Breaking Emily′s Rules
Breaking Emily's Rules
Heatherly Bell
Weren't rules made to be broken…?Play-by-the-rules good girl Emily Parker is finally flying free. Literally. After a broken engagement, she's about to live out her wildest dream: getting her pilot’s license. With former Air Force pilot Stone Mcallister teaching her, though, it's not just the altitude making her dizzy….Once he settles his father's estate, Stone's heading back to the Air Force. When Emily expresses interest in some no-strings fun, he can't resist, but a single kiss proves that a fling won't be enough. As the clock ticks down to his deployment, will he be able to break his own rules for her?
Weren’t rules made to be broken...?
Play-by-the-rules good girl Emily Parker is finally flying free. Literally. After a broken engagement, she’s about to live out her wildest dream: getting her pilot’s license. With former Air Force pilot Stone Mcallister teaching her, though, it’s not just the altitude making her dizzy....
Once he settles his father’s estate, Stone’s heading back to the Air Force. When Emily expresses interest in some no-strings fun, he can’t resist, but a single kiss proves that a fling won’t be enough. As the clock ticks down to his deployment, will he be able to break his own rules for her?
“I’m sorry I asked you out because I’m not ready for you— I mean, I’m not dating anyone. I mean—I made a mistake, asking you out.”
“And you make a lot of them, don’t you?”
Emily seemed to ignore the comment. “The reason I left so quickly on Friday had to do with my sister. Otherwise I might have stayed to see if you were okay. But I thought I should get Molly out of there. She tends to cause trouble wherever she goes.”
“She does?” Stone felt a grin coming on. “From where I stand, you caused the trouble. I wouldn’t have walked outside if it wasn’t for you.”
“And I thank you for doing that, but I didn’t ask you to.” Emily raised her chin.
That put her lips in decidedly much closer territory to his. “No, you didn’t, but you didn’t exactly stop me.” Now he moved till he was only inches away from her, and their gazes locked.
Dear Reader (#ulink_c9978544-b840-59b2-b662-be2c5ccfb2f6),
For many authors, a finished book is the result of a dream come true. I’m no exception, but I do wonder how many can say that a book is the result of a literal dream. Sometime in 2013, I dreamed about a woman who discovered during a genealogical search that she was the descendant of the first licensed female pilot in California. What if this young woman was at a crossroads in her life, and the idea of following in the footsteps of a pioneering woman appealed to her spirit of adventure?
That’s how this book was born. Eventually the result became Breaking Emily’s Rules. Our heroine sets off on a journey, never expecting her destination to be true love. But then again, isn’t love the greatest adventure of all?
I like writing strong alpha heroes, and so the idea of three Air Force pilots who must adjust to civilian life was born. Welcome to the Heroes of Fortune Valley. In this first book we meet a tough hero who is battling his personal demons and never planned on falling for his first student. I hope you will enjoy it!
I love hearing from readers. You can find me on Facebook, Twitter (@HeatherlyBelle (https://twitter.com/heatherlybelle)), Instagram (Heatherly.Bell (https://www.instagram.com/heatherly.bell)) and Pinterest, or email me at Heatherly@HeatherlyBell.com.
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Heatherly
Breaking Emily’s Rules
Heatherly Bell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
HEATHERLY BELL tackled her first book in 2004 and now the characters that occupy her mind refuse to leave until she writes them a book. She loves all music but confines singing to the shower these days. Heatherly lives in northern California with her family, including two beagles, one who can say hello and the other a princess who can feel a pea through several pillows.
To Alice Ramona Font, aka Mom, for inspiring a lifelong love of books.
Contents
Cover (#ub5ba68f2-1ca1-54f7-ac0e-62020e5f5c50)
Back Cover Text (#ua4f3463d-a404-570e-b818-f4b941ff286a)
Introduction (#u06a8f50b-0b23-5574-9bbe-25044c81a4e2)
Dear Reader (#ulink_e1fdd7cd-2f0e-51bc-82da-049d8fc83dfb)
Title Page (#u3a40911f-d2e1-569d-a180-f9836c6b5898)
About the Author (#u15914feb-db28-5ec1-bf78-e82dbd9718b5)
Dedication (#uac18e69f-9c2c-5e94-a0ab-02fdf92b9147)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_65eb85fe-c8eb-518e-bb6c-c7a9e105bd25)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_55a8aa5a-6c33-534a-950c-4689249b3e3d)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_2e6e8126-4798-58de-aa5f-57624a826137)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d91f8e08-24df-58e4-b32b-248f62c79ffa)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_ea3ed06b-9878-58f7-b19b-a493b53936eb)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_e122832f-4258-5c3a-b4e0-603633c122e8)
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, Emily Parker would rather be at the cemetery.
Instead, she pointed her truck in the direction of the Silver Saddle because when her sister, Molly, got an idea in her head, she was like a pit bull with a bone. Today that bone was dancing, and she’d cornered Emily into going along.
“You can go to the cemetery any ol’ time. All those dead people aren’t going anywhere.” Molly pulled down the passenger-side visor and smoothed on bright red lipstick.
As if Molly needed any help channeling her inner hussy. “A little respect, please. Some of them might be our relatives. I have a lot of gravestones to inspect if I ever want to complete the Parker family tree.”
Emily pulled into the gravel parking lot filled with cars and eased her truck into a space in the back. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. There might be men in there. There would certainly be plenty of smart women glancing in her direction and whispering. Did you hear? Poor Emily. She didn’t see it coming, but maybe she should have. After all, didn’t everyone?
“Awesome. Friday night and this place is crazy.” Molly unclicked her seat belt. “What are you waiting for?”
Emily didn’t move as she glanced out the windshield from the safe place inside the cab of her truck. Couples were milling around the entrance, fools on a quest for the impossible. “I’m not so sure about this.”
“Why not? You’re not still on the giving-up-men thing, are you? I thought you were kidding.”
“You know, there are more important things in life than men.” Emily fiddled with her keys, still safely in the ignition. She hadn’t made any firm commitments to getting out of this truck.
“Name one.”
Think, Emily, think. “Family, of course.” There was more, but she didn’t work well under pressure.
Molly scowled. “Fine, but you can’t do the really fun stuff without a man.”
Spoken from a woman who loved men a bit too much. “What did being man-crazy ever get you?”
“Don’t start with me. I swear the condom broke. Why won’t you believe me?” Molly slapped the dashboard, reminding Emily of the little girl she’d once been, raising hell wherever she went. The red hair fair warning to anyone crazy enough to tangle.
The fact that Molly was seven years younger than Emily and already had a child shouldn’t have bothered Emily. Except, sometimes it did. As usual, Molly didn’t appreciate what she had.
“Let’s not talk about this now.” Emily resisted the urge to pound her head on the steering wheel.
“You brought it up. You might want to be a mom, but that doesn’t mean every girl wants that.”
“Who says I want to be a mom?” When Molly got mad she tried to hurt anyone within spitting distance. Pulling the keys out of the ignition, Emily grabbed her purse, opened the door and leapt out of the truck. She needed to blow a little steam off now, thanks to her bratty sister.
“Well, your biological clock is ticking.” Molly followed.
“It. Is. Not. Ticking!” Emily could give as good as she got with her sister, even if her blond hair wasn’t the slightest shade of red. Even if she’d always had to look out for the little squirt.
“You’re twenty-eight. I think it’s started to tick.”
“Twenty-eight is the new eighteen.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if fifty is the new forty, and forty is the new thirty, then what the hell do you think the new twenty-eight is?” Emily spoke loud enough some of the patrons hanging outside the entrance turned to stare at them.
Emily grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her toward the entrance. “I’m doing this on one condition. All we’re doing is dancing, and then we’re going home. Alone. I don’t go home with anybody, and neither do you.”
As the big sister, it was Emily’s duty to remember Molly only served up her parade of big hits when she hurt inside. Sooner or later Emily would have to figure out what bug had curled up inside Molly this time and probably help her with it, too. But for now, Denial was a river they would drown in together.
Opening the door to the Silver Saddle felt a little like opening death’s door. A bit like entering a battlefield without armor. No self-respecting woman would do that, and yet, Emily was here.
Bertha, the broken mechanical bull, sat in the corner, warning the games were about to begin. From somewhere within, Emily drew a deep breath and placed an imaginary shield on her chest. There. Let someone get through that.
“Hey, it’s the Parker girls.” Thomas Aguirre sidled up to Molly. Everyone knew he’d had a crush on her since third grade.
Emily shoved her body between them. “We’re here to dance. And nothing else. Right, Molly?”
“Right.” Molly may have said what Emily wanted to hear, but her eyes said Open for Business.
“How about this dance?” Thomas didn’t even wait for a reply as he grabbed Molly’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. Molly shoved her purse in Emily’s hands before going far too willingly onto the crowded dance floor.
Emily had just wandered over to the bar and checked their purses in with the bartender when Jimmy Hopkins, the bar’s owner, appeared at her elbow. “Hey, girl. How about a dance?”
As luck would have it, Jimmy was a harmless sweetheart. Best of all, he was engaged to one of her oldest friends, Trish. He’d recently taken six months’ worth of dance lessons in preparation for their wedding, and Trish let him dance with any willing girl for the extra practice.
Maybe she could manage to dance with Jimmy all night. “You got it.”
Jimmy spun her around the dance floor. Without a doubt, he was the best dancer in the place. Every other guy was shuffling his feet around and grabbing his partner’s ass. This was going to work out better than she could have hoped. No ass-grabbing for Emily.
“Hey, are you okay, hon?” Jimmy asked between turns.
“I’m all right.” As long as she didn’t pay attention to the whispers, and with Jimmy it was easy. “I wish everyone would stop talking about me.”
“They have nothing better to talk about. This year’s been rather lean with scandal.”
“Henry stopped peeing on the gazebo?” Henry Turner, the town drunk, did his business where and when he wanted. Lately he seemed to favor the gazebo in the town square, and their mayor was up in arms about it. Apparently she wanted a new town resolution against public urination, as if the old one wasn’t good enough.
“Think he’s moved on to greener pastures, pardon the pun.” Jimmy winked.
“It would help if you and Trish would finally set a date,” Emily said. “Maybe wedding talk would keep them busy for a while.”
“Are you kidding? Trish still hasn’t decided on the venue, much less picked a date.”
“You are going to consider the ranch. Right?” She hadn’t made the decision to add weddings to her family’s event company so her friends could get married somewhere else.
“It’s up to Trish. But the reception is here.”
“Perks of owning a bar. Have her give me a call.”
After three dances, even Jimmy needed a break, but Emily was just getting started. She’d forgotten how much fun Western dancing could be. Fortunately, she had willing partners stepping up. They didn’t want to talk, just dance. One hard look and she’d managed to keep the ass-grabbing off limits, too.
Dancing turned out to be the right recipe after all, especially since she’d known these guys since grade school. None of the men inspired the slightest amount of desire in her.
But then she caught a glimpse of him.
He sat on a stool against the perimeter like he’d been hired to enhance the wall. Dark wavy hair curled slightly at his neckline and, even from a distance, his eyes shone steely blue. The way he gazed at her both piqued her interest and made her want to smack him. His thoughts were so clearly written on his face and in those piercing eyes. He was practically undressing her in front of all these people. And she didn’t even know the man.
Between stealing long PG-13–rated looks at her and taking sips of his beer, he spoke to Jedd, an old friend of Dylan’s and a regular at the Saddle, except tonight Jedd’s wife, Casey, was nowhere in sight. Emily continued to dance with anyone who asked and occasionally peeked at Hot Guy. He never seemed to take his eyes off her, and it was making her neck sweat.
“We need to get home soon,” Emily took a moment to say into Molly’s ear as she passed by in Thomas Aguirre’s arms. Not a good sign she’d danced the entire time with one man. She’d keep an eye on that scenario.
“Sure, whatever you say,” Molly sang out.
Emily stole another look at Mr. Studley, who now lifted his beer bottle and grimaced in the direction of the band playing Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places.”
The heat pulsating all the way to the back of her knees had nothing to do with the dancing, and everything to do with that man. It wasn’t like she’d never seen his kind before, the type of man who might as well have yellow police tape draped around him to serve as warning.
But for twenty-eight years, she’d stayed away from his kind, and she wouldn’t likely end that streak tonight.
* * *
SHIT. I KNEW this was a bad idea.
Stone Mcallister sat nursing his beer at a bar someone had the moxie to name the Silver Saddle. Everything in this town had whimsical names like The Hair-Em, and The Drip. It felt like he’d been dropped in the middle of Whoville. And even after he’d avoided this joint for six months, tonight his luck had run out. Jedd, his mechanic, wouldn’t take no for an answer. So now he was stuck staring at the blonde with the wavy hair that seemed to dance as much as she did. Dressed in a short white dress, showing off the best pair of legs he’d seen in years and wearing a pair of blue cowboy boots, she had the attention of every male in the place.
She tempted the hell out of him. Something he didn’t need.
What he did need right now was some financial hocus pocus, and sitting here staring at the girl wasn’t going to help.
She was tearing up the place, dancing with anyone who asked. None of his business. He didn’t plan on staying in town for long. That reason, more than any other, made him wonder if maybe he should introduce himself to the young lady. Women were more trouble than he could handle right now, but if the girl wanted a warm bed for the night, he certainly had one. Jedd brought him another beer though he still wasn’t done with the first one. Stone set the old one aside and grabbed the cold one.
“Thanks for coming out with me, boss,” Jedd shouted over the live band playing some kind of nonsense song about friends in low places. Another thing he could barely stomach about this place. Country music.
“Told you not to call me that.”
“Aw, but if it wasn’t for you taking over the flight school, I’d be out of a job right now.”
“Not true. You’re a great mechanic and you’d find work, no matter what.” The last thing Stone needed was the pressure of the distinct possibility that if he didn’t fix this mess and fix it soon, Jedd would be out of a job. But he was young. He’d find other work.
“I don’t know about that. But anyway, I’m not here to talk business. I wanted to give you the good news. I’m going to be a daddy.” Jedd reached across to Stone’s bottle and they clinked together.
Stone swallowed, in part because the blonde had just passed him on the dance floor, leaving a trail of her sweet scent behind, but mostly because he wondered what Jedd would do with a pregnant wife and no job.
“Congrats.” He slapped Jedd’s back. Monday Stone would start the ball rolling for Jedd and make a few inquiries. Couldn’t hurt.
“Are you going to dance? I can’t because Casey would kill me. But don’t let me stop you. I see you eyeing Emily.” Jedd elbowed him.
“Who?” Emily. Vanilla. Yeah, she smelled like vanilla.
“Uh, yeah, the blonde you can’t take your eyes off. That’s Emily Parker,” Jedd said with a wink.
Another thing. People in this town winked too much. He wasn’t interested in Fortune, California, this Peyton Place of towns, but Emily did have his attention. In the next moment, she caught him staring, but rather than look away, he locked gazes with her. She smiled back a little and continued to dance.
Stone gulped down the ice-cold beer, hoping it would reach his bloodstream and cool him the hell down. “About the flight school. You know we’ve been having problems. I had a buyer for the school lined up, but my sister is causing trouble.”
“I heard. She wants to sell to that big corporation.” All the blood seemed to drain out of Jedd’s face. “But there’s no chance I could lose my job, right?”
“No, of course not.” He couldn’t tell Jedd. Not tonight. But if his sister kept it up, Stone was worried his buyer would walk away, afraid to get caught up in a lawsuit.
“Don’t worry. I have faith you’ll figure it out. If anyone can, you can.” Jedd’s cell phone rang and he whipped it out, checked the caller ID and smiled. “My wife.”
As Jedd walked outside, Stone wondered why anyone would put their faith in him. And as if he needed to prove the point, Stone took one last swallow of his beer, got up and headed straight for the girl.
* * *
HOT GUY MARCHED straight toward her, like a man on a mission. Unfortunately Emily was between dancing partners, as vulnerable as a lamb. One quick glance toward the bar and Jimmy chatted quietly with the head bartender and some of their coworkers.
A little tingle went down her spine, and Emily drew in a shallow breath. What was Jimmy doing when she needed him? She could just pull up her big-girl panties and deal with it, but she wouldn’t do it alone. Mentally, she picked up a sword to go with the imaginary shield. Yep, she was as ready as she’d ever be. Go ahead and let me have your best shot, Mr. Hunk.
On second thought...
Before he reached her side, Emily veered to the right, toward the bar. She’d get Jimmy’s attention one way or another. Pretend Jimmy was her boyfriend and scare this guy off. Even if he didn’t look like he scared easily. It was worth a try, because her imaginary sword’s blade felt a bit dull and the shield a little tarnished.
But the bar was crowded and loud with couples and singles flirting, drinking and shouting over the band. She waved in Jimmy’s direction. No luck. One would think she could at least get the attention of the bartender working, but she was striking out tonight. Just her luck. She was invisible to everyone but the dangerous guy.
Emily waved again, two-handed this time. “Doesn’t anyone see me?” she asked no one in particular.
“I see you,” said Mr. Danger from behind her. Quickly catching the attention of the one female bartender with nothing more than a finger, he pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and set a couple of bills on the bar. “I’ll have a beer and whatever the lady’s having.”
“I’m not drinking,” Emily sputtered.
“Then why were you waving your arms around like ground control?”
“I’m trying to get the attention of my boyfriend over there.” She jutted her chin in Jimmy’s direction.
He winced. “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend is kissing another woman.”
“What?” Emily turned.
Jimmy was in a lip lock with Trish, who must have sneaked in at some point.
“Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.”
“I guess he’s just not that into you.” He took a swallow and set his bottle down. Studied her.
She wilted in two seconds flat. A record. “Fine, he’s not my boyfriend.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Really.”
“I’m here with my sister. I’m Emily.”
His navy blue eyes held an intensity which threatened to knock her figurative sword right out of her stone-cold hands. “I know.” He smiled, the naked desire never leaving his steely eyes.
“If that’s your way of introducing yourself, your momma didn’t teach you right.”
He blinked but stuck out his hand. “Stone Mcallister.”
A big hand, warm and rough. “Stone Mcallister, I don’t know what I’ve been doing in your mind, but you should know I’m not that kind of girl.” Defensive Training 101. Make light out of it, joke around. I’ve got this.
“No, you’re a liar with a fake boyfriend. I get it.” Here came that wicked smile again. It should be made illegal in all fifty states. She fervently wished he’d put it away before somebody got hurt.
Emily swallowed, suddenly feeling both parched and guilty. “I don’t usually lie, either. But you make me nervous. I’m only here to dance.”
“And what do you think I’m here to do?” He took another pull of his beer and then set it down.
Create mayhem with a woman’s body, heart and mind. “I don’t know, but I don’t like the way you’re looking at me. And you don’t look very innocent.”
“I’m not.”
“Right. But listen, I prefer to keep my clothes on in front of all these people so if you don’t mind, at least imagine me in a swimsuit.” Mentally she wore full body armor, but let him imagine her in a swimsuit. It had to be better than naked.
“All right, a swimsuit it is. One of those string bikinis.”
Not exactly what she’d had in mind. “No. Have you ever watched Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman?”
“Yeah. She’s hot.” He smiled again.
“Imagine me in a skirt like the one she wears, with one of those high-neck tops that go all the way to the chin.” Emily put her hand under her chin.
“Still pretty hot.”
“Anyway, nice meeting you, Mr. Subtle.” Emily turned, but he grabbed her hand.
“I think you should dance with me.”
“That’s what you get for thinking.”
“One dance.” He put his bottle down and pulled her onto the dance floor.
For the next few minutes, he proved he could dance, strong large hands wrapped around her waist as he stayed in step. Emily danced three dances in a row with him; though, she suspected no one else dared interrupt. A couple of times Ronnie Walter approached as if he would cut in, but Stone’s glare chased him away.
When the music slowed to “Let Me Down Easy,” Stone pulled her against him. Fast tunes had played all night, which meant his hands only briefly lingered on her waist, but she couldn’t risk a slow song. She should stop the torture of a slow dance now, but she found his rock-hard chest and the way her head fit under his chin too seductive. He smelled like a man. Leather and some kind of light aftershave that didn’t make her dizzy. Not what she had planned for tonight or any night since she’d decided to be done with men.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” Emily said against his chest as she tried to pretend for one moment she might go home with this guy. Never times infinity to the tenth power. This kind of guy couldn’t be controlled.
“I haven’t been here before.” His hand lowered to the small of her back, and she might have trembled a little bit.
“Why not?”
Here was the problem, because there was a problem with every handsome man from here to Poughkeepsie. Of course he was married, probably with a wife and kid at home. She’d call that strike, one, two and three. If this guy was single, then Emily was the tooth fairy.
A veil went over his eyes and he stopped smiling. “New in town. And I don’t like bars.”
“You’re married.”
He stopped moving, like she’d slapped him. “I would be at home with my wife if I was married. And we wouldn’t waste time dancing. Or if we did, it would be the horizontal kind.”
Emily cleared her throat and tried to dispel the image of Stone dancing. Horizontally. “So you think we’re wasting time here?”
“Not if I do this right.” He grinned and twirled his finger in a strand of her hair like he had every right to do it.
She stared at his finger like she would cut it off, but this seemed to have no effect on him. “What don’t you like about bars?”
He was probably an alcoholic and it was too hard to be around booze. Stone was up to bat, unaware he was about to strike out.
“People. Noise.” He threw a glance in the direction of the band.
“That’s music.” She glared at him.
“If you say so.”
“Where did you learn how to dance?” For a man who hated country music, he knew his steps.
His eyes closed for a brief second. “Long story. Let’s just say it involved a dare, a G-string and a six-pack of beer. I’d rather not say any more. What about you? Looking for something? Or someone?”
“What makes you think I’m looking for someone?” Heavens, her shield had slipped.
“You’re kidding. Every guy in this place has his eye on you.”
Not possible. She whipped her head around, wondering which one of them had fooled her. Stone, at least, was obvious. “No, they don’t. I went to school with half of these guys. They only want to dance with me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you. What about you? Who gave you subtlety lessons, because you should really get your money back.”
“Hey, I’m only trying to protect you. From the others.”
Emily managed to crack a smile. “My sister and I come here whenever we want to dance. That’s all.” She wanted to spell it out for him because he didn’t look like the kind of guy who was used to hearing the word no from a woman. “And do you have to look at me like that?”
