Atonement: The Lonely Ridge Collection

by Lyz Kelley

  “And that was?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, something about using drugs and not liking herself and deserving a better life.”

  “That sounds like good advice.” Jacob gave her a soft assessment. “And what do you deserve, Rachelle?”

  Without even thinking, the little voice in her head said you don’t deserve anything, but before the thought finished she squashed it. She’d done nothing to deserve the life she lived, but she wasn’t about to throw herself a pity party.

  A couple of weeks ago she had burned all the photographs of the past in her small, potbellied stove. She didn’t want that girl to exist any longer. She burned her old life into tiny flakes of nothing but gray powder. She wanted to take new pictures. Create new memories.

  “If I’m honest, I don’t know what I deserve. I’m still trying to figure out my life. What I do know is I’ll never again be someone’s puppet. I did what I needed to survive. But I don’t just want to survive anymore. I want to find my own way.”

  He hesitated, then leaned closer. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  Her eyes flicked away, then slowly swung back towards him. “I don’t know the details, and that’s the truth.”

  He held out his hands. “I’m not here to judge.”

  “I know.” She shoved away from the counter and slipped into the chair. “My father was always a hard man to live with, and he got more controlling and demanding after my mother left us when I was five and my brother almost three. He was enraged that she’d left him. My life was never the same after that. In a way he groomed me to take my mother’s place. I was to be entertaining, intelligent, sociable, yet an elitist. He demanded I be better, prettier than everyone else in the room. He orchestrated my entire life. He even picked out the man I was to marry.”

  “Wow. Arranged marriages are still the tradition in other cultures, but in the US? Wow.”

  “I need you to believe me when I say I didn’t know anything about my father trafficking women and selling babies. I didn’t.”

  The bitter, nauseous bile surged up into her throat. Each time she thought about the people her father destroyed, she got queasy.

  She hated the pleading in her voice, but she wanted one person—just one person—to believe her.

  “I believe you.”

  A cooling swirl of gratitude soothed the raw, jagged emotional scars. Could he read her mind?

  He held out his hand. A lifeline. Her lifeline. She slipped her hand into his warmth.

  He didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

  Seconds ticked by, and time slowed. They gazed at each other, then a slow, friendly smile broke across his face. His honesty and supportive gestures gifted her with a sustaining warmth.

  Finally he pointed at the counter. “Our dinner is getting cold.”

  For a couple of seconds longer she stared at him.

  Oh, how she’d like to change—for herself—be the person who could meet a man like Jacob Reyes on the street and be his equal, his partner, his friend.

  His gaze dropped, and she realized she was playing with her mother’s pendant, the locket that read, “when the storm closes in, believe, for you’re brave.” The silver locket hovered in the crevice of her breasts. She dropped the chain and pulled her sweater tighter over her chest.

  “Ready for dinner?” His eyes rose to hers with a twinkle of a smile.

  “Why don’t you open the wine?” She handed him the bottle opener. “I’ve been afraid to drink alone.”

  “Because you didn’t want to get drunk?”

  She set the glasses on the table. “Because I don’t want to face the ghosts.”

  He leaned in. “You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to.”

  His breath caressed her skin like a feather, tickling, teasing. Yes. She could hear the word in her head, and imagined how easy it would be to give him what he wanted, to take from him what she desired, but she wouldn’t slip back into former habits. She’d play it smart. Safe.

  “I’m not alone.” She nodded toward Dempsey who had curled up on his corner mat to take a nap. “He keeps me busy most of the time. Although he might not be around much longer if he decides to eat another pair of my shoes.”

  Dempsey chose the moment to stretch and snort.

  She rolled her eyes. “Typical guy. He’s got me wrapped around his little paw.” Just like the computer geek sitting across from her could do so easily. She needed to be careful.

  “Family style?” She lifted the takeout bag.

  “Sure.”

