The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(38)

“But why not ask for help?”

“They would have shoved him into foster care. We were taken into care for a time after my mom’s overdose when I was six, and it wasn’t ideal. The older kids were bullies; the adults were bigger bullies. He was two years away from being a legal adult. We figured we could make it work. I hated it, worried about him every single day, and then, when he was eighteen, the little asshole went and joined the fucking army. In another country.”

“Making you worry even more,” she said astutely, and he glowered at the memory.

“Hmm.”

They stepped into the room and gaped. It was reasonably clean, had cardboard shoved into the window to keep the wind out. A mattress had been dragged into the least drafty corner and was neatly covered in a flowered comforter. There were a few cans of tinned food, along with a can opener and a spoon, neatly stacked on a box at the foot of the mattress, a stack of romance paperbacks carefully arranged, in alphabetical order, on the floor at the head. A flashlight was placed on top of them.

“Somebody’s living here,” Daff whispered, and, grimly taking in every detail of the room, Spencer nodded.

“Hmm. I think I know who it is.”

“You do?”

“This kid, I think she’s new in town. I’ve seen her around a couple of times. Dresses like a boy to disguise the fact that she’s female. I was worried that she was in some kind of trouble.” He shook his head sadly as his eyes continued to sweep from one item to the next. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be this bad.”

“Should we wait for her?”

“She won’t come near the house with the truck parked outside. I’ll have to find another way to approach her. I hate the thought of her in this old place. It should have been condemned years ago, and who knows what other itinerants come through here. Girl or boy, they won’t care—she’s young, small, and pretty much defenseless despite her prickly attitude.”

“Will you call the police? Having her in custody is better than to risk leaving her here another night, isn’t it?”

“She won’t be here another night.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused by his statement. “You’re coming back here?”

“After the dinner party, yeah,” he confirmed. “I’ll park farther away and walk up to the house.”

“Won’t that scare her?”

“We have the cops pick her up and she’s lost to us. They’ll stick her in the system. Maybe Oom Herbert or Father O’Grady can help me find her a temporary home until we can figure something out.”

“You can’t do this for every lost child, Spencer. You have to use the system and make it work for you.”

“And I will, it’s just this one . . . it feels different.”

She considered his strong profile and felt the most overwhelming surge of admiration mixed in with tenderness for the man. He really was quite remarkable. More people should aspire to be like Spencer Carlisle. He had a genuine concern for others that—considering his background—was extraordinary. He could so easily have gone in another direction, could have made different choices, could have allowed his circumstances to engulf him and suck him into the same vicious circle as his parents. But he hadn’t—instead he’d learned empathy, had aimed higher, had taught old-fashioned values to his brother and had pushed them both to want more and be more.

Daff was starting to feel things for Spencer Carlisle she’d never felt for any man before, and she wasn’t entirely sure what those feelings meant. Or how to cope with them.

He led her back to the truck, and she remained silent and introspective until they were back on the road to town.

“So what’s the verdict on the house?” she asked.

“I don’t think it can be saved,” he said. “Do you?”

“No, you’re definitely going to have to demolish and rebuild it.” She paused before sighing deeply. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to meet some resistance from a few members on the town council over this, Spencer.”

“I know. Mason and I will work out a solid business model for the project before presenting it, have all our ducks in a row, so to speak.”

“You could raise money through charity drives and fund-raisers,” she suggested. “My mother and I are always having dinners and functions to raise money for the animal shelters. It’s small-scale, but we can find a way to do something similar for the youth center. Mom and Dad are in the country club—Dad hates it and rarely goes, but I could ask my mother if she could convince some of her friends to talk to their husbands. There are some very influential people at that club.”

“You’d do that?”

“No child should go through what you and Mason did growing up,” Daff said softly, her voice hitching on the words. “And no child should be so alone in the world that they’re forced to sleep on the floor of a condemned building. What you’re trying to do for these kids is amazing. I’m sorry I didn’t know exactly how amazing before today.”

He’d already parked his truck behind her car outside the boutique and was watching her gravely while she spoke.

“I don’t want you to pity me,” he growled.

“Oh, I don’t pity you, Spencer. I admire you.” He looked completely baffled by her words, and she smiled. This guy definitely wasn’t used to compliments.

“Uh . . . lunch?” he asked, changing the subject quickly, because he was clearly embarrassed by her words.

“It’s getting late; I think I’ll just grab something at home while I get ready for tonight.”

“Eat something decent,” he reminded her.

“Will do.” On sheer impulse, she breached the gap between them and dropped a quick, completely chaste kiss on his beautiful mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked after she moved away, his voice husky.

“I just wanted to thank you for today. It means a lot that you value my input.”

“You’re the smartest woman I know, Daff,” he said, and she laughed dismissively.

“Come on, you’ve met my baby sister, haven’t you? You know, the vet?”

“Daisy’s book-smart. You’re intuitive, witty, and street-smart. Exactly what I needed today.” Daff had had so many men compliment her on her looks, commenting on how cute she was, how pretty her eyes or how lovely her hair. None had ever shown any interest in her mind. Her opinion was neither sought after nor welcome. Spencer’s words meant the world to her, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or simply wrap herself around him and take comfort and shelter in his arms for days. In the end she did neither, but the warmth blossoming in her chest felt life altering.

“You don’t look too bad for someone who was at death’s door this morning,” Spencer observed when Daisy let him into the cabin later that evening. She looked cute in a short, flirty dress and with her brown curls allowed to riot around her head. She wrinkled her freckled nose at him before showing off the famous McGregor sister grin. She pushed her heavy, dark-framed glasses up the short bridge of her pert nose and inspected him carefully.

“You don’t look half bad yourself. Mason told me you were pretty wasted as well last night. I don’t imagine you had an easy time of it this morning.”

“Hmm,” he agreed, trying not to shudder as he remembered how perfectly awful he’d felt that morning.

“Not an experience I’d be keen to repeat any time soon,” he said as she led him into the dining and living area.

“Believe me, I can relate.” She laughed, then waved a hand at the assembled group of people who were milling around and chatting. “Well, as you can see, everybody else is here already. This is Chris.”

“Yes, of course, nice to finally meet you,” Spencer said, taking the man’s hand in a firm handshake. Even Spencer could appreciate the guy’s charisma and good looks. He was tall and lean, with a muscular physique and angular, dramatic features. Spencer could see how he would have been a sensation in the modeling world, where he’d been quite a big deal. Spencer was more interested in the guy’s cooking abilities. Apparently he was a brilliant chef, and Spencer had been meaning to visit his restaurant.

“Oui, I am happy to meet you, too. Mason speaks of you often,” Chris said. Congolese, he spoke with a thick French accent, which caused every woman in the room to sigh. Spencer could practically feel the breeze on his back from all the sighs and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He looked at Daff, who was standing with Tilda; both of them were staring at Chris, practically with their tongues hanging out and then whispering to each other like giddy schoolgirls.

Seeing Daff moon over the guy made Spencer feel a little less charitable toward him, but Chris continued to talk and was so damned likable that it was hard to harbor ill feelings toward the man. After all, the guy couldn’t help it if he was a chick magnet.

Daff practically swooned when Chris smiled at her, and Spencer gave her another piercing look while reminding himself that he had no right to feel jealous. They were just friends. She could gush over whomever the hell she wanted to. Still, it was hard to convince himself of that when she’d come on his tongue only two nights ago.