“No.” He raked a hand through his hair, counting to three before continuing so his irritation wouldn’t show. “Thank you for being concerned enough to call. The absences are all unexcused, so please feel free to administer whatever punishment Bree has earned according to school policy. She’ll also receive punishment here at home, of course.”
Not that it would matter. Gavin could no more control Bree than he could coax table grapes into becoming Dom Pérignon. Christ, what a mess their tenuous relationship was turning out to be.
The vice principal cleared her throat. “Mr. Carmichael, I don’t mean to pry, but . . . well, we have excellent counseling services here at Pine Mountain Middle School. Perhaps Bree might benefit from talking with one of our staff members.” Her voice softened considerably. “Thirteen is a difficult age for all girls. To lose her mother and move to a small town on top of that is . . .”
“I’m grateful for your concern, Mrs. Wilkerson,” Gavin interrupted, hoping he sounded like it. The woman probably meant well, but having a touchy-feely chat with a middle school vice principal he barely knew wasn’t on his agenda. Talking with Bree herself was hard enough.
“I’ll make sure she knows it’s an option. In the meantime, can you let me know if she misses any more classes? I’ll make sure she makes up all of her incomplete assignments.”
He wasn’t about to tell Mrs. Wilkerson how many times he’d asked Bree if she wanted to go to counseling in the last ten months. In hindsight, Gavin realized she automatically shot down anything he suggested, from where they lived to what they should eat for dinner. All this arguing couldn’t possibly be what their mother had had in mind when she’d named him Bree’s sole guardian.
Then again, she hadn’t planned on breast cancer stealing her life at fifty-three and leaving both of her children orphans, either.
Gavin thanked Mrs. Wilkerson again and replaced the receiver with a deliberate snick. He was due at La Dolce Vita in less than an hour to get the waitstaff and the front of the house ready for tonight’s dinner service, and prep for the upcoming weekend would entail all the usual insanity. Still, no matter how seriously he took his job, Bree took precedence over work. If he left now, he’d get to the school just in time to pick her up, saving her from the bus ride she always grumbled about.
Plus, even though he hated to admit it, if they were in the car together, she’d be a captive audience, and he wanted to deal with her latest defiance before Mrs. Teasdale arrived. While Gavin wasn’t crazy about having the elderly sitter keep an eye on her while he worked, Bree’s track record for troublemaking left him no choice. Plus, the babysitting service had yet to come up with a single decent candidate for a full-time nanny, and Mrs. Teasdale had agreed to stay until that happened. Even in sleepy Pine Mountain, he felt safer knowing not just that Bree was on the straight and narrow, but that she wasn’t alone. Just in case she needed anything.
Not that she’d let on if she did. Why did she have to make it so hard just to talk to her?
The metallic scrape of a key in the lock cut his thoughts in half, and the jolt back to reality mingled with his shock as Bree bumped the front door open with a jeans-clad hip.
“I was just coming to pick you up,” Gavin said, voice flattening over the words before she could fully cross the threshold. The instant their eyes locked, her fluid movements screeched to a halt, and she reached up to pluck her earbuds from their twin perches beneath her honey brown hair.
“I was just coming to pick you up,” he repeated over the tinny screech of music blasting through her now-loose earbuds. Bree made a face like she’d just gotten a whiff of something terribly rotten, but didn’t move from the doorframe.
“You do realize that only the geeky kids get picked up by their parents. It’s totally embarrassing.” She squared her shoulders, defiant and too-thin, to fix him with a stare. God, when had she gotten so tall?
“I thought the bus was embarrassing,” Gavin replied, a frown bracketing his mouth. “And anyway, I’m your brother, not your parent.”
“Half brother,” Bree corrected forcefully. “Who’s supposed to be at work.”
Gavin buckled down and blanked his expression. He should’ve known they were going to do this the hard way.
“And you’re supposed to be in school. You don’t get out until two-forty. It’s barely ten after,” he said.
