Frankie blinked, stretched out her legs, and took stock of the various aches and kinks she’d earned from falling asleep on the couch. When her gaze landed on Travis and Carter standing at the end of the couch watching her sleep, she jumped and scooted herself upright, her heart hammering.
“Where’s Miles?” Her voice came out rough and scratchy.
“He’s sleeping,” Travis said, his face blank. “He stopped coughing a while ago.”
Frankie nodded, still blurry. “Okay. Good. Uh—for future reference, it’s creepy to wake up and have you standing over me.”
“Sorry.”
Travis looked down and Frankie felt guilty for her snappy tone. “It’s fine. Just, you know, don’t.” Frankie wondered if she was dreaming the scent of coffee.
“You want us out?” Carter’s voice was abrupt, like his demeanor.
Frankie sighed. The easy answer was yes. The adult-responsible-not-about-to-get-played-by-a-bunch-of-kids response was: it was time to go. Frankie couldn’t quite put her finger on what was holding her back from the easy out. Maybe it was the way Miles’s body had shaken with every cough. Or the terror that had come into Travis’s eyes the night before when she’d wanted to call family services. Or Carter’s adamant belief they’d be split up. Or maybe it was her own desire to stay in a situation where she felt needed.
“How long were you in the shelter?”
“Why?” Carter’s voice was bold, but she could see his unease in the way his eyes darted around the room to his brother.
“I haven’t had coffee yet, Carter. I want some so badly I’m imagining the taste. Could you, please, just answer my question?” she said, not hiding a heavy sigh.
“We were there three months after our mom died. I was just about to leave, these two were gonna stay,” he said, looking at his feet.
“No you weren’t, man. Not without us,” Travis said.
“The shelter said they could stay but they thought I should go,” Carter admitted.
Frankie’s eyebrows drew together. “Let me guess, you didn’t get along well with others?”
Travis’s lips twitched at her tone, but Carter pinned her with a hard stare. “No. I didn’t. Then we met Aunt Beth.”
Stretching, she stood and watched both boys brace themselves. Seeing as they were both taller than she was, it would have been amusing, if it weren’t so sad. Frankie felt a hovering sense of loss when she’d heard Aunt Beth had died, and the loneliness of knowing she’d died without any family around had spurred Frankie into action. She wanted to know she mattered to someone; she needed to leave behind more than false fronts and superficial relationships. So she’d come here to honor Aunt Beth, to make sure the woman’s life had mattered to someone. Frankie was humbled by the fact that Beth had obviously meant a great deal to these boys. And they’d lost her, right after losing their own mother.
“You can stay until Miles is better. After I have some coffee, we’ll go over the ground rules,” she said. It felt like the right thing to do. At least for the time being. Her stomach growled and her mind imagined the smell of food.
“I, uh…I made some breakfast,” Travis said, his voice low. She’d started for the kitchen but turned to face him.
“Breakfast including coffee?”
He nodded, the smallest of smiles making his face seem younger.
“And actual food?” Frankie’s stomach gave another grumble.
“Just, like, eggs, and some toast,” he said.
“That counts,” Frankie said, smiling. She headed for the kitchen, thinking maybe a meal she didn’t have to make was a good trade-off for a few hours of lost sleep. At least for the moment. Once her brain was less jumbled, she’d figure out how to start the rest of her day. And maybe, her new life.
Chapter 4
Buying a house sight unseen—internet pictures didn’t count—suggested stupidity or blind trust. Ryan Walker was neither stupid nor blindly trusting. He stood in front of his two story, impressed with his own judgment for the first time in a long while. He wouldn’t cop to it out loud, but having his older brother like it just as much made him feel better about the spur-of-the-moment, get-out-of-dodge purchase. The wide porch didn’t wrap all the way around, but it was large enough for a couple of nice chairs. Though only one was necessary. The inside was as open and well kept as the outside and this area of town in general was pretty damn nice. Except for the dump next door.
