by Fiona West
“Are you in pain? Did your water break? What’s happening?”
“Kyle, relax,” she laughed, choking out the words. “I’m just happy for Fawzia.”
He sighed in relief, tipping his hat up to bring their foreheads together. “Pregnancy hormones.”
“Could be,” she agreed, and as she pressed her sun-warmed lips to his, Kyle couldn’t help but be glad that his nephew was such a bad listener.
“Love you, Ains.”
“I love you, too.” She grinned. “Now, celebratory ice cream at 22 Below. We promised.” She bounced her eyebrows at him. “Are my chances of getting lucky any better this time?”
He dropped his voice so as not to be heard by the people around them, who were rushing toward the track to congratulate Fawzia. “I’ve been researching better positions for late pregnancy, so definitely. Yes.”
She tossed back her head and laughed, the sun shining off her golden hair. “You, Dr. Durand, were so worth the wait.”
Would you write a review?
Kyle and Ainsley, they make quite a pair.
If you agree, do you think you could share
on Goodreads or Amazon, wherever you lurk?
I’ll tell you a secret: it so helps my work.
And getting to hear that you loved them, too?
Well, it makes my whole week. It’s totally true.
There’s a reason why I’m a novelist and not a poet, but in all seriousness, I would be so appreciative if you could spread the word about this new series! It’s a huge help to my business. Thanks!
Don’t miss a moment of Timber Falls fun!
Could Be Something Good (Daniel and Winnie)
Must be a Mistake (Kyle and Ainsley)
Right Back Where We Started (Martina and Crash—read on for a preview!)
Coming Winter 2020...
More Than We Bargained For (Starla and Sawyer)
Never Say Never (Lizzie and Chase)
Maybe It’s Just Me (Maggie and R.J.)
Also by Fiona West
The Borderline Chronicles (sweet fantasy romance)
The Ex-Princess: a chronically-ill princess who fled from her responsibilities is forced to face the fiancé she abandoned and journey across a magically-unpredictable continent. Can she keep the life she’s given up everything to build?
The Un-Queen: a king caught between love and legality...can Abbie and Edward’s relationship survive engagement and the opposition who wants to tear them apart again?
The Jinxed Journalist: a single mother gets her dream job as a journalist, only to find herself caught in royal scandal, opposing her son’s new mentor. When forced to choose between love and her career, can she still come out a winner?
The Semi-Royal: a doctor takes an expedition with her brother’s best friend that has life-changing results. Can she resist the underlying attraction that’s been there for years?
The Almost-Widow: a security professional finds herself paired with a shy, sensory-sensitive man on the night watch. Can their friendship blossom into something more?
Right Back Where We Started, coming July 24th, 2020!
Read on for a sneak peek!
CARTER PACED IN THE foyer, his bare feet wearing a track in the red Persian rug. She would be here any minute. Martina. The one who got away, she was coming. He wasn’t ready. Well, he was ready; he’d told his mom and the other people who needed to know and the house was clean and he was nicely dressed. But when Cindy called, she’d said Martina wanted to meet with him and his mom before she accepted the job, and he sure as heck wasn’t ready for that. Every time he made another lap, his stomach twisted tighter and tighter, like an alarm clock being wound.
Tires on the driveway gravel. They’re here, they’re here. Don’t freak out. He pulled back the curtains to see them. Martina wore a pale blue polo shirt with the company logo, her hair pulled back in a thick ponytail. She’d obviously straightened it first, then curled the ends. Her height was more obvious next to her boss, who wasn’t exactly short. She was still beautifully curvy, and she kept tugging at the hem of the shirt, like she felt it was too short. Maybe she was just nervous. Of course she was nervous. The real question was what had changed her mind. She hadn’t even looked at him the last time she came here; now she was here preparing to accept his job offer.
They rang the bell, and he waited two seconds before opening the door. “Hello again.”
