Nothing.
She closed her eyes and offered a prayer of thanks. Moxie definitely didn’t play fair.
But Brynn couldn’t keep herself from admiring the hell out of her anyway.
* * *
SEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE freakin’ evening, and Taylor still hadn’t called back.
Alone in the communal laundry room that served the cabins, Brynn glared at her phone even as she ordered herself to calm down. There had been a quick text—Breathe—but that hadn’t been much consolation. Even as she reminded herself that conference days were jammed, that Taylor was probably in break-out sessions followed by appointments followed by dinner meetings with no chance to return to her room for the privacy this kind of call would require, her panic meter was going off the charts.
Because Carter was there. And Brynn wasn’t. And she was pretty sure Moxie had chosen Carter deliberately.
She grabbed a blouse from the dryer. Yes, in some ways it had made sense to send Carter. He was single, he was family, he was peripherally involved in much of what Taylor did at Northstar. But only peripherally. There were other people who would have gained much more from these sessions.
Instead, Moxie had sent her main legal eagle to the conference. Which was almost as scary as remembering that Carter could easily have said no. The fact that he had willingly gone along with this made her fear that he had an agenda of his own, and that between him and Moxie there was going to be a whole hell of a lot of heartache running through the North family very soon.
“You are such a control freak, Catalano.” She yanked a bra from the dryer and tossed it into her hamper. They said that admitting you had a problem was the first step to defeating it. Too bad this was the exception to the rule. Because if you had to acknowledge your problem to gain control of it, but the problem was that you couldn’t let go of the need to be in control in the first place...
“Argh!” She tossed a pink argyle sock on top of the dryer to await its mate. As she reached back into the still-warm clothes, her phone rang.
“Finally!”
But when she glanced at the display, she saw that the call was from her sister-in-law.
“Hey, Libby. What’s up?”
“Not much. Have you got a minute? Casey wants to say hi.”
“Absolutely.”
Brynn boosted herself up on the dryer and waited for the wet breathing that always accompanied her nephew’s phone conversations. He didn’t bother with a greeting but immediately launched into a story about the dog, his nursery school teacher and SpongeBob SquarePants. She had learned long ago that trying to understand Casey’s calls would only increase the frustration level, so she leaned back, drumming her feet softly against the dryer while listening to the rise and fall of his adorably breathy voice, repeating a few of his words whenever she could understand them. All in all, probably the most satisfying conversation she’d had all day.
After a minute or two she heard him shout, followed by a crash in her ear as the phone fell, and then the sound of Libby’s laughter.
“Sorry about that. Finnegan took off after something, so of course Casey had to follow.”
“Not a prob. But next time could you catch the phone on the way down? I’d like to keep my hearing as long as possible.”
“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Sure. What should I bring?”
“I don’t know. It’s Sam’s night to cook, and I have no idea what he has planned. But why don’t you stop at that new bakery and get some of their stretchy bread? I’ve been craving that for days now.”
“Sure.” But something Libby had said had tweaked her curiosity. “You really don’t know what he’s cooking?”
“Probably chicken of one kind or another. I saw some defrosting in the fridge. Why, have you decided to go radical vegan or something?”
“No, not that. It’s just... I never would have expected a fellow control freak to not have the menu planned for the next month or so.”
“Who says I don’t?” Libby’s laugh was light and playful—and, Brynn suspected, probably aimed at Sam. “But just because I plan it doesn’t mean your brother will follow it.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Car lights flashed through the window. Brynn sat up straighter and glanced at the clock mounted above the vending machine that would soon be filled with one-load boxes of detergent. Hank and Millie were home.
God, she hoped she could get through the evening’s hellos and goodbyes without doing a lovesick-teenager imitation.
With a start, she realized Libby was still speaking. “...comes a point when you have to ask yourself if something is worth the energy. So if we eat chicken four nights in a row, does it really matter? No.”
Brynn remembered Taylor crying out her confession that she thought she was in love with the wrong brother. “But what about when it does matter?”
“Oh. Well, then I ask myself, do I really have any control over this? Because sometimes I do, but most of the time, it’s just me being a worrywart. Or, you know, obsessing about something that doesn’t matter because it’s easier than thinking about things that scare the crap out of me.”
“Fixating on fixing someone else and ignoring your own issues? You, Libby?”
“Oh, never.” This time there was a decidedly rueful tone to her laughter. “Of course, sometimes I’m just a tad convinced of my own superhuman abilities.”
Do I really have any control over this?
Brynn leaned forward and stopped drumming her feet, stilled by the impact of Libby’s words.
Do I really have any control over this?
She didn’t. Not anymore. She had done what she could and helped where she was able, but she wasn’t in Calgary and she wasn’t Taylor. And when push came to shove, this was Taylor’s life. Not hers.
