Like with his dad. After Donovan stood up to him once or twice, he was no longer scared of him. Didn’t mean his old man quit hitting him, but Donovan got better at enduring it. And learned not to cry.
“Do people ever climb this wall?” Sofie’s hand found his, squeezing his fingers. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“Some people.” He dropped her hand and walked three feet to the right, finding a familiar hold he thought he’d forgotten. But no, it was still there. He tucked his fingers into the crevice and found another hold above that one with his left hand.
His left leg automatically found a piece of jutting rock. His right followed, finding another.
“What are you doing?” She sounded worried. Cute. He wasn’t used to anybody worrying about him.
He hoisted himself using his arms, the familiar burn lighting his biceps. Been a while since he’d hauled himself up a wall using only arm strength. He balanced, grabbed another bit of rock. His foot found the next perch like he’d climbed the face yesterday. Not much had changed about this place. From what he could see, no big chunks had chipped off or eroded away. The sheet of rock where he used to come to forget was as intact as when he’d last scaled it.
He did fall once, back in the day. Broke his ankle. Gertrude turned a blind eye, which hadn’t surprised him. No matter the injury, cut, or bruise, she preferred to pretend Donovan was fine. Admitting he was hurt meant seeing Robert Pate for the tyrant he was, and Gertrude refused to see her precious son in any light other than a false, shining one.
At that same spot, he looked over his shoulder. Sofie held her hands over her mouth in prayer pose, fingers laced together as if she might start praying then and there.
“I’m very impressed,” she called as Dog made her way to stand next to her, tongue lolling. “Now will you please come down here, so I won’t have to call an ambulance to splint your leg when you fall?”
He grinned at her before turning back to the rock.
“So damn sweet,” he said to himself. He hauled himself up another two or three feet, feeling the exhilaration, the shot of adrenaline course through his veins.
The next hold he reached for crumbled to dust under his hand. He grunted a curse as bits of the now-obliterated rock pinged off the wall he hung from. Losing his stability caused his arm to swing behind him, threatening his already precarious balance. Biceps burning, he held fast with the hand thankfully still anchored to the wall.
“Donny!” Sofie gasped, and repeated her plea for him to come down.
He blew out a breath through pursed lips as he carefully shifted his foot to brace his weight on his left side, the fingers on that hand aching, arm muscles beginning to shake. He prayed the bit of rock he clung to held him until he could get his balance.
It did.
Bending awkwardly, he dug the fingers of his right hand into a hold several feet below, knowing his weight was unevenly distributed. With more solid footing than before, he risked a quick look down at Sofie’s fear-filled green eyes, and gave her a smile and a wink.
Her expression hinted her fear had receded some, and that’s what he’d been going for.
“Please come down,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
The promise was almost enough to make him jump. Broken ankle be damned. Adjusting his hold, he stepped down another few feet, peeking over his shoulder as he did. For her benefit, he raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever I want?”
She dropped the prayer pose and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come down here without brain damage, and we’ll talk.”
So fucking cute.
A minute later, he was on the ground, leaping the two feet and wiping chafed palms on his jeans. No cuts. Nice.
He inclined his head, finding the spot where the rock had given beneath his hand. No wonder she was scared. It was way up there. Stupid to try to climb without gear, given the risk. But Sofie had never seen him climb. And he’d never shied away from risk.
Broken bones healed. Scars could be hidden. Impressing a woman was fleeting. He had to grab the opportunity when he could.
“I believe you said ‘whatever’ I want,” he told her, stepping in front of her.
She shook her head, but her smile was undeniable. He liked how much she wanted him. He wanted her right back.
“Fun as this has been,” she said, taking her eyes off his to look around, “I have a very big, very involved charity dinner to plan. Don’t you have a mansion to get ready?”
Smartass. He opened his mouth to retaliate, when his text chime dinged from his phone. He checked the screen. Connor.