Cindy smiled brightly. “Hello, Mr. Carpenter, I'm Cindy Hewes. It's so good to see you again.” She stepped into the foyer, and Carter could see the way she appreciated the understated opulence. Some people needed to have a flashy house, a place that proved they'd made it. That wasn't Harrison and Willow Carpenter. Their wealth showed, of course: bamboo floors, paintings that had to be worth millions on the walls, the household staff standing by, the room by room environmental and stereo controls. No random statues or fountains here, no marble. But he'd always found their house very comfortable, very lived-in. He and his brothers Chase and Christopher had left their soccer stuff by the front door like regular teenagers, and their mother hadn't let the staff pick it up for them.
Then he turned his attention to Martina; there was a challenge there, in her gaze.
She stuck out her right hand. “Mr. Carpenter. Nice to see you again.”
Crash cringed internally at her formal greeting, but he accepted her firm handshake, gesturing her inside. “Mom,” he called, up the stairs. “Your new helper is here.”
Willow appeared at the top of the stairs. Her hair was thrown up into a haphazard bun, and she wore thick glasses. Her yoga pants and t-shirt from last year's Turkey Trot were clean, but until she started having problems, he'd rarely seen her in anything but Chanel, Dolce and Gabbana, Versace. Certainly never in tennis shoes, unless she was actually running, and even then... He glanced at Martina for a reaction, but her face was carefully pleasant.
Willow's face lit when she saw Martina. “Darling! They didn't tell me you were coming.” Carter wished he could sit down; every time she said something like that, he wanted to bang his head against something.
“Hello, Mrs. Carpenter,” Martina smiled. “How are you?”
Willow came barreling down the stairs so fast, Carter was surprised she didn't face-plant. “What have you been up to? I want to hear everything.” It lifted his spirits a little to see her enthusiastic response to the person he’d like to hire to care for her. It made him feel like maybe he was doing something right after all.
“Yes, I'd love to get caught up,” she said, then glanced at Carter. “Let's all go sit in the library,” he suggested, and Willow started in that direction, then stopped.
“Who's she?” There was an ice to her words that Carter still wasn’t used to. She was staring daggers at Cindy, who just smiled kindly.
“Oh, I'm a friend of Martina's,” she said, extending a hand. “I'm Cindy.” Sort of true. She must work with clients like this all the time; she probably had lots of tricks up her sleeve. Keeping a wary eye on Cindy, Willow shook her hand, then gestured them toward the library, as if she was in charge of this meeting. She'd always had that air about her; every party, every benefit Carter had ever attended that Willow had had a hand in, she was the one people turned to with questions. And she always knew. Always. It was one of the things he’d been most sure of.
Martina settled into a deep burgundy, high-backed wing chair near the window while the rest of them took the couches. This was the room where he'd introduced her to his parents, and he tried not to get lost in the memory...squeezing her hand, the polite pleasure on his mother’s face, the unabashed rejection by his father.
“Mrs. Sanchez,” Willow called, and the slender woman, dark-haired with gray highlights, appeared in the doorway. “Could you bring us some tea, please?” She nodded, then winked at Martina as she turned to go. That was a relief, at least; Mrs. Sanchez had always approved of her.
“So, tell us, darling, what have you been up to the last few years?” Willo
w asked.
“Well, I've been working as a nurse for a few years—”
“Have you really? That's what you always wanted to do, wasn't it? Do you remember, Carter?”
He nodded, his gaze on the unlit fireplace. He couldn’t bear to see how she was reacting to all this. Please, Martina. Please help us. Please don’t walk away. I don’t deserve it, but I need your help.
“And now I've just gotten my degree in acute care to become a nurse-practitioner.”
Mom sat back hard in her chair, as if the news floored her. “Isn't that wonderful? I'm just so pleased for you, honey. Are you working with kids or adults or...”
“Adult Gerontology, actually,” she said, and there was a strange note of apology in her tone.
