Richer Than Sin

by Meghan March

  “Meet me tonight at the cabin. Eleven o’clock.”

  He pulled me against him, and as soon as his lips hit mine, I knew this was the only choice I could have made. I couldn’t walk away from this yet. I needed more of how he made me feel. Like I matter.

  It was intoxicating.

  I just didn’t realize addiction was the first step toward my downfall.

  “I’ll be there.”

  8

  Lincoln

  Present day

  From the windows of my office, I stare down the river as it runs fast through the gorge with the runoff from the mountain snow melt. Massive trees block my view of much else. It’s those massive trees that created my family’s legacy after the Gables jumped the claim to our gold mine in 1851.

  That didn’t work out so well for the Gables, though, because the mine petered out long before they learned to make good business decisions or save a dime. My forefathers left fools’ dreams of gold behind and went to the woods, building the country’s largest timber company and lodging themselves firmly into history as lumber barons. Or as some called them after they added railroads to family business—robber barons.

  Riscoff Holdings still takes a top spot on the list of largest privately held companies in the country. But it’s not just a company; it’s a family dynasty. This town may bear the Gable name, but we own damn near every inch of it. Nothing happens in Gable that we don’t have a hand in.

  I have to wonder if that includes Whitney Gable’s return, especially since Commodore knew she was coming.

  Now I need to decide how I’m going to handle it. I’ve seen her. I want her.

  If she were anyone else, she’d be in my bed tonight. Women hear the Riscoff name and see dollar signs instead of a man. Whitney Gable is the only woman who has had the exact opposite reaction, and that’s only one piece of what set her apart from all the rest.

  My need to see her again drives me just as hard as the knowledge that I should stay away. I already publicly humiliated myself once for her, and that’s not an experience I’m eager to repeat.

  Then again, maybe I shouldn’t have objected at her wedding.

  But she didn’t love Ricky Rango. She couldn’t have. I didn’t believe it then, and I don’t believe it now. Not after those months she spent with me.

  Could I have handled it better? Absolutely. I should have skipped the two fifths of Scotch before I walked into that church. Even though I was drunk, I still remember what she said to me that day. “You can’t buy me.”

  I’ve spent a decade waiting for my second chance. Now that it’s here, I’m not going to fuck it up again. If this were a business deal, I’d identify weaknesses, exploit them, and win. I should apply the same strategy to Whitney.

  Should.

  But for some goddamned reason, I want her to come to me of her own free will—totally and completely.

  I won’t settle for scraps this time. I don’t want stolen nights and hidden meetings. I want her out in the open. In front of God and the entire world.

  And that will never happen with Whitney.

  Bullshit. I refuse to believe it. I’ve worked myself to the bone over the last decade, punishing myself for my stupidity and obsession as I added million after million to the Riscoff bank accounts.

  I deserve a damn reward, and that reward is Whitney Gable.

  And if I can’t get her on my own terms? Then what?

  It’s no longer a case of being able to buy and sell the Gables. They’ve faltered as we’ve risen.

  We own them.

  We own damn near everyone. Eighty percent of the residents of Gable work for the Riscoff family, whether it’s in timber, railroad, the mill, the bank, or other business holdings. We built the hospitals, the schools, the parks, the new bus terminal, the community center, and the regional airport. We loan money to businesses to keep the local economy growing, and sponsor art exhibits to expose the residents to culture.

  This city may not bear our name, yet it’s ours all the same.

  But Whitney Gable’s words are still burned into my brain.

  “You can’t buy me.”

  I hope it doesn’t come to the point where I find out she was lying. I want to believe she’s still different from everyone else.

  9

  Whitney

  This afternoon has been a trip down memory lane, and I’ve hit every pothole in the road. I wanted to sneak back into Gable quietly, without anyone being the wiser, hug my cousin and my aunt and lick my wounds in peace for a while. Clearly, that wasn’t in the cards.

