Rosabel And The Billionaire Beast (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 6)

by Catelyn Meadows

  “Duncan!” He offered Duncan a hand and pulled him to his chest, clapping a hand on his back. “How was the trip?”

  “Just fine, thanks,” Duncan said, his face seeping with relief. “Dad, Mother, I’d like you both to meet—”

  Before they could say anything more, a doorway down the hall across from the living room opened, and voices began trickling in their direction. Soft, gentle, feminine voices.

  “—you’ve got great mobility, all things considered,” one woman’s voice could be heard.

  Its owner, a young woman with thick, mahogany hair pulled into a ponytail and wearing teal scrubs, came into view in the decadent entryway. Sporting a bright, cheerful smile, she was the friendliest person in the house.

  Recognition struck Rosabel in an instant. The woman’s bright countenance, her lovely eyes and smile … “Hannah?”

  Hannah Noah had been in Rosabel’s graduating class back at Westville High in Vermont. The last she’d known, Hannah had been working in Montpelier, at the Institute of Rehabilitation. They’d stayed connected through college but had lost track of one another shortly after.

  “Rosabel? Oh my goodness, talk about the last place I ever thought I’d see you.”

  Rosabel couldn’t help laughing. “No kidding. What are you doing here? You live in Eureka Springs?”

  “You two know each other?” Duncan interrupted.

  Stunned, and unable to fight a smile, Rosabel gestured to Hannah. “Yes! We went to high school together.” She turned back to Hannah. “So you moved here?”

  Did Sarah know? Dad’s caretaker had also been a friend from school. The three of them had gone to lunch a few times. Rosabel made a mental note to text Sarah and ask if she knew Hannah was here.

  Hannah fidgeted, her smile wavering. “Yeah. I moved a short time ago. I work as a physical therapist. I’m here helping Mrs. Hawthorne.” Hannah shuffled to make way for the elderly woman behind her.

  Duncan’s grandma was hunched over, each movement a chore. Graying hair nestled in tight curls on her head, and her hand shook the crystal head of a cane impaling the green carpet with every step she took. “What you do with me is no one else’s business,” the older woman chided, which only made Hannah smile.

  “Of course not.” She winked at Rosabel.

  “So, how’s life?” Rosabel went on. “How’s Ryan? You guys have been together for a while now, haven’t you? Did he ever propose? Wait—don’t tell me. He’s the reason you moved here to Arkansas.” She added a grin for good measure. Memories of a good-looking blond man who’d been much older than Hannah filtered through Rosabel’s mind. They’d been crazy for each other.

  Hannah ducked her chin. “No, he’s still in Westville. Or fallen off the map, for all I care.” Her eyes shifted to the door as if pleading for escape. After a quick glance at Mrs. Hawthorne and then Duncan, Hannah perked up once more. “Anyway, so great to see you. I’d better get going.”

  Rosabel’s brow furrowed. Surprise and remorse stabbed at her. Hannah and Ryan had been such a solid thing; otherwise she never would have brought him up out of the blue. Here, she’d been grateful for a respite from the awkwardness, and she’d made things ten times worse.

  She hurried to correct the misunderstanding. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …”

  Face flushed, Hannah gave a quick smile and gripped the strap of the small black duffel bag hanging from her shoulder. “No worries,” she said. “I’ll see you later.” Dipping her chin once more, she headed out the door.

  In Hannah’s wake, the elderly woman inspected Rosabel with interest. “Who might you be?”

  Duncan cleared his throat. “Grandmother,” he began. Movement followed, and soon his father and mother climbed the step onto the marble entryway as well. They faced one another as if in some kind of stand-off. His father was the only person in the room who was pleased at Duncan’s presence.

  Duncan placed a hand on Rosabel’s shoulder. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Rosabel Smith—”

  “Your girlfriend?” his mom asked, passing to the elderly woman. Her heels clacked across the marble as she helped Grandma Hawthorne toward the living room, down the step, and to a cushy armchair.

  Duncan hurried to offer his assistance as well. His grandma clung to his arm as she lowered herself to the cushions.

