Carter.
His text only served to remind her how deep and fast she’d been falling for him. He was almost too good to be true.
Another thought Bri needed to dismiss. He’d never given her a reason to distrust him, and yet she still hadn’t quite committed to seeing where their relationship could go. She reasoned she didn’t need to decide right now. She’d known him for a week, and while the man had lips made of gold, Bri knew a real relationship needed more than physical chemistry to succeed.
She slipped into her heels and grabbed her clutch. She might be overdressed for a quick walk through the last cemetery on her list, but she wouldn’t be for Carter’s grand opening. She had just enough time to run over to Holt Cemetery, and she really wanted to have good news for Carter on his special day.
The past few days of visiting cemeteries had brought Bri comfort. Listening to Carter talk about the mother he didn’t know had helped too. As she walked down the tree-lined lane, something inside her chest loosened—she wasn’t alone in her experiences. The hurt she felt over losing her own parents didn’t seem so sharp anymore.
She wandered up and down rows, nearing the mausoleum where someone labeled Felicia Hammond had found her final resting place. Anticipation swirled through her bloodstream, and she swallowed down a ball of nerves. What if this was Carter’s mother? What if it wasn’t? Where could she look then? She arrived and stepped up to the plaque on the door.
Felicia Hammond
Mother to Carter Hammond
Bri’s heart seized at the sight of the curled letters. Carter Hammond?
That couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be Jason Carter’s mother. Could it?
Heart racing like a horse in the Kentucky Derby, Bri examined the marker. Donated by Leon Hammond sat in the corner, almost covered in five years of grime.
With sickness swirling in her veins, Bri pulled out her phone and texted Carter. What’s your dad’s name?
His response came in seconds: Leon.
The breath left her body as if someone had squeezed it out of her in one, violent push.
This was his mother’s grave.
His name wasn’t Jason.
His first name was Carter.
Carter Hammond.
She spun away from the crypt, her heart drowning in betrayal. Could Carter be the owner of Hammond House? Could he be the old family friend that had stolen Amanda Monroe from her?
Chapter Ten:
Carter stood in a triangle with the mayor and his father, his hands held loosely in his pockets as the party happened around him. He felt like he’d swallowed a chainsaw, especially since the announcement of his ownership had come and gone and Bri hadn’t heard it. He’d said she didn’t have to come, but the hope pulsing with every heartbeat testified that he wanted her there.
You have to tell her, he told himself, wishing he could escape this insufferable event and do it right now. At least then she wouldn’t find out from a newspaper, or a television, or the DJ at this party. If he waited much longer, she’d find out from someone else, and the way his insides twisted told him he’d never get her back.
He noticed when Bri slipped through the sliding glass doors, her mane of dark hair and a tight black dress too intoxicating to miss. She didn’t move toward him though, choosing instead to skirt around the perimeter of the party. She took a flute of champagne, spoke with someone he hadn’t met yet, and edged toward the hallway that led to his office.
His father said something in a tone that required Carter’s attention, and he lost sight of Bri as he tuned into the Very Important Conversation. But he didn’t really care about the mayor, or the regrowth since Katrina, or the new businesses breathing life into the old city. He only wanted to touch Bri, hold her, kiss her, confess everything to her.
Right after this, he vowed to himself. Before the night ended, she’d know who he was.
The mayor moved away, and Carter separated himself from his father too. He nodded and smiled to a couple of local businessmen, air kissed with the matron of an old New Orleans family—royalty, he’d learned they were called—all the while searching for Bri out of the corner of his eye.
He never saw her again. Finally, the bar closed, the guests started going upstairs, the music silenced. Carter glanced at the clock behind the registration desk: Nearly midnight. He still hadn’t spoken to Bri.
Disquiet ran through him as he moved on exhausted legs toward his office. The first breakfast service was tomorrow, and his chef had been scheduled to arrive at four a.m. Carter wanted to be there to see how the pastries were made, how this operation worked. One thing he’d learned from his father was to never underestimate how every moving piece in a company functioned. As the owner, that was his job.
He’d made sure a comfortable couch had been purchased for his office, as he’d planned on sleeping there sometimes. Tonight, he’d try to grab a few hours of rest before staggering into the kitchen.
When he opened the door to his office, he knew Bri had been inside. The creamy scent of her skin flooded his nose, and he glanced around for her. Maybe she’d like to sleep on his couch with him.
A wicked smile curved his lips, falling off as he swept the room and didn’t find her. He removed his jacket and loosened his tie as he stepped toward this desk. A white, unmarked envelope sat there, and his heart pumped out a few extra beats.
He flipped it over and removed three items. The first was a Polaroid of his mother’s grave, complete with the inscription of his father’s name, as well as his.
His heart stalled. Bri had texted, asking for his father’s name. Then nothing after that. In the busyness of preparing for the grand opening, Carter hadn’t given it much thought. Until now.
The second item from the envelope was a newspaper clipping from this past Sunday’s paper, which detailed the interview he’d given about Hammond House’s grand opening.
She’d circled two words—Carter Hammond—in the sentence, “The owner of Hammond House, Carter Hammond, is set to open his new B&B on Friday evening.”