  After stuffing ourselves at Cocko Taco, I’m feeling a tiny bit better about my decision to return. Top-notch guac and queso can do that for a girl.

  Cricket guides her van down roads I know by heart, but they look different after ten years away. Older houses that were beyond repair have been replaced with new construction. The high school looks like it’s brand new, and the Riscoff Memorial High sign out front reminds me of the man I just saw.

  Before today, it was easier not to think about all the things that have been changing in my absence. Including the fact that Lincoln has aged better than the Italian wine Ricky once tried to collect but drank within months instead . . . right before his first stint in rehab.

  Cricket turns left down Aunt Jackie’s street, and I catch a glimpse of the mountain peaks rising above the tall pines. At least some things don’t change.

  “Beware, Karma’s been in the shittiest mood for the last couple months, and I have no idea why. I think she’s pregnant again, but I’m afraid to ask her. Lord knows, the last time I asked that, she ripped me a new one.”

  “Again?”

  Cricket nods.

  “Is she still seeing the twins’ dad?”

  “Lord only knows. She won’t tell me anything. It’s like the older she gets, the bitchier she gets, which means there’s pretty much no end in sight to this downward spiral.”

  When we were growing up, I always had Asa, and he’d taken his role as big brother seriously, scaring off any guy who looked my way. Other than that, as far as siblings went, he was a pretty damn good one overall. I’ve been saved from ever wanting a sister, though, because of Karma.

  I brace for impact as we roll into the driveway and Cricket shifts the van into park. The front door swings open as she and I grab my bags out of the back and carry them to the front stoop.

  “Knew you’d come crawling home eventually, and here you are.”

  Karma’s voice should sound exactly like Cricket’s, but years of bitterness, starting when she was a kid and wanted a pony but Jackie couldn’t afford one, have turned it hard and mean. She leans against the door, not moving out of the way, even though it’s clear we’re headed inside.

  I stop before the stairs and release the handle of one suitcase. “Hey, Karma. It’s good to see you.”

  Her lip curls. “You look like LA chewed you up and kicked you to the curb.” Her gaze drops to my suitcase. “But you managed to make it out with your fancy luggage, didn’t you?”

  “Really? That’s how you’re going to say hello after ten freaking years? You’re a cunt.” Cricket holds nothing back when it comes to her twin.

  Karma’s tawny gaze shifts to her sister as she glares. “Takes one to know one. You’re just all high-and-mighty because you’re locking down Hunter Havalin’s dick. I guess I should’ve taken him for a ride when I had the chance.”

  I step back like I’m trying to escape the cloud of venom she emits. It should be impossible for two people who look exactly alike to be so completely different.

  “I’m not sure what planet you’re living on, but you never had a chance with Hunter. He knew you were a ho from minute one. Now, why don’t you swallow back that bitterness and get out of the damn way so we can take Whitney’s stuff inside.”

  “And where exactly is she going to sleep? If you don’t recall, you’re sleeping on the couch when you’re here, because we don’t have any more room.”

 
“Maybe if you’d keep your legs closed, we wouldn’t have that problem,” Cricket fires back with a hard shot.

  “Bitch.”

  “Whore.”

  I step in because I’m afraid there’s going to be bloodshed if I don’t. There certainly was in the past. “Okay, enough of the sisterly bonding. I’ll take the floor in the living room. It’s not a big deal. I just need somewhere to crash while I figure things out. If that’s not cool with Aunt Jackie, I’ll get a cheap hotel.” I don’t have the funds to afford it, but right now, I’m not sure I want to be in the same house with Karma and her ugliness.

  “There’s a shed out back with a futon Mom used to use for her art projects. There should be room for you and your shit.” Karma shoves a toe against my carry-on and knocks it over.

  I bite my tongue because it’s not going to do me any good to be outraged. It’s just luggage. I didn’t even want the stuff, but Ricky got so focused on appearances, he wouldn’t hear of his wife showing up with American Tourister and embarrassing him.

