Yours to Hold: Ribbon Ridge Book Two

by Darcy Burke

Dad slumped in his chair. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . . but your demeanor . . . You scared the hell out of me.”

  The pressure in Kyle’s chest lessened but didn’t completely go away. “Do you really think I’m into drugs too or that I could do that to anyone, let alone my own brother?”

  “No, I don’t think you could do that, which is why I reacted that way.” He looked up at Kyle, his gaze desolate. “But, Kyle, you don’t talk to me. You don’t talk to anybody. I have no idea what you’re into. Or out of.”

  Kyle wanted to be angry, but Dad was right. In the absence of information, he’d made up his own. Could Kyle blame him? Yes, but he didn’t want to. He was just . . . tired. “I’m not into drugs, and I never have been. Yes, I’m a gambling addict, but I haven’t been doing that either—at least not since I’ve been home. But listen, we can talk about that . . . later. I need to tell you who sold him the drugs.” He took a deep breath. “It was Natalie.”

  “Our Natalie?”

  Kyle nodded, hating that Dad had used the word “our.” It made this too personal, but then Kyle had known that was how it would be.

  Where Dad had gone pale before, now color rushed to his face until Kyle worried that his head might blow clean off. “Dad?”

  “Natalie Frobish. Derek and Hayden’s—your—assistant?”

  “Yes. I hired a computer forensics specialist to evaluate Alex’s computer. He found e-mails.”

  His tone darkened. “I want to see them.”

  Kyle picked up the printed e-mails he’d set on the corner of Dad’s desk. “Here. But, Dad, I’ve already confronted her. And fired her.”

  Dad stared down at the paper, and his hands began to shake. “I can’t believe . . .” His voice trailed into nothingness.

  Kyle got up and went to stand beside Dad’s chair. “I couldn’t believe it either, but she didn’t deny it. She couldn’t.”

  “We have to call the police.” He reached for the phone on his desk.

  Kyle put his hand over his father’s. “I’ve already done that. They searched her house yesterday. Unfortunately, they didn’t find any evidence.”

  Dad’s hand tensed, and he drew it back, slamming it on the desk.

  Kyle looked down at him. “Dad, they’ll find something here at Archer—on our servers or even on her computer. She wasn’t very smart about it. Just look at those e-mails.” He pointed to the papers on the desk.

  Dad was quiet for several minutes as he read. His breathing was audible, sounding like he’d just crested a hill on his bike. Finally, he looked up at Kyle. “You took care of everything.”

  The grateful look in Dad’s eyes was everything Kyle had ever wanted, and it was almost enough to keep him from saying more, but if he was going to make this work, he had to go all in. “I tried to. But if I hadn’t gone to see her first, she might not have destroyed whatever evidence she possessed.”

  Dad stood abruptly, sending his chair skidding backward. “Don’t. Son.” He put his arms around Kyle and hugged him.

  Kyle felt the well of pent-up emotion and self-loathing and angst splinter and fall away. It wasn’t gentle or easy; it blew through him like a storm. He grasped at his father and held onto him as an anchor, never imagining how badly he’d needed this comfort.

  It was a good, long minute—or ten—before they drew apart. Dad touched the side of Kyle’s head. “Son, you did everything I would’ve done and more. I’m proud of you.”

  And there it was. The brilliance of his father’s approval was as soul-satisfying as he’d imagined, but would he lose it if he said all he’d planned to? It was a risk he had to take.

  Kyle backed away. “I’m glad you’re proud of me. It’s all I ever wanted. But I’m still a gambling addict. I’m still the son you bailed out four years ago. The son whose trust fund you’re keeping away from him—and that’s fine. You were smarter about that than I was.”

  Dad’s brow furrowed. “I’ve read about gambling addiction—that it can lead to other addictions, like drugs and alcohol.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. I’ve been to Gamblers Anonymous with plenty of people who were also members of Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous. But so far, that isn’t me.”

  Dad’s eyebrows rose. “You go to meetings?”

  “I used to, in Florida. Before . . . Alex. Then I sort of went off the rails.”

