by Laura Scott
“This is the last of the bread I’m afraid,” Jazz said as she dropped into her seat. “I’ll head to the grocery store if you don’t mind working alone for an hour or so.”
“I don’t mind.” Truthfully, he was glad she wouldn’t be working at his side, less distracting that way. He took a bite of his French toast, wondering if an hour was enough time to finish the panel and disappear before she returned. The idea of her coming home to an empty house, to find his tent gone, gave him a hollow feeling in his gut.
No, it wouldn’t be right to do that to her. The decent thing to do would be to wait until she returned and to tell her personally that he was moving on. Okay, maybe she’d be upset and ask questions, but he didn’t have to answer. He was the one who’d approached her for work, not the other way around.
They ate in silence for a few minutes before she asked, “Do you know how to replace drywall?”
He tensed, eyeing her warily. “Yes, I’ve done drywall. Have you?”
She pursed her lips. “I’ve hung Sheetrock but haven’t done the finishing work of taping and mudding. It would be great if you could help me with that project, since I need to replace some in the blue room, which I need fixed in order to offer it out to my guests.”
He was stunned that she’d apparently read his mind. It was as if she’d known he was moving on and tried to think of a way to convince him to stay. Drywall work took a certain knack, an amateur attempt would show through even the best paint job.
“Um, I don’t know . . .” He was interrupted by two sharp knocks at the front door.
“Excuse me.” Jazz rose to her feet and went over to answer the door. He turned in his seat and saw the visitor was Deputy Lewis.
“Ms. McNally? I understand you had a visitor last night.”
“Yes. Please, come in. Would you like some coffee?”
“No thanks.” Deputy Lewis crossed into the kitchen, pinning Dalton with a stern look. “You’re sure you saw some guy lurking outside?”
Dalton swallowed a lump of annoyance and rose to his feet, looking the deputy square in the eye. “Yes. I’m sure. He ran over to the Stevenson house and disappeared around the corner. Then I heard a car engine, and by the time I got there, he was gone.”
Deputy Lewis looked at Jazz. “You didn’t see the guy either?”
“I heard Dalton yell stop and saw him sprinting across the lawn in his bare feet.” She picked up her coffee mug, cradling it in her hands. “I don’t understand why you’re suddenly suspicious of Dalton. You’re the one who reassured me about him in the first place.”
“Ms. Cromwell called the Sheriff’s Department to check me out before she let me work on her bathroom,” Dalton volunteered. “You know that I don’t have a police record.”
“Doesn’t mean you didn’t come here to cause trouble,” Deputy Lewis grumbled. “Do you know a man by the name of Thomas Duris?”
Jazz’s hand jerked, splashing hot coffee onto her hand. She let out a cry of pain and dropped it. The cup crashed to the floor, breaking into a hundred pieces and spilling coffee everywhere. Both men looked at her in surprise.
“Sorry.” She looked embarrassed, yet ignored the mess. “Why are you asking about Tom?
“I’m not asking you, Ms. McNally. I’m asking him.” Deputy Lewis jerked his thumb in Dalton’s direction.
“Never heard of him.” Dalton didn’t like the way Jazz’s face had gone deathly pale. “Why? Who is he?”
There was a long, strained silence before Jazz pulled herself together. “He’s no one important. Excuse me, I need a broom.”
She stepped carefully around the mess, walking to the hallway closet. Dalton looked at the Deputy. “Who is he?” he repeated. “Someone who has a grudge against Jazz?”
The deputy nodded. “Yeah, maybe. Last night, Deputy Trina Waldorf did a little digging into Jazzlyn’s background. Found out that nine months ago she basically left the guy at the altar, canceling their wedding the day before they were to exchange vows.”
Dalton let out a low whistle. “That explains her reaction.”
“Yeah.” The deputy grimaced at the mess. “I wasn’t able to find any ties between you and Duris, but I had to ask.”
