often of late, enjoy the succor of background noise while he silently sipped his preferred whiskey neat on his own.

  Magnolia, with its tree-lined streets and festive holiday decorations, didn’t offer the same kind of around-the-clock distractions. Instead, he was stuck roaming the neighborhood until the wee hours, needing only a light jacket with the temperatures hovering in the low fifties. That might be cool for this part of North Carolina, but after ten years in Boston, it felt downright balmy.

  There hadn’t been another soul out so late, but the flash of a quilted red jacket turning a corner had made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  Dylan didn’t need to see her bourbon-colored tumble of hair or the delicate line of her jaw to recognize Carrie. It was as if the months they’d dated had imprinted her on his soul. He recognized her deep within his body the way a sailor sensed a storm brewing at the edge of a calm swath of sea.

  Scaring her half to death wasn’t his plan, but he’d been curious about where she was headed. Although she was a grown woman, he couldn’t imagine her living anywhere but her father’s ostentatious mansion that sat in the opposite direction from the path she walked.

  Her reaction to him hadn’t exactly been a surprise. He’d visited Magnolia a month ago, during the time that he was in talks to lease a downtown property that had belonged to Niall. He’d tried to buy the buildings outright but had been willing to settle for renting when his Realtor told him the estate wouldn’t sell. When news of Niall’s death had reached him almost a year after the plane crash that killed his uncle, his cousin Wiley and Wiley’s wife, Kay, Dylan had made the decision to return to Magnolia.

  Sam needed a fresh start, and Dylan was determined to honor the promise he’d made to his cousin to take care of the boy. Plus, Dylan wanted a chance to prove wrong all the people in town who’d believed he would never amount to anything. He somehow needed that recompense to demonstrate he could handle raising a surly, grief-stricken teenager. Niall had been at the top of his long list of detractors, but if death stole Dylan’s chance for revenge on the man himself, he could at least destroy the famed artist’s legacy.

  He understood that his mixed desire to raise the boy in a small town but also disguise that more noble pursuit with his personal need for revenge made him ten kinds of a jerk, but it didn’t faze him.

  He hadn’t expected to be so rattled by Carrie. The quiet and shadows had lent an intimacy to their conversation that made his blood run hot. She’d always been out of his league, and not just because of her standing in the community.

  Carrie had one of the purest hearts he’d ever known. Just being close to her gave him the feeling of stretching out in a ray of sunshine on a cold winter day. She was everything light and warm, and he had no business wanting her.

  Not anymore.

  Don’t miss The Merriest Magnolia by Michelle Major, available October 2020 wh
erever HQN Books are sold.

  Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Major

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Changing His Plans by Jo McNally.

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  Changing His Plans

  by Jo McNally

  Chapter One

  Brittany Doyle saw the gathering storm clouds on the horizon.

  She simply deemed them not worth her attention.

  Clutching her leather-clad tablet and wearing her favorite I-rule-the-world stilettos, she stood on the corner of Main and Maple in the center of Gallant Lake, New York, and smiled. It was easy to see why she’d been sent here. The waitress at the resort restaurant this morning described the town as “quaint.” Quaint, schmaint—this tired old town was dying. On the way into town, she passed half a dozen For Sale signs on homes. A number of businesses in town were boarded up. She couldn’t blame them for leaving. Unless they could find work at the resort, what chance did a regular person have to make a living here?

  Oh, sure, there was a cute coffee shop across the street from the waterfront. A custom furniture shop. A liquor store. Dress boutique. They might be able to survive. But the buildings along the water? A closed-up gift shop. A so-called consignment store that looked more like a shady pawnshop. And an ancient hardware store that was straight out of the 1930s. She took photos and tapped away on the screen with her notes. Those places would all have to go.

  An old blue pickup truck rumbled down Main Street, disturbing the early-morning quiet with its nonexistent muffler. A few minutes later a sleek BMW convertible purred past her, followed by a Gallant Lake police car. The officer nodded casually in her direction as he drove by. Charming, small-town Americana. Ripe for the picking.

  Located in the Catskills, Gallant Lake was only a few hours from Manhattan. There was a recently refurbished resort that was already attracting tourists. A gorgeous lake—she held up her tablet and snapped a picture of it across the way—for summer fun, and mountains all around for skiing. This town was a potential year-round gold mine. The scene on her tablet was something straight out of her top secret guilty pleasure movie—Dirty Dancing. Maybe because she’d read in the brochure that the Gallant Lake Resort had once been one of those grand summer resorts during the ’50s. The downtown brick-and-clapboard buildings hadn’t changed much since then. It definitely held a Mayberry vibe. They could use that in marketing the place.

  No wonder Conrad offered a six-figure bonus if she could secure the properties they needed in just two months. Quietly, efficiently and without drama. Basically, the Quest mantra.

  A distant rumble of thunder echoed through Gallant Valley, which some people would find ominous, but Brittany just smirked. Bring it on, world. Her coworkers didn’t call her The Barracuda for nothing. That bonus was hers, and so was this Podunk town. After this deal, Conrad hinted strongly that a partner position could be waiting. There was a corner office with her name on the door, she was sure of it.

  She stepped into the Gallant Brew for a cappuccino. Her expectations were low, but she was pleasantly surprised as she watched the gray-haired hippie lady behind the counter. The woman knew her way around an espresso machine. And that bright red machine was state-of-the-art. She set an insulated to-go cup near the cash register and smiled at Brittany.

  “We’ve got fresh pastries, honey, if you’re hungry this morning.”

