Keep On Loving you

by Christie Ridgway

  Something heavy moved into his gut and he supposed it was envy.

  The afternoon on the slopes was the tough workout he’d requested...and the exercise nearly killed him, in a good way. The last time he’d played on snow had been long ago—and somewhere in the Alps if he recalled correctly—and his screaming thigh muscles let him know all about it.

  But the pain was countered by exhilaration, and as he stood at the top of one run and looked down over the wide white highway before him, he felt as if he could fly for miles. Take off on snow and then soar over the pines that looked sugar-dipped, passing above suburbs and city only to land on soft golden sand beside the Pacific, surprising some flatland beach bunny.

  Southern California had everything.

  “Great, huh?” Brett said, pausing beside him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Had enough? Good food’s waiting at my place.”

  The only thing that sounded better than breathing in more clean cold air was doing something about the hunger gnawing at his belly. But Zan glanced at his old buddy and hesitated, his mountain high deflating. They weren’t exactly on friendly terms. “Are you sure you want me there?”

  “I’ll hear it from my wife if I show up without you.”

  Not exactly an enthusiastic welcome, but the idea of returning to his grandfather’s house alone didn’t appeal at all.

  “We have to make a stop first, then,” he said to Brett. “I can’t show up on your doorstep without flowers and a bottle of wine for Angelica.”

  Brett smirked. “Such good manners.”

  “I have hopes I’ll convince her to run off with me.”

  “Your ego always was outsize,” Brett said, then took off downhill, leaving Zan smiling behind him.

  Damn, he’d missed that kind of trash talk.

  His smile died. He’d missed that friendship.

  If Brett still held some reserve toward Zan, during dinner his wife made up for it with her bright smile, easy chatter and excellent meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She managed Hallett Hardware in the village and seemed to have a close acquaintance with everyone in the area. By the time dinner was over, Zan almost imagined he’d never left the place.

  He’d learned about illnesses, changes in occupation and the intimate relationships of a host of people he’d forgotten he knew. His head was reeling by the time he and Brett had walked the dishes to the kitchen counter and Angelica shooed the men back to the family room, where she’d serve dessert.

  “She loves it here,” Zan said to Brett.

  “No doubt. She didn’t have anyone in her corner for years. Now...”

  Zan thought of his nine-year-old self. “Walkers came to the rescue?”

  “We found out she was living out of her car.” Brett shook his head at the memory. “I made sure she had a real roof over her head. Mac gave her some hours to tide her through until she was needed full-time at the hardware store.”

  “The Walkers came to the rescue.”

  “In reality, she rescued me,” Brett said. “I was stuck in my head, letting the past keep me from a future.”

  Troubled by the confession, Zan prowled the room. One wall was filled with framed family photos. At the center was Angelica and Brett in an obvious wedding shot; though the bride and groom were in jeans, she held a huge bouquet of flowers and there were new rings on their left hands.

  “Vegas wedding,” Brett said, coming up beside him. “I couldn’t wait and she was willing.”

  Surrounding that shot were many framed Walker family moments. Their parents, Dell and Lorna Walker, mugged for the camera, smiling faces close together. Zan could see some of their children in both their features.

  “Your mom and dad were great people,” he murmured.

  “Yeah. Not perfect, and neither was their relationship, but I think they taught us not to let go or give up on each other.” He paused. “Or other people.”

  Without comment, Zan moved to stand in front of yet another photo. It was recent and showed the four Walker siblings, arms slung around each other, at the reception in honor of Brett and Angelica’s marriage. A solid group, yet another team, their confident smiles saying “We have the whole world because we have one another.”

  They’d been so easy to care about from the very beginning.

  So fucking hard to lose.

  And then he heard himself telling Brett about another loss. “I had a sister, you know. Jana. She was five years older and taught me how to jump rope.”

  The atmosphere in the room changed. Zan didn’t turn to look at the other man, but he could feel Brett’s sharp gaze on the back of his neck.

  Zan rubbed his palm there, aware he’d never talked about this stuff with the other man—even when they were kids. They’d known his family was dead, but not any further details. “I also had a brother.”

  “You had a brother,” Brett repeated.

  “Yeah. His name was Damon. I called him Dragon, for some reason I don’t remember. He was three years older than me.”

  Zan closed his eyes but couldn’t dredge up his sister’s or his brother’s faces. There were photos in the album back at his grandfather’s that would help him remember, he supposed, but he couldn’t bring himself to look through those pages. They would take him back to the sharp pain of his parents’ and his siblings’ deaths. Of the bewilderment he’d felt, of the sense of being untethered from everything and anyone.

  He’d felt as if he was facing a long, dark tunnel.

  The first light he’d glimpsed was the day Brett Walker spoke to him after school.

  “Cool nickname,” Brett said now. “Dragon. I bet he loved that.”

  Zan’s brows rose. “Yeah. You’re right. Cool.” It almost made him smile. “So, thinking on that—” he gestured toward the photos “—you’ve got it all. Right there.”

  “It’s missing someone, that wall,” Brett said slowly, then hesitated. “I once had a brother, too.”

