Come Home to Me

But Aaron wouldn’t ask permission. No one could tell him what to do; no one could make him see reason if he didn’t want to. If Dylan tried to step in, to influence him, Aaron could do exactly the opposite just to prove his autonomy.

“It’s too bad that she had to come back before he left,” Cheyenne lamented.

“I’d rather have her here in Whiskey Creek than depending on people she can’t trust to take care of Wyatt.”

Dylan had been as livid as she was when Presley found those marks on Wyatt. The owner of the thrift shop had let her bring Wyatt to work three days a week, but she still had to leave him on the weekends, because it was busier, and when she went to massage school at night.

“I agree Wyatt’s better off here,” she said, “but...”

“What?” he prompted.

But he didn’t know nearly as much as she did. “Having the two of them in town for even a month is too long.” She gave him a rueful smile as she checked his hand. He’d bruised and scraped his knuckles. “Do we need to take you to the hospital? Have that X-rayed?”

He shook her off. “No. It’s not broken.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I’ve broken it often enough to know the difference.”

She mussed his hair. Although he was as tough as a man could be, there was a childlike innocence in the way he cared for her that formed the foundation of her happiness. “I love you so much, too much. Even when you punch holes in my wall.” She stood up. “Let’s wash off your hand before you get blood on the couch.”

“Chey?” He caught her wrist, pulling her back to him.

“Yes?”

“Does it ever make you...envious to see Wyatt?”

The gravity of that question gave her an inkling of what might be causing Dylan to act out. It didn’t have to do with Aaron. Not completely.

“Why would it make me feel envious?” She could guess, but wanted to draw him out. He rarely put a voice to his fears and concerns; instead, he expressed them in some physical act, by making love to her, going to the gym he and his brothers had set up in their barn or—tonight, anyway—punching a hole in the wall.

“We’ve been married for a while now and...no baby.” He studied her. “Despite how badly you want one.”

He felt he had to provide something she wanted that much. He wasn’t used to being unable to give her what would make her happiest. Since he was eighteen, he’d been taking care of the people in his life. He always took on added responsibility; it was just who he was.

“I do want a baby,” she admitted. “I want your baby. But if we can’t have one, we can’t. Nothing could ever make me regret marrying you.”

“What if it’s me—my fault? You wouldn’t resent it someday?”

“Of course not.”

“Because it’s got to be me,” he said. “You’ve never done anything physically damaging.”

“You think fighting might’ve hurt your...equipment?”

“If I had a dollar for every time I got kicked in the nuts...”

He’d started in MMA when his father, grief-stricken after losing his children’s mother, stabbed a man in a bar and went to prison. Dylan had had to do something to augment what he could earn from the family’s auto body shop, which wasn’t exactly a success back then. Without the money he made fighting, his younger brothers would’ve been split up and placed in foster care.

“If that’s the way it is...we’ll accept it,” she said.

“Accept less, you mean.”

“Accept reality.”

His troubled eyes met hers. “I should get checked out.”

She’d wanted him to see a doctor—until she’d gone to a doctor herself and learned that it wasn’t her. “No.”

He reared back. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” She laced her fingers through his. “We’ll keep trying. You like that part, anyway,” she teased, but he didn’t let her levity distract him. He didn’t even smile; he was too intent on the conversation.

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll adopt.”

“But thanks to your mother—or, rather, Anita— you’ve missed out on so much already. I want you to have your own baby. I want you to experience pregnancy and childbirth and see yourself in the child you’re raising. And I want your real mother, now that you’ve found each other, to see her family grow.”

“We don’t always get what we want,” she told him.

“That’s just it. You’ve had to settle for most of your life. I can’t bear the thought that you might have to settle now because of me.”

“Dylan, I can love an adopted child just as much. Anyway, even if we never get a baby, I’d give up anything for you.”

He stared at her as if trying to decide whether she meant it. Then he kissed her deeply, tenderly, and led her into the bedroom, where he made love to her as though everything was fine and they’d get beyond this. But she could tell when she started to doze on his chest afterward that he was wide-awake and staring at the ceiling.

