The Good Chase

by Hanna Martine

  “You mean you took a day off the weekend before Christmas? How scandalous. How will your boss ever forgive you?”

  Byrne chuckled. “He’ll live. He was surprised I did it, though.”

  “So you haven’t told him you’re leaving yet, I take it.”

  “Nah. Not before the holidays.” He paused. “Not when I have family in town.”

  At first she thought that was a vague reference to her, but then she heard muffled voices in the background, coming through under the hum of the car. She gasped. “You got your family to come up?”

  “I did.” A grand sigh full of contentment. “They let me buy them plane tickets to come up for the holidays. Couldn’t be happier.”

  Shea had always sensed that it would only be a matter of time before his family felt more comfortable and more receptive to tiny favors once he backed off from the “Let me take care of you for the rest of your lives” angle.

  “And you have them with you right now? Coming here?”

  A toddler giggled in the background. “I do. All of them.”

  Shea squealed. “I can’t wait to meet them.” And that was the honest-to-God truth.

  “They can’t wait to meet you, either.”

  “I’ll go turn on the heat in the extra bedrooms. It’s not like I don’t have enough of them.”

  “No, it’s all good, Mom. You’re not imposing,” Byrne was saying. Then to Shea, “Remind me where this portal is again?”

  She gave him directions from the Route 6 turnoff, even though he’d been up to the farm dozens of times over the past four months. He was great with money and numbers, terrible with directions. It was partly Shea’s fault, because they spent so much time on the phone while he was on the road, catching up on what they’d missed in each other’s lives while apart.

  Apart. More days than together.

  At first it had been hard. Damn near impossible, actually, with her zooming back and forth between New Hampshire and New York, and him flying all over the ever-loving world. The reunions were amazing, though. They erased any tidbits of doubt that had managed to wiggle into her mind during the empty space. This weekend—this Christmas—would be no different. She just knew it.

  Exiting the kitchen, she walked through the grand, empty foyer and went up the sweeping, curving staircase to the third floor, where the extra bedrooms were located. Based on Byrne’s location when he’d called, she had about an hour to get the place ready. She ran from room to room, adjusting the thermostats and throwing wood into the fireplaces. She stretched clean sheets over the new mattresses that, unfortunately, still lay on the floor. True beds would have to come later.

  She was stuffing a pillow into a case when she saw through the front window the twin dots of light that indicated a car approaching on the access road. Leaving the pillow half-naked, she sprinted from the bedroom and almost tumbled down the main staircase to the front door. She burst outside and stood in the snow to watch as the car meandered down the narrow road. It turned to roll through the gates that would never be locked again.

  Christmas lights entwined with evergreen boughs draped the length of the stone fences along the driveway. They twinkled and served as runway lights, directing the car that seemed to be taking freaking forever to get here. The boat of a rented sedan finally swerved around the front circular drive, skirting the pickup trucks and vans that belonged to the contractors, and parked beneath the porte cochere.

  Shea dashed around the hood, preparing for one of her and Byrne’s typical greetings.

  The driver’s-side door opened and Byrne stepped out. Jeans, hiking boots, sweater. Luxuriously, gorgeously casual. Shea was about two seconds away from attacking him and licking away his broad, crooked smile, when the car door behind him opened, and out stepped a dark-haired woman who could only be Caroline.

  How do you properly greet the man you love more than anything after two weeks apart when his family was present? Conundrum, conundrum.

  Byrne solved it without consulting her, sweeping an arm around her waist and tugging her in for a tight embrace and a long, sweet, close-lipped kiss.

  “I missed you,” he whispered against her lips. “So much.”

  She said nothing. She couldn’t. Even after five months together—more if you started counting from Long Island—he still managed to do that to her.

  His parents had exited the car and were staring at her, so she gently pushed Byrne away.

  “Hi.” Shea gave them a wave as she felt her face heat.

  “Let’s go inside for introductions,” Byrne said with a chuckle. “My Southern family isn’t built for the cold.”

  So Shea led them all back inside and enclosed them in the warmth of the big old house. She turned around in time to see Mr. Byrne’s mouth drop open at the sight of the richly carved wooden staircase and the gleaming floors and the rooms that seemed to go on forever. Mrs. Byrne glanced around for a moment, then her face turned red and she looked at her feet. Shea knew intimidation when she saw it. Even she had felt overwhelmed during her first walk-through of this place.

  Shea held out her hand to Mrs. Byrne. “I’m Shea, Mrs. Byrne. I’m so glad you’re here. Merry Christmas.”

  Byrne had told Shea that his parents had had him when they were in high school, so even though they were thin and looked a little haggard around the eyes, dating them beyond their years, there was a gleam of resilient youthfulness in their expressions.

