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Sloan’s heart slammed into his ribs as she drove away. He staggered over to the brown plaid sofa, Mac at his heels. Grown men didn’t cry, but damned if his eyes weren’t watery. She’d said nothing changed between them, but she was wrong. They were good for each other.
Why couldn’t she see it?
Her curt dismissal of the paradise they’d found stung. More than that, she’d filleted him to the bone by her actions. What they had meant something. He knew it as well as he knew his name.
His name.
That was part of the problem. She saw him as a Harding first and a man second.
Once he’d noticed her bag at the front door, he’d known he was in trouble. He’d known he was nothing more than a greasy spot in her rearview mirror.
His limbs felt like a hundred pounds of dead weight.
A lonely wind howled through his gut.
He’d been a fool.
He’d believed she was different from other women, but she had followed the classic female pattern of love ’em and leave ’em, almost as if she were reading the directions from a secret handbook.
He picked up her white queen from the chess board and rolled the carved wooden piece absently in his hand. Better that she’d walked out now, before he got in any deeper in the hole he’d dug for himself.
What if he’d married her, fallen in love with her, and she’d left him?
He wouldn’t be able to breathe.
He was barely able to draw in a full breath now.
He’d been dumped before. He knew the drill. Other women would come along. They always did. There seemed to be an endless supply of women who wanted nothing more than sex from him.
His spirits sunk further.
Mac nuzzled Sloan’s leg and stared at him. “She’s gone, Mac.”
His dog stared unblinkingly at him, as if beaming a “go get her” message at Sloan.
He rubbed Mac’s ears. “She said no, buddy. I have to respect that. She’s wrong about us. I know she cares for me, but it isn’t enough to make her forget all the baggage that comes with my being a Harding.”
She’d shivered in his arms. Together they surfed the crest of passion, soaring and gliding as one. She’d opened the door to a world of new sensations, dazzling him with hope. For a bit, he glimpsed a different future, one with the promise of a loving family.
He laid himself on the line for her but she wanted more. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Stupid. He knew better than to hope. Lone wolves didn’t attract marrying types. They prowled the edges of civilization and survived by staying out of sight.
She drew him out of cover with her smiles and cooking, lulled him into a sense of false security, even slept with him to beat insomnia. The sacrificial gambit had cost him dearly. He didn’t see the checkmate coming. When he showered and plotted ways to keep her close, she’d countered with an exit strategy.
Game over.
It was bitter and final, no matter that he wanted otherwise.
He stalked to the window. He wanted to protect her, to make sure whoever flooded her house was brought to justice. Her cop friend would do that.
Roxie didn’t need him.
Worse, she didn’t want him.
Pride warred with frustration and lost.
He didn’t belong in this house. And he didn’t belong in Mossy Bog. He’d chased the ghost of his inheritance long enough. He’d reached for a dream and come up empty handed.
Time to face the facts.
His inheritance was long gone.
As he should be.
Mossy Bog had brought him nothing but pain. Time to return to his impersonal life in the big city. Time to sell this place and never look back.
He blinked the moisture from his eyes and shoved the chess piece into his pocket.
***
ROXIE DASHED THE TEARS from her cheek and emptied her pajama drawer in a suitcase. Men were thick-headed. Sloan had the thickest head of all.
Why couldn’t he let the past go?
A frisson of awareness rippled across her nerves, as if someone were watching her again. Sloan? Cautiously, she edged forward and studied the trees bordering her sunny yard. Nothing.
She sagged against her bed.
Wasn’t it enough that her heart was broken?
Did she have to be crazy too?
These feelings of being watched weren’t going away. Either someone was out there or she’d completely lost it. Either way, she couldn’t stay here alone. Thank God Megan and Dave were back from visiting his Statesboro relatives. She could bunk on their sofa.
She glanced around her bedroom, feeling out of place. This house, her business—those things were her life. It was time she focused on what she had, not on what she didn’t have.
With a heavy heart, she zipped the soft suitcases, trudged down the stairs, and picked her way through the slippery mud in the hallway. What a mess.
She carried the suitcases straight to her trunk so they didn’t get muddy. The hairs on the nape of her neck ruffled. There it was again. That sensation of being watched.
“Who’s there?”
She glanced toward the tree line.
No answer.
Not that she expected one. Her instincts clamored for her to flee to safety. But her instincts had been wrong about Sloan. Why should she trust them now?
She folded her arms and leaned against Miss Daisy, the picture of nonchalance. Her heart raced. She scanned her field of vision, looking for a slight movement, a glint of sunlight on metal.
Fear sprouted wings and insisted that she run.
A familiar sound manifested in her hyper vigilant world. A car on Prospect Street. She heaved a sigh of relief as a cruiser turned into her drive.
Not all of her senses were malfunctioning. Her hearing still worked.
