Authors: Maggie Wells
“I’ve never known Delaney Billeaudeau Tarrington to let something as common as a man upset her.”
She tipped her head to the side and studied him with a directness that made him feel slightly uncomfortable. For the life of him, he couldn’t help hoping he’d measure up to whatever standard the woman used as a yardstick, because if there was one thing he knew for certain, Brooke Hastings could hurt him. She could hurt him badly, and not even break a nail doing it.
“But you left, and I do believe there may have been a tear or two shed.”
The statement hit him like a punch to the nuts. He choked down the knot in his throat and planted his hands on his hips in an effort to catch his breath. Pressing his fingers into denim-covered bone to keep from reaching out and shaking the girl who was once the pride of St. Pat’s, he rasped, “Tell me you’re raggin’ on me.”
Dalton must have picked up on the edge in his voice because the guy finally stepped up to take his place beside Brooke. “She is.” Brian glanced down at her with a worried frown. “You are kidding, aren’t you?”
The teasing light in Brooke’s eyes dimmed and the blinding smile melted into a frown so fierce, Harley almost flinched. “I know she messed with you, Harley, but up and leaving like you did...big mistake.”
Harley shot a panicked look in Dalton’s direction. After all, in a way, it was Brian’s fault Harley ended up in L.A. for half a year. He’d been the same year as Brian’s older brother, Jake, in school. Tenuous as his ties to St. Patrick’s Academy were, his diploma came in the same burgundy leather folder as the Dalton boys’, and no St. Pat’s alum was above exploiting school ties. Brian’s old Hollywood agent mentioned needing a consultant who specialized in historic home restoration for a cable show. When things with Laney didn’t seem to be going the way he wanted them to, Harley was looking for an answer. Any answer. Six months in La-La Land seemed like the perfect chance to fall back and give Delaney the opportunity to miss him.
How was he to know she’d finally give in? The timing was…fucked up.
He wanted to argue, but Brooke was right, and he damn well knew it. He left without a whisper or a warning. How could he ever explain one rash decision? He sincerely doubted “because I panicked” was going to wash with Brooke. It definitely wouldn’t fly with Delaney. But it was the best, most honest answer he had.
He’d screwed the woman he’d pursued harder than Tommy Lee Jones going after Harrison Ford, then slipped out of her bed, got on a plane, and stayed away. All because finally having her freaked his freak.
“I know it was a mistake, but I had to go.”
Brooke blinked, apparently shocked he was going to put up even the most token defense. “You had to go? Cade Construction is hurting so bad you had to take a consulting gig on the other side of the country to keep it afloat?”
“No, I had to go because I had a contract.” Falling back a step, Harley opted to deflect attention to the man standing behind the feisty blonde. “Brian’s the one who hooked it all up.”
Brian raised both hands to stop the accusations from flying, then pointed a finger directly at Harley. “And that’s where I call bullshit. My agent mentioned the show, I mentioned your name. Everything else was all you, bub. Man up. You ran away.”
Harley stared incredulously at the guy who was once the biggest nerd their nerd-infested prep school had ever produced. Brian Dalton might have packed a little muscle onto his once gangly frame, but Harley was pretty sure he could snap the guy in half if he put his mind to it. “Bub? Did you just tell me to man up?”
“I’m saying no one forced you to take the job.” Brian snorted then lifted his own beer bottle. “I sure as shit didn’t tell you to ditch Laney to do it. Why the hell would you do that?”
Tired of being interrogated by two people who meant absolutely nothing to him, Harley held both palms out as he took another step back. “You know what? It’s none of your damn business.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
Harley stiffened as he caught the same thread of steel in Brooke’s voice he’d heard in Delaney’s.
“She
cried
. I’ve watched my best friend cry more tears in the past six months than I even knew she had in her.” He opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a gentle squeeze of his arm. “Now, because I can’t stand to watch any of God’s living creatures suffer....” Behind her, Brian snorted, but her focus was locked entirely on him. “...I will tell you, you caused only one or two of those tears, and knowing Laney, they were the pissed off kind. But I didn’t like it. You made my friend cry, Harley Cade, and the only reason I’m allowing you to keep both of your balls is because I saw the look on your face when she walked away.”
His eyes narrowed. “What look?”