  “Fine. I’ll take the shed. At least it’s getting warm.”

  Karma crosses her arms.

  “Don’t you have to go get the girls?”

  Karma’s glare swings to her sister. “Don’t tell me how to raise my kids.”

  “Whatever. Just get out of our way if you’re not going to help.”

  “Done.” Karma turns her back, slips into the house, and lets the door slam in our faces.

  “Jesus Christ, I didn’t realize there was any way she could have possibly gotten worse, but . . . wow.”

  Cricket shakes her head. “I told you, it’s been awful lately. I swear, she needs a joint and a good fuck—with a condom, so she doesn’t get knocked up again. Maybe she’d be in a better mood if Addy or Maddy’s daddy, whoever he might be, would show any interest in their kids.”

  “I guess that’s enough to make anyone bitter.”

  A pang of sympathy for Karma’s kids stabs me in the chest. It reminds me of my childhood, which was nowhere near perfect either. But instead of being angry all the time, my mom was a ghost and my dad was always pissed off and looking for her. He didn’t hesitate to take it out on me with the back of his hand when I got too old for his belt.

  “Mom and I try to make up for it. Some days, Karma doesn’t even get out of bed, so we don’t have much choice in the matter.”

  I think about what Cricket said her sister needed. “Sounds like she needs medication and a major attitude adjustment.”

  “Something. She’s damn near unbearable. I try to avoid her as much as possible. I sleep on the couch or crash with Hunter. Hell, some nights I even sleep in my van because being around her is too much to take.” Cricket pauses. “Honestly, the shed really isn’t a bad idea. Mom fixed the place up during her DIY phase. Let’s go check it out and see if we can’t make it work.”

  With a bag in each of our hands, Cricket and I head through the house, which has been updated since I left. The striped wallpaper in the hallway is gone, replaced by bright yellow paint. The couch in the living room is red leather now instead of tan cloth that I remember. The kitchen cabinets have been painted white and sanded in the corners for an artfully worn effect, and the countertops look new.

  Cricket opens the back door and leads me out into the yard. The grass is neatly mowed and lilacs line the fence. Aunt Jackie hasn’t done too bad for herself, which is at least one more thing to be happy about today.

  In the far corner, near the back gate, is a wooden shed hiding behind raised beds holding vine-covered lattice.

  “I haven’t been back here in ages,” Cricket says as we cross the lawn. “I don’t think Mom has used it in a while either. She gave up on painting and has gotten more into gardening with the girls.”

  I open the door and peek inside, shocked to see that it’s not stuffed with old junk, but is instead a cute little living area with a futon. I flip on the light switch and smile at the shabby-chic interior. The table and two chairs, futon, coffee table, and rugs are no doubt from yard sales, but that doesn’t take away from their charm. The curtains are lacy and, if I had to guess, sewn by my aunt’s own hand.

  It’s a she-shed.

  A stack of outdated magazines and a few shelves of dusty books and an easel prove this is definitely Aunt Jackie’s haven from the world. Part of me feels guilty about intruding, but if there’s not room in the house for me, I don’t think she’ll mind, especially since the layer of dust on everything says she hasn’t used it in a while.

  Growing up, I spent as much time with Jackie and Cricket as I could rather than with my own family. They lived in a house down by the river, only a quarter mile from my folks’ place on the family farm that went up for auction . . . before Commodore Riscoff burned it down. After the sheriff threw us out, we were all scrambling for someplace to live, and Jackie landed here with the girls. My dad rented us a little place on the wrong side of the tracks that was barely big enough for three people.

  “It’s perfect,” I say to Cricket as she sets one of my bags down just inside.

  “It’s actually nicer than I remember. I should’ve moved out here. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I totally forgot Mom put plumbing in herself, so there’s even a bathroom.”

  Instantly, I feel bad. “Do you want it? I can find something else.”