“Was going to take you to lunch,” he told her, still frowning at his phone. He needed to get back after all.
Shit.
“You were?” she asked.
He tried not to be insulted by her surprised tone. “No way to talk you out of work and into coming with me?”
She shook her head, but the only reason her refusal didn’t hurt as much as it could’ve was because she looked like she didn’t want to go back to work. “There’s so much to do.”
“Okay.” He whistled for Dog, and she came obediently to his side. No leash needed.
As they paced back to Trixie, Sofie said, “I’m scheduling something at the mansion with the caterer. Probably for Wednesday. Does that work for you?”
He opened her door for her. Wednesday would work. And would give him time to get something else ready. “You got a key, Scampi.”
She was free to come and go as she pleased. What he wanted was for her to come way more often.
And yeah, he meant that in every way imaginable.
“Holy shit.”
When Connor texted him at the quarry asking how soon he could get to the mansion, Donovan assumed he had a question about the grounds. Then he’d arrived home and Connor met him in the driveway.
“Follow me,” he’d said, eyebrow cocked.
Donovan had followed him through the backyard, around the side of the house, and through an open door leading behind the utility room to the maid’s quarters and beyond.
Then he’d followed him into the recently renovated indoor greenhouse. Connor had done a good job cleaning out the massive space. The cluster of shelving formerly filled with home décor and boxes of collectables had been cleared. They were now lined with pots of all sizes.
Or had been.
Donovan gaped at the mess and repeated, “Holy shit.”
Several pots were busted and lay in a terra cotta heap, their seedlings lying like dead bodies on the ground. One shelf leaned back against the wall, lucky it hadn’t fallen in the other direction and busted out the window.
In the center of the mess stood a doe, probably not full grown, but definitely not a fawn. Her wide, brown eyes were panicked, her nose wet and dripping.
“How the hell did it get in here?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Evidently an earlier panic attack had caused the mess he was looking at now.
“Left the door open while I was carrying in the wood.” Keeping his hand gestures subtle, Connor pointed to the half-built flowerbed dominating the room. The raised bed looked about six by eight feet, not yet nailed together, boards held together by clamps. “When I found her in here, she freaked out.”
Which meant the deer walked in through the outside door, through the hall, and into the greenhouse.
Eyes on Donovan, her tongue came out and licked her face.
“Okay. So we get her out.” Couldn’t be too hard.
“Without her destroying my seedlings.”
That might be harder. He surveyed the shelves again. If she started bucking, she could shatter the window and cut herself to shreds in the process.
“Apples,” Donovan said. “What if we leave a trail of apples and let her find her way out? We can wait outside and watch her leave.”
“That’s it? Leave a trail of apples?”
“You want to go in after her?” Donovan took a half step into the room and
the deer backed into a shelf she hadn’t yet overturned. Pots wobbled on its surface.
Connor stayed Donovan with one hand. “Okay, okay. Apples.”
An hour later, Connor and Donovan were perched on top of a picnic table just out of sight of the door where a fat and very happy deer should be exiting any moment now.
Annny moment now…
“Hope she’s not in there eating your lavender,” Donovan said, swallowing the end of his beer. He dug a fresh one from the ice in the cooler.
Connor held out a palm and accepted it. “Deer don’t like lavender.”
“Lucky you.” Donovan uncapped a beer and rested on his knees, watching the door. When he was about to give up, a black nose poked out of the doorway, lifted, and smelled the air.
“Jackpot,” Connor whispered.
The doe stepped out, sniffed the air again, and left the mansion. When she turned her head and noticed the two men watching her, her ears fanned out to the side. Dark eyes studied them silently for a few seconds before she broke into a run for the trees.
Donovan blew out a breath. “Least we didn’t have to shoot it.”
Connor chuckled, mirroring Donovan’s pose, elbows on his knees, beer bottle resting in his hands. “Like you would’ve shot it.”
“I wouldn’t have,” he agreed. “Would have been a hell of a mess.”
