Like One of the Family

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “That makes you happy?” he asked. “Because it sounds kind of ruthless, predatory and lonely but not happy. What do you do that brings joy to others?”

  Lora’s gaze hardened and she lost all the softness Heath had seen earlier as she said, “When I bring a multimillion-dollar client to the company, the joy is written all over my boss’s face. And then he shows his appreciation by cutting me a fat bonus check. And when I cash that check, I feel quite joyful.”

  Heath regarded her with open sadness and perhaps a fair amount of pity, too. “The saying ‘Money doesn’t buy happiness’ is true, and you’re a living example. You’re miserable.”

  “I am not,” she said indignantly but her eyes told a different story. What would it take to reach this woman? To get her to realize that happiness wasn’t found in the number of zeros on her paycheck? That family was the true treasure in life? Clearly, he wasn’t going to reach her today. If anything, he might’ve just alienated her further. As if to support that theory, she started to swim to shore, saying, “I’ve had enough. This conversation is over.”

  Ah, hell.

  He should’ve left well enough alone.

  Now he had an excruciatingly uncomfortable car ride to look forward to.

  * * *

  LORA FELT TEARS BRIMMING in her eyes for no good reason. Who was Heath to presume to give her life advice? She hardly felt Heath was qualified to give advice to anyone. She was successful and people wanted her on their team. At least they used to. Now…her phone was silent and her emails went unanswered. There could be a dozen different reasons why none of her feelers had yielded anything fruitful. It didn’t have to mean that she was the social pariah in the marketing circles. Likely…likely, word had spread like a forest fire that she’d openly insulted the CEO of one of Chicago’s largest Fortune 500 companies and cost her company millions in revenue. She wanted to stuff her fist in her mouth for fear of screaming. Somehow, she held herself in check but each step felt shakier than the last. She should’ve stayed in Chicago, to do damage control. No, that hadn’t been possible. Her family had needed her. She had no choice but to come. But that left her with nothing but tatters for a career and no way to fix it while stuck on the island.

  And Heath—she cast an accusatory glance over her shoulder at the man as he climbed from the surf—could just go to hell. He didn’t know her, didn’t have the right to poke around in her personal business and certainly didn’t have the green light to start giving her advice.

  So whose advice would she listen to, if not her family, or a man who’d known her since she was ten years old? The question snuck up out of nowhere and she almost couldn’t believe her own brain had thrown it at her.

  Well, she didn’t have the answer. Besides, it was a dumb question.

  Lora needed to focus on what was truly important and that didn’t include philosophical discussions about the meaning of life with Heath Cannon!

  And for the tiniest, most infinitesimal moment she’d been enjoying herself. She’d actually started to see what others saw in the man with that killer smile, warm gaze and smoking-hot body. She shook her head as if to shake out the memory of her reaction to him. Not helpful, at all.

  To add another layer of complication to the matter, Lora was beginning to think that Grams had been trying to play matchmaker all those years. She’d been oblivious to the fact when she was young but now…there were too many instances where she remembered Grams had helpfully tried putting the two together on tasks. She could only imagine what the woman would’ve tried if she were still alive.

  And if Grams was matchmaking, she could bet Pops had also been in on the plan, too.

  “Well, it’s not going to happen, not now, not ever,” she muttered as she shook out her sarong and wrapped it around her torso, not caring that it was getting soaked, and then jerked on her tank top over that ridiculously small bikini top just in time to watch Heath storm to the Jeep without once looking at her.

  Of course, Pops, in his diminished mental state, would giggle like the Mad Hatter at the idea of Heath and Lora linking up romantically. She sent a glance to the heavens and grumbled under her breath, “Grams, you can forget about it. It’s not going to happen. I can promise you that.”

  As if in retort, the skies suddenly took that moment to open up, drenching her in the forecasted tropical rain within seconds.

  Lora ran for cover, shouting, “Not funny, Grams. Not funny, at all!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  HEATH TOOK TO THE DRIVER’S seat and Lora balked that he would make that assumption.

  “I drove here,” she pointed out stiffly, and he flat-out ignored her. “What are you doing?”

  “Ready to put a cap on this day. There’s a cold beer waiting for me and you’re holding me up.”

  “We have work to do. Don’t you remember?” she asked, irritated that he was willing to blow off his commitments just because he was in a snit. “There are bigger problems than whatever you’re going through. Or do I need to remind you?”

  “Shut up and get in, Lora,” he demanded with exasperation. “Or stand in the rain and get soaked. Either way, I’m leaving.”

  “Technically, that’s my Jeep,” she said, feeling mean and spiteful. “So if anyone’s walking back to Larimar, it’s you.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble but this particular Jeep is mine. Check the registration if you don’t believe me.”

  Her gaze shifted to the glove compartment with uncertainty, and then lifting her chin, she jerked the box open and pulled out the single piece of paper in there. And there it was in bold black lettering…the Jeep did belong to Heath. Damn. This was awkward. She climbed in with as much dignity as she could muster and then buckled up. “Fine. It’s your Jeep. How was I supposed to know? The resort always had Jeeps for work vehicles.”

