Flip This Love (19 page)

Her muffled voice broke through the ringing in his ears, and Harley realized he hadn’t thought he wanted to hold her, he was. He was also pinning her arms to her sides in the process.

“Please let me go,” she repeated, phrasing the demand a little more politely.

He released her immediately. Jerking his head back, he gave it a shake to clear the cobwebs. His crew was suddenly re-animated. The sound of tools clanking against metal truck beds and miles of plastic sheeting being unrolled covered the rasp of his breathing. Preparing himself to return to battle, he glanced at Laney, only to find her rummaging through her handbag. She came up with an envelope bearing the Bank of Mobile logo and thrust it at him.

“Thank you for your generous investment,” she said stiffly. When he didn’t take the envelope, she shoved it forcefully into the pocket of his chambray work shirt. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I no longer require your backing.” She rolled her shoulders back and gave the same haughty stare she’d used to keep him at arm’s length for years. “Goodbye, Harley. Tell your clients I hope they’ll be very happy here.”

With a final sneer, she turned and walked away from him.

Again.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he kept his feet planted wide and envisioned them rooting into the ground. He wasn’t going to chase her. Not anymore. Sooner or later one of them was going to have to learn to stay put. He’d wait and work on his new house. When she was done having her snit fit, she’d come around.

He flinched when she slammed the car door. The BMW wasn’t anywhere close to new anymore, but the engine still purred like a kitten. Of course, being the ass-kickin’ Southern girl she was under her posh exterior, Laney squealed the tires a little as she peeled away from the curb. The screech of rubber on asphalt made him smile the tiniest bit. She wouldn’t be this angry if she didn’t have strong feelings. Whether they were about him or about the house, he’d have to wait her out.

The time had come for Delaney to realize what they had was meant to be.

* * * *

Of course, Laney didn’t realize it quick enough for Harley’s tastes. By the end of the day, he was sure he could spit nails harder and faster than the most powerful pneumatic nail gun. One thing stuck in his craw. Something he didn’t latch onto while she was busy throwing his investment money, his belief in her dream, and his certainty of their future together back in his face.

He was the last one left on-site. Though it wasn’t unusual for him to work late into the night, these days he did most of his work behind a desk. But this project would be different. He was in this one up to his eyeballs. Would be until the day he died, if he had any say in the matter. Whether Delany Tarrington liked it or not.

At first, he was pissed she’d walked away from him without giving him a chance to tell her. His anger ratcheted up a notch when he realized what a jerk-off he’d been, making cracks about attaching a plaque to the carriage house simply because that night was the first time she’d unquestionably shown him she was, at least a little, attached to him. But the roiling in his belly didn’t hit a full boil until he stood on the porch watching the last of his crew pull away.

Laney didn’t realize he bought the house. In her eyes he was, and probably always would be, the hired help.

Crossing the porch, he glared at the fresh two-by-fours stacked against the exterior wall. The boards looked like they’d been tossed there, then kicked into a vague semblance of order. His eyes narrowed to slits as he tried to recall which newbie had been assigned clean-up on this area. If it was the smart-ass with the homemade tatts, Harley might deliver the one-time litany of hows and whys he allowed each of his crew members with more juice than the usual. In the meantime, he straightened the stacks then banded them on both ends with sturdy nylon cable to help ward off warping.

It was spring, for Chrissake. They’d be damn lucky if they didn’t need these boards to build an ark.

“I figured you had a hand in this.”

The words were spoken without heat, the drawl soft and cultured, if a bit slurred. Straightening slowly, Harley turned to find Brett Tarrington on the porch steps, his hip braced against the wrought iron rail, his suit loose and severely rumpled. Squaring his shoulders, Harley lifted his chin, prepared to take whatever blows the man could dole out. He dealt with tougher customers day in and day out. Including this man’s daughter. “I have more than a hand in it.”

“That was a lot of cash,” Tarrington commented, then pursed his lips. “I was under the impression you real estate moguls prefer to deal in other people’s money.”

“Most of the time, that would be true, but this was a personal investment.”

“To what end?”

