by Torsha Baker
“Makes sense to me. And if nothing else, you can show him what he missed out on and rub it in his face. Let him eat his heart out. You’re beautiful, successful, and way too smart to let a breakup from eight years ago dictate your life and keep you from coming to see your family.”
I sit up straighter. “You know what, you’re right. Screw him. If I want to spend time with my family, that’s exactly what I’ll do. And some washed-up cowboy won’t stop me. Closure may be just what I need.” I’ll just have to tell JulieAnn to set up some training in Bisbee instead of Sedona.
Her eyes widen, and I get the feeling that she didn’t think I would actually agree to come. “Darn right, sistah! So, you’ll come? Really?”
“Yes.” A smile spreads across her face. I shrug. “Besides, he’s probably fat and balding now.”
Ala’s smile fades, and she shakes her head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Come on. Let’s tell Mom and Dad the good news.”
I smirk at that. But my sister’s change of subject didn’t go unnoticed. A ball of unease fills my stomach.
Chapter Three
JAXON
I rub my brow, trying to stave off the headache that’s threatening to turn into a migraine at any moment. My brothers are lecturing me in the living room about my ex-girlfriend, also known as psycho or the mother of my child.
Landon holds the bank statement up sternly. “You gave her five thousand dollars?” He’s talking to me more like a scolding parent than an older brother.
We share the responsibilities of running Wyle Away Ranch, and when our other brother, Dillon, who does all of our accounting, spotted chunks of our funds being transferred to Brittany, he shared it with Landon. And yes, I probably should have told them, but I didn’t want them to have to worry about it. Brittany is my problem, not theirs.
“I paid for it out of my extreme adventure business,” I say. “Not from the ranch. It’s no sweat off your back.”
Landon sighs. “It’s not the money, Jax. It’s the principal of it. Why are you giving her money anyway? You’re the one raising Audrey. She hasn’t even seen her in the past seven years.”
“Yeah, that’s the point. I’m giving it to her so she’ll leave us alone.”
Dillon takes a seat across from me like a living mirror. “She’ll keep coming back for more money if you keep giving it to her.” Dillon is my identical twin, but other than sharing the same face, we’re nothing alike. He’s a banker who knows how to work the stock market and dresses all GQ, whereas I’m a rancher through and through with a wardrobe that consists of jeans, T-shirts, flannels, and cowboy boots. But he’s as dedicated to this family as I am. Dillon crosses one leg over the other from his place on the couch. “You just need to be firm and tell her no.”
I huff a humorless laugh. “You think I haven't tried that? Last time I told her no, she threatened to take me to court to get custody of Audrey.” Anger resurfaces, making me antsy, and I get up to pace. “She’s never once asked how Audrey is, but when I refuse to give her money, she uses my daughter as a pawn.”
“That’s extortion,” Dillon says.
I shake my head. “She doesn't care what it is. The legal fees would amount to more than what I’m giving her. Besides, what if she does take me to court and some sympathetic judge hears her pleas and gives her custody of Audrey? It's not worth leaving it to chance. I’d rather just give the woman what she really wants: the money.”
Landon puts the bank statement on the coffee table. “What judge would give her custody? She can't keep a job, never sees Audrey, is on and off drugs, in and out of AA, and has three DUI’s.”
Dillon taps his fingers on his knee, contemplating the question. “Actually, it does happen. It’s not right, or fair, but it happens all the time. We’re in a mother-sympathetic state. If she can prove that she’s changed, they’ll more likely than not give her at least partial custody. Unfortunately, the courts figure a bad mother is better than no mother.”
Which is exactly what I feared. “We all know why I can’t allow that. She’ll get behind the wheel after she’s been drinking again. She’s already proven it’s a pattern. I can’t let Audrey be exposed to that.”
