Now, he’d have to learn how to survive without it.
*
Ben & Jerry’s Cheesecake Brownie ice cream…the breakfast of champions.
Avery slopped another bite into her mouth and let the frozen goodness melt into a sweet cream that soothed all the way down her throat. She eyed the other carton, which she’d practically licked clean, the crumpled frozen pizza box, and the empty bottle of wine that had tipped over on the counter. It appeared that event planning stressed her out. Last night, she and Vanessa had split up to make some phone calls. Then Vanessa had a late meeting with her father and the mayor, so she’d been on her own.
And over the last twelve hours, she’d learned that she sucked at event planning. So far she hadn’t even found a venue that was available in three days. She’d failed. Miserably.
But thank god Ben & Jerry didn’t judge. Their intricate work in fusing two of the best desserts on the planet proved that they loved her unconditionally, even if she had let Bryce down.
As she dug in for another bite, her phone buzzed for about the hundredth time in an hour. But where was it? Avery tossed down the spoon and raked through the mountain of papers, notes, and pictures strewn across the counter in her suite. Come on! She couldn’t afford to miss a phone call.
The twinkling buzz of a voice mail ridiculed her. What was she thinking? She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t pull off a fundraiser in three days!
Down the hall, the door busted open. “Avery!”
Vanessa’s cheery voice inspired a shriek. She tore down the hall and hugged her, nearly knocking them both off balance.
“Wow. You’re that desperate, huh?” Van peeled herself away and smoothed out her short, pleated red skirt and sassy, white blouse. Her spiral curls had been pinned to one side, cascading down over her left shoulder. Somehow, the woman always managed to look like she’d just stepped right out of a fashion magazine. Avery looked down at her own attire, which consisted of the hotel’s bathrobe. After event planning 101, maybe Van could give her some pointers on her wardrobe.
“Are things really that bad?” her friend asked. “I’ve only been gone for twelve hours.”
“I can’t even find my phone,” she confessed. “I’m a mess without you.”
For any event King Enterprises had ever put on, Vanessa had been the spine, holding it all together, making sure everything ran the way it was supposed to.
“Okay, girl. Settle down.” Her friend glided through the hallway and into the kitchen, then stopped when she saw the mess. “Whoa. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Avery shot her a sheepish grin. “Um, yeah. I didn’t have file folders or anything. Sorry.”
“Are there at least piles?” She shuffled through the papers and held up a torn piece of a magazine. “What the hell is this?”
“Food ideas?” Avery scooted herself onto a stool. “Like I said, I need you. This is never gonna work.” Bryce would never get his ranch back…
“Oh, it’s gonna work.” Vanessa swayed her hips and stood across from her. “We’re gonna make it work. Last night, your father came up with a plan for the auction.” Her eyebrows peaked. “After he went over the numbers, I figured out we’d need at least twenty-five million to outbid him.”
Twenty-five million. Okay. That was possible. She’d liquidate all of her assets to get a good start, and she knew for a fact that a million dollars was pocket change for some of her invitees.
“If we’re gonna do this, though, we need to get you organized,” Vanessa lamented, and she wasn’t kidding. With a militant tone, her friend barked out orders. “Anything that has to do with the guest list goes here.” She smacked her palm on the counter. “Food ideas and suggestions go here. Media contact information and appointments go here.”
“Got it.” She started to rummage through the mess she’d made earlier. “Hey look!” Underneath a copy of Food & Wine, she found her phone. “Fifteen messages?” She flicked it onto the counter and backed away. “I need ice cream. Stat.”
Prepared with her iPad, Vanessa swooped around her and confiscated the phone.
While she finished off the rest of her ice cream, Van scrolled through her messages, one at a time. “Oh!” She squealed. “Way to go, girl. A local Denver station wants to do an exclusive about the fundraiser.” She checked her watch. “In an hour.”
Quickly, she shoveled in another mammoth bite of pure heaven. Truly, it was the break she’d been waiting for, the perfect opportunity to tell the story of the Walker Mountain Ranch to the world.
