Designed for Love (Texas Nights) (5 page)

“Ms. Ashton, you misunder—”

“—the room’s a mess right now and only has a twin bed, but we can—”

“Ms. Ashton—”

“—move your personal items from Houston and maybe I could talk Mom into giving me that little Hepplewhite desk you love so m—”

“Ashton Nicole Davenport!”

She froze and stared at Jessup. “What?”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” He drew himself up to his full height, which put them about eye-to-eye. “I am moving to Shelbyville, but I already have suitable housing.”

“But...”

He squeezed her arm. “No affront intended, but a college student needs peace and quiet and study space.”

“A what?”

“I’ve enrolled in Southeast State for the next semester to pursue a degree.”

Everything inside her went topsy-turvy, with excitement sinking and shame rising. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted for him—an excellent opportunity? And her first thought had been how he would make her life easier. Bad, bad Ashton. Like the old Ashton.

Something rustled in the bushes, and she called, “Napoleon, here, sweetie.” More rustling and a menacing growl. That was not her dog. She dashed toward the yaupon the sound had come from and crashed through the branches slapping against her face and tangling in her hair. “Napoleon!”

What she happened upon wasn’t her fluffy dog, but rather a couple of raccoons engaged in paw-to-paw combat over the burned mini-franks she’d tossed out earlier. “Hell.” The raccoons looked up at her and she could swear they narrowed their little masked eyes at her. She backed away with tiny, careful steps. “They’re all yours.”

When she finally disentangled herself from the scratchy branches with clumps of pine straw poking through the mesh uppers of her heels, Jessup was holding Napoleon, both of them with innocent expressions on their faces.

“You may be living in your own place—” she pointed an accusing finger at Jessup, then at her dog, “—but I’m keeping my eye on both of you.”

* * *

Deciding the blackjack party wasn’t the time to corner Gigi about a design job, Ashton invited her to lunch at Paradise Garden Café, which was situated in the recently renovated Kilgore house at the corner of Main and Petty. She took a moment to admire the three interconnected wooden signs hanging from the front porch eave—Personal Assets, Red Light Lingerie, and Paradise Garden Café. The old Victorian had been given a facelift with white paint, black trim and a new porch.

Although the café could be accessed by the side door, Ashton entered the house through the front so she could admire her design handiwork. Delicate sconces, beautifully restored trim, and walls the color of a perfect latte. She’d been so certain decorating the Kilgore house would bring Designs to Die For heaps of business.

She’d been wrong.

But she planned to change that today.

Before taking a left toward the café, she poked her head into Roxanne’s lingerie store to find her busy with at least five customers. Not surprising with the way she continually rotated her inventory. Some outfits, like the leather boy shorts and bra combo, were provocative. Others, like the pink-and-white candy-striped pajamas, were flirty.

The woman had a knack for the sexy in a way Ashton—although she appreciated fine lingerie in her own drawer—never would have if she’d continued to run Davenport Lingerie.

When Roxanne glanced over, Ashton gave a little wave, crossed the main hallway and bypassed the café’s interior to head for the veranda. It was a little cool yet, but only a few tables remained open under the portable heaters. She tucked her portfolio into the chair to her left and looked up to find Eden Durant, Paradise’s owner, hurrying over. “Meeting someone?”

“My grandmother.”

Eden used her pencil to flick her long dark braid from under the strap of her turquoise overalls and over her shoulder. “We have some fabulous peach herb tea today.”

“Just water for me. But bring the tea for her.”

Before Eden could walk away, Gigi, wearing a school-bus-yellow pantsuit adorned with a lion’s head pin on the lapel, strolled onto the veranda. How did it feel to have that much confidence? To know that people respected you?

“Eden, this is my grandmother, Adelaide Chappell.”

Gigi pumped Eden’s hand as though she were a three-hundred-pound legislator. “Nice, nice place you have here. Recently renovated, I hear?”

“Yes.”

“Someone did a hell of a job.”

Ashton glanced out over the yard and caught sight of that someone striding across the grass with half a dozen boards stacked on each shoulder.

