Their Last Second Chance Page 7

  Over seven years ago, Harris had sat in an office hundreds of miles away, two days before Christmas, trying to get the stomach to carry out his father’s instructions—and shut down Kingston Machining by yanking away the one contract that made up ninety-five percent of their business. Knowing that doing that would cripple John’s company, result in the immediate layoffs of more than three dozen people, leaving them with no severance, no Christmas bonus. Harris had sat in that office for hours, staring at the photos on the website from the last three years of Kingston Machining’s annual company picnics, and seen the workers and their families eating burgers and trading laughs. Happy families.

  At the end of the day, he’d done what his father was paying him to do and placed the call to John’s CFO, telling them their millions of dollars in potential future orders to make engine parts for the new line of pickup trucks was gone, handed off to their competitor. The man had cried on the phone, begged Harris to give the company a chance to lower their prices, become more competitive. But the decision was made, a backroom alliance made by Phillip that made a lot of wealthy people wealthier and destroyed a man’s life work. The loss of the contract had gutted the company, and it had shut its doors for good three months later.

  John Kingston and his forty employees had been one of the casualties in Harris’s father’s decisions—and Harris’s own actions. So had Shawn Babcock and Georgia Thompson, who had owned a steel import company that also lost its contract with the same automotive plant. Kevin Simmons worked at the first company Harris had eviscerated when he started working for his father, a small store in the way of a major expansion Phillip had handled for one of his clients.

  After Harris had left his father’s firm, he’d begun to search for the people who had lost their jobs because of Phillip McCarthy’s focus on profit and loss over people. Many of them had found other jobs, but many were still struggling, out of work for so long their homes were in foreclosure or already gone. Every time, Harris had come in with a “gift” and some manufactured reason why they were receiving a home, or having their current home’s mortgage settled, with the taxes paid and built-in breathing room. Three families were now back on their feet, unaware of why they’d been helped or who had been their benefactor. And soon, hopefully a fourth.

  He could help a hundred families, try a thousand times to repay them for his father’s heartless shock-and-awe techniques, but he suspected it would never be enough. All he could do was ensure people who had been harmed had a home, a place where they felt safe. A place that would never be taken away.

  “I’m trying,” John said. “I really am. But losing the house...damn. How will Catherine and the kids ever forgive me when I can’t forgive myself?”

  “You’ve been through a lot. It’s not all your fault.” Those were the words Harris had told himself when he made the call to John’s CFO that day. Harris almost admitted the truth to John now, but he stopped. The hatred John had toward Harris’s father was palpable—and justified. If he knew Harris had befriended him as a way to atone for the past, John’s pride would make him reject all the help Harris was trying to give him and his family.

  “Yeah, Harris, it is. Or at least mostly my fault. If that selfish bastard Phillip hadn’t talked the plant into shifting all their orders to the other plant, I wouldn’t have had to fire everyone...” John cursed under his breath. “Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and I have to stop making mistakes because of what that man did to my livelihood. I’ve been going to meetings, and I’m back to counseling with Catherine. But it’s still hard.”

  No matter how much money Harris poured into restoring lives, it didn’t repair the emotional damage, the mental wounds. “Soon, it will all be much better. Reconstruction of the house will start as soon as the town approves the plans I submitted. And the build will come in under the estimate, which will make your mortgage much lower.” Or zero, as Harris intended, by making up some story about the fund at the bank exceeding the amount owed on the loan. John had been on the verge of eviction when the house burned down. Harris wouldn’t let that happen again.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Harris. I don’t know why you’re being so gracious to me and my family, but we sure are grateful.”

  “Just one friend helping another.” Liar.

  “Well, I’ve never had a friend like this. Like I said, I’m grateful. Me and Catherine.”

  Guilt filled Harris. If John only knew...

  “I, uh, gotta go. Another call. Talk to you later, John,” Harris said. He hung up the phone and tucked it in his pocket. The slim cell seemed to weigh ten tons. Maybe he could stop by the city planner’s office tomorrow. Speed things up. Once that house was built and the Kingstons were back on their feet, Harris could leave Stone Gap and move on to another paying project while he searched for the next name on his list. And maybe this time the guilt wouldn’t chase him when he left.

  Della Barlow stepped into the hall, carrying a light jacket and her purse. “Harris. How are you?”

  “Very well, thank you, Ms. Barlow.”

  She waved that off. “Everyone around here calls me Della.”

  The auburn-headed owner of the inn had been more than friendly to Harris both times he’d been here—she’d welcomed him like family. He half dreaded heading back to his apartment in Connecticut. Staying with Della and Mavis in this renovated home seemed a lot like walking into some Disney version of family life.

  Once upon a time, Harris had imagined that life. Then he and Mellie broke up, and he’d gone to college, then to work for his father. Something inside him had been broken, and he’d allowed that to make him think being part of his father’s company was the right way to fix it. He’d found out too late that all he’d done was make the broken parts worse.

