Jeannie Watt

Her words came out in a staccato rhythm, sounding more rote than sincere.

“You haven’t apologized much, have you?”

Tara frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re not very good at it.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“You have most of the words right,” Matt explained, “but the delivery’s wrong. You see, you’re supposed to sound like you mean it, not like you’re saying whatever’s necessary to get me to do what you want.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, guess what? At this point I would say whatever it took to get you to do what I want.” Her voice was low. “I was afraid—”

“Yeah.” She’d been afraid he wouldn’t come back. Probably because he’d told her he wouldn’t. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Her expression grew serious. “As long as it doesn’t happen again.”

Dear Reader,

Building and rebuilding—isn’t that what life is all about? I’ve lived in many old houses, and therefore I’ve worked on many old houses. I am a renovator and builder at heart and it seemed natural to incorporate these aspects of my life into my debut book.

When I first got the idea for this story, I envisioned an independent woman who does things on her own because she’s always had to. She’s never depended on anyone, except for a few close childhood friends, until she’s forced to by situation. My hero, on the other hand, is in the process of rebuilding. His career has been shattered by a devastating revelation and he is determined to make things right again, regardless of personal cost. He, too, is learning to reach out and accept help. While they work on their lives, they’re also renovating the kind of house I’ve always wanted to live in. And they do it well.

I hope you enjoy my book as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would love to hear from you. Please contact me at [email protected].

Happy reading,

Jeannie Watt

T
ARA
S
ULLIVAN
, as a rule, did not watch men, but this one was proving to be an exception. She leaned her shoulder against the kitchen doorframe and, for the umpteenth time that morning, paused to watch her carpenter nail the front porch back together. It had been a while since she’d had someone capable working around the place, and somehow she felt compelled to keep an eye on him.

Probably because I half expect him to disappear.

Tara smiled grimly, as she pushed off from the doorframe and crossed the worn linoleum to the pantry, where she still had half a dozen shelves to wash before she could paint.

If he quit, he quit. There wasn’t much she could do about it. Luke had said his friend would stay for at least two weeks or until Luke’s shoulder healed, whichever came first. Tara sincerely hoped that was true because it was the only way she was going to get this place done in time for the reunion.

She sloshed her sponge into the soapy water and started to scrub. At least this man was from out of town, so Martin Somers had no influence over him.

When she was done with the shelves, she carried the wash water to the big kitchen sink, awkwardly dumping the basin before turning it over to dry. She glanced at the clock as she wiped her hands on a towel and realized she didn’t have much time before her appointment. It was a routine matter, just a few signatures to finalize things, but routine or not, Tara was in no hurry to get to the bank. Too many bad memories.

She went through the door to the mudroom, hung the apron she’d been wearing on a hook and then carefully made her way out onto the side porch, where the sun tea was brewing. The boards creaked under her feet, but she knew the safe spots and managed to retrieve the jug without crashing through the old flooring. The carpenter continued to work, keeping his head down, concentrating on the boards he was hammering into place. Muscles flexed beneath his thin white T-shirt with each blow.

“Hey,” Tara called. The dark head came up. Sunlight reflected off his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Want some?” She hefted the jar a little as she spoke. It was getting hot outside and she didn’t want the man passing out from heatstroke.

He hesitated, then nodded, getting to his feet.

“I’ll bring it to you,” Tara said. She nudged the side door open with her toe and disappeared into the mudroom. Her reluctance to have him in the house drinking tea with her had nothing to do with fear or caution, and everything to do with boundaries. Because Tara had boundaries. And she let very few people cross them. It seemed that whenever she did, pain and disappointment ultimately followed.

M
ATT
C
ONNORS
hadn’t been certain what to expect the first day on this job, but he had not expected his new boss to be beautiful. Even dressed in baggy jeans and a loose tank top that read Night Sky Night Hawks across the chest, and with a smear of pale blue paint across her forehead, there was no denying her beauty. Her long, very dark hair was pulled back into a thick braid, accentuating the shape of her face, the slightly aquiline line of her nose, the high cheekbones. Her eyes were startlingly blue and more businesslike than friendly, so he had been surprised by the offer of tea. She’d given him a cool nod as she delivered the icy beverage, complete with lemon wedge and sprig of mint, and Matt accepted the tall glass with an equally impassive expression. He’d made a perfunctory stab at conversation when he first arrived that morning, more to try to regain a sense of normality in his daily life than for social reasons, but the boss had quickly made it evident that she wasn’t looking for pleasantries. She wanted her porch rebuilt and that was just fine with him.

