Like That Endless Cambria Sky

by Linda Seed

  “Oh, I do, too,” Gen said. “I just think a horror movie would up the cool factor. Which is already pretty high.”

  Ryan retrieved the key he’d gotten from Will and let them in the front door. In anticipation of their arrival, Will had already disarmed the security system.

  Gen wanted to take a tour before doing anything else, so they roamed around the house for a while, through the oak-paneled foyer that led to a grand staircase; into a formal dining room with a marble fireplace; through a library with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with books of every description; into the parlor that was situated inside the turret, arching bay windows reaching out toward the porch and the landscape beyond.

  They peeked out into the backyard and found more gardens and a mammoth swimming pool. Upstairs were innumerable bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms—one including an enormous claw-foot bathtub that had Gen aching to take a hot, bubbly bath.

  They found the action figure collection in the third bedroom they checked. In a glass case that filled one wall, tiny superheroes amassed for the coming showdown with the forces of evil.

  Naturally, Gen recognized some of the characters. Everybody knew Spider-Man, the Hulk, and Iron Man. But the array of figures was so vast and varied that she found it remarkable that anyone, other than their creator, could possibly name them all.

  “Who’s this?” Gen pointed toward a figure in shades of orange and red, his hair rising upward in frozen plastic flames, licks of fire emerging from his wrists and feet.

  “That’s the Human Torch,” Ryan answered without hesitation. “He’s part of the Fantastic Four.”

  She looked at Ryan with interest. “You know comic books?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. I used to read them when I was a kid. I wasn’t into it like some people, but … yeah. I liked them.”

  Gen had an image of Ryan at nine or ten years old, lying on his belly on his bed at the ranch, poring over comic books, his hair askew, his room and explosion of toys and clothes. The idea made her smile. Quite unexpectedly, she wondered if that was how their son would look. She was shocked by the thought—it was far, far too soon to be thinking such things—and she pushed it out of her head.

  “You getting hungry?” Ryan asked. Grateful to have been pulled out of her kids-with-Ryan reverie, she smiled and nodded.

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Great. I’ll go out to the truck and bring in the food Jackson packed for us, and we’ll figure out the best spot to set up. Daniel said we should eat by the pool.”

  She peered up at him. “You talked to Daniel about our date?”

  “Well, yeah.” He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Does that bother you?”

  “No, no. I just didn’t think guys did that. I thought when guys talked about their dates, it was usually bragging. You know, after the fact.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what other guys do, but I find bragging—after the fact—to be ungentlemanly.”

  The sweetness of that—the rightness of it—made her feel warm inside. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  He shrugged again and his face colored slightly. “Let’s go set up for dinner.”

  They took Daniel’s advice and had dinner by the pool. The evening was mild, the skies clear and the breeze a gentle caress. The pool—a large, formal affair with turquoise water, marble statues standing sentry at intervals around it—overlooked a view of the azure ocean as the sun descended toward the horizon. Gardens of deep green grass with trimmed hedges and rose bushes surrounded the pool area. They set up their meal at a table to one side of the pool, next to a fountain that sent plumes of water skyward.

  Jackson had thought of everything. He’d packed plates and wineglasses along with the food, as well as flatware wrapped in white linen napkins. Ryan set everything up and then opened a bottle of wine and poured.

  The menu, carefully chosen foods that could be served cold—all vegetarian for Ryan—included an appetizer of red pepper dip with crusty bread; a colorful salad with radishes, beets, carrots, sweet potato, and escarole; fusilli with spinach and sun-dried tomato pesto; and a dessert of coconut raspberry cookies.

  “This looks amazing,” Gen said when it was spread out on the table.

  “I’d like to take credit, but this was all Jackson,” Ryan informed her.

  “Kate’s a lucky woman,” Gen said, digging into the red pepper dip.

  Ryan looked at her with that smile that made her heart go all liquid and soft. “You know, I felt a little stab of jealousy when you said that. Made me want to go punch Jackson in the face.”

  “It would be a shame to do that when he’s been so good to us,” she said. Then: “You really felt jealous?”

  “I did.”

  Something about that made her ridiculously happy, so much so that she giggled, and she did not consider herself to be a giggling woman.

  The food was delicious—she’d expect no less from Jackson—and as she ate, she reflected that this date was not at all what she’d expected. Dinner, she’d thought, maybe a drive down to the next town for a movie. This—coming to the Cooper House—was a twist she could not have predicted. So this is what it’s like to be filthy rich, she thought, taking in the gardens, the fountain, the endless expanse of the pool, the beauty of the sky as the sun lowered itself toward the ocean, bathing the horizon in oranges and reds. But then she thought, no. If she were filthy rich, she probably wouldn’t even notice this. The beauty would be all around her, but she’d be so used to it that she wouldn’t even see it. This was better.

  “So you said Christopher Mills rarely even comes here?” It was hard to believe that someone could have this and take it for granted.

  “That’s what Will says. He’s here maybe two, three weeks out of the year. The rest of the time, it sits empty.”

  “That’s such a shame.”

  “It is.”

