Chapter Two

Jase jolted awake and gasped for breath. Beads of sweat cooled against his forehead where the ceiling fan stirred the air above him, and bedsheets clung to his clammy body. He sat up straight, pushing the sateen fabric off his tensed limbs. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran shaky hands over his face, wiping away the moisture. But when scenes from his nightmare—reels of images stripped of any fiction—unfolded behind his lids, he quickly opened them wide again.

A tug on his lamp string flooded the room with soft light. For eleven years, he’d shut his old nightmares away.

Eleven.

Years.

Yet, for the past three nights, the floodgates had stood open, ushering guilt, his old companion, to crash through his conscience unfettered.

He glanced at the long, white envelope next to his phone, a single piece of mail from Idaho—the object responsible for opening the door to his past he wasn’t ready to face. But he knew he needed to answer it.

Only, answering means…

He cradled his head in his hands against the weight of a sleepless night of fighting mental demons as they crowded on his shoulders. But the last weight, the heaviest of the chains straining against the cavity of his chest, terrified him most. Because it breathed he’d hid long enough. That his family’s legacy deserved better.

With unsteady fingers, he took the envelope from the tabletop and concentrated on the smooth texture. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes then carefully pulled out the folded paper, focusing on the name at the bottom.

William Henry.

The halting curves of the rancher's handwriting formed words short and to the point—all business.

That's William.

But between the man’s request to meet in person and stating it was a private, time-sensitive, family matter, he sensed a plea for help. A plea he couldn’t ignore any longer.

Jase dug his palms into his eyelids as practiced words tumbled from his mouth in a rough whisper, “Dig deep. Get centered.”

His breathing slowed as he grasped for that place in his mind where there were no distractions, no heavy loads drowning him, only the pounding rhythm of his old college baseball mantra repeating in his head.

The tick of a wall clock eventually replaced the hallowed words, and he opened his eyes, more in control. Light filtered in through the blinds, a sign the sun had made its first appearance for the morning.

Checking his phone for the time, he rubbed a smudge from the screen, only to flinch when his alarm pierced the stillness. Penny was most likely on her way to the office, but the thought of starting his day sounded as appealing as reliving his nightmare. Tugging joggers on over his boxers, he dialed her number then rolled his neck before putting the phone to his ear. His assistant answered on the third ring.

“Morning, Penny.”

“You know, hot pink really isn’t your color.”

“Huh?”

“Just looking at this picture of you and Natasha from the gala. Sounds like the night was eventful.”

The lilt in her voice made him smile, despite the leftover residue in his mouth from the grenade Natasha had handed him last night. “You could say that. Wait. They’ve already aired the story?”

“They had all the charity coverage on the ten o’clock news. Though yours got a little more attention than the others, what with you being the west coast’s current favorite.”

He snorted. “Right. Lucky me.” His last word broke into a yawn, which he covered with the back of his fist.

Jase dropped William’s letter back onto his nightstand and noticed Madison’s silver bracelet. Scooping it up, he headed to the kitchen, fighting another yawn.

“Is everything okay?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, the stubble on his jaw rough against his fingers. “It was a long night, that’s all.”

“Another nightmare?”

His answer came out more a grunt than anything coherent.

“You aren’t fooling me. I know they’re still bothering you. Just like I know when you’ve gone more than four days without a good run.”

He winced at her motherly tone. Not because it annoyed him, but because it was so full of worry. “They’ll go away. They did before.” Never mind he’d run to escape them. But this time would be different. Instead of reacting, he’d act. He would.

It’s time.

And then Natasha’s words crowded their way through his mind on repeat. “You’re as broken now as you were then.”

He rubbed his forehead, putting pressure at his temples.

“Are you still there?” Penny asked.

“I’m here.”

There was a pause on her end, as if she silently debated whether to dig further, but he didn’t give her the chance. “Do you know a Madison Blakeley?”

“She’s one of the architects who bid on the restoration.”

His palm met his forehead. “No wonder she didn’t stick around after Natasha’s announcement.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” He set Madison’s bracelet on the counter, careful not to tangle it. “Is she local?”

“Yes. I believe she took over her father’s firm when he passed away last year.”

The corners of his mouth fell. “Why don’t I remember her bid?”

“It’s possible you only skimmed it. Your criteria were a minimum five years restoration experience, hers was maybe half of that.”

“Right.”

“Why the interest? If I might ask.”

“I met her last night at the gala and was curious.”

“Curious, huh?”

