Steal My Heart

Chapter 4

brIAN KNEW Hilliard was only trying to help him, but the more he thought about it, the more he knew that it was best if he didn’t make waves. He was getting business, and people had short memories about some things. What he really wanted was to get on with his life and not look back. “I appreciate what you are trying to do.” And the fact that Hilliard believed him meant more than he was willing to say. If he started down that road, he wouldn’t be able to stop blathering. He was also worried that if he did try to clear his name and they failed, he’d be screwed. It would feel the same as being convicted and sentenced for something he didn’t do all over again.

“I wanted to offer to help,” Hilliard said as they finished their coffee. The server brought the check, and Hilliard paid the bill. “I’ll meet you at the house.” He smiled and hurried down to his car. Brian swore he could get addicted to that grin.

Brian made his way to the edge of the street where he had parked his truck.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The tone made him groan. He turned as Violet Trainer glared at him.

“You really should.” She drew closer. “But what I want to know is where you hid the rest of what you stole.”

“I never stole anything,” Brian said, “and you need to get out of my way.” He stepped to the side, and she did the same.

“I’m not afraid of you, and I know what you did.” She glared as others on the sidewalk paused to watch.

Brian went around her and strode to his truck, his heart racing. He was tired of this kind of crap. When he reached his truck, he got in and backed out of his space. He headed out to Hilliard’s, almost forgetting to come to a stop at one of the signs. When he arrived, he pulled up in front and climbed out, then knocked on the front door.

“What’s up?” Hilliard asked.

“Let’s do it. I want to find whoever committed the burglary, and so help me God, I want to clear my name. The pains in the asses here are not going to believe anything until I can prove I didn’t steal anything.”

Hilliard nodded. “I take it you ran into Violet.”

“That woman is a—” Brian stopped himself from swearing. “How did you know?”

“I passed her in the car. She is never going to forgive and forget.”

Not that Brian could blame her. It was her home that had been robbed, but he hadn’t done it. “It’s clear enough that no one is really going to change unless I can prove who really broke into that house. But I don’t know where I should start. Detective stuff is not my strength, and I’m no Jessica Fletcher.”

“O-kay,” Hilliard said, rolling his eyes a little. “Well, the first thing is to request a copy of the court records. You can do that. They will make you pay a copying fee, but once we have that, we can see the case against you and try to tear it apart. I’ll see if I can get a look at the police files. It isn’t an active case, so I should be able to look at them. There could be some leads in there as well. They may have suppressed some real evidence—who knows? Reviewing old cases can be difficult, but we’ll see what we can do.”

“Thanks,” Brian said softly. He had expended so much energy trying to fight what people thought. Two years out of jail and some days he was so tired of the fighting and working harder than everyone else just to make a living. Hilliard gently rested his hand on his shoulder, and Brian closed his eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him in a caring way… well, anyone other than Gran.

Heat raced through him, and he was so tempted to close the gap between them. Hilliard was a stunningly handsome man, and Brian wanted nothing more than to discover what his full lips tasted like. Hell, he had lain awake at night wondering what Hilliard would feel like under him. But those were just fantasies, and he needed to keep his head in the real world. After a few seconds, Brian shifted his weight and forced his gaze away from Hilliard. It would be so easy to get lost in his eyes. His body ached in a way he hadn’t known in a long time. That didn’t change the fact that Hilliard was a client, and he needed to keep some sort of distance between them.

Still, that simple touch had been almost electric. Gran was gentle with him, but no one else was. In prison, he had been left alone. He was big enough to defend himself, and mostly he’d done his best to remain invisible. As a defense, it had worked, but had made for some very lonely months. Still, whatever he thought he felt changed nothing. He had to keep his head clear and act properly to keep some sort of professional standards.

“I should get to work,” Brian said, his throat dry, and his voice sounded rough, even to himself. Besides, he needed a chance to think more clearly, and he couldn’t do that with Hilliard near him. With a deep breath, he grabbed his tool belt and got to work.

“WHY ARE you smiling all the time?” Gran asked in that slightly nosy way of hers. “You were even whistling in the shower, and you haven’t done that since….” She trailed off like she didn’t want to say the words.

“Was I?” he asked as he strode to the kitchen to make them some dinner. He had the things for a salad, and Gran liked his pesto, so he started the pasta water.

“Yes, you were.” Gran slowly made her way over, using her cane for balance. Brian was tempted to help her, but instead he just continued watching her in case she needed help as he tore the lettuce. Gran sat in the chair at the small kitchen table. “And don’t think you can just leave the room when you don’t want to talk about something. I may be an old lady, but I can still get around. Now what’s going on?”

