“I need more water. Do you need more iced tea?” she said, rattling the ice in her cup.
Ty started to get up. “I’ll get them.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Holland insisted. “You stay there and rest your knee.” She grabbed both their cups and went back inside.
He watched her until she disappeared into the crowd. He was asking her to stay; he wanted her to stay. Thoughts of building a life with her came so easily, so naturally. Was this love?
* * *
Holland stood at the soda machine watching the ice pour into Ty’s cup. A week ago, she was in LA heading to the mall to play dress up with her newest client—a hayseed billionaire from Idaho. Now . . . things were moving too fast, she knew that. But it was hard not to give in to the temptation to throw caution to the wind. Could she live in Hailey? The thought of leaving Ty and his family left her feeling empty.
She loved LA with its glamour and sunshine; she’d miss her parents, and she would definitely feel the distance from the ocean. But what was all that when there was Ty and this new sensation racing through her that made her feel giddy and weightless?
Besides, that’s why there were airplanes. They could visit any time they wanted, right?
She finished filling the drinks, snapped the lids in place, and turned to go back outside. A crowd had come in and was blocking the doorway. She maneuvered through the crush of people, concentrating on not spilling the drinks.
She heard a shriek of laughter and looked up in time to see Carson come through the door.
He was extremely tan and scruffier than she’d ever seen him. Blond whiskers covered his cheeks, and his hair was hanging in his eyes. He wore a pair of cutoff shorts and an old T-shirt that was sweat-stained and grimy. His shoes were dusty, as were the sunglasses balanced on the top of his head.
The laughter had come from the woman who clung to him, both her arms encircling his waist. She was small, emaciated even, with bony shoulders jutting out of a green tank top. She wore shorts, and her long blond dreads spilled out of the bottom of a battered straw cowboy hat.
But what really caught Holland’s eye was the glint of silver on the woman’s left hand. A wedding band.
Carson’s arm was around the woman’s shoulders and as Holland watched, he pulled her closer to give her a quick kiss on the temple. Just before his lips broke contact with the woman’s skin, he looked over and saw Holland frozen, staring at them.
“Holland?” Carson said incredulously.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. She’d sent him at least a dozen texts, and he hadn’t returned a single one. She’d assumed he was off in the mountains out of range. Well, maybe he was, but that clearly wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t returned her messages.
“What are you doing here?” Carson asked.
“I’m . . . uh . . .” What was she doing here? Her brain didn’t work. “I thought you were biking?”
“Yeah, we are. There are some sick trails up here.” His eyes widened, sending her a message . . . a silent plea. “This is Gabbi. My wife.”
Holland’s eyes shot again to the ring. “Oh. How long—” Her throat was so dry the words wouldn’t come. “How long have you been married?” She finally rasped.
“Two years.” Gabbi’s eyes were like two chips of ice.
Holland’s arms were numb, and there was a roaring in her brain that blocked out everything but the words echoing over and over. Two years. Her memory flashed over every encounter she and Carson had had, the way she’d fallen for him. She’d only given him kisses, but he’d wanted more.
Two years. Carson wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Gabbi tugged at Carson’s waist. “C’mon, baby, I’m starving.” She gave Holland a smirk as she pulled him back into the line. “Nice to meet you.”
Holland stumbled outside. Her body felt disjointed, like when the core elastic broke in her Barbie dolls making them limp and useless. She tripped, and would have fallen had Ty not leaped up to catch her. The drinks hit the cement and washed over their shoes in a tidal wave as the lids popped off.
Ty’s eyebrows swooped together in concern. “Are you okay?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Holland, what’s wrong?”
All she could do was burst into tears.
Ty quickly gathered the spilled cups and their half-eaten food and tossed it all into a nearby trashcan. “C’mon.” He grabbed her hand, and she stumbled beside him as he led the way down the street toward the Mustang. The sound of Gabbi’s laughter seemed to follow, but Holland didn’t dare turn back toward the restaurant.
Ty deposited her safely in the car and then slid behind the wheel. Concern was etched on his face. “Something obviously went very wrong back there. What’s going on?”
“Can we go somewhere else first, please?” she pleaded, wanting somewhere more private.
Ty revved the engine and swung the car onto the road. He took a right just before the airport and followed the road that wound around the fenced runway until he reached a gravel pullout. Air traffic was light today; only a few jets were on the tarmac, and none were queued up to take off.
Ty rolled down his window to get some fresh air and turned to Holland. “What’s going on?”
* * *
Ty clenched his fingers around the steering wheel and stared at the veins standing out on the back of his hand. His gut twisted as he listened to Holland’s story. She’d told him there was no one back in LA, at least no one serious. But from the way she was talking now, it sounded serious to him. She’d obviously thought she had a future with this guy.
So was everything with him just an act? What about the kisses they’d shared . . . the way she’d reached for him . . . the look in her eyes? It all felt tainted and cheap now. Had it meant anything at all to her?
Ty swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Holland was obviously distraught; he should be more supportive. But he had no words of comfort to offer, only the bitterness of disappointment and the sting of humiliation.
