by Laurel Greer
“Clearly,” she retorted. She moved to give him one of the quick squeezes that characterized the minimal physical affection they’d shared as adults. From him it was even more cursory than normal, barely a pat between her shoulder blades.
Pretending that didn’t hurt like hell, she scrambled back and made brief eye contact with Ryan. He studied her with a blank, police-officer stare. Heat spread up her neck. He didn’t get to pass judgment on her relationship with her family. Even if he seemed more comfortable in Maggie’s kitchen than she did.
Years ago, her half siblings had, at her request, deleted the name Ryan from all their conversations. But she’d gleaned enough from offhand comments to know that Lachlan had maintained a friendship of sorts with her ex. And with what Maggie had just told Stella about feeling torn between the past and present, it made a bit more sense that he’d feel free to waltz into the house like all was well.
Needing something to do with her hands, she poured the men coffees, stirred in milk and passed them over.
Lachlan took it with a nod and sat at the table, mumbling something to Maggie. Ryan accepted the mug with a stiff smile.
“Lunch break?” she asked. Hopefully it would end soon—as much as she wanted time with her siblings, she didn’t want to share that time with Ryan.
He was in uniform, as he’d been this morning. It still fit him like he’d been made to wear it. Her breath hitched.
Which he noticed, damn it. Eyes glinting, he nodded. “Yep. Gave Lachlan a ride home from training.” He slapped a palm to his forehead. “I forgot the supplies that the department gathered for your work bee. Want me to bring them tomorrow, or after work tonight?”
“Tonight.” Lachlan gripped his coffee mug. “Bring it to my house. That way we can figure out what we still need for equipment.”
“Aren’t we having family dinner?” Stella asked. She’d assumed that would be the case, anyway. Though maybe she was persona non grata to the extent they didn’t want to bother making a fuss...? An unfamiliar ache she didn’t care to analyze squeezed her throat.
“Yeah, we were going to do something,” Lachlan said grumpily. “Of course, that was before you decided to stay at a fricking hotel.”
“Right.” Her cheeks warmed. She peeked at Ryan out of the corner of her eye.
He was leaning against the counter, jaw locked tight. “I’ll drop off the stuff and be gone so fast, you won’t even know I’ve been by.”
And have everyone think she was clinging to the past by wanting to avoid him? No way. “Why don’t you join us?”
Silence fell, the only sound the burbling coffee maker. Maggie and Lachlan froze, and Ryan was studying his boots. Wow. Well done, self. Hard to make it more uncomfortable, considering how pissed off Lachlan still was with her, but she’d managed to do just that.
“Probably better not to,” Ryan said. “But thanks.”
She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or annoyed by him declining the invitation. But much like that odd tightness in her throat, it was time to focus on something else. “Okay, then, our work bee—what still needs to be organized? We can make a list—”
“Our work bee?” Lachlan challenged.
“Yes, our,” she said testily. He and Maggie seemed to be on the same wavelength about her use of our. Unsurprising. They always had shared a bond she hadn’t been part of. She perched on the chair across from him and glanced at Ryan, who still looked in no hurry to leave. He made a “not my business, princess” face and took a drink of coffee.
“We have a list,” Lachlan growled, clearly intent on making his point.
“Okay, but—” Stella cut herself off. “When is Gramps taking lunch?”
“He’s not. He had an urgent care patient show up. His shift ends at two thirty. But why you’re so desperate to see him now but not for the last two months he’s been in town—”
“Give her a break, Reid,” Ryan commanded, quiet but sharp.
Stella froze at the order. She stared at Ryan. “I don’t need you to fight my battles. And Lachlan’s right to be mad at me.”
“Is he, though?” Ryan’s blue eyes filled with worry for a fraction of a second before he flattened his expression. “Maybe you deserve the benefit of the doubt.”
She hid her shaking hands in her lap so he couldn’t see them. Was he honestly defending her, or was he making some audacious, read-between-the-lines claim that she should be giving him the benefit of the doubt?