  “I’m heading home for the night,” Della said, “but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be at the Kingston house tomorrow, helping the boys and you. I can’t be there all day, but I can certainly give a couple hours to such a good cause. It was so sweet of you to organize a cleanup effort.” Della shook her head. “Such a tragedy. I’m so grateful no one got hurt.”

  “Me, too. And thank you, for the help. Your sons have done so much already.” The minute the sirens sounded on the fire truck, the Barlow boys, volunteer firemen who joined after their brother Colton had been hired by the Stone Gap Fire Department, had been there, helping the fire department put out the flames, then helping the family recover their belongings.

  “They love this town, and everyone in it. Everyone feels so helpless when something bad happens to good people. Helping the Kingstons get their home rebuilt is the least we can do.” She put a hand on his arm and gave him a smile. “And it’s really nice of you to spearhead this entire thing. You’re not even a resident, and here you are, taking care of one of our own.”

  Harris cut his gaze away. “John deserves it. He’s a great guy.”

  Della’s smile widened. “And that’s exactly why Stone Gap loves you so. You’re helping a friend who so greatly needs a hand. See you tomorrow, Harris.”

  That wave of guilt flooded Harris, heated his face. Yes. The sooner the Kingston home was rebuilt, the better. Ever since the day he’d closed the deal that led to the firing of all those people, Harris had walked around with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he’d danced on the dark side, trying to earn the praise of a man who had none to give.

  Mellie appeared at the top of the stairs, a ray of light that dragged Harris out of his dark mood. Like him, she’d opted for something a step above casual, with a silky red shirt that hung loose over a pair of black skinny jeans. She had her hair back with a clip, leaving a couple of tendrils curling along her neck. His breath caught for a second.

  What was that thing about just being friends?

  “You look beautiful,” he said as she descended and closed the gap between them.

  “Thank you.” She
shot him a teasing grin. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  He chuckled. “You really know the way to flatter a man.” Some vain part of him wondered if she was still attracted to him. She had, after all, pushed him away after their kiss earlier. Message clear: Not interested in you that way. Not anymore.

  But she was here tonight, and even if the whole thing was as platonic as a bologna sandwich, he was going to enjoy the moment. He fell into step beside her, and the two of them crossed to the front door. He opened it and waited for her to pass first.

  “My, my Harris.” Mellie arched a brow. “Are you a gentleman now?”

  His teenage self had been less courteous and far more eager around girls—well, girl singular, since Mellie was the only one to turn his world inside out. “I’ve learned a few things in the years we’ve been apart.”

  “I would hope so,” Mellie said with a flirty smile, then she slipped through the door and out onto the porch. Her dark floral perfume lingered in the air, teasing him as much as her words and her smile.

  His body stayed hyper-attuned to her as he sat a few feet away in his rental car. Every time she shifted, the tempting length of her legs flashed in his peripheral vision. The streetlights bounced off her hair, the curves of her face, the peach softness of her skin. More than once, he had to remind himself to focus on the road, not on the woman within touching distance.

  “Where are we going first on our grand tour?” she asked. “I was hoping maybe we could... I don’t know...see that house that burned down. I mean, not to be morbid, but it’s such a tragedy.”

  That hadn’t been in his plan at all. A tour of the Kingstons’ devastated property? No. Harris needed no reminders of that. “It’s nothing to see, really.”

  “Well, I still think it would be interesting.”

  Odd that Mellie cared what a burned-out shell of a house looked like. But maybe she was like the rest of the town, concerned about the family, curious about what had happened. The Kingstons had only lived in Stone Gap for a few years, but they’d become a big part of the town already. Catherine was on the PTA, their kids played on the soccer and softball teams, and John volunteered at the community center from time to time. In the wake of the fire, the whole town seemed to have rallied around John and Catherine, which undoubtedly had made them feel like they really had a home in their adopted town.

  There’d been a smattering of media attention to the fire, something Harris wanted to keep to a minimum. Any reporter worth his salt would eventually put the connection together, between Harris and the rebuild. And then there’d be questions about why the son of the man who had destroyed John’s company was helping rebuild his house. Questions Harris didn’t want to answer.

  “I have someplace better in mind.” He turned away from the main downtown area and took a side road that wound past antebellum houses and new construction, then down into a heavily wooded area that hung on for at least a mile before opening up to an expansive view of the ocean. On their right sat the Sea Shanty, a low-slung gray building with a wraparound deck that faced the ocean and served damned good seafood. The sound of pop music came from the open doors and windows.

  “The Sea Shanty?”

  “Best seafood you’ll find in the area,” he said. “Even better than Della’s she-crab soup, but don’t tell her I said that.”

  Mellie crossed her heart. “Never.”

  “I stopped in here on my first trip to Stone Gap, and I swear, I never found another meal like it anywhere else I went.” He pulled into a parking space, then shut off the car. “You asked me about my favorite place in town, and this is it. Actually, it’s the setting that’s my favorite part. The food is just a bonus.”

