Forbidden (Wildwood #1)

Chapter 2

2

The stress must have warped her brain, because Delaney was seriously crushing on this sexy little welcoming committee of one. And after years of exposure to every kind of man in existence through her many years working in bars and construction, it took something special to interest her.

But the fact that he knew her meant he also knew all her ugly secrets. Secrets that had sent her running from Wildwood to begin with. And her very troubling recent past still weighed heavily on her conscience.

Her gaze automatically darted to the ring finger of his left hand, even though she knew no matter what she found there, it didn’t mean anything. Though the absence of a band or a tan line was a step in the right direction.

“You’re a brewmaster, huh?” she asked.

“Among other things. I may be a little partial,” he said, tapping her freshly opened bottle with his own, “but it’s pretty good.”

He took a drink, and Delaney studied his profile, searching her mind for his identity. She scrolled through a mental list of families with boys her age when she’d lived here, but she couldn’t place him.

She returned her gaze to the simple label. “You need to hire a marketing firm to create a brand.”

Another one of those dynamic grins broke out across his face. The man had a killer smile. “Eventually. Never enough money, you know?”

“Oh, yes. I know.” He was good-looking enough to have rung a few bells in her memory, yet... “I’m sorry, I don’t?—”

“Recognize me? I’m not surprised.”

“Sorry. It’s been a long time.”

He nodded but didn’t offer his name. “So what are you doing here? I heard this place was condemned.”

“I’m waiting for my aunt to discuss that very thing. So...are you going to tell me who you are?”

He zinged that grin at her again. “Tell me what you think of my beer first.”

Delaney considered his request while scanning his dress shirt, a casual pattern of thin plaid stripes on a white background. The sleeves were rolled up, showing nicely tanned and rugged forearms. His khakis were light, simple, clean and fit him well. His shoes were some kind of casual work boot.

All in all, he should strike her as a cute, blue-collar guy. Maybe a couple of notches better-looking than average, but nothing that would normally hold her interest. She’d met hundreds of men like him over the years. But the way his clothes fit hinted at a strong body beneath. And his golden-blond hair was a little too long, his jaw darkened with a day or two worth of golden stubble—creating a sexy combination of symmetry and scruff.

He also owned an unusual kind of confidence. One that marked him as savvy. One that gave him charisma and implied he knew how to handle himself around a woman. One that pulled all Delaney’s nerves to the surface and created the sizzle of attraction along her skin.

And wasn’t that just the last thing she needed? A man in her life? After what she’d been through, she should be giving him a very clear, very cold brush-off. But it had been a really long time since she’d met a guy this relaxed and self-assured, so she sighed and brought the bottle to her nose for a sniff test.

The complex, hoppy aroma filled her head. Her first tentative sip coated her tongue with a light floral taste, quickly followed by a bitter hit that mellowed faster than most IPAs. “Mmm.”

He rested his elbows on his knees, his own bottle dangling from his fingers.

She took a deeper drink, let it slide down her throat slower. Then hummed again.

“So?” he asked with the impatience of an eager four-year-old. “What do you think?”

She thought he was damned adorable. She thought she wanted to ask him out for a drink at Patterson’s after she’d walked through the bar with Phoebe. She thought she’d really enjoy a healthy night of sex with a fine male specimen like this one before she faced the task of planning the rest of her life—all over again.

“I’m surprised you’re asking a stranger.” She met his eyes and watched for telltale signs of deceit. “Hasn’t your wife tasted all your beer? Doesn’t she give you feedback?”

Without a millisecond’s pause he shook his head. “No wife.”

“Surely your girlfriend loves?—”

“No girlfriend.”

He was just too attractive and too sexy to be single. Of course, there was one other possibility. Slim, but... She grinned and lifted her brows in silent question.

“No.” He chuckled. “I’m not gay either.”

She definitely believed that. He threw sexual energy her way like a carnal powerhouse. “Take my opinion with a grain of salt. I stopped for a shot of Sierra Silver before I came.”

“Where in the hell did you get that quality of tequila around here?”

“Patterson’s. I needed a little help finding the nerve to walk onto this property.”

“They’re getting a lot of business since this place shut down.”

“I’m sure the residents of Wildwood are thrilled about that.”

“Most, yes.”

