by Tawna Fenske
“Same.” He shifts the axe in one hand as he regards me with a curious look. “You’re hot for her?”
I swallow back a startled laugh. “She’s a great lady.”
“Yeah.” He studies me some more. “Anyone who’d hurt my family has to get through me.”
I get the sense that threat isn’t meant just for Baldy. Coming from a scowling, six-five lumberjack, it’s not an idle one, either. “I have a sister, too.”
The nod he gives me is sharp, but there’s a flash of respect in his eyes. “Heard about that. I’d have done the same thing.”
And here’s where the small-town gossip mill is handy. “Call if you need backup.” I tilt my chin toward the axe. “I’ll bring my own tools.”
That gets the tiniest smile out of him. “Take care.”
He slams the door shut and steps back as I click my seatbelt into place. He watches me back out, and I’m suddenly self-conscious of my driving in a way I haven’t been since my father watched me take my driver’s test.
“Better not fucking fail,” he’d muttered beforehand, clapping me so hard on the shoulder that I staggered into my examiner.
I didn’t fail. I never have, at least not when it comes to exams. I’m still not sure if it’s in spite of or because of my father’s tough love.
As Mark fades in my rearview mirror, I let myself relax.
What did Izzy mean about liking me too much? Why would that be a problem, when it’s the best damn news I’ve had all week?
All right, she’s returning to Dovlano. I get that, though I know her siblings hope she’ll change her mind. She belongs here, even if she doesn’t know it yet. It’s been amazing watching her emerge from her shell this past year, and I can’t stand the thought of her tucking back inside and retreating to her life at the royal palace.
My thoughts distract me enough that I don’t notice I’m heading to my sister’s house until I’m halfway there. I glance at my watch, sad to realize it’s past Jordan’s bedtime. I may not see my niece, but Julia’s still up. It’s that time of the evening she’s often starved for human contact, so I pull off the road and text a quick note to be sure she’s home.
You around? Free to visit?
Her reply is instant.
YES! Please come. Bring booze.
I’m smiling as I pull back onto the road. I make a quick pit stop at Safeway for a pack of her favorite vanilla bean pear cider from Axis. While I’m there, I do a lap through the store grabbing things Julia usually needs. A pack of diapers from aisle six, plus a gallon of milk. I should have snagged eggs from Mom’s henhouse, so I grab a dozen of those as my phone buzzes again.
You’ll be my favorite brother if you grab a pack of OB tampons.
I snort and head for the next aisle, texting my response as I roll past towers of pink packaging.
Regular, super, or combo pack?
She texts back a series of heart emojis before responding with words.
Super, please. You’re a lifesaver.
I grab a pack of Lifesavers by the check stand and text her a photo, since that’s the legally required response from a smartass brother. Along the way, I spot an endcap featuring local gelato, so I toss in a pint of Lavender Lemon from Bontá and beeline it to self-checkout.
There’s an older woman I recognize as a friend of my grope-happy, senior citizen patient, Mrs. Sampson. I can’t recall her name, but she eyes the contents of my cart and gives me a knowing look.
“Looks like you’re having a nice evening, Dr. Parker.”
I’m not sure what diapers, tampons, and boozy cider have to do with the quality of my evening, but I force a smile anyway. “Have a good night.”
She’s already got her phone out as I wheel past, so I imagine the gossip brigade will be out in full force before I reach my car. By the time I’m parking in my sister’s driveway, it’s almost eight.
Julia throws open the door before I get both legs out of the truck. “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
I hoist the six pack to show her. “I brought cider.”
“I know, I was talking to the cider.” She grins and ducks away from me before I can rumple her hair. “Seriously, you’re the best. Come in.”
“Jordan asleep?”
“Yeah, we had kind of a rough day.” Julia makes a face. “She bit a kid at daycare.”
“Ouch.”
“Tell me that’s a normal stage of development and I’m not raising a serial killer.”
