Cade lifted his hand as if swearing an oath. "I'll never ask you for money again. I really am trying to start fresh."
Nash had heard it all before. He looked Cade over. Clean-shaven, nice hair-cut, fitted blue T-shirt, and dark denim jeans. He actually looked like a decent human being. The only indicators of his thug life were the tattoos peeking out from under his shirtsleeves. "You got a job, huh?"
"Yep." Cade's grin spread across his face.
"Doing what?"
"Working in the kitchen at the rescue mission."
Nash furrowed his brow. "Is that where you're living, too?" Because in Nash's book, that didn't really count as finding a job and a place to live.
"No, I'm in a little apartment near there. Paying the bills myself, being all legit and responsible." The grin grew into a full-on smile.
Nash grunted. "You seem pretty proud of yourself."
Cade relaxed into the chair and crossed one ankle over the other. "I know it's nothing like you've accomplished, but yeah, I am proud of how far I've come. I've got a lot further to go, but I'm headed in the right direction."
"Seems that way."
"I know there's no good reason for you to believe me, but I'll prove it to you. I'm on the right track, and I won't blow it this time."
"I hope that's true, man."
"It is. You'll see." Cade glanced around the room again. "It looks like a lot has changed since I left. You've done pretty well for yourself." He sat up and leaned forward. "What about Amanda?"
"It didn't work out." And Nash didn't want to talk about it.
"Why not? You two were head over heels for each other."
"It turned out she was more interested in my business partner." Nash stood and walked toward the door, hoping Cade would take the hint. They'd had quite enough heart-to-heart for one day.
"What's this?"
Nash stifled a groan, knowing exactly what Cade was talking about before he even turned around. Nash closed his eyes for a split second, and then faced him. Sure enough, Cade was holding the violation notice from the City in his hot little fingers.
"It's nothing. Just a notice about one of my properties." Nash walked over to take it from him, but Cade moved out of his reach and pulled the paper up for a better look.
"This is Mom's address. What's going on?"
"It's taken care of. You don't need to worry about it."
"Yes, I do. If something needs to be done, I want to help. I owe it to Mom." He nailed Nash with that same desperate, sorrowful look he'd used earlier. "I owe it to you."
There was no stifling Nash's groan this time. The last thing he needed was to be back in Martindale with his brother tagging along. Trouble would find them before they knew it was coming.
"Just tell me what to do," Cade said.
Nash pressed his mouth into a tight line. "Leave it alone. That's what you can do." He strode back to the door, opened it, and motioned for his brother to leave.
Cade's shoulders slumped, but he returned the letter to the coffee table and started for the door. As he strolled past, he placed his hand on Nash's arm and gave it a light shake. "Things will be different this time. You'll see."
Nash nodded slightly, closed the door, and leaned against the solid mahogany as though it could keep his stable life from careening out of control. He wouldn't let Cade, or the old house, or even the fiery little teacher pull him back into that tumultuous world. Not after he'd clawed his way out by his fingernails.
As soon as he renovated his mom's property, he'd sell it and cut every last tie to his past in Martindale.
Chapter Two
Just after noon on Saturday, Kinley planted herself in the same spot as she had the day before—in front of the dilapidated blue house in Martindale. The damaged red car sat in the driveway next door, glorious and preening on one side, pitiful on the other. Kinley prayed Justice hadn't caused any more trouble for his neighbor. She didn't want the boy to head down a destructive path, and she had zero desire for repeat dealings with Nash McGuire.
She trudged through the yard and up the steps without breaking an ankle—a feat in itself—and knocked. Justice's grandmother answered, the creases of a sneer burrowed in her face.
"Hi, Ms. Williams." Kinley held up a yellow folder. "I brought this for Justice. I meant to give it to him yesterday, but—"
The woman grabbed the edge of the folder and yanked it from Kinley's fingers. "I'll give it to him."
"All the work he missed this week is in there. I'd be happy to go over it with him."
"Why don't you mind your own business, teacher lady?"
Kinley's jaw dropped a smidge, but she regained her professionalism and clamped her mouth shut. "I'm only trying to help him do well in school, ma'am."
"Well, go worry about some other kid. We're doing fine without your help." She lifted the folder. "Don't be looking too hard for this back at school. We'll get to it if we can."
"That's what I'm trying to tell you. If you can't help him get his work done, I can."
"Go on now." The woman slammed the door in Kinley's face for the second day in a row. The whole thing felt like Groundhog Day in the 'hood.
Kinley's fingers curled into her palms, and she summoned every last ounce of her self-control to keep from stomping as she stepped off the porch and toward her car.
"You're already back?"
"Oh!" Kinley jolted at the voice and spun to find Nash McGuire in the neighboring yard.
He'd exchanged his suit for athletic shorts and a T-shirt, but the scowl remained. "I didn't think you'd be around again until at least Monday."
"I brought Justice some schoolwork."
"Good luck getting him to do it."
What was with this guy? She glanced at her hands and laced her fingers together. Awkward silence lingered. Kinley could easily talk to a fencepost, but she had no idea what to say to this man.
"Listen . . ."
