No Turning Back (6 page)

Chapter Six

“What did you just say?” Beck’s head shot up as he poured his coffee the next morning.

The reaction said it all. It’s not like Declan didn’t know meeting with Leah again was a mistake. He’d spent a restless night thinking about her and not wanting to. He finally got out of bed just after five, half ticked off that he imagined what she looked like under her brightly colored shirts every time he closed his eyes.

But he had bigger problems at the moment. Like a potential run to the hospital for a second degree burn. He nodded at the pot in Beck’s hand and the coffee filled right to the rim. “Want to watch what you’re doing there?”

Beck jumped as the coffee sloshed over the side. “Shit.”

“Exactly.”

He slammed the pot on the square kitchen island hard enough to shatter the glass. It was a miracle the thing stayed in one piece. With his palms braced against the wood block, Beck eyed Declan where he sat on the stool on the other side. “Repeat your comment about the Baron woman.”

No thanks
. “Leah and it doesn’t matter.”

“You brought it up.” Beck stood up again. “So, start at the beginning and explain exactly when you lost your mind. It will make the paperwork easier for when I put you away, and right now that’s tempting.”

Since Beck had slipped into interrogator lawyer mode, Declan gave up on changing the topic. “I said I have a meeting with Leah tonight.”

“A date, like we talked about last night?”

“No, this is business.”

“But you knew about this last night when we talked.”

Declan wanted to ignore that part, so he did. “We’re getting off track. This is a meeting, not a date.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

Declan turned his phone end over end, tapping it against the wood. “Pure male idiocy, as far as I can tell.”

“I’m saying it’s a date.”

“I don’t care what you call it.”

“Just so I know, do you always get a hard-on for women who hate you?” Beck snapped the towel off the faucet behind him and switched to clean-up, wiping up the spill and dropping the dirty towel in a ball on the edge of the island in one continuous move. “Because there’s probably medication for that.”

Other than a good kick in the ass as a reminder to stay away from Leah, Declan didn’t know what he needed. “She wants us to make an offer to buy us out.”

“Since when?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Interesting how you forgot to mention that–all of this, actually–yesterday.”

“I was still thinking it through.” Not a total lie, in Declan’s view.

“Uh-huh. Did she give you a number?”

“Not yet.”

“Is that what you two were talking about the other night in the yard, or was this during some other meeting I don’t know about?” Beck picked up his mug and stared at Declan over the rim.

The punch of surprise had Declan juggling the phone until it bounced off his palm and clanked against the counter. “Whoa.”

“Smooth.”

“You saw that talk?” He had to swallow twice to get the words out.

Beck leaned against the farmhouse sink. “And the stupid grin on your face when you came back inside. I thought about asking for details then decided I didn’t want to know. Wanted to see if you’d tell me, which you didn’t. Nice brotherly trust there, by the way.”

Declan pushed the cell away to keep from spinning it again. Last thing he needed was a broken phone. “I told her we weren’t interested in a buyout—”

“Have we established that?”

“—but I wanted to hear her out. She might make an offer we can’t refuse.”

“Like letting you sleep with her while we negotiate?”

Damn, his baby brother didn’t mince his words, something that started long before law school. Growing up he’d been the first one to jump in and steer everyone toward the answer he wanted. Still, a little tact wouldn’t be a bad thing.

“She doesn’t strike me as the sex-for-property type.” And Declan refused to think about how tempting the idea was and what a dick it made him to even consider the possibility.

“Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But I . . .”

A clicking sound filled the kitchen right before the knob turned and the back door to Beck’s right swung open. A young woman walked in, carrying a bucket and humming. If she wandered into the wrong house, she hid the mistake well. Didn’t even scream. She was too busy acting like she belonged there.

Petite with long wavy brown-closing-in-on-black hair and the biggest eyes he’d ever seen. They were the color of whiskey and highlighted her pretty face. And her slim jeans weren’t doing anything to cover her shape.

Beck put his mug on the edge of the island and knocked it over, ignoring the liquid as it raced across the counter and dribbled onto the floor. Declan would have laughed at his brother’s uncharacteristic fumbling if he knew what the hell was going on with the women in this town. They all looked good and they all trespassed.

