by Maisey Yates
“But look at this,” she said, indicating the store. “Look at everything I have. This place. Look what we’ve built. Nobody expected us to be successful, and you know that. And we both are. But I didn’t make it here without you. I appreciate everything you’ve done, Jonathan. But you have to stop worrying so much.” Those words tasted bitter on her lips, because she knew if he had any idea why she was limping, he would cheerfully commit murder.
“Fine. I just wanted to stop in on my way out to Tolowa.”
“I appreciate it. Everything is fine. Completely fine.”
Finally, she was able to usher her brother out of the store. As soon as he was gone, she let out a long sigh of relief. She always felt like he could tell when she was lying. Not that she often lied. She had never really had anywhere to sneak out to when she was a teenager, and she hadn’t ever dated back then either.
The lies she had always told him were that her leg didn’t hurt. Or that she didn’t really want anything for Christmas. That she hadn’t remembered it was Mother’s Day either, and she was definitely not thinking about their mother. Little lies here and there to try to ease his stress. Because he had always done the best he could. To protect her. To take care of her. Those little lies were the way she gave back.
She didn’t want to ask more of him on top of all the other things he did. Didn’t want him to know when she was in pain. Or when she was lonely. It wasn’t his job to take care of all that mess too.
The door opened again and she turned, her heart tumbling down into her feet when she saw Gage come in, wearing his typical uniform of skintight T-shirt and well-fitted jeans. When she thought of how closely he had come just now to encountering Jonathan, her mouth dried, anger spiking through her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought we should talk about the kind of work you’re doing.”
“I think we should talk a lot less.”
“I think you should help me with some of the paperwork I’m going through. And, help me make some decisions about the properties here downtown.”
“What?”
“My dad owns a lot of property here on the main street, which you probably already know. More than just your store. I’m trying to decide what I should personally acquire, and what I should sell off.”
“Wait a second. You made it sound like you’ve been a drifter for the past seventeen years, but drifters don’t burst in and buy prime real estate by the ocean.”
“I got into investing. I’m very good at it.”
“Right, so all that crap about you not living a life of luxury?”
“I’ve had access to a lot of money, I haven’t used it. I didn’t lie to you when I said I’ve spent a lot of time living in shitty motels.”
She gritted her teeth. “It may surprise you to hear this, but I don’t actually care if you lied to me or not. I’m not invested in trusting you.”
He took a step further into the store, and she retreated behind the counter. He smelled good. He had gotten close enough for her to catch a little bit of that clean, masculine scent cutting through the heavy fragrance of the spicy candle that lingered in the air. There was rough-looking stubble on his jaw, and for some reason, she found herself wondering what it might feel like beneath her hand.
She could only figure she had imagined that because she had felt his hands on her before. So it seemed like maybe someday she might have hers on him.
She blinked. That was ridiculous. She wasn’t making sense.
The door swung open and three older women walked into the shop, talking and laughing. Rebecca let out a long sigh of relief.
“Welcome to the Trading Post,” she said, “I’m Rebecca—if you need anything just ask.”
“That’s very nice, dear,” said one of the women, smiling brightly, before turning back to her friends and continuing to talk.
“You did not greet me like that when I walked into your store.”
“Yes, well, I don’t hate them.”
He moved over to the counter, leaning over the surface, and suddenly, it no longer felt like a safe haven back there. No, instead, she felt trapped. He was so very...tall. And broad. He filled up the space so completely, not just with his frame, but with his presence.
“I figure you know a lot of the people who have shops on this street. You might be able to advise me on how I should move forward.”
“A fire sale on all West properties? Everything must go?”
“I could definitely offer that up, though not everybody is going to be able to get a loan. And I’m not entirely sure I want to own anything here in Copper Ridge.”
“It wouldn’t be an issue for you at all if you had somebody managing the properties. Anyway, most of the people that are in their shops on Main Street have been in them for a few years. Everything kind of runs like a well-oiled machine, and none of the businesses are going anywhere.”
“And some of them are empty.”
She knew that he meant the small block of buildings on the very back end of the street, curving around to face the ocean and the wharf. “Yes, those have been empty for a long time.”
“I could sell those or, if I was interested in keeping investment properties, I could rent them out. What kinds of businesses aren’t represented here yet?”
“Why, are you thinking of starting one?”
“Just curious.”
“My friend Lane runs the mercantile, and she has specialty foods.”
He nodded once. “I know. We own that building.”
“My friend Alison has a bakery, there’s a secondhand store...”
“Alison owns the bakery, I believe, but the West family owns the thrift shop.”
“And you own empty buildings.”
He nodded. “Do you have any ideas about what they could be used for?”
“Something that you don’t have to stay around to oversee?”
A smile curved the left side of his mouth, and she wondered if she’d ever seen him smile before. She didn’t think she had. It was strange what it did to his face. Lightened everything up a little bit, like a cloud break in the middle of a storm.
“Okay, noted. You want to get rid of me.”
