Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1)

by Lindsey Pogue

  ~~~~~~

  An incessant vibration rouses me from sleep. My eyelids flit open to find the morning shadows are gone and my bedroom is radiant with high afternoon sun, and I’m baking in its heat.

  Lethargy makes it difficult to process the sound of my phone. It’s still buzzing. Finally managing to move, I unfurl myself from the fetal position on my bed and roll over to grab my clutch that had fallen onto the rug. I pull out my phone to find I have three missed calls from Mac and that it’s half past noon.

  My phone begins buzzing again in my hand. It’s Mac, calling me for the fourth time, and I answer.

  “Hey,” I say groggily and clear my throat.

  “Finally!” Mac shrieks. “I’m getting some crazy-ass stories about last night. What happened? And why haven’t you been answering my calls? I even called the house but not even Alison answered. I was starting to worry.”

  I lean back against my pillow, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “I fell asleep and my phone was on silent. Sorry.”

  “Fell asleep, huh? Was last night that fun?” There’s an unmistakable smirk in Mac’s tone.

  “Last night was . . .” I think about Reilly, of my breakdown in his arms and what followed after. Then I rewind back to Adam. “Last night was full of surprises.” I can hear Nick outside, talking with someone. “Hold on a sec, someone’s here.” Ankle still aching a tad, I walk over to my bedroom window and peek through the blinds. Nick’s in the stable, I can hear his voice, but I can’t see him. When I spot Petey rolling around in the dirt, excitement awakens what little of my mind is still sleeping.

  “Reilly’s here,” I say.

  “Okay, is that bad or good? What happened, Sam? When I couldn’t get ahold of you this morning, I called Nick and he told me the date was a total bust and he sent Reilly to pick you up.”

  “Yeah, a total bust, you could say that,” I say. “About that. You made this big deal about me calling you and then you didn’t answer.” I plop back down on my bed and stretch. “What were you doing last night?” I tsk into the phone.

  Mac groans. “Nothing remotely exciting, I promise you. I’m on phone number four now. I dropped it in the damn toilet last night when I burned myself with that damn wax. I had to get a new cell this morning when the store finally opened.”

  I smirk, not at all surprised, but amused nonetheless. “At least you have insurance.”

  “Nope, not anymore.” She groans again. “I’ve maxed it out. I know, I’m ridiculous. But I don’t want to talk about that crap. Tell me what happened on your date. I’m dying here.”

  As I lie in bed, recapping my catastrophic date with Adam, I wonder what Reilly’s doing downstairs—if he’s helping Nick or if he’s here for another reason.

  “I knew that seemed too good to be true. A flipping wife, though? The guy has balls, I’ll give him that. What an asshole.”

  “I’m just worried about the aftermath,” I say. “He made it seem like nothing would change as far as Target is concerned, but . . . I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, and he rarely comes to the ranch. Hopefully you can both just move on and pretend it never happened.” Mac sighs. “But you stayed at Reilly’s? That’s a curveball I didn’t see coming.” Although I know Mac has been trying to help us mend our broken fences since he got back, she doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as I would’ve expected to learn what happened.

  “I thought you’d be a little more intrigued,” I say honestly. “You’ve been encouraging this for weeks.”

  “I . . .” Mac sighs again. “I think it’s great that you guys are getting along now. It’s just strange that you’ve basically hated him for the last four years and after one night, you’re all starry-eyed. I don’t want you to get hurt again, Sam. Or him, for that matter.”

  “Starry-eyed?” I laugh, swerving around the truth behind her words. “We talked about some things. And, honestly, I’m trying not to read too much into this. I just want to be happy, even if it’s only for a little while.”

  “So, he’s still leaving?”

  “Not right now at least,” I say, not wanting to hear anything that could plant more doubt in my mind, and wanting to hold on to this hopeful feeling. “I feel better around him. I’m not sure why, but for now, that’s good enough for me. I think that’s what I need, you know?”

  “Yeah, I do know,” Mac says. “I’m glad that Reilly makes you happy, Sam. You deserve some of that every now and again.”