  “Call me Betty. Please.” A little of the intimidation faded as Betty shook Shea’s hand.

  “I suppose if I kept calling you Mrs. Byrne we might get confused,” Shea added.

  “Well, you could just call him Jasper,” said the sister.

  Byrne choked. Tried to laugh and then choked some more. Shea laughed for him. She’d seen his real name—Jasper Patrick—on the farm’s paperwork, but he’d made her swear to never use it, upon pain of death. Or never giving her an orgasm again. That was an easy bargain to make.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think I could ever call him that.”

  “I’m Caroline,” said the sister, “and this is Kristin.” Kristin flopped her hand around on her wrist in a baby’s attempt at a wave. “You okay over there, Jasper?” Caroline smacked Byrne on his back, as he still couldn’t catch his breath. And Shea noticed that the lopsided smile was a lovely family trait.

  “I’m Matthew,” said Byrne’s dad. “And we’re grateful you’re having us here over the holiday. When J.P. said it would be a surprise . . .” As he faded away, an expression of humbleness overtook his face.

  “He knew that I’d be ecstatic,” Shea finished for him. “And I am. Come in, come in. The only two furnished rooms right now are the living room and the kitchen. Why don’t we sit and have some tea to warm up before I give you the grand tour?”

  She led them to the front corner room, where the cushy sofas that had made her New York apartment feel so cramped now looked like doll furniture. As the Byrne family sat by the lit Christmas tree and Kristin immediately lunged for the scant few ornaments, Byrne himself wandered over to the big reclaimed wood table and picked up one of the large sheets of paper laid out there.

  “Wow.” He whistled, drawing everyone’s attention. “These are all fantastic. Have you picked one yet?”

  Shea looked up from where she was dangling a cheap penguin ornament in front of Kristin’s face. “Think so.”

  “Picked what?” Caroline asked. And just like that, Shea knew she liked her. A woman who came right out with it.

  “Logo and brand ideas for my distillery,” Shea said. “My friend Willa’s a graphic designer. Really talented.”

  Byrne put down the sheet he was holding and picked up another. “This one. I like this one the best. Not that I get a say or anything.”

  Shea went over to him. “But I appreciate opinions. And it must mean something, because that’s th
e one I’m leaning toward. Beautiful and modern, but with a sense of history.”

  “Exactly.” Byrne was staring at her, not the artwork.

  He circled around her and brought the paper over to the couch where his parents were sitting. Willa had done an incredible job of accurately drawing one section of the stone wall in front of the Gleann house. The crumbled part looked just like the walls that had swirled around Granddad’s old house back in Scotland, but since it was actually on-site of the distillery, it was decidedly American and locked in the present.

  Betty touched the corner of the paper but didn’t take it. “It’s pretty.” She peered at the writing. “Gavin Distillery. How’d you come up with the name?”

  Shea stood behind the couch, admiring the way Byrne looked holding her future, standing in the house he’d bought that started it all. “Gavin was my granddad’s name.”

  “What did your dad say when you told him the name?” Byrne asked.

  “He loved it. He teared up.”

  It might even have managed to smooth things over between her chosen profession and her parents. After learning that, the fact that she would be producing her own liquor seemed to not make their mouths twist in unspoken discomfort. Last week her mom had even inquired about Shea’s progress, and they were coming to the farm for New Year’s Eve. She planned to buy them a computer so they’d be able to watch the travel series once it started airing on her new, Right Hemisphere–produced website.

  Much later, after Shea made the Byrne family a dinner out of whatever was left in the fridge, and gave them a tour of the whole house, she linked her fingers with those of her Byrne, and together they walked slowly down the second-floor hallway. She’d deliberately chosen a bedroom as far away from anyone else’s as possible. The whole north wing was pretty much hers.

  “Thank you for bringing your family here,” she said between their soft footfalls on the carpet.

  “Thank nothing. I’m thrilled I actually got them above the Mason-Dixon Line.” He stopped in the middle of the hall, tugging her around to face him.

  “How’d you do it? You’ve been begging for years and now this Christmas they decide to come?”

  He shrugged, and his eyes made an arc around the hall. “I stopped pushing, I guess. I stopped telling them I was going to do all this stuff for them, telling them I was going to set them up for the rest of their lives, blah blah blah. And then I just . . . asked. I called them a couple weeks ago and asked if I could buy them tickets to come up here and see me for the holidays. And to meet you. To see what you’re building here. They accepted. So I suppose I should be the one thanking you.”

  All she could do was smile at him. Until he smiled back and then all she could do was get ridiculously turned on.

