by Laura Scott
3
Jazz woke up to the sound of Dalton’s voice shouting at someone to stop. She grabbed her phone from the bedside table where it was charging and dialed 911 while simultaneously shoving her feet into her shoes. A different dispatcher answered this time, a male, so she gave her name and told the dispatcher the vandal was back.
“I’ll send a deputy,” he promised in a calm tone.
“Hurry!” She didn’t bother to hide her impatience as she peered out the window overlooking the lake. “He’s getting away!”
“Stay inside, ma’am. A deputy will be there shortly.”
There was no point to staying inside, based on the way Dalton was sprinting across her lawn toward the old Stevenson place, so she disconnected from the call and clamored downstairs to the main level.
She wasted several precious seconds unlocking the French doors. Outside, she shivered in the cold night air coming off the lake and felt bad that Dalton had to sleep out here in these temperatures.
Then again, if he’d been sleeping inside, he wouldn’t have caught the vandal lurking around.
She ran toward the Stevensons’, raking her gaze over the area, searching for Dalton. When she didn’t see him, her heart squeezed painfully in her chest.
What if the vandal had hurt him? Killed him?
“Dalton! Where are you?” The wind seemed to diminish the sound of her voice, so she tried again, screaming his name. “DALTON!”
“Here!” A dark shadow came around the corner of the white house, and her shoulders slumped in relief when she recognized Dalton’s features in the moonlight.
“Thank goodness,” she said, rushing over to meet him. She instinctively put her arms around him, giving him a brief hug. He surprised her by hugging her back, before stepping away. She peered up at him. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“I’m fine.” His voice was low and gruff, and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. “Unfortunately, the guy got away.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“I only saw his back as he was running.” Dalton’s tone held disgust. “He was fast, but he also had a good head start in the time it took me to get out of the tent. His hair looked dark, and he was wearing dark jeans and a dark jacket. But his age? No idea. Anywhere between twenty and sixty.”
None of that was particularly helpful, but she didn’t point it out. At least they knew it was a man who’d done this, not a woman.
Dalton stepped around her, as if to return to her place, and she noticed his feet were pale and bare in the moonlight. “Where are your shoes?”
“In the tent.” He walked gingerly, and she imagined the sprint across the lawn had done a number on the soles of his feet. The yard wasn’t well maintained, she hadn’t had time to work on the lawn yet, because she’d focused her efforts on the house and the gazebo, the two main attractions for the B&B.
“A deputy should be here soon,” she said, falling into step beside him.
Dalton nodded. “Good. I heard a car engine, so we know he parked at the neighbor’s house before coming over here.” He glanced at her. “Who lives there?”
“An older couple, last name Stevenson. They actually live in Chicago but vacation here on occasion, more in the summer than the winter. I haven’t seen them since I arrived a few weeks ago.”
“First names?”
She tried to remember. “Alice and Bob, I think.”
“They have kids?”
She finally understood where he was going. “Yes, two sons, Rich and Mark. But they’re older, probably in their late thirties early forties, with kids of their own. I can’t imagine they’re behind this.”
Dalton shrugged but didn’t answer.
“Mark is younger than Rich, but he’s at least five years older than my brother Jake’s thirty-three. Maybe more.”
“You know what they look like?”
She grimaced. “I know what they used to look like. We spent our summer’s here when we were growing up. I remember them as teenagers, but even back then, the Stevenson boys didn’t want anything to do with us. We were the annoying little kids hanging around bugging them.”
“I bet they really don’t like the idea of a B and B being next to their vacation home.”
“Why would they care?” Jazz thought Dalton was way off track. “They’re not around much anymore from what I can tell, and besides, it’s not like they can’t enjoy water sports and fishing on the lake regardless of who lives in our place.”
“Your business could have a negative impact on their resale value,” Dalton insisted.
She wasn’t sure she agreed and thought for a moment about how much fun waterskiing and kayaking on the lake she’d had growing up. So many happy memories.
But now, all this vandalism was seriously messing with her aura. This was supposed to be the exciting new beginning for her and Jemma.
Headlights flashed and tires crunched on gravel at the front of the house. The deputy had gotten here faster than yesterday morning, she thought glumly, but it didn’t matter now that the vandal was gone. Stifling a sigh, she cut across the lawn to the front of the mansion.
A different Deputy slid out of the car, a woman this time. She was taller than average and slender, despite the bulky uniform. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a tight bun, and she rested her hand on her weapon as Jazz and Dalton approached.
“I’m Deputy Waldorf,” she announced. “I understand you’ve had some issues with vandalism?”
“Yes. My name is Jazzlyn McNally, and this is Dalton O’Brien. I live here and have hired Dalton to assist with renovations.”
“I see.” The deputy regarded Dalton suspiciously. “I don’t recognize your name, where do you live?”
“Until tonight, I’ve been staying at the Pine Cone Campsite,” Dalton said, apparently unfazed by her suspicious tone. “Ms. McNally asked me to stay on the property instead, so I pitched my tent behind the gazebo. I heard the guy approaching, but by the time I made it out of my tent, he was running away.”
“Running where?” Deputy Waldorf asked.