  He was wearing the designer jeans from the day they met, but this time he was wearing a button-down shirt, and a pair of three-hundred-dollar calfskin shoes. But he wasn’t showing off. He looked comfortable. Perfect. However, his confident expression had slipped a bit, and the vulnerability was downright sexy. He was real, unlike the power-driven, chest-beating men she was determined to avoid.

  She unloaded the to-go box and set the food on the table, avoiding the urge to put it in proper serving bowls. He grabbed a spoon and served her first. “Before we were so rudely interrupted, we were discussing your designs.”

  “Did you like the concept?”

  “I told you before, your designs are first-rate.” He scooped up a piece of chicken and plopped it on his plate. The pasta came next. “Have you ever thought about doing some design work for games? You’ve got a creative mind.”

  She accepted the plate of cream and buttery richness nestled alongside a selection of spiced tomato savories. “I told you about the crystal city, but I also created another one for my art class. I’d just read Tolkien’s books, and decided to create an Elven city. Sort of like Rivendell, only different. This city was built in the clouds.”

  “Why the clouds?”

  “Back then I might have told you it was because I liked the colors of the sunrise and the billowy clouds in the Colorado skies, but if I was honest, I created fantasy worlds as a way to escape. I dreamed up my perfect place—a place where nothing bad ever happened.”

  Jacob didn’t say anything, just waited for her to continue, but she didn’t know how much she should say. After all, he was still somewhat of a stranger.

  Why had he bought a home in Elkridge?

  Where was he going in life?

  She should find a way to gracefully step out of his life, let him deal with his friend, and figure out what he wanted to do next, but, as he surmised, there was a pull of attraction she couldn’t quite figure out how to ignore.

  Heat coursed up her spine.

  He provided the same kind of comfort as her favorite pair of slippers warmed by the fireplace heat. He fit—for now— she scolded herself, so why worry about tomorrow?

  She cut a bite of chicken, forked it, then added some noodles to her fork.

  “If I gave you some specifications”—he talked with his fork waving in the air—“would you be willing to take a stab at drawing a world for me? Something like you talked about. An old idea with a twist?”

  “For your video games?”

  He nodded.

  She shrugged. “Sounds different and fun, as long as you don’t mind the designs taking time away from your home redesign.”

  “I don’t mind. Like I told Larson, there’s an investor’s meeting this coming week, and I desperately need something to present. Does that give you enough time to draw the world?”

  She let out a soft laugh. “Yes, although you might care when your home redesign takes longer than you want it to.” She turned the fork over and over in her hand, a swell of uneasiness spinning in time. “How will Larson react when he finds out you asked for my help?”

  “I’ll remind him he didn’t deliver. The designs were due last week.”

  “I don’t want to get between the two of you. But if you’re positive, I’ll start on the designs tomorrow.”

  The vehemence in his eyes eased. “I usually need a couple of scenery images, then five to seven action sequence frames to get a good idea of
a character’s movement. However, if we can at least start with some scenery, that should be enough for the investors’ meeting. “How does five hundred per story board sound?”

  Five? She stared at him. The idea someone would pay her for creating nearly made her jump up and dance around the room. But she wouldn’t. The old Rachelle, who had been viciously schooled to hide her emotions, still hadn’t conquered her fear of showing how she felt. She tried again to swallow the bite of pasta. “Is five the going rate?”

  The corner of his mouth did the little lift and curl she liked. “No. The starting rate is usually three, but I’ve already seen your work and know what you can do. Plus, I’m desperate. My top designers make a couple grand per sequence, and get a thousand-dollar bonus if their design is selected.”

  His hand reached out and touched her fingers. “So how about it? Will you help me?”

  She turned his hand over, and ran her finger down the center of his palm. His fingers reacted to her touch, but otherwise he waited for her decision. He didn’t try to coerce or force her to do the work, and she was grateful, but the skepticism sneaked in anyway.

  “Is there a reason you keep throwing money my way?”