She sipped again, considering. “It’s really different. I can’t compare it to anything exactly. I mean, maybe a little like Sam Adams but, wow, so different. It sort of, okay this is going to sound weird, but it reminds me of the inside of a floral shop. Soft and sweet to begin with, but turning bitter and funky as you near the workroom. Overall, it’s really special, but not something mainstream beer drinkers would eat up.” She cut a look his way, hoping she hadn’t offended him. “You know what I mean?”

Those pretty eyes of his were dancing with pleasure. “Exactly what you mean. You really know your beer.”

“If you know who I am, you know how I grew up. In which case you know that I should know my beer. And my vodka, and my rum, and my whiskey...”

Rich laughter rolled from his chest, making Delaney smile. “Which is exactly why I’m asking you for your opinion.”

She hadn’t had this kind of easy comfort with a man in a very long time, and after what she’d been through, this felt better than good. It felt amazing. If it weren’t for that damned shadow lurking like a stain on her soul, she would ask him out right now.

“Are you going to tell me who you are now?” she asked.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Another game, huh?” What the hell? Phoebe would be here soon anyway. “Okay, but only because you’re so pretty to look at.”

That made him laugh again, and man, she did love the smooth sound of it.

“Let’s see...” She narrowed her eyes and scanned his face again. Every time she looked at him she found something new to like. This time it was his light eyes, shining clear green in the headlights. “You’re obviously not a Valencia, a Ruiz, a Washington, or a Chen.”

“You got that right.”

“Just the fact that you’re still sitting here means you can’t be part of the Hayes or Ryan families. Are you a Murphy?”

He shook his head.

“Oh, I know—you’re a Hogan boy.”

“Nope.”

She frowned, her mind toggling between his looks and her memories. “Ward? Bickler? Koller? O’Neil? Buchanan?”

“None of the above.”

“Give me a hint.”

He thought for a second. “We don’t know each other, but we know of each other.”

“What kind of lousy hint is that?”

He laughed. “I was a couple of years ahead of you in school.”

She frowned, reassessed the Rolodex in her mind, then shook her head. “Give me another.”

“I had a wicked crush on you for-freaking-ever.”

She leaned away, as if the distance would give her perspective. “No way, handsome. I would have remembered you.”

“I wasn’t your type.”

“Ah. Then you must have been a good kid, because my sole purpose in life as a teen was to piss off my father by dating the cream of the crap. I was completely self-absorbed at the time. Consider yourself lucky.”

He glanced toward the driveway. “When’s your aunt coming?”

Her mood dropped a notch. Maybe she’d brought up one memory too many and popped his balloon of interest. “I’m not sure. She’s with her bridge club, and, apparently, she’s winning?—”

“Oh, hell.” He turned his gaze back to Delaney. The sight of that pretty smile and those twinkling eyes made her stomach twist and jump. “You could be here all night. Want to get in and look around?”

“Yes, but she has the keys, and as much as I’d love to break a window—or twenty—in this place, I left my bad-girl ways behind when I left town.”

His gaze sharpened, and an almost challenging look came over his expression. “Really.”

Oh, the tequila was tickling her brain. The flirty smile came out of nowhere, as if she had no control over it. “Well, maybe not all of them.”

“Thank God. Life is too damn short to waste it being good. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.” His mouth kicked up again, and a definite flare of heat warmed his eyes. “Besides, I saw you trying to jimmy the door.”

She lowered her gaze to the worn wood of the porch. “Oops.”

“With a bottle opener?” he added. “Seriously?”

“Shut up. It’s all I had. I was desperate.”

He laughed. “Then let me get you in.”

“Not if you’re going to break anything. I don’t need trouble with the only member of my family who still talks to me, and I’d like to get her on board with my plow-this-piece-of-shit-into-the-ground plan, which will be easier if she’s not pissed.”

Something changed in his expression. A sort of comprehensive look of...she didn’t know what to call it. Ease? Relief? She was still trying to figure it out when he set his beer down and pushed to his feet.

“I love the way you think, beautiful.” Drawing his wallet from his back pocket, he pulled a couple of small sticks from the billfold. “I might be breaking and entering, but I won’t break anything.”

She lifted a brow. “You carry lock-picking equipment in your wallet?”

“A Boy Scout is always prepared.” He grinned down at her. “That was another hint.”

“You were a Boy Scout? No wonder you never blipped my radar.”