The endless blue of the architect’s eyes, and that red dress with her blush that matched, had him past curious, but he wasn’t going to admit those thoughts to the woman who was almost as much of a mother to him as an assistant. Not when it would only get her hopes up of seeing him in a relationship—the serious kind she probably prayed about nightly for him. The kind he didn’t have time for.

“Strictly a business curiosity.”

“I see.”

Her words might have well been a giant sigh, but he let the subject drop. “I meant to call and warn you about last night. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“You’ve planned, with careful precision, every detail for next week’s scheduled announcement, clear down to which of my ties will coordinate best with the theatre’s background. Natasha stole that moment from you.”

“No one could have predicted her actions last night.”

“Still.”

“How the restoration is announced isn’t important. Not really. That it’s finally happening is what I’m celebrating.”

“Well, you deserve this and more.”

Penny sniffed, and he pictured her dabbing her eyes with the embroidered square handkerchief she always carried—the one that reminded him of his grandmother.

“Don’t knight me just yet. In case you forgot, I’m making a lot of money on this.”

She laughed out loud, but the last note turned wistful. “I can’t wait to hold season tickets again. My heart truly broke the day the theatre closed their doors nearly twenty years ago.”

“We’ll get it perfect. I give you my word.”

He let her know he’d be in after lunchtime and disconnected the call, his promise to her settling in on his shoulders for the long haul. The weight wasn’t uncomfortable, simply a steady reminder to get this one right.

Jase tapped his fingers on the counter next to Madison’s bracelet and took in dawn’s peaceful, cloud-scattered sky beyond his windows. The early morning blue hit him with a shot of assurance—and reminded him of a certain architect’s eyes.

Less than twenty minutes ago, he’d fought the cold, lingering remains of his nightmare, and less than stellar thoughts about his old college friend. Now, those images and thoughts were only as ominous as the shadows from those brilliant white clouds in the distance. Definitely manageable.

He considered the piece of jewelry and whether to ask Penny to send it to Madison’s office or return it himself, but somehow, the idea of stuffing the personal item in a shipping box sounded careless. Returning it in person was the only choice, but he’d wait until later. A stutter in his breathing told him he needed some down time.

Grabbing his laptop, he sank onto a chair on his deck, the wood cool beneath him. He pulled up his files for the restoration, skimming the bids until he came across Madison’s, his curiosity too strong to keep at bay.

Her cover page and executive summary were standard, but it was her Our Approach section that caught his eye. The bulk of the statement was typical business lingo, but it was what he read in the details that made him sit forward and take note.

…Drawing on our intimate knowledge of the Old Theatre’s original presence, we’ll tailor an approach to your expectations by fusing form and functionality to restore the space with a mind toward its future. With roots in its rich history, we’ll propel the project forward to meet your new vision, crafting something truly inspiring…

He scratched at his scruff again and sat back. “Impressive.”

Jase skipped the Project Milestones section until he got to the profile page where her company’s address and website were listed. He clicked on the link like it was the first major league baseball game of the season, hungry to see the talent on the field but anxious, fully aware even the best teams had their weaknesses.

As the page loaded, he held his breath. Maybe it was the pedestal he’d put her on last night, but he didn’t want to see any glaring drawbacks in her designs or tastes.

Not that it should matter since I didn’t pick her.

Blakeley Architecture & Design’s webpage was simple but fluid, and his confidence rose. He brushed at a persistent gnat buzzing next to his ear and then clicked on the tab to see her most recent projects. It didn’t take long to scroll through her portfolio, though, since she was still a relatively new designer, but he craved more.

Pulling up a new search bar, he typed in her name and waited for it to load. About halfway down the screen was an article on a restored coastal cottage dated a little over a month ago. The news clip was only one page but had a photo collage of the building with a small caption at the bottom. The reporter mentioned the name of its proprietor, a sixty-something California native who ran the shop with her daughter, fulfilling a life-long dream of opening her own heirloom shop.

He studied the exterior lines of the structure. They were soft and feminine and, though definitely modern, gave off a seventies vibe that, with its bottom swinging shutters, pulled a smile from him. The inside shots drew him in further.

The cottage wasn’t large, but the space was used well, full of intriguing angles and inviting light from the cleverly placed windows. In the very center of the room, Madison stood smiling with the owner, their cheeks pressed together. She was exactly as he remembered her from last night—refreshing. Beautiful. But the woman next to her? She glowed like ten Edison bulbs. Crow’s feet, gray hair and all. She beamed.

He leaned an elbow on the armrest and shook his head. The cottage in the photo wasn’t just a trinket shop. No, what he saw on the screen in front of him was this woman’s dream—a dream Madison brought to life.

And knocked out of the park by the looks of those faces.