3

Presley couldn’t sleep. And she knew why. But she refused to obsess over running into Aaron at the bookstore. She also refused to toss and turn all night.

Kicking off the covers, she got up, threw on a pair of holey jeans and a sweatshirt and lifted her baby from his crib. Wyatt stirred but didn’t wake when she put him in his stroller. She almost hoped he would wake up—otherwise, he’d be ready to play when she needed rest. A single mother had to sleep when her baby did or go without.

But he didn’t make a peep as she hurried down the street to her studio. There was so much work that needed to be done. She figured she might as well get started, take advantage of this time.

Once she let herself in and stowed Wyatt in what she planned to use as her massage room, where it was dark and quiet, she walked through the place, studying it with a skeptical eye. How could she make the studio more appealing on such a limited budget?

The little she’d had in savings had dwindled fast, and she was concerned that she wouldn’t be able to pay her rent. If she didn’t get enough appointments, she’d have no hope....

“What-ifs” churned like acid in her stomach, but over the course of her life she’d been through much worse than financial uncertainty. She could remember as a girl rummaging through Dumpsters, hoping to find a cast-off burrito or hamburger that might be edible. Her mother had taken off whenever it suited her, leaving Presley and Cheyenne on their own, often for days, without heat or even food if they were in the car.

Fortunately, those years were behind them. Pancreatic cancer had taken Anita, releasing those closest to her from the obligation of caring for her. Presley was taking a leap of faith by opening her own business, and fear sometimes threatened to paralyze her. But she could make it work. She could overcome anything as long as Wyatt remained healthy and happy.

At least here in Whiskey Creek she didn’t have to worry about his day-care provider hurting him. She hated that she was the one who’d left him vulnerable to that. But it wasn’t as if she’d left him to go off with some strange man so she could trade sex for money as Anita so often had. She’d had a legitimate job, and she’d kept him with her whenever she could. She’d do the same here. Otherwise, Cheyenne or a girl named Alexa, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Ted Dixon’s fiancée, would help out. Alexa wasn’t someone Presley knew well, but she seemed very sweet. Cheyenne was confident that she’d be nothing but kind to Wyatt.

A knock on the glass made her jump. It was after midnight, and she wasn’t expecting company.

It could only be Cheyenne coming to check on her, she thought. Cheyenne was trying so hard to be supportive. But when Presley turned, she saw Riley Stinson, Cheyenne’s friend whom she’d spoken to at the book signing, standing on the sidewalk in front of her store.

He waved. Then he blew on his hands to keep them warm as she walked over to let him in.

“Riley! What are you doing out and about at this hour?”

“I was on my way home from Ted’s and saw your light. Figured maybe I’d catch you working.”

“You did. Well, I haven’t really begun yet. But I intend to.” She glanced toward the street, where he’d parked. “Where’s Jacob tonight?”

Riley had a fifteen-year-old son he was raising, with a little help from his parents. Jacob’s mother wasn’t in the picture. She’d been sentenced to twenty years in prison for running down his next love interest with an old Buick just before they all graduated from high school. The last thing Presley had heard about Phoenix Fuller was that she was due to be released around the same time as Aaron’s father.

Presley wondered how Riley felt about his ex-girlfriend coming home at last, but she didn’t know him well enough to ask such a personal question.

“Jacob’s staying at a friend’s.” He whistled as he took in their surroundings. “So this is the new studio, huh?”

She felt herself flush. It wasn’t much to look at. But it was more than she’d ever had. “So far. There’s still a lot to do.”

“What do you have planned?”

“Repairing the drywall and painting, to begin with.” She folded her arms against the chill, wishing she’d brought a coat. Until Wyatt was up and no longer under a blanket, she was hesitant to turn on the heat, since she, and not her landlord, had to pay the utility bill. “After that I’ll create a reception area where I can book my appointments and clients can check in.”

She indicated the door leading to where Wyatt was sleeping. “That will be the massage room.” She also showed him the larger area on the other side. “This will be the yoga studio.”

“Nice.”