Hat in hand, Laurie Ann strode over to Roxie’s car and leaned against Miss Daisy. “I heard about yesterday. I’m sorry I was out of town. You doing all right?”
“Sure.” She wasn’t all right, but she couldn’t talk about it either.
“I’ve been following up on the fire hydrant angle this morning. Turns out yours was one of eight that were incorrectly capped. The one on Bayside Drive was leaking too, albeit at a slower rate.”
“Wait. The city is to blame for my flood?”
“Looks that way. You can send them a bill for the cleanup.”
She blinked, struggling to take in the words. “It was an accident? Someone wasn’t trying to sabotage my house?”
“Afraid not. I wanted to make sure you knew, so you wouldn’t worry.”
“I understand.”
“If you have concerns, call me anytime.”
“Sure.”
Laurie Ann studied her. “I’m worried about you.”
Roxie choked out a harsh laugh. “Me, too.”
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “You’ll think I’m crazy. Hell, I think I’m crazy.”
“Try me.”
Tears welled. Roxie squeezed them back. A breeze swept across her heated face. She stared at her muddy sneakers. “Sometimes I have the sense Andrea is still out there, watching me.”
“Oh honey. You should’ve said something sooner. First, let me reassure you that Andrea Albert is locked up. She can’t hurt you anymore. Second, your reaction is perfectly normal after a traumatic event.”
“It is?”
“You’ve got Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Like soldiers get after a war.”
“God, I am crazy. I’ve got PTSD.”
“Your mind keeps reliving those stressful moments. It will fade in time, but you should talk to a professional. I know a counselor who’s a whiz at this.”
Talking about her troubles with a stranger unsettled her. “I’m not ready to see a shrink. I’m headed to Megan’s. She’ll help me sort this out.”
“Megan’s? Gator told me you were staying with Sloan.”
“I spent the night over there. He insisted. It was a mistake. A big mistake.”
“You want to talk about that?”
“He’s a jerk. I don’t want anything to do with anyone named Harding ever again.”
“Want me to arrest him?”
Pain socked her in the heart. “I want you to squash him like a bug, but then he’d think I cared.”
***
“I SHOWED THE HARDING place today to a young couple from Savannah,” Megan said matter-of-factly as she snapped pieces of romaine lettuce for a salad. “They loved the location. Her parents are coming back with them tomorrow. I expect a contract from them soon.”
Roxie pulled the fleece blanket around her neck and sank into the soft cushions. She’d been living on Megan and Dave’s sofa for almost a week now and overseeing the clean-up at her house. It had been pumped dry, cleaned, and then re-cleaned. Huge fans were blowing through her house to disperse the disinfectant smell.
She could go home tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Megan kept the business going. Megan fielded Sloan’s calls. Not once had he asked for Roxie. Not once had he called her cell to talk to her directly.
Her wounded pride was a lousy companion.
Would he have continued sleeping with her if she hadn’t demanded that apology? Didn’t he understand that trust was a two-way street? Making love with her when he didn’t believe in her was meaningless sex.
She’d been foolish to allow her hormones free reign. Those tempestuous winds had blown through her heart with gale force speed, ripping at her foundations. She’d had a wild ride, but she’d never expected to end up so fractured.
Her emotions wouldn’t settle, no matter how busy her hands were. Even when she’d driven herself to the point of exhaustion, her broken heart throbbed.
She’d fallen in love with Sloan.
She loved him for carving out a life for himself. For surviving a childhood of neglect and terror. For earning her grandmother’s admiration. She could almost hear Gran saying Sloan had “spine.” Elusive praise, that.
“Come with me when I show them the property tomorrow,” her friend said. “I’m sure we can close the deal.”
What was Megan talking about?
Oh yeah. Selling Sloan’s house.
No need to return to the scene of that disaster. “Sounds like you have everything under control. You don’t need me tagging along.”
Her friend stopped working on the salad and sat down in the navy wingback chair across from Roxie. “Maybe, but this is your listing too. I’ve never known you to be so hands-off about a real estate deal. Should I call a doctor?”
“I’m not sick.”
“There are all kinds of sick. I haven’t pushed because I know you value your privacy, but I’m concerned about you. This affair with Sloan hurt you, and it tears me up to see you so sad.”
She blinked back the hot tears that lurked in her eyes these days. “I’m sorry to be such a downer.” She exhaled shakily. “You’re right about my mood. I don’t know what to do with myself. I alternate between wanting to sleep all day and cry.”
“That’s understandable. Break-ups are like that.”
“Shouldn’t I be feeling better by now? Shouldn’t I want to say horrible things about him or at the very least wish him bad luck?”
“I’m no expert on love, but I had several boyfriends before Dave. After those breakups, I felt better in a few days. Maybe it takes you longer to rebound. Your grieving and healing process seems to have stalled out. That might be an answer in itself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your feelings for Sloan run deep. Is it possible your relationship can be salvaged?”