Until Declan figured out what their newest unwanted guest wanted, ribbing Beck would have to wait. But the poor guy did look like he’d been hit head-on by a bus. A hot, sexy brunette bus.

Declan finally found his voice. He didn’t even try to hide the surprise running through him at the way she walked right in, and the key in her hand. “Uh, hello?”

She shot them a huge smile. “Good morning.”

Not exactly the greeting he expected. “And you are?”

“The housekeeper.”

“What?” That’s all Beck got out before he returned to staring. A stare that did a bit more roaming than it should have under the circumstances.

She dumped the bucket on the floor and held out her hand. “Sophie Clarke.”

“Declan and Beck Hanover.” Declan pointed out who was who before giving her hand a quick shake.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“We’ve heard nothing about you.” Beck shook his head. When he glanced at Declan again, some of the haze over his blue eyes had cleared. “Did you know about this?”

“No clue.” And that wasn’t an exaggeration.

Declan was at a loss. Leah’s anger, he got. Beck’s skepticism about keeping the place, Declan understood. Seeing a twenty-something woman walk into his kitchen like her name was on the deed had him stuttering.

She clasped her hands together in front of her. “Is there a problem?”

“You mean other than not knowing who you are or what you’re really doing here?” When Beck frowned, Declan tried his delivery again but with a calmer tone this town. “Sophie, is it?”

“Yes.” She answered but her attention sure wasn’t on him. All her focus was on Beck and the brown puddle inching toward him. She pointed at the kitchen towel. “You might want to—”

Beck finally looked down right before he rested his hand in the spill. “Shit.”

“I can—”

When she took a step toward him, he held up a hand and stopped her. “I got it.”

Seeing his usually even-keeled brother stumbling around and sneaking secret glances at Sophie switched Declan’s confusion to amusement. Then he looked at Sophie a second time and saw the cleaning supplies in her bucket and the pieces fell apart all over again. “Give us an idea of who you are. Other than your name, I mean.”

“I help Nanette.” That was all Sophie said. As if that answered anything.

Declan was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with her. Like, escaped-from-somewhere wrong. “Our grandmother died three months ago.”

Sophie didn’t even blink but her smile turned sad. “I know. I’m very sorry.”

“And before that she didn’t have enough money to pay the mortgage, so how did she pay you?” Beck asked.

Sophie met his harsh tone with a scowl. “Why so many questions?”

The energy sparking off these two could light the house. Declan decided not to bring it up since Beck’s narrowed eyes suggested he was ready for battle and just looking to launch into a legal argument of some sort. That wouldn’t resolve anything, except sending Declan back to bed for a boredom nap.

He appealed to Sophie since she appeared slightly less irrational than Beck. “What exactly did you do for our grandmother?”

Sophie glanced at the bucket next to her sneakers. “Clean. She couldn’t do it by herself.”

Instead of backing down, Beck stepped up, closing the distance between them and getting very close to breaking right into her personal space. “I’m noticing you didn’t answer the question about the money.”

“Excuse me?” Her question came out in a kiss-my-ass tone Declan admired.

The tension left Beck’s face. In a flash, all anger vanished. “Clarke Industries.”

Declan wondered if the conversation could get any more confusing and doubted it. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“The checks.” Beck nodded. “Once per month but not for much.”

That fast, all the tension sucked out of the room. One minute the pressure was enough to pop Declan’s ears and blow the roof. The next, the two of them had returned to their respective corners.

“That’s me,” she said in a much softer voice.

“Do you live in your car or something?” Beck closed one eye as if he were pulling up a memory from some file in his mind. “The check was for fifty dollars. The house is three stories.”

The lines around her mouth eased and her face softened. “I actually helped out here more as a favor.”

The look could only be described as gooey. Declan never understood how women could muster that expression at just the right time in a conversation to throw a man off stride but they all did it. It was as if little girls took a class in male-confusion or something.

