by Maisey Yates
When Lane’s food did show up, she attacked it with gusto. She had the vague thought that she was very likely using her hamburger to help soothe some of the unsettled feelings that were left behind after witnessing Finn’s confrontation with his brother. But it was no big news to her that she used food to deal with her feelings.
There was a reason that she had opened a specialty food store, and it was only partly because the old business had been established but needed to change hands right around the time she had been financially able to make that step.
She had always loved the Mercantile on Copper Ridge’s Main Street, ever since she had moved to the small town on the Oregon coast when she was seventeen. She loved the exposed brick on the walls, the warm, homey feeling and the easily accessible samples of bread and different types of infused olive oils.
The fact that she got to work there all day almost every day was one of her favorite things about her life. So what if she had a serious emotional crutch in the form of food? She had managed to find a way to continually keep herself surrounded by said crutch.
“I thought you were eating dinner with Finn?” Alison asked, eyeing Lane as she continued to feast on her burger.
She swallowed her bite, and then took a slow drink of her Diet Coke. For some reason, she was hesitant to bring discussions of Finn into the group. But then, that wasn’t unusual. Her friendship with Finn was specific. Its own thing.
It wasn’t easy or completely open the way her relationships with Alison and Rebecca were. But how could it be? He was a man, and she wasn’t blind to that fact. Not only that, he was older than her. And he’d been friends with her brother, Mark, before he was her friend. But as the years had progressed, and Mark moved away, the gap had seemed to close between the two of them.
He was kind of like an older brother. Except a little more equal. She supposed the exact definition didn’t really matter. But she still often felt the need to put up a wall between that relationship and her relationship with her girlfriends. She told them everything, but telling them everything about Finn bordered on being a violation of him, and that was what she tried to avoid.
“Well, I was. But... He had a visitor?”
“Please don’t tell me he forgot that you were coming over and hooked up with some girl,” Alison said, her nose wrinkling. Alison was always prepared to think the worst of men. She tried to keep the negativity to a minimum, and Lane knew that. But she also knew that the other woman had ample reason to have a low opinion of the species.
Lane hesitated. “No. He didn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. You know Finn, he’s... Well, he’s a little bit nicer than that. It’s just he has kind of an infusion of family right now. Because of his grandfather.”
Alison looked contrite. “Right. I forgot about that. How is he?”
Lane shrugged. “As good as can be expected. He knew that Callum was going to go soon. I just think even when you expect it there’s nothing easy about it. Plus, he has to deal with his brothers now. And that’s just a whole thing.”
“Family invariably is,” Rebecca said.
“Speaking of family,” Alison said. “How is Jonathan warming up to Gage?”
Lane’s attention was momentarily pulled away from the conversation by something flickering on the TV screen above the bar. And then everything faded into the background.
Because there he was.
Cord McCaffrey, newly a senator, darling of the media, instant internet sensation and Lane’s personal trial by fire. How was any of this fair? Here he was, in her bar, disturbing her French fry time.
The man was like an incredibly charismatic cockroach. He could not be killed. Not that she wanted him killed; it was just she wanted him a little less successful and a little less in her face. Also, a little less beloved by all.
Seeing him on the screen, in a power suit with a power tie, giving a speech so well constructed it could make angels weep, she felt tiny. Tiny and insignificant. She hated that. She had achieved a lot in her life. Without help from her family.
And mostly, she didn’t miss them. Mostly, she didn’t ever think about the big house she had once lived in in Massachusetts with her old money blue blood parents. Mostly, she was very happy living in a tiny, seaside town on the Oregon coast, as far away from them and their judgment as it was possible to get without crossing the ocean.
But seeing Cord dredged up memories. And God knew she had been seeing him way more often than usual lately.
“Lane?”
She blinked, looking across the table at Rebecca, whose expression was one of concern. Suddenly, she remembered where she was. She had been outside of herself for a moment. Outside of her body, possibly outside of Oregon. Somewhere else entirely.
Twelve years in the past maybe.
“What? Sorry, I spaced out.”
“You seemed distracted by Senator Good Hair.”
“Oh,” she said, trying to figure out how she was going to spin that. Because she didn’t exactly want to have a conversation about the fact that she knew Cord McCaffrey. She was never going to have a discussion with anyone about the particulars of that knowledge—that was for sure. But she was trying to decide on the most believable and innocuous lie.
“I get it,” Alison said. “He’s compelling. I mean, I think being a politician’s wife would be horrible. All I can picture is how controlled it would be. How owned you would feel. But I get why some women go for it.”
Lane had a feeling that Alison would find a long-term relationship with any man stifling at this point. Her ex-husband was to blame for that.
“It’s just weird,” Lane said, going for the closest version of the truth that she could manage. “He lived in my parents’ neighborhood. We grew up next to each other. It’s always kind of strange to see somebody that you knew in a different context becoming famous.”
Saying something so innocuous about him nearly killed her. The fact that she had occasion to talk about him at all—with people who had no idea of their connection—just made her angrier.
