Jeannie Watt Read online

  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.”

  TARA 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 re
ady. 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.”

  Martin’s face reddened slightly as a few low chuckles bounced around the room. Stacia tapped the microphone for quiet and Martin turned abruptly toward the front of the room. Tara suspected she hadn’t heard the last from him.

  “So, are you really going to have that monstrosity up and running by the reunion?” Jack asked an hour later as he held the door open for Tara.

  “I’ll have at least two floors done,” Tara said as they stepped out into the unseasonable heat. “Maybe three if my carpenter hangs around.”

  “I’d help you if I weren’t so damned busy at the casino. Losing the assistant manager really cramped me up hourwise.”

  “I’m doing okay,” Tara said in a tone she almost believed. “You know, I didn’t expect to be accepted at these meetings with open arms, but I didn’t expect Martin to launch a public attack, either.”

  She stopped at her car and unlocked the door. “I guess I should have been nicer to his son.”

  “Or vice versa,” Jack replied evenly.

  She smiled, but didn’t reply. She was just glad Ryan Somers hadn’t been at the meeting. Night Sky was small and she had to run into him every now and then, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “Well,” Jack said, settling a big hand on her shoulder, “congratulations on surviving your first business association meeting.”

  “No thanks to Martin…or Stacia,” Tara added. “I wonder what’s up with her?”

  She and Stacia had never been friends, but they’d never been enemies, either. They’d simply traveled in different social circles having little to do with each other.

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Honey, if you spent less time in that big old house, you’d know that Stacia and Ryan Somers are a couple.”

  “Stacia and Ryan?”

  “They’re engaged.”

  Tara’s eyes widened. “No.” Jack was right. She had to get out more.

  “For over a week, I think.”

  “How perfect,” Tara murmured, turning the idea over in her mind. Ryan liked money. Stacia had money. “Perhaps Ryan has spoken of me in an unflattering way.”

  “Yes,” Jack agreed in a like tone, “and rumor has it you also spoke poorly of Martin Somers in the bank yesterday. Mrs. Randall told the girls all about it at lunch.”

  “Guilty,” Tara admitted without a trace of remorse.

  “Stacia mustn’t like having her future father-in-law disrespected,” Jack surmised. “You have to remember, Tara, that it does not pay to cross the prom queen.”

  “I was the prom queen,” Tara reminded him in a dark tone. It still made her cringe when she thought about it.

  “Yes, but in my heart,” Jack replied solemnly, “Stacia will always be queen.”

  “Yours and hers.” Tara grinned before she opened the car door. “I gotta go, Jack.”

  “I’ll save you a seat next week.”

  “I’m counting on you.”

  NICKY WORKED DILIGENTLY around the house, checking tasks off his list and stopping every now and then to talk. He was an earnest, likeable kid and Matt didn’t have the heart to shut him down when he’d asked about Matt’s background. It was the last thing Matt wanted to discuss. He’d made a vague reply and steered the discussion back to Nicky and his college plans.

  Nicky accepted Matt’s redirection of the conversation and Matt liked him all the better because of it. Neither of them mentioned Tara, who’d returned home around noon looking tired and not very happy. She’d fixed lunch for the two men before disappearing upstairs without a word. Matt didn’t see her for the rest of the day, but every now and then he wondered what had made her unhappy.

  It was nearly six o’clock when Matt finally got into his truck and drove back to town. But he didn’t go home. Instead, he went to the grocery store, bought a sandwich and a Coke, got into his truck and started driving again, following a gravel road out of town.

  He didn’t have it in him to go to the Owl for dinner. As much as he appreciated what Luke was trying to do for him, he didn’t feel like talking and he didn’t have the energy to dodge Becky’s come-ons. He didn’t want to spill his guts and he didn’t want to pretend to be normal.

  He just wanted to have a little time to himself, alone, and try to think about…nothing.

  “HEY, BABE, I HATE to ask, but can you fill in at the bar this evening? Maggie and Becky both called in sick with that damned flu, which leaves me a staff of exactly none.”

  Jack’s gravelly voice actually sounded desperate, causing Tara to frown as she balanced the phone on one shoulder and attempted, unsuccessfully, to pound the lid back onto a can of walnut stain. She gave up, put the hammer down and took the phone in one hand as she brushed strands of hair back from her face with the other.

