He did so take things seriously. All the time. Just not the things she did. Frowning, Travis grabbed their duffel bags and followed.
“Call me tomorrow when you wake up.” Standing in the doorway, under her Shut the Front Door sign, Rachel pressed a kiss to Brady’s forehead.
Travis crossed his arms and grinned as she practically had to tackle Kellan to get him to slow down long enough for a hug.
He would’ve helped out but, since he didn’t take anything seriously, he held back. Rachel didn’t need his help, anyway. She managed the Frank hooligans like a pro.
Not that Kellan wasn’t affectionate. Travis just happened to know that he usually saved that for when he didn’t feel well, wanted something, or when Brady was the object of their mother’s affection.
There was no time for cuddling, thank you, there was a whole rainbow of things to do in the world.
The whole crew—Rachel and all the in-town Franks—spilled out onto the porch.
“Thanks for helping Rach out today.” Gavin pulled their mother into a hug. “I’m sorry, again, that I couldn’t be here when I should’ve been.”
Two apologies in one day? Over the same thing?
Travis looked to the sky to see if there were pigs flying.
Seriously, what in the Sam Hill was going on with his brother?
There was something up, Travis could smell it like three-day-old salami left in Rachel’s SUV over a long weekend.
He thought he understood Gavin’s modus operandi in life. Then the guy went and started apologizing and Travis wasn’t sure what to do with the curveball. So, he figured he’d do what he knew best, exploit the situation. If Gavin was in a giving mood—
“Hey, Gav.” Travis smacked his brother on the back and spoke when he was certain the boys couldn’t hear. “Kids have a game this week. You gonna make it?”
Gavin paused, thought for a brief second, and finally said, “Planning on it.” Then he added quickly, “I’ll be there.”
Travis wasn’t squinting at his brother; he was squinting at the situation.
Huh.
The first part of that phrase meant that Gavin could have an out if something came up. Travis understood how he worked, and Gavin always said some shit like that because plans could, and often did, change.
This was standard for Gavin.
The second part, I’ll be there, that didn’t leave any wiggle room as far as Travis could figure.
Which meant?
Huh.
“Let’s go, boys.” Rachel continued shooing the boys toward Gavin’s Escalade. Each of them had a puppy on a leash.
Gavin loaded the dogs first, then the boys hopped into the backseat.
“Wait,” Kellan shrieked, just as Gavin nearly shut the door.
“Three dollars says he forgot something he hadn’t planned to take until right this second.” Rachel stood on the step just below.
“I forgot Mr. Pretzel.” Kellan scampered out of the vehicle toward the house.
“I need Chewy.” Brady followed his brother, leaving Gavin standing at the waiting vehicle with only Dakota and the two puppies loaded.
Scratch that. One puppy.
There was an escapee chasing after the boys, his leash trailing behind.
No. Another puppy followed, and then there were none.
Gavin rubbed at his temples and Travis would bet his trust fund that wouldn’t be the last time that happened before morning came around.
Travis rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and wished he had a beer and one of those travel chair things to sit back and see where this was going to go.
Finally, the boys returned with their stuffed animals and real animals and climbed back in the car. This time, it seemed to stick, because Gavin managed to get the door closed.
“Hey, Rachel?” he called from the driver’s side window of his SUV. “Thanks.”
Rachel mouthed something to Gavin that Travis didn’t quite catch and gave a wave to her boys.
Perhaps—and Travis wasn’t ready to call this one yet—Gavin was not quite the jerk that Travis and Dave thought he was. Jury was still out, no verdict yet.
“I want this, you know?” Rachel said to no one in particular but, since it was just Travis out there—everyone else had gone back inside—he figured there was a solid chance she was addressing him. “But I also wish they made breathable Bubble Wrap for eight-year-olds.”
“Kids don’t need Bubble Wrap, they need a dose of falling on their ass to learn from their mistakes.” Falling on his ass taught him the most effective life lessons.
That sentiment, however, earned him a teeth-gritted glare.
What? He wasn’t wrong here.
“I think he’s sorry about the puppies,” Mom said, coming up behind Travis on the porch.
Funny, he’d thought she went back inside with the rest of them. Someone should put a bell on her; the woman managed to be everywhere at once.
“Agreed,” Rachel said, the Travis glare melting a little.
“If he’s not sorry now, he’ll be sorry by tomorrow morning.” Mom gave a chuckle. “Serves him a bit right, you know?”
“Maybe I don’t feel so guilty after all.” Rachel started back into the house. “I mean I’ve got a whole night just for me. Maybe I’ll curl up with a book, leave my work cell in the office, and get a solid four hours of shut-eye.”
“You deserve it, dear,” Mom said as she hustled to the back yard, probably to figure out where she’d lost his dad sometime during the party.
Four hours? Of sleep? And that was “solid?”
Was Rachel a cyborg? With the kids gone, she should raise her expectations and go for a full nine.
He’d be happy to help out with that. He was just that nice of a guy. “I’ll get started on cleanup.”