“I can’t.” She shook her head, wiping a droplet of ice cream from her chin. “I can’t do it, Vanessa. Look at me. I’m a mess.” She was too shaky and scatterbrained. And how would the media treat her after the Wrigley Field debacle?
Without a response, Vanessa turned her back. She held up the phone to her ear. “Hi, this is Vanessa Martinez. Miss King’s assistant.”
“Wait! No! Stop!” She leapt off the stool and made a grab for the phone, but that woman was quick.
“Miss King is happy to do the interview.” She snatched a wooden spoon from the counter to ward Avery off.
And she didn’t doubt Van would use it.
“You can have your crew here in an hour.” After a pause, Vanessa shot her a gloating grin. “You’re so welcome. We’ll see you soon.” She clicked off the phone and raised her hand in victory. “Looks like you’re doing the interview.”
Avery opened her mouth to stage a protest, but Vanessa silenced her with a single wave of her hand, the way only she could do. “This is part of it, Avery. The more people who see the story, the more donations you’ll get. For Bryce. You know this could go national.”
She was right. Avery hated it when Van was right. But it happened all the time.
Still gloating, her friend linked her arm with hers. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. Now let’s get you in the shower and find acceptable interview attire. You wait, girl. I’m gonna turn you into America’s sweetheart.”
“Fine.” She let Van lead her away. “But I’m only doing it for Bryce.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The attic had never been Bryce’s favorite place. Even as a kid, his stomach got all screwed up tight when Mom asked him to bring something up there. It stinks, he’d tell her with a scowl, but really, the damp smell didn’t get to him as much as the eerie dim light, the ghostly creaks and moans, the shadows that seemed to shift and spread until they’d captured him in their darkness.
One time, Mom made him haul up a box of winter clothes. He’d pulled on his headlamp, determined to get over his fear, but the second he’d reached the top rung of that pull-down ladder, the attic lights flickered and buzzed out. Shrieking like a little girl, he’d dropped the box of clothes on the floor below. When Mom came running up the stairs, he’d tried to save face and told her he’d run straight into a coon. Mom spent all afternoon searching the attic, but couldn’t find even one trace of the coon. That’s because it’s a ghost, he’d wanted to tell her. But he’d kept his lip buttoned.
Bryce didn’t believe in ghosts anymore, but the stacked boxes in the attic haunted him. They were the sum of his memories, carefully packed away to be forgotten. After the funeral, he’d come home and thrown everything he could find in those boxes. All of Yvonne’s clothes and keepsakes and anything else that would dare spark a memory of her. When Mom had come into the room, he’d never forget how she knelt by his side. Silently, reverently, she pulled everything out of those boxes, carefully wrapped any breakables, and took great care fitting the pieces of Yvonne’s life back into the boxes. When they were finished, she’d squeezed his hand in her affectionate way. “There’s a purpose, Bryce. Even in this. Pain and loss push us to find our true selves. Sometimes we have to reach farther than we ever imagined we could.”
Maybe he hadn’t reached far enough. Maybe that was why he’d lost the ranch, too.
Bryce pulled down the attic ladder. It crashed to the floor with a thud. One
week didn’t give him much time to sort through the scenes of his life with Yvonne, to decide what would accompany him to the next, unwritten chapter.
His gut twisted as he pulled himself rung after rung into the cavern of the past. It still smelled like wet dust. His eyes burned and adjusted to the faint light. The outline of the boxes loomed over him like a solid wall. Floorboards creaked as he eased over them, still remembering where the soft spots hid. The first box he removed from the stack was light. He set it on the floor and dug out his pocketknife, slicing the tape in one quick motion.
His hands dug through paper, piles of old cards that he and Yvonne had given each other over the years, love notes they’d written. At the bottom, hidden underneath the paper, was a photo album. He cracked open the binding and found himself staring at pictures of their road trip to Canada the first year they’d been married. Wow, they looked young. Her dark hair was so long, almost down to the middle of her back. Bryce held the picture up to the light, gazing at Yvonne’s dark, exotic eyes. But they didn’t jolt him like they once had.
