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  “Laney, darlin’, I never, ever kid about a commission.”

  “A cash offer,” she repeated, letting the words sink in.

  “Honey, I don’t know the full extent of your situation, so I can’t say the offer's enough to clear everything up, but it sure would give you and your poor daddy some breathing room.”

  The sugar-coated sympathy for her father startled Laney from her mental rummage through the piles of unpaid bills. Mrs. Riggs was a divorcee. She’d also been first in line when the parade of condolence casseroles began to pour in. Bankruptcy, negligence, and alcoholism aside, it seemed some women still thought old Brett Tarrington was a catch. Well, they’d be welcome to him. But not until Laney got the bill collectors off their backs.

  Her jaw tightened with determination as she met her own gaze in the mirror. “I’m afraid our situation isn’t very good at the moment.”

  “Then a quick closing is exactly what you need. We’ll pay the mortgages off directly, then you and Brett can decide how best to tackle the rest.”

  Laney fought back the urge to snort at the thought of her father tackling anything. “A quick closing?”

  “The buyer wants to wrap it up as soon as the paperwork can be completed.”

  “How soon would that be?” Laney asked, her mind awhirl.

  “Could be this week if all the paperwork is in order. Title search, appraisal, those sorts of thing…”

  The title search shouldn’t be any problem. Until her father mortgaged it, Tarrington House had been free and clear since the day they hung the thick mahogany front door. They’d had a private appraisal done before listing the house and land, so if the buyer would accept the figure, having it in hand might shave some time off as well.

  “Who’s the buyer?”

  “The offer was made by a company called Heart of Dixie Holdings. Their attorney called yesterday afternoon to see if we were open to selling outright, which of course we are, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s what I thought. Unfortunately, I was at my Zumba class when he called, and by the time I got the message, their offices were closed.”

  Laney ducked out of the bathroom, afraid if she looked in the mirror again, this time she’d see Marsha Riggs shaking her money maker to a Latin beat. She eyed her abandoned coffee and the bakery bag with longing. “Do we know who owns this Heart of Dixie Holdings?”

  There was a brief pause on the other end, then Mrs. Riggs said gently, “Why, no, dear, I don’t. Does it matter? It could be Donald Trump himself for all I care. They’re making a cash offer.”

  “Right,” she repeated.

  Moving on autopilot, Laney went back to the bedroom to collect the presents Harley had left her. It didn’t matter what her daddy said, if he dared to say a damn thing. She was giving Harley his investment money back before she paid any other bills. She took a big slug of the now-cooled coffee then curled the cup protectively into her chest.

  “Let’s close as soon as possible.”

  “Good girl, Delaney,” Mrs. Riggs cooed. “Now, you know we’ll need your daddy to do the actual closing.”

  Laney tried not to let the sly calculation in the woman’s tone irk her too badly. This was a good thing. A great thing. The chance for a fresh start. With the sale of Tarrington House, she could pay off much of the crippling debt they’d incurred from her mother’s illness. The moment her mother said the word “cancer” out loud, Laney knew her life would never be the same again. Her mama was dead and gone and her daddy might as well be. It was long past time for Laney to let go of any girlish hopes she might have of things going back to the way they once were.

  “You set up the date and time. I’ll make sure Daddy’s there.”

  After thanking Mrs. Riggs and dredging up the expected amount of excitement, Laney ended the call. Glancing at the clock, she saw her leisurely morning was now officially shot to hell. She had exactly forty minutes to wash an entire night’s worth of mind-boggling sex off and make it to the store. God forbid she wasn’t minding her station when Miss Jeanette came in to check on her.

  * * * *

  By the time they closed on the sale of Tarrington House Friday morning, Laney’s mood was somewhere in the depths of the sewer. When she explained to Miss Jeanette her reasons for needing the morning off, the older woman was the very essence of Southern solicitude—which meant she put in hours alternating between doling out sympathy and piling on guilt.

