by Erika Kelly
Pressed so close together in the mud room, aware of the clean scent of his clothes, the warmth from his skin, she understood him in a whole new light. “I’m pretty sure you just skimmed over the worst part of the story.”
For the first time, she saw the little boy that still kicked around inside him. That hint of vulnerability transformed him from a formidable champion to a guy just as wounded by life as everyone else. She wanted to get up on her toes and kiss him.
God, that mouth. That beautiful, sexy mouth.
She seriously hated what his mother had done to him. “Your mom left you behind?”
“Yeah. My parents didn’t know, but I heard the whole conversation. I waited for them to get home from the ER so I could see how Brodie was, but when I heard them arguing I didn’t come downstairs. It was a pretty brutal fight. She threatened my dad. Said if he didn’t send me to boarding school or do something about me once and for all she was leaving. And my dad said…” The barest hint of a smile softened his features. “My dad said there was nothing wrong with me. I was a kid.” A bittersweet affection sparked in his smile. “And there wasn’t a chance he was giving me to someone else to raise. That, if she had a problem with me, it was up to her to figure out a better way to reach me. He said we don’t discard our children. We work with them until we get them on the right path.”
“What a good man.” She said it in a whisper, and she couldn’t miss the way his skin bubbled with gooseflesh. She wanted to run her fingers over the bumps. “I wish I’d met him.”
“You’d have loved him. You both have big personalities.”
Will didn’t give many compliments, so when he did…it just…it meant a lot. “So, how are you to blame for Brodie not being in the Olympics? He was, what, nine years old when he got injured?”
“Brodie was a phenom. After the injury, my dad hired a full-time coach to teach us how to use our bodies, how to move and react. If we were going to run amuck, he wanted us as safe as possible. So, as soon as Brodie finished his physical therapy, he was back on the slopes, and he was amazing. Best out of all of us.” He gave a wry grin. “And then, two months away from the Olympics, he hurt his knee again. Wasn’t even skiing. The doctor told him if anything else happened, he could do permanent damage. So he quit, and my mom never forgave me.”
Now that she understood him a little better, the lines around his eyes that crinkled with concern took on a whole new meaning. She’d mistook cockiness for worry that he was being judged. His mom had done a number on him. “That’s really terrible. I hope your dad and uncle made you understand that it’s your mom who’s messed up. Not you.”
His brows lifted in surprise. “I was a handful.”
“Good. That’s how kids are supposed to be. And if she watched you the same way she watched Ruby today, then I’m not surprised you guys didn’t have more bad accidents.”
One half of his mouth lifted. “I like that about you.”
“What?”
“You’ve got my back.” His smile widened, a tenderness softening his eyes. “You’re good people, Delilah Lua.”
Something flowed between them, something hot and magical, and her pulse raced.
But, like flipping a switch, he looked back out the window. “I don’t know what I’m doing with her.”
“Ruby?” she asked.
He nodded.
“You’re doing a great job.”
“I’m so far out of my element here. It’s tough enough raising a kid, but one who just lost her mom? Jesus. I…I don’t want to mess this up.”
“It’s not always going to be like this.”
He turned to her, eyes begging for answers.
“In time, when she feels safe, she won’t want to spend every minute with you. She’ll get bored and want to play. She’ll make friends. But, until then, maybe you could just let her have you.”
“But that’s the whole thing. She can’t have me.”
“What’re you talking about? You’re her brother. She has you forever.” He’s overthinking this.
“But I’m only in charge of her for three months. Then, my brother takes over. Three months after that, she’ll have someone else. She can’t attach to me.”
“Who should she attach to?” She hoped that didn’t sound sarcastic. She meant it seriously.
“All of us.”
“But you’re here now.” How did she get through to him? “Will, your sister needs you right now, today. You might not know what you’re doing, but I promise you’ll never go wrong by giving her the love and security she’s so desperate for.”
“Look, I’m not winging it here. I’m reading books. I’m learning how to handle the situation.”
“She’s not a situation. She’s your sister. And if she can’t get attached to you, then I don’t know what kind of woman she’s going to become. She can’t just be chauffeured from one activity to another. Taken shopping, given meals. She’s not a plant that you water daily. Do you know how lonely she’s going to be? I know it’s none of my business. I haven’t even been here a week, but I know she’s already attached to you. And it hurts to watch you push her away.”
“I work. We all have jobs, just like any other guardian. Just like her mom did.” He perked up. “Her mom was a flight attendant, so Ruby’s used to babysitters. That’s what it’ll be like here. She’ll get used to it.”
“Is that what the books say?”
“Yeah, Delilah.” He registered her sarcasm and shook his head. “That’s exactly what the books say.” He reached for the doorknob and headed outside
Chapter Nine
Movement startled him awake. Early morning light streamed in from around the edges of his curtains. Will tuned into the monitor but only heard silence. Ruby was all right.
He needed a full eight hours of sleep in order to put in the kind of training he’d do for Freefest, so he rolled over, determined to shut down his mind and get in a few more hours. Closing his eyes, he visualized the rails, his skis scraping along the narrow pipes. Turning his shoulder hard, he took flight off the bars and—
“Gee-yup, gee-yup.” The whispered voice accompanied a rocking sensation.
