Keep On Loving you (25 page)

Her face turned red and he saw tears swimming in her eyes. “It was an absolutely despicable thing to do, and I regretted it instantly. You don't have to believe that, but it's true.”

He felt sick again. “I don't believe a word you say.”

The color drained from her cheeks, but she nodded. Then her hand went into the purse perched on her lap. She drew out a wad of bills. “The twenties are gone. But this is four hundred one-dollar bills. My roommates' tips.”

His eyebrows flew up.

She shook her head. “I paid for them. I just wanted to have these four hundred pieces of paper to say four hundred times that—” She broke off, gave a quick shake of her head and began again. “So you'd know I'm being punished for what I did. I'm paying for everything I did wrong by never being able to have you.” Then she shoved the money his way, slid off her stool and left the building.

Ash stared at the cash without seeing it. Instead, he saw himself that first night, sending over a drink to a tipsy birthday girl. He saw them dancing, her face bright with laughter.

He saw how hard she'd resisted him when he came back to the mountains and how he'd broken down that resistance. He saw the flush on her face when he'd gone down on her and the wonder in her eyes as they took flight in the helicopter.

He remembered the pitch of his belly up, then down, up, then down, when they'd ridden the elevator.

Her first time to be in one.

His first time to be in love.

Despite everything, he still wanted her.

Yet his philandering father had slept with Tilda's mother. Tilda's dead mother. And the affair was no longer a secret between his parents.

His mom said he shouldn't worry about their marriage, that it was up to her and his father to work out the repercussions of John Robbins's actions.
Adult life is complicated
, his mother had said.
It's better to learn that sooner than later.

But could he look at Tilda without thinking of their cheating parents?

Could she look at him without remembering, too?

Could they really get past that and be an “us”?

At sixteen, no, he thought. But he was a grown-up now, by all measures.
Adult life is complicated.

But Tilda had stolen from him!

Truth be told, though, it was his dignity that took the blow. He didn't miss the stupid four hundred dollars; the cocky asshat he'd been that night had flung cash around as if it meant nothing. With a fingertip, he nudged the pile she'd left behind and one bill curled free. Writing stood out on the green-and-white dollar, written in a dark pink felt-tipped pen.

I love you.

He nudged another bill free to find the same message.
I love you.

Hands starting to shake, he flipped through the mass.
I love you. I love you. I love you.

Four hundred times.

Tilda was in love with him, and she saw it as her punishment.
I'm paying for everything I did wrong by never being able to have you.

She hadn't made a fool of him. Or if she had, she'd become the exact same kind of fool.

A fool in love.

And so? What kind of examples did either of them have of love? Her mother, who'd apparently had a string of married lovers?

But Tilda wasn't her mother.

Might Ash become like his father, though? A man who looked the right way and said the right things but who had flaws in his character that had finally come to light. Christ, he didn't want that for himself.

So don't become that. Even if your father is not the man you thought, that doesn't prevent you from becoming the man you want to be.

The man who should be reaching for his own life, future, love.

Ash jumped off his stool. Shoving the four hundred bills in his pocket, but dropping some of his own to pay his tab, he ran out of Mr. Frank's and into the night. In the dimly lit parking lot he spotted his car, then noticed Tilda's a few spaces away from his own.

She was nowhere in sight.

Piece of shit probably broke down on her again. Looking around, he thought he saw a slight figure in the distance, heading in the direction of the village. Without thinking, he tore after her.

The central part of the main street through the village was draped in fairy lights. They even crossed overhead. Ash slowed as Tilda came under their canopy. From half a block back, he called her name.

She stiffened, then glanced over her shoulder. Seeing him, her eyes widened and she turned to face him with the air of someone preparing to receive bad news. Cautious but resigned.

He wanted her smiling. And he knew he wanted her back. He was that annoyingly arrogant...and maybe that was a good thing his upbringing had given him. “Can we talk a minute?”

“I don't think that's a good idea.” She began scuttling in reverse.

“We should talk a minute.”

“No,” she said and stepped into the street to cross to the other side.

Damn, she was moving fast.

“Tilda!”

As she glanced over her shoulder, he pulled a bill from his pocket. Not one of the four hundred, but another that he dangled over the grate in the gutter. Melted snow ran in a small river that would take the money in a flash to wherever melted street snow ended up. “We talk or I'll drop this.”

She paused, her gaze glued to the money, fluttering at his fingertips. “That's wasteful.”

He let it fall. Her gaze followed its quick journey down into the sewer. When her eyes shifted back to his face, he pulled out another bill.

Her expression turned aghast and she swung around to return to the sidewalk. “Ash, no.”

It was a stupid stunt, but at least he'd halted her flight. Without looking away from her, he slowly approached, the cash still in his hand.

