Nicole Helm - Too Close to Resist

Maybe.

Grace moved her gaze to her tattoo. A Native American morning star, it symbolized strength and courage. A nod to Grandma Davenport, the strongest woman Grace had ever known.

Symbols had strength. Grace had to believe they’d give her some. Even when this felt cowardly. Even when it felt as if she was giving up, she had to let that symbol give her some comfort.

She was doing what she had to do. For herself. For her parents. For the life she deserved. It wasn’t running away if it saved her sanity or kept her parents from worrying themselves into an early grave. Was it?

Grace took a deep breath and let it out, watching the small town of Carvelle fade away into cornfields and then into the larger town of Bluff City.

Grace preferred Carvelle’s small-town charm, and the ability to survive without a car because everything was within walking distance, but Bluff City had its moments. The Mississippi snaked below the town, calm and lazy. The sun was shining and even some of the deserted brick buildings along the riverfront looked pretty instead of dilapidated or flood worn.

Or maybe that was just her appreciation for the damaged and neglected.

Jacob’s house/office was an old Victorian nestled in the bluffs. Grace smiled as they approached the big building with curving edges and diamond windows. Five years had transformed it from a deserted, decaying eyesore to a shining white vision of the past. With the bluff to the side and the river beneath, it was downright gorgeous and a testament to the success of MC Restorations.

Her baby brother had built a business he loved. She tried not to let that be a source of bitterness for her. Sure, she spent forty hours a week cashiering at a gas station, but she also spent the rest of her free time happily painting. On occasion, she sold a piece, too.

She wasn’t an abysmal failure, and she wouldn’t let herself wallow in thinking she was.

Jacob pulled into the lot out back, and with the reality of the situation sitting in front of her, Grace tensed. Living with her brother was one thing; invading his business territory was another. Because Jacob didn’t live or work in this house alone.

“You never did tell me how you got Kyle to agree to this.” Jacob’s business partner and roommate, Kyle Clark, wasn’t her biggest fan. To put it mildly.

“He’s a decent guy, Grace. I know you two rub each other the wrong way, but he wasn’t going to say no to this.”

Grace stepped out of the car and looked up at the house that would be her home while she searched for some semblance of normal.

Yes, she and Kyle rubbed each other the wrong way. He was all repressed, cold impassiveness and she was, well, a normal human being with feelings. Feelings she expressed verbally and through her art.

She had no problem with people who were different from her, but Kyle was bound and determined to look down his nose at her and her choices. It never failed to rub her the wrong way.

Jacob gave her a nudge. “Come on. Let’s get you settled.”

It was cold enough to warrant wearing a coat, but Grace decided to tough it out without one. She hefted her bag onto her shoulder and pushed Jacob away from trying to carry her suitcase and painting-supply case.

They walked in the back entrance, which had once been meant for servants. The thought made Grace smile. She definitely belonged in the servants’ quarters.

“Oh, do me a favor, don’t tell Kyle about your gun. Not sure how well that one will go over.”

She patted her bag. “Keep ol’ Betsy on the down-low. Got it.” Not a problem. She didn’t go around announcing to the world that she could barely stand the thought of leaving her house unarmed. It wasn’t something she was proud of. Fear lived and breathed inside of her, but shame and determination kept it buried.

Grace followed Jacob up the back stairs to the room he’d earmarked for her.

He stopped at the top of the stairs. “I had Kelly come in and do the interior design for your room.”

“I told you not to do that.”

He shrugged, pushing the door open. “The more rooms we have to show what we can do, the better. I just rearranged the order a bit.”

“I’m sure Kyle loved that.” The minute Grace stepped into the room, she forgot all about Kyle and his OCD tendencies. “Jacob, this is gorgeous.” It was a tiny room—Grace had insisted on that. Not to mention its location had been the most practical choice in staying out of Jacob’s and Kyle’s hair. Their offices were on the other end of the long hallway.

Even if the room was tiny, it was absolutely perfect. She had a big window that overlooked the river. The light would be excellent to spend her mornings painting. The view was inspiring. Yeah, this was a little better than spending eight hours at Cabby’s, then going home and painting by unnatural light in the basement of her little house.

Not that she’d had time to paint with her parents’ constant hovering.

Grace took in the rest of the room. She’d expected the fuss and frills of the Victorian era, but it wasn’t like that at all. The walls were a deep green with a gleaming white trim. The full-size bed was covered in a floral-print bedspread, but the little violets were so tiny and pale lavender, it didn’t overwhelm the room. A small dresser stood in the corner with a ceramic lamp, delicately painted with more violets to match the bedspread. A lavender vase held a clutch of pink roses.

“I know it’s a little girlie with the flowers, but Kelly said an artist could appreciate a little girlie. Even you.”

Grace dumped her bags near the closet and grinned. No, she’d never been much of a girlie girl, but this was too pretty to resist. She was already planning out the colors she’d use to watercolor a hillside of violets to match the room.

“It’s perfect. Perfect.” She gave Jacob an impulsive squeeze. Leave it to her brother to make sure she wouldn’t want to leave anytime soon.

“I even had Kelly leave the walls bare so we could put up something you paint here. Artwork inspired by the room itself. Clients will eat that up.”

Grace was speechless and a little misty. She’d learned a lot in the past seven years, mainly how to protect herself, but she’d also learned firsthand that her little brother was one hell of a man when he wanted to be.

“You’re here.”

Grace turned and wrinkled her nose at Kyle standing in the doorway. It was a Saturday, and what was he wearing? Khakis and a button-up shirt. Who did that? If he ever deigned to wear jeans and a T-shirt, he might actually be kind of cute. In that preppy, brooding kind of way.

He’d filled out a bit since high school. Now instead of looking like a beanpole, he looked more as if he could be a marathon runner, lean but all muscle. He kept his blond hair cut very short, and his dark blue eyes always looked at her with the practiced disdain of royalty.

Which was crap because he was from Carvelle just like her and Jacob. Not only that, but he’d grown up in the trailer park while she and Jacob had lived in a small but cozy house in the nicer part of town thanks to two teacher parents.

But Kyle always went on about wine and opera and every pretentious thing under the sun with his clients, as though he was from somewhere cultured and fancy. He seemed to go out of his way to make people think he was something better, shinier and more important than a boy from a trailer park.

Grace wanted to feel sorry for him and what little she knew of his difficult childhood, but Kyle did everything in his power to pretend that his years in Carvelle didn’t exist.

It rankled Grace’s nerves the way he sneered at her choice of clothes, or her tattoo, or the colorful strands of her hair. He seemed on a mission to make her feel like the gum he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe.