Unexpectedly You (3 page)

Granted, her skin was flawless and her eyes turned fiery green when she was furious. Which he concluded was often. But it was her lips that mesmerized him. Her lips swelled full and pink when she was excited. Pissed-excited, not good-excited. It was like all the blood rushed to her lips, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her other...Jesus.

He was losing his fucking mind.

His brother let loose a loud whistle that pierced Mitch’s eardrum. He held the phone away from his ear but still heard Shane’s loud moan. “Aww, no way! Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve got the hots for this chick?”

Mitch stared at the glass vial of sand hanging from his rearview mirror. “Hell, no!” He heard laughter on the other end.

“Yeah? What she look like?”

“Tall, big hair. I wouldn’t say she’s hot. She’s a pain the ass is what she is. Why the hell are we having this conversation again?”

“I must have dropped you on your head when you were a kid.” Shane groaned before continuing, “Because you can charm a nun out of her habit, but this widow and single mom has got you by the balls.”

Mitch shook his head, a grin tugging the corner of his mouth. “This conversation is over.” He cut the connection and the truck’s engine in one quick move.

* * *

Inside the tavern, Mitch waited a few minutes for his eyes to get accustomed to the dimness. The shadow of a smile was still playing on his lips until he came face-to-face with his mug shot thumbtacked on a corkboard. He cursed under his breath as he ripped the photo off and crumbled it in his fist.

“Mitch, over here!” Nestor, his foreman, called him over from the edge of the long, narrow bar.

Mitch threaded his way through several couples swaying to Garth Brooks on the small dance floor. The smell of stale beer and peanuts mingled with sweat and cheap cologne.

He and Nestor took to coming to Surf & Sand for lunch and dinner once they’d figured out the waitress at the diner was one of Emma LeFleur’s lackeys. Besides, they’d gotten to be quite friendly with Jack, who owned the joint.

Mitch slid onto the bar stool next to Nestor and then waved to Jack to bring him his usual.

“You hear from your brother?” Nestor asked with trepidation. Nestor Crow, with skin like rawhide and gray hair weaved neatly into a single braid that went down his back, was a genuine Sioux descendant of a great warrior chief. With over thirty years in commercial construction, Mitch relied on his foreman’s expertise to help him run the project.

“Just got off the phone.”

Before he could elaborate, Jack sidled over, carrying a Pabst Blue Ribbon. Jack Callahan looked like he belonged behind the bar with his easy smile, stocky build and Irish accent on demand. “Lads, I hear Thursday’s the big day. You win over the neighbors, and everything’s gravy from then on.”

Nestor played with the phoenix insignia on his key ring. “Yeah, like that could happen. It’ll be up to the Great Spirit now.”

Mitch squeezed the bridge of his nose. “What’s with these people? We’re just trying to make a living. This town can age a guy twenty years.”

Jack laughed and handed them each a menu. “Why do you think I look like this? I was a pretty boy once too. Now you know what it’s like for the rest of us.”

Mitch grinned. “Burger, rare. Asshole.”

Nestor chuckled. “Make that two.”

“You got it,” Jack said, still laughing as he walked away with their menus.

“So?” Nestor took a sip of his Coke.

“Lansford’s tightening the noose. We need that go-ahead from the neighbors on Thursday or we’re dead in the water.”

“Bullshit is what it is. What do they got against condominiums and some fancy stores? It can only help their economy.”

“You’d think. We gave in on important concessions, but I won’t give up the goddamn parking lot.” Mitch tossed the crumpled flyer on the table.

Nestor raised a brow before picking it up and unfolding it. He choked back a howl. “Ain’t your best picture.”

Mitch rubbed the weariness from his eyes. “Does anyone look good on a mug shot?”

“How long ago was this?”

“Seems like forever. I’d just turned twenty-one, could finally go to a bar and then ended up sleeping the night in jail.”

“Why?”

“Same old shit. My old man was in the bar and he got it in his head that he was going to show his kid that he was a big shot. He started mouthing off to some dude and next thing you know, this guy throws a bottle at my old man. I went nuts. Decked the guy. He ended up in the hospital with a broken nose, cracked-up rib and was pissed as hell.”

“And you ended up in jail. How about your old man?”

Mitch shrugged. “He was all right.”

The way Mitch’s body had hurt on the outside hadn’t compared to his inner disappointment when it had been his brother who’d picked him up from jail the next day, not his father. Apparently, Mitch butting in to his old man’s fight had made his father look less of a man around his logging buddies. In his father’s line of work, there was no room for the old and the weak.