“We can get past this,” he said.

She shook her head.

“We can. You said I made you believe, and I can make you believe this, too.” He shoved the bill back in his pocket.

“It's such a mess—”

“Not our mess, not really.” He was close enough to touch her, and he did that, stroking one fingertip over her cold cheek. His heart moved in his chest at that coolness. He wanted to pull her into him. Warm her forever.

“Your parents—”

“It's
their
mess.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, certain now he was right about that. “What we have is a future to plan. Come with me to London for six months.”

Tilda crossed her arms and tucked her hands in the crooks of her elbows. Because she wanted to touch him, too?

“I can't do that,” she said.

“Of course you can.” He pulled one of her hands free and laced his fingers with hers. “When the six months are over we can decide what comes next.”

“Six months of you,” she whispered. “After all this, you'd really give me that?”

“Six months of
us
. Maybe it will be happy-ever-after, maybe it will be happy-for-now. I think it's the former but I'll settle for the latter. Bottom line—I want happy...and every instinct I have tells me that's being with you.”

The twinkling lights overhead revealed the sudden hope on her face. Then she shook her head. “No, no. I'm—”

“Too smart and too determined to throw away this chance.”

She looked around. “I've never been anywhere else. The mountains...”

“We can come back if you want that. But for now, let them be your stepping stone, not your cage.”

Her gaze returned to his face. “A stepping stone,” she murmured. “Not a cage.” Then she shook her head. “Ash, think about it. Really think about it. Our parents—”

“They shouldn't be a cage, either—your mother and my father and what they did. We're not them.”

“Who are we, then?”

“I guess this is the time in life when we get to figure that out. We make our own choices. Become our own persons.”

He saw her tremble. “I'm a strong, smart mountain woman.”

“Then you'll make a strong, smart choice.” He lowered his voice as his heart beat hard in his chest. “Please, Tilda, please. I'm in love with you. Give us a chance. Give us that chance at happy.”

Her gaze studied his face. Then she released a small sigh. “O-okay.”

Tentative relief sluiced through him. “Okay...what?”

She stepped into him and he wrapped his arms around her as hers rose to circle his neck. “Okay, I want happy, too,” she said. “God, how much. And that's with you.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

P
OPPY
UNEXPECTEDLY
STOPPED
by Mac's office on Paperwork Day. From her place behind her computer, Mac scrutinized her sister and decided she hadn't been imagining things when she'd told Zan something was off.

“You look tired,” she said to Poppy. “Aren't you sleeping well?”

“I'm sleeping great.” Her little sister pushed through the swinging door cut into the front counter. Then she narrowed her eyes. “What about you?”

“Sleep? I get it.” Not that she'd tell Poppy
where
she was getting that sleep. The deal she'd made with Zan was a private one, and simple. Until he left town, she slept in his bed. Though she hadn't initially agreed when he'd made the proposition that afternoon in the cabin, she'd discovered that fighting the man—and their potent attraction—was useless. She kept ending up with him between the sheets anyway, so she'd taken to just letting go and enjoying the spectacular sex.

And depending upon her well-defended heart not to let him in again.

Poppy tilted her head. “Why are there shadows beneath your eyes, then?”

Mac pretended great interest in the numbers running across her computer screen. “Probably because I'm concerned I'm not going to fit into my bridesmaid dress for your wedding.”

“I can fix that,” Poppy said, then whipped a white bakery bag from behind her back. “I brought you a muffin from Oscar's and one of their big lattes.”

“I didn't say the dress was going to be too loose,” Mac replied, even as she snatched up the bag. “I've been eating too much.”

Every night, cooking for Zan. When he'd mention wanting to take her out, she'd demur. They shouldn't be seen together. Not by her family. Not by the general public. She didn't want there to be any more talk about the legend of Mac and Zan, part two.

He was leaving, and when he was gone she didn't want family and friends pitying her.

Poppy settled on the corner of the desk, one foot swinging. “So what's up with you and Zan?”

Mac bobbled the muffin and it fell to the desktop. Picking it back up, she focused on peeling the waxy paper off the sides for a bite and wondered how to redirect the discussion. This conversation was already heading into dangerous territory. Sisters could be mind readers, but worse, sisters could leap to conclusions that would never be.

Poppy saw the world in rosy tones, which was lovely for Poppy, and Mac wanted that for Poppy for the rest of her life, but if she started coloring her sister's world in those same pinks, there would only be disappointment in the end.

“Mac?” her sister prompted. “You and Zan? Why'd he want to have that supersecret talk with you at the cabins the other day?”

She waved her free hand. “Just stuff about his grandfather's house. You know I'm helping to pack it up and clean it so it can get on the market.”

“I like that house. It's got the cool pool, and that library. Very nice.”