  “What would you do if you had this kind of money?” she asked, sipping her pinot noir.

  Ryan didn’t say anything. He avoided her gaze, poking at his food.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  He shrugged. “Not exactly. It’s just …”

  “What?”

  “Well. I do.”

  “You do what?” She was confused. What was happening here? What had she stepped in?

  “I do have this kind of money.”

  Gen was thunderstruck. Her fork fell onto her plate with a clatter.

  “You do?”

  “Well …” He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

  Gen thought back to her visits to the Delaney Ranch. The main house was roomy and comfortable but shabby. She remembered the old linoleum on the kitchen floor, the countertops that were cracked at the edges. She thought of Breanna and her kids, and how Gen had assumed she lived with her parents because of financial struggles. She thought about how Ryan did all of the hard work on the ranch—including putting in Kendrick’s skylight. He did all of that, not some workers he’d hired. She never would have guessed that there was money there, other than the land itself, which had to be of immense value.

  “Wait, wait, wait. Back up.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples, feeling a pressure there, like the information she’d just received was struggling to get out of her head.

  “All right, here’s the thing.” He leaned toward her, his wineglass in his hand, and warmed to the story. “My great-grandfather’s great-grandfather got some acreage of land as part of a Mexican land grant in 1846. The Delaney Ranch, it’s only maybe ten percent of the land he was given.”

  She blinked at him. “Ten percent?”

  He nodded. “Right.”

  But the Delaney Ranch was huge. “Well … what happened to the rest of it?”

  “Mostly it was sold off over the years. My grandfather was the one with the real head for business. He sold some land—a lot of land—and put the profits into real estate. The ranch … Well. We do it because we love it. Because it’s what our family has always done.
But it barely makes a profit. Our real business is real estate.”

  “Real estate.” She realized that she was blindly repeating him, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  “Yeah.”

  “How … How much real estate?”

  He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “A lot. Mostly commercial properties.”

  “So … how wealthy are you exactly? What … what exactly are we talking about here?”

  “We’re, I think, fourth? Or maybe fifth now. I can’t remember.”

  “Fourth or fifth what?”

  “Forbes puts out a list of the wealthiest families in the state. I think last time, we were fourth. Or fifth.”

  “The Delaney family is the fourth richest family in the state.”

  “Or fifth, right. I don’t remember which.”

  “I don’t … I can’t … Shit.” She was rubbing at her temples more vigorously now. It was as though the words he was saying were in some foreign language that was a lot like English but that lost some meaning in the translation.

  “Sorry to lay all that on you. It’s a lot to take in, I know. But I didn’t want you to find out later and feel like I was keeping things from you.”

  “But … but … nobody ever said anything. Nobody ever told me.”

  “I’m not even sure they know. It’s not the kind of thing we talk about. And … you know. Do you think Jackson and Daniel read Forbes?”

  “You don’t talk about it.” There she was with the repeating thing again.

  He shrugged. “No. Not when I can avoid it.”

  “But why?” She was struggling to make sense of this, of the revelation.

  He cocked his head and looked at her, and there was something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite identify. “When people find out you’ve got money—more than a certain amount, I mean—then you become that to them. You become the money. You’re not a person anymore. You’re just … wealth.”

  As he said it, she knew what it was she’d seen in his eyes. It was worry.

  “You didn’t tell me because you were worried that I’d see you as wealth.”

  He shrugged again, and his discomfort with the entire subject was both puzzling and endearing. “Well, yeah, but once you asked the question—what would I do if I had this kind of money—I had to tell you, because if I didn’t, it would be lying. And I don’t want to lie to you.”

  The revelation of the Delaney family’s vast wealth was shocking and overwhelming. Gen didn’t know what to do with the information—how to process it. “But … your family. Your house.”

  “What about them?”

  “I just mean …” She struggled with how to put it. “It just seems like a regular house. They just … they just seem like a regular family.”

  “It is a regular house, and they are a regular family.”

  She shook her head as though to clear it. “I meant …”

  “I know what you meant.”

  He looked at her with those chocolate brown eyes and she could see from the expression in those eyes, from the set of his jaw, that he’d had this conversation before.

  “The house doesn’t look like a rich person’s house,” he said, filling in her thoughts. “And my family—my mom with the football jerseys and the fuzzy slippers—she doesn’t look like a real estate tycoon.”

  “Well … yeah.”

  “We’re just regular people, Gen. We like to live simply. Who the hell needs all of this?” He gestured to encompass the Cooper House, the garden around them, the pool, the grounds. “I mean, it’s fun to visit. I’m enjoying this, being here, as much as anybody would. But to live like this?” He shook his head. “I don’t need it. My parents don’t need it. Breanna doesn’t need it. And I’ve got to think Lucas and Michael will grow up more well-adjusted without it.”

  Yeah, she could see that. They probably would.

  She took a deep drink from her wineglass—she needed it.

  “So you … you run a big real estate empire? On top of running the ranch?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. I just run the ranch. At least, I will when my dad finally decides to retire. My brother handles the real estate stuff.”