“Like how?”
“Like I’m a steak and you’re not a vegetarian.” Maybe if he’d stop looking at her like she was a T-bone, she could stop sweating. Already, a trickle had slid down the inside of her thigh straight into her boot.
“True, I’m not a vegetarian. But I don’t bite unless I’ve known you for at least a month.”
Someone get her the smelling salts. “A whole month?”
“Yep,” he said with a grin as the song ended.
The longest dance in history had ended. Time to get Molly home. Besides, if Emily didn’t get out of his arms, the rest of her resolve might weaken. Maybe all she needed was one night with a man like this to help her forget the way Greg had humiliated her, and this guy would do it, no question about it.
Too bad she wasn’t that kind of girl. Rules were in place for a reason. “I need to get my sister and get her home.”
“Are you sure?” He lifted her chin so it was inches away from his lips, and his warm breath reached her.
She wasn’t sure of anything as she stared into those eyes. They were kind eyes, and not the eyes of a man on the prowl, which made him all the more confusing. She could kiss him, if she was a different woman. If she wasn’t Emily Parker, currently researching her family tree, and if she was willing to forget who she was for a second, she could. Maybe. Might even let him kiss her. In another life.
It wasn’t going to happen tonight. Emily pivoted out of his arms and turned in time to see the back of Molly’s head.
Leaving the bar with Thomas.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_1a341f13-531f-5dd0-b866-63f3ef8f09ac)
“MOLLY!” EMILY HEADED after her sister. No way would this happen under her watch. Molly had obviously had too much to drink and ignored her promise. Either that or she’d lost her ever-lovin’ mind.
A man was the last thing Molly needed right now. She used men to distract her from the real work she had to do on herself. Sooner or later Molly would have to face the mess she’d left behind.
Emily stomped through the couples on the dance floor, and they parted like the Red Sea. She thought she heard some of their whispers:
There she goes, and she’s mad. Boy, I tell you, she almost looks like Molly right now.
I mean, there’s no way you can keep it inside for so long. Before you know it, blast, you’ve got a disaster on your hands.
Yes, sir, Emily’s about to let someone have it. Should we go watch?
She threw open the bar’s side door and spied Molly about to get into Thomas’s car. A few quick purpose-filled strides and Emily stood next to Thomas’ old beat-up Ford.
“Where are you going, young lady?” Emily grabbed Molly’s arm.
“She’s going home with me.” Thomas bowed. The smell of tequila nearly knocked Emily off her feet. He sure wasn’t driving her sister, or anyone else.
“No, she’s not. She promised me. Right?” Emily pulled at Molly on one side, and Thomas pulled on the other.
“Sorry, mister, but I have a sister.” Molly swayed a bit to the right, demonstrating her own level of intoxication.
“Why you gotta be such a killjoy?” Thomas tapped Emily’s shoulder hard enough to make her wince. “If you don’t want to have any fun, that’s your business. But don’t ruin it for Molly.”
“You should take your hand off her right now,” a voice said from behind Emily.
Emily turned. All the planes of Stone’s face were set in hard lines, his jaw rock hard. He looked different. Still dangerous, but in a whole other kind of way.
“What did you say, buddy?” Thomas sidled up to Stone, clenching a fist in the air.
“The lady is not going home with you. And you’re not going anywhere until you sleep it off.”
“That’s right. Thank you.” Finally, someone had come to her aid instead of the other way around.
He shot her a hot look she felt down to the heels of her boots. Not to mention how it began to melt her shield.
While she tried to take her focus away from his lips and back to the matter at hand, a flying fist seemed to come out of nowhere and connect with Stone’s jaw.
Stone reacted Ninja-style and had Thomas on his back within moments.
“Cool,” someone said from the back of the crowd. “Did you see that move? I can do that.”
“Emily!” Molly, as if she’d suddenly realized the mess she’d made, reached for her.
Emily pulled Molly to her side as others spilled out from the bar to witness the fight in the parking lot. Except, from the looks of it, there wasn’t much fight left in old Thomas there on the ground, twisting and writhing under Stone’s pin. A fresh pint of guilt seeped through Emily’s veins, knowing Stone had probably taken a hit because she’d distracted him for a moment.
What she should do is stay behind and thank him. Properly. But there were two problems. First, she’d never kissed a man she didn’t know, even if this might be a good time to start. Second, she’d given up men, and this one would be trouble. Trouble rolled into fun with a heaping side of heartache.
Jedd soon joined the fray to help Stone, not that he seemed to need any help and, between the two of them, they had the situation under control. Right now Emily had her own damage control to do and needed to get her sister back home. Her drunk and sad sister, who had fooled Emily into coming here tonight.
“Let’s get out of here.” Emily pulled her sister away from the commotion, throwing one last glance in the direction of her hot hero. His back was turned to her as he restrained Thomas, who was now calling out every expletive Emily had ever heard, and some she hadn’t.
This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned parting tonight, and her chest tightened with the mess she’d left Stone to handle. She should have explained that she couldn’t take it any further with him, not now. Not ever. Casually drop in the fact she didn’t do risky and didn’t do strangers. She didn’t do much of anything, period. Not anymore.
Emily pulled her sister away from the chaos and shoved a sobbing Molly in the front passenger side seat of the Chevy truck.
Good thing Molly was already crying or Emily would have said something to make her. Emily gripped the steering wheel and high-tailed it out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel. She turned left on Monterey Road and headed toward Fortune Ranch.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Molly bawled.
“Look at it this way. Thomas won’t be driving anyone home tonight, which is the way it should be. But I thought we agreed. Why did you do this?”
“I wanted to feel good, even for a little while. Do you know how long it’s been since a man wanted me? I mean, really wanted me. And only me.”
“We’re not going there. You are not going to talk to me about being lonely.”
“I’m sorry. But you know how to be alone, and I don’t. I feel like crap. And I probably look like it, too.” Molly pulled out a tissue from the glove compartment.
“You ought to feel bad. The man took a hit to the jaw, and you don’t even know him.” Neither did she, but after tonight, she almost wished she did.
“I have to apologize to him.” Molly rubbed at her mascara-smeared raccoon eyes.
“Don’t worry yourself too much about it. Something tells me the man can handle himself.” Or had Molly missed those special forces–like skills he’d displayed? Emily didn’t even know what the man did for a living, but she’d bet her family’s ranch it didn’t involve sitting behind a desk.
“Before you say anything, I know I have to start making better choices.” Molly rocked back and forth in her seat.
She sounded so pathetic and broken. Emily wished she understood, but she still wasn’t sure she could put her finger on what exactly had gone wrong. Of course, Molly wasn’t talking about it, either. For the first six months of her daughter Sierra’s life, Molly isolated herself from the rest of her family. The next thing anyone knew, Molly had taken off to Hollywood, leaving Dylan and Sierra behind. To a place so foreign to the Parker family, she might as well have gone to Mars.
“You have to get your mind off men. They’re not going to make anything better for you. Work on yourself first, like I am. Everything else will fall into place then.”
Emily turned her truck at the large sign that welcomed one and all to “Fortune Family Ranch: Events/Weddings/Picnics.” Once a large cattle ranch, present times meant the Parker family had to diversify. Enterprise.
The new family business.
The truck rolled down the long dusty driveway, past the empty lots designated for parking, past the red barn that served as a gift shop and up to the main Victorian house sitting on the hill.
Emily parked and turned in her seat to give Molly her full attention. “Does Dylan know you’re back in town?”
“I hope not. You know how he hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just not happy with you right now. Can you blame him?”
“It’s his fault, anyway. Maybe if he’d come after me.”
“When you didn’t tell anyone where you’d gone? Don’t do this, Molly. It’s not his fault you left.”
Emily should have paid more attention to the situation at the time, and she still blamed herself for that. She should have seen that Molly was in over her head and going under. But a few of the times Emily had wanted to come over and help, Molly claimed the baby was sleeping, or the apartment was a mess or any one of many other excuses why they didn’t want company. The times Emily had managed to make it inside, the small efficiency had looked like a bomb had gone off. Stacks of baby diapers all over the house, clothes strewn in every corner, piles of dirty laundry practically tall enough to be a teepee, other clean clothes folded in the basket, dishes overflowing in the sink.
Molly and Dylan had managed to keep mostly to themselves, and whether it had been intentional or not Emily had never been sure. Dylan’s mother could barely stand Molly, and the unexpected pregnancy hadn’t helped. But Emily didn’t fully understand why Molly would have shut her own family out. Unless it had been because of Dylan, who thought Molly had been spoiled by their father for too long.
And true enough, had he had one look inside, he would have likely hired Molly a cleaning service. Not how Dylan rolled.
“You needed help, and maybe you didn’t know how to ask for it,” Emily said now.
“I know you tried, but Dylan always thought we should do it on our own. And of course, he was never around much to help me.”
“There was no shame in either one of you needing help. You’re both so young.” Emily now wished she’d bulldozed her way in more often. What if Molly had suffered from postpartum depression? Dylan, as a trained EMT, should have seen the signs. But maybe he’d been too close to the situation.
After Molly had gone, Emily tried for a few months to help Dylan with a colicky and often inconsolable Sierra. Eventually, due to logistics and family ties, most of the babysitting shifted to Violet, Dylan’s mother. Dylan stopped calling, and Emily, ashamed of her sister and tired of making excuses for her, stayed away.
“Maybe if he’d loved me more. It felt like the only thing we had in common anymore was Sierra. He barely touched me for six months. Do you know what that’s like?”
Molly didn’t want to go there with Emily right now. Did she know what it was like to have her heart ripped out seam by precious seam? “Does a broken engagement count?”
Molly didn’t look at Emily. “I’m sorry, Em.”
“It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t. Emily had never been engaged before Greg. Greg was reliable, safe, structured. A software engineer. If a girl couldn’t trust a man like Greg, who color-coded his ties, then whom could she trust? No one.
* * *
MAYBE NEXT TIME you’ll stay home.
The night wasn’t over until a cab service took Thomas Aguirre home, black eye covered with a bag of ice from the bar. But the real cherry on top of this sundae had been when Stone looked for the stacked blonde that had caused him his sore jaw and found her nowhere in sight. Not like she owed him a thing, but a simple kiss would have been nice. Maybe even a short “thanks.”
It usually took a woman at least a month to be this kind of trouble to him.
Now he had a bruised lip and sore jaw, thanks to being temporarily distracted by the way she stared into his eyes with a kind of trust that sent lava-level heat running through him. More to the point, the whole thing was his fault for being stupid enough to follow her outside and become mixed up in drama that was clearly none of his damn business. That should teach him.
Jedd brought out a bag of ice. “It’s a good thing we caught Thomas trying to leave with Molly, ’cause he had no business driving.”
“Yeah. Glad I could be of assistance.” Stone took the ice and placed it in on his jaw since he couldn’t put it on his sore ego. He should have seen that flying fist coming. Six months out of the service, and he’d let his guard down.
“I wish I’d been out here sooner.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I hope you don’t blame this on Emily. If you blame anyone, blame Thomas. As for Molly, that girl is hell on wheels. Almost forgot she was back in town.” Jedd fell into step beside Stone, as he headed toward his truck.
“My fault. Shouldn’t have followed Emily outside.”
“But you thought she was in trouble.”
Stone didn’t want to be anyone’s hero, or pretend he’d had anything on his mind other than finishing what he’d started with Emily.
“To tell the truth, I didn’t do enough thinking tonight.” He massaged his jaw and managed to crack a smile.
Jedd laughed. “Yeah, Emily has a way of doing that to a guy.”
Stone looked sideways at Jedd.
“Naw, Emily’s older than me and never gave me a second look. She was going to get married to some guy from Palo Alto. But it didn’t happen.” Jedd lifted a shoulder.
“I don’t need her damn biography. I won’t ever see her again.” He clicked his key fob to unlock the truck.
“If you say so,” Jedd said.
Stone should have followed his first instincts and kept to himself. Probably should have searched harder for an excuse as to why he couldn’t come out with Jedd. “I do. I’m out of here.”
“Thanks for coming out with me. See you Monday, boss—I mean, Stone,” Jedd called out.
Stone threw open the door and climbed in his truck, throwing the ice pack to the side. He’d be sleeping alone tonight and that would be okay. It would have to be. With damage like this in thirty minutes, who knew what she could do with a little more time? He didn’t need the distraction. All he wanted tonight was a warm body under him, and Emily wouldn’t stop there. She wouldn’t stop until she was another in his long list of commitments.
Speaking of commitments...
A few minutes later, he’d pulled into the driveway of James Mcallister’s sorry-looking single family home, shut off the truck and stared at his inheritance. The place needed a new coat of paint. Hell, it needed to be bulldozed down to the ground and started over. He didn’t have the time or inclination to do either. But he, along with his sister, Sarah, was heir to this mess.
Six months ago when he’d separated from the air force, Dad had said, “You didn’t have to come.”
“The hell I didn’t.” The air force might have been his life for the past twelve years, but when it came down to the AF and Dad, there had been no real choice.
The fact that it had taken him too long to make the choice? No use revisiting that scenario now. It had been tough to think anything could be strong enough to knock his old man down, but he’d been wrong about that. Should have separated earlier, when he’d first heard of the diagnosis. It seemed to be the first in a long line of mistakes he’d made lately.
Back then, Stone thought he’d have time with Dad. Time to say a long goodbye, fly their Cessnas in tandem a few times and maybe take a couple of fishing trips. But colon cancer had a way of sneaking up on a man. Four months. It was all the time they’d had, and Dad spent most of it telling Stone about his last wishes.
“I know this isn’t what you planned to do with your life. But stay long enough to sell the school so Cassie and Jedd can keep their jobs. Don’t listen to Cassie. She loves the place.”
She could have fooled Stone. “Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of.”
“When I die, Sarah will get my letter and half of everything. Be nice to her. I didn’t want her to know about the cancer. What would be the point? I sure don’t want her to see me like this.”
In the end, it had been a quiet death, not at all like all the other deaths he’d witnessed. There were no screams, no blood and no raging hot anger. No one fought death harder than a young airman. But Dad had been ready. The hospice nurse had nudged Stone out of a light sleep, and he’d been by Dad’s bedside to hear him take his last breath.
A few days later, Sarah had been notified, and the proverbial shit hit the fan.
Both the house and school would be sold and the proceeds split down the middle. He had a buyer lined up for the school, someone who loved planes and planned to keep everything the same. The way it should be. The way Dad wanted it.
Unless Sarah had her way.
He stuck his key in the front door, turned it and slipped inside. He wasn’t fooled by the silence for a second as he slipped into warfare mode. Granted, he hadn’t done any hand-to-hand combat in the air force. A good thing he’d been trained, though.
Stone flipped on the light switch in the family room. Winston, Dad’s ninety-pound golden retriever mix, flew around the corner and jumped on Stone. If licking could kill, he’d be a dead man walking.
Standing on his hind legs the beast nearly reached Stone’s height of six feet. But Stone had a knee, and he put it to good use by nudging Winston’s middle. “Off!”
Winston jumped down, his brown eyes wounded. It would take a lot more than a knee in the chest to hurt the monster, and he wasn’t fooling Stone.
“Don’t give me that look. I swear I’ll find you a new owner if you don’t stop jumping on me. The licking is bad enough. This is not going well.”
Within seconds, Winston had followed Stone into the kitchen, his food bowl in his jowls. Whoever said dogs weren’t smart had never owned a Winston.
“Yeah, yeah.” Stone fed him and watched Winston go to town. “With manners like that, you’ll never get a girl.”
Unfortunately, that made him picture the way Emily had moved in his arms and the curves she had in all the right places. It was possible that if he stepped back into that country music–infested den, he might see her again. Why that mattered he didn’t know, but if he didn’t get his mind off her, he might wind up making another trip to the Silver Whip, or the Silver Saddle, or whatever the hell they called it.
Stone stripped in his bedroom, took a shower, toweled off and didn’t bother with the boxers. Instead, he plopped on the California king, rolled into the covers and let sleep take him away.
* * *
DAMN, THIS GIRL can kiss. Emily straddled him and kissed him long and deep. She moaned, which ripped out a groan from him as his hands lifted the skirt of her dress, searching for heaven and finding nothing but silk. Soft. Smooth. Curves. Skin. Yeah.
Suddenly, she licked his face. This is strange, but if she’s into it, I’ll learn to like it.
The bark was what finally woke him. Winston on his bed. Again. The beast’s paws on Stone’s chest as he lapped at his face.
“Off!” Stone growled and opened one eye against the ray of light breaking through the window blinds. He pushed Winston off, rubbed his aching jaw and glanced at the clock. Crap, eight already. Time to get up.
He’d have to cut his workout short this morning. Usually he ran five miles before work and hit the punching bag in the garage for an hour. Couldn’t afford to get too soft. He might be out of the air force, but the air force would never be out of him.
Last night he’d dreamed of the girl who made him forget he was a short-timer in this town. No need to start rescuing people. Served him right, even though it had been a cheap shot. His own fault for paying too much attention to the girl and not enough to the other man’s fists. All right. Get over it, Chump.
Winston stayed next to the bed and stared at Stone, panting, brown eyes questioning. He cocked his head and barked.
“I told you, this is my bed and over there is yours.” Stone pointed to the cushion that sat in the corner of the bedroom.
Winston barked again. Stone loved dogs as much as the next person, but Winston was less of a dog than an inconsiderate roommate. A hairy one who demanded his meals on time and whose only contribution to household chores was creating more of them. Another treasure he’d inherited from Dad. Everything he’d handed down seemed to come with complications. And commitments.
Dad had loved this dog and swore it could read his thoughts. Right now, Stone wondered if Winston could read his, too, because they were less than charitable.
“You interrupted a great dream, monster.” The first decent dream in months.
Stone pulled on a pair of jeans and headed to the kitchen, Winston following close behind. True to form, he performed his shameless circling dance as Stone scooped out the dry dog food and placed it in his bowl.
“Wish I could be that happy to have breakfast,” Stone mumbled, placing the bowl on the cold terracotta kitchen floor. “Do you realize all you do is eat and sleep?”
He’d not only inherited Winston, the flight school and his father’s ramshackle ranch house, but pretty much James Mcallister’s life. And if he often felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, it was probably because too many people, dogs and inanimate objects depended on him.
He’d arrived in town with one large duffel bag and everything he owned in it. He was always ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
The doorbell rang, and Winston ran out of the room like a scared schoolgirl. Doorbells. Winston was afraid of them. Then again, Dad’s doorbell played a haunting rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.” Stone kept meaning to disconnect the thing.
Stone peered through the peephole. Staff Sergeant Matt Conner, wearing his civilian clothes, held a couple of cups. “Let me in, asshole. These are hot. Coffee.”
Stone swung open the door and accepted a cup from The Drip (Rise and Shine and Have a Drip, the annoying cup said) as Matt walked inside.
“Is he—?” Matt asked, eyebrows raised.
Stone nodded. “Put the cup down now if you know what’s good for you.”
Matt set the cup on the short key table by the door and squatted like a wrestler. Yeah, he knew the drill. Like he’d heard his name called, Winston flew around the corner and tackled Matt.
Fortunately, Matt was a dog person, not to mention the size of a linebacker. “Hey, I love you, too, you big lug.”
“Don’t encourage him.” Stone walked into the kitchen, taking a gulp of the coffee he had become addicted to. He’d never been there himself, but coffee from The Drip was first-rate; although, he’d never get used to saying that name. “Want something to eat?”
“You have food?” Matt followed.
Stone didn’t answer. All right, so he was stalling.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Let’s get to it. Where do we begin?” Matt threw him a look.
“Yeah.” Stone knew that look. It was a get your shit together, airman look. If he’d given it once, he’d given it a hundred times to the newbs. And it had been more than a few years since he’d been on this side of it. It didn’t sit well with him.
Sure, he’d helped pack up the barracks bags of airmen who were never going home again, but this was different.
My father’s house. Where to begin? No matter how he sliced it, it didn’t feel right to get rid of Dad’s things. Like maybe he’d be back later, pissed Stone couldn’t see the sense in hanging on to ten old fishing rods. Crazy.
“Yeah’s not an answer, dude.” Matt threw him a pity look, the kind bestowed upon the widows and orphans of the men who weren’t coming back.
“Where do you suggest, moron?”
“The clothes.” Matt met Stone’s gaze.
They were still in the closet. Pretty pathetic. Clothes were always the first thing to go. It wasn’t like he was going to suddenly start wearing plaid shirts and polyester pants.
“Right this way.”
Winston followed them in the bedroom and lay like a rug near Dad’s bed. Stone made himself shove shirts and pants, even an old suit he’d never seen before, into a plastic garbage bag.
Matt worked faster, bagging up two to every one of Stone’s. “I’ll take all these to Goodwill Industries.”
“Sure.” Stone didn’t look at Matt. They were just clothes. It shouldn’t make any damn difference. He didn’t understand why his chest felt tight.
“By the way, she came by to see me again yesterday.” Matt said it like it was nothing, like he might as well be talking about the weather.
“Why?” Stone didn’t even have to ask who “she” was. She’d somehow decided Matt was her new best friend.
“You know why. She wants to talk to you.”
“I have nothing to say to her.”
“She’s your sister,” Matt said with an emphasis on the word sister, as if it was supposed to mean something to Stone. It didn’t.
Not his fault. His parents had made that decision, and he’d had no say in the matter. Only now, he was left to pick up the pieces. All in the past, and best left there. He wasn’t going to start singing “Kumbaya” this late in the game. “Here’s the thing. I don’t know her anymore.”
“You could get to know her. Again.” Matt threw another bag in the pile.
But it had been Sarah’s choice to stop visiting summers after that last one when she’d been thirteen. He’d been fifteen at the time, and sue him if he’d been a little busy. Their parents had each agreed that by fourteen each kid could decide where they wanted to spend their summer. That summer Stone chose to stay in California where he had a job and a learner’s permit. It meant that he’d spent the summer with his sister for the first time since the divorce. Looking back, he probably hadn’t paid her enough attention but what he’d remembered of that summer was a teenage girl with attitude. Not much different from now.
Dad didn’t know what the hell to do with her, either, when she didn’t want to fish or camp anymore. Every morning she’d glare daggers at the both of them as if they were doing something to offend her by simply breathing. Then she’d gone in the bathroom for three hours where she did something to her hair.