Harley frowned, trying to read the other man’s expression in the fading daylight. “What do you mean?”

“Did you buy Tarrington House because you could? A pretty pricey ‘fuck you’ if you ask me.” He stepped up onto the porch and looked at the gaslight-style fixture hung smack in the center of the high ceiling. “Bulb’s burnt out, by the way. You’ll need an extension ladder to change it. I always had one of the gardeners do it, but then...” He trailed off as he turned to survey the overgrown yard. “Been a while since it’s been changed.”

“Already taken care of.” Harley crossed his arms over his chest as he waited to hear the man’s next gambit.

“Right. Right.” Laney’s father ran his hand over his face. “You’d have an extension ladder.”

Unable to resist a small dig of his own, he stepped closer. “Or two.” He caught the scent of bourbon on the evening breeze, but it was faint, and if he wasn’t mistaken, not exactly fresh. “Did you drive here?”

Tarrington snorted and shook his head. “Caught a ride in with Sully.” He nodded to the house next door. “He told me you’d started work today, but we figured everyone’d be gone by now. I wanted to get a look around.”

Apparently, Judge Sullivan wasn’t only a former neighbor, but also a semi-competent spy and fairly decent friend if he’d gone to the trouble of making sure Laney’s father didn’t get behind the wheel.

“The crew finished up a while ago. I was checking some things, sorting some plans out in my head.”

“Like how you’re going to tell Delaney you’re the guy behind Heart of Dixie Holdings?”

Harley peered at the man, startled by his accuracy. The man’s brain must not be entirely pickled. “She came by earlier.”

“I heard.”

Harley lifted a questioning brow. “From Delaney?”

“Nah.” The older man ran a hand over his rumpled hair. “Other sources. I have sources.”

“How do you know she doesn’t know?”

“I know.”

Tarrington slumped against the rail again. As if the weight of being him was too much to bear. And it must be, because the coward left his daughter to handle the mess he’d left behind. Spoiled little society prince. That’s what his mama once called Brett Tarrington, and she hadn’t been far off. How he managed to bamboozle a woman like Laney’s mother into marrying him, Harley would never know.

“It was the house,” Tarrington said with a helpless shrug.

Not sure he’d caught the transition, Harley turned his head in an effort to catch the other man’s ramblings. “Excuse me?”

“She fell in love with the house first,” Tarrington said, staring off into the deepening twilight. “Called it Pemberley. One of those women’s jokes,” he added with a dismissive wave. Then he turned his head abruptly, meeting Harley’s gaze squarely for the first time. “You were wondering how I got a woman like Camille to marry me. It was the house.”

Harley gave a second’s thought to protesting the man’s mind-reading abilities, but figured there was no point. He also couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, so he settled for, “The house, huh?”

“Yep.” Tarrington made the ‘P’ pop as he pushed away from the rail again. “And now you’re trying to do the same thing. Trust me, son, your plan won’t work out the way you want it to.”

“I’m not your son,” Harley snapped before he could think the better of it.

“Damn good thing, since you’ve been sleeping with my daughter. This might be the South, but even down here some things are too close for comfort.”

The older man’s wry smile looked more like a grimace, and for a second, Harley couldn’t help but wonder which thought Tarrington found more distasteful: the possibility of a son like him, or the fact he’d put his hands all over the daughter this man left hanging out to dry.

Refusing to take the bait, Harley simply gestured to the steps, issuing a clear invitation to leave. “Are you done?”

“I came to warn you.”

“I’m not sure anyone should take advice from you.”

“You might think you’ve got what she needs because you have a big, fat bank account and the house she used to call home, but we both know you’re not the right sort for my Delaney.”

The insult should have stung, but it didn’t. There was no force behind the words. Nothing that packed a punch. It was the flail of a desperate man. A man who lost everything and didn’t even know why. “She stopped being your Delaney a long time ago, but you never noticed, did you? Like you didn’t notice your board of directors was soaking the company, or wonder why your banker friends were so anxious to throw good money after bad when it came to you.”

