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  Tough As Nails

  Amy Briggs

  This one is for Kristen, who turned me onto instalove and how fun it can be in fiction or in life.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  More Kindle Worlds from Amy Briggs

  Also by Amy Briggs

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Jacinda

  It was perfect timing. I’d just ended what was probably my eight hundredth bad relationship, if you could even call it that, and enough was enough. As I cruised along the stretch of highway that led to Red Springs, Nebraska, I took in the fresh air, letting it out on a deep breath. I was already feeling more relaxed, even though I didn’t know exactly what I was getting myself into. The warm air of June filled my lungs, and I checked my navigation system to find I still had about an hour left in my drive.

  Inheriting a house and a bunch of property seemed like a win for anyone in my situation. A twenty-eight year old renter, living in the city, but the house had some bad juju for me. My grandmother, my father’s mother, had passed away, and left me this house. I didn’t know her. In fact, I’d never met her, or even given much thought to her in many years. Because of the bad blood between her and my father, I’d never tried, nor aspired, to establish a relationship with her. My mother and father were high school sweethearts. They were in young and in love, the whole nine yards, and found themselves pregnant, with me. While only eighteen and seventeen, they decided to keep me.

  My dad dropped out of high school to get a job, support my mother, and start a family with her. How he told the story was, that it was never even a question. They were going to be a family, and had planned to get married and have children anyway; it was obviously God’s plan that they start earlier than they intended. My father’s mother was old-fashioned, and thought that I should be given up for adoption, and that my mother should be sent away to have me in secret. I surmise that she was embarrassed, although my father would never say that to me. He simply said that she was set in her ways, so he and my mother moved to the city, where I was born raised.

  The tragic part of the story though, is that my mother died giving birth to me. Even at twenty-eight, I have days where I feel responsible for that. Obviously I didn’t do it, and my rational brain knows that, but never getting to know my mother has always haunted me. My father raised me himself, taking a job in a factory, since he had not finished his formal education. He once told me that he’d hoped to be a teacher when he was younger, but never went back to school. I didn’t realize the gravity of what he gave up for me, until he passed away two years prior to me inheriting this damned house.

  My knuckles gripped the steering wheel as my chest tightened at the memory of him telling me all of this, when he knew he was dying. He’d gotten cancer, from working in that same factory he went to, day in and day out, for almost thirty years. He got cancer doing a job I’m certain he didn’t love, just so he could take care of me. I’d chosen a career I loved, which paid absolute shit, because he wanted me to have what he didn’t. I was a teacher. An art teacher, whose program was constantly on the chopping block. Thankfully, I’d been offered my contract to come back in the fall, so I’d have a job at the end of the summer. That didn’t change the guilt that clung to me like a thick fog.

  I was the last surviving relative in line to inherit the house, as I understood it from the lawyer I spoke with. It had taken them awhile to find me, and the house had been sitting vacant for quite some time. My father was named in the Will, but since he’d passed, it had been left to me. To my surprise, I had been named in the Will as the beneficiary, should my father not be alive. I huffed with indignation as I spied a sign that indicated my destination was looming.

  The pictures I was sent showed a large farmhouse, on five acres, that had been left to Mother Nature over the years, and clearly needed some work. I had the entire summer to fix it up, which is what I intended to do, before putting it on the market, and closing up that chapter; for me and my dad both. He rarely mentioned my grandmother, or growing up in that house. As much as I tried to fight it, I was curious to see where he’d spent his childhood days. I suppose, technically, he grew up in the city, since he was practically a kid when he had me, but I couldn’t evade the desire to see where he’d come from.

  It had only been a year since my father had passed away, and the emotions were still fresh. It felt as though it were still a gaping wound in my heart, and I was going to use this summer project to heal my wounds, and to get closure for my dad. I had been driving for a couple of hours, almost to my destination in Red Springs, when I decided to make a pit stop before I got to the house. Who even knew if the plumbing was working, after all, and I wasn’t about that outdoor life.

  Chapter 2

  Flynn

  Once again, I was running out the door to work, rubbing my eyes all the way to my truck. I’d spent another night up late, working on my house. This time, it was the kitchen. I wanted a full indoor and outdoor kitchen, and the outdoor part absolutely had to be done in the summertime before it got too cold for the concrete to set. It’s a common joke that contractors always have the unfinished house, and I was no exception. I’d been working on that house for the better part of two years, but it was my dream house. It had everything I’d ever wanted in a home; or rather, it would, when I was finished with it.