  “Or have you married?” Mrs. Hawthorne went on, straightening and returning to her spot on the love seat. “Is she your wife?”

  Thanks to Duncan’s harebrained offer before they’d left, Rosabel’s defenses went on high alert. She raised her hands, understanding how poor Hannah must have felt when she’d basically asked her the same question about Ryan. Then again, Rosabel had cause to believe they’d gotten married long ago, considering how lovey-dovey Hannah used to be over him.

  “Whoa, there, not married. Ahem. We’re not married.” She tried to breathe. They thought he would get married without telling them? What was wrong with this family?

  Rosabel clenched and was tempted to move closer to Duncan, who was clearly the only sane person in the room besides her. But that would give the opposite effect either of them wanted right now. She’d never been so nervous meeting anyone. In fact, she hadn’t felt this awkward and unwanted since being picked last for dodgeball in junior high.

  She thought of Hannah’s hasty retreat. An urge to break for her shoes and ditch out the door flooded her, but she also reeled with understanding in a way she never had been before. No wonder Duncan was the way he was. If his family was this personable? Holy wow.

  More than that, she hoped he’d keep his word and not attempt the whole fake girlfriend ploy.

  Returning to her side, Duncan spoke before she did. “No, no. We’re not married. Rosabel is my assistant. I recently purchased a home on Beaver Lake, and I also have another investment I’d like to look into while we’re here. She came along to help me handle that end of things.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Hawthorne said, brightening up way too fast. Someone was glad her son was still on the market. You and me both, sister, Rosabel thought. Mrs. Hawthorne smiled at Rosabel. “In that case, welcome, Miss Smith. How long have you worked for our Duncan here?”

  Their Duncan? Could have fooled her. She and Duncan still hadn’t sat down—they hadn’t even been invited to. Were they in some kind of formal interview they had to pass before they were allowed to grace the furniture?

  Rosabel opened her mouth to answer when Mrs. Hawthorne interrupted. “You know, we still haven’t ordered the flowers we need for my birthday party. Perhaps that is something your assistant can take care of for us.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy to,” Duncan said, answering for Rosabel.

  Eager to prove how not-dating she was with Duncan, Rosabel ignored her irritation at yet again having him offer her help without asking. “Sure,” Rosabel said. “I’d be happy to. Just let me know which flowers and how many.” She pulled out her phone to set a reminder for herself.

  “Why don’t you let them sit down first, Beverly?” Mr. Hawthorne said to his wife. He then turned to Rosabel and Duncan, gesturing to the couch between where he and his wife sat. “Please. It’s good to see you, son. And to meet you, Miss Rosabel.”

  Rosabel wasn’t sure who to answer, since Mommy Dearest, Grandma, and Dad didn’t seem to be on the same page. Mrs. Hawthorne cocked her head to one side and plastered on a simulated smile, as though she was trying to cover up how irritated she was by her husband’s obvious lack of notice that she’d spoken first.

  “She’s worked with me for about a year and a half,” Duncan said, waiting for Rosabel to perch on the edge of the couch cushions before taking a seat beside her. “And I’ve been … okay.” He cleared his throat, resting his fists on his knees. “Mother, Dad, Grandmother, I know we didn’t end things very well the last time I was here, and I wanted to—”

  Grandma Hawthorne cleared her throat.

  Mrs. Hawthorne reacted to her mother-in-law’s cue immediately, sliding forward in
her seat. “Oh, come now. We don’t need to go back there today. Not in front of company. Miss Smith, I’d like ninety-five bouquets of lilies and gardenias,” she said, blasting her fake smile in Rosabel’s direction again. The forced expression did nothing to ease the friction simmering between the four of them. If anything, the façade made things worse.

  “Um … Of course,” Rosabel said, feeling more and more like hired help.

  Duncan lowered his head. Rosabel watched him closely, noting the twitch in his jaw and the position of his fists in his lap. His ankle also fidgeted. What was with his pent-up energy? Obviously, he wanted to clear the air, and his mom emphasized that Rosabel was the impediment. Not only that, but they barely knew her and were okay with giving her orders?

  She should never have come with him.

