Rainy Day Friends

by Jill Shalvis

  How was it noon already? But if she’d learned one thing at Capriotti Winery, it was that everyone, from the winemaker down to the last ranch hand in the fields, took lunch incredibly seriously. “I’ve got a lot I’m working on—”

  “I know. I also know by how you’re holding yourself that your neck and shoulders are sore, and I’d bet you my very last cork that you haven’t budged since you first sat down at your desk this morning.”

  Lanie sighed. “No, but—”

  “Come on. I’m not going to have you die of starvation on my watch. Besides, today’s Anna’s birthday and there will be extra family members to introduce you to.”

  Lanie had no idea who Anna was. For all she knew, Anna was the housekeeper. It didn’t matter. To Cora, everyone was family, and that word held a whole different definition here than it ever had to Lanie. She thought about resistance but knew it was futile. Cora, she’d learned, was soft and sweet on the outside, but tough as nails on the inside. She was a mom, a grandma, and a CEO of a multimillion-dollar corporation, and she had the spine and spark to prove it.

  Lanie stood up from her desk and stretched her aching bones. Cora was right—she’d been hyper-focused and hadn’t budged.

  Cora’s cell phone buzzed on her hip. She took the call and Lanie watched the good mood vanish from her face. “No can do,” she said. “But we can offer something else in Marcus’s place—” She listened politely, her eyes ice. “No, I realize that he’s quite the prize, believe me. I made him. He’s the king of all prizes and I’ll not see him auctioned off like a prime piece of USDA Choice. I will come up with something else and you won’t be disappointed.” She disconnected.

  “Problem?” Lanie asked.

  “That was the Wildstone Summer Festival chairwoman. It’s an annual event that raises money for the local women’s shelter, and we hold it out here on our property, donating the space, the wine, and the serving staff.”

  “That’s generous.”

  Cora shrugged. “It’s a good cause and it’s good publicity. It’s also on your list of things to do. We need logos for that as well. The problem is the auction. It raises a lot of money every year and I usually donate a few prizes. Last year I auctioned off a weekend working here at the winery.” She smiled. “Made a mint and got some extra labor for the weekend.”

  “Nice. And not seeing the problem,” Lanie said.

  “This year they want me to put Marcus up on the auction block, said he’d make another mint.”

  Lanie had a flash of Mark towering over her, his mouth at her ear whispering all the wickedly naughty things he planned to do to her. He’d kept his word too. Hell yeah, he’d bring in a mint.

  “You don’t agree?” asked a deep, unbearably familiar voice.

  She turned and yep, Mark stood in the doorway, propping up the jamb with a broad shoulder. He was smiling and her gaze went straight to his mouth, remembering exactly what it could do, and she felt heat rush to her face.

  And her good parts.

  His smile said he knew what she was thinking about, which didn’t help.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cora said. “Because you’re not doing it. I won’t have it. We don’t abuse our own here.”

  “And yet you have your grandnieces working in the barn with their hands tied together.”

  Cora didn’t smile. “That’s different. You . . .”

  “What?” he asked.

  Lanie tried to slip out of the room, but Mark didn’t budge from the doorway.

  “You’re still adjusting to civilian life,” Cora said, softer now. “When you didn’t even want to be here.”

  Mark let out a breath. “Mom, you’ve got to stop saying that. If the girls hear you and—”

  “They’re playing outside.”

  Lanie tried to become invisible, but her superpowers failed her. She moved to the far side of her L-shaped desk and looked around for something to do with herself.

  “I think you’re holding back,” Cora told Mark. “Another reason I wasn’t about to let you be a part of this auction. That’s not how I want to push you back to the land of the living, though I do want you to be free to date.”

  “Not happening,” Mark said firmly.

  Lanie tried really hard not to let that bother her. She didn’t want to date either, so she had no idea what was wrong with her.

