Ainsley shrugged. “I honestly have no idea.”
“I can’t imagine a better Christmas morning,” Cris said between bites of his breakfast.
“Me either.” She was so comfortable at Alex’s place. She’d never been here before, but oddly, it felt like home. If Cris hadn’t just started Geneco and she weren’t at Stanford finishing her PhD, she could see them living in Alex’s house. Compared to what they could get in Palo Alto for the average cost of houses in this part of Cambria, Alex’s twelve-hundred-square-foot house was practically a mansion.
Cris took her plate and his to the sink. “Presents now, or back to bed and presents later?”
“Oh, back to bed. Definitely.”
The sun had been up for at least two hours when they made their way back to the Christmas tree.
“What’s that?” Ainsley asked, noticing a smaller package sitting on top of the one for Cris.
“I don’t know. Let’s go see.” Cris took her hand and pulled her over to the closest armchair. “Looks like our fire’s out. I’ll get it going again.”
While Cris tended to the fireplace, Ainsley peeked at the packages. There were two more small ones she hadn’t noticed before, both with her name on them.
“You were busy,” she said. “The tree, the groceries, the gifts…”
Cris came back over and knelt in front of her. “I wanted it to be perfect, Ainsley.” He picked up the small package that had been sitting on top of his gift, handed it to her, and smiled. “Open it.”
“Aren’t you going to open yours?”
“In a minute.”
Ainsley untied the ribbon, and gasped when she tore the paper and saw it was a ring box. Cris took it from her hand then and looked deep into her eyes.
“Ainsley, my sweet Ainsley. Will you marry me?” He’d opened the box, but Ainsley couldn’t see its contents through her tears.
“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she cried. Before she could say anything else, Cris kissed her. He kept kissing her until she felt her toes curl.
“I love you, Ainsley.” He took her left hand in his and slid the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit.
“I love you, too, Cris.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
“You haven’t even looked at it,” he teased.
“I still love it.” Ainsley rested her hand on his and gasped again when she looked more closely at the ring he’d given her.
It was similar to Alex’s Scottish thistle ring, but at the same time, very different. “Gold is better with your skin,” he murmured as she studied the setting and the stones adorning it. There were small emeralds in the shape of a heart and, in its center, a princess cut diamond. She’d seen so many traditional Scottish rings in her lifetime, but none remotely as beautiful as this one.
Cris wiped the tears from her cheek. “Happy?”
“So far beyond happy.”
He smiled and looked over at the fire.
“Open yours, now. I’m sorry it—”
“Shh. I’ve told you, Ainsley. I’ve gotten everything I wanted for Christmas. There could be no better gift.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. “Open it anyway,” she whispered.
Cris sat on the floor and pulled the package closer to him. “It feels like books.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting it’s time I go back to school?”
Ainsley held up her hands. “Not from me. Remember?”
Cris tore the paper from the box and lifted its lid.
She peeked over his shoulder and gasped at the same time he did.
“Ainsley…I’m speechless.”
So was she. The books in the box were familiar to her. They had been among her brother Kade’s most prized possessions. Ainsley remembered when he’d found them in the back of an old bookstore—although, now, she couldn’t recall where it had been, only his unabashed excitement at finding them.
The set, in original and rare morocco binding, was a first edition collection of the works of Charles Darwin. It was priceless, but more so to Cris because of the work he did.
The bindings showed wear and had dark spots here and there, but inside, the engraved illustrations were in perfect condition.
“I…I…” Cris laughed. “I’m literally speechless. Ainsley…I…they’re incredible…it’s incredible.”
Her head was reeling. Was this her gift from Kade? Naughton said when he spoke to her, she’d know.
Kade knew. Somehow he knew that she was in love with Cristobal, and that he would treasure, and know the value of, this collection, far more than most anyone else would. It wasn’t about the monetary value of the books, though. The real gift was what they meant, particularly to a man of science.
She watched Cris as he gently touched each book, opened it, and marveled at its contents, shaking his head again and again.
He set the book he held on the blanket by the tree and reached up for the envelope she’d rested in its branches.
“Should I leave you alone to open this?” he asked.
Ainsley shook her head. “Please, no. I’d like you to stay.”
Cris nodded and sat back, watching her.
My dear baby sister—
I wonder if you knew how precious you were to me. Ma always said it was up to me to tell you that, when you were born, I was the one who chose your name.
It means meadow, but to me, it means every delicate flower, every fragile leaf, every blade of grass that blows gently in the breeze.
Your heart is full of everything beautiful found in the meadows around Butler Ranch, where I was so blessed to watch you grow up.