  “You know,” Rosabel said, rising to her feet, “I actually have a phone call I need to make. I’ll just step out for a minute.” She jabbed a thumb in the door’s direction. Not only would she save herself from being given anymore tasks, but hopefully, they’d allow Duncan to open up without her in the room.

  Duncan foiled her plan. He rose too. “That’s right. I remember that call. It’s about time for us to head back anyway.”

  “But you just got here,” Mrs. Hawthorne protested—much to Rosabel’s surprise. From the way she acted, anyone would have thought Duncan was the last person they wanted to see.

  “We’ll be at Grandmother’s party,” Duncan assured her. He buttoned his suit coat and inclined his head, first at his mom and then his grandma. “We’re excited for you.”

  “This particular birthday is rather monumental,” Grandma said. “Ninety-five is an accomplishment.”

  “Very true,” Rosabel said, offering the older woman a smile only to receive a nod in return.

  They made their goodbyes, slipped back into their shoes, and were out the door. Rosabel had to run to keep up with Duncan’s wide strides down the verdant sidewalk. Clive saw them and stepped out of the driver’s seat, but he didn’t make it to the door before Duncan opened it himself and climbed in. Okay, then.

  Brain in a complete whirl of confusion and disbelief, Rosabel sank onto the seat after him. “Okay, Duncan, what just happened?” she asked.

  His elbow rested on the windowsill, and with chin in hand, he kept his gaze toward the street. Clive climbed in the driver’s side, cranked the car to life, and eased out.

  “Home, sir?” Clive asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Duncan,” Rosabel interrupted.

  “What?”

  She wouldn’t fault him for this snap, not right now, anyway. This was one of those understandable ones—she had been guilty of a snap like this a time or two before, only to apologize for her slipup immediately afterward.

  She turned in her seat. “Tell me what happened in there. Does their coldness have something to do with your grandma not speaking to you? You mentioned something like that before we left Westville.”

  Duncan sighed. “We had a falling-out three years ago. The circumstances … weren’t pretty.”

  “A falling-out? Over what?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe my mom emailed me in the first place, and that they actually spoke to me in there.”

  “But they wouldn’t let you apologize for … whatever the mishap was.” Assuming he’d been about to apologize. For Duncan, that meant this must be serious. She’d never heard him utter the words I’m sorry in all their time together.

  “It’s okay,” he said with an exhale. “Today’s visit was the first attempt. That’s another reason I wanted to come here—and to have you with me. Remember that deal I mentioned to my parents?”

  She nodded.

  “There’s a house nearby that has significant sentimental value for my grandma. It … kind of played a part in what happened between us, and I thought maybe if I bought the house for her, the gesture could be just what we need to mend our relationship.”

  Rosabel’s chest warmed at such unprecedented thoughtfulness. You do have a heart, she wanted to say, but that probably wouldn’t be the best thing right now. “That sounds really sweet of you,” she said instead.

  “I’ve been watching the location for a while, and it was recently listed. I contacted the seller, and she’s agreed to meet with me while we’re here.”

  “That’s fantastic.”

  His mood lightened, judging by the release of his shoulders and his gradual slouch. “Yeah. I think she’s really going to love it.”

  Rosabel settled into the silence, smiling when Clive cranked up some “Day Tripper.” She sang the words, allowing her head to tip from side to side, and basked in the oddity of meeting Duncan’s family versus how seeing her family again after three years would have gone so differently.

  Her mom would have squeezed Rosabel so hard she wouldn’t have been able to breathe. Her dad would have led her around the house to take in his Beatles paraphernalia, making sure she hadn’t forgotten his old electric guitar from his garage band teenage years. He would have hustled her into his study to pore over new books they’d both read, and a heartfelt, in-depth discussion about world events or about some author or another would have ensued.

  Tears stung her eyes at the differences. Had Duncan ever been embraced by his parents? He had to be—she couldn’t believe he’d never been hugged by them. What could have happened between them to make his parents—his own mother—so cold?

  8

  Rosabel stretched, enjoying the release in her lower back and calf muscles. Thanks to the stress of the day before, she hadn’t gotten her morning run in, but here, with these incredible surroundings, she wasn’t about to let an opportunity pass her by.

