One Good Reason Read online

  Jon had touched her—in a very possessive, male way

  Gabby’s heartbeat thumped in her ears as she marched to her office. She could still feel the heat of his big hand burning through the seat of her khakis as he’d steadied her on the ladder.

  It had taken every ounce of self-control to tell him to unhand her. What she’d really wanted was to grab him by his shirt and…well, explore all those urges his touch had instantly brought to life.

  While she might not like him, she was wise enough to understand that it wasn’t always about liking the other person. Sometimes it was about pure animal attraction.

  And when it came to Jon, it was very clear the animal in her liked the animal in him.

  Dear Reader,

  I loved writing The Last Goodbye—which is Tyler’s story—and I loved, loved, loved writing Jon’s story in One Good Reason. I didn’t set out to write a sequel. I created Gabby as Tyler’s conscience and friend, but somehow, almost as soon as she appeared she morphed into an ex-girlfriend who, maybe, still cared too much. Then I gave Tyler a brother, because I didn’t want him to be alone in his childhood, and along came Jon.

  By the time I’d finished Tyler and Ally’s story, I knew that Jon and Gabby had to meet each other. A guy like Jon, with hyperprotective instincts, and a woman like Gabby, who is determined to make her own way in the world, seemed destined to be together from where I sat. Not that either of them were ever going to be aware of that! That would take all the fun out of it.

  I’d like to think that while One Good Reason has some definite heavy moments—an abusive parent is no laughing matter—there is plenty of light and tenderness and love and hope amongst the hard stuff. People are hugely resilient, and love is a great healer.

  I hope you enjoy reading Jon and Gabby’s story. I love to hear from readers via my website at www.sarahmayberry.com.

  Until next time, happy reading!

  Sarah Mayberry

  One Good Reason

  Sarah Mayberry

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sarah Mayberry lives by the seaside in Melbourne, Australia. She has recently married her partner of eighteen years and is enjoying their new home and fabulous but exhausting garden. Her goal for the next year is to learn how to prune the thirty-two different fruit and nut trees on their property and to be more organized. When she’s not writing, she loves to cook, sleep, shop, read and watch movies. She really wishes going to the gym made it onto the “loves” list, but she makes herself go anyway. Long live ice cream!

  Books by Sarah Mayberry

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1551—A NATURAL FATHER

  1599—HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

  1626—HER BEST FRIEND

  1669—THE BEST LAID PLANS

  1686—THE LAST GOODBYE

  HARLEQUIN BLAZE

  380—BURNING UP

  404—BELOW THE BELT

  425—AMOROUS LIAISONS

  464—SHE’S GOT IT BAD

  517—HER SECRET FLING

  566—HOT ISLAND NIGHTS

  I have to thank my husband for his endless

  patience with me while I was writing this book.

  That deadline was some doozy, my darling, but

  you fed and watered me and mopped my fevered

  brow and I thank you from the bottom of my

  heart for your kindness and support.

  Where would I be without you?

  In my book, you are the ultimate hero.

  I also want to thank Wanda

  for her endless faith in me—

  you said I could do it and I did. Phew!

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  January

  JON ADAMSON WOKE WITH A START. Someone was in his room. A heartbeat later, he was on his feet, fists raised, every muscle tense as he squared up to the intruder.

  “Mate.” His brother held up his hands, took a step backward. “It’s just me.”

  Jon dropped his fists. “You should have knocked.”

  “I did.” Tyler’s gaze flicked to the half-empty bottle of bourbon beside the bed. “Several times.”

  The light was hazy in the room. Jon tried to guess the time. Nine in the morning? Ten? He reached for the jeans he’d dumped at the end of the bed when he’d finally crashed last night.

  “I was up pretty late.”

  He wasn’t about to offer explanations for the bourbon or anything else. A man could have a few drinks at the end of the day. Besides, Tyler was the younger brother—it was Jon’s job to be the heavy, not the other way around.

  “What are you doing up this way?” he asked as he stepped into his jeans.

  Jon had been back in Australia, living in their late father’s house in the rural Victorian town of Woodend for eleven months now. Tyler lived an hour and a half away in Melbourne, so the two of them didn’t cross paths very often. Not that that would have changed even if they were geographically closer. They’d never been the kind of brothers who lived in each other’s pockets—witness the ten years Jon had spent in Canada.

  “I hadn’t heard from you for a while. Thought I’d better check in.”

  Jon pulled his T-shirt over his head, aware of the unspoken questions behind his brother’s words.

  Why didn’t you return my phone messages? What’s going on?

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah, I saw that. When did you knock down the wall between the kitchen and living room?”

  “Figured both rooms would benefit from the light. It’s all about open plan these days.”

  “What happened to tidying up the yard and giving the place a lick of paint before we listed it?”

  “If you’re that desperate for the money, I can get a valuation done. Pay out your half.”

