To Love
To Love
The McNally Family
Laura Scott
Readscape Publishing, LLC
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Dear Reader
To Cherish
Also by Laura Scott
1
Several loud thuds woke Jazzlyn McNally up from a sound sleep. For a minute, she thought the noise had been something she’d dreamed, then she heard it again. Louder. She wasn’t sure, but it almost sounded as if several two-by-fours were being dropped.
What in the world?
She rolled out of bed, tugging her oversized T-shirt down over her gym shorts, and headed downstairs, wincing as one of the wooden boards creaked beneath her bare feet. What if the noise was from somewhere inside the house? She reached the bottom of the stairs, flattened herself against the wall, then gingerly peered around the corner, looking into the great room.
Casting her gaze over the main living area, the fireplace, the lighthouse oil painting over the mantle, and the antique glossy cherrywood furniture, nothing seemed out of place. But she knew she hadn’t imagined the sounds, so as she made her way through her grandparents’ old mansion, she picked up a claw hammer to use as a possible weapon.
Everything was fine inside the house, but when she walked over to the French doors overlooking Lake Michigan, she noticed several boards strewn across the lawn.
Her gazebo!
Sick to her stomach, Jazz flung open the doors and stumbled outside.
No! It couldn’t be! Two sections of the gazebo she’d worked on for the past three days had been destroyed in one fell swoop. She stared in horror, her mind trying to comprehend what had happened. Vandals had struck. In fact, the sledgehammer they’d used was still lying in the center of the destruction.
But who would do such a thing? And why?
In the early morning light, she could see the area was deserted. Whoever had done this was long gone. Maybe in the time it took her to go through the house. It was difficult to tear her gaze away from the damaged remnants of her hard work.
She shivered in the crisp April breeze coming off the lake. Drawing a deep shuddering breath, she turned and went back inside to find her cell phone. She called the Clark County Sheriff’s Department for the second time in a week.
The first incident, a broken window in the front door, had been bad enough.
But this? Destroying two sections of the gazebo she’d recently repaired? This time, the vandals had gone too far.
“Clark County Sheriff’s Department,” the female dispatcher answered. “How can I help you?”
“This is Jazzlyn McNally, and I need a deputy here ASAP. The vandals have used my sledgehammer to wreck my gazebo; it’s lying in pieces across my lawn.”
“I’ll send a deputy,” the dispatcher responded. The woman didn’t ask for her address; the entire town knew where the McNally Mansion was located.
“Thank you.” Jazz disconnected from the call and combed her fingers through her disheveled hair, her inner fury subsiding to a dull resignation. Even if the police found who’d done this, she would still need to fix everything that had been destroyed. At this rate, her goal of opening the B&B before Memorial Day wasn’t going to happen.
She gave herself a mental shake, knowing she needed to remain positive. She could do this. How much time before the deputy arrived? She figured she had ten minutes at the most, so she ran upstairs to the green room, her favorite, to change into a sweatshirt and jeans.
Five minutes later, Jazz returned to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. The scent helped her to relax a bit, and she poured a cup, grateful for the jolt of caffeine.
But when the deputy still hadn’t arrived by the time she’d finished two cups of coffee, her anger began to simmer. By eight o’clock in the morning, she tapped her foot on the floor, wondering how long it would take for someone to arrive.
Apparently, vandalism of personal property wasn’t high on the Clark County Sheriff’s list of priorities.
Another hour passed. A knock at the front door made her frown. She hadn’t heard a car come up the driveway. Setting her coffee aside, she reached for her claw hammer and made her way to the newly repaired front door. She peeked through the recently replaced window.
A man roughly six feet tall with longish dark hair stood there, wearing a threadbare red and gray checkered flannel shirt, faded black jeans, and construction boots.
Not the deputy.
The vandal? But why knock at her door?
She hesitated so long he rapped again, a little louder this time. The stranger hunched his shoulders and rubbed his hands together as if he were cold. No car meant he’d either walked or hitchhiked from town.
Against her better judgment, she opened the door still holding the claw hammer in clear view as she eyed him with suspicion. “Yes?”
The stranger smiled, but it didn’t reach his dark eyes. “Ms. McNally? My name is Dalton O’Brien, and I was told by Stuart Sewell from the hardware store that you might be looking for some construction help. I work hard and accept cash if you’re interested.”
Jazz stared at him for a long moment, wondering if this guy was really brazen enough to destroy her gazebo, then come back to ask to be paid to fix it. “How did you get here?”
He looked surprised at her question. “I hitched a ride from the Pine Cone Campsite. The driver let me out on Main Street, so I walked from there.”
The Pine Cone Campsite was over twenty miles from the center of town. If he was being honest, then he probably wasn’t her vandal.
Still, she didn’t like the timing of his arrival.