  “What time?”

  She did not want to fill in at the bar. She had so much to do, and it was Friday. The regulars would be out in rowdy force, but there was no way she could leave Jack in a lurch.

  “Six would be okay.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Oh, and babe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Check in the mirror for paint smudges before you come.”

  Tara smiled as she punched the end button and surveyed the room. So much for getting the trim primed tonight.

  FOR A PERSON who avoided crowds, she was spending way too much time surrounded by people, Tara mused as she pushed her way through the mob in the Owl Club, balancing a tray of drinks. Usually when she filled in for Jack, she manned the bar while the other waitresses hauled the orders, but tonight she shared the bar with Jack and delivered drinks whenever a restaurant order came in. In the bar area, people got their own drinks—thank goodness, Tara thought as she squeezed sideways between two large men.

  She nearly dropped her tray as some fool, who was either new to town or too drunk to recognize her, firmly pinched her butt. Tara didn’t stop to see who it was—she didn’t have time to deal with the jerk. It was payday at not one, but two of the nearby gold mines, and too many people wanted to celebrate getting their check by spending their check. Tara had never understood that particular philosophy, but she was more than willing to help them achieve their goal.

  She delivered the drinks to the table of revelers with a polite smile that faded as soon as she turned and faced the throng of people spilling out of the bar.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks, get me another. Okay?” A very drunk Eddie Johnson waggled his glass at her, and she barely restrained herself from shoving it into his leering face. Instead she took the glass without a word and headed for the bar. Eddie would figure out soon enough that she wasn’t coming back. Jack wouldn’t serve him in the condition he was in and she needed the glass, which would certainly have to be washed and reused before the night was over.

  And it was going to be a long, long night.

  THE LAST THING Matt expected when he went to the Owl Club for dinner was that he’d have to wait for a table. Or so he thought until he finally took his seat and saw Tara Sullivan push through the crowd carrying a tray of drinks. She was wearing Levi’s that weren’t exactly tight, but somehow molded to her in a way that made every male in the room take notice. She also wore a red satin shirt unbuttoned into an enticing V and again the pendant dangled on the chain between her breasts. Matt was suddenly very curious about that pendant. He was also curious why she was playing barmaid after a full day of painting the interior of that monstrous house.

  None of your business.

  But, man, she did draw the eye.

  Even the women watched her. Her dark hair wasn’t braided tonight, but was instead twisted up onto the back of her head and held in place with a big silver clip. Little strands escaped, curling around h
er temples, giving testimony to both the heat of too many bodies and the number of trips she must’ve made through that crowd. It looked as if everybody there was having hard stuff with dinner. Not him. He didn’t want to be responsible for Tara having to push her way through that mob again.

  “If you touch me or call me sweet cheeks again, Eddie, you will be sporting your cojones somewhere in your abdominal cavity.”

  Matt’s head whipped up at the tight, angry words, clearly audible over the buzz of the crowd even though Tara was in the bar area, almost out of view. Almost, but not quite. He automatically started to rise at the sight of her facing off with some drunken jerk whose surprise was rapidly becoming belligerence as his friends laughed. The guy opened his mouth to say something that would have probably gotten him into a whole lot more trouble when Jack Hamish, the manager of the Owl and resident giant, suddenly appeared by Tara’s side. Matt forced himself to sink back into his chair and let Jack take care of his employee, which he did by escorting the offending patron outside.

  When the door closed behind Mr. Sweet Cheeks, Matt pulled his eyes back to the menu on the table in front of him, but adrenaline still charged through his body and his muscles were taut, ready to react.

  He let out a slow breath and closed the menu.

  Maybe he’d have that drink after all.

  But he’d go to the bar and order it from Jack.

  MATT CONNORS was at the bar and Tara wondered why, with a zillion people filling the small space, her eyes zeroed in on him. He ordered Scotch straight up and after Jack finished pouring, Matt raised his gaze and unerringly met hers. Her chin went up as she felt a surprising connection between them. He seemed different here, somehow, and he had caught her staring. Tara’s mouth tightened and she got busy filling the rest of her order. She left the bar without looking up again. But she felt him watching her, dammit. And it made her feel ridiculously self-conscious.