One Way or Another: A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 1)

by Mary J. Williams

  "For your sake, I hope you're right." Bryce squeezed Calder's hand. "In the meantime, enjoy Adam's company. If things get serious—"

  "Whoa!" Calder didn't do serious. "I like Adam. He's fun. And sexy. Nothing more."

  "In other words, we shouldn't print the wedding invitations?" Bryce teased.

  "A weekend on a tropical beach is as much of a commitment as I can handle. No invitations necessary."

  "Amen." Bryce raised her hands.

  "Unfortunately, one member of the family loves to say I do," Andi reminded them. "Billie left a note under my door. She's gone away with Ingo Hunter. Some golf resort in Florida he might invest in. He wants her opinion before he makes a final decision."

  Neither Calder nor Bryce commented on how much Billie's opinion was worth on a business deal. What was the point? In truth? Their mother was a smart woman. When she wanted to be. Instead, she purposefully filled her head with fluff designed to block out what she considered boring day-to-day trivialities. Unless Ingo Hunter wanted advice on the latest in wallpaper, he was out of luck.

  "Billie didn't mention anything about a trip when we spoke last night. I tried to draw her out. For once, she seemed almost circumspect."

  "Last minute, so the note says." Andi tucked a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. "She's safe enough. I suppose."

  "Hunter's reputation is skeevy. But I haven't heard any rumors he abuses women."

  "Rumors can be squashed with enough money and intimidation."

  The wonderfully familiar voice came from behind them.

  "Destry!"

  Calder rushed across the room. She pulled her sister close. Bryce and Andi joined them. For the first time in months, their circle was complete.

  "Hey. I didn't come home for the mush."

  Destry was a classic grumbler. Yet, she didn't push them away. She held on tight.

  "We didn't expect you until next week."

  "My calendar suddenly cleared."

  As Calder kissed the top of Destry's head, the smell of manure wafted upward. "Did you bed down in a barnyard?"

  Destry chuckled, extracting herself from the group hug.

  "My business took me into the wilds of Minnesota. Dairy country. Good news? Good conquered evil. I was able to hitch a ride with a farmer all the way to the Albany train station."

  Good conquered evil. Destry's go-to description of her actions. She could have added dangerous, plus occasionally life threatening. Calder and Bryce had stopped asking for details. They couldn't talk sense into their sister's head, why listen to tales bound to haunt them? Andi was Destry's confidant. Though Calder wasn't sure how much information was shared.

  Destry sniffed at the sleeve of her black hoodie. Her nose wrinkled.

  "I need a shower. Long and hot. I will say the passenger seat in Mr. Hinkle's rickety old truck was surprisingly comfortable. Best sleep I've had in weeks."

  Considering the way she'd spent the better part of twenty-four hours, Destry looked only slightly worse for wear. Her dark hair hung down her back, the thick, shiny tresses gathered into a messy ponytail—in some magazines the look was considered the height of fashion. Her jeans were torn at the knee, smudged near the cuff with what Calder suspected came from the back end of Mr. Hinkle's cows.

  Her sisters often joked that Destry had the energy and determination of an avenging army. All housed in the body of an ethereal fairy. She looked as though a gentle breeze could knock her over. Good luck to the fool who tried. Under the deceptively soft layer of porcelain-colored skin laid muscles of iron.

  Determined. Tough. Smart. Destry was also loyal, kindhearted, and sentimental. Traits she carefully kept hidden except when surrounded by the safety of home and her sisters.

  No one asked why Destry didn't catch the train to New York. Or hop a flight. Commercial transportation frowned on passengers with weapons. Even when the object in question was fully licensed.

  "What did Mr. Hinkle say about your gun?" Calder tossed Destry a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

  "Are you kidding? He was thrilled. Extra protection."

  "From what? Cow hijackers?"

  Andi snickered at the idea.

  "Laugh all you want. You'd be surprised what happens on the highways and byways of our fair country. An open road. Late at night. Mr. Hinkle had some stories you wouldn't believe." Destry emptied the bottle without coming up for air. "You should give him a call, Bryce. Danger on the interstate. Might make a good book."

