Copper Lining (The Cardwell Family Series Book 3)

by Christy Pastore

  He frowns. It’s quickly replaced by giggles when Theo tickles his son’s tummy.

  “Okay. Bye, Daddy.”

  Theo kisses them both and heads back inside the trailer.

  Wes glances around the plaza. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to check on Chrissy.”

  “Who’s Chrissy?” The words roll out pricklier than I anticipate.

  A grin turns up Wes’ lips. His eyes sparkle with amusement.

  Damn.

  He thinks I’m jealous. Hell, I think I’m jealous.

  “She’s the owner of two popular restaurants here.” He steps toward me. “No need to be jealous. She’s married with kids.”

  “That didn’t stop my ex from cheating on me.”

  Wes’ face twists, compassion swirls in his eyes. “Well, he’s stupid for cheatin’ on you. But his loss.”

  I watch him cross the square and wave to a bunch of people standing around the square.

  He’s gone for about ten minutes, and when he comes back, he’s carrying a brown bag. “Anyone need an apple cider doughnut?”

  “Ooh, yeah,” says Theo. “Me.”

  Wes nods and hands Theo the bag.

  “What about you? They’re not as extravagant as your cupcake, but . . .”

  “Delicious doesn’t equate to extravagant, but yeah, I’m down for some local flair.”

  Theo hands me the bag and I reach inside. Sugar and cinnamon coat my fingers.

  “How’s Chrissy?” I ask before taking a bite.

  “She’s good. I did some heavy lifting for her.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “I’m very good with my hands.”

  Shaking my head, I shove at his chest. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Wes?”

  I look up to see a young blonde standing in front of us. She’s wearing black shorts and a white T-shirt with the logo printed on it—Sugar Loaf Bakery.

  Visibly caught off guard, his eyes widen. “Sophie. Hi.”

  “You never called me back,” she says and swings her gaze to me.

  “Hi, I’m Minka MacDonald.” I take a step toward her, offering a smile and a handshake.

  “Sophie Hawkins.” She shakes my hand. It’s that loose wrist dead fish grip.

  “Sophie Hawkins,” I repeat, letting out a slight giggle. “That’s fun.”

  She wrinkles her brows at me. “Why is that funny?”

  I laugh. “Not funny, fun. You know the singer, Sophie B. Hawkins. She sings that song ‘Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover.’ Did your mom and dad name you after her?”

  She gasps. “No. No, they most certainly did not. That kind of music is for the devil.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

  Sophie crosses her arms over her chest and glares at Wes. “Is she the reason you never called me back?”

  Wes moves to stand in front of Sophie. “No . . . well, yes actually.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me into his frame. “Minka and I . . . we’re really happy with our relationship. Aren’t we, babe?”

  A possessive hold takes flight in my chest. Nodding, my arm instinctively wraps around his waist. Tingles zap around my body. His fingers dig into my hip, sending another ripple of pleasure straight to my core.

  “How nice for the two of you,” she says flatly.

  I should move away from him. I can’t be this close to Wes—feelings are starting to resurface. Between last night, this morning, and everything in between, this pull between us is hard to ignore.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Sophie,” he says, grasping my hand in his. “We’ve got some work to do. And the market is about to open.”

  She rocks on the balls of her feet. “Okay, well, don’t be a stranger. Come by the tent and say hello. I know how much you like our cupcakes.”

  Wes stiffens but remains all smiles. “See ya.”

  After a long, dreamy look at Wes, she finally wanders off. When she’s visibly out of sight, Wes exhales and releases the hold he has on me.

  “Okay, before you say anything.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “That’s not what it looks like.”

  A giant laugh tumbles from my mouth. “It looked like you were seriously uncomfortable. How old is she?”

  Wes winces. “Twenty-one. I didn’t know . . . she looks way older.”

  I shake my head. “You need your eyes checked. And what’s up with her comment about ‘devil’s music’?”

  Wes tosses his head back and looks to the sky. “God. Religion is alive and well in this part of the South. Unlike with you California hippies.” He laughs.

