“Some odds and ends. Miss Flower has delicate feet, so winter is definitely not her favorite season.” The pretty mare whinnied, then nipped again at Harper’s hair in affection. “I also need to work out Phoenix, but he seems to be a fair-weather type of horse, too.” A smile curved her lips. “He throws a bit of a temper tantrum if I try to exercise him when it’s too cold.”
Ophelia laughed. “Now that’s a big turnaround. I can’t believe a few months ago he wouldn’t even let anyone ride him. You really have made progress.”
Her sister’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Ethan did the healing work, and now I’m taking over his training. There’s something different about that horse. He’s got a fire and heart I’ve rarely seen. I think he’s a winner.”
“Derby possibility?”
Her sister brushed mud from her jeans. “Not sure. We’ll see.” She sighed. “I’m just happy things around here have been relatively quiet. I need a break before we hit the spring season and everything explodes.”
“Same here.”
Ophelia studied her sister’s calm aura and steady hands. Harper had always been different. She was the only one in the family with the Black Irish gene, which skipped the pale skin, red hair, and endless freckles. Her dark hair was kept short, curving sleekly under her chin for minimum effort, and her eyes were a stunning sea green. With her olive skin tone and staggering height at over six feet, she was beautiful, but with a quiet presence that sometimes got ignored.
She was only two years younger than Ophelia. She had always been more comfortable around animals than people, preferring to stay away from social groups and to bury her nose in a book in the barn. Sometimes, Ophelia felt like they worked in two different worlds since she rarely came into the barns and Harper only visited the inn when there was a family meal.
“How’s it going with Kyle?” Harper asked curiously.
She shifted her weight. The real reason she’d sought out a brisk walk was to clear her head. Since discovering she was still married, she’d thrown herself into research the past twenty-four hours, trying to find the easiest, most organized way to fix the mess. Unfortunately, she’d ended up with a slight headache from looking at all the divorce and court sites.
Harper knew she’d run off to California with Kyle, but she believed it was more about pursuing their careers than a love affair. When she’d moved back home, Ophelia told her they’d had an epic fight that hadn’t been settled, and Harper didn’t ask any questions. Harper had mastered the art of simplicity and one-word answers and avoided long, rambling confessions of emotion like the plague. Ophelia always wondered how that’d work if one day her sister wanted to have a love affair of her own. Harper tended to stay close to home and didn’t date much.
Ophelia kept her response neutral. Ethan had always been her confidant, and she rarely ran to her sister with her troubles. “Fine. He’s working on a new screenplay.”
“Cool. I’ll ask him more about it at dinner.”
Ophelia jerked. “He’s not joining us for dinner.”
Her sister frowned. “Why not?”
Panic nipped at her nerve endings. “Well, he’ll be working. Or busy. I’d rather it be just us.”
Usually, Harper would nod and stay out of it, but her frown deepened. “That’s messed up. He was practically part of the family, and now he’s staying at the inn. Why wouldn’t you invite him to dinner?”
She tried not to sound desperate. “Just because he has a room doesn’t mean he should automatically come to every family gathering.”
Suspicion glinted in her sister’s eyes. “What type of falling out did you guys have, anyway? Seems a bit extreme to me—especially since you’re the forgiving type.”
Ah, crap. How was she going to explain her way out of this one? Damn him. His presence was screwing up everything.
“It’s complicated,” she finally said. “There’s more history than I let on between us.”
“Ah. I always figured you guys were banging when you ran away together. Still hot for him, huh?”
Her mouth fell open. “No! I don’t want to talk about it. I just . . . I don’t like him anymore, that’s all.”
Harper laughed and rose from the stool, giving Flower a pat. “Sounds like Ethan and Mia. They bantered all summer and swore they didn’t like each other, but I knew they just wanted to rip each other’s clothes off.”
“It’s not like that with Kyle,” she insisted. “Yes, we had an affair when we were young, but things changed.”
“You were so different when you got back from California,” Harper said. “Mom always said a broken heart causes more character growth than a Disney movie.”
Ophelia shook her head, laughing. “Mom was always right.” She paused, but in that fleeting moment, she wanted to share more with her sister. “He hurt me. I guess I still haven’t gotten past it.”
Harper nodded. “I get it. Makes sense now that you didn’t want him staying the winter. But maybe it’s a sign.”
The words gave Ophelia an eerie sense of déjà vu.
Hadn’t Kyle said the same thing?
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t run away from the past forever. Maybe he’s back because you need closure.” Her sister gave her a meaningful look. “Or not.”
Ophelia opened her mouth to protest, but Harper just waved her hand in the air and cut her off. “I’m on your side either way. Invite him or not. Just saying it may be a bit strange to have a family dinner while he’s holed up alone in his room.”
Ugh. Her sister was right. How could she possibly tell him he couldn’t join them?
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Thanks for the chat. I better get back.”
“Sure. See ya later.” Harper left the stall, locking it behind her, and headed toward the field.
Ophelia retraced her steps on the path to the inn. The sharp air stole her breath and reddened her cheeks, but she loved the surge of adrenaline that shot through her. A distant bark warned her that Wheezy and Bolt were on their way. When they spotted her through the bare trees, they made a mad dash, sprinted full speed ahead, and knocked into her legs, making her laugh.