He turned toward the bar’s front door, and the old wood creaked under his weight. After only a few seconds, a metallic pop sounded, followed by the familiar groan of the door. A sound that transported Delaney back in time and opened an icy vein down the middle of her chest.

Be careful what you wish for.

He turned and offered his hand. With a lump in her throat, Delaney set down her beer and took his hand, but she couldn’t fully appreciate his touch as she got to her feet. Then she glanced at her heels, trying to decide if it was safer with them or without them.

“Probably with them,” he said, reading her mind.

She slipped into her shoes with an almost overwhelming sense of angst rolling inside her now.

“Watch your step.” He glanced at her car—the lights still shone their direction—and his hand firmly wrapped around hers. It was big and rough and warm, and she preferred to think about those rough hands on her body than venturing into a coffin of nightmares. “You probably won’t be able to see too much in this light, so don’t go too far. I’ll wait out here while you look around.”

“Thanks.” The offer of space provided a sliver of relief. She turned a smile on him, holding tight to his hand. “Maybe I can take you out for a drink when we’re done here.”

The heat in his eyes sparked again, but something else clouded his expression. “Hold that thought, beautiful, but don’t be surprised if you change your mind.”

She tilted her head, not sure she’d heard him right. “What?”

“Nothing.” He pulled his hand from hers. “Go on.”

When she focused on the half-open door, a knot of dread tightened at the center of her chest. She blew out a slow breath. Twisted her fingers together. Cleared her throat.

But she couldn’t get her feet to move.

“You don’t have to do this tonight,” Brewmaster said behind her. “You could come back in the morning.”

She shook her head. “Better to just get it over with.”

With determined focus, she approached the door and paused on the threshold. That’s when the stench hit her. Stale alcohol. Corroding wood. Mold. She pressed one hand to the doorjamb and covered her nose and mouth with the other, forcing her feet to take two more steps into the bar.

One sweep of the main seating area and the knot in her gut tightened. Everything was so familiar, yet not. The bar had always been as grungy as the customers it attracted, but now it looked decrepit. The ceiling bowed in places; the floor sagged in others. Even the walls seemed cockeyed.

Once her mother had left them, her father had lost all interest in keeping up the bar or their home. And Delaney could tell by looking at the state of the bar how far her father had fallen between the time she’d left town and the time he’d died.

An unexpected pang of sadness curled in the pit of her stomach, and seemed to twist the top off a container holding all the painful, heartbreaking memories from her childhood.

Suddenly she was grateful she wasn’t alone, and she glanced back, half expecting to find the handsome stranger gone. But he stood right there, his expression pensive. He didn’t say anything, but she felt his support. And it helped.

On a deep breath, she faced forward again and moved into the space. Along the bar, bottles of liquor still lined the mirrored wall in a haphazard mishmash. Tables still bore the remnants of empty beer bottles and shot glasses, chairs stood askew, and peanut shells littered the floor, as if aliens had sucked every inhabitant into their spaceship and vanished.

The initial stench of the place seemed to fade with fresh air, and she lowered her hand from her face, venturing a little deeper, searching the haphazard light and shadows.

Her gaze held on the wood. Far more worn than the last time she’d seen it. And as if her eyes were drawn by a magnet, she stared at the spot where Ian had died. To where his blood had soaked the wooden floorboards. Floorboards that had clearly been replaced with newer wood that seemed to mark the spot like the stain her father had tried to remove.

All the memories flooded back at once, filling her head and jumbling her thoughts. All the guilt and shame she’d harbored all these years rushed back, squeezing her guts until they knotted. The flood of regret pushed her feet forward until she stood in the same place she’d dropped to her knees beside Ian that night. The same place she’d thrown her body over him to stop the violence.

But she’d been too late.

Her lousy reputation and even lousier choice in men had cost Ian his life.

“Hold on...” Brewmaster’s voice startled her. “Watch where you’re?—”

Delaney turned toward him. The floor creaked and groaned, then gave with a loud crack. She gasped and dropped with the floor, then pitched sideways. She threw her hands out to break her fall, but hit a solid, warm body instead of the floor.

“Whoa, shit...” Brewmaster’s hold kept her from falling completely through, but she was already halfway there, one leg still dangling among splintered wood. “I should have known better.”