Another chuckle made him bristle. Connor took a swig of his beer. “You act like such a hardass. When really, you have this gentle touch.” He held his index finger and thumb together and motioned like he was pricking the air. “So soft.”
“Happy to black one of your eyes for you and prove you wrong.” He wouldn’t, though. Connor may have been the one friend Donovan hadn’t tussled with. By the time they met, his preferred method of self-destruction was whiskey.
Connor’s good humor vanished when he looked Donovan dead in the eye. “You know the best way to handle a deer in your house, and an injured stray dog, because you know what it feels like to be afraid. To be cornered. To have no way out.”
His childhood wasn’t something he talked about much, but Connor knew. And Evan—apparently. Connor was one of his closest friends, and when he’d started staying in Donovan’s apartment, they’d had a shitload of personal conversations.
Among them, Donovan’s father.
Donovan took a long drink of beer and looked at the house again.
“I didn’t know what to do,” Connor said. “I just rushed in. My fault the doe made confetti out of half my planters.” He shook his head.
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
“You’ll kiss my ass.”
Donovan swallowed a smile. “No deal.”
Silence gathered in the air between them.
“You need a cornhole game or something,” Connor said half a beer later. “Boring as shit out here.”
“Cornhole,” Donovan grunted.
“What’s the matter, Pate? Cornhole too lowbrow for you? Been up on the East Coast living champagne wishes and caviar dreams for so long, you’ve forgotten your roots?” Connor slid off the table and put his beer bottle down.
“You suggesting I’ve gone soft?”
“As a marshmallow.” Connor put up his fists.
Donovan drained his beer in a few long guzzles and hopped off the table as well. “You think because you have arms like telephone poles you can kick my ass, but you forget how scrappy I am.”
“Nothing above the neck. I might try to get a date with your girlfriend’s cute friend soon.”
He was supposed to react to “girlfriend,” but Donovan refused. He lifted his arms. “Faith’s too classy for a grunt like you.”
“Always was,” Connor agreed, nodding. “Not going to stop me from trying, though.”
Donovan rushed him, hitting Connor’s torso. Solid as the rock he climbed today. When his buddy trapped him around the neck and spun him out, Donny’s shoulder throbbed from the hit.
“That was easy,” Connor bragged.
But Donovan wasn’t done. He swept his friend’s leg, dropping him to his ass. Arm over his chest, he held Connor down. “Had enough?”
Connor shook his head and grinned. “Loser has to clean up after the deer.”
“Deal.”
Donovan was thrown to the ground a second later, but nowhere near giving up.
After wrestling and trading places pinning the other to the ground several times, they rolled to their backs to catch their breath.
“Tie,” Donovan said, exhausted.
“You forfeiting?” Connor asked, sounding equally exhausted.
“Hell, no.”
“Neither am I.”
They smiled over at each other.
God, he’d missed his friends. Connor was right about him being in New York for too long. No one there knew anything about him other than the loner workaholic he’d shown them. But Evan knew him. Connor knew him. Asher, too, wherever that son of a bitch was hiding.
It hadn’t occurred to Donovan how important it was to be around people who knew his crap. People who knew him through and through. His relationships in New York seemed shallow in comparison.
Not that he’d admit any of his thoughts out loud. “Arm wrestling?” he suggested.
“Beer chugging?”
“Sounds better than cornhole.”
Connor laughed, pushed himself off the ground, and offered a hand. Donovan accepted, but when his friend leaned over him, he used that hand to send Connor tumbling into the grass.
Rookie.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
All set then?” Gloria Shields stood, her red nails pressed onto the edge of Sofie’s desk. The woman was a force to be reckoned with—Sofie had noticed when she met the literary agent last year. If anything, Gloria’s intensity had only increased.
Glo represented both Evan Downey and Asher Knight for their Mad Cow children’s books. She’d also arranged to have a special print run and donate hundreds of copies to Open Arms.
