by Nina Lane
He returned to the parking lot. It was time for his sons to do the work alone. And it was past time for him to get away from a damned desk and to get back into the world again.
Before it was too late.
“Dad, you gotta tell them.” Adam handed a pool cue to Warren, his forehead creasing with a frown.
Warren took the cue and positioned his shot. Smoke and the smell of beer hung over the Troll’s House bar, and Elvis blasted from the old jukebox in the corner. Clusters of blue-collar workers gathered at the bar, and others hovered around the worn pool tables.
He sank the orange ball and straightened, moving aside to let his friend Henry take his shot. A poker buddy for over twenty years, Henry’s craggy face and heavy-lidded eyes belied his sharp mind.
“You haven’t told them about retiring yet?” Henry asked.
Warren chalked his cue, ignoring the pointed look from Adam. “Yeah, I told them this afternoon. They didn’t take it well.”
“Why not?”
“Pushback about restructuring,” Warren said. “If they’re giving me shit about this, they’re not going to like the idea of a climb.”
“Isn’t that why you’re retiring?” Henry asked. “So you can do stuff you never had a chance to?”
Warren shrugged. “I also need to make sure the transition goes well. I didn’t expect Luke to resist, which means it’s not going to be as easy as I’d hoped.”
“And that’s not going to make it any easier for them to accept the idea of the climb,” Adam argued.
“Exactly,” Warren agreed. “That’s the point.”
Adam made a noise of frustration. Henry glanced at them both.
“None of them want to step in as president?”
“They don’t want to shake up the company right when it’s doing so well.”
“What about the others?” Henry asked.
“Tyler won’t care.” Warren sank the yellow ball. “I don’t think Spencer or Hailey will either, but now I don’t know.”
“They won’t care about you retiring.” Adam eyed Warren pointedly. “They will care that you want to tackle a climb of this magnitude.”
Warren set his cue aside. His son was right—sooner or later, he’d have to tell Luke and the others about his mountaineering plans. They knew he’d been stepping up his rock climbing and bouldering—and they’d seen it as evidence that their father was finally getting back into the world thirteen years after their mother’s death.
But Warren hadn’t told them he was training to climb the Matterhorn. He’d taken extra time in his business trips to Switzerland so he could perfect his climbing and routing techniques. Adam, who owned a small travel company and had done plenty of adventure expeditions himself, was the only one Warren had told. He’d also sworn Adam to secrecy, although his son wouldn’t have broken the confidence regardless.
“I mean, it’s not like you’re going off on a weekend hike in the redwoods,” Adam pointed out. “I want to go with you.”
“I won’t let you.”
“I’ll sign up anyway.” A belligerent tone edged Adam’s voice.
“If you sign up,” Warren said, “I won’t go.”
Adam scowled. “You’re a stubborn old bastard, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
Affection for his son rose in him. He’d always had a particular soft spot for all his children in different ways. With Adam, it was because of the boy’s love for adventure, for seeking out new frontiers and embracing risks. He’d been the ten-year-old who’d convinced his brothers to run away from home and build a camp in the coastal forest. He’d shied away from Sugar Rush in favor of hiking the Inca Trail, leading safaris, climbing volcanos.
Of all the Stone sons, Adam was the only one who wouldn’t question Warren’s need to complete his own expedition. That, combined with Adam’s own experience in rock and mountain climbing, had made it easy for Warren to tell him his plans.
But he’d told Adam from the start he couldn’t go. If Adam climbed with him, Warren would be too focused on his son and not his own climb. And this was his trek, something he had to do with the people who had been training alongside him for over a year, friends he’d known much longer than that. The comrades who’d also known Theo and who wanted to do this in his honor.
He had to climb the Matterhorn before it was too late.
“I’ll tell them when we get the green light.” He hated that he was even partly lying to his son. “MeteoSwiss issued a bulletin about possible storms on the slope, so we’re waiting to see if we can even go right after Christmas. No use worrying the others if it’s not even going to happen.”
“And Aunt Julia?” Adam raised an eyebrow.
Warren’s shoulders tensed. Of his entire family, Julia’s reaction was the one he was least able to predict—and that made no sense since he knew her better than he knew himself. She wouldn’t like the idea of him taking on the iconic mountain, but would she try to stop him? Would she understand when he explained why he had to do this? Would she even listen?
“I’ll talk to her,” he told his son evasively.
He downed the last of his scotch and lifted his glass toward Melanie, a curvy bartender about ten years younger than him. She glanced his way and proceeded to ignore him.
Not a surprise. They’d spent one night together a year ago, shortly after he’d become a Troll’s House regular. Warren liked the casual anonymity of coming here for a drink and to play some pool. It was a place where he didn’t have to be Warren Stone, Sugar Rush president, or even Dad.
Which was probably what led him to hook up with Melanie in the first place. A night of forgetting who he was to his family, the company, the town. Unfortunately, Melanie had wanted more than he was willing to give, and though he’d been both straightforward and gentle about their lack of a future together, she hadn’t taken the break-up well.