At the same time, if Cord had never achieved his political ambition she might have been even angrier. Because then what would the point have been of any of the pain that he put her through?
“I can see that being weird,” Rebecca said. “I really can’t imagine any of the jackasses I went to school with ascending to political office. It’s a terrifying prospect, actually.”
Rebecca truly had no idea. “Yeah. Weird.” She shoved another fry in her mouth to keep from making further comment.
She felt weird the whole rest of the evening, which she hated. Because Cord wasn’t rattling around his giant-ass mansion feeling weird right now. No, he was likely sitting in a wingback chair with a snifter of brandy, letting his Stepford wife rub his feet while his two perfect children slept upstairs. When she walked back to her car later, Rebecca intercepted her. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Lane said, breaking away quickly, tromping across the parking lot with more forceful steps than necessary, loose rocks and gravel crunching under her feet.
“You were very quiet tonight. You’re never quiet.”
She let out an exasperated sigh that bloomed in the cold night air, joining the low-hanging fog that was creeping in off the sea. “Just tired. I stayed up late making dinners for Finn last night, and then had to work most of the day. And then I had to deliver the food, so...”
“You do a lot for him.”
Lane bristled. Mostly because whenever anyone made comments about her relationship with Finn, those comments contained undercurrents. Undercurrents she didn’t like. “He’s done a lot for me. Plus, his grandfather just died, and he might have been a surly old coot, but he was pretty much all Finn had to call family.”
“Except all those brothers,” Rebecca pointed out.
“Half brothers. And
he didn’t grow up with them.”
She didn’t know why she was being defensive. About Finn, about anything in his life. She was crossing the velvet Finn rope she tended to put up around her conversations with other people, and hell if she knew how she’d gotten dragged over it.
“Sorry,” Rebecca said, letting out a long sigh. “I’m just worried about you and I’m trying to drag out a reason why you might have been upset and I tend to come back to him.”
“Well, Finn is not ever part of my upset. Finn is one of the only truly good men on planet Earth.”
Rebecca looked at her, long and hard, her dark eyes glittering in the lamplight. “Okay.”
Damn her. She still wasn’t taking Lane’s placating lies at face value. But she was also wrong about the source of her issues. And if her Finn stuff was cordoned off by a velvet rope, her Cord issues were kept in a very difficult to access attic, beneath a really heavy box with a blanket over it, so no one would ever look and she’d have a hard time ever pulling it out herself.
“I’m fine,” she said, singsong now, walking to her car with a small bounce in her step. “Fine, fine, fine.”
“Keep saying it,” Rebecca said, her tone dry. “That will make it seem more believable.”
Lane cheerfully flung her middle finger into the air, directing it at Rebecca along with a smile. Rebecca lifted her own hand and made a catching motion, as though Lane had blown her a kiss. Then she put the imagined item in her pocket. “In case I need a good Screw You later.”
“I think you had a good screw earlier,” Lane shot back.
“Don’t hate the player,” Rebecca said, her tone completely serious.
Lane rolled her eyes and got into her car. Sometimes she thought it would be more practical to get a big truck. For garden soil, wood chips and anything else she might need for her garden. But she liked the fuel economy of her little car. Plus, Finn had a truck and he could always do that stuff for her.
Her house was a quick trip from Ace’s, which sat on the edge of town. In about five minutes, she was at the dirt driveway that led back into the hills to where her little homestead was. Four potholes and three curves later, she was pulling into her driveway.
The house was modest, but it was cozy and perfect for one person. Nestled in the pine trees, the little cabin looked like it might be growing straight out of the earth. But the value of this place wasn’t in the house, it was in the property.
She had spent the past couple of years taming it, getting herself a decent-sized garden plot prepared and revamping an old outbuilding set way back in the trees that was designed to store things like jam and root vegetables.
Well, Finn had helped with a lot of that.
But, like she had told Rebecca earlier, Finn did a lot for her. It was one reason she happily did a lot for him. Anything. She would do anything for Finn.
She walked across the soft ground, bark and pine needles muting her footsteps until she reached the wooden porch steps. She shoved her key into the lock—even out here she kept her doors locked out of an abundance of caution. She wasn’t particularly concerned with anyone stealing her things, not in Copper Ridge. Really, she wasn’t legitimately concerned with much considering that Copper Ridge was a very safe place to live, but she was a woman who lived alone in the middle of nowhere, so her anxieties tended to center on some deranged drifter lying in wait in her living room when she returned from town after a long day.
That she could live without.
She sighed heavily, dumping her purse and her keys over the back of the armchair that sat adjacent to the entryway. She felt unsettled and restless, which wasn’t how she usually felt when she walked into her snug little house.
It was so different to that expansive stone monstrosity her parents had lived in, heaving with dashed expectations and the scent of disappointment. It had always felt so cold. So vast and empty.
Because there was nothing even close to love in the hallowed walls of the Jensen family home. And no matter what her parents said, she could feel it. And it made that massive manor feel claustrophobic.
