From the Moment We Met (22 page)

Afraid of dropping the bottles, she waddled as fast as she could, wondering how much longer her arms would hold out. Not long enough to make it to the truck, she imagined, since each case weighed over thirty pounds and this was her fifteenth box of the day.

She was nearly to the shipping truck when her fingers started slipping. Not wanting to drop the box, she sped up and hobbled right into Tanner.

“Whoa, let me get that,” he said, his arms coming around the box and lifting it effortlessly right out of her hands and placing it in the back of the truck in two strides—the big showoff. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the wine bottles on the truck,” she said, her breath coming out in harsh little out-of-shape puffs.

“I can see that.” He brushed something off the side of her face.

“Is it a spider?” She closed her eyes. “Don’t let it be a spider.”

“It’s a harmless dust bunny.” As far as she was concerned, nothing dwelling in that carriage house was harmless. “Why didn’t you ask one of the guys to do it?”

“They’re on lunch break.” He frowned at that, so she patted his arm—his really muscular, really sexy arm. “I told them to go. It’s stifling today, even hotter in the warehouse. So when it hit lunchtime I asked Lexi to make them a special treat to say thanks for pulling so many long hours.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged. “No biggie. Plus the owner is sleeping with my brother, so I get a discount.”

“Yeah.” He moved closer, cupping her hips, running his hands down her sides, then back up. “I’m sleeping with you, so does that mean I get a special treat for lunch?”

“That kind of treat has to wait. It’s not five o’clock,” she said, but let her fingers do some running of their own—right over his chest and down every single one of his eight-pack. The man was built.

He flashed a grin that had her stomach flipping. “It’s five somewhere.”

Well, when put like that, who was she to object when he pulled her close and placed those very kissable lips right on hers? And he didn’t stop there. No, Tanner squatted down, his arms tightening around her waist like a vise, and stood, taking her with him so they were more evenly matched—and every important part was lined up with perfect symmetry.

“Are you sure everyone is gone?” he asked as her legs dangled above the ground. Tanner had been tall back in college, but the NFL had filled him out quite a bit, taking him from hunky hardbody to total beefcake.

“Yes,” she said against his mouth. “They’re all gone.”

“I’m giving them all a raise,” he said, walking toward the carriage house. He backed through the door, the room suddenly dark in contrast to the bright sky outside.

Abby hesitated for all of half a second before wrapping her legs around his waist. If there were any scary creepy crawlers in there, they were no match for her gladiator.

“I’m glad I wore shorts today,” she said.

His voice came out a low rumble of male appreciation. “Me too.” To prove it, his hands went right to her butt, his thumbs sliding under the hem. “Shorts, that shirt you think passes for a tank top, and those cute pink sneakers,” he growled. “They’ve been driving me crazy all day.”

She laughed. “Pink sneakers drive you crazy?”

“Darling, anything on you drives me crazy because all I can think about is getting it off you.”

“Funny, when I see you in those jeans and sweaty tee with the tool belt hanging temptingly low, all I can think about is getting you off.”

Oh my God.
Abby felt her face flush. Had she really just said that?

The heat in his eyes told her yes, yes she had. And he was more than on board. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

He kissed her neck, pressing his lips down to the base of her throat—and lower. His thumbs, however, were working diligently at climbing higher until he met lace. She knew because she felt him smile against her skin.

“I thought I was going to get a show first,” she said, tugging at his shirt.

“And here I thought this was a worksite,” Colin said from the doorway of the carriage house.

“Loading the truck, huh?” Gus said from beside Colin, only he was smiling. Colin? Not so much. “Is that what you kids call it these days?”

With an apologetic smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, Tanner lowered Abby to the ground and, always the gentleman, positioned himself in front of her. Abby had to force herself to step out from behind his body. They were grown adults and she was tired of hiding.

“I thought you went with the rest of the crew to eat,” Abby said to Gus, doing her best to avoid looking Colin directly in the eye.