Dalton nodded, understanding the deputy had a job to do. “I didn’t do it.”
“Probably not, but it’s up to me to investigate all possibilities.” The deputy sighed. “Frankly, I’m glad you’re here to keep an eye on things. We’re going to call this Duris guy, ask him a few questions. See if he has an alibi for the past few days.”
“Keep us posted on what you find out.” Dalton was glad the deputy had a suspect, but at the same time, he wasn’t happy about the fact that he’d have to stick around.
Oh sure, no one was twisting his arm, forcing him to stay. He could leave, putting pressure on the deputies to keep her safe.
Yet, if something bad happened to Jazzlyn, he knew he’d never forgive himself.
He’d stay. For now.
4
Jazz managed to pull herself together long enough to begin cleaning up her mess, hoping the two men didn’t notice her overreaction.
It bothered her that the deputy had poked his nose into her personal life. To add insult to injury, that he’d actually come here to question Dalton about Tom. Okay, maybe Deputy Lewis had good intentions, but he was still way off base.
Tom couldn’t be the one behind the vandalism, it didn’t make any sense. Grandma McNally had died six months ago, three months after Jazz had canceled their wedding. Why on earth would Tom resent her plan to open a B&B?
She and Tom had both worked in real estate. They’d met for the first time on opposite sides of a significant property transaction. She represented the seller, and Tom’s client had been a physician looking for a good deal on a home worth one-point-two million. In the end, Tom had been good-natured about the way she’d gotten the best price possible for her client. Tom had asked her to lunch for the following day. She’d accepted, and four months later, he’d proposed.
Looking back, she realized now that he’d been more intrigued by the idea of combining their independent real estate businesses than sharing his life with her on a personal level. In fact, the way he’d been kissing Megan—well, suffice it to say he’d displayed a level of passion that had been missing in the way he’d kissed Jazz.
Jazz told herself that she was glad to have found out the truth before walking down the aisle. Canceling a wedding at the last minute was bad enough, but going through a messy divorce—who knew how much later—would have been far worse.
“Let me,” Dalton said, breaking into her troubled thoughts and tugging the broom from her hands. “I’ll take care of this.”
She looked at him, realizing they were alone in the kitchen. Somehow, she’d missed the deputy leaving. With a grimace, she released her grip and moved out of his way.
There was still a piece of French toast left on her plate, but her appetite had vanished. Talking about her ex-fiancé had a way of doing that to her. They hadn’t spoken since she’d thrown his engagement ring at him and walked away. He’d called several times, irritated at the amount of money they’d lost on the various venues.
She hadn’t bothered to return his calls.
For a moment, she considered the low husky voice she’d heard from the unknown number. Could it have been Tom? Or Megan?
Nah. Again, it wasn’t his style. Megan’s either. Her friend had called several times, crying and apologizing for being attracted to Tom, begging forgiveness. Megan had no reason to sabotage Jazz’s attempt to move away and start over with a new business. When Tom was irritated with her, he was always up front about it, not sneaking around in the dead of night with malicious intent.
“Did Deputy Lewis mention whether or not he’d gotten fingerprints off the sledgehammer?” she asked.
Dalton shook his head and dumped the remnants of the broken mug into the garbage can beneath the sink. He used the dish towel to wipe the floor down. “No, but
I forgot to ask.”
She sighed and rubbed her temple, willing her headache away. “I’m sure he would have told me if he’d found something. But I’d like to get the sledgehammer back. I may need it to break through the drywall in the blue room.”
“Call him,” Dalton suggested. “Then finish your breakfast.”
“You can have it if you’re hungry.” She pushed her plate away and rose to her feet. “I’ll do the dishes.”
“Jazz.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm, his dark brown eyes full of compassion. “Why don’t you take some time for yourself? I can finish up here.”
His offer was sweet, and while she appreciated his concern, it was her house, her mess, her issue. “I’m okay, thanks. Finish your breakfast and then let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d like me to pick up at the grocery store.”