She looked pointedly at Ryan. “Could you leave us so we can hash this out?”
He straightened and put his half-finished coffee in the sink. “Gotcha. Good luck with that. I’ll let myself out. See you all this evening.”
The satisfaction she expected to feel at him leaving the room didn’t come. Something about his tall frame, calmly leaning against the counter, had imbued the room with a sense of solidity, reliability.
As if Ryan can be relied on.
Maggie poked Lachlan with a finger. “Say what you need to say to get good with each other. Please. I don’t want to be dealing with the two of you if you’re mad all weekend.”
“I’m not mad—” Stella stopped herself from finishing the excuse. Blaming Lachlan for being angry with her wasn’t going to help.
“I am,” Lachlan snarled. “Laura and Marisol are the best things that have ever happened to me, and you’ve barely bothered to try to get to know them, which is not surprising, since you’ve only been able to talk on Skype.”
Stella stared at the table. “I know.” She took in her brother’s tight shoulders. “I would have been here earlier. Really. But my work project—it wasn’t something I could leave.”
“What kind of work project doesn’t allow for a weekend off in four months?”
Her throat thickened. “One where your career is in jeopardy,” she said honestly.
Maggie put down her sandwich, and Lachlan’s mug landed on the table with a clunk. When coffee slopped over the side, he grabbed a napkin from the holder and dabbed at the mess. “What happened to your promotion?”
“It didn’t turn out to be the advantage I’d hoped it would be.” Her eyes filled with tears, and a half a year’s worth of unspent tension built in her chest. She’d realized early on that her promotion wasn’t going to be the boon she’d expected, but other than the investigators, she’d had no one to talk to since she’d made that call. Tears slid down her cheeks. She propped her elbows on the table and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids.
“Stella... Did you get fired or something?” Maggie asked.
Damn it. She’d said too much. She dropped her hands back into her lap and lifted her shoulders.
Lachlan reached over and rubbed a soothing circle on her back. “I’m sorry, Stella.”
She shot him a half smile, and nodded at her sister. “Don’t worry about the money I’ve put into the business. It won’t be a problem.”
The sooner the CIO and his cronies got charged, the better. They’d been lying to clients, using new investments to pay off old returns. If convicted, they faced either fines or jail time. Stella would potentially get a payout from the SEC’s whistleblower fund, and depending on whether the accused parties got to stay on at the firm, anything from a hero’s welcome to a pink slip. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to get fired for whistleblowing. But her coworkers weren’t particularly thrilled by her honesty and weren’t going to make her life easy. They were worried about the health of the firm, about their own jobs. Some of them were wondering what else she knew, if they’d get named next. Or they thought she was in on it and covering her ass. However, they didn’t know the whole story. She was holding out hope that once they learned the facts, they’d see why she did what she did. And maybe one day, she’d be able to explain it to Maggie and Lachlan, too.
Lach grimaced and leaned back in his chair. “You could have told us you were struggl
ing.”
Her nose stung. “No, I couldn’t.”
“Nice level of trust there, Stella,” he retorted, tone short. “We’re still business partners. And you don’t think this could impact the business?”
“Seriously.” Her tears broke free, choking her. “I-I c-couldn’t.”
An awkward silence fell around the table as Stella tried to suppress her tears and her siblings stared at her, both looking uncertain.
“I don’t see why,” Lachlan said, shifting his chair around so that he could wrap her in a strong hug. “But I haven’t seen you cry since you were a teenager. I’m going to trust that you have a reason, and that one day you’ll trust me enough to fill me in on why you’re being so damn vague.”
Her chest ached from crying and from the guilt of not being able to make it clear to her brother that her dishonesty had nothing to do with him. “Th-thank you.”
“Well,” he said, “you’re still our partner, no matter what’s happening in New York. You bailed me out after I got in too tight with Dad. I owe you for that.”
