Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2) (19 page)

The torment in her eyes made him sick with shame. The picture she painted was bleak . . . and likely accurate. And he could do almost nothing about it– except be there for her. Viewing it through her eyes– he knew it wasn't enough. "Ken-"

"Yeah . . . that's what I thought. I need to go."

Frustration threatened to swamp him. Where was the loving, talented, mystical woman he'd fallen for? If she would just trust him- He shook his head.
Sure, Harry– trust the guy putting her out of business
. "Ken– let me help you. I know you care about me." He caught her chin, forcing her to face him. "Just like I need you."

Need?
Where the hell had that come from? He jerked his hand back. Jesus– he'd meant care. 'Need' sounded desperate– and he sure as hell wasn't desperate. Not for Kendall. For
any
woman. That would never–
could
never happen.

Though her eyes brimmed with misery, he caught the flash of defiance as she seized the bait. "I don't need you or anyone else."

***

Was it nine or ten? Kendall had lost count of the number of times she'd cried that week. "And you're doin' it again." Great, shaking sobs that made it damn near impossible to keep her truck from swerving off the nearly deserted road. What was wrong with her?
She was in love with Harrison.
He'd offered hope. Assistance carrying the burden. And when it was over, he'd hinted at the possibility of a future. Likely short-lived . . . but
with her
. Instead of showing gratitude for the help he could provide– the beautiful, intelligent brain, the strong shoulder to lean on– she'd shoved him away.

Her signature move.
Better to do it first
. Until tonight, it had worked like a charm. All those years ago, when her mother left town, she'd withdrawn into herself. Under her father's bludgeoning criticism, Kendall disappeared a little more. Every humiliation she'd endured in school . . . each hurt thickened the wall she'd built around herself. Refusing to acknowledge pain, she'd discovered the best way to avoid heartache was by keeping her distance.

Now, she'd succeeded in pushing away the only man she'd allowed close in the last decade. Dumping Harrison before he came to his senses and dumped her first.
Why couldn't she trust him?

She swiped her eyes on her sleeve. Because allowing Harry into her dented heart meant risking him shattering it. Alone was bad enough . . . but alone and heartbroken would be unbearable.

Releasing a sigh, she noisily blew her nose. She'd shut him out the last time, too. Only difference was– Traynor didn't remember it. That long ago night when he'd stopped to rescue the shivering, devastated girl who'd been ditched on prom night. He'd offered his varsity jacket and an unspoken compassion. His beautiful, emerald eyes had glowed with anger over her treatment. He'd demanded names– of the boy who'd abandoned her in the rain on the side of the road. The fact that they'd attended different schools hadn't seemed to deter him.

Mortified beyond words at life's latest humiliation, she'd given him an address several blocks from her own. Then she'd slipped from his car without even a 'thank you'. For months she'd worn his jacket. Slept with it clutched in her arms. Pretending it still smelled like him instead of her. She'd dreamed of tracking him down– to explain what his help had meant to her. Discovering that someone–
anyone
– had cared enough to stop had been eye-opening. She'd tucked his act of kindness away– hidden from anyone who might have demeaned it.

She mattered
. Maybe not to most people– but for that brief moment, she'd mattered to Harrison.

She'd never thanked him. Ken had been too afraid he might laugh. Or worse– not even remember her. Instead, she'd worshipped him from afar . . . following his actions from the sidelines through high school and college.

Now– she risked the same mistake. Shutting him out because it was too much to hope that he might care about her. Her father's voice echoed mercilessly through her mind. Why would any man choose someone like her?

"Why the hell not?" she muttered. "
He
thinks he likes me." Head swimming, she swung her truck around. Before her brain talked her out of it, she had to go back. Had to at least talk with him. For the first time in forever, she would be honest. With the man she loved.

***

Head pounding, Harry trudged up the steps, leaning heavily on the rail. His brain swirled with unanswered questions. What if Ken ended up hating him? Fatigue weighting him, he knew he wouldn't sleep. Even the anticipated pleasure of finally returning home didn't lift his spirits when he turned the key. His steps echoed through the tiled foyer. In the living room, he eyed the glass-topped coffee table, sparkling from a recent cleaning. Despite being gone nearly a week, his house smelled fresh and clean.
Sterile
. He missed the earthy scent of basil and rosemary– and Lurch.

Like clockwork, the cleaning service had stopped by, not knowing he'd been in the hospital. Books and papers were neatly stacked on the sleek chrome desk in the corner. No cushion out of place on his monochromatic sofa. Each decorator-selected piece of furniture had been purchased for its soothing neutrality. His home was in perfect order.

Harry waited for the sense of calm to slide over him– the way it always had in the past. To restore order to his jumbled thoughts. But his tension only increased as he wandered room to room. Though he'd never noticed it before, everything looked the same. Where was the color? The personality?

His home was a haven after stressful days at work. But tonight, the noisy silence mocked him. In the center of his bedroom, Harry slowly turned around. Nothing stood out. Nothing to indicate human existence except the water bottle on his dresser. His home was just a unit– like the one next door . . . a space he happened to occupy. If he were a color . . . he'd be beige.

Swaying on his good leg, he dropped to the perfectly made bed. Heart pounding with sudden awareness, Harry glanced around the colorless room. His gaze fixated on the artwork hanging opposite his bed. For a year, it had hung there. Until today, he'd never noticed it.

The designer had performed to his exacting specifications. Neutral. No drama– no garish colors to draw his attention. The boring landscape fit the bill. The painting was perfectly acceptable and perfectly dull. "This is your life." Efficient and organized and functional. And  completely empty. His gaze sweeping the sterile room, his thoughts flew to Kendall. On her way home . . . probably crying. His mouth curved in a smile. More likely, she was cursing him. One of the many things he liked about her. He might not know what she was thinking, but he always knew how she
felt
. Her emotions were always right there in her eyes . . . confusion, sadness, passion.

