The Last in Love (Ardent Springs Book 5) Page 2

  “I’d forgotten how quiet this town is.” Between his years at Northwestern and six years in downtown Chicago, Justin had fully acclimated to city life. He’d still be there now if it weren’t for putting his credibility in the wrong hands. “You want me to come back to the station?”

  Chief shook his head. “No need. But don’t forget about the fundraiser this weekend. Saturday morning, ten sharp, Ruby Theater.”

  “Got it.” Justin tossed his fire coat over his shoulder. “Have you guys done this auction thing before?”

  “Nope. This’ll be a first for all of us.” Stomping off, he yelled for the others to get on the truck and then climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Grass crunched beneath Justin’s feet as he crossed the yard to his car. After climbing inside, he pulled a cell phone from the console. One missed call that he would not be returning. Victoria Bettencourt had been leaving messages for the last two weeks, insisting that if Justin would only give her a chance, she could explain everything.

  “You burned that bridge when you screwed my friend,” he muttered into the silence, tossing the phone on the passenger seat. “Now you can both go to hell.”

  Chapter 2

  “I can go in there,” Abby said aloud. “It’s only a little smoke damage, right? Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

  And yet she couldn’t make her feet budge. The insurance adjuster would arrive in half an hour, but she’d wanted to survey the damage on her own first. Cooper had offered to go in with her. Insisted, really. But she’d sent him on to work. This was Abby’s mess and she’d clean it up. Or at least sign the paperwork to have it cleaned up.

  Late April wasn’t normally this chilly in middle Tennessee, but then March had felt like May, so who knew what to expect anymore. Bundled in a borrowed coat from Haleigh, Abby forced her body into motion, reaching the edge of the sidewalk before coming to a halt when the smell hit her nose. Smoke and something more putrid. Burnt metal and plastic, she assumed. The cabinet over the stove had held all of Kyle’s large plastic cups. The ones he’d carried while running or taken to the gym. Now they were gone. Melted due to her stupidity.

  No. Justin said this wasn’t her fault. There was no way she could have known that stove had faulty wiring. Accidents happened. Stoves caught fire. Roadside bombs destroyed innocent lives.

  “It’s safe to go in,” Justin said, coming up behind her and scaring Abby out of her boots. He steadied her as she jerked around. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The heat of his grip penetrated the soft material of the thin coat. “I didn’t hear you pull up,” she said, easing away from his touch. A long night of no sleep provided plenty of time for Abby to come to her senses about this young man. Regardless of Haleigh’s goading and Abby’s neglected libido, Justin Donovan was entirely too young for her.

  Not to mention way out of her league. Men who looked like Justin dated model types, not boring widows.

  “Sorry about that.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his low-slung jeans. Though she’d been on the verge of shivering, Justin wore no protection from the cold over his hunter-green button-down, which turned his eyes almost sage. “Do you want to go inside?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and then let it out. Might as well be honest. “I’ve been trying to do that for the last five minutes.”

  Picking up what she didn’t say, Justin dropped into a voice reserved for timid two-year-olds and cowardly grown women. “It’s going to look worse than it is,” he assured her. “And I’ll be with you the whole time.” Stepping closer, he flashed a supportive smile. “You can do this.”

  Karen Donovan often described her son as a good man. Looking into Justin’s caring face, Abby knew the words to be true. With another deep breath the apprehension melted away. “Okay,” she murmured. “Going in.”

  After unlocking the door, she led Justin into the house, lungs protesting the moment they crossed the threshold. Hand over her nose and mouth, Abby hesitated in the foyer.

  “Worse than it looks,” Justin repeated. “And smells. Opening the windows will help.”

  His determination to help her through this brought a smile to Abby’s face. They weren’t sneaking up on the boogeyman, for heaven’s sake. Time to woman up and stop acting like a wuss. Within minutes they had every window in the house thrown open, and as Justin had promised, the smell receded.

  Unable to put off the inevitable, Abby finally stepped into the kitchen and gasped at the sight before her. The back wall looked as if someone had taken a spray gun and painted the middle four feet coal black from the backsplash to the ceiling. The microwave rested in a melted heap on the damaged stove top, and the doors of the upper cabinets swayed on their hinges.

  And then there was the water damage.

  Forcing herself to remain standing, she said, “You lied. This is very bad.”

  “I promise it really isn’t. Some sheet rock. A new stove . . .”

  “New cabinets. New flooring. New countertops,” she added. “The only things I can save are the sink and the fridge.” Abby crossed to the farm sink she’d always loved. “Thank goodness for cast iron.” Swiping a finger along the blackened granite, she barely left a mark. “This is going to cost a fortune.”

  Justin leaned a hip on the center island, heedless of the blackened surface. “The insurance company should cover the majority. You also might want to consider contacting the manufacturer of the stove. Mention the word lawsuit and you’ll likely get immediate action. An upgrade on the stove, if nothing else.”

  Abby didn’t want to contact, let alone sue, a manufacturer. Nor did she want to deal with insurance companies and a construction crew in her house. All she’d wanted was a flipping cake. Smothering the urge to wave her fist at the sky, she instead walked to the fridge and beat her forehead against the stainless steel surface.