  He gave a little shrug. “I know what it’s like to have your whole world turned upside down.”

  “Your mom’s death.”

  “Yep.” He closed his fingers gently around her hand, massaging her skin with his thumb. “I get the impression you want to do things on your own, yet you need money to get started.” He paused to study her. “To be frank, I need the help, and you need the money. Seems like a fair trade to me.” His eyes softened, yet didn’t hold one grain of sympathy. “So how about it? Will you help?”

  Just like that, he melted the shields she forged against the male population she’d sworn to avoid.

  “I’ll help you, as long as I can trust that when you don’t like something, we talk about why the artwork doesn’t work.”

  And, please, no shouting, or hitting, or threatening.

  “I keep telling you, I’m not like the other assholes out there who use force to get what they want.”

  “I didn’t say anything about assholes.”

  His mouth curved. “There’s a saying…the eyes are the windows to the soul…”

  “Yes, but it is the soul that’s the window.” She tightened her hand around his. “Or that’s what Andrew Hamilton thought, anyway.”

  He continued rubbing her fingers. “You are the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.”

  “That line’s been used before.” Disappointment huddled against her ribcage.

  “But not from a man who wants nothing more tonight than to sit across the table and have a nice conversation and dinner.”

  His statement was so genuine she held her breath, daring to hope, dream, there might be a man out there who was real.

  She lifted her wine glass. “Then here’s to good food, good wine, and good friends.”

  She could have sworn he hesitated, yet his glass was held up next to hers.

  On impulse, she added, “To creativity.”

  He didn’t say a word, only sipped, set down his wine glass, and picked up his fork.

  But she wasn’t fooled.

  Jacob Reyes was the type of man who got what he wanted, even if it took time. And she wasn’t sure she disapproved.

  When he looked at her, he saw her...her dreams, her fears. He saw right through to her soul.

  She’d have to be careful.

  Jacob was the kind of man she dreamed about having in her life.

  Chapter Eight

  “I hear you, Glenn.” Jacob paced the length of the mostly empty room. Only a large desk and mesh chair sat at one end of the makeshift office.

  “Yes, I will be there Thursday, in person, to present the proposal.” His head bobbed like a glass bottle in the ocean. “I know you’re getting pressure from the other investors.” The muscles in his neck released and his head dropped down. He breathed out a bucketload of frustration. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow with an update.”

  The cell phone beeped a warning. “Glenn, I have another call I need to take. We’ll chat soon. ’Bye.”

  Jacob swiped a thumb across the glass screen to switch calls. “Ben? What’s up?”

  “Why haven’t you returned my call?”

  Jacob slumped into his desk chair and rubbed his forehead. He woke up with a headache, and the pain had only intensified.

  “Sorry. I've been a little distracted. How are things going with the charity event?”

  “Good, if you don’t count the fact that the hotel hasn’t figured out how to hook up the large screens. I had to call in an electrician. Plus, the hotel caterer had a family emergency and the replacement doesn’t know what they’re doing. And Dad called. He said he’ll be late getting in.”

  Of course, he’ll be late...if he shows up at all.

  “Anything else?” Jacob could envision the eye-roll accompanying Ben’s humorless laugh.

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “More than enough.” He released a depleting breath. “The investors have scheduled a meeting on Thursday, and they want me to present a draft of what I’m planning.”

  “That’s in just two days. Do you have anything prepared?”

  “Not yet. Rachelle has given me some good ideas, though, and has agreed to help.” Or I’d be SOL. “I left a message for the pilot to see if the plane is available. If not, I’ll jump on a commercial flight.”

  “I know you have a lot on your plate.” Ben hesitated, and Jacob could have sworn his brother wanted to add a but to the end of the sentence, even though he hadn’t said the word aloud.

  “Ben, just say what you’re thinking.”

  “Larson’s back in town, and he isn’t happy. He’s been ranting about you adding a new game designer. He says you hired Rachelle without consulting him first. He’s pissed.”

