Roxy snuggled a little closer, inviting more griping.
“She embarrassed me so bad today I wanted to cry. But I didn’t. Not in front of Jarrod. Like he’s ever going to talk to me again.” Emilee shoveled her fingers through the labradoodle’s silky coat. No human listened as well as Roxy. Not even her fiber arts teacher, Serena James, and she was great…for an adult.
Roxy gave a low groan of satisfaction and plopped her big head in Emilee’s lap looking upward. The expression in the dog’s chocolate brown eyes was so understanding and sympathetic Emilee almost cried. Again.
She hated emotions. Hated feeling anything. Some days, she felt like an emotional yo-yo. Okay, awful, so-so, terrible. Up and down. Never just plain fine. Nothing had been fine for so long she couldn’t remember what fine was like.
A Taylor Swift ringtone made her juggle her phone. She tapped the Face Time button as quickly as possible. Her phone was last year’s model and, judging by the number of dropped calls, it didn’t like living in Marietta any more than Emilee did.
“Hi, Em.” Reba was Emilee’s best friend in Cheyenne. “How are you?”
I hate my sucky life and want to come home, Emilee wanted to say, but she didn’t. What if she was the only person in this whole sucky world whose life went to hell in a few short months?
Went to heck, she corrected. She’d promised Grams she’d stop swearing. “Same stuff. Different day.”
“Yeah. I hear ya’. Me, too. Do you have a boyfriend, yet?”
“Not really. But there is a guy….”
“There always is with you, Em.”
Emilee wasn’t crazy about the fact her last boyfriend spread rumors about them—untrue rumors—until her mother threatened to prosecute him for statutory rape. Even though they never sex. Not once. Emilee was a virgin, but try telling Mom that.
“His name is Jarrod. He’s a junior. And after today, he’ll probably never talk to me again.” She described the whole stupid mistake. “It was Jarrod’s idea to take a walk instead of going back to math class after the fire alarm. I probably wouldn’t have gone, ’cept he’s like the first boy to really talk to me at this stupid school. What was I supposed to say? No, cute upperclassman, I can’t because my mom who has super powers will somehow magically appear out of nowhere and bust us?”
Roxy groaned and whacked Emilee’s arm with her big paw—code for: pet me.
Emilee scratched the dog’s belly, making her roll on her back with pleasure.
“What was your mom doing by the railroad tracks?”
“I have no idea. And she was with a cute guy,” Emilee whispered. “Really cute, actually.”
How her mother, who was one of the most uptight people Emilee had ever known, could attract the attention of a hottie like Backpack Guy was beyond her. Maybe it had to do with that stupid Big Sky Mavericks thing Mom and Uncle Austen and Aunt Meg were always talking about.
Reba began to grouse about some mutual friends who were turning into real a-holes because they’d been asked to homecoming and Reba hadn’t. Emilee tried to listen but she couldn’t get Mom off her mind. Reba hung up a few minutes later. Long-distance friendships sucked.
She knew her mother was juggling a lot—cancer, the divorce, moving…, but, at least in Cheyenne, Emilee had her friends to keep her distracted. Now, she was stuck in this hick town with her grandparents—who were leaving right after her uncle’s wedding—her dumb brother, and her mother—who was wound so damn tight she was going to have a heart attack long before the cancer came back and killed her.
Emilee’s only sort-of friends were her cousin, Chloe, who was too young to comprehend the pressure associated with being a new kid in high school, and Uncle Austen’s girlfriend, Serena James, who was the one adult Emilee actually could talk to without feeling judged.
Serena will understand what happened today, she thought, feeling slightly better. Serena wasn’t a pushover. She followed the rules and she’d probably tell Emilee she shouldn’t blindly try to please people without thinking about the consequences, but sh…stuff like that didn’t sound so stiff and bossy when she said it.
They could talk tomorrow…hopefully. Mom had threatened to ground her from everything, but Emilee was pretty sure that didn’t include extra-curricular activities at school. And Serena James’s textile class was the best. Emilee could lose herself in the colors and texture of the alpaca wool. As part of this school’s service learning requirements, every student committed to doing some kind of outreach. Emilee was learning to make felted booties for premature babies.
