Love Rebuilt Read online

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to having visitors. Sometimes I’m really terrible with people.” He disappeared from the lofted deck and I wondered if that was the conclusion of our talk.

  I looked around, and saw nothing too unusual about the place other than the incredible house, and the mysterious man who lived in it. I turned, feeling like an idiot, and took a few steps back down the road.

  “Ms. Turner.” Connor’s voice was behind me.

  I spun around. Connor stood directly behind me, wearing a khaki Henley shirt and dark brown cargo pants. He was barefoot.

  “Hi.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. Connor’s eyes tracked every movement. “Please call me Maddie.”

  “Maddie. Would you like to come in?”

  Would I? I honestly wasn’t sure in that moment. I stared around me, and then looked back at Connor. I didn’t necessarily believe all the chatter going around the village about this man. I had no way of knowing whether Amanda Terry’s case had any merit. But that wasn’t for me to decide, and if she thought she had reason to be afraid of him—afraid enough to take it to the police, then I had to take that into account.

  “I’m sorry, Maddie. Let’s start again. Please come in.” He smiled and something in his easy manner put my nerves at ease.

  “Okay. Yes, I’d like that.” Was I making a terrible mistake? I second-guessed myself with every step. I followed Connor up the dusty drive, watching the way the muscles in his back moved beneath the thin shirt he wore and trying not to think about how easily he could overpower me if he decided to. He wasn’t a small man—at least six foot two and probably well over two hundred pounds of what looked like mostly muscle. I swallowed hard and kept pace with him as we walked around the corner of the huge rock on which the house seemed to be perched.

  “Holy,” I breathed. Suddenly I was too almost impressed to be nervous.

  Connor turned and gave me a half-grin, erasing whatever wild uncertainty was still lingering in my gut. His smile was the definition of disarming. “Yeah.”

  The bulk of the house was hidden from view when one approached it as I had. It engulfed the massive rock I’d seen, climbing along its surface across the entire opposite side, and plate glass windows spanned several levels, overlooking a grassy meadow I’d never known was here. The whole house looked out and over the wide green expanse, and several deer lingered at the far edge of the meadow, almost as if they were a fixed part of the scenery.

  We entered through a thick wooden door tucked beneath an overhang, and the inside was no less surprising than the exterior.

  There was glass, metal, and warm solid wood everywhere. Much of the furniture appeared to be actually built into the house, low benches and tables seemed to grow from the walls and floor. On the side that hugged the rock, an immense stone fireplace glowed.

  “Is that…”

  “It’s carved into the rock that the house sits on.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “Don’t know really.” He offered a shrug and waved me toward a low couch near the fire. “Can I get you a drink? It is cocktail hour.” He picked up a glass that held two large ice cubes and a small amount of some amber liquid. “Scotch?”

  “Uh, no, that’s okay.” I still had an uneasy feeling, and while a glass of wine might have helped with that, I wanted to keep my head clear. I looked around, the various skulls and gothic fixtures doing nothing to put me at ease. There were framed posters from old horror films on one wall and a photograph of a dead tree filled with ravens on another. I stifled a chill and focused on Connor.

  “Can I ask why you’re looking to buy another house up here when yours is clearly…sufficient?” Another thing about Connor that made no sense.

  He took a sip of his drink, his eyes watching me over the rim. “You came here to ask me that?”

  I shook my head. “No, sorry. Just curious.”

  “So, what is the topic today?” he asked. He sat across from me and as he did, his face relaxed and he looked tired. Exhausted, actually. “I’ve been quizzed about so many things already. I have answers ready. Go ahead.”

  Of course. The police. They’d certainly been up here to talk to him if they’d been at the diner. “Connor, if this is a bad time…”

  “No,” he sat up straighter. “Actually…” his eyes dropped and he stared into his glass for a minute. “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t accusing me of anything.”

  It occurred to me that Connor probably didn’t have many friends. At least not up here. Maybe somewhere else, though? “Where are you from? Originally, I mean.”

  He tilted his head and looked at me, one eye narrowing. He seemed to decide something then, and settled back a bit, sipping his scotch. “Not from here.”

  “So where?” I knew I was pressing, but I wanted to understand this man. He was unusual, and finding someone so unlike everything I knew was compelling. And still slightly scary, especially when there were a few examples of ancient weaponry on display on various shelves. I turned my gaze from one particularly nasty look knife in a display case, raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “My family is from Chicago. But we spent our summers in California when I was a kid. And I liked it here.”

  “Summers here? In Kings Grove?”

  “All over. San Francisco, Los Angeles, Eureka, San Diego. And yeah, here too. I actually have a house in Trinidad, up the coast north of here. But I like it better up here. Or I did until recently. And now I’m stuck here.” He smiled grimly and finished off the scotch.

  I watched as he stood and went to a low table on the wall to pour another.

  “It doesn’t feel right drinking alone,” he said, not looking at me. “Can I get you a glass of wine maybe?”

  I looked around, as if there would be a signal letting me know if I was safe here, and if I was overstaying my welcome or pushing my luck. The strange gothic décor was beginning to feel threatening. “Listen, I’m totally intruding. I should have called…” I leaned forward, thinking about getting up.