  “No. I’m moving in with Hunter after the wedding, and I don’t mind couch surfing in the meantime.”

  “Not that it’s any of my business, but . . . why haven’t you already moved in with him?”

  Cricket shrugs before plopping down on the futon, and I sit next to her. “His mom made it clear that she’d be completely scandalized if I move in any sooner.”

  The tone of her voice alerts me to trouble.

  “You and Mrs. Havalin don’t get along?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “She didn’t want Hunter ending up with a Gable.”

  I wince because I’m sure my reputation around town didn’t help with that. “She actually told you that?”

  Cricket tilts her head from side to side. “Not in so many words, but she’s made it clear that any other family wouldn’t leave her footing the whole bill for the wedding.”

  “I shouldn’t say this, but I already don’t like your mother-in-law to be.”

  “It can always be worse, right?”

  I wonder if she’s thinking of Mrs. Riscoff, because Lincoln’s mother would be the mother-in-law from hell. Why am I even thinking about him, let alone his mother? I force the image of Mrs. Riscoff’s face, pinched in disapproval, from my memory.

  “What does Hunter say about it?”

  The glowing smile that takes over Cricket’s face is something so pure, I wish I could snap a picture without her noticing. She loves him. Really loves him.

  “He doesn’t give a damn. We actually were going to elope until his dad made a big speech about his son getting married in Gable, surrounded by all his friends and family.” Cricket’s glow fades. “So . . . I told him we should do it if it mattered to them.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you really want?” I hate the thought of my free-spirited cousin feeling like a guest at her own wedding.

  “Hunter would tell them all to fuck off if I told him I didn’t want to do it. But I know that his dad doesn’t have a lot of years left, and I actually like the old man, so I’m not going to make waves.”

  She drags her finger through the layer of dust on the magazines stacked on the coffee table. “Although, with it being at The Gables, Mrs. Havalin will probably have kittens and want to invite everyone in the known universe to show off that they’re close to the Riscoffs. But . . . at least it takes the pressure off me, right? Who will even bother to look at the bride when the heir to a billion-dollar company is standing in the front row.”

  I brush Cricket’s brown hair away from her face so I can see her eyes. “Hey. Stop that. It’s your big day. Fuck Lincoln Riscoff.”
<
br />   Cricket’s lips quirk. “Sorry, Whit. You already did. I don’t like sloppy seconds.”

  10

  Whitney

  The past

  My body was buzzing when I reached the cabin.

  I shouldn’t be here. I knew that as plainly as I knew I shouldn’t gargle Drano or play with gasoline and matches in a barn filled with hay, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Although I reached out to knock, my knuckles never connected with the door. Lincoln whipped it open, his chest rising and falling, before I could make contact.

  “I didn’t think you were going to come. I thought I’d have to hunt you down again.”

  Lord, he’s way too attractive for his own good.

  His hazel eyes raked up and down my body as I stared at the pulse thumping at the base of his throat, trying to talk myself out of licking his skin to remind myself what he tasted like.

  Oh my God. Whitney, what the hell is wrong with you?

  Lincoln Riscoff. He was what was wrong with me. I hadn’t been able to get him off my mind since the other night. It was like I was broken, and only another night with him could fix it.

  “I wasn’t going to come. I talked myself out of it at least a hundred times.”

  His nostrils flared.

  That should not be sexy.

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “Do you want the truth?” My voice sounded husky and not at all like me.

  He nodded.

  I swallowed and decided if I was going to do this . . . I was going to do it.

  “This.” I launched myself at him, not even caring that it made me look just like the kind of girl I claimed not to be the other night. But Lincoln didn’t seem to mind one bit.

  He braced and caught me, his hands curving around the cheeks of my ass in my cut-off shorts, and pulled me against him. I didn’t dress fancy tonight. Not like I did when I went to the bar. I came as basic as I usually am . . . cutoffs, flip-flops, T-shirt, my hair in a wild cloud around my head.