  “Come on.” She walked backward, bringing him with her. “I’ve made some changes to our bedroom.”

  “Our bedroom?” He resisted moving forward, like a stubborn dog on a leash. His fingers tightened around her hand, and she had to stop again.

  “Were you planning on staying somewhere in town every time you came up to see me? Or maybe you wanted to borrow my tent?”

  “No.” That crooked grin.

  Breathless. That’s what he made her.

  “So then this is our bedroom.” She nudged her chin toward the door. “Yours and mine. I got us a real bed. A big kids’ bed.”

  “Oh, really?”

  She opened the door to reveal the massive four-poster bed that wouldn’t look good anywhere but in homes like this. “You like?”

  “I do. Very much. But I’d like it even more if you were in it. Naked.”

  She was already taking off her clothes, excitement vibrating through her. “That can be arranged.”

  She removed her sweater and jeans deliberately slowly, in the exact way he liked. Her bra and underwear came off millimeter by millimeter. When she climbed up onto the bed, she expected to have to do a little more wiggling, a little more teasing, before he was on her. She’d barely twitched her ass to the left before Byrne pretty much tackled her, rolling her over. Kneeling on the bed, he whipped off his sweater and undershirt.

  There really were no words powerful enough to describe what she felt for him at that moment.

  “Hey, I want to ask you something,” she said.

  “Shoot.”

  “It’s about your parents. And your sister.”

  He cringed, his whole face scrunching up. Then his head tipped forward and he tapped his forehead on her shoulder twice. “You did not strip down after me not having seen you for two weeks, wave that perfect ass in my face, and then bring up my parents. Tell me you did not.”

  She laughed low and pushed at his shoulders so he’d look at her in the eye again. “I did. And I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can wait anymore to ask.”

  His brow furrowed. “What is it?”

  “I was thinking . . . I mean, I’ve been knocking the idea around for a few weeks now . . . I thought it might—”

  He grabbed a throw pillow and playfully knocked it against the side of her head. “Out with it. You’re naked and I’m getting hard and precious time is being wasted.”

  She licked her lips. “Well. I wanted to ask you if it would be all right if I asked your family to move up here and work for me. Work at the distillery, I mean.”

  He was so silent. So still. The only thing that moved were his eyes as they darted back and forth between hers.

  “Are you serious?” he whispered.

  She loved the sharp bristle of his weekend stubble. Pretty soon she would get to feel it more often. Every day, if they each got their way.

  “Completely,” she replied. “I mean, you’ve said how hard it’s been to get them up here when they think they’re taking handouts from you. But if you want to help them have a new life, and you want to respect the pride they feel for having a hand in their own existence, why not here? Things are really going to pick up in just a few months once I get in the grains and barrels and stills. I’ll need lots of hands. Not to mention the whole back-office organization. I’ll be hiring locally for sure, but I wanted to run this past you first.”

  More silence. More staring. So she continued on.

  “I know we haven’t talked about moving in together—and that’s not what I’m proposing here, if that scares you—but with you leaving your company and going out on your own with a few clients, you could work more from here if you wanted. There’s a local rugby team, too. And if your family worked for the distillery—even Caroline, too, now that Kristin’s dad is out of the picture—you could see them a hell of a lot more. There’s a lot of affordable housing in Gleann, and I’ll have insurance and benefits and such. You could easily make sure they were okay. Take care of them that way. Because from what I saw tonight, I can say that they love you more than anything, and want to be near—”

  He kissed her. Hard and consuming, pressing her deep, deep into the fluffy new comforter. When he finally released her, pushed to his elbows above her, and gazed down at her with smiling eyes, it was her turn to be speechless.

  Sliding a hand down her side, around the curve of her breast and the dip in her waist, he took her hip in a gentle but claiming grip.

  He said, “God, I love you.”

  She was glowing. Could feel the light and heat radiating from where those words had implanted themselves in her heart. “I love you, too,” came her reply. “So is that a yes? You’d let me ask them?”

  “Yes. Yes. You can ask them.”

  Shifting her head on the comforter she said, “You don’t look so sure.”

  “I’m one hundred percent sure. I’m just—”

  “Letting someone help you get what you always wanted.” She let that sink in. “How does it feel?”

  It took him a few moments to answer. Except he didn’t do it with words. His shoulders gave a little shrug,
and then his whole body shivered.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I understand.”

  Her turn to kiss him, to lick away his doubt.

  “For the record,” he said after stopping the kiss, “moving in with you does not scare me. Nothing about you scares me.”

  “But I still surprise you?”

  One hand swept over her hair. “Absolutely. In the best possible way.”