“I see. Well, that's wonderful, honey.” She hadn't used her name yet, and Carter wondered if she remembered it. She knew who she was, knew they were acquainted. Given how much time she'd spent here in high school, that wasn't surprising, but Carter was grateful. She was blowing up at him a lot. She knew she was forgetting. It would get easier once she didn't know, the internet and Dr. Rose had both promised. Carter wondered how long that would be. At any rate, this wouldn't be a quick assignment. This would be years. Did that change things?
“How about you, Mrs. Carpenter? What have you been up to lately?”
“Oh,” she waved away the question, “you know. This and that. I haven't done many events lately. All the groups have gone all to seed, those women were impossible to work with. So I've stepped back to let others take the lead for a while. I'm sure they'll realize that my way is better, eventually.”
“You were always a huge asset for the Ladies' Auxiliary, I remember that. No one planned events like yours.”
Willow blushed, and Martina smiled at her. Mrs. Sanchez came back in with a silver tray and four steaming cups of tea. She stopped first near Willow's chair, offering her one.
“Who's that for?” Willow asked.
Mrs. Sanchez's face stayed calm, like she’d been expecting the response. She probably did at this point. “You asked for tea, Mrs. Carpenter.”
“Who, me? No, I didn't. You need a vacation, Mrs. Sanchez,” she giggled, making a face at Martina that said, 'can you believe her?' Mrs. Sanchez shot Martina a pained look at that, a silent plea. Help us, her eyes said. We don't know what to do with her anymore. Help us, please. At least he wasn’t the only one begging. Silently, she moved on to Carter, who also silently refused it, rubbing his forehead. He lifted his head and took Willow's hand.
“Mom,” he said gently, “Martina's going to be here with you during the day while I'm at work.”
His mother brushed imaginary crumbs from her pants. “Why, is she shadowing me for an internship or something?”
“You know she's not.”
Willow's lip trembled. “Is it because I fell? I won't get on the rolling chair again.”
“No, no, it's nothing you did wrong. Remember how we talked about your memory issues? It's because of that. That's all, that's the only reason. Martina's a professional, and she can take really excellent care of you. I just don't want you to be in need when I'm not here.”
“What was the diagnosis?” Willow asked, fiddling with the edge of her shirt.
“Early-onset Alzheimer's. When you hurt your wrist, Dr. Durand, he referred us to a neurologist, remember?”
“Doctor...” She swallowed hard. “Dr. Rose.”
Carter felt as proud as if she were a child who'd just written her name for the first time. “That's right, Dr. Rose. And she'll help you remember to take your medications.”
“And we can get caught up,” she said, casting a shy glance at Martina.
“That's right,” Martina said, smiling. “It's been too long, anyway. We always had a wonderful time together, didn't we?” They did; it wasn’t manipulative to say so. It was the absolute truth.
Willow's eyes filled with tears. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm sorry that I'm such trouble. I'm not trying to be.” He pulled her toward him and squeezed her tight into his side on the couch. She cried into his shoulder, and he pinched his eyes shut so tight, his whole face screwed shut, trying not to cry, letting her wipe her face on his nice shirt. As Willow began to wind down, Martina moved over to the couch, sitting next to him.
“Willow, it would be my honor to take care of you. Will you let me? I want to make this as painless as possible for you. For all of you.” His heart swelled with relief, and he took the first deep breath he’d taken in days, but the tears were threatening to fall more than ever now.
Cindy piped up. “Our company has been providing this kind of care for many years. Our employees are always professional and have the best training available. Ms. Lopez will be no different.”
“Well,” Willow said with a watery smile, lifting her head, “if it's necessary, I'm glad it's this one.” This one; she couldn't remember her name. “I know you,” she said, reaching out a hand, and Martina took it immediately, letting their joined hands rest on his knees. He felt the irony of being caught between them acutely.
“Yes, you know me,” Martina smiled, and a single tear slid down her cheek. That had all his self-control eroding like a mudslide. “And I know you. I'll make sure we get you dressed to your usual standards. No more slumming for you, lady.”