Eden and Gigi looked over as well. Gigi whistled, low and appreciative. “A hard man is good to find. Wait a minute, is that Mac McLaughlin?”

Eden gave a wave and headed back inside. Ashton studied her grandmother. “How do you know who Mac McLaughlin is?”

“He was pretty well-known in the DFW area. Built some nice houses up there.”

What?
Why hadn’t Ashton known that?

“Gossip has it he got himself into a little trouble after...” Gigi finally sat and shook out her napkin.

“After what?”

“Not my place to talk about a man’s personal life. But apparently, he’s good at what he does.”

Did it make Ashton a bad person that she desperately wanted to know how good he was with his hands? “He can be a real grouch.”

“You know him well?”

Hell could sparkle with icicles, but Ashton would not tell Gigi about the money she owed him. “He’s a friend of some friends.”

“If I were your age, I’d be looking to make that man something way more than a friend.”

Eden returned with their drinks, saving Ashton. Once Gigi ordered the plat du jour and soup, Eden asked Ashton, “What can I get you?”

“I’m actually not all that hungry today. Think I’ll just stick with water.”

When Eden headed for the kitchen, Gigi leaned forward, scowled at Ashton. “Are you on one of those weird fad diets?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell is wrong with you?” Her mouth tightened, reminding Ashton of her third-grade parochial teacher who’d thwapped knuckles with a pencil. “The truth this time. Not the bullshit you fed me last night.”

This wasn’t how she wanted this to go, but Gigi respected honesty, and it was time Ashton fessed up. “I told Mom and Dad I didn’t want my trust fund anymore. That I wanted to make it on my own. The way regular people do.”

Gigi sat back, eyed her. A tiny smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “If your mother contacted me anytime other than an obligatory call on Mother’s Day, I’d be surprised she didn’t spill that little gem at my feet.” Her smile went full-blown, and she let out a delighted laugh. “Especially since I would expect her to blame me for your bad behavior. She always did when you were little.”

“Do you remember that time I cut all my dresses into strips, used them to make a Rapunzel ladder and climbed down from the second story at your house?”

“Fondly.” She tapped the left side of her head. “That’s when I lost most of the hearing in this ear. She lectured me for two hours on the phone.” Then her face straightened into seriousness again. “But sweetheart, giving up your money, that was a big step.”

“It wasn’t my money. I didn’t do a thing to earn it.” Still, her stomach cramped a little, and it wasn’t just from the fact that she’d only eaten toast for breakfast.

“And now you’re tanking.” Leave it to Gigi to tell it like it was.

“Pretty much, yes,” Ashton admitted. “And I don’t want to go around River Oaks begging for work. I want to become part of this community. Was I silly to think a town like Shelbyville needed an interior designer?”

“Oh, I’m sure plenty of folks could use one, but half of them don’t know it and the other half probably can’t afford it.”

“It’s all I know how to do.” And truth be told, she hadn’t had much chance to prove she was any good at it. Sure, the Kilgore house was now a knockout, and her senior design project at VCU had earned the top grade—and multiple awards—in her graduating class. Dammit, it had taken her this long to become serious about a career, about her life. She couldn’t just skip away from it now. She swallowed her nerves and met Gigi’s shrewd gaze. “I’d like to be the designer for the Lily Lake project. I can work up sketches and a proposal and—”

“No.”

“—estimates...” Gigi’s response hit the rational part of Ashton’s brain. Then it got her in the solar plexus. “What?”

“I said no.”

The words slapped at Ashton like a cold, wet catfish. She’d at least thought Gigi would be open to a discussion about it, but she’d shut her down even faster than Ashton’s father ever had. “Okay.”

“That’s it?” The snort Gigi gave her was decidedly disgusted. “You’re just going to sit back and accept it. Dammit, Ashton, step up to the plate.”

“But you said no.”

“If a single no is all it takes for you to back off, you’re not half the woman I thought you were.”

And she’d just thought nothing could hurt more than Gigi’s refusal to consider her services.

“What are you good at?” Gigi demanded.

“I...I’m not sure.” Because this whole conversation was shaking the sliver of confidence she’d built up before lunch.