“Me, too. I’m obviously not as stable on these heels as I’d like to think.”

Her hands curled into his shirt. And while she should have been worried about her leg and the decaying state of the century-old building, all her attention focused on the feel of his body—warm and hard, the smell of his skin—spicy and male. He was just what she needed to distract herself from the ugly guilt she’d been running from for years.

He shifted his grasp, wrapping one arm around her waist. “Are you hurt?”

Man, he felt so good pressed against her. The only thing that hurt was not going after what she wanted right here and now and living up to her previous reputation here in Wildwood. “I didn’t need that leg. I have another one.”

His huff of laughter warmed her temple. “Okay, hold still.”

“Says the human who’s never worn three-inch heels.”

“How would you know?”

“Oooh, you get more interesting by the minute.”

He eased into a crouch, and she balanced on one heel, bracing one hand on his shoulder, the other on his back—both were heavily muscled. Another zing of attraction bubbled through her blood.

“Hold on to me.” He wrapped those strong arms around her and pulled her off her feet. A squeak of surprise popped from her throat, and she braced herself on his shoulders as he took slow, measured steps back to the door. “We don’t need any more accidents.”

When he finally lowered her to the porch, they both sighed.

“Oh my God.” She released her hold on his shoulders and rested them against his chest, but she forced her mind out of the gutter as she gathered the will to step away from him. “I should never have tried this. I didn’t want to come, and I don’t want to stay. I just wanted to get this over with. I want this whole goddamned place gone.”

“Hold that thought, and everything else will fall into place.” Instead of letting her go, his hands moved gently up her back, sliding heat and silk across her skin and making her stomach float. “You’re good. I’ve got you.”

Suddenly she wasn’t quite sure where they stood. Somewhere past flirtation, yet still strangers. “I...um, really appreciate?—”

One of his hands rose to her chin, lifting it until her eyes met his. Only he wasn’t looking her in the eye. His gaze was on her mouth. “You can thank me with a kiss.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He did what she would have expected from a man who exuded his level of charisma and simply lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Still, surprise fluttered beneath her ribs. Thoughts pinged around her skull. Then his lips moved over hers, and everything but the feel of his mouth vanished.

He pulled away just enough to break the kiss, but instantly came back for another, this one a sampling of her upper lip. She let her eyes slide closed, and a sexy sound ebbed from his throat.

The hand at her chin moved to her jaw. The arm at her waist drew her into his body. His head tilted, his mouth opened, and when he kissed her again, the hunger in his hum transitioned to the kiss.

A shock of pleasure sang down her spine, raising the sting of lust low in her belly. His hand slid into her hair, cupping her head as he took the kiss deeper, touching his tongue to hers.

The tang of his excellent beer lingered in his mouth, along with spice and fruit, heat and passion. He tested her acceptance of his lick, stroking her tongue tentatively, gently at first. By the tension stringing his body tight, by the ridged line of his erection indenting her lower belly, Delaney knew just how much he was holding back.

And true to her old bad-girl Wildwood ways, she was already scheming how to get this man into bed after one kiss, because the way he licked her made her wet. The way he moaned into her mouth made her ache. And the way his hips pushed into hers nearly made her whimper.

She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and stretch her body along his, but he had her arms trapped low. All she could do was curl the fabric of his shirt into fists.

With a growl, he pulled out of the kiss and drew air. “You have no idea how many times,” he said, breathing hard, “I’ve fantasized about kissing you.”

She looked up at him, way too tall without her shoes on. She’d have to climb him to reach his mouth again. Instead she slipped a hand between them and fisted the front of his shirt.

“Look at me.” She waited for his dazed eyes to stop skimming her face and hold on her eyes. “Tell me again. Are you married?”

His brow pulled in confusion. “No.”

She searched his eyes and found an open sincerity that quelled nerves lingering from the recent past. “Good.” She breathed the word in relief and pulled on his shirt. “Come down here, and I’ll do my best to exceed all your fantasies.”

Lust wiped away all confusion in his eyes, and she held his hot gaze right up until she pulled him into the kiss. Then she released his shirt, slid her hand around the back of his neck, and opened to him with a needy little sigh that made men crazy.

It worked like a charm. The Brewmaster dove into the kiss with the passion of a deprived lover, and Delaney relished the desire building low in her body.

