by Caro Carson
Having her own place should have been exciting, and Kristen was certain she’d been performing her role of independent young woman admirably, fooling everyone. No one except Kayla suspected the truth she was masking: she was on the edge of a horrible heartbreak, clinging as best she could to her belief that she and Ryan belonged together. Her sister’s empathy had evolved into concern this month. Concern was so very close to pity.
Kayla lowered the paper to peer at her once more. “I finished the rest of the column. It’s not horrible, but I think the Rambler might have used the letter p just a bit too much, playing off the ‘power of the punch.’ Was that the part that tortured you?”
Kristen shook her head.
I can’t do this. I can’t pretend anymore.
“What part bothered you?” Her sister was waiting, no pity in her expression…yet.
“The part that said ‘Sunday, November first.’” Kristen choked out her words. “He isn’t ever coming back, is he?”
Then she put her head down on the kitchen table and cried.
* * *
The phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
In the inner sanctum of Ryan’s office, it was only a blinking light on the phone on his desk. Screening calls was his assistant’s job, so Ryan could work without interruption. But his assistant was not here, and the incessant noise from the phone in the outer office had broken Ryan’s concentration. He answered the damned phone.
“Roarke speaking.”
“Roarke speaking here, too.”
“Hey, Dad.” Ryan tossed his pen onto his desk and sat back in his chair. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s November first. You know what that means.”
Ryan tried to recall which sporting events were nearby. “It means you’re calling me from the PGA tournament at Newport Beach.”
“It means it’s Sunday. A day of rest. Part of the weekend. What are you doing in the office, son?”
Ryan rubbed his jaw. It had turned slightly black and blue the day after the horse had butted him in Montana. Everyone in LA had assumed he’d been hit by a model’s jealous ex. In a nod to his boxing reputation, friends and acquaintances had been equally sure the other guy must look worse. Ryan the Player, everyone’s favorite hero. Never would they have guessed he’d been hit by a pure white horse attached to a white-ribboned carriage.
That day had changed him. If he’d skated close to the edge of being a Casanova before Montana, then he’d been a monk ever since. No one noticed; men still clapped him on the back in approval and women competed for his attention in vain. People saw what they wanted to see.
Except his dad.
“You haven’t taken a weekend off since when? July?”
Ryan had a feeling his dad knew exactly when. “Somewhere around then. I’m not putting in a full day here. Just a few hours.”
“Then meet me at the club. It’ll do you good.”
Golf was his dad’s thing, not Ryan’s. Boxing, surfing, those were Ryan’s preferred leisure activities. Actually, he hadn’t been surfing since July, either. The boxing, though, he’d used like a drug for the past four months, throwing punches until his brain was numb, almost wishing for a hard hit to knock all the thoughts out of his head.
“Humor me. Come hit a bucket of balls with your old man.”
Ryan supposed the fresh air would do him good. When he showed up at the club’s driving range, he got much more than that.
“Your mother and I have been having some serious discussions about the future of the firm.”
Thwack. Damn if his father couldn’t make those balls sail. Ryan chose an iron from his golf bag and addressed the ball that had been teed up for him by a trendy automated machine.
“We want to retire earlier than our original timeline.”
Ryan ignored the ball and turned to address his father instead. “Have you had some news I should be aware of?”
A week after Ryan’s trip to Montana, his father had driven himself to the hospital with chest pain. He’d escaped any permanent damage beyond being chastised by his wife and son for not calling an ambulance, but the doctors had labeled it a wake-up call. It had been one for Ryan, as well. There was no way he could abandon his parents and their law firm for a Montana dream. The whole idea of living in a cowboy town had been a whim, anyway.
Kristen had been real.
Real, and out of his reach.
“I’m as healthy as a horse,” his dad said. “But that’s the point. I’d like to take my wife around the world while we’re healthy enough and young enough to enjoy it. That’s always been one of our goals.”
Ryan felt the weight of the firm settle on his shoulders as he turned back to the tee. His parents deserved the good life, and to give it to them, Ryan would become the only Roarke in Roarke and Associates. They’d groomed him to take over someday, and he was ready. It didn’t matter if that day came now or ten years from now.
I will still want you next month, and the month after that.
Kristen’s words were never far from his mind. If Ryan followed in his father’s footsteps and retired a few years early, he could move to Montana, guilt-free, in thirty years. That would be swell, if Kristen still wanted him thirty years from now.
Thwack. Ryan sent the ball on a long, hard drive.
His father approved. “Nice hit. We should think about beefing up the Associates part of Roarke and Associates before we retire. We’re not trying to burden you any more than you already burden yourself. What do you think about offering partnership to Lori?”
The next ball had been teed up for him. Ryan knocked the holy hell out of it with his nine-iron. “We’d be smart to make Lori a partner whether you retire or not. We’ll still need to hire an additional attorney. I’ll start the headhunt.”
“When? You’re already working seven days a week.”
Ryan readied himself for another swing, but his father reached across the low wall that partitioned the driving range and placed his hand on Ryan’s shoulder.