She walked with the two furballs bouncing at her heels, drinking in the magnificent view of ice-crusted branches, blue sky, and the snow-topped peaks of the Gunks shimmering in the distance. Deep inside, peace settled over her with the reminder she’d made the right choice. This was her home, where she belonged. As badly as she had wanted to love her time in California, she always felt displaced, as if something in her soul was off. She’d run across the country to find something that had been at home all along.
But Kyle had been lost in the process.
She sighed, lingering on the memories, and decided to invite him to dinner. If she was clear and forceful enough to explain it was only for appearances, maybe he’d understand she wasn’t weakening or giving him an opening. Between Ethan and Mia and Harper, she wouldn’t have to say a word to him, and afterward he’d disappear back into his room.
It’d be safe enough.
Decision made, she finished her walk and began planning the menu.
“What are you doing here?”
Ophelia stared at Kyle, framed in the kitchen doorway. Clad in black pants and a snug charcoal Henley emphasizing his impressive pecs and broad shoulders, he emanated masculine yumminess.
Irritation coursed through her.
He was a writer, dammit. He shouldn’t be so fit, considering his profession judged success by how many hours his ass was in a chair. Was he still doing that crazy core workout?
After long writing sessions, he’d complete his own gym circuit consisting of push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and a variety of creative Pilates moves that pit his own body weight against him. She used to make him do his routine shirtless so she could sit back, watch, and drool. Most of the sessions had ended with them both naked in bed.
“Helping you cook, of course. Got any extra aprons?”
Her eyes widened. “No, and I don’t need any help. I’ll call you when Ethan gets here. Just go back to your room.”
His lips quirked. He ignored her, prowling around the kitchen with curiosity. “Absolutely not. Besides, we always cooked together.”
The memory slammed into her and stole her breath. In the beginning of their marriage, they’d spent endless hours exploring various ingredients available in California and experimenting with recipes. Cramped in their one-bedroom studio, with no counter space and a small oven, they’d squeeze together, drink cheap wine, and feed each other morsels of food. She’d learned how to cook well from her mother, and Kyle had been forced to learn early since his father barely knew how to boil water.
Cooking together gradually became less frequent as he spent more time at the production company’s offices.
How many nights had she stared at a perfectly prepared meal while she ate alone? Too many to count.
She kept her voice firm. “Things are different here. I have a strict organizational plan and have to cook alone. I need plenty of space. You’ll only mess things up.” Serving guests required following a routine to make sure she got all the food on the table at once and was able to quickly reproduce dishes on demand. Once, preparing a meal had been a choreographed dance between partners. Now, after so many years apart, it’d become a solo effort—and she was stingy with her spotlight.
He unsnagged an apron from one of the kitchen hooks and tied it around his waist. The Tuscan flowers should’ve made him look ridiculous, but he exuded such masculinity and confidence it only made him look hotter.
“You can lead. I’ll take direction.”
She glowered. “You always sucked at that role.”
He shot her a heated glance. “You never complained about it before.”
Heat soaked her cheeks.
Damn him. He’d always been demanding in bed, and she’d been thrilled to surrender to every delicious command.
She grabbed at her composure. “Stop. If you’re going to keep bringing up our past, you can’t stay for dinner.”
He tried to look apologetic, but his eyes danced with mischief. “Sorry. I’ll be good. Let me help, Ophelia. I’ve missed cooking. It’s been too long since I helped prepare a meal.”
Her brow lifted. “Takeout? Or fancy in-house chef?”
“Both.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. She was such a sucker. “A pity you’ve gotten lazy on me. All those millions make you soft, Kimpton?”
He cocked his hip and regarded her in an obvious challenge. “My skills may be rusty, but they’re still badass. What’ve you got for me?”
She turned so he couldn’t spot her grin. “Pork loin roast. Rosemary-herbed potatoes. Butternut squash quiche. Biscuits.”
“I’m assuming not Pillsbury.”
She snorted. “Don’t curse in my kitchen. Pick.”
He regarded the various stations and ingredients like he was entering an Iron Chef competition. “Meat and potatoes.”
“A bit ambitious, don’t you think?”
He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “Always aim high.”
Her belly rolled and tumbled. She remembered the night he was referencing like yesterday. His arrogant assumption that he could break his record and give her a dozen orgasms before dawn. The patient, intense way he’d coaxed her body through the endless hours, wringing out pleasure after pleasure.
He’d not only met his goal, he exceeded it.
She shifted, growing wet and achy between her thighs. Those dark-green eyes lit with recognition, but he didn’t push—likely sensing she was on the edge of throwing him out.
Grabbing a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, she filled them both glasses of Chardonnay. “Oh, the spice rack is over there. Sauces to the left. Herbs in the till.”
“Got it.”
She nodded and commanded her Amazon Echo to play her cooking music list.
“Not the Broadway musicals,” he groaned, clearing out a work area at the end of the countertop. “I’ll fall asleep and chop my finger off.”