“The one that said you’re back and you’re gonna go get her,” Brooke answered.
He didn’t have a chance to confirm or deny her assertion. In a flash, Brooke’s pageant-girl smile was in place once more and Brian’s fingers laced tightly through hers. “Don’t mess it up this time,” she called over her shoulder as they turned away. “Big guy like you’d look pretty funny singing soprano.”
He stared after the two brainiest kids in school as they ambled away from the bad boy of Mobile Bay as if they’d exchanged greetings following Sunday services rather than threatened his family jewels.
Harley smiled and shook his head. Damn, it was good to be home. And Brooke was right. He was back, and it was time to grab the life he’d been gunning for since he’d first seen Delaney Tarrington.
Laney sighed with pleasure as she ran her fingers reverently over the midnight-blue dress. Only a designer as talented as Rika Kerring would have the balls to swipe shantung from the land of bridal and turn the slubby silk into this season’s must-have for cruise wear. Oblivious to the clouds billowing from the steamer, Laney held sleeveless shift in front of her and tilted her head as she studied her reflection in the mirror. The shade was all wrong for her, of course. Navy only dulled her dark coloring and olive complexion. Now, a bold, bright blue or royal-purple on the other hand... She heaved a heavy sigh of disappointment as she hung the freshly-steamed garment on the display rack.
It was probably just as well that the estimable Ms. Kerring chose to stick with traditional nautical colors. Even with the generous discount she got with her position as boutique manager, the dress was a budget-buster for Laney.
She reached for the next piece of the collection and held back a moan of abject lust as she slipped an intricately embroidered blouse onto one of Sassafras’ signature satin hangers. Racking clothes was easy, mindless work. The kind that almost allowed her to forget that a few years ago she’d handled Rika Kerring’s creations while they were in their chrysalis stage. She shook her head and slammed the hanger onto the steamer hook. She wouldn’t slip down the rabbit hole of self-pity. Those days were gone. This was her life now, and it was a darn good one, even if it wasn’t very glamorous.
A muted electronic chime signaled the opening of the boutique’s door. Laney placed the steaming wand on its hook and plastered a welcoming smile on her face. But instead of one of Mobile’s social elite eager to drop a pile of money on silk sportswear, she found the boutique’s owner, Jeanette Markham, struggling to place an enormous bouquet of red, pink, and white peonies on the cash counter.
“Oh, good. You’re here.” Jeanette said the same thing every day. And as she did every morning, Laney bit her tongue. Miss Jeanette Markham hadn’t been too hot to hire her when she returned from living in New York, but the resume Laney’d compiled while pursuing her high fashion dreams made it next to impossible for the stiff old biddy to refuse. The woman came in every day and said the same damn thing. Like she expected to find Laney had reverted to flighty socialite status and flown the coop.
“Yes, I’m here,” Laney replied, careful not to let her annoyance show.
Casting a glance at the bouquet, she couldn’t resist inhaling deeply. She loved the scent of peonies. One hit and she was instantly transported to warm spring days spent at Grandmother Billeaudeau’s house south of Shreveport. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the tang of pink lemonade on her tongue.
But peonies didn’t thrive as far south as Mobile. And they didn’t bloom in February, either. Her eyebrows shot up. Miss Jeanette was a notorious tightwad, and the last time Laney looked, the organic market was selling imported flowers for more than eight bucks a stem. The tightly packed bouquet on the counter appeared to have at least two dozen.
Dropping her overstuffed handbag onto the counter, Miss Markham waved a hand at the vase. “I met young Billy Pitchard from Bay Blooms outside. I suspect they’re from the Cade boy. I told Judy Reinholt he was trying to wriggle his way into your girdle.” She sniffed and gave a delicate shudder. “It’s a shameful waste, really, but what can you expect? New money.”
Laney pressed her lips together and nodded, tactfully refraining from pointing out that both she and Jeanette Markham came from some of Mobile’s oldest money, and there’s wasn’t much left. As far as she knew, Miss Jeanette owned the store and her family’s home in Spring Hill, which cost a small fortune in upkeep. Thanks to the ever-growing pile of medical bills and her father’s semi-desertion, Laney didn’t have any assets to fall back on.
