by Stacy Finz
“I could. But they’ve been with us from the beginning. They know how we do things and they’re an integral part of the Barnes Group. Besides, they make up for my weaknesses.”
“And what are those?” He was interested because from where he was sitting, she was strong in all things that were important. Strong mother, strong advocate for her son, strong enough to weather a devastating crisis.
She checked on the pizzas, then took the barstool next to him. “I’ve always been the creative force behind the Barnes Group and not particularly good on the business end. That was Mason, Rich and Layla’s strength. Mason was our rainmaker; he brought in the clients and sold them on what we had to offer. I would sooner lock myself in a studio to work on campaigns than have to schmooze prospective accounts. Rich and Layla have picked up where Mason left off. They already succeeded in bringing in a couple of Silicon Valley Fortune 500 companies, which was no easy feat with Mason gone. He was the draw.”
“Why’s that if you were the creative force? Aren’t companies attracted to ad agencies with a track record, agencies known for creativity?”
Her lips curved up in what Ethan could only describe as a wry smile. “The general consensus was that Mason was the creative force, the one with the track record.” She said it as if it wasn’t exactly true.
“But he wasn’t?”
“He was brilliant. Some of our best campaigns were his and the ones that weren’t . . . ” She didn’t finish and instead got up and pulled the pizzas from the oven.
He planned to circle back around to the conversation, even though her issues with her late husband were none of his business. Any further inquiry would cross the line from professional to personal. But it intrigued him. Everything about Brynn Barnes did. And that wasn’t good.
As predicted, Henry and Roni opted to eat in front of the television. Like Brynn, he didn’t usually allow Roni that preference. In fact, he curbed her TV time to two hours a day. He moved to the country so she’d have plenty of land to roam on foot or horseback and to fish and swim in the Feather River. It’s the way he’d grown up and he wanted to pass that down to his daughter.
“What about you?” she asked as they ate their pizza at the bar. “What made you want to become a doctor?”
A soft chuckle escaped his lips because for all intents and purposes his future should’ve been ranching. His older brother carried on the family profession in Colorado and his sister and her husband owned a dairy farm in Vermont.
“Yeah, unfortunately I don’t have a great story. It’s as simple as I spent my youth around livestock and slowly took on the role of tending to the sick animals on our ranch. We had a vet on speed dial but he was a busy man, making house calls to ranches all over northwestern Nevada. So when he couldn’t get to us, the chore fell to me, whether it was dealing with a colicky horse or delivering a breech calf.
“Once, one of the calvings was so difficult that the calf fractured his femur on the way out. I went online, searched a couple of cattle websites, figured out how to set the calf’s leg with little hope that I would do it right or that the calf would even survive. But damn if that femur didn’t heal just the way it was supposed to. I guess from that day on I knew what I wanted to do. I probably should’ve become a veterinarian but somewhere along the way little humans interested me more.”
“What are you talking about? That’s a great story,” she said.
He loved the way a smile spread across her face and made her blue eyes twinkle. The fact was he liked her face—with or without a smile.
“And how did you meet Joey?”
Ah, she was working herself up to the big stuff far more adroitly than he had. “The hospital. Pediatric orthopedic surgeon.” He pointed to himself. “And pediatric orthopedic nurse.” It was your run of the mill office romance. But he really didn’t want to talk about Joey.
“And?” She wasn’t going to let him off the hook. It was only fair after he’d pried first.
“We were once very much in love. But it sounds like you know how that goes.”
She nodded. “I was curious about Roni. She seems to be with you fulltime.” Her cheeks pinkened and her gaze fell to her untouched salad. “I’m crossing a line, aren’t I?”
“I started it,” he said. “Joey got sick last year and needed time to recover. I suspect that our custody situation will change in the near future.”
“I’m glad she’s okay.” She dropped the topic, probably sensing that Ethan was uncomfortable with it.
He in turn reverted to medical mode, talking about what Brynn should expect next Wednesday and explained how Henry’s therapy would work. A physical therapist would come to the ranch and work with Henry under Ethan’s supervision while he documented the progress as part of his research.
“Hey, Roni,” he called to his daughter, noting the kitchen clock. “Time to go.”
They both had an early morning. Roni for school and him for a lecture to a group of pediatric orthopedists in San Francisco about his stem cell research.
“Five more minutes, Daddy.” She held up her hand and through her missing front tooth said, “The thow is almost over.”
He nearly gave in because it was five more minutes with Brynn. But his parenting skills—and a nagging conscience that he was crossing the line into unethical territory—had him scooping up his daughter like a sack of grain and tossing her over his shoulder. “Nope, it’s bedtime for you, bonny Roni.”
He squeezed Henry’s shoulder. “Take care of your mom.”
On his way out the door, Brynn thanked him for the pizza. “And the conversation.”
“De nada.” And because he was a masochist said, “Let’s do it again Friday.”
* * * *
The next morning, before he even had time to go downstairs for a cup of coffee, his phone dinged with a text. A part of him hoped it was someone canceling his talk, which would save him a four-and-a half-hour drive to the city and an overnight stay in a hotel.
