by Jillian Neal
Locating her phone in her bag when it rang, guilt suffocated her wrath. Savannah was calling now. Her oldest sister was little more than a marionette. Her mother pulled all the strings. Savannah had married the man her mother chose for her. She’d even birthed the first grandbaby practically upon command. She worried about everything and, most importantly, what everyone thought, just like Arley’s mother always did.
“Hey, Savannah, what’s up?” Her tone left no question as to the lack of exuberance Arley was feeling over the phone call.
“Where are you? I really think you should consider what Charlotte suggested last evening. It would make everything so much easier, and Mama would be so happy. We can help you sort of cover up your little blip on the radar.”
There were not enough curse words in the English language available to Arley at that moment. She bit her tongue to keep from using the ones that were at the ready, however. “I’m never going to stop writing! Ever! Everyone needs to get used to this! Got it?!”
Savannah gave a dramatic sigh. “Why must you always be so stubborn, Arley?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait! Where are you? Charlotte said she drove all the way out to your apartment and you weren’t there.”
If she stayed on the phone much longer her eyes were going to lodge in her skull from the sheer number of eye-roll worthy comments her big sister made. “I’m going out of town for a week or two. Don’t worry about me.”
“Out of town where?”
“You’ve never heard of this place. It’s in North Carolina.” She begrudgingly offered a slight peace treaty at the end.
“Is Chase taking you?”
“What? No! God, Savannah, are you insane?”
“Well, who’s driving you?”
Yep, eyeballs right up in the skull. “I am driving me. I am perfectly capable of getting myself around.”
“Well, don’t you worry about being on the road, you know, without someone looking after you?”
“Savannah! This is not 1850! I am fine!”
“Promise you’ll call when you get there so I know you’re safe. Maybe Billy and I should drive up there and get you when you’re ready to leave. You could follow us back.”
“Oh my God, Savannah! No. You and Billy stay in Tilldale. It’s really where you belong. I will be fine. I will call you when I get back and not a moment before that.”
“What if your car breaks down?” Savannah was reaching apoplexy much quicker than she used to.
“If my car breaks down, I will whip off my scarf, stand on the side of the road, hike my skirt up just a little, purse my lips, bat my eyelashes, and flag down some gorgeous man that can surely save me.”
“Arley! No! I read about this woman whose car broke down out in Indiana and she tried to ask a nice looking gentlemen for help, and he stole her car and left her there! And think of what else he might’ve done!”
Fighting not to bang her head against the steering wheel, Arley drew a deep breath. “Okay, if I have car trouble I will call Triple A, and if I hear banjo music, I will run the other way.”
“Very funny, Arley.”
With a devious grin planted on her face, Arley was quiet for a few seconds. “Savannah? Savannah? You’re breaking up. Must be out of cell range.” She raised her voice to a shout. “I’ll call you when I get back home!”
With that, she ended the call and switched on the playlist she’d made for her newest novel, the one she’d been working on when all hell had broken loose.
“How on this planet or any other am I related to her?” she huffed to the cool air mercifully pumping out of the car’s AC.
Her jaw clenched as if she could dam back another round of tears with the might of her teeth. Dammit, she wasn’t crying anymore. There had to be some way to figure all of this out.
John cranked up the stereo on his Porsche 911. The speed and the blare of Linkin Park fed his irritated blood. If he could just get the devastation that had frozen Monica Wilton’s kind face, when the judge had given her ex-husband and his new girlfriend primary custody, out of his head, he would probably be okay. Judge Simpson was a misogynistic asshole—and best friends with the new girlfriend’s father. Everyone knew it, but no one listened when he’d tried to push for another judge. Simpson was out to prove something and regularly touted his anti-divorce rhetoric. That was all fine and good, but Monica wasn’t the one that wanted the divorce; she was just the one that was being penalized for it. Apparently her husband cheating on her wasn’t enough.
