Jeannie Watt (2 page)

“I will sell my house when hell freezes over.” Tara raised her eyebrows as she politely inquired, “Does that time frame work for you?”

“Miss Sullivan…” the manager protested as two customers, whose fathers had presumably
not
tried to abscond with federally insured funds years before, sent curious looks their way.

“I can promise you two things,” she continued. “First, your bank will get its money. Second, Martin Somers will
not
get his slimy hands on my house because the bank is
not
going to foreclose.” Tara allowed herself a grim smile. “And you can tell him that.”

“Miss Sullivan, I have no such intention—” But Tara simply raised her fingers to her lips.

The man hushed, probably because he didn’t want to risk having her stay a second longer than necessary. She held his beady gaze for a moment, then turned and stalked out of the bank.

It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind her that she indulged in several deep shaky breaths. Her heart was pounding.
What? What on earth was she going to do now?

Tara strode to the Camry, yanked the unlocked door open and dropped behind the wheel, slamming the door shut behind her.

Nicky needed more money than she’d ever made in a year, including salary and freelance work….

Tara leaned her head back and closed her eyes, fighting tears of frustration. She should have known it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing ever was. She opened her eyes, determined.

No financial institution was getting her family’s house. It wasn’t going to happen. Nicky was taking his internship and she was going to make the balloon payment. On time.

Now, all she had to do was to figure out how.

T
ARA HAD BOTH
a throbbing headache and a sketchy idea of what to do by early evening. She stood for a moment at her bedroom window, watching as Matt got into his old, but meticulously cared for, Ford pickup—almost a twin to her own old truck—and drove away, leaving a rooster tail of dust in the red light of the setting sun. The dust slowly settled and Tara turned to lean against the windowsill.

Her finances hadn’t seemed that bad prior to her visit to the bank that morning. She wasn’t rolling in dough, but she’d had enough money to meet her monthly bills, including the mortgage she’d inherited, and she had Aunt Laura’s life insurance to pay for Nicky’s college expenses. But now, even if she cashed out her meager 401K and added it to Aunt Laura’s life insurance, she still didn’t have enough.

Damned bank manager.

She’d sunk too much money into the house; most of the remaining supplies and furniture were either already purchased or contracted for, and sitting in storage, or were awaiting pickup. Even if she returned what hadn’t been used, it was only a drop in the bucket. No, she had only one direction to go. Forward. She’d put this house together and do her best to get a loan or grant or private money before October 1.

She let out a sigh and then realized she’d been sighing way too much for one day. It smacked of defeatism. She’d had to be tough for herself and Nicky while they were growing up. She wouldn’t let herself break down now.

She crossed the room to the staircase, running a hand over the stripped banister as she descended. She’d been trying to decide between dark oak or walnut stain. It looked as if she’d better decide soon.

The clock chimed six as she went to the kitchen to get her paintbrushes. She’d be able to get in at least five more hours and still be in bed before midnight, which was about the time Nicky would be getting home. He planned to stay for ten days and do what he could to help with the house before heading back to Vegas to finish his last classes during the summer session. She hadn’t told him about the balloon payment and she wasn’t going to, because she knew he’d postpone school in a heartbeat if he thought she were going to lose her house.

But she wasn’t going to lose the house.

Not without a fight, anyway, because if there was one thing Tara knew how to do, it was how to fight.

H
OW DO YOU SAY
no to a man who’d been more of a father to you than your father or your stepfather had been?

You don’t,
Matt thought as he strode up the walk to his temporary home.
At least not right off the bat…especially when the guy was trying to help.

The Anderson house, as it was known to the locals, was more of a cottage than a house, built after World War II as housing for a tungsten mine and then moved in to town when the mine closed down in the early 1960s. A living room, two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bath—more than enough room for a man trying to put his life back together. It was one of Luke’s rentals and Matt had it to himself, since the old man had figured he’d want privacy. He’d been correct. Matt did not want to wake up thrashing from some nightmare with Luke in the house. Some things were private.

The backyard of the house opened onto an alley. On the other side of it across a gravel parking lot, was the back door into the Owl Club, Night Sky’s only casino. It boasted twenty-four-hour fun and sometimes it lived up to its reputation, despite the fact that Night Sky’s population hovered around the 1,200 mark, which included the outlying county.

