“He's down by the point. Won't be back for another hour.”
Jase nodded then moved around the cowboy to leave before his old friend could cash in on any more resentment.
“What Dad said is true then?” he asked. “You’re going to rebuild?”
Back in the day, Jase could have finished Dustin's sentences and read most of his thoughts, even predicted what kind of baseball pitch he wanted just by the set of his jaw. Time had definitely changed them.
“Tell your dad I'll come back tomorrow.” He swallowed hard, not sure why he avoided the question.
“That's it?”
He kept his feet planted in the dirt where he stood, angling his body away from his friend and the old house.
“Eleven years and you can't even look me in the eye? Or are you going to run away again?”
“I didn't run away.” Jase swung around, crumpling the envelope he held as his hands fisted.
Dustin raised a dark brow in challenge. “Then what exactly do you call up-and-leaving in the middle of the night? Not a word to anybody.”
The pressure of so many years of bolted-up emotions railed against his conscience, and he wished he were back at Madison’s place, eating grilled cheese and laughing at the smallest things.
“You weren't the only one hurting after that fire. I loved Sam like a brother.” Dustin’s voice caught. “And you just left—”
“I know.” His voice was loud in the quiet around them. After a moment, he said it again, only this time the words a rough whisper. He tried to smooth the envelope he held, but his hands shook. “Maybe I did run.” A helpless laugh tore from his throat. “I was just a teenager.”
“You still could have told me. Heck, I might have gone with you.”
Jase had no answer for him. Not one that he could articulate. Not even after eleven years.
“We were best friends. You should’ve told me.” He tugged on the brim of his hat, lowering it over his eyes.
They both stood silent under the growing shade of the setting sun, and then Dustin gave a shaky laugh. “Look at us. You'd think we was ten again, fighting over who was going to miss ol’ Rusty most when Dad had to put him down.”
Jase exposed a sad smile as he remembered the Henry’s dog. They'd all tried to act tough, but their red, swollen eyes hadn't fooled anyone. This memory ushered in a score of others. “We had some good times, didn't we?”
“Some of the best.”
The stiff envelope weighed in his hand. Dustin and his family were suffering again right now, and though he couldn't change the past, he wasn't going to repeat it. “I'd like to catch up. Maybe make up for some of what I missed.”
His friend studied him long and hard before nodding once. Then he gestured behind the house. “I’m headed out now to fix some busted wire on the west fence line. Could use some company. If you ain’t afraid of getting a little dirt under them pretty nails, that is.”
Jase snorted but touched his jaw again. “As long as you keep your right hook to yourself, I think I can manage.”
“Sorry ‘bout that.”
“No, you're not.”
“Yeah, you're right.”
The familiar, light banter eased the pit in his gut, but behind it was still over a decade of pain to get over.
But today was a start.
Dustin reached into his truck and grabbed extra work gloves and tossed them over. He gave the ranch a sober look as he pulled on his own worn pair, then picked up a stapler and pliers. “Ready?”
Dropping the folder for William in the open window of his rental, Jase followed him across the grassy field separating the Henrys’ home and the distant river. He was quiet for several yards as he mentally switched gears for the change in plans.
“So, California, huh?”
Of all the questions he’d anticipated, he hadn’t expected this to be the first. “Yeah.”
Dustin’s snort scattered robins from a nearby tree. “Let me guess, you have a beach house with a maid and drive a Lamborghini.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
The cowboy side-eyed him with a sharp arc to his dusty brow.
Jase drilled his friend with a stony look he’d perfected their third year in grade school. “I do not have a maid. And I drive a three-quarter-ton.”
“And the beach house?”
He scratched his jaw, studying the landscape.
“That’s what I thought,” the cowboy said, mumbling something about surfboards and soft hands.
Mental snapshots of low tide and La Jolla sunsets had the truth spilling out. “It grows on you.”
“Yeah, well, I think I’ll keep my farmer’s tan.” He pointed to the section of fence that needed mending several yards ahead. “Mom says you’re restoring some fancy theatre in San Diego.”
Mention of Dustin’s mother tripped him up a step, and he stuttered out a reply. “It’s kind of a pet project of mine. I have high hopes for it, especially now that Madison’s onboard.”
“She’s the architect from the B&B, right?”
Heat gathered on his neck as he thought to the night before. “One and the same.”
Dustin’s eyes narrowed, and Jase walked ahead until the sounds of lucid, bubbling water reached his ears. A moment later, the winding river came in to view, and he nodded toward a large, curved rock splitting the lazy current in the center of a bend where it widened. “It’s still there.”
“Kissing Rock?”
“I still say it looks like a plumber’s crack.”
Dustin laughed. “Don’t let Shanna Thompson here ya. This was her spot.”
He grinned. Shanna Thompson, every guy’s first crush. She’d dragged him out here after one of the Henrys’ summer bonfires, eager to show him the heart-shaped rock, dubbed kissing rock by Dustin’s older sister.
His smile stretched at the idea of bringing Madison here, balancing on the smaller rocks to get to the bigger, heart-shaped one, and stealing a kiss or ten.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“About what?”
