Haunt Me (7 page)

Her earlier temper fled in favor of a smile. She paused at the door. “Justin?”

“Yeah?” He was halfway down the steps, trying unsuccessfully to get his mind back on the project, but turned to face her.

“Is there any place good to eat around here?”

“The diner closes most nights at eight, but they serve a mean chicken fried steak.”

“Would you let me take you out to dinner?”

Surprised pleasure rippled through him. “How about I take you out?”

“But you’re working on my garden and you’ve been helping me. I owe you pizza, remember?”

“It’s a guy thing.”

“What’s a guy thing?” Confusion clouded her expression. “Food?”

“Helping out a beautiful lady.”

“I’m confused. Is that a yes or no to dinner?”

“It’s a yes, if you let me treat.” He raised his eyebrows and waited.

“You’re already helping me out. Why can’t I buy you dinner?”

He almost felt bad for her confusion.
Almost.
“Because it’s a guy thing. So, if it’s my treat, dinner sounds just fine. I’m going to get back to work, though.” He pivoted and headed back to the secret gazebo, aware of her staring after him.

“So, six thirty, I guess?” she called.

The woman was going to make him crazy. “Sounds good, Mac. Go write!” He had a gazebo to finish uncovering. Doing so fed his soul in a way he couldn’t explain.

A slither of ice crossed his neck, and he glanced back at the house. Mac had gone inside, but he couldn’t quite shake the memory of the second woman he’d seen earlier. The woman a step beyond Mac. The afterimage remained burned to his retinas.
Speaking of hyperactive imaginations…
Shutting down that train of thought, he went back to work.

He had a date later, and that was
definitely
a guy thing.

…

At almost seven, Justin held open the door to the Penny Whistle Diner for Mac. Her invitation had provided him with the perfect opportunity to be friends. She’d changed into a pretty red sundress after he’d run home to shower and clean out his truck. Before he’d left, though, he asked her to avoid looking at the gazebo until he’d finished clearing away the rest of foliage.

The half he’d reclaimed from the garden was stunning, and he couldn’t wait to see what repairs he’d need to make to bring the gazebo back to its original glory. He already had feelers out for the right type of marble—he wanted Parian or Carrara, and he didn’t care about the cost. Summerfield deserved the best, and he wouldn’t compromise on quality. Not for the property, and not for Mac.

The diner was packed for a Saturday evening and conversation halted at their arrival. Justin slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. “Play along,” he murmured low. Hopefully, Mrs. Cartwright wouldn’t take the opportunity to ask him about the house and how getting Mac on board to add it to the tour was going. He’d been avoiding his fellow Founder’s Council members, mostly because he didn’t have a report for them and didn’t need them stepping up their agenda.

“Gladly.” Mac all but leaned into him, and he tried not to think about how perfectly she fit under his arm.

“Evening, Mrs. Cartwright.” He nodded to the steel-gray-haired owner of the diner—a woman who looked like a cross between Queen Victoria and the sassy Southern grandmother she was. She’d been less than pleased with him since the Founder’s Meeting, though. Like the others, she wanted him to hurry things with Mac along.

“Good evening, Justin.” Mrs. Cartwright motioned to a corner booth, a speculative look in her eye as she glanced at Mac. “Go ahead and seat yourselves, hon. I’ll be right over.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He guided Mac to the booth. “Chin up,” he murmured. If the weight of so many speculative stares was getting to him, he could only imagine how Mac felt.

At the booth, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We got this,” she whispered.

His brain locked up.
We got what?
But she moved away and slid into the booth. For a full three seconds, he contemplated joining her on her side of the booth, but playing the attentive date danced too fine a line. Especially when he wanted to be the attentive date.
Damn
. He needed to get control over his desire for Mac.

A moment after they claimed their seats on opposite sides of the booth, Mrs. Cartwright charged over like a blue-gray-haired freight train, carrying menus, silverware, and two tall glasses of water.

