Forbidden Fling (Wildwood Book 1) (30 page)

Avery breathed deep and opened her eyes, languidly soaking in the rolling hills and thick oaks. “God, this weather. I’ve missed these Indian summers. And the smells, mmm. It smells like—”

“Home. I noticed it, too,” Delaney finished, also smiling. “And you still look seventeen. Damn, you look great, Avery.”

She rolled her head toward Delaney with an exhausted smile. “So do you.”

“What do you think of Phoebe’s offer? I think your tasting is going to be a huge smash. When I tell you Phoebe knows everyone, their brother, and their brother’s second cousin, I’m not kidding. She’s got a hell of a lot of contacts that would really give you a kick-start. I think you’d do well with a space at the shop. You could have dual revenue streams from locals and tourists. If you build a website, you could do a decent mail-order business.”

“It sounds exciting, but, honestly, I’m so wrung out from the divorce, I’m not thinking in concrete, permanent ways right now. What about you? Phoebe says you could have half a dozen jobs lined up if you wanted to hang around after the bar is finished. Three bathroom remodels, two additions, and a custom home, plus something about a princess bed? Sounds like you’d have your hands full for quite a while.” Her voice lifted with an edge of singsong. “And a chatty little bird told me you’re brewing a sweet family feud with the hottest of the Hayes boys.”

“Brewing. Ha. Good one,” she deadpanned, irritated that Phoebe had blabbed, yet knowing exactly why.

“He definitely got first string in the genes department. The looks, the brains, and he was always so sweet.” Avery thought a second. “Maybe he was adopted.” Her brows shot up. “Or switched at birth.”

That made Delaney laugh out loud.

“I could picture it,” Avery said, her gaze going dreamily distant out the windshield. “You and Ethan with a sweet little construction company, living happily ever after and showing everyone in this town what jackasses they were all those years ago.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Delaney tried to laugh off the uncomfortable tingle beneath her ribs. “I don’t do happily ever after. I have a better idea. You and I could split a six-pack, pull out a map of the world, close our eyes, and each pick a spot. Then choose the closest midpoint—on land of course, preferably some tropical island—and move there together. I can build; you can cook. No stress. No drama. What do you say?”

“I say that sounds like heaven right now.”

Delaney thought so, too, as she turned onto the property. “Hey, don’t mention the Ethan thing to anyone, okay?”

“Oh, God no,” she said with an as-if look that made Delaney grin.

But her smile dropped when she scanned the building, the construction site, and the lack of workers . . . working. “What the hell?”

Avery lifted her head from the seat and squinted toward the building. “Oh my God. Delaney. It looks . . . wow. It looks
amazing
. That siding is gorgeous, those big white windows and doors, the front porch, those dormers. Good Lord. I’m . . . I’m . . . this is so much more than I expected. I’m speechless.”

But Avery’s praise only half registered. The other half of Delaney’s brain was scanning for the source of the problem. This place should be buzzing like a hornet’s nest. Instead it felt like siesta time south of the border.

A tight feeling coiled in the pit of Delaney’s stomach as she pulled next to Trace’s truck. His driver’s door was open, and he was angled on the seat with one long leg stretched out, his work boot propped on the door handle.

When he looked over, Delaney saw the phone at his ear and the frustration tightening his mouth.
Shit, shit, shit.

“Well hel-lo handsome,” Avery murmured. “Who’s this? And can we take him to the island with us?”

“My contractor, and no. And what is that, divorce rebound?” Delaney asked, unease doubling and tripling as her mind created images of dollar bills fluttering into the ether.

“No, it’s divorced-after-half-a-decade-of-struggling, haven’t-had-sex-in-two-years, and that-is-one-heavenly-hot-dude interest. Besides, I’m just looking.”

Delaney did a double take. “
What?
No. Never mind. That is a story that will take up way too much time right now. Save that for the six-pack split.” Her gaze traveled back to Trace. “He should be very busy bossing around a bunch of workers who aren’t here.”