  Surprised, Zan turned. This was the first he’d heard of it. “I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, you did,” Brett said.

  When Zan continued to just stare, the other man crossed his arms over his chest. “Damn it, dumbshit. I’m talking about you.”

  “I...” He had no idea what to say.

  “Yeah.” Brett nodded. “Think on that. I could have used my brother more than once over the last ten years.”

  When Brett lost his mom. When he’d gotten mired in events that prevented him from moving on from the past, whatever those events were. Maybe when Zan’s own cousin was causing trouble for his friend and the woman he loved.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. When he’d left, he’d let his oldest friend down. The one who’d considered him a brother.

  His mood, temporarily lifted by those hours on the mountain and the good food at Angelica and Brett’s table took a sharp nosedive. He scrubbed his hands over his face. When planning to get out of the mountains those many years ago, all thoughts had been about himself and about getting away. He’d considered very little what his absence would do to those he left behind.

  His focus had been on protecting himself. He’d not foreseen how in doing so he neglected those who’d considered him part of their family. Those who’d helped him get through the agony of extreme grief.

  Selfish asshole.

  Go now, he told himself. Get the hell out of this cozy house. Get gone to some other place on some other continent where no one gives a shit about who you are. Travel light and loose, making sure that you don’t get attached to anyone and they don’t get attached to you. Where you won’t mess up again.

  Then Mac’s voice came into his head, unbidden, talking about being his emergency contact. For the rest of your life, you put my name on that line.

  His chest filled with cement.

/>   “Shit,” Brett said now, sounding disgusted. “Angelica will kill me if I make you cry.”

  “I’m not going to—” The glint of humor in the other man’s eyes made him pause, then lightened the dense weight encasing his lungs. “Shut your ugly mug.”

  “Prettier than yours.”

  “You wish,” Zan said automatically, then scrubbed his face again. “Hell, Brett. What can I say? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  The other man held his gaze a long moment, then sighed. “Lucky for you, I’m lousy at holding a grudge.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Brett reached out. “And I learned that lesson about not letting go or giving up.”

  Zan gripped his friend’s hand, squeezing. Messages were sent along that connection in a silent language forged in boyhood and tempered by the hard-earned wisdom of adult mistakes.

  Angelica came into the room, bearing a tray of chocolate cake slices and cups of coffee. “Is everything okay here?” she asked, looking between the two men.

  “We’re good, sweetheart,” Brett assured her, moving forward to take her burden. “All good.”

  Zan nodded in agreement. Maybe the best he’d been since his return.

  * * *

  ZAN SUSPECTED BRETT had passed a word around the Walkers about their reconciliation, because the very next day he was texted an invitation—which came off more like a summons—from Shay’s stepdaughter, London. The family was getting together at Shay and Jace’s to prepare a welcome home for the honeymooning couple. Zan didn’t even pretend to himself he wasn’t damn happy to be included. His old friend had offered absolution, and he was going to prove he deserved it during the time he remained at Blue Arrow Lake.

  As for the future...he wasn’t contemplating that just yet. His only goal was to keep—and enjoy—this current peace.

  He found himself on a ladder stringing up a banner in the foyer of the house that was built along the lines of a steamship. “This place is...different,” he murmured for Brett’s ears only.

  “Jace bought it sight unseen, and he and Shay both thought it butt-ugly at first. Now they say it’s grown on them.”

  The lake views were spectacular, Zan would give them that. And the teenager London brightened the place with her excited chatter and bouncy energy. She’d been staying with a friend while her parents were gone and clearly she was looking forward to their return.

  Zan was ordered to bring in groceries from Poppy’s car that she’d bought to stock the fridge. He mock-saluted her, then opened the door to the garage, only to find Mac standing there, juggling an armful of market totes.

  They stared at each other.

  He’d been avoiding her since that night they’d traded regrets. To earn her eternal gratitude, when she arrived to work at his grandfather’s house, he would leave and only return once she was gone.

  The words she’d said in her sister’s kitchen were in an endless loop in his mind. I think you should do something to really annoy me. It was because of that attraction, he knew, the chemistry that burned and spit like solar flares whenever they were together.

  She scowled at him now. “What are you doing here?”

  So much for eternal gratitude.

  Still he stepped forward. “Let me take those from you,” he said, reaching for the groceries.

  “I’ve got them,” she said, as she made to step around him.

  But she misjudged the distance or her hold on the bags was tenuous, because just as she moved past his body her elbow brushed his arm and all the groceries came crashing down, cans rolling, chip bags scattering, oranges and apples taking off for parts unknown. She stared at the mess, her expression so crestfallen it looked as if she’d lost her pet kitten.

  “Mac.” Zan touched her back, and she jerked away from him, kneeling to gather the items again.

  He mirrored her movements.

  “I’ve got this,” she mumbled.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just peachy.” She glanced up at him. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “London somehow got my number. I was invited to the welcome party.” He hesitated. “Would you rather I leave?”

  She shrugged a shoulder and tossed a stack of bagels into a bag. “Do what you like. I can’t stay long, anyway. Big date later.”

