The Rule-Breaker Read online

  A thought struck. “Where’s Colin?” Eli asked. He’d expected Micah’s little brother to be on-site throughout the entire project. Despite the differences in their ages, the two Holland boys had been exceptionally close and Colin, he knew, had hero-worshiped Micah.

  Carl hesitated. “Probably off with some of his friends,” he said. “I thought he’d want to help out with this, but he didn’t have a lot to say when I asked him to come down here with me this morning. Said he’d already made plans.”

  Eli frowned, mildly surprised. “How’s he holding up?”

  “Not good,” Carl confessed, lowering his voice. “In fact, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to him. He’s always looked up to you, kind of sees you as an extension of his brother.”

  Eli didn’t know about that, but now that he thought about it, he was surprised that Colin hadn’t been around this morning, if for no other reason than to see him. They’d always gotten along well and had a good rapport. Eli had no illusions of taking Micah’s place, but he’d kept in touch with Colin since Micah’s death, hoping to build a better relationship with the boy. He’d made that promise to Micah years ago, long before the disaster in Mosul. In return, Micah had promised to oversee the care of his mother should anything happen to him.

  “I’ll certainly try,” Eli told him.

  Carl nodded, relief relaxing the tension around his eyes. “Thanks, Eli. We’d really appreciate it.”

  That settled, Eli bent forward and inspected the design.

  It was not at all what he’d expected.

  “Wow,” he murmured, stunned.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?” Carl asked, seemingly equally proud and pleased. “That’s why I asked Shelby to put it together. Most everyone knows she can sew like nobody’s business, but not many people realize that, had she not followed in her grandmother’s footsteps, she would have pursued a career in architecture.”

  He whistled low and continued to marvel at the design. “I’m not so sure she didn’t miss her calling.” He looked up at Carl. “This is amazing.”

  Carl beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not your typical town square gazebo, that’s for sure.”

  No, it certainly wasn’t. Rather than the quaint white shape with lots of fancy fretwork and gingerbread trim, Shelby’s design more resembled something from one of Tolkien’s novels, but more modern. Shaped like an octagon with a steep-pitched shingled roof complete with a weather vane, the plan called for natural material left in its raw shape.

  Taking inspiration from the town’s namesake, Shelby had incorporated lots of corkscrew willow branches in place of spindles, giving it a fanciful flair. Old gas lamps inside and out would provide ample lighting, and a fire pit, surrounded by a fountain, would take center stage. A row of wooden benches lined the inside walls, giving plenty of seating and recessed, glassless windows added additional character.

  “We’re going with a concrete floor, so it’ll be easier to clean and maintain,” Carl told him. “But we’re going to stain it and stamp it with willow leaves so it’ll look more like a forest floor.”

  Eli merely shook his head, almost at a loss for words. “It’s incredible.”

  “Micah would have loved it,” Carl remarked, a palpable ache in his voice. “And that’s what counts.”

  Yes, he would have, Eli thought. Micah had always said he’d wanted to build a bigger version of the cabin, had planned on logging the lumber himself. Shelby no doubt knew that, too, and had managed to create something that would honor her former fiancé, but capture the spirit of the town, as well. It was a delicate equation to balance, but she’d managed it beautifully.

  His gaze strayed to her shop across the street. Though the windows were crowded with well-dressed mannequins featuring her designs, he caught a glimpse of her behind the counter and felt a bolt of warmth land in his chest and spread through the rest of his body, most particularly his groin. Awareness slid down the length of his dick, making him shift to find a more comfortable position. He gritted his teeth as need bombarded him, that of the relentless variety, the kind that he imagined ruined kings and started wars.

  He was about to mount the biggest battle of his career, Eli thought...and God help him, it was with himself.

  * * *

  SHELBY WAS JUST ABOUT to lock up and close the shop when the bell above the door tingled, heralding the arrival of another customer. Though she typically didn’t mind staying late—and had been known to meet clients down at the store after hours in order to help out in a fashion emergency or to accommodate a schedule—today wasn’t one of those days.