  Jacob pressed his fingers into his temples. “I haven’t found a new game designer. He saw some of Rachelle’s room designs for the house and jumped to conclusions. Besides, he shouldn’t be angry. He hasn’t come up with anything, and Rachelle has. She gave me some sample designs yesterday, and I have to tell you, bro, they’re good. Good enough to show the investors.”

  “I told you she was good. Too bad she was forced to liquidate her artwork. It was amazing.”

  “Artwork? What artwork?”

  “Before I hired her, I did a Google search. One of the search results was an eBay auction of her art. There was this one of a clown and a dog, with an Alice in Wonderland-type slant. I put it on my watch list, intending to buy it, but forgot about the auction. I was bummed when I realized I missed bidding.”

  “Does she have any more art listed?”

  “I don’t know. She’s listed under the name Ovis88.”

  “I’ll check the auction site after I make my flight arrangements. And let me know if there’s anything else I need to take care of.”

  “Will do.” Ben hung up, most likely getting distracted by the next thing on his list of to-dos. If nothing else, Ben was efficient.

  Jacob glanced at his own list, then shoved the pad away. His mind was getting overly cluttered, and he needed to take a few minutes to streamline his thoughts. Create a plan. Breathe.

  In the middle of reshuffling his to-dos a sweet voice wafted through the doorway.

  Rachelle. A longing to smell her freshness consumed him.

  He shoved away from the desk and made his way toward the kitchen to find her there, leaning over a canvas dog carrier.

  Cream-colored lace from her untucked shirt peeked out from under her grapefruit-colored knit sweater. Both covered her rear nicely. The well-loved jeans hugged every curve he’d come to dream about. Oh, and those ankle boots. The image of her in those boots and a bustier and armor fighting through an army of trolls came to mind. She was fierce. Sexy. Stunning.

  “You better behave,” her voice was stern, but with an air of light humor. “N
o chewing on anything. You eat one more thing, and I’ll paint your toenails pink and put a tutu on you.” She waggled her finger. “Trust me. I’ll do it.”

  The French bulldog looked at her, snorted, then waddled toward the kitchen.

  “Dempsey, don’t you dare give me attitude. There’s a dog shelter in town.”

  The dog sniffed a few cabinets, then flopped to his belly and stretched out his paws.

  “That’s more like it.” Rachelle straightened. “Now be quiet, or you’ll get us both booted out of here.”

  A tug of laugher gurgled in Jacob’s throat. He hadn’t had something to laugh about for a while, and he was grateful to Rachelle for giving him the gift.

  “And why would I kick you out?”

  Rachelle spun around to face him. “You are here. I called on my way over, but you didn't pick up the phone.”

  “I had a couple of conference calls this morning.”

  She moved through the room with caution, like someone might jump out and grab her at any second. The wariness appeared the day Larson showed up and hadn’t gone away.

  “In case you’re wondering, Larson is back in California.”

  Her violet eyes softened. “You two seem to have a Ben and Jerry thing going on, and I don’t want to bust in and take a scoop out of your ice cream bucket, so to speak.”

  “In many ways, Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield are a lot like Larson and me. They’re hands-on, like we are with the coders. Like Ben, Larson is the creative, and I manage the people side, like Jerry. Plus, we’ve been business partners since college.” But it might not last much longer since the jerk can’t stay sober.

  Jacob shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned closer to inhale her calming perfume. “I learned a long time ago, I’m good at business, setting a vision for others to follow, and getting things done. However, when it comes to pure creativity, the vision the game is based on, I turn the work over to someone else. I can regurgitate ideas with the best of them, but coming up with something fresh has always been my bane. It's sort of like loving music yet never being able to play the guitar or carry a tune.” He shrugged. “I can envision the story, do the coding, but Larson’s the one who layered in the world’s nuances and made the story come alive.”