Something to Prove Page 4

  Ryan looked a little exasperated. “She takes after her aunt.”

  Although she didn’t know why she cared, she still asked, “When did Mrs. Trunbill finally retire?”

  “Just a few years ago.”

  “Lord, she must have been eighty or something.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Sixty-five.”

  “Really?” That didn’t seem possible.

  “People just look older when you’re younger.”

  “I guess.” Old gossip popped back into her mind. “Is it true that Mrs. Trunbill sent letters to every male in town who had a Playboy subscription, threatening to tell their mothers about it?”

  “She could have gotten fired for doing something like that,” he said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  “That wasn’t my ques— Oooh, not only is it true, but you got one, didn’t you?”

  Ryan cleared his throat, but his neck and ears were reddening. “So, that front ramp . . .”

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I understand most men only read it for the articles.” She was trying to keep a straight face, but she felt the giggles bubbling up inside her. “And, from what I hear, the photography is really . . . artistic.”

  “You tell me. Isn’t art your thing?”

  It was a clever turning of the tables. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re an artist of some sort, aren’t you?” She felt her eyebrows go up, and he smirked. “You’re not the only one who went to the post office today.”

  Ugh. She’d forgotten the grapevine would work both ways. “I’m a graphic designer. I design brochures and bookmarks and logos and stuff. It’s artistic, but not exactly art in the conventional sense.”

  “So you’ll be able to work while you’re here?”

  Why would he care? “Eventually, yeah.”

  “Eventually?”

  She couldn’t keep the sigh out of her voice. “Grannie’s still on dial-up, so downloading files is a bit of a problem at the moment.”

  “The town Wi-Fi probably doesn’t reach this far,” he said casually, as if this weren’t shocking news or anything. “If you take your laptop down to the diner—or anywhere on Front Street, really—you should have a good signal.”

  She was still processing the first part of that statement. “Magnolia Beach has Wi-Fi?” Jeez, she’d thought the coffee shop was progress.

  “Yes, we do,” he said smugly. “Welcome to this century.”

  “Glad the town could join the rest of the world.”

  “Like I said, you’d be surprised at how much things have changed around here.”

  There was a challenge in Ryan’s voice, but Helena wasn’t exactly sure why—mayoral pride, maybe? “I’m more surprised at how much they haven’t changed, actually. Hell, it still looks exactly the same.”

  “So you’re saying if things don’t look different, they can’t actually be different?” An eyebrow went up as Ryan looked her over from head to toe. “You don’t look all that different, Hell-on-Wheels. Are you saying that you haven’t changed, either? Should I put the chief and deputy sheriff on alert?”

  That was a low blow. She couldn’t even defend herself without sounding ridiculous and there was no way in hell she was giving Ryan Tanner that pleasure. She cleared her throat. “So, I can assume you’ll get all the proper permits that might be needed, and that all the work will be up to code?”

  He shot her a look that called her a chicken more clearly than words ever could. “Of course.”

  She drained the last of her beer and went to get another. She was going to need it.

  * * *

  Ryan was having a hard time focusing on the figures in front of him. While there was nothing new or unusual about what needed to be done at Ms. Louise’s, he’d figured it three times already and come up with three different sets of numbers.

  He might as well pull an estimate straight out of his ass at this point. It couldn’t be much further off-base than the mess he had in front of him.

  Dear Lord, it was downright embarrassing the way he’d lost a decade of maturity—and slid a few rungs down the evolutionary ladder—just by being around Helena. He would have thought that at thirty-three, he’d be a bit more suave. Instead, he’d shown up at her house to find Tate Harris asking her out—on her first damn day back in town—and he’d been slammed with something he could only classify as jealousy.

  Which made zero sense.

  But there was something different about her, something he couldn’t quite pin down, and it bothered him that he couldn’t.

  When his phone rang, he checked the caller ID and sighed. “Hi, Mom.”

  “I saw your light on. Is everything all right?”

  His mother had to stand in the far back corner of her yard and crane her neck at an unnatural angle to see his house from hers, yet she insisted on pretending it was nothing more than a casual glance. I have to move. “It’s late, Mom, and you’re up. Maybe I should be asking you if everything’s all right.”

  “I got up to let the dog out.” The irritation in her voice called him out for sassing her.

  “And I’m trying to get some work done.”

  “At midnight?”

  “They don’t call it ‘burning the midnight oil’ for nothing.”

  Concern replaced the irritation. “You’re working too hard,” she said, a truly ironic statement from a small-town doctor’s wife who should really be used to work at any and all odd hours.

  He rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge she couldn’t see him do it. “No, just working enough. In fact, I’m about to go to bed.”

  “I hear you’re going to be doing some work on Louise Wheeler’s house.”

  And now we get to the point of this call. “I am. She’ll be coming home in a couple of weeks.”

  “That’s good news.”

  He waited.

  “And how’s Helena?”

  “Good, I think. We mainly talked about the job, but she seems healthy and happy.”

  “That’s good to hear. I’m glad for her.”