“Lane might really appreciate the opportunity to buy her building,” Rebecca said. Lane’s business had been extremely successful since the tourism in town had started picking up, so Rebecca imagined her friend had the financial ability to buy the building if she wanted to.
“Then I’ll have to have a talk with Lane. Maybe you could facilitate that?”
“Are you... Are you making busy work for me to do?”
He shrugged slightly. “Not necessarily.”
“You are. You’re making busy work for me to do so that you can pretend that I am working off what I owe you, when we all know that as it is I’m barely going to be able to do it without you allowing me to charge you an exorbitant sum for every hour I’m in your presence.”
“You want the impossible, Rebecca,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “You want to be able to run your store and work enough for me so you’re going to somehow be able to pay back the thousands of dollars that I gave to you. You want to be able to do it without your physical limitations getting in the way. But, you want it to all be fair. You want to make sure that you’re not taking any kind of charity, and I’m not being easy on you, when we both damn well know you need me to be easy on you.”
Stupidly, horrifically, she felt tears stinging her eyes. Because it all felt so impossible. And her pride felt so small, and silly. But she didn’t cry. Crying was useless. It didn’t fix anything. All it did was show people that you were weak. That you were hurt. She refused to do that.
She gritted her teeth, planting her hands on the counter. It brought her closer to him, made her very aware of his size, his strength and the heat coming off of his body. But she did her best to ignore it. “You’re right,” she said, lowering her voice. “I do wish the impossible. I wish that your car had been the one to sw
erve. I wish you had hit the tree. I wish I was fine, and that I had never had occasion to know your name. I just wish...” She swallowed hard. “I wish I didn’t care. If I can’t fix it, I wish I just didn’t care.”
She hadn’t meant to say that. She didn’t want him to know that she was hurt. Yelling at him was one thing, but revealing emotion was quite another.
“Just these,” one of the women said, coming up to the counter, looking at Gage out of the corner of her eyes. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Very handsome friend you have,” she said, putting an array of ceramic birds on the countertop.
Rebecca forced a smile in return and began to scan the barcodes on the birds, getting them all tallied up in the register before wrapping them in plain paper. “Sure, when he’s not getting in the way,” Rebecca responded finally, when she found a way to make her mouth work.
Her head was swimming, and her eyes stung. Her chest felt heavy, and her arm still burned where he had touched her. She wanted to go throw herself down onto her bed and weep for a solid hour. She wanted to yell at Gage some more. She wanted to let him sign the store over to her and pretend that it didn’t matter to her that she had accepted his pity and his charity.
She wanted to be stubborn forever, if only to make him miserable, so that he couldn’t feel like he’d won.
She wanted to feel normal.
She wanted a whole lot of things she wasn’t sure were actually possible.
Fishing a canvas bag with her store logo on it from beneath the counter, she gently put the ceramic birds inside and handed them to the woman. “Thank you for coming in,” she said, surprised at how normal her voice sounded when her insides were a screaming legion.
When the women exited, she was left alone with Gage again, who was still standing resolutely at the counter.
“She liked me,” he said.
“She doesn’t know you.”
“Neither do you,” he pointed out.
She gritted her teeth. “And, I’m never going to. Fine. I’ll help you with this. I’ll help with whatever. And then we’ll call the money you gave me even. And you can carry the loan on the store and I’ll continue to pay you monthly what I already pay in rent. I won’t fight you. Or work myself to death.” The words exited her mouth in a rush, and she knew that she was probably going to regret it.
“Works for me,” he said, his dark brows lifting in clear surprise.
“What?” she asked, bristling. “What’s that face?”
“I’m just surprised that you agreed to anything without fighting me.” He lifted a shoulder. “Although, I suppose that isn’t entirely accurate since you’ve been fighting me every step of the way. I guess I’m just surprised you stopped.”
“I’m not fighting you for the sake of it.”
“Yes,” he said, “you are. But I get the feeling that’s what you do with everybody.”
“How dare you? How dare you come in and comment on how I do anything? The way that I conduct my relationships is my business. And, largely formed—”
“Around that big chip on your shoulder.”
“Who put it there?” she shot back.
“Maybe I did. But, everyone else in your life didn’t. So if you’re going to try and pretend that you only act this way with me, and it’s because I deserve it, go ahead. But I watched you with your friends back at Ace’s.”
She snarled. “What did I say about acting the part of the creepy teenage vampire?” She moved from behind the counter, stomping across the narrow store to one of her seasonal displays, fiddling with a garland of autumn leaves and blowing out one of the candles she’d lit upon entry. She moved it, bringing out a candle that was in the cabinet that housed the display and lighting it. “I was doing just fine without you here. Everything in my life was going well. Yeah, I have to kind of grit my teeth to pay your dad, but it isn’t as bad as dealing with you.”
“Why is it so bad to pay my dad?” She could tell the question was leading, and she found that obnoxious.
“Because you’re all awful. Don’t think I don’t know that. Don’t think it doesn’t bother me that your dad gave my family a massive payoff to keep our mouths shut. Because protecting you was so important, but screw everyone else.”
He laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. “It was never about protecting me, Rebecca. It had everything to do with protecting himself. He’s a master at that. He always has been.”
“Next you’re going to tell me that you’re not bad, you’re just misunderstood. Because you have daddy issues.” She gritted her teeth, resolutely adjusting a small display of scarecrows.
Suddenly, she found herself being hauled backward, pushed until her back was pressed against the wall. And in front of her, six foot plus of hard, angry man. She wasn’t afraid. Instead, she felt exhilarated. This was what she wanted. She wanted a fight. She wanted the chance—the excuse—to haul off and hit him.
Tension swirled inside her chest, begging for release. Physical release. She just wanted to throw herself at him. To fling herself against the hard wall that was Gage West and inflict as much damage as she possibly could. To make him bleed, like she had done. She wanted him to feel even a fraction of the uncertainty, the pain, that she had spent the past seventeen years dealing with.
“Is this what you do with everyone? You push them away with your bad attitude, and then you blame everyone else for the fact that you don’t feel like you can get close to people? Is it my fault that you’re like this? Or is that just what you tell yourself?”
She planted her hands on his chest, momentarily shocked into immobility by the feel of his hard muscles beneath her palms. But then she shoved him back. When he didn’t budge, she was infuriated.
“You don’t get to come in here and comment on my life.”
“What would happen if you stopped fighting for a second, Rebecca? What would happen if you used a little bit of common sense and accepted some help?”
She didn’t like that question. She didn’t like it at all. And it had nothing to do with the fact that she thought he was terrible, and that he had no right to know anything about her life—though, those things were true. No, it had everything to do with the fact that it scratched at the door that she kept locked tight, concealing all of the strange and terrible vulnerable things deep inside.
“I can accept help,” she lied. “I just don’t want to accept it from you.”
“We went from an agreement to this pretty quickly.”
“Oh, you mean to you manhandling me again?”
As soon as she said the words, she became incredibly conscious of the fact that her hands were still planted on his chest, that he was still so close to her she could feel the heat radiating from his body. That she could feel his breath fanning over her cheek, and that it wasn’t off-putting or disgusting in any way.
How long had it been since she’d been close to someone? Anyone? Gage. It had been Gage these last few days. Why was it that this man seemed to just crash through all the walls that she had put up around herself? Everyone else respected them. Leave it to him to knock them down. To get right up in her face, where no one else ever dared to get.
He didn’t pity her. That was the weird thing. He should. Of all the people in Copper Ridge, Gage should pity her. It was his fault. All of it was. From her scars, which he was directly at fault for, to the abandonment of her and Jonathan’s mother after all of the hush money from his father had gone through to their bank account, which he was indirectly responsible for.
But that look on his face wasn’t pity. It was hard as granite, uncompromising and anything but sympathetic. She had gotten pretty good at keeping people from being invasive. Either through her prickly behavior or the way she relied on them not wanting to retraumatize her by pressing for anything.
Gage didn’t seem to mind retraumatizing her at all.
Jackass.
But, right in that moment, the anger inside her turned like an hourglass, the sand suddenly running an e
ntirely different direction. The flip side seemed to be no less intense, but certainly less sensible.
She couldn’t stop staring at the hard lines of his face. The deep grooves on either side of his mouth, the sharp, hard angle his jaw created, emphasized when he was like this, all tense and angry with her. As if he had any right to those emotions. She tried to remind herself who he was, why she was justified and he wasn’t.
Her throat was dry, though, and her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid it was going to drill a hole straight through the front of her chest and tumble out onto the floor, right in front of him. So he could see just how he was affecting her.
She didn’t even know how he was affecting her—how could he see it? She didn’t know what this was. This gathering ball of tension at the center of her chest that wasn’t comfortable, wasn’t pleasant or easy to identify at all.
Of course, her feelings rarely were. Which was why she didn’t particularly like having them. There was no choice now. Like he had torn layers off of her and exposed her without even trying.
“I haven’t manhandled you,” he said, his voice rough.
“This?”
He had his hands braced on the wall on either side of her face, his body pressed so near hers that only her hands on his chest kept him from making intimate chest-to-toe contact with her. “Not manhandling,” he said, leaning a little bit closer.
Her entire world felt like it was pitched to the side then, everything she thought, everything she knew about herself, everything she had learned about self-protection over the years, had been burned straight through, and now he was burning through her too.
She found herself swaying forward slightly and she still didn’t know why. Until, it hit her. Exactly what she had been about to do. Exactly what this mounting tension inside of her was. If it wasn’t rage, and she knew that it wasn’t, not right at this moment, then it could only be one other thing.
And oh, sweet Lord, there was no way he was thinking the same thing. If he didn’t pity her before, he would if he’d realized exactly what she had been about to do.
So she shoved him again, and this time, he lost his footing, going back a couple of steps. “Close enough,” she said. “Anyway, I agreed to help you, I didn’t agree to accept commentary on the way that I handle things, talk about things or engage in my actual relationships. We—” she gestured between them “—don’t have a relationship.”