Beautiful Ruin (Nolan Brothers #1) Page 3

  Shea turned his back to them.

  “Came to pay your respects, did ya?” John said.

  Noah balked. Respect had little to do with the alcohol-fueled reasoning John’s letter had triggered and which had brought him to this place.

  “How did he die?” Noah asked.

  “Heart attack,” Luke said.

  Shea picked up another glass. “If you bothered to tell someone where you were, we could’ve sent word he was sick.”

  “John found me, but let’s not kid ourselves,” Noah said. “Daniel wouldn’t have wanted me to come.”

  “His opinion wasn’t the only one that mattered,” Luke opined from behind his pint.

  Shea’s accusing gaze locked on Noah. “Don’t waste your breath, Luke. He isn’t staying.”

  Noah bared his teeth and struggled to keep his voice even. “You, of all people, should know better, Shea.”

  Shea tossed the towel aside and placed his palms on the bar top. “That was a long time ago, brother.”

  “And yet here we are,” Noah said.

  “Ah, I miss this.” Luke tipped his glass. “To good times.”

  He drank alone.

  Noah took a measured step back. “I should go.”

  Shea made a derisive noise.

  Noah’s body coiled, ready to strike. He’d thought all this was behind him, but the intensity of anger and resentment swirling through him told a different story. He released a deep, steadying breath but then turned and made for the door.

  “Meet at the dock at seven,” John called after him.

  With no other outlet for the frustration roiling through him, Noah slammed the palm of his hand into the pub door, which flung open with enough force to bang against the outside wall.

  He dodged a passing car and crossed to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. At his truck, he slid behind the wheel. Without starting the engine, he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror.

  He wasn’t the fuckup they thought he was. Last they knew, he was a pissed off nineteen-year-old with a criminal record and all the makings of a drinking problem, but he wasn’t that angry kid any longer.

  Reassured, he turned the key in the ignition.

  He’d wanted to tell them he wasn’t a delinquent loser anymore, but his damnable pride wouldn’t let him. Why would they believe him? He had to show them—or himself—that he’d changed. Prove it past the point where they could doubt him or deny him.

  He plucked his cell phone from the pocket of his cargo shorts and scrolled through his log until he found the number.

  He hit the call button. The interior lining of his gut churned while the strident ringing buzzed in his ear.

  “Walter, it’s Noah Nolan,” he said when the other man picked up the call. “Does the job offer still stand?”

  A beat of silence crackled over the line. “Of course it stands.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t commit to the entire academic year, but I can teach a full-load fall semester if you’ll have me.”

  Walter sputtered with surprise. “Dr. Nolan, I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

  “In that case, I’d like to accept.”

  “This is excellent news. Most excellent.” Though a nervous waver edged Walter’s voice.

  Noah heard papers shuffling followed by another round of anxious grunts and noises. Unease prickled up his spine.

  “I’ll have an office cleared out for you by, uh, next Monday—T-Tuesday!” The last two words erupted as an almost shout through the phone’s speaker, and Walter coughed. “The end of the day on Tuesday.”

  “I can make do without an office for a few days.”

  “That won’t be necessary. We’ll be ready for you Tuesday.”

  Noah disconnected. He ignored the rumblings of disquiet his impulsiveness had caused and backed out of the parking spot.

  He should feel calmer. Now he had a plan.

  Better yet, he had a job.

  If he was going to stay on the island, the distraction of his work would be essential. If he was lucky, Walter’s little side project would turn into a legit excavation. One he could lose himself in. Digging was still the best part of his job.

  First, he needed to inspect the site to determine what, if anything, would be involved there.

  And for that, he’d have to go through Mina.

  An image of wounded blue eyes in a heart-shaped face floated through his mind.

  He steered the truck toward the motel. If he was going to stay—no, not if—since he was going to stay, he’d have to find housing of a more permanent sort. Something not on the island.

  That way, after he got what he wanted from Mina, he’d dodge and duck, like a coward and a thief.

  By New Year’s, he’d be gone again.

  Neat and tidy. Like the pro that he was.

  He’d done nothing but dodge and duck, burying himself in work the last decade and more.

  He licked his bottom lip and checked his blind spot before shifting lanes.

  And no more kissing that perfect, plump mouth.

  Chapter Four

  Mina’s face went hot. Her cheeks tingled as though she’d been slapped. She gaped at her boss across the desk while his words knocked around inside her brain.

  “You’re firing me?”

  Walter dragged a handkerchief across his damp forehead. “It’s only a layoff. With time, the financial picture might change. This is not a personal reflection on you.”

  Protests piled in her throat. Not personal?

  Humiliation.

  Failure.

  Poverty, starvation, homelessness....

  How could it not be personal?

  “The budget is tight, and I had to make some choices. Tough choices.” His lamentations rang hollow, echoing around the untidy office.

  Tendrils of dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. Budget cuts? Tough choices? It was the professional equivalent of “it’s not you, it’s me.”