She
was the color. The warmth his life needed. His thoughts drifted to her cozy house. The smells and sounds. Kenny and her damned three-legged dog. Her one-eyed cat. Her gardens and her music. The lively chaos that made her house
home
. The harsh sound of his suddenly labored breathing broke the silence of the still room. Christ, maybe he
did
need her.

The briefcase clutched in his fingers slipped from his hand, hitting the carpet with a muffled thud. When his phone rang a moment later, his thoughts scattered.
Kendall
. Heart pumping, he nearly stumbled in his hurry to pick it up. Thank God, she'd come to her senses.

"Kenny?" His heartbeat slowed to a painful thud when he recognized the voice on the other end. "Hey, Charlie." The brief flare of hope slid into disappointment. "You've already found something?" Harry rifled through his desk for a legal pad.

"Uh-huh. I can handle that. Anything on Barker?" Frustration creased his forehead. "Are there other sources?" He released a deep breath. "I know I'm asking a lot, but if what you're saying is true– I don't like where it's heading." 

Ending the call, he stared at his desk, his mind already ticking through his to-do list. Whenever there were problems to work through, his brain became too restless to simply think. Throwing himself into a project worked to clear his head. As pieces of a puzzle fell into place, so too, did the issue he was avoiding. Clarity in one area seemed to lead to clarity in the other.

Wandering back to the bedroom, he retrieved his briefcase. Seeking the flashdrive he'd filled at A & R, he plugged it into his laptop, eager to work. Discovering answers to his questions about A & R would determine Specialty's financial exposure. The sooner he learned Ken's fate, the sooner he could develop a plan to help her– fixing the damage and righting the ship . . . or helping her unwind from the business in a way that left her solvent. But before he immersed himself in what would likely be an all night project, he picked up his phone.

One last piece of unfinished business. "Hi, Deb. Yeah. . . I'm finally home." Harry forced a smile into his voice. Though she'd asked him to call, he hoped it wouldn't be a conversation about getting back together. Though it might have been easier to conveniently forget her message, Deborah's firm still handled Specialty's business. But any doubts he may have held about their relationship were answered.

Though they'd talked several minutes, she never mentioned his accident. As she chatted about the legal conference, Harry felt–
nothing
. Not disappointment. Certainly not love. Only impatience to move forward.

"Think you could swing by tonight?" Fingers restless, he drummed the legal pad. "Great. I don't have my car back yet."

***

Kendall held her breath when she pushed through Harry's door. She'd waited on the steps for what seemed like an eternity before working up the nerve to knock. When she'd tapped on the solid oak, it had swung inward. Hearing Harrison' reassuring voice, her stomach went liquid with nerves.
What was she doing there?
She was so damned far out of her league.

Releasing a shuddering breath, she steadied herself. No matter how confusing her words might seem . . . she had to tell Harrison how she felt. Waiting for her pulse to stop galloping before making her presence known, she concentrated on his voice, on the husky timbre that sent her heartbeat through the roof every time he spoke. He was on the phone.

With Deborah
.

Clapping a hand to her mouth to catch the gasp of betrayal, Ken prayed he hadn't heard the sound. Pain sliced through her heart as she overheard him ask her to come over. Thirty minutes earlier, he'd asked
her
to stay. Now, Deborah would spend the night– a far superior substitute. Staggering back against the door, the varnished oak blurred in humiliated tears.

Crossing the parking lot at a run, she fumbled with her keys before shoving them in the ignition. "Please, God– don't let him look out the window." Her prayer was fervent as she gulped in air, blindly wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She repeated the mantra as she pulled out of the parking space, slowly regaining control as humiliation dissolved to anguish. Please don't let him see he'd hurt her.

She drove through the night, her heart burning where his arrow had slashed an indelible mark. Her eyes eventually dried, leaving a bleak, red-rimmed reminder of her foolishness when she glanced in the rearview mirror.

***

"You okay? You don't look so hot this morning." Frowning, Jimmy shoved a cup of black coffee into her hands, hovering over her like a concerned father.

"My business went up in flames two days ago. How is that supposed to look?" Lifting her head from the desk where she'd sat for the past two hours, Kendall scanned the room, her eyes gritty with fatigue. "This is it . . . this trailer's all we have left. I'm meeting with the arson investigator in an hour. The way our checking account looks, I'm probably gonna have to let most of the guys go end of the week."

"Kenny– let them decide. Everyone knows what happened. The boys– they all wanna help. Where's Claire?"

"Hasn't shown up yet. Most people don't work for no pay." Ken sighed. "I can't let the crew work when I might not be able to pay them. Truth is, I don't know how much money is left. With all the records gone-" Dragging in a ragged breath, she fought the burn of tears. "I'm meeting with the bank later today to see if they can help me recreate some of the records."

Jimmy placed his beefy arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Some of us can stick it out longer than others. And we ain't leavin' until you don't have this trailer anymore. We're in this for the long haul." 

She offered him a watery smile. "You might regret that decision." His eyes appraised her long and hard– as though he had something to say but was holding back. "What's bothering you, Pop?"

"What about the other thing?"

"Other thing? Isn't it enough we're bankrupt? That I nearly burned up in a fireball? That Lance might be an arsonist?"

"There's nothin' bad about him possibly ending up in jail," he admitted. "What about the guy? Where's Traynor?"

The unease that had strummed through Ken all night returned with a wallop. Unable to hold his knowing gaze, she glanced out the window to the bustling site. Even she could've been fooled by the symphony of construction noise outside her window. Production was at full force. For now.