“Toward the house located to the west of the McNally property. I chased after him, but he had a good head start. I heard the sound of a car engine, and by the time I reached the house, he was gone.”
The deputy glanced at Jazz. “And you believe his story?”
“Yes. I heard him shout at the guy to stop, so I called nine one one, and when I looked out my window, I saw Dalton sprinting across the lawn toward the old Stevenson place. I met up with him at the house.” She gestured toward Dalton’s bare feet. “He didn’t even stop to put his shoes on.”
The deputy seemed to relax. “Okay, why don’t you both head inside while I take a look around.”
Dalton looked as if he was going to argue, but she quickly spoke up, “Sure. Come on, Dalton, let’s take care of your feet.”
The deputy followed them around the house to the backyard overlooking the lake. Jazz went in through the French doors, indicating Dalton should follow.
The deputy swept her flashlight over the area, taking note of Dalton’s tent. Jazz hoped the deputy would find some clue the vandal might have left behind.
“Come into the kitchen,” she told Dalton. “I’ll fill a pan with warm water so you can soak your feet.”
“I’m fine,” he protested. “What time is it anyway?”
“One thirty in the morning.” She decided against brewing a pot of coffee, even decaf at this hour might keep her awake. She put a towel on the floor in front of Dalton’s chair, then filled a large pan with hot water. After setting the pan down, she waited for him to set his feet inside.
The bottoms of his feet were covered in scratches and dried blood. He didn’t wince as he soaked them in the water, even though she knew they had to sting.
“I’ll be back,” she said. She rose and went into the master bath for a washcloth, towels, and soap, along with a tiny first aid kit.
The deputy was still po
king around outside. Jazz brought the supplies over, but when she knelt beside Dalton’s chair, he held up his hand. “I can do it.”
“You can’t see the bottoms of your feet as well as I can,” she protested.
He ignored her, using the soap and water to wash the dried blood away. While he did that, she rummaged around in the first aid kit looking for antibiotic ointment.
“Here, use this,” she said, handing him the small tube.
“No, it will make a mess of your floors.”
She rolled her eyes. “As if that matters? I don’t want the cuts on your feet to get infected.”
“They’re fine.” When she stared him down, he let out a heavy resigned sigh. “Okay, I’ll put it on once I’m back inside the tent.”
“I think you should sleep inside for what’s left of the night.” Jazz glanced up at him, her gaze serious. “For one thing, he probably won’t come back now that he knows you’re here, and besides, it’s really cold out there. Didn’t you see the frost on the grass?”
He looked surprised at her comment about the temperature. “I’m fine outside. It’s not too cold.”
“Please stay inside.” Jazz knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink if he insisted on going back out into the small cramped cold tent. “You can use the master suite for now. Full access to a bathroom is a good thing, right?”
He stared at her for a long minute. “A smaller room would work just as well.”
Yes! She smiled in relief. “You’ve been using the master bathroom anyway, may as well use the bedroom, too. One less area for me to clean before Jemma and Trey arrive.”
“Okay, but if you’re going to insist I stay inside, then I have to pay for my meals.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have to eat anyway.” The stubborn glint was back in his eyes, so she backed down. “Never mind, we’ll discuss how to work out meals tomorrow.”
He slowly nodded. A strange awareness shimmered between them, but the sensation vanished when the deputy sharply rapped on the French doors.
She handed Dalton the towel to dry his feet, then went over to let the Deputy in. “Did you find anything?”
“I’m afraid not.” Deputy Waldorf glanced past Jazz to Dalton. “Any idea what kind of car you heard driving away?”
He looked thoughtful for a minute. “I would say not a small car, like a four-cylinder engine, but not a big truck either. Maybe a midsize vehicle?”
The deputy grimaced at the basic information and jotted a note. “Okay, if you remember anything else, give us a call.”
“Are you going to mention this to Deputy Lewis?” Jazz asked. “He was the one who took the report on my damaged gazebo. I don’t remember which deputy took the information on the broken window in my front door.”
“Front door?” Dalton scowled. “When did that happen?”
“Earlier this week.” She thought back. “Today’s Thursday, right? Then it was Monday. A brick came smashing through the window of my front door.” She shrugged. “At that point, I figured it was kids goofing around. Until the gazebo incident.”
“And now, this one.” The deputy looked thoughtful. She was pretty in the light with red hair and porcelain skin. Her eyes were as blue as the lake in the summertime. “I’ll update Deputy Lewis in the morning. We need to make sure all these reports are kept together.”
“Thanks.” Jazz felt better knowing that the first deputy she’d talked to would know the full story. Although they still didn’t have a clue as to who would do something like this.
At least now maybe the cops would drive by more often.
She walked Deputy Waldorf through the main living area to let her out through the front door. Once the deputy was gone, she made sure to lock the dead bolt and then went back through the kitchen to do the same thing at the French doors.
“Let me know if you need anything,” she told Dalton, who had already emptied the water from the pan and set it on the counter. “See you in the morning.”
“Good night,” he said, avoiding her gaze.