She looked up, and he gave his head a slight shake, as if to fling away the shadows behind his eyes. "I'm sorry if I came off like a jerk yesterday."
He was apologizing? Kinley had to close her mouth to keep her jaw from gaping. Even so, the shock must've shown on her face, because he dipped his chin and chuckled. "I guess that means I did, huh?"
"Um, well . . . yeah, a little." Or maybe a lot.
"I was having a rough day. I know that's not an excuse, but . . ." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "I was mad about the car, and I should've cooled down some before I talked to the kid. And to you."
And here she'd wanted to hate him. "I can understand that." She glanced over his shoulder toward the car. "How much will it cost to fix?"
"I don't know yet. I'll get an estimate next week." He dragged a forearm across his face to wipe away a bead of sweat.
"So you're just going to drive the graffiti-mobile around for a few days?"
Warmth brimmed in his eyes, a light she hadn't known existed. The corners of his mouth lifted. "Why not? May as well announce to the world that a rich boy is hitting the streets."
Yep, definitely movie-star gorgeous without the scowl. "I guess I can think of worse things to be painted along the side of your car."
"Like?"
"Loser. Mr. Grumpy. Meanie Pants."
"Wow. What grade do you teach again, Miss Reid?" The spark in his eyes sent her stomach into flutters.
"Fourth grade. And please, call me Kinley."
"Well, Kinley, those are some pretty major fourth-grade insults. I guess I deserve them, though."
"You were pretty angry." She caught herself smiling like a total idiot and promptly scaled it back. She was here for her student, nothing more. "So, what do you think will happen to Justice? Will they let him work off the damage?"
He flicked a glance toward the boy's house. "That'll be up to the judge."
"Right. I guess after you find out how much it will cost to fix your car, you'll know how much he owes you." The poor child would be working forever to pay that debt.
"It's not about the money, you know."
"It's not? But yesterday . . ." She shook her head. This man was full of surprises today. "I thought . . ."
"I know. It probably seemed like that's all I care about." He shifted his weight and glanced at the ground. "I just . . ."
Kinley heard so much behind his words. He was conflicted, and she was dying for him to spill it all. Maybe he was like Justice—with a hard outer shell that was really a cover for a terrified boy. Her desire to make a difference suddenly bloomed to include this wealthy sports-car owner who was hopelessly out of place in Martindale.
She prodded him. "You just . . . ?"
"The stuff that goes on around here . . . it makes me mad."
She fiddled with her brother's watch as his image flashed through her mind. "Well, I can definitely understand that."
"You can?" Something akin to relief filled his voice.
She nodded. "The kids who live around here hardly have a chance to survive, much less to succeed in life."
"Martindale stacks some mean odds against people."
They were on the same wavelength after all. Kinley felt more certain with every beat of her pulse. They stared at each other for another moment, and then she took a miniscule step closer to him. "Which is why people like us, who have more opportunities and resources, need to step in. We have to do something to change things for them."
"Seems like you're doing a great job."
"It's going to take more than one person." Just imagine all that could be accomplished if she had someone alongside her to fight for the children of this neighborhood. "These kids need good role models. Mentors."
He barked out a sharp laugh. "I am not mentor material."
"Anybody can be a mentor." Especially a man as obviously successful as he was.
He stepped away from her and looked at the pavement. "No. I can't."
His refusals pricked a pin-sized hole in the excitement that had ballooned in her chest, and her hope escaped like a slow leak. She tried to plug it. "Somebody has to be willing to fight for them. We're the somebodies."
"You're the somebody. I'm not. I don't have anything to offer a kid from around here."
"Of course you do." Everybody had something to offer. How could a guy who looked so together think so little of himself?
He shook his head, the shadows returning to darken his eyes.
"Why not?" If she could get to the root of what held him back, she could fix it. Put his mind at ease. She was sure of it.
"Lots of reasons." He scrubbed a hand down his face, and his eyes turned to stone. He had rebuilt his wall in two seconds flat. "Forget it, okay?"
"Why don't you tell me? Maybe we can work this out."
"I need to get back to work now." He turned and plodded toward the house.
Kinley took off after him until she caught up and matched him step for step. "Is it about time?"
"Nope."
"You don't want to risk your reputation with kids from the hood?"
He barked out a sharp, humorless laugh. "No."
Good. He didn't strike her as the kind to be worried about his reputation, but she was glad to hear it from his own mouth. "Then what?" When they reached the porch steps, Kinley crossed in front of him and blocked his way. "Why won't you help children less fortunate than you?"
His jaw flexed in staccato rhythm and his voice emerged a near growl. "Please move out of my way."
She huffed. "Fine." Side-stepping, she jabbed her fists against her hips.
"Always a pleasure, Miss Reid." He tossed the sarcastic remark over his shoulder as he strode past her and disappeared into the house.
As the door latched, she muttered. "You won't be getting rid of me that easily, Nash McGuire."
The kids of this neighborhood needed him. And she was beginning to think he needed them, too. She had to find a way to get him involved.
#
Nash strode to the bathroom at the back of the house and set out his tools. Maybe tearing out some tile would numb him to thoughts of the meddling Miss Reid and her disappointment. Gritting his teeth, he tried to remove the image of her face from his mind as he ran a grout cutter beneath the top row of avocado-green tiles surrounding the tub.