  “Enrollment’s been flat for two years, and our graduation rates have dropped off. I had to take extreme measures.” A brightness glittered in his cloudy blue eyes and his chest puffed up. “I’ve hired a new professor. He’s incredible. A genius, and he wants to work here. For me. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

  Her heart plummeted, crashing somewhere near her navel. In more than five years working for him, she’d never seen Walter Ambrose glow. He rattled off a list of credentials, each one like a blow to her aching head.

  “He’s young but already considered one of the best in his field. World-renowned. A veritable rock star.”

  She didn’t quite manage to stifle a snort. An academic rock star? Was such a thing even possible?

  Walter frowned. “We’re a mid-major university. We’re never going to be a top student’s first choice. He’ll bring instant credibility to the department. With his name, we’ll stand out and could become a destination program, attracting the brightest minds. We can turn ESU into one of the best mid-majors in the country.”

  Mina’s dread turned to panic. “Wow, this one guy is going to do all that?”

  Walter’s weary sigh sent a ripple across the papers spread out on his desk, and a touch of pity softened his weathered features. “He gives us the best chance to turn this program around. I have to try. I’m sorry. I wish you well.”

  Mina stared, open-mouthed and mute. She bent her head back to gawk. Up, up, all the way up the seventeen-foot-high wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Pete, her painter.

  A wide grin split his face. “You like?”

  “It’s purple.”

  To keep the renovation moving forward, she’d tackled some tasks out of sequence. Like painting in the library, one of two rooms on the first floor they hadn’t taken down to the studs, before completing other messy repairs, such as refinishing the hardwood floors and replacing the windows.

  “It’s a bold color. We were surprised you picked it.” Pete set the paint roller in a tray
at his feet and straightened. “I thought you’d pick beige. But this?” His chest expanded and he planted his hands on his hips. “This is a nice color.”

  “Beige is a nice color,” she felt compelled to point out.

  “Of course.” He swept her words away with a wave of his hand. “It’s plain. Like you.”

  She frowned.

  “This is a man’s room. It needs a strong color.”

  “It’s purple.”

  “It’s masculine, no?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No! This is not the paint I picked.”

  His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

  “The color I picked was red.” A deep scarlet, which had taken her weeks to match to the original paint in the room. It was historical, dammit. Definitely not plain.

  Pete bent down and flipped over the lid to the paint can. “Eggplant Dream.”

  Misery settled on her shoulders. “No, the color I picked is called Cinnamon Stick.”

  They stared at the expanse of purple wall in silence.

  Pete consulted the lid and the clipboard hanging from his ladder. With a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped. “But we’re almost done.”

  Seriously? Nausea unfurled in her stomach. She didn’t do well with confrontations. “It’s purple.”

  Pete rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not that bad.”

  “It’s pretty bad.”

  At the sound of Noah’s voice, Mina’s heart tripped into an erratic rhythm.

  She turned. He stood in a stream of golden sunlight that slanted across the room and played with the golden-honey streaks in his dark hair.

  For a brief, aching moment, they were back in high school, and she was the troubled teenager looking for someone to rescue her. Before she’d realized beautiful, charming boys like Noah Nolan didn’t date shy, chubby girls like Mina Winslow.

  “Not a purple kind of girl?” His eyes shimmered with a mischievous light.

  “If you’re here to check out the... whatever it is, you’ll have to fend for yourself. I’m busy.” She faced the wall once more.

  “You don’t sound too thrilled to see me.”

  She wished that were true. Her heart beat a rapid rhythm that left her light-headed, and her breaths came quick and shallow.

  Because of all the purple.

  She pivoted back toward Noah. “Don’t I? And to think, I had such fun the other night.”

  White teeth flashed in Noah’s tanned face. “Me, too. We should do it again soon.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t enjoy arguing with someone when I don’t understand what we’re arguing about.”

  “Were we arguing?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Interesting, but that wasn’t what I was talking about. I was talking about the kissing. We should do more of that. A lot more.”

  She snorted. “Liked that, did ya?”

  Dark eyes bored into her. “What do you think?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Then let me make myself clear. I enjoyed kissing you, Mina.” His voice deepened. “Immensely.”

  Mina’s cheeks warmed, and her gaze darted to Pete, whose head had snapped up from his clipboard at some point during their exchange. He startled and ducked his chin.

  “For the record, Cinnamon Stick sounds like a much better color choice. And more delicious, too.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop trying to butter me up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it won’t work.”

  “How do you know?” A molasses smile touched his lips. “I’m pretty good at it.”

  She crossed her arms. “Is that right?”

  Noah lifted a fist to cover his mouth and made a production of clearing his throat. “Ready?”

  She bit back a smile. “Ready.”

  “If the purple in this room didn’t make my eyes bleed, your beauty would’ve blinded me.”

  Crouched at her feet, Pete snorted but continued to pour the paint from the tray back into the can.

  She frowned at the top of his head and then, aware of Noah taking it all in, lifted her chin and attempted to sweep from the room. Instead, the toe of her sneaker caught on the drop cloth. She stumbled to a stop and, with a series of short yanks, shook her foot loose.