She left him alone, telling herself not to be hurt by his reticence. It would be smart to keep an emotional distance from the man, who, by his own admission, was nothing more than a drifter.
A nice, polite, hardworking, handsome drifter.
Enough. She kicked off her shoes and crawled back into bed. Only this time, sleep didn’t come easily.
The more time she spent with Dalton, the more she wanted to know about him.
Too bad, he’d made it clear he wasn’t going to share anything about his personal life. Which meant, she needed to get over it. And fast.
He wasn’t likely to stick around for long.
Dalton tossed and turned on the overly soft mattress. Odd the way he’d become used to sleeping on the ground.
He climbed out of bed early and padded into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Since he knew Jazz liked it too, he didn’t think she’d mind.
The clock over the stove read five minutes past six. Early considering the rude interruption in the middle of the night. He stared out at the gazebo, wondering if he should leave when the repair work was done.
He liked Jazz McNally, far more than he was comfortable with. Last night, when she’d knelt at his feet, it was all he could do not to haul her into his arms and kiss her.
Not good. He hadn’t been remotely attracted to a woman since losing Debbie and Davy. And he didn’t appreciate the desire twisting his gut into knots.
Nope, he didn’t like any of it. Feelings were overrated. Existing from one job to the next was more than enough for him. He wasn’t in the market for anything more.
If he was smart, he’d move on. Today even. Find another job in another town. Once the gazebo was repaired, she could easily paint it herself, then could focus on the inside work. Something she’d planned to do before he’d come along.
Yet, someone had shown up last night to do more damage to her gazebo. What if the guy noticed his tent was gone and came back to trash it again? Dalton hated the idea of someone intentionally setting out to hurt her. Turning the big mansion into a B&B was a nice idea. The quaint place located on the lake was bound to attract vacationers. A good business endeavor for the McNally twins.
The coffee maker beeped indicating the brew cycle had been completed. He filled a mug and took a sip, enjoying the dark roasted flavor.
He debated rifling through Jazz’s fridge to find something to make for breakfast, then decided against it. For one thing, she’d already provided three decent meals, so it wouldn’t hurt him to skip breakfast today. Secondly, and maybe more importantly, he didn’t want to risk waking her up. After everything that had happened, Jazz deserved the opportunity to sleep in.
Decision made, he carried the mug outside. The dewy grass was cold against his bare feet, but he carefully set the coffee mug in a level spot and crawled into his tent. He dried his feet off as best as he could, then donned his socks and construction boots. Then he carried his tools outside, zipping the tent closed behind him.
He picked up the coffee mug and eyed the gazebo. There were eight sides total, open on top but with a railing midway around and slats running down from the midpoint to the bottom. There was only one panel left to fix, should be easy enough to complete before lunch.
Then he’d be on his way.
Once he polished off his coffee, he went to work. They’d already used the lumber they were able to salvage, so he carried over the new two-by-fours Jazz had purchased at the lumberyard.
He measured and marked the boards, then looked around for Jazz’s circular saw. He found it inside the house, tucked in the corner of the room with the rest of her tools.
He picked it up, then nearly dropped it when he heard her voice.
“What are you doing?”
He turned to find Jazz standing in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee. She was so pretty, his pulse jumped erratically as she slowly approached. “Working,” he said, his voice emerging as a croak.
“Did you
already eat something?”
“No, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Her mouth tipped up in a rueful smile. “Right, because you thought I would have slept through the sound of the circular saw without a problem.”
He looked down at the circular saw and shrugged with embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that. I figured the sooner I get that last panel done, the better.”
“Breakfast first. How does French toast sound?”
His stomach rumbled embarrassingly loud. “Um, good. I like French toast.”
“Put the saw down, Dalton. We can work when we’re finished eating.”
He liked the way she said we as if they really were a team. He gave himself a mental head-slap. See? This was why he needed to move on. There is no we. There is only a woman trying to start her own business and a drifter.
He tightened his grip on the circular saw as if it were a lifeline. “I’ll just take this outside and get my coffee cup.” Without waiting for her to respond, he rested the saw against his thigh, opened the door, and sought the sanctuary of the cool spring air.
The effect was similar to that of a cold shower. He set the saw down on the floor of the gazebo and picked up the first board. No way was he going back inside to watch Jazz cook him breakfast.
He cut lumber for almost fifteen minutes before he heard the door open and Jazz’s voice. “Breakfast is ready!”
Setting the cut board aside, he glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks.”
She stared at him for a long moment, and he wondered if she’d guessed his intention to leave as soon as the gazebo was repaired. Even if she didn’t pay him for his time, he’d gotten three, no, four solid meals out of it, so that made things even between them in his book.
He brushed off the sawdust as best he could, then grabbed his empty coffee cup before heading inside. The smell of maple syrup and butter was amazing, and he didn’t understand why he was so hungry. Normally, he only bothered to eat at all to keep his strength up so he could work.
“More coffee?” Jazz held up the half-full coffee pot expectantly.
“Please.” He set his cup on the table and slid into his usual seat. She filled his mug, then replaced the carafe on the burner. She picked up two plates, one stacked with six pieces of French toast, the other with three, and gave him the larger of the two.
