Stubborn as a Mule Page 3

  I turn to glance quizzically at Larkin, as I didn’t know they knew each other. Larkin’s expression says she knows very well who Melinda is, but not vice versa. Larkin gives her a genuine smile. “For my brother.”

  Melinda jerks her gaze to me, her eyebrows knitted. “Brother?”

  I nod. “Larkin’s my baby sister. You two know each other?”

  Melinda gives a slight shake of her head. “Just from seeing her in the mornings for a cup of coffee and something to eat.”

  Larkin pipes up. “We never did officially introduce ourselves. I’m Larkin, obviously.”

  Melinda smiles. “Melinda. Well, my friends call me Mely. Nice to officially meet you.”

  “Mely?” I blurt out, not sure why. Maybe I’m just a little taken aback by how well Larkin is getting along with the devil.

  Ice-blue eyes cut my way. Melinda’s voice is sweet, but there’s no mistaking the ire. “I said my friends call me Mely. You’re not my friend.”

  “Damn right,” I mutter as I turn to get in my truck, and I’m surprised to hear Larkin’s amused laugh behind me. She’s my champion in the family and I’m not sure what in the hell she finds funny about any of this, but I’m not sticking around to find out.

  My dramatic exit is stunted the minute I close my door and see Larkin holding the box of cupcakes out toward me. Our eyes lock through the windshield, and while I want to just drive off so I don’t have to suffer another minute of Melinda’s presence, I want those damn cupcakes.

  With a grunt of frustration, I hop out of the truck and stalk toward Larkin. I don’t bother looking at anything but the cupcakes. After grabbing them from my sister, I growl a gratitude at her and bristle as she laughs again when I turn back to my truck seeking escape from the true source of my frustration and disdain.

  ♦

  Sitting on my porch sipping a beer, I consider the lake and some early evening fishing. It’s a good way to relax, but I’m actually too wound up to even consider trying. The thought of lazily drifting in a boat with my pole dangling over the side sounds confining to me. Even though I’ve just finished up a ten-hour workday, I’m still vibrating with energy and don’t know what to do with it.

  I’d have thought that a few hours removing cabinets from Mainer House on top of a full day working on the rebuild of Millie’s Bed & Breakfast, the town of Whynot’s only sleep accommodations, would have worn my butt out, but I’ve apparently still got some juice in me. The question is what to do with it.

  Millie’s was torn down last year because the entire structure was on the verge of crumbling due to a terrible infestation of termites. It sat one block north of Mainer House, just over Crabtree Creek, and was a lovely historic home in its own right. Only problem was Millie didn’t take care of it over the years, then left it to three idiot sons who ran it further into the ground. One day, a guest was coming down the staircase and his leg punched right through one of the steps, fracturing his tibia. Millie’s sons got sued and when they realized how bad the infestation was, they threw their hands in the air and moved away from town. The building had been foreclosed on, but some corporation bought it a few months ago and decided to build a new bed and breakfast. It struck me as weird given how no one really comes to Whynot and we really don’t need lodging, but whatever. Tim Nichols at Whynot 1st Bank referred me to them and I was hired to do all the custom carpentry work once the frame and drywall went up.

  I consider just taking a shower and calling it an early night. I consider heading back to Mainer House and annoying Melinda by insisting I work in the evenings too so she’ll be put out. I consider eating the last cupcake Larkin had given me because the three I ate for dinner didn’t satisfy me.

  Oddly, the only thing that sounds interesting is annoying Melinda, but I refuse to do it. When that woman demands more of my attention than I want to give on a voluntary basis, it’s time shut that crap down and stop thinking about it.

  Car tires crunching over gravel causes me to look to the left and I see Trixie’s car headed toward my little house. I’d built it four years ago. It sits on the northeast corner of Mainer Farms right near the bank of the lake. I’m secluded from the main house but if I wanted to visit, my Gator could get me there in about five minutes.

  I don’t move from my perch, merely taking another sip of my beer as Trixie gets out of her car. After she shuts her door, I call out, “Where’s your better half?”

