Tragic

by Devney Perry

  “Coffee?” She took another mug from a cupboard.

  “Yes, please.” I slid into a barstool at the island in their kitchen. “Thank you for letting me come out here on short notice.”

  She delivered my mug, then brought over her own and sat two barstools away. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

  Was I? Her tone wasn’t convincing.

  Thea and I hadn’t gotten off to a good start, which was my fault entirely. She’d come to New York with Logan about five years ago, just after they’d started seeing one another. Well, they’d actually met years before in the hotel bar where Thea had been working. They’d hooked up and gone their separate ways, but not before Thea had gotten pregnant with no way of tracking Logan down.

  Lucky for them, fate had intervened and delivered Logan here to Lark Cove and back into Thea’s life. And he’d met five-year-old Charlie—his daughter.

  But fate wasn’t something I believed in, so when he’d brought her home to meet our family, I’d been skeptical, to say the least. Actually, I’d been a total bitch, certain that Thea’s story was full of holes and that all she really wanted was to steal our family’s fortune.

  I’d thrown one of Logan’s ex-girlfriends in Thea’s face. I’d treated her like trash and dismissed Charlie completely. I’d judged her solely on her occupation as a bartender.

  Ugh, I’m the worst.

  I’d been trying ever since to get into Thea’s good graces. But since I only saw them two or three times a year, my progress had been slow. Especially because Thea and I had nothing in common except our last name.

  Most would call us both beautiful. Thea certainly was with her long dark hair, sparkling eyes and blinding smile. But she had an inner beauty that catapulted her to a different level. She worked hard, running her own business. She was an artist, creating sculptures and paintings that spoke to the soul. She didn’t care about material things or social status. Her goal in life was to raise happy children.

  She probably agreed with everything that reporter had written.

  Silence loomed in the kitchen as we drank our coffee. “It’s, um, quiet this morning.”

  “The kids were up late last night. I’m sure they’ll sleep in.”

  “Sorry.” They’d stayed up late because my flight hadn’t gotten in until nine. With the thirty-minute drive from the airport to Lark Cove added on top, they hadn’t gotten tucked into bed until almost ten.

  “Don’t worry about it. A late night isn’t going to hurt them.”

  “I can’t believe it’s already been six months since you guys came to the city. The kids sure have grown since this summer.”

  Charlie, Collin and Camila were eleven, four and two, respectively. While Charlie was still the same tomboy she’d always been, Collin and Camila were developing their own personalities. Collin was a bundle of energy, never stopping as he explored the world. And Camila wasn’t the baby she’d been last summer. Now she was talking and doing her best to keep pace with her older siblings.

  Maybe she’d have better luck than I had.

  Did they think their aunt was a complete failure too?

  With talk about the kids out of the way, there wasn’t much else to discuss at five in the morning. So we sat there, listening to the refrigerator hum. Halfway into my coffee, I wished I’d stayed in bed. There was an elephant in the room, and it was named NY Scene.

  “You think it’s true.”

  “Huh?” Thea asked.

  “The magazine. You think what she wrote was true.”

  “The truth?” She sighed. “Yes and no. Yes, I think they captured the facts. No, I don’t think you’re all of the things she called you.”

  “Thank you.” My chin quivered. That was maybe the nicest thing she’d ever said to me. “I, um . . . I feel kind of lost. I don’t want to be that person.” Useless. Spoiled. Petty.

  Thea was quiet for a few moments, then reached across the granite counter and covered my wrist with her hand. “I have an idea.”

  “What’s that?” I looked up, my hopes skyrocketing that she’d help me out.

  “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “I do.” I nodded. “I trust you.”

  “Good.” Thea smiled and went back to her coffee. I waited for her to tell me her idea, but she didn’t say a word. She just kept sipping from her mug for a few minutes and then got up and went to the fridge for eggs.

  “Uh, are you going to tell me your idea?”

  She grinned over her shoulder, then cracked the first egg on the edge of a bowl. “Just trust me.”

  I frowned at the dingy building outside the car window. A few hours after breakfast, Thea had loaded us all up in their SUV and ordered Logan to drive to the Lark Cove Bar.

  “Are we getting lunch here or something?”

  “No, I’ve got to get a few things organized before we can go.”

  “Where are we going?” Logan asked.

  “Paris. We’re leaving this afternoon.”

  “What? Paris?” I looked between them both in the front seat of their SUV. “Why didn’t you say anything at breakfast? Or when I called you yesterday?”

  “Um, because I didn’t know,” Logan told me then turned to his wife. “We’re going to Paris?”

  She nodded. “Isn’t that what you gave me for my Christmas present?”

  “Well, yeah. But we can go whenever you want.”

  “And I’ve decided I want to go for New Year’s Eve. You can kiss me underneath the Eiffel Tower.”

  “Gross, Mom.” Charlie groaned in her seat next to me. Collin and Camila just giggled from their car seats.

