Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(83)

Alessandre.

“It’s, uh, it’s good.”

The turrets were visible from here, poking just over the trees that obliterated the view of the rest of the house and visitors milling around Aless’s future backyard.

“Ready to go,” Donovan told him. “The campout’s tonight, charity dinner tomorrow.” Something about this phone call was making him twitchy. Everything was wrapping up—ending soon. Endings were so damn final, and always smacked with a bittersweet tang.

“Yes, I mailed a sizable donation to Ruby Voss. It’s a good charity, one I’ll continue to support in the future.”

He nodded even though Aless couldn’t see him. He could’ve guessed Aless would send money. An answer of overwhelming support was the only answer he’d expect from the man, given the subject matter.

“She’ll appreciate that.” Donovan watched Ben stack sticks in the crook of one skinny arm. “I cleared out a majority of the basement, the bedrooms. There were some antique furnishings I thought you might want.”

Except for the room full of creepy dolls. Yikes. Those had gone on the last thrift run. He and Connor had stoically packed them into garbage bags and tried not to get freaked out by their sightless glass eyes.

The only thread left hanging was the fireplace in the great room, but that was a few hours’ work, an afternoon, tops.

“A few little things to tie up,” he told Aless, “then your bed-and-breakfast is ready to go. Not a hundred percent, but close.”

“I’m sure everything will be perfect.”

It would. Donovan had worked in more than one D’Paolo B-and-B over the years. First doing small repairs to foundation and flooring, patios, and later, after he’d gained some experience, building and repairing fireplaces. He knew what was expected, Alessandre’s style, and the way he ran things.

He ended the call with Aless and loaded the remainder of the wood into the back of his Jeep. Ben climbed in—this time on the first try. Donovan smiled to himself. Resilient. He’d been resilient, too. Even when he didn’t have to be any longer. After a while, it became a habit.

Donovan put Trix into gear and looked over at Ben, making a snap decision. “Ever done a donut?”

Ben smiled. “No.”

“Put on your seat belt.”

After they tore up a sizable portion of grass in the field, Donovan returned to the backyard at a leisurely speed. Anyone who spotted Ben’s messy hair, and the fact there was a few blades of grass stuck to his head, could guess what they’d been doing.

A dozen other kids, a few volunteers, and Ruby herself bustled around. Connor had erected two tents and was working on a third.

Color Donovan impressed.

He climbed out of Trixie, dropped the hatch, and noticed Ruby Voss approaching, her arms casually crossed over her chest, a pleasant smile on her face. He lifted his chin at Ben. “Fix your hair, man.”

The kid scrubbed the top and sides of his head before gathering sticks from the Jeep and heading off in the opposite direction.

The older woman nodded in the boy’s wake, then turned to Donovan. “Benton came to us two years ago.” Ben was out of earshot, focused on his task. “He was one angry twelve-year-old.”

So he was fourteen.

“Took a lot to pull him out of silent mode,” Ruby said. “Some boys stay angry their entire lives.”

Donovan met the woman’s flint gray eyes. Something shrewd twinkled in their depths.

“It’s nothing short of a miracle when a man pulls himself out of it.”

He felt his arms tense.

“I’ve worked with kids like Ben for a lot of years, Mr. Pate.” She cocked her head and he could see the shrewdness didn’t stop with her eyes. “I know a formerly angry little boy when I see him.”

Pressing his lips together, he turned away from her and said, “Excuse me.” But before he brushed past her, she spoke again.

“Ben lived with his uncle before he came to us.”

The back of his neck prickled in premonition. He guessed she was about to say something he didn’t want to hear. He tipped his chin slightly. She hovered in his peripheral.

Focused somewhere off in the distance, she continued her story.

“The uncle drank, encouraged Ben to drink. Profusely. By the time he got to us, Ben had been drinking for a year. Had a swollen liver to show for it. He went through detox. He’s going to AA meetings now.”

“AA?” Jesus.

“The association allows underage children to attend with an adult if they find solace being at the meetings,” she answered. “Ben is mature for his age.”

No shit. Donovan looked over at the boy who’d just held on to Trixie’s roll bar, hair flying, hooting like a kid with no worries in the world. Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable what *s adults could be.

“This is the part where I say his uncle was not at fault. That he has a disease. That Ben was an unfortunate side effect of his uncle’s disease.” Donovan faced her fully. The look in her gray eyes was cold. “I’m not going to say that to you. You know better, don’t you, Mr. Pate?”

He did.

“I think it’s a f*cked-up hand to be dealt,” she said bluntly. “Ben deserved better. Any kid trapped in a situation like his deserves better.”