My Kind of You (A Trillium Bay Novel Book 1)

by Tracy Brogan

  “Whoa, girls. Ease up,” the driver said, and the taxi came to a lurching halt. Ryan slid forward and bumped his knees on the seat in front of him. The kid could use some parking lessons. Ryan adjusted his tip accordingly. He handed the driver some bills and climbed down from the carriage. “Keep the change.”

  “Hey, thanks, mister. Enjoy your stay here. Git’up, girls. Let’s go.” The driver slapped the reins against the horses’ round backsides, and off they went. As the sound of the taxi faded away into the noises of the forest, Ryan found himself standing in front of a little gingerbread-colored cottage that Hansel and Gretel would have found very enticing. There were window boxes full of flowers, and yellow-trimmed eaves. If his father answered the door wearing lederhosen, he would not be that surprised. Although that was German, not Victorian. He was getting his cottages and eras and fairy tales mixed up, but he could hardly be blamed for that. This place had an otherworldly, time-warpy quality that had him all turned around.

  Ryan crossed the small expanse of grass to knock on the door, but his dad opened it before his knuckles hit the wood.

  “Hi there. I heard the taxi.” Tag seemed a little breathless, a little overly animated.

  “Hi, Dad,” Ryan said cautiously and curiously.

  “Listen, before you come in, I want to let you know I’ve invited my friend to join us. I was going to wait a few days and let you settle into the idea, but then I figured the best way for you to understand things is just for you to meet her.”

  “Meet her? Tonight? Dad, I was hoping we could talk a little shop tonight. I’m here to work, not socialize.”

  His father patted Ryan’s chest. “Shh, keep your voice down. We can talk shop tomorrow. These projects aren’t going anywhere.”

  Sure, they weren’t going anywhere because his father didn’t seem interested in pushing them. This was not the Tag he knew. The Tag he knew would have dragged him to the worksite before Ryan had even had time to set down his luggage. The Tag he knew would’ve shoved blueprints under his nose and asked for a market analysis before Ryan could have even said hello. This one-hundred-eighty-degree change in his father’s personality just confirmed to Ryan that something was very, very wrong. He quickly sorted through his options. They were few, and none seemed particularly helpful.

  “Yeah, okay, Dad. Whatever you say.”

  Tag’s grin was more disturbing than encouraging. “You’re going to like her. I promise.”

  Someone saying I promise was a lot like someone saying trust me. If they had to make a point of saying it, then it probably wasn’t true.

  His dad turned and led the way through the doorway and into a narrow foyer full of tiny framed paintings of kittens. No lie. Kittens.

  His father pointed at them, and his grin remained. “It’s a rental. These aren’t mine.”

  That was a mild relief. They turned the corner into the family room area. There were more dime-store-quality paintings and an odd assortment of mismatched furniture. A blue-and-green plaid couch. A burgundy leather recliner. Tiny end tables with spindly legs. All the kind of dated stuff you might expect to find in a summer rental place, but what Ryan hadn’t expected to find was the woman. He felt his mouth fall open stupidly. Because this must be the woman. The Gold-Digging Bimbo.

  He’d thought Tag’s new girlfriend would be modestly attractive, a mature woman with a few extra pounds on her frame. Maybe some glasses, probably wearing a Trillium Bay T-shirt with a lighthouse or something on it. Someone who looked like she might have been a retired high school English teacher, or maybe the cashier at the grocery store. That was not this woman.

  “Ryan, I’m so glad you’re finally here. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Her smile was warm as she extended a tan, toned arm to shake his hand. “Tag has told me so much about you and your brothers, I feel like I already know you.”

  It took all of his mental capacity to reply with anything coherent. “Um, well you have me at a slight disadvantage then. Dad’s been a little secretive about you.” It came out sounding rude, and he hadn’t intended to. It was just that she was so not at all what he was expecting. She had long brown hair, dark soulful eyes, a beautifully bright smile.

  And she looked to be about twenty-five years old.