  “You can’t just shut off that part of your life,” Cora said. “You need companionship. Eventually you’re going to want to be in a relationship—”

  Lanie couldn’t quite catch Mark’s response to that, but whatever he muttered had Cora’s temper igniting.

  “I know you’re not about to tell me that you have no intention of falling in love again, because I raised you to be more sensible than that,” she said.

  He didn’t sigh, but he looked like he wanted to. “I’m going to do this on my own time, Mom. And not even you can rush me.”

  “But you are going to eventually do it?”

  His gaze flicked to Lanie. “We’re done with this conversation.”

  Cora threw up her hands. “Fine. Go. They need help setting the lunch tables. I’ll be right there.”

  Given the fact that she’d just ordered around the biggest alpha male Lanie had ever met, she was thinking it was pretty optimistic of Cora to expect Mark to actually go. Which was why she was surprised at the indulgent crinkle at the corners of his eyes and found herself actually floored when he turned and did as he was told.

  Cora was amused when Lanie just gaped at her. “How did you do that?” she asked. “That was like magic!”

  “No, honey, not magic. A man’ll do almost anything for a woman he loves, but it’s not the big gestures that mean the most. It’s the small ones, if you see what I’m saying.”

  “Like setting the table.”

  She smiled bright as the sun. “Yes, like the setting the table.” She took Lanie’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t give up on him just yet.”

  “Oh. Um, I think you’re mistaken because Mark and I aren’t—”

  “You sure about that?”

  Lanie grimaced and zipped her mouth.

  Cora smiled and patted her on the arm. “You don’t owe me any explanations, honey. You’re both grown-ups.”

  “Then what was that about wanting him to feel free to date . . . ?”

  A smug light came into Cora’s gaze.

  “Oh,” Lanie breathed. “You just wanted confirmation that he and I . . .”

  Cora smiled.

  “You’re brilliant,” Lanie marveled. “And a little scary.”

  “I know,” Cora said.

  Lanie moved to the door and then stopped and turned back. “But really, there isn’t anything going on between us, at least nothing permanent.”

  “I understand. And it’s none of my business.”

  No, but Lanie wanted to make sure there was no mistake. “Neither of us are in a place for it. I’m only telling you this because I don’t want to get your hopes up. In my experience, hope is the first step toward disappointment.”

  “I understand,” Cora repeated gently, but she wasn’t looking discouraged in the slightest.

  Lanie left, hoping that Cora was human and not some sort of a secret guardian angel who granted wishes that were made in the deep dark of the night.

  Chapter 13

  When someone says “Don’t be anxious” and I’m miraculously cured. Not.

  Halfway through the next work week, Mark was in the middle of acting as a referee at a domestic disturbance call when he felt his personal cell phone vibrate in his pocket. Since his family knew to contact him during business hours only with an emergency, he itched to reach for it, but had to ignore it because of the trouble brewing in front of him.

  The wife had made the call on her husband, saying that she’d married an abusive asshole and needed help extracting him from her house. The husband had called immediately after, claiming that his soon-to-be ex-wife was threatening his manhood and life.

&
nbsp; Mark had gotten on the scene to find the man had locked himself in the bathroom and the wife was pounding on the door with one hand, her other holding a lethal-looking spike stiletto heel.

  He’d taken the “weapon” from her and made her sit on the couch in the living room in plain sight while he turned to the still-locked bathroom. Before he could say a word, the wife got in plenty.

  “Come out of there, you no-good, pussy-addicted, lint-licking, soul-sucking piece of shit!” she yelled from her perch on the couch. “I’m going to stab you in the nads with your ho’s shoe! Get out here and take it like a man!”

  “I called the cops on you, you crazy bitch!” the husband yelled through the door. “I’m not coming out until I’ve got an armed protector.”

  The wife shook her head at Mark as if to say, Do you see what I’m dealing with? “The cop is here, you idiot,” she snapped. “I let him in.”