It was about all he remembered of that last summer from hell.
The next summer Sarah chose not to visit again, nor any summer after that. There had been cards over the holidays and a few strained phone calls. Stone had unfortunately had a front-row seat to his father’s confusion and pain at feeling shut out of his daughter’s life. It had served to remind Stone to call his mother and not just wait for her calls to him. He might not have thought he needed her much as a stupid teenager, but he’d always loved his mother. Which was why he couldn’t quite understand Sarah’s anger now. She’d made the choice. If their father hadn’t begged, it was because the Mcallister men didn’t beg.
Stone surveyed the closet. They’d made a dent in it, but not much more. He’d leave the boxes on the shelves for another time. Had his father thrown anything away? Ever?
Stone reached for a tie that looked straight out of the seventies. Probably not. “Maybe we should have a family reunion. Picnic, maybe?”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“She wants to sell to a developer. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You could talk and explain this is what your Dad wanted.”
“She knows that. All she wants is more money. She doesn’t care that people are about to lose their livelihoods.” It wasn’t just Cassie and Jedd. The airport had a small air museum, the only one of its kind for miles. There was also the Shortstop Snack Shack, owned and operated by a retired firefighter. Dad had owned the hangar building and leased the space to everyone else. The aviation school was the anchor, and if it was sold to a developer all the other businesses would go, too.
“I get the feeling your sister might be reasonable. Why not meet with her?”
“I did.” All she’d wanted to do was hurl insults and accusations at their late father. He carried enough guilt about those last months without Sarah adding to it.
“Again, I mean.” Matt slid him a look. “One meeting that didn’t go well isn’t enough. It’s worth a try.”
But Stone wasn’t sure of that anymore. He should talk with Sarah again, to see if he could get her to see reason. Matt seemed to think she was open, but that hadn’t been Stone’s experience. Some people were a lost cause, and he felt fairly certain the sister he didn’t know anymore was one of them.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_23874c35-8b98-573d-a62e-f62b2fc6b8f9)
“WAKE UP, EMILY.”
Emily opened one eye.
Grammy stood over her, dressed in her sparkly blue jeans and leopard-print top. It was one of the most irritating things about her grandmother. She refused to give in to convention and wear tracksuits like all her friends did.
Emily hadn’t even heard her come in. “What good is it to give me the loft for privacy if you keep barging in on me like this? What if I had company?”
“Emily, dear, please. I don’t have time for jokes. We have the Chamber of Commerce party today. I’ll need you to help George. He’s an old man now.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.”
George Carver had worked for the family for as long as Emily could remember. Old or not, he was still their handyman, their gardener and a long-time family friend.
Emily’s dog, Pookie, a Poodle and Chihuahua mix, peeked out from the under the covers.
“You’re letting Pookie in your bed? What’s wrong with you?”
“She’d old, Grammy, and it was cold out last night. I caught her shivering.” That was Emily’s story and she was sticking to it. Growing up on their pseudo ranch usually meant dogs lived outside, but Emily liked it better this way. If Grammy was going to let Emily have the loft over the garage, then Emily could let Pookie have a spot on her bed at night.
“Girl, your heart is just too big. Pookie has you fooled. She’s fine outside and has a warm dry place in the pen. Cuddles up next to Beast every chance she gets. Anyway, the meat is coming in at noon, and I’ll need you to check it. You know what happened last time.” Grammy started to make the bed with Emily in it.
“Hey. Why don’t you let me get out of bed first? What time is it?” Fighting to push off the last dregs of sleep, Emily pulled the covers up to her nose. She wasn’t sure, but she might have been in the middle of a dream that made her blush, even thinking of it. It might have involved Stone and some of that horizontal dancing.
“It’s time for you to get up. And there’s something I want to show you first.” Grammy walked toward the front door and put her hand on the doorknob.
“What is it?” Emily rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Eight thirty. Too bad Grammy didn’t believe in sleeping in even on the weekends, because right now all Emily wanted was another few minutes. And she wasn’t going to get them.
“Wait till you see. I ordered it and it came yesterday. I’ll meet you at the house for breakfast.” Grammy let herself out, but not before picking up Pookie and carrying her out. “Dogs stay outside.”
Emily rustled her feet from under the warm covers and let them touch the cool hardwood. She shrank back and resisted the urge to bury under the blanket and go back to her dreams. Dreams in which she’d gone home with Stone.
Forget about him. I’m not ready for someone like that, and maybe I never will be. No, she was never going to be “that girl.” The girl who didn’t worry about consequences. The one who took a chance. She was too sensible for all that.
Emily showered, tried not to think of Stone, dried off and dressed in the working jeans and Fortune Ranch company shirt she wore while working on the family’s ranch. Not that it was a ranch anymore, unless one counted a petting zoo and three ponies. But Grammy insisted on keeping the name, a testament to the former glory of the Parker family’s four-hundred-acre cattle ranch of days gone by.
After eminent domain and the freeway extension had made its way through, they’d been left with forty acres and the house. Thank God for ever-resourceful Grammy, who claimed she hadn’t lived through the depression for nothing. And even if the family business now came down to outdoor company parties, picnics and high school Sadie Hawkins dances, they still had their home.
Thank heavens for that, because right now Emily needed home. The place where she’d grown up and the last place she’d lived with Mama. She’d been gone seventeen years, but her absence still ached if Emily thought about it too much.
Emily made her way down the creaky steps of her second-story apartment loft above the detached garage and jogged over to the main Victorian house on the hill. She threw open the side door to the kitchen and walked in to the sounds of Molly’s high-pitched voice. “That’s it—you’ve finally taken the last train into Crazy Town, and this time I’m not sure you’ll be back.”
“What’s up?” Emily grabbed a mug from the cupboard.
Molly and Grammy stood before some type of large vase on the kitchen counter.
“Grammy has done it now.” Molly looked like she’d woken only minutes ago and stood in the middle of the kitchen wearing her oversize Hairdressers Do It with Style T-shirt, hair mussed and eyes bloodshot with the after effects of too much tequila.
“Once again, your sister is demonstrating how short-sighted she can be. This is where I’ll be buried—my ashes will be, anyway. And I want you girls to pick the perfect place where I’ll be seated for all eternity. I was thinking somewhere in the dining room.”
That thing sitting on the kitchen counter was an urn? No wonder Molly was freaked out. Emily wasn’t sure she could ever eat food in here again. “Can we take it off the kitchen counter?”
“For the love of Pete, you girls act like I bought a used urn. This was ordered from the most highly regarded crematorium in the state. Don’t you think it’s nice?” Grammy ran her hand along the little pink roses that decorated the border.
Emily couldn’t look at the place where her Grammy’s bones would someday lie. “Can’t we do this another time?”
Grammy waved a hand. “Fine. I’ll find a place in the dining room. This way I’ll be in attendance at every Thanksgiving and Christmas even after I’m gone. Now, I’ll be watching over you all, so don’t forget to say grace.”
“Oh, Daddy is going to love this,” Molly said with an eye roll.
“Your father isn’t any of my concern. He spends half his time in Texas pretending he’s a cowboy when he ought to be home with his family,” Grammy shouted over her shoulder as she left the room with her urn.
The subject of their father and his reluctance to let go of the cattle ranch days was one Emily couldn’t handle before noon. Or plenty of coffee.
She eyed the bacon and eggs Grammy had left on a warming platter, considering whether or not she still had an appetite.
“I was thinking—” Molly said with a grin.
“Don’t you dare.” Emily pointed a finger.
“I’ll be good this time. Okay, I should have stayed away from the tequila shots. And Thomas.”
“That would have been nice.”
“But we should go see if we can find that nice man who helped us with Thomas. And then I can apologize.”
Emily sat at the kitchen table and thought about how much she’d like to thank Stone. But she wouldn’t need Molly for that. “I’m not going back there for a while.”
“Why? I saw you dancing with him. And you looked happy. What have you got against happy?”
“I don’t have anything against it. I have something against starting a relationship right now. I have to work on myself.”
“Who said anything about a relationship?” Molly drew the last word out, emphasizing every syllable. “Why does everything have to be a big deal to you? Can’t you just have fun?”
Of course she couldn’t have fun. She had plans to make, and they didn’t involve a man. Emily opened her mouth to answer, but Grammy walked back in the kitchen and spoke first.
“What you need to do is learn from your big sister, young lady. Sometimes a lady needs to take a good long look at her life to find out where she’s going. It wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.” Grammy reached for a mug and poured some coffee in it.
Molly rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I forgot Little Miss Perfect does everything right.”
Emily winced at the moniker, but what was so wrong with setting goals and controlling one’s future? For so long, she’d been the only one with any good sense in this family. Dad out in Texas playing cowboy, Molly pretending she hadn’t screwed up the best thing in her life and Grammy planning her own funeral.
Either way, it was time for Plan B, since none of her best-laid plans had worked out.
Like real estate. She’d bought the course on the late-night infomercial, but nothing was like the book said it would be. Her attempt at writing a historical romance hadn’t done any better. And if it wasn’t for the stage fright that kept her from returning to the stage, maybe she could get that country music career off the ground.
Either way, she had to figure something out, because she was running out of time.
Molly had struck a nerve when she talked about ticking clocks. It wasn’t that Emily wanted a baby—she’d given up that dream—but reminders of how little she’d accomplished in her twenty-eight years weren’t welcome. She’d recently read in one of her college alumni newsletters that a former classmate had founded her own clothing company and another was running for a congressional seat in her district.
Emily needed something like that. Something big.
Grammy patted Emily’s back. “Nothing wrong with being a good girl, right, dear?”
Good Girl. Yeah, that was her. Another name might be Doormat. “Never said I was perfect.”
“Don’t forget tomorrow is our monthly meeting with the Pink Ladies. I know you won’t want to miss it, Emily.” Grammy sat across from Emily.
“Why are you encouraging her?” Molly slammed her coffee mug on the table. “That’s exactly what Emily needs. Hanging out with a bunch of geriatric women. That should do it.”
“Your sister has a hobby, and maybe you can find one, too,” Grammy said with a scowl.
“I have a hobby. It’s called dancing. Meanwhile you waste your time talking about dead people that can’t do a thing for you anymore.” Molly took a gulp from her mug and gave Emily a pointed look.
Emily shook her head. “I love when you both talk about me like I’m not here. What if I’m interested in our family history? What’s wrong with trying to find out all about my namesake?”
“That Emily Parker isn’t going to help you. Because there’s a little problem. She’s dead.”
“Listen, young lady. Never speak ill of the dead. Someday I’ll be one of them.” Grammy reached over and swatted Molly’s hand.
Molly walked over to the sink with her mug. “Someday we’ll all be one of them. But before that, let’s have a little bit of damn fun before we all die, why don’t we?”
Grammy laughed at Molly’s back as she walked out of the kitchen. “Oh, Molly, dear, you are so dramatic. Learn to be a little bit more like your sister. Level-headed. Grounded.”
Emily almost choked on her coffee. Was that what she was? Level-headed? Grounded? Why did that sound boring?
Emily had spent the past year in a kind of self-imposed hibernation with little interest in anything other than eating, sleeping and watching reruns of the first three seasons of Homeland.
But then a few months ago Grammy had come to her with some genealogy research. She wanted to find out whether her family had come from Ireland or Scotland. One of Grammy’s Historical Society friends had traced her ancestors back to the Revolutionary War. Naturally, Grammy was convinced they could do better than that. They only needed to trace the family lineage back far enough and the truth of the spunky and steady Parker spirit would be revealed. It had all started out simply, with a bit of online searches, and before Emily knew it, she’d been spending most of her spare time with Grammy’s friends.
Then Molly had come back home. Suddenly genealogy research was a hobby for the geriatric crowd.
“I’ll quit when I find out what happened to the first Emily Parker.” Time to reevaluate, perhaps, the amount of time she spent on this hobby. A little diversity couldn’t hurt. Getting out from under this “good girl” image couldn’t hurt, either.
* * *
MOLLY TRUDGED UP the steps to her bedroom, and threw herself on the trundle bed. Everyone in her family was officially bonkers, fascinated with the past and dead people when there was so much living to be done right now. Emily was too young to hang out with all those old women, but Molly couldn’t seem to get through to her. Yet.
She’d get Emily back out on the dance floor, or her nickname wasn’t Trouble.
She reached under the mattress and pulled out the photo of Sierra at six months old. She’d just learned to sit up and wore a bib that read Daddy’s Girl as she smiled her toothless grin. Molly traced the angle of her baby face. Oh, how she remembered that smile. It was the last picture Molly took of Sierra before she left town. Dylan had been working long hours and left her alone with Sierra night and day. They could have all lived at the Parker family home and Molly would have had help from both Grammy and Emily, but Dylan had insisted they live on their own. Raise Sierra on their own. Insisted he’d support his own family, and that meant they were stuck in a studio apartment.
That same studio apartment had felt more like a Love Shack when they’d first been married, right after they’d learned of her pregnancy, and made love every night. But once Sierra arrived, everything changed. Dylan had been too tired to do anything but collapse in a heap at the end of the day.
Emily had offered to help but Molly was so ashamed of her mess. Ashamed that she couldn’t stop crying some days. She couldn’t figure out how to take a shower and at the same time take care of her baby. And after every time Emily had come over, Dylan had nothing but praises for her big sister. Emily sure knows how to clean a house. Or, Did you fold and put away all this laundry, or did Em? On and on he’d go about her wonderful big sister and how Molly could learn a lot from her.
Emily wasn’t a spoiled Daddy’s girl like Molly, Dylan would say. And now that she was a mother, she had to give up on being Daddy’s girl. But Daddy seemed to be the only one who realized when Molly was way in over her head. Which, according to him, was pretty much always.
Molly swallowed the sob in her throat and picked up her cell phone. She dialed her father, who was out at their Texas cattle ranch instead of at home where he belonged.
“Daddy?” Molly whispered into the phone.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Daddy answered with the Texas twang that grated on her nerves.
But leave it to her daddy to always realize when something was wrong. “I’m bored here. When are you coming home?
“I’ll come home next week, for sure.”
“I’ve been back home two months and seen you once.”
“The ranch out here keeps me busy. Doesn’t Emily keep you company?”
“She’s no fun anymore.”
“Your sister has been through a rough time. You go easy on her. Have you seen your daughter yet?”
“I don’t know if Dylan is going to let me.” Dylan had been furious when she’d left. She was still a little bit afraid to face him.
“It’s not for him to let you or not let you. You’re that baby’s momma and nothing can keep you from seeing her.”
That’s what Daddy thought, but Molly knew Dylan wouldn’t make it easy. He’d warned her when she’d left that if she didn’t come home immediately, she could forget about coming back. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”
“You do that, little Trouble. You made a mistake and some people just have to be big enough to forgive you.”
More than anything, she wished Daddy was right about that. Molly hung up and stared at the ceiling, trying to swallow the golf ball in her throat. I’m not going to cry. Not today. I should be all cried out by now.
She stuffed Sierra’s photo back under her mattress.
What she wanted to do and what she could do were two different things. Right now, a little fun wasn’t going to kill her.
Anything to forget about the photo that lay pressed under her mattress of the little baby girl with red hair, just like her mommy’s.
* * *
THE PINK LADIES Genealogical Society gals were in good spirits on Sunday, mostly because Grammy had whipped up her famous wine-based margaritas. It didn’t matter everyone knew the recipe originally belonged to George, who called them Po’man Margaritas.
Emily sat at the dining room table with the ladies, her laptop in front of her. She was their online researcher, and the ladies had come to count on her. She searched census records and online gravesite markers for those with ancestors in other states. So, even though she’d had second thoughts about tonight, wondering if maybe she should go back to the Silver Saddle, she was here tending to her obligations. Good girl and all.
Grammy set the pitcher at the end of the table, away from all the papers. “Dig in, girls.”
Luanne Hinckle leaned in to Emily. “I can drink now, because Dr. Taylor took me off the pills. You know, from the hysterectomy?”
Emily winced. “Are you doing all right?”
“Oh, honey, I won’t miss those parts. Don’t need them anymore.” Luanne gave a wave of her hand.
“Speaking of pills,” Marjory Lewis said, “I’ve got a new supplement which could help with your arthritis, Jean.”
“You don’t mean that pool scum thing?” Grammy scowled.
“It’s made from blue green algae.”
“It’s pool scum.” Grammy poured a margarita and set it down in front of Emily.
“Emily, are you back on the dating scene again or is it too—ah, too soon? Because if you are, my nephew is on the hunt for the third Mrs. Dr. Logan. And, honey, you would enjoy being a doctor’s wife.” Luanne winked.
Emily reached for the margarita and took a large gulp. “No thanks, Luanne.”
“She’s still in recovery, Lu. What’s the matter with you?” Marjory patted Emily’s hand.
“I’m not in recovery,” Emily protested. That would give Greg too much power over her. No way would she let the slimeball control her, even now. “But I’m working on myself.”
“Of course you are,” Marjory and Luanne said at once.
“If we could get back to the matter at hand,” Julia Bush spoke now.
Leave it to Julia to get the meeting back on track. Now a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, thanks to her family tree, she seemed to believe she was the Grand Pooh-Bah of their little club. Emily didn’t dare disagree, and probably no one else would, either.
“Yes, please, Julia. Get us back on track. Where were we when we left off?” Grammy opened the notebook she used to take notes.
Grammy’s official parchment family tree was probably still under lock and key. It wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon, not when the ladies were drinking. Grammy guarded the document like it was the US Constitution.
“I’m still trying to find out about my Uncle Bob, the one who owned the barbershop back in Maine. I can’t find a certificate of death anywhere,” Luanne said.
“We’ll get to that,” Julia said with authority. “But you won’t believe this. Remember how Emily hasn’t been able to find out much about her namesake, the first Emily Parker?”
“I can’t find her on any census records except for the one in nineteen hundred, and by then, she had married.” Emily had tried to find out the name of her great-grandmother’s parents, but time after time reached nothing but a dead end.
“We know she had a son, Lonnie, and then she died shortly thereafter. Her husband remarried and they had six more children,” Grammy added.
“It’s like any record of her before her marriage doesn’t exist. Where did she come from? Who were her parents?” It bothered Emily to think that a two-year-old had been left motherless, but what bothered her most was it seemed no one would ever remember the first Emily Parker.
Julia smiled and peered over her bifocals. “I’ve got good news.”
Emily’s heart did a little squeeze, and her fingers froze on the keyboard. News for her? “What did you find?”
“You won’t believe it.” Julia looked through the binder she carried with her everywhere—the Bible, she called it.
“Don’t keep us in suspense!” Grammy said.
Julia pulled out a piece of paper she’d covered with a plastic sheath.
She did that with all official documents. Emily stopped breathing.
“Now it wasn’t easy to find this, but you all know how I have connections now.” Julia probably wouldn’t spill the beans this century.
“Yes, yes we know!” Luanne leaned forward, like she might reach across the table and rip it out of Julia’s hands.
“This little piece of paper is a private pilot’s license,” Julia said, her chin rising slightly as she placed it on the table for all to see. “For an Emily Parker.”
“Let me see that,” Grammy reached for it, only to earn a glare from Julia.
“Careful.” Julia slid it over to Grammy.
Emily watched, not moving, as Grammy read it over. “My goodness. How about that.” She handed the document to Emily.
It really was the official pilot’s license of an Emily Parker. Frayed around the ages, yellowed and worn. “This is my relative?”
“It is,” Julia said with authority. “Same date of birth, as you can see. She was only twenty-one at that time.”
“And she would have died only three years later,” Grammy added.
“Imagine that. A pilot. Isn’t that the funniest thing you ever heard?” Marjory elbowed Emily.
“Funny?” Emily put down the paper. It was a connection all right, to a woman who sounded as different from her as any two women could be. Emily had never done anything even remotely that adventurous. The first Emily Parker sounded like a maverick. A rebel.
“You have to admit it. This Emily Parker sounds like she was a risk taker, maybe a bit of an eccentric.” Grammy leaned over Emily’s shoulder now.
“It’s true,” Julia said. “At that time, there weren’t many women pilots. Amelia Earhart comes to mind, but that was much later. And that’s about it.”
“A woman at that time, flying a plane. That’s dangerous. Irresponsible. What if she had crashed and left her children behind?” A second after the statement, Marjory clapped her hand over her mouth.
They were all aware this Emily had died of consumption and left a young son behind. But at least she’d lived her life fully before dying. Something the new Emily wasn’t sure she could say about herself. Then again, hadn’t she decided she would change some things?
“It’s true. I’ve always played it safe,” Emily said to the license. Maybe that was what Greg had been all about. Greg and his 401K, sensible shoes and plans for a rock-solid future. A future that would have included their 2.5 children. She could have never guessed that he, of all people, would humiliate her the way he had.
“I wouldn’t call it playing it safe, dear. I’d call it being practical. You’re by far the most dependable girl I know.” Grammy patted Emily’s shoulder. “Why, I’d trust you with anything.”
“Which is why she’d make a good doctor’s wife,” Luanne said with a nod.
“Why does everyone want to marry me off?” Emily’s voice rose. “Maybe I don’t want to get married anymore. Ever.”
“Don’t say such a thing,” Marjory grimaced and then waved her arms in the air. “Cancel that, cancel that.”
Marjory believed every word spoken had power, and that if one waved their arms around like they were shooing away a bug, the Universe might forgive it. Wipe it away, so to speak.
“Don’t cancel it.” Emily waved her arms around in the other direction. “What if I mean it?”
“Hear that, Universe? She said if.” Marjory cast her eyes heavenward. “She’s not thinking this through.”
Emily stood. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want you all to stop thinking about me as good ol’ dependable and steady Emily. I’m not a vacuum cleaner. I’m ready to be a wild woman now. Take a risk.” There. She’d said it out loud. It didn’t sound as crazy as she thought it might.
“Oh, Julia, look what you’ve done,” Luanne shook her finger.
The Daughter of the American Revolution stood up now, hands on her waist. “I’m merely a conduit to the past. We all have our path to take. I’m happy if this leads to personal insight.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with being sensible,” Grammy said, practically wringing her hands.
“Nothing wrong at all,” Luanne agreed.
“Did I say there was anything wrong with it? It’s just that maybe, for the first time in my life, I want to do something crazy. Something none of you would expect of me.” Emily crossed her arms.
