“I can’t say, all right? This is tricky.”
“What if I talk to her?”
She gulped as a wave of panic hit her. “No, please don’t. It’s my job. I need to be the one to talk with her. Now is not the right time.”
“Why not? What if every day you procrastinate you—”
“I’m not procrastinating! I’m being considerate of Rox’s feelings.”
“Is it really her feelings you’re worried about? You’re so sure she’s going to be upset when she finds out. What if she’s thrilled?”
“Thrilled? How could she be? We’ve been carrying on behind her back. She’ll be upset. Probably hurt. Or angry. I don’t want to do that to her.”
“That doesn’t sound like Roxanne, and you know it. But it reminds me of someone else.” He pulled his hands away from hers. “You want to know what I think this is really about? That!” He pointed at the empty place on her wall where the poster had hung. “I think you’re holding out to see if I turn into a jerk like your ex.”
“That’s not it at all!” She pressed a hand to her chest. If only her heart would stop making so much noise. “Wes, we’re fighting.”
“We’re discussing.”
“No, we’re not. We’re fighting. And if we keep fighting, everything’s going to blow apart.”
“I disagree. We can work this out. You know me. You know my heart. I won’t—”
“Please, Wes, we have to stop.”
“Thank you, Lord! That’s what I’ve been saying. We’ll tell everyone and be done with the secrecy.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He gazed at her in silence. Then he swallowed. “What did you mean?”
She forced the words out. “We have to stop this. Us. Now, before anyone knows.” Such hateful words.
He recoiled as if she’d slapped him. Pain flashed in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s the only way. If we end this now, we can still be…friends.”
“Friends?” Drawing in a shaky breath, he reached for her hands. “I want so much more from you than friendship. And I think you do, too. I know you care about me, Ingrid, as much as I care about you. And I know those feelings scare the hell out of you.”
“I’m not scare—”
“It’s understandable after what happened with your ex. But I’m not him. We’re not you and him. Gage was in the bakery five minutes and figured out we’re crazy about each other. This will work out.”
Gage knew? Panic set in. “No, it won’t.”
His grip tightened when she tried to pull back. “Come with me to the event Saturday. Please. Be my date. Trust me. Trust us.”
The idea of going public made her sick to her stomach. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking you to trust me. Trust that I won’t let you down. Ever. It’ll be okay.”
“No.” Her voice was a hoarse croak. “We have to end this now!” Because if they didn’t, she was going to come apart at the seams.
He stared at her for a long time. She counted breaths. It was the only thing that kept her tethered to her sanity.
Heaving a sigh, he released her hands and stood. “If that’s what you really want, I’ll go. I never meant to hurt you.”
And she’d never meant to hurt him. But she had. The pain in his eyes hit her like a sledgehammer. “I’m sorry, Wes.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He walked out the door without looking back.
Clutching her knees, she sucked in air. It was like breathing through a straw. She couldn’t get enough. Her vision blurred.
What was that music? Oh. Her phone alarm. She had five minutes. She choked back hysterical laughter.
Anyone who could go down to the bakery and carry on as if nothing had happened deserved an academy award. She wasn’t that person.
She was shaking like crazy, so texting took longer than it should have. Eventually she composed a message to Abigail explaining that she had stomach flu. Amazing that her brain was working well enough to come up with that.
It didn’t feel like a lie, either. The way her stomach was churning, she might throw up. Stomach flu was the perfect illness to fake. She could hide out and ask everyone to stay away. Nobody wanted to catch stomach flu.
Only thing was, it usually lasted just a couple of days, three at most. That would get her out of the celebration at the GG, and Sunday the bakery was closed. Monday morning, though, Tuesday at the latest, she’d have to be on the job.
And every time she left her apartment, she’d have to face the possibility of running into Wes, whether he still came into the bakery for coffee and a pastry or not. They lived in the same building. She’d have to walk past his apartment on a regular basis, each time taking a chance that she’d see him.
And that was just for starters. The future looked even bleaker. Whenever she spent time with Rox, she’d likely hear about what Wes was doing. If he started dating someone, which would happen eventually, she’d hear about that, too. He might even bring his new girlfriend up to his apartment.
The very thing she’d feared had come to pass, despite all her precautions. Life as she knew it was over. She was now officially in hell.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Although Wes had wanted business to slow down this past week, today he was grateful for every call that took him away from the apartment building. And the bakery. What a mess.
He should have seen it coming. But when Ingrid had decided to make love to him that first night, he’d wanted so desperately to believe in…what? Her? The healing power of love?
It was powerful, all right, though not at healing. It had grabbed him by the heart and had a substantial grip on his privates, too. Ingrid, not so much. Bottom line, she didn’t trust him not to hurt her.
Worse yet, she wouldn’t admit that was the issue. She’d offloaded all her concerns onto Roxanne, claiming that they couldn’t go public because it would cause Roxanne distress.
That sucked and he didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t just explain it to her. If she didn’t trust him with her heart, why would she trust him to tell her the truth about what was happening?