Oh, it had been too long since she’d felt this kind of want bubbling inside her. It was like a drug. A drug that gave the most exquisite high. And this man was an artist when it came to crafting desire—from the way he held her to the way he moved his tongue to the sounds he made.

And based on the way he kissed, Delaney would bet her entire savings he would be a blockbuster between the sheets.

His mouth had grown aggressive, his tongue stronger, hungrier, needier. Their moans blended into a chorus of pleasure. She drank in the feel of his full lips and warm, skilled tongue. Loved the inventive way he explored her mouth, licking her lips, sucking them, sampling them like a dessert.

Tingling heat radiated through her body. She needed to get this guy horizontal and naked and alone for a few hours.

She drew out of the kiss just enough to say, “Let’s skip the drink and go back to your place.” When his eyes met hers, she finished her thought. “I’m way more interested in seeing everything I’m feeling under all these clothes.”

He searched her eyes for a long second before a smile broke out across his face, and a low, husky laugh sounded in his throat. But then he kissed her again with so much heat, so much hunger, he stole the air right out of her lungs.

Lights flashed across her closed lids, startling them both.

“Your aunt.” He released her and stepped back so quickly she swayed.

Her aunt’s Cadillac ATS turned in next to Delaney’s Jeep Laredo before she even caught her breath. Her sexy stud stuffed his hands into his front pockets and sidled toward the end of the porch like a guilty kid.

“Hey, relax.” She laughed the words quietly. “We’re adults, and Phoebe’s cool.”

“Delaney, honey,” her aunt called from the open window as she shut off the engine. “How long have you had your lights on like that? You’re going to drain your battery.”

Delaney wished her aunt had made her wait longer, giving her the chance to get the Brewmaster a little hotter, because by the look on his face, she was pretty sure her idea of getting lucky tonight was dead.

But she’d be in town a couple of days. Maybe...

“I didn’t get your—” she started.

“I live near Patterson’s,” he said, quickly, quietly. “If you haven’t changed your mind after you talk to Phoebe, I’ll be there for a while tonight.”

She pulled in a breath with so many questions rolling around her head, she wasn’t sure which to ask first. But her aunt’s joy-filled singsong voice reached them as she stood from the car and started toward the porch.

“Wait ’til you see what I won tonight. You’ll forget all about waiting when you’re a couple of glasses into this beauty.”

Phoebe’s silver hair was down, just touching her shoulders, flowing much the way Delaney’s did. She wore cropped white pants, sandals adorned in crystals, and a peasant-style charcoal blouse.

Carrying a bottle of wine, she glanced up as she reached the stairs, her pretty face alight with a grin. Phoebe had just visited Delaney on a job site in Portland six months before, yet she looked even younger and more vibrant tonight.

Her gaze skipped from Delaney to Brewmaster. “Well, hello, Ethan. You must be brewing tonight.”

“Hi, Phoebe.”

Delaney wasn’t surprised Phoebe knew him. She knew everyone—as in everyone—in town, old-timers, more recent residents, even frequent tourists. Delaney scanned the old-timers section of names in her memory while searching his face for familiarity. Ethan. Ethan. Ethan. Nope. Still couldn’t place him. But she really loved his name.

Phoebe came toward Delaney and wrapped her in a one-armed hug, then leaned away to display her prize. “Francis Ford Coppola Syrah from his reserve collection. This will turn your day around, sweetheart.” She offered Ethan the same warm, beautiful smile. “I hope you’ll help us with this.”

So her aunt liked him. That was good, right?

“Thanks, but I’ve already tasted a little too much of my own brew, and I’ve still got some things to do tonight. I’ll let you two talk. Good to see you, Phoebe. Welcome home, Delaney.”

And he disappeared into the darkness.

“Sweetheart, you look gorgeous.” Phoebe climbed the rickety steps, took one of Delaney’s hands, and squeezed. “Are you sure you’re not going to get one of those jobs? You always shine in interviews.”

Her mind spun away from Ethan and tugged toward the ugly monster of a problem that had been clinging to her for weeks. “Evidently experience doesn’t sparkle the same way a college degree does these days. I’m up against candidates with business, construction, and architecture degrees.”

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

Delaney shrugged and crossed her arms tight. “Their loss. Nothing learned in a classroom prepares someone for the shit I deal with—correction, dealt with—on a daily basis. They’re going to lose a lot of money before they figure that out.”