That had been a theme with most women he’d been with over the past thirteen years. Once he’d finally gotten back into the dating scene after Rebecca’s death, he’d found it populated by divorcees looking for a husband and younger women looking for a sugar daddy. He’d taken a number of them out, but the dates had been forced and tedious at best and disastrous at worst.
He’d been with genuinely nice women over the years, but a second marriage wasn’t in the cards for him, and none of the women had liked the notion that their relationship wasn’t leading in that direction.
He set his cue down and nodded toward the bar. “Either one of you want anything else?”
“No, I’m heading out.” Adam shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll see you this weekend for the tree decorating.”
After saying goodbye to his son, Warren shouldered through the crowd. He paused at a table where the four other members of the Matterhorn expedition were drinking pints. Warren had known them for years, having met them through Theo, and they had dozens of hiking excursions and poker games behind them.
“Strike out, boss?” Justin, a tall skinny guy in his mid-forties, grinned and tilted his head toward Melanie. “I always ask a girl to play pool. Works every time.”
“Why’s that?”
“You can ask her to put her hands in your pockets and tickle your balls.”
The others laughed and raised their pints. Warren shook his head, though he liked their ribald banter. Reminded him of his college days—not that he’d tell them that. After him, Justin was the second oldest in the group, with Rick, Peter, and Dave all being ten to fifteen years younger.
But the age differences hadn’t affected their tight-knit group, especially during Theo’s illness and death. Two months after Theo died, and while Warren was still both grieving his death and reliving the loss of his wife, he’d had the idea to tackle the Matterhorn in his late friend’s honor.
He’d brought it up to their climbing and poker buddies, all of whom had agreed without hesitation. Warren had approached the venture like he did business—with methodical planning and research. H
e’d picked the date because it was the one-year anniversary of Theo’s death and also because it coincided with the start of his retirement.
Not that he hadn’t doubted the idea over the past year. He had no trouble matching the younger men in bouldering and fitness tests, but the Matterhorn was a relentless, difficult climb requiring superhuman effort. In winter, it would be even worse—a fact he was reminded of every time he considered the fact that he was the oldest member of their group.
He made his way to the bar and told the bartender to put the other men’s round on his tab. “I’ll have another scotch too.”
He settled the tab and picked up his drink. As he turned, a pair of shapely bare legs blocked his exit. He skimmed his gaze down to black heels and red-painted toenails, then back up over a flowered mini-skirt and low-cut T-shirt displaying abundant cleavage.
Well.
“Hi.” She smiled and extended a hand. “I’m Laura.”
She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, if that, with long dark hair and pretty features layered with makeup.
“Warren.” He took her hand, glancing at the drink in front of her. Cosmopolitan. Figured.
“You come here often?” She eyed his chest and shoulders beneath his tailored shirt.
“On occasion.”
“Me too.” She took hold of his silk tie patterned with jellybeans and rubbed it between her fingers. “You like sweet stuff, huh?”
“I’ve been known to indulge.”
“Me too, especially with a girly drink.” She tilted her head toward her cosmopolitan and twirled a lock of hair around her forefinger. “Usually after work or classes.”
Classes. Christ, she was young.
“Where are you a student?” he asked.
“Over at Fordham’s Beauty College. I’m learning how to do hair. I work as an assistant at a salon.”
“Good for you.” Although she was a tempting little thing, Warren’s mind shifted to the logistics of that scenario. “Working in the same profession you’re studying is a great way to put what you’re learning into practice.”
She grinned. “You’re adorable. What do you do?”
“I work in the corporate environment.”
“Of course.” She leaned closer, nudging her breasts against his arm. “Hey, if you’re getting bored here, I know of another great little pub we can go to. You up for some company?”
He’d have to be a eunuch not to be tempted. And he’d be an asshole if he took her up on her offer. He knew what would happen—they’d get more drinks, go back to her place for the night, and then he’d feel the urge to give her some cash to help her pay for school—which would give the whole night a sleazy vibe. Then she’d want to see him again, and he’d put her off, and she’d take it badly.
Not to mention, she wasn’t much older than his daughter. He’d go ballistic if he thought some dickwad his age would ever hit on Hailey.
“Sorry, honey.” He put a few more bills on the bar to pay for her drink. “I’m going home alone tonight.”
Laura pursed her lips into a pout. “Seriously? I’m a sure thing.”
“Don’t be a sure thing for any man.” He slipped his wallet back into his pocket. “Be the only thing for one man.”
She blinked, faint consternation rising to her eyes. Warren turned away from her and headed back to the pool table. After saying goodbye to Henry and the others, he pulled his keys from his pocket and walked out to his car.
Not the first time he’d been hit on by a girl half his age, but it was a scenario he found increasingly depressing. Just like the rest of the dating scene.
As he drove home, he couldn’t help but wonder if his dating issues hadn’t been his fault. No, the women hadn’t been the most interesting company, but maybe he wasn’t either.
He’d married Rebecca when she’d gotten pregnant at twenty, though they’d been dating for a year. He’d had girlfriends before her, but he’d never played the field like most men did in their twenties. He’d had seven children before he’d turned thirty-two.
