Rekindled (2 page)

“Now that’s a real interesting thought, darlin’.” His voice was deep, and if she wasn’t
imagining things, and she was sure she wasn’t, laced with innuendo.

It should have made her angry. Should have shocked her. Upset her.

It didn’t. Instead, it sent a little shiver of deep, unending longing through her.
She recognized it, because longing for things out of her reach, things she couldn’t
have and shouldn’t have, was something she did all the time these days.

She looked up at him. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Well, hell. This entire encounter was starting to sound like a porno. He had a gorgeous
woman in high heels applying to work for him and promising to do whatever he wanted.
Now all that was left was for her to show him her
qualifications
.

Rather than turning him on, that thought only made him feel dirty. He wasn’t into
taking advantage of women; not in the least.

And while his body wasn’t immune to Lucy Carter née Ryan, the thought of taking that
anything you want
offer and twisting it to suit his physical needs made him feel sick inside.

He just wasn’t that particular brand of bastard.

Now he
was
the brand of bastard who enjoyed the thought of Lucy scrubbing his floors. To enjoy
watching her slum it for a while. Yeah, he was that much of a bastard, and he was
self-aware enough to admit it.

And then when she was done playing at being a big strong independent woman and went
back to her husband, fine. But in the meantime, he would enjoy watching the princess
of Silver Creek get her hands a little dirty.

And just like that, his decision was made.

“All right, Lucy, when can you start?”

“Now?” she asked, her eyes wide, as though he’d shocked her completely with the question.

“Now?” he echoed.

“Well, I’m basically homeless until I start this job.”

Well, now, that did make him feel a little like an ass. “Not anymore. Come on out
back with me.” She stood, clutching her handbag in front of her. He looked down at
those long, shapely legs, and further still to her shoes. “I don’t know how those
are going to survive the mud.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“All right then, this way.” He started to head out of the living area and toward the
kitchen, but he noticed Lucy was still sitting on the couch, dark eyes wide. “Are
you going to follow me?”

“Did you just give me the job?”

“Yes. Unless of course you intend to do it from the couch, in which case I may have
to rethink the offer.”

“No”—she scrambled to her feet—“no, I’m ready to go. Just show me the… stuff.”

“Kitchen,” he said, indicating the big open space. “I eat lunch with the hands, and
I have a guy who cooks in the big kitchen out by the barns for everyone, so you’re
off the hook for that. But I take breakfast in here, and dinner. And I’ll need you
to take care of that. Otherwise, during the day, just regular housecleaning stuff.
I have a full laundry room, there’s a vacuum somewhere. I’m only one guy, so it shouldn’t
be too hard.”

Truthfully, he didn’t really know what all went into taking good care of a household.
His mother had done it as a job for other people, and she’d been too tired at the
end of the day to do much of it for them.

And, of course, he didn’t do a very great job of it himself. But he was way too tired
at the end of the day to do anything but put a frozen pizza in the oven. Carly had
been coming over and making sure he didn’t starve, either by giving him the leftovers
of her and Lucas’s dinner or by coming over and cooking for him.

She’d drawn the line at laundry, though, and he’d been managing to get the clothes
clean and dry, but he hadn’t managed to get them in the closet.

He’d been fishing his clothes out of a laundry basket every day for the past few months,
ever since the loss of his previous housekeeper.

Still, though, with full-time hours to devote to the job, it couldn’t possibly be
too hard.

“Otherwise, the cottage is back this way.”

“Cottage?”

“Yeah, that’s the ‘room’ part of the room and board that was in the ad,” he said.

“I wasn’t expecting a cottage. I was thinking… a room.”

The idea of sharing a room in his house with Lucy sent a shot of heat through his
veins that burned like whiskey. He wasn’t sure why he was reacting so strongly to
her. Why the room he’d thought of had been his own bedroom. His own bed.

Lucy was beautiful; she always had been. But a sweet face didn’t atone for a personality
as sour as hers. Not that she seemed overly sour now—but she’d come to apply for a
job. And even in those circumstances, there was a little bit of tartness to her.

He shifted his weight and tried to ignore the heat pouring through him. Assigning
her a flavor, even a borderline unpleasant one, wasn’t helping with his issues. Because
now he was wondering if she tasted as sour as she seemed, like a green apple, or if
she was sweet like she looked. Like a peach.

Oh, dammit.