He allowed himself a grim smile as he closed the remaining distance between them. Looking down his nose at the man who’d looked down on him his whole life, Harley expected to feel the thrill of triumph, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Whether either of them chose to admit it, they had too much in common, the two of them. They both took chances in their business ventures. The only difference was, people panted to bring Brett Tarrington down, whereas they waited for Harley to fuck up on his own eventually. And maybe everyone else was right. Perhaps Tarrington was right. The two of them shared the same fatal flaw—they were both bewitched by women who wanted something from them. Though, he was pretty damn sure Laney wasn’t hanging around him for his money or his big, fancy house. She’d proved as much today.

Without conscious thought, he touched the envelope he’d folded and fitted into the back pocket of his jeans and blew out a pitying sigh as he studied the booze-worn face of the man he hoped would one day be his father-in-law. Not because he wanted to consider the snobby little twit family, but because he wanted
his
Laney to be happy. And she couldn’t be truly happy until her life was made whole again. At least, as much as possible.

“I think it’s time you stop chasing the Wild Turkey and start taking a good, long look at your life,” Harley said.

Tarrington snorted. “I have.” He stood as tall as he could, then mimed straightening the tie he no longer wore. “I think this career path fits me to perfection.”

“It’s breaking your daughter’s heart.”

In a heartbeat, the man’s urbane facade cracked and a snarl appeared in its place. “What do you know about my daughter?”

“Everything,” Harley answered without flinching. “Most of the time, I’m pretty sure I know her better than she knows herself. But she’s catching up, and I don’t mind waiting.”

“Bullshit. It’s eating you alive,” Laney’s father said with a sneer.

“Might be true, but it doesn’t mean I can’t stay on-task.”

Turning his face up to the porch light, he pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and jabbed at the screen. Crickets started to bleep and he spotted a couple of fireflies off the side of the porch. The phone vibrated, gave a clipped chirp, and the light above their heads illuminated, bathing the front door in soft gold light.

Harley smirked. “There’s an app for everything.”

Brett Tarrington lurched back and might have toppled off the steps if Harley’s reflexes were a split second slower. The older man’s elbow was sharp against his palm. He could feel the bones in the man’s upper arm. Tired of sparring and knowing he wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until he knew the bastard was cozied up in his cabin, he tightened his hold. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift home.”

“I don’t need you to—”

“Yeah, whatever. You’re a million-billion times better than me, I’m nothing more than trash, my mama, blah-blah-blah.” Setting a steady pace, he propelled Tarrington down the steps and toward the truck he’d parked right outside the carriage house. “I’m taking you home so I’m sure you get home. That way, I can continue to defile your daughter with a clear conscience.”

“You have no conscience.”

Harley jerked to a stop at the passenger door, letting momentum and his grip on the older man’s arm twist Tarrington around to face him. “See, now, that’s where you’re wrong about me. Then again, what can a man who abandons his dying wife and distraught daughter know about conscience?”

“You left her, too,” Tarrington shot back.

One side of Harley’s mouth kicked up as he yanked open the passenger door. “Yeah, but I feel real bad about what happened between us. There’s the difference between you and me, Mr. T.”

They were ten minutes into the thirty mile drive when Tarrington finally broke the silence. Staring out the passenger window, he heaved a heavy sigh. “You’re wrong.”

Harley laughed reflexively. If ever there was a statement he was willing to own, it was that one, but he wanted more specifics before he gave the other man satisfaction. “About what?”

“Me.”

“What about you?”

Shadows flew past the speeding pick-up, but it was impossible to pick out any object not caught directly in the truck’s high beams. Laney’s father stared into the darkness as if all the answers he needed lay beyond the scrubby brush encroaching on the county highway.

“I did feel bad about it. I do.” He paused. “Delaney, I mean. Camille, I—” He gave his head a slow, rueful shake. “There’re no words to describe it,” he whispered, drawing the last word out on a hiss. “I’ve been so lost.”

Harley let the admission sink in for a moment before answering. “Well, I’m no hippie guru guy, but don’t you think it’s time for you to find yourself?”

Laney’s father chuckled dryly and shot him a glance. “Yeah, I guess so.” He turned back to the blackness surrounding them. “Damned if I know where to start.”