Chapter 1
West
My three chattery reasons for living, my daughters—Scarlet, Sienna, and Nova—were even more animated than usual this morning as they ate their breakfast.
Maybe it was because today was the first day of summer break, and their favorite babysitter, seventeen-year-old Allison, would be their full-time companion for the next two and a half months.
Maybe they were feeding off my emotional state. I tried to hide it, but this was a big day for me too. I couldn’t deny I was shaky inside with exhilaration and determination.
“Can we go swimming every day, Allie?” four-year-old Nova asked.
“We’ll go swimming a lot if you want to,” the babysitter said, taking the fourth chair at the table.
Allison had shown up right on time at seven thirty, her eyes bright and eager for her first day of her summer job. I trusted Allison. She was the most responsible seventeen-year-old I’d ever met and loved my girls. But this was new. Full-time was a lot. My girls were a lot.
“One day at a time, Nova,” I told my youngest as I filled my travel mug with coffee.
“I want to do all…the…things!” she said in a burst of exuberance that almost always made me grin.
“Right now the thing you need to do is eat your breakfast,” I told her, dumping ice cubes into my five-gallon water cooler I took to the jobsite every day, wherever we were working.
“I’m done, but Sienna’s not,” Nova said.
I glanced over my shoulder. Nova’s and Scarlet’s plates were indeed empty. Sienna’s had a half-eaten piece of toast and both her sausage links, which were pushed to the farthest side of her plate.
“What’s wrong with your food, Sienna?” I asked.
“Sausage is just…ew, Daddy,” Sienna said, wrinkling her nose.
“You ate it yesterday,” I said.
She stared at her plate, nostrils flaring, head shaking, as her sisters looked on.
“It’s just sausage, Si-Si,” Nova preached.
Sienna picked up her toast instead and took a dainty bite.
“I’ll take your sausage,” Scarlet, Sienna’s fraternal twin, offered enthusiastically.
Sienna shoved her plate to her sister and continued to eat her toast.
I shrugged and considered it settled, then glanced at the time. Twenty till eight. Time for me to boogie. I turned to Allison.
“There’s plenty in the fridge for lunch for all of you. If you go to the beach, don’t forget the arm floats for Nova.”
“A Novel Place is having story time at eleven, so I thought I’d take them,” Allison said, and I swear if I could double her wages, I would.
“They’ll love it,” I said. I took my wallet out and gave her a couple of bills when the girls weren’t looking. “Get them each one book,” I told her quietly.
Money was tight, as usual, but books were one thing I stretched to make work.
Money would be less tight if I landed Davis Morten’s position at work.
My phone buzzed with a text message. I pulled it out of my pocket to see my boss’s name.
Levi: Running late. Plumbing emergency at my mom’s. Start without me.
West: I got it covered. Take care of your mom.
Levi: You sure? You good with this?
West: 100% sure.
“I gotta roll,” I told Allison and my girls. “Love you, squirrels,” I said to my daughters, rounding the kitchen table and kissing each in turn.
“Love you, Daddy!” they all said.
I grabbed my lunch from the fridge, my day’s worth of beverages, and my work bag.
“Be good for Allison,” I called on my way out the door. “Allison, call if you need anything.”
“We’ll be fine,” the babysitter assured me.
I headed out into the morning sunshine. The weather was already promising to be sweltering by afternoon.
I was thankful to be starting a weeks-long indoor project.
A cush job, as Nick Carlisle, the lead of the other crew and my competition for Davis’s job, had pointed out last week.
I’d happily take it, as he was overseeing a boathouse, deck, and gazebo build.
I climbed into my SUV, my mind switching from little-girl mode to work.
Levi Dawson, the owner and head contractor, had turned things upside down at work last week, or rather Davis’s retirement announcement had.
Levi’s method of replacing the fifty-something workhorse was smart as hell.
He’d pitted me versus Nick Carlisle, as we had seniority and the most experience.
For the next two to three months, we’d each lead a crew on separate projects.
At the end of the summer, he’d make one of us the foreman directly under him for good.
That was going to be me if I had anything to say about it.
The project I was heading up would likely take close to two months, maybe more, depending on any supply delays. Apparently it was a big-ass project, and the homeowner was paying big-ass bucks to have it squeezed into a cancellation slot.
I checked the address for the job and noted it was on Honeysuckle Road, out by my buddy Max’s house, if I wasn’t mistaken. I pointed the SUV that way.
As Levi was the one to meet with potential clients and bid out projects, I didn’t know much about this one other than what the plans told me.
It was a main floor gut of a big house directly on the shore.
That tracked with being a neighbor of Max, who’d played in the NFL a few years back and had the lakeside house to show for it.
Since Levi had planned to meet the homeowner and me first thing this morning to go over the project in detail, I didn’t even know the homeowner’s first name.
She was apparently new to town, obviously had some cash, and I couldn’t help but picture a hoity-toity widow in her sixties.
None of that mattered to me. I just hoped she was easygoing, not a clientzilla, because I intended to rock the hell out of the project.
As I drove through downtown Dragonfly Lake, a text message sounded through the SUV’s Bluetooth system. My ex-wife’s name popped up on the display.
“Happy fucking Monday,” I muttered to myself.
I didn’t hear from Flora often, which pissed me off on the girls’ behalf but was a blessing as far as my peace level was concerned. There was nothing peaceful about Flora.