“Let me tell you another one of my life’s goals. I want my children to outlive me. That might make me a selfish old bastard, but I think I deserve to leave this earth without seeing you or Shane or Maggie leave it first. Every parent deserves that, whether they get it or not.”
“What the—for God’s sake, Dad. What kind of talk is this?”
“You’re scaring me, Ryan. No one works as many hours as you’ve been doing and lives to tell the tale. Whatever demon you’re trying to exorcise with work is winning. You need to try something else. Find a healthier way to forget whatever it is you’re trying to forget.”
Forgetting Montana and its breathtaking scenery, he could do. Forgetting the ideal of living in a small town, forgetting what it was like to belong to a community, all of that he could do. They’d been pipe dreams, Norman Rockwell pictures that were too perfect to be real.
Forgetting Kristen? He couldn’t.
He’d been trying to adopt a brotherly attitude toward her. He was watching out for her best interests by staying away. She had a better chance at finding happiness in life and love with a cowboy who’d grown up where she had. She needed a man who understood ranches and horses and that pace of life. It was better for her if he stayed away. He’d learn to deal with it.
“I mean it, Ryan. You’re working yourself into an early grave.”
Ryan traded his nine-iron for his driver, a better club for beating the crap out of an inanimate object. “This is serious talk.”
“It is. Now lighten up.” His dad clapped him on the shoulder one last time and stepped back to his own tee. “Go home. Vegetate. Take a pretty girl out to dinner.” Under his breath, he added, “Today.”
Ryan looked in the direction his father was looking. He recognized the actress, and she recognized him. She chan
ged direction immediately, walking toward him in her white golf skirt like she was walking down a fashion show runway. She had the legs and the attitude to pull it off.
“Ryan Roarke. It’s been too long.” Her hug enveloped him in perfume. Her civilized cheek kiss landed just a little too close to his ear, suggesting more of a lover’s nibble on an earlobe than a meeting of friends. He got the message.
She’d sent him that message before. When word had leaked out that he may have done some work for a Tarantino or a DeNiro, rumors that he would never confirm or deny as part of his professional code, the constant stream of hopeful actresses had become a deluge. That was Hollywood. He wondered what rumor she’d heard this time.
Thwack.
“I’ve got a secret,” she cooed. “I’m doing a screen test tomorrow. Isn’t that exciting? It’s all hush-hush, but you probably already know it’s something for Century Films.”
He said nothing. It wasn’t necessary.
She placed her finger on her full, lower lip, pretending to be lost in thought. “Come to think of it, you introduced me to the man they’ve tapped to be the assistant director. He was in our little group when we took that trip to Carmel. Wasn’t that a fun weekend?”
Thwack.
“You know, if you wanted to go back, I’m free this coming weekend. Who else was there last time? We could call around and get everyone together again.”
“Especially the assistant director.”
She perched on the bench that held his gear, crossing one long leg over the other and swinging her foot. “That would be such a boost for me. If you could arrange it, I wouldn’t know how to thank you.” The low purr of her voice and the come-be-naughty-with-me curve of her smile meant she knew exactly how she’d thank him.
Ryan looked at her, and wished for someone else. “I’m not available this weekend.”
She didn’t give up easily, but after some pointless banter, she did give up. Ryan had no doubt she’d find some other way to refresh her contacts with the assistant director and anyone else who could give her an inside edge to win the role.
“Not this time, then?”
Not ever.
She left him with another perfumed kiss, too smart to burn any bridges. As she sauntered away, Ryan’s father continued working on his golf swing, as if he hadn’t paid attention at all to what was happening on his son’s side of the partition.
Ryan answered his unspoken question, anyway. “Not my idea of relaxation.”
His father only grunted in a neutral way that could have meant anything.
Ryan began working his way through another dozen golf balls in silence. He wasn’t interested in relationships that served careers any more than he was interested in the ones that were merely convenient. For the past four months of his life, he hadn’t been interested in anything. Not in the golf or surfing that were the hallmarks of Southern California. Not in the endless summer of Los Angeles, and worst of all, not in running Roarke and Associates.
The pursuit of happiness, Ryan Roarke’s personal pursuit of happiness, had led him to Montana. He’d fallen in love under the blue sky while looking into Kristen Dalton’s blue eyes.
Fallen in love.
Thwack.
He’d fallen in love, and then he’d gone away and stayed away. Although Kristen had smiled and said she wasn’t worried, he’d hurt her in those last few moments. If his father thought his son was leading a punishing life, Ryan saw some justice in it. He’d been treating himself badly because he’d treated someone else badly.
He didn’t know if Kristen was hurting still. Perhaps she’d moved on.
Perhaps she hadn’t.
He had no way to find out, short of making an ass of himself on the phone with his sister. Maggie worked in Rust Creek Falls’s one law office for an attorney named Dalton. In a town that size, Dalton had to be related to Kristen somehow. If Kristen had been sad or depressed and told her family it was because Ryan had broken her heart, then Maggie would have heard about it. Kristen obviously hadn’t been talking about him.