  “I’d take offense to that, except I was raised in a relaxed Christian home. God was always around, but we didn’t go to church that often.”

  “I don’t see you as the going to church type.”

  “Yeah, you guessed right.”

  When your dad walks out, your mom gets sick with an awful disease, and your marriage falls apart, you begin to question the higher powers.

  Wes grins, and it’s sexy. “You ready?”

  I crack my knuckles. “Let’s do this. Let’s sell everything.”

  People begin approaching the trailer. I watch Wes charm the customers. Theo smiles and asks people which bourbon they want to try. As the bourbon leaves the shelves, I restock and answer questions.

  Every so often I catch a glimpse of Wes. He’s wonderfully sweet and patient with people.

  Did I know this about him before?

  He’s a natural. This is what he enjoys doing. Talking to people. Sharing experiences.

  “Hey, Minka, we need two bottles of Haven’s Hill.” He flashes me that smile that extends up to his green eyes.

  “I’m on it.”

  I duck into the trailer and pull two bottles of bourbon from the shelf. When Theo finishes with his customer, he rings up the bottles for Wes.

  Before I know it, two hours have flown by. I move the cookies out of the sun and onto the corner of the counter where the cool air from the fan blasts.

  “This is awesome,” Wes tells me.

  “Yeah, we’re almost out of Royston’s Rye and Haven’s Hill.”

  He turns his attention to his iPad and logs into his Square app. “I’ve booked two more private tastings.”

  My eyes fall to his lips. I want to taste him.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

  I laugh and stare over the crowd. “Not a . . .”

  What the hell? Zara. What is my sister doing in Kentucky?

  “Hey, Minka.” Wes’ voice drifts over the shell of my ear.

  A man rubs at Zara’s shoulders as she checks out the fresh flowers. He catches her around the waist from behind and she laughs. I nearly gag.

  Wes moves to stand in front of me, effectively blocking my view of the two of them.

  “What are you staring at?”

  “My sister, Zara, is here.”

  His brows shoot up. “Where?”

  “Over there, by the tent with the fresh flowers.”

  The customers pick up, and the drink line is six people deep. Wes guides me back toward the trailer where I continue to schmooze and chat up the brand. All I can think as I stand there, half-listening to chatter around me, is what a hypocrite Zara is.

  Eventually the customers are taken care of, but my sister is nowhere in sight.

  “You wanna go find your sister and say hello?”

  “I’m going to do a little more than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s not her husband she’s with.”

  His jaw drops. “You’re kidding me?”

  “Nope.”

  Wes grasps my elbow and pulls me toward the trailer. “Okay, take a deep breath.”

  Theo sets a paper cup with booze down and slides it in my direction. “Drink this.”

  Wes nods and Theo adds a short pour to another paper cup.

  “Cheers.”

  I take a gulp of the drink, set it back down on the bar, and rest my hip against one of the barstools. Blowing out a deep breath, I stare
around the square.

  I lay eyes on her again, holding hands with the guy she didn’t marry. They’re eating samples of scones or muffins. His thumb runs along her bottom lip, and then he playfully pops the tiny sample into her mouth.

  Shaking with anger, I stride toward my younger sister—perfect wife, daughter, and mom.

  Wes calls out to Theo, “We’ll be back. Handle it.”

  I hear his voice calling out to me, but it’s too late. I’m halfway across the square, passing the water fountain.

  All the damn grief she’s given me over the years about keeping my marriage together. Shaming me, saying I’m raising my daughter in a broken home.

  “Hey, sis.”

  Her eyes go wide, the size of saucers, and the man beside her makes zero effort to take his hands off Zara.

  “Surprised to see me, huh?”

  Zara’s stunned motionless.

  I glare up at him. “You know she’s married, right?”

  A chortle goes through the crowd. I feel Wes by my side before he even touches my back.

  “Wilhelmina, please don’t do this.” Her dark eyes implore me for mercy. “This isn’t what you think.”

  “Really? Because it looks like you’re cheating on your husband. You remember Jeremiah, right?”