“It’s okay.” Rachel seemed to fight a yawn as she waved him off. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Nah.” Travis didn’t exactly have plans. He’d probably even go home, sleep, and hit the office tomorrow. For a bit, anyway. Then he’d go flying. Not the corporate jet; that thing was a beast.
“It’s really fine.” Rachel yawned and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “I’ll leave most of it for tomorrow, anyway.”
“I’m here now.” Travis looked over the mess that seemed as though the third-graders had gone to war with a bunch of slime-wielding wombats…and the wombats won.
“I don’t need help.” Her gaze traveled around the mess, and her face fell. Clearly, she needed help.
He reached for a puddle of slime chilling out on the end table. The slithery mess fell through his fingers. “I can scrub slime.”
“I said—” She shook her head. “I’ve got it.”
He let the slime fall to the glass-topped wood. “You sure do like to do things yourself, don’t you?”
“Yup.” She wiped the slime into her hand, sauntering to the nearest bin and dumping it. It stuck between her fingers.
“Why?” He grabbed a Kleenex and handed it to her for the residual slime.
“That way I know it’s done right.” Two swipes and she tossed the tissue into the bin with the slime.
Mom and Dad slid open the door from the yard. Mom stilled, clearly—for the first time—taking in the gravity of the mess.
“How can I help?” Mom asked, rolling up her sleeves.
“I’ve got it,” Rachel replied, wiping up another puddle of goop. “Seriously. You all can head out.”
“Rachel likes to do things by herself.” Travis pressed his lips together.
“We should call Gavin, make him get his tush back here and help with this.” Evelyn looked at Bob. “Call your son.”
Rachel pointed to Bob. “Do not do that. I finally got the kids in his car; I don’t know if I can do that twice.”
Mom heaved a sigh, grabbing a waste bin and tossing empty cups and plates in. “You know, Rachel, Gavin talks about you all the time. Why you can’t make things right between you, I’ll never understand. The amount of stubborn in the lot of you stresses out my cat.”
Travis rubbed at his forehead. Things never went well when his mother brandished the feelings of her nonexistent feline.
“You don’t have a cat,” Travis said from the side of his mouth.
“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t have.” Mom huffed, puffing up like she did when she wasn’t getting her way and Dad probably wouldn’t step in to remedy the injustice.
“Gavin talks about the boys, Evelyn,” Rachel supplied emphatically, putting her hand out for the trash can. “And as I’ve said many, many times, Gavin and I are great friends, and that’s all.” The point would have been well made, except Rachel yawned again.
Travis gave her extra points for the certainty with which she spoke, but the yawn totally mucked up the delivery.
Hell, if she weren’t careful, she’d fall asleep and tip right over on the porch.
Mom released her grip on the bin, letting Rachel take it.
“Talking about the boys is talking about you.” Mom ignored the rest of what Rachel had said, like the pretend cat she liked to go on and on about.
“It’s really not,” Rachel said.
Travis shuddered at the look on Mom’s face. Rachel clearly needed to make this point, because usually she just stepped aside when Mom was on a tear.
Mom wasn’t used to being challenged. Hell, she’d been talking about the pretend cat since before Travis could remember.
“Gavin and I were never meant to be,” Rachel continued as though she hadn’t seen Mom’s expression or what that meant for everyone’s evening. “We were an accident, and we became friends. I’m grateful for his friendship. Grateful we share kids. You have to know that we’re not going to get back together, though. He has Dakota.”
“Pssh.” Mom steeled her expression. “You both need to give the other another chance. It hasn’t been easy for Bob and me, either. We make it work.”
“You and Bob love each other,” Rachel said, doubling down on her willingness to stand strong against his mother.
He had to give Rachel mad props. Engaging with his mother like this never went well. But Rachel was going all in.
“And you don’t love my Gavin?” Mom arched an eyebrow.
See, now that felt like a trap if a trap ever was. Mom was the queen of spinning webs, and anyone who spent time in her life had to learn to avoid them.
Travis hoped Rachel had learned how to do just that.
Rachel paused, thoughtful, clearly selecting her words carefully. She opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again, shut it, and finally said, “No, I don’t love him.”
Travis winced on behalf of his brother. Ouch.
Mom’s expression fell, and her lips slipped into a deep frown.
That frown hit Travis right in his gut.
“Well,” Mom said. “I guess that’s that.”
There was no way that was that. His mother’s traps were always incredibly inventive. The web on this one was barely a thin string, and yet Mom let Rachel bat it aside with hardly a fight. Impossible. Impossible that this was done.
Plus, he’d be sorely disappointed if they ended on that note. So dissatisfying for the bystanders.
“I really do care about you,” Rachel continued. “If you’d consider dropping this preoccupation with Gavin and me, I’d reconsider hopping on a plane to the lake house.”
Look at Rachel, manipulating her agreement in her favor.
Mom clearly thought so, too, because she stilled.
And, maybe, just maybe Travis was the only witness to the most impressive battle of wills in the history of the planet.
Although, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. Probably.
Mom swallowed visibly. “That’s what keeps you away from our family functions?”