It was beyond him why anyone ever got married. It just wasn’t worth the fallout when everything inevitably went nuclear, and the idea that there was one person somewhere out there that you’d want to spend every single day, and, more importantly, every single night with was ridiculous.
Shaking his head, John watched the billboards blur by his windshield. He couldn’t save them all, but he desperately wanted to. He called himself a whiny bitch, and then stopped in Florence for a quick bite before proceeding on to Gypsy Beach. This would work. A little break, a little booze, a few days in the sand and surf; hell, maybe a woman that might be up for a sexy tryst or two, and he’d be back in full form. He just needed a break from the concrete jungle of Atlanta and the Fulton County judicial system.
Arley tipped her head side to side in an effort to pop the crick out of her neck and tried to stop yawning. She called herself an idiot for going on this adventure in the first place.
Her muscles ached from the tension that had stiffened her entire being ever since the certified letter had arrived at her door with the information of the bankruptcy and the loss of her rights. By the eighth straight hour in the car, this trip seemed ill-fated as well.
Shaking herself, she dug deep and tried desperately to tap into her own resolve. Where had it gone? She was the Copeland sister that never took no for an answer. Life wasn’t going to beat her. “One more hour. You can do this, and then you can just relax and figure out what to do next.”
Desperate for something else to think about besides her contract debacle, her mother’s disdain, and Chase, she tapped into her own vivid imagination. She began with the guy in the suit at Starbucks but, since this was her fantasy, she morphed him into her own perfect man. Lean muscle, chiseled jaw with a little scruff, gorgeous green—no wait, maybe blue—eyes, in a suit that showed off his understated muscles.
A smile formed on her features. A reader! Yes, a reader that had read Proust, Chaucer, and Fitzgerald and disliked Hemingway as much as she did. With a sigh, she decided that might be asking for entirely too much, even for a fantasy. She settled on having heard of Proust, agreeably seeing the movie version of The Great Gatsby, not responding to The Canterbury Tales by pointing out Chaucer’s drug use, and hating Hemingway.
Someone that loved music lyrics and read at night before drawing her into his capable embrace and making her forget every single thing that had ever gone wrong in her life. Someone that would read the paper in bed with coffee on Sunday morning while keeping her tucked against him, but maybe still knew how to change a flat tire. With a slight sigh, she went on with the rest of the fantasy. Someone that could protect her, keep her warm and safe when the world just got to be too much, that would understand her desires and her imagination, and that didn’t think she was a willful, over-sexed, whore destined for hell.
She huffed audibly as she considered the likelihood of a man like that existing anywhere in the Southern United States.
‘Your father would be humiliated, Arley! How can you do this?’ The echo of her mother’s scorn rattled her weary bones yet again. The surprise assaults seemed to come from every side, and she had little to no defense. A small, weather-beaten sign on the side of the road declaring Gypsy Beach to be twenty-seven miles ahead was all that kept her going.
Three
John debated whether his sigh was of defeat or of relief as he pulled into the sandy parking area of The Gypsy Inn. He grabbed his suitcase and laptop bag and headed to
wards the beckoning lights that guided his way into the warmth of the Inn.
He slid the door open as quietly as he could. It was past ten, and he was certain Evie was asleep and the other guests were settling in. There certainly wasn’t much of a nightlife in the tiny town.
To his delight, a very sleepy Evie clung to the banister on the steps with her left hand. She was holding her blanket and her stuffed bunny in the other. Dressed in her pink footie pajamas, she extended her arms up to him when he entered. Setting his bags down, he quickly lifted her up into his embrace.
“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, sweet girl?”
She nodded and tucked her head on his shoulder. “I wanted Daddy and Sienna to say I could stay up and wait on you.” Her sweet tone was mixed with a touch of mischief and a generous portion of guilt.
John’s heart pricked. “Does Daddy know you’re awake?”
At that moment, Ryan and Sienna eased into the hallway from the kitchen. He gave John a silent nod. Sienna was beaming at Evie tucked up in John’s arms, but neither of them let Evie know that they were on to her.