His heart fell to his shoes. She knew who he was. He dropped the Polaroid and the newspaper clipping, his fingers pinching the slip of yellow notebook paper like his life depended on it.
Her loopy scrawl stuffed his throat with emotion. You’re Carter Hammond. You own Hammond House. You stole Amanda Monroe from me.
She’d written something else, but erased it, and he couldn’t quite make out the words. He could definitely see her last sentence.
Don’t bother calling or texting or coming over to see me again.
She hadn’t even signed her name.
Carter sank into his desk chair, wondering how he could still think, still breathe, still read those awful words, when his heart had been ripped out of his chest.
Chapter Eleven:
Bri expected Carter to show up at the guest house, iron fists banging until she let him in and he could explain. Midnight came and went, and Carter didn’t come.
Sure, she’d told him not to contact her again, but surely he knew that was Girl Speak for get over here and make me believe you care about me. Girl Speak for fight for us!
When he didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t come, Bri curled into a ball in her huge, empty bed and cried. Maybe she wasn’t worth fighting for. Maybe the things she’d been feeling for Carter—this sense of connection over their pasts, a strong sensation of compassion, of friendship, of, dare she admit it? Love—weren’t as real to him as they were to her.
She sobbed harder, soaking her pillowcase as she emptied her soul. About five in the morning, she texted Yasmine and asked her to cover the management duties that day, claiming she was sick.
And she was. Heart sick. Completely broken.
This was why she didn’t date, and certainly didn’t let things get emotional. She didn’t have time to be heartbroken and sobbing through sheets.
Her fingers itched to text Carter. Maybe he hadn’t gotten her envelope and that was why he hadn’t come. Ma
ybe his phone had been lost, or stolen, or dropped in the toilet.
Maybe she was trying to make excuses for a man who didn’t care as much about her as she thought he did.
Still, her lips reminded her of the tenderness they’d felt in his. Her ears told her of the emotion they’d heard more than once as he spoke of the mother he’d never known. Her heart throbbed with how much it cared about him.
She stayed sequestered for the entire day, but refused to give Carter more than that. She got up on Sunday morning and went to Abbington House, the same way she always did. She smiled with red-painted lips, laughed with her breakfast guests a note or two higher than normal, and escaped to her office as soon as propriety would allow.
She changed from her sundress into a pair of cutoff shorts and a black tank top and stepped outside. After rummaging through the shed in the far corner of the grounds, Bri loaded a wheelbarrow with tools.
No one else was going to get the gardens wedding-worthy. She only paid her gardener to keep the lawn green and trimmed. She took care of everything else, including buying, planting, and maintaining the bushes, flowers, and roses that beautified the estate.
Hours later, she’d mapped out where the ceremony would take place and had a list of items she needed from the nursery and the hardware store. She snapped a couple pictures, as she hadn’t emailed Amanda the details about the wedding-only package yet, and surveyed her work.
Not bad, she told herself. The flowerbeds shone with dark earth, ready for planting. The bushes all stood at exact attention, their branches at even lengths. The cherry trees provided more than enough shade for the wedding and its guests. Dirty, sweaty, and starving, she went inside to ask Yasmine to borrow her car. After all, she couldn’t bring home a dozen rose bushes on a bicycle.
The back door slammed closed behind her, and she took a moment to bask in the blessed air conditioning. Yasmine appeared in the hall, her eyes wider than normal.
“What happened?” Bri strode past the dining room on her right, her imagination running wild. Had the new toilet exploded? The pipes in the butler’s bathroom started leaking? Windows been broken?
“Yasmine—”
“A man came by,” she said, her hands twisting around themselves. “He left something for you in the kitchen.”
Bri’s chest shrank into itself, then expanded. She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, desperate to go see what Carter had brought, yet unmoving at the same time. “Who was it?”
“The owner of Hammond House.” No wonder Yasmine looked so startled. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”
“I don’t,” Bri said sharply. “What makes you think I know him?”
Yasmine gestured toward the kitchen, her eyebrows raised.
Bri stepped down the short hall, descended the few steps, and entered the kitchen with her throat hosting its own pulse. The table bore at least five dozen red roses in an assortment of gorgeous vases adorned with ribbons, and bows, and fancy twines. A card leaned against the largest arrangement, with her name neatly printed in the center of the pink envelope. Yasmine followed her, pressing close to where Bri had stopped to take in the splendor of the roses.
“He insisted he set it up himself.” Yasmine nudged her forward. “He moved one vase an inch, then another, then shifted them back. He kept looking over his shoulder and asking where you were.”
The perfumed air made her head swim. Bri pressed her eyes closed, trying to push away this gesture. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? Carter to come to her, explain everything?
Yet now faced with a possible explanation inside that pink envelope, Bri found she wanted to hang onto her hurt and resentment. She knew how to function this way. She could give everything to Abbington House the way she had for the last five years. She’d been happy—at least as happy as she knew how to be.
“Are you going to read the card?” Yasmine stood as still as a statue, watching her with an intense look.