  I stand and walk over to my dresser and pull out a pair of clean cutoffs, a black tank top, a pair of underwear, and a bra from my dresser drawers. “I need to jump in the shower and get the horses fed. Call you later?”

  “Alright. Sorry again I couldn’t answer last night when you called.” I can tell she feels horrible, but I’m glad she didn’t answer. If she had, I wouldn’t have been able to share the night with Reilly. Today wouldn’t be so bright, despite what happened with Alison.

  “Don’t sweat it, Mac. You’ve been more than supportive. You’re allowed to have your own problems to deal with.”

  “Yeah, well . . . I’m still here if you need me.”

  “I know, thank you. I really appreciate everything you do . . . all the time.”

  With a few more mushy sentiments and a sniffle on Mac’s end, we end the call.

  Rushing, I grab my clean clothes, unable to get showered and outside fast enough. I fling open my bedroom door, hoping I don’t run into Alison on my way out, and stop in the doorway. There’s a small bottle outside my door on the floor. I bend down. It’s a bottle of ibuprofen with a note.

  For your ankle. Let’s do something tonight. Oh, and toothless Jack says hi.

  Thirty-One

  Sam

  The sun sets over the ridge, sending beams of gold and pink through the sky, and with it the breeze picks up. I ride the horses in these back hills all the time, but I can’t remember the last time I just lounged out here like this in the back of Reilly’s truck, wrapped up in his arms. It’s an ideal, if cool, ending to a crazy, work-filled day, and I’m happy to be away from the ranch, watching the sunset. The last few days have been insane, with a double workload, but I try to let all thoughts of Alison and the ranch go.

  Wrapping my sweater tighter around me, I snuggle closer to him.

  “You already getting cold?” he asks, peering down at me.

  “A little. I brought warmer clothes though, plus we have the blanket. I’ll be fine.” I wiggle even closer.

  “Well, I’ll just have to warm you up, then.” He tightens his arms around me, grinning.

  I smile back and bat my eyelashes. “That was my plan.”

  Reilly winks and kisses my lips. “Have you realized that you smile when I smile?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

  My smile widens. “Yeah?” I shrug, like I didn’t already know this. But I do. Every time his face lights up, I can’t help that mine does the same. “Your smile must be contagious.”

  “Good.” He wraps his legs around mine, squeezing me and kissing the top of my head. Together, we sit in silence, listening to the sounds of dusk.

  The crickets are already out, their nocturnal symphony welcoming nightfall, and I can hear the distant bellow of the frogs at the lake just over the hill. There’s movement in the grass beneath his truck, and I assume Petey is resituating himself in a moment of semiconsciousness after an exhausting afternoon of swimming in the lake. If there’s anything we’ve learned, it’s that he loves to swim—hence his excitement when he stumbled upon me naked in the lake—and a swim session is all it takes to tucker him out.

  The oak trees surrounding us rustle with critters searching for shelter for the night. That, and the rise and fall of Reilly’s chest against my back, is all the comfort I need as my mind unwinds for the evening.

  In the silence, my stomach rumbles. I peer up at Reilly. He’s almost smiling, an intrigued eyebrow raised.

  “Well,” I breathe. “I guess it’s time for food.” The truck
shifts beneath me as I sit up. Unfolding the flannel blanket I brought from home, I drape it over my bare legs, instantly warmer, and twist around to open the cooler.

  “Look what I brought for you,” I sing, and pull out a container of fried chicken. “Thighs and legs, fresh outta the frying pan. Well”—I wave in dismissal—“fresh as in yesterday, at least.” Pulling the top off, I waft it under Reilly’s nose and he groans.

  “Good lord, that smells amazing.” He licks his lips and sits up, leaning against the cab glass and watching me as I pull out our dinner. “I can’t remember the last time I had a real, home-cooked meal,” he says. “And breakfast doesn’t count. Home cooking is one of the few things I missed while I was gone.”

