by Laurel Greer
“Maybe.” She straightened her shirt. Her expression went from contemplative to charmed as she took in the olive green split-level house with a cheerful border of bedding plants. “Oh, Lach, it’s adorable.”
Satisfaction spread through his stomach. “Glad you think so. Come on, Mrs. Rafferty will be waiting for us.”
“Ah, you caved to her offer, did you?”
“We’ll see. She’s persistent.” He snorted at the understatement. “I’m sure she’s learned everything from your shoe size to the way you take your coffee by now.”
“Comforting.”
“Just means you’ve been accepted by the old guard.” Lach palmed Marisol’s lower back as they traveled the cement path bisecting the lawn and went up steps to the stoop to knock on the door. “I can tell she likes you.”
The front door swung open. “Of course I like her! She caught your eye, didn’t she?” Mrs. Rafferty exclaimed.
Ah. Their voices must have traveled through the living room window, which was open a crack.
“Gertie, we’re not a couple,” Lachlan reminded the older woman as she waved them inside the front entrance and into her empty living area.
“That’s what they all say, dear, but you’re house hunting together.” A brow arched over her Ruth Bader Ginsburg-esque glasses. She had on a T-shirt and long shorts, and from the dirt smudged on the hem of her top, he suspected she’d been gardening.
“I want Marisol to be comfortable with the house where I’ll be living with our child.”
Comfortable enough to want to move in.
Good grief, he was getting ahead of himself.
“I brought up four kids and a grandson here. It’s well loved. Raising Ryan, well, you know...” She took a deep breath.
He smiled sympathetically. Ryan Rafferty defined “upstanding county sheriff” now, but he’d been a hell-raiser in his younger days. With Lach’s older sister Stella, to be specific. Talk about a love that flamed out. Stella still wasn’t over it, as far as Lachlan could tell. The rare time they talked, she didn’t bring it up.
“I wouldn’t rent it to just anyone,” Mrs. Rafferty said.
Marisol reached out and touched the older woman’s arm. “We’d take—I mean, Lach would take good care of it.”
We. Damn, that sounded good coming from her pretty mouth.
“How about I show you the master bedroom, first?” Gertie’s eyes twinkled as she glanced meaningfully between Marisol and him.
“You’re incorrigible,” he scolded gently.
“That I am.” She headed down the hall, motioning for them to follow.
He didn’t need to see the bedroom to know he’d picture Marisol in it for as long as he lived here. And he would live here. He’d scrimp and cut corners with his monthly budget to make the rent on this place. Spending so much of his life in the bush relying on both his and Fudge’s instincts meant he was willing to trust how right this felt in his gut. But Mrs. Rafferty seemed so amused and nostalgic by taking them around and telling stories about her life in the house that he stayed until the last possible minute, scribbling out a check for a security deposit on the fly.
“Take me to the office with you,” Marisol said once they were in the truck. “I’ll walk home. I need to move before I dive back into my research.”
“Sure.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the floorboards. “It’s a good house, Lachlan.”
“Agreed.”
“You’re sure it’s not too much?”
She probably meant space, not money. But he bristled at the question. “It’s just right.”
“You have a lot on your plate. I’m sorry this is complicating your life.”
He pulled into the clinic parking lot and braked hard. “We’re both responsible. And we’re both doing what we can to manage. Why are you apologizing?”
Apologizing, and withdrawing. He could feel her pulling away.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I guess I’m used to feeling at fault for things going wrong in a relationship.”
“We don’t have a relationship, Marisol. Not the kind where things can go wrong, anyway.”
Her regretful gaze cut deep. Christ. Why was she looking at him like that? With just enough doubt to make him hope there was a chance? Maybe he shouldn’t have put it that way. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut about relationships in general.
“Right,” she said.
No, it wasn’t. Nothing about this was right. But he’d promised he wouldn’t push, so he wouldn’t. If he wanted to earn her trust, he needed to keep his word on that. And once he’d proved he had her back, then he could work on reminding her of how perfect it had felt to fall into a kiss on the side of a dusty road.
When he circled around the truck, she flung her door open and shook her head. Gripping the door tightly, she climbed down. “I can do it myself.”
“I know. But there’s nothing wrong with getting a hand now and then.”
“I guess.”
Had two less convincing words ever been spoken? Frustration ripped through him and he pointed her in the direction of her apartment. “You know the way?”
“For sure.”
I can do this without you, in other words.
That applied to more than just climbing out of trucks and street directions. What was it going to take for her to be willing to be actual partners?
He stomped into the clinic, steps echoing on the tile loud enough to turn heads in the waiting room. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he stopped in the middle of the hallway to check it, on the off chance it was Marisol.
An email alert was on the screen. From Backcountry International. His heart skipped a beat. Things hadn’t gone well on a personal front today, but maybe some business success would soothe the earlier sting.
He pulled the message up on the screen.
Dear Mr. Reid,
We regret to inform—
The rest of the words blurred and his gut took a nosedive. No damn way. He wasn’t the recipient? What?
Bile rose at the back of his throat. The number he’d just written on the check to Gertie Rafferty, and the extra rent he’d be paying every month added to the loss of zeros from the grant...