  Trixie rolls her eyes at me as she walks my way. “Ry’s headed back to Boston for the weekend. Getting the rest of his stuff packed up.”

  Trixie recently reconnected with her first love—well, her true love—just a few weeks ago. Ryland Powers got his heart stomped and broken by my older sis, and then brought her to her knees when he came down South from his prestigious law firm to help her with a case. They’d dated through most of law school but parted ways when Trixie decided she wanted to practice law in Whynot, North Carolina, and Ry wanted to stay in Boston.

  He may have brought Trixie to her knees recently, but he’s the one who is uprooting himself so they can be together. He’s going to open a new branch of his Boston law firm in Raleigh, which is about forty-five minutes from Whynot. Trixie and Ryland purchased a home about halfway in between, and they’ve been slowly moving in over the last few weeks.

  “Want a beer?” I ask as she walks up and sits down beside me on the porch.

  Trixie shakes her head. Even though I’m closest to Larkin out of all my siblings, Trixie’s the oldest, so I usually looked to her for advice and guidance growing up. Of course, our relationship has taken a bit of a hit over the last few weeks because even as she was reconnecting with her former love, I was being a complete thorn in her side by getting in trouble with the law.

  “Did you do anything at Mainer House today?” she asks as she kicks her legs out. She’s wearing jeans shorts and a Harvard Law t-shirt. Trixie only dresses up if she has to be in court. Even then, she sometimes doesn’t, regardless of the risk of really ticking Judge Bowe off.

  “Early this morning,” is all I offer. I’m still a little bent out of shape that she’s taken me to task for my antics on more than one occasion. While I logically know she has every right to be frustrated with me, I wish she’d just for once say she understands where I’m coming from.

  “I totally understand why you did what you did, Lowe,” she says quietly.

  “Huh?” I say with a jerking motion as my head snaps her way.

  That was weird.

  Trixie shrugs. “I know I’m a hard ass when it comes to getting you out of trouble, but honestly… I get why you did it. Boarding up the house. Defending it. You were sending a message not just to the woman who owns it, but also to your family and the entire town that you were mourning the loss of something. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that.”

  “You’re freaking me out, Trix,” I mutter as I stare at her in continued astonishment. Trixie rarely apologizes for anything.

  “I’m just feeling a little nostalgic,” she admits with a sigh as she pats my knee. “I’m going to miss that house.”

  “Yeah,” I say under my breath. “Me too.”

  “Well, I just wanted to stop by on my way home,” she says as she turns more on the porch step to face me. “Things cool with you and Miss Rothschild?”

  “Can’t stand her,” I say caustically. “But it’s cool. I’ll get the work done, then I’m moving on.”

  “Really?” she asks hopefully, her eyes shimmering with concern.

  “No, not really,” I tell her with a dramatic roll of my eyes. “I’m still pissed, but I’m done taking it out on you and the family.”

  “That’s good,” she says with a laugh. “I was starting to worry about you antagonizing that woman. You know Judge Bowe is all out of patience with you.”

  I nod my head in agreement and give her a docile smile. “I promise to behave.”

  Which God have mercy on my lying soul, but I am not going to behave in the slightest when it comes to
Melinda Rothschild. I learned something important today during our little early morning meeting.

  She doesn’t want to go to jail, so she’s not going to cause waves. While I can’t do anything to her that’s overtly damaging to her plans to remodel the house, I can certainly annoy the living crap out of her while I do my work, and that is something that actually gives me some joy when I think of it.

  The Gossip Mill

  at Sweet Cakes Bakery

  via Mary Margaret Quinn aka Aunty Q

  Nothing smells finer than opening the door to Sweet Cakes and getting that first inhaled scent of sugar, cream, and vanilla. Larkin Mancinkus is an absolute genius when it comes to baked goods, and in my personal opinion, makes the best angel food cake this side of heaven.

  “Hey, Mary Margaret,” Larkin calls from behind the sleek, curved glass case that showcases fresh baked goods.

  “Evenin’,” I say back to her. “Need some angel food cake. Going to make some strawberry shortcake later.”