“Why?” he asked, ready for the conversation and quick glances between Beck and Sophie to end.

“Maybe we could finish this when he gets dressed.” Her gaze lingered on Beck this time.

For the first time, Declan realized this early-morning conversation didn’t have a required wardrobe. He wore sweats and a T-shirt, more because he’d planned to walk the grounds this morning than anything else. Beck, on the other hand, came downstairs in boxer briefs and a tee. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination, and unless Declan was misreading the situation, it caused the shock of pink on Sophie’s cheeks.

“She’s talking about you.” Declan said to Beck.

Beck looked down and when he lifted his head again a smile played on his lips. “I can hear fine in my underwear.”

That was about as subtle as being hit in the face with a brick. “Beck, come on. Use that big brain of yours.”

Sophie shifted so she faced Declan and gave Beck her back. “I liked Nanette. She was kind to me when I needed it. In return, I wanted to make her life a little easier. That’s all.”

But that didn’t explain everything, and with all the allegations about Charlie and his money floating around, Declan needed to know the truth. “Who’s been paying you since she died?”

“No one. I stopped coming around after a few weeks and only started again when I heard people were coming to work on the house.”

“But now you want a check, right?” Beck asked from over her shoulder.

Since Declan wasn’t in the mood for another interrogation and didn’t particularly like the idea of living in filth, he made a quick calculation and went with it. “I’ll pay you. We can figure out a reasonable rate and any overdue balance.”

“I’m happy to stay on.” She bent down to grab her bucket and when she straightened again her smile had returned. “But until you sell, I’ll do it at the old rate. It’s the least I can do.”

Just what he needed. One more person beating the sell-the-house drum. “Since we might not sell, we’ll work out other arrangements.”

Her smile faltered just as fast as it came. “What?”

“We might live here.”

“Oh . . . good.” She hesitated for a second as she got her sudden blinking problem under control. “That’s wonderful. This house needs life again.”

Damn strange reaction. About par for the course in Sweetwater, but still, this woman was not just a random housecleaner. She had some sort of connection to the house, and wasn’t that just another pain in the ass he didn’t need. “You can start on the third floor.”

She nodded and snuck one last look at Beck before disappearing through the doorway to the formal dining room. Neither brother said anything as her footsteps echoed through the quiet house. When her sneakers pounded against the stairs, Declan steeled his body for a new verbal battle with Beck.

It only took a second after the floor above their head creaked before he jumped in. “Now what are you doing? We don’t even know that woman.”

Declan had no fucking clue. He was operating on pure instinct here. That and the old adage about keeping your enemies closer.

He went to the sink and dumped his coffee cup in there before turning back to Beck. “You have a trust issue.”

“My reaction probably has something to do with having everyone in this town hate us. You’re not a little skeptical of having some woman show up on the doorstep proclaiming her wish to help? I’m guessing she wants something, like possibly our blood in a vial on her fireplace.”

They stood only a few feet apart now. Declan could see the lines of worry on Beck’s forehead. It couldn’t be normal for a guy his age to have those tension lines. Made Declan wonder about what else Beck might be dealing with and not saying.

“I’m thinking you should stop taking criminal clients. They’re making you paranoid.”

Beck leaned against the island and crossed one ankle over the other. “Just trying to be practical. The list of Charlie’s enemies is long.”

“But they’re not our enemies. We didn’t do anything.”

“Tell them that.”

Declan doubted Beck was thinking about Charlie and his cons right now. “Is that really the problem here? Really why she set you off?”

Beck frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” Talk about clueless. “She’ll clean. I’ll watch over her. We won’t live like pigs. These are all good things.”

Beck exhaled long and loud, like the weight of the world had just been dumped right on his head. “No.”

“No?”

Beck shook his head. “You have enough to handle with dating Leah Baron—”

“I’m not—”

“—I’ll take care of Ms. Clarke.”

Declan opened his mouth to launch into a denial about the dating but stopped. If Beck wanted to be near Sophie, Declan wasn’t going to stand in the way. Besides, it would be a pure pleasure watching Beck fight and deny his attraction. “Okay.”