  Maybe Mom’s been drinking tonight. “Really, Mom? You never liked her.”

  He could almost hear his mother’s lips pressing together in irritation. “I thought she was bad news, I won’t deny that. But I’m not going to wish her ill now.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” I don’t know who this woman is.

  “Everyone deserves a chance at redemption. I think we should just all wait and see.”

  Somehow he couldn’t picture Helena on a quest for redemption in the eyes of the citizens of Magnolia Beach. In fact, she seemed completely unapologetic for her youth, and he’d be a little disappointed in her if she tried to make amends. That like-it-or-not-I-don’t-care-either-way attitude commanded respect for her strength, if nothing else.

  He stood and stretched, then turned out the lamp on his desk. That should give his mother a hint. “Well, everyone can rest easy because she’s not in town for long. Just until Ms. Louise gets settled.”

  “Then everything will work out just fine. Now, I’m going to go back to bed, and I think you should do the same.”

  “I’m headed there now.”

  “Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

  “You, too, Mom.” He left the phone on the desk and headed for the bedroom.

  There were many benefits to living in small towns, but when the return of one teenage delinquent became the biggest news of the week . . . Good God.

  He felt a little sorry for her.

  But he couldn’t shake his head and tsk-tsk at the gossips with long memories and nothing better to do, especially when he was just as bad. There were those who condemned her and those who were fascinated by her, and those camps hadn’t shifted much in the intervening years.

  She wasn’t going to have an easy time of
it.

  Of course, neither were the men in Camp Fascination. And Ryan was honest enough to admit he was flying the flag there, too, these days. It didn’t make a lot of sense, and might actually prove he needed some kind of therapy, but it was true, nonetheless.

  The question was, what was he going to do about it?

  Chapter 3

  Latte Dah was everything Tate had promised and far more than Helena had dared hope for. Adorable, but not at all cheesy, with comfy-looking chairs and quiet corners, a pastry case that added five inches to her thighs just looking at the contents, and a board of coffee descriptions that nearly brought tears to her eyes. As she stood in line, she watched the barista hand over a cappuccino with a perfect heart in the foam, and Helena wanted to crawl over the counter to hug her.

  Thank you, God, for small favors. She might just survive the next few weeks after all.

  Helena watched the woman closely, searching for the familiar, but as far as she could tell, she’d never met her before. Bonus. She had a riot of curls held back from her face with a headband and a wide sunny smile that she turned on Helena. “And what can I get for you?”

  Helena took a deep breath, letting the rich aromas filter into her bloodstream, then sighed happily. “One of everything. With an extra shot.”

  Her smile widened. “It is possible to overdose on caffeine, you know.” Then her voice dropped conspiratorially. “But since you seem to be a serious drinker, I can make you my special triple-shot cappuccino. It’s practically rocket fuel.”

  “That’s what I heard. Hook me up.”

  “I’m glad my reputation precedes me.” She stuck a hand over the counter. “I’m Molly. The proud owner of Latte Dah.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you—and Latte Dah. I’m Helena.”

  Molly’s eyebrows went up. “And it’s great to meet you. Welcome home.”

  She was buoyed enough by the thought of that triple-shot cappuccino to be amused instead of annoyed. “Wow. News travels really damn fast in this town.”

  “Tate Harris was in this morning. He told me you might be coming by,” she said by way of explanation. “Your coffee’s on him, by the way.”

  “What a sweetie.”

  Molly looked down quickly and reached for a cup. “That he is.”

  Hmm. Did Molly have a thing for Tate? She was as adorable as her shop—petite and blond with a heart-shaped face and big brown eyes. A familiar—but forgotten—pang hit her stomach, awakening her inner Mama Bear. Tate was special, and he deserved someone equally as amazing. “So, how long have you been in town?”

  “About two years. I’m originally from Fuller, up near Florence.” Molly’s hands were efficient and sure as she worked and talked at the same time. “But they already had a coffee shop, so I moved here.”

  “And how do you like it?”

  “I love it.” She cut her eyes sideways at Helena. “I know it’s not for everyone, though.”

  There was no sense pretending she didn’t know what Molly was getting at. “Very true. But the feeling is mutual. I don’t really want to be here any more than folks want me here.” She planted that seed in case Molly was the type to spread a little gossip herself.

  “You might be surprised. I know Tate’s glad you’re back.”

  “I don’t think Tate Harris has the most unbiased of opinions, though.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re not the only person who’s ever gone someplace else to start over and reinvent themselves.” Helena watched as Molly created beautiful leaves in the foam of her drink. Molly shrugged. “Magnolia Beach has grown some, even in just the time I’ve been here. You might find a kindred spirit or two.”

  There was something in Molly’s voice that made Helena smile. “Not missing Fuller much, are you?”

  “Not a damn bit.” Molly was biting back a smile of her own as she handed over the cup. “Want a lemon bar to go with that? They’re from Miller’s Bakery.”

  She nearly drooled at the thought. Mrs. Miller made the best lemon bars in the state. “Oh yes, please.”