Bree’s arms shot around her rib cage, the knot of gangly limbs creasing the front of her army jacket as she held herself with snug resolve. “My last class is study hall. It’s kind of optional, you know?”
Gavin’s level voice met her hormone-fueled bravado head-on. “How about English class? Is that optional, too?”
Her chocolate brown eyes widened for an instant before she rolled them. “English is lame. The schools are so much better in Philadelphia. I don’t see why we can’t just go back.”
Guess they were headed down memory lane.
Stellar.
“We can’t go back because I have a stable job here that doesn’t require me to travel.” Had it really been only a year and a half ago that he’d gone from one glittering city to another, fixing up failing restaurants until their management staff could handle things on their own? San Francisco, Santa Fe, Chicago . . . the memories were already blurry around the edges, replaced by words like stage 4, aggressive chemotherapy, and double mastectomy. Gavin shoved them away.
“All my friends are in Philly,” Bree said, unwrapping one arm to place a petulant hand on her hip.
He arched a brow, unable to help himself. “The same friends who tried to talk you into shoplifting?”
Bree’s mouth settled into a hard scowl that contradicted the youthful prettiness of her face. “That was a misunderstanding. I didn’t do anything wrong. The police even said so!”
As much as it irritated Gavin to get phone calls from the vice principal, it sure beat the day he got called to pick Bree up at the police station. “Still. Both of your so-called friends were happy to say you knew what they were up to when they stuck those CDs in your backpack.” Thank God for the security tape, which clearly showed she’d been unaware of the other girls’ actions.
“Like I said, it was a misunderstanding.” She clapped her mouth shut, par for the course at this point in the discussion. Gavin had tried no less than a thousand times to get her to talk about it, but Bree never opened up. He’d spent weeks afterward alternating between being fearful for her future and highly pissed off at her lack of good judgment.
They’d ended up moving to more rural and definitely safer Pine Mountain less than a month after they walked out of the police station.
“I’m all ears if you want to clear the air.” Gavin knew she’d probably shoot him down yet again, but still the offer came out anyway. Wearing her down wasn’t exactly how he wanted to go, but at this point, he was nearly at the end of his rope. Bree gripped the sides of her jacket hard enough to blanch her knuckles, an odd, impossible-to-place expression flickering over her face.
“All the kids here think you’re stupid if you don’t ski.”
“You want to learn how to ski?” What the hell? Thirteen-year-old girls should really come with a manual. “Is that what this is about?”
“No,” she shot back, her rapid-fire blinking making it impossible for him to meet her eyes. The odd expression was gone from her face, painted over with an angry coat of frustration. “God, you just don’t get it!”
He clung to his reserve like it was a life raft on raging seas. “You’re not really helping me here, Bree. What does skiing have to do with you cutting English class?” Desperate, he sifted through a handful of possible parallels, each one more absurd than the last.
“Just forget it.” She huffed out an exaggerated breath, angling her face away. Damn it, this was impossible. Maybe if he gentled his voice, they’d at least get somewhere.
“I can’t forget it, Bree. You’re cutting classes and failing English. If you need help, we can get you a tutor, but we’re not
going to fix this unless . . .”
“I don’t need a tutor! And you can’t fix this. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
The words flew out before he could stop them, low and quiet. “Because I promised Mom I’d take care of you, that’s why.”
Bree froze, midglower, her expression slamming shut. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I hate this. I hate you.”
Before Gavin could respond, Bree was gone, just a blur of olive drab and surly attitude whooshing down the narrow hallway toward her room. The tooth-rattling slam of her door a moment later punctuated the silence with a rude clap of wood on wood.
“Glad we had this little chat,” Gavin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Part of him wanted to go after Bree, to sit her down in a chair and wait out her anger with methodical precision so they could just deal with this and start moving on. But the more he tried, the tighter-lipped and more defiant she got. Even though she was no longer hanging out with a bad crowd, she was still toeing a dangerous line. If he couldn’t figure out a way to get through to her, it was only going to get worse. He needed a way to reach out to her, some kind of bridge between them that they could both cross without stomping their feet.