Gigi’s stern expression softened slightly. “Then let me tell you. You have an eye for beauty, Ashton. You make things pretty. You always have.”

Yeah, that had sure gotten her far in life. “Pretty is fleeting. And shallow.”

“No,
you
may have been shallow in the past, but that doesn’t mean beauty is. Stop thinking about just the surface. Do you think I’m beautiful?”

“Of cour—”

Gigi thrust a hand up. “No knee-jerk reactions. Look at me. Really look at me and tell me what you see.”

Ashton stood and took Gigi’s hands to prompt her to stand. Then she circled. Regardless that Gigi seemed to shrink a little each year, her shoulders were still square and she held herself as though she mattered.

“I see a woman who deserves respect and demands it.” She smoothed a hand over Gigi’s silvery blond bob. “A woman who respects herself enough to take care of her body without being self-centered about it.” Oh, the character and knowledge in her face. “I see a sparkle in your eyes that says ideas and mischief are brewing back there. Lines fanning out that tell me you aren’t afraid to smile and laugh.” Unlike her mother’s Botoxed face. She reached down to hold her grandmother’s hands again. This time, she studied them, really gave them her full attention. Smoothed her thumbs over the veins and lived-in skin. “I see strength of body. Of character.”

“And?”

“And you’re right. That’s real beauty. Those bits underneath. Not everyone will see that beauty. Will appreciate it.”

“That’s your gift in this world, to help people appreciate not only the surface beauty around them, but to help them see—really see—what that beauty means.”

Ashton dropped Gigi’s hands, suddenly sick deep in her stomach. “How can I do that when I’ve lived most of my life simply skimming the surface? I didn’t care who people were inside. Didn’t care what they feared, wanted, needed.” What went unsaid was she was still trying to work out what
she
feared, wanted, needed.

“You say you want to do something for this town, right? That you want to belong, not just as an ornament, but as an essential part of this community.”

Yes, the new Ashton took action. She didn’t sit by the pool crying into her martini. Hell, gin was too precious these days to dilute it like that anyway. She swallowed, pressed her palms to her diaphragm and breathed. “Okay, I’m done wasting time and moping. No, this running-a-business thing isn’t nearly as easy as I expected, but I’m good at what I do.”

“Ash, darling, you’re good at so many things you haven’t even begun to discover yet.” Gigi smiled, lighting up the mischief in her eyes. “But if you’re willing to take a chance, risk everything, then you’ll learn more about yourself than you ever imagined.”

“Then I have a proposal for you.”

“I’m not interested in—”

“The Lily Lake project needs an interior designer.” Although Ashton matter-of-factly bulldozed over Gigi’s words, her heart was ping-ponging around in her chest. Regardless, she pushed aside their drinks and spread her portfolio on the table. “And I’m the woman for the job.”

“Ash—”

She shot Gigi a double-eyebrow-raise, which miraculously silenced her grandmother. “First, why the project needs an interior designer. Many construction projects are run by men. And although they’re well versed in technique and code, they often don’t consider the details that make homes and businesses truly livable. A well-decorated clubhouse will encourage potential homeowners to buy lots. Eventually, a model home will sell other houses. A designer can give the entire project a cohesive look and feel.”

Gigi relaxed into her chair, and Ashton took that as a sign to continue.

Didn’t matter because Gigi couldn’t have stopped her with a backhoe now that she was on a roll. “Second, why I’m that interior designer. Did you notice the Kilgore house’s interior when you walked through?”

A nod from Gigi, and Ashton plowed on. “Then you should know I’m responsible for the decorating details. I made all the selections, being sure to match both the history of the house and the tone of the businesses. I was also faced with budgetary constraints.” However painful. “And because Designs to Die For is still in a growth stage, this is the perfect time for me to take on something of the Lily Lake project’s scope. I not only have time to devote myself almost entirely to the project, but you know I’m familiar with the type of people who will eventually be interested in buying property. That I’m family is an added bonus. I obviously would have your—” and Shelbyville’s, “—best interest at heart.”

By this time, she’d run out of breath so she dragged in a chestful of air and said, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Will you hire me as your interior decorator?”