He released her and stepped back, returning to his seat. “I’m not picky, buy what you like and I’ll be fine.” He dug into his meal, then flashed a rueful smile. “Although I will say I really enjoy your lemonade. If you’re so inclined to buy more, I’d be grateful.”
That made her laugh. “I’ll make more lemonade before I leave so we’re stocked up.”
“Great.” He looked like a little kid that caught a fly ball at a baseball game. Over lemonade, no less. It occurred to her just how different Dalton O’Brien was compared to Tom. The drifter was grateful for the smallest things, when Tom had been constantly pushing her to do more in their real estate business. He wanted her to be more aggressive and assertive than she was comfortable with. When she’d broached the idea of flipping houses, Tom had been horrified. He liked selling properties but didn’t want to get his hands dirty. He flat out told her no wife of his was going to swing a hammer.
Ha! If only Tom could see her now. She’d swing a hammer all right, aiming directly for his gut. Okay, maybe not, but the image of him doubled over in shock made her smile.
She filled the sink with soapy water and began washing dishes. When Dalton finished his breakfast, and hers, he brought the empty plates over. Then he surprised her by picking up a fresh dish towel to begin drying.
“No need,” she assured him. “They can sit out and air dry.”
“I was thinking that we should finish up the gazebo first, then head to the grocery store,” he said, ignoring her directive and drying the fry pan. “That way I can pay for half the food. It’s only fair as I’m eating twice as much as you are.”
“But we had a deal,” she protested. “And the only reason I haven’t paid you yet is because I need to stop at the ATM for cash.”
“No rush, let’s work on the gazebo first, looks like a storm might be brewing. Better to get the outside work finished before we run errands.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you have the drywall you need for the blue room?”
“Not yet.” She didn’t understand why he was suddenly jumping into her little remodeling project. After last night, she fully expected Dalton to leave as soon as the gazebo was finished. “But I haven’t taken the old stuff down yet either. I also want to poke around in the attic a bit. There are some old trunks up there from my great-grandparents.” She’d been anxious to explore the hidden treasures up there, but her priority had to be finishing up the work so she and Jemma could open their business.
“What about the paint for the gazebo?” He glanced outside. “No sense in painting yet today, but it would be nice to have it on hand.”
She finished the last of the plates, then turned to face him. “I hope you’re not doing this because you’re feeling sorry for me.”
He looked surprised. “I don’t feel sorry for you, quite the opposite. I admire you, Jazz, especially the way you’re tackling this project with enthusiasm. And you’re paying me to help, remember?”
“Yeah,” she agreed, regarding him doubtfully. “But somehow I get the impression that money isn’t a big motivator for you.”
He glanced away, staring down at the plate he was drying as if it needed his full attention. “It’s not,” he agreed softly. “I only need enough to live on, nothing more.”
Considering he lived in a tent and didn’t own a car, he must not need much. But she sensed she was treading on painful territory, so she dropped the subject.
Despite her brave words, she was secretly glad he was going to stick around for a while.
Not that she was afraid to be alone, but she liked working alongside Dalton.
More than she should.
Logically, she knew it wasn’t smart to depend on a drifter.
Unfortunately, she was afraid that in her case it was already too late.
The last section of the gazebo went in without a hitch. With Jazz’s help, the job was completed well before lunchtime.
He stood back, admiring their work. Finishing Mrs. Cromwell’s bathroom hadn’t given him this much satisfaction. He could easily see how great the structure would look when it was freshly painted. His fingers itched with the urge to begin the paint job, but the dark clouds overhead put a damper on that idea.
“Looks amazing, doesn’t it?” Jazz stepped up beside him. “Just as I imagined.”
Surprised, he asked, “Did you build it from scratch?”
“Not exactly. Grandpa had already framed it in, including the roof, before he got sick with cancer.” Her expression turned sad. “My grandma took care of him until he died. She didn’t last long after that, barely three months. I’m convinced she died of a broken heart.”