From now on, she was going to do what she wanted, when she wanted, like Molly. No more Little Miss Perfect.
She’d show her family. She’d show everyone she could, at a moment’s notice, if the mood so struck her, be a wild woman.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_f5f21dc5-3456-5098-88bf-ce762ccd1431)
“LET ME GET this straight. Your great-grandmother, your namesake, was a pilot.” Emily’s oldest friend, Rachel Harwood, leaned across the booth and touched the official pilot’s license, still wrapped in the plastic Julia had put it in.
Emily was still a bit surprised she’d been able to wrestle it out of Julia’s hands. “What do you think? Are you going to laugh, too?’
“Laugh? Why would I do that?” Rachel stirred her coffee. “Please. Let me just have a nice whiff of your leaded coffee. This decaf is killing me.”
Emily pushed her mug over and let Rachel take a nice long sniff. She obviously wanted Emily to feel sorry about the awful caffeine withdrawal, but she couldn’t dredge up even an ounce of pity. Rachel had switched to decaf because she was eight weeks pregnant.
It was Monday morning, and they were sitting in a booth at The Drip, one of Emily’s favorite places in town. Nothing could cheer her up like the strongest coffee in the Bay Area. “You don’t want to tell me that she doesn’t sound anything like me?”
“I didn’t expect you to have anything in common with a woman who lived in the first part of the last century,” Rachel said with a mini eye roll.
“Don’t you think she sounds wild and carefree?”
“Sweetie, women in that time were never wild and carefree. Get a clue.”
“But she was a maverick, for her time.”
“She sounds like she was bored,” Rachel said. “When you can’t vote, can’t work, can’t get birth control, I guess you get a little stir-crazy. Lesson learned.”
“I can’t believe you’re not impressed. I know I am. And from now on, I’m going to be a wild woman, too.”
Rachel froze and closed her eyes for a second. “You’re going to be a—what?”
“You heard me. I’m going to take chances and throw caution to the wind, and most of all, I’ll be the most impractical person you’ve ever met. Rachel, meet your new best friend. She’s going to be fun and carefree. Like a Rebel Without a Cause, but not so James Dean-y. I think you’re going to love me.”
“Where is my Emily and what have you done with her, you impostor?”
“I’m the new and improved Emily.”
Rachel put her hand on Emily’s arm. “Don’t let Greg do this to you.”
“This isn’t about him. This is all me.”
“Oh, the hell it is. You didn’t do anything wrong, so why change who you are?”
Emily sighed. “Because maybe I want to?”
“Only if you want to change for the right reasons. I’ve always said you can’t control everything. Sometimes the fun is in letting go and going for a ride.” Rachel rubbed her temple. “Okay. I get where you’re going with this. And I think I’m on board.”
“Thank you!”
“Why don’t we try this ‘new you’ on for size.” Rachel, who faced the entrance to the café from their booth, turned to point to a man who now stood in line behind her. “What about him?”
Emily glanced at the back of the man. Her back to the entrance, she hadn’t even noticed anyone come in. Still, she couldn’t see how a stranger had anything to do with this. “Him?”
“I’d like to see this new wild woman go up to that man and ask him out. Then I’ll believe you mean it. That will show me you’re willing to do this thing by relaxing Emily’s Dating Rules.”
“Can we start with something that doesn’t have anything to do with a guy? This new me doesn’t have anything to do with men.”
“Meh. I hear a lot of excuses. I don’t think you have it in you. It’s all right. Not everyone does.”
“I’m not afraid. There’s no point to it.” Besides, what if the man said yes? What then?
“Okay, okay, never mind.”
“What if he’s married?” That would be where she’d draw the line with this rebel thing. No married men. No thank you.
“Then he’ll say no.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s being naive?”
“I’ll have him checked out at the paper if he says yes. It’s one date, and it won’t kill you. And after that, you can go back to your dry spell.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. But if he says yes, you’ll have to find a way to get me out of it.” Emily planted her hands on the table, wrenched herself up and marched over to the man’s back.
It was a pretty good-looking back, as those went. Broad shoulders tapered down to long lean legs. Definitely fit, not that it mattered. Ask the man out. She could do that.
Rachel was worried about her, which was kind of sweet, actually. But even if Emily had stayed in bed for the better part of six months, she was back now and better than ever. Except, she wasn’t sure how she would ask this man out.
She’d watched Molly do this a bazillion times. Emily had to channel her inner Hoochie Mama. She was in there somewhere, under lock and key, and would now be released on an unsuspecting world. And this unsuspecting man. She’d probably come staggering out, waving cobwebs out of her way, but come out she would. Just for a minute.
Emily drew in a deep breath. In a voice as dripping with sex as she could conjure up, she said to the man’s back, “Hey, I think you and I should go out sometime. What do you say?”
The man had just paid for his drink and turned, coffee in hand, eyebrows up.
It was Stone.
Emily threw up her hand in surprise, and it accidently collided with his hot coffee. Like watching an accident unfold in slow motion, he tried to right the cup while her hand did the same. But when her hand slapped against his, disaster reigned supreme as coffee won the day and spilled all over Stone’s brown cargo pants.
“Here, let me help you.” Emily grabbed napkins, and the barista threw over a dishrag.
Emily blotted for a minute before she realized how close she was getting to his crotch. She turned in desperation to Rachel, only to see her doubled up in laughter, wiping her eyes.
Stone shook his head, scowling. “You’re dangerous, girl.”
Oh, epic fail. As if she was Cinderella at the crack of midnight, Emily turned, grabbed her purse from the booth and ran out of the café. She could barely hear the sound of Rachel behind her, calling out Emily’s name.
Maybe if she was lucky, really blessed, Emily would turn into a pumpkin.
She reached her truck and climbed in, ready to peal rubber out of the parking lot. Ask a man out? When will I listen to that inner little voice? A klutz should never ask a guy out in the vicinity of any kind of liquid.
Rachel banged on the passenger-side window, so Emily unlocked the door.
“Are you happy now?”
Rachel opened the door and let herself inside. “I’m sorry I laughed. That wasn’t fair. But, hey, you did it.”
“I made a fool out of myself.”
“Who cares? I’ve never known you to even approach a stranger, and there you were, doing it. So what if coffee and gravity won? I do think he would have said yes, had you not run out on him.”
Emily hit the steering wheel with her head. She’d run out on Stone. Again. No point in telling Rachel this was round two. “I did run out on him.”
“I don’t blame you,” Rachel continued. “With a man like that, you want to put your best foot forward. Maybe you should go back in there and try again.”
“No way, Rachel. I’m done listening to your bright ideas.”
Rachel elbowed Emily. “You know what? You’ve proved it. You’re a wild woman. Why don’t you do something really wild, like get your pilot’s license?”
“Are you nuts?”
“Why not? Your namesake did, so there’s some connection to the past there. It has nothing to do with men, right? And if you want to do something different, step outside your comfort zone. Does it get any more different for you than that?”
As a matter of fact, it didn’t. She’d always had her feet planted firmly on the ground, both literally and figuratively. But flying lessons? Emily thought about it while she peeled out of the parking lot. “It would make a nice human interest story for the alumni newsletter.”
“You bet it would.”
Pilot’s license. Crazy, yes, but wasn’t she courting crazy? “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
“ARE YOU OKAY?” The barista handed him another coffee, a sheepish look on her face. “This one’s on the house.”
His first visit to the establishment and he’d been bathed in the stuff. Damn Matt for getting him hooked on the coffee here. “Yeah. Thanks.” Now he’d have to turn around and go back home to change, and he could look forward to another encounter with Winston when he did.
“Emily’s always been a klutz. But I will say, I’ve never seen her ask a guy out before. This is one for the books,” the girl said as she came around to mop the floor.
And what the hell had that been about? Emily’s eyes had widened in shock when he’d turned to see who had asked him out in a voice that sounded like that of a phone sex operator. Hadn’t she told him she was not in the habit of going out with strangers? And why the hell was she constantly running out on him? He still hadn’t heard “sorry” come out of her mouth, but at least this time, the apology had been written all over her face.
“I’m guessing she comes in here a lot,” Stone said, dumping the napkins in the trash can.
“Emily? You could say that. Her family owns Fortune Ranch, if you’re interested in following up on that date request.”
A tempting thought, admittedly, but maybe best to stay away from the girl. First his jaw, then hot coffee spilled inches from his crotch. He couldn’t afford to lose a limb at this point. “Fortune Ranch?”
“It’s not a cattle ranch anymore. Mostly where we have the high school’s Sadie Hawkins dance, picnics and big company parties. She’s going to add weddings now.”
He looked out the storefront and saw Emily hit her head on the steering wheel of her truck. He recognized the woman who had run after her, since she’d come in a couple of weeks ago to talk to them about newspaper advertising.
Stone headed back to his truck, brand-new cup of fresh coffee in his hand. With no traffic, he was back home within minutes.
After wrestling Winston down again, changing and driving to the airport, by ten Monday morning Stone was back at the flight school. No one here to bother him but the planes. That he could handle.
Finally, a few moments of relative silence. Not common at airports, but there was a lull between landings and takeoffs at San Martin Airport in the afternoons. The airport and its strip were small and located out in the middle of the empty field, formerly zoned for agricultural use alone.
Stone stared out the window at the two Cessna planes, Magnum Flying School printed on the side of one of the planes. Dad’s dream had lasted a good ten years, but it threatened to fizzle out with Stone at the helm. He’d never claimed to be a damned businessman. He knew how to fly a plane. Happened to love flying a plane. Teaching and running a small business was another story.
He shut the window because he smelled shit again, or as his office manager, Cassie, explained, the fertilizer for the mushrooms. It was a fact of life here in Fortune, home of the mushroom, but only mattered depending on which way the wind blew. There were days when the wind shifted and Stone wanted to pack his bags. But then he’d see his father’s photo and be reminded he’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it.
Cassie stuck her head in the door. “Got a minute, boss?”
“Told you not to call me that.”
Cassie Helms was sixtysomething, and nearing retirement. By way of introduction a year ago, she’d told him exactly how old she was and announced she and her husband had a pleasant-sized nest egg and planned to retire to Mexico. In case he got any bright ideas about making any significant changes, he assumed. They’d already bought the hacienda, which made Stone wonder whether perhaps he paid Cassie too much. More than likely, the previous owner had, for many years. Come to think of it, that sounded just like Dad.
Then again, Dad hadn’t been any more of a businessman than Stone. Not when his biggest concern had been that both Cassie and Jedd keep their jobs.
Cassie walked in with a glazed donut, which she placed on his desk. This meant she had semi-bad news, since she often liked to present her news with food offerings. Candy meant good news, donuts semi-bad news. Stone expected in a few weeks he’d find a cake on his desk.
“What is it now?” Stone raked a hand through his hair.
“Mr. Burton wants a meeting,” Cassie said as she eased into the chair across from his desk.
“I should have seen that coming.” In Burton’s place, Stone would have done the same.
Burton, a wealthy retired CEO from Silicon Valley, had been the only one to express interest in buying the school as one of his investments. They’d been in the middle of working out salaries for keeping Cassie and Jedd on staff. Stone could almost smell his freedom, and then his sister had slammed into town. She’d been approached by a developer for almost twice the amount. But that would mean the loss of many local jobs, and likely another strip mall. “I doubt it’s good news.”
“You’ve done everything you could, and I know your father would say the same.”
“He was so proud of you. Had pictures of you and your unit all over the office. I used to like coming in here and seeing all those handsome soldiers. An old lady needs to get her thrills somewhere. But then you took them all down.”
He sure didn’t need any reminders of that time. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“I miss your dad more than I want to admit. The ol’ fart.”
Stone grinned. “I should have put that on his headstone.”
Dad’s presence was here in this office and everywhere Stone looked.
He had a meeting with Sarah and her attorney next week. Matt had talked Stone into it, do-gooder that he was. There should be a job waiting for Matt at the United Nations if he wanted it. Stone supposed it was his own fault for putting her off so long after that first contentious meeting. But on the other hand, she’d been the one to hire an attorney first, forcing him to hire one, too. Still, there was no point in avoiding the inevitable. Maybe with some luck Sarah’s attorney would help, though Stone doubted it. A meeting was all he’d agreed to.
Sarah might be his sister, but in name only. They didn’t know each other anymore, and the fact she only cared about money made him think he didn’t want to know her. She didn’t feel like family since only biology connected them, and he had no obligation to her. The one thing he knew without a doubt was that his obligation was to the only real family with which he’d had a real and lasting connection. The United States Air Force, and James Mcallister.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_74ff0639-75e0-5ee1-a553-515dfb221292)
A MORNING OF ERRANDS followed Emily’s spilled coffee fiasco. She’d been way too close to Stone’s crotch, and not at all in the way she would have preferred. He’d stared at her with those edgy blue eyes that said he now believed she was toxic. And maybe she was to men. They were certainly toxic to her.
She’d just hopped in her truck when her cell phone buzzed. Trish. Emily couldn’t miss this call, or this wedding. Jimmy and Trish were two of her best friends and she wanted to see them married at the ranch. Besides, knowing Trish, they’d spare no expense. Emily pulled over in the parking lot of the Snow White Drive-In to take the call.
“Hey, Trish.”
“Hi, hon. Jimmy tells me you’d like to host our wedding.”
“Yep. I’m expanding. We have a weddings package now.”
“Okay, but Emily, are you serious about this? Because this is the biggest day of my entire life. Bar none.”
“Right.”
“And I want everything to be perfect.”
“Oh, of course and it will be.”
“I mean, I went to that company party you guys gave last year where you ran out of meat. I can’t have that.”
Oh, sigh. Don’t remind her. While half of the staff had claimed to be vegan, many had changed their minds at the party. Hence the lack of preparation.
“That was not our fault. It—”
“Uh-uh. No excuses.”
Emily bit her lower lip. “I promise to give your wedding my undivided attention. I’ll handle every aspect of it myself.”
There was a long, silent pause on the other end of the phone.
“I’ve decided to trust you with my wedding day,” Trish finally spoke.
“I’m honored.”
“I’ll call you in a couple of days with my list of demands.”
“Um, what?”
“I mean, all the little tender touches and personalized effects that I’ve decided will make this day special. Beyond compare. Oh, Emily, I can hardly wait.”
Emily swallowed. She had a bad feeling about this. But no. This was Trish, for crying out loud. No, it would be fine.
When Emily finally got back to the ranch, she recognized the out-of-place vehicle parked next to the barn immediately. The same silver luxury sedan he’d insisted he had to buy for appearance sake, because an engineer who worked for one of the software giants in Silicon Valley had an image to maintain. The last thing she needed right now. Greg.
He was still sitting in the car, no doubt because Grammy wouldn’t let him inside. She’d once said her hospitality could be pushed only so far, and that would include ex-fiancés who cheated on her granddaughter. She’d spent the better part of a year crying over the idiot, and now the sight of him churned emotions she didn’t want to have. Regret and shame, to mention two, but anger and hostility might win the day this time around.
Emily marched over to the sedan as Greg rolled down the window. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
Greg got out of the car and shut the door. “Can’t we talk about this?”
“Now?”
“You walked out the door and stopped taking my calls.”
“And that was a year ago. What’s there to talk about? Nika’s been your maid for over a year, so the transition to live-in girlfriend shouldn’t be hard.”
“Okay, I guess I deserve that.”
“And so much more.” She’d never realized before how close together his brown eyes were—made him look a bit like a weasel.
“But some couples survive these kinds of...bumps in the road.”
“Bump in the road? Is that what you call her?”
“It was pretty clear how much you cared about me. You never for one moment stopped to think that we could work this out. You walked out the door and never looked back.”
She didn’t answer, just glared at him. He didn’t know how many times she’d looked back and wondered how Greg could have fooled her. She thought she knew the signs of a cheating partner. Had read all about them in Cosmopolitan, color coded them and put them on index cards. And yet, with Greg, she’d never seen sign one.
“We both miss you.” Greg shuffled his feet in place. He wore penny loafers and slacks, and he was a vegetarian. And come to think of it, he’d always made her feel like a plate of overcooked vegetables.
Out of the corner of Emily’s eye, she saw Molly, a red streak, headed straight for Greg. She’d hopped on his back before Emily realized it or was able to stop it.
“You son of a bitch!” Molly’s legs were wrapped around his waist, her hands wrestling with his neck.
“What the hell?” Greg turned in circles as he tried to throw her off his back.
“Molly!” Emily put her hand to her mouth and strangled a laugh. This wasn’t the way Emily would have thought to handle it, but nothing less than what Greg deserved. And she wasn’t enough of an angel not to thoroughly enjoy the spectacle for a minute.
“I’ll hold him while you punch him. Go on, I think I’ve got him.” Molly appeared to have a death grip on him with her legs as Emily marveled at how much strength a woman could muster when she was angry enough.
“Get this lunatic off my back,” Greg yelled, while he tried to move Molly’s hands from his eyes.
“Molly, get off him. This isn’t helping.” Emily put a hand over her mouth and tried to keep the laugh out of her voice, with great difficulty.
Molly finally jumped off him. “Fine, you’re too easy. A real man would be able to wrestle me off. Get on out of here, jerk.” Molly waved her arm as she marched up the steps.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.” Greg squared his shoulders and smoothed his wrinkled khakis. “If I’d thrown you off like I should have, you’d have landed on your back.”
“Yeah, right. You’re lucky my daddy isn’t here. He’s the one with a shotgun. If you see his truck pull up, I’d run if I were you.” Molly slammed the front door shut.
Greg ran a hand down his rumpled cotton shirt, and Emily wondered how she’d ever felt this was a man who could love and take care of her. A one-hundred-pound ball of fire had knocked him for a loop.
“I’m sorry about that. You’re not very popular around here.”
“You told everybody what happened?” Greg’s face drained of color.
“She’s my sister.” Emily decided not to add that everyone in her family knew exactly what he’d done, even if she’d left some of the more sordid details out for Grammy’s sake.
“I don’t feel safe here anymore,” Greg said as he opened the door to his sedan. “Can we go somewhere else?”
He wanted her to go talk somewhere else, a place where he felt safe. What a man. “I would, Greg, honestly. But I still have a few working brain cells left.”
Greg smoothed his hair back into place. “This is important, and I don’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”
* * *
GREG LOOKED A LOT more comfortable at The Drip, and Emily began to wonder if maybe her attraction to him at the time had more to do with location. Being a well-respected engineer, Greg commanded a certain presence she found attractive. He was good with computers and PowerPoint presentations, and that had seemed sexy at the time. Besides, Greg had been patient with her dating rules. He’d gone along with each one of them, remarking how refreshing it was to be with a woman who realized what she wanted, who took control of her life.
He’d ordered his usual espresso and remembered her double-shot mocha as if it had been yesterday when he last ordered her one.
“Here you go, jerk. Your triple shot espresso. I didn’t spit in it or anything.” Annie, the head barista and one of Molly’s best friends, nearly slammed the cup down. The fluff of steamed milk rocked. Annie gently put down Emily’s mocha, sniffed and turned away.
Greg’s eyes widened. “Does everybody in town know?”
“I used to work here,” Emily lied. All right, so Molly had a hard time keeping her mouth shut. What else was new?
Greg turned his mug and inspected it, taking a whiff as though he might be able to smell spit. After a few moments, he dared to take a sip. “I’ve missed you.”
“Cut to the chase, Greg. What do you want to tell me? That can’t be it.”
“We’re both sorry it happened. Especially Nika. She’s fully aware of everything you did for her. You got her the job.”
Yes, way to add salt to the wound. Emily had met Nika at a Bay Area nightclub, where she’d been hired as a bartender. But when it was clear she’d lied to get the job and didn’t know a screwdriver from a mimosa (adding vodka to everything, Emily later heard), she’d been fired on the spot.
Emily had heard the commotion, saw a statuesque blonde sobbing and yelling in a foreign language and stupidly followed her into the ladies’ room. Emily blamed it on her years of fixing Molly’s messes, but before she’d known what she was doing, she was comforting Nika. Trying to fix it for her.
“What can you do?” Working as the head event manager at her family’s company gave her a lot of connections.
Unfortunately, it had turned out Nika wasn’t good at much of anything, but Greg needed a maid. Emily had taught her how to clean the house the way Greg liked it, and Nika was reliable and energetic, showing up three times a week. The house was always spotless.
“Watch out for that one,” Rachel had said to Emily the first time she’d introduced Nika.
“Why? You think she’d be interested in Greg? I mean, look at her. She used to date an NFL player.” Emily never dated über-handsome men. Too much temptation to other women.
“All that money he makes is attractive, even if Greg isn’t.” Rachel had said in a thinly veiled warning.
It was true Greg’s software start-up was about to go public and his shares would put him into an entirely different income tax bracket. Not über-rich, though. Not athlete-rich.
But hindsight was twenty-twenty. Nika, like most women, wanted security. Being swimsuit-model gorgeous didn’t take that need away, it turned out. Greg was the marrying kind. Nika saw that, and loyalty was not part of her repertoire. Survival was.
Now Greg reached for Emily’s hand. “I didn’t want you to hear about this from anyone else. Nika and I, we’re getting married.”
Greg already getting married? To the woman he’d cheated on her with? “Married?”
Greg studied his cup. “She’s pregnant.”
Emily swallowed the golf ball in her throat. It had been a year. Emily didn’t want to think about how Nika and Greg had spent that year and whether they’d eventually made their way to the bed for some of Greg’s paint by numbers sex. Or maybe he and Nika enjoyed something altogether different than Emily and Greg had had.
“I see.” If there’s one thing Greg did know, it was how much Emily wanted to start a family. Right after the wedding, had been the plan. He’d reversed the order with Nika.
“I’m so sorry.” Greg shot her a look filled with pity.
Oh, no you don’t. “Don’t be sorry. You’re having a baby.” Nika would hopefully be a better mother than she had been a friend.
It was better this way, and Emily needed to keep telling herself that. After a few more torturous minutes, Greg left and Emily watched from inside the coffee shop as he drove off.
“What did that douchebag want?” Annie stopped by the table to ask.
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Heatherly Bell
Weren't rules made to be broken…?Play-by-the-rules good girl Emily Parker is finally flying free. Literally. After a broken engagement, she's about to live out her wildest dream: getting her pilot’s license. With former Air Force pilot Stone Mcallister teaching her, though, it's not just the altitude making her dizzy….Once he settles his father's estate, Stone's heading back to the Air Force. When Emily expresses interest in some no-strings fun, he can't resist, but a single kiss proves that a fling won't be enough. As the clock ticks down to his deployment, will he be able to break his own rules for her?