Roxie shook her head. “Not a chance. The reason we broke up hasn’t changed. We have two very different perspectives. He sees the bad in people; I see the good.”
“That sounds like a challenge all right, but not a deal breaker. Dave and I don’t agree on everything. Instead, we agree to disagree. Oftentimes, I have to start the peace-making process. Have you thought of that? You could call him.”
Tears blurred Roxie’s vision. She blinked them away. “If only it were so easy. We’re talking basic trust here. I took the first step the night my house flooded. That misstep made everything worse.”
“He’ll come around. And if he doesn’t, he doesn’t deserve you.” Megan rose. “Why don’t you join Dave and me at the movies tonight?”
Just what she wanted, to spend the evening with two people who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. “I’ve intruded enough. You and Dave need time alone without me hanging around your necks like a rusty barge. Thanks for the heart-to-heart.”
“Any time.”
***
ROXIE WAS IN THE MIDDLE of a Law and Order marathon later that evening when her cell phone rang. She snatched it up without checking caller ID. Expectation caused her voice to catch in her throat. “Hello.”
“Hey, Sis. How are ya?”
Timmy. She sighed out her foolish hopes and muted the television. “Okay. And you?”
“Super. And great news. I aced my history mid-term.”
“You did?” She sat up straight. “That’s wonderful.”
“I should have called sooner, but I didn’t want to get hassled about the Army. This is something I really want to do. I spent a lot of time talking to the Army recruiter before I signed up. I even wrote a letter to Mom and Dad telling them why I did it.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Timmy was growing up. “I can’t help worrying. You’re my little brother. I want the best for you.”
“This is what I want. For the first time, I’m excited about my future. There are so many different opportunities in the Army. I can be anything I want to be, go places I’ve never been. I can be me.”
She sucked in a quick breath. Had her vision of his future seemed so horrible to him? The last thing she wanted to do was paint him in a corner. “Be happy, Timmy. If this is what you want, I’m glad for you, truly I am.”
“Is Sloan there? I wanted to tell him the good news.”
Sloan. Timmy wanted to talk to Sloan. She grimaced and swallowed thickly. “He’s not here. I’m not in contact with him any longer.”
“You’re not? But I thought...” Timmy trailed off, keeping his thoughts to himself.
She cleared her throat, anxious to change the subject. She couldn’t talk about Sloan without feeling raw inside. “The important thing is your happiness. I’m proud you did well on that history test.”
“We’ll celebrate when I come home for Thanksgiving break.”
“Sure thing.”
After Roxie hung up, she stared at the muted TV screen for a while. Timmy had grown up, almost overnight. She didn’t have to worry about him any longer, and she had Sloan to thank for that.
How had that happened?
How did Sloan reach Timmy?
He did what no one else in her family could do – he communicated with Timmy and her brother listened.
She had known Sloan for such a short time, and he’d made a profound impact on her life. Was that why she couldn’t forget him?
***
ROXIE PULLED BODY AND soul together for the Friends of the Museum meeting. Willie Mac hobbled in on his walker, a wide smile on his skeletal face. Olivia Erwin twirled around the room, energetic enough for a woman half her age. Bea Laramore carried a bouquet of flowers from her yard to grace the table. Reverend Junior Cullens brought a cup of coffee over to the table and sat.
“We’re all here. Let’s get started,” Roxie began. “First, in case anyone’s been living in a bog hole for the past two weeks, Les Green donated his waterfront property to our group.”
Olivia rushed over and gave Roxie a hug. “You’re such a gem. I can’t believe you got that property for us. But I’m stunned at the danger that resulted. I’m so happy nothing happened to you.”
“Not as happy as I am. Thank goodness Andrea Albert is a lousy shot. I feel sorry for her, if you want to know the truth.”
“That girl was always a bit off,” Junior said. “Takes after her grandmother, she does. Les should’ve known better than to marry a crazy woman’s daughter.”
Bea frowned. “Watch your mouth. Annie Robin was my fourth cousin, twice removed. My family is proud of our crazy people, old man.”
Junior’s jaw dropped. “You think Andrea should’ve shot Roxie?”
“I never said that. Andrea got what she deserved. Roxie is the driving force behind our museum, and we’re lucky to have her. And the museum property.”
Finally they were back on track. Roxie breathed a sigh of relief. “Les gets the credit for his generosity.”
Junior raised his coffee cup. “Hear, hear. May he rest in peace.”
“What about Andrea?” Willie Mac asked.
“She’s in a psych ward,” Roxie said. “She threatened to challenge the will but our attorney said we were good.”
“Hot damn!” Bea pumped a fist in the air. “Oops, sorry Reverend.”