Phoebe gave her another hug and headed back to the cars to get something while Delaney’s mind turned from the lost job opportunities back to Ethan.

She really shouldn’t meet him later. At least that’s what her common sense was telling her. But her body and soul felt as dry as the cracked desert floor and needed what Ethan offered.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and moaned softly at the hint of him there. She imagined his lips and tongue tasting other parts of her body the same way they’d sampled her mouth...

Delaney gave herself a mental slap. Sex and men in Wildwood should absolutely never come into the same thought bubble. Yet there they were, comingling again.

She was about to ask Phoebe more about Ethan when her aunt stepped onto the porch holding the wine and two plastic glasses in one hand and a Maglite in the other. “Let’s break this open. I think we both deserve it.”

She started toward the bar’s front door with the heavy-duty flashlight spreading halogen in a ten-foot radius, lighting up the cracked, worn wood.

“Be careful.” Delaney caught her aunt’s arm just as she stepped over the threshold. “It’s not safe?—”

“That’s why I asked you to wait for me. I have the weak spots mapped out. Just step where I step.”

She pulled from Delaney’s grasp, wandered into the bar with carefully placed footsteps, then upended the Maglite on one of the bar stools. Light ricocheted off the ceiling, giving Delaney a better overall view of the space, where a smattering of fluorescent sticky notes dotted the floor.

“Stay away from the marked spots,” Phoebe said, “and you’ll be fine.”

Delaney took careful steps, testing each before she trusted the old wood with her full weight while Phoebe uncovered a corkscrew behind the bar. The pop of the wine’s cork echoed through the bar.

Delaney was still dodging sticky notes and contemplating the pros and cons of meeting up with Ethan when Phoebe said, “So, these notices the city’s been sending you for the last year. Have you read them, or did you just see Wildwood in the return address and drop them in the round file?”

She finally reached the bar. “What?”

Phoebe passed a cup of wine to Delaney, leaving a trail through the thick dust layer covering the old wood, then picked up her own. “The planning department said they’ve sent notices for a year, but that you never responded. Neither did your sisters.”

Irritation pushed Ethan a little further from her mind. “There were two notices over the last year, and only one of those related to the building code violations. And if Avery or Chloe had answered the city, I’d be pissed, because neither has responded to me in years.”

She exhaled heavily and leaned against a stool, suddenly exhausted. Propping her elbow on the bar, Delaney looked around again, and this time she saw all the historical details that had enchanted her once upon a time—the high coved ceilings, the wide window trim, the decorative glass, the thick baseboards. And a new sense of loss slid in, pulling her mood down several notches.

“I guess there’s no point in holding on to it anymore. It’s obvious neither Avery nor Chloe is interested in taking it over and starting their own business like I’d always hoped. Now we just have to let the clock run out and put all this ugliness behind us. Move on. Start fresh. A blessing, really.”

“Always so positive—that’s what I love about you.” Phoebe set her wine on the bar and met Delaney’s gaze with a furrow of curiosity between her brows. “I can’t think of anyone who’d consider a demolition bill a blessing. You must have a hell of a lot more cash stashed away than I thought.”

A trickle of dread opened at the back of Delaney’s neck and carved a winding path toward her belly. It was that dark, sickening kind of dread that signaled her subconscious was flashing neon warning signs. The kind of dread that came just before her life tipped on its axis and she found herself hanging by her fingernails.

“What do you mean?”

“The demolition bill—if you decide to take the sitting-back-and-watching-the-world-go-by route—won’t be cheap. But I’m sure you know all about that.”

“There is no other route. And I don’t know what you mean I ‘know all about that.’ I know enough about demolition to get things out of my way so I can rebuild them. The corporation attorneys deal with all the legal bullshit. What demolition bill are you talking about?”

Phoebe gave her one of those I-don’t-quite-believe-you looks. “The law gives the city the right to take over control of a property when its owner fails to comply with local and state laws. By disregarding the notices and failing to correct the building code violations here, you’ve given the city the right to make decisions for you.”

“Fine. Whatever. I’m over trying to hold on to this in hopes of being able to give Avery or Chloe something to fall back on. I can’t make either of them take advantage of an opportunity, and, honestly, I can’t say I blame them. This place is obviously more work than it’s worth. The city can turn this place into a circus for all I care.”