You may know by now that I was aware of your feelings for Cristobal. He is a fine and good man, who will love you even more than you love him. In my heart, I know you are meant to be together, just as you’ve always known.
There is someone else who needs your love, Ainsley. She will come to you when she is ready, but know this—she will need you to reach out to her. Bring her into the family. Make her feel loved and welcome as only you can, with your generous heart and giving spirit. Take care of her for me. She needs you. When you believe the time is right, please give her the unmarked envelope you found with yours.
All my love,
Kade
Ainsley wasn’t sure how long Cris held her as she cried. He ran his fingers through her hair and caressed her, loved her, and took care of her, just like Kade knew he would.
Her brother hadn’t forgotten her. And more importantly, he trusted her to be the one who brought his daughter home to his family. She would honor that trust and take care of Quinn—for Kade.
V
Quinn
New Year’s Eve
14
This was definitely going down in the annals as the worst week of Quinn’s life. And instead of going home, she was continuing the misery-fest by spending the best holiday of the year in New York City, where she lived—here, and alone, just like she’d spent Christmas.
She’d really thought she’d hear from her mother before Thanksgiving, but that came and went without a word. Every day in December, she’d thought for sure her mother would call, or text, or something, but she hadn’t. Quinn’s countless messages, texts, and emails had gone unanswered.
As morose as she felt, standing in the kitchen of the house she’d rented, and staring out at the dark, dreary, and frigid-looking Pacific Ocean was only making things worse. Maybe if she went for a run, she’d feel better. And if not better, at least less pathetic.
Quinn changed her clothes, went outside, and stretched, only to go back in and put another sweatshirt over the one she was already wearing. She’d lived on the East Coast most of her life and was used to cold weather, but this felt different—this cold was bone-chilling.
Her start was slow, but as her muscles warmed up, she got into a rhythm. Instead of her usual two-mile run to the park and back, she kept going.
Once she got to
the boardwalk, she took the wooden steps down to Moonstone Beach and continued her run. Surprisingly, there were quite a few people out considering it was cold as hell.
When she got to the cliffs at the far end of the beach, she stopped and sat on a rock, checking her phone like she had every waking hour of every day for the last month and a half. Still nothing, not that she’d expected there to be.
She stood, stretched again, turned around to run in the opposite direction, and ran smack dab into the back of someone who had just come around one of the big rocks.
“Ow, shit. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Quinn said to the woman she’d slammed into.
“It’s okay, probably my fault. I wasn’t looking either,” the woman answered. Something about her seemed familiar, but since she knew no one who lived here anymore, it must just be one of those things.
“You look familiar,” the woman said to Quinn, which made her laugh.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Really? How funny. Do you live in Cambria?”
“Nope. Just visiting.”
The woman studied her, and then pulled her hand out of her pocket and extended it. “I’m Ainsley Butler. It’s nice to meet you…”
Quinn’s head was reeling. Ainsley Butler? It had to be a coincidence, right? Butler was a relatively common name, wasn’t it?
“And you are…”
“Oh, um, sorry…I’m Quinn. Quinn Hess.”
When she reached out to shake her hand, Ainsley didn’t let go, and by the look on her face, she was feeling the same way Quinn had been a moment ago.
“Hey, Ains. What’s up?” A very tall and insanely good-looking man jogged over to them. “Who’s this?” he asked, looking at their still-clasped hands.
“Cris, this is…” Ainsley shook her head, like maybe she’d forgotten her name.
“I’m Quinn,” she answered for her.
“Cris Avila, nice to meet you…wait a minute. Quinn?” He looked at Ainsley, who nodded.
“Quinn,” she said, linking their arms, “this may sound crazy, but there’s a family I want you to meet.”
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Also by Heather Slade
BUTLER RANCH
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Book One: The Promise
Book Two: The Truce
Book Three: The Secret
Book Five: The Truth
Coming Soon!
Book Six: The Return
COWBOYS OF CRESTED BUTTE
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Book Two: Dance with Me
Book Three: Kiss Me Cowboy
Book Four: Stay with Me
Book Five: Win Me Over
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Book Six: Sing to Me
Two New Series Coming Soon!
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Book One: Ridge
LOS CABALLEROS
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The Truth
Want more from Heather Slade?
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Fall for Me
the first book in
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The Truth
June
There were worse things than spending your twenty-first birthday in New York City with your four best friends, but there were better things, too. Quinn’s only wish, this year, had been to hear from her mother. It didn’t matter if she called, texted, emailed, sent a message via carrier pigeon, or showed up at her door—Quinn just wanted this to be the year her mom remembered her birthday.