  Laney had spent the week on the phone cajoling, warning, and outright threatening her father into what she hoped would be a state of semi-sobriety. It didn’t work. She drove out to the old cabin to pick him up and the man smelled like he’d been living in a distillery. She managed to chase him into the shower, convinced him to shave by threatening to do the job herself, then sat slumped against the wall outside the tiny bathroom until he emerged dressed in the shirt and suit she’d picked out for him, but without a tie. Laney stared at the red silk he’d tossed into the tiny porcelain sink and decided neckties were not a battle worth fighting.

  She was also done fighting her feelings for Harley. True to his word, the man called from Mississippi every evening. He started each conversation by asking about her day, which she didn’t want to rehash, then filled her in on what they’d uncovered at the old Jefferson County plantation home he was consulting on, before conversation devolved into wicked promises he spoke in a whisper, and her shallow, panting breaths.

  Hard to say if pride, shame, or sheer stubbornness kept her silent, but Laney said nothing about Tarrington House. She didn’t want to dwell on the sale of the place where she’d spun her childhood daydreams. Not when the man who fired her very grown-up fantasies was talking soft and low about all the things he wanted to do with her. She’d said her goodbye to the place she’d called home when Brian and his older brother, Jake, had loaded the last of her things into a rented van and trucked them over to the apartment she was subletting from Brooke.

  The high point of the week had been Tuesday afternoon, when Connie Cade plowed through the door to Sassafras, choppy layers swirling around her remarkably unlined face, and a gleam of determination burning in the clear green eyes she’d passed on to her son. She plunked a credit card belonging to Cade Construction down on the counter, flashed a brief, borderline-polite smile at Miss Jeanette, then zoomed in on Laney.

  “Do you earn a commission?”

  Taken aback by the question, Laney could only blink and nod in response.

  “Give me that Maggie Ruffe jacket we talked about, the pants, too. Throw in three or four tops I can wear with any or all of it,” she said with a dismissive wave. “Make sure they’re all really expensive.”

  “Um, okay.” Laney drew the word out as she hung the steaming wand on its rack and stepped out from behind the counter. “Any color preference—”

  Connie cut her off by holding up her hand like a traffic cop. “Let me make a few things clear. One, I hate clothes shopping. Two, I trust you not to make me look like a clown. Three, my boy isn’t going to be back in town until Friday and he’s too chicken shit to tell you.” She shoved the credit card across the counter. “I’m the messenger, and I am counting on you to make him pay.”

  So she did. By the time Connie left the boutique, Harley was a thousand dollars poorer and Laney was feeling a little more confident about the cards she held in terms of their relationship. Which said a lot, considering the amount of bluffing the two of them had been doing for the past year or so.

  He wouldn’t be back until after they closed the deal on Tarrington House. She’d have time to get what was leftover deposited and write him a check to cancel out the one he’d written her, and they’d be even. They could start again. Free and clear of any obligation or baggage from their pasts. Build a new future, and, one day, maybe even a home and family.

  It wasn’t until she was trapped spending the morning with her silent, sullen father that she realized how much she missed havin
g a family. One that talked, if only about polite, superficial things. Even if the head of that family was a spoiled, emotionally stunted snob who’d barely spoken to her since she knocked on the cabin door. He didn’t even try. And the man had the audacity to turn an accusing, bloodshot glare on her when the lady from the title company greeted their arrival at the office with congratulations on the sale of their home.

  When the papers were signed and the check deposited into the account with only Laney’s signature on file, Brett Tarrington seemed to shrink even deeper into himself. She tried to dredge up a smidge of pity for him. After all, the last vestige of his heritage was gone. But Tarrington House had been her heritage, too, and he was the one who’d pissed it away.

  Gripping the wheel, she turned down the rutted lane that led back to the ratty old cabin her father now called home. Her mother adored him. They’d been a couple. A unit. A team of two, who happened to have a third wheel chasing after them all the time. Laney’d been little more than an accessory to them. A pretty doll to be trotted out at the appropriate times, then tucked away.