Willow looked down at her clothes, then laughed. “I do look a little casual, don't I?”
Martina hummed her agreement. “I'll have you back in Chanel in no time, if you want. We'll fix your makeup and your hair. Get you right again.”
“Maybe we could go to the Ladies Auxiliary meeting...I don't know when it is, but...”
“We'll find out,” Martina agreed, squeezing her hand. “It would be good to go. Familiar things are good right now. They'll help you feel calm.”
Carter stared at her, needing to connect with her, thank her, get on his knees and kiss her beautiful feet. She, on the other hand, seemed to be pointedly avoiding his gaze. The ladies chatted for a few minutes longer, then Cindy gave them a subtle nod toward the door.
“We'll work out an official work schedule and use the pay contract we already established,” Cindy said, standing from the wing back chair. “We'll be in touch, Mr. Carpenter.”
“Please, call me Carter. Thank you so much, Cindy. Thank you both,” he said, walking them to the door. Cindy was out the door already when he reached out to touch Martina’s elbow.
“Don't,” she said, her voice low. Right. He felt her coldness like a slap. Apparently, all the warmth she still had for Willow didn’t extend to him. It shouldn’t have surprised him...but it still hurt. But he couldn’t afford to tick her off.
“I'm sorry,” he said quickly, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “I won't—I'm sorry.”
“What do you want?”
“Can we talk? Tonight, once she's in bed?”
“I'm not coming here at night.” Martina turned back toward the car.
“Annie's then. Please, Tini.” She visibly straightened at the nickname, and he winced. Don’t overplay your hand, Carpenter. “I just want to clear the air before you start work. Please.”
She sighed, her breath fogging in the October cold. “Annie's. 9:00. Don't be late.”
“I won't be late. Thank you.”
“You're welcome, Mr. Carpenter.” She hurried down the steps like she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
ANNIE'S WAS QUIET WHEN she walked in at 8:35. She'd wanted to get to pick their spot, giving him no opportunity to choose their former favorite booth. He was already there. He still looked very nervous, and she reminded herself that his emotional state was no longer her concern. That heart was off-limits. Big ol' “do not enter” sign there. Maybe she could get him to wear a t-shirt to that effect. She breathed a quiet sigh of thanks that he hadn't picked their old booth. She slid onto a stool at the bar and signaled Annie. The middle-aged white woman came over, wary.
“This is a familiar scene...” she said, drying a pin
t glass.
“No, it's not. A ginger ale, please.”
“Get whatever you want, I'm buying.” Carter pulled out his wallet.
“No.” She put her hand over his, and he stilled, not looking at her. “Let's establish some ground rules, right now.”
He slowly put his wallet away, nodding. “Okay.”
“First of all, unless I am working at your house, I will provide my own food and drinks. This will not be a weekly or even monthly occurrence. I know there are times when we need to discuss things about your mother's care; those meetings should occur at the house during work hours. There will be no cutsie nicknames,” she said, ticking the items off on her fingers, “there will be no incidental touching. There will be no discussion of the past unless it benefits your mother. What happened between us is ancient history.”
Crash was spinning slightly on his stool, a power move that showed his abs off against his shirt, but his voice was small. “So I'm not allowed to call you Tini?”
“No. You may call me Ms. Lopez at work. And I'll call you Mr. Carpenter.”
“Can I say something?”
She gestured for him to go ahead as she accepted her drink and took a sip.
“I just...I just really appreciate you doing this for me. I should've talked to you about it before I requested you through the agency. I was just afraid you'd say no.”
“A heads up would have been nice,” she agreed. “But having seen her in the grocery store...I understand.”
“I needed you. She knows you, likes you. And I know we can both trust you completely.” He lifted his ice-blue gaze to hers, and she saw how sincere he was. It was quite the switch from the brash, bossy young man she'd known before.