They’re silent at my words. I look to the picture on the mantle of our parents. Mother is laughing and Dad is staring at her, a big grin on his face. The familiar pang of grief stabs at me. Our parents were killed by a drunk driver on the way home from a horse show a couple months after Audrey was born, so we all know the very real danger driving under the influence poses.
Landon stands and puts a hand on my shoulder. His eyes get even more serious than usual, putting lines between his brows . . . which is saying something. He was born serious. “We won’t let that happen.”
Dillon leans forward to pick up the bank statement. “There is another way to get Brittany out of our lives for good.”
I give him a pointed look. “Sorry. We can’t kill her, brother.”
His eyes widen. “I wasn’t suggesting—. Oh, you’re joking. What I was trying to say is that you need a wife. Get married, and then your wife can adopt Audrey, severing Brittany’s bargaining chip.”
A wife? He must be kidding. But when he doesn’t smile, I realize he’s serious. “Right, like I can just go to the grocery store and pick out a wife.”
Landon chuckles. “Actually, you probably could. You’re the most eligible bachelor at Audrey’s school. I know at least two single moms who would jump at a chance to be your Mrs. Wyle.”
I give them a winning smile. “As true as that might be, it’s not that easy. I can’t just marry some random woman so that I can get Brittany to stop asking for money. That seems like trading in one problem for another.”
Dillion shrugs. “Then fall in love with someone, or at least start dating so you’ll have a chance to.”
I plop into a cushioned chair. “I don't know if I’m ready for that.” I might be fine with the occasionally flirting, but serious dating, with the intent of finding a wife?
“Don’t tell me you’re still pining for Malia,” Dillon says.
Landon takes a seat next to me. “Of course, he is. Ever since her show ended, he has bought every episode on Amazon Prime and watches them over and over again.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” I say. Although the accusation isn’t entirely untrue, and hearing him say it like that, I realize how crazy and obsessive it sounds. I cringe.
“Then go to Hollywood and beg her to take you back,” Dillon says. “I’ll even fly you. I miss Malia. Any girl who can make spam taste like a delicacy is golden in my book.”
“I’ll come too.” Landon smirks. “Truth be told, I like her better than you, and I could go for some spam musubi.”
I laugh while they both sigh at the memory of the Hawaiian dish. There’s a lot more I miss about Malia than her cooking skills, but it’s not as easy as finding her and begging her to take me back. “She’s dating some Hollywood pretty boy. Trey Wentworth. What kind of name is that anyway? Sounds like a snobby clothing line, like Ralph Lauren.” I shake my head. “I’m sure she doesn't even remember my name anymore. And if she did, she wouldn’t welcome hearing from me again, not after the way I broke things off back when we were teenagers.”
Dillon wrinkles his nose. “Trey Wentworth is like the kind of name you imagine on a total douche bag who sips martinis at the polo club. That’s the type that would have been at Coyote Glen if Kitty’s family’d had their way.”
We all cringe at the thought.
“The kind of guy who would never get his perfectly-manicured hands dirty doing ranch work,” I say. “The kind of man who’s the opposite of me.” What I had with Malia was a once-in-a-lifetime love, and I screwed it up. Everyone knows lighting doesn’t strike twice.
Dillon shrugs. “Look, all I’m saying is start putting yourself out there. Not only would finding a wife solve your Brittany problem, but it’d be good for Audrey too. She needs a mother in her life.”
“Would you go
on a date or two if we found some eligible women?” Landon asks.
“I can think of at least two possibilities off the top of my head,” Dillon says.
The last thing I want is to start dating women my brothers pick out for me, but maybe they’re right. I might not find another Malia, but perhaps I could find a wonderful mother for Audrey that I could learn to love. Both Landon and Dillon watch me expectantly. “Yeah, okay, why not.”
Landon slaps me on the back. “Atta boy. ‘Bout time you got back on that horse again.”
“This is going to be fun,” Dillon says with a sneaky smirk that has me feeling uneasy.
“I have to see pictures first,” I say.