“You should care,” Phoebe said, serious. “Because the law also says that the owner is responsible for all fees incurred by the city in the act of managing the property.”

“There are no outstanding fees. The property’s paid for. I’ve kept all the bills and taxes up-to-date with my own money—all for Avery and Chloe.”

“You may have obeyed some laws but not all the laws, which you would have known if you’d opened the letters from the city.”

“I did open the letters. They were notices that this place was a pile of shit, which wasn’t exactly news. I got the condemnation warning the same day I lost my job, so I haven’t exactly had time to deal with it. And I don’t have much of a reason to deal with it either. The only reason I didn’t let the city take over the property sooner was so Avery and Chloe had something to come back to, which in hindsight is a joke on me, isn’t it?”

Phoebe heaved a sigh. “Well, sweetheart, I’m sorry to say this is no joke. And you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with it.”

Delaney took a deep breath, forced her mind out of personal mode and into professional mode. She had to just treat this like any other problem that popped up on the job site, day in and day out. Get the facts, figure out her options, and deal with it.

Delaney inhaled to clear her head. “How much are we talking?”

Phoebe’s brows shot up. “Have you got a cool hundred grand to throw away?”

Delaney’s mind slipped right out of professional mode. All thoughts of meeting Ethan vanished, and her plan of asking Phoebe more about him evaporated with them.

Her hand dropped from her head and hit her thigh, and the slap echoed around the room. She choked out a sound of shock. “How could it possibly cost?—”

“The going rate for business demolition is fifteen dollars a square foot. After adding in the distillery out back, hauling, and disposal, that’s what you’ve got. If you let the city choose the company and bill you, you should budget for another twenty-five grand.”

“Holy shit . . .”

Delaney had barely caught her breath when Phoebe continued.

“We both know Avery and Chloe have nothing. Avery’s in the middle of a divorce and looking at filing bankruptcy. I haven’t talked to Chloe in eight months and have no idea what she’s doing or where she’s living. Even if the city could track her down, you know Chloe—she’s never been able to hold on to money.”

“Avery’s getting divorced?” Delaney’s stomach churned. How much grief could one family take? “I thought you said she and David were going to therapy.”

“Focus on the bar, Delaney. It’s all you can control now. And when the city comes after you for the money, Avery and Chloe won’t be able to help.”

“Why me? We’re all owners.”

“Because they have nothing. You have perfect credit the city can ruin. You have money in the bank they can siphon. And if you decide to go back to work for someone else, soon enough you’ll have a wage they can garnish.”

“Decide to go back to work? You say that like I have a choice. I don’t.” She pushed from the stool. “Every day I’m not making money, it’s seeping out of my savings. This can’t be legal. Don’t you know someone who can help?”

“Actually, I do.” Phoebe finished her wine and met Delaney’s gaze directly. “You can help yourself, Delaney.”

“I don’t know what you’re?—”

“You can take your experience renovating other bars and renovate this one.”

Delaney dropped back to the stool, shaking her head. “I don’t want to have anything to do with this place, let alone renovate it. I need to focus on finding another job. And I want what I had. I want what was taken from me. I loved that damn job. Loved going to work every day. I made good money and had a great crew. I want that back, dammit. And it’s obviously going to be harder to find than I thought.

“I may have to start looking beyond the West Coast, and I can’t just put my job hunt on hold and throw everything I have into this piece of shit. How could you even suggest...after all we suffered...”

Anger welled inside her like a geyser, but Delaney closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, doing all she could not to lash out at the messenger.

Phoebe had relocated to Wildwood when Delaney was a sullen teen, a few years after her mother had deserted the family for a tile contractor her father had been using in one of the bar’s many remodels. In too many ways to count, Phoebe had been there for her and her sisters when their alcoholic father was either drunk or passed out.

But after what Delaney had been through the last few months, she couldn’t do another catastrophe. “No, Phoebe. Just, goddammit, no.”

Phoebe held up both hands in surrender, but her expression was sad. Defeated. A little heartbroken. “Fine. It’s your choice, just like holding on to it instead of selling it as soon as Joe died was your choice. Just like looking at this as a burden instead of an opportunity is your choice.