The only person he could talk to was no expert on the matter, either. But when he found himself at loose ends, he texted Gage.
What are you up to?
Enjoying a brewsky on the porch. Come on over.
Is Dad with you?
Nope. He’s over at Kendra’s for a little private time.
Pete?
Working late.
I’ll see you in ten minutes.
He had some munchies in his apartment but no beer. That was still at Ingrid’s and he’d never restocked his fridge. Hadn’t felt the need. He wasn’t going to risk running into her for a bag of pretzels and some mixed nuts.
As he pulled up in front of his dad’s house, he smiled for the first time since leaving Ingrid’s apartment. Gage had turned front porch beer consumption into an art form.
He’d pulled one of the rockers over to the railing so he could prop his feet on it. On his left sat a small galvanized tub filled with ice and several longnecks. On the other, a table held his phone, a large bowl of tortilla chips, a smaller one of salsa, and a generous basket of popcorn.
A flock of sparrows took off when Wes pulled in. Gage had never met a bird he didn’t like, and tossing chips and popcorn to them was a signature activity. Wes had missed that about him, too. Whatever impulse had motivated him to recalibrate his life, Wes was glad that he’d decided to rejoin the family while he did it.
Swinging down from the truck, he climbed the steps. “It’s a damned shame you’ve never learned how to relax.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Gage tipped back his hat and looked up at him. “But I figure if I keep practicing, I’ll get the hang of it. I would’ve pulled up a rocker for you, but that would require getting up.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself.” Wes grabbed a rocker and positioned it on the far side of the t
able. “Can you spare one of those longnecks?”
“Got one here with your name on it.”
“Thanks.” He took the chilled bottle and glanced at the label. “Just call me Bud for short.” Propping his feet on the rail, he twisted off the cap and took a long drag on his beer.
“So, Bud, how’s Ingrid?”
He damn near spewed the entire mouthful. Somehow he managed to swallow it without choking to death.
“Wrong question?”
Wes gazed at him and cleared his throat. “What are you, psychic?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t need to use my powers this time.” He broke off a corner of a chip and threw it over the rail. “The bakery closes at four.” He tossed out another piece. “At five you’re texting me, looking for company. Doesn’t take a crystal ball to figure out there’s trouble in paradise.”
“You can say that again.”
“Sorry, but I don’t make a habit of repeating myself.” He scattered a handful of popcorn and the little birds went crazy. “Share, guys.” He turned to Wes. “So are you gonna tell me about it or would you rather play twenty questions?”
“This stays between us.”
“Yeah, yeah, we established that yesterday. Cut to the chase. Or in this case, the train wreck.”
Wes filled him in. Like the great listener he was, Gage winced and groaned at all the appropriate places in the story. The lead weight in Wes’s gut lightened considerably as he talked.
He finished describing the morning’s debacle and took a restorative gulp of beer. “There you have it.”
“Have you considered talking to Roxanne?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, I promised I wouldn’t. For another, it wouldn’t fix the problem. If Ingrid doesn’t trust me to be a good guy and not hurt her, then nothing I say or Roxanne says will make any difference. End of story.”
“I doubt that.” Gage broke up another chip and gave it to the birds.
“I don’t know. Seems like an impasse to me.”
“That’s because you’re the poor slob who’s in love with her. Looking at it from the outside, I see potential for it working out.”
“Is there something I should be doing?”
Gage turned to stare at him. “You’re asking me? The guy who’s never had a romance that lasted more than two weeks?”
“I don’t have anybody else I can ask.”
“That’s a shame. I haven’t the foggiest idea whether there’s something you should do.”
“But you’re sitting over there saying you see potential for it working out. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“That I believe your awesomeness will win out. You’re honest, you’re loyal, and you floss. She couldn’t find a better guy than you and she strikes me as an intelligent woman.”
“Thanks.” Wes took a quick sip of beer to cover the rush of emotion that little speech had created. “Appreciate it.”
“If you’d just learn to put the TP roll on correctly you’d be damned near perfect.”
He grinned. “I’m grateful you’re here to point out my failings in that department.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He glanced over at Wes, his expression serious for a change. “Me, too.”
* * *
The next morning, Wes was in a considerably better mood. Pete had come home and joined them on the porch. Then they’d cooked dinner and talked far into the night. Like old times.
Gage was sounding as if he might stick around Eagles Nest. He liked what he’d seen of the town and wanted to be involved in Raptors Rise. Pete evidently loved his job and Wes’s growing list of clients meant he could afford to stay.
The move from Spokane to Eagles Nest was looking good for the Sawyer clan. The situation with Ingrid had to work out. It just had to.
As Wes showered, shaved and dressed, he focused on Gage’s belief that she’d decide to trust the relationship and talk with Roxanne. What if, after taking a night to think it over, she’d decided to call Roxanne today?
She likely wouldn’t tell him until after the fact, but the wheels might already be in motion. What if this day would be a turning point and they’d enjoy a wonderful evening together, after all?
