by Kate Pearce
“How are they going to fix it?” Rio interrupted his father. “It’s beatable, right?”
“They are planning a partial surgical resection in a month’s time. That’s apparently the best they can do to contain it.”
“What’s the difference between beating it and containing it?”
Graham sighed. “There’s a high chance that, even if they get as much as they can out next month, it will reoccur within five years.”
“What kind of chance?”
“Seventy percent.”
Rio felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. “That . . . sucks.”
“I am aware of that.”
Silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece over the log fire.
“Were you going to tell me at some point, or did you intend to keep me and Mom in the dark?” Rio asked.
“I intended to mention it when I asked you both to meet me in San Francisco, but—” Graham stopped talking.
“What?”
“I know you won’t believe me, but it was such a pleasure to see you both again—especially because your mother appears to have forgiven me—that I didn’t wish to spoil the moment.”
“You could have used it as leverage to get me back into your company,” Rio pointed out.
“That’s true, but it didn’t seem fair. I’d rather you came back because you believed in the company and the people within it than force you out of some kind of twisted guilt.”
“If you’d tried to force me to come back using your illness as a reason, I’m not sure what I would’ve done,” Rio confessed. “I’m not certain I wouldn’t have resented the hell out of you and walked away forever.”
“I understand.” Graham cleared his throat. “I’ve reached a financial settlement with Jennifer, and we’ll be divorcing fairly soon. As she pointed out, she didn’t sign on to nurse an elderly sick man. I quite understand how she feels.”
“I don’t. What a fricking coward,” Rio said. “Good riddance.” He tried to clear his throat, which had suddenly gotten really tight. “Do you want me to tell Mom?”
“It might be best to wait until after I have the surgery. I don’t want to alarm her.”
“Okay.” Rio considered that and looked his father in the eye. “And what do you want from me?”
“You know what I want.”
“Me back in the saddle at Howatch International as opposed to riding bareback on a bull.”
“Perhaps a compromise?”
Rio blinked at Graham. “A what? You really are sick, aren’t you?”
“Indeed. When I am unable to handle my responsibilities, I would like you to step up and act in my interests.”
“Vote on the board and make the big decisions?” Rio whistled. “That’s a big ask.”
“I know.” Graham hesitated. “I won’t hold you to any promise to succeed me, and I don’t expect you to be there full-time. If you choose to walk away once I’ve recovered, I won’t stop you, but I would hope, if you make that decision, that you will have found someone to replace you, and eventually, me.” His faint smile was laced with exhaustion. “It might take me several years to die, so at least we have that.”
“I can’t promise anything right now,” Rio said carefully. “I need to think about this.”
He stood and stared down at his father, who was wearing a Morgan Ranch T-shirt and an old dressing gown that looked like it had once belonged to Roy. He must have left his belongings at the hotel. Graham looked smaller without the armor of his bespoke suit, like he was wasting away into the darkness.
“How can you be so calm?” Rio burst out. “Why aren’t you screaming and railing against the unfairness of this?”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Graham agreed. “I’ve known for a few months, so I’ve had time to make some plans, but it is still a shock.” He chuckled. “I thought I had everything under control—my life, my work, and my health—and guess what? It was all an illusion.” He put his glasses on the side table. “There’s a lesson in there for all of us, Aurelio. Even you.”
“Yeah.” Rio nodded. “You should get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, son.” Graham eased himself back against the pillow. “Turn the main light out on your way, will you?”
* * *
Yvonne woke up in a panic in an unfamiliar bed that smelled of lavender, leather, and her favorite cowboy. She flung out a hand, but there was no one else there. She lay on her back and tried to remember where she was.
Morgan Ranch. Rio’s bed.
He’d placed her on the sheets, kissed her, and gone away. At least, she didn’t remember him leaving because she’d fallen asleep, but he’d obviously left. She peered at the clock on the bedside cabinet, and realized it was two-thirty in the morning. Where was he?
She eased her feet down onto the scarred oak floorboards and cotton rag rug. She was still fully dressed, and had left her sandals downstairs in the boot room. Opening the door, she went and used the bathroom, and then hesitated on the landing. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a faint glow of light that she figured came from the kitchen.
She tiptoed down the stairs and along the hallway, pausing in the half-open doorway to see Rio sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Her heart constricted at the sight of his bowed shoulders. She’d never seen him look totally defeated before. Without alerting him to her presence, she went to sit opposite him.
He didn’t look up, but she knew from the way he braced himself that he knew he was no longer alone. She reached out, curved her hand around his elbow, and just stayed quiet. Keeping him company in his distress, which was so obvious he couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t feeling it.
Eventually he spoke.
“I’m not really up for company right now, Yvonne.”
“Okay.” She assumed her most neutral tone. “But remember that friends thing? If you want to share, I’m right here.”
“My father is sick.”
Yvonne considered her next words. “I thought he didn’t look too well today. Is he going to be able to fly out tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “He’ll probably leave regardless.”