He swore.
A throat cleared behind him. His sister. “Thought I talked to you about keeping your language clean around this place in case there are patients nearby.”
He passed her the phone.
Her expression fell. “Oh, Lach. I’m sorry.”
The second time a woman had apologized to him for something out of her control today, but this one felt more sincere. He shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”
“How? We’re both tapped out.”
“And I just stretched myself further today.”
She grimaced.
“I know.” He matched her expression. “I’ll try the bank again. And if that doesn’t work, I could call Mom and Dad, I guess.”
“Seriously?”
He closed his eyes. Being indebted to his parents? Feeling like he was at their beck and call, like he owed them after spending so many years blessedly free of their machinations? “No, not seriously. I’ll have to find another grant. Or delay.”
“But you have a schedule with the contractor.”
“I do.” He shook his head. Delaying wouldn’t work. His contractor had a job lined up right after his project. “Family might be the best option, though, and Mom and Dad aren’t the only ones in our family with money. I’ll give Stella a call.”
Their hedge fund managing half sister hated everything to do with Sutter Creek, but she understood vocational dreams. Maybe she’d float him a loan.
* * *
He waited to call until around six, when he was over at Maggie’s putting the first coat of paint on the d
resser. Stella picked up after a few rings.
“Hey there, errant youngest child. Has Grams’s ghost started to haunt you for having a baby out of wedlock yet?”
He snorted. “No, but Gertie Rafferty’s doing her best to pick up the slack.”
Stella paused, and he kicked himself for bringing up her ex’s grandmother. Ryan Rafferty was a no-go subject with his sister.
“I was kidding, Lach,” she finally said. “And don’t listen to Gertie. No way should you consider marrying this woman.”
“She’s not ‘this woman.’ She’s the mother of my child. And I’m not trying to marry her.” Not yet, anyway. “But I do want to date her. Get to know her better.”
“You obviously know her in some ways,” she said dryly. “And you don’t know how to use a condom.”
“Jesus, Stella.”
“What?”
“You’re not exactly one to give a sex-ed lecture.” He wasn’t the only Reid to have an accidental pregnancy on their record. Stella had gotten pregnant the summer after her senior year but had miscarried fairly early on. He never had pieced together if she’d told Ryan. He’d been sent to a ranch across the state after getting in trouble with the law. And she refused to talk about it, especially since Ryan had returned and was now the town’s prodigal son instead of the rabble-rouser he’d been before he left.
Her stony silence dragged on far too long for comfort, until she finally said, “So you’re calling just to be your usual pain-in-the-ass?”
“Sort of.” His stomach jittered. It’ll either be yes or no. Might as well get it over with. “I need you to invest in my business, Stell.”
She laughed. “Put money into Sutter Creek? Yeah, right.”
He sucked in a breath. Sure, she had never professed love for the town. Outright tore the place down, more like it. But he’d have thought her feelings would be swayed by the fact this was his dream. “It has nothing to do with Sutter Creek. It has to do with me. With what I’ve been working toward since I was a teenager.”
“My life is in New York, Lachlan. You’re not going to pull me back there. You and Maggie have been trying to get me to come home, to tie me to that town for years now. It’s not going to work.”
“I’m not—” Stifling a groan, he released a desperate gulp of air. “Stella, that’s not what this is about. Whatever past you have with your ex is unrelated to my business.”
“And my feelings toward the town have nothing to do with Ryan effing Rafferty.”
Pointing out that gargantuan lie would only piss her off more, so he modulated his tone and said, “This is really important to me.”
“I’m sure it is. Send me your business plan, I’ll take a look. But I’m not dropping cash on anything to do with that godforsaken place.”
Okay, then.
Hopes dashed, he was no longer in the mood for chitchat. He cut the call short and sat down on the drop cloth. Fudge cocked her head at him, a classic pointer forty-five-degree-angle “what’s up” tilt, and trotted over from the dog bed to sit in the crook of his crossed legs. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled behind her ear.
“Such a good girl,” he mumbled into her short fur.
She flopped against his chest and stuck her cool nose under his jaw, licking him until he laughed.
“You think you can fix everything, hey, dog?” He wished life were so easy as chew toys and dog biscuits.
But no, Fudge’s life wasn’t that simple. She did amazing work in the bush and the snow. And he wasn’t going to bother being modest—he was a hell of a handler and teacher. He couldn’t give up on his dream. But he needed to figure out a way to compromise, somehow.
If Stella wasn’t going to help him, he might have to call his parents, after all.
He shuddered and scratched Fudge’s belly. Last resort. Maybe the bank would hear him out, save him from depending on his parents in a way he’d promised himself he’d never do.
Chapter Nine
“I’m sorry, Lachlan. My hands are tied. If you had more equity, I’d be able to extend your line of credit. But I can only do so much, even with Maggie cosigning.”
Lachlan’s neck burned and he stared at a point over Lena Wilson’s shoulder. The bank manager’s dark brows crinkled in apology.
“I’d have hoped the quasi-family connection might tip the balance...” Lachlan trailed off. Evan was engaged to Lena’s son Deon, a physical therapist in town. Lachlan rock climbed with the couple on a regular basis.
