Designed for Love (Texas Nights) (4 page)

Gigi dumped half-blackened mini-franks on a plate and sat them in front of Ashton. “I’ve decided to finally develop the area around Lily Lake, and I figure this will make as good a headquarters as anything else.” She’d been making noises about developing the shoreline of the lake for years, but none of the developers or general contractors ever lived up to her high expectations. She fired them about the time they were ready to break ground. “I finally found someone who doesn’t have his head halfway up his ass. I’ve seen some preliminary plans, and I like what he’s proposing.”

A tiny flicker of excitement kindled in Ashton’s midsection. She bit off half a weenie without checking and got a mouthful of crispy, shriveled pork. Best thing she’d eaten all day. She fed the other half to Napoleon, and he licked the sauce from her fingers. “So what’s the plan?”
And do you have a designer?

* * *

Smiling faces were plastered all over the walls of his mom’s dining room, but Mac couldn’t stand to look at them. The gallery of family pictures in mismatched frames reminded him of exactly what they’d all lost when his dad was killed. Happiness, laughter, and for Mac, direction.

He jumped up from the table, turned his back on his family, and headed for the kitchen with plates and silverware in hand. Dutch, his mom’s golden retriever, ambled along behind him.

“I thought you were setting the table.” His mom was pulling a meatloaf from the oven. The hunk of beef was smothered in the ketchup-mustard-brown sugar glaze his dad had loved. Hell, he’d loved that meatloaf because it was one of the few non-fatal dishes in his wife’s arsenal.

“Can we eat here at the bar?”

Her green eyes, the ones people claimed were just like his, softened. She knew. She knew why he hated that room. With one hole-ridden oven mitt, she patted his arm. “Absolutely.” She filled both plates—piled them with thick slabs of meatloaf, mashed potatoes from a box and green beans that were a little on the limp side. Plopped a half-frozen dinner roll on the plate. “Here you go. I know it’s not exactly like...”

Not like the dinners his dad used to make. Barbecued chicken on the grill, sloppy joes, and occasionally, the treat of a steak. Money had always been a little tight in the McLaughlin house. But they’d been happy. Jake McLaughlin had never been one to put work before happiness, before his family. Sure, he’d worked hard as a bricklayer. But cash had always been easy come, easy go for him.

Mac had vowed he would change that for his parents. Not only make them proud, but give them the financial security they hadn’t been able to build on their own.

Thank God he’d had the foresight to pay off their house when he was still rolling in cash. His mom’s free-and-clear ownership was the only thing that had put a dent in Mac’s guilt after his dad’s death.

His mom glanced over, put her fork down. “Michael, I’m glad you came to visit, but if it makes you unhappy—”

“It’s not that. Just trying to get settled in a new place.” He forked up a mouthful of beans and only shuddered internally at their mushiness.

“I thought leaving all that nastiness in Dallas would bring a spring back into your step.”

The only thing leaving the city had done was put more pressure on him to get back in the game.

“Haven’t you made friends?” She tilted her head, waggled her eyebrows at him in a way that still made embarrassment slap him in the cheeks. “Maybe found a hot girl?”

A green bean caught in Mac’s throat, and he coughed and knocked a fist against his chest. Her question brought Ashton Davenport to mind. How would his second-generation Czech mother feel about him getting involved with a blonde former debutante? He’d never introduced her to any of the women he’d dated in Dallas.

That would’ve been a great way to keep his phone ringing every other day with her or one of his sisters asking when the wedding was. When the babies were coming.
Jesus.
“I’m not dating anyone.” Now
doing
someone? That was a different story. He was very interested in doing Ashton. If she weren’t such a society princess. If it weren’t for her pain-in-the-ass dog. And if it weren’t for the eleven grand she’d apparently forgotten she owed him. And he’d yet to figure out how to ask her for it without making a jackass of himself.

“But you like Shelbyville, right?”

“It’s a nice enough town.” And he’d been able to find steady work within driving distance. He glanced over at his mom’s plate. She normally had a healthy appetite, like him. After all, they were cut from the same big-boned cloth. But tonight, she’d chopped her meatloaf into kibble-sized pieces and pushed them around her plate. “Something’s wrong. Why aren’t you eating?”

“Because—”

“Something wrong?”

“Sort of.”

Her special combo of ground beef, pork and saltine crumbs made a giant meatball in his gut. He couldn’t lose her too. “Is it...” The C-word wouldn’t make its way out of his throat.

“What?” She scanned his face, then popped him on the shoulder with the side of her fist. “I’m not dying. I’ve just made a decision.”

Still, his appetite was history. “About?”

“The girls are scattered now.” None of his sisters lived in their hometown. Jana was the closest, and she was still a good hour and a half away. “And with your dad gone...”

Mac squeezed his fork so hard, it bent around his fingers.

“...it’s time for me to make a change.”