She loved the felting process and learning how to crochet had been cool, but holding the finished product in her hands, knowing they were going a tiny new life…that felt weird. But cool.
Roxy jumped to her feet and started barking.
Emilee looked over her shoulder. For a moment, she thought the man at the side door of the garage was the stranger she’d seen with her mother by the railroad tracks, but a second later, she recognized her Uncle Paul.
“Hey, Em. Hi, Roxy,” he said, pausing to pull the exuberant Roxy into a full body hug. Since Emilee didn’t make any effort to get up, he didn’t try to hug her. “Your mom around?”
“Inside making supper. What are you doing here?”
He rolled his eyes. “Wedding stuff. What else?”
“Are the kids with you?”
He shook his head and started toward the back door. “After-school program. I heard there was a fire alarm today. Prank or practice?”
Her shoulders stiffened suspiciously. Had her mother put him up to asking? Did they think she’d pulled the fire alarm just to get out of class? “Dunno.”
He shrugged but stopped before stepping inside. “Bailey’s got wedding cake in the truck if you want to sample a couple choices.” He put one hand to his mouth as if to keep what he was about to say just between them. “The red velvet is best.”
Normally, Emilee loved cake but her stomach was too messed up at the moment. Luckily, Paul didn’t linger to see if she took him up on the offer. Wedding cake meant a wedding. Weddings meant divorce. A divorce meant kids getting screwed. Why anyone would get married was beyond her.
*
Mia’s phone conversation with her sister was just winding down when Paul walked in.
“Hey. Here’s Paul. You can ask him yourself. I’m on a need-to-know basis, and apparently, I don’t need to know anything.”
She was kidding, of course, but Paul looked concerned. She adored her brother—even if she did have reservations about his current path. But Mom had made it clear that since Bailey was pregnant and Paul was over-the-top happy, any negativity was strictly forbidden. And since Mia had gotten to know Bailey, Mia wasn’t worried about her and Paul so much as the institution of marriage. But Mia intended to keep her happy smile in place and hope for the best. Because she truly did love her baby brother.
She handed him the phone. “Put it on speaker so I can finish fixing the lasagna while we talk.”
“With whom am I speaking?” he asked, his business owner persona magically appearing.
“Dr. Mary Margaret Zabrinski. But you can call me Meg.”
He laughed. “Good. Because I sure as heck won’t call you doctor. What are we talking about?”
“Kids. Vagrants. Chocolate. Take your pick.”
Paul’s look of utter bafflement made Mia laugh. “Meg invited Emilee to visit her in Missoula next weekend, and I have to decide if a bratty kid who ducks out of a fire drill to go smoke with a strange boy deserves to be rewarded with a trip to her favorite aunt’s.”
Paul winced. “Ooh. Dang. Tough call. Everybody ditches school sooner or later, but since she just got here…”
“I know, right?”
“But, but…,” Meg said loud enough to be heard. “Testing one’s boundaries more or less comes with the territory when you move to a new environment. Emilee has to find her place in the pack, and she won’t know who the right friends are unless she picks a couple o
f losers. You did the same thing.”
“Did not,” Mia snapped.
“As I recall, you and Gail Somebody took Mom’s car to Bozeman without permission to shop for prom dresses. Remember?”
Mia groaned. “Memory like an effing elephant.”
Paul laughed. “Darn, I wish I had time for this conversation, but Bailey’s in the car and we have to pick up the kids from the after-school program. She sent me in here for something old. Mom told Bailey it’s in the safe.” He held up his hand. “Oh, wait. I almost forgot.”
He grabbed the phone and took it off speaker. Once he had it to his ear, he said, “Meg, Bailey and I want you to perform our wedding ceremony. Will you marry us?”
