by Jordan, Skye
“That’s a good plan.”
Jack disconnected with the weight of the world on his shoulders again, which was when he realized just how good he’d been feeling about having this time to dedicate to his family.
As soon as he put the phone down, Jack heard the front door open. Jacob’s and James’s footsteps clattered on the hardwood, followed by Jen’s plea for them not to run. But the boys bounded into the kitchen and ran straight for Jack.
He crouched to catch them and pulled them both into his lap, dropping a kiss on each sweaty head. “Hey, little monsters.”
They smelled like little boys who’d been playing hard. They were also whiney, tired after ten hours at day care. By the time they wiggled back to the floor, Jen had eased to a seat on a barstool. Jack took Joshua from her arms to give her a break.
“Thanks,” she said on a sigh. “How’s Dad?”
“Oh.” He tipped his head side to side. “About the same. I was just going to put in an order at the deli for him. Can I add dinner for you and the boys?”
Jen closed her eyes on a sigh. “That sounds ridiculously amazing.”
After getting their preferences, Jack added soup and sandwiches for Jen, James, and Jacob.
When he disconnected, Jen was going through the mail. “Did you order yourself something?”
“No. I’ll grab something at the bar by my hotel.”
She looked up and assessed him a long second. Then she dropped the mail, planted her elbows on the counter, and rested her chin in her hands. “Who is she?”
Jesus Christ. He’d forgotten how damn well Jen could read him. “Who is who?”
“Whoever you’re going back to Spur’s to see.”
“Why do you think I’m going to Spur’s?”
“Because you spent a fair amount of time there when you were younger, and it’s only a block from your hotel. Their drinks are amazing, but their food sucks, and there isn’t a bigger food snob on this planet than you.” She shook her head. “You picked up a tourist, Jack? Seriously?”
“Why do you think she’s a tourist?”
“I knew it was a woman.”
Jack sighed and looked at the ceiling. “She’s not a tourist. She works there.”
One of Jen’s golden brows shot skyward. “You come home complaining you can’t find a woman in the mecca of an upwardly mobile, independent, intelligent crowd, then take up with a country waitress you meet your first night back?”
“I have not been complaining.” He looked at Joshua, whose bright blue eyes held Jack’s. “Your mommy is making a lot of close-minded assumptions, kid.”
Joshua’s pudgy hand reached for Jack’s mouth, and he blew a raspberry against the boy’s palm, making him gurgle with pleasure.
“Jack.” Jennifer’s serious voice drew his gaze. “You’ve got to know a woman like that sees you, and dollar signs light up her eyes.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Stupid is a bad word, Uncle Jack.” This from Jacob playing with his brother in the living room.
“Sorry,” Jack yelled that direction. Then to Jen, he said, “But it is.”
“Does she know who you are? Who Dad is?”
“No. We didn’t talk about that, and there’s nothing about me that screams money.”
Except his room at the Fairlane, which his architectural firm had generously offered to cover since he was still technically working. One of the perks of partnership. He was trying to remember if she’d said yes to him before or after he’d told her where he was staying when Jen sputtered a laugh and shook her head. “You’ve been in Manhattan too long.”
“And you’re paranoid.”
“Just be careful what you say and who you say it to, okay? Local guys go there to pick up on the concert crowd, and the waitresses will know the locals.”
“She’s not a waitress.” It didn’t matter, but somehow, he felt the need to get it right. “She’s a bartender.”
“That just makes it worse. You know how people talk at a bar. We can’t have these problems with the business leaking. If employees think we’re sinking, they could jump ship before we get the business back on its feet. Vendors could demand payment up front. Not to mention how this kind of news would kill morale. We don’t need any more problems than we already have.”
She had a point there. One Jack hadn’t considered. He scanned his mind, searching for things he might have said to Miranda. But they hadn’t really gotten past anything more than the basics before they were caught up in sex.
And, damn. The sex.
The mere thought instantly hiked his body temperature.
“I will keep all cats in the bag.” He took a breath before he told her the bad news about his firm. “Don’t give me that all-is-lost look. I’ll only be gone two or three days, and I’ll fly right back here.”
Jen nodded but looked about as happy about his trip as Jack did. This cemented his plan to return to Spur’s tonight. He couldn’t wait almost a week to reconnect with Miranda.
Jack handed Joshua back to his sister. “Take your little monster. I’m going to create a playlist for Dad. See if it perks him up. I’ll give the boys baths and put them to bed before I leave.”
9
Miranda turned onto the property hoping against hope that she’d find Gypsy’s Jeep gone, right along with her sister. Miranda still felt bruised from Marty’s scolding, but that didn’t mean she’d changed her mind.
She crested the rise, spotted Gypsy’s Jeep right where she’d parked it two days ago, and slammed her palm against the steering wheel. “Dammit.”
Miranda had successfully avoided Gypsy over the weekend by putting in crazy hours at Warrior Homes. But there was no getting around her now.