  “Please stay.” His voice was quiet, and he said it while staring into his drink.

  I hesitated. Something in his tone made me want to reach across the space, lay my hand on his and squeeze. The fire god who had appeared above me on the deck seemed vulnerable now, hurt even. But was this all just for effect? How much could I trust my instincts with this man? Was everything really what it seemed?

  He turned his head and the blue eyes fixed on me. “Unless you’re going to ask me questions about my tendencies as a stalker or sexual predator, I could use the company.”

  My blood heated. Connor had sensed what I’d been thinking and I felt immediately guilty. And beyond that, I had been struggling not to think of this man in sexual terms since I’d first seen him. But now he’d gone and thrown the word out and it was a thousand times as hard not to picture him in that way. Head bent, mouth on my neck, hard strong body pressed against me. I’d also been trying hard not to think of him as a stalker, or a man capable of abusing a woman. But now it almost seemed like he was teasing me. What kind of man would make light of accusations like these?

  I tried to figure out what to do. I needed to talk to him about the property, see if he was still interested. And I hadn’t done that yet. And even though there were some questionable design choices at work here, what I really saw beneath the dark décor was an immense and stunning house, and a man who appeared to be lonely, offering me a drink. I made a choice to put the gossip and small town innuendo aside. “Sure. Wine would be lovely.”

  “I’ve got a Bordeaux I was saving…”

  “That’s not necessary,” I said, though I longed to look at the label, to dive into superficial conversation about the merits of French wine over Californian. “I love a nice Bordeaux, but I’m just as happy with swill.” That’s what I could afford these days, though Jack had left me a few bottles in the trailer that I had plans to enjoy soon while cursing his name.

  “I’m sure you
deserve better than swill,” he said. There was something in his voice that infused that statement with a meaning I didn’t quite understand. “I have an Oregon pinot noir, will that do?”

  “That sounds great.” I restrained myself and didn’t ask questions about the vintage or appellation. I was making progress, stepping away from that snobby little princess that Jack had created in me.

  Connor pulled the bottle from a rack below the bar table and opened it, pouring me a glass and then setting it on the low table between us.

  “Thank you,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable with the way we’d become drinking buddies lounging around inside his crazy house together. I took a sip of the wine.

  “What’s in the bag?” he asked, pointing to the messenger bag next to me on the couch.

  I pulled the camera from the bag and held it out for him to inspect.

  “Aha, of course. What kind of pictures do you take? Is this how you make a living?”

  “People mostly. I used to think it was my calling. Not exactly a living now. I’m a waitress.” I cradled the camera in my hands, its familiar heft calming me. My fingers turned it on, removed the lens cap automatically, without thought. I adjusted settings for the low light and then lifted it. “May I?” I framed Connor in the shot, his hair aglow with firelight and the darkness behind him emphasizing the effect.

  His smile dropped, and he looked surprised but then regained himself. “I guess that would be okay,” he said, “though I’m sure you could find better subjects out there.” The sculpted lips pulled into a sad smile and the shutter closed as my fingers made adjustments, capturing the fire god in his natural state. “So what do you think now?” he asked.

  “About?” I put down the camera.

  “You said you thought photography was your calling.”

  “Right. I gave it all up to build a stupid house in a forest and live in a trailer with no modern conveniences of any kind.”

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes life twists and we lose our path,” he said. “Sometimes it gets hard to remember where you were heading. Sometimes other people steer for you and you get lost.”

  I nodded and reached for my wine glass. That was the truth. “So you’re stuck here too?” I said.

  He eyed me quizzically.

  “You said you’re stuck here now.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess I am. I’ve been advised not to leave the county.”

  “By the police?”

  He nodded, looking angry for a moment and sipping the scotch. He didn’t say anything else. I sipped the wine and stared into the fire.

  “How did you end up living in a trailer next to a half-built house?” he asked finally.

  “What do you mean, ‘end up’? My life was carefully constructed to allow me the privilege of living in a rickety trailer next to a half-finished dump. I planned it that way.” I raised my glass in toast.

  “Of course you did.” A smile crossed his lips and disappeared, and something inside me wanted to make it come back.

  “I’m stuck, I guess. Just like you.”

  “Something to do with the Scotsman?”

  “Something.”

  He watched me sip my wine. I felt exposed under his gaze, and slightly embarrassed, but I also felt seen. For the first time in I couldn’t remember how long. I had no idea what this man’s intentions might be, but I knew that in this moment at least, he was really listening, really seeing me. It was exciting and somehow frightening at once.

  “Divorce,” I added. “Trailer life was never part of my plan. But neither was divorce. Or any of what’s gone on in the last year or so.”

  “Feeling like you’re not the one driving?” he said, the eyes still pinning me down, something dark and smoky hazing the blue now.

  I chuckled. Driving was the only time I ever did feel in control. “Right.”

