Her Unexpected Engagement (Checkerberry Inn)

by Kyra Jacobs

  “You know, the more I think about it, maybe us swapping places isn’t such a good idea.”

  “It’s up to you, sis. If you really want to stay, we can try to work something out. Heck, Joe and I might have more luck looking for that temporary man of yours than you would.”

  Stephanie froze in mid-sip. “My what?”

  “Livvy didn’t tell you?” said Becka.

  “About the engagement fib? Oh yeah, she tried to sneak it into the tail end of our conversation after I got off the plane, then skirted the topic when we talked last night.” She shrugged. “No biggie, I’ll just tell Evanston she was confused, and we’ll let it drop.”

  Becka exchanged a quick glance with Joe. “Steph, Evanston told Livvy he was looking for someone confident, stable. Emotionally stable—not someone fresh off a divorce doubting herself and her abilities. Livvy got defensive about you, and—”

  “And the engagement fib was born.” Stephanie ran a hand through her hair. It irritated her to no end that Livvy had gotten her trapped in a lie—with the man who would hopefully be her future boss, no less—but she understood. If someone criticized one of her sisters, Stephanie would have stuck up for them, too. She shook her head with a sigh. “Well, lucky for me, people don’t usually bring their fiancés with them to job interviews.”

  “No,” said Joe. “But if your sister told him your fiancé works where the interview is held, there might be some level of expectation built in.”

  “Works where, at the Checkerberry Inn? Who—” Stephanie stopped, the answer plain as the nose on her face. She turned wide-eyed to her sister. “Oh, no. No, I can’t ask him to do that.”

  “Of course you can,” said Becka. “You and Miles go way back. I’m sure he’d be happy to help you out.”

  “Happy to help?” Right. This was the guy who’d dropped out of her life a decade ago. Nothing said ‘happy to help’ like bailing on your bestie. Plus, she’d more or less told him to get lost last night, that his help wasn’t needed no matter how many times he’d offered it. Now she was going to have to go back and eat crow if she wanted any chance at landing the job she’d traveled all this way in the hopes of getting?

  Stephanie downed the last of her wine and looked to the sky, wishing for a little divine intervention…because that seemed like the only way she was getting out of this big mess without jeopardizing her career plans.

  “Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

  …

  Miles sat at home that night behind his desk, a half-empty bottle of Labatt Blue in one hand, a Techworks job application in the other. How many times had he read it over now? Five? Ten? So why hadn’t he gone ahead and filled it out yet?

  He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a good long drink. His parents hadn’t thought twice before moving to Nebraska when an opportunity came knocking after he finished high school. Hell, they’d had half the house packed and movers hired before bothering to tell him. And here he was, agonizing over the idea of possibly leaving Ruby and the others?

  Maybe that was it. Maybe he was worried he’d leave a trail of hurt like his parents had. And the Mastersons had had more than their fair share of hurt over the years. Would Brent ever speak to him again if Miles left? Would he be furious to discover that care of the inn and Ruby was now fully upon his shoulders?

  Miles rose with a growl and tossed the papers onto his desk. What did it matter if Brent was furious? Miles had put in more than his fair share of time playing financial caretaker to the Checkerberry, to Ruby. He loved his grandmother to death, but his time here had meant putting his career on hold.

  Why did he have to give up all of his hopes and dreams to keep hers alive?

  He downed the rest of his beer and headed toward the garage, intending to chuck the bottle into his recycling bin and be done for the night. But his brain was working faster than the alcohol, and the thoughts he was trying to numb were surfacing whether he wanted them to or not. So he grabbed beer number three and detoured out the back door to settle into his favorite seat, propping both legs up on the deck’s wooden rails. Rails he and Brent had measured, cut, built, and stained by hand. Rails he’d propped his feet on countless times before.

  Rails that, tonight, felt less like home and more like those belonging to a jail cell. If he chose to keep the rails, the house, his current job, that’s exactly what he would be doing to his career, to his future—locking them up and throwing away the key.

