by Laurel Greer
Maggie stared at him. “I thinking the hole’s in your heart.”
He barked out a laugh. “Christ, corny much?”
Her hands dropped to her sides. “I know I wasn’t super supportive when Marisol came to town. But she’s good people. And if you’re going to be naive enough to risk being flayed open for someone, then don’t mess it up.”
“I already did,” he said quietly.
And flayed was about right.
He swallowed bile. “I don’t think I can make it right, Mags. I lost her trust. Pretty fundamental.”
Maggie raised her chin and glared at him before studying the X-ray illuminator. “Figure it out.”
“I—” He swallowed. “Aside from the honesty fail, she’s pissed I borrowed money from Dad. Hell, I’m pissed I borrowed money from Dad. But there was really no other way. Can’t get the honey back in the jar once it’s spilled.”
“Remind me what Stella said when you asked for a loan?”
“Something about never investing in Sutter Creek. I can’t remember her exact words.”
Maggie’s eyebrows wrinkled. Guaranteed she was frowning under her surgical mask. Shaking her head, she started muttering to herself about clamps and drill bits.
He waved a hand at the equipment he’d prepped. “All there.”
She glanced at the tray, then back at him. “We need to talk to Stella again. She needs to understand how important this is.”
“It’s my crap to shovel.”
“Not entirely. Your business is intertwined with mine. And I wish I had the ability to foot the bill for you, but I’m stretched as much as you are.”
She was right. His business did impact hers. Not to mention affecting his dreams, and the baby, and Marisol... And his borrowing money from his parents had screwed up way too many parts of his life. “You think going back to Stella’s worth a shot?”
“Isn’t getting Marisol back worth trying anything?”
Well, when she put it that way... “Touché.”
They finished the surgery and a couple of other appointments, then set up his laptop in the staff room and both pulled up chairs.
“Ganging up on me for some reason?” Stella asked when she answered their Skype call. Judging by the buildings of midtown Manhattan glittering outside the window behind her, she was still at the office.
“Little bit,” Maggie said with a shrug.
“Well, get to it. I’m finishing up a quarterly report for one of my boss’s closest clients, and the numbers aren’t lining up. And I’d like to set foot in my apartment before it’s technically tomorrow.”
Lach frowned. Stella was no stranger to stress, but the strain on her face was tenser than usual. “We called about me, but if—”
“Then keep it about you, little brother.”
He exchanged a questioning look with Maggie, who shrugged again.
“I’ve screwed things up with Marisol—”
Stella snorted, and he shot her a glare.
“Thanks for the support, there, sis,” he said.
“Not even you, with your sunshine-and-roses exterior, can make love work, Lach,” Stella said. “Someone’s always bound to screw up. Bound to leave the other behind.”
He swallowed. Dealing with his sisters’ old issues made it hard to hold on to any sense of hope. “Well, my love life isn’t what’s up for debate here. It’s about my business. Which impacts Maggie’s. I made a stupid move, taking a loan from Dad, and I’m regretting it. I can’t live the next five years knowing I owe him money.” Knowing Marisol would resent his decisions, too. “Stella, I need you to reconsider.”
“Considering you didn’t take me up on my offer to look over your business plan, I don’t need to do anything.”
“His business plan is fine, Stella.” Maggie crossed her arms. “But he’d been essentially guaranteed that grant. It’s not his fault he counted on a promise that got broken. Surely you have a little sympathy for someone being the innocent casualty of a liar.”
Stella’s mouth gaped for a few seconds. “Are you talking about Mom and Dad, or Ryan?”
“Take your pick,” Maggie said.
“Harsh, Mags,” Lachlan murmured. Using Stella’s past as a weapon didn’t seem fair.
“No, Lach, it’s not. You’ve worked really hard on this. And borrowing money from Stella would get you out from under Dad and Mom’s thumb, and would let you follow through on your obligations to Marisol—”
“The baby’s not an obligation,” he said. Bracing his knees on his elbows, he dropped his head into his hands. “Neither’s Marisol. I love them.”
Stella’s sigh passed through the speakers, and he looked up sharply. Her lower lip was wobbling. She coughed.
“You’re really wanting to make a go of this?” she asked.
“I’ve been working toward owning my own training facility for—”
“No, with Marisol.”
“Of course I do. She’s the mother of my child, Stell. She should be the center of my world.” Granted, she wasn’t clamoring to fill that role. But if he managed to fix his financial issues, maybe she’d see that he’d learned from his mistake.
Stella’s face crumbled. “Okay. Sure. I’ll loan you the money. Text me the amount you need.”
She disconnected, but not quick enough to stop them from hearing a big sniffle.
Lach winced. His sister’s misery squashed any joy he should have felt over the money.
Maggie whistled low. “And you were accusing me of being harsh. Reminding her how she wasn’t a priority for our clown of a sheriff? Ouch.”
“That’s not what I was meaning to do. I was just telling the truth.” Lachlan shook his head. “And we don’t know the whole story about Stella and Ryan. Plus, you and I both have to work with him on every SAR call. Best we not call him a clown, don’t you think?”
