Montana Darling(30)
Bailey’s eyes filled with tears. Mia would have panicked if Paul hadn’t leaned over and smacked Mia on the shoulder with a pretend fist. “Way to go, Mia. You made Bailey cry.”
Mia fought the blush she felt building. Any quick-witted reply she might have come up with was lost when Troy Sheenan, the Graff’s owner, walked up and said, “We’re ready for you at the head table, Mr. and Mrs. Zabrinski.”
Mia sprinted for her place at the table she’d helped decorate that morning. Every setting had a personalized nametag attached to a beautiful spray of pine, along with a wrapped tea bag and a cinnamon stick. To her surprise, her placard wasn’t where she left it—beside her children, who were already seated, helping themselves to warm bread. The person sitting in Mia’s spot was Austen, with his girlfriend, Serena James, on his other side.
“Why are you in my spot?”
“My spot, Meeps.” He pointed to his name.
Someone must have made a last minute change. “Where am I sitting?”
“Over at that table. With me,” a familiar voice said.
Mia’s heart did a crazy leap that made her ability to speak disappear.
Ryker apparently took her silence as an agreement. He put his free hand around her waist then leaned over to extend his other hand to her brother. “Ryker Bensen. You’re Mia’s twin, aren’t you? Austen?”
Austen seemed equally shocked. He gave up his hand without a single, cutting, who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are remark.
“Good to meet you. We’ll talk later, I’m sure.” Then he smiled at Serena and said, “You look beautiful, of course. I have your alpaca proofs in my bag. Don’t let me leave without giving you the thumb drive. Those girls really know how to flirt with the camera.”
Serena clapped with glee. “Thank you, Ryker. You rock.”
Mia had time to exchange a quick look with her brother before Ryker gently but firmly guided her toward the most remote table. The one designated for spillovers if more Plus-Ones than expected showed up. One of the women she’d met at the Fish and Game that morning, along with her husband and son were already devouring their salads when she and Ryker took their seats.
“Sorry,” the chubby redhead said. “We were starving.”
Mia couldn’t remember her name. Hell, with the sizzle of Ryker’s hand sending much too familiar and intimate shockwaves up her spine, Mia could barely remember her own name.
The woman took another bite then said, “This is Matt and that’s Kenny.”
“Ken,” the boy who looked around Hunter’s age corrected.
“No worries, Cynthia,” Ryker said. “Dig in. We’ve got a few things to iron out.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact I’ve changed my mind. After some serious soul-searching, I decided I’m done hiding our relationship. We’re dating, Mia. We’re a couple.”
He noticed their tablemates staring and damned if he didn’t hold out his wine glass in a toast. He waited for Mia to pick up her glass, too.
“To love. Wedded bliss and not-so-wedded bliss. It’s all good.”
Cynthia clinked her glass with gusto and added, cheerfully, “Don’t worry, Mia. It’s not like you two are news. This is Marietta, after all.”
Mia polished off the remaining gulp of wine then looked at Ryker. “Outside. Now.”
He exchanged a look with Ken that could only be described as “Uh-oh, you’re in trouble now.”
She gave Ryker credit for following her without a word. After a moment of indecision, she walked to the hotel’s bar. Empty at this time of day. She picked a table in the far corner and sat.
“You’re mad at me.”
“No. I’m mad at myself. We should have had this conversation weeks ago. I let this thing between us…linger because I like you and it’s been fun.”
His brow furrowed. “Past tense.”
“Yes.” She swallowed to get some moisture in her mouth. She’d felt the same sense of weighty drama whenever she delivered a closing argument in court. “We have to end this, Ryker. It’s not fair to you. You have every right to assume that we’re dating, involved.”
“A couple.”
“Yes. Because we share the intimate side of a relationship. But that’s all we share. For a reason.”
“And that reason is…”
“We have two very different lives. There’s no way they can blend successfully with any permanence. You’re a free spirit. I’m tied to this very solid, soon to be very frozen Montana landscape. We’ve been able to pretend the outer world didn’t exist when we were in bed, but we were deluding ourselves—and, apparently, we’re the only ones who thought we were being sneaky.”