  She was emotionally wrung dry after her reunion with Eli this morning. She’d also had a steady stream of clients in and out all day, and she had just enough time, if she left now, to go home and freshen up before heading over to the Hollands’ place. As a result, she was not happy when she looked up and even less pleased when she saw who was standing there.

  Katrina Nolan.

  Micah had briefly dated Katrina during college, before he and Shelby had reconnected, and Katrina, who’d never been one of Shelby’s biggest fans, positively hated her now. She’d never set foot in Shelby’s shop, never spoke to her and had glared white-hot daggers at her during Micah’s service. Sally had told her that Katrina had tried to rekindle things with Micah when their engagement ended, but that Micah hadn’t been interested. Shelby hadn’t been the least bit surprised—that Katrina had made the effort, or that Micah hadn’t been interested.

  Katrina had recently gone to work for the local paper and fancied herself some sort of small-town Lois Lane. She was constantly digging around in people’s trash, had supposedly paid spies to troll the beauty parlor and post office for juicy gossip, and just generally made everyone uncomfortable. It was widely suspected that the only person Katrina had any real dirt on was the editor of The Branches, Les Hastings, because any other paper would have fired her by now. Shelby didn’t have any idea why the woman was here, but knew that it wasn’t to plan a sleepover.

  This wasn’t going to be good. A skitter of foreboding tingled down her spine.

  Shelby didn’t ask if she could help her because she didn’t want to. She lifted a cool brow. “Yes?”

  “I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?” Katrina asked, completely unrepentant.

  “Actually, you did. I’m closing in—” she glanced pointedly at the clock above the door “—two minutes.”

  Katrina’s lips slid into a hard smile. “Not to worry,” she said. “What I have to say won’t take that long.”

  Shelby returned the same insincere grin, the kind that Southern girls learned to perfect from the cradle. “Wonderful. Because I’ve got to get over to Sally and Carl’s for dinner and it would be rude to be late.”

  The dig landed, making Katrina’s mouth harden. While the whole town might be invited to the dedication of the memorial, only the people Carl had picked to help build and design it were invited to their home. Willow Haven was a small town, so there were very few people not on that list...but Katrina was one of them. Mean? Petty?

  Yes.

  But very satisfying all the same.

  “Yes, I wouldn’t want to keep you. Funny how that’s worked out,” Katrina mused, strolling forward. She stopped and picked up a sundress—one of Shelby’s favorites—then grimaced as though she’d smelled something bad and returned it to the stand. “Even when you aren’t part of the family—and never intended to be—you still manage to have a seat at that table.” She looked up, her gaze almost triumphant, knowing. “I wonder if you’ll still have that spot when they find out that Micah’s gun didn’t misfire, that he killed himself because of you.”

  A cold sweat broke out over the back of Shelby’s neck and her throat went instantly dry. She’d wondered if it had been Katrina sending the letters, but it had seemed out of character. Katrina, as evidenced, wasn’t sneaky. She was direct. She liked to play with her victims before pouncing.

  “That’s n
ot true,” Shelby told her. “And if you spread that malicious gossip or attempt to print it—if you hurt the Hollands...” she said, her voice cracking with anger. “I’ll—”

  A bark of laughter erupted from Katrina’s throat. “You’ll what?” she taunted. “Sew my mouth closed? Save the righteous indignation. I’m not going to ruin my own reputation just to destroy yours—that’ll just be a bonus—but make no mistake, I’ve got a reliable source who was in Mosul when Micah died. Nobody there believes his gun misfired, no matter what the official report says.”

  So the military hadn’t been able to prove otherwise, but she thought she could? Of course she did. Arrogant, bitter bitch.

  Another smug smile turned Katrina’s lips. “As it happens, the one and only witness to Micah’s death arrived today and will be here for the whole week. I’m especially looking forward to spending some time with him over the next few days, picking his brain,” she added coyly, as though “picking his brain” was a euphemism for screwing him senseless. “Surely I won’t be stepping on your toes, will I, Shelby? Since he was Micah’s best friend and all? Or have you staked your claim there, as well?”

