She’d been on his mind a lot since the city council had passed his father’s visual nuisance ordinance. Ethan wondered what had become of the rebel Hart. The beauty with a devil-may-care attitude and a hidden heart of gold. He hoped she hadn’t fallen so deep into drugs and booze that she couldn’t drag herself out. Hoped she hadn’t ended up in jail like the tattooed biker criminals she’d favored all those years ago.
“She’s probably with a demolition contractor,” he said, referencing the unknown woman on the property as he rolled up his shirtsleeves to grab the first case of beer from the pile. “The family probably figured out how much they’d save if they took control of the demolition instead of letting the city do it.”
Ethan didn’t care. As long as the business was wiped off the face of the planet, his plans were solid.
“When was the last time you saw a woman like that on a construction site?” Caleb asked, all attitude.
“She’s not the one doing the demolition. She’s probably from a large firm. She comes out, does a walk-through, gives a bid.”
Caleb just lifted a brow. “You hope that’s who and what she is.” His gaze traveled back to the woman, Ethan’s followed, and the unspoken alternatives to Caleb’s theory thickened the air between them. “She sorta looks like a Realtor to me.”
Ethan slid another case of blackberry lager into Caleb’s truck. “Finish loading and get out of here before I deck you.”
Caleb grinned and continued to rib Ethan with worst-case
scenarios until they slid the last of the five cases into the bed. Then he frowned when he turned to search for more and found the warehouse shelves empty. “Is that all you’ve got for me?”
“Work’s been running me into the ground.” Ethan shut the tailgate. “I haven’t had time to—”
“You mean your dad’s been running you into the ground.” The disapproving edge in Caleb’s voice cut through Ethan’s distraction over the woman wandering around the property next door. “You know this is going to be gone by noon tomorrow.”
“You’re a bitch tonight. What’s your problem?”
“That is my problem.” Caleb, more of a brother to Ethan than his own flesh-and-blood sibling, jerked a hand at the mostly empty bed. “That’s one hell of a lot of lost revenue right there. You know I could sell everything you put in this truck every week. That’s cash that would go a long way toward paying your architect, your construction loan, buying equipment, building supplies, brewing supplies, marketing—”
“Man, don’t start.” Ethan rubbed his eyes. “It’s been a day from hell.”
“I thought you wanted to get out of that hell.”
“I do.”
“Then you’d better up your game, bro. Because you don’t know what’s happening over there.” He gestured toward the old bar. “And you’re not pulling your weight here.” Caleb started past him, pausing to slap Ethan’s shoulder in a show of compassion. “Put yourself first for a change. God knows your father never will. Take care of yourself so you can take care of Pops. Let the rest go, for fuck’s sake.”
By the time Caleb’s engine had faded down the quiet country road, giving way to the night again, Ethan’s mind had returned to the Hart property.
He wasn’t in the mood to play the charming neighbor tonight, but Caleb was right, Trace had to know what was happening over there. And since a charming neighbor never showed up empty-handed, he returned to his warehouse, pulled two bottles of a good-but-funky IPA trial from the fridge, pocketed a bottle opener, and started toward the lights next door.
Ethan tried to focus on the here, the now, but as soon as he stepped over the curb separating the warehouse parking lot from the unimproved adjacent land, his mind veered from the beauty in his future to the ugliness of his past. To the night Ian had died at that bar. To all the strife that tragedy had caused his family. And to what his one mistake all those years ago had ultimately cost him. And Pops.
A chill spread through his body. That dark, ugly chill that came with the memory of the cops at the door, his brother sobbing, his mother screaming, his father yelling . . .
The walk was short, but the dark slowed Ethan’s steps over the uneven ground. His thoughts jumbled just as they had the day before when he’d traversed this very pathway to post the condemnation notice on the door of The Bad Seed.
Ethan stopped walking, closed his eyes, and shook the past from his head. He breathed deeply, pressed the cold beer bottles against his face. That was the past. This was his future—this beer, this plan. This would replace that trapdoor beneath his feet with concrete again and give him the stability he needed to offer Pops the security and happiness his grandfather deserved. The kind Ethan’s mistake had stolen from him eight years ago.
Straightening, Ethan found himself a couple hundred feet away from the woman and well outside the circle of light cast by her vehicle. She wandered in slow circles near the front driver’s-side fender of the SUV, wearing a straight, business-style skirt that rode just above the knee and a silky, off-white tank. She also treaded on relatively high heels. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the smooth, sweet quality of her voice erased the hazy remnants of his nightmarish memories and helped him refocus on the present. On the graceful way she moved despite the uneven ground. She had a sort of lazy elegance that added a sexy little sway and made Ethan look closer.
Her hair was dark and coiled on the back of her head. Long legs, slim neck, nice shape to her face, but there were too many shadows to tell much more. Definitely a city dweller. No local would wear a skirt and heels to check out that heap. No local would come out at night either. In fact, when he managed to pry his gaze off her body and glanced at the portion of The Bad Seed’s dilapidated front porch lit up in the dark night, the realization of just how far out of her element this woman had drifted made a smile tip his mouth up.
She was probably reporting back to her boss right now, telling him it wouldn’t take more than a strong wind to blow the rattrap down.
Which was probably why he hadn’t considered the possibility of the Hart sisters trying to sell this place as is. After years of disinterest, he’d assumed—like everyone else in town—that Joe’s daughters would let the property remain in violation until the city took over cleanup, billed them, and ultimately foreclosed.
But the only part that Ethan cared about was the cleanup. Because once that piece of shit was demolished and the place of business ceased to exist, The Bad Seed’s liquor license would be up for grabs.
A license Ethan had coveted for years.
One he had plotted and planned to possess, because it was the key to a future outside his father’s reach and unfazed by his father’s influence. One that would secure Pops’s financial future and give his grandfather a community of friends and a makeshift family to replace the one that had abandoned him. All because of Ethan.