She stroked one of the velvety flower petals and swallowed around the hard lump of bitterness lodged at the base of her throat. Harley might be an unreliable, big-talking pain in the ass, but he sure knew how to capture a woman’s attention.
Monday he’d sent a rainbow of tulips. On Tuesday, he followed up with two pounds of Richart chocolates. Wednesday, the bell chimed seconds prior to closing time, and she stepped out from behind the register to find a young woman toting a collapsible massage chair standing inside the door. The massage therapist had managed to undo some of the knots in Laney’s neck and shoulders, but she couldn’t loosen her stance on letting Harley back into her life. Not now. He was hard enough to handle when she’d had her feet under her. She didn’t know what she’d do with him now that her life had gone completely sideways.
“Of course, he is doing very well for himself. Why, Connie Cade was in here a couple weeks ago spending money like they were printing it in the basement.”
Laney didn’t remind Miss Jeanette she was the one who’d waited on Harley’s mother. Despite her humble roots, Mrs. Cade was a classy woman. She didn’t lord their reversal of fortunes over Laney when she shopped at Sassafras. In truth, St. Patrick’s former lunch lady was a joy to work with. Unlike the majority of their clientele, she was respectful, kind, and had a self-deprecating humor that made Laney laugh out loud. It was easy to see where Harley got his overabundance of charm.
Ignoring the not-so-subtle jibe, Laney made an attempt to go back to her work. “Mrs. Cade has become a good customer.”
The older woman placed a hand on her arm, commanding her attention. “The kind of money that might help set things to rights. Why, with some guidance, he might even turn out to be a….” she paused, her lips drawn in as if she were sucking the sourest of all lemons, “breath of fresh air. He certainly is handsome enough, and with the right kind of woman to take him in hand—”
Laney tuned her out. She’d already heard a half-dozen of Miss Markham’s ever-varying opinions. She could recite the gist of it by rote. Harley Cade was little more than poor white trash who made a pile of disgustingly dirty money by working with his hands and taking advantage of people by forcing them to buy houses at far more than what he’d paid for the same property. It was robbery. Piracy. Profiteering of the worst kind. But if he were to marry someone from the right family, perhaps she could shove all his filthy lucre into a brand new front-loading Maytag—or better yet, have the help do it—and bring the wild ruffian up to scratch.
The trouble was, Laney liked him untamed. The way his sun-streaked brown hair waved over his ears and curled at his nape might have made the Mobile matrons cluck their tongues, but it drove her crazy in a completely different way. She knew how soft those swirls were as they looped around her fingers. And how hard his body was when pressed against hers. Every inch of him. Firm. Unyielding. Skin hot as an inferno. No one would ever suspect the man was capable of doling out sweet, lingering kisses designed to make a woman’s toes curl and her heart lurch.
“They are lovely, though.”
An appreciative little sigh snapped Laney from her reverie to find she was caressing the flower in a manner which a lady of lesser breeding than Miss Jeanette Markham might construe as suggestive.
Jerking her hand back, Laney rubbed her fingers against her thumb as if she could erase the silken softness of the flower petal or the memory of Harley’s hands on her. Rough, working-man’s hands, ridged with calluses she doubted would ever soften. No matter how much money he had in the bank, Harley Cade wasn’t the type to ever stop banging away at what he wanted. Literally or metaphorically.
“He is a determined young man. One has to admire his tenacity,” the older woman commented.
“He’s a stubborn ass.” Laney bit her lip and shot her employer a sheepish glance.
Miss Jeanette laughed. “Well, darlin’, you know what they say about it taking one to know one.” She smiled, but it faded to an apologetic grimace, the lines on her face settling into familiar folds. “Speaking of stubborn…”
A nervous chuckle chased the opener, but Laney could tell by the way the older woman squared her shoulders that something big was coming.
Expecting the boss to finally admit she’d been wrong not to order a wider variety of ultra-control undergarments as Laney suggested, she widened her eyes and answered with an angelic smile. “Yes?”
“I’ve been holding on, hoping things will get better, but everything’s been so hard these past few years.”
Laney nodded. Between devastating hurricanes, massive oil spills, and the ever-shifting tourism economy, the entire Gulf Coast was reeling. Almost everyone took a hit, from small specialty businesses like Sassafras to companies that had once been part of the backbone of the community, like Tarrington Industries.