Weren’t rules made to be broken...?
Play-by-the-rules good girl Emily Parker is finally flying free. Literally. After a broken engagement, she’s about to live out her wildest dream: getting her pilot’s license. With former Air Force pilot Stone Mcallister teaching her, though, it’s not just the altitude making her dizzy....
Once he settles his father’s estate, Stone’s heading back to the Air Force. When Emily expresses interest in some no-strings fun, he can’t resist, but a single kiss proves that a fling won’t be enough. As the clock ticks down to his deployment, will he be able to break his own rules for her?
“I’m sorry I asked you out because I’m not ready for you— I mean, I’m not dating anyone. I mean—I made a mistake, asking you out.”
“And you make a lot of them, don’t you?”
Emily seemed to ignore the comment. “The reason I left so quickly on Friday had to do with my sister. Otherwise I might have stayed to see if you were okay. But I thought I should get Molly out of there. She tends to cause trouble wherever she goes.”
“She does?” Stone felt a grin coming on. “From where I stand, you caused the trouble. I wouldn’t have walked outside if it wasn’t for you.”
“And I thank you for doing that, but I didn’t ask you to.” Emily raised her chin.
That put her lips in decidedly much closer territory to his. “No, you didn’t, but you didn’t exactly stop me.” Now he moved till he was only inches away from her, and their gazes locked.
Dear Reader (#ulink_c9978544-b840-59b2-b662-be2c5ccfb2f6),
For many authors, a finished book is the result of a dream come true. I’m no exception, but I do wonder how many can say that a book is the result of a literal dream. Sometime in 2013, I dreamed about a woman who discovered during a genealogical search that she was the descendant of the first licensed female pilot in California. What if this young woman was at a crossroads in her life, and the idea of following in the footsteps of a pioneering woman appealed to her spirit of adventure?
That’s how this book was born. Eventually the result became Breaking Emily’s Rules. Our heroine sets off on a journey, never expecting her destination to be true love. But then again, isn’t love the greatest adventure of all?
I like writing strong alpha heroes, and so the idea of three Air Force pilots who must adjust to civilian life was born. Welcome to the Heroes of Fortune Valley. In this first book we meet a tough hero who is battling his personal demons and never planned on falling for his first student. I hope you will enjoy it!
I love hearing from readers. You can find me on Facebook, Twitter (@HeatherlyBelle (https://twitter.com/heatherlybelle)), Instagram (Heatherly.Bell (https://www.instagram.com/heatherly.bell)) and Pinterest, or email me at Heatherly@HeatherlyBell.com.
Sign up for my newsletter on my website to get all my latest news and updates, plus receive a free novella.
Heatherly
Breaking Emily’s Rules
Heatherly Bell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
HEATHERLY BELL tackled her first book in 2004 and now the characters that occupy her mind refuse to leave until she writes them a book. She loves all music but confines singing to the shower these days. Heatherly lives in northern California with her family, including two beagles, one who can say hello and the other a princess who can feel a pea through several pillows.
To Alice Ramona Font, aka Mom, for inspiring a lifelong love of books.
Contents
Cover (#ub5ba68f2-1ca1-54f7-ac0e-62020e5f5c50)
Back Cover Text (#ua4f3463d-a404-570e-b818-f4b941ff286a)
Introduction (#u06a8f50b-0b23-5574-9bbe-25044c81a4e2)
Dear Reader (#ulink_e1fdd7cd-2f0e-51bc-82da-049d8fc83dfb)
Title Page (#u3a40911f-d2e1-569d-a180-f9836c6b5898)
About the Author (#u15914feb-db28-5ec1-bf78-e82dbd9718b5)
Dedication (#uac18e69f-9c2c-5e94-a0ab-02fdf92b9147)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_65eb85fe-c8eb-518e-bb6c-c7a9e105bd25)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_55a8aa5a-6c33-534a-950c-4689249b3e3d)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_2e6e8126-4798-58de-aa5f-57624a826137)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d91f8e08-24df-58e4-b32b-248f62c79ffa)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_ea3ed06b-9878-58f7-b19b-a493b53936eb)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_e122832f-4258-5c3a-b4e0-603633c122e8)
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, Emily Parker would rather be at the cemetery.
Instead, she pointed her truck in the direction of the Silver Saddle because when her sister, Molly, got an idea in her head, she was like a pit bull with a bone. Today that bone was dancing, and she’d cornered Emily into going along.
“You can go to the cemetery any ol’ time. All those dead people aren’t going anywhere.” Molly pulled down the passenger-side visor and smoothed on bright red lipstick.
As if Molly needed any help channeling her inner hussy. “A little respect, please. Some of them might be our relatives. I have a lot of gravestones to inspect if I ever want to complete the Parker family tree.”
Emily pulled into the gravel parking lot filled with cars and eased her truck into a space in the back. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. There might be men in there. There would certainly be plenty of smart women glancing in her direction and whispering. Did you hear? Poor Emily. She didn’t see it coming, but maybe she should have. After all, didn’t everyone?
“Awesome. Friday night and this place is crazy.” Molly unclicked her seat belt. “What are you waiting for?”
Emily didn’t move as she glanced out the windshield from the safe place inside the cab of her truck. Couples were milling around the entrance, fools on a quest for the impossible. “I’m not so sure about this.”
“Why not? You’re not still on the giving-up-men thing, are you? I thought you were kidding.”
“You know, there are more important things in life than men.” Emily fiddled with her keys, still safely in the ignition. She hadn’t made any firm commitments to getting out of this truck.
“Name one.”
Think, Emily, think. “Family, of course.” There was more, but she didn’t work well under pressure.
Molly scowled. “Fine, but you can’t do the really fun stuff without a man.”
Spoken from a woman who loved men a bit too much. “What did being man-crazy ever get you?”
“Don’t start with me. I swear the condom broke. Why won’t you believe me?” Molly slapped the dashboard, reminding Emily of the little girl she’d once been, raising hell wherever she went. The red hair fair warning to anyone crazy enough to tangle.
The fact that Molly was seven years younger than Emily and already had a child shouldn’t have bothered Emily. Except, sometimes it did. As usual, Molly didn’t appreciate what she had.
“Let’s not talk about this now.” Emily resisted the urge to pound her head on the steering wheel.
“You brought it up. You might want to be a mom, but that doesn’t mean every girl wants that.”
“Who says I want to be a mom?” When Molly got mad she tried to hurt anyone within spitting distance. Pulling the keys out of the ignition, Emily grabbed her purse, opened the door and leapt out of the truck. She needed to blow a little steam off now, thanks to her bratty sister.
“Well, your biological clock is ticking.” Molly followed.
“It. Is. Not. Ticking!” Emily could give as good as she got with her sister, even if her blond hair wasn’t the slightest shade of red. Even if she’d always had to look out for the little squirt.
“You’re twenty-eight. I think it’s started to tick.”
“Twenty-eight is the new eighteen.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if fifty is the new forty, and forty is the new thirty, then what the hell do you think the new twenty-eight is?” Emily spoke loud enough some of the patrons hanging outside the entrance turned to stare at them.
Emily grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her toward the entrance. “I’m doing this on one condition. All we’re doing is dancing, and then we’re going home. Alone. I don’t go home with anybody, and neither do you.”
As the big sister, it was Emily’s duty to remember Molly only served up her parade of big hits when she hurt inside. Sooner or later Emily would have to figure out what bug had curled up inside Molly this time and probably help her with it, too. But for now, Denial was a river they would drown in together.
Opening the door to the Silver Saddle felt a little like opening death’s door. A bit like entering a battlefield without armor. No self-respecting woman would do that, and yet, Emily was here.
Bertha, the broken mechanical bull, sat in the corner, warning the games were about to begin. From somewhere within, Emily drew a deep breath and placed an imaginary shield on her chest. There. Let someone get through that.
“Hey, it’s the Parker girls.” Thomas Aguirre sidled up to Molly. Everyone knew he’d had a crush on her since third grade.
Emily shoved her body between them. “We’re here to dance. And nothing else. Right, Molly?”
“Right.” Molly may have said what Emily wanted to hear, but her eyes said Open for Business.
“How about this dance?” Thomas didn’t even wait for a reply as he grabbed Molly’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. Molly shoved her purse in Emily’s hands before going far too willingly onto the crowded dance floor.
Emily had just wandered over to the bar and checked their purses in with the bartender when Jimmy Hopkins, the bar’s owner, appeared at her elbow. “Hey, girl. How about a dance?”
As luck would have it, Jimmy was a harmless sweetheart. Best of all, he was engaged to one of her oldest friends, Trish. He’d recently taken six months’ worth of dance lessons in preparation for their wedding, and Trish let him dance with any willing girl for the extra practice.
Maybe she could manage to dance with Jimmy all night. “You got it.”
Jimmy spun her around the dance floor. Without a doubt, he was the best dancer in the place. Every other guy was shuffling his feet around and grabbing his partner’s ass. This was going to work out better than she could have hoped. No ass-grabbing for Emily.
“Hey, are you okay, hon?” Jimmy asked between turns.
“I’m all right.” As long as she didn’t pay attention to the whispers, and with Jimmy it was easy. “I wish everyone would stop talking about me.”
“They have nothing better to talk about. This year’s been rather lean with scandal.”
“Henry stopped peeing on the gazebo?” Henry Turner, the town drunk, did his business where and when he wanted. Lately he seemed to favor the gazebo in the town square, and their mayor was up in arms about it. Apparently she wanted a new town resolution against public urination, as if the old one wasn’t good enough.
“Think he’s moved on to greener pastures, pardon the pun.” Jimmy winked.
“It would help if you and Trish would finally set a date,” Emily said. “Maybe wedding talk would keep them busy for a while.”
“Are you kidding? Trish still hasn’t decided on the venue, much less picked a date.”
“You are going to consider the ranch. Right?” She hadn’t made the decision to add weddings to her family’s event company so her friends could get married somewhere else.
“It’s up to Trish. But the reception is here.”
“Perks of owning a bar. Have her give me a call.”
After three dances, even Jimmy needed a break, but Emily was just getting started. She’d forgotten how much fun Western dancing could be. Fortunately, she had willing partners stepping up. They didn’t want to talk, just dance. One hard look and she’d managed to keep the ass-grabbing off limits, too.
Dancing turned out to be the right recipe after all, especially since she’d known these guys since grade school. None of the men inspired the slightest amount of desire in her.
But then she caught a glimpse of him.
He sat on a stool against the perimeter like he’d been hired to enhance the wall. Dark wavy hair curled slightly at his neckline and, even from a distance, his eyes shone steely blue. The way he gazed at her both piqued her interest and made her want to smack him. His thoughts were so clearly written on his face and in those piercing eyes. He was practically undressing her in front of all these people. And she didn’t even know the man.
Between stealing long PG-13–rated looks at her and taking sips of his beer, he spoke to Jedd, an old friend of Dylan’s and a regular at the Saddle, except tonight Jedd’s wife, Casey, was nowhere in sight. Emily continued to dance with anyone who asked and occasionally peeked at Hot Guy. He never seemed to take his eyes off her, and it was making her neck sweat.
“We need to get home soon,” Emily took a moment to say into Molly’s ear as she passed by in Thomas Aguirre’s arms. Not a good sign she’d danced the entire time with one man. She’d keep an eye on that scenario.
“Sure, whatever you say,” Molly sang out.
Emily stole another look at Mr. Studley, who now lifted his beer bottle and grimaced in the direction of the band playing Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places.”
The heat pulsating all the way to the back of her knees had nothing to do with the dancing, and everything to do with that man. It wasn’t like she’d never seen his kind before, the type of man who might as well have yellow police tape draped around him to serve as warning.
But for twenty-eight years, she’d stayed away from his kind, and she wouldn’t likely end that streak tonight.
* * *
SHIT. I KNEW this was a bad idea.
Stone Mcallister sat nursing his beer at a bar someone had the moxie to name the Silver Saddle. Everything in this town had whimsical names like The Hair-Em, and The Drip. It felt like he’d been dropped in the middle of Whoville. And even after he’d avoided this joint for six months, tonight his luck had run out. Jedd, his mechanic, wouldn’t take no for an answer. So now he was stuck staring at the blonde with the wavy hair that seemed to dance as much as she did. Dressed in a short white dress, showing off the best pair of legs he’d seen in years and wearing a pair of blue cowboy boots, she had the attention of every male in the place.
She tempted the hell out of him. Something he didn’t need.
What he did need right now was some financial hocus pocus, and sitting here staring at the girl wasn’t going to help.
She was tearing up the place, dancing with anyone who asked. None of his business. He didn’t plan on staying in town for long. That reason, more than any other, made him wonder if maybe he should introduce himself to the young lady. Women were more trouble than he could handle right now, but if the girl wanted a warm bed for the night, he certainly had one. Jedd brought him another beer though he still wasn’t done with the first one. Stone set the old one aside and grabbed the cold one.
“Thanks for coming out with me, boss,” Jedd shouted over the live band playing some kind of nonsense song about friends in low places. Another thing he could barely stomach about this place. Country music.
“Told you not to call me that.”
“Aw, but if it wasn’t for you taking over the flight school, I’d be out of a job right now.”
“Not true. You’re a great mechanic and you’d find work, no matter what.” The last thing Stone needed was the pressure of the distinct possibility that if he didn’t fix this mess and fix it soon, Jedd would be out of a job. But he was young. He’d find other work.
“I don’t know about that. But anyway, I’m not here to talk business. I wanted to give you the good news. I’m going to be a daddy.” Jedd reached across to Stone’s bottle and they clinked together.
Stone swallowed, in part because the blonde had just passed him on the dance floor, leaving a trail of her sweet scent behind, but mostly because he wondered what Jedd would do with a pregnant wife and no job.
“Congrats.” He slapped Jedd’s back. Monday Stone would start the ball rolling for Jedd and make a few inquiries. Couldn’t hurt.
“Are you going to dance? I can’t because Casey would kill me. But don’t let me stop you. I see you eyeing Emily.” Jedd elbowed him.
“Who?” Emily. Vanilla. Yeah, she smelled like vanilla.
“Uh, yeah, the blonde you can’t take your eyes off. That’s Emily Parker,” Jedd said with a wink.
Another thing. People in this town winked too much. He wasn’t interested in Fortune, California, this Peyton Place of towns, but Emily did have his attention. In the next moment, she caught him staring, but rather than look away, he locked gazes with her. She smiled back a little and continued to dance.
Stone gulped down the ice-cold beer, hoping it would reach his bloodstream and cool him the hell down. “About the flight school. You know we’ve been having problems. I had a buyer for the school lined up, but my sister is causing trouble.”
“I heard. She wants to sell to that big corporation.” All the blood seemed to drain out of Jedd’s face. “But there’s no chance I could lose my job, right?”
“No, of course not.” He couldn’t tell Jedd. Not tonight. But if his sister kept it up, Stone was worried his buyer would walk away, afraid to get caught up in a lawsuit.
“Don’t worry. I have faith you’ll figure it out. If anyone can, you can.” Jedd’s cell phone rang and he whipped it out, checked the caller ID and smiled. “My wife.”
As Jedd walked outside, Stone wondered why anyone would put their faith in him. And as if he needed to prove the point, Stone took one last swallow of his beer, got up and headed straight for the girl.
* * *
HOT GUY MARCHED straight toward her, like a man on a mission. Unfortunately Emily was between dancing partners, as vulnerable as a lamb. One quick glance toward the bar and Jimmy chatted quietly with the head bartender and some of their coworkers.
A little tingle went down her spine, and Emily drew in a shallow breath. What was Jimmy doing when she needed him? She could just pull up her big-girl panties and deal with it, but she wouldn’t do it alone. Mentally, she picked up a sword to go with the imaginary shield. Yep, she was as ready as she’d ever be. Go ahead and let me have your best shot, Mr. Hunk.
On second thought...
Before he reached her side, Emily veered to the right, toward the bar. She’d get Jimmy’s attention one way or another. Pretend Jimmy was her boyfriend and scare this guy off. Even if he didn’t look like he scared easily. It was worth a try, because her imaginary sword’s blade felt a bit dull and the shield a little tarnished.
But the bar was crowded and loud with couples and singles flirting, drinking and shouting over the band. She waved in Jimmy’s direction. No luck. One would think she could at least get the attention of the bartender working, but she was striking out tonight. Just her luck. She was invisible to everyone but the dangerous guy.
Emily waved again, two-handed this time. “Doesn’t anyone see me?” she asked no one in particular.
“I see you,” said Mr. Danger from behind her. Quickly catching the attention of the one female bartender with nothing more than a finger, he pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and set a couple of bills on the bar. “I’ll have a beer and whatever the lady’s having.”
“I’m not drinking,” Emily sputtered.
“Then why were you waving your arms around like ground control?”
“I’m trying to get the attention of my boyfriend over there.” She jutted her chin in Jimmy’s direction.
He winced. “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend is kissing another woman.”
“What?” Emily turned.
Jimmy was in a lip lock with Trish, who must have sneaked in at some point.
“Oh. Well, that’s disappointing.”
“I guess he’s just not that into you.” He took a swallow and set his bottle down. Studied her.
She wilted in two seconds flat. A record. “Fine, he’s not my boyfriend.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Really.”
“I’m here with my sister. I’m Emily.”
His navy blue eyes held an intensity which threatened to knock her figurative sword right out of her stone-cold hands. “I know.” He smiled, the naked desire never leaving his steely eyes.
“If that’s your way of introducing yourself, your momma didn’t teach you right.”
He blinked but stuck out his hand. “Stone Mcallister.”
A big hand, warm and rough. “Stone Mcallister, I don’t know what I’ve been doing in your mind, but you should know I’m not that kind of girl.” Defensive Training 101. Make light out of it, joke around. I’ve got this.
“No, you’re a liar with a fake boyfriend. I get it.” Here came that wicked smile again. It should be made illegal in all fifty states. She fervently wished he’d put it away before somebody got hurt.
Emily swallowed, suddenly feeling both parched and guilty. “I don’t usually lie, either. But you make me nervous. I’m only here to dance.”
“And what do you think I’m here to do?” He took another pull of his beer and then set it down.
Create mayhem with a woman’s body, heart and mind. “I don’t know, but I don’t like the way you’re looking at me. And you don’t look very innocent.”
“I’m not.”
“Right. But listen, I prefer to keep my clothes on in front of all these people so if you don’t mind, at least imagine me in a swimsuit.” Mentally she wore full body armor, but let him imagine her in a swimsuit. It had to be better than naked.
“All right, a swimsuit it is. One of those string bikinis.”
Not exactly what she’d had in mind. “No. Have you ever watched Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman?”
“Yeah. She’s hot.” He smiled again.
“Imagine me in a skirt like the one she wears, with one of those high-neck tops that go all the way to the chin.” Emily put her hand under her chin.
“Still pretty hot.”
“Anyway, nice meeting you, Mr. Subtle.” Emily turned, but he grabbed her hand.
“I think you should dance with me.”
“That’s what you get for thinking.”
“One dance.” He put his bottle down and pulled her onto the dance floor.
For the next few minutes, he proved he could dance, strong large hands wrapped around her waist as he stayed in step. Emily danced three dances in a row with him; though, she suspected no one else dared interrupt. A couple of times Ronnie Walter approached as if he would cut in, but Stone’s glare chased him away.
When the music slowed to “Let Me Down Easy,” Stone pulled her against him. Fast tunes had played all night, which meant his hands only briefly lingered on her waist, but she couldn’t risk a slow song. She should stop the torture of a slow dance now, but she found his rock-hard chest and the way her head fit under his chin too seductive. He smelled like a man. Leather and some kind of light aftershave that didn’t make her dizzy. Not what she had planned for tonight or any night since she’d decided to be done with men.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” Emily said against his chest as she tried to pretend for one moment she might go home with this guy. Never times infinity to the tenth power. This kind of guy couldn’t be controlled.
“I haven’t been here before.” His hand lowered to the small of her back, and she might have trembled a little bit.
“Why not?”
Here was the problem, because there was a problem with every handsome man from here to Poughkeepsie. Of course he was married, probably with a wife and kid at home. She’d call that strike, one, two and three. If this guy was single, then Emily was the tooth fairy.
A veil went over his eyes and he stopped smiling. “New in town. And I don’t like bars.”
“You’re married.”
He stopped moving, like she’d slapped him. “I would be at home with my wife if I was married. And we wouldn’t waste time dancing. Or if we did, it would be the horizontal kind.”
Emily cleared her throat and tried to dispel the image of Stone dancing. Horizontally. “So you think we’re wasting time here?”
“Not if I do this right.” He grinned and twirled his finger in a strand of her hair like he had every right to do it.
She stared at his finger like she would cut it off, but this seemed to have no effect on him. “What don’t you like about bars?”
He was probably an alcoholic and it was too hard to be around booze. Stone was up to bat, unaware he was about to strike out.
“People. Noise.” He threw a glance in the direction of the band.
“That’s music.” She glared at him.
“If you say so.”
“Where did you learn how to dance?” For a man who hated country music, he knew his steps.
His eyes closed for a brief second. “Long story. Let’s just say it involved a dare, a G-string and a six-pack of beer. I’d rather not say any more. What about you? Looking for something? Or someone?”
“What makes you think I’m looking for someone?” Heavens, her shield had slipped.
“You’re kidding. Every guy in this place has his eye on you.”
Not possible. She whipped her head around, wondering which one of them had fooled her. Stone, at least, was obvious. “No, they don’t. I went to school with half of these guys. They only want to dance with me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you. What about you? Who gave you subtlety lessons, because you should really get your money back.”
“Hey, I’m only trying to protect you. From the others.”
Emily managed to crack a smile. “My sister and I come here whenever we want to dance. That’s all.” She wanted to spell it out for him because he didn’t look like the kind of guy who was used to hearing the word no from a woman. “And do you have to look at me like that?”
“Like how?”
“Like I’m a steak and you’re not a vegetarian.” Maybe if he’d stop looking at her like she was a T-bone, she could stop sweating. Already, a trickle had slid down the inside of her thigh straight into her boot.