  “Oh, that sounds good,” I hear from behind me. Turning, I see Trixie, one of Larkin’s sisters, walking in behind me. “Although if you only have one left, I’m okay with arm wrestling Mary Margaret for it.”

  “I’m feisty,” I warn her, although truth be told, my arthritis has me a bit hobbled in my hands. Otherwise, I’d be baking my own cake.

  “You’re both lucky,” Larkin says as she slides the door of the case open from the other side and pulls out two cakes. “But I only have squares today. Not rings.”

  “That’s fine,” I tell her.

  Trixie adds, “And throw in a few chocolate-chocolate-chip cupcakes. Ry gets all kinds of ‘appreciative’ when I bring them home.”

  “Things going well then?” I ask Trixie. She and her longtime love, Ryland Powers, have reconnected and he’s moved down South to be with her.

  “Going swimmingly,” she says with a bright grin, then levels a knowing look at Larkin. “Now if we can just get Lowe’s head out of his butt about Mainer House, my life would be almost perfect.”

  Oh, this is interesting. “Head out of his butt? I thought Judge Bowe settled all that nonsense about Mainer House. Earl told me so.”

  Earl Cooke is the courtroom bailiff. Frankly, he should have retired about two decades ago, but it’s not too strenuous a job for him to stand in the courtroom each day while the judge parcels out justice.

  Trixie leans an elbow on the glass case and tilts her head to me. I lean in closer. “Let’s just say Lowe doesn’t like the woman who bought Mainer House. While he told me just a bit ago he’s let things go, he still had that look in his eye.”

  “Look in his eye?” I press.

  “Like he has something up his sleeve,” she says. “That woman, Melinda Rothschild, has pushed his buttons in a way I’ve never seen him react to before. Lowe’s not the type to be rude or inconsiderate, so I can’t figure it out. But yes… he needs to get his head out of his butt or Judge Bowe is going to throw him in jail.”

  I nod wisely. This makes sense. “Well, Earl said that Yankee lady is really quite the shrew. Said she’s pretty as all get out, but she was a veritable ‘witch’ in the courtroom.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if under that skirt she’s hiding a pair of big, brass ba—”

  Trixie cuts off abruptly, her eyes shooting to Larkin, who ducks her head and grins.

  “Big brass what?” I ask curiously. These kids and their slang these days.

  “Nothing,” Trixie says as she snags the pink box Larkin packaged her cake in. “Gotta get going. Put this on my tab, Larkin. Bye, Mary Margaret.”

  “Toodles,” I say before turning to Larkin, waiting for her to box my cake.

  “She’s not a shrew,” Larkin says. I lean in toward the counter, eager to get her take on the newcomer. “She comes in almost every day, and she’s actually really nice. Not sure why she’s so riled up with Lowe, but I like her.”

  “I thought all New Yorkers were sort of… what’s the word… aloof?” I inquire with genuine curiosity.

  “Can’t say as to that,” Larkin says as she works on closing the lid to the cake box and adding some tape at the edges. She then carries it to the register. “But I do wonder what her plans are with the house. She seems to be dropping a lot of money into the renovations, although I guess she’ll save some since the Judge ordered Lowe to do some of the work for free.”

  “That boy’s impetuous,” I muse with a smile. “Just like his grandpap.”

  “Well, I’m going to dig around a little when she comes in again,” Larkin says as she rings up my purchase. “See exactly what her motives are when it comes to Mainer House.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Melinda

  I squirt out the last of my exfoliating, detoxifying, purifying, bankrupting, expensively priced face cream into the palm of my hand and wonder what I’m going to do without this miracle mask over the next few months. I’ve got no business shelling out $375 for a three-ounce tube when I’ve planned to sink a buttload of my personal money into this house. Tomorrow, I’ll have to go over to the pharmacy and see what they have available. Maybe I can even take some time to run into Raleigh to purchase something that’s not as expensive as what I normally use but that would be a step above Horace Schumer’s Udderly Fantastic Cleanser I saw in the pharmacy the other day. Apparently, it’s made from the milk taken directly from a cow’s udder and I don’t even want to think about what that really means.