  Now, Ryan knew he was a terrible judge of such things. She might be older than she looked, but even being generous with his margin of error, there was no way she was older than him. What the hell was his father thinking? Ryan would have chuckled at his own question if it wasn’t so glaringly obvious what his father was thinking. But still! What the hell was he thinking?

  “I haven’t been secretive, Ryan,” his father said. “I’ve just been too busy enjoying myself to fill you boys in on all the details.”

  What a bullshit comment. His dad had most certainly been withholding details. He may have hinted to Bryce that his new romantic interest was younger, but not that she was younger than Ryan! And his dad could have warned him at lunch that she was fresh out of college. This wasn’t love. It was straight-up scandalous lust. It was practically criminal. His father must be having one massive midlife crisis, and any question of her motives was obvious. She must absolutely be after his dad’s money. Why else would a woman like her fall for a guy so much older than she was? Ryan had no idea how to handle this, but since he couldn’t very well turn and leave, his best option now was to gather as much intel about the situation as possible.

  He made a point to smile, although it felt stiff and unnatural. “Well, I’m certainly interested in the details now. Tell me everything. Dad said you grew up here?”

  She nodded. “Born and raised. I’ve lived here all my life.”

  Yeah, all twenty-some years of it. Ryan hoped his thoughts weren’t mirrored by his expression.

  “Let’s say I get everyone a drink,” said Tag, clearing his throat. “Honey, would you like some wine?” His hand trailed along her arm as he turned to walk into the kitchen. Their fingers caught, just for a brief second, clinging, as if the contact was essential, and Ryan’s breath went shallow in his chest. It was a subtle move but spoke volumes about the intimacy between them. It felt significant, even if it really wasn’t. It left him feeling as if he’d seen something raw and private. Like walking in on your parents watching porn. Only she wasn’t one of his parents. She wasn’t even old enough to have ever been one of Ryan’s babysitters. This girl was just that. A girl.

  Do-si-do, indeed.

  Chapter 7

  “Yeah, her name is Daisy, and she looked too young for me to go out with,” Ryan told Bryce over the phone as he gulped his morning coffee. They’d already discussed the insanity of their dad wanting to retire and had since moved on to the surreal topic of Tag and his teenage girlfriend.

  Last night, Ryan had stayed just long enough to force down the chicken marsala his dad had made, which he refused to admit had been delicious, and then he’d hightailed it out of there. On foot. He hadn’t even called for one of the horse-drawn taxis, instead choosing to stomp all the way back into town, which had seemed like a good idea until it started to thunderstorm. He was soaked by the time he got back to his hotel, and he’d nearly been struck by lightning, but it was worth it. He couldn’t sit there a minute longer in that kitten-picture-infested cottage trying to make chitchat with the prom queen while his father gazed at her adoringly and touched her hair. He touched her hair! It was just wrong on so many levels. The age difference was the obvious issue, but the speed at which this relationship appeared to be moving was another significant fact to consider. Ryan’s mother had only been gone for eight months, adding to his unease. Wasn’t there some sort of obligatory grieving period? His father was moving on much too fast, and it was just . . . wrong.

  He paced back and forth on the tiny balcony of his hotel room overlooking Main Street as he spoke to his brother and watched a steady stream of tourists disembarking from the various ferries. A marching band could be heard practicing in the distance because apparently this Lil
ac Festival thing included a parade. A parade. His father wanted him to sit and watch a parade. Ryan shook his head and peered over the railing. People were scurrying around all over the place, setting up banners and outdoor food stands. And then, of course, the smell of fudge, always the smell of fudge. Ryan could feel a cavity forming just from the aroma.

  “Exactly how young are we talking here?” Bryce asked. Ryan could picture his brother driving his Porsche down Interstate 5 toward Sacramento where the Taggert Property Management headquarters were located. It would be about six thirty in the morning in California, but his brother always liked to be the first one in the office.

  “I’m guessing twenty-five, maybe? She’s a preschool teacher, and get this—apparently the preschool is right next to a retirement center. The old people help take care of the little kids.”