“He broke our sister’s heart, Lach. I can call him what I want. Just not when he’s my superior.” Maggie made a face, then nudged him. “You got your money. Shouldn’t you be smiling?”
“Yeah, I should. But I haven’t seen Stella cry in years.” Not since he’d comforted her after her miscarriage. Dread spread through his chest. “What if, even with the money, I can’t fix this? Look at our sister. Some hurts are too deep to mend.”
Maggie hooked her heels on the edge of the chair and hugged her knees. “You know, I don’t ever see wanting to put myself out there. Ending up like Mom and Dad... I don’t fool myself, thinking I could have what Grams and Gramps had, or what Gramps found with Carol. I’m not charmed like him. But you—I thought you were.”
“I thought I was, too. I figured as long as I emulated him, I could have what he had.”
“And you honestly think that over fifty years, he and Grams didn’t have any trust issues? Because I’m betting if you called him, he’d tell you otherwise. You’ve done what you can here, Lachlan. You’re going to use Stella’s loan to sever things with Dad. Prove to Marisol you did the work. That you’ll keep doing it. For heaven’s sake, one of us should end up happy.”
“You can, too, Maggie.”
She shook her head. “Be happy for all of us, okay?”
He took a deep breath. Maybe his sister’s blessing would bring him some luck. One call had gone well; he needed the next one to be even better.
“All right, I’ll see if I’ve done enough.”
He went to his office and pulled out his cell.
No answer. Crap. Impatience bubbled in his veins. Was Marisol screening his calls? Maybe text would work.
Sunshine, we need to talk.
The sent message glared at him in its insufficiency.
You were right about the money, about me being dishonest, and I’m truly sorry. Please call me.
She didn’t.
His heart sank further and f
urther as he made his way back home. It was Monday—she’d be working from her apartment.
Want to go for a walk? he texted.
He heated up a serving of lasagna from the freezer and scarfed it down. Still no response.
Ready to crawl out of his skin, he tried again. Coffee? Decaf, in solidarity?
Three dots popped up on the screen.
And hope fluttered in his chest.
I’m napping. And you’re really crappy at keeping things just about the baby.
She was right on that. I’ve made some changes. I need to talk to you. Come and get some fresh air.
More dots. I don’t know, Lach.
Desperation filled him. Exercise is about the baby.
He flopped down on his couch. The silence raked across his brain. Hell, he’d take her stupid noisy clock over the agony of nothing. She was giving him enough time to knit a pair of socks in between each reply.
Maybe tomorrow. I’ll text you if I have time to meet up.
Goddamn it. Failure sank heavy in his stomach.
He shoved it away. Her answer wasn’t a no. He’d cling to the possibility until she made up her mind.
* * *
His phone didn’t buzz the next day. He got updates from helpful pet owners for two days running—Marisol’s been in the bakery and ran into Marisol at the library and pretty sure I saw your girl walking down by the creek yesterday—but nothing from the woman herself. Thursday morning, when he and Fudge were in the middle of nowhere running through training exercises with the SAR team, he finally got a message.
I’m taking the afternoon off. Figure I’m better off going in tomorrow having cleared my mind. Cramming never works for me. So I’m free if you’re still wanting to talk.
He swore to himself and kicked a rock on the side of the dirt road. Of course. The one day he was doing something he couldn’t get out of. It was 9:00 a.m., and they had at least eight hours in the bush today.
Dinner? I’m at SAR training today.
No, I’m busy tonight.
“Why the long face? Good grief, you and Marisol have twin frowns,” Zach said, prepping ropes for a climbing maneuver.
“I screwed up, and she broke things off.”
When Zach stayed silent, Lachlan couldn’t help letting the rest spill out.
Zach whistled low.
“What, she hadn’t told you?”
“She’s been speaking in one-word sentences all week.”
Well, damn. She was either stressed or upset, and he couldn’t do anything about either, not until she asked for his support. He inhaled a long stream of forest-scented air, trying to soothe his rising concern. “Not being available today is not helping my case.”
Raking a hand through his hair, Zach said, “I’d invite you over for dinner, but she knows you’re welcome to join us and that she could do the inviting.”
“What, she’s eating with you tonight?” That would explain why she was busy. But it stung that she hadn’t invited him along.
Why would she? You lied to her.
He let out a string of profanity.
Zach nodded. “She had family interfering enough in her marriage. She’d kill me if I all of a sudden started putting my nose in your business.”
“I get that. And you’re right—she would have invited me if she wanted me there.”
Fudge, wearing her vest, stared at him expectantly.
“Any bright ideas, girl?”
She dealt him a doggy frown.
“Thanks for the optimism.”
Though he couldn’t say he was having any more success at clinging to hope.
* * *
After finishing his SAR session, he ripped by the clinic so that he could admire the setting foundation of the barn.
God, it was so much better now that the project wasn’t tainted by his parents’ involvement.
“Great work, Aleja,” he said, nodding at his contractor, who was packing up for the day.
Her dark brows narrowed. “You sure? You don’t look happy.”
“I’m not, but it has nothing to do with the barn.”