The bowl Mia had been mixing the cheese spread in clattered noisily against the fancy marble countertop her folks had installed a few years back. They’d done a bunch of updates and remodeling with the intention of selling, but the market never quite got back up to the value they wanted. The remodeled kitchen was a thousand times nicer than the one Mia remembered growing up. High-end appliances. Open concept with new windows that provided a lot of natural light as well as a view of the mountains. The manufactured wood flooring was nicer—and more practical—than the hardwood Ed had insisted upon in their Cheyenne McMansion.
“Bailey will email you the application. It’s super simple, and good for one day only. We both really want you to do it, Meg. Will you think about it? Super.”
Mia wasn’t sure what to make of this development. She’d come to grips with Paul marrying his first love—the woman who, as a teen, broke his heart and caused a rift in their family. For years, the majority of the Zabrinski family had held a hard line stand against Bailey Jenkins’s decision to have an abortion at age seventeen. Meg, however, had always supported a woman’s choice—no questions asked. She’d been the one to help Paul release some of his anger and move on fifteen years ago.
Until recently, Austen had held tough on the side of the church and moral grounds. But Mia remembered feeling sad for her brother but being unable to bring herself to support or condemn Bailey for her decision. Abortion wasn’t an option in Mia’s world, but when she’d found herself pregnant in law school—so close to the finish line after so many years of agonizing hard work…she’d been tempted.
Edward, who also was raised a Catholic, had convinced her they could still have it all—college, two careers, and a kid. All they had to do was get married and live happily ever after. As if saying the words provided the only magic required.
“Okay,” Paul said, smiling broadly. “Cool. We’ll talk soon. Do you want Mia…?” He listened a moment. “Will do. ’Bye.”
He pressed the end button and looked at Mia. “She said to call her later after you’ve done your judicial deliberation. She awaits the verdict.”
Mia sighed. Meg knew Mia would give in. Sending Emilee to Meg’s for a long weekend meant a respite from the fourteen-year-old drama queen who blamed Mia for ruining her life.
“Pearls,” she exclaimed, turning down the heat under the pasta sauce. “I remember, now. Mom said she planned to give Bailey Great-Grandma Hilda’s pearls. I know where she keeps them.”
Paul stood flat-footed, as if his shoes were glued to the floor.
“What’s wrong? Bailey’s not into pearls? She’s a bride. I think they’re obligatory.”
“Um…long story. Go ahead and give them to me. I’ll let Bailey decide if she wants to wear them.”
Mia didn’t have the energy to press for details. She motioned for him to follow as they headed down the hallway toward the master. Three bedrooms upstairs and two in the basement. Originally, her parents had intended to put the boys downstairs, but Meg claimed her “cave” before the main floor was even finished. Hunter now occupied Paul’s old room and Emilee was in Mia’s, which, thank God, Mom had redecorated years ago. No Top Gun poster. No over-achiever wall of fame. Her daughter probably would have slit her wrists if she’d been made to sleep in Mia’s childhood room.
“They’re in the wall safe.”
“Are they valuable?”
“Probably a little bit. But, we’re not talking crown jewels.”
“Should they have gone to Meg—firstborn daughter?”
The two siblings looked at each other and broke into giggles. “I can’t see Meg in pearls. Or a white gown,” Mia said. “Hiking boots and clean, camel-colored North Face hiking pants with a white shirt…maybe.”
Mia spun the dial, trying to recall the combination. Chemo brain was an actual condition, she’d been told, but she hadn’t believed it until she went to the bank one day and couldn’t remember the account number she’d had for seven years.
“Do you think Meg will ever get married?”
Mia stood on her tiptoes to look inside the safe. The old black velvet case was easy to spot amidst the stacks of papers and more impressive jewelry boxes. Dad loved to spend money on Mom. “If you’d asked me that a year ago, I’d have said, ‘No.’ Now, I’m not so sure. Ever since Edward left, she’s made a real effort to be part of the kids’ lives. The trip to DC last spring is one Hunter and Emilee will never forget. Watching Meg testify before Congress about the plight of the Yellowstone wolves was pretty cool.”