  Brittany smiled politely. “No, thanks. I had breakfast at the resort.”

  “Oh, you’re visiting, then? You’ll love the resort—the Randalls have done a wonderful job bringing it back to life. You’re a few weeks early for leaf-peeping. Are you here for a wedding or something?”

  “No, no. I guess you could say it’s business-related, but really, I’m just enjoying the area.” She looked out the window, across the street to the buildings that lined the lakeshore. “I see some empty storefronts in town. It’s surprising with the resort as full as it seems to be.” Brittany was fishing, strictly out of habit. She already knew the names of the owners of each property on Main Street. She knew that only a handful of businesses, including this coffee shop, were doing strong business in town. The resort didn’t hold visitors long enough for most businesses to survive year-round. But vacation condos and luxury lake homes? That would bring people to Gallant Lake who would need places to shop and dine. It might even attract some chains to the area.

  She realized the woman behind the counter—her name tag read “Cathy”—hadn’t answered. Instead, the woman was staring at her with a great deal of uncomfortable interest.

  “What kind of business did you say you were in?”

  Brittany mentally kicked herself. She should have been more careful. She shrugged and flashed a bright smile as she evaded the question. “Oh, a...a friend of mine knew I was thinking of moving to the area and recommended the resort as a base for my research. Are there any towns you’d recommend?”

  Cathy relaxed and started rattling off names of Realtors and towns and properties Brittany should consider. Brittany nodded and smiled, enjoying the delicious cappuccino. After a polite period of time, she excused herself and headed for the door. Time for more recon before she started knocking on doors.

  “Oh, honey, I’d stay inside if I were you,” Cathy called out. “Looks like a heck of a summer storm brewing this morning. You’ll get yourself soaked.”

  She looked at the clouds, which were now boiling and dark. Gusts of wind had the small trees near the water dancing back and forth. There was an energy in the air that made her fingers tremble slightly on the door handle. She loved the thrill of the hunt, and this just made it more fun. Cathy-the-aging-hippie might be right about the weather. But Brittany hadn’t made it this far by showing fear in the face of a challenge. She laughed over her shoulder at the woman behind the counter.

  “It wouldn’t dare rain on me!”

  * * *

  Nate Thomas put his key in the back door of Nate’s Hardware at exactly 6:30 a.m. He’d been doing that for over fifteen years now. The rest of his routine was just as predictable—back lights on, coffee maker started, jacket on hook, cash box removed from safe, cover pulled from the large cage outside his office. Then Nate headed up front to unlock the shop door.

  Hank the parrot ruffled his bright turquoise feathers, then screamed a string of obscenities, knowing full well it was the only time he was allowed to do so. After he ran through his impressive repertoire, the bird gave a wolf whistle, and Nate whistled back. Just another day at work.

  It was Tuesday, so Nate settled at the rolltop desk in the back office to go over the books and check inventory. Because that was what he did on Tuesday mornings. His first cup of black-as-tar coffee sat on a coaster his great-grandfather had bought at the Montreal World’s Fair in 1967. That would have been Nathaniel Hawthorne Thomas number three. Nate was Nathaniel number six. Unfortunately, Nathaniel number five had been more interested in the racetrack and chasing skirts than the family business.

  Nate promised his grandfather he’d keep this store going, just the way it had always been. That he’d keep Gallant Lake going. Gramps saw the town when it was booming, and he’d watched its slow decline as the resort fell into disrepair in the 1970s. He kept telling Nate the town could bounce back if it was smart about it. He begged Nate to make sure the town stayed smart. He’d done his best, starting a business owners’ association and working on sprucing up the waterfront.

  He was determined to keep his promise, even if his mother and sister wanted him to sell out and join them in Florida. What the hell would he do in Florida? Work at some impersonal box store? No, thanks. His roots were deep in the floorboards of the eclectic old stor
e. This was where he belonged. He stared out the window at Gallant Lake.

  The water was being whipped up by gusty winds this morning, and the color of the water matched the charcoal clouds rolling in low from the west. Looked like a sharp August storm was headed their way. Sure enough, the opposite shore was white with a downpour, and he could see the rain sweeping across the water. He never tired of watching the ever-changing view from this office. He used to sit on his grandfather’s knee and listen to the stories of great blizzards, the near miss of Hurricane Hazel, the great drought in the 1930s that dropped the water level so low people walked out hundreds of feet from what should have been the shoreline. Gramps would talk about the original heyday of the Gallant Lake Resort, visible a mile or so away, when the rich and famous came to Gallant Lake by carriage and train to leave the dirty air of the city behind. Beyond the resort was the pink granite castle called Halcyon. People used to whisper that it was haunted.

  He and his pals used to sneak into the old place when they were kids. It was vacant back then, and they were sure they could get the ghost to show up, but no such luck. They just saw big, empty rooms paneled in mahogany, with dusty marble floors. When its current owner threatened to demolish it, it was Nate who led the community protest that started with a few people carrying signs and ended in court, where a judge declared Halcyon a landmark that couldn’t be torn down. Ironically, the owner, Blake Randall, ended up refurbishing it into a family home and moving in. Nate’s relationship with Blake was still a little strained, so he’d never gotten around to asking if he and his family shared the space with a ghost.

  Nate leaned back in his chair and the oak planks creaked beneath him. Too bad this place wasn’t haunted—he could charge money for ghost tours. He took another sip of coffee and closed the ledger. The books were just barely in the black, but he was getting by. Life was good enough.