“Nope, they were having tri-tip sandwiches and blue cheese fries. Plus I already had my lunch in the fridge.” He held up a plate piled high with baked chicken, a nice helping of green vegetables, and—

“Gus, is that quinoa salad?”

He shrugged. “Thought it was rice. Tastes like rice.”

Yesterday it was a healthy stir fry, that morning he’d had a bran muffin instead of a doughnut, and now quinoa? The dish also looked like the ones she’d seen at Babs’s, but before Abby could comment, Colin stepped forward.

“Well, I just came to drop this off.” He tossed the day’s copy of the
Sentinel
on a stack of wine cases.

Abby picked it up and felt everything in her chest catch and tighten. There, covering half the front page, was a photo of the Jackson Bottlery, and next to it was a photo of Abby taken right after Richard had disappeared. But what had her blood rushing from her head was the headline that brought back every insecurity she’d worked so hard to overcome.

FINALIST CONTENDER OR CREATIVE FRAUD?

New findings have Jackson Bottlery on shaky ground with Historic Preservation Council. A walk down memory lane may provide answers.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. The more she read, the more painful that feeling in her chest became until Abby was sure it would crush her whole.

“Abby,” Tanner said quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder, and she realized she was shaking. “Are you okay?”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It says here a source close to former Memory Lane Manor Walk recipient and HPC council member Nora Kincaid alleges Jackson Bottlery was never a residence and therefore does not qualify. It goes on to say that accounts of the building’s history may have been embellished or even fabricated by a person close to the project.” She looked up from the paper. “It doesn’t say who made the false claims, but it’s not difficult to connect the dots when my picture is right next to the article, huh?”

She handed him the paper. “Do you think Nora did this because of the statue?”

Tanner looked up from the article and cupped her face in support. “She’s nosy and a stickler for the rules, but I’ve never known her to be mean or spiteful.”

Abby wasn’t so sure. There had been a lot of people in town who, before Richard left, she never would have imagined had a mean bone in their bodies. Then the money disappeared and Abby was left holding the bag, making her an easy target for their anger. Those who weren’t looking at her with venom were talking about her behind her back, and oddly, their rejection had hurt worse than Richard’s betrayal.

“I don’t care who leaked it,” Colin said. “I want to know why you lied and how you’ll fix it.”

“She didn’t lie. Babs gave her the documentation,” Tanner said, a low, menacing threat clear in his tone.

“Actually, Babs never showed me the documents,” Abby said and wanted to cringe. “She told me the story over the phone.”

“Maybe Ferris was right,” Colin said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe this is the
Titanic
of cheese shops.” He looked at Abby and shook his head. “Are you saying you based your entire case on a story someone told you over the phone?”

“It was a solid story, with lots of details, and if you look around at this place, this was the carriage house and . . .” Abby faded off because none of that mattered. She’d given in to the romance of the story, wanted it so badly to be true that she’d just believed it without ever questioning its validity.

After Richard left, Abby reminded herself regularly that blindly giving up trust only led to disappointment. The best solution was preventative—be open and friendly while remaining cautiously skeptical. Too late for that now.

“I’m sorry. I should have double-checked.” Then she looked at Tanner and felt ill. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Tanner said with a reassuring smile. “Just have Babs bring the paperwork down and we can get this cleared up. No harm done.”

That was it. No blame, no judgment, no hesitation about her ability to fix things. Just complete faith—in her.

“No harm done?” Colin shouted. “Are you kidding me? What kind of professional neglects to verify information when submitting to a county-run council? If we did that, we’d lose our license—or worse.” He threw his hands in the air and started pacing. “Jesus, man, I just spent twenty minutes listening to Ferris grill me, asking if I were him, with that much money on the line, would I consider partnering with a company who can’t even manage to renovate a cheese shop. I had to say no, I wouldn’t. I mean, at any point, did you even look over her paperwork?”