“Did you fight?”
“No.” He still hadn’t looked at her. “We talked about what was wrong with him, and when I should tell my mother.”
The stark pain in his words reached her and made her catch her breath. “Are you saying he’s really sick?”
“Yeah. Cancer.”
She struggled to find words. “He’s receiving treatment though, good treatment?”
“The best money can buy, but it might not make any difference in the end.” He eased his hands away from his head, and spread them flat on the pine table. “He’s going in for surgery next month.”
“Rio, I’m so sorry. . . .”
He cut her off. “Don’t be sorry for me. I’m fine.” He stood and headed for the door. “I just need to think things through.”
Yvonne followed him out of the house, down the steps, and toward the barn. Despite the season, it was cold outside, and she fought a shiver.
He finally stopped by the tack room and watched her approach, his expression devoid of its usual good humor.
“You don’t need to follow me around.”
“I’m worried about you,” Yvonne said. “Just talk to me, okay?”
She held her breath as he considered her for a long moment, and then suddenly started speaking.
“Why should I care what happens to a man I’ve spent the majority of my life hating, ignoring, or despising?”
“Because, despite everything, he’s still your father?”
“What the hell does that even mean?” he demanded. “He gave me life, he made that life as difficult as he could when I was a kid, and now . . .” He shook his head. “Now, I’m upset? What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Maybe because, for the first time, you were beginning to see a differe
nt side to him?” Yvonne suggested gently.
“He’s not a good man, Yvonne. Don’t try and make this into some kind of goddam fairytale where I forgive all his sins, and everything is okay again.”
“I would never do that.” She shook her head. “Life isn’t that simple.”
“Good, so we finally agree on something.” He lapsed into silence again.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
He frowned. “I don’t.”
“At some level, maybe you are blaming yourself for everything from your parents splitting up to hating your own father, to him getting sick.”
“No, I’m trying to work out how I feel right now.”
“Nothing happens in a vacuum, Rio. The way you feel now is a reflection on what happened before.”
“I couldn’t stop my parents splitting up.”
“Exactly.”
“I can’t change anything.” His mouth set into a hard line.
“You can change how you feel about it,” Yvonne suggested.
“Don’t give me that psychological bullshit,” he retorted. “He’s dying. I shouldn’t be sad. I should be fricking delighted, but I can’t be, so what does that say about me?”
“That you’re a good person?”
He looked away, and shook his head. “I’m an idiot. I can tell you that right now.”
“Okay.”
His gaze snapped back to hers. “What the hell does that mean?”
“So you’re an idiot.” She shrugged. “You’re just like everyone else, a confused mass of good, bad, and everything in between. You can be angry with your father and feel sorry for what he’s going through right now. You’re not that child who had to stick up for their mother one hundred percent anymore. You’re you.”
He stared at her as if she had two heads, and she tried again.
“Can’t you just accept that you can both love and hate someone at the same time?”
“No.”
“Then I can’t help you.” She held out her hand. “I need to get home. Can I borrow your truck?”
“I’ll take you.”
“There’s no need.” She smiled at him. “You probably want to spend some time with your father before he leaves.”
“I’d rather see you safely home. I’ll be back before he even wakes up.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue with him at this point. “Fine. I’ll just get my shoes, and leave a note for Ruth.”
She walked back into the house, wrote her note, and propped it up against the coffeepot. When she came out, Rio’s truck was right next to the house. Unlike the grim-faced man beside her, it was already warming up.
She didn’t speak on the return journey, her thoughts far away with her parents, and the choices she’d made about Paul, and coming back to California.... Her anger with herself and her parents had mellowed over time, and become manageable. It wasn’t their fault that they’d died so suddenly in a car crash. They hadn’t deliberately abandoned her. She remembered the good times as well as the bad—that her parents had loved each other, which was why she existed.
Maybe Rio would reach that point eventually. Maybe she’d been a fool to push him to understand things that he just wasn’t ready to hear. It was hardly her business anyway, was it? She pressed a hand over her aching heart, watched the darkness start to lift, and deliberately counted her blessings. Paul was leaving today. She was a one hundred percent officially divorced woman with a business to run, and a lot of good friends. Rio would be leaving town soon, too—whether to go back to bull riding, or to help out his father, she had no clue.
She couldn’t make his decisions for him. She couldn’t make him care enough to listen to her, just like Paul, and she wasn’t going to knock herself out begging for something she could never have.
Rio drew the truck to a stop at the back of the shop, and she immediately grabbed the door handle, and jumped out.
“Thanks for bringing me home.”
“Yvonne . . .”
“Can we leave it right now? I’m tired, you’re tired, and you obviously don’t want to listen to anything I have to say. Talk to Josie, talk to your mom. I’m sure you’ll work things out.” She slammed the truck door, and walked away from him.
It was the only thing left for her to do.