Holland sighed and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “It’s all so stupid. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off. I should have, I know. But then I got involved with things here and with you, and I just pushed it all to the back of my mind until now.”
Pushed what to the back of her mind? Ty had no idea what she was talking about. All he knew was that he’d been had.
“Ty?” Holland reached for his hand.
He pulled away and started the car. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Wait. What’s wrong?”
“I’m not a fan of being used,” he grated between clenched teeth.
“What?” Holland stared at him. “How are you being used?”
“So you decided to have a little summer fling with me to ease the boredom while you were waiting for him? Is that it? What was the plan if you hadn’t run into him here and learned he was married? To pick up where you left off once you got home?” He hated the bite in his tone but couldn’t seem to help it.
Holland’s eyes hardened. “I never meant to hurt you,” she said. “I didn’t plan for this . . . for us . . . to happen. I promise.”
He grunted, eyes on the road. He wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that she’d fallen for him as hard and fast as he’d fallen for her. Yeah, right. That was about as likely as Ashley letting him rename the dog.
“Ty?” Holland said, a note of panic in her voice. “Please talk to me.”
“I don’t have anything else to say,” he replied, pain and anger burning in his chest. “You’re just as much a gold-digger as Jamie, only a bit more sophisticated.”
Holland gasped. “That’s not true! But if you’re too much of a jerk to tell the difference, I guess it’s a good thing this is coming out now.”
Ty’s head was spinning and he could think of nothing to say to her. When they pulled in the driveway, he muttered something about doing the chores and escaped as quickly as he could.
His father found him a few hours later behind the ba
rn, scratching on a piece of kindling with his pocketknife.
“Making more spoons?” Blaine asked, a twinkle in his eye.
When he was nine, Ty had spent an entire month whittling a dozen misshapen spoons as a birthday gift for his mother. Had he known that at least a few of those spoons would later be used to mete out justice in the form of a good old-fashioned paddling, he might not have been so anxious to complete the project.
Ty managed a small grin and tossed the piece of wood he held back onto the kindling pile. “I seem to have lost my touch,” he admitted as he folded his knife and shoved it into his pocket.
“Nah.” Blaine shook his head. “You just need a little more practice. I’m sure you’ll pick it back up in no time.”
They were silent for a moment, both studying the woodpile, until Blaine cleared his throat. “So, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Ty shrugged.
“C’mon.” His dad rolled his eyes. “Holland’s in there crying, and you look like you’re ready to wrestle a bear.”
Ty sighed and wiped his palms on his jeans. “Nothing. I guess I thought we had something going, but turns out . . . we didn’t.” Quickly he told his father about KBs and Holland seeing Carson.
His father was quiet so long that Ty was afraid he’d fallen asleep. “So? What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Blaine sighed. “You two seem to have a really good rapport, and she seemed happy to be here.”
“That’s true,” Ty admitted.
“But . . . you can’t force someone to love you, son. I know it’s not fair, but that’s how it is.”
The hope flaring in Ty’s chest splintered like broken glass. His dad was right. If Holland didn’t love him, the only thing to do would be accept it like a man and move on. And Holland may have given him a few kisses, but Carson had always been first in her heart. The more firmly he could keep that in mind, the better off they’d all be.
11
The nearest hospital was thirty miles away in Sun Valley, but Ty’s Mustang made astonishingly good time. The nurses in labor and delivery whisked Misty off to a room while Ty stumbled to the waiting room. He took a seat, stood and paced for a minute, then sat again, but jumped to his feet a few minutes later when the rest of the family arrived. Ellen hurried to be with Misty, while the rest of them sat and stared at each other.
“She’s really having a baby,” Blaine said in a rather stunned tone.
“It’s gonna be okay . . . Grandpa.” Ashley patted him gently on the shoulder.
Ty locked eyes with Holland. It had been several days since the incident at KBs, and they’d settled into an overly polite working relationship that focused almost exclusively on foundation business. He’d tried several times to think of something that would break the ice, to at least get them back to a sense of friendship, but the hurt always intruded, forcing him away.
Now Holland gave him a small smile and quickly looked away. She looked forlorn and awkward, and Ty knew she was here only because she’d promised Misty.
They waited. Ty had always pictured a labor and delivery unit like they were depicted in most movies—nurses running around with towels and hot water, the expectant mother screaming from the other room, the father fainting when it was all over.
Well, not the father part. His fists clenched. He doubted Chet even knew Misty was in labor, and even if he did, he’d better not be stupid enough to show up here. He and his father, and probably even Ashley, would all be more than happy to show Chet the door via a swift kick in the pants.
Ty glanced toward Ashley, who had moved to sit on the small couch beside Holland. Their heads were bent over Holland’s phone, evidently playing some kind of game. Holland’s dark hair mingled with Ashley’s lighter strands, like a perfect yin and yang.
Ty’s gut clenched. Holland seemed to fit right into his family as gracefully as an Idaho sunset, yet it was all an act. And he’d been stupid enough to fall for it.