  My buddy, Wyatt Kincaid, the architect, helped me put the plans together for the house. I was a huge pain in the ass, but by the end of it, we had fun taking the piece of shit property and designing it into a dream home. Architects don’t usually get to be as creative as I let Wyatt be, and I was doing the building myself, so we talked through the whole plan. I made a great living as a contractor - there were only a handful of us in Red Springs - and most of the houses were old and needed work. That kept me busy during the day, and on the evenings I wasn’t at the local watering hole, I was working on my house. Wyatt had a wife and kids, and never really understood why I was building this huge house for just one person.

  “You know, that dog can’t actually keep you warm at night, Flynn. You should think about settling down with someone,” he’d said recently.

  “My dog puts up with my shit. And doesn’t give me any. So, Remmington will do just fine as my companion, thank you very much,” I replied.

  Most of the girls we’d gone to school with were married, or married, divorced, and looking for new baby daddies. There weren’t a lot of new people coming to town, which used to disappoint me. But I’d settled in to my life, and while no one could deny that having someone special would be nice, for me, it just wasn’t in the cards. At thirty-two, I had already resigned myself to being a lifelong bachelor, just me and my dog. And I w
as ok with it.

  When Wyatt suggested otherwise, all I could think of was how much I didn’t want to settle down with one of the girls we knew from school. I was no scholar by any stretch of the imagination, but at least I had that. Imagination. Sure, I stayed in the town I grew up in, but that didn’t make me an idiot. I didn’t venture off to the big city or anything, but I read books. Every girl I’d met in this town that I didn’t already know from high school, was uninspired, at best. They were looking for a husband. Not a companion, not someone to share a life with. They were looking for someone to father some babies and pay their bills, or take care of them and the kids they already had. I’m not saying that every girl everywhere is like that, but in my experience here, that’s certainly how it was in this town, and I wanted no part of any of it. Other than an occasional hookup, I led a fairly solitary life. Work, work on my house, sporadic drinks with the guys, repeat.

  I had no idea that my everything would be turned upside down when I met her. I saw her for the first time at the convenience store, just outside of town. She was buying an obscene amount of snacks for such a little thing, and enough energy drinks to power the local plant. I was on my way back from a job in the next town over, and had stopped for some coffee; my true love, and drug of choice.

  As I watched her pile chocolate, chips, beef jerky, and who knows what else on the counter, I took note of her brunette hair, piled high on top of her head, supported by giant sunglasses. She was definitely not from around this area, and I was instantly mesmerized by her sweet, feminine features. Her pale skin was offset by that dark hair, with crystal blue eyes that sparkled from the sun through the storefront glass window, stopping me in my tracks. She caught me staring at her unabashedly, and raised an eyebrow in my direction.

  “Something wrong?” she asked with a smirk, knowing full well she caught me staring.

  “Who me? No, not at all. That’s a lot of snacks,” I replied, like a fucking bonehead. Obviously, every girl wants you to comment on the amount of food they’re buying.

  Pursing her lips and sneering at me, she replied, “People need to eat, you know.” She turned her attention back to the cashier, and paid for her stockpile, while I rolled my eyes at myself. There was really nothing else I could say. When the cashier handed her the bag and she thanked him kindly, she slid her glasses back down, but not before giving me a snide look with a tight smile.

  “Have a nice day,” she sang sarcastically in my direction as she backed out of the store.

  “Smooth move,” the cashier snickered at me.

  Shrugging my shoulders and handing over my coffee money, I replied, “Not my day, I guess.” As I slinked back to my truck, I saw her pulling away. She had Nebraska plates, but she definitely wasn’t local. I spent the rest of the morning replaying our encounter in my head, thinking of what I could have said to engage her in conversation, making me look less like a jackass.

  Chapter 3

  Jacinda

  The guy at the convenience store was hot, but what a jackass. No amount of sexy facial hair and tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves makes up for being rude. What man doesn’t know better than to comment on what a girl is eating, I thought to myself as I chomped on a piece of licorice. Figures, though. I seemed to always attract the very good-looking, very douchey men of the world. As I shook my head, I reminded myself that I was here to do a job, not to get tangled up with anyone; particularly not some local from way the hell out there anyway.

  I looked at the navigation system as I slowed down, realizing that I was about to arrive at my destination. Reality was setting in, and my heart started to beat quickly, causing me to take notice of my breathing, which was just short of hyperventilation. I was nervous. I’d reminded myself over and over that this was a business trip, but in my heart, I knew that it was also a bit of self discovery, in a way. Whether my grandmother wanted me in her life or anyone else’s, she was still my blood, and I was about to go into her house, go through her things, and uproot everything that was hers. A wave of sadness smothered my anxiety like a heavy blanket, and as I took a deep breath, I pulled down the long driveway to the house.