Miranda took a deep breath and resigned herself to facing her sister. Her mind conjured a dozen dreadful reasons she’d come—she was sick, she needed money, she was running from the cops. Miranda had no idea, because in truth, she knew very little about her sister. But the lack of character Gypsy had shown during their mother’s illness told Miranda everything that was important. She’d cut self-involved people from her life as soon as she’d buried her mother. And, yeah, she might have her barriers up, but they were there for good reason.
When Miranda finally pulled up beside her trailer, she found Gypsy on the front deck, sitting in a cheap, uncomfortable beach chair that had seen better days. And she was folding laundry. Miranda wasn’t sure why, but that annoyed the hell out of her. As if doing something as minimal as her laundry could make up for all the hurt in the past.
Miranda shut down the truck and got out. “What in the fuck are you doing? You don’t just go into someone’s laundry, Gypsy.”
Gypsy smiled, amused. “It’s laundry, Miranda, not the secrets to the universe.” She lifted a pair of jeans and shook them out. “Chill. I’m just trying to help. You work so hard—”
Miranda slammed the driver’s door, cutting Gypsy off. Gypsy’s expression sobered, which took Miranda’s annoyance down a notch.
She stepped in front of her truck, crossed her arms, and leaned against the grille. Miranda had a hard time describing the woman on her porch. She’d once known everything about her. Her favorite color, the names of her best friends, details about the creatures in her nightmares. Now, she knew less than she knew about the guy she’d spent Friday night with.
After Marty’s lecture, Miranda was keenly aware of the walls she’d constructed to keep Gypsy out. But her sister hadn’t given her any incentive to break them down.
“Why don’t you just tell me why you’re really here?” she said. “It’ll save us both time.”
Gypsy lifted one of Miranda’s T-shirts from the basket and folded it, then laid it in her lap. “My apartment building burned down. Lost everything but what I had in the Jeep.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Seemed like a good time for a fresh start.”
Miranda barely kept from laughing. “That’s not what you told Marty. You never were a good liar.”
>
“What I told Marty was true. The club was shut down while I was trying to find another place to live. My life turned into a shit storm overnight. It was like the universe was screaming at me to make a change.”
“Why come here?” she asked. “Why didn’t you go to your father’s place?”
Gypsy placed the T-shirt on the pile beside her and reached for another pair of jeans. Miranda watched, her mind veering toward the foreign sight, realizing in the moment that she’d never had anyone do her laundry. Not even her mother. One of Miranda’s earliest memories was of herself literally dragging a basket to the apartment building’s laundry room. She’d been young, and she hadn’t been able to reach the top of the machine to open the lid. Maybe four years old. She’d been helped by another woman who lived in the complex. She also vividly remembered the smell of vomit in that laundry basket. A remnant from her mother’s binge the night before.
“He moved to Switzerland,” Gypsy said. “His company expanded, and he was spending more time there than he was here, so he packed up the family and moved.”
“When?”
“About six years ago.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“I was in college.”
Right. Somewhere fancy. Like Jack. “What did you major in again?”
“Business and business law. Double major.”
Of course. Double major. Why not? “With those degrees, you have all kinds of opportunities. I don’t understand why you’re sitting on my porch folding laundry.”
“Do I need a reason to want to see my sister?”
Miranda gave her a look.
“Evidently, I do.” She sighed and added the jeans to the pile. “I’m in transition, that’s all. I’ve actually been saving money for a while now and would like to invest, make my money work for me instead of me working for my money, you know? Marty was telling me about the business you’re interested in starting. It sounds like we might be a good fit for—”
Miranda put up a hand. “Stop right there. That swanky business school must have skipped the class on the taboo of doing business with family.”
“That’s what contracts are for.” Gypsy leaned forward, lifted the pile of laundry into the basket, then rested her forearms on her knees. “Good business is good business. As long as the market is strong, the idea has merit, and the person you’re doing business with has a credible track record, it’s worth looking into.”
“You don’t know anything about my track record.”
“I know you shouldered the responsibility of raising Dylan and me when you were just a kid yourself,” Gypsy said. “I know you did a better job of it than our mother ever did. I know you stuck by her even when she didn’t deserve it, even when she hurt you and held you back. I also know you were the youngest woman ever to get her welding certificate in the state of Tennessee, you’ve consistently been offered more work than you can take on, and all it takes is one look around this place to see your skill and artistic talent.”
Miranda was shocked Gypsy knew so much about her. Humbled by her sister’s acknowledgment of Miranda’s struggles. She looked down at the ground and ran her boot across the gravel. “Marty talks too much.”
“The point is, I know you sacrificed, Miranda. I may not have been able to see it then, but I see it now. You have the depth of character it takes to create a successful business.”
Marty’s earlier words echoed in Miranda’s head. “You can take twenty years and do this yourself, or you can accept help and be living your dream in two.” But Miranda knew the worst mistake she could make right now was taking money from the wrong person.
She let out a slow breath and forced the tension from her shoulders. “I appreciate the offer, but the answer is no. Thank you.”
Gypsy gave her one of those of-course-you-won’t smiles. “Let me know if you change your mind. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to help.” Gypsy pushed to her feet and passed Miranda on the steps. “Why don’t you shower and relax awhile? Elaina and I will start dinner.”
Gravel crunched under Gypsy’s sandals, and Miranda rolled her eyes at what she was about to say.