  If he passed on Freddie’s offer, would it mean more than just another lost opportunity? Would it would become a source of spite he might forever feel toward the others? He didn’t want to feel that way toward Brent, toward Ruby. They were his family—his true family—and he loved them above all else.

  To stay might create an irreparable rift between them, and he couldn’t do that. In fact, he’d hate himself for it. And that hate would undoubtedly eventually spread to them.

  Why subject them to what was sure to be an ever-growing bitterness surrounding his own circumstances?

  He wished he had other opportunities here, something that would keep him close. Hell, something he could do on the side to shake things up a bit. But Mount Pleasant wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis and never would be. The only things that changed around here were the names on mom-and-pop shops with every swing in the economy, and the slot machine locations at the nearby casino. Neither offered him much in the way of hope.

  His gaze shifted to the modest backyard spread before him, dappled with brown as the surrounding woodland trees’ roots competed with those of his lawn for moisture. A yard that over the years had held many parties for friends and neighbors, one that spoke of functionality and bachelorhood. There’d been no female touch added to the space, no children requiring swing sets or tire swings. Before, that’d been more than all right with him. But now that Brent and Kayla were together, it would only be a matter of time before they started cranking out kids.

  He’d be an uncle. A darn good one, too. He’d spoil the heck out of them, give them all the love and support his uncle had shown him.

  Miles’s thoughts drifted back to the moment he’d learned Brent’s parents had died in that plane crash. To the agony that followed as their remaining family tried to cope with such a great loss.

  Stephanie had returned to Mount Pleasant for the funeral with Liam at her side. They’d made sure to seek out and offer their condolences to Brent, her with hugs and him with a gentle clap on the back. Rather than offer the same warmth to Miles, Liam had turned for the door. But not Stephanie. She offered the same warm hug to him, even after he’d avoided her for months prior to then.

  I’m so sorry for your loss, she’d whispered. I know how much your aunt and uncle meant to you.

  He could still remember their last embrace, how he’d closed his eyes and, for just a moment, been able to imagine they were the same innocent kids who were still the best of friends. Then Liam spoke up, and the spell was broken, reality left to settle back in.

  Miles’s cell phone buzzed. With a shake of his head he forced the memory aside. His uncle would have wanted him to chase after his dreams, not sit around lamenting a past he couldn’t change.

  “Hello?”

  Freddie’s voice greeted him, his tone brimming with excitement. “What’s the holdup, man? I sent that application to you hours ago.”

  “Yep, just looking it over one last time.”

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you Masterson?”

  Miles’s gaze shifted back to the railing beneath his feet. Freedom, it seemed, was just an interview away. “Nope, not at all.”

  Chapter Five

  Miles could have walked down his drive and across the street for the Checkerberry’s traditional summer outdoor church service Sunday morning, if he’d still been at home. But between guilt over his decision to send in his application, and his inability to get Steph out of his mind, he’d had some pretty messed-up dreams. The last of which had involved her under him, eyes sult
ry, hair mussed, skin glistening with sweat—and crying out Liam’s name.

  That’s when Miles woke with a start. If anything could kill the moment, it was the woman of your dreams calling out someone else’s name in bed. Miles had lain there for several minutes, heart racing and mad as hell. Like it wasn’t bad enough that she was staying at his family’s inn, just as untouchable as before?

  After tossing and turning for the next hour, trying without success to get Steph out of his mind, he gave up on sleep and headed for the shower. For a nice, long cold shower.

  And damn, if she didn’t haunt his thoughts there, too.

  So he’d headed into town to the one place open at four in the morning—Soaring Eagle Casino. The familiar ching ching ching of perpetual mini-payouts at the wall-to-wall slot machines in the front room greeted him like an old friend. Miles came once every few months and more often than not walked out with more in his pocket than he’d come in with. He’d read the books on strategy, knew which table games has the best winning percentages and which had the worst, because he thrived on analytics—it was the way he was wired.