Tanner hadn’t, it was written all over his face, and Abby felt awful. He hadn’t looked over the package because he’d trusted her to do her job, and she’d messed up. Sure, she was the designer, but it was Tanner Construction’s name attached to the build. Tanner Construction written on every permit and inspection certification. And it was Tanner Construction’s reputation on the line with Ferris. And the HPC.

Colin stopped pacing, looked from Tanner to Abby and back to Tanner, and that’s when the tension in the room became suffocating. “Was it that you didn’t think to look it over, or you were too busy to look it over?”

“None of your fucking business,” Tanner said with deadly intent. “And, none of your fucking business.”

“Well now, hang on there,” Gus said, pointing at them with his cane. “This isn’t a boxing ring, it’s a worksite, so unless you want me to bring out the hose on you boys, you’ll just have to wait until the whistle blows before you two knock each other around.”

“Which is ridiculous, since this was my fault and I can fix it,” Abby said when Tanner took another step forward to defend her, because Abby realized she wasn’t worthy of his defense. Not only had she been neglectful, she’d never once given any thought to what would happen to him if this project went sideways. “Gus, can you go call Babs and ask her to bring down everything she has?”

“Sure thing,” Gus said, giving Abby a sweet smile, silently telling her everything would work out.

“And Colin.” Abby swallowed. It was no secret he’d never liked her, which always made her work twice as hard to try to change his mind. “If you’d like, I can call Ferris and explain the situation.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. Not dismissing the issue, but dismissing her. “Just get it cleared up so Babs stops calling him and asking his advice on every damn problem that arises.”

Abby wanted to point out that if Ferris gave his mother even an ounce of attention, she wouldn’t call to gripe all the time, but since Tanner looked like he was reconsidering that impromptu boxing match, she just said, “Sure thing.”

With a single nod, Colin stormed out of the carriage house, the door nearly slamming off its hinges behind him. She saw Tanner’s body deflate.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, and this time to her utter horror, her voice cracked. “I should have checked.”

“And next time you will,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her into his embrace. “Nothing’s wrong with believing in some sweet story an old lady told you.”

“It was sweet,” she whispered, as though by just saying the words, it would make her rookie move that much less sucky.

“Yeah, it was.” His hand slid up her back and into her hair, not to pull her closer, but to let her know he was here—for her. “That you got wrapped up in it makes you who you are. And I know you’re more upset about that article than Colin being an ass.”

“That article made me sound like an awful, deceitful person. What if people believe I lied, that I tried to cheat the system?”

Her voice caught and Tanner was right. Sure, she was frustrated at herself that she didn’t do her due diligence, upset she may have cost them all a really amazing opportunity, but she was terrified she’d taken a really huge step forward and the past was about to body slam her back to when Richard left. And she didn’t want to go back. Not when going forward was turning out to be so much fun.

“So what if they do?” he challenged softly. “Your family knows the real you, so do your friends.” She felt him shrug. “So do I.”

She looked up and the sincerity in his expression warmed her heart. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Have at it.” He shrugged again, handling the threat of tears like he handled everything else, with confidence and ease. “You’re standing in a dark storage room with no one to judge you or tell you what to do or how to feel.”

“But you’re here,” she said, because what he was offering sounded amazing.

“And I’ll still be here when you’re done.” His hand was on the move again, big and strong and so damn reassuring she felt herself start to give in. Felt all of the frustration and disappointment and sadness—
yeah
, even after all of the time that had passed, after all of the lies and heartache, there was still a deep ache of sadness that some days she was afraid might take her under. “If that still scares you, then pretend I’m a wall.”

With a shuddered laugh, Abby dropped her forehead to his chest and tried to do just that. Not an easy task when the wall hugged back with a gentle yet controlled strength that made her want to hang on and stay for a while.

CHAPTER 15

I
t was
well past ten on Saturday night by the time Tanner dragged his tired-ass body through his front door. The metalsmith had shown up, as promised, which meant Tanner had spent the past twelve hours hauling sheets of hammered steel from the loading dock into the main building, where it was secured to the old conveyor belts, only to haul the scraps back out to the Dumpster.