She handed him the box and held her breath as he pried open the top. His hands were strong and utilitarian compared to Ryker Bensen’s artist hands. Mom told her Louise Jenkins had gone on and on at the cake tasting about this talented young man who was recovering from some sort of traumatic experience before returning to his job as a globe-trotting photographer.
She looked out the window. The ash just beyond the French doors that led to the patio was nearly leafless. Winter would be here soon. Even if their Indian summer lasted long enough for Paul’s wedding—and the post-wedding retreat Meg was planning for the cousins—Mia knew her goal of getting her house started this fall wasn’t going to happen. If Ryker’s claim was legit, the land could be tied up in the courts for years before she could build.
“Do you think the weather will hold till after your wedding?”
“I hope so. My kids are giddy about being able to go to Meg’s cabin with her and the folks.” Once Paul and Bailey named the date of their wedding, Meg had volunteered to take all four nieces and nephews to her cabin so the newlyweds could honeymoon in private. “OC says the first snow will hold off until early November. Something about the thickness of the bark on the aspens…I don’t know. But I sure as heck hope so.”
He leaned in to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the pearls. Gotta dash.”
November.
As she walked back to the kitchen, she replayed the first part of her conversation with her sister. They’d been talking about Ryker Bensen and Meg’s property issues.
“Is he cute?” Meg asked.
Mia pictured him doing yoga. “He’s young. Fit. Healthy. And good looking. What does that have to do with anything?”
“You have a crush on him.”
“A crush? Meg, I’m thirty-six, not fifteen.”
“Single women of a certain age are entitled to one pass…maybe two.”
Mia wondered if Meg was speaking from experience.
“A pass, huh? To have sex?”
“If that’s what you want…what you need. Maybe for you, a little lust will do. You’re under no obligation to take things beyond that first, dizzy thrill, Mia, but if you want to keep your juices flowing, then, dammit, do it.”
“Don’t swear.”
“Yes, Mother.”
They’d both cracked up and the advice giving had ended. Thank goodness. Because Mia had enough problems in her life without adding a crush—especially a juices-flowing, dizzy, lusting, thrill kind of attraction.
She was tossing the salad, getting ready to call the kids to the table when Emilee walked in from the garage. “Wash up and call your brother, please.”
A grunt. Probably the best Mia could hope for.
She watched her daughter, who, despite Mia�
��s momentary hesitation about becoming a mother, was more precious to her than air, trudge down the hall. The kid was breaking her heart, and Mia didn’t seem capable of doing anything right.
A crush, huh?
There’d been an attraction. Definitely two-sided. His response to her kiss proved that. But it had been so long since she dated—flirted, since she did anything the least bit naughty, she didn’t have the slightest idea how to begin.
Maybe you start by admitting you’re attracted, she thought.
And there was no denying that. She’d been thinking about Ryker Bensen all day. Not only was he gorgeous, he was living the carefree life she could only dream about. He was several years her junior. Despite the hundred or so hits his name brought up on Google, she knew practically nothing about him—except that he claimed to own her land.
Was he completely the wrong choice for a crush? Absolutely. But maybe her sister was right.
Why couldn’t I have a little fun if I keep my head about me?
And when hadn’t Mia Zabrinski kept her head about her? Only once—when she’d fallen in love with Edward. And she’d learned her lesson the hard way. She was never falling in love again.
*
Ryker set the alarm on his phone then tossed it toward his pillow before moving to all fours to arch his back in the “cat” position. His small propane heater made the tent nice and cozy; his battery-operated lantern gave off a comforting glow. But neither took the edge off Ryker’s anxiety. He’d never liked the middling time between twilight and darkness. Normally, the murky gloom of impending dark made him head to a local pub or grab a bowl of soup at some diner. But given the state of his finances, he’d decided to spend his last night in his tent reading, doing a little yoga and meditating on the fact he was gainfully employed.
Starting Monday, he’d work five ten-hour days for a flat fee that seemed ridiculously low.
As he rolled his shoulders to stretch away some of his tension, he recalled the interview Louise had arranged for him in the parking lot of the discount motel on the edge of town.
Montana Darling (Big Sky Mavericks Book 3) Page 8