  “It’s not about the money.”

  Jon walked toward the door. “Yeah? What’s it about, then?”

  Tyler followed him to the kitchen. Jon had pulled up the old linoleum tiles and the boards were rough beneath his feet. He sidestepped the hole where he’d removed a rotten plank and crossed to the sink. Turning on the tap, he sluiced handfuls of cold water onto his face.

  Tyler was looking around, inspecting the gaping holes in the plaster where the kitchen cabinets had once hung. The only remaining features of the original kitchen was the sink unit, the freestanding stove and the fridge. And they’d be gone any day now, too.

  “I suppose you’ve gutted the bathroom, too?”

  “Everything except the toilet and shower recess.”

  Tyler’s gaze was knowing. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to knock the place down?”

  “I’m fixing it up for resale. We both agreed it needed work before we put it on the market.”

  “Mate, you’re demolishing it from the inside out.”

  “The kitchen needed updating. The bloody thing hadn’t been touched since the fifties. And the bathroom was leaking into the subfloor. You can see the joists I had to replace if you want to.”

  Tyler didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away, either.

  Jon could feel his hackles rising. Tyler was making a big deal out of this, reading things into Jon’s actions. Whatever Tyler thought was going on, he was wrong. Way wrong.

  Jon crossed his arms over his chest, widened his stance. “I’m doing you and Ally a favor. You’ll make a lot more with this place fixed up than you would have if we’d
put it on the market as it was.”

  “Will you quit it with the money? I don’t give a damn how much we make. I’m here because of you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah? You looked in a mirror lately? When was the last time you shaved or had a haircut?”

  Jon brushed a hand over his bristly jaw. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy to eat? Because you look like a bag of bones.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Which is why Ally got a call from Wendy in the middle of the night on Monday, telling her it sounded like you were holding a demolition derby.”

  Wendy was the next-door neighbor. Until this moment, Jon had thought she was all right. He’d even tried to talk her into bed a few times, but she was seeing some computer guy.

  “I was taking the wall out,” Jon said.

  “At two in the morning?”

  “If I woke her, I’ll apologize.”

  “And what about all the bottles in the recycling bin?”

  Jon’s eyes narrowed. His brother was quite the amateur sleuth. “I’d say that gets filed under ‘none of your business,’ same as everything else.”

  “Doesn’t work that way, sorry. I’m not going to stand by and watch you kill yourself over an old bastard who wasn’t worth it.”

  “This has nothing to do with him.” But he could barely get the words past the sudden tightness in his throat.

  “You think if you change enough of this place it’ll change what happened?”

  “I think you’ve been living with an advice columnist for too long.”

  Tyler eyed him for a long beat. Then he tilted his head to one side and nodded slowly, a gesture which Jon read as conceding defeat.

  Good. He didn’t need a keeper.

  As for the things Tyler had said… This had nothing to do with the old man. It had nothing to do with anything.

  “I told Ally you wouldn’t listen,” Tyler said.

  He crossed to the kitchen door and collected something from the hall.

  An overnight bag.

  It took a moment for the penny to drop.

  “No,” Jon said.

  “I figure if we both pitch in, we can get this place finished in a few weeks. Get it on the market. Then you can go back to Toronto or wherever. Get away from here.”

  Jon swore. “I don’t want you here.”

  “Tough.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Then stop acting like you do.”

  Jon breathed in slowly through his nose and out through his mouth. It didn’t make much difference—he still wanted to smash a hole in something.

  He strode across the room, picked up the overnight bag. Started for the door. Maybe once he’d tossed Tyler’s gear into the street his brother would get the message that his intervention was neither welcome nor necessary.

  Tyler blocked his path. Jon stopped short of barging into his brother’s shoulder. He met Tyler’s gaze. There was determination there. And something else. Compassion.

  It made Jon’s hand curl into a fist.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “I’m not leaving unless you come with me,” Tyler said. “Come to Melbourne, move into the spare room. Get away from this place.”

  “Get out of my way.”

  Tyler didn’t move. Jon reached to push his brother out of his path. Tyler resisted, grabbing a fistful of Jon’s T-shirt as he attempted to hold him off. Years ago, Jon would have been able to shift his brother easily, but Tyler was a man now, and they’d both inherited their father’s big build.

  Jon braced his legs, shoving harder. Tyler shoved back. For long moments they struggled, locked together. In any other fight, it would have come to blows by now, but Jon was not going to throw a punch at his brother.

  Not in this house.

  “Move,” Jon demanded.

  “He’s dead. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not worth it. Not in a million years.”

  A surge of anger gave Jon new strength. He wrenched his brother to the side. Shoved past him and into the hall and out the door.

  The air was cool on his face, the grass still damp from the morning dew. He dropped the bag on the ground and stood half-turned away from the house, chest heaving from the exertion, aware of his brother in the open doorway, watching him.