  Bryce chuckled. “Well, maybe that’s her angle. Maybe what she’s really interested in is putting Dad in a home. That would make more sense.”

  Ryan didn’t chuckle back. “No kidding, and maybe we should let her because he’s clearly lost his ability to reason.”

  “Twenty-five. Damn. I don’t think I could land a twenty-five-year-old anymore. So how did they seem? I mean, how serious are they? Not very, right? She might be after his money, but Dad can’t be very serious about her, right?”

  Ryan practically shuddered. “It was . . . revolting. Dad was all goofy and smiley, and he kept calling her honey and sweetheart and my darling. Seriously? My darling? Who even says that anymore?” He took another hit of scalding coffee, because that’s just what his mood needed. More stimulants. “What if he marries this girl? Honest to God, Bryce, I don’t believe in ghosts, but if I’m wrong and ghosts are real, then Mom is sure as shit going to come back and haunt the hell out of him for this.”

  Bryce laughed again, but Ryan still didn’t. He’d seen it up close and personal. Too up close, and too personal. He understood better than Bryce what they were up against. This Daisy person had their father wrapped so tight around her finger that a chainsaw couldn’t separate them.

  “Mom would make a menacing ghost, but are you sure he’s not, just, you know, having a little recreational fun? Just taking this hottie out for a test drive?” Ryan heard a car honking over his brother’s phone. No surprise. He’d seen Bryce drive, and honking was inevitable.

  “Oh, he’s having all kinds of fun all right. Do you know what they like to do?” Ryan replied.

  “Do I dare ask?”

  “Well, aside from the obvious, they go biking.”

  “Biking? You mean, like . . . on bikes? Bicycles? Please don’t tell me they ride a tandem.”

  This time Ryan did smile. His father on a tandem would be something to see. “I don’t know about that. Probably. And they bird-watch. And it gets even better. Guess what else they do?” It was worth building this up because it was just so damned absurd.

  “What else do they do?”

  “They . . . square-dance. Dad now square-dances.” Ryan held the phone away from his ear until his brother’s very expected laughter quieted down. “You think it’s funny, I know. It is funny. But what’s not funny is the way this girl has her claws into him. What the hell is her story? I mean, this is Dad we’re talking about. Not some handsome, jet-setting, aging movie star or something.”

  “It’s got to be the money,” Bryce answered, honking again. “If she’s as young as you say, then that’s got to be it. You said she wants to travel, right? He’s probably her ticket off that island.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hey, what if she convinces him to go to some foreign country and then he gets kidnapped and held for ransom? Maybe she has some real boyfriend pulling all the strings and this is just some kind of con.” Bryce loved a good conspiracy or caper, apparently even if it included their father.

  Ryan shook his head, even though his brother couldn’t see it. “This isn’t an episode of Dateline, Bryce. Plus, I don’t think she’s that clever, unless she’s a really good actress. If she hadn’t been draped all over Dad, I would have thought she was just a really nice, sweet girl.”

  “What about her family? Did she mention any ailing relative in need of an expensive, life-saving surgery? Or a brother who needs to get bailed out of jail? If she has some financial hardship story, then she could be totally playing him.”

  “No ailing relatives that she mentioned, at least not to me, but apparently they’re trying to keep things very low-profile when it comes to this relationship.” Ryan’s air quotes were implied in his tone. “Her family supposedly doesn’t know anything about him yet.”

  “Okay, now see? That seems suspicious to me right there. Why not share this joyful moment with her family?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Bryce. Maybe because he’s probably as old as her dad? I don’t think that’s the kind of news a woman shares until she’s pretty darn sure the relationship is going somewhere.”

  “I guess, but something is very shady here. It’s all fun and games until somebody signs over all the stock options to our company. You need to find out more about this gold-digging bimbo before Dad does something unfixable, like marrying her. Ask around the island. I’ll see if I can dig up anything from here. What did you say her name was again?”