  “I’ve already arranged for the kids to stay with Hazel and Xavier,” Thea told Logan, earning a cheer from the kids that they’d be staying with their gran. “The jet is already here since Sofia flew over last night. We just have to pack and go.”

  “But what about the bar?” he asked. “Your New Year’s Eve party is in two days. You really want to miss it?”

  She shrugged. “They can party without us this year.”

  “But—”

  “I rarely do anything spontaneous, gorgeous. I’m stepping way outside my comfort zone here. Just go with it.”

  His entire frame relaxed, and he reached across the car to take her hand. “Paris is what you want?”

  “Paris is what I want.” She nodded. “Ten days. Just the two of us.”

  “Okay. Then we’ll go to Paris.” He leaned across the car and planted a firm kiss on her lips, getting more groans and giggles from the kids.

  “Is this your idea?” I asked. “For me to house-sit while you’re gone?”

  Thea gave Logan a grin that could only be described as diabolical. “Sort of.”

  “Wait. What do you mean—”

  Before I finished my question, she opened the door and started unbuckling the kids.

  I rushed to get out of the middle seat and follow, hurrying to catch up as she crossed the snow-covered parking lot. “Thea, what do you mean sort of?”

  “Trust me.”

  “I’m starting to fear those two words.”

  She laughed and kept walking, Camila perched on her hip while Charlie and Collin raced around in the snow, kicking and throwing it at one other.

  “Inside, guys!” Logan hollered, getting to the door first and holding it open for us.

  Stepping inside and out of the cold, I took a few seconds to let my eyes adjust to the dark interior of the bar. Even with the blinds on the front windows open and the winter sun streaming inside, the bar was dim.

  The kids rushed past me, bringing clumps of snow with them.

  This was only the third time I’d been to Thea’s bar and restaurant. All of my previous trips to Montana had been for family gatherings, so my time in Lark Cove had been confined to Logan and Thea’s house on Flathead Lake. I didn’t know this bar well, but it didn’t take much of an inspection to know that it hadn’t changed a bit since I’d been here last.

  The ceil
ings were high with iron beams running the length of the open room. The bar ran in an L along the back walls. Behind it were mirrored shelves crowded with liquor bottles. The wooden plank floors matched the wooden plank walls, except while the dark floors were battered and covered in peanut shells, the dark walls were battered and covered in framed photos and the occasional neon sign.

  Nothing else matched. Not the chairs or the stools or the tables. It was a mishmash of collectibles and went against every single one of the design principles I’d learned in college.

  A strange twinge ran up my neck. It was the same feeling I’d had the other three times I’d been here, the same prickle I’d gotten when I’d ridden the subway once in high school for “fun.” I was convinced that the next black plague would originate from those tunnels.

  Maybe that twinge was my body’s way of warning me of danger. Like it knew my immune system wouldn’t be able to ward off the germs in places like this.

  Not that the bar was dirty or grimy. It was actually quite clean and dust-free. The bar was just . . . old. And battered. Some might call it rustic. But the only kind of rustic I enjoyed was the brand-new kind you found in Aspen estates.

  I’d give Thea one thing: her bar was unique. The jukebox in the corner was ancient, filled with old country music I’d never heard of. There was a set of antlers hanging on one wall with a bra draped from the horns.

  As the kids chased each other around a cocktail table in the middle of the room, Logan and Thea took turns grabbing them one by one to help them out of their winter coats.

  The twinge in my neck was gone. The clean and refreshing smell in the room had chased it away. I guess this place wasn’t like the subway—not even a little.

  Bleach lingered in the air, hinting that someone had scrubbed the bar top not too long ago. They must not have gotten to the floors yet.

  Beneath the cleaner, the air was infused with citrus. I spotted a cutting board and a knife on the bar next to the slotted tray of bar fruits. It was overflowing with lemon, lime and orange wedges.

  “Hey.” A smooth, deep voice echoed in the empty room as a man emerged from the hallway behind the bar. His long, tanned fingers were wrapped around a white dish towel as he dried his hands. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “We’re going on a vacation.” Thea smiled and walked behind the bar. “So I need to grab a couple of things before we leave.”

  “Vacation? Like, today? That wasn’t on the calendar.”

  She laughed. “I know. I’m being spontaneous.”

  “Something you are not.” The man chuckled and a shiver rolled down my spine.

  This bar might not have changed since I’d been here last, but this man was definitely new. And definitely sexy.

  His onyx hair was short on the sides and longer on top with wide swoops through the silky strands like he’d combed it out with his fingers. His face had this beautiful, odd symmetry that I felt the urge to sketch. His eyes were narrow and set in a harsh line above the wide bridge of his nose. His jaw was made entirely of hard, unforgiving angles. His cheekbones were so sharp they could cut glass. The only thing soft about this man’s face were his full lips.

  Apart, the features were all too strong and too bold, but mixed together, he was magnificent.