“True, I’m not a vegetarian. But I don’t bite unless I’ve known you for at least a month.”
Someone get her the smelling salts. “A whole month?”
“Yep,” he said with a grin as the song ended.
The longest dance in history had ended. Time to get Molly home. Besides, if Emily didn’t get out of his arms, the rest of her resolve might weaken. Maybe all she needed was one night with a man like this to help her forget the way Greg had humiliated her, and this guy would do it, no question about it.
Too bad she wasn’t that kind of girl. Rules were in place for a reason. “I need to get my sister and get her home.”
“Are you sure?” He lifted her chin so it was inches away from his lips, and his warm breath reached her.
She wasn’t sure of anything as she stared into those eyes. They were kind eyes, and not the eyes of a man on the prowl, which made him all the more confusing. She could kiss him, if she was a different woman. If she wasn’t Emily Parker, currently researching her family tree, and if she was willing to forget who she was for a second, she could. Maybe. Might even let him kiss her. In another life.
It wasn’t going to happen tonight. Emily pivoted out of his arms and turned in time to see the back of Molly’s head.
Leaving the bar with Thomas.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_1a341f13-531f-5dd0-b866-63f3ef8f09ac)
“MOLLY!” EMILY HEADED after her sister. No way would this happen under her watch. Molly had obviously had too much to drink and ignored her promise. Either that or she’d lost her ever-lovin’ mind.
A man was the last thing Molly needed right now. She used men to distract her from the real work she had to do on herself. Sooner or later Molly would have to face the mess she’d left behind.
Emily stomped through the couples on the dance floor, and they parted like the Red Sea. She thought she heard some of their whispers:
There she goes, and she’s mad. Boy, I tell you, she almost looks like Molly right now.
I mean, there’s no way you can keep it inside for so long. Before you know it, blast, you’ve got a disaster on your hands.
Yes, sir, Emily’s about to let someone have it. Should we go watch?
She threw open the bar’s side door and spied Molly about to get into Thomas’s car. A few quick purpose-filled strides and Emily stood next to Thomas’ old beat-up Ford.
“Where are you going, young lady?” Emily grabbed Molly’s arm.
“She’s going home with me.” Thomas bowed. The smell of tequila nearly knocked Emily off her feet. He sure wasn’t driving her sister, or anyone else.
“No, she’s not. She promised me. Right?” Emily pulled at Molly on one side, and Thomas pulled on the other.
“Sorry, mister, but I have a sister.” Molly swayed a bit to the right, demonstrating her own level of intoxication.
“Why you gotta be such a killjoy?” Thomas tapped Emily’s shoulder hard enough to make her wince. “If you don’t want to have any fun, that’s your business. But don’t ruin it for Molly.”
“You should take your hand off her right now,” a voice said from behind Emily.
Emily turned. All the planes of Stone’s face were set in hard lines, his jaw rock hard. He looked different. Still dangerous, but in a whole other kind of way.
“What did you say, buddy?” Thomas sidled up to Stone, clenching a fist in the air.
“The lady is not going home with you. And you’re not going anywhere until you sleep it off.”
“That’s right. Thank you.” Finally, someone had come to her aid instead of the other way around.
He shot her a hot look she felt down to the heels of her boots. Not to mention how it began to melt her shield.
While she tried to take her focus away from his lips and back to the matter at hand, a flying fist seemed to come out of nowhere and connect with Stone’s jaw.
Stone reacted Ninja-style and had Thomas on his back within moments.
“Cool,” someone said from the back of the crowd. “Did you see that move? I can do that.”
“Emily!” Molly, as if she’d suddenly realized the mess she’d made, reached for her.
Emily pulled Molly to her side as others spilled out from the bar to witness the fight in the parking lot. Except, from the looks of it, there wasn’t much fight left in old Thomas there on the ground, twisting and writhing under Stone’s pin. A fresh pint of guilt seeped through Emily’s veins, knowing Stone had probably taken a hit because she’d distracted him for a moment.
What she should do is stay behind and thank him. Properly. But there were two problems. First, she’d never kissed a man she didn’t know, even if this might be a good time to start. Second, she’d given up men, and this one would be trouble. Trouble rolled into fun with a heaping side of heartache.
Jedd soon joined the fray to help Stone, not that he seemed to need any help and, between the two of them, they had the situation under control. Right now Emily had her own damage control to do and needed to get her sister back home. Her drunk and sad sister, who had fooled Emily into coming here tonight.
“Let’s get out of here.” Emily pulled her sister away from the commotion, throwing one last glance in the direction of her hot hero. His back was turned to her as he restrained Thomas, who was now calling out every expletive Emily had ever heard, and some she hadn’t.
This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned parting tonight, and her chest tightened with the mess she’d left Stone to handle. She should have explained that she couldn’t take it any further with him, not now. Not ever. Casually drop in the fact she didn’t do risky and didn’t do strangers. She didn’t do much of anything, period. Not anymore.
Emily pulled her sister away from the chaos and shoved a sobbing Molly in the front passenger side seat of the Chevy truck.
Good thing Molly was already crying or Emily would have said something to make her. Emily gripped the steering wheel and high-tailed it out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel. She turned left on Monterey Road and headed toward Fortune Ranch.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Molly bawled.
“Look at it this way. Thomas won’t be driving anyone home tonight, which is the way it should be. But I thought we agreed. Why did you do this?”
“I wanted to feel good, even for a little while. Do you know how long it’s been since a man wanted me? I mean, really wanted me. And only me.”
“We’re not going there. You are not going to talk to me about being lonely.”
“I’m sorry. But you know how to be alone, and I don’t. I feel like crap. And I probably look like it, too.” Molly pulled out a tissue from the glove compartment.
“You ought to feel bad. The man took a hit to the jaw, and you don’t even know him.” Neither did she, but after tonight, she almost wished she did.
“I have to apologize to him.” Molly rubbed at her mascara-smeared raccoon eyes.
“Don’t worry yourself too much about it. Something tells me the man can handle himself.” Or had Molly missed those special forces–like skills he’d displayed? Emily didn’t even know what the man did for a living, but she’d bet her family’s ranch it didn’t involve sitting behind a desk.
“Before you say anything, I know I have to start making better choices.” Molly rocked back and forth in her seat.
She sounded so pathetic and broken. Emily wished she understood, but she still wasn’t sure she could put her finger on what exactly had gone wrong. Of course, Molly wasn’t talking about it, either. For the first six months of her daughter Sierra’s life, Molly isolated herself from the rest of her family. The next thing anyone knew, Molly had taken off to Hollywood, leaving Dylan and Sierra behind. To a place so foreign to the Parker family, she might as well have gone to Mars.
“You have to get your mind off men. They’re not going to make anything better for you. Work on yourself first, like I am. Everything else will fall into place then.”
Emily turned her truck at the large sign that welcomed one and all to “Fortune Family Ranch: Events/Weddings/Picnics.” Once a large cattle ranch, present times meant the Parker family had to diversify. Enterprise.
The new family business.
The truck rolled down the long dusty driveway, past the empty lots designated for parking, past the red barn that served as a gift shop and up to the main Victorian house sitting on the hill.
Emily parked and turned in her seat to give Molly her full attention. “Does Dylan know you’re back in town?”
“I hope not. You know how he hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just not happy with you right now. Can you blame him?”
“It’s his fault, anyway. Maybe if he’d come after me.”
“When you didn’t tell anyone where you’d gone? Don’t do this, Molly. It’s not his fault you left.”
Emily should have paid more attention to the situation at the time, and she still blamed herself for that. She should have seen that Molly was in over her head and going under. But a few of the times Emily had wanted to come over and help, Molly claimed the baby was sleeping, or the apartment was a mess or any one of many other excuses why they didn’t want company. The times Emily had managed to make it inside, the small efficiency had looked like a bomb had gone off. Stacks of baby diapers all over the house, clothes strewn in every corner, piles of dirty laundry practically tall enough to be a teepee, other clean clothes folded in the basket, dishes overflowing in the sink.
Molly and Dylan had managed to keep mostly to themselves, and whether it had been intentional or not Emily had never been sure. Dylan’s mother could barely stand Molly, and the unexpected pregnancy hadn’t helped. But Emily didn’t fully understand why Molly would have shut her own family out. Unless it had been because of Dylan, who thought Molly had been spoiled by their father for too long.
And true enough, had he had one look inside, he would have likely hired Molly a cleaning service. Not how Dylan rolled.
“You needed help, and maybe you didn’t know how to ask for it,” Emily said now.
“I know you tried, but Dylan always thought we should do it on our own. And of course, he was never around much to help me.”
“There was no shame in either one of you needing help. You’re both so young.” Emily now wished she’d bulldozed her way in more often. What if Molly had suffered from postpartum depression? Dylan, as a trained EMT, should have seen the signs. But maybe he’d been too close to the situation.
After Molly had gone, Emily tried for a few months to help Dylan with a colicky and often inconsolable Sierra. Eventually, due to logistics and family ties, most of the babysitting shifted to Violet, Dylan’s mother. Dylan stopped calling, and Emily, ashamed of her sister and tired of making excuses for her, stayed away.
“Maybe if he’d loved me more. It felt like the only thing we had in common anymore was Sierra. He barely touched me for six months. Do you know what that’s like?”
Molly didn’t want to go there with Emily right now. Did she know what it was like to have her heart ripped out seam by precious seam? “Does a broken engagement count?”
Molly didn’t look at Emily. “I’m sorry, Em.”
“It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t. Emily had never been engaged before Greg. Greg was reliable, safe, structured. A software engineer. If a girl couldn’t trust a man like Greg, who color-coded his ties, then whom could she trust? No one.
* * *
MAYBE NEXT TIME you’ll stay home.
The night wasn’t over until a cab service took Thomas Aguirre home, black eye covered with a bag of ice from the bar. But the real cherry on top of this sundae had been when Stone looked for the stacked blonde that had caused him his sore jaw and found her nowhere in sight. Not like she owed him a thing, but a simple kiss would have been nice. Maybe even a short “thanks.”
It usually took a woman at least a month to be this kind of trouble to him.
Now he had a bruised lip and sore jaw, thanks to being temporarily distracted by the way she stared into his eyes with a kind of trust that sent lava-level heat running through him. More to the point, the whole thing was his fault for being stupid enough to follow her outside and become mixed up in drama that was clearly none of his damn business. That should teach him.
Jedd brought out a bag of ice. “It’s a good thing we caught Thomas trying to leave with Molly, ’cause he had no business driving.”
“Yeah. Glad I could be of assistance.” Stone took the ice and placed it in on his jaw since he couldn’t put it on his sore ego. He should have seen that flying fist coming. Six months out of the service, and he’d let his guard down.
“I wish I’d been out here sooner.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I hope you don’t blame this on Emily. If you blame anyone, blame Thomas. As for Molly, that girl is hell on wheels. Almost forgot she was back in town.” Jedd fell into step beside Stone, as he headed toward his truck.
“My fault. Shouldn’t have followed Emily outside.”
“But you thought she was in trouble.”
Stone didn’t want to be anyone’s hero, or pretend he’d had anything on his mind other than finishing what he’d started with Emily.
“To tell the truth, I didn’t do enough thinking tonight.” He massaged his jaw and managed to crack a smile.
Jedd laughed. “Yeah, Emily has a way of doing that to a guy.”
Stone looked sideways at Jedd.
“Naw, Emily’s older than me and never gave me a second look. She was going to get married to some guy from Palo Alto. But it didn’t happen.” Jedd lifted a shoulder.
“I don’t need her damn biography. I won’t ever see her again.” He clicked his key fob to unlock the truck.
“If you say so,” Jedd said.
Stone should have followed his first instincts and kept to himself. Probably should have searched harder for an excuse as to why he couldn’t come out with Jedd. “I do. I’m out of here.”
“Thanks for coming out with me. See you Monday, boss—I mean, Stone,” Jedd called out.
Stone threw open the door and climbed in his truck, throwing the ice pack to the side. He’d be sleeping alone tonight and that would be okay. It would have to be. With damage like this in thirty minutes, who knew what she could do with a little more time? He didn’t need the distraction. All he wanted tonight was a warm body under him, and Emily wouldn’t stop there. She wouldn’t stop until she was another in his long list of commitments.
Speaking of commitments...
A few minutes later, he’d pulled into the driveway of James Mcallister’s sorry-looking single family home, shut off the truck and stared at his inheritance. The place needed a new coat of paint. Hell, it needed to be bulldozed down to the ground and started over. He didn’t have the time or inclination to do either. But he, along with his sister, Sarah, was heir to this mess.
Six months ago when he’d separated from the air force, Dad had said, “You didn’t have to come.”
“The hell I didn’t.” The air force might have been his life for the past twelve years, but when it came down to the AF and Dad, there had been no real choice.
The fact that it had taken him too long to make the choice? No use revisiting that scenario now. It had been tough to think anything could be strong enough to knock his old man down, but he’d been wrong about that. Should have separated earlier, when he’d first heard of the diagnosis. It seemed to be the first in a long line of mistakes he’d made lately.
Back then, Stone thought he’d have time with Dad. Time to say a long goodbye, fly their Cessnas in tandem a few times and maybe take a couple of fishing trips. But colon cancer had a way of sneaking up on a man. Four months. It was all the time they’d had, and Dad spent most of it telling Stone about his last wishes.
“I know this isn’t what you planned to do with your life. But stay long enough to sell the school so Cassie and Jedd can keep their jobs. Don’t listen to Cassie. She loves the place.”
She could have fooled Stone. “Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of.”
“When I die, Sarah will get my letter and half of everything. Be nice to her. I didn’t want her to know about the cancer. What would be the point? I sure don’t want her to see me like this.”
In the end, it had been a quiet death, not at all like all the other deaths he’d witnessed. There were no screams, no blood and no raging hot anger. No one fought death harder than a young airman. But Dad had been ready. The hospice nurse had nudged Stone out of a light sleep, and he’d been by Dad’s bedside to hear him take his last breath.
A few days later, Sarah had been notified, and the proverbial shit hit the fan.
Both the house and school would be sold and the proceeds split down the middle. He had a buyer lined up for the school, someone who loved planes and planned to keep everything the same. The way it should be. The way Dad wanted it.
Unless Sarah had her way.
He stuck his key in the front door, turned it and slipped inside. He wasn’t fooled by the silence for a second as he slipped into warfare mode. Granted, he hadn’t done any hand-to-hand combat in the air force. A good thing he’d been trained, though.
Stone flipped on the light switch in the family room. Winston, Dad’s ninety-pound golden retriever mix, flew around the corner and jumped on Stone. If licking could kill, he’d be a dead man walking.
Standing on his hind legs the beast nearly reached Stone’s height of six feet. But Stone had a knee, and he put it to good use by nudging Winston’s middle. “Off!”
Winston jumped down, his brown eyes wounded. It would take a lot more than a knee in the chest to hurt the monster, and he wasn’t fooling Stone.
“Don’t give me that look. I swear I’ll find you a new owner if you don’t stop jumping on me. The licking is bad enough. This is not going well.”
Within seconds, Winston had followed Stone into the kitchen, his food bowl in his jowls. Whoever said dogs weren’t smart had never owned a Winston.
“Yeah, yeah.” Stone fed him and watched Winston go to town. “With manners like that, you’ll never get a girl.”
Unfortunately, that made him picture the way Emily had moved in his arms and the curves she had in all the right places. It was possible that if he stepped back into that country music–infested den, he might see her again. Why that mattered he didn’t know, but if he didn’t get his mind off her, he might wind up making another trip to the Silver Whip, or the Silver Saddle, or whatever the hell they called it.
Stone stripped in his bedroom, took a shower, toweled off and didn’t bother with the boxers. Instead, he plopped on the California king, rolled into the covers and let sleep take him away.
* * *
DAMN, THIS GIRL can kiss. Emily straddled him and kissed him long and deep. She moaned, which ripped out a groan from him as his hands lifted the skirt of her dress, searching for heaven and finding nothing but silk. Soft. Smooth. Curves. Skin. Yeah.
Suddenly, she licked his face. This is strange, but if she’s into it, I’ll learn to like it.
The bark was what finally woke him. Winston on his bed. Again. The beast’s paws on Stone’s chest as he lapped at his face.
“Off!” Stone growled and opened one eye against the ray of light breaking through the window blinds. He pushed Winston off, rubbed his aching jaw and glanced at the clock. Crap, eight already. Time to get up.
He’d have to cut his workout short this morning. Usually he ran five miles before work and hit the punching bag in the garage for an hour. Couldn’t afford to get too soft. He might be out of the air force, but the air force would never be out of him.
Last night he’d dreamed of the girl who made him forget he was a short-timer in this town. No need to start rescuing people. Served him right, even though it had been a cheap shot. His own fault for paying too much attention to the girl and not enough to the other man’s fists. All right. Get over it, Chump.
Winston stayed next to the bed and stared at Stone, panting, brown eyes questioning. He cocked his head and barked.
“I told you, this is my bed and over there is yours.” Stone pointed to the cushion that sat in the corner of the bedroom.
Winston barked again. Stone loved dogs as much as the next person, but Winston was less of a dog than an inconsiderate roommate. A hairy one who demanded his meals on time and whose only contribution to household chores was creating more of them. Another treasure he’d inherited from Dad. Everything he’d handed down seemed to come with complications. And commitments.
Dad had loved this dog and swore it could read his thoughts. Right now, Stone wondered if Winston could read his, too, because they were less than charitable.
“You interrupted a great dream, monster.” The first decent dream in months.
Stone pulled on a pair of jeans and headed to the kitchen, Winston following close behind. True to form, he performed his shameless circling dance as Stone scooped out the dry dog food and placed it in his bowl.
“Wish I could be that happy to have breakfast,” Stone mumbled, placing the bowl on the cold terracotta kitchen floor. “Do you realize all you do is eat and sleep?”
He’d not only inherited Winston, the flight school and his father’s ramshackle ranch house, but pretty much James Mcallister’s life. And if he often felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, it was probably because too many people, dogs and inanimate objects depended on him.
He’d arrived in town with one large duffel bag and everything he owned in it. He was always ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
The doorbell rang, and Winston ran out of the room like a scared schoolgirl. Doorbells. Winston was afraid of them. Then again, Dad’s doorbell played a haunting rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.” Stone kept meaning to disconnect the thing.
Stone peered through the peephole. Staff Sergeant Matt Conner, wearing his civilian clothes, held a couple of cups. “Let me in, asshole. These are hot. Coffee.”
Stone swung open the door and accepted a cup from The Drip (Rise and Shine and Have a Drip, the annoying cup said) as Matt walked inside.
“Is he—?” Matt asked, eyebrows raised.
Stone nodded. “Put the cup down now if you know what’s good for you.”
Matt set the cup on the short key table by the door and squatted like a wrestler. Yeah, he knew the drill. Like he’d heard his name called, Winston flew around the corner and tackled Matt.
Fortunately, Matt was a dog person, not to mention the size of a linebacker. “Hey, I love you, too, you big lug.”
“Don’t encourage him.” Stone walked into the kitchen, taking a gulp of the coffee he had become addicted to. He’d never been there himself, but coffee from The Drip was first-rate; although, he’d never get used to saying that name. “Want something to eat?”
“You have food?” Matt followed.
Stone didn’t answer. All right, so he was stalling.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Let’s get to it. Where do we begin?” Matt threw him a look.
“Yeah.” Stone knew that look. It was a get your shit together, airman look. If he’d given it once, he’d given it a hundred times to the newbs. And it had been more than a few years since he’d been on this side of it. It didn’t sit well with him.
Sure, he’d helped pack up the barracks bags of airmen who were never going home again, but this was different.
My father’s house. Where to begin? No matter how he sliced it, it didn’t feel right to get rid of Dad’s things. Like maybe he’d be back later, pissed Stone couldn’t see the sense in hanging on to ten old fishing rods. Crazy.
“Yeah’s not an answer, dude.” Matt threw him a pity look, the kind bestowed upon the widows and orphans of the men who weren’t coming back.
“Where do you suggest, moron?”
“The clothes.” Matt met Stone’s gaze.
They were still in the closet. Pretty pathetic. Clothes were always the first thing to go. It wasn’t like he was going to suddenly start wearing plaid shirts and polyester pants.
“Right this way.”
Winston followed them in the bedroom and lay like a rug near Dad’s bed. Stone made himself shove shirts and pants, even an old suit he’d never seen before, into a plastic garbage bag.
Matt worked faster, bagging up two to every one of Stone’s. “I’ll take all these to Goodwill Industries.”
“Sure.” Stone didn’t look at Matt. They were just clothes. It shouldn’t make any damn difference. He didn’t understand why his chest felt tight.
“By the way, she came by to see me again yesterday.” Matt said it like it was nothing, like he might as well be talking about the weather.
“Why?” Stone didn’t even have to ask who “she” was. She’d somehow decided Matt was her new best friend.
“You know why. She wants to talk to you.”
“I have nothing to say to her.”
“She’s your sister,” Matt said with an emphasis on the word sister, as if it was supposed to mean something to Stone. It didn’t.
Not his fault. His parents had made that decision, and he’d had no say in the matter. Only now, he was left to pick up the pieces. All in the past, and best left there. He wasn’t going to start singing “Kumbaya” this late in the game. “Here’s the thing. I don’t know her anymore.”
“You could get to know her. Again.” Matt threw another bag in the pile.
But it had been Sarah’s choice to stop visiting summers after that last one when she’d been thirteen. He’d been fifteen at the time, and sue him if he’d been a little busy. Their parents had each agreed that by fourteen each kid could decide where they wanted to spend their summer. That summer Stone chose to stay in California where he had a job and a learner’s permit. It meant that he’d spent the summer with his sister for the first time since the divorce. Looking back, he probably hadn’t paid her enough attention but what he’d remembered of that summer was a teenage girl with attitude. Not much different from now.
Dad didn’t know what the hell to do with her, either, when she didn’t want to fish or camp anymore. Every morning she’d glare daggers at the both of them as if they were doing something to offend her by simply breathing. Then she’d gone in the bathroom for three hours where she did something to her hair.
It was about all he remembered of that last summer from hell.