“That architect who put that love-sick grin on your face.”
Jase rolled his eyes and bent to pick up several flat rocks half-tucked into the soil at his feet, shaking the loose dirt from his hands as he straightened. “Are we really talking girls?”
His buddy shrugged then adjusted his hat. “Is it serious then?”
He chucked one of his rocks underhand in a sweeping motion. It skipped across the water three times before disappearing beneath the surface, the stream’s blue reflection the same color as Madison’s eyes when she laughed. “I don’t know… But, yeah. I think so.”
“Yeah?”
Jase’s smile faltered at the real question in his friends’ tone. “What?”
Dustin walked again, switching his tools to his other hand as he followed the river for a few yards. “I guess I wasn’t sure you’d ever do the whole…family thing. After what happened. Mom was worried you’d never…” He laughed on an uneasy breath. “Anyway.”
A lump tore into the sides of Jase’s throat, the sharp pain hard to swallow against.
“She seems great.” Dustin cleared his own throat and tapped the pliers against the open palm of his glove, the leather muting the sound to a dull thwap, thwap, thwap.
“She is.” He shuffled the rocks in his hand, keeping his attention on the river, the thriving trees, a fallen trunk, anything but the pressure building in his lungs as he thought about Madison and her wish on the mantel.
His chest constricted with a battle between protecting her wish and the dark whispers that he was fooling himself, and he chucked another rock. And then another until he fisted the last one, its edges biting into his flesh.
“She’s the reason I decided to build. Her work is incredible. Not flashy or showy. It’s more subtle—beautiful.” Like her. He tossed the rock but missed the water completely. It thunked against a tree before wrestling its way through some brush to the ground. Releasing a heavy breath, he
pulled on a long piece of pasture grass.
Off in the distance, the rumble of an ATV broke into their surroundings. He watched as William cut across a field to park off to the side of the barn, a dust trail in his wake.
“You remember how to do this?”
Jase glanced back to his friend and the stapler he held out. “Funny.”
Dustin got to work stretching the barbed wire tight between the wood posts while Jase stapled it into place. Neither spoke as they worked their way through the half-dozen slack lines. He drank in the low sun and faint heat at his back, the tall grass and fresh meadow air, like a glass of his mom’s homemade lemonade on an August summer day. Refreshing. Like his adorable architect.
Placing the last staple, he stood back with Dustin as they checked over their work. “Thanks for letting me tag along. I miss this.”
“Definitely ain’t a day on the beach in California.”
He chuckled. “Nope.”
“Gotta love life’s curve balls, don’t ya?” Dustin cleared his throat as he scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his words barely rising above the bubbling river. “After all this time, you coming back just as we’re leaving.”
“I’m sorry about your mom,” Jase said, realizing he hadn’t spoken those words yet.
Like with William, the sentiment wasn’t enough, but it’s all he had. Well, that wasn’t true. He glanced out toward his parked rental and the front seat.
“It sucks. Dad’s been a mess. Though, he don’t show it.” The cowboy removed his gloves and tucked them into his back pocket before gathering his tools. “Can’t lie. Seeing how good you’re doing helps.”
Jase swallowed back a laugh. The rollercoaster that was his life the past few months, especially the nightmares, had almost thrown him from the cart more than once. Not that his friend could know that. Because Jase hadn’t given him a chance.
Dustin pulled his brim lower as he started walking toward the house, and Jase focused on the swish of the long grass against his jeans, letting the soft rhythm even out his pulse from the shift their conversation had taken.
To the west, blue faded to purple, and purple to pink. It wasn’t anything glorious, but familiar and content, and he soaked it in. At his truck, he reached through the window and grabbed the manila envelope.
“That the paper work for Dad to sign?”
“Sort of.”
Dustin leaned against the hood of the rental, crossing his boots at the ankle. “What game are you playing?”
“No games.”
His friend snorted. “Your poker face is still crap.”
“You talk like yours was any better.” He grinned, but it was hard to hold as he rubbed his thumb over the pale-yellow surface of the envelope. Without a word, he held it out.
A reverence settled over that spot of ground as Dustin took it, as if the land sensed the importance of what lay inside. With a slight tremble, he slid his finger under the seal and pulled out several sheets of paper.
“Wait. This…” Dustin’s forehead creased. He focused on the paper again then lifted it to see the one beneath, before returning to the first. “Dad said you were buying the place.”
“I did buy it.” He nodded to the paper on top. “As a gift.”
Red rimmed the cowboy’s eyes as he rubbed his jaw, his hand covering his mouth. “We can’t…How did you…”
“I needed to do this.” A pleading note took over Jase’s words. “Your dad won’t like it, but it’s how it should be. And I could never come back without knowing the Henrys are next door.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
He scanned William’s land—their home. “That maybe you’ll forgive me for the past eleven years?” His emotions made it hard to clear his throat.
Dustin removed his hat and laughed. “Only if you’ll forgive my right hook.”
