“Great,” she muttered.
“Why in the world didn’t you use some of that money your uncle gave you to buy yourself a new set of luggage?”
“There’s nothing wrong with this suitcase.”
“Except that it’s missing a wheel.” Leave it to Naomi to notice the small details. “Seriously,” Naomi continued, “your luggage is an expression of yourself. An extension of your wardrobe.”
“And mine clearly expresses the status of my life at the moment. Here’s the key.” Reagan held up the key and grabbed hold of her bag before it toppled over and took Naomi’s prized set with it.
“First thing we’re doing is going shopping. New bags. New keychain.”
“It’s one key, and I didn’t see the need to take up valuable space in my purse for one key. The pocket would have been fine if it wasn’t torn.”
“New purse.” Naomi stepped aside, giving Reagan space to open the door. But Reagan couldn’t do it. She wasn’t ready to begin this new era.
Six weeks ago, Reagan wondered how she was going to manage her monthly credit card payments. She’d broken up with Kyle, the dirty cheating slimeball, after coming home early from a job she’d hastily quit only to find him in bed with another woman. Her body flushed in fury at the memory. She was almost thirty years old and didn’t relish moving back in with her mother.
Now she wondered what to do with the hundreds of thousands of dollars left in her account after her credit cards and tuition loans were paid in full. Her uncle, an uncle she never knew existed until after his death, had opened accounts in her name so all she had to do was prove she was Reagan Dawn McKinney, born March twenty-second to Frank and Sharon McKinney. Her accountant and lawyers and other bigwig guys her uncle had employed would take care of the other details.
She squared her shoulders. She was ready for a change. Ready for a new life. Ready for a real vacation. She’d called Naomi, her cousin in California, who happily grabbed the first plane out to meet her here. Reagan would assess the condo and decide whether to keep it or sell it but would never go back to her former life. In the process, she hoped to learn about the man who left all this to her.
Like why. Why her? Why hadn’t she known of his existence? Why was her mother so secretive about him?
“Reagan?”
Naomi’s voice penetrated her fog, but Reagan couldn’t summon the nerve to unlock the door. Once she did, this would all become real. Her expectations would be met, exceeded, or seriously flop as they had most her life.
Handing Naomi the key, Reagan stepped back. Impatience agitated her chaotic nerves, and she couldn’t decide whether she was happy or nervous or just plain scared. Scared of what she’d find. Scared of how her life might change. When it took Naomi longer than it should, she almost pushed her aside to unlock the door, but Naomi got it opened and stepped inside.
Hesitancy again. Her brain hurt with indecision. Reagan removed the key from the knob, another good way to delay the inevitable, while Naomi searched for the light.
“Wow,” Naomi said. “Very nice.”
Reagan’s withering energy focused on the room. She agreed with Naomi.
Wow.
Wood stylized the floors, countertops, and cabinets while rock cloaked a corner fireplace and the base of the kitchen island.
She detected the faint odor of cats. Not an unpleasant smell but an obvious one when a cat lived in the home, especially after being closed up for weeks. She coasted along the wood floor, searching for signs of an animal. A litter box. Toys. A food dish.
An open kitchen with an island bar sat to the left of the entry. Two leather couches clustered together in front of a massive TV that hung on the wall in the living room, and the nearby mantel displayed several pictures.
She inched her fingers along the logs of the wall, hoping every crevice would reveal something about her uncle. A sense of loss invaded her other confused emotions. It was as if she’d expected him to be waiting to greet her.
She didn’t even know what he looked like.
Naomi disappeared as Reagan approached the pictures. Eager to absorb their knowledge, she retrieved one, pinpointing the man who must be her uncle. The resemblance between him and her mother was incredible. The small ears, the thin lips, the wide smile, and his eyes.
She almost dropped the picture, righted it, and snatched the next one.
