Atonement: The Lonely Ridge Collection

by Lyz Kelley

  Erik rolled back in his office chair and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here, Rachelle?”

  “Well…” she grabbed the edge of the chair to keep from fussing with her hair, “I need a job, and I bet you need an office manager. I ran my father’s office for years, so I can run yours.” She waved her hand like she was waving a wand. “All this mess on your desk will be organized and filed in no time, and I’ll have your back office running like a well-oiled machine.”

  His stare could have been a laser beam, red and hot and focused. After a few seconds, his shoulders bounced with laughter. “I—” He pointed at her, his eyes watering. “I can’t—”

  He crossed his arms, wheezing and snorting until he could finally catch his breath...but his shoulders still bounced from the humor she failed to see.

  “Rachelle Clairemont asking me for a job. Hell has seriously frozen over.” He wiped his eyes with the inside of his shirtsleeve. “Why would you ever think I’d give you a job?”

  Don’t react. Stay calm. Rachelle gulped down her first response. She needed to think. She stifled the trembling distress. “I’ve managed several projects for my dad, if references are what you need.”

  “No. No. I don’t need any references.”

  “But you do need office help. That’s clear.”

  “You’re probably right. And I’m sure you would do a good job, but you would be too much of a distraction.”

  She sat a little straighter. “If you're talking about us working together, I assure you it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  His mouth hinted at a smile, but it was a mile away from reaching his eyes. “Oh, I know it wouldn’t be a problem. You made it perfectly clear you didn’t want anything to do with me when I asked you to prom. You know, you didn’t need to make an ass of me in the lunchroom.”

  “I was making a point.”

  “And were you making a point when we attended the Fourth of July bonfire, and again when Grant Newhall set us up for a dinner date. I guess it took me a while to get the hint. Don’t worry. I finally got your point.”

  “See…” she opened her eyes wider to stop his words from stinging, “…then there’s no problem. I won’t be a distraction.”

  “Oh, you’ll be a distraction, all right. Each crew member will make an excuse to stop in here to get a whiff of your perfume.”

  She caught herself just before raising her wrist to her nose. She hadn’t worn any perfume today. Not yesterday, either. What was his point?

  Folding her hands in her lap, she concentrated on relaxing her muscles. “You might not understand, Erik. I’ve changed.”

  “Your circumstances have changed, for sure. You? I highly doubt it. Besides, I can’t have a woman in the office. Too much drama.”

  “You know there are laws about diversity in the workplace,” she offered the helpful advice, but the flash of dark anger made her gulp back any additional information she was about to share.

  “Threatening people will not get you a job. I know the laws. In fact, one of my best foremen is a woman.”

  “Isn’t that ironic.” She lifted the brow she’d tweezed to perfection. “A foreman who’s a woman.”

  Erik stood. “Now, there’s the Rachelle I know. Sarcastic and spiteful.”

  “Why, Erik, I didn’t know you knew how to use such big words. Good for you for improving your vocabulary.” She cringed, and held out her hand. “Erik, I shouldn’t have—”

  “Whatever you were going to say, don’t. You’ll just dig a deeper hole, and I’m already thinking about backing up one of my cement trucks to bury you. You should leave—now, before either of us says something we’ll regret even more.”

  She should have ducked when he swung, but years of holding up her pride to take the blows head-on had become a habit. She would have to work harder at unraveling her father’s psychological handiwork. Dejection settled in the pit of her stomach.

  She nodded and stood. “Thank you, Erik, for at least hearing me out. Someday I hope you’ll see things differently, and I hope you’ll believe me when I say you’re more than what people think of you.”

  “There you go again, being mean and speaking in riddles.”

  “I’m not being mean.” She took a step forward, pressed the tips of her fingers into his desktop, and leaned in to look him in the eyes. “Just for the record, I never went out with you because you’ve always been in love with Connie Stillwater. You both love each other, but you,” she pointed, “you’ve never felt you deserved her. The minister’s daughter is sweet and kind and full of love, yet you’ve never felt good enough, so you went trotting after anything in a skirt, including me.”