  “Let’s talk over here,” Zara motions toward the fountain. “In private.”

  “Not Jeremiah” speaks up saying, “We can explain.”

  We. Anger taps through my veins.

  “You want to explain yourself? Explain to me why you’re in another state with a man who isn’t your husband? This oughta be good, Zara.”

  The crowd parts and Jeremiah appears.

  “Minka, wow, didn’t expect to see you here,” he says and pivots through the crowd toward us.

  Gathering my confusion and emotions, I shove my shoulders back to stand tall.

  He kisses Zara’s cheek. I don’t know what happens next, but he grasps the other man’s hand, and a look passes between the two of them that I can’t explain.

  Wes’ thumb grazes back and forth between my shoulder blades.

  I shake my head. “What the hell is going on?”

  Zara takes a step toward me. “I’m not cheating on Jeremiah, as you can see. This is Connor.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Connor says. He extends his hand for mine, but when I don’t reach for his, Zara does.

  Holding hands in broad daylight.

  What happens next sends my heart pinging all over my ribcage.

  “We’re a throuple.” Her voice cracks, and Jeremiah takes her other hand in his.

  “A throuple,” I repeat.

  My sister smiles and her gaze pings between both men. “Yeah, the three of us are . . .”

  I raise my hand. “I know what a throuple is. No need to explain.”

  “We love each other,” Jeremiah states.

  “That forever kind of love,” Conner adds with a smile at Jeremiah.

  My legs wobble. “And what, are you down here on a lover’s vacation?”

  Wes’ hand falls to the small of my back.

  “How did this happen?” I ask Zara pointedly.

  She lets out a deep breath. “Jeremiah and I were going through a rough patch. We were trying to conceive again, and we were unsuccessful. Depression and loneliness took its toll until we met Connor. He counseled us.” Zara’s head tips up to Connor. “He saved our marriage. Saved us.”

  My head pounds, and tension twists in my stomach.

  “So, do the kids know about your relationship?”

  Zara shakes her head. “We haven’t told them yet. That’s what this weekend away is all about for the three of us, figuring out how to tell them. And then there’s our living situation to consider. Oh, and then—”

  The three of them step away and chatter amongst themselves. As if Wes and I aren’t still standing there. That’s my perfect, selfish younger sister for you. I wonder if Anya knows.

  I don’t give my sister another minute of my time. With only the destination in mind, I beeline back to the Cardwell trailer.

  “Hey,” Theo calls out. “Where’d you guys run off to?”

  Wes tosses the iPad onto the counter of the trailer. “We were helping a couple of . . . some tourists.”

  My hands push through my hair, and I blow out a sharp breath. I’ve never been close with my sister. And this is a curveball I never saw coming. Whatever makes her . . . them happy.

  I pace back and forth, trying to wrap my head around what Zara just told me. I walk around the back of the trailer, away from the crowd.

  “Hey.” Wes leans against the trailer. “You okay?”

  “I don’t know.” My hands wring together as I pace a small hole in the ground.

  Wes places his hands on my shoulders, stilling me. “What do you need?”

  “I need to bake.”

  “You got it.”

  Ashes to ashes . . .

  Minister Jennings says the final prayer at the graveside and our mother’s casket is lowered into the dirt. He offers his condolences and directs us to drop our red roses onto the casket. We walk toward the canopy. The warm May air sweeps around my ankles as I toss my rose.

  Down. Down it goes.

  Bye, Mom. Rest in peace.

  The service was beautiful. Despite the fact that our mother had requested donations be made in her name to a local food pantry and a homeless shelter, flowers filled every inch of the room.

  My sisters stare at me with tears in their eyes. Anya’s dabbing under eyes with her husband’s Burberry silk pocket square.

  He must have a hundred of them.

  “Casually late as always, I see.” This snarky remark comes from Anya. “God, what do the minister and the rest of the guests think of you showing up late to your own mother’s funeral?”

