by Jean Oram
Yep. Screwed. How was he, a man who had left parenting to Cindy, going to father a hormonal, strong-willed girl he didn’t even begin to understand? He knew nothing about her. Nothing.
He moved to the kitchen and cracked open a beer, pouring it into a chilled glass.
In his mind, Dot was still the tiny baby who fit in his arms and had been named after his grandmother Dorothy. But Dot wasn’t an infant any longer. She was a young woman struggling to discover her sexuality. He hoped Cindy had all that stuff under control, because there was no way he was equipped to deal with it.
If not, maybe seventeen wasn’t too old for summer camp.
Or a job. Perhaps he could find her a job. Possibly two or three, so he didn’t have to worry about mood swings, boyfriends, curfews, or figuring out how ask her not to flush tampons into the septic system.
Tristen dropped his head into his hands again. How was he going to deal with this? How was he going to contain and care for a young woman who was on the brink of adulthood and independence? He hadn’t even been able to keep Cindy happy, and she’d been a fairly stable adult. He’d screwed up so badly the woman had thought he’d been avoiding her, while he’d spent years striving to build up their business—which was now all hers—so he could set them up for a fantastic early retirement. He’d worked long and hard to provide all the things he’d thought she wanted. And what did she do? Freak out and tell him he wasn’t there for her, and that he was an awful human being.
His front door swung open, and relieved for any kind of distraction, Tristen waved his friend Connor MacKenzie in.
“Still engaged?” he asked.
“Still looking, but not seeking beautiful ladies?” his pal retorted, grinning like a fool as he sat down.
“Always looking. Gave a pretty one a ride home today.”
“Did you now? I thought you looked more exhausted than usual.” Connor peered about as if searching for a hidden woman.
Tristen frowned and idly flicked a fly away from his beer. Something about Connor and today was trying to connect in his mind.
“You look like you’re trying to push out a porcupine. What’s up?” his friend asked.
Tristen scowled and took a sip of his brew, then paused. “Sorry, did you want one?”
“Nope, still trying not to die. And now that I have a reason to live and a wedding coming at Christmas, I need to stay trim and in good shape.” He patted his stomach. “Plus, I’m kind of enjoying this not-burned-out feeling.”
“Told you you should try leaving the city,” Tristen said with a wink. His friend had been out of the city for only two weeks and he already looked like a brand-new man. Tristen walked to the fridge and tossed Connor a bottle of water, the plastic misting with condensation almost immediately.
“Thanks. And if I remember correctly you did not tell me to leave the city.”
Tristen leaned against the granite kitchen island. “So?” He waited for Connor to cut to the chase. His friend wanted something, but whether it was how to build a stone fireplace—a skill Tristen had acquired since moving here two years ago—or to borrow a million dollars, he didn’t know.
Max nudged the patio door open and threw himself on the floor by the door where the breeze was the best, ignoring Connor. The next time Tristen got a dog, he was doing his research and getting a real guard dog. Something with fangs, or that barked when people popped by.
“I told you about how Maya and her sisters might lose their cottage?”
“Really?” Tristen straightened. “Why?”
“Back taxes.”
“You’re joking!” He’d met his buddy’s fiancée only a couple times, but she didn’t strike him as the kind of gal who would let something like paying her taxes slip for a few years.
“Nope. Some sort of thing about her older sister being in charge of the trust and not being able to take care of everything.” Connor pushed a hand through his hair, then patted it flat. “I want to bail them out, but they’re pretty intent on doing it themselves. You know how women can be. But the tax sale is at the end of the month.”
Tristen nodded, keeping his attention on his beer glass. “Going to buy it back for them?”
“Maya would kill me.”
“Why not do it secretly?”
“Nothing ever stays a secret.”
“True. Early wedding gift?” Things were clicking in Tristen’s mind. “Maya has a couple of sisters, right?”
“Three. Hailey, Melanie, and Daphne.”