“God knows I’ve never been able to force you to do anything. I was hoping that given what happened at that job you loved so much, you’d be ready to take control of your own future. That’s what this is—an opportunity to call the shots, to be independent, to invest in yourself for a change.

“Or if you’re serious about helping Avery and Chloe the way you’ve talked about for years, this could be your chance to put actions behind your words, use your guilt as fuel to drive you, and finally wipe out your regret over leaving them too soon.”

Delaney’s head pounded, and she pressed her fingers to closed lids trying to ease the pain. She’d been back in town for only a couple of hours, and all the hurt and guilt that had run her out of town a decade ago had already clawed their way back into her heart.

“But because you’re obviously looking at this emotionally instead of logically,” Phoebe said, “I’ll just line out your choices.

“Choice one: demolish and dispose of the bar; then sell the land. Land here is sitting on the market up to two years. If you’re lucky, you may break even or turn a ten percent profit. In the meantime, you’ll be broke and, probably, in debt.”

Delaney’s chest tightened up.

“Choice two: renovate; then sell. Unlike land, commercial buildings and businesses are selling fast and bringing returns of between three hundred and eight hundred percent on investment.

“I’ve compared similar properties in the county, and I’d say you’re sitting on one hell of a profit. You have the skill and experience needed to renovate this bar. Avery and Chloe don’t, which may be why they’ve never come back to take it over.

“But if Avery and Chloe still don’t want to help, you can pay them their part of the prerenovated value after you sell and walk away with all the profit. Or you can share the profit to ease the guilt you’ve carried over leaving them too soon. I want you to think about living the rest of your life with that burden off your back.

“Choice three: do nothing. The city will demolish and dispose of the bar, take every penny they can find in your name, and file a judgment against you for the balance. Your credit will be ruined, which, with the way preemployment screenings include credit checks nowadays, will make it difficult to find any job, let alone a good job. And even if you did find a job, a lot of what you earned would be taken to pay the outstanding judgment until it was paid in full.”

Delaney’s world crumbled a little more. She closed her eyes with a soft, “Oh my God.”

“If you choose option one or three, all I can offer is my undying love and a shoulder to cry on. If you choose option two, I can offer you a good pair of hands, a strong back, a creative mind, and financial support as an investor looking for a quick return on the renovation and sale of a viable business opportunity in an upscale tourist community.”

Phoebe crouched, disappearing behind the bar for a moment. In the silence the beat of Delaney’s heart filled her ears while her brain throbbed to the same rhythm. Her mind was swamped. Absolutely overwhelmed. Utterly short-circuited.

She closed her eyes and rubbed them again, resting her head in her hands. “All I want is for this place to go away. I just want to get on with my life. Find another job. Go back to work.”

“Unfortunately, you can’t run from your past forever.”

Phoebe reappeared with a roll of blueprints and a combined look of pity and compassion. “I thought these might help you make your decision.”

She slid the blueprints across the bar, returned to Delaney, and hugged her. “You used to love this place when you were a little girl. And I know you can still see the diamond despite the rough, or you wouldn’t have done as well for yourself as you have.”

She released her and stepped back. “I’ll see you at home. The guest room is all ready for you. I’ll leave the front door open.”

Delaney didn’t move for a long time. Long after Phoebe’s footsteps had left the bar. Long after her car had rolled down the gravel drive.

She pulled out her phone and checked the time. It was way too late to be calling the East Coast, but maybe Avery would actually answer if Delaney called now. Dialing her number, Delaney closed her eyes and listened to the phone ring.

“Come on, Avery,” she murmured, needing to hear her sister’s voice. “Pick up.”

But just like always, Avery’s answering machine clicked on, and an irrational wave of sadness pushed through Delaney’s chest.

When the machine beeped, Delaney said, “Hey, Avery. You’ll never guess where I am.” She gave Avery a very high-level overview, polishing up reality enough not to scare her sister into continuing to avoid her calls.

Then ended the conversation with, “I know this is probably a bad time, but I’ve been keeping the business license on this place current in case you or Chloe ever decided you wanted to take it over and make something out of it. Let me know if you’re interested. Otherwise, I guess I’ll have to make the decision on what to do with this place on my own.”

She paused, cleared the emotion from her voice, and managed an, “I love you” before she disconnected.

And finally, with murky resentment swimming in her veins, and heartache filling her chest, she unrolled the blueprints.