  "Text me his number. What?" Bryce met Andi's surprised gaze. "I keep a file of potential storylines on my computer. A nice backup in case my personal well of ideas ever runs dry."

  "Damn." Calder looked at her phone. "My ride to the airport is two minutes out. Promise you'll be here when I get back on Monday?"

  "Can't promise." Destry squeezed Calder tight. "But I'll try my best."

  Andi and Bryce took their turn. A round of hugs and a trio of wishes for a safe journey later, Calder was on her way. As she always did when she knew she would be away for more than a few hours, she looked back at her home. Where the heart is. Today, the old adage never rang more true.

  ~~~~

  ADAM HAD A routine he followed most mornings. Five years in the Navy, five years out, he'd forgotten more than he'd learned. Still, certain things were indelibly ingrained.

  Attention to detail. Loyalty. And the way his eyes popped open at five a.m. sharp. Late night or early. Rain or shine. Cold as a witch's tit or hot as Hades' balls. He didn't exactly greet the day with a smile—more of a reluctant grunt.

  By nature, he would have preferred to sleep an hour or two longer. Adam would be the first to admit an early start had served him well in civilian life.

  A five-mile run. Then hit the nearby gym. By the time he'd showered and finished off a hearty breakfast, his mind and body were humming. Whatever task fell his way, he was ready. He checked his messages. Sorted through emails. Returned calls. Most days, he was out the door by eight o'clock.

  Adam made his own hours. Answered to no one. He was on the go, non-stop, by choice. If he wanted a day off, he took one. A week's vacation at the drop of a hat? No problem. He'd streamlined his operation to a finely tuned machine. The people he worked with were the best in their fields. Professional. Conscientious. Diligent. Adam made certain he only associated with business owners who believed in doing a job right the first time.

  Reputation was everything. Adam had built his business through word of mouth. He didn't advertise. Clients came back to him—recommended him to their friends—because they knew they could rely on him. His office staff consisted of one assistant. Period. If a problem arose—on either side of the job—he was available by phone or text. 24/7.

  Monday through Saturday, Adam rarely knew where he would be. He went where he was needed. Different was good. The moment he grew bored with his job was the moment he would find a different way to earn his living.

  Sundays were different. Oh, he still rose at an ungodly hour. Worked to keep his muscles strong, his body healthy. His mind clear. What changed was his schedule. Once a week, for a few hours, Adam knew exactly where he would be. At his mother's place on Long Island.

  A home-cooked meal was just an excuse. Not that Adam needed one. He loved his mother. Adriana Stone was the best woman he'd ever known. A single mother. Loving. Supportive. With enough steel in her glare and a rock-solid belief in right and wrong to keep a growing son in check. For the most part.

  Adam didn't get through his teenage years without a few brushes with trouble. However, two things kept him from crossing the line from rebellious youth to an adult with a criminal record.

  First? Just the thought of jail scared the crap out of him. His neighborhood was littered with ex-cons more than happy to share their harrowing experiences. Some of Adam's friends looked on the men as heroes. He thought they were fools. The last thing he wanted was to find himself barely pushing thirty, no job, no prospects—
except another trip to prison. Certain he'd reached the pinnacle of his potential.

  Luckier than most, Adam had a mother who would have cut off her right arm before she let him fall through the cracks.

  Adriana Stone was the second, the most important reason Adam graduated high school with nothing more than a slightly smudged reputation. She was why he'd joined the Navy. Why he knew he could make something of himself. If he failed, he knew how disappointed she would be.

  Adam could endure a lot without flinching. His shoulders were broad, his jaw like granite. However, the look he imagined in his mother's eyes if she had to visit him, a set of iron bars between them? Just the thought was like a sucker punch to his gut.

  The old neighborhood had changed in the last ten years. Gentrification was the term used by politicians. The word fit, Adam supposed. Once filled with barely livable houses, vacant lots, and overrun with crime, the corner of each street sported spiffy new lampposts decorated with hanging baskets overflowing with seasonal greenery. Well-tended lawns graced the fronts of freshly painted buildings.