They’d been gone on that trip for three weeks, driving all the way up to Banff, then over to Vancouver. God, it was so long ago. Things had been so different. For the first time, it felt like he was looking at pictures from a past life. He flipped through picture after picture, reliving those days, but that trip hadn’t all been as blissful as the pictures made it look.
Neither one of them had been good with words, good at talking things out, good at dealing with the shit between them. Instead, they’d pretended everything was fine, his drinking, her depression. Both of those things hid beneath the surface of their life together, making it impossible to build that deep connection they both craved. Maybe things would’ve gotten better after that fight they’d had before the accident. Maybe. But he didn’t know for sure. He’d never know if they would’ve been able to find that intense connection that would’ve gotten them through anything.
The kind of connection he’d felt with Avery.
He slammed the book closed and placed it back in the box. Man, he was such an idiot. He’d met Yvonne when they were kids and in some ways their relationship never grew up. He’d loved her the best he could. He’d been committed to her. But Avery made him want to be a better person. She challenged him. He needed that. He needed someone who would put him in his place when the situation demanded. Someone who wouldn’t ignore the issues. Someone who could stand against him and stand with him at the same time.
He needed Avery and he’d walked away from her.
Wiping the sweat from his face, he kicked a box out of the way and started down the ladder. He had to find her. He’d drive all the way to California if he had to. He had to tell her that she was enough. Even without the ranch, she was more than enough for him.
He’d just stepped a foot down on the hallway carpet when his phone rang. Mom’s number glowed on the screen. He brought it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Bryce? Are you at home?” she asked frantically.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Turn on the television right this minute.”
He started to fold up the ladder. What, was there another Murder, She Wrote marathon on? “I’m kind of in the middle of something.” Or at least he would be as soon as he got in his truck and tracked down Avery.
“Bryce Walker, you listen to me,” Mom ordered. “This is important. Go. Now.”
“Okay, okay.” Bracing the phone between his shoulder and ear, he pushed up the ladder and shut the attic’s trapdoor, then jogged to the family room and flipped on the television.
“Channel nine,” she instructed. “Hurry!”
When the pictured cleared, Avery stared back at him. “What’s she doing?”
“Listen,” Mom practically sang. “Just listen!”
A blond woman sat across from Avery in a living room. He studied the screen. Looked like a hotel suite. Was she still in Aspen?
“So, Miss King,” the blond woman said. “We all know there are plenty of rumors going around, but we want the scoop. Why didn’t you marry Logan Schwartz?”
The camera zeroed in on Avery again. The sight made his heart flip. Even as nervous and stiff as she looked, the woman was hypnotizing. She wore a soft sweater and tight black pants. Her hair was loosely pulled back, the way he liked it.
Unable to take his eyes off of her, Bryce sank to the couch.
Avery seemed to hesitate. She uncrossed her legs and sat taller. “Logan is an amazing person, but we wanted different things for our lives.”
Her smile nearly made him dizzy.
“He won’t have any problem finding a wonderful woman. We’re still great friends. I wish him all the best.”
Mom clucked in his ear. “Now wasn’t that so classy? Bryce? Are you there?”
He grinned. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“You’re listening, aren’t you, dear? Doesn’t she look lovely?”
“Lovely,” he repeated. Sexy. But Mom might not approve of that description.
Blonde interview lady smiled and batted her fake eyelashes. “So, Miss King. You wanted to tell us about a fundraiser you’re hosting in Aspen?”
Fundraiser? Bryce grabbed the clicker and turned up the volume.
“Did you hear that?” Mom squealed. “A fundraiser! Isn’t it amazing? Can you—”
“Shhh.” He meant it as nicely as possible.
Avery still sat ramrod straight, obviously uncomfortable, but she had a fervent glow on her face. “The Walker Mountain Ranch has been a fixture in Aspen for years. The owner is facing a foreclosure auction if he doesn’t come up with enough money to pay off the bank.”