He sat forward, his elbows on the table. “For the record, I wasn’t trying to hide anything.”
She shrugged. “Okay. That was me, but I’m going to be living in this town long after you’re gone.”
“What makes you so sure I’m leaving?”
She blinked. “Why would you stay?”
He blew out a breath of frustration. “For a brilliant, successful, amazing woman, you can be remarkably obtuse. As I blurted out prematurely the other night, I love you, Mia. And, for the record, this not how I saw myself telling you that.”
Panic far greater than anything she felt when Edward told her he wanted a divorce pressed against her chest. “No, you don’t. You love the idea of me. Why? I have no idea. Maybe because of your non-relationship with your mother. I’m older. Less uptight…maybe. Or it could be because I’m so different from Colette, from what you lost in France.”
He smacked his fist soundly on the table. “You can think what you want, but you’re wrong. I love you because you’re you. That’s enough for me. I’m sorry it’s not enough for you.” He stood. “Bailey and Paul are going to have the first dance and I have a job to finish. But you’re right about one thing. I have some loose ends to tie up. If you need to reach me, call Ren. He’ll know where I am.”
Chapter 14
‡
Ryker sat in his rental car and stared at the two-story monstrosity his mother and stepfather called home. He couldn’t remember when they sold his childhood home and moved to this Pittsburgh suburb. His first tour in Africa? “We need more space for the kids,” Mom had written in the “change of address” card she’d mailed him.
Howard’s kids. The old house had been just fine for her children.
He shook his head to clear away the petty thoughts. The past couldn’t be changed, so what did it matter at this point? His mother had agreed to meet with him. In fact, she’d contacted him the Monday after the wedding. He’d spent all day Sunday editing the wedding photos. He’d called and texted Mia a dozen times—enough to get the message. In Mia’s eyes, they were done. Even their lot seemed to be a done deal. Howard screwed up. Ryker and Flynn would wind up with the land, and Mia could sue to recover the money she and her ex-husband spent to buy the land. Would she ever see a dime? Doubtful.
His mother’s call had come out of the blue. Honestly, he couldn’t believe her timing. If they’d been closer, he might have imagined she sensed his pain and was reconnecting with him on an emotional level. But that wasn’t the case. This was business. She’d made that clear.
“Ryker, we need to put this matter of the Montana lot and your trust to rest,” she’d said when she called his cell phone. “Howard’s health can’t handle the stress. I know he’s made mistakes and it looks like he took advantage of you, but there’s more to the story than you’re aware of.”
“I’m aware that your husband stole the money my father left me and sold the piece of land I’d planned to settle down on and raise a family.” A stretch. Any plan to stay in Montana permanently hadn’t crossed his mind until he met Mia. Now, he couldn’t think of anything else.
Too bad the love of his life made it clear he wasn’t even a blip on her long-term radar.
He got out of the car. The damp cold penetrated straight to the bone, unlike the dry Montana cold he’d left the day before. He scraped the wet snow off his shoes and rang the bell.
“I’m coming,” a voice called from inside.
A shiver chased down Ryker’s back. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. Mom had never been the warm, hugs and kisses type, but when exactly had they become adversaries? Before or after Dad died? He couldn’t remember.
The door opened. “Ryker.”
She looked older but still the same. A few extra pounds on her stocky, broad-shouldered body. Beauty-shop black hair without a single hint of silver. Make-up perfect, as it always had been—even at Dad’s funeral. No raccoon eyes or running mascara from tears. Ryker remembered hating her composure when he and Flynn were sobbing like babies in each other’s arms.
She wore black slacks and a mottled gray sweater that did nothing for her coloring. No warmth showed in her gray-blue eyes. No smile on her deep red lips.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Come in.”
The foyer opened to the main floor with cased doorways leading in three directions. No open floor plan for Mom. She liked things compartmentalized.