“Want Uncle John to take you to bed?” He reveled in her fierce hug. His goddaughter was the antidote to his every burden. She always had been.
“Yes, please, and read me about Pinkalicious.”
“New love,” Ryan mouthed.
John nodded his understanding. “You got it.”
Before he could carry Evie up the stairs to her room, the front door opened again. John stepped out of the way to allow the woman entry.
“You must be Miss Copeland. Welcome. I’m Sienna, and this is Ryan.” Sienna broke her silence to welcome their new guest. Evie seemed too sleepy to notice. Her blinks were extending in length, and she didn’t raise her head from John’s shoulder, even for Ryan.
“Oh, just call me Arley, and thanks. I’m sorry I’m so late. I don’t guess I really thought about how far it would be from Birmingham. I hope I didn’t keep anyone up.”
Arley prayed that the words that she’d just spoken made some kind of apologetic sense, but she was unable to take her eyes off of the man in the entryway. He was dressed in a light grey suit, minus the tie. His shirt was loosened at the collar making him all the more appealing. Piercing blue eyes and his kind smile paired perfectly with the slight scruff of his beard on his chiseled jaw. She watched, mesmerized as his Adam’s apple contracted when he swallowed.
Fighting not to pinch herself, she panicked momentarily. Oh my God! I fell asleep driving! I’m dreaming. Wake up, Arley! You’re going to crash.
She shifted on her feet to make certain she was in fact standing inside The Gypsy Inn. He was somehow better looking than the guy she’d come up with in her fantasy, and in his arms was the cutest little girl she’d ever seen.
Her ovaries quickly performed an Olympic gymnastic high-flying floor routine, but they failed to stick the landing and just continued to soar through the air. If Chris Pine and Liam Hemsworth ever had a love child, she was pretty sure this is what he would look like.
“No worries. Evie Grace wanted to stay up and wait on Uncle John. Can we get you anything before we show you to your room, Miss Copeland?” Ryan stepped up to take her bags. Yes, you can get me something. Can I have Uncle John all to myself in my suite for the next week? Arley bit her tongue and scolded herself for her lascivious thoughts.
“Thank you. I’m fine. I’ll try not to be in your way too much.”
“Well, we want to make your stay here as nice as we can, so just let us know what we can do for you.” Sienna smiled again. She popped a kiss on the little girl’s cheek as she whisked by.
“This is Ryan’s best friend, John Rowan. He’s visiting from Atlanta. John, this is Arley Copeland. You said you were an author from Birmingham, right?”
John extended the hand he wasn’t using to hold the little girl. “Nice to meet you.”
Arley managed a half smile. The reverberations of his deep gravelly voice shook through her. Her stomach joined her ovaries midflight.
“You’re an author? You wouldn’t be related to Dylan Copeland, would you?”
Dear Lord in heaven, he knows my dad! “Uh, yes. He’s my father, or … I guess … He was.”
John offered her a sympathetic nod. “I was really sorry to hear about his passing. I was a huge fan of his work. I didn’t know you’d taken up the family business.”
“Uh … Well … I didn’t … Not really. I mean, he was way better than I am or than I’ll ever be. I’m pretty sure I’m just a wannabe.”
“I doubt that.” The pain that haunted Arley’s inquisitive sage green eyes disturbed John. Life hadn’t treated her fairly—that much was pinned on every square inch of her entire being, from her wavy strawberry blonde hair, that he suddenly wanted to loop his fingers through, all the way down to her adorable feet, caught up in an old pair of sandals. She was broken and yet so damn beautiful. Lost desperation slumped her shoulders, and at some point in the last twenty-four hours, she’d cried hard. He’d bet his Porsche on that. His heart ached. He’d always been a sucker for the downtrodden. Hell, that’s why he’d become an attorney.
“She’s beautiful.” Arley gestured to Evie.