Matt took a quick shower, changed into jeans and a T-shirt and headed across the alley to meet Luke for dinner. A fat cat waddled out from under the back porch and threw himself lovingly against Matt’s legs. Matt gently eased the animal aside and kept walking. The cat seemed to have come with the house and he drove Matt crazy, staring at him through the window with its huge yellow eyes.

When Matt came in, he saw Luke seated in one of the red vinyl booths, cupping a tall glass of iced tea in both hands and passing time with a buxom waitress. The waitress smiled at Matt and shook back her blond curls. Matt gave her a nod as he slid into the booth.

“How’d it go?” Luke asked.

“I think the work’s going to take longer than she wants it to.”

“But you’ll be able to get it done.”

“No problem,” Matt said as he reached for a glass of ice water.

Luke glanced up at the waitress, who was watching Matt with unabashed interest. “Becky, this is Matt. He took my place at Tara’s today. I was supposed to work on that porch of hers, but my shoulder’s acting up so bad I couldn’t hammer.”

Becky squinted her eyes. “You’re working for Tara?”

He nodded.

“I’ll bet you’re earning
that
pay,” she said with a snort before turning to Luke. “Now, what can I get you guys? The special’s good tonight.”

Matt gave his order after Luke, following the waitress with his eyes as she sauntered back to the kitchen, her hips swinging under the short pink skirt. When he glanced back, he saw that the old man was smiling.

“Not what you’re thinking,” Matt said dryly. “‘I’ll bet you’re earning that pay’?”

“Yeah. Well, Tara tends to say what she thinks and do what she wants.”

“She pisses people off,” Matt translated with a half smile.

“That she does,” Luke agreed before taking a swallow of tea. He grimaced.

“I can see it,” Matt replied, as Luke regarded the tall glass in front of him with disgust.

“What I wouldn’t give for a beer,” Luke muttered. He took another swallow of tea, and grimaced again. “Reacts with my medication, you know. And even if I wanted to live dangerously, Becky there—” he nodded at the waitress as she emerged from the kitchen with their prefab salads “—knows I’m taking it and won’t serve me.”

“Rough life,” Matt said. “Having somebody look out for you…whether you want them to or not.”

“Isn’t it?” Luke asked with equal irony. His expression became more serious. “This isn’t a bad town to hang out in for a while, Matt. Think things through.”

“The small-town cure for what ails you,” Matt said, a corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m not sure it’ll work on a big-city boy. Besides, I thought I was here to help you.”

Luke’s eyebrows went up. “You are,” he said innocently.

Yeah, he was. The old guy could barely move his arms. But he knew there was more to the situation than that. They both knew it. Since the incident—well, both incidents, the emotional one and the physical one— Matt’s life hadn’t been the same. If he’d owned a dog, it probably would have run away.

“I’m doing okay, Luke,” Matt said softly, intently, trying to mean it.

Luke’s gray eyes held an expression of deep understanding. “Yeah. I know, kid.”

Matt wondered if he did, and then felt ashamed of himself. Luke had spent thirty years in construction before retiring to Night Sky, his hometown, and he’d seen two tours of duty in Vietnam. He was also a good man—the kind of man Matt always thought his late father had been up until a few months ago when the staggering truth had come to light.

After dropping the salads on the table, Becky leaned over Matt, brushing cozily against him as she pulled the condiments closer. She smiled as she straightened and ran her hands down the sides of her skirt. The invitation was obvious. Matt smiled back noncommittally and picked up his fork.

“Not a lot of fresh blood in this town,” Luke murmured after she had reluctantly left.

“Tell me about Tara Sullivan.”

“What about her?” Luke asked.

“She just seems like an unusual person. Easy on the eyes, but all business.”

“She is all business. And sometimes her bite is as bad as her bark.” Luke speared a giant chunk of iceberg lettuce, then picked up the steak knife and sawed it into edible pieces.

“Why do you work for her?”

“I like her.”

Matt glanced up. He’d sensed from the moment that Luke had sent him out to the place that this woman was important to him. He just didn’t know why. Luke continued to tackle his salad. “I know she can put people off, but she’s honest and…well…let’s just say she hasn’t had an easy time of it around here.”

“Not an easy time?”

“Nope.” The word was flat and final. “I worked for her aunt after I retired. Laura was too busy with too many things to maintain that old house, but she loved the outdoors. She designed the gardens, the pathways and such around the place, and I made them happen. After that, it seemed natural enough for me to maintain things. I’ve been doing it ever since.”