  I set the chicken down and pull out a pint of pasta salad. “Do you miss it?” I ask. “The Army, I mean.” I stick a spoon in the noodle pint and set it down on the blanket next to the chicken.

  Reilly smiles. “There’s a lot of things that I miss about it, yeah.”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugs and holds up a bottle of wine.

  “Ooh, yes please.”

  He surprises me by pulling out a bottle opener from a secret bag shoved in the corner of the truck bed. I try to peer around him. “A corkscrew, wine . . . what else do you have in that fancy bag of yours?”

  “Don’t you worry about it,” he says. “It’s bad enough that I ask you out for dinner, you wanted a picnic, and you’re providing the food.”

  “In all fairness, I insisted. Besides, I had all this food at home that needs to be eaten.” I pull out a container of baked beans. “Um, I didn’t really think this through. Do you like cold baked beans?”

  Reilly tilts his head, and the cork comes out of the wine bottle with a final twist and a pop. “I’m the kind of guy who brings plastic cups to drink wine in on a date. Do I seem like I’m picky about cold beans or warm beans?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “No, not really.”

  “Good.” Reilly hands me a cup of wine and pours one for himself. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” I say and take a sip. I almost spit my wine out when Reilly brings his cup to his mouth, drinking with his pinky finger sticking out. “Oh, stop!” I say, nearly choking. “That’s too much.”

  Reilly tries not to smile as he looks over at me. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked fancy guys.”

  “I don’t,” I say, laughing as I pull off a piece of chicken.

  “No?” He feigns offense. “Damn. I thought this would turn you on.”

  “It doesn’t, besides,” I say, “that’s too fancy for me.”

  Reilly chuckles and sets his plastic cup on the edge of the truck bed. He picks up the container of beans and sticks a spoonful in his mouth. “So I take it we’re sharing?” He holds up the spoon.

  I nod, my mouth full of macaroni salad. “That’s how fancy I am.”

  We banter back and forth as we eat, me filling him in about my day of mostly appointments and paperwork and how hectic it is with Alison staying at her sister’s, and him filling me in about the floor that he chose for the bathroom and the latest semi-offer he got on the house. I try not to think too much about the latter.

  “Sorry it’s been a few days since I could stop by,” I say. “I’ve been so exhausted, but hopefully things will calm down soon. I want to come see everything that you’ve done.”

  Reilly looks at me, but not with mirth or affection. Concern lines his face and the atmosphere changes around us. “Nick told me about the fight,” he says.

  I level a curious gaze on him. “I told you about the fight.”

  “But Nick told me why she left.”

  I lean back, picking at my chicken thigh. The last thing I want to do is talk about Alison right now. “And?” Trying to be more open is all part of my new self-prescribed, direct-communication regimen I’ve put myself on since trying to “deal” properly.

  “I didn’t realize she slapped you, or that she knows.” The concern in his voice is obvious, and I get it, but I haven’t decided what to do about my situation with Alison yet. Maybe her staying with her sister is a good thing right now. Although I’m not so appreciative of her telling everyone my business. If Nick knows, then his family probably does, too.

  I shrug, uncertain what Reilly wants me to say. “Well, she did and she does. I deserved it, though. Mostly. I didn’t ask her to leave, she decided that on her own. She didn’t even say anything to me before she left.” And surprisingly, that hurt more than the slap. I had no idea how long she would be gone, what she planned to do, or if she was ever even coming back.

  “And now you’re left with double duty. That’s not cool, Sam.”

  “Josh, what do you want me to do about it? Beg her to come back? I won’t.”

  “No,” he says, taking another bite of beans. “I don’t think you should beg her. But I think you guys should talk.”

  I snort. “Yeah, talking goes over really well between the two of us.” I drop my picked-at chicken thigh back in the container, no longer hungry.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says with a sigh. “I was just surprised when Nick told me.”

  I take a sip of my wine and stare up at the darkening sky. “I just didn’t want you to worry about me.” I look at him, making sure he sees how serious I am. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m doing better.”