“You might be raising a serial killer.” I follow her into the kitchen, shrugging as she turns to glare at me. “But that’s definitely a normal stage of childhood development.”
“Thanks, jerk.” She drops onto a stool at her kitchen island and sighs. “Can we sit here and pretend we’re at a real bar? It’s been so long since I’ve been to one that I’ve forgotten what it’s like.”
“No problem.” I put away the milk and ice cream and set the rest of the stuff on the counter before opening a cupboard above the dishwasher. “I’ll even put it in a glass if you promise to leave a tip.”
“Deal.” She watches me pour, her expression a bit wistful. “Today would have been our five-year dating anniversary.”
I don’t have to ask who she means. “Has he caught up on child support?”
“Of course not. He claims he’s between jobs.”
Her ex-husband lives in a Manhattan penthouse with a trust fund big enough to outfit a small army. The fact that I haven’t killed him yet is a testament to my self-restraint. “I’m sorry.” I sit down on the stool next to hers and push a glass in front of her. “Want me to have him murdered? I know some Special Forces guys who’d do it discreetly.”
“That would be nice.” She takes a slow sip of cider and sighs. “I don’t miss him,” she says. “Not even a tiny bit. But I miss the guy I thought he was. The one who swept me off my feet in college and gushed about ‘blending our lives together’ when we got married.”
I would personally like to put Eric’s hands in a blender and hit pulse, but that’s not what my sister needs right now. “At least you got Jordan out of the deal. Not that it negates all the shit he put you through.”
“She is pretty great.” She gives me a wobbly smile and takes a sip of cider. “Tell me about your new girlfriend.”
I sigh and take a swig of my drink. “I take it you talked to Mom?”
Julia grins wider. “She said you were making out in the barnyard like teenagers.”
“Wonderful.” I’ll never live this down.
“Oh, and Mom really likes Izzy. Said she’s pretty great.”
“She is pretty great.” I refuse to comment on the making out bit. “She says it’s not going anywhere, though. That she’s going back to her home country.”
“Huh.” She looks thoughtful as she spins her glass on the counter. “You think it’s a brush-off?”
“Could be.” I don’t want to be an egotistical jerk who thinks a beautiful woman couldn’t possibly shoot him down for any reason beyond geographic incompatibility. “I’ve been crushing on her a long time.”
I’m not sure why I just admitted that, but Julia doesn’t look surprised. “She’s the one you rescued at Bree Bracelyn’s wedding?”
“I wouldn’t say rescued.” Yeah, I recognized the signs of kidney failure and did basic triage before escorting her to the hospital and sticking around for the first few hours of her care. “She’s not my patient, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“That’s not what I’m getting at, actually.” She takes another sip of cider, considering me. Then she changes the subject. “How’s Mom?”
“Weird segue.” There’s concern in Julia’s eyes though, so I let that drop. “She seems good. Have you not seen her lately or something?”
“I just saw her yesterday, but I wanted your take on it.” She shrugs. “I think she might be lonely.”
Guilt washes through me as I try to recall the last time I dropped by before today. “We had brunch
a few days ago, and I went over last weekend to replace some of those lights in the foyer.” That used to be my father’s job, since Mom’s not a fan of crawling up a ladder. Bitterness trickles up my throat, and I swallow it back. “Maybe I’ll invite her to lunch. She loves that Dungeness crab risotto Sean Bracelyn makes at Ponderosa Resort.”
Julia’s smile leaves little doubt she sees right through me. “And you’ll just happen to visit Izzy while you’re there?”
“You calling me a self-serving jerk?”
She grins wider. “I’m calling you clever,” she says. “And a little evil.”
“That’s Dr. Evil to you.” I take a sip of cider, still fretting about my mother. “You think she needs someone living there? A full-time ranch hand or something?”
Julia cocks her head. “You volunteering?”