  The bathroom door cracked open. A bleary, red-rimmed eye peeked out and focused in on Mark, taking in his uniform. “You armed?”

  “Yes,” Mark said.

  “Thank God.” The husband opened the door the rest of the way and pointed at his wife. “She’s completely gonzo. I want her hauled off to jail and locked away.”

  The wife crossed her arms. “You’re the one who cheated, you dipshit. And there’s only one chick I know who owns these ridiculous knock-offs and that’s our crack-ho of a neighbor with the store-bought knockers. I’m going to kill you both.”

  Mark grimaced. “If you don’t want to be arrested, you’re going to have to stop threatening him.”

  “Well, then he’s going to have to stop being stupid, and I don’t see either of those things happening.”

  In the end, Mark had the husband leave the home, which belonged to the wife’s family. The guy left for a friend’s house, his parting shot to his wife that he’d see her in court.

  Fine by Mark. Better in court than in the morgue.

  When he was back in his patrol Blazer, he pulled out his phone. The call he’d received earlier had come from the girls’ school. Specifically from the principal. This wasn’t a complete shock. Samantha didn’t like her teacher, and when Samantha didn’t like someone, the whole world paid the price. Twice he’d been called in when she’d gone missing—aka hidden in a tree on the playground after recess had ended—simply because she hadn’t wanted to go back to her classroom.

  He hit the number for the school and got the principal’s assistant.

  “She’s gone missing again,” she said immediately, not as calm as he’d have liked. “Just like the other times, but—”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  Fuck. “And Sierra?”

  “Sitting right here in the office with me eating a Popsicle.” She lowered her voice. “I thought it would entice her into talking because it’s clear she’s not stressed in the least, which in the past has been the signal that her sister is perfectly safe.”

  Not good enough for Mark. “Check the tree in the yard. I’m on my way.” He disconnected and inhaled a deep breath, feeling the overwhelming sensation of being a single parent and not the best one at that. He had no idea what two little girls needed, none, though he gave it his all. Still, he knew damn well he fell fucking short.

  The principal’s assistant called back five minutes later. “Found her. She was in the tree.”

  “My ETA is twenty.”

  He made it in ten. When he pulled up, he realized it was a half day for some sort of teacher thing and the bell had just rung. He called the office and told them he was in the parent pickup line and to not put the girls on their usual bus.

  Her mother’s temperament was making an appearance in every line of her body as Sam trudged angrily down the sidewalk toward him, dragging her backpack behind her, scuffing a path through a blanket of leaves that had fallen in the day’s wind gusts. When the disobedient backpack declined to keep up, she jerked it angrily along with her, huffing and mumbling, sending leaves flying in her wake.

  Mark watched them both approach with a mixture of deep relief and bad self-directed temper that completely destroyed his equilibrium. What was he doing wrong that one daughter couldn’t handle school and the other hadn’t spoken in a year?

  He exited his vehicle. The girls had been walking single file, Sierra in front happily skipping, Samantha behind her, head down, torturing her backpack. Sierra was as put together as she had been when they’d left for school. Samantha was without her sweatshirt, her T-shirt was dirty, and her jeans were torn in one knee, revealing a bloody scratch.

  Sierra beamed at the sight of him. He scooped her up for a hug and she put her hands to his cheeks, patting lightly. An unspoken signal for “go easy on her.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead and deposited her into the backseat before turning back for Samantha.

  “Sam,” he said and she jerked her head up, her bad temper gone in a blink, replaced by sheer joy. “Daddy!” She leapt at him and he caught her, holding her tightly to him. She smelled like oak tree and maple syrup and a little bit like him, and he held on tight, thankful when she squeezed him right back. She laid her icy cheek against his and he turned them, shielding her from the wind.

  “Daddy,” she murmured again.

  Her moods were pure and mercurial, but she loved with a fierceness that pushed everything else aside. And like always in these uncomfortable, unfamiliar moments with the girls that were his entire life, he was forcibly reminded that he was indeed grateful to Brittney for something after all.

