Lorraine Beatty - Restoring His Heart

“I suspect not. That’s why I’m assigning an expert to help you out. And because you’re such an unusual case, you’ll be housed with a local family instead of the jail, and you’ll be wearing an ankle monitor at all times until you’ve completed your sentence.”

The tone of the judge’s voice and the look in his eyes told Adam there was no point in trying to press his case. He’d have to find some other way to get home in time. Missing the yearly meeting with his father was out of the question. He had to be in Atlanta on time or lose everything.

* * *

Laura Durrant shut the tailgate on her truck and walked to the cab, pulling herself up into the driver’s seat. She’d stopped by her workshop to pick up the tools she would need to get everything secured at the gazebo. Her heart ached when she thought about the damage the accident had caused. Some daredevil rich guy had lost control of his sports car and driven through the fence surrounding the courthouse square and rammed into their historic gazebo. Now it was up to her to fix it.

As a licensed contractor and builder, her company, LC Construction, specialized in restoring old homes and buildings. Her job was physically and mentally stressful, but she loved every second of it. At least she usually did. At the moment she had more work than she could handle and more problems, too.

She was still kicking herself for agreeing to this project. Her uncle, Judge Wallace, was fond of sentencing those who passed through his court to unusual punishments. Normally she applauded the idea, but this was the first time the punishment had included her. When her uncle had requested her help, she’d been eager to repair the gazebo. No one would do it more lovingly or more accurately than she would.

What she disliked was having to work with Adam Holbrook for the next thirty days. She didn’t have time to rehabilitate some spoiled rich guy who had nothing better to do than tool around the country in his vintage sports car. He would only get in the way and slow things down. Unfortunately, she had no choice. But she would make sure he pulled his weight.

One thing she knew for certain. The gazebo would be restored in time for the Founder’s Day Festival, Dover’s most important event of the year. She’d do whatever it took to make sure that happened.

* * *

Adam followed Officer Don Barnes down the hallway, the weight of his newly attached ankle tracking device a grim reminder of his fate. He’d been processed for his house arrest. Now he was being taken to meet his jailers.

Once seated in the back of the patrol car, Adam tried to think of some way out of his predicament. He touched the bandage on his jaw where it had hit the steering wheel when he crashed. He’d been lucky. No major injuries. A scraped jaw, a bruised shoulder and a seriously wounded ego were all he’d suffered. He’d gotten off better than the little gazebo had. He glanced down at his once-elegant silk shirt and the dirt marring his tuxedo pants. He probably should have changed when he left the party in Dallas yesterday morning, but he’d been anxious to get his newly purchased ’63 Porsche 356 out on the open highway. He sighed, letting his gaze drift to his feet. He tugged up his pant leg and looked at the ugly black monitor. He was trapped. In a prison without bars.

Turning his attention to the scenery outside the vehicle, he shook his head with bewilderment. The streets along the town square were lined with what most people would see as charming old buildings and an even more charming old courthouse. To him they were just old, out-of-date and dull.

He liked things big and wide open. Dangerous. Risky. For fifty-one weeks a year he was his own man. He went where he wanted and did what he wanted. He’d surfed the big waves in Waimea, heli-skiied in British Columbia and raced a car at Daytona. He lived a life of danger and excitement other men only dreamed of.

At least he used to. Lately, he’d been finding it harder and harder to catch that high. The adrenaline rush wasn’t coming as quickly, and the satisfaction from each thrill was missing. He’d been restless and irritable for over a year now and he could find no explanation for the sudden change.

The cruiser pulled to a stop in front of a large two-story white house on the corner that resembled something from a Norman Rockwell painting. Tall columns braced the wide porch. Broad front steps were decorated with pumpkins and fall flowers. Maybe this was a bed and breakfast. He could handle that.

The officer got out of the car at the same moment a man emerged from the house. He stopped at the edge of the porch steps and waited. When the officer opened the rear door, Adam got out, making a quick scan of the neighborhood. The street was lined with giant trees, the stately homes positioned in manicured lawns. Maybe staying with this family wouldn’t be so bad after all. Still, he didn’t like the idea of being watched over by strangers like some errant teenager.

He glanced up at the man on the porch. His stern expression said it all. He’d tolerate no nonsense in his home. Adam hid the smirk that fought to emerge. Just like his dad. My way or the highway. It was beginning to look like a very long thirty days ahead.

“Don, how’s it going today?”

The officer kept a firm hold on Adam’s upper arm as he led him to the foot of the steps. At least he’d been spared the handcuffs. “Doing good. I brought your houseguest.” He turned to Adam, a disapproving scowl on his narrow face. “Mr. Holbrook, meet your jailer, Mr. Durrant. This here is Adam Holbrook.” Without waiting for either man to speak, the officer released Adam and placed his hands on his hips. “His ankle monitor is set for one mile. If LC needs more range, just have her call and we’ll adjust it. You need me to go over anything before I go?”

“No, Don. Hank and I worked it all out. Thanks. I have it from here.”

The officer offered a small salute and walked off. Adam squared his shoulders and faced the man. Whatever it was, he would endure. He’d jumped out of helicopters. Surviving a month in a small town should be a piece of cake.

The man came closer toward him, a warm smile on his face. Adam’s guard went up. What kind of people would welcome a prisoner into their home?

“I guess Don was in a hurry to get back to work. I’m Tom Durrant. Welcome to our home, Mr. Holbrook.” He held out his hand.

Adam grasped it, surprised to find the hand strong and calloused. It didn’t fit with the stately old home. Adam had always been good at knowing when someone was conning him. Something was going on here.

Durrant turned and went back up the steps, motioning for Adam to follow. Mr. Durrant looked to be late fifties, early sixties. Tall, broad-shouldered, with silver-gray hair, his quick movements spoke of a man in good shape physically. So what was the catch?

Inside the house, Mr. Durrant stopped in the foyer and waited for him to enter, that same pleasant smile on his face. “I know you’re anxious to get settled, but I think we need to have a little talk first. Are you hungry? Did you get breakfast this morning?”

“No, sir.” Adam followed him into a bright sunny kitchen at the back of the house. The room was large with a round table positioned in a cozy corner filled with windows.

“I thought not. Have a seat and I’ll get you fixed up. Coffee?”

He nodded, growing more confused by the moment. Was this where he’d stay? What was going on? Were they trying to kill him with kindness for damaging the little gazebo in the square? Cruel and unusual punishment for sure.

Adam sat down, realizing how out of place he looked in his bedraggled tuxedo. This kitchen was more suited to the jeans and polo shirt his jailer was wearing. Mr. Durrant returned to the table with a plate of cinnamon rolls and a steaming cup of coffee, which made Adam’s stomach growl. He’d barely touched his food since being arrested yesterday.