She singled out her uncle, centered between two men decked in ski gear and fighting with the skis for their place in the picture. Another photo depicted Ray and the same men, goggles resting on their foreheads and beanies hiding their hair, holding a six pack of beer with huge smiles on their faces. A landscape photo on the side of the mantel depicted the mountains in the spring, with flowers and a waterfall.
She noticed photos of her, scattered among the frames as if they belonged. Many of them were close-ups, the lens zoomed on her face. Had he spied on her?
A shiver swept her spine, tingling on her collarbone.
Her uncle was attractive, appeared younger than Mom, and flaunted Reagan’s same brown eyes. With her picture so close to his, their similarities amazed her. They could have been siblings, but she didn’t have a brother.
Of course, until recently, she hadn’t known she had an uncle.
Sniffing at the clog in her throat, she turned away from the pictures. They couldn’t speak or tell her of the memories, the mysteries, of the man who once lived here.
She heard the faint sound of a toilet flushing and water running. Naomi came to stand beside her.
“Are you okay?” she asked as she rested her arm on Reagan’s shoulder.
Reagan nodded as she swiped away a tear. She felt she’d just learned she was adopted. This man obviously thought enough of her to leave his belongings and money to her. She’d thought her mom was an only child. Her only cousin, Naomi, came from her dad’s side. Why would her mom have a brother she never spoke of? What other skeletons were struggling for freedom?
“This is beautiful,” Naomi said. “We need to start a fire and it’ll all be good.” A small statue of a bear near the fireplace held a stack of wood. Naomi leaned over and shuffled pieces into the cavern of old ash.
“I’ll find matches,” Reagan said.
She took her time opening drawers, fingering the cool touch of the countertops, and noticed Ray’s evident delight for luxury. Stainless steel appliances, dinnerware that looked expensive, and a scarlet table runner down the middle of the dining table. A glass vase with silk orchids sat on the runner, the vase shimmering with diamond-like sparkles.
“Would you look at this?” Reagan picked up the vase. She doubted they were real diamonds, but the man had given a niece he’d never met over a quarter of a million dollars, so nothing about him should surprise her.
“Where are the matches?” Naomi yelled.
“I’m working on it.”
“I can’t stand this ash,” Naomi said, grunting and groaning as she tried to clean out the fireplace after she’d already loaded the wood.
“I saw a handheld vacuum on the shelf near the mantel,” Reagan said.
Naomi found the vacuum and turned it on, drowning out the silence with its loud whirr. Reagan smiled, remembering Naomi’s compulsion to keep things clean and organized. She shouldn’t have any problems in this condo. Besides the few luxury items scattered throughout, everything was orderly and simple.
Almost too orderly and simple.
Reagan upped the thermostat and relaxed on the sofa, covering her legs with a blanket. The electricity had stayed on for necessity after Ray’s death, but the room was cold. She wondered how long it’d been since someone lived here or if someone had lived with Ray. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have given her the condo, would he?
“I found lighters,” Naomi said. Within minutes, a fire blazed.
The flames did little to soothe Reagan. Her muscles cramped, caging her. Jumping up, she threw the blanket over the couch and paced, opening and closing the cabinets to find s
omething. Anything. Nothing. Either someone cleaned it out after Ray died or he didn’t eat much.
“You wanna go roam around?” Naomi asked. “I noticed a bar within walking distance. We could check it out.”
“Great idea,” Reagan said, thinking it a good place to bury her anxiety. “Let me grab my purse.”
Outside, the darkness blanketed them in a shell of stars and ice like a magical snow globe. Snow crunched under her feet, making her lighter, more carefree. She slipped a few times, and she and Naomi huddled together in laughter. Despite the cold and slipperiness, the snow enchanted her. The mountains seemed to glow in the dark, surrounding her like angels watching her or big shoulders protecting her.
They walked two blocks to a bar bursting with activity and music low enough to have a decent conversation. A flat-screen TV hung above a fireplace. White lights were strung across the ceiling, and the walls promoted every beer company imaginable. Conversations fused into one, giving the room a low hum. Cozy and quaint, it buzzed with underlying energy.
