Hands On (16 page)

Harry frowned. He didn’t like having to explain himself to someone he barely knew. “It’s my real name.”

Lara stopped, dropped her briefcase and folded her arms across her chest. “That’s not what I meant. Ginnie doesn’t know she’s dating an infamous real estate tycoon. I should have recognized you sooner. I’m in the biz.”

Harry wanted to object. He and Ginnie weren’t dating. His urge to explain the nuances of their…whatever it was…faded as he saw Lara’s narrowed eyes. Not that it was Lara’s business anyway. He started to tell her so, when she said the worst thing she could have.

“I know who you are, and I remember the pedophile charge too.”

True anger flared up inside him. “Totally baseless,” he hissed. “And I’ve shared that particular bit of slander with Ginnie.”

“But you haven’t shared your identity?” Lara cocked her head. “Why not?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” He felt a fierce dislike of her. Pushy woman. Way more so than Ginnie.

“Try me.” She waited for a moment. “Or should I maybe just ask Ginnie if she knows who you really are?”

Harry picked up her briefcase and steered her farther down the sidewalk with a firm grip on her arm.

Lara yanked her arm away. “She’s a good person who’s been through a ton of crap. If you’re just playing her along—”

“I’m not.” Harry glanced at the sky, seeking strength. He’d have to explain. “Look. Imagine your piles of money made you a target. Not just to gold-diggers, though you get plenty of those. But a target for lawsuits, for shyster reporters, for vengeance. For so-called friends stabbing you in the back the second it looks as if doing it might give them their fifteen minutes of fame. Now, imagine you meet someone you like. Maybe a lot. See where I’m going with this?”

“You’re saying you like Ginnie a lot.”

“No. Yes. I don’t dislike Ginnie, but that’s not what I’m—”

“You don’t dislike her? What a lucky girl.”

Harry made himself inhale deeply, twice, then a third time, before he trusted himself not to shout. “You are deliberately provoking me. If you listened to what I’m saying—”

“That you’re lying to Ginnie because you’re afraid?”

“I’m not afraid!” So much for not shouting. He lowered his voice. “I’m concerned about… Never mind. I can see it’s impossible to communicate with you, so I’m going to stop trying. Good-bye.”

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours.”

Harry was walking away. He stopped. “Excuse me?”

“Twenty-four hours. One full day to tell Ginnie the truth. If you don’t, I will.” Lara smiled at him, completely unintimidated by his scowl. “Whatever you’re afraid of…excuse me,
concerned about
…it’s not worth starting a relationship based on a lie.”

Then she was the one to walk away. Harry didn’t have the chance to tell her he wasn’t in a relationship with Ginnie. It was only friendship and some great sex between them. And Ginnie knew it. Ginnie seemed okay with it.

Still, Lara’s words made a certain anxious uncertainty uncoil in his gut. He had a day, she’d said. One day until Lara took matters into her own hands and told Ginnie what she knew.

He shrugged, tried to tell himself it didn’t matter one way or another.

But he couldn’t fool himself. It mattered, or he wouldn’t feel so disturbed.

Harry took his time walking back to his house. He noted that Ginnie’s home already looked structurally sound, if still unfinished. The extra workers and their overtime labors he’d funded facilitated excellent progress. It would be the same character-filled bungalow Ginnie’d said she loved, only safer.

Some things, money could buy. Many things.

But not everything.

Harry walked home, trudged up the steps of his porch, but instead of going inside, he leaned against the railing at the top. It allowed an elevated view of most of the surrounding streets.

Harry struggled with the uncertainty aroused by Lara’s pointed words.

He hadn’t lied to Ginnie. He just hadn’t told her the entire truth, and the reason behind it went all the way back to Jaye Rae.

If there was anything in his future with Ginnie—and he wasn’t planning on it, he hastened to assure himself—it hinged on her accepting him for himself. If he had to flaunt his identity as a real estate tycoon to get a woman, she wouldn’t be a woman worth having. As he’d experienced.

The nagging doubt in the back of his mind refused to be stilled.

Harry slammed his fist against the wood railing. He didn’t need this aggravation, this uncomfortable soul-searching. He’d been content before his tenant’s house fell in on her, and he’d broken his own rule about getting more than superficially involved with a woman.

It was time to end it.

