Calling to ask for a favor isn’t the same as caving in, he told himself. Screw social. Just hello, here’s what I need, goodbye. That’s all this call is about.
He punched in the number.
“Hello?”
His mouth went dry. Her voice never changed.
“Hey, Mom, it’s me. Ryker.”
“Well, this is a surprise.”
“I suppose it is. I need a favor.”
“Which, of course, is not a surprise.”
“Really? Because I call you so often and ask you for so much?” He fought to keep his anger under control. “You can’t say that, Mom. We haven’t spoken in over a year.”
“I meant, you boys never call unless you want something from me. I never hear, ‘Hello, Mother, how are you? What’s new in your life? How’s the family?’”
He wanted to give a shit. He wished he did, but he’d been caught in that trap before. “The last time I asked about your family, I wound up paying for Benny’s braces.”
She didn’t reply for so long he thought she might have hung up—her usual MO when she was pissed off. “What do you want this time, son?”
Son? Really? He hadn’t felt like her child for so long, he couldn’t remember what being her son was supposed to feel like. “I’m in Montana and I have a new job that requires studio work.” A lie. “I left all my equipment with Big Al’s Storage and Freight on Cliff and Indiana. He was a client of Dad’s. Remember?”
“Of course, I remember. What about it?”
“I just got off the phone with him. He’ll ship the boxes in my unit, but even if I overnight him the key, he said it’s against policy to open a container without the owner—or the owner’s representative—present. So, I need to send you the key and have you unlock the door. Big Al will do the rest.”
“How will he know which boxes you want?”
“There are four. All shipped from France. You can’t mistake them.”
France. You remember, Mother. The place I lived with the woman I loved. The woman who died with your grandchild in her belly.
“I suppose I can do that. When are you sending the key?”
“You should have it tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”
“Sounds pretty important. Does that mean you’re done being a bum?”
How would you know I was being a bum? Howard, he supposed. Or maybe Flynn, who was more forgiving than Ryker.
“I have to go, Mom. Light’s wasting.”
He waited to see if she’d ask anything else, but she didn’t. “Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll put your key in an envelope and tape it to a box.”
“Great. Thanks for your help.”
He barely got the word out before she hung up.
So Elizabeth Bensen Margolis.
With a heavy sigh, he pocketed his phone and started deconstructing his summer home. He’d enjoyed the respite the tent had provided. Some might call this lifestyle being a bum, but Ryker knew his summer hiatus had helped him heal from his loss while providing a link to his memories of his father.
But summer was over and it was time to reconnect with society…starting with Mia Zabrinski.
Chapter 7
‡
Mia parked a block away from Marietta High, hopefully out of view of either Hunter or Emilee. Luckily, Serena’s classroom—or cloakroom, as she called it—was near the gym. She knew visitors were supposed to sign in, but whoever was manning the front desk wasn’t present when Mia walked by so she just kept walking. Except for a kid or two wandering between a classroom and the toilet, she didn’t see anyone. No teachers.
Great, she thought. If I’m fast, I can pop in and out without getting drawn into any sort of conversation or drama.
Drama? Would casual sex with a relative stranger qualify?
So much for her theory that chemo killed her libido. She didn’t know exactly why she entered that tent or why she initiated the whole encounter, except she’d wanted to feel again. Something! Anything! She’d wanted to remember how it felt when your blood raced through your veins with purpose and desire. She needed to connect with something—someone—who had nothing to do with her life before or during cancer.
Why Ryker? Maybe her years of working with cops and lawyers and liars made it easier to know who to trust. She’d bet anything Ryker Bensen wouldn’t be that guy bragging and strutting his stuff tonight at the Wolf Den. He wasn’t part of Marietta, which made him damn close to perfect.
And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous and seemed to possess some kind of power that flipped her “loose-girl” switch. Not once while she was married had she fantasized about having sex with other men. But, damn. Give her a hot, young photographer in a tent and suddenly she was a easy.