Trace disconnected his call and pulled off his aviator sunglasses. But his gaze wasn’t on Delaney. It was on Avery through the side window, which didn’t surprise Delaney. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said Avery looked good. The pretty girl Delaney left behind had matured into a goddamned knockout of a woman. Something Trace obviously noticed immediately.

Delaney stood from the Jeep. “What’s wrong? Where is everyone?”

Trace’s attention shifted to Delaney, and he stood, talking to her over the hood. “Hayes is MIA. He didn’t show for the appointment. I’ve left messages on his office phone, his cell, with his secretary, and I called around town. No one knows where he is. We can’t move on until we’re cleared, so I sent the guys home to save some money.”

“He can’t be MIA.” Delaney was caught between disbelief, fear, and anger. “This is Wildwood, for God’s sake—no one goes MIA here. And he’s a freaking city employee. Don’t they have GPS chips implanted in their brain or something?”

Trace was frowning at her as if she’d spoken German.

“Give her a second,” Avery said, standing from the car and drawing Trace’s gaze. “She’s been under a lot of stress. She’ll be fine in a minute. I’m Avery.” She held her hand out. “Her—”

“Sister.” Trace smiled and took Avery’s hand. “You’re her spitting image. But you smile a lot more. A really killer smile, too.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Excuse me.” Delaney didn’t have the patience for their flirtation. “Can you two talk
after
my building inspector’s ass is on this property?”

“Maybe we should just call the mayor,” Avery offered. “From what I heard at Wildly Artesian, it sounds like he keeps Ethan and Austin on a short leash.”

Delaney’s spinning mind skidded to a stop. Visions of Ethan in a car wreck or a hospital room vanished. Other ugly thoughts tried to push in, but she held them back and got a grip on her emotions.

“Probably a miscommunication. I’ll see what I can do. Trace, since you’re free, maybe you can show Avery around while I’m working on this.”

Trace was all too happy with that suggestion, and with Avery and Trace occupied, Delaney started her calls to all the people closest to Ethan that Trace was no longer in contact with.

She walked toward the edge of her property to peer toward the warehouse to see if his truck was there as she put in an all-points bulletin for him with Phoebe, Jodi, and Heidi. Crossing the parking lot, she glanced toward his unit, but continued on to the CrossFit gym two units down, where people were milling around between workouts.

When no one there had seen him, Delaney returned the way she’d come, dialing Finley’s Market. As the phone rang, she paused in front of Ethan’s unit and cupped her hand over the glass to peer inside with no idea what she was looking for.

“Finley’s Market.”

“Hey, Caleb, it’s Delaney.” She straightened. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Ethan and it’s pretty important. He was supposed to be at an appointment, and no one seems to be able to find him. I’m a little worried. Do you happen to know where he might be?”

“I thought he’d be with you.”

“Well, he would have if he hadn’t missed the appointment, but—”

“He was here earlier, but I got the impression he lit out of here to go see you after he’d finished up some work. Have you checked the warehouse?”

“I’m here now.”

“Well, that’s the one place you can always find him like clockwork. He’ll probably show up any minute.”

Delaney disconnected and paced in front of the unit. The sun beat down on the black pavement and reflected off the charcoal-steel buildings. Within minutes, she was ready to pass out.

She’d have to go back to the bar and wait. But on her way past, Delaney tried the door handle just as she had the night before. And just as she had the night before, she found it unlocked.

Inside the warehouse was dark and cool.

“Ethan?” Her voice echoed and went unanswered.

Delaney let the door close behind her, relaxing into the break from the heat. Arms crossed, her gaze fell on the sofa again, and she closed her eyes remembering the feel of him pulling her down on top of him to rest. To cuddle. To just . . . be.

And she sighed. Glancing at her phone for the tenth time, she wandered toward the workbench where he’d been sitting when she’d come in. A spiral-bound notebook lay open with Ethan’s handwriting scribbled across the page.

She’d run numbers enough in her days at Pacific Coast to see someone trying to work a budget when she saw it, and she took a closer look at his figures. It took her only a minute to realize he was trying to pool all his assets.

She wandered around the bench to the other side, where a role of blueprints pulled her.