  “Come on,” Justin said, turning her around. “I know this sucks, but in a month you’ll have a great new kitchen, and this will all be a bad memory.”

  She snorted. “I have enough bad memories. When am I going to get some good ones for a change?”

  Though her question had been rhetorical, Justin still offered a solution. “I could take you out for ice cream after this. Won’t undo the problem, but a frozen treat can help you forget for a while.”

  Such a tempting offer. Too bad he wasn’t five years older. Shaking off the pity party, Abby pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Thanks, but I’ll have to pass.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, as I pointed out last night, I’m a little too old to be running around with a twenty-something.”

  Justin didn’t hold back. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Annoyed, she said, “You have your opinion and I have mine. If you want to date an older woman, that’s your prerogative, but that woman will not be me.” She would not embarrass herself by believing she could hold his attention for more than a few days, at best.

  Justin opened his mouth to argue when a knock at the front door cut him off. “Hello?” called a female voice.

  “We’re in here,” Abby said. Eyes still locked with his, she lowered her voice. “There are plenty of girls in this town, Justin. Don’t waste your time on me.” She stepped around him to greet the adjuster.

  Damn stubborn woman. What did a few years have to do with anything? He was a grown-ass man with an MBA, a sizable stock portfolio, and the skills to make any woman see God. Twenty-something his ass. If she thought this conversation was over, she was wrong.

  The adjuster, a Ms. Dilburgh, seemed friendly and even supportive until the word culpability came up and she suggested that human error had caused the fire. Abby’s troubled expression shifted Justin’s temper to a new source. Dragging the insurance rep to the blackened stove, an area she’d oddly avoided, he pointed out the real culprit, insisting she take pictures of the faulty wiring to include in her report.

  Accepting the fact that her company would have to pay, the
adjuster agreed that the cause was obvious, concluded the inspection, and gave final instructions. A remediation team would arrive in the morning, and Abby needed to submit an inventory of damaged items. Once received, the company would determine the cost of the repairs, and a check would be cut.

  One important step hadn’t been mentioned.

  “What about a structural inspection?” Justin asked.

  “Excuse me?” said the adjuster.

  “There could be damage in that wall. Unless repaired, Abby could have major issues down the road. It needs to be checked by a professional.”

  Hugging her iPad to her chest, the woman replied tightly, “I don’t think that’s necessary. We can see that the wall is still standing.”

  Justin gritted his teeth. “A professional would tell you that a standing wall isn’t necessarily a stable wall. As an insurance adjuster, you know that.”

  With a huff, Ms. Dilburgh lowered the iPad and began tapping away like a hen pecking for her dinner. “I’ll have to do a search to locate a structural engineer in the area. There’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to find one.”

  Abby offered a solution. “I know the owner of a construction business in town. He should be able to check the wall, right?” She looked to Justin for backup.

  “A man who builds houses qualifies as a structural expert in my book,” he said.

  “Fine,” the pissy insurance lady growled. “What’s his name?”

  “Mike Lowry,” Abby replied. “L-O-W-R-Y. He owns Lowry Construction.”

  Dilburgh typed in silence for several seconds before flipping the cover on the tablet. “I’ll see if he’s available, but until then I suggest you put together the inventory list as soon as possible. Regardless of what an inspector determines, the claim can’t be processed until that list is submitted and reviewed.”

  Abby nodded. “I’ll start today.”

  “Good.” The adjuster handed Abby her card. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I contact Mr. Lowry, but if you need to reach me before then, you can use my cell number.” Ignoring Justin completely, she bid her client farewell and marched toward the exit, apparently happy to show herself out.

  Staring at the card in her hand, Abby sighed. “Do you really think the wall is damaged?”

  “No,” Justin answered. “But you can never be too thorough.”

  “I wouldn’t have known to ask about that,” she said, glancing up from the card.

  “That’s why I’m here—I know things about fires that you don’t. You’re going to want to include furniture, carpet, and curtain cleaning on that inventory list. Sometimes the smell doesn’t come out of fabric, but it isn’t overwhelming in here, so I think you’ll be okay with a good scrub.”

  “Overwhelming?” Abby muttered. “That smell isn’t overwhelming?”

  “Not even close.” Rubbing his hands together, Justin looked around. “Do you have a notebook on hand?”

  Stuffing the business card into her pocket, she crossed to a desk in the corner of the living room. “You don’t have to stay,” she said.

  Stubborn as a mule, this one. “I’m here. I might as well help.”

  “Don’t you have to work or something?”

  If she’d been searching for the right button to push, she’d found it.

  “That’s one of the benefits of being unemployed. Nowhere to be.”

  He’d expected a look of sympathy. Or maybe pity. Both of which he’d seen enough from his parents. To his surprise, she reacted with honest curiosity.

  “Is that why you came home? Because you lost your job?”

  “Partially, yes.”

  “Partially?” she asked, dark brows arched high.

  He had no intention of discussing his recent mistakes. “We should start on that list.”