“But doesn’t that feel like a cop-out? Like you do what you can and then say, okay, out of my hands now? What about seeing things through, or pushing to make sure something happens, or—”
“Or convincing yourself that the fate of everyone you ever loved rests in your hands?”
It was almost like there were thought balloons floating around Brynn’s head, and Libby had a telescope trained dead on them. This was the last time she would look for advice from someone who was on such a similar wavelength. “Well, when you put it that way...”
“Brynn. You’re not God. Sometimes, you have to do what you can do and then trust other people to do what they can do.” She added, more gently, “You want to tell me what has you so worried?”
An unexpected lump came to Brynn’s throat. “I... Not right now. But thanks. I might take you up on that someday.”
“Anytime, hon. The door is always— Oh, crap. Casey! Finnegan! Not that, it’s dead! Gotta go, Brynn. See you tomorrow.”
She hung up before Brynn could stop laughing.
After a moment Brynn shoved the phone back in her pocket and forced herself to resist the urge to check for missed calls or messages. She scooted to the edge of the dryer and dropped to the floor.
Libby was right.
Yes, this situation mattered far more than Libby realized, and the potential problems were greater than she knew. But for at least this moment in time, there was absolutely nothing that Brynn could do about it.
She had done her best to help Taylor. It was time to let go of this, to accept that whatever happened next was out of her hands.
She didn’t like it. Hated the very thought. But as she hefted her hamper on her hip and headed into the early evening cool, she couldn’t help but look up at the house where she would soon be welcomed by Hank and Millie. Hank, who had forced himself to ask for and accept help even when it was the last thing he wanted. Who was willing t
o risk making an idiot of himself onstage to show his kid how to rise above bullies. Who was giving his ex a second chance to make things right with their daughter, no matter how much it terrified him.
Hank had proved to be an expert in helping her lose control. Maybe she could learn a few things from him about letting go of it, as well.
* * *
ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT, Hank bounced down the driveway after dropping Millie off with Heather, pulled into his spot and checked for Brynn’s car almost by reflex. No sooner did he realize what he had done than he gave himself a mental kick.
Get over yourself, North.
They hadn’t made plans. At least, no official ones. God knows he’d spent plenty of time since the weekend thinking of the many ways he and Brynn might pass the hours until Millie came home.
But she hadn’t said anything, though he knew she was well aware he would be free. She had kept her distance. Which was fine—Millie was around all the time, and he was the one who had said that Millie couldn’t suspect anything. But he had kind of been hoping she would issue an invitation. Not because he had been the one to make the big move over the weekend, though that was in the back of his mind—hey, he was only human—but because Brynn wasn’t the type to leave things to chance. If she had wanted to spend the evening with him, she would have let him know.
But she hadn’t.
The way his body reacted to the sight of her little hatchback pulled up snug against the side of her cabin told him just how much he wished she had.
Okay. So maybe she had something already planned. The festival was just three weeks away, Taylor had been gone for days, Brynn was probably swamped with details and phone calls. He sure as hell had enough on his plate to keep him busy for the next few hours.
Of course, everyone could use a little special relaxation now and then....
He hopped out of the truck, shook off the temptation to wander down and say hello, and headed into his place. A load of throw rugs had been delivered that day. He would distribute them among the cabins before returning to the main project of the moment, hauling rocks from the river shore to build up the crumbling sections of the stone fence that surrounded the house.
He spotted the rugs beside the new medicine chest he had to install in the Grindstone cabin. Okay. He wouldn’t do that now, but he could carry the rugs and the chest down to Grindstone and leave them there on his way to the shore. It would make sense, save him a trip later.
The fact that it would take him right past Brynn’s cabin was purely a coincidence.
Arms fully loaded, he set out. But just as he passed Brynn’s place the night was rent by a blast of music, something loud and booming and so unexpected that he jerked and sent his careful stack crashing to the ground.
“Shit!”
He cursed again, silently this time, because he knew what was going to happen next.
Sure enough, no sooner had he bent to scoop up the muddied items than Brynn burst out of her cabin.
“Hank? Is everything—oh.”
She stopped in front of him. He made the mistake of looking at her.
Oh, hell. She had been doing yoga. She was wearing some skintight thing that was red and bared her shoulders and had lines in places guaranteed to draw a man’s eyes right to the forbidden zone. The pants didn’t do much to conceal her other assets, not with the way they molded the curves that had given him so many happy memories.
Worse than her clothing, though, was her face, all pink and slightly sweaty and filled with barely suppressed laughter. She looked rumpled and lush and ready to be made sweatier and messier and pinker.
And she wasn’t even trying.
“I have a horrible suspicion I contributed to this,” she said without a hint of actual repentance in her voice.
“Let’s just say you picked a lousy time to let loose with the John Williams fanfare.”
“I’m sorry. I was channeling my inner Princess Leia, and I wanted the right music.”