“Welcome to Penny Hollow. I’m Abigail Cartwright.” She stared expectantly at Mac and completely ignored Justin, which was her not so polite way of initiating the interrogation phase of Mac’s town introduction. The woman wanted a progress report. “Justin should have introduced us sooner,” she added.

Mac leaned back in the booth and tilted her head up, a faint smile curving her mouth. He recognized the same barely polite expression he earned the first day they’d met, only this look was far less chilly.

“MacKenzie Dillon, and thank you very much for the warm welcome.”

Justin hid a smile. Mac didn’t offer the busybody any more than that bare bones of information.

“We’re sure glad to have you, and we’re very sorry about your aunt. Ms. Katherine was a good and kind woman.” From the gleam in her eyes, Mrs. Cartwright didn’t seem dissuaded by Mac’s silence in the least.

After they both gave their orders—chicken fried steaks and unsweetened tea for both—Mrs. Cartwright raised an eyebrow and asked, “Unsweetened tea?” She waited for both of their nods, muttered, “Northerners…” under her breath, then turned her attention back to Mac. “You don’t be a stranger, MacKenzie. We’re friendly folk here. I promise, we don’t bite. Or snoop too much.”

If Justin hadn’t known Penny Hollow as well as he did, he might have believed the lie.

Conversation rippled back across the room as the regulars realized there wouldn’t be much of a show, and Mac leaned forward to prop her chin on her fist. “On the upside, at least she didn’t offer to dehex me or suggest a way to keep evil spirits at bay.”

Wincing at the not so subtle reminder of Mac’s visitors—triggered by Jock’s inane plan—Justin sat back and stretched his legs out. “I’m sure she can come up with something if you ask her nicely.”

“I think it’s sweet. Odd, but sweet.” Mac grinned and pulled away from the table as Mrs. Cartwright hustled back with their iced teas.

“You planning to stay at Summerfield, MacKenzie? I hope young Justin here let you know about Penny Hollow’s interest in your estate. It would be the perfect part of our tour plans, and the town could use all the support. So you’ll forgive us if we’re all curious about you and your plans for the old girl.” Mrs. Cartwright stared at her pointedly, clearly not moving on without Mac’s answer.

Justin half-considered intervening, but he wanted to see how Mac handled the busybody.

“He has invited me to participate.”

The information seemed to appease Mrs. Cartwright. She gave Justin a narrowed look of suspicion.

“I love her participation.” Justin paused deliberately and put more emphasis than necessary on the word “participation.”

Mrs. Cartwright straightened, her eyes brightened, and her cheeks went a little flushed. “I see,” she said, but her gaze promised him she wasn’t finished. “All right, I’ll let you two chat while I check on your meals.”

And probably go off to inform everyone else in town that Justin was dating Mac. He enjoyed that knowledge. By the time church let out on Sunday, any eligible bachelors in Penny Hollow would know Mac was his and would keep out of his territory—

Wait. Since when did she become my territory?
This was business, not personal. Right? A business date, not a
date
date. He met Mac’s bland stare. “What?”

“You know I would love to help you and the town out.” Maybe words shouldn’t frown, but her tone wrinkled with enough disapproval to make hers sound like they did. She took a deep breath, and said, “I know I haven’t acted like I’m willing to help, and maybe another time, I would, but I’m—”

“Busy. Deadlines, I know. Although I meant what I said about loving your participation,” he replied innocently. At least he damn sure hoped that was what he meant.

“But I’m not really participating.”

“You’re not closed to the idea, and as long as everyone thinks we’re in on it together…” He’d let her draw her own conclusions, because pretending ignorance would only get him so far. When her lips began to twitch, he grinned.

“You did that to avoid the parade of bachelors from streaming through my door?”

He nodded slightly, keeping any further comments to himself with the number of ears attuned their direction.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Cartwright delivered their dinner but didn’t stick around for any more questions. At first he’d thought the diner owner had accepted Mac’s statement on face value, but when Mrs. Cartwright mimed a tap on her watchless wrist, he knew better. He’d catch hell at the next Founder’s meeting, but for now, he’d ignore the woman. When she mimed a “come here” motion to him, he pretended he didn’t see it.