“If I have to.” Not that I’m eager to live with my mother, but if she needs me—
“Maybe she’s ready to start dating again,” Julia muses. “Someone kind and sweet and financially secure.”
I cock an eyebrow at her as I lift my glass. “Because marriage worked out so well for her the first time?”
“She got us, didn’t she?” The hopeful lilt on the last word lets me know she recognizes her words as an echo of mine just moments ago. “Seriously, though—do we know any eligible guys her age?”
I think about my patient who came in the other day for the STD screening and shake my head. “There are a lot of jerks out there. I don’t want her getting hurt again.”
Julia rolls her eyes. “You can’t cover us all in bubble wrap.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “It’s something I’ve been talking about with my therapist. The importance of fending for myself, sink or swim.”
I consider that a moment. “I’d never want to watch you sink.”
“I appreciate that. But sometimes it’s part of learning to swim.”
Draining the last of my cider, I throw an arm around my sister. “All right. But you can’t tell me I’m not allowed to toss you a life ring or strap water-wings on your arms or something.”
“Way to run the metaphor into the ground.” She grins and tips up her own glass. “I love you, big brother.”
“I love you, too, pipsqueak.” This time when I ruffle her hair, she doesn’t duck away. “Can I check on Jordan?”
“Yes, but if you wake her I will beat you to death with your stethoscope.”
“That’s fair.” I stand up and make a big show of tiptoeing over to the grocery bag I left on the counter. Inside is a small plush pig I found for Jordan on the baby aisle.
I’m not saying I bought it because it reminds me of Izzy, but I’m not saying I didn’t.
With another dramatic tiptoe performance—bolstered by an eye roll from my sister—I make my way to Jordan’s room and nudge open the door. My niece is fast asleep on her belly with half the covers thrown off. I bend down to tug the lightest blanket up over her back, then tuck the pig into the crook of her arm.
“Love you, Jordie girl,” I whisper.
My heart squeezes with love for this pint-sized replica of my sister. I know it’s not the dude-bro thing to admit wanting a family.
But toxic masculinity isn’t my jam, so yeah, I want a wife and kids and the whole American dream. Even if it didn’t work for my mom and sister like they hoped it would, I’m not giving up on that wish. If that makes me a hopeful sucker, so be it.
My niece stirs in her sleep, small fingers reaching out to clutch the pig’s snout. I smile and think of Izzy, not the least bit surprised I can’t get her out of my mind.
As I tiptoe from the room, I wonder how I’m going to shake this crush.
Or if I even want to.
Chapter 5
Isabella
It’s after dark when my brother walks me back to my cabin. “Lock the door behind me,” Mark says gruffly. “If anyone shows up, hit ‘em in the face with the hatchet.”
“Of course.” I’ll do no such thing, and he knows it. My brother built a three-story condo for a field mouse that got into his house, so I know he’s not the violent type, either.
But I appreciate him thinking I’m the sort of woman who’d defend myself aggressively if needed. Hefting my new tool, I lay the hatchet carefully on the table just inside my front door. “I’m prepared to bash anyone who knocks.”
“Maybe not Doc Bradley,” he amends. “He’s a good egg.”
I’m unfamiliar with the expression, but the thought of Bradley in a delicate white shell makes me giggle. “Thank Chelsea again for dinner. It was wonderful.”
“Yeah.” He gets that goofy, lovestruck look he has anytime his wife walks into a room, and my heart melts a little. “Call if you need more cupcakes.”
I ate two already, and I’d surely explode if I went back for another. “I’ll certainly do so.”
Throwing my arms around his massive bulk, I squeeze hard before letting go. “Good night, Mark.”
“Night.”
I watch him amble away, and yes, I lock the door behind him. Then I wait five minutes. Ten, just to be sure he’s busy tucking Libby in bed or kissing Chelsea or whatever my brother does in the privacy of his home.
When the clock strikes nine, I slip out the door into the darkness.