He hadn’t made the best impression on his new neighbor last week when he’d seen her pull up. Truthfully, he’d been an ass to Frankie. Her name had to be short for something. It didn’t match the graceful curve of her neck or the silky smooth look of her skin. She was all petite curves and gorgeous blond hair. He hadn’t meant to be a prick to her, but it was too late now. For that and a whole shit load of other things.
“You meet the neighbor there yet?” his brother, Max, asked him. Max slipped his phone into his pocket and leaned against Ryan’s truck, gesturing with his chin toward Frankie’s house. Ryan checked his watch. They had a bit of time before he had to get Max to the airport.
“Yeah. I ran into her last week. I wasn’t real…neighborly though so she’s probably not going to be coming around asking to borrow a cup of sugar.” Ryan leaned against his truck, feeling the weight shift under him. He rubbed a hand over the tension at the base of his neck.
“That-a-boy,” Max said, nudging him, hard, in the shoulder. “Good to know you can still charm the women. She recognize you?”
Ryan frowned at his brother: One of the only people he still liked. One of a very small selection he could trust.
“Didn’t seem to. I haven’t been out much yet, but so far, I’ve stayed under the radar.” Ryan picked up a handful of gravel and started tossing it toward the trees bordering his yard and Frankie’s.
“That’s not gonna last, you know,” Max said, copying Ryan. Ryan grinned, putting more effort into the throw.
“Want me to show you how to throw like a man?” Ryan lobbed a rock far into the jungle of weeds behind his neighbor’s house. Max laughed, tossing his rock in the same direction.
“Sure. And maybe after, I’ll teach you how to hang onto a woman.”
Ryan lowered his arm and Max scrunched his face in regret. “Ry. Sorry, man. That was funnier in my head.”
“She called the other night.” Ryan tossed the rest of the rocks to the ground and dusted his hands on his jeans.
“What for and how’d she get your new number?”
“To ask me about the reality series and through my asshat agent, Wecker.”
Max shook his head and whipped the rest of his rocks. “You fired him.”
Ryan gave a humorless laugh. “Now you see why. What the fuck, Max? Even after I walk away from everything, I still have people I trusted selling me out.”
The only thing Ryan had ever wanted to do was play baseball. He’d worked his ass off to make it happen. Now he felt like he couldn’t even think about it without an ache pushing against his chest, cutting off his ability to breathe.
“I thought you were crazy for doing this. Fueling the wildfire by making everyone think you had a reason to run. But I think it’ll be good for you. It’s a good place. Things will die down and you can come home,” Max said.
Ryan shook his head. “There’s nothing there for me now.”
“Just your family. Thanks, jackass.”
Ryan gave a rough laugh and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “You’re all better off if I’m not there. Just keep saying, “no comment.” And let me know if the press or anyone else gets out of hand. Especially with mom and Shay. I can hire someone.” Fuck. He hated this. He walked away before Max could answer, grabbed his brother’s small travel case off of the porch, and tossed it into the backseat of the Rover.
“I can take care of my own damn wife and I dare the media to get in mom’s face. I get why you came here. I said that. But don’t be stupid. You need us, you say so. We’re here.” The sincerity in Max’s ton
e made Ryan’s heart clench like a fist.
Ryan breathed in the smog-free air. There’d be a few perks to living in the middle of nowhere, as opposed to LA. His eyes navigated to Frankie’s house again. It was like a car wreck; he couldn’t look away. And it was better than looking at Max and dealing with the concern he’d see etched on his face. Or worse, pity. He didn’t want either. He just wanted to start over.
“We should get going. Thanks for helping me get settled. Wish you’d brought Shay. She’s a hell of a lot better at cooking than you are.”
Max laughed and clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “She’s better at most things, man. This is why they say ‘better half.’”
“It’s not hard to be better than you, bro.” Ryan grinned, tired of tangling himself up in memories and misery. He smacked his hand against Max’s stomach and shook off the rest of his mood.
