“Why would you keep it from him?”
He glanced back to the multi-page contract. “Never mind.”
“According to Monica, your dad tried to get Daisy to downsize years ago. Maybe he’ll be thrilled about this move. A smaller house
and
someone to look after her.”
“Dad’s never been one to make a radical change on a whim. He’s a planner and he’s conservative. He’ll see all sorts of complications, including lewd gossip. Have to say I’m with the old man on this one. If I can save him the aggravation—” Devlin broke off, worked his jaw. “Maybe Gram will change her mind after sleeping on it.”
Chloe frowned. Why did he always tense up or shut down at the mention of his dad? She almost dreaded meeting the senior Monroe. Was he that much of a judgmental bastard? “It’s not a whim, Devlin. Daisy meant it. She’s moving in with Vince. Accept it. Get over it. Move on.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Why are you being such a prude?”
“We’re talking about my grandmother, honey.”
“A grown woman who deserves to be happy. Vince makes her happy. Which should make you happy, because the man dotes on her. He monitors her medication, drives her around, keeps her entertained, and tries to curb her reckless ways.”
“Deserting her beautiful home, her family home, and risking scandal to move in with a man of modest means seems pretty reckless.”
“I never realized you were a snob.”
“I’m not a snob, Chloe. I’m logical and I’m concerned. If Vince had offered marriage that might be one thing, but—”
“He did.”
“What?”
“He asked Daisy to marry him and she turned him down.”
Devlin blinked. “Why didn’t this come up at dinner? And why are you just now telling me?”
“Because Vince told me on the sly. He wanted me to know his intentions were honorable.”
“Would’ve been nice if he would’ve told me.”
“How could he? Between you and Daisy arguing like lunatics, he couldn’t get in a complete sentence, and besides, the man has pride. Can’t be easy to announce to the world that the woman you love rejected your proposal.”
Devlin dragged a hand through his hair. “My seventy-five-year-old grandmother chose a friends-with-benefits arrangement over marriage.”
Chloe snorted. “I don’t think Daisy knows the true meaning of ‘friends with benefits.’ She hears these terms and uses them thinking she’s being hip. She thinks of Vince as a friend and the benefit is his companionship.”
“Not sex?”
“I haven’t asked specifically. It’s not something I really want to know. Besides, it’s none of my business.” She leveled him with a look. “Or yours.”
He shook his head. “Can’t wrap my mind around it. What if it doesn’t work out?”
“What if it does?”
“What about the financial aspect? Will they pool their funds? Will he have access to her bank account? What about health insurance?”
“Can we sort that out later and focus on making peace?”
“Are you and I at war?”
“No, but you and Daisy are.”
“While we’re on the topic of friction,” Devlin said, “what’s going on between you and Rocky?”
They’d barely spoken to each other while hurriedly clearing the table, which was all they’d managed as far as cleaning up before Daisy had booted everyone, including Chloe, out for the night. “Surprised it took you this long to ask.”
His lip quirked. “I didn’t want to push.”
Chloe appreciated Devlin’s effort to lighten the mood, but it didn’t help. “Let’s just say that I’m puzzled by her furtive lifestyle. First Adam. Now Jayce.”
“She’s extremely private—”
“To the point of being deceptive.”
Devlin angled his head. “I think she’s scared. As independent as Rocky is, she’s also old-fashioned. Committing and failing isn’t an option, so she’s treading lightly. Trust me, hon. Everyone in that room felt the attraction between my sister and Jayce. She’s not deceiving anyone. Except maybe herself.”
Again, Chloe marveled at Devlin’s compassion. “Why can’t you be that tolerant of Daisy’s choices?”
“Good question.”
Chloe pressed a hand to her queasy stomach. “I can’t stand any more family drama.”
“Sweetheart, this family is huge and … colorful, for lack of a better word. There will always be drama.” He set aside the contract and opened his arms. “Come here.”
Upset and exhausted, Chloe hooked the towel over a doorknob and crawled across the king-sized bed in her cotton pink jammies. Even a hot shower hadn’t soothed her tense muscles. Her stomach hurt and her head ached. She snuggled against Devlin with a weary sigh. “So what do you think about the contract?” she asked by way of distraction. “Everything look legit?” Highlife had overnighted the paperwork for the Cupcake Lovers recipe book and Devlin had been assessing the details in his spare time.