Chapter Twenty
Despite Ruth’s pleas for him to stay, Graham left the ranch without insisting Rio give him any answers at all. That was a first. Rio watched the helicopter rise in a swirl of choking dust, got back in his truck, and sat there staring at nothing. He didn’t feel angry anymore, just numb, like he’d come off a bull and had the breath knocked out of him.
The last thing he’d said to his father was to call him when he got back to Boston. He’d never done that before. For the last five years, all the overtures had come from Graham. Which led to another question. Graham hadn’t just called him when he knew he was sick, and he hadn’t initially used his illness to force Rio back on his board.
Hell, Graham wasn’t even doing that now. Not that he needed to. Rio obviously had enough sense of family responsibility to consider helping out a man he’d despised his entire life. But why did that rile him so much?
Can’t you just accept that you can both love and hate someone at the same time?
Yvonne’s words floated back into his head. Dammit, he needed to talk to her, and apologize for snarling like a savage beast. She, of all people, didn’t deserve his anger. Decision made, he started the truck, turned in a circle, and made his way down toward Morgantown.
It was still relatively early, and Yvonne would be baking in her kitchen before the café officially opened at eight. He pictured her there, moving through her endless list of tasks with the grace and charm of a ballerina, and the discipline of a five-star general.
Had she finally given up on him last night? Had she realized he was another idiot like Paul who didn’t appreciate her? She’d looked tired and defeated.... He’d done that to her. One thing he did know was that she’d survive him, her capacity to deal with betrayal and the vagaries of life was apparent in every bone of her body. That was one of the reasons why he admired her so much.
He parked in the lot behind the row of shops, and went to the back door of the café. Just as he was about to knock, his attention fixed on the business next door. The door was wedged open by a body and an out-flung arm.
“Deus,” he whispered. “Margery!” and rushed over to kneel beside the woman, who was stretched out on the floor, papers scattered all around her. He immediately felt for a pulse, and found a weak one. A quick check revealed no obvious injuries, so he took off his jacket, made a pillow for her head, and stood up.
“Yvonne!” He ran and hammered on her door.
Her face appeared at the window, and she slowly unlocked the door.
“If you’re here to start shouting at me again, Aurelio Martinez get lost.”
“Margery’s collapsed,” Rio said. “Can you call an ambulance while I find Nate Turner?”
“Oh! Of course!” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll be right there.”
He went back to Margery, who still hadn’t stirred. Her skin was quite cold, and her fingertips were blue. He wondered how long she’d been lying there as he sent a text to Nate.
To his relief, the deputy sheriff appeared around the corner of the row of shops, talking into his mic as he ran toward Rio.
“Ambulance is on its way,” Nate confirmed.
“Great.”
“Has she been robbed?” Nate asked, one hand on the weapon at his hip.
“I didn’t look in the shop,” Rio confessed. “I was more concerned about her.”
“Then hang there while I go take a look.”
Rio focused his attention on Margery as Nate drew his weapon and stepped over the body, disappearing into the gloom of the interior.
“Is she all right?” Rio looked up as Yvonne crouched down beside him, a blanket in her hands.
“She’s still
alive,” Rio said. “Nate’s inside checking the place out.”
As he spoke, Nate returned, a frown on his face. “Everything looks great in there. No sign of a break-in or a struggle at all.” His mic clicked, and he listened to some communication that sounded more like frying bacon than actual words.
“Got it.” Nate nodded. “Ambulance is almost here.”
“Look.” Yvonne, who had been spreading the blanket, pointed at something in Margery’s clenched hand.
Nate crouched down, pulled on a pair of gloves, and gently eased her fingers away from the two brown plastic prescription bottles. “Shit. Oxycodone and antidepressants.”
The ambulance turned into the parking lot, and two paramedics emerged. Nate handed them the pills.
“Possible overdose.”
The woman knelt and shone a light into Margery’s eyes. “Yeah, her pupils are like pinpricks. We’ll take her to the ER.”
Within a few minutes, the ambulance was loaded up and heading out of town, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Rio bent to pick up his jacket just as Yvonne gathered up her blanket.
“You okay?” Rio asked her.
“I’m fine.” Yvonne looked down at the blanket as she folded it into a precise set of squares. “I’m glad you found her. She wasn’t here when I arrived last night, and I haven’t been out since. Ruth said Margery wasn’t herself. I wish I’d paid more attention to her and not just got mad about that stupid petition.”
“To quote a wise person I know, you can’t blame yourself for everything.”
Yvonne almost smiled. “Who was that incredibly wise person?” She turned toward her door. “Were you coming to get coffee or something? The café isn’t open yet, but you’re welcome to help yourself.”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”
“I don’t have a lot of time to talk right now.” She went to move past him. “I was already behind because I slept in, and now it’s going to be even worse.”
“Yvonne.” He caught her elbow. “Just give me a minute, okay?”
She still wouldn’t look properly at him, but she at least allowed him through the door into the entrance lobby.
“I want to apologize for taking out my frustrations on you last night rather than keeping them to myself.”