She rapped once on the door and hurried inside without waiting for an answer.
Serena looked up from her iPad.
“Mia.” Her smile turned serious. “What’s going on? You look upset.”
Mia closed the door and checked out the tiny space to be sure they were alone. “I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind. Or having a panic attack. Take your pick.”
Serena jumped to her feet and rushed to her side. “You’re flushed and breathless.” She laid the back of her hand against Mia’s cheek. “No fever. Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”
Once they were seated across from each other at two student desks, Mia’s panic started to recede, but that didn’t mean she was ready to blurt out the truth—especially when she honestly couldn’t explain what got into her. Or didn’t, a part of her added.
She bit down on a naughty smile that started to form on her lips.
God knew she would have liked to have made love with Ryker. Full on, naked, crazy sex. But that was even scarier than a quick, one-sided hook-up. Sex was messy, no way around it.
Serena glanced at the clock above her desk. “Class change is in six minutes. Can you tell me what’s going on in that time or should we meet after school? If you come to the ranch, you can have some alpaca therapy. One hug from a big fuzzy helps cure what ails you.”
Mia shook her head. “I’ll pass. Thank you. I can’t see Austen right now.”
“I meant the alpacas. Austen’s big, but not very cuddly—unless you catch him in the right mood. Besides, he’s in Helena, remember?”
The joke made Mia smile but also provided a valuable reality check. Meg might advocate having a little fling with a handsome young loner, but the rest of her family would not be so open minded. Austen could be a terrible bore when he thought someone was taking advantage of a family member. He’d been a complete pain in Bailey’s behind until the day Paul ordered him to back off because he and Bailey were getting married. If Austen perceived Ryker as a threat to Mia, the scene would not be pretty. Mia couldn’t burden her new friend with the kind of secret that might cause problems between her and Austen.
“Being a single mom is a lot harder than I thought it would be,” Mia said. A different kind of confession from the one she intended to share, but, true, nonetheless.
Serena’s head tilted to one side. “This is about Em?”
“I’m pretty sure she hates me. And I’m afraid the way I reacted to her skipping school might have pushed her further away and—God forbid—driven her into the wrong crowd.” All true—even if Emilee wasn’t the cause of Mia’s initial panic.
“Emilee’s a great kid, Mia. She’s still figuring things out in Marietta and you’re taking the brunt of that angst. But I have complete faith that you’re both going to be just fine. Give her a little more time and try not to take anything she says personally. I gave my mother all kinds of grief when I was fourteen—and poor Mom was my homeschool teacher. She never could catch a break.”
Serena offered a few more hints to ease relations with Emilee and shared the news that the boy Emilee ditched school with was no longer in the picture. “Thanks, Serena. It helps to know you care.”
“Any time. Hey, I was single for a long time before I met your brother. If you ever want some girl talk, I promise it won’t go any further. What Austen doesn’t need to know, won’t come from me.”
Mia’s heart sped up again. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask “Am I crazy to feel this way about a guy who’s all wrong for me?” when the bell sounded. “I’ve gotta run before Emilee sees me. I don’t want Em to think I’m going behind her back. But, I’m glad we talked. I feel better already.”
Mia meant it. She liked knowing one person in town wouldn’t judge her if she continued seeing Ryker Bensen, who, after this weekend would be living in a house, not a tent on her land.
As she hurried back to her car, she admitted to herself that she wasn’t ready to end things with him. Not yet. Maybe after they got a ruling on their land. Since she was fairly sure she’d be the victor in the tussle over the lot, Ryker would have no reason to stay.
Maybe Meg was right. Ryker might be the perfect crush. Who else did she know who could guarantee a brief, finite union ?
They’d keep things superficial—sex only. But she hadn’t been kidding when she described her disconnect with her new boobs. If Ryker wanted to have sex with her, he’d figure out a way to deal with her sports bra, which she had no intention of removing. Ever.