“I’ll be able to keep financing your business.” She pulled away from his embrace and wiped her eyes.
Maggie and Lachlan shared an exasperated look. God, they’d been doing that since they were kids and it drove Stella nuts. Nothing like silent communication to remind a person that they were perpetually on the outside.
“Stop it with the money talk,” Maggie said. “We didn’t want you to come home for the money. It’s about spending time with you. But not the finance-world you.”
Stella swallowed. Easy for her sister to say. If Stella stripped away the identity she got from her job, what was left? And Sutter Creek was definitely not the place to find out what was buried under her years and years of all work, no play.
Chapter Six
Stella spent a few more hours at Maggie’s place, going over renovation plans and finally seeing her grandfather, who was as fit and vivacious as ever. His quiet hug soothed a few of her still-jagged nerves. Her admission that her job was on the line seemed to have earned enough forgiveness that her brother was no longer snapping at her. But she wasn’t so naive to believe that one teary apology would mend all the harm she’d caused.
She gave Lach a ride home, well aware that if her first time meeting Marisol in person didn’t go well, any progress she’d made with her brother would be erased.
Her heart was in her throat by the time she parked her rental in front of Lachlan’s house. The olive-green split-level sat nestled by a small treed ravine on a quiet block close to the center of town. It was too weird that Lachlan and Marisol were living in Ryan’s gran’s old place. How many times had she sat on that front stoop with her ex, watching him throw a ball across the lawn for his gran’s Westie? Or the times they’d sneaked around from the rear entrance and he’d jumped in the driver’s seat of her falling-apart Tercel, and they’d just driven, hours of holding hands and laughing, with moments of silent comfort, too. He’d needed that, after his dad died. And she’d tried to be a refuge for him. Maybe that had been part of the reason why his desertion had cut such a ragged hole—when she’d been the one to need a shoulder to cry on, he hadn’t reciprocated.
She shook her head. Time to create new memories to erase the old, to think of her brother and his family enjoying this space.
“Marisol knows we’re coming?” she asked her brother, who was in the passenger seat, finishing up a reply to a supplier email that he’d gotten right before leaving Maggie’s.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I mean, she was ready last night.”
“I wasn’t,” she said quietly.
He made a face. “Yeah. And I’m trying to understand why.”
“My explanation of what’s going on at work didn’t make sense?”
“It explained why you couldn’t come home.” He looked down at his fists, clenched in his lap. “Doesn’t account for why you aren’t staying with me or Maggie.”
He wanted honesty? Okay. She could do that.
Sort of.
She swallowed, trying to calm her rising pulse. “Exhaustion. Being pissed at Ryan Rafferty for ticketing me. You living in Gertie’s old house. Wanting to avoid a fight...” Her throat tightened. “How was I supposed to make a good impression when I was a stressed-out wreck and you were clearly furious with me?”
He rubbed his beard. Silence stretched between them. After what felt like minutes, he squeezed her shoulder. “You still feeling that way? A wreck?”
“I’ll be fine.” She could escape to the hotel room if dinner got to be too much. She motioned at the house. “Did the place come furnished, or did Gertie leave her furniture?”
“What, you worried she left behind the couch you lost your virginity on or something?” Lachlan climbed out of the car and shut the door.
She followed, slamming her own door harder than intended. “I didn’t lose my virginity on a couch!”
Lachlan smirked. “In the barn, then.”
Following him up the path bisecting the lawn, she swatted his arm. “Classified information.”
“Better work on your poker face before tomorrow. You’ll be at the scene of the crime, helping clean up. Though the loft is gone.”
She frowned. “Not exactly something to be happy about, given the fire.”
“It was already gone—contractor ripped it out during the original renos.”
The front door opened. A curly-haired woman held the knob in one hand and a baby wrapped in a blanket against her shoulder with the other. Winter clothes covered her curvy figure. The reserved smile that she bestowed on Stella widened when she saw Lachlan.