“There really isn’t room for you here,” she told Gypsy. Her sister looked over her shoulder. “But I’ll be busy working, so you can sleep on my couch. For a few days.”
Her smile was genuine this time. “Thank you.”
Miranda watched her sister stroll across the common area, set up with picnic benches, colorful triangular awnings stretched between decorative iron posts, and an industrial-size smoker and barbeque Miranda had made from scrap metal. Open, shaded, and spacious, this was where Marty liked to hold cookouts and celebrations with his friends and fellow veterans.
She pictured Gypsy milling among the group. Her sister would probably fit in well. But Miranda doubted Gypsy would be around long enough to prove her theory correct. Once Gypsy had fulfilled whatever self-imposed “visit” she seemed to need with Miranda, she would move on. Maybe to Switzerland. Or maybe wherever Dylan, the roving freelance war correspondent, called home.
Miranda pushed off the truck and climbed the stairs to her deck, where she picked up the basket of folded laundry and brought it inside.
One step in and Miranda halted. Gypsy had definitely been busy today. The trailer was small, maybe eight hundred square feet, but perfect for one person. Miranda had been upgrading the single wide little by little—new windows, doors, siding, and flooring. Added stone fascia two feet from the ground on all four sides and put a big deck on the front, facing the picnic area. She’d replaced the cabinets and sinks, upgraded the countertops. Then she’d played with scrap material and welded shelves and awnings and furniture.
But she sucked at keeping it clean. She never put things away, dropped her clothes wherever, and she utterly loathed cleaning the bathroom and kitchen. Now, the open space containing the living room, dining room, and kitchen was clean and organized. Every surface clear, every appliance sparkling. Through the open door to her bedroom, she saw the bed was made, the pillows fluffed.
“Goddammit,” she muttered, setting her laundry basket down on the sofa. Now she felt like a shit for being so cold to her.
Vowing to keep an open mind, Miranda stripped and stood beneath the hot shower stream. Tension had been coiling in her neck and shoulders since she spotted her sister two days ago, and the heat spilling over her body felt good. Her thoughts instantly drifted back to the shower she’d taken at the hotel and the smokin’-hot man she’d shared it with.
She couldn’t quite believe that had been three days ago. It felt a lot like a dream, and her body burned for a repeat performance. Miranda had an insane urge to show up at Jack’s hotel room to see if he was up for another night together. It might get her away from her sister and occupy her mind, but the aftermath… Miranda had made a concerted effort to avoid loss for years. She didn’t want or need to turn back that clock. But would one more night really be a big deal?
She sighed, opened her eyes, and reluctantly turned off the water. She reached for the towel hanging over the door. Miranda couldn’t ever remember her shower being this clean. The fiberglass walls and textured floor were bright white, the chrome fixtures shiny.
She dried her body and rubbed at her hair. She found Gypsy’s helpful gestures awkward. Cleaning Miranda’s trailer, doing her laundry, cooking dinner—she didn’t quite know what to do with it all. She couldn’t help but think the thoughtfulness came with strings. Like Gypsy was buttering her up for a big blow or cornering Miranda into something.
By the time she had brushed her hair and dressed, the delicious scent of spicy barbeque drifted through the trailer. Despite the growl of her stomach, Miranda had the nearly irresistible urge to call in to the bar to see if she could sub for someone. She really didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever problems and expectations Gypsy had brought with her. But as soon as the thought sank in, fatigue followed, reminding Miranda that if she didn’t slow down and get some good sleep, the stre
ss would catch up with her.
She pulled on her boots, ran her hands through her hair, and looked at herself in the mirror. “Suck it up.”
Miranda slid her phone into her back pocket and exited her trailer. Marty, Elaina, and Gypsy were sitting in the picnic area, lounging in brightly colored Adirondack chairs, each with a drink in their hand while the barbeque sent smoke signals into the cool evening air. A picnic table was set for four with Elaina’s cobalt-blue plastic dinnerware. And by the scents filling the air, Miranda guessed tri-tip and corn were grilling. Her stomach seemed to fold in on itself with hunger.
Miranda approached the group. Marty and Gypsy were talking about the bar.
Elaina smiled at Miranda. “There you are.” She patted the arm of the chair next to her. “Sit, sweetheart. You’ve got to be tired. Marty, will you get Miranda a drink?”
Marty rose and wandered to the iron-framed cutting block Miranda had made to match the barbeque and picked up a pitcher of iced tea. “That feels like a big learning curve,” he was saying to Gypsy. “I’m barely holding it together as it is. I never imagined adding live music and using quality liquor would make as big a difference as it has. Social media isn’t this old man’s game.”
“But it’s how ninety percent of your clientele communicate,” Gypsy insisted. “There’s really nothing to it. You may have to put some effort into creating your presence and gaining followers, but once that’s established, you can automate everything so that it will only take you a few hours a week. Giveaways and announcements are really fun for your customers. I’ve implemented it in a couple dozen different ways, and I’m telling you, they really love it. They’re going out for a good time. The more fun you can create, the more friends they’ll bring, the longer they’ll stay, and the more they’ll drink.”