She must have felt his look, because she glanced up and met his eyes across the waiting room—his brown eyes delving into her green ones. She ducked her head again.
It felt like forever before a nurse in blue scrubs came to announce the baby was here, and mother and son were both healthy and happy.
“Can we see them?” Blaine demanded.
“We’re moving them to a recovery room, and it will take a few minutes to get them settled. You can see them after that,” the nurse promised.
“I’m an aunt!” Ashley squealed, throwing her arms around Holland.
An hour later, Ty finally got to lay eyes on his nephew—Wyatt Blaine Epperson slept contentedly in his grandmother’s arms, his tiny fingers clasped together under his chin. Misty gave them a tired smile from the bed.
“Congratulations, sis, he’s beautiful.” Ty planted a kiss on her forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Hungry,” Misty admitted with a wry smile.
Ty and Ashley left to get food, and when they got back, Ty stopped dead in the doorway. Holland was holding Wyatt, the look on her face as she gazed down on the tiny bundle cut straight to Ty’s core—reverence and joy and . . . an almost ethereal glow that made her look even more beautiful. His heart ached.
“Cheeseburger, right?” he asked Misty, pulling his eyes away from Holland and hurrying to his sister’s bed.
* * *
Ty toggled through the views on his computer screen, making the new security cameras zoom and rotate. The foundation’s new offices in the butterscotch house on Main Street still needed work, but the shiny new security system was up and running. As much as he loathed the idea of cameras, Ty had to admit the building felt much safer.
Holland poked her head into his office. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” He closed the program. “Come in.”
She took a seat in a plastic chair on the other side of his desk, which was nothing more than a folding table. He’d buy good quality furniture when the renovations were finished; the cheap stuff would do for now.
“What’s on your mind?” Ty asked.
She was pale and looked thinner. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her eating an actual meal and not just picking at her food. Guilt twisted in his gut. Was it his fault, or was she still crying over her married boyfriend? Since their fight, she’d treated him with detached politeness—always professional when it came to the foundation work, but avoiding him as much as possible otherwise.
“I think you’re getting pretty set here,” Holland said.
“Meaning you’d like to go home?” Ty interpreted.
She nodded. “I think it’d be for the best, don’t you?”
He looked around. Much of what remained to do in the house was basic organization, and maybe a little paint if he got ambitious.
Painting he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was everything Holland had been doing—updating the website, issuing press releases, making contacts with local opinion leaders and with the press, planning the grand opening party . . . basically everything.
But he’d have to find someone else to fulfill those tasks. Holland was right: it would be for the best. Having her around was too painful.
“This turned into a lot more than you agreed to,” he said finally. “You’ve been really flexible, and I appreciate it. But I know I can’t expect you to hang out indefinitely.”
Holland pressed her lips together and twisted her hands in her lap. “Well, I’m glad that things are going so well. When can I leave?”
She couldn’t wait to be out of here. He yanked his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out his Visa. “Whenever’s convenient for you,” he said, holding out the card. “Let me know when you need a ride to the airport.”
Holland took the card and left his office, slamming the door harder than was necessary. Ty propped his elbows on the plastic table and buried his head in his hands. If she left, everything would fall apart. But it was too late now; he’d burned that bridge.
12
Ty filled a reusable water bottle with ice and fresh water, straight from the tap. It was one thing he loved about Hailey—the water came out of the tap clear, crisp, and cold. A far cry from the tepid chemical stuff that passed for tap water in LA.
Speaking of LA, Miss California herself was on her way home now. Her flight was leaving in a couple of hours, and Ellen had taken her to the airport. Their goodbyes had been formal and stilted. He’d wanted to say more, wanted to apologize, but Holland’s eyes were flinty, and she’d offered only a cold handshake. It was obvious she couldn’t wait to get home . . . to get away from him.
Ty screwed the lid on the water bottle and carried it up the stairs. He tapped on Misty’s door and waited until he heard a soft “come in.”
Misty’s room, not that large to begin with, was crammed with everything Wyatt could possibly need . . . and many things he most definitely didn’t need, at least not yet. The dresser, rocking chair, and the changing table were in regular rotation, but the baby wasn’t getting much use out of the wooden rocking horse or the life-sized stuffed sheep, both recent gifts from Uncle Ty.
Oh well, he would love them someday.
Wyatt’s bassinet sat by the bed, but he spent most of his time in someone’s arms. There was always an eager grandparent, aunt, or uncle around to hold him between meals or if his mother needed a break. Today, though, the rocking chair was empty, and Wyatt slept peacefully in Misty’s arms as she sat in bed.
“I thought you might need some fresh water,” Ty said, holding up the water bottle.
“Thanks.” Misty reached for it gratefully. “I can’t believe how thirsty nursing makes me.”
Ty peeked at his nephew. He wore yellow pajamas and a matching yellow knit cap, and his long, tapered fingers were folded over the edge of the plaid blanket. His transparent fingernails were as delicate as his mother’s crystal goblets in the china hutch downstairs.
The Lucky Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance) Page 8