  “That’s a sign of a native, right there. There’s not a single person in this town who can resist one. Grab a seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

  All traces of Mrs. Logan’s yarn store were gone. The walls were a soothing shade of blue, a perfect backdrop for the beach-themed art and historical Magnolia Beach photos that covered the walls. Shelves with magazines and newspapers and knickknacks for sale helped create more private spaces, perfect for smaller groups to meet or a budding novelist to write.

  The overstuffed chairs would be perfect for curling up with a magazine on a rainy day, but today wasn’t rainy and Helena didn’t have time to flip through magazines. Instead, she set up camp at a marble-topped table surrounded by mismatched chairs and pulled out her laptop.

  Molly came over a minute later with the lemon bar and set it in front of her. “We have a coffee club that gets you discounts on the ‘Bean of the Month,’ a writers’ group that meets every Thursday afternoon, and an open-mike night every other Saturday. The Wi-Fi password is ‘coffee,’ all lowercase. I hope you’ll make yourself at home, Helena.”

  “Thank you.” And she meant it. It was nice to know that not everyone was going to judge her based on what they had heard—and Helena didn’t doubt that in Molly’s case it was an earful. She put in her headphones and logged into her e-mail.

  As she waited for the browser to load, she shook a bit of the powdered sugar off the lemon bar and took a bite. It melted on her tongue, the buttery cookie and grab-your-tonsils tartness even better than she remembered. And chased with Molly’s special cappuccino . . . Ah, she might have just died and gone to heaven. Tasty, caffeinated heaven.

  Client e-mails and files automatically sorted into their proper folders, leaving only a few e-mails in her box—including one from Ryan Tanner with the estimates for the job attached. She clicked it open first.

  It was less than she expected. Way less, actually. Even accounting for the cost of living in Magnolia Beach versus Atlanta, it seemed too good to be true. A closer look showed him charging next to nothing for the labor.

  They’d talked about the schedule, the need to get this done quickly versus the commitments he already had, and how Ryan would have to work odd hours around those commitments. She’d prepared herself for overtime and additional labor charges, so this couldn’t be right.

  Was this some kind of joke? A lowball bid to be inflated later when the work was half-done and she’d have no choice but to accept? So much for small-town honesty.

  She grabbed her phone and stepped outside. Ryan answered on the third ring.

  “I got your bid.”

  “And hello to you, too, Helena. If the bid’s acceptable, I’ll get started this week.”

  “What the hell?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” He sounded genuinely confused.

  She took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper under control and her dealings with Ryan professional. Or as professional as she could manage. “There’s no way that’s what it’ll cost.”

  “Accusing me of padding again?”

  “No. It looks like you underbid. By a lot.”

  “And since when do you know how much a job like that should cost?”

  “I’m not ignorant,” she snapped.

  “I never said you were, Helena.”

  “Then what?”

  She could almost hear the shrug. “Consider it a friends and family discount.”

  She bit her tongue to keep from flaying him. This was even worse than potential shady dealings. She and Grannie might never have been the wealthiest of families in Magnolia Beach, but they weren’t poor trailer trash, either. She didn’t need his discount. “But we are neither friends nor family.”

  “I wasn’t referring to you. I was referring to Ms. Louise.”

 
“Who is also not your family—and not your friend, either. We’ll pay the going rate.”

  “That’s my bid. You’re welcome to get others, but from what I understand, Ms. Louise was rather adamant that I do the work.” He sounded downright smug, and it was a good thing for him that he wasn’t within striking distance.

  She had to lower her voice as people walking by were beginning to give her strange looks. “Since you claim to be such good friends with my grandmother, you should be well aware that she doesn’t want or need your charity.”

  “Jesus, it’s not charity. It’s the price I want to charge for the job you want me to do. Why is that such a problem for you?”

  Because she had her pride. And a healthy skepticism for things too good to be true. She wasn’t about to let him collect more stars for his crown for doing the damn job she was hiring him for and paying him to do. More importantly, she didn’t want to be in any kind of debt to Ryan Freakin’ Tanner—or anyone else for that matter. Even the simplest small-town kindness always had strings attached. But she said none of that. “It just is. I’d rather pay the full price. I assure you I can afford it.”

  “And I assure you that I can afford to do this job for the quoted price.”

  She had to pry her jaw apart to speak. “I insist.”

  She heard his sigh. “So do I.”

  “Ryan Tanner—”

  “If you’re so concerned about charity,” he interrupted, “then take whatever you think the difference would be and donate it to the charity of your choice. In Ms. Louise’s honor, of course.”

  There was a challenge in his voice that made her eye begin to twitch. She now had to decide whether or not to stand her ground with Ryan and tell Grannie she’d chosen someone else to do the work. Assuming, of course, that there was another general contractor in Magnolia Beach who could do it.

  The other option just rankled her. Why the hell would Ryan turn down money unless he thought she couldn’t afford it? She could—albeit not easily—but it was none of his goddamn business either way.