He shifted again and tried to redirect his blood flow back to where it belonged.

He opened the back door and held it for her, waiting for her to walk outside before
he closed it. She brushed past him, and the wind kicked up, blowing her scent back
in his direction. Honeysuckle.

She smelled sweet. Which made him think she very likely tasted—

No. Not going there.

He led the way down a trail that was worn through the grass. It was only wide enough
to walk single file, and Lucy stayed resolutely behind him.

“This was one of the original structures on the property. It’s pretty old, and it’s
not fancy, but… it ought to do.” For the first time he wondered if it would do
for Lucy. He knew what kind of house she’d been raised in. A house on the waterfront
in Silver Creek’s premier gated community. Not a ranch house. Not even a ranch.

And then there was that husband of hers. Everyone in town knew about Daniel Carter,
how well Lucy had done for herself marrying him. Her mother had made sure of it. He
was part of the elite social set over in New York, an old money family that still
had money. And manor houses. Anyone who talked to Mrs. Ryan for longer than a few
moments heard about the family’s impressive collection of manor houses.

The cottage came into view, and Mac couldn’t help but feel a small bit of amusement
over the situation. This was no manor house. Just a small, faded blue structure with
a slab foundation and poured concrete steps that led up to a screen door that squeaked
when it swung open.

“It’s clean,” he said. “At least it should be. Carly said she hired a one-time cleaning
service to come in and make sure it was nice for you.”

Lucy was looking at the cottage, her expression bleak. “So, you and Carly are still
close?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He couldn’t imagine not seeing his sister a few times a
week. She’d been a huge part of his sanity and stability while they were growing up.
“Especially now that she’s marrying Lucas.”

Lucy blinked a few times. “Lucas… Lucas from school?”

“Yep.” He wasn’t surprised that Lucy couldn’t remember Lucas’s last name. Neither
of them had rated on her social radar.

“That’s nice.”

Her tone was so even, so carefully modulated. He could tell she was hiding a whole
lot of emotion— he wasn’t sure what she was hiding, but he was sure there was something.
What he didn’t get was why he wondered, even for a second, what it was. It didn’t
matter. He wasn’t going to try to get to know her, or get her to talk about her feelings.
He was hiring her to clean his house.

“I’ll let you go in and get settled,” he said

Mac nodded once, then turned and walked away, leaving Lucy standing there in front
of a house she was afraid might fall down around her ears.

This wasn’t what she’d expected. Not at all. She should go inside and see where she
was living now. See just how far she’d fallen.

She opted, instead, to watch Mac Denton walk away for just a little while longer.
It wasn’t often, if ever, that she allowed herself the illicit thrill of checking
a man out. And with Mac, there was a lot of good there to check out.

She could have laughed at the absurdity of it if she thought she could possibly show
that much emotion without crying.

Here she was, newly divorced, disowned by her parents, about to move into a place
the size of one of the walk-in closets she’d had in her ex’s, house and she was looking
at the way the denim of Mac’s jeans hugged his butt.

Well, there had to be
some
perks to her position.

She blew out a breath and walked up the concrete steps that led into her new house.
They were bowed up and cracked on the edges. The screen door pushed open easily, and
she wondered if it latched at all. It also squeaked like a son-of-a-gun.

The kitchen was tiny. Faded yellow cabinets lined the wall, and peeling linoleum was
spread over the floor. She’d never been in a place this run-down. Unless you counted
structures that bore the title “barn” and not “house.”

The floor creaked beneath her feet as she walked past an old living room with a chair
and little else, down the hall and to the single bedroom. There was one window, lace
curtains and a bed with a patchwork quilt.

She moved to the bed and sat on the edge, the springs groaning beneath her.

“What did I get myself into?” she asked. No one answered, of course.

She had to wonder, for the very first time, if leaving Daniel had been a mistake.
She’d been unhappy with him, but she didn’t feel particularly happy now.

She thought back. Could see his face—distant, haughty, angry, disdainful. Could hear
his words. So cold, designed to cut away what remained of her self-confidence. What
remained of the way she saw herself. He was intent on removing vital bits of her,
leaving her unable to function without him.

And finally, just as he’d been about to succeed, she’d looked in the mirror and seen
how much she’d changed. Had seen that she was too thin. Her dark eyes flat, cold.
The light behind them snuffed out.

He never hit you, did he, darling?