Nestor crumpled the flyer in his calloused hands and tossed it to Mitch. “Can’t choose your folks.”

Mitch’s throat tightened and he swallowed a familiar knot. “Having my mug on the wall is bad enough. Having it alongside a psychic woman who promises to heal all my inner wounds for fifty bucks is just plain wrong,” he joked, eager to lighten the somber mood.

Nestor chuckled, his sharp black eyes creasing around the edges. “Well, I told the guys we’d either be starting back up first thing Monday morning, or they can pretty much start looking for other work. The way I see it, we can’t keep ’em employed with nothin’ to do. You’re bleedin’ cash.”

Mitch nodded. His stomach clenched at the thought of laying off the guys who’d been so loyal to him. They’d hung around, even when they hadn’t always gotten the steady pay. “I’m optimistic.”

“Yeah? What about Mrs. LeFleur and what happened this morning?”

“What about it?”

Nestor squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She looked pissed as hell. She’s up to something. I know it.”

“I’ll handle Emma LeFleur. You make sure we’ve got what we need to start first thing Monday.”

His foreman groaned. “Whatever you say, boss. But I tell you, that woman is trouble.”

“She won’t be trouble to us.” Mitch looked down at his own calloused hands on the table and hoped he was right about his last statement. Emma had done enough damage. There was no way her citizens’ task force could stop the progress with the mayor on board.

After a minute of silence, Nestor cleared his throat. “Speak of the devil. No trouble, you say? Then what’s she doing getting cozy with the building official?”

“Son of a bitch.” Mitch turned his head slightly to get a glimpse.

Emma and David Bruin sidled over to a four-person booth kitty-corner from Mitch and Nestor. Mitch noticed how Bruin kept a hand on Emma’s back while she slid into the booth. The man obviously felt protective of Emma, or maybe possessive.

Bruin’s shaggy blond hair and spray-on tan reminded Mitch of an over-the-hill surfer dude. What was the relationship between the two? If they were an item, it would explain why she had him wrapped around her finger.

Son of a bitch.

Jack chose that moment to drop off their burgers.

Mitch looked down at the heaping mound of greasy garlic fries and he wanted to hurl. Nestor, on the other hand, shoved the food down as if he hadn’t eaten in a month. He kept glancing at Mitch in between mouthfuls, though he kept quiet.

Mitch picked at his burger, his appetite fled with the entrance of Emma and Bruin. A nagging suspicion that she was up to something made his head want to explode.

“You gonna be eatin’ that?” Nestor pointed to Mitch’s fries.

He slid his plate over. “Help yourself.”

“No sense lettin’ it go to waste.”

When Nestor finally wiped his mouth, Mitch took out enough bills to pay for the meals and threw his napkin on the bar. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“You headin’ back down to the site?”

“Not yet. I’m going back to the motel to check out. Trailer’s supposed to arrive this afternoon.”

“Right. So you don’t have to spend another night at the fleabag motel.”

He let out a frustrated breath. Another one of Emma’s lackeys made sure his room remained mostly dirty. He’d finally threatened to give them a scorching review if they didn’t get their act straight.

“I’ll meet you outside. Got to use the little boys’ room,” Nestor said.

Mitch hopped off the stool, his eyes still glued to Emma, who hadn’t seen him. How could she? Her face was so close to David Bruin’s. Were they sharing a meal?

Bruin must have said something funny, because she threw her head back and laughed. Her lilting voice sounded like grinding gears to Mitch’s ears.

With his gaze still glued on Emma, he sauntered toward their table. Not that she noticed him approach at all; she was so engrossed in the conversation. He would bet money Bruin’s glasses were fogged up from her breath.

Mitch’s arrival halted their conversation. Emma’s eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip. Bruin frowned.

Mitch leaned forward, his hands braced on the table, his gaze focused on Emma. “If it isn’t my favorite neighbor. Aren’t I lucky—running into you twice in one morning?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“You two having a nice
lunch?
” Mitch’s voice dripped with innuendo.

Bruin wiped his lips with his napkin. “McKenna, I see you’ve got your equipment up this morning. I don’t have to remind you that you can’t actually break ground until you have the final permit.”

Mitch slid into the booth next to Emma, scooting over until his leg brushed up against her. She flinched.
Good
. He focused his gaze on her face. “And I’m expecting that permit first thing Monday morning with zero delays. Isn’t that right, Emma?”

David Bruin cleared his throat. “I’m sure Emma would rather not have to listen to work stuff. We’re not here to talk business.”