The last time they’d spoken was almost a month ago when Quinn had graduated from Barnard. They’d gotten into an argument after a dinner celebration they had with those same friends, who’d also just graduated. Her mother had been rude throughout the meal, and Quinn had confronted her.
“You’ve known them for years; at least you could’ve been civil,” she’d said.
It was obvious now that her provocation had been a waste of time. Her mother hadn’t offered up as much as an explanation for her behavior, let alone an apology.
“I’d like to visit this summer,” Quinn had said the next morning, hoping to smooth things over before her mother’s flight back to California.
“It isn’t a good time,” her mother had answered.
“It never is,” she’d mumbled, but her mother hadn’t responded.
She’d been hurt, but really, she shouldn’t have been; they’d certainly never been close. How could they have been? Her mother had shipped her off to the East Coast boarding school where Quinn had met her pals when she was seven.
Up until then, she’d attended Montecito’s posh San Ysidro Day School. Quinn still wasn’t sure why her mother had sent her away, but her assumption was that she didn’t want her around then any more than she did now.
“You’re so lucky that you don’t have to put up with the same shit we do,” she’d heard more than once from the friends she called her tribe.
Lucky? She guessed so. Quinn’s father had died before she was born, so she hadn’t had to deal with the never-ending drama her friends had with their parents’ nasty divorces.
She’d also never wanted for much of anything. No expense had been spared when it came to her education or her standard of living. The only thing she’d wished for that no one had ever been able to deliver was a family.
Last night, her tribe had taken her out to celebrate turning twenty-one.
Quinn had stumbled in, sometime after four in the morning, and hadn’t rolled out of bed until a little after one. She would’ve slept all day, but there was another party tonight, in Southampton, that was partially in her honor. If she didn’t want to look like death, she had to get up, eat, and maybe even get some sun before it was time to leave.
She checked her phone, but there weren’t any new messages since the last time she looked, and certainly nothing from her mother.
When she heard a rap at her apartment door, Quinn nearly spilled her hot cup of honey-chamomile tea down the front of her paper-thin camisole. She set the cup on the kitchen counter and waited, not anticipating a second knock. The building’s doormen were steadfast in not granting admission to non-residents, and since she didn’t know the only other occupant on this floor except to wave at on the rare occasion she saw him from a distance, whoever was knocking had to be on the wrong floor.
“Miss Sullivan?” she heard a vaguely familiar voice call out. “You have a delivery.”
“Just a minute,” she answered, looking down at the so-called pajamas she wore, ones that covered next to nothing on her thin frame.
“I’ll just leave it,” she heard the voice say.
“Thanks, but…um…hang on.” Quinn looked through the peephole, but didn’t see anyone.
She opened the door a crack and looked down to see a vase of white roses sitting on the other side of the threshold. She picked it up and set it on the console table just inside the door, where she usually left her mail and keys, and sometimes her sunglasses.
Three hours later, Quinn remembered the roses. In that time, she’d caught up with two of her friends, Aine and Ava, who were twins, about last night’s adventures and what they were wearing to the party tonight. She’d showered, and then lay on her bed. The five minutes she’d planned to rest her eyes had turned into a two-hour nap.
In nothing but a light shift, she padded down the ha
llway and grabbed the card that came with her unexpected delivery.
“Happy 21st birthday, precious,” it read.
A chill ran down her spine at the lack of a signature, particularly given her mother had never, ever, not once, called her “precious.”
The idea of downing more alcohol-laden shots and dancing bayside with one hundred of her closest non-friends made Quinn nauseous. She was bored—out of her mind bored—so bored she was actually considering forking out the $500 fare it would cost to get back to Manhattan on her own.
Partying at the home of a has-been network morning show host sounded appealing, but the reality landed somewhere between awkward and disgusting.
For the last half hour, she’d occupied a bench close to the sand, staring at the moonlight on the water, and wondering who’d sent her twenty-one white roses.
If it had been Aine or Ava, neither would have been able to keep it a secret. The first thing one of them would’ve asked when she entered their apartment this afternoon was if she’d gotten anything interesting for her birthday. Penelope or Tara might’ve been more subtle, but again, she’d never heard any of her friends utter the word precious.
Quinn stretched her legs and stood, finally deciding to let her friends know she was heading home. When she turned away from the water, she caught a glimpse of someone who looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
The gravel pathway she walked wasn’t well-lit, so she could see the man standing with his shoulder up against the stone archway that separated the concrete surrounding the home’s pool from its gardens, better than he’d be able to see her.
As she got closer, she was certain she recognized him from her apartment building, but what on earth was Mr. Bryant doing here? She knew she seemed like a snob for wondering.
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