  “Daisy. Daisy Calhoun. Or Carpenter. Or Calamity. Damn it, you know I can’t remember names. Anyway, I do have someone I can ask. I met this woman at the airport and—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bryce interrupted. “Not you, too? You met a woman? That’s all we need is you distracted by some bimbo, too. Am I going to have to send Jack out there to rescue you both? That place is turning into the Hotel California. You know, you check in but you can never leave?”

  “Relax, you jackass. She’s not a bimbo. She’s a mom.”

  “Uh, hate to break it to you, bro. Moms can be bimbos, too. Have you not met my first wife? Or my second?”

  Bryce was on marriage number three. Because he did marry bimbos.

  “Listen to me. She’s not like that. I mean, she’s attractive and everything but—”

  “What’s and everything? Dude, stay focused.”

  “Yes, Bryce. I’ve got it.” Geez, his brother could be a dick sometimes, and Ryan didn’t like him referring to Emily as a bimbo. She wasn’t at all. “Anyway, I met this woman at the airport who grew up on the island. She’s here for the summer, so I’m thinking I should call and invite her out for coffee or drinks or something. She’s got to know this girl, right? They’re close enough in age that if they both grew up here, they have to know each other, and then she can give me the scoop.”

  “Make it coffee. I know you, and if you have cocktails with this chick, you’ll end up in the sack with her, and I’ll have to send Jack out there for sure. Hey, come to think of it, what if meeting that woman at the airport was no coincidence? What if they’re in cahoots?” Bryce loved his word-of-the-day calendar. That must’ve been a recent one.

  “There’s no cahooting, Bryce. No grand scheme other than a too-young girl after Dad’s money. Unless your secretary was in on it, too, because she’s the one who booked my flights on Outer Effing Mongolian Airlines, remember?”

  “Yeah, okay. Listen, I’m about to pull into the parking ramp and I’ll probably drop the call, but do whatever you need to do. Call your airport friend today and find out everything you can about this Daisy person, and remind Dad he has family obligations. Tell him if he wants some young chickie-poo for a distraction, I’m sure we can find somebody in Sacramento. And tell him he doesn’t have time for square dancing. What the fu—” And the call dropped.

  “Coffee sounds nice, Ryan. Thanks for the invite, but one of my sisters has coerced me into helping out at the Buy-Buy Miss American Pie tent during the Lilac Festival today. Can we do it another time?”

  Seeing Ryan’s name pop up on her phone this morning as she sat in Gigi’s kitchen had started Emily’s day with a tingle and a smile. He hadn’t completely forgotten about her.

  Gigi cas
t a speculative glance her way, adjusting her bifocals and leaning in closer over the table like the big, bad wolf. All the better to hear you with, my dear. Emily pretended to ignore her, as if that were possible given their close proximity.

  “Tell him I said hi,” Chloe said, taking another waffle from the stack in front of her. Gigi had cooked enough food for six people, but they were doing their best to eat it all. Fortunately, her daughter must be heading into a growth spurt. Lately it seemed as if all that girl did was eat, sleep, and text.

  “Sure, we can go another time, I guess.” Ryan sounded more distracted than disappointed. Then he added, “Say, remember talking about the woman my dad had supposedly met? The Gold-Digging Bimbo?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “Well, I met her. Her name is Daisy something, and guess what?”

  “What?”

  “She’s about twenty-five years old. Maybe a little older but not by much. Do you know her?”

  “Your father is dating a twenty-five-year-old? How old is he?” That was gross.

  “Fifty-nine.” Ryan’s tone indicated he was not thrilled about this matchup either, and she could understand why. That just wasn’t right.

  “Well, that’s . . . that’s quite an age difference. Is she . . . nice?”

  Gigi picked up Emily’s nearly empty coffee cup and moved toward the silver percolator to refill it. Emily smiled and nodded in thanks. Nosy or not, her grandmother was taking good care of her this morning, and it felt nice to be waited on.

  “Nice? I guess, but since she’s obviously way too young for my dad, she must have some hidden agenda. She’s definitely after something. So do you know her?” His voice was muffled for a moment, like he’d tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. She could hear him rustling around some papers, and a mild annoyance flickered. He’d called her. The least he could do was pay attention.