  Dad winced. “How bad?”

  “Not like before. Don’t get me wrong, it could’ve gone that way, but I came back here to try to put my life back together—the life I want.” He worked to rein in his defensiveness. “I’m not as big of a loser as you all thought.”

  “I never thought you were a loser.” Dad sat back down in his chair and gestured to the seat Kyle had vacated. Dad’s complexion turned a bit gray. “Sit, please. I want to tell you something. There’s a reason I’ve been more worried about you than anyone else.”

  Tensing, Kyle sat, setting his forearms on the armrests of the chair. “Harder on me, you mean?”

  He folded his hands together on the desktop. “I didn’t mean to be. You were always less focused than your siblings, Alex, Sara, and Evan notwithstanding. Your behavior was always so much larger than life, like you were the star of the family. I worried you were maybe manic.”

  “Like manic depressive?”

  “Yes.” Dad’s lips thinned, and his hands started to shake again. He laid his palms flat against the desk and then, perhaps thinking better of it, put his hands in his lap. “I’ve never told anyone this, but mental illness runs in my family. Your grandfather was manic depressive—bipolar.”

  Apprehension tightened every one of Kyle’s muscles. “I had no idea.”

  “No one did. Your grandmother wanted it that way. He didn’t die in a hunting accident.” Dad’s voice broke. He looked up at the ceiling and blinked furiously. “He wanted it to look that way, but he shot himself.” He lowered his head. Tears glistened in his gray eyes.

  Kyle had been nine when Granddad died, and he’d vowed never to go hunting. He started to rise. “Dad.”

  Dad waved him back down. “Let me finish. He committed suicide, and we covered it up. Your mother doesn’t even know the truth.”

  Kyle realized Dad was sharing this with him of all people for a reason, but he couldn’t fathom what it might be. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I thought you might’ve inherited his illness. I worried you were going to struggle the way he did. When I found out about your gambling, I wanted to talk to you, ask you to see someone, but then you left and I just . . . didn’t. I didn’t want you to end up like him. But I was so focused on you that I completely missed who was really in trouble.”

  “Alex.” The answer hit Kyle harder than anything else he’d heard that morning.

  A tear snaked down Dad’s cheek. Kyle didn’t remember him crying once after Alex died. He wished there was something he could do to take the pain away—wasn’t that why he’d gone after the drug dealer in the first place? Now, looking back, why had he thought that would solve anything? There was no bringing Alex back, no erasing what he’d done. “You can’t blame yourself, Dad.”

  “I can, and I do. I should’ve seen it.” He slapped his hand sharply on the desktop as his sad remorse turned to angry regret. “Hell, I’d been looking for it, just in the wrong place. I’d subjected you to unfair criticism all while I should’ve been seeing the signs in Alex.”

  Kyle wanted to argue that none of them had seen the signs, but he hadn’t even been there. “We all have guilt. I should’ve been here.”

  Dad leaned back in his chair, looking utterly defeated. He wiped his hand over his eye. “Yes, we all have guilt.”

  Seeing Dad like this nearly broke Kyle’s heart. “Can I hug you now?”

  Dad managed a weak smile. “I’d like that.” He stood and met Kyle around the side of the desk.

  When they broke apart, Dad cleared his throat. “Can you keep the stuff about Granddad to yourself for now? I need to t
ell your mother myself.”

  “Of course.” Kyle was glad to hear they were maybe doing better. “How are things with you guys since she got back from France?”

  Dad’s coloring had returned to normal, but now he frowned. “I won’t lie—it’s been a little rough. Losing Alex has changed everything for us. I know it has for you too, but we’re his parents. It’s just different.”

  “I can imagine.” Kyle’s heart ached for them, but he knew it was a path they had to travel together—or apart, if that’s what they chose. “Your kids will do anything for you, you know.”

  Dad smiled. “I do. And Kyle, this,” he said, gripping Kyle’s bicep, “this means more to me than you can know. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Dad.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to talk to Derek? I know he wants to. But the only person I know who’s more stubborn than you and Liam is Derek.”