  “Have you met Dakota before?” Logan caught my attention and nodded to the man I’d been blatantly studying.

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered. “Dakota Magee, this is my sister Sofia Kendrick.”

  Dakota jerked up his chin.

  “Hi.” I swallowed hard, finding it difficult to breathe when he was looking my way.

  Those black eyes scrutinized me from head to toe, giving nothing away about what he found. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move.

  I’d had my first boyfriend at thirteen and plenty of others since. I’d been married—and divorced—twice. I’d been on the receiving end of more pick-up lines and catcalls than a stripper headlining a Vegas show.

  I knew when a man found me attractive. I knew when I stirred a man’s blood.

  But Dakota’s stare gave nothing away. It was empty and cool. He looked right to my core, making my heart boom louder and louder with every passing second that I failed his inspection.

  “So since I’m leaving on this last-minute vacation, I had an idea.” Thea’s voice came to my rescue, forcing Dakota to break his stare. “Sofia can help you out while I’m gone.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  Dakota and Logan both spoke at the same time my stomach dropped. She wanted me to help? Here?

  “With New Year’s Eve, it’ll be busy,” Thea said.

  “Then I’ll call Jackson if I can’t keep up,” Dakota shot back.

  Thea shook her head. “He and Willa made plans to go to Kalispell for New Year’s.”

  “Fine.” His jaw clenched, the angles getting angry. “Then I’ll handle it. Alone.”

  “Listen. I feel awful leaving you here alone on one of the biggest days of the year when I’d planned to help out. But this will be perfect. You can teach Sofia the ropes for a couple of days, and then she can help during the party. It’s a win-win.”

  He grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. But he didn’t argue with his boss.

  “Thank you.” Thea smiled, knowing she’d won. “Thank you both for doing this. It’ll be great.”

  How could she think me working in her bar would ever be great? I had no experience, let alone desire, to mix other people’s drinks.

  Dakota’s stern expression turned arctic as he leveled his gaze on me again. It was no secret he didn’t want me here as much as I didn’t wish to stay.

  I inched backward, hoping to make an escape while I had the chance, but my foot caught on the edge of a chair. My feet slipped in the puddle of melted snow that had collected underneath my boots. My arms flailed as I tried to keep my footing, but when one heel went skidding sideways, I was doomed.

  A cluster of peanut shells broke my fall as my ass collided with the floor.

  “Ouch.” My face burned with embarrassment as Logan rushed to my side.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” I nodded, letting him take my elbow to help me back up. When my feet were steady, I rubbed the spot on my butt that was sure to bruise.

  “Those peanut shells can be slippery,” Thea told me. “My first two weeks here, I slipped constantly. But you’ll get used to walking on them. And I guess you might as well start work by sweeping them all up.”

  “Sweep?” My mouth fell open. “I don’t know how to sweep.”

  Dakota scoffed and turned on a heel, striding out of the room.

  “Broom’s in that closet over there.” Thea pointed to a door next to the restroom, then followed Dakota down the hallway.

  Logan’s mouth was hanging open like mine as he stared at the spot where Thea and Dakota had disappeared. He shook it off, blinked twice, then unglued his feet and hustled after them both.

  Which left me in a rustic bar, surrounded by peanut shells, while my nieces and nephews played like this was just another normal day in paradise.

  What kind of fresh hell was this?

  Thank you for reading Tragic! I hope you’ve enjoyed Kaine and Piper’s story. Because of readers like you, I get to do my dream job, and I am so very grateful.

  Special thanks to my amazing editing and proofreading team. Elizabeth Nover. Ellie McLove. Julie Deaton. Kaitlyn Moodie. Thank you to Sarah Hansen for Tragic’s beautiful cover and to Stacey Blake for the incredible formatting work you do on each and every book. And a huge thank you to Danielle Sanchez, my publicist, for all of your work, love and support—and for being one of my absolute favorite people on the planet.

  I can’t say thank you enough to all of the awesome bloggers who read and spread the word about my books. THANK YOU! To my ARC team and Perry Street, thank you for loving my stories. Your excitement f
or them gives me life!

  And lastly, thank you to my friends and family. I couldn’t do this without you!

  Jamison Valley Series

  The Coppersmith Farmhouse

  The Clover Chapel

  The Lucky Heart

  The Outpost

  The Bitterroot Inn

  Maysen Jar Series

  The Birthday List

  Letters to Molly

  Lark Cove Series

  Tattered

  Timid

  Tragic

  Tinsel

  Devney is a USA Today bestselling author who lives in Washington with her husband and two sons. Born and raised in Montana, she loves writing books set in her treasured home state. After working in the technology industry for nearly a decade, she abandoned conference calls and project schedules to enjoy a slower pace at home with her family. Writing one book, let alone many, was not something she ever expected to do. But now that she’s discovered her true passion for writing romance, she has no plans to ever stop.

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