Well, it had a lot to do with this place, but not in the sense of Alejandra’s crew’s efforts being substandard.
She hummed knowingly. “Heard you broke up with your girlfriend.”
“You did?”
“Gertie Rafferty was talking to Nancy about how she’d lasted less than a week in the house. I was in the bakery and couldn’t help but overhear.”
He cringed. Hopefully Marisol didn’t learn about the gossip. She’d always seemed bothered by the speed at which news flew around Sutter Creek.
Fudge bounded up to him, swinging her Kong and begging for a throw. He caught her by the collar. “Come on, doggo, you’ll get a nail in the foot if you’re out here. See you later, Aleja,” he said, leading the dog back to the clinic.
“Later. You know,” she called, “sorry’s usually a good place to start.”
“Tried that,” he gritted out. The door slammed shut behind him. He apparently hadn’t said sorry in the right way, though.
Or maybe sorry wasn’t going to be good enough—
His cell vibrated in his pocket, jarring him from his depressing conclusion.
Maybe it was Marisol, needing something before tomorrow’s presentation.
He scrambled to answer, fumbling as he yanked it from his hiking shorts. The words Gregory Reid shot down his hopes.
He answered with a sigh. “Dad.”
“What’s with the bank transfer from Stella, son?”
He gritted his teeth. “Suited my needs better.”
“Something to do with the woman I met last week?”
His phone squeaked as he gripped it. He wasn’t dignifying that with an answer.
“Don’t let her dictate your life, Lachlan. Tell her how things are going to go. Pursue her, if that’s what you want. She’s hot enough. But don’t be a loser. Take charge.”
Rage cascaded through him, momentarily muting his need to roar a reply. A buzzing filled his ears, drowning out the usual aural debris of the clinic. His vision swam. Deep breath. Take one. Now.
He did.
Then another.
It didn’t lower his blood pressure, but it loosened his tongue.
“I’m not a loser,” he asserted. But taking charge, bullying, wasn’t the answer. His father’s advice hammered home one thing—how pursuing someone after they gave a clear “no” quickly became a lack of consent.
“That’s more like it,” his father said.
He cleared his throat. He was only going to say this once, and then intended to go a long, long time before speaking to his father again. “I’m not going to be a dictatorial bastard, either. If she just wants to be friends, then I’ll respect that. I’d rather be alone than be like you.”
Heart clamoring, he hung up, then shut his office door and let out a growl of frustration. He would respect Marisol’s wishes. Hell, with how he’d hidden things from her, he’d count himself lucky if she was willing to maintain a friendship.
Living without her would hurt. Every day.
But she’d set a clear line, and he’d crossed it.
It was time to stop asking for forgiveness, and to accept the limits she’d set.
Chapter Fifteen
Had Marisol known dinner was going to involve her brother studying her like a mountain face ready to be prepped for avalanche blasting, she probably would have stayed home.
Liar. Being alone this week has been the worst.
The worst, maybe. But necessary.
A tiny hand smacked her arm, leaving a smear of barbecue sauce. “Ana-ma-ra.” Arresting blue eyes latched on to hers, dragging her into a vat of irresistible toddler charm.
“Ben-Ben,” she cooed. She tickled hi
m under the chin, earning a smile.
Okay, seeing this little gem was worth Zach’s scrutiny. But seriously, the back of her neck was crawling.
“Stop giving me the hairy eyeball,” she insisted, cramming a bite of coleslaw into her mouth.
Everything tasted bland tonight. Her taste buds’ fault, not Cadie’s.
“You’re not happy. Which means I’m not happy,” he said quietly.
“After tomorrow, things will be fine.” She tugged down the hem of the maternity tank blouse that Cadie had lent her. No way would Marisol be able to get her assets into skinny-minnie Cadie’s clothes normally, but maternity ones fit fine, and having something new was a nice distraction from feeling like she couldn’t possibly get any bigger.
If only she had a distraction from her brother.
He eyed her suspiciously. “Things will be fine? Really? I get you’ll have successfully presented your prospectus, but then—”
“I might have, you mean. It might not get approved.” She twisted her hands around her paper-towel napkin.
Zach scoffed. “Stop with the self-doubt. And don’t try to avoid talking about Lachlan. You’re going to live the rest of your life loving the guy, keeping him at arm’s reach, because you might get hurt?”
Oh, probably. A lump filled her throat. “I did get hurt.”
“Glenn was a long time ago.”
She heated with irritation at the mention of her ex’s name, one she purposefully kept herself from thinking.
“I don’t mean Glenn. I mean Lachlan. He lied.” Just like Glenn.
“I know he did.”
“Why would you want me to be with another selfish prick?”
“There’s a big difference between your ex-husband setting creditors on your tail and Lachlan keeping secrets in some misguided attempt at sheltering you. And he knows he screwed up. He’s trying to make things right.”
“He is?”
Maybe that was what he’d meant by “changes” when he’d texted her on Monday.
Zach put his fork down and glanced at Cadie, who paused in scraping some cut-up carrots onto Ben’s plate. “He didn’t tell you?”