Mac lifted her brows. “Want me to put in a word for you and Ryan? I'm sure he'd rather have you guys own it than strangers.”

Poppy shook her head. “I think Zan should hold on to it.”

“Why?”

“He doesn't need the money, does he?”

“I suppose not,” Mac answered. All his grandfather's considerable wealth had gone to him and he hadn't been hurting before the old man died. “But he doesn't live in the mountains.”

“Yes, but he could,” Poppy said, her eyes going dreamy.

Mac didn't like that look on her sister's face. “Don't be painting that picture. He's going...somewhere, and soon.”

Poppy's gaze sharpened and shifted to Mac's face. “You don't know where he's off to next?”

She shrugged. “He hasn't said.” Not that she'd asked. If he was going, then it didn't matter to her where he went.

A dark moroseness moved through her and she set aside the muffin. There wasn't room for it with all the gloominess inside her.

“Even if he has a plan, that doesn't mean he should sell the house,” Poppy declared. “It could be his home base. A place to rest between...whatever.”

She aimed a smile at Mac. “Wouldn't that be great? We'd get our other brother back. Our brother of the heart.”

“Yeah, great,” Mac muttered. “Our other brother.”

Poppy's smile didn't die. “Of course he wasn't always a brother to
you
.”

Something in the way she said that line had Mac shooting her sister a suspicious look. “You aren't spinning romantic fantasies now, are you, Pop?”

Her sister shook her head, all innocence. “I just got the impression he and Brett are tight again, and I like the idea of Zan being around. You know...at least some of the time. Don't you agree?”

Mac tried imagining Zan being around “some of the time.” How would her life go on? Would it include constant bargaining with herself against driving past that house every day, checking for lights or cars or other signs of life?

If he lived here “some of the time,” maybe one day he'd come to the mountains with a woman on his arm. The one who'd convinced him he could be a family man, after all.

Her stomach roiled and she pushed the muffin farther away.

“Mac,” Poppy said. “What's wrong? Is it what I said? I'm sorry—”

“No.” Mac shook her head. “I'm just in a weird mood. Let's talk about something else, something fun. Have you wheedled out of Ryan where he's taking you on your honeymoon?”

Her younger sister took the bait and they chatted about the possible destinations and her groom-to-be's stubbornness about keeping it a surprise, despite her best efforts at persuasion. “I'm beginning to think I've lost my feminine mojo,” Poppy grumbled.

Maybe she should talk to Ryan, Mac thought, worrying again. That sense that something wasn't quite right just wouldn't go away. Of course, maybe it was due to her own preoccupation with Zan.

“Hey.” She tipped her chin to her sister, suddenly inspired. “I have an idea. Why don't you break out a piece of your honeymoon nightwear early? Or go to Bon Nuit and buy something special to wow Ryan with tonight?” Bon Nuit was the expensive boutique in town that carried lovely lingerie as well as perfumed soaps and beautiful linens.

“Now, that sounds like a plan.” Poppy's mouth curved.

“And I'll collect Mason and have a sleepover with him at my place. Tell him it's a dress rehearsal for when I have him while you two are gone.” It would be her own rehearsal as well, practice at being alone in bed again.

Her sister was out-and-out smiling now. “He'd love that. But are you sure?”

“Heck, yeah. You know we have a great time together.”

Poppy's smile died and her voice lowered. “You should have kids, Mac.”

Not going to go there. Not going to
go
there!
It had once been a dream and for a few weeks long ago a possibility both exhilarating and terrifying, but she tried not to think about it now. “I've got kids, Pop. Mason and London and whoever else might come down the pike thanks to my siblings getting rings on their fingers, all three of them.”

“Mac...”

“Please, Pop. Can we drop it?” she said, squelching any note of desperation from her voice. Cool, calm, in control Mac Walker knew what her life held—and what it did not—and was fine with it.

“But—”

The office door burst open, cutting off her sister's next words. Yay. But then she half rose because Tilda walked in wearing an expression Mac had never seen on her before. Usually the girl was alert and tightly focused. Now her eyes seemed to be seeing things that were not the office with its blue-gray walls and long counter.

“Are you all right?” she asked her.

Tilda started, then blinked, as if coming awake to her surroundings. “Um, yeah,” Tilda said.

“You're on board to do the Conover condo today?”

She nodded, then sucked in her bottom lip a moment. “But I can't do it the next time.”

Mac's brows rose. “Okay, we can make a change to the schedule.”

“It's going to have to be a permanent change.” A smile broke over Tilda's face, like a bright, blazing dawn. “In two weeks I'm going to London for six months.”

“Wow!” Poppy said. “How come? What will you do there? Where did this sudden decision come from?”

Mac knew—or at least she could guess. “Ash. Ash Robbins.” She'd seen the way he'd torn after Tilda the night she'd run from the café.