  Erik leaned in, “You don’t know squat.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then why is Connie’s picture still the only one in your wallet?” His hand went to reach in his back pocket, then stalled.

  Gotcha. She lifted her determined chin. He rolled forward to place his forearms on his desk.

  “Why is it you women always like to play games and try to change people?”

  “I don’t know the answer.” A taste of honesty felt odd, but she swallowed the bittersweet flavor and kept going. “Maybe Connie was trying to change you because that’s all she knew. Her father’s in the business of making sinners see the light. Fathers can be pretty demanding of their daughters.”

  “Is that your excuse for being so mean? It’s your father’s fault?”

  Shame heated her cheeks. “No. The way I acted in the past, I own. No one else.” Rachelle took a step back and gathered her purse. “Thank you for your time, Erik. Good luck with your contract. I’ll see you around.”

  “Don’t count on it,” he followed up a second before the office door swung shut with a bang.

  Her heart dragged along with her feet. She held onto the railing on the way down the steps to make sure her legs would carry her upright and prevent a face-plant. Halfway to her car, she spotted the deputy patrol SUV sitting across the street.

  Still on stakeout duty, huh, Deputy? She wouldn’t be surprised if her phones were tapped, too.

  She’d escaped, but her former life still had her shackled.

  She tossed her purse into the passenger seat, started the car, navigated out of the parking lot, and came to a full stop at the corner just to make sure the deputy following her had no reason to pull her over. She made a quick stop at the hardware store, then headed home, all while dogged by the black SUV in the rearview mirror.

  The car following her let her go when she turned onto the dirt road leading to her house.

  “Finally.” The tension in her shoulders eased. Thoughts of painting away the rest of the day eased a lightness into her heart.

  Her mother had encouraged her creative dreams. Drawing. Painting. Photography. Sculpting. She tried them all and loved them all. If only she could make a living from her art.

  She grabbed the handles of her shopping bags and made her way toward the house.

  Halfway up the steps, she listened for Dempsey.

  Nothing.

  How odd.

  He frequently growled or at least barked at her approach, but not this time.

  She unlocked the door and twisted the handle. Seconds later, little white feathers floated around her feet and blew out the door.

  Oh, noooo. You didn’t.

  She shifted the bags in her hand. “Dempsey, you little snot rag.”

  The counters. The table. The floor. Every inch was covered by down feathers. In the middle of her bed were the remnants of her favorite pillow, now shredded beyond repair.

  “Dempsey!” she kicked the door shut and dropped the bags on the counter. “Get out here, now.”

  Little round eyes peered at her from beneath the bed.

  “Come here.” She softened her tone. “Come on.”

  Dempsey crawled from under the bed, his eyes watchful. She leaned to scoop him into her arms before he backed under the bed again.


  She turned and sat on the bed, cradling him in her lap. “Did I ever tell you a dog bit me when I was five? I’ve always been afraid of dogs, so maybe that’s why I’ve never learned how to take care of one. I’m not being a very good pet parent, am I? I leave you alone too much, and you get bored.”

  Dempsey stretched up to lick her chin, and she let him. “Thanks. I thought you would understand why it’s taking me awhile to adjust to having a dog. I understand you’re upset Brad left you, but it might make you feel better to know that ever since my mother left he’s been unable to form attachments to people or pets. It’s not your fault he left you behind.”

  The tears threatening all morning dribbled down her face. “He was always scared of our father. I tried to protect him the best I could.”

  She ran her hand over Dempsey’s head and down his back, over and over again. “We both had so much anger and resentment we had to hide.” She rubbed Dempsey’s ear. “Erik was right. I was mean. I did things, said things, I’ve always regretted. Just like you. I bet you didn’t mean to eat my pillow.” She held Dempsey up and looked him in the eyes.