“Honestly?” Rachel asked, rocking from foot to foot ever so slightly. “Yes. It makes me uncomfortable, and Gavin and Dakota can’t possibly be comfortable with it, either. No matter what you think, they’re getting married. It’s happening. I’ve been helping her pick out mini tuxedos for the twins. So if you want me to attend these things, that type of passive-aggressive has to stop.”
Travis’s jaw slipped open. Rachel had just said…to his mother…
What world was he living in? Gavin was apologizing and not taking it back, Rachel was standing up to Mom, there were puppies… Nothing was as it should be.
Chapter Six
“Just choose joy sometimes.”— Brené Brown
Rachel
Negotiations were most certainly not Rachel’s strong suit. She held her own when it came to the boys, but Evelyn had her number.
To be honest, Rachel wasn’t sure who had won this round. It seemed to be a draw. Which probably meant that Evelyn won, because Evelyn always won.
Now everyone had left, and it wasn’t even eight, and Rachel was ready to collapse on the sofa and watch something mindless. Clicking on HGTV, she did just that. Her eyelids started to drift closed as Joanna Gaines helped remodel an already lovely home in Waco. Then the doorbell rang.
Because of course it did.
The only thing that had Rachel rising to see who it might be was the hope that it could be a tag team of Girl Scouts with cookies ready for purchase.
She pulled back the curtain. Travis stood there, a glow of porch light illuminating his broad back, since he had turned toward the street. She frowned. What on earth was he doing here?
Unlocking the door, she tugged it open.
“Travis?” she asked.
Well, wasn’t this just unexpected? Also, not entirely desired. Sofa, television, then maybe a Matthew McConaughey flick to get her in the mood for a little special alone time. The kind that involved her imagination and her hand.
“Hey.” Travis turned back to her, bashful, which wasn’t the usual for him. He held out a paper bag. “I thought you might appreciate some refreshments after the party.”
She opened the bag, looked in, and then glanced back up at him. He’d brought her tequila, limes, Grand Marnier, simple syrup, and the cute salt that came in a special plastic container with the sombrero lid.
Her heart squeezed, in the good way.
Gavin was right, she liked surprises—when they weren’t of the alive variety.
“You read my sign?” she asked.
He grinned, the bashful gone and his persistent charm taking its place. “I did. And I also figured you deserved a little present for standing up to my mom the way you did. She’s not used to that. It’s good for her.”
She liked the bashful better. The bashful was vulnerable, and Travis didn’t generally do vulnerable. To be totally honest, the charisma put her on edge and made her wary of his intentions. Most women probably fell all over themselves when he turned on that dark magic of his, but Rachel wasn’t most women. That part of him was so polished, so determined…it wasn’t authentic.
The conversation stalled when Rachel didn’t say anything further. The vulnerability seeped back into his expression as they stood there together at her door—her inside with all the fixings for margaritas, him outside…alone.
“Come in,” she said immediately, like an idiot who became incompetent around a guy who sounded like a young Matthew McConaughey and had around the same build—the athletic kind that she admired.
Travis, however, didn’t move.
She’d invited him in, and he hadn’t moved.
Crap.
The seventh-grade awkwardness had nothing on the way she felt right then.
She gestured into the house. Internally she warred with herself for overextending the invite. On the one hand, he’d brought her the m
akings of drinks. On the other, he was Travis.
“I mean…” The decision became easy because…tequila. “You’re welcome to come in, if you’d like.”
He stared at her for a moment, then a wry grin spread across his mouth.
Oh dear. That was nice.
She had to stop comparing Travis to movie stars just because he was being a good guy.
“I’d love to come in.” He followed her inside, latching the door behind him.
He pulled off his shoes and set them next to the sign she had made up that read, Shoes Off, Please and Thank You.
“It’s quiet.” She moved to the kitchen to unload the bag.
No one had ever taken her margarita sign seriously. She hadn’t, either, when she first made it, but then as time went on and the boys got bigger and the intensity of life weighed heavier—she’d wished more than once that someone would leave her a basket of margarita fixings.
“It is,” he said, his deep voice seeming out of place in the quiet space of her home. “Quiet.”
“It’s never quiet.” She set the limes aside, finished unloading the bag, and folded it carefully before sliding it into the cabinet under the sink.
“Even when the boys sleep?” Travis pulled two glasses from the cupboard.
“You have no idea.” She did her best to keep her eyes open. It was hard, but she managed it. She snagged a cutting board for the limes and the cocktail shaker she wished she got to use more often.
“Do you want one or two?” Travis popped the top off the shaker and filled it with ice from the fridge. “Or a pitcher for later?”
Uh, a pitcher for later, duh. She pulled the shaker back into her grip. “I can mix them. You don’t have to.”
“Nope, the sign says margaritas, not the ingredients. I’m fixing them up for you.”
She looked at him from under her lashes. “I won’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking.” He took the shaker from her. “Before you start in on telling me how you can make them better, I’d like to point out that I do know how to do this. As a matter of fact, I take margarita making seriously.”
Oh, ouch. She’d definitely touched a nerve.
Rachel, Out of Office Page 7