  She was fishing, Shelby knew, needling her, looking for a reaction. But it didn’t keep her blood pressure from racing toward stroke level or her anger fully in check. The idea of this mean-spirited opportunistic tramp flirting with Eli for any reason made a red haze settle over her head and the desire to pull all of her hair out from the roots suddenly hit her.

  But she would not give Katrina the satisfaction. She would not betray an inkling of unease, a hint of disquiet. Shelby summoned her best you-poor-deluded-fool smile, then walked over and deliberately opened the door. “Eli’s a friend,” she said, glad that her voice was level. “Now get out.”

  Left with no choice but to leave, Katrina aimed another infuriating little grin at her and made her exit. Shelby turned the lock behind her, flipped the signed to “Closed” then sagged against the door. She sighed, feeling a little sick.

  Well, that certainly wasn’t a complication she’d foreseen. And it was all the more reason she needed to talk to Eli...especially before Katrina could.

  4

  “YOU’RE SKIN AND BONES,” Sally admonished, piling another giant helping of mashed potatoes on Eli’s already full plate. She tsked under her breath. “You eat up, now. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  Carl leaned over, a grin tilting his lips. “She’s convinced that you’ve lost weight since we last saw you and is determined that you find it again while you’re here. Get ready,” he warned him. “She’s going to help you carbo load. She’s already planned the menu.”

  Startled but touched, Eli watched Sally make the rounds, adding more food to everyone’s plate. She was a pretty woman with short silver hair and kind blue eyes, an open face and a lovely smile. She’d been a knockout in her day, as evidenced by the wedding photo on the mantel, and Eli could easily see why Carl had been so drawn to her.

  “I appreciate it, Carl, but I haven’t lost any weight.”

  “I didn’t think so, either,” he said, taking a sip of tea. “But don’t tell her that. I’m looking forward to those banana pancakes in the morning.”

  Eli chuckled and inclined his head. “Duly noted.”

  “If you’re handing out more potatoes, don’t forget me, Sally!” Hal Jones boomed from the opposite end of the table, making those unfortunate enough to be seated near him shy away and wince, most notably Shelby, who nearly dropped her fork. Hal was one of those regrettable people who desperately needed a hearing aid, but refused to get one and his favorite word was “Huh?” Conversation with him was painful, but he was an ace carpenter and one of Carl’s oldest friends.

  Determined to keep from staring at Shelby—who’d traded her yellow printed dress for a lavender one with pretty cream-colored lace accents—he cast a glance around the rest of the massive table, taking in the contented scene. Because the Hollands enjoyed entertaining, Carl had made the long dining room table himself. Made of hickory he’d personally milled, the beautiful but functional piece easily sat twenty-two. It was the biggest dining room table Eli had ever seen and he’d never visited the Hollands when it hadn’t been full.

  Old blue Mason jars filled with wild flowers dotted the center, along with several butter dishes, bread baskets, gravy boats and salt and pepper shakers. The bulk of the food resided on a huge built-in sideboard, which also housed Sally’s good china. She’d been collecting it since she got married, Micah had told him once, and it was tradition to get her a new piece each year for her birthday. “The only thing Mom likes better than new cookware is new dishes.” He’d need to make a note of the pattern and Sally’s birthday so that he could continue the tradition for Micah, Eli thought absently.

  As though he’d spoken the name aloud, he felt Shelby’s gaze on him once again. He knew that she wanted to talk to him and, while he was curious and desperate to just hear the sound of her voice, Eli had decided that anything more than passing conversation just wasn’t going to happen. He was here at the request of Micah’s parents, to honor the life and memory of his friend. Lusting after her in private was bad enough—doing it out in the open, when he was already struggling to hold it together—was out of the question.

  He simply—sadly, irritatingly—didn’t trust himself.

  Take now, for instance. Though they’d only shared a brief “hello” and a “pass the salt, please,” Eli could tell that she was anxious about something. Probably the conversation she thought they were going to have. Her smile, while genuine, was strained and there was a tightness around her eyes that seemed more pronounced than earlier. He didn’t know what had happened since he’d first seen her this morning, but whatever it was had rattled her. Hard. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to comfort her, to offer some sort of support...but he couldn’t.

