Marie was the oldest child of an enormous, complicated family that included step-siblings by at least three different fathers (Kelsey never could quite get them all straight), various aunts and uncles who wandered in and out of the family house, and a mother who was perpetually in love, out of love, and broke and looking for help paying the bills. Marie had spent most of her life dangling a baby on her hip, so it was only natural that when she needed money, she turned to nannying. Given her propensity for ordering people around, it was also unsurprising that she eventually decided to open her own business.
What Kelsey found amusing was that her friend claimed to harbor a fantasy that someday she’d be swept off her feet by a rich playboy who would take her away from her life of toil and set her up in a mansion where she would get endless manicures and never worry again about getting spit-up on her favorite blouse. Kelsey suspected that when Mr. Right did come along, he’d have a fondness for babies, a tolerance for chaos, and a personality strong enough to match her outspoken friend.
Marie slapped the top back on the ice cream and shoved it into the freezer. She held out her hands and made a cooing sound at Oscar. “Okay, I’m done whining. Give me back my little man now.”
Surprised to feel a trace of reluctance, Kelsey handed over the baby. As she did, Marie cocked her head. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but isn’t that a phone I hear ringing?”
Kelsey sucked in a breath. She completed the Oscar transfer, shot Marie a look of desperation, and ran for her purse. Staring at her phone in the moment before she answered the call she whispered, “Heroin.”
Marie nodded with a smile. “I figured.”
Kelsey took a deep breath. “What should I do?”
“I say answer. But then again, I come from a long line of addicts.”
Hesitating only a second longer, Kelsey dove for the answer button. “Hello?”
Her heart skipped when Ross’s deep voice commanded the other end of the line. “Kelsey, this is Ross.”
“I figured.” She paused, trying to decide how to play the moment. If she sounded mad, would she be admitting that she cared? If she acted offhand, would he know she was faking it?
Meaningless small talk seemed the best possible route. “How are you?” she asked. “Did you get the new office set up?”
Her heartbeat thumped in her ears like an approaching freight train. She swallowed hard. Behind her, Oscar started to fuss, and Marie smiled knowingly as she walked past Kelsey and ducked into a bedroom, closing the door behind her.
“I suppose. It’s pretty empty so far, but I like the space.” He paused, and she thought she heard some kind of interior struggle in his voice. “Hey, I’ve got a favor to ask you. Is there any chance you could meet me here at my office tomorrow? I’d like to speak to you in private.”
Of all the things Kelsey had expected to hear, “speak to you in private” was not one of them. “Not a good idea,” “for the best if we don’t meet again,” or maybe even “I can’t get you out of my mind” were closer to what she had been imagining. But “speak to you in private”? What did that even mean? Was that some kind of euphemism? Did “speak to you in private” mean “screw like bunnies”? Or was it actually code for, “You messed up my kids and now I’m pissed”? Had she broken something in the house she didn’t know about? Was he annoyed that she’d put new first aid kits in the bathrooms and his car?
She pressed her free hand over her eyes. Forget analyzing and guessing. He wanted something from her, and she had decided that he was a deadly substance to be avoided at all costs. Which meant this was the moment when she had to “just say no” to heroin.
Forcing steel into her voice she said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’ve been thinking a lot about it and—”
“Please? I swear, it’s not what you think.” He sounded unsure, perhaps even ashamed. “I actually have a…business proposition. Or a question. Or maybe both. I’m not really sure, actually.”
“Business?” She squared her shoulders. Apparently, a declaration of undying love was not forthcoming. “What kind of business?”
“It’s hard to explain over the phone. You’ve probably got plans tomorrow?”
Did he now sound hopeful that she couldn’t come? What kind of weird, sick joke was this? “Ross, you’re starting to piss me off,” she snapped. “Just tell me what this is about.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. She pictured him pacing in an empty office, staring at the Denver cityscape. “It’s Stagefeather,” he finally admitted. “I talked to him today about selling his land. He wasn’t thrilled, but he wasn’t hostile, either. He wanted to know how I was going to build something that fit with the landscape when I was from New York and didn’t know jack about Colorado.”