“You do a nice job.” The old house was surrounded by almost two acres of groomed landscaping. Near the house, the design fit in with the Victorian theme—an old gazebo, wooden archways, shade trees, grass and winding paths. Farther away, near the barn and shop, the landscaping melded into the surrounding meadows, which acted as pasture for the two donkeys Tara apparently kept as pets.

“Gives me something to do, and Tara needs a guy around now that Nicky, her brother, is away at college.”

Matt had a feeling that Tara could handle things quite well without a man around, but he kept his thoughts to himself. With no immediate family of his own, Luke had a tendency to adopt people. Like Matt. And apparently like this Sullivan woman, too.

The meals arrived and after Becky was done delivering the hot plates, Matt let the subject drop. He wasn’t that interested in Tara Sullivan. If Luke’s shoulder kept him out of commission, and it looked like it was going to from the stiff way the old man was moving, Matt’d have a few more weeks at the house, tops. Right up until the end of his leave.

How much did he need to know to hammer a few boards back into place?

Not much. In fact, he had a strong feeling that the less he knew, the less involved he got with anyone in this town, the better.

T
HE BOSS LADY
was hot about something. Matt could see her pacing the porch as he turned his truck into her long gravel driveway. As soon as she heard his engine, she tossed her braid over her shoulder and stalked into the house. He could practically hear the door slam.

This should be fun, he thought as he pulled to a stop. He hadn’t slept much the night before and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Tara in a snit. She reappeared almost immediately with a cell phone, scanning the horizon as she held it to her ear. The boss lady had cleaned up, and rather nicely, too. Instead of baggy jeans, she wore tan denims that did justice to her long legs and a scoop-necked blue shirt that hugged her breasts and flat abdomen. A chain with some kind of a pendant nestled in an interesting hint of cleavage. She looked…different.

She watched him get out of the truck, still holding the phone to her ear. It was fortunate, Matt thought, taking in her killer expression, that he had expertise dealing with people in all kinds of moods.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly as he came to the bottom step.

“Brothers.” She let out an aggravated breath as she lowered the phone, but Matt saw anxiety as well as irritation in her eyes.

“Anything I can do?”

She opened her mouth to answer, and then her expression changed. Matt followed her gaze and saw a plume of dust in the distance. When the vehicle came close enough to identify, Matt shifted his attention to Tara, watching as her face first softened with relief, then tightened again. This did not bode well for the troublesome brother.

Tara stalked down the steps and brushed past Matt as an older silver Dodge pickup pulled in between his truck and a Toyota Camry. A fair-haired kid in his late teens or very early twenties was at the wheel and Matt could tell that he knew he was in trouble.

“You
said
you’d be home last night,” Tara hissed at her brother, who tried a sheepish grin, then gave up. “I had assumed that meant before the sun came up!”

The brother got out of the truck. “I’m sorry, T. Josh and I got stuck up behind Bounty Peak.” He gestured at the muddy undercarriage of the Dodge. “My cell wouldn’t get service there.”

Tara sucked in a breath and let it out again. “Listen to me. In the future, you
call
. I don’t care if you have to hike to the top of Bounty Peak to get service, you call.” She pushed a piece of paper into her brother’s hand. “And I’m sure I don’t want to know
why
you were behind Bounty Peak in the first place. Here’s the list we talked about. Do what you can. I’ve gotta go.”

Matt had seen the same look on his mother’s face more than once during his own turbulent teens—fully justified fear, followed by relief, and then anger at being made to worry unnecessarily. He felt a little sorry for both Tara and the kid.

“I’m late for an appointment,” Tara explained abruptly. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You’re pretty well lined out, aren’t you?”

Matt nodded and Tara gave her brother one more smoldering look before walking swiftly to the Toyota, muttering under her breath. Matt and the brother stood side by side as the car peeled out of the driveway and turned onto the county road.

“She yells at me when I do that.” The blond kid turned to Matt. “I’m Nicky Sullivan.”

“Matt Connors. You worried her,” Matt said as he shook the kid’s hand.

“Yeah. I guess I should have called when we got out of that mud hole,” he admitted, “but I figured I’d be home in an hour.” He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing. “And I think I’m old enough to stay out all night if I want to.”

“Probably not to her.”

“I guess,” the kid agreed. “Hey, you want some breakfast before you get started?”

Matt shook his head. “I had the special at the Owl.”

Nicky grimaced. “Sorry, man.”