  The dog looked away. “I bet you’re mad because Brad just dumped you here and left. Abandoned you. He left me too, you know.”

  A tear plopped on her arm. She smeared the trickle of tears across her cheek. “We can’t get stuck in what might have been. We need to adjust and keep moving forward. I’ll have to remodel that house, even though destroying what I created will tear me apart. I’ll do such an amazing job, Jacob Reyes will give me references. You’ll see. And you’ll learn a few things too, like how not to poop at the bottom of the front steps. I know you think it’s funny when I step in it, but I don’t.”

  She scratched Dempsey under the chin when he looked up. “If I can change, you can too. I’ll make you a deal. If you start chewing on your chew toys and stop chomping on my stuff, I’ll let you sleep on the bed. What do you think?”

  Dempsey shifted in her arms, nuzzled a little closer, then tilted back his head.

  “Deal?”

  He barked, his look intent.

  “Okay. We have a deal.” She surveyed the room. “Now I need to clean up this mess, and design some rooms Mr. Reyes will like. Plus, we both need to eat.”

  Dempsey nuzzled his head into the crook of her arm. “I know you want to play, but I don’t have much time. I tell you what. I’ll give you a good brushing. You like being brushed.”

  At hearing the word “brush” Dempsey wiggled out of her arms, then turned pinwheels on the floor.

  The joy lasted for a few seconds before collapsing. She hung her head and gave in for a few seconds to the despair threatening to overwhelm her before pushing the sadness away.

  She didn’t have time to indulge.

  She had a job to land.

  Chapter Five

  The sun hovered just above the mountaintop, turning the hillside purple. Across the sky a slow kaleidoscope unfolded in shades of purple, blue, orange and pink as twilight settled in.

  Jacob set his wine glass on the deck railing and watched nature continue to paint her canvas.

  He loved the sound of the ocean, but the mountains gave him a keener sense of peace. Elkridge reminded him of the Canadian Rockies and his childhood home. He missed his mom, her strength and her vulnerabilities. For years it was just the two of them against the world.

  Nostalgia might have been why he picked this place. He sucked in a deep breath and, oddly enough, a perky blonde floated into his thoughts.

  Rachelle reminded him of his mom—guarded, yet open. The contrast made him curious.

  He didn’t know much about her other than her work, but she projected an unmistakable inner strength, and her sturdy nature showed in the bold yet soft lines of her designs. The designs were simple, yet complicated. Comfortable, yet elegant. There was nothing out of place. Everything belonged. Yet the designs created a statement. That kind of design took talent, something that couldn’t be taught. He didn’t have the it-factor, and the lack of genius haunted him.

  The instant Ben delivered her design boards, he knew the designer had a gift. The board brought his idea to life. The pencil sketch in the middle outlined the room, but the fabric and paint swatches and furniture elements pasted around the edges gave the room texture. The design was well-thought-out and simply spectacular.

  He appreciated artists who could take an idea and turn the theory into such a perfectly targeted reality. A rare quality indeed.

  “Jacob?”

  The rich, feminine voice calling from the pathway leading to the back deck captured his attention. He leaned over the deck railing but didn’t see anyone.

  The vibration of footsteps made him turn toward the stairs leading to the yard.

  “Hey.” Rachelle emerged from below like the morning sun rising over the mountains.

  “Hey.” Her simple smile elicited one from him. “Why didn’t you come in the front?”

  She gestured over her shoulder. “No one answered the door.” Concern tinged her voice, and her brows dipped lower over her intelligent eyes. “Is this still a good time to work on your chairs?”

  She’d dressed casually in kick-back jeans with a white blowsy shirt tucked into the front, and a floral sweater coat that hung just above her knees. Today her hair was down and fell in curls to just below her shoulders. Her rich yet relaxed style was her own, but she’d fit on the cover of any shabby chic magazine without a doubt.