  She began at a brisk walk, relishing the sound of her shoes on the single-lane dirt road. Part of her didn’t want to run; she didn’t want to go too fast here, afraid she’d miss something remarkable—a scratch on a tree trunk, a uniquely shaped rock, or the exact placement of the trees on every side.

  The view was so beautiful. Even without the slew of million-dollar houses spanning the stretch of mountain where she and Duncan had secluded themselves, the sheer number of trees creating a fortress around her were a wonder to behold.

  The single-lane road cut a path wide enough for one car to crawl along these woods. It twisted and wound around whatever breaks in the trees could be found. At one point, one tree rebelled and stuck itself in the road’s center, so cars had to steer to either side of its trunk. Rosabel smiled at the tree’s resilience.

  “That’s right,” she told the tree in passing, her slow jog causing her breath to quicken. “Be relentlessly you.” She nodded to the tree, as though expecting the wood to return the greeting. Squinting, she noticed something about the tree that caused her steps to slow. What appeared to be scratch marks were etched all along the tree’s trunk.

  She trotted in for a better view. Sure enough, initials were carved into the trunk, some within hearts, some merely connected by nothing more than a simple plus sign, indicating that the two belonged together. Dates were also scrambled in along with many of the names.

  Rosabel’s heart fluttered. “This is adorable,” she said aloud.

  This was the stuff of cheesy romance movies. She could picture couples coming to this exact spot to carve their names into the tree as if its longevity could somehow cement the solidarity of their relationship. The action added permanence and was not only symbolic but touching. Chills tingled down her arms. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have someone carve her name beside his on a tree like this?

  Retreating step by step, she was so distracted by it, she didn’t notice the other woman coming toward her until they nearly collided.

  “Oh,” Rosabel said, veering to the side. The woman stopped as well. A braid of raven black hair hung down her back in a single rope, and her caramel skin was beaded with sweat.

  “Sorry,” the woman blurted. She jogged in place, a pod spouting music into her ears, and offered Rosabel a soft smile.


  Rosabel pointed to the tree. “Not to interrupt your run, but what’s with the tree in the middle of the road?”

  The woman plucked her earbud free and stopped, her chest laboring to catch her breath. “Oh, that? That’s the Sweetheart Tree. Rumor has it, when they were building this development, the contractor ordered companies to preserve it. I guess it’s been here for a lot longer than we have.”

  “That’s amazing, actually,” Rosabel said, admiring the tree.

  Resting a hand on her hip, the woman bobbed her head in agreement. “Do you own a place around here?”

  “I—no, I don’t. I work for someone who does.”

  “Oh cool. I’m Hazel, by the way. Hazel Strickland.”

  “Rosabel Smith,” Rosabel said, giving her a soft wave.

  Hazel jogged in place once more, returning the air pod to her ear. “I run this path just about every morning, so I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  “I—yeah, see you,” Rosabel said, but Hazel was already on her way.

  Rosabel followed the curve in the road until a secret path taunted her. There was something alluring about paths, especially those in forests. Trying not to think about ticks—or about how much harder the climb back up would be once she’d found where the path led—Rosabel gave in to curiosity and started her slow descent toward the lake.

  Soon, wooden planks interrupted the dirt, taking over to provide steadier footing along the increasingly steep decline. Trees with their tall, thin trunks scattered among the brush, and Rosalie bid each one good morning. There was something so encouraging, so rejuvenating about being enclosed by trees.

  She was a firm believer in symbolism, and with their continuous cycle of loss and regrowth, trees were one of the ultimate symbols of life. A twine-speckled trail among tree and bramble was exactly the adventure she wanted right now, to get away from Duncan long enough to sort through what had happened when they’d visited his family.

  Initially, she’d been enchanted by the idea of Duncan buying his grandma a house, but the longer she’d thought about it, the more doubt nestled in. In all reality, how could he think buying his grandma a house would solve anything? Whatever had happened, apparently the wounds ran deep. From where she stood, he needed some serious Beatles therapy. Money couldn’t buy everything. It certainly couldn’t buy love.