  “And it still does, but when Pops’s Jeep died, I purchased this one to replace it since I was the one driving them all the time.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s all? Oh?”

  She looked at him sharply. “What else were you expecting?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…an apology?”

  “For what?”

  “For being a colossal ass,” he said, putting the Jeep into first gear.

  “I made a mistake,” she acknowledged crossly. “Does that suffice?”

  “It’ll do I guess.”

  She grabbed the roof handle. “Now, back to the business at hand—”

  “Not tonight,” he cut in, still glowering. “I’m not in the right frame of mind to deal with you on that matter. I need a fresh start.”

  “We don’t have that luxury,” she reminded him, annoyed that he was being so difficult. “We need a new business plan. Yours is flawed.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says the woman who has a degree in marketing as you so scathingly put when you were berating me at the ferry. Remember that?”

  He exhaled loudly and shook his head. “I remember,” he admitted. “But I’m not in the mood to go through ledgers and inventory with you right now. Trust me when I say that it would end badly for us both. Let’s just take some time to cool off and hit it first thing in the morning, okay?”

  She didn’t want to wait, she thought mutinously, which only made her want to insist but she could appreciate his point. If it were anyone but Heath, she would’ve been the one to make the suggestion. “Fine,” she bit out, openly peeved. “But you’d better be ready, bright and early or I will drag you out by your ear because this can’t wait any longer.”

  He shot her a quelling look and a delicate shiver played with her spine as he answered, “Fine,” with equally bad humor. Then he added, as if it were his duty, “You might want to talk with Lilah at least. Sort things out with her. You know she takes thin
gs to heart and your disappointment is probably more than she can handle.”

  Lora rolled her eyes, freshly irritated how Heath felt it necessary to rush to Lilah’s defense when she was a grown woman who didn’t need a champion—she needed a backbone—and in Lora’s experience, adversity built character. “Yes, your knight-in-shining-armor routine is quite touching but I think my sister can take care of herself.”

  “I didn’t say she couldn’t,” Heath said. “But doesn’t it bother you in the slightest that you’ve come down so hard on your sister?”

  Yes. She bit her lip and worried it, the only physical indication his comment had struck a nerve. Of course she felt bad. But if she didn’t make Lilah take some responsibility, who would? Pops? Not likely when he couldn’t be trusted to make his own damn decisions with any confidence. So that left her—making the tough choices. As usual.

  My, my, someone’s preparing for a doozy of a pity party, aren’t we? Will there be cheese to go with that whine?

  It was Grams’s voice, clear as a bell, sounding from Lora’s mind and she could only imagine it was her guilt taking the platform. She wasn’t a martyr. Far from it, she thought, closing her eyes. However, sometimes she was guilty of taking over jobs from people she deemed incompetent—which was damn near everyone—so that the job was completed to her standard.

  “If you raise your expectations of people, it gives them something to shoot for,” she said by way of justification. She dusted at the sand on her arm and shrugged. “I just think that Lilah is capable of more than everyone gives her credit.”

  He didn’t argue that fact, which gave Lora cause to look his way. Her surprise at his silence must’ve shown in her expression because he gave her a grudging nod. “Maybe. But you don’t have to be so tough on her. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Duly noted. Can we drop it now?” she asked quietly. Her head had begun to ache and she wasn’t sure if it were the heat and humidity or something less tangible. Maybe it was guilt. She loved her sisters, even when they drove her nuts because she didn’t understand them at all. They’d always had that twin thing going on that had always made her feel left out. She risked another glance at Heath but he was focused on driving, resignation in his expression. She could only imagine what he must think of her—likely the worst.

  They finished the short drive in uncomfortable silence, the air weighted between them by something heavy that had nothing to do with the humidity.

  Was going home this difficult for everyone? Or just her?

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT HEATH SIFTED through glass he’d collected earlier throughout the island. A few places in town always set aside their glass recyclables for him to pick up at the end of the day and then he sorted through the collected bags, separating for compatibility and color. Once finished, he would fire up the kiln to 1700 degrees Fahrenheit and melt the glass to fuse the pieces. Creating fused-glass art was something he’d stumbled upon in his early twenties but he’d found a kinship with the process of recycling someone else’s garbage and creating something beautiful.

  This task, the focused attention to a single thing, allowed him to let everything else slide away. When he was sifting glass he didn’t have to worry about Larimar or his debt to Pops, or Pops’s declining mental state, and most recently, Lora.

  But tonight, what usually was enough to soothe him, failed to stop the chaotic mess of his thoughts.

  Lora invaded his mind and she seemed stuck there.

  He groaned as he dropped a brown bottle back into the bucket, crunching glass as it fell. He stood and stretched, his back protesting from sitting in one position for too long and went to the window. He had a great view of Cruz Bay from his place and it wasn’t far from Larimar. It’d been his childhood home—his parents had had the grace to leave it to him when they’d helped themselves to an early grave from living la vida loca for too long—and he’d gutted it to the foundation, ripping out memories along with the walls so he could build new.