  He didn’t dare.

  Because those selfsame instincts also made him want to press his lips against her gorgeous mouth, then lift the flirty hem of her dress and fill his hands with her lush rump. The need to take her—every single part of her—and make her his was somehow more potent, more intense than it had ever been before. It slithered through him and tightened every muscle, infected every cell, hammered away at him until he could practically feel every blow against the weakening will of his resistance.

  “You’re in his seat,” Colin said.

  Eli turned, his gaze meeting the younger Holland’s. Other than a mumbled greeting, the boy hadn’t made any effort to speak to him. Eli wasn’t certain what exactly he’d expected, but this definitely wasn’t it. Other than Carl, who’d gone still and turned to look at his son, thankfully no one else had heard the oddly toneless remark.

  Mildly taken aback, Eli set his fork aside. “Your mom asked me to sit here, Colin, but I’d be happy to move if it bothers you.”

  “I didn’t say it bothered me,” the boy replied, lifting his chin, though Eli definitely got the sense that the remark was untrue. “It’s just weird. I’m used to looking across the table and seeing my brother. And you’re not him.” And never will be hung unsaid in the air between them.

  Ah, Eli thought. So that was the problem. Colin had clearly mistaken Eli’s concern and regard for Micah’s family as a ploy to try and replace him. And given that the Hollands wouldn’t build the memorial without him and had treated him like the proverbial prodigal son since he’d arrived today, Eli could see where the boy might get the wrong impression.

  “You’re right about that,” Eli said, grimacing ruefully. “Micah was much better looking.”

  The lighthearted comment evidently struck the right note, because Colin’s lips twitched and a flash of humor lit his haunted gaze. He looked so much like his older brother, Eli thought. Dark brown hair and eyes, the same longish nose. Colin hadn’t quite grown into his yet—his face still held the roundness of youth—but he would and he’d be every bit the ladykiller his brother had been.

  Carl darted h
im a grateful look, seemingly relieved that the tension had eased.

  “What time are we going to get started tomorrow?” Eli asked.

  “Breakfast is at six and we’ll start at seven. I know that’s early, but we need to take advantage of the good weather while we’ve got it. There’s some rain moving in later in the week and I want to pull the wire, plumb the fountain and lay the lines before then.”

  Eli glanced at Colin. “You gonna make it tomorrow? We could use an extra pair of hands. And better music,” he added under his breath.

  Carl grinned. “What, Eli? Not a fan of big band tunes?”

  Eli smiled, hesitating. “In small measure,” he said. “But more than an hour becomes psychological torture.” Jeremiah Winston, the oldest of the crew, had brought his antiquated boom box and collection of old cassette tapes and liked to play it loud.

  It had been hell.

  Colin hesitated, but gave him an up nod. “I can come out for a while. I’ll put a playlist together.”

  Pleased that they seemed to be making some sort of progress, Eli forked up another bite of mashed potatoes. “What do you think of the design?”

  “Don’t know yet. I haven’t looked at it.” He stood and pushed his chair away from the table. “See you in the morning.”

  “Colin, where are you going?” Sally called in dismay. “What about dessert? I’ve got blackberry cobbler and homemade ice cream.”

  “I don’t want any,” he said without turning around, then left and mounted the stairs, presumably to his room.

  Eli glanced at Carl, concerned, and arched a questioning brow.

  “Believe me,” the older man said, his expression grim. “This was progress.”

  If that was the case, then clearly Colin was having a much harder time of it than he’d thought. Another unwelcome flash of resentment sparked, making his fists tighten, but he tamped it down, fought it back. Micah hadn’t been in his right mind when he’d made the decision to end his life—logically, Eli knew that—but he still couldn’t help the increasingly frequent bursts of anger at his friend for the mess he’d left behind. The people who’d been so hurt by his death. Irrational, he knew, but there it was.