The next summer Sarah chose not to visit again, nor any summer after that. There had been cards over the holidays and a few strained phone calls. Stone had unfortunately had a front-row seat to his father’s confusion and pain at feeling shut out of his daughter’s life. It had served to remind Stone to call his mother and not just wait for her calls to him. He might not have thought he needed her much as a stupid teenager, but he’d always loved his mother. Which was why he couldn’t quite understand Sarah’s anger now. She’d made the choice. If their father hadn’t begged, it was because the Mcallister men didn’t beg.
Stone surveyed the closet. They’d made a dent in it, but not much more. He’d leave the boxes on the shelves for another time. Had his father thrown anything away? Ever?
Stone reached for a tie that looked straight out of the seventies. Probably not. “Maybe we should have a family reunion. Picnic, maybe?”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“She wants to sell to a developer. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You could talk and explain this is what your Dad wanted.”
“She knows that. All she wants is more money. She doesn’t care that people are about to lose their livelihoods.” It wasn’t just Cassie and Jedd. The airport had a small air museum, the only one of its kind for miles. There was also the Shortstop Snack Shack, owned and operated by a retired firefighter. Dad had owned the hangar building and leased the space to everyone else. The aviation school was the anchor, and if it was sold to a developer all the other businesses would go, too.
“I get the feeling your sister might be reasonable. Why not meet with her?”
“I did.” All she’d wanted to do was hurl insults and accusations at their late father. He carried enough guilt about those last months without Sarah adding to it.
“Again, I mean.” Matt slid him a look. “One meeting that didn’t go well isn’t enough. It’s worth a try.”
But Stone wasn’t sure of that anymore. He should talk with Sarah again, to see if he could get her to see reason. Matt seemed to think she was open, but that hadn’t been Stone’s experience. Some people were a lost cause, and he felt fairly certain the sister he didn’t know anymore was one of them.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_23874c35-8b98-573d-a62e-f62b2fc6b8f9)
“WAKE UP, EMILY.”
Emily opened one eye.
Grammy stood over her, dressed in her sparkly blue jeans and leopard-print top. It was one of the most irritating things about her grandmother. She refused to give in to convention and wear tracksuits like all her friends did.
Emily hadn’t even heard her come in. “What good is it to give me the loft for privacy if you keep barging in on me like this? What if I had company?”
“Emily, dear, please. I don’t have time for jokes. We have the Chamber of Commerce party today. I’ll need you to help George. He’s an old man now.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.”
George Carver had worked for the family for as long as Emily could remember. Old or not, he was still their handyman, their gardener and a long-time family friend.
Emily’s dog, Pookie, a Poodle and Chihuahua mix, peeked out from the under the covers.
“You’re letting Pookie in your bed? What’s wrong with you?”
“She’d old, Grammy, and it was cold out last night. I caught her shivering.” That was Emily’s story and she was sticking to it. Growing up on their pseudo ranch usually meant dogs lived outside, but Emily liked it better this way. If Grammy was going to let Emily have the loft over the garage, then Emily could let Pookie have a spot on her bed at night.
“Girl, your heart is just too big. Pookie has you fooled. She’s fine outside and has a warm dry place in the pen. Cuddles up next to Beast every chance she gets. Anyway, the meat is coming in at noon, and I’ll need you to check it. You know what happened last time.” Grammy started to make the bed with Emily in it.
“Hey. Why don’t you let me get out of bed first? What time is it?” Fighting to push off the last dregs of sleep, Emily pulled the covers up to her nose. She wasn’t sure, but she might have been in the middle of a dream that made her blush, even thinking of it. It might have involved Stone and some of that horizontal dancing.
“It’s time for you to get up. And there’s something I want to show you first.” Grammy walked toward the front door and put her hand on the doorknob.
“What is it?” Emily rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Eight thirty. Too bad Grammy didn’t believe in sleeping in even on the weekends, because right now all Emily wanted was another few minutes. And she wasn’t going to get them.
“Wait till you see. I ordered it and it came yesterday. I’ll meet you at the house for breakfast.” Grammy let herself out, but not before picking up Pookie and carrying her out. “Dogs stay outside.”
Emily rustled her feet from under the warm covers and let them touch the cool hardwood. She shrank back and resisted the urge to bury under the blanket and go back to her dreams. Dreams in which she’d gone home with Stone.
Forget about him. I’m not ready for someone like that, and maybe I never will be. No, she was never going to be “that girl.” The girl who didn’t worry about consequences. The one who took a chance. She was too sensible for all that.
Emily showered, tried not to think of Stone, dried off and dressed in the working jeans and Fortune Ranch company shirt she wore while working on the family’s ranch. Not that it was a ranch anymore, unless one counted a petting zoo and three ponies. But Grammy insisted on keeping the name, a testament to the former glory of the Parker family’s four-hundred-acre cattle ranch of days gone by.
After eminent domain and the freeway extension had made its way through, they’d been left with forty acres and the house. Thank God for ever-resourceful Grammy, who claimed she hadn’t lived through the depression for nothing. And even if the family business now came down to outdoor company parties, picnics and high school Sadie Hawkins dances, they still had their home.
Thank heavens for that, because right now Emily needed home. The place where she’d grown up and the last place she’d lived with Mama. She’d been gone seventeen years, but her absence still ached if Emily thought about it too much.
Emily made her way down the creaky steps of her second-story apartment loft above the detached garage and jogged over to the main Victorian house on the hill. She threw open the side door to the kitchen and walked in to the sounds of Molly’s high-pitched voice. “That’s it—you’ve finally taken the last train into Crazy Town, and this time I’m not sure you’ll be back.”
“What’s up?” Emily grabbed a mug from the cupboard.
Molly and Grammy stood before some type of large vase on the kitchen counter.
“Grammy has done it now.” Molly looked like she’d woken only minutes ago and stood in the middle of the kitchen wearing her oversize Hairdressers Do It with Style T-shirt, hair mussed and eyes bloodshot with the after effects of too much tequila.
“Once again, your sister is demonstrating how short-sighted she can be. This is where I’ll be buried—my ashes will be, anyway. And I want you girls to pick the perfect place where I’ll be seated for all eternity. I was thinking somewhere in the dining room.”
That thing sitting on the kitchen counter was an urn? No wonder Molly was freaked out. Emily wasn’t sure she could ever eat food in here again. “Can we take it off the kitchen counter?”
“For the love of Pete, you girls act like I bought a used urn. This was ordered from the most highly regarded crematorium in the state. Don’t you think it’s nice?” Grammy ran her hand along the little pink roses that decorated the border.
Emily couldn’t look at the place where her Grammy’s bones would someday lie. “Can’t we do this another time?”
Grammy waved a hand. “Fine. I’ll find a place in the dining room. This way I’ll be in attendance at every Thanksgiving and Christmas even after I’m gone. Now, I’ll be watching over you all, so don’t forget to say grace.”
“Oh, Daddy is going to love this,” Molly said with an eye roll.
“Your father isn’t any of my concern. He spends half his time in Texas pretending he’s a cowboy when he ought to be home with his family,” Grammy shouted over her shoulder as she left the room with her urn.
The subject of their father and his reluctance to let go of the cattle ranch days was one Emily couldn’t handle before noon. Or plenty of coffee.
She eyed the bacon and eggs Grammy had left on a warming platter, considering whether or not she still had an appetite.
“I was thinking—” Molly said with a grin.
“Don’t you dare.” Emily pointed a finger.
“I’ll be good this time. Okay, I should have stayed away from the tequila shots. And Thomas.”
“That would have been nice.”
“But we should go see if we can find that nice man who helped us with Thomas. And then I can apologize.”
Emily sat at the kitchen table and thought about how much she’d like to thank Stone. But she wouldn’t need Molly for that. “I’m not going back there for a while.”
“Why? I saw you dancing with him. And you looked happy. What have you got against happy?”
“I don’t have anything against it. I have something against starting a relationship right now. I have to work on myself.”
“Who said anything about a relationship?” Molly drew the last word out, emphasizing every syllable. “Why does everything have to be a big deal to you? Can’t you just have fun?”
Of course she couldn’t have fun. She had plans to make, and they didn’t involve a man. Emily opened her mouth to answer, but Grammy walked back in the kitchen and spoke first.
“What you need to do is learn from your big sister, young lady. Sometimes a lady needs to take a good long look at her life to find out where she’s going. It wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.” Grammy reached for a mug and poured some coffee in it.
Molly rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I forgot Little Miss Perfect does everything right.”
Emily winced at the moniker, but what was so wrong with setting goals and controlling one’s future? For so long, she’d been the only one with any good sense in this family. Dad out in Texas playing cowboy, Molly pretending she hadn’t screwed up the best thing in her life and Grammy planning her own funeral.
Either way, it was time for Plan B, since none of her best-laid plans had worked out.
Like real estate. She’d bought the course on the late-night infomercial, but nothing was like the book said it would be. Her attempt at writing a historical romance hadn’t done any better. And if it wasn’t for the stage fright that kept her from returning to the stage, maybe she could get that country music career off the ground.
Either way, she had to figure something out, because she was running out of time.
Molly had struck a nerve when she talked about ticking clocks. It wasn’t that Emily wanted a baby—she’d given up that dream—but reminders of how little she’d accomplished in her twenty-eight years weren’t welcome. She’d recently read in one of her college alumni newsletters that a former classmate had founded her own clothing company and another was running for a congressional seat in her district.
Emily needed something like that. Something big.
Grammy patted Emily’s back. “Nothing wrong with being a good girl, right, dear?”
Good Girl. Yeah, that was her. Another name might be Doormat. “Never said I was perfect.”
“Don’t forget tomorrow is our monthly meeting with the Pink Ladies. I know you won’t want to miss it, Emily.” Grammy sat across from Emily.
“Why are you encouraging her?” Molly slammed her coffee mug on the table. “That’s exactly what Emily needs. Hanging out with a bunch of geriatric women. That should do it.”
“Your sister has a hobby, and maybe you can find one, too,” Grammy said with a scowl.
“I have a hobby. It’s called dancing. Meanwhile you waste your time talking about dead people that can’t do a thing for you anymore.” Molly took a gulp from her mug and gave Emily a pointed look.
Emily shook her head. “I love when you both talk about me like I’m not here. What if I’m interested in our family history? What’s wrong with trying to find out all about my namesake?”
“That Emily Parker isn’t going to help you. Because there’s a little problem. She’s dead.”
“Listen, young lady. Never speak ill of the dead. Someday I’ll be one of them.” Grammy reached over and swatted Molly’s hand.
Molly walked over to the sink with her mug. “Someday we’ll all be one of them. But before that, let’s have a little bit of damn fun before we all die, why don’t we?”
Grammy laughed at Molly’s back as she walked out of the kitchen. “Oh, Molly, dear, you are so dramatic. Learn to be a little bit more like your sister. Level-headed. Grounded.”
Emily almost choked on her coffee. Was that what she was? Level-headed? Grounded? Why did that sound boring?
Emily had spent the past year in a kind of self-imposed hibernation with little interest in anything other than eating, sleeping and watching reruns of the first three seasons of Homeland.
But then a few months ago Grammy had come to her with some genealogy research. She wanted to find out whether her family had come from Ireland or Scotland. One of Grammy’s Historical Society friends had traced her ancestors back to the Revolutionary War. Naturally, Grammy was convinced they could do better than that. They only needed to trace the family lineage back far enough and the truth of the spunky and steady Parker spirit would be revealed. It had all started out simply, with a bit of online searches, and before Emily knew it, she’d been spending most of her spare time with Grammy’s friends.
Then Molly had come back home. Suddenly genealogy research was a hobby for the geriatric crowd.
“I’ll quit when I find out what happened to the first Emily Parker.” Time to reevaluate, perhaps, the amount of time she spent on this hobby. A little diversity couldn’t hurt. Getting out from under this “good girl” image couldn’t hurt, either.
* * *
MOLLY TRUDGED UP the steps to her bedroom, and threw herself on the trundle bed. Everyone in her family was officially bonkers, fascinated with the past and dead people when there was so much living to be done right now. Emily was too young to hang out with all those old women, but Molly couldn’t seem to get through to her. Yet.
She’d get Emily back out on the dance floor, or her nickname wasn’t Trouble.
She reached under the mattress and pulled out the photo of Sierra at six months old. She’d just learned to sit up and wore a bib that read Daddy’s Girl as she smiled her toothless grin. Molly traced the angle of her baby face. Oh, how she remembered that smile. It was the last picture Molly took of Sierra before she left town. Dylan had been working long hours and left her alone with Sierra night and day. They could have all lived at the Parker family home and Molly would have had help from both Grammy and Emily, but Dylan had insisted they live on their own. Raise Sierra on their own. Insisted he’d support his own family, and that meant they were stuck in a studio apartment.
That same studio apartment had felt more like a Love Shack when they’d first been married, right after they’d learned of her pregnancy, and made love every night. But once Sierra arrived, everything changed. Dylan had been too tired to do anything but collapse in a heap at the end of the day.
Emily had offered to help but Molly was so ashamed of her mess. Ashamed that she couldn’t stop crying some days. She couldn’t figure out how to take a shower and at the same time take care of her baby. And after every time Emily had come over, Dylan had nothing but praises for her big sister. Emily sure knows how to clean a house. Or, Did you fold and put away all this laundry, or did Em? On and on he’d go about her wonderful big sister and how Molly could learn a lot from her.
Emily wasn’t a spoiled Daddy’s girl like Molly, Dylan would say. And now that she was a mother, she had to give up on being Daddy’s girl. But Daddy seemed to be the only one who realized when Molly was way in over her head. Which, according to him, was pretty much always.
Molly swallowed the sob in her throat and picked up her cell phone. She dialed her father, who was out at their Texas cattle ranch instead of at home where he belonged.
“Daddy?” Molly whispered into the phone.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Daddy answered with the Texas twang that grated on her nerves.
But leave it to her daddy to always realize when something was wrong. “I’m bored here. When are you coming home?
“I’ll come home next week, for sure.”
“I’ve been back home two months and seen you once.”
“The ranch out here keeps me busy. Doesn’t Emily keep you company?”
“She’s no fun anymore.”
“Your sister has been through a rough time. You go easy on her. Have you seen your daughter yet?”
“I don’t know if Dylan is going to let me.” Dylan had been furious when she’d left. She was still a little bit afraid to face him.
“It’s not for him to let you or not let you. You’re that baby’s momma and nothing can keep you from seeing her.”
That’s what Daddy thought, but Molly knew Dylan wouldn’t make it easy. He’d warned her when she’d left that if she didn’t come home immediately, she could forget about coming back. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”
“You do that, little Trouble. You made a mistake and some people just have to be big enough to forgive you.”
More than anything, she wished Daddy was right about that. Molly hung up and stared at the ceiling, trying to swallow the golf ball in her throat. I’m not going to cry. Not today. I should be all cried out by now.
She stuffed Sierra’s photo back under her mattress.
What she wanted to do and what she could do were two different things. Right now, a little fun wasn’t going to kill her.
Anything to forget about the photo that lay pressed under her mattress of the little baby girl with red hair, just like her mommy’s.
* * *
THE PINK LADIES Genealogical Society gals were in good spirits on Sunday, mostly because Grammy had whipped up her famous wine-based margaritas. It didn’t matter everyone knew the recipe originally belonged to George, who called them Po’man Margaritas.
Emily sat at the dining room table with the ladies, her laptop in front of her. She was their online researcher, and the ladies had come to count on her. She searched census records and online gravesite markers for those with ancestors in other states. So, even though she’d had second thoughts about tonight, wondering if maybe she should go back to the Silver Saddle, she was here tending to her obligations. Good girl and all.
Grammy set the pitcher at the end of the table, away from all the papers. “Dig in, girls.”
Luanne Hinckle leaned in to Emily. “I can drink now, because Dr. Taylor took me off the pills. You know, from the hysterectomy?”
Emily winced. “Are you doing all right?”
“Oh, honey, I won’t miss those parts. Don’t need them anymore.” Luanne gave a wave of her hand.
“Speaking of pills,” Marjory Lewis said, “I’ve got a new supplement which could help with your arthritis, Jean.”
“You don’t mean that pool scum thing?” Grammy scowled.
“It’s made from blue green algae.”
“It’s pool scum.” Grammy poured a margarita and set it down in front of Emily.
“Emily, are you back on the dating scene again or is it too—ah, too soon? Because if you are, my nephew is on the hunt for the third Mrs. Dr. Logan. And, honey, you would enjoy being a doctor’s wife.” Luanne winked.
Emily reached for the margarita and took a large gulp. “No thanks, Luanne.”
“She’s still in recovery, Lu. What’s the matter with you?” Marjory patted Emily’s hand.
“I’m not in recovery,” Emily protested. That would give Greg too much power over her. No way would she let the slimeball control her, even now. “But I’m working on myself.”
“Of course you are,” Marjory and Luanne said at once.
“If we could get back to the matter at hand,” Julia Bush spoke now.
Leave it to Julia to get the meeting back on track. Now a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, thanks to her family tree, she seemed to believe she was the Grand Pooh-Bah of their little club. Emily didn’t dare disagree, and probably no one else would, either.
“Yes, please, Julia. Get us back on track. Where were we when we left off?” Grammy opened the notebook she used to take notes.
Grammy’s official parchment family tree was probably still under lock and key. It wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon, not when the ladies were drinking. Grammy guarded the document like it was the US Constitution.
“I’m still trying to find out about my Uncle Bob, the one who owned the barbershop back in Maine. I can’t find a certificate of death anywhere,” Luanne said.
“We’ll get to that,” Julia said with authority. “But you won’t believe this. Remember how Emily hasn’t been able to find out much about her namesake, the first Emily Parker?”
“I can’t find her on any census records except for the one in nineteen hundred, and by then, she had married.” Emily had tried to find out the name of her great-grandmother’s parents, but time after time reached nothing but a dead end.
“We know she had a son, Lonnie, and then she died shortly thereafter. Her husband remarried and they had six more children,” Grammy added.
“It’s like any record of her before her marriage doesn’t exist. Where did she come from? Who were her parents?” It bothered Emily to think that a two-year-old had been left motherless, but what bothered her most was it seemed no one would ever remember the first Emily Parker.
Julia smiled and peered over her bifocals. “I’ve got good news.”
Emily’s heart did a little squeeze, and her fingers froze on the keyboard. News for her? “What did you find?”
“You won’t believe it.” Julia looked through the binder she carried with her everywhere—the Bible, she called it.
“Don’t keep us in suspense!” Grammy said.
Julia pulled out a piece of paper she’d covered with a plastic sheath.
She did that with all official documents. Emily stopped breathing.
“Now it wasn’t easy to find this, but you all know how I have connections now.” Julia probably wouldn’t spill the beans this century.
“Yes, yes we know!” Luanne leaned forward, like she might reach across the table and rip it out of Julia’s hands.
“This little piece of paper is a private pilot’s license,” Julia said, her chin rising slightly as she placed it on the table for all to see. “For an Emily Parker.”
“Let me see that,” Grammy reached for it, only to earn a glare from Julia.
“Careful.” Julia slid it over to Grammy.
Emily watched, not moving, as Grammy read it over. “My goodness. How about that.” She handed the document to Emily.
It really was the official pilot’s license of an Emily Parker. Frayed around the ages, yellowed and worn. “This is my relative?”
“It is,” Julia said with authority. “Same date of birth, as you can see. She was only twenty-one at that time.”
“And she would have died only three years later,” Grammy added.
“Imagine that. A pilot. Isn’t that the funniest thing you ever heard?” Marjory elbowed Emily.
“Funny?” Emily put down the paper. It was a connection all right, to a woman who sounded as different from her as any two women could be. Emily had never done anything even remotely that adventurous. The first Emily Parker sounded like a maverick. A rebel.
“You have to admit it. This Emily Parker sounds like she was a risk taker, maybe a bit of an eccentric.” Grammy leaned over Emily’s shoulder now.
“It’s true,” Julia said. “At that time, there weren’t many women pilots. Amelia Earhart comes to mind, but that was much later. And that’s about it.”
“A woman at that time, flying a plane. That’s dangerous. Irresponsible. What if she had crashed and left her children behind?” A second after the statement, Marjory clapped her hand over her mouth.
They were all aware this Emily had died of consumption and left a young son behind. But at least she’d lived her life fully before dying. Something the new Emily wasn’t sure she could say about herself. Then again, hadn’t she decided she would change some things?
“It’s true. I’ve always played it safe,” Emily said to the license. Maybe that was what Greg had been all about. Greg and his 401K, sensible shoes and plans for a rock-solid future. A future that would have included their 2.5 children. She could have never guessed that he, of all people, would humiliate her the way he had.
“I wouldn’t call it playing it safe, dear. I’d call it being practical. You’re by far the most dependable girl I know.” Grammy patted Emily’s shoulder. “Why, I’d trust you with anything.”
“Which is why she’d make a good doctor’s wife,” Luanne said with a nod.
“Why does everyone want to marry me off?” Emily’s voice rose. “Maybe I don’t want to get married anymore. Ever.”
“Don’t say such a thing,” Marjory grimaced and then waved her arms in the air. “Cancel that, cancel that.”
Marjory believed every word spoken had power, and that if one waved their arms around like they were shooing away a bug, the Universe might forgive it. Wipe it away, so to speak.
“Don’t cancel it.” Emily waved her arms around in the other direction. “What if I mean it?”
“Hear that, Universe? She said if.” Marjory cast her eyes heavenward. “She’s not thinking this through.”
Emily stood. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want you all to stop thinking about me as good ol’ dependable and steady Emily. I’m not a vacuum cleaner. I’m ready to be a wild woman now. Take a risk.” There. She’d said it out loud. It didn’t sound as crazy as she thought it might.
“Oh, Julia, look what you’ve done,” Luanne shook her finger.
The Daughter of the American Revolution stood up now, hands on her waist. “I’m merely a conduit to the past. We all have our path to take. I’m happy if this leads to personal insight.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with being sensible,” Grammy said, practically wringing her hands.
“Nothing wrong at all,” Luanne agreed.
“Did I say there was anything wrong with it? It’s just that maybe, for the first time in my life, I want to do something crazy. Something none of you would expect of me.” Emily crossed her arms.
From now on, she was going to do what she wanted, when she wanted, like Molly. No more Little Miss Perfect.