  I take my time rubbing the mask onto my face, letting the tiny little crystals do their exfoliating gig. This time of the evening is usually relaxing and almost meditative as I go through my nightly beauty routine. Once I hit thirty, I started taking this stuff very seriously. Being a Rothschild meant only the top-of-the-line products would touch my skin. Of course, that’s changed a bit since taking on the Mainer House, but I don’t think I’m going to turn into a hag over the next few weeks if I don’t replenish a few of my products.

  Letting the mask dry, I wash my hands and then put on my pajamas. Another tank top and a pair of loose cotton shorts, which have become an absolute necessity in the south. Mainer House has a central air system but it’s old and not very powerful. It is definitely on the list to update.

  I glance at my growing pile of dirty clothes, groaning inwardly as I realize I’m going to have to break down and do laundry. The Mainer House doesn’t have a washer or dryer and so I’ve had to actually use a laundromat. The town of Whynot is so small it doesn’t have one, so I have to drive to Milner, the next biggest town over. It even has a Walmart, which is apparently a big deal around these parts.

  Turning back to the sink, I turn the water on and let it start to warm up so I can rinse the mask off. Just as I’m cupping a handful of water, someone starts banging on my front door.

  “Freaking Lowe Mancinkus,” I curse to my reflection in the mirror above the sink before I spin away, stomp through the bedroom, and then down the staircase.

  Again, there is no need for me to look through the glass windows to know it’s my nemesis standing on my porch step. I truly believe it is Lowe’s quest to annoy the crap out of me as payback for taking his family’s home.

  I wish I could be sorry for buying this beautiful house, but I’m not. It sucks Lowe is personally tied to it and it’s part of his history, but it is not my fault his family could not afford to keep it.

  One hand turns the deadbolt and the other turns the doorknob, then I’m swinging the door open and snarling at him, “What could you possibly want at nine o’clock at night?”

  Once again, Lowe is standing there looking all hot and manly and pissed off at me, which makes him even hotter for some reason, and his gaze travels down my body. I grit my teeth and just stare at him, waiting for an answer to my question.

  When his eyes come up to meet mine, his head jerks back and his lips tip downward in a grimace. “What in the hell is on your face?”

  For a moment, I have no clue what he’s talking about. Bringing my hand up,
I touch my cheek. When I feel the dried mask, I mutter, “I was getting ready for bed.”

  Lowe pushes past me and walks into my home. I swiftly turn to follow him, intent on escorting him right back out again, but I end up slamming into his body when he stops to face me. I bounce backward and he makes no move to steady me, which is good… as I don’t want him to touch me.

  It could be disastrous.

  “You really wear that on your face to bed?” he asks curiously.

  “No, I don’t wear this to bed,” I snap at him. “It’s just to clean my face.”

  “You should go rinse that off so we can talk. I can’t concentrate with you looking like that.”

  “Well, gee,” I say sarcastically. “I actually don’t want to talk to you. Therefore, you should just go.”

  “I think you’ll like what I have to say,” he says slyly, and I must admit… it sounds a little tempting to hear what’s on his mind.

  But I resist engaging him. I can’t let him think it’s okay to barge into my house whenever he wants. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s doing this strictly to irritate me, so I have to put a stop to it right now.

  “Listen,” I say with a sigh. “Neither one of us likes this situation very much. But I would very much appreciate it if you would help me out by being a little more considerate of my time.”

  “Yeah,” he drawls and by his tone, I know I’m not going to like what he says. “You see, I don’t feel like being considerate to you. My time is being wasted by having to work on this place when I’ve actually got a full-time job to attend to.”

  “Perhaps you should have considered that before you painted my house pink,” I clip out, enunciating my words clearly.

  “I’m not the one who got the law involved in our private little squabble,” he points out.

  I hate how reasonable his voice sounds.

  Mine sounds nothing like his and borders on shrill when I tell him, “You are one deranged man. You trespassed on private property, ruined said private property, and then threatened my workers with a gun. You then painted my house pink. In what world would I not get the law involved?”