He was all for helping kids, just not the ones from Martindale. Escaping this place the first time had been a miracle, and he couldn't risk being dragged back. Hadn't his mother gotten out? She'd had the nice house in Dallas once, and then Dad had left, and two house-payments later, they'd landed right back in her old neighborhood. No matter how successful Nash's life seemed, it would always be one mistake away from crumbling. But the nosey teacher probably wouldn't understand that, and he had nothing to prove to her.
So why did it grate on him that he'd let her down?
He worked along the grout line with a hammer and chisel, carefully prying each tile from the wall before adding it to the neat stacks on the floor.
"Hello?" A voice called from the living room.
What was Cade doing here? Nash tapped a little too hard on the next tile, and it shattered, the pieces crashing into the tub below. Seemed a fitting picture of his life at the moment. Or at least of what would happen if he didn't get out of Martindale soon.
Cade appeared and leaned against the bathroom doorframe. "Good grief. You'll be here forever doing it that way. Such a neat freak."
Nash shot his brother a glance and kept working. If only he could keep everything—and everyone—around him so neat and tidy. From the moment he'd arrived back in Martindale, his life had become patently untidy, and he was losing more control by the minute. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you I wanted to help."
"I told you I didn't need any." Not the kind his no-account brother was good at, anyway.
"Are you really going to pry each one of those tiles off individually?" Cade asked. "Why not use a sledgehammer? Be done in ten minutes."
Because, unlike you, I like to do things right. "I don't want to mess up the wall, and I want to take the old tile to the Habitat for Humanity store. Somebody else might be able to use it."
Cade snickered. "Nobody in their right mind would want that. You'll never get the thinset off them."
Nash focused on the tile in front of him and resumed his tapping, but he felt Cade's stare. Perhaps he'd go away if Nash ignored him.
Four whole seconds of silence slipped by before Cade spoke. "Why are you even bothering to renovate this dump? Just sell it as is. Some investor will pick it up."
"Yeah, for a quarter of what it's worth." Nash's inner real-estate man couldn't bear the thought. And if he were honest, he wanted to close the final chapter of his mom's life with a measure of dignity. This was the only way he knew how.
Cade shrugged. "So where do you want me? I'm ready to work."
"I already told you, I've got it covered."
"Come on, let me help. I can start pulling tile over here by the vanity."
"No way. Not enough room in here for both of us."
"What about the kitchen? I can start doing stuff in there."
Nash shook his head. First the teacher, and now his brother. Was Nash not speaking the word No clearly enough? What would it take to get everyone to leave him alone? "Don't want the whole house torn up all at once."
"Well, there's got to be something I can do."
Cade obviously wasn't going away any time soon, and Nash was through talking. He needed his brother out of his personal space. Having him anywhere else would be better than here. "Fine. Start clearing out the back bedroom. I put some boxes on the bed, but you'll probably need trash bags more than anything."
Cade smacked his palms together. "Yeah, now we're talking." He stepped out of the bathroom, his cheerful whistle fading as he headed down the hall.
Nash exhaled. Maybe Cade would surprise him and actually be helpful. He seriously doubted it, but he had to admit his brother seemed different, more peaceful. That didn't go very far in light of his past, though. A
few minutes of peace didn't prove Cade was a new man. Nash removed another tile from the wall and wondered how long his brother could hold out against self-destruction. Martindale had that effect on people. It was practically guaranteed for anyone who spent too much time here.
He had to finish this renovation and get out before it destroyed him, too.
Chapter Three
As twenty-four little bodies bustled around the classroom preparing to go home, Kinley pushed away from her desk, eager for what the rest of the afternoon might hold. Since her run-in with Nash McGuire two weeks ago, she'd been scheming and searching for a way to get him connected with Justice, and today was the day she'd been waiting for.
She'd all but given up until last week at the boy's hearing. Glynnis, her principal, had given her the morning off to go to court and speak on Justice's behalf, and thank heavens she had. Kinley was convinced her presence had made all the difference when it came time to determine the child's sentence. Instead of sending him to the detention center, the judge ordered Justice to perform sixty hours of community service and, in a delightful twist of divine intervention, appointed Kinley to supervise him. Not only was it the best possible scenario for Justice, it was also the perfect opportunity for Kinley to do some mentor matchmaking.
Never mind that Nash had glowered at her as she ushered Justice out of the courtroom that day. "Don't get any ideas," he'd muttered as she passed him. Too late. What better place for the boy to serve than at the scene of his crime? In his own neighborhood, no less.
Who cared that Nash was on to her? The memory of his stone-cold expression made her giggle to herself as she took her place by the classroom door. She bit back a laugh and began her daily ritual of hugging or high-fiving each student as they left for the day.
"Bye, Miss Reid." Shayla squeezed her waist.
"Bye, sweetie. Have a great evening."
From the classroom across the hall, Kinley's fellow teacher, Cynthia, yelled just enough to be heard above the din of the entire student body rushing toward their afternoon freedom. "You're going to get sued one of these days." It was a long-running joke between them.
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