Love Restored (Gallagher Brothers #1)(10)

Rowan never let a word go unsaid if she could help it.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gonzales,” Blake said as she kissed the older woman’s papery cheek. “Half-days are killer for work.”

The older woman waved her hand at Blake and hugged Rowan before gathering her purse. “It’s no bother at all. Since my children are all grown and taking their time making babies, this fills my need. You call me anytime, Blake. You know that. I put makings for carne asada in the crockpot for you. It’s not my best recipe, but it works in a pinch for leftovers, which I know you like. I’m off to watch my shows since my DVR is talking to me! Bye, darlings!”

And with that, the nicest older woman Blake had ever met walked out of the small apartment, closing the door behind her.

“Mom? Can we eat now? I know it’s not dinner time, but I’m starving.” Rowan exaggerated the last word and placed the back of her hand on her forehead.

Blake laughed and shook her head. “How about we eat some cheese and fruit instead while we wait for dinner time. Because if we eat now, we’re going to be hungry again before bed.”

Rowan gave a big sigh but smiled. “Okay.” With that, she went right back to the story of her day as if they hadn’t paused at all.

Blake watched her daughter move around the kitchen and pressed her lips together, emotions overwhelming her. There were reasons she stayed behind her barriers, reasons she was the way she was.

And she’d be damned if she risked it all for a scowling man behind a beard.

She’d learned the hard way once before.

Never again, she promised herself. Never again.





3


Graham knew things would go to hell soon, it was only a matter of time. Of course, the why of it would forever elude him, he was sure. He’d been a bastard not once, but twice in as many days, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if this Blake Brennen had ever done anything to him, and yet he couldn’t help acting like a grunting * whenever she came around.

His brother had laid into him once they’d driven back to Murphy’s place, and Graham hadn’t said a thing to defend himself. He had been a jerk to her and didn’t have an excuse. Yet he wasn’t sure he’d have done anything differently if given the chance.

The first time, she’d surprised him on the jobsite, and the second, he had been the one to surprise her at her place of work. And yet, for some reason, she rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew he was going to have to figure it out if he had any hope of looking at himself in the mirror anytime soon.

Once he’d gotten Murphy set up at home to heal, he’d gone back to his place to relieve some stress. While he’d thought about beating one off, he figured punching something would work a little better, considering he was trying to keep his mind off the woman in very tight jeans.

He’d gone down to his basement to work out some of the tension radiating through his body with his punching bag, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d hit the treadmill. He might be pushing forty, but he tried to keep in shape.

He’d gone to bed exhausted and still imagining Blake in that tank that told him to kiss her ink. The hell of it was, he wanted to kiss all of her ink.

Even if she confused him all to hell.

She’d come from money—that was clear from the estate itself—but now worked as a piercer at Montgomery Ink and wore clothes to fit each persona. He didn’t like not knowing which was the real Blake, and because of that, he’d come off surly.

The fact that she wouldn’t leave his mind just made things worse.

Now it was the next day, and while he should have had a day off, he’d spent the morning going over the blueprints Murphy had sent over while trying to get his head in the game for their new project. Maybe if he spent his time getting to know the estate and the secrets within its walls and foundation, he wouldn’t have so much animosity when it came to the former tenant. The old mansion had good bones, he remembered, but not much more considering the years of neglect. According to Owen, Blake’s family had owned the place for a few generations but hadn’t actually lived there for at least twenty years. They’d bought a newer, more elite place that had been a new build and required less maintenance. And because, apparently, the family hadn’t cared about the history they’d had in their grasp, they’d let the place go to ruin.

Graham ran a hand through his hair and cursed as someone knocked on the front door. Hell, it seemed no matter what he did, he wouldn’t be able to completely focus. Before he could open the door, Owen strolled in, keys in hand.

“Just let yourself in, why don’t you,” Graham said dryly. “I thought those keys were for emergencies.” He rolled his shoulders and stood up from his table, his legs annoyingly stiff since he’d been hunched over.

Owen rolled his eyes and handed over an iced coffee with Graham’s name on it. It had to be said, no matter the time of day, if Owen showed up, he came with some form of caffeine in his hand. The man sure knew how to pave the way, though Graham wasn’t sure why his younger brother was here at all.

“You use your key to walk into my place all the time,” Owen said dryly after taking a sip of his own iced latte. Too much sugar for Graham, but Owen seemed wired for it, and if their construction manager needed the extra perk to do all the paperwork so Graham didn’t have to, all the better. “Waiting for someone to actually answer a knock or a doorbell takes too much time.” Owen grinned, and Graham rolled his eyes.