  So this place was his—not his parents’—and he was proud of it, but tonight, nothing seemed to relax him.

  Damn you, Lora, he wanted to mutter. It’d taken him years to get over that woman. How many relationships had he walked away from because the woman hadn’t measured up to the fantasy he’d concocted about Lora?

  And the kicker? He’d never even kissed her. Yeah, how’s that for being a total clung, as the islanders would say.

  In the beginning, he’d hoped Lora would see him as more than the boy whom Pops had unofficially inducted into the family, but Lora had built a wall around herself, insulated against the world with books and papers. There’d been plenty of times he’d watched her unnoticed as she spent hours curled on the terrace, a book in her hand and an untouched glass of iced tea beside her.

  There were a handful of times—likely she didn’t even remember, but they were etched in his memory—that he’d seen a glimmer of the girl she’d been before he left the island. Her laugh had lit up her eyes—a lot of people didn’t know that Lora had an infectious laugh—and she had a wicked sense of humor. Her quick wit was unparalleled. He’d always secretly enjoyed verbally sparring with her. He’d been a challenge for her because he didn’t automatically back down like most did when Lora turned that razor-sharp tongue on someone. And, of course, he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit that her looks had always snagged his attention. And time had been kind. A part of him had shamefully hoped that she’d lost some of that dazzling star quality that had always made her stand out even when she was doing her best to hide herself from everyone else.

  He’d tried to tell himself to move on, that the girl plainly wasn’t interested, but even as his brain had berated his interest, his heart had stubbornly taken no notice.

  It wasn’t until she’d left the island for college and her subsequent visits became sparse and far between that he’d finally been able to put some distance between his unrequited feelings for Lora and regain some of his dignity.

  But now that she was here again, those long-buried yearnings were stirring again and he hated it.

  He stifled a groan when he realized he couldn’t stop dwelling on Lora. It was his teenage years all over again, and who the hell ever wanted to relive those?

  He had no room in his life for a spoiled, cold-as-ice woman with less of a heart than the roughest of sea pirates, so why did Lora remain in his thoughts no matter how hard he tried banishing them?

  A knock at the door was a welcome interruption. Billy Janks, a friend and native islander with ancestors who traced all the way to the sordid past of St. Thomas’s slave days, smiled his wide, white grin against the dark tone of his skin, as he wiggled two coconuts against his chest like a pair of well-endowed breasts. “Nice,” Heath said, opening the door for Billy to pass through. “Fresh?”

  “Of course dey are fresh, mon. Why you be dumb?” Billy retorted, his grin never fading. Billy’s Crucian was as thick as it came, but having grown up on the island Heath could easily understand whereas a tourist would’ve been left scratching their head. Not to mention, he and Billy had been friends since he could remember. Billy looked like a Rastafarian with dreadlocks and a long and lanky build, his deep rich island color shiny in the sun that he covered with only the barest of clothing, but he owned his own charter company and made his money taking tourists on pleasure rides around the Virgin Islands. So while Billy may look as though he couldn’t rub two pennies together, he probably had more money in the bank than Heath. “How de glass come?”

  Heath flicked a short glance at his bucket and accepted a coconut to crack open. “Not good. My head’s not in it, I guess.”

  Billy’s brow lifted in surprise. “Why so?” Then his expression turned knowing and he scowled. “She back?”

  Heath didn’t have to clarify. Billy knew. “Yeah,” he said, moving to the back porch so he
could crack open his coconut. “She had to come. You know what’s happening at Larimar and with Pops. She’s got power of attorney for the estate and the only one who can sign legal documents.”

  “She no good,” Billy said, his disdain for Lora evident in his pursed lips. “She break you heart witout looking back. She poison, mon.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” he teased his friend. “You don’t know her like I do.”

  “From what I remembah, you don’ know her as well as you tink, eithah,” Billy said, removing the machete from Heath’s hand as he started to position the coconut. “You always suck at breaking coconut. Here, I do.” With one quick swipe the machete cracked the coconut down the seam and split it open. Then he and Heath settled into the chairs to watch the night waves roll in. “Why you get so crazy over dis woman? You find someone else, less stress. I find you good island girl. What you tink of Rhonda? She fine, mon.”

  “And that mama mad sick, too,” Heath countered with a little Crucian slang as he twirled his fingers at his temple. “What you trying to set me up with crazy women who’ll likely turn me inside out when she done? And here I thought we were friends.”

  Billy let out a healthy laugh. “Plenty true. Okay, no Rhonda, but any woman is better than dis Lora. She break your heart again and again. Is bad, mon.”

  “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” he said, agreeing, but Billy’s expression remained skeptical. He chuckled and handed Billy a spoon to dig into his half. “Relax. I’m not asking her to marry me. But I need things to go smooth with Lora so I can get the gift shop out from underneath Larimar. As it stands, all my inventory is wrapped up in Larimar and if I take it out it’ll breach my contract.”