And while Warren didn’t regret anything about his marriage or children—just the opposite, as nothing could have made him happier—he’d been responsible and an adult early on. Focused on his children and work. Set in his ways. Hardly a wonder that he wouldn’t be a good companion to another woman, especially after Rebecca.
He drove past the gates of his estate, glad to see Julia’s BMW parked near the porch. He’d been more thrown off than he’d liked when she hadn’t responded to his call and texts yesterday. Her vague excuses hadn’t worked for him either. Something was going on, and maybe now was the time for him to find out what.
He opened the door, glancing over the decorations she’d started to put up. Julia had been the one to give Christmas back to his children after their mother died. Hailey had only been eleven at the time, and the boys were all in their teens and early twenties. None of them had known what to do about the holidays until Julia stepped in and reminded them that Rebecca would still want them to celebrate.
So they had. First with quiet festivities at home, then later with charity events for both the Rebecca Stone Foundation and Sugar Rush. Over the years, everyone tried to ensure they were home for the holidays, but invariably someone would be missing. Luke was off on Sugar Rush business, Adam was guiding a tour group through Kenya, Tyler was with a girlfriend.
This year, for the first time in a while, they would all be home for the holidays. While that was a welcome event, it also meant that Julia was working overtime to create the perfect Christmas for them all. She’d succeed, but at the expense of her own well-being.
Unless Warren exerted control over her.
He tossed his keys onto the entry table and walked into the great room, expecting to see her fussing with the placement of candles on the mantel. But there were only a few cardboard boxes alongside the wall.
“Jules?” He went into the kitchen. “Julia?”
No answer.
Cold air came through the half-open doors of the breakfast room, which led out to a stone terrace overlooking the valley. Warren pushed open the door and stepped outside. Julia sat at the mosaic patio table, which held a bottle of wine, a half-empty glass, and a creased piece of paper. Her smooth blonde hair concealed her profile, and her usually straight shoulders were slumped.
Warren crossed the terrace in three strides. “Julia, are you all right?”
She startled, turning toward him. Concern flooded his chest when the porch lights glinted off the tear stains on her cheeks.
“Did you take your medicine?” He went behind her chair to rest his hands on the sides of her head, his fingers finding her smooth temples. “How bad is it?”
“It’s not that.” She waved his hands away irritably. “I’m fine.”
Warren moved around the chair to look at her tight expression and reddened eyes. He pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, letting his fingers rest against her skin.
“You’re not fine,” he said. “Tell me.”
Julia wiped her eyes with a napkin and gave a hiccupping laugh. “I’m being unusually sensitive. Either that or I’m having an existential crisis.”
She reached for the wine bottle and poured some into the glass. “At least there’s this, thanks to your exceptional wine collection.”
Warren pulled a chair up beside hers. “What’s going on? Is it work related?”
“Sort of.” She gazed at the dark valley. “The Holiday Festival committee is driving me crazy, wanting things that aren’t in the budget. And a partnership that I’ve been working on for a year crashed and burned yesterday. We were less than a week away from closing the deal.”
“What was the deal?”
She let out her breath in a long sigh. “I’d approached Vincent Peck, the president of Evermore Associates, to invest in a new clothing line. I’ve been wanting to get back to design, and as much as I love my clients and styling for photo shoots, I’ve… rather surprisingly… enjoyed
working with girls like Polly and Kate. They’re so unaffected and natural. I’d thought I would be transforming them, but it turned out to be more like bringing to the surface what they already had. Like they were little butterflies. Don’t tell them I said that.
“Anyway, they inspired me to create a clothing line for young working women. Vincent was really into the idea and prepared to invest, but… well, things went downhill.”
Warren frowned. “Why?”
“A disagreement over the designs.” She shook her head, her lips compressing. “He said they were dated and old. That clearly I was no longer in touch with what younger women wanted.”
Anger boiled in Warren’s blood at the idea of anyone, much less a douchebag investor, belittling Julia’s creativity because of her age. And because she was a woman. A man would never be subjected to the same kind of criticism.
“You know that’s not true,” he said. “Peck was making an excuse. More likely it was a budget thing.”
“Yeah, but with my fiftieth right around the corner, it stung more than I want to admit.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I shouldn’t be so upset, really. Deals fail all the time. He called me yesterday and said it wasn’t the ‘right project for them at this time.’ So, you know. Fuck him.”
Warren smiled. He’d always liked the tough-girl steel beneath her polished beauty.
“Sounds like he’s not the right investor for you at any time,” he said.
“I know. But it still sucks. I’d been working on it so hard. And I was so close.”
“I’ll invest in you.”
“No.” Julia wiped her eyes again. “I never want to mix Sugar Rush business with my company. It just doesn’t feel right.”
He smothered a rush of frustration. It wasn’t the first time she’d rejected his offer. He’d offered to help her multiple times over the years, dating back to when she’d first started her stylist business shortly after returning to Indigo Bay. She’d turned him down every time. And while he admired her need for independence, she and her company were both highly successful. She’d done it all on her own. She had nothing left to prove—either to him or herself. Now her rejection made little sense. Why wouldn’t she want them to be partners in business when they were partners in so many other ways?