“You sound like I did something bad,” Brian said.

“Piff. I like that you’re happy, and I’m thinking it has to do with that new client of yours.” Gran might nap more than she used to and have trouble walking, but she didn’t miss anything. “Is he hot?”

“Gran….” Brian set the knife he’d grabbed to cut cucumbers on the cutting board.

She rolled her eyes. “The younger generation didn’t invent hotness, you know. Your grandfather was scorching when I first met him. He worked in one of the mills and had muscles for days. He also had a fancy car, and all the girls had their eye on him, but I was the one he chose. And let me tell you, he turned out to be even hotter between the sheets than he was on the beach.” She practically cackled as Brian groaned and turned away. The last thing he wanted to hear was that Gramps had been a stud. “You know that kept him alive for years.”

“I’m trying to make dinner, and I’m going to cut a finger off.” He could barely see straight, his eyes were watering so badly from a mixture of laughter and sadness. Brian wiped his eyes and set the knife down. “I’ll bite—how did being a stud keep Gramps from dying, considering he had a heart attack four years ago?” He knew he was going to regret this, but sometimes he had to just let Gran get her story out.

“Ten years ago, the doctors said that he needed to get more exercise, so we started taking walks through town, going to classes in Fort Bragg at the community center… and at night… let’s just say that passion is a great way to burn the calories. I swear that kept him around for the next six years.”

He picked up the knife and shook his head. “Sex kept Gramps alive all that time.”

“Yup. I’m just that good.” She held out her hand and did a mic drop. Brian had no idea what he was going to do with her, but he finished the salad without cutting himself—or looking at Gran, for fear she’d start another story. One scandalization was enough for the evening. “And I want you to have that.” Great, they were back to him.

“I’m fine, and please don’t get involved. Hilliard is a nice man, and he’s going to help me prove I’m innocent. He’s also a client, and I can’t go around getting involved with the people I work for.” He finished with the salad and divided it between two bowls before adding the pasta to the boiling water.

“Yeah, but he also makes you whistle and smile.” She was such a pill.

“How do you know that I’m not happy just being here with you?” he countered.

Gran smiled and got out of her chair to pat his cheek from across the prep table. “Because I know you, and I like seeing you happy. Besides, that kind of happiness comes from meeting someone you like. You aren’t going to work for Hilliard forever, and as long as the two of you aren’t getting busy during work hours, there really isn’t an issue.” She sat back down, leaning slightly on her cane.

“Gran, don’t be pushy,” he said gently. “I’m happy, okay? I’ll admit that. And I like Hilliard. He’s attractive and smart—way smarter than me.” He got out the pesto from the refrigerator and then checked on the pasta.

“Maybe you should invite him here for dinner. I’ll make some of my special light-as-air fried chicken. Your grandfather used to say it was the best of the best and why he fell in love with me.” A faraway smile settled over her face. “He always said that I was beautiful, and when he found out I could cook… he knew he was a goner.” She sighed softly. “I really miss him.”

Brian stopped what he was doing and hurried to her. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. Sometimes it sucks being alone, and I don’t want that for you.” That plaintive expression was too much for him, and he felt his resolve melting like an ice cube in July.

“Okay, Gran. I’ll invite him to dinner. He said there would be things I needed to sign so he could get copies of the records and stuff. I’ll invite him over so we can get that done and you can meet him, but after that, you need to promise me that you won’t meddle.”

“Me?” She straightened up, her eyes big. “I never meddle, and shame on you for saying so. I push a little and plutz sometimes.” Whatever that meant. “But I never meddle. Now Violet, she meddles in everything, and I will not have you comparing me to that woman.”

He returned to making dinner. “I think you got yourself a little off track.” Sometimes he wondered if she was slipping a little, though this was not one of them.

brIAN SPENT the rest of the evening with Gran, and the following day, as he prepped the house for painting, he managed to get a few minutes with Hilliard. Judging by the bags of trash he was hauling out to the new Mustang convertible that the transport company had delivered just the day before, and filling the back seat, Hilliard was still cleaning out the house.

“The weather is supposed to be good tomorrow, with minimal fog,” Brian said once he had the plastic up over the last window. He had been working to make sure he had the place ready for the next sunny day. With the town right on the coast, those could be scarce as hen’s teeth.

“Great. Are you going to need help? I’ve been tackling Aunt Grace’s project-slash-junk room, and….” He shook his head and set yet another bag of trash near his car.