Mac’s eyes danced with barely disguised amusement, and for the second time that evening, his brain locked up. She really was lovely—no, more than lovely. Her innate beauty was hidden under lock and key. She might use abrasiveness like how she had during their first encounter as a defensive mechanism, but the more he got to know her, the more he appreciated the wit and the warmth behind the defenses.

As with the pizza, she dug right into the chicken fried steak and potatoes slathered in country gravy with gusto and—just like with the pizza—he found her mouth the most fascinating sight ever. She didn’t hide her unabashed enjoyment, pausing only to point her fork at him after her third bite.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving.” For a lot more than chicken fried steak.
And that’s enough of that.

“So,” Mac sipped her tea and washed down a bite of food, “I feel like you know a lot about me. Tell me about you.”

He didn’t know as much about her as he’d like to, but he kept that thought to himself. “Not much to say.”

“I find that really hard to believe. Everyone in this place knows who you are. You own a building-rehabilitation business, but you’re playing handyman around my place.”

“I like fixing things. Buildings. Properties.” He always had. Places, unlike people, could be fixed.

“Like what? What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever repaired?”

Besides trying to win her over to participate in the town lunacy project? “An outhouse.”

Mac paused, fork halfway to her lips. “I’m sorry, did you say outhouse?”

“Umm-hmm.” It was one of his favorite stories. “Landowner over in Ashmore County was clearing some property to put in a subdivision and he found an older building right out in the middle. Asked me to come out and authenticate it.” He paused to chew. “It was a classic outhouse. Must have been little over a hundred and fifty years old.”

She nodded, scraping up the last of her mashed potatoes. Lord, the woman could eat. Guilt twinged him. The hollow look he’d noticed earlier sharpened the bones in her face. He would have to make a point of more “accidental” lunches and make sure she ate. Someone should be watching out for her.

“So what happened?” she prodded when he stayed silent too long.

“The guy couldn’t figure out why that outhouse was there…right in the middle of nothing. So he brought out some surveyors, did some research, and called me back out. About sixty feet from the outhouse was the foundation for a pre-Civil War structure. It actually used to be a modest plantation house.”

“He had you rebuild it, didn’t he?” Mac had finished her food and stared at him with such rapt attention heat flushed through him.

“Yeah. Fixed up the outhouse, rebuilt the plantation, planned the landscaping around it as authentic as we could match to what had been there before.”

“What about his subdivision?”

“Oh, he built that, too. All around the plantation house, in fact, but kept about five acres for the house and made it a private park. I think they used that house as a clubhouse or something.”

“Wow.”

Justin grinned. “It was probably one of the more interesting jobs I’ve done. Get called out for an outhouse, end up building a plantation house.”

“You really do like fixing up old places.”

“Absolutely. Old houses have character, personality. You take care of them, they take care of you. These houses stood for centuries. We don’t build like that anymore. Look at the prefab communities and subdivisions—their foundations crack in five years, and their roofs? Gone in ten. Nothing is built to last—it’s built to a trend.” He shook his head. “No one takes care of the elderly ladies. Bugs the hell out of me.”

“Does the state Summerfield is in bug you?”

“The polite answer would be no.”

“Which means it does.” She chewed at her lower lip.

Was she considering hiring him to fix her place up? He didn’t mind the idea. Still, he hesitated to push, and her yawn reinforced that decision. “Yeah, time to go, missy. You’ve been seen and we’ve eaten.” He rose, then waited for her to stand before they headed to the register. He took care of the check before she could open her purse.

He took her elbow and they waved to Mrs. Cartwright and her husband. The town was shutting down as the late-summer sun was a memory across the western sky.

“You mind if I head back over in the morning to work on the gazebo?” he asked. He let go of her arm to open the truck door, and she turned to face him. Mere inches separated them. Awareness swept over him like a summer storm, lightning sizzling across his nerves.

“Justin—do you really need Summerfield for your town project? Or do you just like the house?”