She was getting remarried.

“I’ve sold the house.”

The thoughts crashing around in his head almost obscured her words. “You...what?”

She nudged her plate away and propped her elbows on the bar. “I’ve been gnawing on this for a while. Then the guilt gnawed on me. I knew if I asked you and the girls how you felt about it, one of you would probably pitch a fit. And honestly, Michael, I just didn’t want the drama.”

“Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“The house is yours. Not ours.”

She slumped a little at that. “But home is the place that holds all our family memories.”

Mac didn’t bother to point out that not all of those were good, at least not for him. Instead, he reached out, squeezed her hand. “Home isn’t about a place. It’s about people.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek punctuated by her hearty laughter. “My son, the sensitive philosopher.”

“Well, it’s true.”

She turned back to her food, attacked it with the enthusiasm he was used to. “This conversation has given me the courage to call the girls and tell them.”

“Are you looking to buy another place somewhere around here?” He’d have to check it out himself, make sure it was good enough for her.

“No, I think it’s time to stretch my wings a little. I’d like to open a specialty pet store.” Her chin lowered a little. “I know that sounds silly, but I could knit those cute little sweaters, find some other craftspeople to make one-of-a-kind items. Dutch could go to work with me every day. Maybe
he
could meet a girl.”

“Even if Dutch had the energy, I’m not sure he has the equipment.” At that, the retriever lifted his head from his favorite rug by the back door and gave Mac a sad-eyed stare. “Sorry, dude, but it’s true.” Dutch just snorted and laid his head on his paws. “So where will you and Dutch be establishing this store?” Sounded exactly like the kind of place Ashton would be all over. She and Napoleon would lay down hundred-dollar bills for all that foofy crap.

“I’m looking for a small town. One with some tourism, but not so built up that it already has a shop like this. I’d love to be within a few hours of you, Jana, Olivia and Amanda. A reasonable drive to the airport would be nice so I could easily visit Tamara.”

And there it was. The way he could make up for everything he’d taken from her.

He would build her a new life in Shelbyville.

Chapter Three

Before Ashton could beg her grandmother for a job, the sound of cars filtered through the house. Gigi hopped up, a grin spreading across her face and enhancing her laugh lines. “Right on time.”

“What did you invite people out here for, anyway?”

Turning back, Gigi pumped a little extra evil into her smile. “Oh, exactly what your grandfather used to invite folks for—cigars, cards and...well, we’ll just see how the night ends.”

God in heaven. Ashton was torn between knuckle-bumping Gigi and saying “You go, girl” and shoving her head in the oven and cranking up the gas.

Minutes later, a group poured into the house, including a couple of Gigi’s best friends from the Fort Worth Junior League, one state senator and the owner of the Houston Armadillos hockey team. Bringing up the rear was an older black gentleman meticulously dressed in a dark suit set off with a ruby pocket square.

Ashton jumped up so quickly that she dumped Napoleon to the floor. “Jessup!” She hurdled her dog to wrap her arms around the man. “What are you doing here?”

Jessup patted her on the back and simply said, “I was invited.”

Gigi had never been a snob, but Ashton had no idea she socialized with the man her parents treated as an indentured servant. All she could think of to say was, “You gamble?”

“Quite well, actually.”

She gave him another squeeze before releasing him. “I’ve missed you so much.” She made it a point not to stop by her parents’ home, and anytime she’d called Jessup and invited him to lunch, he’d begged off, saying his services were required at the Davenport house.

Her heart ached. If she hadn’t been such an impulsive twit, maybe she could’ve lured him away from her parents, but if she was mooching cocktail food off Gigi, she sure couldn’t afford to hire Jessup as her...her what? Her shoulders sank. Why hadn’t she given it more thought before she told her father she no longer needed a penny out of her trust fund?

“Ashton, sweetheart, why don’t you serve everyone drinks?” Gigi said. “Barbara and I will set up the table in the living room and we can get this party started.”

Jessup scanned the kitchen, including the plate of weenies and the smoke now seeping from the oven. “Why don’t I take care of—”

“No!” That came out louder and more forceful than Ashton meant it to. “I mean, no thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

He lifted a graying eyebrow toward the oven. “Are you certain?”

Absolutely not. But she no longer relied on others to fix all her problems. She snatched up a pair of cross-stitched oven mitts and shooed him back with them. “You’d be surprised what I’ve learned to do.” So what if the taquitos were charred around the edges? She pulled out the pans and slid them on the stove while Jessup watched, one corner of his mouth twitching.

“Have I mentioned lately how proud I am of you?”

All her good feelings about herself went as black and brittle as those damned taquitos. He wouldn’t be proud if he knew the state of her new life, so she pushed her lips into what she hoped would pass for an I’m-succeeding-beyond-all-expectations smile. She busied herself finding some melamine plates that would have to pass for trays and arranged the appetizers to best hide their doneness. The box in the corner produced several more bottles of wine, some gin, tonic, and imported vodka. She said to Jessup, “Why don’t you go out and get settled in the living room and I’ll serve.”