  Kyle had thought about what he would say to his former best friend. What could he say? Maggie had been dead right. Derek had saved his ass, and Kyle had been a total douchebag. None of the other particulars mattered anymore.

  “Yeah, I’m going to talk to him. I don’t know that I want to burden him during his wedding week.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed briefly. “That’s a cop-out; don’t go there. He’s busy, yes, and he’s taking the week off to prep for the wedding, but he’ll always make time for you. Especially now. Nothing is more important to that boy than family.”

  “You’re right. I’ll talk to him.” Kyle smiled, then glanced at the clock. He was surprised to see that it was nearly nine. “Crap, the police investigator is going to be here any minute. Are you up for seeing him?”

  Dad’s eyes hardened. “Hell yes. Let’s take that bitch down. You and me. Together.”

  Kyle nodded, feeling better than he had in years. It seemed things were finally falling into place—at least with his family. His mind strayed to Maggie, as it liked to do more and more often. With things going so well, did he dare take their relationship public? Or was that only inviting disaster?

  Looking at his dad, feeling the warmth of his love and approval, he wasn’t sure he could risk losing it again. Not even for love.

  SONNY AND CHER barked happily as Maggie opened the screen door and went into her mother’s house on Monday night. She’d spent a long day at the wedding cottage overseeing and assisting with the sprinkler installation and talking to Sara about some additional outdoor decorating ideas—planters, a stone path, and a water feature. They wouldn’t have time to implement them all before Saturday, but Sara was excited about every one of them. Maggie doubted she’d be around to see the execution, but she tried not to dwell on that.

  She’d also spent all day thinking about how she wished she could spend every day like that. How she’d never felt more at ease, more challenged, and more excited about work. It hadn’t even felt like work. And when she thought about going back to her real job, she froze up, her entire body going rigid with anxiety and loathing.

  Yeah, she pretty much hated her job at this point. She struggled to remember why she’d chosen it and recalled that she used to like it, if not love it. Helping people had seemed a noble cause. That she’d chosen something her mother thought was a bad idea had only increased her drive, but now that she’d decided to let the past go, it was time to admit her career was a mistake and let that go, too.

  Mom padded into the living room from the kitchen at the back of the house, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. She wore ratty denim cut-offs and a cap-sleeve cotton shirt that was cinched just below her breasts, providing at least a modicum of support for her girls, which swung bra-free. It was precisely the kind of outfit that had made Maggie flush ten shades of red when she’d been fifteen and they’d gone grocery shopping. And normally it would make her uncomfortable now, but she was going to try not to let it.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Magnolia! You didn’t tell me you were stopping by.”

  Sonny and Cher ran back to Mom. They’d stopped yipping, but they were still dancing around excitedly.

  Now that she was here, Maggie wasn’t sure how to start. “Uh, I wanted to talk to you.”

  Nice and vague. Great opening.

  Mom smiled. “That’s nice. Surprising, but nice. I was going to call you. I’m thinking of getting dreadlocks. What do you think?”

  To say she’d look ridiculous with dreadlocks as a late-middle-aged Caucasian woman would be an understatement. Again, Maggie considered her reaction. “Uh, I think I’m not the right person to ask. What do your friends think?”

  Mom blinked at her. “What, no admonishment? Not even an exasperated sigh?”

  Maggie laughed softly. “Sorry to disappoint you.” She sobered. “But, Mom, are you trying to provoke a reaction from me?”

  Mom’s mouth turned down. “I guess maybe I was. My bad, flower bud. It’s just that you’re always so disapproving.”

  “I know.” Here was the perfect opening. Could she take it? She’d driven over an hour so she might as well . . . no, this had been well more than an hour in the making. It had been years. “Can we sit, Mom?”

  Mom’s gaze turned dubious. “Sure.”

  Maggie offered a warm smile. “I didn’t come to argue.” She’d planned to ask her mother if she’d ever really mattered or if she and Rowan had simply been afterthoughts, but she realized she already knew the answer. If she and Rowan were truly insignificant, then Mom wouldn’t be the opinionated and caring busybody she knew and loved—yes, loved. It was better to let old hurts go and embrace the future. Wasn’t that why she’d really come? “I wanted to . . . apologize.”