Except that,
whoops sorry
, they weren’t all scraps, they were the backsplash for the prep area, which meant Tanner went Dumpster diving with a flashlight and general description of exactly which pieces needed to be recovered. Needless to say he was sweaty, sore as hell, and smelled.

Bad.

Bending over to untie his work boots, he dropped one by the door, then the other. Followed by his socks, hat, a stack of invoices he still had to file, and a cordless drill that some dumbass used instead of an impact driver when sinking anchors into a brick wall.

When he realized he’d been at the door for more than ten seconds and there wasn’t a wet nose greeting to the goods, he remembered the wine cake on the counter. The last slice of wine cake he’d left on the counter.

Not bothering to turn on any lights, Tanner sprinted down the hallway toward the kitchen. He skidded around the corner, hit the switch, and nearly hit the roof.

Wreck stood on the center island, whiskers covered in crumbs, tail between his legs, looking guilty as sin. How a dog that had the coordination of a baby giraffe managed to lug himself up on the counter without breaking everything in a ten-foot radius, Tanner had no clue. All he knew was the dog was eating his cake.

“One more bite and I swear I will sell you on Craigslist. To a house with cats,” Tanner said quietly, so as not to wake Gus, who he’d dropped off earlier that day when his dad started looking tired.

Only Gus wasn’t in bed. He was by the back door in a button-up and a pair of light brown pants without any loops or extra pockets, looking as guilty as Wreck.

“I thought you were going to bed early,” Tanner said to Gus.

“I was . . . I did. Took a nap. Then the guys called and I met them for a drink.”

“Wearing your church clothes?”

Gus shrugged then deflected, something he did when he was hiding something. “You going to let him polish that off? Because sugar gives him gas and he’s sleeping with you tonight.”

Wreck was back to the cake. In fact, he was licking the plate clean. “Jesus, Wreck, I’m standing right here.” Wreck panted happily. Tanner pointed at the dog, not so happily, then the floor. “Down.”

The dog whimpered and lay down on the counter. Tanner threw his hands up. “What part of down does he not get?”

Gus opened the fridge, pulled out a hot dog, and gave a single whistle. Wreck leaped off the counter, skidded to a stop at Gus’s feet, and sat unmoving, his eyes glued to the hot dog.

“Good boy.” Gus ruffled the dog’s ears and gave him the treat. Which Wreck inhaled in a single breath. Then looked up for more. When he realized there was no more coming, he plopped down on the tile, head on paws, one eye open—just in case.

“You just rewarded him for eating my cake. On the counter.”

“He got down, didn’t he?”

“He’s not sleeping with me,” Tanner said, even though he knew Wreck would end up in his bed. Had happened every night that week. “And you still didn’t tell me where you were tonight.”

Gus crossed his arms. “And here I thought I was moving in with my son, not my ex-wife.”

Tanner looked up at the ceiling. “Just tell me you weren’t driving.”

Gus made a big deal of pulling his pockets inside out. No key. Thank God. “You done nagging? Good. I’m tired.”

Tired didn’t even touch what Tanner was. He was in desperate need of a cold beer, a hot shower, and an even hotter Abby—wearing nothing but his sheets. Since Abby was in her own sheets, most likely passed out from spending an entire day trying to locate those papers Babs couldn’t seem to find, he’d have to settle on a beer and shower.

Gus headed toward the door, his cane tapping the tile angrily. Tanner opened the fridge to grab a beer he no longer wanted, then dropped his head against the top shelf. “You want a beer, Dad?”

Gus stopped in the threshold, looked at the beer, then at Tanner. For a brief moment, Tanner could have sworn his dad’s eyes went a little misty. “Sure. But I don’t want any of your micro-crap. There’s some Bud on the bottom shelf I had Melvin bring me.”

“If I knew you wanted Bud, I would have picked some up at the store,” Tanner said, setting a Budweiser and a micro-crap on the counter.

“Been drinking Bud since before you were born,” Gus said evenly. “It’s all I drink.”

