All Jacked Up (Rough Riders 8)

Jack clenched his fist by his side. BDM. His former partner Baxter’s company. Baxter’s luxury of blithely turning down work, when Jack raced all over the damn country taking every job in every podunk town from Barrow, Alaska to Bangor, Maine, burned his ass.

You don’t have to take every job. You don’t need the money.

True, but it was a matter of pride to prove to the restoration community that his expertise was just as much in demand as Baxter’s after their professional split. Jack suspected the reason Baxter’s company had refused to consider Keely’s restoration was because BDM was in the queue for a prestigious project in Utah.

A select group of architectural specialists had been invited to bid on a complete restoration of two city blocks in the small burg of Milford, Utah. The Milford Historical Preservation Consortium was a privately funded organization, insistent upon hiring a company whose morals and ideals meshed with theirs.

Although Jack’s professional qualifications were top-flight, his personal qualifications had disappointed the committee. No long-term relationship, no wife, no kids, no religious affiliation.

Baxter retained the advantage on the Milford project because he was married. During their partnership, Baxter’s main focus had been drumming up business. Jack stayed in the trenches with the contractors and traveled extensively while Baxter remained in the Chicago office. Baxter’s availability was why Jack’s former girlfriend Martine was now Baxter’s wife.

Martine. Beautiful. Educated. Sophisticated. Every quality Jack had required in a woman. The double whammy of Martine and Baxter’s betrayal had nearly crippled him. Baxter was twenty years Martine’s senior, a balding man with a big gut and a bigger mouth, but Baxter’s bank account was his biggest asset.

Rather than allow the situation to explode into an ugly scandal, Jack bowed out of the partnership, licked his wounds, relocated to Colorado and hung out his shingle. Now his former partner was his main competition.

Too bad Jack couldn’t conjure up a wife. Then Baxter would be out on his fat ass as far as the Milford job. Jack wanted that project and he’d do anything to get it.

Anything.

So what are you doing in Wyoming, pissing with Keely McKay? She can’t help you.

But you could help her. This is a noble project. And you’re a quart low on nobility since you’ve been chasing the gravy train the last few years.

Nudged by his conscience, Jack followed the foot-traffic pattern on the dusty floor, mentally tallying the building wreckage as he bypassed it.

Keely stood in front of a busted window, staring at the faded blacktop. She whirled around, her body stiffening at his approach.

Jack’s body stiffened too—for an entirely different reason. The sweet perfume of spring lilacs wafted toward him. Pure lust grabbed him by the short hairs. That intoxicating aroma had haunted him since the night he’d filled his lungs with her scent. Breathing nothing but her. Tasting nothing but her. Swallowing her hunger and letting it feed his… He shook his head to clear the memory. It hadn’t ended well. Every encounter with Keely McKay ended badly.

Whose fault is that?

His. Hers. Who the hell knew why they threw atomic sparks off each other?

“So, did you follow me just to glare at me? Or have you already formulated a nasty comment to fling at me before you leave?”

“Maybe I’m formulating an eviction notice.”

Keely’s lush lips parted, then flattened.

“Tell me, Miz McKay, why was I unaware you were renting the Sandstone apartment?”

“Tell me, Mr. Donohue, why was I unaware you were my landlord for the Sandstone apartment?” she lobbed back.

Jack ignored her taunt. “I hate that you pulled one over on me.”

“I imagine so. But that sort of makes us even for you pulling one over on me today, doncha think?”

“Not even close.”

“Besides, it’s hardly my fault you are unaware of your individual renters. I sent references, which your company approved. I paid the security deposit, which your company still has.”

“That doesn’t change the fact had I known, I never would’ve rented to you.”

Keely shifted to an aggressive posture. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t like you. I don’t trust you.”

“Ditto, but your personal dislike is a moot point because I’ve never been late paying rent. It’s not like I’m throwing wild parties or staging orgies.”

When he quirked a questioning brow at the “orgies” comment, she cocked her head pertly. Like a trained dog. Right. Keely McKay was more pit bull than pampered poodle and he ought to brace himself for her biting sarcasm. “Being rude to me is not helping your situation,” Jack pointed out.

“Just how could my situation get any worse? The apartment I’ve lived in for two years—”

“Two years? My property management company doesn’t offer two year contracts.”

Her defiant chin lifted a notch. “I finished the term of Domini’s lease after she married Cam. I applied the following year under my own name when the lease came up for renewal. Like I said, your company could’ve denied me then.”

During that crazy time, not only had Jack dissolved his partnership with Baxter Ducheyne, his father had also died unexpectedly. Jack’s attention to his rental properties had been nearly nonexistent. Owning properties in three states meant he couldn’t remember every tenant, but Keely’s name would’ve jumped out at him like a rabid skunk.

“As the building owner, I can terminate any lease agreement at any time, for any reason.”

“Is that your way of telling me to pack my shit?”

As much as he wanted to bark out a gleeful yes! he hesitated. Carter McKay would be livid if Jack unceremoniously booted his beloved baby sister from the apartment, particularly when Carter discovered

Jack hadn’t disclosed that he owned the Sandstone Building. The same building which housed the restaurant Carter’s wife managed as well as three other businesses owned by various McKay spouses.

Talk about a clusterfuck.

“Hello? Earth to Jack.”

Jack refocused. Keely glared at him. Jesus. She was gorgeous when she was pissed off. Maybe especially when she was pissed off.

“You gonna answer me? Or do you have a limp tongue as well as a limp—”

“Careful what you say next, cowgirl,” Jack warned. “You’d be wise not to tick off your landlord.”

She snorted. “You’re kicking me out anyway, so what do I have to lose?”