  This wasn’t about his father. Jon refused to let him hold that much power over him. He was simply making the most of the house. Fulfilling its potential. It was what he did—he was a builder. He made homes for people. Until recently he’d co-owned a construction company in Toronto. This was business as usual.

  His gaze found the recycling bin, filled to overflowing with various liquor bottles.

  Too many bottles for one person. Way too many.

  He swore. Ran a hand through his hair, fisting his fingers in it and pulling so tightly that it hurt.

  Why couldn’t Tyler have left him here to rot, or whatever it was he was doing? Why couldn’t Tyler have left him to battle it out on his own with the ghost of a dead man?

  He laughed, a short, hard bark of bitter amusement.

  If this really was a battle, according to the tide of bottles spilling onto the lawn, he was making a pretty poor showing. He was in full retreat, utterly routed, on his way to surrender.

  Tyler’s hand landed on his shoulder.

  “Let’s patch it up and sell it. Then never look back.”

  Jon knew his brother was right but he hated the understanding in his voice. He twisted from under his brother’s grip. Moved away from him.

  “We should focus on the kitchen, knock it off first. The bathroom won’t need too much time if we stick to the original layout.”

  Carefully not looking at his brother, he strode toward the house.

  CHAPTER ONE

  March

  GABBY WADE BELTED OUT THE chorus to Sinéad O’Connor’s classic “Nothing Compares 2 U” as she pulled into her usual parking spot in front of T.A. Furniture Designs, her voice echoing loudly in the small space. She waited until the final notes of the song had faded before turning off the ignition with a contented sigh.

  There was nothing better than a really good angst-ridden ballad to kick off a Monday morning, and no one was better at it than Sinéad. Gabby grabbed her bag then twisted to collect the jumbo box of doughnuts from the backseat. The smell of chocolate and strawberry wafted to her as she walked toward the showroom door. It was barely eight o’clock, so the entrance was still locked, and she balanced the box on her knee as she struggled to get her key in the lock. The doughnuts nearly hit the dust before she got the door open, but she managed to keep her grip on them. Not that it would have made much difference to the guys—they would probably eat cardboard if it had chocolate frosting on it. A little gravel would hardly put them off.

  She locked up behind her, then passed through the showroom, making a mental note to rearrange the display sometime this week. Even though she was officially only the office manager, she’d been stepping into sales a lot more lately and a static showroom wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

  Heaven knew, Tyler was too distracted these days to notice those kinds of things. It was just as well she had his back.

  The sharp whine of a power saw hit her as she entered the workshop. Dino was ripping some red gum, and Paul was setting up the router to bevel the edge on a cherry dining table. Carl was marking up some wood, squinting like crazy because he still refused to admit he needed glasses.

  “Morning, boys,” Gabby hollered over the noise.

  Dino grunted without looking up, while Carl ignored her altogether. Paul glanced up briefly, throwing her a token wave. She waited for his brain to register what she held in her hands.

  One cat-dog, two cat-dog, three—

  His head whipped up again and his mouth curled into a sweet smile. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes, my gallant prince, it is. Two dozen of Krispy Kreme’s finest for the fairest gentlemen in all the land.”
r />   The saw stopped abruptly. Suddenly all eyes were on her.

  Nothing like refined sugars and fats to get a man’s attention.

  “Gabby, you’re a gem.” Dino started toward her, dusting his hands together.

  “What he said,” Carl echoed, his eyes on the box as he followed in Dino’s footsteps.

  “Try to leave some for Tyler and Kelly,” Gabby said.

  Paul took the box from her hands. “Of course. We’re not animals.”

  Dino had a doughnut in each hand.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” she said.

  Dino laughed sheepishly as she turned toward her office. Then, as though it had only just occurred to her, she swung around.

  “I almost forgot—we really need to get that board-room table out tomorrow. So anything you guys could do to finish it would be really appreciated.”

  Dino froze midbite. “So these are bribe doughnuts? Nice. How cheap do you think we are?”

  “I got chocolate custard, your favorite.”

  Dino’s aggrieved look faded a fraction. “Fine. We’ll do what we can. But no promises.”

  Gabby hid her grin as she walked to her office. If she knew Dino—and after three years of being Tyler’s office manager, she was pretty confident she did—the table would be ready for the afternoon’s deliveries. And all it had cost her was a trip to Krispy Kreme.

  United Nations, eat your heart out.

  She pushed open her office door—and froze.

  A complete stranger—a man—sat at her desk, his back to the door as he used her computer.

  She stared at his broad shoulders, strong neck and close-cropped dark hair. What the hell was he doing in her office? Making himself at home in her chair?

  “Um, excuse me…?” she finally said when she’d gotten over her initial surprise.

  He held up an imperious hand, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder to see who it was. “Won’t be a minute.”

  She stared, incredulous, as whoever-he-was continued to tap at the keyboard.

  Was he for real?