No. The answer to her mother’s question had been no. Daniel Carter would never do
anything so common as to use his fists to control a woman. And he didn’t have to.
His words were even more effective.

Everyone has bad days. He has stresses at work, surely. He can’t spend all of his
time propping up your self-esteem.

Her mother’s response to her denial of physical abuse had nearly broken her. Because
it had taken Lucy so long to realize that the things Daniel said to her were wrong.
To realize that his words were a form of abuse, and that she didn’t have to take it.

Only to have that realization undermined when she’d arrived home.

“I didn’t deserve that,” she said. “I didn’t.”

She only wished her own parents didn’t think she did. Or maybe that was the wrong
way to look at it—but it felt like they thought she must have deserved it. Like the
vows she’d taken to the smiling man on her wedding day should have, logically, extended
to the monster he’d revealed himself to be.

And she just couldn’t believe it. Not anymore.

Which meant that regardless of the shabby state of her new home, it was her new home.
And she wouldn’t doubt her decision again.

Because no matter how run-down it was, there was no one here to insult here. No one
here to berate and belittle her.

Just then, the little house seemed more beautiful than any manor home ever had.

How hard can it be?

Lucy asked herself that question while she rummaged through the pantry. Mac had food.
Plenty of it. There had to be some way to combine some ingredients to make an edible
meal.

She felt a little shot of panic when she looked at the schedule that was posted on
the fridge. She imagined the schedule—useful, neat and organized—had not been made
by Mac.

Another helpful tidbit from Carly, she imagined. But it wasn’t helping her now. She
only had an hour to make dinner, and she was pretty sure she’d never cooked in her
life. Unless pouring cereal counted. And she was pretty sure it didn’t.

Lucy did some more digging and found a cookbook in one of the cupboards. There was
a recipe for tacos, which seemed straightforward enough. Especially if she opened
the jar of salsa and the can of refried beans, rather than making her own from scratch.
And Mac had both of those things ready to go.

A couple of thawed out chicken breasts would boil quickly, and she put them in a pot
of water and put the burner on high heat.

Then she found an apron stashed in the pantry and tied it around her waist, hoping
to shield her nice outfit from any potential oil splatter as she prepared to make
the taco shells.

The instructions were clear, but after mangling a couple of tortillas she opted against
folding them, and just laid them flat in the pan and let them fry. Tostadas would
be good too. They were basically the same thing anyway.

An hour later, she had a spread that looked more than vaguely edible and a sense of
pride that was so unexpected, so foreign, she was hardly able to identify it at first.

Along with that came a significant hunger pang. She was more than ready to eat, and
Mac had invited her to eat with him but the idea of that seemed… wrong, somehow.
Strange.

If they were strangers it might have been easier. But they weren’t. They had a pesky
history that made her blush just thinking about it. She’d been so full of it back
then. So sure that life couldn’t touch her because she was a Ryan. She was set for
life. College paid for. A ticket out of Silver Creek and into society anywhere else
if she wanted it, and she had wanted it. And she’d taken it.

And now she was back. With none of the certainty. With none of that feeling of inborn
sparkle that she’d thought made her better than other people.

She jumped when the front door slammed shut.

“Smells good.”

She looked up and saw Mac walking toward her. “Great. I’m glad. Everything is…
set out. So if you want to go ahead and sit I’ll just leave you to it.”

“I thought I told you that you could eat with me.”

“You did. But… it just feels awkward. I mean… Did your last housekeeper
eat with you?”

“Yes.”

Lucy felt a brief burst of annoyance at the thought of another woman sitting down
to dinner with him, and she wasn’t sure why. Just because it was another reminder
that she was in no way unique, maybe.

Get over yourself.

Yeah, she had to get over herself. And over all the junk that Daniel’s words had buried
inside of her, beneath her skin.

Probably not today, though.

“So you were… friendly with her, then? Why did she quit?”

“She retired. To spend more time with her grandchildren. They live out of state, and
she moved closer.”

“Oh.” The fact that the other woman was a grandmother made her feel better. It shouldn’t
have, because she shouldn’t have felt bothered to begin with.

“Yeah. Have a seat.”

She complied. She was hungry, after all, and this was, apparently, normal to him.

Mac put two of the tortillas on his plate and loaded them up with all of the fixings
she’d provided. Then he got up and went to the fridge, and her stomach sank a little
bit.