“Do me a favor and go for Yoda next time, will ya?”
Her laughter was his undoing. She let loose with that full, throaty laugh that made him remember other moments he had coaxed it from her, and the next thing he knew the medicine chest had slipped from his grasp again to slam his toe. And he didn’t give a rat’s ass because he had danced away from it and was holding her again, pulling her close and kissing her and filling himself with Brynn.
She wriggled closer, sliding her arms around his neck and tilting her head so he had full access to that mouth that kidnapped his brain, telling him without words that she had missed this as much as he had. Maybe even missed him as much as he had missed her.
Because he had missed her. More than he wanted to admit. A smart man would back away now while he still could.
Yet his arms insisted on tightening when they should have been letting go.
She was the first one to back away. No surprise there.
“Hey.” At least she left her arms looped around his neck, her forehead resting against his so he was still surrounded by her scent. “Much as I would love to stick around and play, I have to leave in about ten minutes.”
Leaving. It kind of scared him to realize that he’d expected her to say that. It scared him even more to admit that he wished leaving was dropped from his personal Brynn vocabulary. Leave, walk away, go.
Move on.
But he wasn’t supposed to think about her that way. Wasn’t supposed to get worried that leaving, walking away, moving on were words that he’d heard her utter way too often. After all, it wasn’t like he was looking for anything more than some good times. It wasn’t like she had ever pretended that leaving wasn’t in the cards.
Get with the program, North.
“Big plans?”
“I have to go to Ottawa. Taylor’s flying back tonight.” Some of the happiness leached from her smile, giving him a moment’s pause.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine. No worries.”
Right. And he had been totally free of ulterior motives when he set out for Grindstone.
But it was hard to worry about what she wasn’t saying when her hands were resting on his chest, one finger sliding back and forth along the top of his T-shirt.
“Is it wrong to admit that I wish I hadn’t told Taylor I would pick her up?”
Ah. So she wasn’t leaving by choice this time. She had a family thing. That, he could well understand.
Amazing how one little question could make him see everything in a new light.
“Only if it’s wrong to admit that I know a back way to the airport that would save you, oh, fifteen minutes.”
She leaned back and looked him up and down as if she were trying to determine his truthfulness, when in fact he was pretty sure she had already made up her mind. Maybe because her fingers had slipped inside his shirt and that her backward tilt was accompanied by a forward slant to her hips.
Or maybe because he knew her. Not as well as he would like. Probably more than was good for the sake of his continued happiness, given the fact that she would be leaving town in less than a month.
“Fifteen minutes isn’t exactly confidence-inspiring.”
“Planes are usually late.”
“This is true.” She swayed from side to side, brushing up against him, interfering with his ability to breathe. Not that he was complaining.
“Of course,” she continued, “I still need to grab a shower.”
“Not a problem.”
Her eyes widened, all fake innocence. “You mean you understand that I need to have a long, steamy shower instead of having a long, steamy you?”
“Nope.” He slipped his hands beneath her yoga pants, pulling her flush against him while biting that sweet curve where neck met shoulder. “I mean, with all that yoga you do, I t
hink you’re flexible enough that we can make that shower do double duty.”
“I knew there was something in it for me besides inner peace.”
This time when she laughed he joined in. A little rusty, maybe, but still a laugh. Something he’d been doing a hell of a lot more since Brynn came to town.
He was going to miss the laughter almost as much as the sex. Maybe more.
“Come on, Princess. We’d better get moving if we want to pretzel you up before the Millennium Falcon has to take off.”
“Ooh, Captain, I do believe there’s a lightsaber in your pocket!”
Yep. Sex, laughs... Definitely a toss-up.
It wasn’t until they had christened the shower and he had done his best to keep her from getting dressed and she had hit the road with wet hair and a very satisfied smile that he thought to wonder why anyone would need to channel warrior Princess Leia to do yoga.
* * *
A LITTLE OVER an hour after kissing Hank goodbye—for about the fourteenth time—Brynn took one look at Taylor walking out of the secure area at the airport and knew she had failed.
So much for Libby’s advice to trust and let go.
Not that this came as a surprise. Taylor had avoided all calls and texts, allowing no contact other than a brief voice mail left at a time when she knew damned well Brynn would be in a meeting. And somehow, a cryptic, “Everything is as it should be” wasn’t the most reassuring of messages.
But the lecture she had planned to deliver during the drive to Comeback Cove was pushed out of her head by the sight of Taylor, looking somehow smaller and more fragile than Brynn had ever seen, walking toward her with her arms tight around her middle. It looked like she was trying desperately to hold herself together.
Brynn hadn’t felt this sick since the horrible day when Sam called her to tell her Casey’s mother had died. And looking at Taylor, she was pretty sure she was seeing another death happening right in front of her.
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