I had the Bluetooth system read her message to me.
Flora: We’ll be in the area tomorrow. Want to take the girls to an early dinner before Gil’s show. Can we pick them up at three?
“God dammit.” I pounded the steering wheel. “Three isn’t fucking dinner; it’s the middle of the afternoon.” The girls would need a fourth meal before bedtime if they ate at three.
Flora’s appearances were few and far between. As much as I questioned whether she was a positive part of the girls’ lives, she was their mother. I kept hoping she’d get her shit and her priorities together and be someone they could look up to, but that seemed to be more and more of a pipe dream.
I dictated my response.
West: Do I have a choice?
Flora: Don’t be like that.
West: Honest question. Do I have a choice between three tomorrow or maybe you could fit them in the next day and spend more time with them?
Flora: We have to be in Omaha the next day.
Of course they did.
In other words, my only choice was either to let the girls spend a tiny slot of time with their mom or make them miss out altogether.
It was a shitty choice, but when I’d gotten full-time custody, I’d agreed Flora could visit her daughters whenever she wanted to.
Back then, I’d hoped she’d be a regular presence in their lives instead of a special event whenever she and her guitarist boyfriend happened to be close enough to stop by for a few minutes.
West: I’ll be working at three.
Flora: I can get them at daycare.
West: They have a full-time babysitter at our place. Where do you plan to take them?
Flora: Gil wants Dragonfly Diner. We’ll go there.
I clenched my back teeth together. She put her boyfriend’s desires over our girls’. Every. Single. Time.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but she continually disappointed me.
That was Flora though. She’d been fun when we first met in the army.
She’d gotten pregnant before we’d even thought whether we could make it long-term, but did that stop us from trying?
Hell no. If I had a dollar for every bad decision I’d made where relationships were concerned, I could retire.
West: Pick them up at my place. Have them home by five.
Flora: We’ll be done before that. Gil needs to be in Nashville by six.
Fucking fantastic.
I didn’t respond. I had nothing else to say, at least nothing civil or productive.
I drove by Max’s house and verified his house number was two lots down from my target.
When I spotted the right numbers on a mailbox, my brows went up. Ms. Holiday’s house was cottage-style, but that term was misleading because cottage made you think small. There was nothing small about this place.
The exterior was white siding with gray stonework. The structure was an L-shape, one side a connected three-car garage with a bonus room above it, complete with a cupola. On the garage.
Definitely seven figures, I thought as I pulled up along the curb and killed the engine. I could see why Levi claimed this was gonna be a showpiece.
As I climbed out of the truck, I got another text message.
Flora: Tell the girls I’ll see them tomorrow.
“Go to hell,” I said under my breath, my irritation flooding right back in. Flora had that effect on me.
I pulled my tool belt out and put it on, catching myself in a scowl.
The bitch of it was, while Flora annoyed me with everything out of her mouth—or her fingertips in this case—I was more pissed at myself when it came to her. She was Exhibit A in the case of me rushing in with a woman.
When we’d met, we’d been all about lust and cutting loose. We’d had fun together. Just before I was discharged, we found out she was three months pregnant. Flora’s discharge was two months after mine.
I’d known she wasn’t ready to settle down, but I also knew everything changed when babies came into the mix. I convinced her to give us a chance and move to Dragonfly Lake with me.
Looking back, I could see she was never going to be content in a small town. She likely wouldn’t be happy in a big city either. What Flora apparently preferred was roaming, living on the road, and avoiding responsibility.
I should’ve seen that early on. When we’d started having problems, before the twins were even born, I should’ve faced that and let her go.
Instead we were on and off for years, long enough for Nova to be conceived.
My youngest daughter was the sole reason I couldn’t regret being a stubborn dumbass who didn’t know when to throw in the towel.
As I walked up the driveway, I fought to shove my irritation away. This job was important. My chance to prove myself. To prove that, while I was shit at relationships, I had value when it came to my career.
I rang the doorbell and eventually heard someone approaching inside. I stood taller and forced my mind away from my ex, toward exceeding expectations on this project.
When the door opened and I laid eyes on the client, my heart skipped a beat.
Holy shit balls.
Ms. Holiday was not a sixty-year-old widow.
I’d seen this woman before. I’d noticed her at Chance and Rowan’s party a couple of weeks ago before I’d had to run out for a kid emergency. How the hell could I not notice her?
She was beautiful, with piercing blue eyes beneath long lashes, unadorned lips that curved into a sexy-without-trying smile, and an air about her that spoke of money and class, in spite of her casual outfit of cutoff denim shorts that revealed gorgeous legs, a sleeveless top with a halter neckline that showed off sexy, delicate shoulders, and blinged-out flip-flops my daughters would drool over.
Ah, hell.
I cleared my throat and felt like an old-time cartoon character with stars dancing around my head but fuck that.
“Morning,” I said. “I’m West Aldridge from Dawson Construction.”
“I know.” Her smile turned knowing in a way that made my blood race. She held out her delicate-looking hand and surprised me with the firmness of her shake when I took it. “I’m Presley Holiday.”
My blood raced like it was not supposed to race on a job. Or preferably ever.
“Come on in, West.”
I followed her inside, cussing inwardly and steeling myself against the effect this woman had on me in the first five seconds of meeting her.