“What did I forget?” she asked.

“Beer. Want one?”

She almost said no. She didn’t drink beer. Never had. Wine and wine coolers, yes.
Some nice mixed drinks at a party, yes. But nothing so common as beer.

“Yes,” she said.

He nodded and pulled two bottles out of the fridge, pausing to pop the tops before
returning to the table and setting one down in front of her.

“Sorry, I’ll remember next time,” she said, curling her hand around the cold glass.

“It’s no big deal. First day and all.”

“Still… thanks.”

He raised his bottle. “To new beginnings?”

She raised hers too. “Why not?” She tipped it back and took a sip. It was kind of
disgusting, but she relished the choice. If Daniel could see her now, drinking beer
from a bottle across the table from a cowboy with muddy boots, he would think she’d
gone crazy. Maybe she had. But why not? Her entire life was tilted sideways. She might
as well enjoy it. With a little alcohol and a little eye candy.

She took another sip of the beer and grimaced. Okay, “enjoy” was too strong a word
where that was concerned.

“What do you like for breakfast?” she asked.

“Eggs. Bacon. Whatever. Normal stuff.”

Not cereal then. Damn. That would have been easy.

“Great.” She looked down at her place. “I bet you’re used to a slightly larger spread
than this too.”

“Usually, but this is fine.”

“You don’t have to go easy on me.”

“Trust me,” he said. “I’m not.”

“You don’t just feel sorry for me?”

“Not in the least.”

She frowned.
She
felt sorry for her. “All right. What do you feel?”

“Amused, mainly, that my little jab about you cleaning my floors has come to pass.”

She set her fork down. “Low blow, Denton.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but no one’s perfect, and I haven’t forgotten our last big conversation.”

Neither had she. It was weird, because she didn’t know what had started it. Not really.
She’d said something terrible, she had no doubt about that. She couldn’t remember
what—only that this time Mac’s ears hadn’t turned red, and he hadn’t looked down and
walked away. This time, he’d turned around, hands clenched into fists, and he’d hit
her back verbally. Called her on what a bitch she was. He was the first person to
ever do that.

And then he’d told her to watch what she said, because someday, she might be cleaning
his floors.

Karma was, in fact, a bigger bitch than
she
was.

“Can you call a screaming match a conversation?” she asked, feeling subdued.

“I don’t know. Maybe confrontation?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you remember it?” he asked.

“Of course I do. It wasn’t every day I went toe–to-toe with a guy twice my size with
half the school looking on.”

“No. Because most people never stood up to you.”

She shook her head. “No. They didn’t. So, what made you do it?” she asked. It was
suddenly imperative to know what made someone change the way things worked. What the
last straw was.

Weird that she was asking with herself cast as the bully. But she wanted to know.
Because she’d hit a wall a year ago with her husband. The enough-is-enough point.
She wanted to know what had made Mac reach that point with her.

“I had a whole lot of opportunity to feel like I was beneath the people around me.
I was reminded of it whenever people invited friends over and I wasn’t included. Or
when I was and I couldn’t reciprocate because there was no way I could have anyone
over to my house. Only Lucas ever came, and that’s just because he was worse off than
I was. My whole life was a reminder of how far beneath you I was, and I wasn’t going
to listen to you tell me about what I already knew.”

She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “I’m sorry I did that,” she said.
“To everyone, not just you.”

“You live and learn.”

“Yeah. You do.” She looked down at her food. “So, is that why you hired me? A little
revenge to go with your dinner?”

“There’s a lame joke in there somewhere about what dishes are best served cold, but
I’m going to skip it. And yeah, a little bit, I’m not going to lie.”

“Fair enough.”

“But I’m still going to pay you. I’m still going to let you stay here. Until you decide
you’ve had enough.”

“Of what?”

“Of slumming it with the peasants. I’m not trying to be cruel here, Lucy, but work
is hard. Most people wouldn’t do it if they had the choice, and you’ve proven that
by
not
doing it when you had the choice. I can’t imagine, with other options open, you’d
choose to stay here.”

“Okay, and how do you think I’ll go back to not needing work? How is it you think
I’ll magically slide back into my old tax bracket?”

He just looked at her, blue eyes locked with hers. “You’ll go back to your husband.”

“You think so?”

“I do. Because in the end, whatever was going on between you two, I doubt it’s worth
giving up all that to come and clean all this,” he said, sweeping his hand over his
surroundings.