Matt smiled in spite of himself. Dinners weren’t bad at the casino, but breakfast had proven to be an adventure. Eggs came in one form. Bouncy. Bacon bordered on scorched. The toast was usually okay, though, and that was what he’d ended up eating that morning after trying all the various components of the special.

“Come on, at least have some coffee. Tara makes great coffee.”

A thermal carafe sat on the counter of the obviously recently renovated kitchen and Nicky shook it. It sloshed reassuringly and he reached for two mugs.

“If I had been any later, she’d have dumped it out,” Nicky reflected as he poured.

“Important appointment?”

“It is for her.” Nicky settled on one of the antique chairs and stretched out his legs. He took a drink of coffee, closed his eyes, took another. “Long night,” he muttered. “Anyway, the local school is celebrating its centennial this year and there’s going to be a big reunion of all graduates. Tara wants a piece of the action.”

“How so?” The coffee smelled great. Matt took a seat on the opposite side of the table and sipped.
Star-bucks, move over.

“She wants to use the reunion to help her kick off her bed-and-breakfast business. She’s trying to host a function here.”

“Bed-and-breakfast?” Matt almost dropped his cup.
Tara Sullivan was going to deal with the general public?
Nicky smiled at him.

“She’s good with paying customers,” the kid said, accurately interpreting Matt’s expression. “We lived in the basement apartment of a bed-and-breakfast for five years while she was going to college. She ended up running the place from time to time for the owners, so she knows what she’s doing. Of course, getting the house ready in time is kind of a challenge.”

“The kitchen’s not bad,” Matt said tactfully. Only the worn linoleum needed replacing. Everything else, from the fancy retro range to the huge fridge, looked new.

“You should see the rest of the place—and I’m only here for ten days. I’ll do what I can, but frankly, I have no idea what I’m doing.” Nicky rolled his shoulders, working the kinks out. “Believe it or not, I’m an engineering student. But I’m a lot better with calculations than I am with a hammer and a saw.”

Matt enjoyed the kid’s candor. “Why doesn’t she just hire a contractor? Money?”

Nicky grew serious. “She has to watch the budget, but the problem is all the local contractors are ‘booked.’” He said the word in a way that caught Matt’s attention.

“What do you mean ‘booked’?”

Nicky’s mouth tightened into a semblance of his sister’s smirk, but it wasn’t nearly as deadly. “She’d kill me for talking about this, but it’s nothing you won’t hear in town. There’s this family that runs an inn nearby. Real successful.”

“Somers Country Inn?”

“That’s the one. They’re ticked off that Tara is opening a competing business.”

Matt frowned. He’d seen the Somers Country Inn when he’d been driving around a few days before, trying to fill the empty hours, trying not to think. It was a few miles away from the Sullivan place—a huge two-story cedar ranch-style building surrounded by picturesque cabins, outbuildings, split-rail fences and giant cottonwood trees. It smacked of luxurious hospitality with a pseudorustic flavor. The kind of exclusive out-of-the-way place where the rich would go to rough it. There was no way that Tara’s little Victorian, even if it were fixed and decorated, could compete with that place.

“Rumor has it, and it’s only a rumor,” Nicky added in a way that made it clear it was anything but a rumor, “old man Somers has fixed it so that nobody wants to work with Tara. I mean, we had no trouble getting help with the roof, the foundation and the kitchen. It wasn’t until the plumbing…”

“What happened with the plumbing?”

“When we changed it over from iron to PVC, she had the guys plumb in a bunch of bathrooms—one for each bedroom, you know. That’s when the community found out she was planning to open a bed-and-breakfast, and suddenly no one was available.”

Matt gave the kid a long look before draining his cup. Nicky filled it again without asking.

“She finally got an electrician to come from Elko, but he was twice as expensive as the local guy. Now all that’s left are the floors, walls and stuff that needs to be fixed like the doors and the porch. Luke tries to do what he can around here, but he gets those arthritis attacks.” Nicky nodded at Matt over his coffee cup. “It’s decent of you to help him out.”

“No problem,” he replied, looking at his watch. “Any idea what time your sister will be back?”

Nicky shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.” He pulled the paper Tara had given him out of his pocket and smoothed it on the table. “But since this list is twice as long as it was the last time I saw it, I think I’d better get busy.”

T
ARA PUSHED OPEN
one of the double doors of the convention room at the community center. She was late for her first meeting of the Night Sky Business Association and she would have to make an entrance instead of slipping in as she’d originally planned.