“I can provide references if needed,” O’Brien went on. “I did some work on Mrs. Cromwell’s bathroom a week ago.”
Jazz knew Betty Cromwell. Everyone in town knew Betty, the woman was one of the biggest sources of gossip in McNally Bay. If Betty would vouch for this guy, she may be interested.
She was just about to ask for his contact information when a dark brown sedan pulled in, the words Clark County Sheriff’s Department etched along the side. Finally!
Dalton O’Brien turned to watch the cop car approach, not looking the least bit nervous as he tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
Trusting her instincts wasn’t easy. Jazz had learned the hard way that she was too naïve when it came to trusting men. Yet for some reason, she didn’t think the handsome stranger was the person who’d vandalized her gazebo.
Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe it.
“Ma’am, I’m Deputy Garth Lewis. I understand you’ve had more trouble this morning?”
“Yes.” Jazz opened the door wider and gestured with her hand. “Come in, both of you. I have fresh coffee if you’re interested.”
Both Dalton and Deputy Lewis glanced around with interest. While she loved the beautiful great room, she led the way into the kitchen and pulled two coffee mugs out of the cabinet.
“O’Brien,” Deputy Lewis said with a nod. “Are you here looking for work?”
“Yes, sir.” Dalton didn’t say anything more, and the two men stood awkwardly in the large kitchen.
It was reassuring that the deputy knew Dalton O’Brien by name. She handed them both steaming mugs of coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine,” Deputy Lewis said.
“For me, too,” Dalton added.
“Okay then. Mr. O’Brien, why
don’t you have a seat for a moment while I talk to the deputy?” She crossed over to the French doors, opened them, and then stepped back so the deputy could see the vandalism for himself.
Deputy Lewis let out a low whistle. “When did this happen?”
She crossed her arms over her Michigan State sweatshirt. “The noise woke me up at six this morning. I went through the house first, so I didn’t see the damage out here right away. By the time I did whoever had done this was long gone.”
The deputy met her gaze. “I saw your report about the damaged front door and now this. Do you have any enemies that we need to know about?”
“None that I’m aware of.” Jazz glanced at the stranger who’d come over to see the vandalism for himself. Then she turned back to the deputy. “You probably know this house belonged to my grandparents, Jerry and Joan McNally. Our family has lived here in Clark County for a hundred and fifty years, since our great-great-grandparents immigrated from Ireland. The bay was named after them.”
“I’m well aware of the town history,” Deputy Lewis said in a dry tone.
She gestured to the interior of the large Victorian house that she was in the process of turning into The McNallys’ B&B. “My siblings and I only spent summers here, until our grandma passed away, willing the property to us. You’d know more about any possible enemies than I would.”
“What’s the approximate cost of the damage?” Deputy Lewis asked as he pulled out a small notepad and stubby pencil.
“Around two grand,” the stranger said. “Maybe less, depending on how much of the lumber can be salvaged.”
She stared at him in surprise. “That’s exactly what I would have estimated,” she murmured. “I guess you know your way around construction sites.”
O’Brien gave a curt nod. “I do.”
“Well then.” Jazz let out her breath in a heavy sigh. “I guess I could use a little help, if you’re willing.”
The stranger nodded and took another sip of his coffee.
Jazz waited for Deputy Lewis to finish his report, which included taking pictures of the crime scene. He also bagged the sledgehammer, on the off chance he might be able to lift some fingerprints from the wooden handle. The deputy left, promising to be in touch if he had any news. Afterward, she returned to the kitchen, the stranger following like her shadow.
“You hungry?” she asked.
His eyes flared with hope. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Please call me Jazz, ma’am makes me feel old. Veggie omelets okay?”
“I’m not picky,” he said in a wry tone.
“Good.” Jazz opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs and the veggies—broccoli, onions, and mushrooms that were left over from the night before. “After breakfast, we’ll get to work.”
He nodded again without saying anything more.
A man of few words, she thought, his dark eyes shadowed with secrets. She told herself it didn’t matter why he was hitching rides and living in a campsite. Not her business one way or the other.
Jazz only needed his assistance for the next couple of weeks, then he could be on his way. Fine with her, because she didn’t need any complications in her life.
Or distractions.
In Dalton’s opinion, the veggie omelet Jazz had made for him was the best he’d ever tasted, but as usual, he kept his thoughts to himself.
He was only here to make a few extra bucks before moving on. His plan was to head further north, knowing that construction jobs would be plentiful there during the summer months.
The damage to the gazebo made him mad, especially the way Jazz had looked so devastated at the senseless destruction.
Ms. McNally, he sternly reminded himself. Okay, yeah, she was beautiful with her long dark brown hair tousled from sleep, and her petite, curvy figure. The way she’d answered the door holding a claw hammer had made him smile, the image still burned into his memory. Beauty aside, he had no intention of crossing the line between employer and employee.