Of course, the best shot he’d had at bridging the gap and having the family he’d always wanted had left him just shy of the altar.
“Knock, knock.”
Gavin’s head jerked around even though the voice coming from behind the storm door was gentle and familiar. “What? Oh . . . sorry, Mrs. Teasdale. Come on in.” He waved the kind, elderly sitter past the storm door, dodging her crinkly-eyed look of concern with a stiff smile.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, dear. You must’ve been off in your own little world. Is everything all right?”
The irony smacked against his ears, but he held his ground, determined not to let it get to him. “Absolutely. Bree is in her room. She’s had a bit of a rough day.”
Mrs. Teasdale bobbed her silver-gray head in a knowing nod. “Well, don’t you worry. I’ll make a nice cup of hot cocoa and go check up on her. See if maybe she feels like talking this time.”
Gavin exhaled a slow breath as he scooped up his keys and said good night to Mrs. Teasdale. As he drove toward the restaurant, he found himself praying harder than ever for that bridge.
If he didn’t find a way to reach Bree soon, he was going to drown trying.
Chapter Two
“Hey! I was starting to think you’d forgotten me.” Sloane softened the accusation with a playful smile as she rose from her plush seat in the reception area. Morton House Publishers didn’t do anything halfway, and the gorgeously appointed offices served as case in point. Belinda flashed a smile as she took Sloane’s hands and airily kissed both of her cheeks.
“You’re a one of a kind, sweetheart. Nobody who meets you ever forgets it.” She gestured to her office, already beginning to glide down the hall in a blur of ash blond and stylish navy blue. “Sorry I’m running behind. Things have been crazy, as usual. Here, let’s make room for you.” Belinda scooped up a foot-high pile of manuscripts from her client chair, and Sloane had to laugh.
“And I thought my work space was a mess.” She dropped into the chair as Belinda moved yet another thick sheaf of paperwork from her own seat.
“Controlled chaos,” Belinda said with a mischievous smile, although it didn’t last. She tapped a folder on her desk with one perfectly manicured hand before sliding a handful of papers from beneath the cover. “Listen, sweetie. We need to talk about this proposal, and I’ll tell you the truth. The news isn’t good.”
The back of Sloane’s neck prickled as Belinda’s words registered in her brain. “Okay.” Come on. How bad could it be? She’d written three sexy bestsellers, for God’s sake. They’d just walked past framed pictures of her book covers in the hallway.
“I hate to say it, but I just don’t love the small-town vibe you want to go with. We’ve branded you as an author who writes about these exotic places and the exotic men that go with them. Your readers are expecting that, honey.” She paused for another tap-tap on the proposal in front of her, this one accompanied by a frown. “They want hot Sven, the ski instructor from the Swiss Alps, not Small Town, Big Love. And I’ve got to say, I’m with them.”
Sloane’s gut bottomed out somewhere around her hemline. “I thought maybe a change of pace would keep readers from getting bored.”
“The market is totally saturated with sleepy-town stories right now. And anyway, your readers are far from bored.” Belinda shuffled through more papers on her desk, plucking a sheet from the pile and passing it to Sloane. “Just look at the latest reviews.”
Her stomach did a twist and flip as she scanned the page. Phrases like More of the same, Allejandro was smokin’ hot! and Can the next hero be Greek? Please?! leapt off the printout. “Okay, but when I was in Europe, I only went to France, Italy and Spain, and I used those in my first three books.”
“But that’s only three countries out of the entire continent. Think of this—we could even go with a world tour theme. The first three were so popular, the possibilities for continuing the series are really endless. Although, if you flip through all the reviews, Greece is the number one request for book four,” Belinda said with a knowing smile.
Sloane’s attempt at a swallow fell woefully short. “I’ve never been to Greece.”
In order to really get a feel for something, she had to be immersed in it one hundred percent. Otherwise, no matter how well she researched the details, they came out flat, or worse, inaccurate. She’d never written anything set in a place she’d never been. It seemed impossible—how could she get it right without firsthand knowledge?