  Adam parked his car in the driveway of his childhood home. He'd spent many a summer afternoon trying to keep the weeds at bay in his mother's meager flowerbeds. The window panes sagged but the glass sparkled. The result of an equal measure of pride and elbow grease.

  They kept the place neat and clean. All they could do at the time.

  As soon as Adam had some money to his name, he'd offered to find his mother a place in a better neighborhood. A spiffy new house with all the amenities. Adriana Stone wouldn't budge. She moved in as a bride. She was firm in the conviction she wouldn't leave until the day she took her last breath.

  Faced with an intractable force of nature, Adam had the place refurbished. Top to bottom. Under Adriana's supervision, he gave her the home of her dreams.

  Slowly, the entire neighborhood followed suit. Adam could breathe easier now that his mother could walk to the grocery store and back without fearing some thug might snatch her purse. Or worse.

  Worse had happened. When he was thousands of miles away, unable to protect her. Or track down the bastards who put Adriana in the hospital. As far as he knew, their heinous crime went unpunished.

  The woman who spent her life taking care of him had recovered from her injuries—on the outside. Through counseling and the help of her friends, she was mentally fit. She was a strong woman. And he loved her with all his heart. But he knew the trauma would always be with her.

  Shaking off the weight of sadness—and guilt—Adam took a brightly wrapped package from the trunk. He always brought some sort of surprise. Simply because he could.

  Today, a silk scarf in the colors of a setting sun. The routine was always the same. Because anticipation was as much a part of the joy as opening the actual gift, she would sit the box aside until after dinner. The smile on her face when she finally looked inside, whatever the contents, made his day.

  Some might say Adam Stone was a momma's boy. Proud of the fact—to the bone—he didn't argue.

  "Just in time."

  Adriana opened the front door before Adam could knock. Smile as bright as a polished penny, she enveloped him in her familiar embrace. Her head barely hit him mid-chest. Though he couldn't remember the man who'd sired him, his mother claimed he'd inherited his height from his father. The many framed photographs she had displayed throughout the house of Brendan Stone confirmed her words.

  "You look beautiful."

  "I won't argue." Adriana laughed. She patted her hair. "A trip to the beauty parlor, followed by church, does wonders for a woman."

  Adam closed the front door. Pausing, he breathed in the scent of home. Lemon Pledge and cinnamon. Plus, the subtle undertone of lavender. Her beloved husband's favorite fragrance. Each morning, Adriana applied a dab behind each ear. A lasting tribute to the man—long gone—who still owned her heart.

  "Church I understand." Adam followed his mother toward the kitchen. "I thought beauty parlors were closed on Sunday."

  "Donna Wilcox fits me in every two weeks. We catch up before services while she fixes my hair. And speaking of church. When was the last time you graced the inside of one?"

  Adam let out a sigh. Quietly. So, Adriana couldn't hear. He would never tell her the closest he came to any form of religion was when he worshiped a woman's body. Not the kind of information a sane man shared with his mother.

  "Dinner smells fantastic." Adam sniffed the air. "Pot roast?"

  "Mm." Adriana let the subject drop. For now. "And mashed potatoes."

  "Baby carrots and biscuits?"

  "Naturally." Adriana nodded. She tied a crisp white apron around her slender waist, checking the progress of her meal.

  Adam took his usual seat at the small wooden table. New and shiny, the kitchen's design was the same as before the remodel. Rather than replace the cabinets and countertops, the contractor refurbished them to their original glory.

  No saving the faded Formica—who would want to—gleaming tiles covered the floor. A brand-new sink and appliances—after all, Adriana pointed out, she wasn't a fanatic. She loved to cook. For her son. For her friends. For every charity bake sale. Decorated in warm tones of yellow and cream, the kitchen was her favorite room in the house.

  "Speaking of Donna Wilcox. Her daughter just moved back to town." Adriana set a cup of freshly brewed coffee in front of Adam along with a tray of crisp vegetables and homemade caramelized onion dip. "You remember Nancy. Pretty young woman. Light-brown hair. Trim figure."