His shoulders let down, and he leaned back into the couch cushions as he sat there transfixed by her. She was doing this for him. After the way he’d treated her, she was trying to save the ranch.
“Tomorrow night, I’m hosting a fundraiser gala on the patio of The Knightley to help save the Walker Mountain Ranch. There’ll be local bands and some of the best food in the valley.” She listed a bunch of other details about the black-tie event, but he didn’t hear them.
“Seriously?” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but…wow. All that for him?
“I knew she loved you!” Mom celebrated so loudly, he had to hold the phone away from his ear. “Why else would she go to all this trouble?”
He couldn’t come up with a reason. Not one damn reason. After the way he’d treated her he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her.
“You really think she could love me?” A surge of hope almost lifted him off the couch. “Because she’s way out of my league. You know that, don’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, dear! You’re perfect for each other.”
On the screen, the interview lady leaned close to Avery. “So, what’s the story here? How did you hear about the Walker Mountain Ranch?”
“I stayed there a few days ago and fell in love with it,” Avery answered brightly, but then her smile faded, and he knew why.
“The owner is a friend of yours?” Interview Lady asked.
Avery flinched—there was no mistaking it—but she recovered quickly. “Yes. I’m a friend of the Walker family,” her voice was strained, but Interview Lady didn’t seem to notice.
Mom, however, gasped. “What. Did. You. Do.” It was the closest thing to a growl he’d ever heard come out of her mouth. “That poor girl. She’s heartbroken.”
He winced at the memory. “I may have overreacted when I found out about the auction.”
“Oh Bryce,” she sighed. “Well, you are going to march yourself to that gala and apologize to her, mister. And you’d better hope she forgives you.”
“I’ve never been to a gala.” What the hell was a gala, anyway? What did that word even mean?
“Well, you absolutely have to go. There’s no other way.”
“Can’t I just call her?” Even as he said it, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Avery had done all of this for him. God, he needed her back.
>
“Where’s the chivalry in calling her?” Mom moaned. “She just went on a television show for you. And she hates the cameras!”
“You’re right.” He glanced at the television again. “What does ‘black tie’ mean?”
“That means you have to clean yourself up and wear a tux, dear. You know, one of those black and white numbers with a bow tie?”
“A tux, huh?” Despite the fact that he’d have to actually comb his hair, he grinned. He could find a tux, no problem. He’d take Mom’s advice, clean himself up, dress in a monkey suit.
Then he’d show up at The Knightley and give Avery King a night she’d never forget.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Avery glided under the canopy of twinkling white lights that dangled above The Knightley’s lovely patio, her head tipped back, eyes wide with awe. In between the small globes, white paper lanterns swung in the gentle breeze and made her feel like a little girl walking through a fairy’s garden. Magical Night. Vanessa had chosen the theme for the fundraiser, and it was perfect. Beautiful and elegant, but rustic, too. She weaved between the round tables, which had been covered with white silk. Large Mason jars, decorated with burlap ribbons, sat in the centers, plumes of wildflowers spilling over the sides. Heat lamps were scattered around the patio, just in case, but even at seven o’clock, the temperature hovered at sixty-five degrees. No snow tonight. Apparently, high altitudes made Mother Nature moody.
Guests had started to arrive, and were mingling near the elegant hors d’oeuvres tables and a flowing champagne fountain that seemed to be keeping everyone’s spirits high. Soft jazz hummed in the background, courtesy of a local band Van had hired.
Not to brag or anything, but she highly doubted The Knightley had ever seen a more classy affair. Especially one that had been thrown together in three days.
Three days.
Three days of phone calls and media interviews and decorations and catering decisions and shopping. The result still earned a surprise gasp every time she gazed over the patio. It was lavish without being pretentious, a place where Bryce’s friends could come together with hers for a common purpose—to raise a ton of money and hopefully have a good time in the process.
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