  Children are meant to be seen and not heard.

  How many times had her father said similar things to her? Of course, it was always with a charming smile, a chuck on the chin, or a pat on the bottom. Once she’d reached middle school, Laney finally managed to translate his parental wisdom. They didn’t want her around. Not really. But instead of acting out and rebelling, as so many of her friends did, she quietly bided her time.

  There was cache in being born a Tarrington. A passel of expectations, too. When she announced her plans to head off to New York to become the next hot fashion designer, everyone expected her family would help her get established. And she’d milked every moment of her time away from Mobile. Until reality came crashing down on all of them.

  The car jolted and bumped, groaning as the dirt-packed lane rose up to punch it. Laney gritted her teeth and mentally mapped out the twists and turns to the cabin door. Only two more minutes. Surely she could hold on for two more minutes with her father.

  Two more minutes. Anyone can do anything for two minutes, Mama.

  Of course, it was easy for Laney to say. She wasn’t the one enduring test after test, and suffering indignity on top of indignity. Her mother’s beloved husband hadn't held her soft, frail hand as the doctors put her through the gauntlet. Laney had.

  The moment her cancer had been pronounced terminal, Brett blithely walked away, leaving Camille in her daughter’s care. Until then, Camille hadn’t realized how insular her relationship with her husband had been. She’d ignored his selfishness. Turned a blind eye to his blatant ineptitude. Forgave him over and over for the emotional slights, even though she knew they sliced her daughter to ribbons. But no more. She asked Laney’s forgiveness for her neglect and begged her not to abandon her as well. As if she would.

  But then her father stopped coming home. He also stopped paying the bills. He stopped doing everything but hiding out at his cabin trying to drown his self-pity in a bottle of bourbon.

  Together, she and Laney stripped the old house of any valuables they might be able to sell. At first, Camille insisted Laney drive to Biloxi or New Orleans to unload the family heirlooms, but those extra efforts weren’t enough to stop the word from spreading. They’d cobbled together enough to keep their affairs out of the bill collectors’ hands, then started calling in favors from friends and acquaintances who’d served alongside Camille on nearly every important local charity.

  Jerking to a stop in the clearing, Laney glanced over at her father. He slumped against the door in his too-big suit, a once-handsome man who was steadily and determinedly drinking himself into an early grave. He reached for the door handle, and she gripped the wheel tight enough for bone to glow white against her skin.

  “Do you need anything? Food? Money?”

  The shiny wingtips she’d shoved into his hands that morning sent up a cloud of dust as they hit the hard-packed dirt. He didn’t turn back or even glance at her as he climbed out of the car. A thick gold wedding band gleamed on one of the fingers wrapped tight around the doorframe. He hesitated long enough to get his feet under him, then mumbled, “I have everything I need,” before letting the door slam shut between them.

  Tears filled Laney’s eyes as she watched the man who once called her his princess, insincere as it was, shuffle up the shallow steps and disappear into his misery once more.

  Cranking the wheel, she punched the gas hard, shooting a plume of dust into the air. Her teeth clacked together and her suspension squeaked and howled in protest, but she didn’t let up as she sped down the rough, grooved path. The second she hit the state highway, she pointed her car toward Mobile and floored it.

  The tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t bother batting them away. There was no traffic on the road, and damn it, she was tired of fighting them back. Tired of fighting period. She wanted peace. Security. Love.

  She wanted Harley.

  But he’d told her he wouldn’t be around until sometime after lunch. Glancing at the clock on the dash, she saw the noon hour was fast approaching. In the meantime, she knew where to go. She needed one last peek at the place where she’d last had all of those things. She needed another moment to say goodbye. To Tarrington House. To her mother. And to all the things she couldn’t change about the past.

  From this day—she shook her head hard, blinking furiously at the tears but refusing to give in and touch them—from this moment on, she amended, she was all about the future, and what the days and weeks to come might hold for her.