She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were tightly clasped on the table, before looking to Bruin. “I can walk back. It sounds like you two have business to discuss.” She grabbed her purse and coat and shot Mitch a look that would melt an iceberg. “Will you get up so I can get out?”

“Well now, wait a minute. I didn’t realize this was a pleasure lunch.”

Her cheeks turned as red as the tomato on her salad. She sighed, scooted over as far away from him as the booth would allow, but refused to meet his gaze.

And just because he got a perverse pleasure from teasing her, he picked up her glass of red wine. “May I?” Before she could reply, he took a long, slow sip. “Tasty.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Should we perhaps order you your
own
glass?”

He winked. “Nah. I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of a little afternoon delight.”

David Bruin’s confused gaze bounced between him and Emma. An angry blotch marked his cheeks. “Make an appointment with my secretary, Mitch. I’m sure we can have time to talk later.”

Mitch grinned. “You bet I will.” He turned to Emma. “Have a good afternoon, neighbor,” he said before sliding out of their booth.

Instead of acknowledging, Emma turned her back, rudely ignoring him. She whispered something to Bruin and then giggled like a schoolgirl.

Mitch grunted as he headed toward the exit. Where was her poor-old-me act now? It was like he was seeing a completely different woman. He’d never seen her so animated, the way her body seemed soft and pliant, the way her face was lit up.

Damn her
.

Nestor was waiting by the exit door. “What was all that about?”

“Fuck if I know,” he snarled. Adrenaline pumped in his veins as he yanked at the exit door and welcomed the icy drizzle on his heated face.

Chapter Three

Emma’s clammy fingers stuck to the magazine she was pretending to read while she waited for Tim Brooks to call her into his office. The pretty brunette receptionist kept checking on her every few minutes. Emma forced a smile to reassure the girl she was fine.

Although the reality was she’d been on pins and needles since seeing McKenna over at the tavern during lunch. Why hadn’t she asked David to go someplace outside of town? Now McKenna would put two and two together and have a conniption. She’d felt his angry gaze on her back, even though she’d pretended to not notice.

Poor David. He probably thought she was drunk, the way she kept giggling and waving her hands and looking deeply into his eyes.

She cringed inside now at how ridiculous she must have appeared to her cousin’s ex-husband. But she couldn’t help herself. Knowing McKenna was boldly watching them made her want to prove his earlier words wrong. How dare he imply she was a pitiful widow who was stuck in the past?

Jerk.

Giving up on the magazine, she rummaged through her bag for the manila folder containing the stack of papers she’d printed of potential customers. She was sure once Tim saw the long list, he’d see the viability of Paws on the Beach.

“Emma, come on in,” Tim Brooks invited from his office doorway.

Emma stood, her legs wobbly and the heels of her boots sinking into the plush carpet. She thanked the receptionist and followed Tim inside his expansive office. Wall-to-ceiling windows offered an enviable view of the rugged Neahkahnie Mountain as it plunged down sixteen hundred feet to the sea.

Tim motioned to the wing chair, and she gladly plopped down and straightened her skirt. He came around and sat across from her, his five-foot-five frame instantly swallowed by the massive oak desk. “We’ve been playing phone tag for a while. It’s nice to finally see you.”

She squirmed in her seat. “I’m hoping you wanted to see me because you have good news?”

Tim tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’ll get right to the point. We’ve decided to pass on your loan.”

Emma swallowed hard. “By we, do you mean you?”

Now it was his turn to squirm. “I have a board of directors, Emma.”

“Fine. I’m here to change their mind,” she declared.

Tim leaned back in his chair. His lips pursed.

She ignored his look of—was that pity? “I have a list of customers, Tim. Customers who promised me they’d patronize my business. Really, I have it right here.” She reached for the folder and ended up spilling its contents on the carpet.

“Mrs. LeFleur, there’s no need, really.” Calling her by her married name was never a good sign. He came around the desk and helped her gather the scattered papers before leading her back to her seat.

Tears welled in her eyes but she refused to give in to the reality of his words. Tim was a nice enough guy. He wouldn’t hold a grudge against her, would he? Not after one lousy date. She couldn’t help it if she’d felt no spark. Hard as she might, she couldn’t recall a single thing that happened during their date, other than being relieved when it was over. Could this be Tim’s way of getting back at her for not accepting any more of his advances?

Fear constricted her throat, cutting off her airway. She struggled to draw in a breath. “Tim, you don’t understand how important this loan is to me. To Bella Del Mar. You’re supposed to help people like me. I’m a small business.”