“If you insist.” Still, he ambled toward the door, pausing to look back at least three times. Yes, he said he was proud of her, but he still wasn’t sure if he believed in her.

Ashton blew out a sigh. Jessup had always been a smart man. And he’d been the parent hers never were. Damn right she wanted to make him proud. If it weren’t for him and Gigi, she would’ve ended up with the life all her former friends were living in Houston—sleeping in, shopping, lunching, napping, primping, partying. The lunch part of that equation still sounded pretty darn good, but these days she’d settle for a fast-food chicken-finger basket.

When she carried the snacks into the living room, the blackjack table was set up, green felt and all.

Gigi was shuffling cards and inserting them into a professional-looking card-dealer-thingie. Beside her elbow was a weathered leather case holding chips of white, black and red. “Okay, everyone, hand over your cash and I’ll trade you for chips.”

Oh, crap. She hadn’t realized Gigi planned to actually gamble. Ashton had come more for the food and sympathy. But after talking with Gigi and Jessup, she didn’t want to admit the failures that would trigger their worry. Fine. Blackjack was as good a use for the emergency hundred in her wallet as anything else. If she lost tonight, she’d pack Napoleon a doggy bag of weenies. His gassy tummy might be hell to live with for the next few days, but at least he’d be fed.

She dug around in her bag and pulled out a bill so flat and crisp it looked as though it had just rolled off the presses. When she slid it across the felt, Gigi lifted a brow under the old-fashioned dealer’s visor she’d found somewhere. “Buy-in is five.”

Hundred?
Ashton’s tongue cemented to the top of her mouth. What would’ve once been mad money was what she lived on for almost a month. “I...ah...didn’t get a chance to stop by an ATM machine.”

Gigi patted her hand and reached into her own pocket for a wad of bills folded once. “Don’t worry about it. After all, I know you’re good for it.”

“You know what, why don’t I sit this one out? I can make sure everyone’s drink stays full and—”

“Don’t be silly. We’re all friends here. If someone needs something, they can get off their ass and go get it themselves.” She waved a hand around the dimly lit room. “Hard to stand on ceremony in a shithole like this.”

Ashton gestured to the—kudu?—trophy above the mantle. Its right ear had been chewed down to a nub and something red and lacy hung around its neck. “Are you sure you want to keep the cabin?”

“This land is worth a chunk of change.” The senator leaned back in his chair and lit up a cigar. At least the smell would be fresh now. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Maybe because her husband had done God only knew what in this cabin for years?

Everyone was settled in a half circle around the table, and Gigi said, “Place your bets if you’re playing, people.”

Ashton pushed a chip forward.

Flick, flick, flick. Gigi passed out cards as if she’d been dealing in Vegas her whole life. “I already told Ashton I’m keeping the cabin. Like I give a shit what Gordon did here. If nothing else, I’ll have a place to stay while I’m checking on the Lily Lake construction.”

The senator jostled Gigi’s arm and, if Ashton’s eyesight was accurate, copped a peek down her hoodie. “How long have you talked about developing this land? And how many builders have you shit-canned over the years?”

Gigi pointed her chin at the senator’s deuce showing. “Another?”

“Hell, yes.”

She hit him with a queen, and he slumped back in disgust. She scooped up the cards and his small pile of chips. “This is the one. I feel it in my bones. He’s done similar work around Tyler and Granbury. Search online for Harbinger Hills and Solemn Sanctuary, and tell me if you don’t agree.”

The senator switched his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “Sound like goddamn cemeteries, you ask me.”

Ashton made a c’mon motion with her fingers, skimming her cards. Gigi tossed down a two. More? She was sitting at fourteen. No risk, no reward. She brushed the cards again and took an eight. She closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them again, her cards and chip had already been swept away.

Within an hour, Ashton’s chip pile was wiped out, and Napoleon was scratching at her leg. She tried to pawn off the sick feeling in her stomach to the weenies rather than the barren state of her wallet. “I’m taking Napoleon out for a rest stop.”

Jessup elbowed a small stack of red chips her way. No way in hell. She didn’t know what her parents paid him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. She would never take his money. She pretended she didn’t see what he’d done and said, “Let’s go, Napoleon.”

“Be careful of the varmints out there,” the senator said.

Ashton froze.
Varmints
sounded way worse than the possum she’d warned Napoleon about earlier. “What kind of...ah...varmints?”

“Oh, coons and snakes. But they’ll run. They coyotes, though, they’ll snatch up your little fur ball like he’s one of these here beer weenies. Gulp him down in one bite.”