They’d discussed the charity dinner, the books, the signing where Evan and Asher would set up, but Sofie had one more favor to ask. She’d been trying to get her courage up to ask before now, but failed. She was running out of time.
Sofie made scribbly lines on her desk calendar, took a breath, and said, “I know you don’t really handle Asher’s music career, but I’m having trouble nailing down a DJ. Do you think he might—”
“I don’t handle it.” Gloria’s eyes were as hard as the sapphires they resembled. She flicked her silken black hair off one shoulder and sniffed.
Something had gone down between those two in the Cove last year when Asher was in town working on the second book with Evan. Charlie had told Sofie about how Asher and Gloria were lovey-dovey one minute, and at each other’s throats the next.
Sofie shuffled some papers. “Of course, I’m sorry to ask.”
Gloria peeled a Post-it note from the pad on the desk and fished a pen out of the cup on the corner. “Here’s his personal cell. He has a scheduling manager, but she’s an insipid twit. He gives you hell for calling him personally, tell them I told you to do it. It’s a good charity. And if Asher has a scrap of self-worth, he’ll say yes without too much argument.”
Sofie accepted the Post-it note with a cautious smile. “Will you be in town long?”
“Leaving late tomorrow.” Sharp, blue eyes trained on Sofie. “Why?”
Because Gloria looked like she needed a drink. Maybe two.
“Wine night at Charlie’s studio tonight,” Sofie said. Charlie, who had moved in with Evan, had kept her house on the beach, using it as her photography office-slash-studio. Her back porch was enormous and perfect for entertaining. Perfect for Girls Night Out.
Faith stepped into the office from the back room and said, “Oh, that would be great. I’ll pick out a new bottle of wine. We had so much fun on the boat with you last year. I’m sure Charlie would be excited to have you.”
“That’s sweet.” Gloria looked as if she might offer a p
olite “no” behind that statement, but surprised Sofie by asking, “What time?”
Charlie threw the best Girls Nights Out ever.
A cool breeze blew off the lake, framed by the plantation-style back porch. Appetizers covered an outside table, dressed in a flowered tablecloth with matching seat cushions. Hummus and chips, a vegetable platter, and courtesy of Faith, Devil Dogs for everyone. The dessert had become something of a tradition since she introduced them to Charlie last year.
Fat-packed goodness of layered chocolate cake, cream filling, and dark chocolate coating proved to be too good an indulgence for any of them to pass up.
Sofie, Faith, and Charlie had already started on the wine when Gloria rounded the back of the house, making her entrance.
“I know you told me not to bring anything, but I happened to find my best friend in need of a break.” Gloria tugged a woman with midlength wavy red hair alongside her. The redhead lifted a hand and gave a bashful wave.
“I hope that’s okay.” But Glo’s smile insisted she knew it was more than okay.
“Kimber!” Charlie exclaimed, rushing off her porch to close the redhead in her arms. “How? What are you doing here?”
“She has a very wealthy husband who put her on a plane immediately when I called and told her about wine night,” Glo said.
“Are you staying?” Charlie asked.
“Not for long,” Kimber said. “Gloria and I are flying back to Chicago tomorrow.”
The three of them scaled the steps to the porch. “Faith, Sofie. Kimber Downey. Landon’s wife,” Charlie introduced.
Sofie had heard of Evan’s oldest brother, Landon. He was a Chicago-based ad executive who married family friend Kimber after an unexpected twist of events. Charlie and Evan had busted out their cell phones to show Sofie pictures last Christmas. The unexpected twist? Their son, the adorable Caleb Downey.
After a round of introductions, hugs, and compliments on Kimber’s attire—finds from her Chicago-based clothing stores—the ladies circled the table, filled their glasses, and the gossip began.
“I think a date at the quarry is romantic,” Charlie said after Faith spilled the proverbial beans about Donovan coming to pick Sofie up at her shop.
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