Bri shook her head and took a step back. She swallowed, her resolve strengthening by the second. She didn’t care if she was proving Nana right. Didn’t care that Carter was the one who’d said sometimes stubbornness was a good thing. He’d had no idea how much she’d needed to hear those words. She hadn’t thanked him for them, hadn’t confessed to him how guilty she felt for surviving when her parents hadn’t.
She strode toward the table and snatched the card. She tossed it into the trash. “Help me get rid of these.”
Yasmine leapt toward the large arrangement like Bri might smash it to smithereens. “Let’s put them in the guest rooms,” she said. “Then you won’t have to see them, but they won’t go to waste.”
Bri swallowed back her emotion, the desire to crush the vases and rip the petals into shreds diminishing at the thought of pleasing her guests. She didn’t want to use Carter’s roses to do it, but she allowed Yasmine to take the floral arrangements and relocate them. Once the kitchen had been cleared, Bri sank into a chair and cradled her head in her hands.
When she heard Yasmine’s footsteps, she sucked in a tight breath and wiped her eyes. She managed to stand before Yasmine entered.
“I need to go to the hardware store. Can I borrow your car?” Bri squared her shoulders and lifted her chin a fraction of an inch.
“Bri—”
“I’ll clean it afterward.”
Yasmine blinked, and nodded. She and Bri were friends, but not close enough for Bri to confide in. She didn’t have anyone like that, and maybe that was why she’d allowed herself to share such personal things with Carter. He’d felt like a safe place, someone who understood because of his own yearning for a family he hadn’t known.
She pushed aside her muddled feelings and accepted Yasmine’s keys. “Thank you, Yasmine. If the owner of Hammond House comes over again, call Wes.”
Later that day, with her head pounding and most of her muscles protesting about the long day of physical labor, Bri turned her bicycle down Nana’s lane. She skidded to a stop, nearly going over the handlebars when she saw Carter’s sports car parked in front of the garage.
Her heart picked up a beat, then two, as she steadied herself. She glanced toward the house, but the evening sun glinted off the panes of glass, making it impossible to see inside.
She walked her bike around the car and placed her hand on the hood too see if he’d been here long. Pain lancing through her palm, she yanked her hand back. Apparently the near-summer sun didn’t care if he’d just arrived or not. It baked everything, and she couldn’t tell if the engine was still warm.
Scampering now, Bri ducked to the side of the house, taking a few steps before a vehicle skidded to a stop in the driveway. An ambulance, lights flashing but siren silent.
Two men climbed out of the bus. “Did you call nine-one-one, ma’am?”
Her brows furrowed at the same time her heart catapulted to the roof of her mouth. She shook her head.
The front door banged open. “Come in, come in,” Carter said, somewhat breathless. “She was fine for a few minutes, then she started wheezing, and turning blue, and then she passed out.”
The paramedics strode in the direction of Carter’s voice. Bri followed, her anxiety rising with every step. “Nana?” she called.
In the sitting room, where Nana spent most of her time, the paramedics bent over her, instruments out. Carter hovered near the entryway, turning when Bri entered.
He seemed to have forgotten the status of their relationship, because he reached for her. She almost stepped into his embrace, but her brain took over at the last moment. She moved further into the room, almost bumping into the paramedic who’d just finished taking Nana’s blood pressure.
“How is she? What’s going on?”
“Bri.” Carter touched her elbow, and she jerked away. She spun, the tears she’d kept at bay all day streaking down her face. “What did you do to her?” She crowded his personal space, shoving one fist against his chest. “Why are you even here?”
Before he could answer,
a paramedic squeezed between them. “We need to transport her. One of you can ride with us.” He moved toward the front door while the other stayed with Nana.
“Where’s he going?” she asked.
“To get the gurney,” the remaining paramedic said. “She’s breathing. Her pulse is weak. We need to get her to the hospital to see what’s going on.” His voice never rose or dipped. Everything about him stayed even—his gaze, his temperament, his attitude.
His partner returned and they used Nana’s blankets to slide her onto the stretcher, and they started to wheel her away. The air around Bri evaporated. One of the paramedics spoke, but the words turned to echoes before she could understand what he’d said.
She felt herself hit the floor, felt someone touching her arm, her back, her head.
Carter.
She pushed him away. “I’m okay.” She regained her feet, not sure how much time had passed or what exactly had happened. Nana’s stretcher had disappeared, and Bri ran down the hall and out the front door.
The paramedics were just loading her into the back of the ambulance.
“I’m coming!” she called to them, collecting her purse from where she’d dropped it on the porch. She turned back to Carter, who’d followed her. “I don’t want you here when I get back.”
“Can I—?”
“Don’t come to the hospital either.” Bri turned away and flew down the steps to the back of the ambulance. She climbed in and sat on a very narrow ledge while the paramedic took readings on Nana’s machines.
She slid her fingers around Nana’s, and the chill from the old woman’s skin sent a shock through Bri. The fear grew inside until the teeth were so sharp, so huge, so dangerous she began to tremble.
Chapter Twelve:
Carter slept at Bri’s nana’s house that night. He didn’t care what she’d said. He wanted to see her, speak with her, explain everything. Surely she’d understand. Maybe even forgive him.
Open for Love Page 7