She already felt better. The activity dulled her restlessness.
“Ladies, can I get you something to drink?”
Reagan turned and recognized the bartender as one of the men with her uncle in a couple of pictures. He must have recognized her too, because his steps faltered and his eyes briefly flickered.
“My specialty is hot buttered rum,” he said, regaining his composure.
“Bring it on,” Naomi said.
His brows arched, yet his gaze remained aloof. Reagan watched as he turned to make their drinks, wondering if the town catered to many outsiders.
“He’s cute,” Naomi said as they both removed their gloves and laid them on the bar.
“He’s in several pictures on the mantel.”
“Oh yummy.” Naomi smacked her hands together. “Now I have a picture for my fantasies.” When he returned with their drinks, she offered her widest, sexiest smile. “I’m Naomi.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Chayton.”
“I recognize you,” Reagan said, still studying him. His tan looked natural and his brown eyes held the depths of the earth. His dark hair brushed past his ears and down his forehead, curling at the ends. This guy knew her uncle, and she planned to discover all she could about him. “From a picture in my condo.”
“Your condo?”
“I mean, my uncle’s condo. You must’ve known him. Ray.”
His lips pursed as he toweled an already clean counter, but he didn’t look surprised. His long-sleeved chambray shirt, rolled to the elbows, revealed well-defined forearms. “Ray’s your uncle? Yeah, I knew him.”
“Well enough to ski with him.”
“Ray was a great guy and my friend and neighbor for years. We skied together all the time. I’m sorry about what happened.”
Reagan clenched her cup. Steam rose from the drink and she steadied her gaze on the ice cream, watching it melt. His words were stilted, but his flat and unemotional voice belied his jerky movements. She wondered if he knew he shouldn’t be expressing his sympathy to her.
“I should be telling you that,” Reagan said. “I never knew he existed. The day I learned about him was the day I found out he left me his condo.”
Chayton stopped toweling the bar, the slight tilt of head his only reply. His brooding brown eyes mesmerized her, drawing her into their depths. A sprinkling of freckles polished his cheeks and nose. Reagan wondered what this guy knew about her. What her uncle might have known about her.
Obviously more than she knew about Ray.
“Did he have a cat?” she asked out of the blue.
Someone yelled something beside her. Chayton acknowledged the customer and grabbed a glass from the shelf above him. He flipped the glass, poured a bit of alcohol, and squirted soda-like fizz from a fountain before resting a lime atop the rim. Sliding it across the counter, he hollered, “I’ll put it on your tab.”
Slick. This guy over-exaggerated sexy. Tall, dark, and handsome edged by indescribable intensity. Reagan glanced at Naomi, whose dumbfounded expression announced she was also impressed.
Leaning forward on the counter, Chayton set his elbows on the bar and entwined his fingers together. “Yeah, he had a cat,” he answered, his voice rough and difficult to sketch.
“What happened to it?” Reagan asked. She liked cats but hadn’t had one since junior high.
“He’s with me,” Chayton growled. “I’ve grown quite attached to him.”
“Oh.” Reagan held up her hands. “I didn’t want … I didn’t mean I’d take the cat. I just thought … ”
Chayton nodded. “Good. I’d like to keep him.”
“Yes. Please.” Reagan felt like a jerk. An embarrassed jerk. Who could blame Chayton for his caution? As far as he was concerned, she was a long-lost family member only here for her uncle’s money. Someone who hadn’t bothered to be around when it really mattered.
Relieved when Naomi took over the conversation, she listened halfheartedly as her cousin asked Chayton about the town, the skiing, the mountain peaks, and the weather. Her mind swam with questions, things she wanted to know about Ray, not the town.
“I don’t even know what happened to him,” Reagan interrupted.
Naomi and Chayton stopped talking and looked at her oddly. “What?” Naomi asked.
“To Ray. I don’t know what happened to Ray.”