“You’re just jealous.” Max laughed, walked to the passenger side, and climbed in, a stupid smile on his face. Ryan kept his lips turned up while getting behind the wheel. He wasn’t about to admit his brother was right.
West Lake, Minnesota was one small town in a cluster of them. As Ryan drove his Range Rover back from dropping Max off at Grand Rapids Airport, he kept his window rolled down despite the chill that had really started to take root this morning. The air smelled different than in California. Trees instead of sand. Earth instead of salt. He didn’t mind it. He just wasn’t used to it yet. But he had plenty of time to acclimate. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do with all of his time, but he had some ideas.
“Should have bought a fixer-upper,” he mumbled, turning on the satellite radio. He laughed to himself, thinking of the one next door. How was she going to fix the place? Not his problem.
One Republic blasted over the speakers, loud enough that the beat should have kept his thoughts from straying to how less than a year ago, he’d been playing pro ball and having a kick-ass season. He took a right on Weaver Creek Lane and marveled at the quiet. It seemed louder than the chaos of California. He was making a list of things he needed to pick up, order, and buy when he pulled into his circular driveway. The detached garage, a mini replica of the house without the porch, was one of the main features he’d liked. He might park his truck in there if the bad weather hit, but he hoped not to.
Since he was already dressed casually in jeans and a Henley, he grabbed his electric trimmer from the garage. The breeze was making the trees dance back and forth in a slow rhythm. The hum of the motor vibrated against his gloved hands as he walked around the edge of the yard. He’d used the ride-on mower about a week ago and enjoyed it more than he should have. Jesus, he’d owned a Porsche GT2 RS, the fastest car ever built by the company, and still, he’d grinned like a fucking school kid on the mower. He hadn’t thought he’d be okay leaving LA behind, but being here, enjoying his house, the land, the space, he realized he’d never loved California. He’d only loved baseball. Where he was while he played just didn’t matter.
As he edged near the property line, he caught sight of toned, shapely legs swinging from the branch of a tree. His neighbor was doing pull-ups. On a tree.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ryan said the words to himself, his finger sliding off of the trigger. Frankie hadn’t heard him. Her earbuds’ cord was connected to the iPod strapped to her arm. He repeated his question, louder, and she startled, dropping from the limb she’d been holding. Pulling her earphones out, she smiled and gave a surprised laugh. Lust curled tight in his stomach at the sound. Which pissed him off since he didn’t need more complications in his life.
“Hey. Didn’t see you there, neighbor.” She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. Strands of hair were escaping the ponytail sitting high on her head. She put her hands on her hips, gulping in air, still smiling. His eyes roamed over the tone and definition of her arms. Arms weren’t supposed to be a turn on. They were just something to have wrapped around you. Along with legs. But legs were a turn on. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her arms. They led up to sleek shoulders and a graceful collarbone. When his eyes met hers, she was grinning and he knew he’d been caught looking.
“You’re doing pull-ups on a goddamn tree?”
“Um, it’s my tree,” she said, looking back and forth between him and the tree. Small as she was, the tree didn’t look like it could hold its own branches, never mind a person’s weight.
“Actually, it’s smack in the middle of our property line. So stay the hell off it and get a pull-up bar.”
She rested a hand on the bark and smiled at him with something like fire flashing in those blue eyes.
Her breath was a bit uneven, but firm. “I’ve never shared a tree with anyone. It feels like a big step.”
He bit back a smile. “Funny. This tree needs to be cut down. It’s rotted.” He kicked at the trunk to show her what he meant.
“Don’t kick our tree,” she said, not even trying to hide her smirk.
“It’s not safe.” Jesus. She was hard to be irritated with. Which, oddly, only irritated him more.
“And as much as I appreciate your neighborly concern, Ryan, I can take care of myself. And our tree. See, my home gym isn’t quite set up yet so I’m using what’s available. If you want, we can work out a schedule for tree use.” There was as much sarcasm in her stance as in her tone.
This time, the grin spread before he could stop it.