  She sat back against the seat and took in the view of the restaurant. “That surprises me. I expected you to be...fancier.”

  “Because of my background.”

  “Well...yes. When we were dating, you always wanted to take me to some fancy restaurant with linen tablecloths and fifty forks.”

  “That’s because I wanted to impress you.”

  Her face softened. “Harris, you impressed me the first minute I met you. I didn’t need some overpriced steak to appreciate that.”

  Something in his chest tightened. Years ago, he’d felt like a bumbling fool around this wild, spontaneous, beautiful girl. A big part of that had been being a teenager, still growing into his height and his hormones, but part of it had been how self-assured Mellie always seemed. And even though he’d had the pedigreed background and the house with the Mercedes in the driveway, it was Mellie who seemed to have it all. “I impressed you? How?”

  She waved off the question. “That’s all ancient history, Harris. Let’s go get dinner. I’m starving.” Then she opened the car door and got out before he could come around the car.

  She didn’t want to talk about the past. Probably a damned good thing, because part of that past included Mellie cheating on him. He could still see her in the arms of another man, her head on his chest, his lips pressed against her hair. Harris needed to remember that when he got swept up in her smile or the scent of her perfume. Maybe she did, as she’d said, have a good explanation, and maybe he was just using all that teenage drama as an excuse to not get close to anyone again, especially the one woman who had always had his heart.

  At the entrance to the Sea Shanty, she put a hand on his arm. And despite everything, his pulse jumped. “I want to be clear, Harris, that all I want is a good time tonight. We’re just a couple of...friends reconnecting, sharing a few laughs. This is not a date. It’s nothing permanent. It’s one night, no more.”

  “Mellie, you don’t strike me as a good-time-only woman. Especially considering you used to be married. That smacks of permanence.” Once upon a time, he’d considered permanence with Mellie. But she’d chosen someone else.

  “It’s not permanent anything, not if you get divorced, too.” She waited while he opened the restaurant door. The music came at them, louder and peppier, a jazzy cover of a pop song about meeting an old love. Ironic.

  “Were you happy, though?” he asked. The bigger question was, did he make you as happy as I thought you were with me? The day after they broke up, Harris had driven to Boston, moved into his college dorm early and immersed himself in school. He’d thought he could forget Melanie in a new area, with enough books around him. He’d been wrong.

  “Happiness is relative, don’t you think?” Then she turned away, gave the hostess a nod and a second later, they were being seated at a table by the water.

  “Gorgeous view, isn’t it?” Harris said instead, staying in the safe area of small talk instead of dovetailing back into the personal. He wasn’t sure if he meant the water, sparkling under the setting sun, or Mellie, with her hair touched with gold from the early-evening light and a pensive, peaceful look on her face as she watched the waves roll onto the beach.

  “It’s perfect. I’ve missed the water. I mean, I can see the Hudson and the Atlantic in New York, but it’s a little grayer and not quite as pretty as it is here. Or as warm.” She smiled, and that made him ten times happier that he’d chosen the seaside location.

  “It’s why it’s my favorite place, too. I’ve always loved the water.”

  “I know.” She dropped her attention to the menu.

  “So, tell me. What is the secret to thinner thighs?” He pretended to peruse his menu, bringing the mood back to light, airy. “Because I’m thinking it’s not the lobster macaroni and cheese.”

  Mellie laughed. “Definitely not. The kale salad would be a great choice, though.”

  “I’d rather eat an oak tree than kale.” He grimaced. “I’m not even sure that stuff can be classified as edible.”

  “Maybe if they cover it with cheese?” She grinned. “Almost anything is better with cheese.”

  “That is very, very true. But probably doesn’t sell that many magazines
.”

  She laughed again. “No. It definitely doesn’t.”

  He laid his menu aside and straightened his fork and knife. “So, are you happy there? In New York, writing about kale salads and thin thighs?”

  “It’s not what I thought I’d be doing when I left college.” She shrugged. “I got that degree in journalism, thinking I’d be the investigative reporter to find Jimmy Hoffa’s body or something. Instead, I ended up at the magazine.”

  “So why not go find Jimmy Hoffa’s body?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that easy, Harris.”

  He thought of how long he had worked for his father, how many nights he had agonized over quitting. It hadn’t been a fast decision or an easy one. But the minute he left his father’s office after quitting—and being told he was no longer a part of the McCarthy family—Harris had felt a deep sense of relief. Little did he know how his mother would fall apart after he left. Some days, Harris thought maybe she’d died simply because she didn’t want to live in that mausoleum of a house and marriage anymore. She’d once told her son she was proud he’d stood up to Phillip and had the courage to walk away. “Sometimes you just have to leap, Mellie. It’s scary as hell, but it’s better than being in a job you hate.”

  “I never said I hate my job.”