  After a few seconds, he remembered to breathe. “I must have been distracted. I’ve gotten used to Ben reminding me of the time.” He angled in to get a full whiff of her floral scent. “And don’t worry about the chairs. I finished putting them together this morning.”

  “That was my job.” If her arms hadn’t been full, he suspected she might have crossed them and given him what-for.

  “Yes…well…Ben needed to leave for San Diego this morning, and I wanted to test some new programming.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  He liked the way her concern was instant, then aloof.

  “With the game? Sure. With Ben, who knows? I sponsor a charity event each year for kids whose parents are terminally ill. We’re having some challenges with the venue which require Ben’s problem-solving abilities.”

  She nodded slowly. “I saw the pictures of last year’s event on your website. The video of your mother was a nice touch.”

  The bittersweet memories of compiling the pictures and old family videos warmed his core. “Someone’s been doing their homework.”

  A smile flickered across her mouth, then slowly disappeared. “It’s easier for me to create a design if I know the person.”

  Interesting. He lifted his glass of wine to take a sip. “Yet I know nothing about you. I don’t even know your last name. Ben always just called you Rachelle the Remarkable.”

  Surprise darted across her eyes before she wiped her expression slate clean, as if she was afraid to show any emotions at all. She walked to the other side of the deck table to set her purse and portfolio down. Eventually, her gaze met his. “My name is Rachelle Clairemont.”

  The way she said her name, almost like an apology, gave him pause.

  Clairemont? Clairemont? Hmmm. The name sounded familiar. Why did he know that name?

  Slowly the memory file drawers opened. The conversations with his lawyers. The signing of real estate closing papers. He studied her, then the house behind her.

  He braced against the blast of guilt. “This was your home.”

  “Yes.” The crisp, clear response left no room for doubt. She lifted her chin a little higher. “It’s the reason I hesitated to accept your offer. If you want to withdraw your design proposition, I’ll understand, but I’ve had second thoughts. I believe I can give you what you want.”

  Her hands gave away her stress. With each passing second, her fingers whitened with escalating tension.

  “Ben never questioned the association,” she said, “and I never had the opportun
ity to reveal the connection.”

  The lifelong thread of vigilant protectiveness that was his nature stitched up his spine. “Withdraw my offer? I don’t think so. I meant it when I said your designs are amazing.” He approached her slowly, searching, waiting for her to tell him how to proceed. “I’m more concerned about you. If you would prefer not to take the job, I’d fully understand.”

  A hesitant smile formed, the first genuine sign of happiness he’d seen from her. “I can do the job. In fact I’ve jotted down a few ideas.” She reached for her leather portfolio and slid out some picture boards similar to the entertainment room design. “I spent some time today creating samples for you to look at.”

  What she called samples were handcrafted boards filled with paints, fabrics, and in some places wood samples.

  Wow. “You created these today?”

  She picked up one of the boards. “Yes. Here’s an idea for the master bedroom. I like this one the best.”

  The charcoal grays, with silver and cream accents scattered around a master bed, could only have come out of his head. How did she do it?

  “Here’s the design for the closet,” she handed him another board.

  Black shelving to hold suits, jackets, pants, shirts, and shoes lined three walls. In the center there was a tie butler, and even a case to house his watch collection. He glanced at his Rolex, then her.

  “How did you know I like watches?”

  She shrugged. “In the images I found, you were wearing a different watch in every picture. I did a little research and discovered some of the watches you wear need to be worn or rocked.” She pointed at the watch drawer again. “There’s a mechanism in this drawer to simulate body movement to keep the watches wound. And see this feature here?” She pointed at a metal door. “Press a button and a metal door will slide in place to keep your valuables safe. Elkridge is a pretty safe place to live, but I don’t think you want to take the chance of having your precious items stolen.”

  He leaned in. “Is there anything you haven’t thought of?”

  “I bet you’ll let me know if I’ve missed something.” Her eyes flashed with a hint of humor.