“A lot of legalese, but yes, it looks legit. I’ll have my lawyer look it over tomorrow morning, and if he agrees we’ll sign.” He smoothed a hand down her back. “Now back to what’s troubling you.”
A lot was troubling her. “I just want everyone to be happy.”
“So do I.”
“Then make peace with Daisy and her decision.”
“How about if I promise to have a calm discussion with her and Vince concerning logistics?”
She blew out a breath. “That’s something, I suppose. Just remember Daisy and Vince living together isn’t much different from you and me living together and you’re all for that.”
He tensed, smoothed a thumb over her cheek. “You’re still moving in, right?”
The vulnerable look in his eyes tugged at Chloe’s heartstrings. She palmed his cheek. “I love you, Devlin. I want to be with you. Always.”
“Good to know.”
She smiled when he finessed her beneath him, reveled in the feel of his hard body, in the knowledge that he loved her heart and soul. Pulse skipping, she took a leap of faith. “When the dust settles a little, I’ll make these overnighters permanent.”
He raised a brow. “Considering the varied dramas just now—Gram and Vince, Rocky and Jayce, Sam and Rachel, Luke and his damned revolving door of waitresses—”
“You and your dad.”
“That’s a separate issue.”
“But part of the sandstorm.”
“Considering all that,” he pressed on, “your timetable is pretty vague.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
He smiled then. “At least it’s a yes. You’re moving in. Eventually.”
She smiled back. “Yes.”
* * *
“Are you alone?”
“It’s one in the morning, Dash. What do you think?”
“I think someone’s watching the house.”
Jayce bolted upright in bed, switched on the bedside lamp. “The Red Clover?”
“I know it sounds crazy. It is crazy. It’s just … I heard a car but didn’t see any headlights and then there was silence and … I can’t explain it. Sixth sense? Paranoia? I shouldn’t have called. Jesus, I’m a mess.”
“Are your doors locked?” he asked, stabbing his legs into a pair of jeans.
“They are now.”
“Sit tight. Stay away from the windows. And for Christ’s sake, if someone knocks, don’t answer.”
“But what if it’s a traveler? This
is
a B and B.”
“With a
Closed for Renovations
sign in the yard. Don’t open the door. I’ll be there in ten.”
“It’s a fifteen-, twenty-minute drive.”
“See you in ten.”
* * *
Rocky forced herself not to pace. She always paced or hurried about like a nitwit on speed when she was anxious. It had been her coping mechanism since she was a kid. Hence the reason Jayce had nicknamed her Dash.
Pacing, although the natural thing to do, would be stupid in this circumstance, making her a visible target if someone was prowling around and peeking through windows. She got that. So instead, she hunkered down in a corner of her darkened living room, behind her tarp-covered Queen Anne wingback chair, a cast-iron meat mallet in one hand, her phone in the other. Shivering with an inexplicable chill, she checked the time via her cell. Five minutes since she’d spoken to Jayce. It seemed like five days.
She kept telling herself she was being silly, childish. She’d lived in the country—alone except for when she had guests—for years. She’d never been nervous or scared. Tonight she’d been creeped out to the point of calling Jayce. Was her mind conjuring a sinister scenario to justify calling him just because she missed him? Just because they’d parted from Sunday dinner at Gram’s without a private moment to talk? She hoped not, because that would be really pathetic.
After a restless night of cleaning her pantry, surfing the Net, then getting sucked into some campy vampire flick, Rocky had given up and gone to bed. Craving fresh air, she’d cracked open her bedroom window, and that’s when she’d heard the sound of tires slowly crunching over gravel. That’s when she’d gotten spooked. She would’ve blamed the movie, but it hadn’t been scary, just stupid. And it was not like she’d heard flapping bat wings. She’d heard a car. An invisible car. The ominous feeling of being watched had been potent.
Socked foot jiggling, Rocky checked the time. Only one minute later than when she’d last checked.
Damn.
Maybe she should have flicked on every light in the house. Maybe she should’ve blasted the radio and every television. Instead, she’d gone into hiding, throwing the Red Clover into silence and shadows. She listened for any movement outside, but all she heard was the pounding of her own heart and the soft, thudding tick of a wound-up Victorian mantle clock.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
She couldn’t take the suspense. She jammed her phone into the pocket of her zipped-up hoodie and, clenching her makeshift weapon, scurried to the living-room window on hands and knees. She’d just take a peek.