“I’ll make you a deal. Help me convince your dad to accept the deed to his ranch, and we’ll call us even.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jase dropped his bag inside the door and kicked off his shoes. He glanced between the freezer, where he’d stashed four different kinds of Ben & Jerry’s, and the sky beyond his sliding doors, cursing the sun for hovering just over the horizon. His plan to figure out Madison’s favorite ice cream and her favorite beach would have to wait for tomorrow.
Stupid airport delays.
He poured a tall glass of orange juice and debated between hitting the shower or hitting the sheets. After sitting for hours in the airport’s hard plastic chairs, he was beat, but the sunset through his windows had him choosing option three.
Sitting in one of the outdoor recliners, he switched his phone out of plane mode and started a text to Madison, but his lawyer’s name popped up on his screen as an incoming call before he could hit send. “Hey, Leeza. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m glad you made it in. Did you receive my messages?”
Her business tone had him sitting straight up. “No. I had my phone off for the flight.” He switched his phone to speaker and looked at his notifications. Twenty-six? “What happened? What’s wrong?” A deep foreboding brought him to his feet. “Is Penny all right?”
“It isn’t Penny. Turn your T.V. to Channel Two News.”
Orange juice and sunsets were forgotten as he walked back into the house and fished out his remote to wake up his flat screen. His throat felt gritty when he tried to swallow. “What’s on Channel Two?”
“Apparently, your life story. I only saw the teaser at the beginning of the broadcast. That’s when I first called.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry, Jase. I’m going to make a call in the morning to a friend of mine at the news station. I’ll let you know what info I can dig up.”
The moment the call ended, his phone screen lit up again, this time with Penny’s number, but he let it go to voice mail. He moved around his couch and sat on its edge, turning the volume up on the television. Then he froze. A reporter in a bright blue jacket stood by a fence, words of shattered childhood, devastating fire, and tragic loss of life, falling from his lips—the backdrop a blackened spot of ground.
The ruins of his family's stables.
Jase stared, unable to tear his gaze away as the man told a skewed story of his past. Hearing the guy speak the names of his parents and of Sam, with all of his false condolences, like it was the world’s business to hear them, gutted him open.
Details of the fire—details that had fueled his every nightmare—played out on the screen now like a slow-motion recording as the news station played the old footage of the fire, and it was as if the last eleven years hadn’t happened.
Nine hundred miles. I ran over nine hundred miles to get away from those images.
He pressed his palms to his eyes, searching for the rhythm of his baseball mantra, but deafening pulse beats crowded his ears like it had when he’d gone after Madison in the storm. Fear gathered like whispers, piercing the air all around him, and he choked on their darkness. It was as if every shadow in the room hissed his weaknesses.
Broken.
His hands fell limp to his knees, where his fingers shook, their color pale white against his blue jeans as a news anchor’s voice cut into his conscience.
“…now, after more than a decade, Cutter is ready to rebuild with the help of architect and designer Madison Blakeley. Inside sources told our own Kit Gentry that the California real estate developer approached Blakeley about the project after meeting her at the exclusive West Shore Gala, where the two made a connection…”
His breath stuttered, and his fist tightened around the remote as the station cut to another reporter standing to the left of a white store front, a lemon tree contrasting her red pant suit.
The frame widened to include another woman and his hands stilled. He could draw every curve of that body with his eyes shut, pick her laugh out of a crowd, recognize her intoxicating fragrance anywhere, and he turned the volume up another notch despite the foreboding pressure in his chest.
�
��Tell us what it’s like working with Jase Cutter. A contract with the real estate mogul is quite an honor.”
“Mr. Cutter is very professional and incredibly smart. He puts all of his focus on his projects and is a real team player. Blakeley Architecture & Design is lucky to be a part of that.”
The reporter’s words faded along with his focus on the screen as a name lit a memory in his brain—a name scrawled on a bubblegum pink sticky note in Madison’s kitchen from just a few days ago.
Kit Gentry.
Black plastic shattered against the wall next to the screen. Pieces of the remote rained in a heap onto his floor. All he could do was stay still. Even when the small screen on his phone lit up with a text, he didn’t move to read it. Nor did he move when it rang two minutes later. Or thirty minutes after that.
A rap on his front door jolted him. Outside his windows, dusk had settled for good, making the glaring lights from the television strain his vision. Still, he remained frozen, worried if he moved he’d break as easily as the remote he’d thrown at the wall. When the knocking continued, he forced a breath and wiped a hand over his face and down his jeans. There was only one person who knew the code to his gate. He considered not answering, but he knew Penny would only worry more.
Another knock rattled the thick wood right as he pulled the door open. “I’m okay, you didn't…” His words trailed off as he stared at a pair of clear blue eyes, rimmed red, in a face of which he knew every angle. Her hands were all but lost in the long sleeves of her purple hoody.
“I’m so sorry. This isn’t what it looks like. I don’t know—”
“How did you get in here?” The harsh words cut into the night, the tight, angry coil in his chest springing undone quicker than he could control it.
“Penny.”
He cursed under his breath but folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, relying on its strength to hold him up.
“Please. I need you to listen to me. Let me explain.”
A short laugh fell from his lips. “I really think I heard enough on the T.V., don’t you?”
“No.”
“Right. Of course.”
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