  But right then, he needed a simple game, something that required little thinking and minimal strategy.

  With fifty dollars in chips he made his way toward the blackjack tables and sized them up to see if one called to him more than another. After a moment he approached one with a tall, stocky blond female dealer. She was a bit too masculine and heavy-handed with makeup for his taste, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help save him from his unwanted thoughts.

  “You look a bit lonely over here,” he said with a wink and a smile. “What, not dealing enough winners today?”

  Her polite smile broadened into something much more genuine. “Maybe, maybe not. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll try to make you a winner, no?”

  He took a seat, slid a few chips into the betting area, and glanced at her name tag. Katarina. Judging by the build and her slight accent, he’d guess she was from somewhere overseas. Germany? Russia?

  “Good luck to you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Katarina. I could use some luck right about now.”

  A few more smiles, an innocently paid compliment or two, and she was putty in his hands. This was how Miles was used to women reacting to his come-ons. Shy, giggly, flattered. He never took advantage of anyone, never lied to them, just made them feel special. Desired. Because deep down, didn’t everyone want to feel that way?

  Usually, like today’s broad-framed card dealer, they ate the attention up. But not Stephanie. Never Stephanie. She’d always been more like one of the guys. Until college, that is. Suddenly she’d gone from tomboy to all grown up, gorgeous, and definitely not one of the guys anymore. And Miles hadn’t been the only one to notice.

  “Seventeen. Dealer has eighteen. Bust.”

  Bust was right. Liam got the girl, and Miles got, well, dozens just like the blackjack dealer. Oh, sure, she was sweet enough, and he did his best to listen politely as she told him about her homeland overseas, of her dream of coming to America and going to the university. But like so many other women he’d dated, there was no pull there, nothing that called to him on a level more than skin deep.

  Stephanie had been one of the very few to do that. If there was a prize to be won, they fought for it. A debate to be had, they dove in. No topic was too taboo, no feelings were tiptoed around. And when they weren’t competing or pontificating, they were sitting back-to-back or shoulder-to-shoulder in amicable silence. If one of them was down, the other lifted them up without hesitation. That’s what best friends do.

  But he’d missed his chance with her long ago, had played his cards too slow, been too worried about ruining their friendship. And once Liam had staked his claim on her, Miles hadn’t fought it. He pretended nothing had changed, that no opportunity had been lost because there hadn’t been one there to begin with. Stephanie had acted the same way.

  A middle-aged couple walked by, the wife nagging in low tones while the husband looked straight ahead, doing his best to ignore her, and it was like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on Miles. The couple could just as easily have been his parents. Two individuals who’d pledged ‘til death do they part and then did their damnedest to make each and every day as miserable as possible in the hopes that the other would get fed up and leave. In his parents’ case, both were too stubborn to admit defeat, which led to year after year of disappointed sighs, heated arguments, and oftentimes frustration-fueled silent treatments.

  The kind of future he never wanted for himself, or to burden anyone else with, either. “Dealer has blackjack.” The stocky blond swept his cards and chips toward her with an apologetic smile.

  “Wow, Katarina. This table’s sure gone cold.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Miles. I was really pulling for you that hand.”

  Miles shook his head, reached to push a few more chips forward…and found his stack gone. A quick glance at his cell showed it to be six o’clock, which left him just enough time to grab a newspaper and quick bite to eat before church. He stood, stretched, and pulled a ten from his wallet.

  “For the lady, who has been such wonderful company this fine morning.” He handed her the bill, gave her a small bow, and turned to go.

  “Thank you, sweetie. Have a blessed Sunday. And I do hope you’re able to get that woman off your mind.”

  “Woman?” Miles turned back to face Katarina. “I didn’t say anything about a woman.”

  She smiled. “Only two reasons a handsome fellow like yourself wanders in here this time of day—to escape their wife, or escape from life. No ring on your finger, so I’m guessing it’s the latter.”