Riiiiiiing.
“Jesus!” She’d forgotten to turn the volume down on her phone. Back against the wall, chest heaving, Rocky looked at the screen.
Jayce.
“Where are you?” she asked in a brittle whisper.
“On property. Skirting the perimeter. Clear so far.”
Naturally.
Rocky thunked her palm to her forehead. “I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t. There’s something to be said for sixth sense and paranoia. I’m pulling around back. Let me in.”
“Jayce—”
“Don’t argue.” He signed off.
Crap.
Rocky rolled back her shoulders and forced herself to stand. Her knees wobbled. She told herself it was because she’d been tensed up for so long. Not because Jayce had come to her rescue.
Liar.
Would she ever outgrow her romantic vision of him?
The breath whooshed from her lungs when she heard the knock on her kitchen door. The same door he’d chased her through on that night of the terrible storm that had destroyed her sports shed. The same night he’d tackled her to save her from rushing into a dangerous situation. She’d hated and loved him for that. She flipped on the light over the stove and opened the door. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Jayce moved into her kitchen looking rumpled and dangerous. “Don’t ever hesitate to call if you feel threatened, Rocky. Even if it’s a salesman trying to sell you some souped-up vacuum.”
She laughed at that, even though the laugh was shaky.
He grasped her forearms. “Tell me exactly what you saw, heard.”
Ignoring the sensual tingle his touch inspired, she rattled off her tale, feeling more ridiculous with every word. “It could have been Dev or Luke, I guess. Checking up to make sure I was okay. Or to make sure you weren’t here. I sort of botched dinner, after all.”
“Your brothers wouldn’t stoop to spying on you, Rocky. You know that. Dig deeper.”
“So either I was hallucinating or someone was really stalking me. The latter makes no sense. So, what? Am I experiencing posttraumatic paranoia from that damned mugging? Or maybe my subconscious is doing a number on me. Guilt manifesting itself in threatening ways?”
Instead of commenting, Jayce locked the kitchen door. “I want to do a walk-through. You stay here.”
Rocky stiffened. “You think someone’s in the house?”
“Not really.” He shot her a glance. “But better safe than sorry.”
“Which is why I’m coming with you. Not partial to being a sitting duck, thank you.” She’d cowered long enough behind that chair, dammit. Blood pumping, she raised her mallet in defense.
Jayce tugged her braid—a tender gesture that made her heart flutter—then flashed the shoulder holster under his coat. That freaking big semi-automatic would do a hell of a lot more damage than her gourmet cast-iron meat tenderizer.
“Yeah, well,” she said with a nod to his gun. “I’m packing regardless.”
He surprised her by grinning and smacking a kiss to her forehead before moving ahead into the sitting room.
Rocky’s pulse raced as she shadowed Jayce. He flicked on light switches and she refused to allow him to shut them off as they progressed to the next room. This month’s electric bill be hanged. Jayce moved confidently and effortlessly through the first floor and then the second and, in spite of the circumstance, Rocky found herself a little turned on. This man had been a cop and then a private detective. He’d faced down criminals and protected innocents. That was admirable. That was … hot.
“All clear.”
She blinked, meat mallet poised. She felt embarrassed for lusting after him in a crisis situation, and stupid that it hadn’t been a
real
crisis. “Better safe than sorry,” she muttered.
“Absolutely.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
“The Clover’s lit up like a Christmas tree.” He left her standing in her bedroom, backtracked through the second floor, then traipsed downstairs. He was shutting off the lights, which meant he thought she,
they,
were safe. So why was she still on edge?
Rocky placed the mallet on her bedside table, shook out her cramped hand. She crept to the partially opened window and peered into the darkness. Nothing sinister or eerie. Just the normal black of night.
“I imagined it, didn’t I?” she asked as she sensed Jayce moving back into her bedroom.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Let’s talk.”
She turned and saw he’d nabbed two beers from her fridge. Which meant he was staying for at least one drink. Her tension eased. Assuming he was okay talking in her bedroom, the only room in the house aside from the kitchen that wasn’t covered in tarp, Rocky crawled into bed with her beer.