  The driveway was about a quarter mile long, made of dirt, with barren farmland on either side, leading up to a giant farmhouse. It looked quite a bit bigger in person than I’d recalled from the pictures I had. No one had sent me pictures of the inside; that was still a mystery. The wraparound porch was weathered, and a porch swing was held up partially, with only one chain. The other had broken, something I made a mental note to check on and fix as soon as possible.Sitting on that porch swing to read at night seemed appealing. I’d parked right in front of the house, and as I sat with my hands still on the steering wheel, I let out a long sigh. It was time. I needed to get out of the car and go inside. Only, my feet wouldn’t move just yet.

  Thinking about my dad, my grip on the steering wheel loosened. He’d want me to go into that house proudly. After all, nobody was there. It wasn’t like she was there to shun me, or send me away like she had before I was born. It was just me, and a house. My house, in fact. I owned that place, and had the paperwork to prove it. So, what was I so scared of?

  The thing about history is that it’s always there. You can’t escape it. I didn’t know what was beyond that threshold, but I was certain it held some secrets. I took in one more deep breath, and opened the car door. It was time. The warm sunshine hit my face, heating my skin as I walked to the faded red door. The yellow paint on the wood siding was peeling, and the porch needed some attention. It had lost its shine, and the wood looked to be rotting in some places. As my brain began to calculate how much it was going to cost to repair everything on the outside alone, I slid my key into the old-fashioned lock on the front door.

  As the tumbler grasped the pins in the key, my heart raced just a bit. The click of the bolt unlocking gave me a brief start before I pushed the door open. When I walked in, I couldn’t believe what I’d found.

  The inside of the farmhouse was magnificent. It reminded me of the mansions you’d see in old movies, that had been abandoned. The furniture was all covered in dusty sheets, but from what was poking out, I could see that it was well-crafted, beautiful, antique furnishings. I stepped into the foyer, where a giant chandelier hung above me. It wasn’t out of place; in fact, it was the perfect mix of rustic and elegant, with brushed gold fixtures and tall faux candles. I continued to walk through the living room area, peeking under the untouched sheets, running my fingers along the smooth wood I found.

  As I approached the couch, I decided that I needed a minute to formulate a plan. What I really needed was some time to absorb the moment; I wasn’t sure how to feel. It was a mix of apprehension, surprise, and awe of the beauty in the bones of that old house. Dramatically yanking the sheet off the large overstuffed couch like a magician pulling a tablecloth, a plume of dust filled the air, causing me to sneeze before I plopped down on the old-fashioned floral cushions. I pulled out my ponytail, running my hands through my long dark hair, while I took in the scene around me. The house had a totally open floor plan on the first level; I hadn’t even made it to the second floor yet.

  I pulled out my phone and started to type up a list of things I needed to get. Cleaning supplies were first, and then whatever I needed to fix that porch swing would be next. I heaved myself off the couch to explore a bit more, noticing the craftsmanship of the pieces around me, and how each seemed more beautiful than the next, even though it all needed some love and attention. Shifting my thoughts back to my dad, I forced myself not to get too excited about the treasures I’d found. It all belonged to a woman who didn’t think that I deserved to be family. A woman who didn’t even know me.

  Chapter 4

  Flynn

  Wyatt had set me up with a new client that I was going to meet the next day; whoever had bought the old house in town that had seemingly been abandoned forever. I was genuinely curious to see what they wanted to do with it, and said yes as soon as Wyatt mentione
d it to me. I was also quite intrigued over who would have purchased the rundown property. The land around it was vast, but hadn’t been cared for or cultivated in so long, it would have taken immense work to get anything to grow there again.

  “I got a call from an old college buddy, asking if I could recommend a local contractor,” he’d said.

  “Well, I appreciate you thinking of me.” Truth be told, there weren’t a ton of contractors in our neck of the woods, and Wyatt was my friend, so he always recommended me.

  “Like I’d trust anyone else,” he scoffed.

  Grinning back, I asked who it was.

  “I’m not entirely sure. Someone apparently inherited the old Brennan house, and they’re coming to fix it up to flip. They don’t need an architect, but it seems they knew an architect in the city, so they looked me up to get a recommendation. That’s about the extent of my knowledge.” He shrugged, and handed me a slip of paper with her name on it. Jacinda Brennan. Sounded exotic. “I checked with your foreman already, and he said that you were available.”

  “Indeed, I am. Besides, who wouldn’t want to see the inside of that old house?” It had always been a mystery to us, from the time we were kids. We all knew that an old woman lived inside, but she kept to herself, had her groceries delivered, and she never socialized. The story is that her husband died when she was pregnant with her one child, and then when her son grew up, he left and never came back. Nobody ever knew why, and certainly no one ever dared ask. She wasn’t known for her kindness.