  “So we’re prisoners,” Connor said. “At least we’ve got each other.” It was said with derision, and we clinked our glasses together. But there was something in the words that felt like truth, which made me think I had a friend here if I wanted one. But the warning in my blood was still there. This man was a stranger. With an ominous aura and a haze of frightening gossip surrounding him.

  As soon as that thought had hit me, the wrongness of my presence in his living room, in his life at all, crashed against my chest. As I realized that I’d actually done what Jack suggested—taken that picture without even thinking about it, I felt sick. My heart picked up an erratic rhythm. I put my glass down and stood. “I’m sorry,” I said, shoving the camera into my bag and moving toward the door. “I should go.”

  He looked surprised, but stood to see me to the door. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I am, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” I felt like I was scrambling to the door, something inside me finally ringing a warning that I was going to heed. I had no business drinking wine in this man’s house. In any man’s house. What had I been thinking?

  “Maddie, did you come to ask something specific?”

  I stopped scrambling and turned, standing in his half-open door. “The property. Did you still want to buy it?”

  His mouth opened slightly, and then closed as he lifted a hand to push the hair off his forehead. “I thought you weren’t going to sell?”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  He stared at me for a moment, the shadows lingering in the dim light beneath the rock overhang making his face look harsh, frightening. “I can’t now.” He said it simply, quietly. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you should sell it at all.”

  “It’s just that…” How could I tell him how badly I needed the money that house represented? “I’ve been thinking about it, looking at my situation. With the divorce and everything.” I did not want to have to tell this man how desperate I was. “I just think that maybe I do need to find a buyer. And you seemed so interested.”

  “Not now. I can’t now.” His eyes were a deep blue when I glanced up at them, and he looked sad, like he carried the weight of one hundred lives gone wrong, not just the one he was living. I wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him somehow. But that was crazy.

  “Oh. Okay, then.” The words tumbled out, and I was confused at my own feelings as I turned and walked away, descending the stairs to the open clearing below. My mad dash was accompanied by the gears of my head turning in time with my frantic feet. What did he mean? Hadn’t he been the one pushing me to sell in the first place?

  “Bye, Maddie,” Connor called as I tried and failed to walk calmly down his driveway.

  I got to the bottom of the drive and slowed my pace as I turned into the meadow lane. I was an idiot. First, for accepting a drink at all, and second, for jumping up and running away like a scared rabbit. This was why I lived in a trailer, I told myself. Because I was destined to be a social misfit and would probably end up like the Unabomber, unable to fit into or understand society, toiling away in my isolated trailer.

  I was lost in my self-eviscerating thoughts when I stumbled directly into a person who’d been standing just at the bottom of Connor’s driveway. Carol Skelling. “Oh!”

  “Maddie, are you all right?”

  “Carol,” I was flustered and having a tough time finding words. “Sure, I…yes.”

  “I was getting worried. I waited down here while you went inside. I couldn’t just let you go up there alone.”

  I stared at her. That was crazy. Wasn’t it? “Wow. Okay. Thanks.”

  “Of course, dear. Did he try anything? You looked frightened when you came out just now, and you’re shaking.” She grasped my wrist and held my hand out in front of me.

  “No, no. I’m fine,” I told her. “Just distracted.”

  “Shall I walk you home?” Carol was persistent.

  “No, but thanks so much for worrying about me.”

  She moved in to hug me and I dodged, patting her hand instead and thanking her again. We waved goodnight and I headed
home.

  I chided myself all the way to the door of my fifth-wheel. Once I sat down, safely shielded by the same four claustrophobic walls that had confined my life for much too long now, I let the tears come. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be, and now I was failing at even pretending to be a normal human being. I was embarrassed at the way I’d behaved at Connor’s, and in front of Carol. Beyond my Forrest Gump imitation back there, I had a massive impending financial implosion to consider. Through my tears I considered pouring myself a glass of wine, but it just seemed pointless. There wasn’t enough wine in the world to make my life seem okay.

  Chapter 8

  “Morning Adele.” I knew I looked like a walking disaster. I’d gotten no sleep the night before, choosing to stay up and brood about whatever had gone on between Connor and me, and then about my own financial straits. Somewhere in the dark of the quiet night I had decided a few things, however. For one thing, it didn’t matter how attractive Connor Charles might be. He didn’t want to buy my house, and there was no reason for me to have any further interaction with him. It was clear that he was not going to be my salvation, and I needed to think of something else. And no matter how handsome he might be, the last thing I needed was a man in my life again. Especially a man with as many complications as he seemed to have.

  And on that theme, I’d done a lot of thinking about Jack, too. Despite the fact that we were divorced, that he was engaged to his little tramp, he still seemed to find lots of reasons to harass me. I wondered if it had just become some kind of habit for him. Maybe Annalise didn’t provide as easy a target I did. Regardless, his evil plans and ideas were not going to take up valuable space in my mind anymore. I didn’t even like admitting that I’d entertained the idea of cashing in on Connor’s misfortune, but part of me had. And I wouldn’t anymore. Maybe the woman Jack created would have taken advantage of someone that way—easy money was something she’d grown used to and small inconveniences, like other people, didn’t always matter to her. But I didn’t like that woman very much, and I didn’t want to be her anymore.