Gigi studied her for several minutes and finally gave a small nod. Sharp. Decisive. “No, but I will let you run the whole damn Lily Lake development project.”

Chapter Four

The breath Ashton pulled in went dirt devil on her, clogging her throat. She popped her sternum with the heel of her hand. “Run? You mean assistant, working under you.”

“No, ma’am.” Gigi dug into her lunch, savored a bite, then pointed the fork tines at Ashton. “I’ve decided those fool legislators need me to knock some sense into their heads about that health bill. So instead of me overseeing the development project, you will.”

“But I thought
you
wanted to handle it.”

“No, I wanted to take something your grandfather pissed away, build it up, and thumb my nose at the old bastard.”

Did that mean Gigi expected her to do a half-assed job or a good one? “I...I don’t know what to say.” What to think. Ideas and pictures and nerves were fighting for top-dog status in her mind. She still hadn’t given Mac a dime and how was she supposed to pay him back if she was busy working on a project for her grandmother? Whoa, whoa, whoa... “Would there be a budget for the project manager’s salary?”

A smile slowly spread across Gigi’s face. “Bonuses for you based on every project milestone I outline. You make the deadline, you get both a check for the next phase of the project and a small one to put in your own bank account. You miss a deadline, and you get neither.”

Ashton’s heart was race-walking. If she made a success of this, she could get back on her feet, repay Mac, feed Napoleon something more than the dry dog food he detested. And no one would ever, ever call Ashton Davenport a blonde bobblehead again. “I’ll need to study your notes, your plans for development.”

“I don’t think so. If you take over this project, you can do anything you want as long as you meet those major milestones. And tell you what, if you’re able to complete it on time and on budget, I’ll deed the entire land parcel to you.”

Race-walking? The thump in her chest was an all-out five-minute mile. As the senator had mentioned last night, that land was worth millions. But something like this was a huge undertaking. So many ways to fail.

So many ways to succeed.

“And what are those milestones?”

Gigi didn’t reach for her bag, just gazed up at the bead board ceiling, considering. “You must establish a cooperative working relationship with Bill Cravens, general contractor.”

Okay, easy enough. Milestone number one was already in the bag. But knowing Gigi, they wouldn’t all be freebies. “I’ll call him right after lunch. Set up a meeting.”

“Then, you need to develop a fully fleshed-out phase-one plan. Detailed design and working drawings. I don’t expect you to have the entire development planned to a T, but you must have ideas and sketches for everything. That’s the only way you’ll know if phase one will work.”

Ashton didn’t allow the tight feeling in her chest to overtake her. One step at a time. She could do this. “Then?”

“Of course, phase-one development has to be completed on time and on budget. And the budget must be reasonable. No pie-in-the-sky stuff.” She held up a hand. “And before you say I can afford it, I’ll tell you what I can afford doesn’t matter. What matters is the boundaries you can stay within.”

“Then I’ll have met the requirements?”

Gigi considered a little longer. “You want to win over this community, right? If that’s the case, you need to not only include them in the process, but in the outcome. With that in mind, the final step will be to host an event for the community.”

“How long?”

“Eight weeks.”

Eight?
In the past, it would’ve taken Ashton that long to plan a vacation. It wouldn’t be a walk on the beach, but she could do it.
Yeah
,
just keep telling yourself that.
“I promise to make you proud.”

“Just be sure you’re proud of yourself.”

* * *

Mac scanned the vacant retail space he’d talked Buck Williams into letting him rent and renovate. Now, the place looked a little forlorn and worn, even though Roxanne Eberly had taken good care of it when her lingerie store was here. The scent of some girly flower still lingered in the walls and short-nap carpet.

The shop would be ready for his mom by Mother’s Day if it killed him.

He huffed out a little laugh. A year ago, he never would’ve pictured himself taking such a small-time job. Hell, renovation work had been beneath him once he started building custom big-ass, big-shot houses in Dallas.

Yeah, how the mighty fell.

Then again, this project was special.