A lump lodged in the back of his throat. If a person could die of a broken heart, then why wasn’t he lying in a grave next to his wife and son? Frankly, he’d done his best to get there, first drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey, then when that didn’t work, packing only what he could carry on his back to leave town.
No way would he return to the place where his life had fallen apart.
“The frame needed to be more solid, so I added to his initial structure but kept his same design,” she went on. “Now that it’s finished, I think white paint along with hanging flowering plants around the edges will be the perfect touch.”
He cleared his throat, imagining it too well. “Agree.”
She smiled and lightly patted his arm. “With your help, I’m sure I’ll make my Memorial Day deadline without a problem.”
He was far too aware of the warmth of her hand resting on his arm. Crazy, since he was still wearing the navy-blue sweatshirt.
A fat raindrop hit him on the head. Followed by another. Dark gray clouds swirled overhead. “Let’s go,” he said, heading for the French doors.
They didn’t quite make it inside when the sky opened up dumping a deluge of rain. He used his body to protect Jazz as much as he could, but they were both fairly well soaked in the short time it took them to get inside.
“Perfect timing,” Jazz said with a smile. She brushed her wet hair away from her face. “I needed a shower anyway.”
He chuckled. “Me, too. Only now I need a real shower.”
“Oh!” Jazz snapped her fingers. “That reminds me. I folded your clothes from yesterday and left them on top of the dryer. I’ll be right back.” She turned and headed down the basement stairs.
For a brief moment, he considered buying additional clothing so Jazz wouldn’t have to wash his things so often. He wouldn’t be able to take them with him when he left, but it still might be worth it. At least then he wouldn’t be such an inconvenience to her.
Jazz returned carrying his black jeans, black T-shirt, and red and gray flannel. Tucked between the T-shirt and the jeans were his plain blue cotton boxers. Seeing them made him blush like a schoolkid.
“Thanks, I’ll—um—take that shower now.” He grabbed the clothes and retreated to the master bedroom, vowing to do his own laundry from now on.
An hour later, they were on their way to the hardware store. Jazz had decided to stop there first before picking up groceries.
She flew through the hardware store like a woman possess
ed, obviously having been there several times before. She bought paint first and then headed for the drywall section. The tape and mudding were easy enough to haul home, but the Sheetrock itself posed a dilemma.
After a brief debate with the owner, Stuart Sewell, she agreed to buy the drywall if Stuart covered it with a waterproof tarp that she’d return another day. The initial storm had passed, leaving a light drizzle behind, so Stuart had agreed with the plan.
“Where did you learn so much about construction?” Dalton asked, admittedly plagued with curiosity.
“My grandfather.” Jazz’s smile was sad. “I followed Grandpa around helping him work on maintaining the house, while Jemma spent time cooking with our grandmother. I told you me and my twin are complete opposites.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “I hope he would be happy with the renovations I’ve done so far.”
Her closeness to her grandparents was sweet and made him realize what he’d missed growing up. “I’m sure he would.”
She nodded and led the way back outside. “Up next, groceries.”
“Why not drop off the drywall and other items we bought first? In case the storm comes back.”
She glanced up at the low-hanging dark clouds. “Good idea.”
At the house, they worked together to stack the drywall in the empty bay of the three-car garage. She’d only purchased six sheets, based on his recommendation of what she’d need to repair the water damage, so it didn’t take long. When that was finished, he quickly pulled out the paint too, figuring it was better to have everything safely locked up rather than sitting in the truck.
“Hungry?” Jazz asked when they were once again seated in the front seat of the truck.
“I shouldn’t be,” he answered dryly. “I feel like I’ve done nothing but eat since I met you.”
Her smile was bright enough to light up an entire town. “Glad to hear it. Why don’t we treat ourselves to a bite to eat at Daisy’s Diner? It’s a hot spot for the locals and has been here as long as I can remember.”