Well, after Ginnie’s mom visited. She was due to fly up for the day. Ginnie seemed pretty worried about that. After what she’d told him about her mother, he could hardly blame her. It commanded his sympathy, though he couldn’t relate, as he was still on warm terms with his father and his stepmother. His mom’s death had brought him and his father closer together, even as his older brother Zach had spun out, dropped out of school and run away so often he’d kept a packed bag and his rolled-up trench coat in a corner of their shared room, ready to go at a moment’s notice. A rough period of time.

Harry couldn’t imagine what it must be like to dread a visit from family. Ginnie’s mother must be a piece of work.

He’d be there for Ginnie, in case she needed him.

But afterward, that was the end. He’d break it to her gently, but he’d do it. He meant it this time too, he told himself as he entered his house, shutting the door quietly and walking lightly toward the bedroom so the noise wouldn’t wake Ginnie.

He opened the bedroom door and saw her still sleeping like an angel.

Harry grinned as she stirred, the sheet slipping down her chest to uncover her breasts. He could suddenly think of a number of interesting ways to wake her.

Chapter Ten

With her skinny neck, high, sharp cheekbones and coldly watchful eyes, the woman looked a little like a vulture, Ginnie thought. She wasn’t supposed to have thoughts like that about her own mother, but she couldn’t help it.

She’d picked her mom up from Portland International Airport with no problem—the pulled-together blonde with the jewels and fur coat stood out from the Northwest crowd as if she were an aged and shrunken Marilyn Monroe—but the short drive already stifled. Her small Volkswagen filled with cloying perfume until Ginnie cracked a window despite the misting rain that cooled her face.

“You’ll catch your death.” Her mother’s gaze took in both the open window and the view through it, managing to convey disdain even in that split-second glance.

“It’s nice and cool,” Ginnie replied, though she shivered with a chill deeper than the slightly overcast weather. “Mother, there’s a great brunch place down the street, if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful,” her mom replied with more warmth. “Vernon takes me to the most enchanting bistros and restaurants, only in the best areas of town, of course. He’s a big believer in birds-of-a-feather. You shouldn’t have left so quickly, he was quite disappointed at not being able to meet my only daughter. I had to make an excuse for you. You know, he shows every sign of sticking around, unlike your father. Additionally, he gets on with Rick quite well. You’ll like him.”

She’d hate him. “I’m glad you’re happy. So, food?”

“Later,” her mother said, waving her bejeweled hand. “Let’s find out how much of a problem you’ve made for yourself this time.”

Ginnie’s temper flared. But before she could make any reply, she turned off the street into the residential neighborhood. “Oh, this isn’t too terrible,” Constance murmured, gazing at the larger houses and well-kept yards. “This is your neighborhood?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She took a savage pleasure in her mother’s gasp when she pulled over in front of her small, still-damaged house.

“Oh no. It’s…”

“It’s where I lived. I told you it was a work in progress. I’ll live there again when it’s fixed.”

“At what cost?” Constance gazed at her, her overplucked eyebrows raised. At Ginnie’s silence, a small smile played about her thin, painted mouth. “You don’t know? Hmm. Why am I not surprised? The first thing to find out is what this will cost. I see quite a few workers. That costs money. You should know how much, to determine the starting figure for your lawsuit.”

“It’s covered, Mother. I’m not filing any lawsuit.”

“It doesn’t matter, dear. You’ll talk to my lawyer.”

Ginnie’s lungs felt suffocated. “I need air.” She unfastened her seatbelt and lurched out of the car.

Constance followed more gracefully, shutting the door with a moue of distaste. “With all the rain up here, one would think it would wash the dirt off your vehicle. At least the humidity will be good for your skin.” She swept up the driveway without a backward glance.

Ginnie followed, feeling as if all the strength had gone out of her. As a child, she’d tried countless times to win her mother’s approval. As an adult, she’d tried countless more. Tried and failed.

Ginnie looked at the back of her mother’s perfectly coifed blonde hair—not a curl out of place—and felt her head begin to throb. How was it that her mother made her feel like an awkward young girl again? Like a teenager who just wanted her mom to be proud of her.