“Son of a…” Tristen’s Friend-About-to-Ask-a-Big-Favor radar began blinking a warning. “You’re here to try and drag me into that mess, aren’t you?” He set down his drink. “You know I don’t do development stuff any longer.”
“Maya’s already asked you?”
“Melanie.” Tristen locked his jaw so he wouldn’t say something that would make Connor kick his ass.
“I didn’t think you’d met,” his friend said, leaning forward.
“We did. She asked me. I said no,” he replied, trying not to snap.
“Oh.” Connor took a long pull on the bottle of water, his eyes on Tristen. “Why?”
“I’m not asking you why you’re not drinking the beer in my fridge, now am I?”
“That’s different. I’m choosing a healthier lifestyle and am pretty up front about it.” Connor stood. “You’re hiding out.”
Tristen dumped the rest of his beer, plunked the empty glass in the dishwasher, slamming it shut. It was one thing for him to know he was hiding out, quite another if others could see it. “It was nice visiting, but my daughter is coming tomorrow. I’m not interested in babysitting some girls who don’t pay their taxes.”
“Whoa! Whoa!” Connor put out his hands out as though calming a spooked horse. “The taxes have nothing to do with this. They just need to pick someone’s brain on how to stop a development that’s infringing on the rights of others, that’s all.”
“All developments do that, and I don’t have the time,” Tristen said a little too tightly.
“It would mean a lot to me if you could point them in the right direction.” Connor’s voice was low, and Tristen could see the anger fizzling below his friend’s calm surface. “This area is important to them, and with you living on the river you should care, too. The developers are going to be using this waterway to get to their fancy island resort. From construction through to the end of time. There’s going to be an increase in river traffic. Right outside your door. You’d be wise to express interest in what they’re trying to accomplish.”
Tristen rolled his shoulders and pushed the heel of his hand against his chin, adjusting his neck. Connor was pushing his buttons, and he was certain his friend meant to. They’d done business back in Toronto and he knew Connor’s game face. All Tristen had to do was allow Connor’s arguments to spill off him and it would all go away. Shut up and stay out.
“The developer is going to destroy Muskoka’s Heritage Row and quite possibly, the surrounding environment.”
Heritage Row, a strip of four old cottages, was picturesque, quintessential cottage country. In other words, this battle was likely to get messy. Definitely be wise to stay far away from it.
“Sorry, man, my daughter needs me.” Tristen’s eyes caught the large sunflower painting across the room. Daphne Summer. Melanie’s sister. He was going to have to move the painting to somewhere he rarely saw it, judging from the amount of emotions whirling through him right now.
Melanie was in trouble. She needed his help.
“You sure your kid needs you 24-7? Isn’t she out chasing boys by now?”
Tristen guided his friend to the door. “Don’t poke at me, Connor. This is my chance to make things right with Dot.” He lightened his tone, struggling not to be a complete and utter jerk. “Maybe she’ll get me a rock identification guide for Christmas instead of cuff links. I don’t want to wreck my chances of that.”
“I’ll buy you the damned guide, man. They need you. The developer is Rub
icore.”
Tristen clenched his fist. Aaron Bloomwood was part owner and their front man. The two of them had gone head to head in many fights back in the day. Each time, Tristen had won—by the skin of his teeth—and only because he’d had a reputation, and a large corporation backing him. Now? He had nothing. He was a nobody. He didn’t even have the determined beast that used to run the show, because that side of him was not coming out to play. Ever. Again.
“Aaron Bloomwood still trying to make a name for himself?” he asked despite himself.
Connor nodded.
Tristen slowly shook his head. Definitely no way he could help out. Aaron brought out the beast in no time flat. With a fight like the one the Summers were gearing up for, you had to be all in. And the one thing Tristen had promised himself when he’d fled Toronto was that he would never do that again. Not for anything.
“You’re out, aren’t you?” Connor asked.
Tristen thought of the beautiful woman on a motorcycle and how she was in over her head. She needed his help. She wasn’t a trust fund baby as he’d thought. She was just some gal trying to keep something in the family. Trying to keep it together—something he understood all too well.