  Abby fanned herself with the notepad, presumably to ward off the lingering smell of smoke. “Chicago is a big city. Surely you could have found another job. What exactly did you do up there?”

  “I worked for a property development firm as a project manager,” Justin replied, keeping his answer intentionally vague.

  “What kinds of projects?” she asked. So much for vague.

  “High-rises, mostly. Some hotels, and others offering new office space.”

  “Wow,” she murmured, appearing adequately impressed. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility. Why did they let you go?”

  Because I’m an idiot. “There were . . . complications.”

  Abby laughed, sending a jolt through his system. Oddly, she looked as surprised by the sound as he was.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I laughed at that.”

  Seeing her smile made the blow to his pride worthwhile. “I don’t mind. You have a pretty laugh.”

  The smile disappeared. “You should go.”

  He’d never met a woman so allergic to compliments. “Abby, I’m not letting you poke around that stove by yourself. It isn’t safe. We can keep arguing about this or we can get to work, but I’m not leaving.”

  A toe tapped on the hardwood as she attempted to stare him down. Justin stood his ground. She wasn’t the only stubborn ass in this room.

  “You can stay, but this is a onetime thing. And no more flirting.”

  He couldn’t have heard her right. “No more what?”

  “You heard me. Save the flattery and that sexy grin for a woman your own age.”

  Once again, Abby walked away as if the subject were closed. Watching her stroll into the kitchen, Justin pushed up his sleeves. Time to get this age crap out of the way.

  “Let’s get a couple things straight right now,” Justin said, following Abby into the kitchen. “You’re going to be dealing with this mess for weeks to come. Whether mine or someone else’s, you need to get over this superwoman crap and accept some damn help.” She spun to respond, but he kept charging, backing her up against the island. “Second, I will not be disqualified on a technicality.” Strong arms locked on to the island behind her, and his voice softened as his eyes dropped to her mouth. “I’ve waited too long for this chance. I’m not walking away until I get a fair shot.”

  Flushed, Abby stared into olive-gold eyes, utterly speechless. Desire warred with anger, and both caused her to miss the meaning of his words. Two years since she’d been this close to a man, which she’d begun to think might never happen again, caused a rush of endorphins into her brain, muddling her otherwise practical nature.

  Shaking hands gripped the soft, green cotton of his shirt, and for a second she nearly gave in to temptation. One afternoon of sex couldn’t hurt anything. Except her pride when he saw her naked. Abby had put on weight since Kyle’s death and wasn’t as comfortable in her own skin these days.

  But beyond her insecurity loomed the guilt. ’Til death do us part sounded good on paper but turned out to be much harder in practice.

  “Are you finished?” she said, voice breathier than she liked.

  “Are you going to stop throwing this age thing around?” he asked.

  Abby stood her ground. “I’m five years older than you are, Justin. That’s a reality.”

  “I’m not arguing the number.” He leaned forward until she could feel his breath on her cheek. “I’m saying that number doesn’t mean a damn thing. You’re a single woman. I’m a single man. That’s the reality.”

  If only things could be so simple.

  “For you, maybe,” she replied, finding the strength to push against his chest. He barely budged. “But like it or not, that number matters to me. I need you to respect that.”

  She’d finally gotten through to him. Justin rose to his full height. “I respect you, Abby. I always have. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  Justin stepped past her and reached into the cabinet above the blackened stove while Abby struggled to regain her composure. Five mostly melted bottles nearly fell onto his head, but he caught them with ease. Six months ago, she’d parted with Kyle’s clothes after Hale
igh had convinced her that giving them away would be cathartic. Her fear that removing his things would somehow remove him from her memory had proven to be a shortsighted notion. But then grief didn’t always make sense.

  And so she told herself that this would be the same. These were bits of plastic, not priceless monuments.

  “Do you want to put these on the list?” Justin asked.

  Shaking her head, Abby said, “No. I don’t need to replace those.”

  Though a small achievement, the act of letting anything go felt heroic, and Abby would take a win wherever she could find one.

  Chapter 3

  “Dammit,” Abby muttered, not for the first time since they’d begun assessing the damage. “This was my grandmother’s serving platter. It dates back to the 1940s.”

  The three pieces of porcelain in her hands didn’t look like much to Justin, but he offered sympathy all the same. “Sorry about that. Think you can find a replacement online?”

  “I don’t know.” Her shoulders fell. “If I could, it wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Do you want me to do some research to find a value?”

  “You can try.” She flipped the pieces to find a hallmark. “The maker is Pfaltzgraff, but there’s nothing else to go on.”

  They’d brought her laptop into the kitchen more than an hour before. Once Justin had handled the area directly above the stove, Abby took over going through the rest of the cabinets. Thankfully, most items had been salvageable, but the force of a fire hose always took some victims of its own.

  “I’ll pull up some pictures and we’ll see if any look similar.” Typing into the search engine, he said, “Can I ask you a question?”

  Squatting in front of an open cabinet, she said, “You just did. Why do people do that? If you have a question, just ask it.”

  “I don’t remember you being this grumpy.” The Abby he knew had always been ready with a smile and a kind word. The modern version barely smiled at all.