He was a drifter. As soon as this job was finished, he’d be on his way.
Truthfully, he was happy to help. He hated the idea of a young woman living in this huge rambling house alone, while vandals went to town on her gazebo.
It wasn’t right. He didn’t know anything about the McNally legacy, since he’d only been in town for a couple of weeks now, but he had to agree with the deputy that the culprit must be someone holding a grudge against the family.
Which meant just about anyone in town could be considered a possible suspect.
Dalton finished his second cup of coffee, then carried his dirty dishes to the sink. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, then headed outside to see what he could salvage from the wreckage.
Not expecting to be put to work right away, Dalton had left his tool belt at the Pine Cone Campsite. He considered asking Jazz to drive him over there, then figured she probably had enough tools here for him to use.
By the time Jazz joined him, he’d picked through the entire pile. The lumber he’d stacked together on the right side of the gazebo was good enough to be used again; the left side held the lumber split beyond repair.
“That’s better than I’d hoped. This could come in closer to a thousand to repair, excluding labor.”
“Agreed. If you’re willing loan me tools, I’ll begin construction.”
“I don’t have extras,” Jazz said, her expression full of apology. “But you can use anything I have while I head out to buy more lumber.”
“Or, if you don’t mind swinging past the Pine Cone Campsite, I can pick up my tools,” he offered. “We can get the lumber on the way back. With both of us working, we’ll get this repaired in no time.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, she broke into a wide smile. “Let’s do it.”
She was alarmingly stunning when she smiled, and he had to force himself to turn away. What was wrong with him? His wife Debbie and their young son, Davy, have only been gone eleven months, not even a full year. He wasn’t about to try replacing them in his heart.
Not now. Not ever.
He followed Jazz through the old Victorian house to the circle drive out front. He hadn’t paid much attention to the three-car garage, painted yellow with white trim to match the large house, but that’s where Jazz headed.
Pushing numbers into a keypad, she stood and waited for the garage door to open. He wasn’t sure why he expected to see a small compact car instead of the large bright blue Chevy pick-up truck.
“Nice,” he said, his tone full of appreciation. As soon as the words left his lips, he frowned. He didn’t need a truck, or any other flashy items. That was part of a life he’d left behind and had no interest in returning to. All he needed was a tent, backpack, sleeping bag, and his tools.
“Thanks.” Jazz didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. She waited till he was seated beside her, before heading out of the garage, closing the door with the push of a button.
The ride to the campground didn’t take long. Jazz followed his directions as he told her where to find his camping spot. The red tent was right where he’d left it. He slid out of the passenger seat and went over to unzip the front flap. His backpack, camping gear, and tools were tucked inside.
He emerged a few minutes later to find Jazz standing in front of his tent, regarding it thoughtfully. He lifted his construction tool belt. “I’m ready.”
She nodded absently. “Do they charge you a fee to camp here?”
“Yeah, but it’s nominal. Why?”
She bit her lower lip for a moment. “How would you feel about camping outside my place instead? It’s free, and I’ll throw in meals.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. His first instinct was to refuse, he liked her too much already. But then he remembered the vandalism.
It wasn’t his problem to keep her property safe. She’d notified the cops who would probably keep a close eye on things. Then again, he knew the deputies couldn’t be there all the time. And if
the vandals lived in town, they could be at the old Victorian and back within an hour.
“Never mind,” Jazz said hastily, as if sensing his reluctance. “It’s a crazy idea.”
Yeah, it was, but he nodded anyway. “I’ll do it.”
Her green eyes widened in surprise. “You will?”
“Yes. Although we haven’t agreed on an hourly wage yet.”
She named a fair sum, better than he’d hoped considering she was offering meals, too.
He took a step toward her and held out his hand. “Thank you. I’ll take it.”
She placed her small, yet slightly calloused hand in his, sending a sliver of awareness down his spine. He did his best to ignore it as they solemnly shook.
“It’s a deal.” She smiled again, stealing his breath. “I’ll help you pack.”
“No need, I have a system.” He dropped her hand and stepped back, needing distance. He went to work dismantling his campsite with the ease of long practice.
After storing his items in the space behind the bench seat, he climbed in beside her, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake.
2
The man was virtually a stranger, yet Jazz felt an overwhelming sense of rightness as she watched Dalton pitch his tent in the spacious area between the house and the shoreline of Lake Michigan.
She firmly believed Dalton’s presence here would be enough to scare off the vandals for good, something she desperately needed. She couldn’t afford more costly delays.
After purchasing the replacement lumber, her renovation account was looking rather pathetic. And she still hadn’t finished all the interior work either. Bathrooms in particular were expensive to update.
The thought of tagging her siblings for more capital was depressing, so she tucked it away as something to consider, later. Right now, she would rather get the gazebo back together.