Which Tanner should have remembered. A quick stab of guilt washed through him as he popped the can and slid it across the island, then pulled out a barstool. “Next time I go shopping I’ll pick up a case for you.”

“Make sure you tell me how much it is so I can reimburse you.”

Tanner stopped midsip. “Dad, it’s a case of beer. You don’t—”

“How’s our little designer doing? Did she find what she needed?”

Tanner allowed the deflection. “No. I called in a favor at the planning commission and they let Abby search their records. She was there all day and, as far as I know, found squat.” Which was not good. “I can’t believe Babs relayed some bullshit love story her husband told her as fact. Hell, for all we know he lied just to get her to agree to buy the property.”

Gus froze, his face folding into a stern scowl. Tanner knew that scowl. Used to have nightmares about it. It was the one that said he’d disappointed his dad—yet again. “Son, don’t you ever say that again. If Ms. Hampton heard you talk about her husband like that, it would break her heart.”

Feeling all of twelve again, Tanner nodded. Which was ridiculous since he was a grown-ass man in his own grown-ass kitchen and that was his client he was talking about.

“Yeah, well, if Ferris walks, her broken heart will be the least of my concerns,” Tanner mumbled, taking a pull from his beer. After swinging hammers in ninety-degree heat, the beer felt cool and refreshing and—Tanner took another sip and frowned—it also tasted like shit.

When the hell had he started drinking micro-crap?

“Why?” Gus asked, sipping on his Bud, and suddenly Tanner wanted to switch. “Because if the starched loafers walk, you’ll have to actually put some real sweat into that property to make something of it?”

Here we go
, Tanner thought, not even bothering to hide the fact his dad’s words were like a solid one-two punch to the gut. “Are you saying you think I’m lazy?”

This was starting to sound like the same conversation they’d had a million times about every one of the million bad decisions Tanner had made in his lifetime. “Bad” decisions meaning they weren’t the way Gus would have played it.

“No. I’m saying you work hard at things when they come easy to you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tanner asked loudly enough to make Wreck whimper, fury and frustration lighting Tanner up. And fast. This was something he’d never heard, and it was complete bullshit.

Total and complete bullshit.

Playing ball and keeping solid grades in college was hard. The NFL was hard. Building a company from the ground up was hard. Almost as hard as hearing that his dad thought he lived his life by taking the easy way out.

“Is it?” Gus asked. “Name one thing that didn’t fall into your lap that you went after?” When Tanner was quiet, thinking, Gus added, “Things come so naturally to you, you’ve never had to search far for the next thing. And if it doesn’t seem easy, you just move on. You don’t need Ferris to develop that land. You’re just not interested in putting in the time to do it yourself.”

Just like that, Tanner was done. Done with Colin’s hissy fits, done with his dad’s backhanded compliments, done working his ass off for a bunch of people who didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about how hard he worked. Yup, he was done.

Done, done, done.

“You know what I’m not interested in?” Tanner said and pushed to his feet. “This conversation.” And the headache starting behind his eyelids. “Thanks for the beer, Dad. Always a treat.”

Sunday afternoon was hot and humid and yet there Abby stood, hunched over in the baking sun with grass stains on her cute pink sneakers and a thorn stuck in her little finger. A new shipment of rare orchids had been delivered to Petal Pushers earlier that morning, the equivalent of Christmas for the Garden Society, so Project Primrose was taking a holiday. Which gave Abby time to dispose of the ten dozen fresh-cut roses they’d placed around Richard’s feet yesterday that were no match for the intense August heat.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t even the worst part of her weekend. Abby had spent nearly every waking hour—and a few when she should have been sleeping—fantasizing and dreaming about finding the newspaper article that Babs had claimed to have seen. She’d also spent most of Friday and Saturday in the town’s library and the basement of the planning department thumbing through old clippings and city records for proof that Randal Jackson Jr. and his secret lover had spent an entire summer in the carriage house. But many of the records dated before the turn of the century had been lost during the rebuilding of the west side of town hall after the 1906 earthquake. When she came up short, Abby had turned to the Internet for anything that could back up Babs’s story and save Tanner’s project with Ferris.