He leaned against the wall and braced his metal clipboard on his knee to make a list. The cosmetic stuff needed to be gutted, which meant yanking out the carpet and repainting. On closer inspection, it became clear a couple of the walls would have to be ripped down to the studs. Drywall he could handle in small doses. Stockroom needed new shelves. He’d also build custom displays for the retail area. Then there was the flooring and signage. One side benefit to losing his ass in the city was he’d been forced to swing a hammer at a nail again. There was something both soothing and humbling about that.

As if his dad’s death and his subsequent fall from grace hadn’t been humbling—fucking devastating—enough.

He pushed away from the wall. Mulling over the past wouldn’t get this place ready in time. Since he was squeezing this in between jobs that actually put a few bucks back in his pocket after paying Ashton’s grocery bill, he couldn’t afford to waste a second.

The toe of his boot bumped something, and Mac glanced down.

Grrr.
Rrrr.
Grrr.

Perfect. Ashton’s powderpuff was attacking his work boot as though it was threatening his life. Napoleon had either figured out how to open the door connecting this space to Designs to Die For’s foyer, or his owner wasn’t far behind.

“You can’t hurt me through leather and steel.” Mac nudged the dog with his toe. But Napoleon circled his legs, darting in now and then to sink teeth the size of straight pins into his ankles. “And do you really want to start a fight with the guy you already cost over ten grand?”

Napoleon grabbed a mouthful of Mac’s jeans and tugged, jerking back as though he could drag a man who weighed a good two and a quarter.

“What—you gonna kill me and bury me like a bone?”

Rrrr.

Mac tried to take a step, but the little shit was fast, racing around him in tight circles. He didn’t have time for this. “Ashton,” he called, “come get your dog, or I’m gonna have him made into a coonskin cap.”

The woman who’d been a little too present in his waking and dreaming thoughts lately
click-clicked
through the door on a pair of high heels she probably thought said, “I’m in charge.” But with their pointy toes and skinny heels, to Mac they said, “I’m your fantasy.”

“I saw your truck in the back parking lot. Why are you here?” That question brought a little frown to her face. And that little frown meant she wasn’t happy to see him. Which meant she didn’t have a big old check tucked inside that snug-fitting jacket.

And hell if he’d ask her for it. “Renovating this space.”

“Why? For who?” The dog raced to her, and she tucked him under her arm.

So far, Buck Williams was the only person in town who knew his plans, but that probably wouldn’t last long anyway. “My mom.”

Ashton blinked. “Your mom? That insinuates that you were not, as popular opinion would have it, pulled from under a rock and raised by a pack of wolves.”

He laughed. God, she might be all those things he was trying so hard to turn away from, but she amused him. “My mom used to tell my sisters and me we acted like we’d been raised in a barn. But never in the woods.”

Ashton’s lips tilted up and damned if his back-her-against-the-wall fantasy didn’t come crashing down on him again. “So you were not only birthed by a human, but were raised in a house full of women?”

“Guilty.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie about something like that?”

“Who is Judy Blume?”

“A writer.”

“What’s blusher?”

“That stuff—” he motioned near his face, “—you rub on your cheeks.”

“What does Tampax make?”

He cocked his head, looked down at her from the corner of his eye. “I’m the guy who chased your dog down the feminine products aisle during his reign of terror. Sure you don’t want to ask me something harder?”

Her lip tilt broke into a grin. “You
do
have sisters.”

“So many that I have a couple of extra if you’re in the market.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“I can’t even imagine you in a houseful of women.” By this time Napoleon was squirming in Ashton’s hold, and she bent to let him hop to the floor, giving Mac a perfect view down her silky-looking shirt. Even her bra looked as if it cost as much as a new car. All ice blue with lace and tiny roses. And her tan didn’t stop at her collarbone. Why, of all women, should he want so badly to know where this one’s tan lines were? “You probably couldn’t ever get a word in.”

Little did she know he’d actually been the family darling. The baby. The indulged one. His sisters still bitched about it to this day. And he let them because he deserved every jab and smack. Hell, he deserved a left hook and a kick to the head for letting his dad ride his Chief that day.

“So your mom’s shop—what type of business are we talking about—dress shop? Shoes? Jewelry?” She looked around the room, her eyes slightly narrowed, as if she was fitting it for a fancy ball dress. “And do you need a interior designer?”