“No apology necessary.” Smiles wreathed Junior’s plump face. “This is indeed a great moment for our committee.”
“I agree,” Roxie said. “Our goal for the year was to buy the property. Now that we own it free and clear, I say we should start the rehab of the structure.”
“I don’t know about that,” Willie Mac said. “If we can’t get everything under roof and sealed in, we could sustain weather or termite damage to the new start. My vote is to collect that much money before we do anything.”
“You old sourpuss, you!” Olivia scooted around the room to Willie Mac’s chair, smacking two envelopes against his thin shoulder. “I’ve got just the tonic for you.”
“Easy, Olivia,” Roxie warned.
“What’s that?” Willie Mac asked.
“I got these this week and have been sitting on the news so hard I thought I’d split open like a roasted oyster. We were approved for two grants. With this money plus what we already have in the bank and a little sweat equity, we’re gonna have us a bang up museum.”
The approval letters made the rounds of the table. Roxie read them, did some mental math and came up short. No matter how they cut it, they still needed a hefty donation.
“This is great news. Every little bit helps,” Roxie said. “But we can’t let up now on our fundraising. We have to continue to be very visible in the community. Bea, do you have folks scheduled for our weekend bake sales out at the mall in December?”
“Still working on it.”
“We’re counting on that income. And any other ideas folks can think of to raise funds for the museum.”
“I’m going to talk to Stewart on the County Commissioners,” Junior said. “With the property acquisition and the grants, our financial situation has changed. They should see their way clear to adding us to their budget.”
“I’ll take on the city,” Olivia crowed. “It was nice of you to tackle Noreen before, but it’s my turn, Roxie.”
Roxie sighed out her relief. “Great. Bea, you want to talk to your cousin over at the newspaper? Maybe a press release would help us find a rich patron.”
Bea beamed. “I can do that.”
The meeting broke up, and everyone drifted out. Bea handed Roxie the floral arrangement. “I want you to have these.”
Their cloying scent made her head reel. She set them down on the table beside her purse and dug for her keys to Miss Daisy. “Thanks.”
“Is something wrong, dear?”
“I’m fine.”
“Now, now. I know you better than that. You’re not fine. Tell me what’s the matter.”
She’d be lucky to get out of here by tomorrow if she didn’t give Bea something. “It’s personal.”
“Personal, you say?” Bea looked thoughtful. “It’s that Harding boy, isn’t it?”
Heat flooded Roxie’s face. Did everyone in town know about her short-lived affair? “As I said, it’s personal.”
“Did he break your heart? Give me his phone number, and I’ll set him straight. Noreen told me he’d been sniffing around you. Nothing good ever came of those Hardings.”
Anger stiffened Roxie’s spine. “Sloan isn’t like his father. He works hard, and he’s made a name for himself out in the world. Noreen is wrong about him.”
“I see.”
“We had a disagreement, that’s all. Good grief.”
***
SHE HADN’T BEEN AT the office all week.
Sloan had called there four times on the pretext of talking about his listing when all he’d wanted was to hear her voice. Instead he’d spoken with her coworker, Megan, who had been actively showing his house.
Roxie’s cell phone number cycled through his head again, but he wouldn’t beg for another chance. Plus she was probably screening her calls.
He stared at the contract Megan had faxed to him. Once he signed this paperwork, he’d never have to set foot in Mossy Bog again.
He should be relieved.
He wasn’t.
“Sloan, you there?” Megan’s voice shot through the phone connection, slamming into his thoughts. Her perkiness aggravated the sinking feeling in his gut.
He could end this misery today.
All he had to do was sign his name.
Panic flared.
He tamped it down.
The offering price was an insult. Roxie’s South Carolina buyer must have changed his mind. Megan hadn’t done him any favors with this contract. With that thought, he tossed the papers in the trash. “No deal.”
“This offer is below your asking price,” Megan said. “Counter with a higher price. That’s the real estate game.”
“Don’t want to counter,” he muttered.
“You should. These buyers will go higher.”
“I’m not countering. If I don’t get another offer, then it’s my own damn fault.”
He ended the call and reached for his beer. He tipped the bottle up, but there wasn’t a drop of liquid left. Empty.
Just like him.
Hell.
Time for another beer run.
He rubbed his hand over his new beard. He’d worked from home this week, putting Bates in charge of daily operations. He wasn’t ready to face the guys yet. Bates was too perceptive for his own good, and Reg would rib him mercilessly.
Bottom line: his heart ached. He’d fallen hard and gotten slammed.
Booze dulled the pain.
Like father, like son.
But did he want to be the town drunk?
No.
He wanted Roxie.
He missed her.
His dog missed her.
Mac came over and licked his hand. Sloan remembered how Roxie had hugged Mac. He wrapped his arms around his dog and held on tight.