“I know you develop attachments, dear,” her mother called over her shoulder. “But have you considered the options? Drumming up a lawsuit in response to severely defective housing is advisable. One must occasionally do what one must, make difficult choices in order to claim a comfortable life. Even if it means leaving attachments behind.”

“Kind of like what Dad did?” Ginnie muttered softly, but Constance turned quickly, as if she’d heard.

“Rick misses you. You did a foolish thing, leaving him, you know. But fortunately he forgives you. He told me.”

“Mother,” Ginnie began tiredly. “Why are you here? To talk me into moving back in with Rick?”

At that moment, one of the larger, shaggier construction workers emerged from her house, wiping sweat and sawdust from his face with a dirty flannel sleeve. “Hello, Ginnie.”

It was Harry. Ginnie grinned at him, her burden of hurt lifting for a moment. He wore the same broken-in jeans as yesterday, or similar ones, and his facial shadow had grown into the beginning of a full beard. He looked completely disreputable. She’d never been happier to see anyone.

Her mother’s voice intruded. “You’re lucky to have a man who cares about you so much.”

For a moment, she thought her mother meant Harry.

Her mother’s gaze took in the house and the busy workers, gliding over Harry as if he wasn’t there before turning her most exasperated look on her. “Rick told me he drove all the way up here to fetch you. And you ungratefully told that loyal man to turn around and drive all the way back. I’d have thought you’d be smarter than to abandon him. You’re just like your father.”

Ginnie felt as if her heart just got ripped out and shredded before her eyes.

And Harry was a witness.

Her face heated with embarrassment.

“I’m just going to…” She stumbled away from her mother. “Please excuse me,” she said, trying to speak around the prickly lump that suddenly grew in her throat.

“You reap what you sow, missy! I told you nothing good would come of it, and look.” Constance waved her arm at Ginnie’s house. “I was right. Just you look!”

Ginnie looked at her house, but couldn’t see anything but blurs due to the tears in her eyes. One of the closer blurs was probably Harry.

Ginnie groaned, a deep sound locked behind her lips.

She turned away and fled down the sidewalk toward the shelter of Harry’s house.

Harry stared at Ginnie’s mother. His hands itched to slap her, and he’d never felt like slapping a woman before, not even Jaye Rae. But he had to go after Ginnie. Still he stared, as if at a spider. He’d never witnessed such cruelty before.

The witch addressed him. “You. You’re working on this house. Who’s in charge of handling the paperwork?”

“That would be me,” Lara answered before Harry spoke. She emerged from the porch shadows and descended the steps. “Lara Hueudepohl, from the property management agency. And this is Harry, the, ah, foreman.”

“Constance Greenwalt,” she replied, her gaze remaining on Lara. “Yes. My attorneys will be looking into this matter. Clearly there are actionable items. My daughter, dunce though she is, has a solid case.”

Harry’s rage, long simmering, finally boiled over. “Ginnie is your daughter, and you made her cry.” He stared at the woman as if he wasn’t quite sure what she was. “It wasn’t enough that Ginnie’s house collapsed. Or that she’s new to town, hardly has any friends here and she’s fresh from a painful breakup. You have to go and make her cry. What the hell kind of mother are you?”

“She needs looking after,” Constance said, defensive, but her eyes flicked, uncertain, from Harry to Lara. “Rick provided that for her. Ginnie never could take care of herself. You say you’re the foreman?”

“Ginnie can take care of herself just fine. She’s running her own business, a successful one, did you know that? She’s smart and she’s good.”

“The puppets?” she sneered. “It’s time she stopped playing with toys. She needs to grow up.”

“Grow up into a miserable, shallow woman like you?”

“I think you’re more than the foreman. I think you’re interested in Ginnie.”

“More than you are,” Harry bit off, fighting back disgust.

“You should know that Ginnie has no interest in underprivileged men. She’s dated them before, but they never last. In that way, she’s not completely stupid. In that way, she’s just like me. She knows how to land a man who can provide the lifestyle to which she’s accustomed.” Her look told him she didn’t consider him even remotely qualified.

Even as Harry silently counted back from twenty to keep from strangling the woman, a small sliver of doubt wedged itself in his brain.
Was
Ginnie a gold-digger? He’d vanquished that doubt, only to have this…this excuse of a mother raise it again. It was the same old, cold specter of doubt, like a decaying body that just wouldn’t allow itself to be buried.