  That set him back on his heels. Literally. Stupid, really, that the news would bother him so. “Anyone I know?” he asked, hoping it sounded polite instead of prying.

  “No,” she said.

  He winced. It must have sounded as if he was prying. “Well, you look very nice,” he said, taking in her outfit as she rose to her feet. She wore a sweater and a short skirt. Patterned tights covered her legs until meeting her ankle-length boots. Some guy was going to be happy to be out with her that night.

  Some other guy.

  “Thank you,” she said, stepping close to swipe up an orange that had rolled near his foot.

  He caught her wrist before she could move away.

  “What?” Her frosty blue eyes widened.

  “What” was that he couldn’t help but play with fire. Without letting go of her, he got to his feet. He could smell her perfume now, a fragrance that she’d stroked or sprayed onto her skin for some other guy.

  “Look nice. Smell nice,” he muttered, then bent his head, getting his mouth close to hers.

  She didn’t jolt away this time. Instead, her gaze stayed glued to his. “I...” He saw her swallow. “What’s this about?”

  Jealousy, maybe. Need. Possession. Or perhaps it was something less tempestuous, just the desire to make peace with her, the last Walker who carried a chip on her shoulder when it came to him.

  Yeah, as if making peace with Mac would include kissing the hell out of her.

  “I thought we decided,” she said, a thread of uncertainty in her voice.

  “You decided,” he countered. “While I—”

  “Hey, Zan.” Brett came around the corner, catching his hand on the wall to stop his movement as he caught sight of them close together. “Oh, shit,” he said, eyes moving from one to the other.

  Zan instantly released Mac’s wrist.

  She stepped back. “‘Oh, shit’ is right,” she said, gesturing toward the remainder of the spilled groceries. “Come help pick these up, would you?”

  When Brett bent to grab a couple of cans, Zan mumbled some excuse and made himself scarce. He supposed the other man’s forgiveness wouldn’t extend to being thrilled Zan was starting something up with Mac again when his intentions weren’t the least bit honorable...or lasting.

  His attendance at the event wasn’t lasting, either—he didn’t stay much beyond the moment the happy honeymooners arrived home.

  His next chance to bask in the family’s company arrived the following evening, when Poppy asked him to her place. The first time Brett had brought Zan home to the Walkers, their big brother referred to Poppy and Shay as the “ankle biters.” But the little girls had smiled and charmed their way into his affections, and he’d always gone marshmallow around Poppy in particular. From an early age, that girl’s sunniness had been beyond engaging.

  When a beaming Poppy ushered him in he thanked her for the invitation.

  Her expression turned serious. “We all missed you, Zan. A lot.” Then she put her hand on his sleeve. “Did you know Ryan lost a son?”

  He nodded. “I did. It was tragic.”

  “My lesson from that is not to take for granted having the people I love in my life. I try to enjoy every moment they’re with me.” Her smile returned. “So now I’m enjoying you.”

  He thought of how he’d left this wise soul and the rest of her family behind. His chest ached. “Pop...”

  “And maybe I have an ulterior motive, too,” she said, smile
turning to a grin. Rubbing her palms together, she winked at him. “A master plan.”

  He frowned in mild alarm. “Pop...” But she was already dashing farther into the house, forcing him to follow behind.

  In the kitchen, Shay, London and Angelica sat at the kitchen table surrounded by twine and pieces of tagboard and tiny bottles of sand lined up like soldiers. They smiled and waved.

  Their pleasure at seeing him wrapped him like a hug. I might not deserve this, he thought, but I’m taking it, anyway.

  “We’re making place cards for the reception,” Poppy explained.

  “Is this part of your master plan? I’m not very crafty,” he warned.

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “The master plan is something else altogether. Tonight your job is Mason-wrangler.”

  On cue, the boy came racing into the kitchen in his stocking feet. He slid the last bit of distance, causing Zan to catch him by the shoulders to prevent a tackle. “Zan!”

  “Mace!” he echoed, in the same enthused tone. “What’s up?”

  “Duke’s down the hill for the night, so Mom promised you’d play cards with me.”

  Now Poppy gave Zan hopeful eyes. “Please?”

  A goner, he tugged on the ends of her hair. “If I can line up a single lady or two, is strip poker okay?”

  “Don’t be bad,” she said, pushing at his chest just as Mac strolled into the room.

  Her jeans were tight, her long-sleeved V-neck T-shirt clung to her curves. The color of the thin material, something between cotton candy and berry, matched her lush mouth.

  He wanted a taste of it. Desperately.

  Don’t be bad. At the echo of those words in his head, he felt a gaze on him and glanced over to see Poppy watching him with satisfaction in her gaze.

  He frowned again, but then Mason’s voice drew his attention away.

  “Auntie Mac’s a single lady,” the boy said, indicating the new arrival.

  Her brows came together. “Uh, yeah. What’s this about?”

  “A new card game. You wanna play strap poker with me ’n’ Zan?”

  “Strip poker,” Shay corrected.

  “Strip poker,” Mason repeated, obligingly.