Tim, back at his seat now, merely lifted a brow. “We are in the business of providing loans that are low risk. Businesses that offer a solid financial plan. We look for people who have a proven track record of turning a profit. Do you see yourself fitting that description?”

Her face heated up. “I know I can make it work. It’s not like I don’t have experience. I’ve done my homework, plus I have a list of customers right here who—”

“The problem is you don’t have enough collateral to use to minimize some of the risk involved in financing your business,” he rudely interrupted.

“But what about my house?”

Tim shifted in his seat before leaning forward and shuffling some papers on his desk. “Emma, I’m glad you brought that up.”

“What?”

“Your home.”

“What about it?”

“Your husband refinanced almost three years ago in December, and I wanted to remind you that the type of financing your husband selected, though it had offered the most cash with very low interest rates, came with risks.”

Her ears tingled as Tim’s words wormed their way into her brain. “What sort of risks?”

“In December your balloon payment will be due. That is, unless you can obtain another financing, of course.”

December was two months away. Fear gnawed in her gut. “Why couldn’t we just roll over the current loan and extend the terms?”

“Because your financial situation isn’t the same as it was three years ago. I don’t mean to state the obvious, but you no longer have Stefan’s salary. With the crackdown on no-credit and no-doc loans, I’m sorry to say we no longer even offer a similar loan instrument. And, sadly, you don’t qualify for a traditional loan with your current income.”

Her head was spinning from the financial jargon. She leaned forward, her eyes glued on Tim’s face. “Are you saying I could lose my home?”

“I’m saying you need to come up with a substantial sum of cash or alternate financing.”

“And if I don’t?” The acidity from the salad she’d had for lunch rose up to gag her.

He shrugged.

She blinked hard. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. Why did she ever think he was a nice guy? He was unreasonable. A bean counter without vision. “How much do I owe?”

Tim named the amount, and Emma reeled back. Stunned. Even if she sold what inventory she had in the store, it wouldn’t be enough to cover the loan amount. She swiped angrily at the tears that moistened her cheeks before digging in her bag for a crumpled tissue. She blew her nose.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He stood and came around to offer his hand.

Her gaze landed on the yellow rubber
Support Our Troops
wristlet he wore. No wonder he felt the need to advertise to the world that he donated to charity. No one who knew him would believe it otherwise.

Oh
,
Stefan
,
why didn’t you tell me about the risky loan?
Guilt pressed in on her at the worry and stress this had caused her husband during a time he should have only worried about getting better. She smothered a sob. “I don’t understand. There has to be something that you can do. Isn’t there, Tim?”

He sighed, his expression strained. “Let me do this. Let me look to see if any of the FHA or modification programs might work for you. I’m not really too familiar with them. We haven’t had to use any for our customers. But I’ll look into it for you. I’m not promising anything. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“I won’t,” she lied.

He nodded. “I’ll call you as soon as I learn anything.”

She clung to Tim’s words like a drowning person to a buoy. She didn’t remember thanking him for his time or walking back to her car. It was as if someone had ripped open her chest, leaving her heart exposed and pulsing with pain.

She was going to lose her family home. Sammy’s home. Her link to the past. Every good memory she had happened in that house. She was not going to lose it. It wasn’t just her business, her dream that was in jeopardy. It was her life.

She should have listened to Dorinda and shopped around with larger banks in the bigger cities. She buried her face in her hands and gave in to the feeling of panic that gripped her. Spent, she lifted her head and stared at the little green numbers on the dashboard. Her heart knocked against her chest.

Brooks Savings wasn’t the only game in town. If she hurried, she could be in Seaside in a half hour. There were at least two larger, national banks there and they would still be open.

She drew in a steady breath. When her fingers stopped trembling, she called Dorinda to close up the store for her and then called Sammy to tell her she wouldn’t be home in time for dinner.

* * *

Mitch pulled in to the gravel road that led to the project site and breathed a sigh of relief that the trailer he’d ordered had arrived. But his relief was short-lived when he saw the grassy area still intact.

“What the hell?” He jumped out of the truck and headed to the six-foot project table filled with trays of muffins, chocolate chip cookies and a carafe of coffee. “We having a party?” he asked his men, who were busy standing around rather than tearing up the grassy area.

Nestor, who was talking to Officer Landis, was the first to see him and his shoulders noticeably hunched over. “Boss, you ain’t gonna like this,” he said, his voice full of regret. He reached into his jacket and handed Mitch a letter with smudges of chocolate around the edges.

Mitch rolled his eyes and then read the words ordering him to halt all digging or any other infrastructure-related work until the final approval of his plan had gone through. The letter was signed by David Bruin, Building Official, and dated today.