She surrounded herself with warmth here. And in this tiny place with its rough-hewn furniture, with the lake on one side and the endless woods on the other, she felt free.
Usually, she felt a sense of relief as the rustic wood walls offered sanctuary from the day.
Not today. Today required more eating.
She flicked on the light and walked into the kitchen. Except those actions blended into one, and it took a moment for her to realize that the light had not turned on. She stopped, letting out a hard breath. She tested the light switch again. Nothing. The kitchen remained resolutely dark. Then she looked and noticed that the lights were off on the microwave and the coffeemaker.
She let out a short curse. Then she raced to the fridge.
When she opened the door the light was off, but cool air emanated from the appliance. She let out a sigh of relief. At least the power outage was recent.
That was all she needed. For everything in her fridge to go rancid. Which it would do if she didn’t get this fixed.
There was a lamp on in the living room, so clearly the lights were fine there. It was probably some weird fuse situation because everything in the cabin was old, including the wiring. She wandered over to the fuse box and flipped a few switches. Nothing. She lifted her cell phone up in the darkness and shined it onto the box, attacking the suspect switch with even more intensity, and still, she was bathed in darkness.
She growled. And before she was fully conscious of what she was doing, she turned her phone back toward herself and dialed Finn.
CHAPTER THREE
IT HAD BEEN a long ass day. And it was fixing to be an even longer ass night. Mostly because Finn was so very aware of the fact that his brother and his niece were asleep in his house. And that the rest of them would be coming tomorrow.
Alex, with his easy grin and smart-ass comments. Liam and the chip on his shoulder that he seemed so committed to.
Cain said he wanted to stay. That he wanted to work the ranch. Give Violet a fresh start. And Finn had no legal recourse to stop him. His grandfather had left equal shares of the ranch to all of them, and that meant that Finn was up a creek.
He jerked the fridge open, grabbing a bottle of beer, then changing direction. He put the beer back and closed the fridge, making his way over to the bar on the other side of the room. His grandfather had been a good Irishman who believed in keeping his liquor supply healthy.
Finn reached out, closing his hand around a bottle of whiskey. “God bless you, old man.”
Then his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He bit back a curse, lifting the device to his ear. “Hello.”
“It’s me,” came the sound of Lane’s familiar voice.
“Hi,” he said, barely managing more than a grunt.
“I need you,” Lane said, her voice breathy.
Those words were like a slug straight to his gut. And it didn’t matter that he knew full well this was in regards to something that had absolutely nothing to do with his body—his body reacted strongly.
“Do you?” he asked, keeping his eyes pinned on the bottle of liquid salvation in his hand.
“Yes,” she said, the word coming out in a long whine.
“It can’t wait till morning?”
“No,” she said, her voice emphatic. “The power is out in my kitchen. I flipped the switches and they won’t work.”
“Which switches did you flip?”
“All the switches. They won’t work! All of my food is going to go bad. I don’t have cheap food, Finn. My cheese. Think of my cheese. Donnelly cheese.”
He closed his eyes, letting out a long slow breath as he released his hold on the liquor bottle. “I’ll be right over.”
If nothing else,
it gave him a chance to get out of the house. This house that was a constant reminder of his grandfather, the old bastard. An old bastard he missed, about as much as he wanted to punch him.
He was going to take the chance to get out of this house that now contained two members of his family who seemed determined to stay.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached out, grabbing hold of his truck keys. The metal scraped against the granite countertop, the noise loud in the relative silence of the expansive room.
By the time he pulled up to Lane’s house he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there. The entire drive over was a blank space. He had been too busy having imaginary, angry conversations in his head. With his brother. With a dead man.
Good thing he knew the road and the route better than he knew just about any other.
He walked up the porch steps, noticing that one of them wiggled beneath his boot. He would have to fix that for her. Then he looked at the porch light, at the excess of cobwebs hanging around it, made much more obvious with the direct glow of the porch light and the darkness behind it.
She hated messing with things like that too, so he should probably clear them when he came to do the step. He sighed, lifting his hand and knocking firmly on the wooden door.
It jerked open half a second later, revealing a nervous-looking Lane. “I hope it’s easy to fix,” she said, moving out of the way and allowing him entry. “I have deep concerns about my food.” She lifted her hand to her mouth, chewing idly on the side of her thumbnail.
“I can take some back with me if we can’t get it fixed—assuming there’s room in my fridge after all that casserole. Also, you can put some of it out in your cold room. Not perfect, but overnight it’s not going to be any warmer than your fridge out there.”
“There you go being all measured and logical.” She waved her hands, looking anything but measured and logical.
He hadn’t felt like either of those things earlier today. No, dealing with Cain he had felt decidedly un-calm and illogical. He could almost see himself standing in his house, being an ass to the brother who had driven halfway across the country to be there, the brother who had been through a whole hell of a lot in his adult life, and who was trying to do something good for his kid.