Napoleon yelped, and Ashton realized she’d bear-hugged him to her chest. “Maybe we should just go home then.” As far as she knew, there were no coyotes skulking around her apartment. Correction, Roxanne’s apartment. The one Ashton owed late rent on.

Rather than ante up his next bet, Jessup stood. “I’ll be happy to accompany you.”

“Thanks.” She was all for standing on her own two feet, but when it came to Napoleon’s well-being, she had no shame.

She urged Napoleon outside with Jessup close behind. “Don’t get any wild ideas,” she warned her dog. “Believe me, you mix it up with something out there and you won’t win.”

Of course, he scampered off to sniff a cluster of prickly bushes. “So,” she said to Jessup, “how is everything in Houston?”

“Are you inquiring about your parents or something else?”

One side of her mouth quirked up. “I’m pretty sure my parents are the same as ever—the sticks up their rears are permanent. I was asking about you.”

“Content.”

“Seriously?” Oops, red wine always loosened her tongue.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jessup’s pocket square was a tiny beacon in the darkness, and Ashton instinctively moved closer to him. “My employment with your parents is not only respectable work, it’s also afforded my family some excellent opportunities.”

“What about you? When do you get your excellent opportunity?”

“Perhaps working in the Davenport home for all these years
was
mine.”

“Look at you, Jessup. You’re a snappy dresser. You’re a hard worker. You’re loyal. Discreet. A great listener. You give amazing advice. Have you ever considered that you’re wasting your talents?” Words tumbled out like circus acrobats, but without the grace and control.

The silence stretched into the darkness. She expected to see Jessup’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows dipping low, so suspicion swarmed over her when his mouth curved into a smile.

“What?”

“You’re actually paying attention to the people around you.” Jessup’s tone was warm, approving. “You care what they’re feeling, what they’re doing. You’re worried about your grandmother and her decision to keep this cabin.”

“Anyone would be.”

“You wouldn’t have before.”

“I’m different.”

At least she wanted to be different, had since she’d called off her stupid lawsuit against Roxanne Eberly months ago. Roxanne had rocked as a store manager for Davenport Lingerie, the tiny slice of the family business Ashton had been responsible for. After Roxanne quit to open her own boutique, Ashton—figuring how hard could it be?—tried to run Davenport Lingerie on her own. She’d found herself lost in a sea of inventory software, vendor contracts, and profit-and-loss statements. That was how she’d justified attempting to lure Roxanne back by any means possible, even pushing it so far as suing her for breaching her noncompete agreement.

In the end, Ashton had dropped the suit and walked away from the lingerie business. It wasn’t what she really loved to do. Design work and project management were more in her lane. Since moving to Shelbyville and opening Designs to Die For, she had learned how to schedule, estimate, and plan a design job, but her newfound skills didn’t seem to be enough.

She turned away and whistled for Napoleon. She didn’t want Jessup to see the desperation in her face because she hadn’t made all the changes she’d hoped when she moved here. Money really did make everything easier. Maybe Roxanne needed another salesgirl at Red Light Lingerie. Because even though Ashton was scraping bottom, she didn’t want to leave Shelbyville. So far, things hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped, but this small town felt right. So much more than River Oaks ever had. And if she left now to find a job in a bigger city, she would be able to pay Mac back, but she might never find that elusive something she was looking for.

She had two feet, and she was damned well going to use them for something more than strolling around in five-inch heels.

Heels...oh my God, that was it. The answer to her money problems. At least short-term. She had a freaking closet full of designer clothes, many of them less than a year old. Shelbyville wasn’t big enough to have an upscale consignment shop, but they were all over Houston. Ashton’s chest lightened. “I want to build a life here.”

“Although I never could have anticipated you in this environment, it suits you. You look tired, but I suspect that’s from hard, honest work.”

Mainly worry and stress, but that was her secret to keep. She said casually, “I didn’t realize you and Gigi knew each other socially.”

“As you were growing up, and later when you lived in your parents’ carriage house, she often called me to check on you. Occasionally, we would go to tea when she was visiting Houston.”

“Tea?”

“Well, Adelaide normally takes hers with a spot of bourbon.”

“And so she just called you up, asked you if you’d like to drop by a musty old cabin in the woods and play cards?”

“Well, I mentioned I would be in the area...”

Hope blossomed in Ashton’s chest. Jessup was finally leaving her parents to move here and take care of her home. Take care of her. Just as she’d dreamed he might since she’d moved to Shelbyville. “Oh my God, Jessup! Please tell me you’ve decided to move here.”

“I have.”

Sure, she’d just been giving herself a pep talk about making it on her own, but if Jessup wanted to work for her, she would find a way to make it happen, even if she had to sell every pair of shoes in her overflowing closet. She did a little jig and threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad you finally came to your senses. I’ll clean out the second bedroom immediately. In fact, I’ll grab Napoleon and head there now because—”