  Oddly enough, the thought of her blurry future and all of its unknowns seemed to center her. The tears stopped by the time she reached the outskirts of town. She eased off the accelerator in deference to the roadside radar sign frantically flashing its warnings at her. Cruising on autopilot, the little Beemer her parents had given her for graduation from Auburn found its way right back to Tarrington House.

  But when she pulled to a stop in front of the curb, she was shocked to find the property was anything but peaceful. Peering through the passenger window, she spotted a giant Dumpster sitting square in the center of the lawn.

  Incensed to see that the new owners had barely spared an hour since the moment the ink was dry, she climbed from the car. “Oh, my God, the nerve of some people.”

  Men wearing tool belts darted on and off the porch carrying tools and lethal-looking pieces of equipment from the pick-up trucks lining the drive. She spotted the familiar logo on one of the trucks a split second before she recognized the tall figure walking along the roofline of the house.

  The fire in her belly dried the last of the tears in her eyes. Locked in on her target like a guided missile, she charged across the lawn. She wrinkled her nose as she drew to a stop beside the empty Dumpster, but within view of the roof. Jabbing two fingers into her mouth, she let loose with a cab-hailing whistle, stopping most of the crew in their tracks. But the one whose attention she needed most stood with his broad back to her, talking to another man.

  Undaunted, she took a step, blew out another cringe-worthy whistle, then cupped her hands around her mouth as the man turned to find out what the commotion was.

  “Harley Cade! What the hell do you think you’re doing up there?”

  Chapter 10

  Harley grinned the moment he saw Laney. There was nothing he liked more than getting her riled, and from the looks of things, he was about to get a dose and a half of her temper. He started toward the edge of the roof. “Hey,” he called back. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

  Laney’s eyes widened, and she held up both hands to halt his progress. “Are you crazy? You’re on the roof! Don’t come any closer to the edge!”

  Her indignant concern for his wellbeing raised more than a few chuckles from his crew, but it lit a damn bonfire in him. He’d missed her. Missed her more than any man should ever admit to missing a woman, so he wouldn’t tell her. She was dangerous enough withou
t loading her up with more ammunition. Dropping to a squat near the gutter, his smile widened. “Sugar, I’ve been walking roofs since I was fifteen. I’m fine.”

  “Why are you here?” She waved a hand at the line of trucks bearing his company’s logo, then planted angry fists on her hips. “Why are they all here?”

  The uneasy feeling he’d screwed up big-time skittered up his spine. He needed to get down off this roof. He needed to look her in the eye if he was going to diffuse whatever it was ticking away inside her. “First day on a new job,” he replied, ignoring the knot of nerves forming in his gut. “Getting things set up.”

  In a move that would have gotten any other member of his crew canned on the spot, he grabbed one of the safety lines he and his foreman had finished securing at the apex and used it to rappel his way down one of the chipped white columns. He fought the urge to grin when his boots hit the porch. One of the young guys he’d hired the previous summer stared at him as if he’d dropped out of a UFO, then eyed the line speculatively.

  Harley fixed the kid with a no-nonsense stare. “Pull a stunt like I did, and you might as well keep walking. I gave you a demonstration of what not to do. We clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” the young man responded without hesitation.

  “Finish unloading, then check in with Marcus to see what to do next.”

  Sights set on Laney, Harley started down the steps. Pea gravel crunched under the soles of his boots as he skirted one of the trucks. He scowled at the giant industrial Dumpster, hating that the most strategic place for it was the most conspicuous, but the hideous thing was a necessary eyesore. Big things were about to happen at Tarrington House. He hoped Laney would see them as good things eventually. Judging by the scowl tugging at the corners of her ripe mouth, he was beginning to think it wouldn’t be any time soon. Falling back on the old adage about the best defense was strong offense, he strode across the lawn and, without pause, bent to kiss her hard on her down-turned mouth.