  "Great personality?"

  Adriana beamed. She either missed or chose to ignore the sarcasm in Adam's tone.

  "You do remember her."

  With a snap, Adam bit into a liberally coated carrot stick. "Nope. Not even a little." Nor did he plan to remedy the fact.

  "I know how you like to stop by Ike's Bar on your way back to the city. Why not ask Nancy to join you? Sort of a neighborly welcome back gesture."

  "We aren't neighbors. And before you continue, I'm not interested."

  "Nancy is…" Adriana's words faded away as she met her son's unwavering gaze. Sheepishly, she shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't agree."

  "Yet, you had to try."

  Adam wasn't angry. She hadn't tried to fix him up in months. Wouldn't try for several more. Since she never pushed beyond the first foray, he could live with her occasional interference in his personal life.

  "I want you to be happy."

  "What makes you think I'm not?"

  "A man needs a woman." Adriana shrugged. "Nature's law, not mine."

  Seemed to be a popular theme. Melvin's wife felt the same.

  "Sometimes a man needs a man. Then what does nature have to say?"

  Adriana didn't miss a beat. She rarely did.

  "If you were gay, I'd set you up with Paul, Donna's son. Who, for your information, is gay. And single. And very handsome."

  Adam laughed so hard tears spilled from his eyes. The woman was incorrigible. And he loved her to death.

  "Maybe in my next lifetime." With a coughing hiccup, Adam wiped at his cheek. "For now, I enjoy the company of women. Plural. Of my own choosing."

  "Fine." Adriana handed him a pile of silverware for the dining room table. "Though the more I think, the sorrier I am. Seems like such a waste."

  "I'm sure Nancy can find a man on her own."

  "You're right. You and Nancy wouldn't have worked. You and Paul on the other hand…"

  Adriana's eyes twinkled, her lips twitching as she turned toward the stove. Grinning, Adam set the table. Where mothers were concerned, he hit the freaking jackpot.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ~~~~

  CALDER UNDERSTOOD HOW to pour on the charm. Thick as cream and twice as smooth. A handy skill for a woman who spent most of her time asking fiscally minded companies for handouts. Talent aside, she would have preferred to stay behind the scenes.

  The business end of Erica's Angel's was where s
he thrived. Crunching numbers. Working to distribute funds. Watching as her efforts paid dividends for those who asked for a hand up, not a handout.

  Honestly, Calder didn't mind the travel and the smiling and the shit she had to shovel. The Benedict name opened doors. Once inside, donors expected to deal with her, not an emissary. Passionate about the cause, her time was a little price to pay.

  As she kicked off her shoes, Calder collapsed onto her bed. Her trip had been a huge success. She'd secured sponsorship from two major corporations and had another on the line. A few phone calls, a little weedling, and she was confident she would soon reel them in.

  Tired, yet satisfied, Calder wiggled her toes, glad to be home. Adam's face reflected on the insides of her closed lids like the best kind of personal movie. Slowly, a smile lifted the corners of the lips.

  She'd had an early breakfast meeting. Her flight to New York had been smooth sailing. Now, she had six hours to relax and get ready for her dinner with the handsome, sexy, interesting Adam Stone.

  Calder weighed her options. All tempting. She could take a nap, though she wasn't sleepy. A long bath was a possibility. No. Better to wait. The closer to date time, the better.

  Food sounded good. Days since she'd checked, the refrigerator would be filled with a whole new selection of Mrs. Finch's prepared goodies. Only one problem. With a sigh, Calder snuggled deeper onto the mattress. If she wanted food, she would have to move.

  "Are you asleep already?"

  Lifting one lid, Calder watched as Destry hurled herself onto the bed with a running jump—damn the consequences. The same way she traveled through life.

  "Hello to you too." Calder turned to her side, head propped on her hand. "You smell better."

  "Mm." Destry mirrored Calder, facing her sister, comfortable and relaxed. "I've taken a shower or two since our last meeting."

  Destry wore what Calder considered her at home look. Gone was the ubiquitous hoodie, jeans, and black work boots replaced by softer, gentler items. Loose linen pants in pale gray. A silk tank in contrasting pastel pink, and matching oversized shirt. Bare feet. Her dark hair hung down her back in glossy, natural waves most women would have killed to possess.