  I keep my sunglasses firmly planted on the bridge of my nose. I’d been up half the night with Celia. She came down with a wicked stomach bug. And I had to be at the airport at five to make my flight. I had no choice but to convince Noah to take care of Cece so I could fly to Chicago for the funeral.

  “Where’s Cece?” Zara asks.

  “She’s sick, unfortunately. I thought it was best to leave her with Noah.”

  Zara’s eyes beam. “Oh, Noah is such a wonderful father. He’ll take good care of Cece.”

  It annoys me to no end that even though my ex-husband cheated on me, my sisters hold Noah in such high regard. At best, Noah is a decent father. Cece loves him, but I get the feeling she’s bored most of the time she stays with him.

  “Are you contagious, Wilhelmina?” This question comes from Anya, who holds the pocket square over her nose and mouth.

  I hiss in a breath and swallow down the urge to put my dear sweet sisters in their place. “Highly doubtful.”

  Zara lifts her chin and sniffs the air. “What’s Cece’s diet like? Lots of veggies? Our kids just love veggies, and I never keep processed food in the house.”

  Your kids like carrots and green beans. At Thanksgiving last year, Brigette and Sinclair pushed their salads around their plates and casually dropped the lettuce onto the floor for their dog.

  Zara frowns. “With all that sugar and white flour Wilhelmina uses, it’s no wonder Cece’s sick. It’s not even flu season.”

  “Did I share my healthy smoothie recipe with you? Oh, and we’ve been powering up with protein.” Anya’s eyes beam with judgment as she assesses me from head to toe.

  Annoyance floods my veins. Recipe? Smoothies are pretty easy, considering the blender does all the work.

  “We have the caterers coming to the house in an hour.” Zara looks up from her phone.

  “Oh no,” Anya shrieks. “The alcohol and wine order. The company can’t fulfill the order. So they just canceled.”

  “No booze? How will we entertain the guests?” Zara opens the back of the limo, and her kids climb inside.

  I glance at my phone when it pings with a message. Cece’s temperature has s
piked slightly. Noah’s taking her to the ER to be safe.

  Cece must be dehydrated. I hope it’s nothing more serious.

  “Why are you on your phone?” Anya snaps at me.

  “My daughter is sick, remember? Noah says her fever’s gone up, so he’s taking her to the hospital. I should go.”

  “You’re leaving?” Zara shrieks. “What about all the guests?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “The two of you can handle it. It will be fine.”

  Anya glares. “Noah just needs to give Cece some Tylenol and lots of liquids. Even popsicles if he can.”

  The annoyance I’ve had sets my blood roaring with anger. The dutiful daughter and sister in me would stay. But the mother in me has a duty to her child. Cece needs me more than my sisters. They’re going to do what they want anyway. And I don’t need the toxicity.

  “I’m going home to be with my daughter. Mom didn’t even want a reception, but like everything else in life, you two have to make it all about you. Enjoy your party.”

  That night when my plane landed back at LAX, I had a few texts from Noah. Cece needed two bags of saline. She was terribly dehydrated. I took a cab home and I baked.

  I baked and baked some more.

  Blueberry muffins for the hospital staff that took care of our daughter.

  Double chocolate chip cookies for Noah and the band.

  And salted caramel chocolate brownies for me and Cece.

  While I baked, my phone pinged with messages from my sisters. And I ignored every single one of them.

  I realized that just because my sisters were my family, it didn’t mean that I had to tolerate the chaos, drama, and obvious disrespect.

  A few days later, when Cece was feeling much better and so was I, Anya texted me and asked why I was holding a grudge.

  I simply replied: I’m not holding a grudge . . . I’m setting a boundary.

  Wes

  After the market closes, Minka and I help Theo load up the truck.

  “Oh dammit,” Theo groans.

  “You okay?” Minka asks.

  Theo runs a hand through his hair and stares at his phone. “Jade just sent a text saying our babysitter for tonight canceled. My sister’s out of town or she could help, but now we have no one.”

  I lock up the trailer. “I’m not doing anything. You want me to look after Sonny?”