“I’ll think about it, but my answer, for the record, is still no.”
CHAPTER 3
Melanie bunched the handmade dress into a ball and whipped it into the corner of her basement bedroom, thankful Daphne and her daughter weren’t home to witness her mini freak-out. Sucking in a deep breath, she smoothed the worn XXL T-shirt over her ribs, wishing, not for the first time, that she had a willowy frame like her older sister Hailey. But no, puberty had decided to give her melon-sized breasts and a massive growth spurt that had earned her the nickname Sasquatch from her first boyfriend, Lix Levenson.
For what it was worth, she’d tried putting herself out there in hopes of discovering what was missing in her life, but she’d failed. There had been no sudden finding her place in the world, no sudden sprouting of confidence, no sudden sensation of feeling comfortable in her body. She kicked the dress farther into the corner for good measure and yanked her hair into a sloppy bun. What a goof she’d been to believe it was possible. And to think, after leaving the Steel Barrel, she’d been ready to ask Simone, the dress’s designer, to make her a closetful of them. But now, no way.
Melanie hadn’t been seeking humiliation but that’s what had been served up cold. Today she had been nothing more than a dressed-up version of the self she was trying to avoid. Evidence for the jury: Stedman had left her by the road; Tristen wouldn’t accept a drink or meal or let her pick his brain, and had practically run away from her. She’d always prided herself on her connection skills when it came to people, but when it came to men…
Sure, the bikers seemed to have been smitten by her and her dress, and as kind as they were, they weren’t the type of men looking to do marriage and kids with a lawyer.
Her life was in free fall. Not only had her landlord kicked her out of the rental she’d shared with her friend Nora so he could sell it, but Melanie was now depending on her baby sister to keep a roof over her head. At least she and Daphne could split the rent, and maybe somehow save up enough money for their portion of the cottage’s overdue tax bill—even if it meant living in the unfinished basement and keeping her antique teacups in a cardboard box. Eventually, Melanie would have her student loans paid off and would be making more than the pittance that trickled into her bank account. As a first-year lawyer she was optimistic about having her financial life pull together, but that day had yet to dawn. Kind of like the one where her love life began to emulate something other than a horror flick.
She stomped up the stairs to the main floor of the tiny Cape Cod style home and just about bowled Daphne over.
“You’re home!” she said to her sister.
“How was your date?”
“Where’s Tigger?”
“Wow.” Daphne waved a hand in front of her nose. “What were you drinking?”
“Whiskey.”
Melanie ducked so she didn’t have to catch Daphne’s chiding look, and grabbed her five-year-old niece, who had bounded over, her ever-present party dress flouncing against her scab-covered knees.
“How’s riding a two-wheeler?” Melanie asked, setting her down after a ginormous hug.
Tigger scrunched her nose. “It’s hard.” She tugged on her mother’s hand, dragging her shoulder down. “Can I have ice cream? Please?”
“No sugar until after supper. If you’re hungry, have an apple.”
“I don’t want an apple.”
“Then you’re not that hungry. Go play.”
“It’s hot out.”
“Then play inside.” Daphne turned to Melanie. “How was the date?”
Someone banged on the front door and Melanie took the opportunity to escape her sister’s questions. She glowered out the peephole and swung the door open. “Go away!” she snapped at Stedman.
“I wanted to apologize.” He offered her red clutch as though it was a bouquet of flowers.
Melanie snatched the bag. “Apologize for leaving me on the side of the road outside a biker bar? Or for lacking the ability to comprehend that no means no?”
She could hear Daphne shuffling in the room behind her, likely unable to avoid eavesdropping due to the house’s small size. And while Melanie enjoyed being able to hear her sister read Tigger bedtime stories each evening, from her spot in the basement, this wasn’t a conversation she particularly wanted to broadcast—especially since she might say something Tigger would end up repeating at an inopportune time.
Stedman tossed his head, sandy curls sweeping off his forehead. “Yeah, that.”