I’m still in my jeans, but I’ve pulled on a black hooded sweatshirt with the Jingle Bell Reindeer Ranch logo. A gift from Jade and Amber, though I never planned to wear it for covert nighttime activities.
As I duck through shadows, I take care to avoid the security guard I spotted near the spa. I do my best not to look suspicious, though if anyone sees me, I’ve got a cover story planned. I even pause a few times to gaze up at the stars, pleased I did my homework enough to know there’s a small comet passing through. I’m just a simple girl, out watching for shooting stars.
Making my way across the resort, I picture my siblings tucked snug in their cabins. They’ve got spouses and kids, pets and pleasant plans for the evening. What would that be like? Meeting my soulmate, dating a while, maybe settling down to get married. I can’t imagine it.
That doesn’t stop me from longing just a little.
And thinking of Bradley, if I’m being honest.
Seeing him today was wonderful. His mother was lovely, of course, but she’s not the one occupying my thoughts. It’s the memory of Bradley’s kiss making my lips tingle, the echo of his hands on my body as he held me in his arms.
Most of all, it’s the way he looked deep into my eyes. He saw me—really saw me—at least as much as I’ve allowed anyone to see me since I arrived at Ponderosa Resort.
What would it be like to let myself fall for him? To kiss him, touch him, devour him the way I’m dying to do?
But I can’t let myself think like that. Besides, I’ve got a crisis on my hands.
Picking up my pace, I huff out a breath that turns frosty in the dark winter night. The air smells like pine needles and the possibility of snow, which I never knew as an identifiable scent before I came here.
By the time I reach the other side of the resort, I’m feeling winded and oddly sentimental. That’s not the mindset I need to be in, so I spend a moment psyching myself up.
“You’re tough,” I whisper as I clench my fists at my sides. “You’re a badass, Izzy.”
Badass Izzy doesn’t sound right, so I try again. “You’re a badass, Iz. A rebel. A renegade. A frondeur.”
A deer bounds across a field in front of me, and I jump and nearly pee myself. Dammit.
The deer passes, and my heart rate slows again. I take a few more deep breaths, then bounce a couple times in my hiking boots to get myself in the zone.
By the time I knock on the cabin door, I’ve nearly convinced myself I’m not terrified.
That dies the instant he throws open the door. “What?”
The porch light glints off his bald head as he glowers at me. His black T-shirt reveals biceps the size of hams, and his scowl l
eaves little doubt how he feels about the interruption.
I gulp and let my gaze drop to the firearm in his hand. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
I swallow hard, struggling to summon small shreds of bravery. “Answering the door with a loaded gun.”
“It’s not loaded.” He turns and walks back into the cabin, leaving the door ajar. I hesitate a moment, then follow him inside.
He’s already at the dining table, seating himself beside an impressive pile of ammunition and a heap of cleaning supplies. Ignoring me, he gets back to work rubbing a rag along the barrel of the lethal-looking pistol. Some sort of Glock 9mm, if I recall correctly from the shooting lessons I endured as a royal teen.
I hated those lessons. Hated everything about the high-security environment at the Dovlano Royal Palace.
Folding my arms over my chest so he doesn’t see my hands shake, I fix my gaze on the gleam of his bald head. “Why are you here?”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps rubbing the gun. Was he serious about it not being loaded?
As if on cue, he puts the pieces back together and starts loading bullets. I gulp again.
“Dante!”
That gets his attention. He looks up sharply and scowls. “Do not use my name.”
I roll my eyes. “What the hell do you want me to call you, then? ‘Asshole my father hired to spy on me’ takes too long to say.”
He blinks. This is possibly the greatest show of emotion I’ve ever witnessed from the man. “Since when do you use profanity?”
“Why? Are you planning to report back to my parents?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
He shrugs and clips something onto the gun. A silencer? I have no idea what that looks like, but I don’t doubt he owns one. I watch him for a solid minute before I give up waiting for an answer. There’s something more pressing to ask anyway.
