A Difficult Woman

“Where?”

“On the table,” he said.

Tara wearily brushed the loose hair off her forehead as she crossed the room. It had better be good news. This had been one long, rough day. She read the printout, then crumpled it in her fist.

“I cannot believe this,” she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

Nicky frowned at her. “You sent out all those party brochures. I thought you wanted to book a reunion function here.”

“I did.” Tara uncrumpled the paper and read it again. The Night Sky High School graduating class of 1965 wanted to hold an afternoon cocktail party here before the reunion dance. And they wanted to pay her well for the privilege. A Mr. Nathan Bidart, former class president, had requested the booking, and he also wanted three rooms. Three rooms. Just like that. Almost the entire second floor. And she hadn’t even advertised rooms; Bidart must have simply assumed. And he was in business, which was the market she was targeting. Her stomach hurt.

“Did?”

“I don’t have a carpenter anymore.”

He put the movie on mute. “What did you do?”

Tara shrugged, then rubbed her neck. “I was ungrateful.”

Nicky gave a snort. “So what do you do now? You can’t hold an outdoor party with half a porch. You have to call Bidart and tell him you can’t host it, or find a new carpenter.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Tara said, yawning. She released the clip that held her hair, then groaned as the barrette popped into two pieces. She stared down at the sterling silver conchos in her right hand, the French clip in her left.

The perfect end to a perfect evening. Disgusted, she tossed the pieces into the fruit bowl where Nicky kept his keys and headed for the hall.

“I’m going to bed.”

She caught sight of Nicky shaking his head before he picked up the remote and settled back into House on Haunted Hill, and felt extremely glad he didn’t know about the balloon payment. One Sullivan worried sick about finances was more than enough.

STUPID BIRD.

Tara usually loved waking up to the sounds of the birds in the ancient cottonwood trees outside her window. Usually. But after a long night of calculating in her sleep, and trying to figure out how in the world she could get everything done, Tara was in no mood for cheerful birds.

Matt had done the decent thing and tried to help her and she had done the knee-jerk thing and refused that help. She’d fought her own battles since she was eight years old and some kid had taunted her about having a daddy who stayed too long at the beer joint. That kid had ran home crying a few seconds later with a bloody nose and Tara had discovered she did indeed have the power to fight back. She didn’t have to listen to all the talk about her father, whom she loved and was fiercely protective of, especially since she didn’t have a mother.

Of course, that had been before her dad had committed armed robbery and reinforced the general opinion that there was no such thing as an honest Sullivan.

She and Nicky had moved into the big Victorian house with Aunt Laura shortly after her father’s arrest. It hadn’t been a happy time. The kids in school remembered how fiercely she’d defended her father and wouldn’t let her forget it. The adults in town hadn’t treated “that Sullivan girl” much better.

As soon as she graduated high school, she moved to Reno, taking Nicky with her, never dreaming that someday she’d be back, trying to make a place for herself in the community.

She pushed the covers aside and sat up, glancing briefly at the photo of her father she kept on the bureau and feeling the usual mixed emotions. The picture had been taken when he was about the same age as Nicky and the resemblance was strong. Dark blond hair, an easy grin. Tara looked nothing like him. She took after her dark-haired mother, who was smiling in the matching silver frame. Her mother had died when Nicky was three and her father had died in prison of pneumonia when Tara was eighteen—just a few months before he was due to be paroled. Sometimes, even though she hated herself for it, she wondered if maybe that had been for the best.

No sense dwelling on it. It never did her any good. And right now she had a porch to rebuild and a few new doors to hang.

Nicky groaned when he traipsed into the kitchen an hour later and saw the stack of home improvement books sitting on the table where his plate should have been. He walked to the coffeepot, giving the table a wide berth. He filled his cup, took a revitalizing drink, then leaned against the cabinets. His expression clearly said that he knew from experience how dangerous how-to books could be.

“It’s not that bad,” Tara said without raising her eyes from the pages of one.

“Yes,” he said bluntly, “it is.”

Tara looked up.

“Remember what happened the last time you moved beyond your abilities?”

“Wiring can get confusing. All those junctions…”

“Look, T. You’re good. I’ll give you that. And you learn fast, but you don’t have that much time.”

“Your point?” she asked sourly.

“Tell me what happened last night.”

He brought the coffeepot, filled both of their cups, then took a seat across the table from her.

Nicky shook his head when she finished telling the story. “One punch to the gut, huh?” He was obviously impressed. Eddie was a big guy.

“Neatly done, too.” Although she had thought there might be more to Matt Connors than met the eye, Tara hadn’t expected him to know how to fight like that. His moves had been quick and automatic. Well-practiced.

Silence hung between them for a few seconds and then Tara closed the book in front of her.

“I guess I should go and see if I can talk him into coming back.”

Nicky nodded, his eyes fixed on the kitchen window. “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding him.”

Tara’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re kidding.” She jumped to her feet and crossed to the window. Sure enough, Matt Connors’s pickup was turning into the drive.

“Let’s hope he’s not here for his tools,” Nicky commented as he watched the truck roll up the drive.

“Let’s hope,” Tara echoed.

“Or his last paycheck.”

Tara scowled at her brother over her shoulder as she headed for the front door. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

“Just don’t blow this, okay?”

“I won’t blow it,” she replied flatly.

I can’t blow it. She took a moment to collect herself, and then stepped out onto the porch.

MATT EASED HIS PICKUP to a stop next to Nicky’s Dodge. He turned off the ignition, but he didn’t get out of the truck right away.

Damn, but he was tired.

He’d had some alleged coffee at the Owl that morning, knowing he probably wasn’t going to get any from Tara, but now the casino brew was burning a hole in his gut. It wasn’t in his nature to leave someone in lurch though and, no matter what had happened last night, the Sullivans were apparently in one.

Numb from lack of sleep, he stared at the porch. Tara stood on the top step, keeping the advantage of higher ground. Matt let out a breath and pushed the truck door open.