“Which thing are you apologizing for, exactly?”
“Um, both?”
“Thank you for bringing back my purse.” She began closing the door on him. “Wait. How did you know where I live?” She’d intentionally met him outside Simone’s boutique instead of having him pick her up. Online dating and all that. Although getting into his truck likely hadn’t earned a high score on the “how to be careful on your first date” rating scale.
Stedman shot her an impish smile and she slammed the door, flicking the dead bolt into place. Men.
Where was that ice cream Tigger was asking for? Would Melanie be a bad aunt if she sat down at the kitchen table and ate it all? Out of sight, out of temptation?
Her purse began ringing and she dug through it for her phone.
It was her sister Maya.
“Hey,” Melanie said. “What’s up?”
“Connor just talked to Tristen Bell.”
Had Connor been able to sweet-talk Tristen? It wouldn’t be a hardship to spend more time around that man and his beefy biceps despite his hot-and-cold persona. Plus, the sisters could definitely use his expertise.
“He’s out.”
Melanie sighed, feeling let down all over again. “I figured as much.”
“I thought he’d say yes to Connor. Being old pals and all.”
What a buttcake. That was the problem with billionaires. They always stuck to themselves and never felt the need to help the little guy. Heck, he might even own shares in Rubicore for all she knew.
“We’ll find someone,” Maya said. “You’re good at talking to people and connecting and all that. Connor says to watch Rubicore carefully in case they take shortcuts.”
Melanie made a noncommittal sound.
“Dang.” Her sister laughed. “From what Connor’s said about Tristen I figured the two of you would make a great pair.”
In bed.
Wow, where did that thought come from?
“Mel? Still there?”
“Yeah. Right, um, I’ll think on it, okay?”
“Do you have your cottage money yet?”
“Almost.” Almost being pretty darn far from pulling her share out of the sky. One month until the century-old cottage was whisked from their possession if things didn’t change. “Have you got yours?”
“I’m trying to convince Connor to give me a finder’s fee for that dental device we’re investing in, but he’s so friggin’ difficult.”
“Tell him it’s for the cottage and I’m sure he’ll agree to give it to you.”
“I want him to give it to me because he feels I deserve it, you know?”
“Then set up a finder’s fee for the next investment. You have a month. Not a lot of time, but how long did the last one take you? A few weeks at best.”
“Hmm. I wonder.”
Melanie could practically hear Maya pondering an idea, weighing it for potential.
“All right. I’m on it. Thanks, Smelly Mellie.”
“Pushy broad.”
Maya laughed and hung up on her. Shaking her head, Melanie dug through the kitchen freezer. She jumped when Daphne appeared at her side, all petite and pretty in her flowing cotton dress. A mere woodland nymph compared to her. It made Melanie want to sit down so she didn’t feel like Gigantor.
“Was that your date? Stedman?”
“Maya.” Melanie closed the freezer, deciding against the ice cream. No need to add to the massive boobage. Maybe Maya would be up for meeting for drinks somewhere instead. That always seemed to go to her waist, which was easier to disguise due to said boobage. Comfort food of the liquid variety. Plus, hanging out with Maya, the lucky duck, might allow some of her fabulous dating and career luck to rub off on Melanie.
In her dreams.
“I mean at the door,” Daphne clarified.
“Yeah. Forgot my purse in his truck.”
“The date was that good?” The hope in Daphne’s eyes was disgusting. Disgusting because Melanie had wanted it, too.
“No. It sucked. How was your day?”
“Great.” Her sister’s face lost its usual sunniness. “Well, except we got another notice about the tax sale. Registered letter.” She grabbed an envelope from a large bowl and handed it over.
Melanie scanned it, then said, “Nothing we didn’t already know. Just another warning. It’s procedural. Covering their butts and all that.”
Daphne sat, her elbow anchored on the kitchen table in order to hold up her head of crazy, light brown curls. “Maybe we should stay out at Nymph Island to allow destiny to give us a real shot.”