  “Your brother.” There she went repeating things again.

  “Colin. He’s a lawyer, lives down in San Diego. He handles the real estate. I handle the cattle. Me and my other brother, Liam.”

  “Liam? He works on the ranch, too? I haven’t met him.”

  “He has a ranch in Montana. Part of the family holdings.”

  “The family holdings.”

  He cocked his head at her. “You keep repeating the things I say.”

  “I know. I’m just making sure that I really heard them.”

  A trio of birds flew overhead, and the breeze rustled the leaves of an oak tree that stood sentry in the garden. The horizon was flaming orange as the sun dipped into the water.

  “Look. I know this is a lot to take in,” he said. “You wouldn’t be the first woman not to take it well.”

  She wondered what that meant, and as she thought about it, it became clear why Ryan was still single in his early thirties. She’d wondered about that. He was smart, sweet, kind-hearted, and handsome as hell. Plus there was the added sexiness factor of the whole cowboy thing. And yet here he was, still dating, still looking for his match. Why? It had to be hard, with the money added into the mix, she realized. The baggage the money represented.

  “I’ll bet it complicates things, with dating,” she said. Now that the initial shock had passed, she realized she was still quite hungry, and she picked up her fork again and began to eat the garden salad.

  He let out a puff of air in a way that suggested frustration and even disgust. “You could say that. The ones who are only interested in the money are pretty easy to spot. But the ones who are a little more complicated are the women who really do like me, but who think I should be living like a rich guy. ‘Why don’t you have a nicer car?’ and ‘You know, you should really tear down the house and build something new.’ That kind of thing.” He shook his head, clearly troubled by the memories. “It’s a pretty common reaction, and I can understand them wondering. But when they won’t let up about it, well, that’s when it starts to become clear that they think dating me is going to bring a certain kind of lifestyle. And they really want that lifestyle.”

  “That’s got to be hard.”

  “It is.” He nodded. “Well. Anyway. Now you know. So let’s talk about something else. Anything else.”

  And so they did. They talked about Kendrick, and what it was like to run a ranch, and Gen’s gallery. At first it was weird, because the information about his wealth seemed to change who she thought he was, and the dynamic between them. But the more they talked, the more relaxed she became, and the more he seemed like just Ryan. They ate Jackson’s food and watched the sunset, and when the food was gone—including the cookies—they drank some more wine and held hands. Then, after they’d put away the remains of the meal—the leftovers, the plates, the napkins—they got up from the table and Gen stepped into his arms.

  “What now?” she said.

  “Well.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “I was thinking that pool looks pretty good.”

  “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

  “I was kind of counting on that.”

  She’d never skinny-dipped before, in anyone’s pool, let alone in a tech tycoon’s pool, with marble statues of Aphrodite and Neptune looking down on her, probably with judgment and scorn. But who gave a crap what they thought? She felt giddy and free as she splashed nude through the water under the darkening sky. The pool was heated to a comfortable eighty degrees, and the night was warm.

  “I hope Will’s not around,” Gen said, slicking her wet hair back from her face, bobbing at the surface of the water.

  “Will needs to get his own date.” Ryan ducked under the water and swam toward her. He glided under her and playfully grabbed onto her thigh, and she s
quealed and laughed.

  They swam and splashed, dove, and then floated with their backs to the water, soundless, staring up into the starry sky.

  When they both were tired and breathing hard, they swam toward each other and embraced, their feet kicking gently to keep them afloat.

  “This is fun,” she told him. “Really fun. I can’t remember ever having a date this cool.”

  “It’s not over yet.” He kissed her deeply, his tongue caressing hers, and she could feel his arousal against her body.

  “You’re really good at this,” she said when he broke the kiss, his lips just a breath away from hers.

  “Money can’t buy this kind of skill.” He gave her the half grin again.

  “How do I know that? How do I know you don’t have … I don’t know. Some kind of expensive coach or something.” Her words were playful but she was breathless with desire, with her need for him.

  “If I did, would that be a problem for you?”

  “God no. Results are results.”

  He laughed, a low and husky sound that she felt through her entire body. Then he kissed her again and she clung to him in the water, tiny waves lapping against them, the scent of chlorine and warm man surrounding her.

  Her body felt loose and hot, her heart pounding, the erotic center of her pulsing with urgent longing.

  “You want to continue this inside?” he murmured. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, the soft, tender skin of her throat.

  “Yeah.” Her voice sounded rough. “I really do.”

  They climbed out of the water and wrapped themselves in the plush towels Ryan had retrieved from the house before their swim. With their clothes gathered up in their arms, they went inside, where he made a fire in the big marble fireplace of the library. Clothed only in the towels, they sat together on a rug a few feet from the flames, watching the fire and letting it warm their wet skin.

  When he reached for her and pulled her to him for a kiss, she thought, Yes. They let the towels fall and held each other, touched each other, their bodies bathed in the warm glow of the fire.

  The kiss was deep and delicious and Gen savored the feel of it, the way it made her body hum. His warm hands explored her back and the tender hollows of her throat before coming to caress the sensuous curves of her breasts.