After another glance out the window with no sight of his truck, Delaney sighed, frustrated with the wait, with the unknown, and pulled the prints from the cardboard tube. All building projects going through the city’s planning process were considered public domain, so Delaney decided to give Ethan fifteen minutes to show while occupying herself with a look at another one of Ethan’s jobs.

Uncurling the thick set of plans, Delaney smoothed the broad sheets out on the workbench and scanned the site plan. The proposed project site was located at the corner of Main Street and Vine Street, smack in the middle of downtown’s hottest tourist area.

She let a low whistle slide through her teeth. “Pricey digs.”

Talk about location.
This one was prime with foot traffic out front, parking out back, and room to expand.

She turned the page, eager to see what would be going into that space. Probably another new restaurant. Or maybe a winery tasting room.

The first two pages showed front, side, and rear elevations of the building. It was an attractive colonial design, one with modern flair that would fit in well with the quaint, upscale feel of downtown while still standing apart.

When she turned to the third page, she found the floor plans. Her gaze traveled over the layout, but confusion blocked her thought path. She had to shake her head and look again.

And again she found the same thing—a small restaurant area with a long bar in the front space. But it was the back of the building that had Delaney narrowing her eyes to read the callouts for the different areas.

Cold storage, walk-in cooler, malt room, grain rack.

Fermenters.

Barrels.

“A brew house?” Her words broke the quiet, making her realize she’d spoken out loud. She lifted her gaze and settled them on Ethan’s top-grade grain mill, the mashing tun, boiling kettles, ferme
nting tanks, digital control station, bottling center . . .

She cut a look back at the plans, searched the edge for the project information, and found the project title: Wildcard Brews. Then the client’s name: Ethan Hayes.

Her stomach took a direct hit.

Ethan was building a brewpub in downtown Wildwood?

“I might know someone who’d be interested in buying your liquor license.”

Alarm sang through her belly. But her heart immediately rejected the possibility of him using her, manipulating her, purposely misleading her like that.

Still, she couldn’t dismiss the sickening lump in her throat.

Could his family be so skilled at the art of deception that they’d split up and played her on both sides? Ethan getting close and gaining her trust, making her feel safe while Austin and Jack drove her into Ethan’s arms, hoping he could seduce her into the decision they wanted?

“No-no-no-no.” A wave of dizziness made her sway, and she closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her head. Her stomach was clenched so tight it felt as if she had a knife stuck in her gut. “Breathe.”

She didn’t want to believe Ethan was capable of that. Didn’t want to believe she could mean that little to him. A big part of her soul
needed
him to be different.

Delaney opened her eyes and thumbed through the remaining pages of the blueprints to determine how far he’d gotten into the process, her fingers clumsy with nerves. And she quickly found what she’d feared—the plans were complete, right down to the architectural engineers’ additional drawings and the architect’s signature.

These plans were ready for submittal. And they’d been finalized just a week before.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, her air whooshing out of her lungs. Her shoulders sagged, and her knees buckled with the weight of the boulder in her stomach. Delaney rested her elbows on the workbench and her head in her hands.

The door opened behind her and footsteps sounded; then everything went silent. Awareness prickled over her skin, and a sudden slice of unexpected, unexplainable loss cut through her gut. Her eyes burned, and her chest hurt.

“Delaney,” he said, his tone a mix of I-didn’t-expect-to-see-you and Oh-shit. “I . . . was going to come find you.”

She forced her shields up before turning to face him.

And he didn’t look any better than she felt. His hair was a sloppy mess as if he’d had his hands in it, and his face bore that tight, exhausted expression of worry and frustration.

Then his gaze drifted to the workbench behind her, and shock snapped through his eyes. A split-second, barely there flash, then it was gone. And so were the soft emotions he’d walked in with.

“What are you—?” He didn’t exactly accuse her, but definite annoyance edged his tone as he came forward. Once he focused on the plans, his eyes slid closed and he ran a hand over his face. “Dammit. I was going to tell you.”

“When?
When
were you going to tell me? After you’d missed so many appointments I went broke? Or after you’d required so many modifications I gave up and sold you the liquor license?”

“No.” He met her gaze directly. “That was
not
my plan.”