  Mom sat down and immediately turned to Maggie, who’d perched beside her. “What for?”

  Maggie shrugged, feeling strangely uncomfortable. This all felt so personal, and she’d kept her mother at arm’s length for so long . . . “I’ve made a point of shunning your advice, of tuning you out. If I hadn’t, maybe I wouldn’t have made some pretty catastrophic mistakes.”

  The gentle touch of Mom’s hand on her knee soothed her nerves. For the first time in ages, she thought of happy memories of Mom tending her scrapes from a bike accident and holding her while she cried after a “friend” had embarrassed her at school. “You haven’t either.”

  “Mark wasn’t a mistake?”

  Mom patted her knee. “Well, yes, of course he was. And I knew that you thought so, too. You don’t have to say things for a mother to hear them, you know. Or maybe you don’t know. You will when you have children of your own.”

  Maggie wondered if she ever would—have children of her own—but didn’t want to think about that right now. “My job has also been a total failure. I’ve decided to quit counseling.” It was like a burden had been lifted. She felt . . . liberated.

  Mom hugged her. “I’m so glad!” She pulled back. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve actually been doing some landscape design. Just one job, actually, but it’s a good one and I think it could lead to more.” Having the Archers recommend her would go a long way—but first she had to come clean about who she really was. And to do that, she needed Kyle on board. On second thought, she could be one and done with this gig. She shoved that disquieting thought away.

  “That’s great, Maggie. That’s exactly what you should be doing. It’s your calling—and you know, most people don’t have a calling.”

  She’d told her that so many times before, but it was the first time Maggie really listened. And she felt very lucky—a word she never would’ve used to describe herself. “You called me Maggie. You never call me that.”

  “Don’t I?”

  Maggie shook her head, recognizing that her mom was giving her something in return—using the name Maggie preferred for once. “Thanks.”

  “Should we go get a beer at the Sasquatch?” The neighborhood bar just down the street was Mom’s favorite place to grab a drink.

  “Sure, but are you
going to wear a bra?”

  Mom laughed, and the sound was as loud and unruly as Maggie’s entire childhood. “No. I am who I am, and you either accept it or you don’t.”

  “I can accept it—I guess. But, Mom, I don’t have to love it. Your lifestyle is just . . . crazy. Cray-zee.”

  “I know, dear. And I know it isn’t who you are, much to my chagrin.” She exhaled and stood up. “I think I’ve decided to pass on the dreadlocks.”

  Maggie got to her feet. “Why?”

  Mom shrugged. “Too much work.”

  Maggie suppressed a smile. She couldn’t know for sure, but she thought that maybe just this once, Mom had opted to be a little more mainstream. “Good choice.”

  “Let me grab my purse.” Mom disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and came back with her hobo bag slung over her shoulder. She kept her shoes in a basket by the door and dug out a pair of orange Birkenstocks. “Now that you’re going to have your dream job, we need to find your dream man.”

  Maggie arched a brow at her as she slipped her feet into her shoes. “Just one?”

  Mom laughed again. “I said you weren’t like me, unless you’ve changed your mind. Monogamy is so overrated.”

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind. One man is plenty.” Especially if that man were Kyle Archer. He was funny, caring, thoughtful, and he made her feel like she could do anything. “I’m actually sort of seeing someone.”

  Mom opened the door for her. “Kyle Archer, right?”

  Maggie stepped outside and turned around as Mom locked the front door. “How’d you know?”

  “The way he looked at you. Hungry. Possessive. Very sexy.”

  Gooseflesh raced across Maggie’s arms and neck, and her stomach did flips. “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. Well done, flower bud. He’s hot.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Mom!”

  She hooked her arm through Maggie’s and walked her to the sidewalk. “I call it like I see it.”

  Hungry. Possessive.

  The words rang in Maggie’s mind during the entire walk to the bar and resonated until she lay down to go to sleep that night. He’d wanted her. Did he still, or was the compulsion over for him?