Chayton steadied his gaze on her, but the narrowing of his eyes and the clenching of his jaw told her he still mourned his friend. She regretted interrupting. This guy didn’t know her and as far as she knew, had no reason to like her. As Ray’s neighbor and friend, he might even resent her.
“He was killed in an ice-climbing accident.”
Chapter Two
Garret scratched the cue ball and cursed. Stepping away, he handed the table over to Andy.
He’d received Chayton’s text that Reagan was at Air Dog, but she was gone by the time he arrived. He played a game of pool and drank a couple bottles of Guinness. He couldn’t sleep anyway.
Guilt hounded him on a daily basis, but most times he was able to stifle it with activity. After losing his partner the way he did, he might not return to work. He suspected that’s why Buchanan gave him this assignment.
Ray had been a good friend. He’d left his niece everything, and only now did she decide to come down and see the place. Where was she at Christmas? On his birthday? At his funeral? He couldn’t say much. He hadn’t been at Ray’s funeral either, but his job was his excuse — as it was for everything else he’d missed in his lifetime.
Andy steadied his pool cue, pocketed a solid, and whooped. He’d grown up with Garret and Chayton and, like Chayton, had stayed in Tanyon. The longer Garret stayed, the more he understood why.
The town sat at the base of the mountain thirty miles off the interstate between Whitefish and Kalispell, the two closest cities. One ski lift toted skiers up the mountain, and that’s how the locals liked it. The larger resort towns with fancy accommodations attracted most visitors, and the locals preferred that, too. They didn’t want the stress of big city lights and crime.
As Andy took another turn, Chayton approached and stole Garret’s cue stick. “She’s more beautiful in person than the pictures. Her friend is hot, too.”
“Friend?”
“Yeah, another girl was with her.”
Great, who was this other girl? Another bedmate of Javier Mass?
“Her friend was trying to cover a bruise on her cheek with makeup.”
He knew Javier Mass liked to beat up women. Maybe the girls were hiding from him. If that was the case, they were in danger. Nobody hid from Javier Mass for long.
“Your turn,” Andy interrupted.
“I’ll take his turn,” Chayton said. “He’s not playing so well tonight.”
Garret groaned and shrugged his shoulders, approaching the bar for another Guinness. One more beer wouldn’t hurt.
He stood by the bar and watched his younger brother po
cket three stripes, finally handing the table over to Andy after missing the fourth. Garret and Chayton had made it a game to challenge each other throughout their lives, but now it seemed Chayton triumphed. Probably because Garret’s job was his life, robbing him of fun or entertainment. He had a lot to make up for, but he’d pushed himself over the past three weeks to fit in everything he could. Sometimes he wondered if he did it for fun or punishment.
Garret returned to the table and stood beside his brother, but didn’t make a move.
Chayton snorted. “You too old to play the game?”
Using the taunt to fuel him, Garret wrested the pool stick from Chayton’s grip and eyed the table. The cue ball rested in the middle of the table, but all striped balls — the three left — were frozen against the short rail, along with two other solids. Taking a moment to focus and bridge his stick, he called his pocket and struck the cue ball. It flew across the table and pocketed not one but two of his object balls, leaving the other to slide against the rail and hang.
“Hah,” he said, feeling quite proud of himself.
“That’s great, Gar,” Chayton drawled as he popped him on the back.
Straightening, Garret narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Don’t forget who taught you this game.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
As a few of the regulars approached, one of them said, “I’m betting on Gar.”
“No. Andy has more practice,” someone else said.
“Did you see him carving the mountains the other day?”
“His brother just played half his game.”
Sneering at the gibes, Garret took his time leveling his stick. One more object ball and the eight for him and two object balls and the eight for Andy. The competitive side of him wouldn’t make this easy on his opponent.
Reagan’s image, which had been hovering at the edge of his mind throughout the night, flashed through his head. Cursing, he straightened and wiped his sleeve across his brow.
Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) Page 2