He had twenty minutes before his first appointment, enough time for a brief stop at the bakery. He’d have a chance to gauge her mood while he ordered his usual coffee and pastry. Grabbing his keys and his hat, he went quickly down the stairs, eager to see her.
Except she wasn’t there. She was always there this time of the morning. Concern jacked up his pulse rate. Settle down. He took a deep breath.
Maybe she was on an early break for some reason. She could be running a quick errand at Pills and Pop. Or checking whether she’d turned off the coffee maker in her apartment.
Abigail was busy making pies, so he ordered his bear claw from Yolanda and walked over to the coffee counter. Maybe if he hung around for a few minutes, Ingrid would show up.
He gave his order to Doug, her assistant barista. “I guess Ingrid’s on break, huh?” Keep it casual, Sawyer.
“Actually, she’s not feeling well.”
“Oh?” His pulse rate shot up again. “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, being sick is no fun.” Doug gave him a polite smile as he handed over the coffee in a to-go cup and turned to the next customer in line.
Wes checked the time. He could afford to sit for a couple of minutes and drink his coffee while he kept an eye on Abigail. Maybe she’d come up to the counter after she’d put the pies in the oven.
He’d just taken a sip of coffee when she walked over to say something to Yolanda. He swallowed quickly and set down the cup before he made a beeline for the counter. “Abigail?”
“Hey, Wes.” She appeared frazzled. As well she would be without her trusty assistant baker.
“Is Ingrid okay? Doug said she—”
“Stomach flu, poor woman.” Abigail made a face. “She doesn’t expect to make it tonight and I know she was really looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, she was.” Stomach flu? He doubted it.
“She wants everyone to leave her to her misery, so I’m respecting that.”
“Sure. Of course. Thanks for the info. If you talk to her, please tell her I hope she gets better soon.”
“I will. She should be fine by Monday.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Again, doubtful. He returned to the table to pick up his coffee and the rest of his bear claw so he could head out to his appointment.
She didn’t have stomach flu. She was holed up in her apartment, hiding from the world. Hiding from him.
And hurting. Before he climbed into his truck, he glanced up at the second floor of the building. Her apartment didn’t have any windows facing the street, but he looked up there, anyway.
Ingrid, don’t do this to yourself. If only he could march up there, take her in his arms and make everything all right. But he didn’t have that power.
With a sigh, he got into his truck, checked the rearview mirror and backed out. Until talking with Abigail, he’d been basking in the ray of sunshine Gage had offered. That was gone. The lead weight in his stomach had returned, heavier than ever.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It all came down to self-respect. Although Ingrid was scared to death that one wrong move could take things from bad to catastrophic, she couldn’t live with herself if she missed the Raptors Rise fundraiser at the Guzzling Grizzly.
The get well soon texts had been arriving in a steady stream all day. Someone with stomach flu wouldn’t have had the strength to answer them all, so she only responded to Abigail, Roxanne and Kendra.
But she read and reread the ones from the McGavin brothers and the Whine and Cheese ladies. Badger came up with a funny video. Nicole embedded a clip from a song. Michael and Luke went the virtual flower route. Even Pete texted her. Not Wes, of course, or Gage. Wes had likely told him what was going on.
But Quinn’s text was the cl
incher, the one that propelled her out of her funk and into the shower. He sent a sketch of her posing as a blonde Rosie the Riveter with You can do it! printed underneath.
He’d probably meant she could lick this flu bug, but she chose to make it her mantra for diving back into the community she loved. She would support her friends tonight.
She had just enough time to get ready, although arriving a little late would be smart. Her newfound bravery didn’t extend to meeting Wes coming out of his apartment on his way to the event.
To guarantee that didn’t happen, she left her door open a crack and finished putting on her makeup in the living room so she could hear him going down the stairs. Then she’d be free to head out. She’d boosted her confidence with a sparkly red top, rhinestone-spangled jeans and red boots she saved for special occasions.
When Wes’s door opened with its distinctive creak, she held her breath and waited. The door closed and the clipped beat of his descent echoed in the stairwell. She let out her breath.
The rhythmic sound stopped and went in reverse. He was coming back up. Maybe he’d forgotten something. She swallowed. Leave, okay?
She waited for the creak of hinges that indicated he was fetching whatever he’d forgotten. Instead he came down the hall. Her hands trembled as she twisted her lipstick back into the tube and set it aside.
He stopped outside her door. “Ingrid, I wish you’d come to this thing tonight. I hate that you’re missing it because of what’s going on with us.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes as his voice flowed around her, so warm and caring.
He heaved a sigh. “I hope to see you there.” He walked away, and this time he continued down the stairs and out the street door.
You can’t be serious.
The desperation in his statement had been ringing in her ears ever since yesterday morning. Desperation and yearning.
I’m asking you to trust me. Trust that I won’t let you down. Ever.
She managed to put her lipstick on even though her hand was trembling. Picking up her purse, she left her apartment.
A Cowboy’s Challenge_The McGavin Brothers Page 15