“Pretty sure I couldn’t afford you even if I did.”

That made her bottom lip pop out. “Look, Mac, about the money...how about we work out a deal? I’ll help you with this project and work off some of my debt at the same time.”

For once, a barter deal didn’t sound like a great idea. One, because he damn well needed the cash. And two, because she’d be more of a distraction than a help.

“I don’t think—”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“I’m sure you are, but...”

She moved closer, into his personal space, and her scent—cool with an edge of ocean water—surrounded him. Mac’s capacity for rational thought blipped off the radar. Two plus two became a calculus equation. “It’s the neighborly thing to do if your mom and I will be running businesses next door to one another. And you said it was going to be what kind of store?”

“A pet shop.”

Ashton’s eyes widened. “A nice one?”

“No, a crappy one where she sells dogs from puppy mills and the whips to beat them with.”

“
Does
she plan to sell animals?”

“I have no idea.”

“It breaks my heart when I see dogs in cages waiting for someone to buy them. Because, honestly, so many discarded animals need homes.”

“This from a woman who owns a designer dog? So if Mr. Sausage Snatcher over there gets flattened by a car, you’ll replace him with a mutt?”

“God, Mac, aren’t you a ray of sunshine, killing off my dog?”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“I’ll never be able to replace Napoleon. But when he goes to doggie heaven when he’s an old, old man, I won’t buy another dog.”

He glanced over to catch her dog hunched over like a kangaroo in the corner. “Is he doing what I think he’s doing?” Mac eyed the dog, who he’d swear on a bible was grinning at him. If Napoleon had an opposable thumb, no doubt he’d be shooting an air pistol at Mac and winking.

“Napoleon!” she scolded.

All that did was encourage him to walk toward her, still shitting all the way. Little rat turds spilled out behind him as though he were laying down a highway center line. Yeah, that carpet was definitely coming out.

“I’m so sorry.” As soon as the dog had finished his highway of business, she scooped him up. “I’ve got some paper towels in my office.”

Mac followed her through the door. He’d clean it up himself if it meant Napoleon stayed here and didn’t add a roadside puddle.

He stood in the anteroom and checked out her space. Sage-green walls with meticulously patched and repainted nail holes. Only someone with his experience would ever spot them. A couple of mirrors with those old frames that seemed to look better the more tarnished they were. He wandered toward another room. A painted dining table with a quartet of mismatched chairs upholstered in the same fabric. Piles of fabric squares and thick books were scattered on the table’s surface. Should’ve looked messy, but it was actually kind of cozy. Last, he poked his head into what had to be Ashton’s office. A white-and-gold semi-circle desk held up by those Arabian horse legs. A dainty desk chair that he could snap into kindling if he put half his weight on it.

Nice stuff, but he had a strange feeling most of it wasn’t particularly expensive. Not what he would’ve expected from Ashton.

Mac strolled out to the reception area and plucked the roll of paper towels from her hand, sending a don’t-fuck-with-me look at Napoleon, still tucked in her armpit. “Your space is a surprise.”

“What do you mean?”

“I expected a bunch of shi—doodads everywhere. You know, lace and gold trim and—”

“Pretentious, you mean?”

Crap, now he’d pissed her off. “Not exactly.”

“It’s not fancy, but it’s mine.” She looked around as if she was seeing the space for the first time.

“Shelbyville doesn’t exactly seem like your kinda place. A woman of your...means...moving from Houston to Shelbyville.”

“I didn’t like who I was there.”

“And who was Ashton Davenport in Houston?”

“Shallow, self-centered and, most of all, satisfied just to drift.”

“And living here has somehow changed all that?”

“I’m working on it. Mac, about the money I owe you. I can help you with your mom’s shop when I’m not working on my main project.”

“Which is?”

She pulled in her lips, just enough to indicate she planned to hold out on him. “I don’t think I should talk about it yet. But I did want to give you this.” In her outstretched hand was fifty dollars.

Fifty. God, this must be how his subs felt every time he chipped away at what he owed them. A little proud that he was still trying and bummed it wasn’t the big payout. Still, he took the two twenties and the ten and put them carefully in his wallet.