Will jackknifed up. What the hell? He fumbled for the switch on his lamp. Warm yellow light spilled across his navy comforter, illuminating the frail pajama-clad back of the little girl sitting on his bed. Book on her lap, her long dark hair bounced with her quiet movements.
“Ruby?”
Face lit up, she crawled over to him, dragging the open book. Will hadn’t even adjusted the pillows before she’d nestled up against him. “Yook. Hawsey.”
The assault of her warm, cotton-clad body and hair that smelled like sunshine on a field of wildflowers ignited every protective cell in his body. “Yeah, Ruby. That’s a horse.” What time is it? He reached for his phone. Five-fifty four. His alarm would go off in six minutes.
Didn’t make sense to take her back to bed.
“Weed.” She thrust the book at him.
What was he going to do with this girl? None of the advice from the books worked with her. She did what she wanted to do…joyfully. “Ruby, you know the deal. You have to wait until I come get you in the morning.”
“I wake, Wheel.” She nudged the book. “Weed.” She curled up like a kitten against his ribcage, those little knees tilting towards him, her butt against his arm.
Of course he wanted to read to her. How could he not? But if he gave into her now, she’d make a habit of crawling into his bed and asking him to read. They’d do this every morning.
Would that be so bad?
Delilah would tell him to do it. To give her what she needs right now.
But he wasn’t sure he should be taking advice from a woman whose rebellious streak cost her a family franchise. He’d been rebellious, too. Look where it got me.
Still, it was hard to say no to such a sweet, simple request. He pushed up higher and looked at the page. A horse, dog, skunk, and squirrel had to work together to get a stuf
fed animal back to its owner, a red-haired, freckled little girl who lived on the farm and took care of them all.
Ruby glanced up with that sparkly smile, an adoring look in her eyes, and his heart about exploded. She trusted him. Needed him.
A prickly heat skidded down his arms. He didn’t want to hurt her. She’d come to trust him, and then he’d leave. Fin would take over, and then Gray. Then Brodie. How many times could she open her heart only to have the person she trusted bail?
It’d make her feel all alone in the world, and that would change her. Make her hard, closed off. “We’re not reading, Ruby.” Structure would make her feel safe, keep her on the right path. “I told you to wait in your room until I get you.”
Her features crunched in confusion and…hurt. “You weed, Wheel. Weed to me.”
“We read at night before bed. Not at…” He picked up his phone. “Five fifty-six in the morning. Now, if you want, we can read when I get back from my work-out.” Good concession. “And we can read before dinner. But you stay in your room until I come get you.”
He swung his legs out of bed and reached for the athletic shorts he’d tossed on the chair. When he turned back, he found her standing on the mattress in her polka dot pajamas and puffy chicken slippers with her arms held high.
He reached for her, anticipating that moment when she clung to him, relieved when she did because he knew it wouldn’t be long before she stopped loving him so unabashedly. When she’d come to understand he wasn’t hers.
Or did he mean she wasn’t his?
And it sucked because he wished she could have the stability she deserved. He just had to get her used to the way her life would be in this house.
Delilah had grown up in a brownstone—which meant vertical living. From street level, a set of stairs led down to the kitchen and family room on the bottom level. The first floor held the living room and formal dining area. All the bedrooms were on the second and third floors.
Her parents had worked all the time, and her dad had a problem throwing things out, so every floor was cluttered. The comfortable kind, though, with stacks of books against the walls, piles of papers waiting to be filed on the baby grand piano. Side tables held coasters and mugs with the dregs of coffee or tea.
Maybe because she was the youngest, but she’d always loved that evidence of her family around her. That sense that her people had pressed pause on whatever they were doing and would be right back.
The Bowie house couldn’t be more different. With its massive rooms, high ceilings, and plate-glass windows that let the outdoors in, every room looked ready for a photo shoot with Architectural Digest. No piles of books—other than the ones artfully arranged—no unwashed plate with the crumbs of a quiche on the tines of a fork, and no shoes kicked off.
It made her miss home. The way it used to be, before her parents had died. She missed following the trail of her dad’s aftershave to find him fixing whatever plumbing or electrical issue had befallen the big, old house. She wanted to walk into the kitchen and find her mom pouring boiling water from the kettle into mugs. She wanted to snatch a biscotti off a saucer and bite it before her mom could yank it out of her hands. That’s for your dad. Get your own.
But, mostly, she was confused. Her brothers and sisters always praised her food. They thought she had a true gift. So why not give me my franchise and trust me to rock the hell out of it?
Phone in hand, she knew it was time to talk to her brother. They hadn’t spoken since the day after her birthday party, and she needed to make peace with him. She loved him. She loved all her siblings, and she hated being on the outs with them. Plus, she needed to let them know her change in plans.
She’d heard back from Chris. She was in. They’d let her into the competition.
Every time she thought about it, fear immediately squelched the blossoming roar of joy.