  “I believe you.” He smiles, and the truth is clear and gleaming in his eyes. No concern or apprehension, no distrust or judgement. It’s something I’m not used to, and it overshadows everything else.

  “You do?”

  He nods. “Yes. I do.”

  Without thought, I lean forward and kiss him. “Thank you,” I say. I kiss him again, another silent thank-you. He kisses me back, and when I pull away, I lick my lips. “Yum. Brown sugar. I’m an excellent cook, aren’t I?”

  “Not full of ourselves at all, are we?” he jokes.

  I laugh and wonder how I’ve gone so long without him.

  Thirty-Two

  Reilly

  “Hey, Reilly.” I glance over at the Char-Griller Cal Carmichael’s standing behind. His big, burly biker look is enhanced by a red checkered apron with white lace on the ties.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Grab me a brew, would ya?” He lifts his hands, barbecue tongs in one and a brush covered in sauce in the other.

  “Coming right up.” I push off the side of their home, my leaning spot in the shade, next to Nick.

  “Oh damn, he singled you out. Someone’s already in trouble,” Nick taunts and he lets out a puff of smoke. “And we just got here.”

  I shake my head, ignoring him, and walk over to the cooler stocked full of drinks under the picnic table. While the Carmichael’s backyard is large, there’s not much shade, and what little there is keeps moving. I pull out a cold beer, pop the cap off, and head over to the grill.

  “Here you go,” I say, and hand Cal his beer.

  “Thank you, son.” He clinks the neck of my bottle with his. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” We both take a swig, and when I smell the mesquite tri-tip, I start to salivate. “That looks delicious. You need any help?”

  “Nah, it’s alright. Bobby’s supposed to be out here doing this, but I’m not sure where he’s gone off to.” He glances around the yard, his gaze landing on Nick. Cal shakes his head, I’m assuming because Nick is smoking, and takes in the balloons and birthday decorations around the yard. “I’ve never been much for birthdays,” he says. “When you have kids, you don’t get a lot of choice in the matter, though.”

  I chuckle. Though Cal acts cross, I know he loves his kids more than anything. Besides Nick’s family, the Carmichaels are the most close-knit family I know.

  “I was sorry to hear about your father,” Cal says, surprising me. He’s not one for sentiment or bullshit.

  “Thank you, sir, but I think we all know he was never much of a father,” I say.

  Cal nods. “He was a troubled man, that’s for su
re. But then I guess war does that to you. When your mother died, leaving him with a newborn . . . well, I think it sent him over the edge.”

  I pale. “I hadn’t realized you knew anything about that.” I knew my mom died, but he would never talk to me about the rest.

  Cal takes a sip of his beer. “The night Katherine left me was the first and last time I passed out at Lick’s. John happened to be there that night. Put two drunk men with broken hearts together and you’ve got yourself a wallowing-fest, son.”

  I rock back on my heels, wondering what else Cal knows that I don’t.

  “I’m not sure why your father never shared any of this with you, but since he’s gone, well, I can tell you what I know, if you’d like. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Please,” I say quietly but without hesitation.

  “He was overseas when he got a letter from a social worker over here, telling him you’d been born and your mother didn’t make it. He left wherever he was to come back, and . . . I guess the rest is history.”

  “That’s why he’s always hated me,” I think aloud.

  After a moment, Cal sighs. “We all have our vices, Joshua. John’s was drinking, mine is work. I think when your mother died, leaving him with a child I’m not even sure he was expecting, it was just too much for him.”

  I take another drink as certain holes in my childhood begin to fill and I see my life—no, mostly my father—a little differently.

  “There’s still no excuse for the way he treated you, son.” Cal shakes his head. “He chose not to tell you any of this, he chose to keep you in the dark, and he chose to treat you the way he did. There’s nothing you could’ve done. Don’t regret anything.” He gives me a stern, serious look. “You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He turns his attention back to the meat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about the truck. How’s she running for you these days?” Cal of all people knows the pride and time I put into that truck after I bought it from him, so I appreciate that he asks.