She made a face. “My kitchen, my songs. Don’t tell me you still enjoy that alternative stuff Ethan likes? The bands with the crazy names that make no sense?”
“Yes. Don’t even think of making fun of Radiohead or Nirvana. They’re like the Sinatra and Martin of our day.”
“Not with names like Cage the Elephant and the Arctic Monkeys.”
“At least the sound is sick. Those musicals are ridiculous. You get to the good part between the hero and heroine, and then they break into song and ruin the whole dramatic moment. True artists know that music needs to be listened to in its purest state—alone. Not as part of a musical.”
“Tell that to Meryl Streep, who starred in Mamma Mia! and gave ABBA a whole new resurgence of fans.”
He didn’t deign to answer, just shot her a look and got to chopping the garlic.
The strains of “City of Stars” from La La Land caressed her ears. The scent of a limoncello candle burned bright and soaked the air with fragrance.
Singing softly under her breath, she attacked the dough for the quiche crust with flour and a rolling pin. With each motion her body relaxed, her mind cleared, and she gave herself to the experience of preparing food for loved ones to eat.
“I like Mia,” he announced. “It’s good to see Ethan happy and settled here. Sometimes I can’t believe he actually lived in Hollywood.” In between Special Forces assignments, Ethan was a bodyguard to a famous actress. He had settled into the glitz and glamour before returning home wounded from a mission.
“Me, too. I’m glad home was not only able to heal him, but find him love. It was a hell of a summer watching those two dance around each other.”
“I bet—Mia’s a pistol.”
“I never knew much about his life in California. How often did you get to see him?”
He began prepping the marinade for the meat. “Not much. He had a crazy schedule as a bodyguard, and he was flying out on missions where he’d be gone for a while. He came to some of my big screenings, though, and I always knew he was there if I needed him.” A smile curved his lips. “He’s my brother,” Kyle said simply.
Her chest tightened. Yes, they were brothers—in the way that mattered. Which only made keeping Kyle distant from her family even harder, since he was truly one of them.
They fell into a companionable silence. He seemed busy with his own thoughts as they worked. “Other than Aubrey, do you have any help with running the inn? I know winter is a slower time, so I wondered how you handled the busier seasons.”
She shrugged. “I’m ruthlessly organized, so I don’t need much extra help. I have a savvy accountant, and Mia’s been incredible at instituting some marketing techniques to increase our bottom line. It all revolves around packing in high turnover for the tourist seasons and coming up with ways to get people to stay in the winter. Next year, I’m going to work with one of the parks that sponsor the Winter Festival and offer discounted rates on rooms.”
“Smart.” He looked up from his chopping to study her curiously. “Do you ever get bored doing the same thing day after day? Or lonely? It can get pretty isolated here in the winter, and then in the summer, you’re surrounded by strangers. You used to tell me this would be your nightmare job. In fact, it’s one of the reasons we moved away together—so we wouldn’t have to live a life like our parents’.”
His question hit her like a fist in the gut. Her fingers squeezed the dough, and she was confronted by the depth of her lie—to both him and herself. Although lie seemed a bit too stark, colored in black and white. Hers was more of an untruth, in muted gray, that she didn’t even realize until it was too late.
God, she didn’t have the strength to tackle the true answer to his inquiry. Not now, when they were deep in the intimacy of cooking a meal for her family.
She struggled to give him just enough to satisfy—and defend—the career she loved. “Yes, sometimes it’s har
d. Even though my family’s here, I’m the one responsible for the inn. It took me a while to find what works best for me, rather than what worked for my mom. But I love meeting new people. For a little while, I get to share part of their lives and give them a beautiful memory.”
“Your mom used to say that—her real job was to give people a beautiful memory.”
She smiled with pleasure. “Yes. When the porch is full, and I hear laughter and chatter drift through the window, I realize how much I love my life. I love when they praise my food and leave reviews about their experiences. And I get postcards from onetime strangers who start to see me as a friend.” She motioned to the board by the refrigerator filled with various notes and cards. “Last summer, I hosted a group of six senior citizens—they were the most fun. They did horseback riding, skydiving, poker, you name it. They send me letters now, telling me what they’re doing and checking up on Mia and Ethan and the horses. They can’t wait to come back this year, and they’ve already rebooked. And a past guest told me her baby was conceived in this inn last year. Isn’t that cool?”
He cocked his head and regarded her intently. “Very cool.”
Feeling like she was safely past the danger zone, her muscles relaxed. She formed the crust in the pan, pinching her fingers along the rim. “I may not be a big star making a splash in the world, but I’m pretty damn satisfied knowing I’ve made a few people happy along the way. I like being reminded how simple kindness can be completely underrated, yet change so much.”
She glanced over at him—and froze.
He was staring at her with such hungry intensity, her nipples tightened in awareness and her blood began to heat. As if he’d finally heard her words and understood. He’d always been able to read her—to delve beyond the surface of fake civilities and barriers and fears to the truth hidden deep. What shattered her was how, after finding her truth, he’d loved her anyway. Loved her so hard and completely, she’d have willingly given him anything he asked.
And she had. Oh, how she had.
Until he changed and let her walk away without a fight.
A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2) Page 9