“You’re feisty.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Yeah. But it’s still not safe. I have an extra pull-up bar in my garage. You put it in the frame of a doorway. I’ll grab it and bring it over,” he said, hoping the gesture served as an apology. Which he was man enough to admit she deserved from him.
Frankie’s eyes widened and she took a step back, wariness overshadowing her amusement.
“No thanks. I’m not ready for visitors.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on coming for tea.”
She gave a rough laugh. “I don’t need anything from you, Ryan. I’ll pick another tree. Or do push-ups.”
She backed away, the unease in her eyes fascinating the hell out of him. She didn’t want him over. And not because he was a jerk. She waved one perfectly shaped arm over her head as she went back to her house. He turned the weed trimmer back on, purposely turning his body in the other direction. He wasn’t going to stand around and watch her go, even across her yard. He’d never watch a woman leave again. Once was enough.
Chapter 5
Frankie refused to let her pain-in-the-ass neighbor wreck her decent mood. Although she had caught a bit of caring in his undertone, he didn’t express it well. Her heart had zipped down to her stomach when he’d suggested bringing over the bar. She needed to figure out how to get these boys settled in a more long-term situation.
Her heart pinched as she slipped off her running shoes. They were surprisingly good company. Pulling in a deep breath, she caught the scent of pancakes. Certainly a lot better than the smell of three cooped-up boys and a few decades worth of dust Beth had left behind. She glanced at Carter, who was face down in the couch. He had one hand and one foot on the floor and despite his face being buried in a pillow, his snoring punctuated the otherwise-silent room. Well, his snoring and her stomach growling.
“Hungry?” Travis looked over his shoulder as she walked into the kitchen. He was at the stove, flipping pancakes. The kid was quiet and spoke only when necessary, but he seemed to have a sixth sense, maybe even a seventh. Or, her stomach was much louder than she’d thought. Travis was one hell of a cook, which surprised Frankie.
“Starving. Where’s Miles?” She grabbed one of the pancakes from a plate that was piled with them.
“He’s in the shower.” Travis never said more than he had to, but without speaking, he told her more than the others would.
She hadn’t intended to let them stay more than one night, maybe two, but Miles’s cold had gotten worse and there was no way she’d send the kids to a shel
ter knowing one of them was that sick. She couldn’t believe how fast a week had gone by, especially since she’d gotten so little sleep. The night before was the little guy’s first full night of sleep. Hopefully, he was on the mend. Travis pulled out a few more plates and set them on the counter. When he turned, one of the tiny, black braids covering his head fell loose from its tie. He pushed it back and she caught the expression on his face: Passive, except for the eyes. His eyes were questioning. With his hair loose, he looked younger than fourteen.
“I know he’s better but, I still think he should go to a doctor. You all should. I’ll pay for it,” she said. His eyes hardened. She understood having pride. After all, she had enough of her own to offer paying a doctor’s fee she couldn’t afford. While she had some money saved, she hadn’t planned on feeding three extra mouths on top of renovations. Not that she’d say any of that out loud. She didn’t want him to know it would alleviate some of the guilt she felt at the thought of sending them away. Guilt her father would have told her to swallow down with a cup of reality: they were squatters.
“We ain’t your good deed, Frankie,” he mumbled, shame hunching his shoulders. She frowned, her face tight. They were kids; it wasn’t like they had control. Forcing a strip of pancake into her mouth, she sat down at the table as Carter shuffled in, his pants too low, his face too jaded. He said nothing, glanced back and forth between Travis and her then grabbed a pancake, folded it in half, and shoved the whole thing in his mouth.
“Where’s Miles?” Carter flopped down into the chair across from Frankie.
She smiled when she answered. “In the shower. You should consider trying that. Water. Soap. Works miracles.”
His lips curved slightly, making it difficult to tell if he was amused or sneering at her. He certainly didn’t feel the need to over express his appreciation like his brothers. Travis gave his brother a hard look but Carter shrugged it off as he did most other things. They all turned when Miles came in, his hacking cough announcing his presence.
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