But the text was from Joey.
“Any chance I could come Friday afternoon to visit Roni? Maybe I could make everyone dinner?”
He jogged down the stairs, texting her back at the same time. “You can’t come Saturday?”
Alma was standing by the three-thousand-dollar coffee maker—another thing his architect insisted he had to have—when he got to the kitchen. She automatically grabbed his insulated to-go cup and filled it from the machine.
Over the whirring of grinding beans, his phone dinged with a reply from Joey.
“Yes, but I was hoping for Friday, too. I miss her, Ethan.”
“Everything okay?” Alma asked.
“Yep, it’s Joey.” He gave Alma a quick once over. “What time did you get in last night?”
“None of your business.” She pinched his cheek and pulled him in for a peck on the forehead. “Roni’s getting dressed. Do you want me to take her to school?”
He usually did it on his way to work. “If you wouldn’t mind. I’ve got to hit the road.” He wanted to avoid rush hour near Sacramento.
“Do you have time for breakfast?”
“Just something I can take with me.” He stuck his head in the pantry and filched a cereal bar and a banana.
“Clay’s youngest is coming over tomorrow to ride the fence in the back forty.” It was something he liked to do but was always short on time. “I should be home tomorrow evening in time for dinner. This isn’t going to get in the way of whatever you’ve got going in Reno?” He waggled his brows, letting her know that he was onto her.
“Of course not. Veronica and I will hold down the fort while you’re gone, like we always do. Right, sweetie?” Veronica came in, wearing an ill-fitting dress that she’d gotten two Christmases ago.
“Roni, that dress is too small. How about something else?” He’d been having this fight with her a lot lately. Eth
an believed a kid should have some independence, including picking out her own clothes. But he drew the line at shorts in the dead of winter, shoes she’d outgrown a season ago, and clothes in the wrong size.
“Mommy got me this dress.” She pouted.
“It doesn’t fit you anymore, Veronica. Please go upstairs and change.”
“You get going. I’ll take care of it.” Alma clasped both of Veronica’s small shoulders and walked her up to her bedroom.
His phone dinged again.
“Well, would it be okay?” Joey was getting impatient.
She’d just have to wait.
He climbed the stairs, checked on how Alma was doing with the dress situation, and kissed Roni goodbye. On his way out, he swiped the overnight duffle he’d left by the door and stashed it on the front seat of his pickup. He’d been eyeing a new Ford F-150 Raptor but didn’t have the heart to put his old truck down. Despite its wear and tear, it still got him where he wanted to go.
He got to the highway and called Joey. “Does it have to be Friday?”
“I can’t do it tonight. I have a meeting.” Meeting he knew was AA, which was good. She was working to maintain her hard-won sobriety and Ethan was proud of her for that.
“I can’t do it tonight either. I’m lecturing in San Francisco and won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Then what’s the problem? I’ll make dinner on Friday, one less thing you have to worry about when you get home.”
“I have plans Friday night.”
The words dropped like a thud and a long stretch of silence ensued. Then finally, “Can’t Alma chaperone?” Joey asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“I’m doing something with Roni.”
“Oh.” Her voice brightened. “Maybe I could tag along.”
Ethan blew out an audible breath.
“Come on, Ethan. I miss her so much that it hurts. I literally walk around with an ache in my chest all day. Sometimes I call your house, hoping she’ll answer just so I can hear her voice. Sometimes . . .”
“Sometimes what?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want to miss out on any more of Roni’s life. The whole time I was in rehab, Veronica was my north star. Ethan . . . please.”
“I guess we can cancel our plans.” He didn’t want to. From the moment he’d mentioned Friday night to Brynn, he’d been looking forward to it. Ah hell, who was he kidding? He’d been counting the minutes like a kid waiting for Christmas morning.
But Joey. How long was he going to make her pay penance? Even after everything she’d done, he’d never doubted her love for Roni. But more importantly, Roni loved Joey.
When he’d separated with Joey and had gotten a court order barring her from seeing their daughter until she got herself into rehab, Roni constantly asked about her mother. One day Joey was there, the next she was gone. Confusing didn’t begin to cover it. Especially for a four-year-old.
Roni became withdrawn. It took all he had, along with Alma’s help, to coax her back to her precocious self. The thing about kids was they usually bounced back. He always told his patients’ parents that and it was the truth.
But, now, he owed his daughter a relationship with her mother. Something more than insubstantial weekend visits.
“Why don’t you come over around four,” he said, telling himself that it was probably better that he put some distance between him and Brynn Barnes anyway.
“Great. I’ll bring stuff to make that pasta dish you like.”
She used to make it when they first got married. It was the only dish in her cooking repertoire and they’d sometimes have it three nights a week.
He hung up and realized something that had been hovering in his subconscious ever since Joey’s last visit to the ranch. Then, it hadn’t been anything he could clearly identify, just a lightness of being. But now he knew what it was.
He wasn’t angry with her anymore.