  She leaned in closer, one eyebrow lifted. “My advice to you? Whatever it is you’re running from? Why not sit back and let the cards fall where they may?”

  Miles offered her another wink and headed for the door. Katarina’s suggestion might have been a good one…for anyone but him. With a new job and relocation on the horizon, it was time to shuffle the cards, not up the ante for one last hand.

  …

  Stephanie had hoped to sleep in Sunday and spend most of the day hiding from the world under her suite’s amazingly soft Egyptian cotton covers. And the bed? Pure heaven. But a noise outside woke her at seven, and from then on she was wide-awake.

  It didn’t help that someone sounded like they were sawing logs in the room above her, which reminded her of her snoring ex. Over time, she’d learned to tune it out. When he was home, anyway. Which, come to think of it, had been less and less these past few years.

  Stupid her.

  Stupid televised kiss.

  Stupid men.

  And now, thanks to her devious but well-meaning little sister, Stephanie either had to hunt down Miles and pray he’d be willing to play the part of fake fiancé for her on Monday afternoon, or go back to scanning the classifieds day and night. The ache in her chest threatened to return just thinking about it.

  With a sigh she crawled out of bed to freshen up. The image of him from Friday teased her memories as she traded her silk pajamas for a V-neck tank top and denim shorts. His warm, brown eyes, that stubble on his chin. The more Stephanie thought about him, the more she began wondering if she was more worried he’d say yes…

  She pulled her hair into a messy bun, grabbed her sunglasses, and headed for the door. If there was one place on these grounds that was sure to clear her head, it was the old pond. She’d snuck over from their neighboring yard many a time as a kid to escape from her prim and overbearing mother, the sounds of nature always able to soothe her frayed nerves. Especially the song of the bullfrogs, which was the opposite of prim. Even now, the rationalization brought a smile to her face.

  Stephanie cracked the door to her suite open and peered down the hall. No one in sight.

  I can do this. I can totally do this.

  She took a deep breath, slid her sunglasses into place, then hurried out of the room and down the hall, angling for the back door. If she could j
ust reach the woods without drawing any attention, she’d be set. Other guests might be out on the inn’s trails leading to the old pond, but Stephanie knew of dozens more. Trails not on any map or tour but carved from the woody underbrush by local kids.

  Kids who’d been the best of friends.

  A few steps more and she was outside, still alone. She paused to savor the sun’s warmth, chasing the A/C-induced chill from her skin. Ah, the summer sun. Even this early in the day, late June sunshine in Michigan made it feel a lot like Florida but without the smothering humidity. Or geckos. Lord, she’d never gotten used to stepping outside and seeing those little wiggly creatures crawling up the walls outside her door. But hallelujah, no slimy lizards here. She drew in a deep breath, savored the gecko-free scent of her beloved Michigan pines, and heard…

  Church music?

  Stephanie turned her face toward the sound and listened again. Sure enough, strains from a gently strummed acoustic guitar reached her ears. She stepped forward and followed the sound along the back of the inn, unable to resist. At the corner of the building she stopped to peek around to its side yard. A few dozen white folding chairs, of which little more than half were occupied, sat in short rows before a makeshift podium. Behind it stood a white-haired man with wrinkles etched deep into a kind, grandfatherly face. Off to his side sat a clean-shaven twenty-something man, looking a bit worse for the wear perched on a tall stool, a worn guitar resting on the knee of his faded jeans. Stephanie watched in awe as his fingers caressed its frets to produce a moving rendition of “It is Well with My Soul.”

  Oh, the irony.

  “You gonna spy on them the whole service or woman up and take a seat?”

  Stephanie spun to find Miles walking toward her, dressed more like a vacationer than a churchgoer in leather sandals, khaki cargo shorts, and a navy, short-sleeved button-down shirt. Guess she didn’t have to go hunting him down after all. Now all she had to do was build up the nerve to ask him for one teensy little favor.

  “It has nothing to do with womaning up. I’m just not dressed for it. ”