The girl nodded. “We're sort of together.”

Poppy was wide-eyed. “You don't run off to London with someone you're ‘sort of' together with.”

“I know. You're right.” Tilda bounced on her heels, something Mac had never seen her do, ever. It was an exuberant action, young, and at odds with the Tilda who'd seemed old beyond her years. Always serious. “It's just hard to think something so good would happen to me.”

Mac knew that feeling. She remembered the glory of not needing food or water or air to survive, only the love of that other person. Seeing it on Tilda's face, it brought home to Mac how distant her memory of it was.

And with Zan temporarily back in town, how bittersweet.

With effort, she pushed all that aside—or tried to—as Poppy asked pertinent questions and Tilda spilled all about her plans and the absolute thrill she felt about going off with her young lover on an adventure.

Ash wanted her at his side.

Six months was too long to be apart.

Mac thought of a decade. Of 117 postcards.

“Ash makes me believe,” Tilda confessed.

Poppy clapped her hands. “I
love
that!” she said. “Ryan tells me that all the time.”

Apparently Mac hadn't made Zan believe.
Everything ends, doesn't it?

Instead of stewing over that, she thought instead of what Tilda's leaving would mean to her business. Down an employee, she'd have to work that much harder. That would mean much less time to think of the man who would be leaving soon.

Finally, Tilda wound down and went about collecting what she needed to clean the condo as well as the keys to one of the Maids by Mac vehicles. She left for work with another blazing smile and a jaunty wave. Poppy sighed as the door closed behind her. “Awesome, huh?”

“Yeah. She's had things hard. Maybe this is the beginning of easy for her.”

Poppy was studying her face. “And for you? My supersonic sister sense is tingling, I tell you. Are things hard or easy for you right now?”

“I'm good.” Of course she was. Cool, calm, in control Mac Walker knew what her life held—what her future held—and was fine with it.

She grinned at her little sister. “Life's good, right? Another wedding coming up. A night ahead with my favorite nephew. A honeymoon trip for you that I better hear about tomorrow morning
in detail
, since you're making a stop at Bon Nuit in order to cajole the destination out of Ryan.”

Poppy wiggled her brows. “Oh, I can so do cajoling.”

Mac laughed, loving the anticipation on her sister's face, the confidence she had. Her sister had always been optimistic, holding tight to those rose-colored glasses of hers. But with all she'd gone through to get a deeply wounded man to love her and cleave to her side, Mac thought Poppy's hold was no longer quite so tight. Now her sister just counted on them staying firmly on her nose.

Ryan had given her that assurance. As Poppy had given him belief in beautiful things and happiness after grief.

Mac's mood lightened more as she thought of how well things had turned out for her younger sister. She'd been right when she'd told Zan that she herself was invested in Poppy's happiness.
I think if we can keep her buoyant and bright, then I might eventually be that way, too.

Her sister now came to her feet. “I should let you get back to work.”

Mac nodded. “Yeah, and I need to get back to it. I want to finish early so I can dream up what Mason and I might do tonight.”

“Ryan's teaching him to play chess.”

Mac groaned. “I don't even remember which piece does what.”

“He'll tell you,” Poppy said on a grin. She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Off to shop.”

At the door, she paused. “I think I'll see if there's something special for a pretty girl heading off to London with her guy.”

Mac nodded. “I'll go halfsies.”

Before she left for good, Poppy gave Mac one more smile, and Mac heard the echo of her own words again.
I think Poppy holds all my hope. I think if we can keep her buoyant and bright, then I might eventually be that way, too.

Through the window, Mac watched her sister climb into her car. Yes, it was going to be all right. She didn't need any more than this: her mountains and her business. Her family, whole and happy.

She was deep in paperwork when her cell phone rang. Glancing at it, she saw that her brother was on the line. Picking up the device, she swiped to accept the call. “Yo.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Hello?” Mac lifted the phone from her ear, stared at it, put it back to the side of her head. “Hello? Did you butt-dial me?”

Then something about the quiet on the line made the darkness gather inside her again, a heavy weight that made it hard to breathe. “Brett? Talk to me.”

“Mac.” Her brother's voice sounded rough. He cleared his throat. “Mac, there's been an accident.”

“What?” Panic flowed, then froze, and her heart skated without control, as if across black ice. “Who?”

“It's Poppy, Mac. We need to get to the hospital, stat.”

* * *

H
OLD
ON
,
HOLD
ON
,
HOLD
ON
, Mac chanted, both to herself and her little sister. Brett had offered sparse detail over the phone. A car had crossed the midline on the highway and crashed head-on into Poppy's vehicle. That driver was okay. Her airbag had gone off. When Ryan called, Poppy was in the process of being evaluated.