  In the hallway, Noah fell in step beside her.

  She ignored him, but his delicious scent reached out to her.

  At one time, she’d have given anything to feel the slow lick of arousal slipping through her body. To know she wasn’t as arid and frigid as an arctic winter.

  Now, she just wished Noah wasn’t the cause.

  Bad enough she’d thrown herself at him only to have him reject her, but then he’d had the audacity to pop up in last night’s lurid sex dream.

  Her? A sex dream? Seriously?

  Seriously.

  Vivid, erotic fantasies of Noah had mingled with stress-induced nightmares about the house, until she’d dreamt of him making love to her on the cool ballroom floor. Overhead, chubby cherubs had tittered as an orgasm had gripped her.

  At the back door, she waved him through. “Enjoy your tour. It’s the ginormous mud puddle in the backyard. You can’t miss it.”

  “You’re not coming with me? Make sure I don’t steal anything?”

  She didn’t bother to quell a derisive smirk. “I don’t think you’ll find a thing here worth taking.”

  Dark eyes landed on her face, and for a long moment, he studied her. “I think you might be wrong about that.”

  Then he brushed past her and poked his head inside the doorway of the conservatory.

  His gaze ate up the interior of the room. “When was the house built?”

  “The main structure was built in 1864,” she said. “This wing was added around twenty years later.”

  “Do we know who built it?”

  “My four-times-great-grandpa, Henry Winslow.”

  “The senator?”

  She shook her head. “No. Henry started the logging empire.”

  He moved back down the hall, and she followed him into the formal dining room, the foyer, and the living room. All the while, he peppered her with questions about the home’s history and commented on a number of things capturing his interest, which was pretty much everything.

  She found herself drawn in by his curiosity, and soon she was rambling on about her plans to convert the house into a bed-and-breakfast.

  Brown-black eyes swung to her, and she only just stopped herself from stumbling back. “Are you now?”

  “Yeah, well... I’m still thinking about it.” She poked her toe at a clump of dirt on the floorboards.

  “You should do it.”

  Her head snapped up.

  “This town needs a decent place to stay, and this house deserves to be filled with people who’ll appreciate it.”

  Warmth blossomed in her chest, and the icy knot gripping her insides eased a little tiny bit. “Do you, uh, want to see the rest of the house?”

  His smile caused her breath to hitch higher. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  They climbed the less rickety of the twin staircases to the second floor, which housed six bedrooms, three with fireplaces. A large stone balcony ran the length of the house off the back. In various states of disarray and rehab, all the rooms boasted crown molding and ten-foot ceilings, but also yellowed wallpaper, leaky windows, and scarred hardwood floors.

  At the end of the hall, she tossed a conspiratorial smile over her shoulder. “This is the best part.”

  One of Noah’s dark eyebrows climbed upward as she pulled on the doorknob.

  She motioned for him to go ahead of her and followed him up a steep staircase. At the top, a small landing and wall-to-wall windows provided a panoramic view of the island.

  Shards of sunlight danced and shimmered across Lake Michigan while, a quarter-mile out, merry waves peaked and gamboled toward shore. Lo
cated as they were at the northernmost tip of the island, water canvased most of the landscape. The neat roads and rolling hills of Thief Island lay to the south.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed. “You can see the entire island from up here.”

  She smiled and sank down on the top stair. She’d spent countless hours on this exact stair, looking out over the world.

  He turned and held out his hand to her. “C’mon up.”

  She shook her head. “I’m good.”

  “You can’t see from that spot.”

  “I’ve seen it before. Hundreds of times.”

  His gaze ate up the scenery. “You can’t witness this enough times.”

  She stayed glued to her spot on the stair.

  She could feel his dark eyes on her, intent and assessing.

  She bent her head and inspected a chipped fingernail.

  “You’re afraid of heights.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said. “They make me dizzy.”

  He made a noise.

  She frowned up at him. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just... that’s interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  He shrugged. “I never figured you for the coward.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Nice try. You’re not getting me to come up there.”

  His eyes shone with the quick mischief that gave his face such a charming aspect. “Worth a shot.” Then his attention swiveled back to the bank of windows. “Is that the site?”

  “Big pile of dirt? Yep, that’s it.”

  “How was it discovered?”

  “A work crew came to put in a new well and found it when they started digging. My boss—former boss—thinks an archaeological excavation will have to be done.”

  Noah’s brow knitted. “Your boss knows about archaeological excavations?”

  “He’s a professor at ESU.”

  Shimmery brown eyes clamped on her face. “You worked at ESU?”

  Crimson heat swept over her face and neck. “I did. Up until last Friday.”

  “What happened last Friday?”

  The Phenom of Higher Education had happened. The darts of self-doubt pierced and wounded. “I was fired.” She swallowed the distasteful bitterness.

  He winced. “Ouch. I’m sorry.” His voice, soft and tender, tried to wrap itself around her.