The Vengeance Affair

Jaz turned away, her cheeks flushed as she realized she had stepped over some imaginary line. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I wasn’t necessarily referring to you,’ she finished lamely, knowing it was being at The Old Vicarage again, her own memories, that had prompted the comment. And it hadn’t been directed at Beau Garrett at all, but at herself…

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He turned away abruptly. ‘Are you still available to start on Wednesday morning?’

‘Yes, of course—’

‘Then consider yourself hired,’ he bit out curtly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind…? I have some other things I need to do this afternoon.’

Jaz didn’t ‘mind’ at all, felt an overwhelming urge to get away herself, had reminisced quite enough for one afternoon, thank you!

‘You’ll need a quote for how much the work is going to cost—’

‘Just do it,’ he rasped, obviously impatient for this conversation to be over now. ‘And send me the bill.’

‘Er…’ She grimaced, too embarrassed now to quite be able to meet that silvery gaze. ‘I’ll need to have a skip delivered to take away all the rubbish, and then there’s—’

‘Jaz, if you need a deposit to cover those costs then why don’t you just ask for one?’ Beau Garrett cut in impatiently.

‘Because I hate asking people for money, that’s why!’ She felt stung into replying, glaring up at him, all her earlier feelings of sympathy towards him evaporating in the face of his arrogant rudeness.

‘Then it’s no wonder that the tyres on your van are so bald they develop punctures, your business is obviously falling down around your ears, and the clothes you’re wearing would make a scarecrow look well dressed!’ he came back scathingly before striding back into the kitchen.

Jaz stared after him, too stunned by the suddenness of the attack to find an immediate reply.

The fact that every word he spoke was the truth certainly didn’t help!

The van was old, left to her on her father’s death, as was the run-down garden centre. As for her clothes…she couldn’t remember when she had last been able to afford anything new.

But for Beau Garrett to have said those things to her…!

‘I’m sorry,’ he spoke softly behind.

Jaz had stiffened at the first sound of his voice, blinking back the tears now, determined he shouldn’t see that he had made her cry with the hurtful things he had said to her.

‘Jaz—’

‘No need to apologize for telling the truth,’ she assured brightly as she turned to face him, blue eyes not quite meeting those probing silver ones.

He shook his head, his sigh heavy. ‘I’m a little—I shouldn’t have taken out my bad temper on you,’ he rasped with a self-disgusted shake of his head.

Jaz moistened dry lips before speaking. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have spoken so personally to you, either.’ She grimaced. ‘It’s this place. I—’ she sighed, her frown pained. ‘I’d forgotten.’

‘Forgotten what?’ Beau Garrett looked at her compellingly.

Jaz found herself caught and held by the intensity of that silvery gaze, feeling a little like a rabbit must do when caught in the glare of a car’s headlights; trapped, mesmerized, totally unable to move.

But at the same time her own instinct for privacy came to the fore, giving her the impetus to break that gaze even as she gave a dismissive laugh. ‘Nothing of any importance,’ she assured him lightly.

He looked for a brief minute as if he would like to argue that point, but as Jaz continued to look at him unblinkingly he finally gave a rueful shrug. ‘Here.’ He held a cheque out to her. ‘That should cover any initial expenses you may have.’

A glance at the amount written on the cheque he gave her told Jaz that it would probably cover the cost of all of the work to be done here, not just the initial expenses.

Pride warred with necessity inside her—and it was necessity that finally won out. After all, she would do the work, and it would probably cost as much as this, so it wasn’t as if she were taking the money under false pretences. Besides, accepting it would mean that, as well as being able to pay off most of the more pressing bills, for a change she would also be able to eat more than either baked beans, or tomatoes, on toast!

The thought of a nice roast chicken for her dinner was enough to make her mouth water. And her pride seem petty.

‘Thank you,’ she accepted huskily as she stuffed the cheque into her denims pocket. ‘Eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, then.’

He winced as the sound of banging could be heard from the front of the house, Dennis still in the process of putting up the scaffolding in preparation of repairing the roof when Jaz arrived a short time ago. ‘Make it nine o’clock,’ Beau Garrett suggested. ‘If the place is going to be like a building site for the foreseeable future, I might as well arrange it so that I have some peace in the mornings, at least until after nine o’clock!’

Having accepted and been present at Madelaine’s drinks party last Friday, peace was something Jaz didn’t think this man was going to find too much of in the immediate future. Every other hostess in the village, from Barbara Scott at the shop to Betty Booth, the pretty young wife of the vicar, was going to be inviting him to lunch or dinner. Invitations, if he didn’t want to cause offence, he would find it hard to refuse, having accepted Madelaine’s.

Although somehow Jaz didn’t think Beau Garrett particularly cared whether or not he offended people!

Oh, well, that was his problem. Her own, more immediate concern was cashing his cheque so that she might have some money herself for a change.

‘That’s fine with me,’ she agreed lightly, hesitating as she turned to leave. ‘I should keep an eye on Dennis, if I were you,’ she added with a rueful grimace. ‘He has a habit of setting up the scaffolding and then forgetting to come back to start the job.’

Beau Garrett’s mouth set in a grim line. ‘Not this one, he won’t.’

No, he probably wouldn’t, Jaz conceded inwardly as she went back out to her van. Even work-shy Dennis must have already realized that Beau Garrett wasn’t a man to cross.

Something she had better remember herself if she wanted to keep her own job at The Old Vicarage.

If only just being here didn’t bring back such vivid memories for her. Memories she would much rather forget.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WHAT the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Jaz turned frowningly at the sound of Beau Garrett’s furious voice, struggling to hold a rather large rock in her arms as she did so. ‘Sorry?’ The wind was strong this morning, whipping her hair into her face and eyes, so that she looked at him through the screen of her tousled hair as he strode purposefully down the garden towards her.

‘I said,’ he grated much closer to her, reaching out to take the rock from her arms and drop it disgustedly into the wheelbarrow beside them, ‘what do you think you’re doing?’ His eyes glittered silver as Jaz was finally able to brush the hair from her eyes and look at him.

And then wished she hadn’t.

Not that he wasn’t worth looking at, virilely attractive in faded denims and a navy-blue sweater to keep out the cold. But the anger she could see in his face, that scar shown in stark relief, were enough to make her take a step backwards.

She moistened wind-dry lips. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not throwing these rocks away—’

‘I don’t care if you smash them to pieces and scatter them to the wind,’ he cut in harshly. ‘What I want to know is why you’re picking them up in the first place!’

Jaz’s apprehension at his obvious anger turned to confusion. ‘Exactly what I told you I would do,’ she answered slowly. ‘Clearing away all the debris so that I can see what we have to work with.’

She had arrived at The Old Vicarage just over an hour ago, Beau Garrett obviously out when she’d got there: his Range Rover had been missing from the driveway, and there had been no answer to the ringing of the doorbell, only Dennis up on the roof industriously hammering away.

So Jaz had simply let herself into the garden by the side gate, had already half filled the skip at the side of the house that had been delivered yesterday, with old bicycles and other rubbish that had no practical use. In fact, she couldn’t imagine how an old bath could possibly have found its way amongst the weeds; as far as she was aware, apart from the kitchen, Beau Garrett hadn’t yet started on the redecorating of the other rooms in the house. But she had dumped that into the skip along with the other accumulating rubbish.

Beau Garrett’s expression was darkly disapproving. ‘I presumed when we agreed that you would do the work that you would have someone to help you.’