Brad Crawford, an acquaintance from the flood recovery days, had consulted him about land deeds last month. Ryan had resisted the temptation to ask about Kristen. Brad would have wondered why the heck Ryan Roarke was asking about one of the Dalton girls. Clearly, Rust Creek Falls wasn’t buzzing with rumors that Kristen was brokenhearted over the man she’d spent the Fourth of July with, and Ryan would do nothing to stir up gossip where none currently existed.
No news was good news. It meant Kristen was fine without him.
Thwack. As fast as the automated range teed up the balls, he hit them, full force, full swing, full power. Thwack. Thwack.
“What’s wrong, son?” His father was resting both arms on the wall, all pretense that he was doing anything but worry about his son completely dropped.
I miss her.
“Nothing, Dad.”
Ryan needed to see Kristen again, if only to verify for himself that she was doing fine without him. He wanted what was best for her, so he’d have no peace until he was sure she was happy.
“I want to go back. To Montana.”
His dad raised one brow, a move Ryan realized he’d adopted himself, long ago. “Your sister and Shane are bringing their families here for Thanksgiving in just a couple of weeks.”
“I know. I need to see—I need the change of scene. I’ll tie everything up this week and fly out Saturday. One more document for Crawford came across my desk this week. I’ll handle it while I’m there.”
His father didn’t ask any questions or point out that an overnight courier would be more efficient than an attorney flying to another state.
“Have a good trip, son. Get done what you need to do.”
CHAPTER SIX
Date night.
Maggie Roarke Crawford had been looking forward to this all week. She’d even loaded her sweet little Madeline into the car this morning, driven all the way to Kalispell and gotten her hair done for the event. Seven months after having her baby, some of her most chic outfits fit again. Tonight, she felt a little blonder, a little sexier and more than a little ready to paint the town red. She and her husband, Jesse, had hired a babysitter and headed out to the hottest spot in town: the high school gym.
On Friday nights, when it wasn’t basketball season, of course, the gym became the town movie theater. Maggie loved it. It was a little like watching a movie in one’s living room with extended family, since a sizable portion of the town always showed up. Gossip abounded at the refreshment stand. At the end of the night, the moviegoers all helped stack the chairs.
Tonight’s double feature had started with a romance that was replete with tear-worthy moments. Maggie was pretty sure her husband had started out hating it, but midway through, when the emotional scenes on the screen had made her sigh and cling to his hand with both of hers, he’d relaxed and settled in for the duration.
The second show was going to be the opposite, an action-adventure film full of explosions and cars. Maggie felt the need to stock up on chocolate in preparation. Apparently, so did most of the women of Rust Creek Falls, because the line for the concession stand was an almost exclusively female gathering. Everyone was talking about the romantic movie and its handsome leading man.
Her youngest sister-in-law, Natalie Crawford, was behind her in line, gushing about the movie’s ending to Ben Dalton’s twin nieces. Maggie turned around to join in the conversation.
“Omigosh, wasn’t that the most romantic proposal at the end?” Natalie asked. “I think I’d be willing to go through the wringer just to have a proposal like that. Everything turned out all right.”
“That proposal happened in the nick of time,” said one of the twins. “If he’d done one more jerky thing, I don’t think any kind of proposal could have convinced me to
marry him.”
Maggie wasn’t sure which twin was Kristen and which was Kayla—they looked so much alike—but she agreed with the sentiment. “It was lucky for him that all his jerky things were done to save an orphanage. We can forgive a guy who’s trying to save children.”
“Plus, he had washboard abs,” Natalie added with a wink.
“Yes, there’s that,” Maggie laughed. “Jerks should strive to at least have washboard abs.”
Kristen-Kayla, the one who’d been talking, suddenly pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and made a distressed sound. For a second, Maggie thought she’d sneezed or choked, but no, that had been a sob.
“Ohmigosh, Kristen, are you okay?” Natalie asked.
The quiet twin put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “That movie was pretty sad. It had me in tears, too.”
Maggie and Natalie and the one who must be Kayla instinctively clustered closer to Kristen, shielding her from public scrutiny.
“Let’s scoot out of the way,” Maggie suggested. “Here’s a napkin.”
Although Maggie didn’t really know Kristen, there was an unwritten girl code that rallied them all to help. Maggie was just about to suggest they head for the ladies’ room when the young woman shook her hair back and straightened her shoulders.
“I’ll be fine. Really. I was just thinking that in real life, there’s never an orphanage to explain things away, is there?”
Oh, dear. The poor thing had obviously had her heart broken. Maggie sympathized. “I’m afraid when real guys do jerky things, it usually just means they’re jerks.”
“Is this about the airline pilot?” Natalie asked Kayla, who gave a quick negative shake of her head.
But Kristen did one of those half laugh, half sobs. “It might as well be. I’m starting to think they’re all the same. I was dumb enough to believe the pilot when he said he hated to leave. Now I know he was having a grand time seeing his other girlfriends. You’d think I would have wised up, but no. A handsome cowboy comes through town and I actually believe him when he says he hates to leave me, but he must. They always must go, simply must. I even believed that he was going to come back when the rodeo tour was over.”