Matt studied her striking profile for another moment as she inspected his work, and then he took a long, grateful drink of tea. It was hot for the end of May and it had been a while since he’d put in so many hours under the Nevada sun. Ten years, in fact, since he’d worked his way through college on his stepfather’s construction crew before attending the police academy.

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. I reinforced the two bad joists, but I have some work ahead of me here.” He gestured to the boards he was replacing.

“Another day on this porch?” Tara asked.

“Probably more like two.”

Disappointment crossed her face.

“All right,” she agreed, as if she had a choice in the matter. She pushed the long braid over her shoulder. “I have to go to the bank. Do you mind being here on your own?”

“No.” To him the bigger question would have been, did she feel comfortable leaving him alone at her house? She must’ve guessed the direction of his thoughts.

“Luke trusts you.” The simply stated fact seemed to be enough for her. “Did you bring any water?”

“In the truck.”

“Good.”

Her very blue eyes held his for a moment and then she turned and went back inside, the old wooden screen door banging shut behind her.

Matt took another swallow of tea, his eyes still on the door. Tara Sullivan was a woman of few words. He set down the glass and picked up his hammer. It didn’t really matter to him—if anything it made things easier. He was not there to make friends with her. He was there as a favor to his uncle, his former construction boss, a man who thought he was saving Matt’s life.

T
ARA ALWAYS HAD
the feeling when she crossed the threshold of the bank that every eye in the place was on her. The problem was that it wasn’t entirely her imagination.

The manager of the Night Sky branch of U.S. Trust and Savings had been one of the tellers on duty at the Reno branch when her father had made his brazen attempt at easy money fifteen years ago. He never let her, or anyone else in Night Sky, forget it.

Damn but she wished that when her aunt Laura had finally realized the house was falling down around her she’d applied for the renovation loan with an out-of-town bank. But no. She’d conducted her business locally and Tara had inherited both the house and the debt to a bank she never wanted to set foot in. And it was a huge debt. Tara’d been astounded by the amount, wondering at first how her aunt had managed to secure it at her age on such a dilapidated house. But then she’d realized just how much property values had gone up over the past decade, and decided that maybe it was the land and not the house the bank had counted on for security. The only blessing was that the interest rate had been low enough to make the payments manageable, and after today Tara hoped to continue with her low-interest payments for a very long time.

“Miss Sullivan. Have a seat.” The manager pulled his gold pen a little closer as he spoke.

“You are here regarding the balloon payment on your loan, due October first.” The manager raised his eyes from the paper to meet hers. Tara did her best to look friendly. He did not.

“I met with the assistant manager last week. We talked about refinancing the last payment. I submitted my request in writing.”

“Yes. I have it here.” The corner of the man’s mouth twitched, giving Tara the feeling that this was not going to be the slam dunk the assistant manager had indicated it would be.

“He said that it was very common to refinance a balloon payment. Practically expected.” His exact words had been “just a technicality.”

“That is
if
circumstances are the same as when the loan was secured.”

“The circumstances can hardly be the same, since my aunt is now deceased,” Tara pointed out.

“Exactly,” the man said. “And according to the information here, you are not currently employed.”

His information was correct, thanks to the statewide cut in the education budget. The Elko community college now had one less English instructor on its payroll. But that didn’t mean she was without income.

“I’m freelancing. Technical writing. I have two projects scheduled to begin next month. I’ve brought you copies of the budget. I’m certain I’ll have more work after that.”

The manager barely glanced at the papers she set on his desk.

“Freelancing.” From his tone, she may as well have said she was panhandling.

“Yes. And as soon as the funding situation at the college is rectified, mine will be the first position hired back. It’s written into my contract, which I have right here.” She pulled a paper out of the stack on her lap.

“And when might that be?”

Tara sucked in a breath. “The HR director expects it to be within the year.”

“I see. And, when you get your job back, is there any guarantee that it would not again be downsized in the next round of state budget cuts?”

“No, but I will be getting another job as soon as my house is refurbished and the reunion is over.”