“I think so. It’s a big job, but it should go fast with the sprayer and the fact that we’re not changing the color.” He climbed down off the ladder. “If you want, you can put those bags in the back of my truck, and I’ll take them to the dump when I’m done for the day.”

“Thank you,” Hilliard said, and Brian got a smile that set his heart beating a little faster. God, he was being so stupid. A simple smile and he was over the moon. Part of him felt like a swooning teenager, and he was way past that age. Heck, he didn’t even know if Hilliard might be interested, but judging by the way he seemed to lose his train of thought around Brian every now and then, it was a possibility. Not that Brian could act on anything between them. Still, Hilliard had an amazing smile, just quirked enough that Brian had to admit it made the man hot as all hell, especially today, in a T-shirt a size too small that hugged his lithe body like a second skin.

“Oh, Gran asked me to invite you to dinner. Apparently she is going to make her famous chicken.” God, he could have issued the invitation a hell of a lot more smoothly than that. “Believe me, it’s something else. She’s planning to make it tomorrow, so….” He shifted his weight nervously.

“That sounds wonderful,” Hilliard said. “I’d love to meet your grandmother.” They both stood still, like they each wanted to say something but neither of them dared to. Brian wished he had the guts to tell Hilliard that he liked him. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he reminded himself that getting involved personally with Hilliard was a bad idea, even as he felt an unstoppable pull toward the other man. Hilliard even leaned closer, his lips parted slightly, and Brian was so tempted to see what they tasted like.

“Morning,” someone called from the road as they walked their dog. Hilliard blinked before standing up straighter, while Brian adjusted the ladder for something to do, relieved that fate, and a small dog stopping to do its business, had taken the decision out of his hands.

Hilliard waved and knelt down, and the small poodle mix wagged her tail madly as she hurried over for pets. “How is Lucy this morning?” Hilliard asked as he petted the exuberant dog.

“Much better,” the man said. Hilliard stood, and the man nodded to Hilliard, and then both man and dog continued down the road. Clearly Hilliard might be new in town, but he was already making friends. That was good, because Brian was hoping that Hilliard would decide to stay, though nothing more had been said about his plans.

“Mr. Stevenson walks his dog every afternoon,” Hilliard explained. “Lucy was dragging a few days ago, but she seems better now.” He sighed. “Well, I had better get these bags loaded or else I’m never going to get this done.”

Brian turned away as a group of teenagers on bikes came down the street, pedaling to beat the band. As they passed Hilliard’s car, one of them reached out and grabbed one of the plastic bags. It ripped and he continued on, the black plastic flapping behind him, spilling the contents of the bag all over the inside of the car.

“Jackasses!” Brian called as Hilliard groaned.

“Who the hell was that?” Hilliard asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the mess his car had become.

“The fucktard four,” Brian snapped. “Kendall and Kevin, Violet’s grandsons, and their partners in crime, Nathan West and Michael Rogers. You’d think they were still twelve.” He went inside and grabbed a fresh bag to help Hilliard clean up the mess. Then Brian set about transferring the rest of the black bags to the back of his truck, and he returned to the ladder to finish his prep, glancing at Hilliard every few minutes because he just couldn’t help himself.

“DID YOU ask him?” Gran said as soon as he walked in the house. Sometimes she was just too much.

“Yes. I’m painting his place tomorrow, and he’s going to help me, so I figured the least I could do was offer him some dinner.” He was not going to tell Gran anything more than that. His growing wonder about his client was not something she needed to know. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that he was just seeing things the way he wanted to as opposed to how they really were. After all, Hilliard was a successful, handsome man with everything going for him, and Brian was an ex-con trying to find a way to make a living. There were tons of people that Hilliard could choose over him.

“Is that the reason you told him or the excuse you’re telling yourself?” Sometimes Gran was too observant for her own good. “You can’t pull the wool over my eyes. And in case you’re wondering, you’re as good as anyone else. You didn’t do what you were accused of, so don’t let yourself act as if you aren’t.”

Sometimes she knew just what to say. “Thanks, Gran.”

“Now go on up and get cleaned up.” She flashed him a gentle smile. “And don’t forget to whistle or sing—whatever makes you happy.” She took his hand. “Remember that it doesn’t matter what anyone in this damned town says. You and I know the truth. You were with Gramps when that burglary took place. I know it, and so do you. So don’t you dare give anyone, including the big-mouth gossips, any mind at all.” He could always count on Gran to be in his corner no matter what.