He nods. “I may not understand you, but I get what you’re doing. Being the good you want to see in the world is noble. I’m just sorry you have to be so secretive to do nice things. People will like you for you around here no matter what your bank balance is. Remember that.”
Cian stomps off in the direction of his truck.
“Will you be at the fundraiser tomorrow night?” I call to his back.
“Have you met my wife?” he replies over his shoulder. “She won’t miss a social event even if I tied her to our bed.”
“Kinky.”
He chuckles and waves as he walks away.
As I glance up at the inn, the calm that surrounds me here is replaced with worry. Madison isn’t going to like anything I have to tell her, but there doesn’t seem to be any other way around it.
16
MADISON
What the heckis he doing now? Ladders on roofs will never be a good sign—especially not when Pops thinks he has Braxton at his beck and call.
I park my car and am emptying the trunk when I hear heavy footsteps on the porch. I know they’re Braxton’s before I turn around.
“Need help?” Two words that cause goosebumps to race down my arms. It’s not the words themselves, it’s the deep baritone he speaks in—it’s the way the timbre of his voice makes my heart race. He feels safe, and that scares the hell out of me.
“Ah, yeah, sure. Thanks. I ran to Walmart for a few new sets of sheets for your family.”
“Madison.” It’s a low rumble, a plea, a warning all rolled into my name. His arm brushes mine as he leans into the trunk, and my stomach flips over. Why does one innocent touch from this man tangle up my insides like a pot of spaghetti?
“You don’t have to go to any trouble for them.” He steps closer, and the heat of his thigh sends tingles down my hip. “They’re very laid-back and are just happy to be away from the West Coast for a bit.”
A fissure of unease has me squaring my shoulders. Business is business, and I really need to get my bodily reactions under control. “But they’re also guests, Braxton. I know this is—well, I don’t even know what this is to you, but this is my livelihood.”
“His too.” Pops chuckles, then plops down on his porch swing.
“Pops.” Braxton’s warning is surprisingly sharp, and I search his expression.
“Come on.” He hip-checks me out of the way. “We’ve got some stuff to talk to you about.”
Pursing my lips, I glare at Pops. What the heck could he have done in just a few hours? I know, I know, dumb question. Pops can get up to all sorts of trouble in minutes, let alone hours.
Braxton closes my trunk with his elbow and marches inside. With no other options, I follow him into the house and down the basement steps to the washing machine.
“How did you know this was down here?”
“Pops and I were down here looking at pipes earlier.”
I stand on the bottom step as he opens the first two sets of sheets, stuffs them into the washing machine, adds soap, and then starts it.
The sound of rushing water hits my ears, and I remember to close my mouth.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m helping, Madison. I realize it’s not something you get a lot of, but you might as well get used to it. I’m going to be here a while.”
“Why?”
“I’m comfortable here, remember?”
The lone swinging light bulb flickers above his head, a metaphor for my energy that is suddenly zapped dry. Sinking to the stairs, I place my elbows on my thighs and stare at him.