She put her hands flat on the table. “Yeah, of course. Money is awesome, right?” she
said, feeling a little bubble of hysteria forming in her chest. “I mean… why
would you ever leave money? What the hell could be more important than the money?
Why would you need to be treated like a human being with thoughts and emotions when
you could have all the money? Screw love and affection. Who needs it when you have
Prada?” She picked up her fork and pushed on the tines with her forefinger. “Yeah,
you’re right. I’ll probably go back. Because it was so great to live with a man who
was always telling me what an empty-headed bimbo I was. I mean, it wasn’t ideal, sure,
but we had money. And money wins in the end, right? Not strength. Not anything else.”

“Lucy…”

She stood up. “I would like nothing more than to quit. And to storm out of here with
my dignity and my scruples and to not give you the satisfaction of ever, ever seeing
me scrub your damned floors. But I can’t. We both know it. At least, I hope now we
both know it. This isn’t a game, Mac. I’m not playing at self-respect and independence.
I
need
it. I can’t go back to not having it.”

She pushed her chair back and walked out of the room, her hands shaking, her breath
coming in short, harsh gasps. She’d never yelled at Daniel like that. Not once. Even
when she’d told him she wanted a divorce she hadn’t said that much. She’d learned
not to give him any of her emotions. She’d been tired of having it used against her.
Tired of having all of her vulnerable spots exposed and wounded.

But she hadn’t been able to hold it back with Mac. Because she couldn’t stand the
thought of him believing what everyone else did.

You’ll have to go back to him.
Her mother had said, wringing her hands.

You’ll come back on your hands and knees.
A promise from Daniel.

No. She wouldn’t. She was better than that. Stronger than that. No one else thought
so. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if it was true. But she had to keep going. No matter
what.

She couldn’t go back to being Lucy Ryan, queen bitch of Silver Creek High, and she
didn’t want to go back to that, anyway. She couldn’t go back to being Lucy Carter,
Daniel Carter’s wife. His trophy in public, his verbal punching bag in private.

That meant she had to find something else to be. And since she wasn’t getting help
from anyone, she would have to do it herself.

***

Days later and Mac still felt like a total ass. Which he was. He hadn’t been able
to resist taking a dig at her, and when he’d done it, he’d unearthed a whole bunch
of stuff he was sure they both would have rather had stayed buried.

Yeah, he admitted, he’d assumed that the deal with her husband had been something
petty, like him slashing her shoe allowance, but that was only because he’d envisioned
adult Lucy as being the same as seventeen-year-old Lucy.

But he’d miscalculated. She was different. She was older. Sadder. Tougher. Not in
that way she’d been as a teenager. Not tough like she’d pretended to be, walking down
the halls of the high school, insulated by family money and reputation. This was something
deep. Something solid.

A stone wall that she’d put up inside of herself, shoring up her defenses so she couldn’t
be hurt.

He knew all about that.

He didn’t want to relate to her. Didn’t want to find common ground with the society
princess. But there it was. Common ground, whether he liked it or not.

Of course, they wouldn’t have a chance to explore that common ground, not with the
way she was avoiding him. She was serving up dinners—simple dinners at that—and ducking
out to do the laundry or some other chore, then cleaning up and taking her own meal
back to her room.

Which was fine. Her prerogative. He was hardly going to force someone who worked for
him to join him for dinner. That would just be sad.

But still, he sort of wished she would. And it had everything to do with the fact
that he was a little lonely for human companionship since Lucas and Carly were engaged
and involved in their own life together now, and not so much in his. And it had nothing
to do with the fact that Lucy Carter smelled like honeysuckle and had a bite like
a tart apple.

No. It had nothing to do with that.

Lucy’s little blue car pulled into the driveway and up to the house, and Mac watched
her park. Watched her movements a little more closely than a non-creepy person who
signed a woman’s paychecks should, he realized.

But the realization didn’t stop him from watching.

She got out and went to the trunk, pulling a couple of paper bags out and shutting
it before heading up toward the house.

“Can I get those for you?”

She stopped. “These?” She looked down at the two bags. “I kind of have them already.”
She turned away from him again and started up the steps to the front porch. He followed
at a quick pace and beat her to the door, pushing it open for her.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“I’m trying a roast. I went and bought vegetables. I assume one could easily find
beef around here.”