“Sorry to hear about this, Mr. McKenna,” Officer Landis said.

Mitch rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands in frustration. She’d done it again. She’d managed to entice Bruin into delaying his project for a couple of days. She even managed to ensure the rookie cop was assigned to monitor his actions. He should have realized her little lunch date this afternoon had been strategic.

His anger deflated, however, as he hadn’t planned on his men working over the weekend. She really only managed to delay the project by a few hours. But still, his fingers itched to wrap themselves around her slender neck.

“Is that why you’re here, Officer? To make sure we don’t perpetrate the heinous crime of making a living?”

“Nah. You know that reporter from
Coastal News?
He’d been snooping around earlier. Nestor called me to help keep him off your property.”

Nestor smiled. “Yeah, when I told the good officer we had muffins, he shot right over.”

Mitch shook his head at the absurdity of his situation. He’d laugh if his business didn’t hinge on meeting the tight schedule. “What the hell? It’s Friday, we’ll just call it a day and get started early Monday.”

“Boss, there’s more,” Nestor said with foreboding.

He arched his brow. “What the hell else is there?” A growing sense of doom latched on to his heart.

“They’d changed the schedule. They pushed back our meeting until next month. Almost three weeks where we can’t do crap.”

Like a rocket, Mitch’s gaze launched toward Emma LeFleur’s house. This long delay would cost him everything—his business, his reputation and, more importantly, his employees their much-needed income.

He dug his fingers into his hair. Fury roiled in his gut and he slowly paced up and down, allowing the energy inside him to swirl. In reality, he wanted nothing more than to lash out and ram his fist into something.

“Now, Mitch, you just take it easy. We’ll get this taken care of, no problem. I’ll go over to the courthouse when they open first thing Monday morning and explain why we can’t afford to wait. This’ll get fixed,” Nestor assured him.

Mitch waited a few beats, hoping his foreman’s reasonableness would rub off on him, but no such luck. “Hell, no. Not this time. She won’t get what she wants,” he snarled.

Nestor only shook his head. “Best not to get her riled up. You know she’s trouble. We know she’s trouble. Let’s just get this taken care of when the courthouse opens.”

His lack of sleep these last few weeks, mixed with his unexplainable bad mood at seeing Bruin and Emma sharing an intimate lunch, was a lethal combination he couldn’t dilute with reason. “Not this time.”

Ignoring Nestor’s waning voice behind him warning him to cool down, Mitch strode over to Emma’s house, taking her porch steps two at a time. He pounded on the door and winced as pain shot through his arm.

When she didn’t come to the door, he used his boot to pound even harder. He heard a pitiful bark on the other side.

When the door finally cracked open, he was surprised to see Emma’s daughter. Samantha smiled, even though her eyebrows were raised in confusion. “I’m sorry. I was in my room packing and didn’t hear you knocking. Hi, Mitch.”

“Is your mother home?” he asked with as much politeness as he could manage, considering he felt like steam was escaping from his ears. He tried to remind himself Emma’s daughter wasn’t responsible for the mess he was now in and that it was her mother he wanted to confront. He forced his expression into what he hoped was a pleasant one.

“She’s not here.” She glanced behind him and her eyes widened. She moistened her lips. She waved, and Mitch turned around to see Officer Landis waving back.

What the hell?
“She down at the store?”

“No, she’s out of town, actually. Can I help you with something? Oh, wait! Are you here to thank her for the cookies?” she suggested, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes.

He frowned until realization hit and then he smiled, the strain of the effort hurting his cheekbones. “Yeah. That’s exactly why I’m here.”

She shrugged. “Sorry, she won’t be home ’til late.” She motioned behind him. “Nice trailer. Are you moving in?”

He nodded. “I am, or I should say I did.”

“Cool.” Her eyes continued to sneak looks behind him.

He smiled again, this time without having to force his features. The girl’s cheery, sparkly personality made him feel like a complete ass for losing his temper. How could someone so friendly and open be Emma’s offspring? The hair. Her curly hair was an exact match to Emma’s, except Samantha’s was in an orderly ponytail, not shellacked into a helmet around her face. “You going on a trip? You said you were packing.”

“Yeah, I’m hitching a ride with my girlfriend and her family to visit my grandma in San Diego first thing in the morning. We’re checking out SDSU’s campus.”

“Sounds like a blast. You girls drive safe.”

She smiled. “Do you want me to tell my mom you stopped by to thank her?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I want to thank her in person.”