Almost every chair in the room was filled and all heads turned her way as she started down the aisle between the rows, looking for an empty seat. A few people seemed surprised to see her, but most just stared unsmiling or nodded. She wondered, as she always did, if anyone was sincere in offering the simple greeting. She was, after all, a Sullivan. Daughter of a convicted felon and the latest in a long line of troublemakers.

Her mother’s family had been upstanding citizens, but no one seemed to remember that, and she couldn’t really blame them. Almost everyone here had had some sort of unpleasant run-in with a member of her late father’s family.

Martin Somers was in the front row, dressed in his expensive faux cowboy clothes, his thick gray hair perfectly combed. He, too, nodded as she advanced down the aisle, but it was only for show. He was just like his son—charming and personable until you scratched the surface. Too bad more people didn’t figure that out. Too bad she had to figure it out the hard way.

She scanned the room until she finally connected with one honest-to-goodness friendly face, an ally. Jack Hamish gestured to the empty chair next to him.

“Hey, Tara.”

“Hi, Jack.” Tara nodded at the giant of a man she’d known since he’d been the biggest kid in their kindergarten class. “Thanks for the seat,” she murmured as she sat. “Are these meetings always this crowded?”

“Could I please have your attention?” The microphone whistled before Jack could answer and Tara glanced up to see perfect Stacia Logan adjust the stand, a glittery bracelet sliding up her tanned forearm with the movement.

“I’d like to welcome you to this combined meeting of the Night Sky High School Centennial committee and the Night Sky Business Association.

“A little background for those of you who were unable to attend our first meeting last week. My company, Night Sky Development, has been contracted by the chamber of commerce to ensure the smooth operation of the hundredth reunion of the high school. The chamber and I, in association with various Night Sky high class officers, have been hard at work for almost six months planning this event. We’ve made a lot of headway, but there’s still a lot to do and that’s where
you
come in.” She paused for emphasis before continuing.

“We have several hundred people coming. I’m certain that a lot of them will be staying with family, but those who aren’t will need rooms. For that reason we’ll be making and sending out brochures listing accommodations along with the schedule of events within the next few days. What we need today is an idea of how many rooms you will have available, price, etcetera, as well as input into where to hold the various functions. We’d also like to hear ideas for activities and promotions we might not have thought of….”

Stacia continued her spiel and, as Tara listened, she calculated what she had to do to have the house completed by June 24.

“Stacia?” Martin’s voice jarred Tara back to the present. “I have a comment. I think that we should have stipulations regarding the accommodations brochure.”

“Stipulations?” Stacia asked with eloquently raised eyebrows, giving Tara the distinct impression that she was delivering a rehearsed line.

“Yes. I think we should require that only accommodations up and running on the day we mail the brochure be included, just in case,” he emphasized the words, “the promised rooms are not available.”

There was only one establishment that he could have been referring to, only one establishment that wasn’t currently operational, and everyone knew it. Tara’s blood pressure jacked up, but she made an effort to control herself as she said in a calm, clear voice, “Are you talking about my place, Martin? Because if you are, I can assure you my accommodations will be done on time.”

Martin scowled at her. “How can you guarantee that?”

“The same way you can guarantee that your establishment will have all of its rooms available. Can you be absolutely certain there won’t be a fire or flood—or some other disaster—at your place before the reunion?”

Tara raised her eyebrows, but before Martin could reply, a snide whisper came from the back of the room. “Gee,
who
would set fire to Martin’s place?”

A muffled chuckle followed and Tara stifled a groan. Everyone knew Tara’s uncle had once attempted a career in arson insurance fraud. He might have been successful, too, if he hadn’t locked himself into the first old building he’d tried to torch, leading to his subsequent rescue, arrest and prosecution. Surprisingly though, other than her father, he was the only Sullivan who’d spent any significant time in jail. Most of the rest of the family managed to get away with time served.

The laughter grew, but somehow Tara kept from shifting in her chair to face the person who had made the comment. Jack didn’t. He turned and glared.

“Martin has a point,” an elderly woman announced with prim conviction, bringing attention back to the front.

“So does Tara,” came another unidentified voice from across the room.

This time Tara did turn, but she couldn’t identify her surprise defender.

“Look,” she said, wanting to put a stop to the debate, “my rooms will be ready. I wouldn’t put myself on the accommodations list otherwise.” She paused, and then added in a low voice, “So, I’ll tell you what, Martin. You worry about
your
establishment and I’ll worry about
mine.
I wouldn’t think my five rooms would be that much of a threat to you.”