“Here in Night Sky?”

“I hope.”

“Then you have nothing lined up.”

Tara pressed her lips together and shook her head. Her sense of foreboding intensified.

The manager smiled with mock regret, paused a beat, and then pushed Tara’s papers back toward her with an air of finality.

“I don’t want to appear harsh, Miss Sullivan, but I do not believe it would be in the best interest of the bank to extend this loan under such tenuous circumstances.”

Suddenly numb from head to toe, Tara forced herself to speak.

“You’d get your money back, plus more interest—”

“Your aunt got a lower interest rate by agreeing to the balloon. That was the arrangement she made, the contract she signed. When one enters into a balloon mortgage, it is with the understanding that refinancing is not guaranteed and that the entire loan balance is due on a particular date.”

“Look—” Tara pulled in another breath, tamping down cold panic “—can’t you give me a break here? I mean, this bank loans money.” She gestured at the plastic banner stretched over the tellers’ windows, advertising second mortgage rates, just in case the little worm in front of her had forgotten. “I’m current on my payments. I’ve proven I’m trustworthy, in spite of being laid off…. I’ll pay higher interest if you’ll refinance the balloon. I don’t care. I just need to make payments.” She paused before adding with the utmost sincerity, “It will be very difficult to make the payment and keep my brother in college.”
More like impossible, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I can do it if you extend the mortgage.”

The bank manager merely blinked at her, obviously unmoved.

Tara swallowed hard. “I would really appreciate it if you’d help me with this.”

It killed her to beg, but she’d crawl on the floor if that was what it took.

“It might be good for your brother to go to work for a while and then continue his studies.”

“No,” Tara replied firmly, making a supreme effort to keep her temper in check. “It might be good for him to continue his studies right now. He’s completed his sophomore year at UNLV and has just been accepted into a prestigious engineering internship program in California. It’s a private college and highly competitive. He needs to go right after summer school or he’ll lose his slot. He has financial aid, but it won’t be enough to cover both schooling and living expenses. If we could refinance this for even a few years…” Tara lifted her chin. “I want Nicky to have a decent shot at life.”

The manager shook his head, making no attempt this time to feign regret. “I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan,” he said in a “business is business” tone. “Payment is due October first.”

“So I have to chose between my brother’s education and the balloon payment.”

“If that is your situation, then, yes.”

“And if I can’t make payment at that time?”

“I believe you will eventually lose your collateral.”

There was no mistaking his meaning.

The bank would take her house—the house her great-grandfather, one of Night Sky’s founders, had built for his growing family over a hundred years ago. The house that had been the one source of constancy in her turbulent life.

Tara hitched her chin up a notch.

“Not if I go to another bank and take out a loan to pay off your loan.”

The man fiddled with the gold pen for a moment before he said, “You may find it difficult to get a loan in your current situation, unemployed and with your only collateral already tied up as a lien on another loan.” He raised his beady worm eyes to meet hers. “Practically impossible, I would guess.”

This guy was playing hardball.

“
If
it looks like you will not be able to make this payment—” the worm’s voice broke into Tara’s thoughts “—for the sake of your credit rating, you might want to sell the house first and use the money to settle this loan.”

Sell the house….

The words echoed in her head as she slowly raised her gaze to meet that of the man across the desk from her.

Her jaw tightened as she suddenly understood exactly what was happening. This man had been well aware of the fact that she was going to have to choose between Nicky’s education and making the payment, and he was going to take advantage of it—most probably for one of his best customers. The Somerses would like nothing better than to get their hands on her house, for both punitive and economic reasons. Tara’s property abutted the rear of theirs and provided the perfect opportunity for them to expand their empire of vacation retreats for the rich and semifamous.

The manager met her gaze blandly, with just the barest hint of smug satisfaction.

Tara narrowed her eyes slightly as the comforting calm of battle settled over her, a calm that, from the man’s subtle shift of expression, was being misread as acceptance.

“Sell my house….” Tara spoke the words thoughtfully as she gathered her purse and papers. She rose to her feet.

“Sell my house,” she repeated matter-of-factly. She didn’t speak loudly, but she did speak clearly, and the manager’s eyes darted around the room, as though trying to ascertain whether she was attracting attention. She was. He cleared his throat.

“Just a suggestion for your own financial—”