trudged up the stairs to wait outside her door like the stooge he was. His back was tense. So was his neck. Between site inspections, meetings that seemed to last a lifetime, the crazy...whatever with Laney at lunch, and an afternoon spent refinishing the swallowtail parquet he’d found buried under carpet installed before he was born, he figured he’d earned twenty minutes in his hot tub when he got home. He wished he didn’t have to spend them alone.
More than anything, he wished he could get over Laney Tarrington and move on with his life.
But that wasn’t happening. Especially considering he was standing outside her door like a puss. Christ, if he didn’t watch himself, he was going to turn into one of the bumbling, stammering morons chasing after the girl in those mind-numbing made-for-women’s-television movies his mother loved so much.
Don’t send me any more flowers, Harley. It’s hard enough to go there when I have to. Okay?
Because he had a double helping of pride and barely a lick of sense, it took him nearly half the afternoon to realize Laney was donating the bouquets he was sending to the place where her mother passed away. Like a moron, he was spending hundreds of dollars on flowers and candy in hopes of impressing her, and she was giving them away in hopes of brightening someone’s last days.
The wood floor took two passes with a belt sander as he tried to strip down what made Laney tick in his mind. Truth was, she made no sense to him. Laney was a woman who’d been raised with everything and now had nothing. He grew up with barely a pot to piss in and now he could buy and sell most of the town. But somehow their reversals of fortune weren’t the great equalizers he thought they should be. No matter what promises he made to himself on his return from California, when it came to Delaney Tarrington, he would forever be the bumbling, stammering moron.
He was only bigger and a lot more masculine than those guys in the movies.
Chuckling to himself, he crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his back against the scarred plaster wall. The neighborhood, while enjoying a good bit of gentrification, was not exactly the best in town. He’d been surprised when Darla at The Pit barbecue joint spilled the beans about her living in Brooke’s old place that the puzzle pieces came together in his mind. Of course, she wouldn’t go back to Tarrington House. Too many memories and no escape.
According to his sources, Laney’s daddy’d been almost totally absent in the weeks before the beautiful Creole girl he’d wooed and wedded passed away. Brett Tarrington left Laney alone. Like he had. Turns out, there wasn’t much difference between the two of them after all.
“Blood will tell,” he muttered, invoking the same snide observation used against him nearly his whole life. “Such bullshit.”
Discreet inquiries made it clear Daddy Tarrington had left his daughter to deal with a lot more than grief and a crumbling mansion. Tarrington House was set to go on the auction block the following week. In the six months he’d been gone, her father had driven the family name and finances into the ground, her mother had been ravaged and taken by cancer, and Laney’d been forced to sell most everything of value to make a dent in the medical bills. From what he’d heard, the house itself was so heavily mortgaged that sale at auction was unlikely to leave much left over to pay the debts.
All in all, Delaney Tarrington was a mess of a girl in a mess of trouble.
If he were a smart man, he’d simply abide by her wishes and walk away. He was no one’s idea of a white knight. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d promised himself a long time ago that one day he’d have everything he ever wanted. Money. A beautiful wife. A fancy old-money house. Respect. He’d known from the start that including Laney in any part of those plans would be an uphill battle, but she’d been a challenge he couldn’t resist.
It
More than anything, he wished he could get over Laney Tarrington and move on with his life.
But that wasn’t happening. Especially considering he was standing outside her door like a puss. Christ, if he didn’t watch himself, he was going to turn into one of the bumbling, stammering morons chasing after the girl in those mind-numbing made-for-women’s-television movies his mother loved so much.
Don’t send me any more flowers, Harley. It’s hard enough to go there when I have to. Okay?
Because he had a double helping of pride and barely a lick of sense, it took him nearly half the afternoon to realize Laney was donating the bouquets he was sending to the place where her mother passed away. Like a moron, he was spending hundreds of dollars on flowers and candy in hopes of impressing her, and she was giving them away in hopes of brightening someone’s last days.
The wood floor took two passes with a belt sander as he tried to strip down what made Laney tick in his mind. Truth was, she made no sense to him. Laney was a woman who’d been raised with everything and now had nothing. He grew up with barely a pot to piss in and now he could buy and sell most of the town. But somehow their reversals of fortune weren’t the great equalizers he thought they should be. No matter what promises he made to himself on his return from California, when it came to Delaney Tarrington, he would forever be the bumbling, stammering moron.
He was only bigger and a lot more masculine than those guys in the movies.
Chuckling to himself, he crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his back against the scarred plaster wall. The neighborhood, while enjoying a good bit of gentrification, was not exactly the best in town. He’d been surprised when Darla at The Pit barbecue joint spilled the beans about her living in Brooke’s old place that the puzzle pieces came together in his mind. Of course, she wouldn’t go back to Tarrington House. Too many memories and no escape.
According to his sources, Laney’s daddy’d been almost totally absent in the weeks before the beautiful Creole girl he’d wooed and wedded passed away. Brett Tarrington left Laney alone. Like he had. Turns out, there wasn’t much difference between the two of them after all.
“Blood will tell,” he muttered, invoking the same snide observation used against him nearly his whole life. “Such bullshit.”
Discreet inquiries made it clear Daddy Tarrington had left his daughter to deal with a lot more than grief and a crumbling mansion. Tarrington House was set to go on the auction block the following week. In the six months he’d been gone, her father had driven the family name and finances into the ground, her mother had been ravaged and taken by cancer, and Laney’d been forced to sell most everything of value to make a dent in the medical bills. From what he’d heard, the house itself was so heavily mortgaged that sale at auction was unlikely to leave much left over to pay the debts.
All in all, Delaney Tarrington was a mess of a girl in a mess of trouble.
If he were a smart man, he’d simply abide by her wishes and walk away. He was no one’s idea of a white knight. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d promised himself a long time ago that one day he’d have everything he ever wanted. Money. A beautiful wife. A fancy old-money house. Respect. He’d known from the start that including Laney in any part of those plans would be an uphill battle, but she’d been a challenge he couldn’t resist.
It
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