“Hey, handsome, you’re early. I haven’t even thought about ordering dinner yet.”
“All good—Gramps and Maggie and her crew aren’t coming for another hour yet. But I was excited to come home to my girls.” Lachlan jogged up the half flight of stairs. He kissed Marisol, then the top of the baby’s head. A liver-brown-flecked dog shot past them and bounded down the stairs, nearly knocking Stella over and turning circles around her, covering her in little white dog hairs in three seconds flat. She’d forgotten how efficient pointers were at shedding on things—white hairs for dark clothes, and brown hairs for light.
“Not quite the body I hoped to greet first,” Stella said, scratching the dog behind her soft brown ears, “but you’re cute, too.”
“Fudge!” Lachlan reprimanded. The dog immediately plopped its butt on the ground and cocked its head at Stella.
“Sure, now you remember your manners.” She brushed her hands down her coat. “Got a lint roller?” she asked her brother and Marisol.
They both chuckled.
At least the dog’s greeting broke the ice a little.
“So nice to finally meet you in person,” Marisol said to Stella before giving Lachlan a playful nudge. “How sweaty did you get while you were training? You need a shower.”
He plucked the baby from Marisol’s arm. “Laura doesn’t mind, do you, nugget? Let’s go inside so you can meet your auntie Stella.” He disappeared into the house.
Stella climbed to the top of the stoop. Marisol kept holding the door, an inscrutable expression on her face. Her hesitance made sense—Marisol was firmly in Lachlan’s corner, as she should be. Stella had kept herself out of the inner circle.
Marisol waited until Stella was inside with the door shut before she gave her a quick hug, her expression shifting to a stiff welcome. “You smell much nicer than your brother.” She winced. “Sorry. That was weird. I’m punch-drunk from staring at textbooks all day. And we got all of two hours sleep last night... We’re ordering takeout for dinner. Our fridge looks like it belongs to two people who have been cramming in work between caring for a cranky baby. My dad would be horrified I don’t have any food suitable for company in the freezer, but we blew through his stock of potato dumplings months ago. The
empanadas, too.”
Stella was glad Marisol had belted out the barrage of rambling thoughts—it gave her a chance to look at the woman her half brother had decided to marry. They’d talked over video chats, so Stella was familiar with Marisol’s green eyes and light brown skin, but meeting a person face-to-face got across the nuances lost on a screen. Something about Marisol, maybe her energy or posture, drew a person in. Similar to Lachlan, really. Probably why they’d found each other—like attracted like.
Probably why she and Ryan hadn’t lasted. They’d been too different from each other.
Though he seems pretty driven these days. And I’m the one being dogged by a shady reputation.
Ugh, best she not dwell on any of that. She wouldn’t succeed in winning her future sister-in-law’s loyalty if she was distracted by relationship regrets the whole evening. “I’m the last person to point fingers about takeout. I live on it back home. Especially the last few months.”
“Work troubles?” Marisol asked, waving Stella to the top floor of the split-level house.
“You could say that.”
“I suspected there was something going on. Was it a problem worth breaking your brother’s heart over?”
The words landed with a wallop, as Stella was sure they were intended to do.
“Ouch, Mari,” Lachlan said, blowing raspberries on Laura’s cheeks at the top of the stairs.
“I’ll own that,” Stella said. “And it was unavoidable.”
Marisol made a face that Stella could only interpret as “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“We’ve started mending fences,” Lachlan assured his fiancée. He passed the baby to Stella. “Here, have a baby. I’m told I need a shower.”
She gingerly accepted the warm little bundle, and he jogged down the hall, leaving her to find her equilibrium holding Laura. She rested the baby’s head in the crook of her elbow, snuggling the little body to her torso, so they could study each other’s faces. And what a sweet face Laura had. A teeny, upturned nose and bow of a mouth, framed by a head full of dark, downy curls.