“Yeah, well, Ry gets all the credit for that.”
She gave him a sweet smile that drew his attention to her full, pale, taffy-colored lips. His mouth watered.
“Ms. Copeland, would it be okay if we upgraded you to the new suite? There won’t be any extra charge. Ryan’s installing some new shelving in the other suite. He was going to work on it this weekend.”
“Oh, that would be nice. I’d offer to pay, but … I just can’t right now.” Embarrassment fevered her cheeks. Arley attempted to order her badly bruised ego and pride away unsuccessfully.
“No, it’s fine. Since the season is winding down, we’re making a few more improvements. You’re doing us a favor.” Sienna was obviously one of the nicest people on the planet. She seemed to know exactly how to ease Arley’s tension.
More than ready to collapse into a bed and pretend her life wasn’t an epic disaster, she gripped her bags and nodded. “Lead the way.”
In a change of heart brought on by her exhaustion, the little girl in John’s arms extended her hands out to her Daddy. Ryan and John both smiled as the exchange was made.
“Here, let me get your bags.” John turned to Arley and offered very gallantly. She fought not to whimper. Remember! Men are pigs! Just look at what Chase did! Her brain made a valiant effort, but the lace of her bra slipped over her painfully hardened nipples when she leaned to set her suitcase down, letting her know that something else was running this particular show.
“Oh, thank you.” She offered him what she hoped was a sexy smile before she forced her feet to follow Sienna’s up the stairs. Her father’s bag, weighted with her laptop, iPad, and endless notebooks and a few novels, felt like it contained an entire league’s worth of bowling balls, and her duffle bag contained a dozen additional books she’d been trying to read to distract herself. She wouldn’t turn down John’s help, especially since that would mean that he would likely end up inside of her room, even if it was only for the length of time it took him to deliver her luggage. He had no trouble with her suitcase and lifted the laptop bag off of her shoulder before she headed up the stairs.
Reminding himself that he was supposed to be on vacation, John left Arley’s room without interrogating her on why she was so upset. As a boy, he’d brought his mother, generally exhausted after working two jobs to make ends meet, an endless barrage of lost puppies, frogs he was certain couldn’t find their way back to the pond, and occasionally half-feral cats that he wanted to feed. He wanted to save them all. Whatever was going on with Arley Copeland, he needed to leave it be. She probably didn’t need his help, anyway.
Ryan was exiting Evie’s room at the same moment, and his smirk shook John from his abstraction.
“What?”
Ryan laughed at him outright. “Nothing. Sienna got you some
beer. You want one, or were you gonna try and talk Ms. Copeland into your room tonight, in which case I will join my beautiful fiancée in bed and leave you to your work?”
“Fuck off, man. I was just being nice.”
“Uh huh, I just don’t recall you ever carrying any woman’s bags anywhere, except your mama, of course.”
An irritated huff was John’s only reply as he headed down to the kitchen to locate that beer. Ryan joined him on the back deck with a Coke. Ryan rarely drank as he’d made some incredibly poor decisions during their college days under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol.
By the time John had downed two bottles of Guinness, the tale about Monica losing her children had spat from his mouth like poison.
Ryan listened intently to the story, shaking his head at its gut-wrenching conclusion.
“First case you’ve lost in two years, all because of a dirty judge, but Larriet chewed your ass anyway, right?”
John nodded and refused to admit that watching what was becoming of his boss was what had driven him to the beach. Larriet was two years from retirement, and he was the biggest asshole John had ever met. When he’d first signed on with Hatcher, Larriet, and Welch, he’d admired the men running the show. They were fighting the good fight, or so he told himself. A lifetime of dismantling people’s lives had lost a great deal of appeal as of late, however.
“I’m gonna go on to bed.” He stood and disposed of the empty bottles.
“I really am sorry, man. You’re a freaking rainmaker for that firm, and they know it. Maybe just chill here for a while. Take a break. They’re sure as hell not gonna fire you.”