Belinda eyed her, a flicker of sympathy crossing her shrewd features before she pushed up her glasses and flipped back to business mode. “I know this is hard to hear, but it’s better that we work through the strongest ideas now, at the proposal stage.”
“I really thought Small Town, Big Love made the cozy setting feel exciting and fresh,” Sloane said, working the last-ditch effort. Not that small towns really were exciting or fresh in reality. The most thrilling thing she’d experienced during her year in Pine Mountain was when the town approved turning the four-way stop at Main Street into an actual stoplight.
Damn it, Belinda was right.
“Being seduced in a gondola by a brooding yet brilliant Venetian painter is exciting and fresh. And it’s what you’re good at. It’s what you do.” Belinda paused, folding her hands over the proposal Sloane had sent her. “This just isn’t good enough. I’m sorry.”
Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked to keep them at bay. “So, what are you saying?” Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be . . .
Belinda’s quiet tone did nothing to soften the blow of her words. “I need a solid draft of the Greece book within the next four months, five tops, otherwise we’ll have to drop you.”
All the breath left Sloane’s lungs in a sharp whoosh. “Five months?” She’d have to be in Greece no later than eight weeks from now, ten at the most, in order to make that fly.
“You can do this, Sloane. And if the Greece book passes muster like your other three, it could take your career to a whole new level.” Belinda arched a flawlessly penciled brow at her. “I’m talking about the definite possibility of another multibook deal, and numbers big enough to add New York Times bestseller beneath your name. You could write your ticket, here. What do you think?”
Her gut jumped. It wasn’t like Sloane was a stranger to living out of a suitcase, and she hadn’t been to Europe in a while. She’d moved to Pine Mountain to support her best friend, but not only had Carly embarked on a hugely successful career, but she was getting married in less than two weeks, to boot. Just one thing stood between Sloane and a plane ticket out of Dodge, and it definitely wasn’t small potatoes.
Her bank account had been running on fumes for the last few months, and she’d bee
n counting on the advance for Small Town, Big Love in order to get by. If she couldn’t even pay the rent in teeny-tiny Pine Mountain, how the hell was she going to haul her cookies to Greece to write a book?
Sloane swallowed past the tight knot of her throat. She should just open her mouth and tell Belinda that an extended trip to Europe wasn’t financially feasible. After all, maybe Belinda would understand and they could work on some heavy edits to Small Town, Big Love.
Or maybe you’ll lose the only career you ever truly loved because what you’ve got just isn’t good enough.
“Sloane?” Belinda interrupted her rising internal panic with an expectant look, asking again, “What do you think?”
She pushed a too-big smile to her lips and brightly replied, “I think I’m headed to Greece.”
The Great Hippopotamus of Dread was back, and Gavin’s first reaction was that it had put on a few pounds since yesterday.
“I’m so sorry, Gavin. I know this leaves you in a bind, and I hate to think of Bree all by herself. Poor girl.” Mrs. Teasdale worried her lip, tossing a glance over her shoulder at the car she’d left running in the driveway. “But there’s nobody else to take care of my sister, and now that she’s gone and broken her hip . . .”
“No, I completely understand. Family first, of course. And don’t worry, I’ll come up with something for Bree.”
Exactly what he’d come up with was a bit of a freaking mystery, seeing as how he had to be at La Dolce Vita to supervise a liquor delivery in forty-five minutes. And of course it was Friday, their busiest dinner service of the week, so calling in sick—hell, even being late—wasn’t an option.
“Bree keeps to herself, but she’s a good girl. Oh, I wish I could be in two places at once. I just hate to worry about the two of you,” Mrs. Teasdale apologized, already turning down the walkway in a rush. “I hope you find someone for her.”
“I’ll figure something out, don’t worry. Drive safely.” Gavin lifted his arm in a single wave, watching her car disappear down the road before exhaling a breath that resembled a steady leak.
Stirring Up Trouble Page 2