  “You’re cold,” he said. “When you take off like that, you need to plan ahead.”

  She looked away, avoiding eye contact. Another throwback from her mother, which meant she was thinking and thinking hard about how to get away with not telling him something he needed to know. “Talk to me, Sam.”

  At this, she leveled her big, dark, soulful eyes on him and gave him the full pitch. “I gave my sweatshirt to Julio. He doesn’t have a sweatshirt and he’s always cold. Don’t tell Grandma.”

  “Grandma would be proud of you,” he said.

  “Maybe for the sweatshirt, but Sierra and I also gave him half our lunches. We always do.”

  “Baby.”

  Her eyes swiveled his way, her outrage clear. “He’s hungry, Daddy. And he was the only one who made Trevor stop being mean to us on the playground.”

  Sometimes Mark was certain his heart no longer worked, and then at other times, like right now, the organ swelled so that it felt too big for his rib cage. “We’ll double the size of your lunches.”

  She beamed at him and he felt a burst of pride that he’d been able to soothe some of the always-just-at-bay guilt that gnawed at him for not being the best parent at times. He’d never intended to raise sweet yet savvy little hellions, but somewhere along the way they’d adapted to his life and become his Mini-Mes. “Now tell me about this Trevor,” he said.

  “He teased Sierra about not talking and he told me I’m a loser who chased off my mommy. But I didn’t chase Mommy off, she left all on her own.”

  Jesus. He wasn’t going to survive parenthood. He pulled her a little closer and brushed a kiss to her temple, wondering just how much jail time he’d do for killing a juvenile punkass kid. “I’m sorry he said those things to you,” he managed evenly. “But I’m glad you know that nothing of what happened with your mom was your fault.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  But God, could she really? Praying that his sins weren’t going to come back to haunt his girls, he dumped her into the backseat, making her giggle. She crawled over Sierra and he leaned in to make sure they were buckled properly, tickling Sierra until she laughed out loud. He stroked a thumb lightly below the scrape on Samantha’s knee. “From your tree-climbing expedition?”

  “Yes. Don’t tell Grandma that either, okay? She says climbing trees isn’t becoming.”

  He snorted and got behind the wheel. Five minutes later, he pulled up to the winery. He hel
ped the girls out and watched them run up the path, waving wildly at everyone just sitting down to lunch on the other side of the fence.

  Everyone waved back and the twins vanished inside, appearing in the yard two seconds later. He strode up the path, smelling the food even from this distance. He felt some of the tension he had been holding off since getting the call about Samantha ease away.

  Lanie was there. Both tables were completely full, and as he could’ve predicted, she was sitting on the very end, looking inside a brown bag.

  She’d brought her own lunch again, even as she looked at the growing food spread with longing. She still tended to hold herself back even after all these weeks, but she did smile easier at whoever approached her.

  Pretty much the story of his life with her as well. She held back, but when he approached and pushed just a little to get past her barriers, she welcomed him in with that devastating smile.

  And that one memorable night under the stars last week, she’d also welcomed him in with open arms.

  “She’s special,” Mia said.

  Mia had come up at his side. His baby sister smiled at him. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

  He pleaded the fifth.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “Mom’s on a mission to mend your broken heart and you’re on a mission that’s counterproductive to that, to never be happy again—”

  “Mia, don’t.”

  She lifted her hands. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m the one who wants to find someone.”

  “You find too many someones.”

  “I’m working on being more selective. Now I’m looking for The One. He needs to have intelligence, charm, and a sense of humor that is insanely fucking naughty.”

  He grimaced. “Don’t need to hear this.”

  “No worries because I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t exist.”

  He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw misery in her gaze. “Okay, who do I have to kill?”

  “No one.” She let out a low laugh. “And don’t think I don’t know that you made a visit to Sean last month.”

  “Who?”

  She rolled her eyes. “My ex-boyfriend.”