No such luck.

Which was how she found herself in the garden, once again trying to make sense of a situation that didn’t make any sense at all.

“I’ve filed a complaint down at the sheriff’s department.” Nora crossed the lawn, gardening shears in one hand, cane in the other, and flowered apron and matching gardening gloves absolutely spotless even though Abby had heard her trimming the hedges over an hour ago. “I’m trying to get a court order that will require you to cover his man parts to protect his modesty and the virtues of women everywhere.”

“Bring me the petition, I’ll sign it,” Abby mumbled around the thorn, which she’d finally managed to yank out with her teeth. She tossed it, and the bouquet of roses, in the garbage bag hanging from the man in question.

“Huh,” Nora said, hand dug into her pudgy hips. “You aren’t budging like I thought you would.”

“No, Nora, I’m not budging.” Abby picked up a lone potted orchid, a bead of perspiration trickling down her back, and tossed it in the bag. “I can’t budge, seeing as my grandmother-in-law, who I never even knew I had, by the way, is coming from Italy to see her favorite grandson’s final resting place. So I’m sorry if my embarrassing life mars your perfect view.”

“Well, you don’t need to get smart about it,” Nora said, opening the garbage bag and digging out the orchid. “That’s a perfectly good plant.”

“The card says it’s from Joyce Daniels. She worked for Richard,” Abby said, feeling a little hysterical from lack of sleep and her rapidly depleting confidence. Everyone in town knew that “worked for Richard” meant “slept with Richard” when it came to young, pretty interns. “Where do you think I should put it? On my mantle?”

Nora looked at the flower and smoothed down her bun. “I’ve got a week’s worth of doggie doo I’ve been meaning to return to that Stan O’Malley.”

Stan O’Malley, the local mechanic and owner of Stan’s Soup and Service Station, lived one street over and had a pack of bloodhounds who loved to welcome the morning on Nora’s front lawn.

“I say you put the orchid in my collection and leave it on Joyce’s porch.” Nora slid Abby a rare smile. “I’ll drive.”

It was so unexpected, Abby couldn’t keep a laugh from escaping. It was long and loud and didn’t stop until her chest hurt and her eyes burned. “I’ll think about it.”

“You never told me his grandmother was coming,” Nora said, picking up a handful of roses and tossing them in the bag.

“You never asked.” The minute the words left her mouth, Abby realized what she’d said and paused. This one-sided thinking of hers was exactly what had landed Tanner into trouble with Ferris and Colin.

She took in Nora’s sculpted shrubs, hand-painted eaves, and house-shaped mailbox that was a way-too-perfect replica of the real thing to be anything other than custom. Every house on the block had one—well, except Abby’s. She’d torn down her mouse-occupied one when she’d moved in.

“I never asked why you wanted the statue moved so badly.” She looked at Richard and sighed. “I mean besides the obvious.”

Nora plucked a nonexistent speck of dirt from her apron. “When I was a girl I used to tinker with things—wood, metal, my dad’s tractor. Built my own dollhouse and made my own dolls by hand. Thought I’d grow up and be something, leave my mark on the world, maybe be one of those Rosie the Riveters, but at that time women didn’t travel the world unless they were a stewardesses, which are glorified housewives if you ask me, waiting on all those men in suits. I already had me a man in a suit, didn’t need another one.”

Nora waved a hand in disgust.

“Dalton Allan Reginald the Third, wasn’t he a mistake? Married him when I was barely eighteen, and he moved me here to St. Helena, a whole three thousand miles away from my family. Bought this big, dilapidated dump of a house because it had a library, instead of one of the cute family-ready bungalows closer to town. Said a man of stature needed a library.” Nora made a sound that encompassed exactly what Abby thought of Richard’s statue. “Said he married me to be a wife and a mother and run the kind of home worthy of the Reginald name, not tinker. So I became a wife and a mother, and I was damn good at both.