“That’s kind of shallow,” Dillon says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “That means there’s something wrong with your girl. Let me guess, she has a great personality?”
Dillon looks offended. “There’s nothing wrong with a great personality.”
“Look, I’m not expecting a model or anything, but there has to be some attraction. And I do remember the last time you tried to set me up.”
Landon laughs at the memory. “Oh yeah, I remember Janice.”
He throws up his hands. “Oh, come on. Janice was a very nice woman, and she was pretty.”
I laugh. “Dude, she was old enough to be our mom.”
Landon nods in agreement, and Dillon shakes his head. “No way. She would have had to have had us at fourteen.”
I raise my brows and open my palms, as if to say he just proved my point. “I’m not into the cougar thing.”
“Yeah, okay.” Dillon agrees. “No cougars.”
And yet, I still have the feeling that I’m going to regret agreeing to this.
Chapter Four
MALIA
Two days later, I’m driving my Audi down Highway 80 into the small town of Bisbee, Arizona, wondering if I bit off more than I can chew. I look out the window at the little town nestled in the middle of the red-dirt Mule Mountains. Houses and buildings are built right into the sides of the steep hills in an almost haphazard fashion. The streets have no rhyme or reason to them. They climb up the mountains in twists and turns like the branches of a tree, some dead-ending into walkways with no warning.
I used to love the enchanted chaos of it, with its eclectic free-spirited vibe. Now all I see are too many memories that leave a painful ache. Avoiding those memories became a security blanket, and now I’m throwing that blanket off, exposing myself to naked vulnerability.
I squeeze the steering wheel to keep from making a U-turn and remind myself that I can do this. I’m a grown, successful woman. What happened eight years ago doesn’t matter now. I’m here to spend time with my family and perhaps get some much-needed closure. But not today. Today will just be family time. Besides, Ala says she wants to have a talk with me about my ex-boyfriend before I confront him. She won’t go into detail. She only says it’s important, and we’ll discuss it in person.
I turn and drive up the precarious road to Ala and Ben’s house. At parts on the winding road, my small SUV barely fits, let alone allows room for another vehicle. Luckily, no other cars come from the opposite direction. I pull into the small driveway and look up at the long staircase shared by two houses.
The closest is a cute yellow home with white trim. It’s the three-bedroom house that I bought for mom and dad a couple of years ago when Ala told me it went up for sale. The house further back is Ala’s white two-story home with blue trim and a porch swing. Both are built into the side of the hill and have small yards in the front. Mom and Dad’s yard has a full vegetable garden, and Ala and Ben’s has a little patch of grass with flowers trimming it.
I close my eyes for a moment, seeing two teenagers sneaking kisses and whispering promises. I shake my head and open my eyes again. Stop that. You’ll never be that girl again, and he’ll never be your cowboy again. The more I think about seeing Jaxon, the more I’m sure it’ll be just what I need to finally rid him from my thoughts for good. I’ll be able to see him as he is now, not as the boy I fell in love with all those years ago. It will be like seeing your favorite movie star in real life and realizing that they’re not the icon you’d imagined. Working in Hollywood, I’d had that happen often enough. Thanks again, Trey Wentworth. I’m sure meeting Jax again is what I need to break the spell.
I climb out of the car and grab my purse, deciding I’ll come back for my suitcase after I greet everyone. It’s a beautiful seventy degrees, perfect weather for fall. The smell of my parent’s garden and someone barbecuing fills the air. A breeze blows strands of my long hair from my shoulders. “Hello Bisbee. So we meet again.” It’s just how I remember it.
My dad throws open the front door of my sister’s house and I expect him to warmly greet me, but he doesn’t even seem to notice that I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs. He’s looking back into the house like he’s waiting. I’m about to say something, but before I get the chance, Ben and my Mom rush out of the house each holding one of my sister’s arms. They’re all talking in a rush.
“Breathe,” Mom says. “In and out, in and out.” She nods her head. “That’s right. Focus on the act of it. In and out.”