She’d show her family. She’d show everyone she could, at a moment’s notice, if the mood so struck her, be a wild woman.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_f5f21dc5-3456-5098-88bf-ce762ccd1431)
“LET ME GET this straight. Your great-grandmother, your namesake, was a pilot.” Emily’s oldest friend, Rachel Harwood, leaned across the booth and touched the official pilot’s license, still wrapped in the plastic Julia had put it in.
Emily was still a bit surprised she’d been able to wrestle it out of Julia’s hands. “What do you think? Are you going to laugh, too?’
“Laugh? Why would I do that?” Rachel stirred her coffee. “Please. Let me just have a nice whiff of your leaded coffee. This decaf is killing me.”
Emily pushed her mug over and let Rachel take a nice long sniff. She obviously wanted Emily to feel sorry about the awful caffeine withdrawal, but she couldn’t dredge up even an ounce of pity. Rachel had switched to decaf because she was eight weeks pregnant.
It was Monday morning, and they were sitting in a booth at The Drip, one of Emily’s favorite places in town. Nothing could cheer her up like the strongest coffee in the Bay Area. “You don’t want to tell me that she doesn’t sound anything like me?”
“I didn’t expect you to have anything in common with a woman who lived in the first part of the last century,” Rachel said with a mini eye roll.
“Don’t you think she sounds wild and carefree?”
“Sweetie, women in that time were never wild and carefree. Get a clue.”
“But she was a maverick, for her time.”
“She sounds like she was bored,” Rachel said. “When you can’t vote, can’t work, can’t get birth control, I guess you get a little stir-crazy. Lesson learned.”
“I can’t believe you’re not impressed. I know I am. And from now on, I’m going to be a wild woman, too.”
Rachel froze and closed her eyes for a second. “You’re going to be a—what?”
“You heard me. I’m going to take chances and throw caution to the wind, and most of all, I’ll be the most impractical person you’ve ever met. Rachel, meet your new best friend. She’s going to be fun and carefree. Like a Rebel Without a Cause, but not so James Dean-y. I think you’re going to love me.”
“Where is my Emily and what have you done with her, you impostor?”
“I’m the new and improved Emily.”
Rachel put her hand on Emily’s arm. “Don’t let Greg do this to you.”
“This isn’t about him. This is all me.”
“Oh, the hell it is. You didn’t do anything wrong, so why change who you are?”
Emily sighed. “Because maybe I want to?”
“Only if you want to change for the right reasons. I’ve always said you can’t control everything. Sometimes the fun is in letting go and going for a ride.” Rachel rubbed her temple. “Okay. I get where you’re going with this. And I think I’m on board.”
“Thank you!”
“Why don’t we try this ‘new you’ on for size.” Rachel, who faced the entrance to the café from their booth, turned to point to a man who now stood in line behind her. “What about him?”
Emily glanced at the back of the man. Her back to the entrance, she hadn’t even noticed anyone come in. Still, she couldn’t see how a stranger had anything to do with this. “Him?”
“I’d like to see this new wild woman go up to that man and ask him out. Then I’ll believe you mean it. That will show me you’re willing to do this thing by relaxing Emily’s Dating Rules.”
“Can we start with something that doesn’t have anything to do with a guy? This new me doesn’t have anything to do with men.”
“Meh. I hear a lot of excuses. I don’t think you have it in you. It’s all right. Not everyone does.”
“I’m not afraid. There’s no point to it.” Besides, what if the man said yes? What then?
“Okay, okay, never mind.”
“What if he’s married?” That would be where she’d draw the line with this rebel thing. No married men. No thank you.
“Then he’ll say no.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s being naive?”
“I’ll have him checked out at the paper if he says yes. It’s one date, and it won’t kill you. And after that, you can go back to your dry spell.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. But if he says yes, you’ll have to find a way to get me out of it.” Emily planted her hands on the table, wrenched herself up and marched over to the man’s back.
It was a pretty good-looking back, as those went. Broad shoulders tapered down to long lean legs. Definitely fit, not that it mattered. Ask the man out. She could do that.
Rachel was worried about her, which was kind of sweet, actually. But even if Emily had stayed in bed for the better part of six months, she was back now and better than ever. Except, she wasn’t sure how she would ask this man out.
She’d watched Molly do this a bazillion times. Emily had to channel her inner Hoochie Mama. She was in there somewhere, under lock and key, and would now be released on an unsuspecting world. And this unsuspecting man. She’d probably come staggering out, waving cobwebs out of her way, but come out she would. Just for a minute.
Emily drew in a deep breath. In a voice as dripping with sex as she could conjure up, she said to the man’s back, “Hey, I think you and I should go out sometime. What do you say?”
The man had just paid for his drink and turned, coffee in hand, eyebrows up.
It was Stone.
Emily threw up her hand in surprise, and it accidently collided with his hot coffee. Like watching an accident unfold in slow motion, he tried to right the cup while her hand did the same. But when her hand slapped against his, disaster reigned supreme as coffee won the day and spilled all over Stone’s brown cargo pants.
“Here, let me help you.” Emily grabbed napkins, and the barista threw over a dishrag.
Emily blotted for a minute before she realized how close she was getting to his crotch. She turned in desperation to Rachel, only to see her doubled up in laughter, wiping her eyes.
Stone shook his head, scowling. “You’re dangerous, girl.”
Oh, epic fail. As if she was Cinderella at the crack of midnight, Emily turned, grabbed her purse from the booth and ran out of the café. She could barely hear the sound of Rachel behind her, calling out Emily’s name.
Maybe if she was lucky, really blessed, Emily would turn into a pumpkin.
She reached her truck and climbed in, ready to peal rubber out of the parking lot. Ask a man out? When will I listen to that inner little voice? A klutz should never ask a guy out in the vicinity of any kind of liquid.
Rachel banged on the passenger-side window, so Emily unlocked the door.
“Are you happy now?”
Rachel opened the door and let herself inside. “I’m sorry I laughed. That wasn’t fair. But, hey, you did it.”
“I made a fool out of myself.”
“Who cares? I’ve never known you to even approach a stranger, and there you were, doing it. So what if coffee and gravity won? I do think he would have said yes, had you not run out on him.”
Emily hit the steering wheel with her head. She’d run out on Stone. Again. No point in telling Rachel this was round two. “I did run out on him.”
“I don’t blame you,” Rachel continued. “With a man like that, you want to put your best foot forward. Maybe you should go back in there and try again.”
“No way, Rachel. I’m done listening to your bright ideas.”
Rachel elbowed Emily. “You know what? You’ve proved it. You’re a wild woman. Why don’t you do something really wild, like get your pilot’s license?”
“Are you nuts?”
“Why not? Your namesake did, so there’s some connection to the past there. It has nothing to do with men, right? And if you want to do something different, step outside your comfort zone. Does it get any more different for you than that?”
As a matter of fact, it didn’t. She’d always had her feet planted firmly on the ground, both literally and figuratively. But flying lessons? Emily thought about it while she peeled out of the parking lot. “It would make a nice human interest story for the alumni newsletter.”
“You bet it would.”
Pilot’s license. Crazy, yes, but wasn’t she courting crazy? “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
“ARE YOU OKAY?” The barista handed him another coffee, a sheepish look on her face. “This one’s on the house.”
His first visit to the establishment and he’d been bathed in the stuff. Damn Matt for getting him hooked on the coffee here. “Yeah. Thanks.” Now he’d have to turn around and go back home to change, and he could look forward to another encounter with Winston when he did.
“Emily’s always been a klutz. But I will say, I’ve never seen her ask a guy out before. This is one for the books,” the girl said as she came around to mop the floor.
And what the hell had that been about? Emily’s eyes had widened in shock when he’d turned to see who had asked him out in a voice that sounded like that of a phone sex operator. Hadn’t she told him she was not in the habit of going out with strangers? And why the hell was she constantly running out on him? He still hadn’t heard “sorry” come out of her mouth, but at least this time, the apology had been written all over her face.
“I’m guessing she comes in here a lot,” Stone said, dumping the napkins in the trash can.
“Emily? You could say that. Her family owns Fortune Ranch, if you’re interested in following up on that date request.”
A tempting thought, admittedly, but maybe best to stay away from the girl. First his jaw, then hot coffee spilled inches from his crotch. He couldn’t afford to lose a limb at this point. “Fortune Ranch?”
“It’s not a cattle ranch anymore. Mostly where we have the high school’s Sadie Hawkins dance, picnics and big company parties. She’s going to add weddings now.”
He looked out the storefront and saw Emily hit her head on the steering wheel of her truck. He recognized the woman who had run after her, since she’d come in a couple of weeks ago to talk to them about newspaper advertising.
Stone headed back to his truck, brand-new cup of fresh coffee in his hand. With no traffic, he was back home within minutes.
After wrestling Winston down again, changing and driving to the airport, by ten Monday morning Stone was back at the flight school. No one here to bother him but the planes. That he could handle.
Finally, a few moments of relative silence. Not common at airports, but there was a lull between landings and takeoffs at San Martin Airport in the afternoons. The airport and its strip were small and located out in the middle of the empty field, formerly zoned for agricultural use alone.
Stone stared out the window at the two Cessna planes, Magnum Flying School printed on the side of one of the planes. Dad’s dream had lasted a good ten years, but it threatened to fizzle out with Stone at the helm. He’d never claimed to be a damned businessman. He knew how to fly a plane. Happened to love flying a plane. Teaching and running a small business was another story.
He shut the window because he smelled shit again, or as his office manager, Cassie, explained, the fertilizer for the mushrooms. It was a fact of life here in Fortune, home of the mushroom, but only mattered depending on which way the wind blew. There were days when the wind shifted and Stone wanted to pack his bags. But then he’d see his father’s photo and be reminded he’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it.
Cassie stuck her head in the door. “Got a minute, boss?”
“Told you not to call me that.”
Cassie Helms was sixtysomething, and nearing retirement. By way of introduction a year ago, she’d told him exactly how old she was and announced she and her husband had a pleasant-sized nest egg and planned to retire to Mexico. In case he got any bright ideas about making any significant changes, he assumed. They’d already bought the hacienda, which made Stone wonder whether perhaps he paid Cassie too much. More than likely, the previous owner had, for many years. Come to think of it, that sounded just like Dad.
Then again, Dad hadn’t been any more of a businessman than Stone. Not when his biggest concern had been that both Cassie and Jedd keep their jobs.
Cassie walked in with a glazed donut, which she placed on his desk. This meant she had semi-bad news, since she often liked to present her news with food offerings. Candy meant good news, donuts semi-bad news. Stone expected in a few weeks he’d find a cake on his desk.
“What is it now?” Stone raked a hand through his hair.
“Mr. Burton wants a meeting,” Cassie said as she eased into the chair across from his desk.
“I should have seen that coming.” In Burton’s place, Stone would have done the same.
Burton, a wealthy retired CEO from Silicon Valley, had been the only one to express interest in buying the school as one of his investments. They’d been in the middle of working out salaries for keeping Cassie and Jedd on staff. Stone could almost smell his freedom, and then his sister had slammed into town. She’d been approached by a developer for almost twice the amount. But that would mean the loss of many local jobs, and likely another strip mall. “I doubt it’s good news.”
“You’ve done everything you could, and I know your father would say the same.”
“He was so proud of you. Had pictures of you and your unit all over the office. I used to like coming in here and seeing all those handsome soldiers. An old lady needs to get her thrills somewhere. But then you took them all down.”
He sure didn’t need any reminders of that time. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“I miss your dad more than I want to admit. The ol’ fart.”
Stone grinned. “I should have put that on his headstone.”
Dad’s presence was here in this office and everywhere Stone looked.
He had a meeting with Sarah and her attorney next week. Matt had talked Stone into it, do-gooder that he was. There should be a job waiting for Matt at the United Nations if he wanted it. Stone supposed it was his own fault for putting her off so long after that first contentious meeting. But on the other hand, she’d been the one to hire an attorney first, forcing him to hire one, too. Still, there was no point in avoiding the inevitable. Maybe with some luck Sarah’s attorney would help, though Stone doubted it. A meeting was all he’d agreed to.
Sarah might be his sister, but in name only. They didn’t know each other anymore, and the fact she only cared about money made him think he didn’t want to know her. She didn’t feel like family since only biology connected them, and he had no obligation to her. The one thing he knew without a doubt was that his obligation was to the only real family with which he’d had a real and lasting connection. The United States Air Force, and James Mcallister.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_74ff0639-75e0-5ee1-a553-515dfb221292)
A MORNING OF ERRANDS followed Emily’s spilled coffee fiasco. She’d been way too close to Stone’s crotch, and not at all in the way she would have preferred. He’d stared at her with those edgy blue eyes that said he now believed she was toxic. And maybe she was to men. They were certainly toxic to her.
She’d just hopped in her truck when her cell phone buzzed. Trish. Emily couldn’t miss this call, or this wedding. Jimmy and Trish were two of her best friends and she wanted to see them married at the ranch. Besides, knowing Trish, they’d spare no expense. Emily pulled over in the parking lot of the Snow White Drive-In to take the call.
“Hey, Trish.”
“Hi, hon. Jimmy tells me you’d like to host our wedding.”
“Yep. I’m expanding. We have a weddings package now.”
“Okay, but Emily, are you serious about this? Because this is the biggest day of my entire life. Bar none.”
“Right.”
“And I want everything to be perfect.”
“Oh, of course and it will be.”
“I mean, I went to that company party you guys gave last year where you ran out of meat. I can’t have that.”
Oh, sigh. Don’t remind her. While half of the staff had claimed to be vegan, many had changed their minds at the party. Hence the lack of preparation.
“That was not our fault. It—”
“Uh-uh. No excuses.”
Emily bit her lower lip. “I promise to give your wedding my undivided attention. I’ll handle every aspect of it myself.”
There was a long, silent pause on the other end of the phone.
“I’ve decided to trust you with my wedding day,” Trish finally spoke.
“I’m honored.”
“I’ll call you in a couple of days with my list of demands.”
“Um, what?”
“I mean, all the little tender touches and personalized effects that I’ve decided will make this day special. Beyond compare. Oh, Emily, I can hardly wait.”
Emily swallowed. She had a bad feeling about this. But no. This was Trish, for crying out loud. No, it would be fine.
When Emily finally got back to the ranch, she recognized the out-of-place vehicle parked next to the barn immediately. The same silver luxury sedan he’d insisted he had to buy for appearance sake, because an engineer who worked for one of the software giants in Silicon Valley had an image to maintain. The last thing she needed right now. Greg.
He was still sitting in the car, no doubt because Grammy wouldn’t let him inside. She’d once said her hospitality could be pushed only so far, and that would include ex-fiancés who cheated on her granddaughter. She’d spent the better part of a year crying over the idiot, and now the sight of him churned emotions she didn’t want to have. Regret and shame, to mention two, but anger and hostility might win the day this time around.
Emily marched over to the sedan as Greg rolled down the window. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
Greg got out of the car and shut the door. “Can’t we talk about this?”
“Now?”
“You walked out the door and stopped taking my calls.”
“And that was a year ago. What’s there to talk about? Nika’s been your maid for over a year, so the transition to live-in girlfriend shouldn’t be hard.”
“Okay, I guess I deserve that.”
“And so much more.” She’d never realized before how close together his brown eyes were—made him look a bit like a weasel.
“But some couples survive these kinds of...bumps in the road.”
“Bump in the road? Is that what you call her?”
“It was pretty clear how much you cared about me. You never for one moment stopped to think that we could work this out. You walked out the door and never looked back.”
She didn’t answer, just glared at him. He didn’t know how many times she’d looked back and wondered how Greg could have fooled her. She thought she knew the signs of a cheating partner. Had read all about them in Cosmopolitan, color coded them and put them on index cards. And yet, with Greg, she’d never seen sign one.
“We both miss you.” Greg shuffled his feet in place. He wore penny loafers and slacks, and he was a vegetarian. And come to think of it, he’d always made her feel like a plate of overcooked vegetables.
Out of the corner of Emily’s eye, she saw Molly, a red streak, headed straight for Greg. She’d hopped on his back before Emily realized it or was able to stop it.
“You son of a bitch!” Molly’s legs were wrapped around his waist, her hands wrestling with his neck.
“What the hell?” Greg turned in circles as he tried to throw her off his back.
“Molly!” Emily put her hand to her mouth and strangled a laugh. This wasn’t the way Emily would have thought to handle it, but nothing less than what Greg deserved. And she wasn’t enough of an angel not to thoroughly enjoy the spectacle for a minute.
“I’ll hold him while you punch him. Go on, I think I’ve got him.” Molly appeared to have a death grip on him with her legs as Emily marveled at how much strength a woman could muster when she was angry enough.
“Get this lunatic off my back,” Greg yelled, while he tried to move Molly’s hands from his eyes.
“Molly, get off him. This isn’t helping.” Emily put a hand over her mouth and tried to keep the laugh out of her voice, with great difficulty.
Molly finally jumped off him. “Fine, you’re too easy. A real man would be able to wrestle me off. Get on out of here, jerk.” Molly waved her arm as she marched up the steps.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.” Greg squared his shoulders and smoothed his wrinkled khakis. “If I’d thrown you off like I should have, you’d have landed on your back.”
“Yeah, right. You’re lucky my daddy isn’t here. He’s the one with a shotgun. If you see his truck pull up, I’d run if I were you.” Molly slammed the front door shut.
Greg ran a hand down his rumpled cotton shirt, and Emily wondered how she’d ever felt this was a man who could love and take care of her. A one-hundred-pound ball of fire had knocked him for a loop.
“I’m sorry about that. You’re not very popular around here.”
“You told everybody what happened?” Greg’s face drained of color.
“She’s my sister.” Emily decided not to add that everyone in her family knew exactly what he’d done, even if she’d left some of the more sordid details out for Grammy’s sake.
“I don’t feel safe here anymore,” Greg said as he opened the door to his sedan. “Can we go somewhere else?”
He wanted her to go talk somewhere else, a place where he felt safe. What a man. “I would, Greg, honestly. But I still have a few working brain cells left.”
Greg smoothed his hair back into place. “This is important, and I don’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”
* * *
GREG LOOKED A LOT more comfortable at The Drip, and Emily began to wonder if maybe her attraction to him at the time had more to do with location. Being a well-respected engineer, Greg commanded a certain presence she found attractive. He was good with computers and PowerPoint presentations, and that had seemed sexy at the time. Besides, Greg had been patient with her dating rules. He’d gone along with each one of them, remarking how refreshing it was to be with a woman who realized what she wanted, who took control of her life.
He’d ordered his usual espresso and remembered her double-shot mocha as if it had been yesterday when he last ordered her one.
“Here you go, jerk. Your triple shot espresso. I didn’t spit in it or anything.” Annie, the head barista and one of Molly’s best friends, nearly slammed the cup down. The fluff of steamed milk rocked. Annie gently put down Emily’s mocha, sniffed and turned away.
Greg’s eyes widened. “Does everybody in town know?”
“I used to work here,” Emily lied. All right, so Molly had a hard time keeping her mouth shut. What else was new?
Greg turned his mug and inspected it, taking a whiff as though he might be able to smell spit. After a few moments, he dared to take a sip. “I’ve missed you.”
“Cut to the chase, Greg. What do you want to tell me? That can’t be it.”
“We’re both sorry it happened. Especially Nika. She’s fully aware of everything you did for her. You got her the job.”
Yes, way to add salt to the wound. Emily had met Nika at a Bay Area nightclub, where she’d been hired as a bartender. But when it was clear she’d lied to get the job and didn’t know a screwdriver from a mimosa (adding vodka to everything, Emily later heard), she’d been fired on the spot.
Emily had heard the commotion, saw a statuesque blonde sobbing and yelling in a foreign language and stupidly followed her into the ladies’ room. Emily blamed it on her years of fixing Molly’s messes, but before she’d known what she was doing, she was comforting Nika. Trying to fix it for her.
“What can you do?” Working as the head event manager at her family’s company gave her a lot of connections.
Unfortunately, it had turned out Nika wasn’t good at much of anything, but Greg needed a maid. Emily had taught her how to clean the house the way Greg liked it, and Nika was reliable and energetic, showing up three times a week. The house was always spotless.
“Watch out for that one,” Rachel had said to Emily the first time she’d introduced Nika.
“Why? You think she’d be interested in Greg? I mean, look at her. She used to date an NFL player.” Emily never dated über-handsome men. Too much temptation to other women.
“All that money he makes is attractive, even if Greg isn’t.” Rachel had said in a thinly veiled warning.
It was true Greg’s software start-up was about to go public and his shares would put him into an entirely different income tax bracket. Not über-rich, though. Not athlete-rich.
But hindsight was twenty-twenty. Nika, like most women, wanted security. Being swimsuit-model gorgeous didn’t take that need away, it turned out. Greg was the marrying kind. Nika saw that, and loyalty was not part of her repertoire. Survival was.
Now Greg reached for Emily’s hand. “I didn’t want you to hear about this from anyone else. Nika and I, we’re getting married.”
Greg already getting married? To the woman he’d cheated on her with? “Married?”
Greg studied his cup. “She’s pregnant.”
Emily swallowed the golf ball in her throat. It had been a year. Emily didn’t want to think about how Nika and Greg had spent that year and whether they’d eventually made their way to the bed for some of Greg’s paint by numbers sex. Or maybe he and Nika enjoyed something altogether different than Emily and Greg had had.
“I see.” If there’s one thing Greg did know, it was how much Emily wanted to start a family. Right after the wedding, had been the plan. He’d reversed the order with Nika.
“I’m so sorry.” Greg shot her a look filled with pity.
Oh, no you don’t. “Don’t be sorry. You’re having a baby.” Nika would hopefully be a better mother than she had been a friend.
It was better this way, and Emily needed to keep telling herself that. After a few more torturous minutes, Greg left and Emily watched from inside the coffee shop as he drove off.
“What did that douchebag want?” Annie stopped by the table to ask.
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Heatherly Bell
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Weren′t rules made to be broken…?Play-by-the-rules good girl Emily Parker is finally flying free. Literally. After a broken engagement, she′s about to live out her wildest dream: getting her pilot’s license. With former Air Force pilot Stone Mcallister teaching her, though, it′s not just the altitude making her dizzy….Once he settles his father′s estate, Stone′s heading back to the Air Force. When Emily expresses interest in some no-strings fun, he can′t resist, but a single kiss proves that a fling won′t be enough. As the clock ticks down to his deployment, will he be able to break his own rules for her?