Those other five competitors? They were a big deal. Chef Mathilda had a Michelin star, for crying out loud.
She had to keep reminding herself that she had an award, a great review from Harry Morgenstern, and more experience packed into her twenty-six years than most chefs had in a lifetime.
She could do this. Most importantly, if—no, when—she won, she’d get her franchise and the respect of her siblings. Eyes on the prize.
She stepped onto the balcony and hit her brother’s speed dial. As the phone rang, she imagined hanging the Da Nonna’s sign over the funky little space she’d always loved on Bleecker Street. Almost cave-like, it had stone walls and a bay window that overlooked the lively neighborhood.
Of course, she’d stay true to Da Nonna’s standard décor, but she’d add some things that reminded her of her mom and dad. Oh. Maybe she could commission some mixed media pieces from Callie. Like her Dad’s felt Fedora he liked to wear while shoveling snow. Her mom’s strands of pearls and the Pez dispenser collection.
Pick up, Joe. I really want to talk to you.
The leaves shivered as an early morning breeze sailed across the pale green sage meadow. Holy shit. This view. Billowing white clouds shifted across a vast expanse of bright blue sky, skimming the tops of jarring mountain peaks. Jackson Hole, in all its splendor, was laid out before her. She breathed in the clean air, scented with sage and wildflowers and slightly chilled with snow run-off.
Her brother answered, breathless, right before voicemail would’ve picked up. “Delilah?”
“Hey.” Hurt had built up a thick wall of resentment and frustration, but the sound of his voice knocked it all tumbling down.
“I’ve missed you, keiki.”
She could hear kitchen noises in the background. Someone shouting, something clattering. “I miss you, too.” A terrible wave of homesickness crested over her.
“What do you think of Wyoming?”
“It’s great here, actually. Nothing like I expected.”
“Good. Listen, I’m in the middle of the conversation with Tortolli I should’ve had a month ago, but I’ve got your flight information right here. We’re looking forward to seeing you next week.”
“Well, hang on. That’s why I’m calling.” It struck her that this call had the potential to change everything. Telling her oldest brother—a man twelve years her senior, who’d made sure she got to experience her family in the same way he had--that she was staying here for the summer could make him back down and give her the franchise. He’d want her to come home.
In a few days she could be back with her big, crazy family. Back to the life she’d lived before this teeny, tiny glitch of Calamity, Wyoming.
The drag and pull in her soul surprised her. Not to go home, but to stay here. The competition excited her, the idea that she could beat those world-class chefs, the acknowledgement of her talents.
And, of course, Will. She could fall so hard for that man. “Joe, I’m staying here for the summer.”
“What’re you talking about? You’re not staying in Wyoming. Why would you do that?” He must’ve set the phone down because she could hear him talking to someone, but it was muffled and faraway-sounding.
“Joe? Joe.”
He came back on the line. “Come on, Delilah. Don’t punish me. I know you think I’m being too hard on you, but you have to know it was a very difficult decision for us to make. In the end, we made the right one—not only for our business but for you.”
She hardened. “The right decision for me is getting my franchise. It’s what Dad and Mom wanted, and it’s what I’ve earned. Look, I take full responsibility for Harry Morgenstern’s review. You’ve told me a thousand times not to mess with the recipes, and I let my ego get in the way. I shouldn’t have done that in the flagship restaurant, and I’m genuinely sorry.”
“I…thank you. That’s nice to hear.”
“But I should be able to do whatever I want with my own restaurant. And that’s why I’m staying in Calamity. The Bowies are running a competition. Five—well, now, six of the best chefs in the world are competing for a grand prize of a hundred tho
usand dollars. I’m going to use that money to start my franchise, and that way I won’t touch any of the estate money. You guys won’t be investing.”
Her brother was quiet.
With each moment that ticked by, her anxiety grew. “Joe? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” He sounded defeated.
Well, she was sorry to upset him, but she wasn’t backing down. “I’m not going to fail you. I’ll keep the décor the same. I’ll even keep the menu mostly the same, but I’m going to have some other items. Seasonal dishes, a specials board. It’ll be all right, I promise.” Trust me. Trust my cooking.
“Delilah…no.”
No? If she came up with the money herself, he didn’t have a say in this. “It’s in the will that I get a franchise.”
“That’s right. A franchise. I can’t have you opening a restaurant with our name and décor and then have it be a different style of food.”
“I thought you liked my food.”
“I do. But it’s not Nonna Abelli’s, and that’s what we sell. You can’t open a McDonald’s and sell pad thai and falafel. I’m sorry, Delilah. I love you. I think you’re amazingly talented, but you can’t open a franchise.”
* * *
In her apartment in the city, lights flashed across her ceiling all night long. Sometimes red from cruisers, but mostly white headlights. Here, in Callie and Fin’s bedroom at the back of the house, she had…pure darkness.
It was unnerving. Mostly, because her mind compensated for the silence with endless streams of thoughts.
Like the call with her brother. He’d definitively cut her out of the family business. Like, no hope. And it was like he’d pulled out her heart with his bare hands. Because that restaurant was her dad, her mom, her childhood. My life.