“You’re doing great,” Ben says to Ala. “You’re amazing.”
Ala breathes heavily, and her face is scrunched in pain.
It’s too early for her to go into labor, but she clearly has. I rush up the stairs to meet them. “What’s happening?”
That’s when they finally notice me.
“Malia!” everyone says with wide eyes, as if they’re all shocked to see me. I did tell them I was coming in today. Wait a minute, they didn’t think I was actually going to come. They have no faith in me. I would be more offended if I weren’t so worried about why they’re all rushing my pregnant sister out of the house.
“Pa, get the car going,” Mom says to Dad. Dad nods and rushes down the stairs. When we pass each other, he gives me an “I’m sorry” smile along with a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Aloha, Lia-girl. ‘Bout time you came to see us.” Then he rushes off to the driveway where Ala’s van waits.
“What’s going on? Is the baby okay?”
They continue to make their way down the steps. “I’m sure they’re just Braxton-Hicks contractions,” Ala says. “These three are just worrying over me like a bunch of mother hens.”
Ben’s brows are creased. “Her usual Braxton-Hicks are not typically so strong and regular,” he says.
“And it’s too early for the baby to come,” Mom adds, “so we’re taking her to the hospital.”
My sister sighs. “Guys, really it’s not that—” her voice cuts off and turns into a hiss of pain. She scrunches her face and squeezes Mom and Ben’s hands.
My heart clenches. “What can I do? How can I help?”
“Can you pack a bag for your sister?” Mom asks. “Bring it to the hospital?”
“Of course. Consider it done.” I follow them down the last of the steps.
Ben and Mom help Ala into the car now idling by the end of the staircase.
Just before Mom gets in, she gives me a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too, Mom. I'll be right behind you guys. If you find out anything before I get there, let me know.”
“Will do,” she says, then shuts the door.
As I watch the minivan race down the winding road, the feeling of helplessness takes root in my stomach, and I feel sick. I say a quick prayer that she and the baby will both be okay and climb back up the stairs wondering what I should pack.
A half hour later, after looking online to find out what I should pack for Ala and deciding that the recommended list isn’t nearly enough, I’m on the road heading to Canyon Vista Medical Center in Sierra Vista.
As I’m driving on the highway, halfway between Bisbee and Sierra Vista, a loud pop sounds and the steering wheel pulls to the right. The tire pressure light flashes on the dashboard with a loud beeping.
I curse and pull off onto the dirt shoulder, bringing the car to a full stop. As far as I can see, there’s only empty highway and land on either side. Of course, I get a flat tire when I’m out in the middle of nowhere. There are no buildings. No gas station with an attendant that might change my tire with a little flirting on my end. Nothing.
I climb out of the car, wave the dust from the air, and go check the damage. The tire is completely flat. Great. I have roadside assistance, but all the way out here it would probably be at least an hour before anyone came. If I change it myself, I could be out of here in about twenty minutes. It’s been years since I’ve changed a tire. Do I even remember how? I look down at my clothes and sigh. I’m wearing blush-colored fitted slacks, a white fine-knit sweater, and nude stiletto heels. Julie says to be prepared for paparazzi at all times. I’m dressed to impress, not to change a tire.
I think about Ala, and my heart clenches. I’m not going to take the extra time to wait for someone else to come do what I know I can figure out myself . . . I think. I take a deep breath and set to the task of changing the tire and ruining my perfectly posh outfit. Awesome.
I’m crouched down, working on getting the last nut off. I already have several smudges of black on my blush pants and top. I’m sure no amount of dry cleaning will get it out. I tug as hard as I can with the wrench, but no matter how hard I work at it, I can’t seem to get the darn thing loose. I have my hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of my head, but despite the cool breeze, sweat runs down my spine.
“Well now, a woman changing a tire in heels,” a smooth male voice says from behind me. “Impressive. As capable as you look, ma’am, can I offer you a hand?”