Chapter 9
On Thursday Henry felt well enough to get a haircut. Brynn considered driving to Reno but remembered the barbershop in Nugget on the square. She’d seen it when they’d walked to the Lumber Baron. A small, western-style storefront with an old-time red, white and blue barber pole and a wooden bench outside. Ethan had said the owner’s name was Owen.
Henry protested but with a little coaxing Brynn got him to sign on. If he got tired or the pain got too overwhelming they could come right home, she promised.
It was thirty degrees, according to her phone, the coldest day since they’d gotten here. Brynn pulled out their warmest coats and made Henry wear a hat and gloves.
She got the car as close to the barbershop as she could—not difficult in the land of abundant parking. A blast of heat greeted them in the cozy shop and to Brynn’s surprise there were three customers ahead of them. She’d assumed that the shop would be empty in the middle of a workday.
Owen, the man they’d seen in the Bun Boy, gave them a cursory glance, landing for a beat on Henry’s wheelchair. Then he waved them toward a cluster of plastic chairs while he finished with the police officer, whose hair he was cutting. Henry caught Brynn’s eye and she gave him a reassuring nod.
In Manhattan, Henry went to Mason’s stylist for haircuts, where you were as likely to run into one of the Yankees as you were Bill de Blasio.
The men here were more of the rugged variety as evidenced by their wardrobes. Lots of flannel, denim and work boots. Owen and the police officer were deep in conversation with a man sitting a few feet away from Henry.
“What you ought to do is raffle off one them houses and drum up a little publicity,” Owen told him. “That’s what they do on that home network Darla watches all day.”
“I don’t think giving away a house is going to help Griffin kick up his sales.” The police officer swiveled around in his chair, using a hand mirror to check the back of his head. “Owen, take a little more off the bottom, right here around my neck.”
Owen spun the chair so it was facing front and clipped away at the man’s gray hair.
“I’ve got to do something,” the man named Griffin said. “When I bought Sierra Heights I thought it was a good investment. Now I’m stuck with two dozen vacant homes. Yo, Jake, I thought your daughter and her boyfriend were interested in one of the Pine Cones.”
“My daughter has big eyes and a small bank account,” the police officer said. “What about Dana? She’s your real estate agent. What does she think?”
“She thinks the market’s tough right now, especially for homes in the middle of a forest.” He glanced out the picture window at the towering pines in the distance. “No one can get fire insurance, not since half the state burned to the ground. Another reason I’ve got to unload these places. I’m paying through the nose to insure them.”
“What about those BYOBs?” Owen asked and the two men . . . Griffin and Jake, who exchanged glances.
“Do you mean VRBOs?”
Brynn noted that Griffin was trying not to laugh.
“How the hell should I know what they’re called? The places you rent out to vacationers. What about that?”
“I’ve thought about it. But Lina thinks it’ll piss off the actual homeowners.”
“I can see that.” Jake, the police officer nodded. “Who wants to pay close to a mil for a house on a golf course and live next door to a constant barrage of frat boy shindigs, family reunions, and bachelor parties?”
“Not me.” This from another one of the waiting room men, who until now had been reading a magazine and ignoring the conversation. “Griff, bro, love you like a brother. But if you go the VRBO, Airbnb route you can forget me ever cooking for you again.”
“Don’t worry, Brady. Not happening. I don’t want to be a property manager. I just want to run my gas station, build custom bikes, and live large.”
“Come live large in my chair.” Owen
waved Griffin over and went to the cash register to take Jake’s credit card.
During the transaction Jake looked over at Brynn, bobbed his head, and winked at Henry. “Got to go protect and serve. See y’all later.”
There was a chorus of “Bye, Jake” and Brynn watched through the picture window as he got into a Nugget Police SUV and drove away. Henry was watching too.
“I’ve got to go back to work.” An older man about the same age as Owen got up, crunched a Styrofoam cup in his hand, and tossed it in the trash can.
“Bye, Dink,” everyone said in unison.
Brynn was starting to think that she’d landed in another dimension. It was like a re-run of Petticoat Junction on Hulu.
“I still think you should raffle one of them off.” Owen snapped a cape around Griffin’s neck. “Make a big to-do about it, get yourself on TV.”
“It sends the wrong message,” Brynn blurted as three pairs of eyes locked on her.
Griffin swiveled around to face her. “It looks desperate, right?”
She shrugged not wanting to offend Owen. “From the discussion I assume this is a luxury community, yes?”
“As luxury as it gets around here.”
Owen slapped Griffin. “Learn to talk without moving your head.”
“Golf course, swimming pool, tennis courts, riding stable,” Griffin continued, ignoring Owen.
“It sounds lovely. And it’s near here?” Griff nodded, provoking yet another slap from Owen. “What kind of people has it attracted so far?”
The man . . . Brady . . . lifted his head from the magazine again. “Me.”
“What do you do for a living?” Judging by the tattoos up and down his arms he could be anything from a bouncer to a rock star. “And what are your hobbies?”
“I’m an executive chef for a hotel group and I like to run, hike, ski, fish. Not necessarily in that order.”
“And would you say that most of the other homeowners have the same interests?”
“Yeah, most of us like the outdoors or else we wouldn’t be here.”
“Are there ski resorts close by?”