Lena pressed her lips together, and faint wrinkles marked her rich brown skin. She shook her head.
Disappointment flooded in, along with a hell of a lot of embarrassment, and he heard the voice of his father in his head. Being a vet tech, son? Working for your sister? You’re really going to make enough doing that?
Clearly, his dad had been right. And it wasn’t like he’d be raking it in with his training facility, either. His business plan was solid, would eventually build up to the point of him making a comfortable salary, but Stella would always hold the “most successful sibling” title.
Straightening, he tapped both hands on the desk and forced a grin. “Had to ask. Thanks for the meeting.”
“Wish I could do more, Lachlan. It’s as much about Maggie’s student loans and mortgage as it is about your lack of assets.”
Funny, knowing Maggie had her own financial burdens didn’t make his any easier to take. “Not a problem, Lena.”
“The glucosamine supplements you recommended for Grover seem to be helping with his arthritis,” she offered, guilt plain on her face.
“Glad to help. I’d better get going.”
He sped out of the bank and hung a left onto the sidewalk, busy with the usual Friday-afternoon-in-the-summer crowd. His father’s opinions on his job and his upcoming bills buzzed in his mind, persistent mosquitoes of doubt. It took accidentally bumping into a tourist to force him to pay attention. He apologized and paused, glancing around.
He stood in front of the town’s little library. He’d managed to speed-walk two blocks without really noticing where he was going.
A familiar face emerged from the glass doors of the quaint building. Caleb smiled and raised a hand in greeting, then readjusted a New York Islanders ball cap over his black-brown hair. “Lachlan. You okay? You don’t look—It’s not Marisol, is it? If she needs to come see me before next week’s appointment...”
Lachlan shook his head. “Nah. Just got—” His embarrassment hadn’t faded enough for him to admit his financial failings to his friend. He cleared his throat. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I heard you’re renting Gertie Rafferty’s place.” He punched Lachlan lightly on the shoulder. “Stole it out from under me. It would have been perfect for my brother—he and my niece are moving to town next month.”
“Ah, sorry. But I need the extra space, and Gertie seemed intent to be either my matchmaker or my landlord. Maybe both.” His gut crawled at the thought of the rent check. “And Marisol liked the look of it.”
Caleb’s brows rose. “She’s moving in with you?”
“No.” Christ, what was about today, reminding him of all the ways he was falling short in life?
Stop whining. Find a solution.
“Didn’t mean to snatch your brother’s house away, though.” He slapped on a genial expression.
“Enh, Garnet’s playing real estate agent for them. She knows the area better than I do.” Caleb cleared his throat. “Oh, question for you—I’m thinking of getting Garnet a dog for her birthday. Any opinions on breeds?”
Lachlan laughed. “Too many to properly run through on the sidewalk. Give me a call this weekend—I have a list of shelters in the area, or breeders if you’re wanting to go purebred.”
“We’ll be coming to you for obedience training, for sure.”
“Thanks, I—” The words c
licked in place. “Obedience training. Crap. I’ve been so distracted since I left the bank that I forgot I need to boot it back to the clinic for my evening classes.”
Caleb gave a two-fingered wave. “I’ll call you.”
“Do that.” He jogged off, thankful both for his friend’s faith in his skills and for having something to pour his attention into tonight.
Now that the bank had said no, he had some tough decisions to make about whether to call his parents or not. And he was A-okay with a few hours where he had an excuse not to choose.
* * *
“This is a good concept, Marisol.”
Marisol’s advisor, Dr. Jennifer Wiebe, tilted back in her desk chair. She plucked a pair of horn-rimmed reading glasses off the top of her blonde head and peered at Marisol’s draft. “It’s not what we discussed previously, but I think there’s more opportunity for discovery. It’ll provide you with a challenge.” Her gaze dipped to Marisol’s baby bump and her lips thinned.
Marisol didn’t like the look of that face. She inhaled, trying to slough off the feeling that the tall bookshelves lining both sides of Dr. Wiebe’s office were closing in on her. “I sense a ‘but’ in there.”
“Are you sure you want to take on something with a larger scope? Your previous idea had merit, and this might not be the time in your life where you want to complicate things further.”
“Oh.” Yeah, that one had come up before. Her advisor in Vancouver had had no qualms opining that a new mother had no place in a doctoral program. But she’d hoped working with a female professor would mean not facing as many preconceived notions. “Given how much support I’m getting from my family and Lachlan, I feel I’m up to facilitating a more involved study.”
“Lachlan. I know that name.”
“He’s a SAR dog handler on Sutter Mountain.”
Dr. Wiebe nodded. “Right. That’s it. He teaches classes locally from time to time. Smart guy when it comes to dogs. He’s your partner?”
Marisol bit her lip, contemplating how to phrase it. “Yes” hovered on the tip of her tongue. And the yearning for that to be so shifted the shelves toward her again until the truth squeezed out. “He’s the baby’s father.” When that didn’t seem to faze Dr. Wiebe, she continued, “Encouraged me to suggest this change, actually.”