He seemed to approve, and that made her less critical. “There’s even a small kitchen in back,” she said, feeling some of the excitement she’d experienced in Fresno when she’d lain awake so many nights, dreaming and planning for her future.

“This space has everything you’ll need.”

“It’s a bit run-down,” she admitted. The shop had once been an antiques co-op. The individual co-op members rented booths in which they displayed whatever they could scrounge up to sell. From what Presley remembered, most of it was junk, and no one had done much to maintain the property.

“There’s nothing here a little work won’t fix,” Riley said.

“Work and money,” she added with a rueful smile.

“I’ve got some extra wood lying around my backyard. I’d be happy to donate it to the cause and build that reception desk you mentioned.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no! I wasn’t hinting for you to do that. I don’t have the money to pay you. Not right now. But Cheyenne told me you’re a good contractor. I’ll keep you in mind if things go well for me.”

He studied her. “Why not work out a trade?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Construction for yoga lessons?”

“No.” His grin slanted to one side. “Construction for massage.”

How had she guessed? “You don’t even know if I’m any good.”

“I’m willing to take that on faith.”

She might’ve thought nothing of his willingness to do so much work in the hope that he might like her massages, but she wasn’t used to that kind of generosity. She felt certain something had to be behind this, something other than what he’d stated. And because of the exchange she’d overheard at the bookstore, she suspected she knew what it was. Cheyenne’s friends—hopefully Aaron, too—weren’t aware of what she’d done when she took off two years ago. But it wasn’t a secret that she’d never been particularly circumspect. At times she wondered just where she’d be if she hadn’t had her sister to counteract her mother’s example. At least now, without the drugs, she could see herself as she wanted to be, as she could be, and thought she might eventually get there—if she stayed the course.

“I doubt you’d be interested in the type of massage I’m offering,” she told him.

He seemed taken aback by the flatness of her voice. “Because...”

She gave him a look that said he could stop pretending. “It’s just a massage, Riley. Nothing to get too excited about.”

His eyes widened. “I wasn’t expecting... I mean, I didn’t think you were offering anything more.”

Maybe that was true. Maybe it was her own insecurities that made it difficult to trust even a guy like Riley. But, to be safe, she figured she’d be better off carrying her own burdens. “I’d rather do the work myself. But thanks.”

“O-kay,” he said, drawing out the word.

When she didn’t soften her refusal or make conversation, he started for the door. “I’ll get out of your way, then.”

She couldn’t help going after him. “Wait, I’m sorry if I assumed the wrong thing. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have too many sharp angles for someone like you, so there’s no point in becoming friends.”

He lowered his voice as if to add gravity to his words. “Who says you have too many sharp angles for someone like me?”

“I do.”

“You barely know me!”

“And yet I know I’m not what you want. I could never be what you want. If...if that’s what you were considering.”

“I hadn’t decided. But...why couldn’t you be what I want?”

Because she’d made too many mistakes. Was too jaded. Too suspicious and distrustful and defensive. She had a sordid past, an unfortunate upbringing, too much experience. He deserved a girl who’d once been prom queen, not a one-time addict. “I might be Chey’s sister but I’m nothing like her.”

“The panther tattoo on your arm gave that away at first glance,” he said wryly.

“So...why are you here? Because you’re tempted to take a walk on the wild side? If so, you need to understand that nothing comes cheap or easy with me anymore. If you heard otherwise, it would’ve been true...in the past. But I have a kid now.”

“People change. And I have a kid, too. That’s partly why I’m interested in getting to know you. I understand what it’s like to be a single parent. Or have you forgotten?”

The silence stretched out as they stared at each other.

“I’ll build your reception desk tomorrow,” he said. “After I get some sleep. And you don’t have to pay me anything.”

She grabbed the door as it swung back. “Why would you do that?” she called after him. “What’s in it for you?”

“It’s called friendship, Presley. Maybe it’s time you became acquainted with it,” he said, and got into his truck.

* * *

Presley was up all night, plastering over the cracks and holes in the walls. Although intent on finishing before Wyatt woke up, she wasn’t quite that lucky. The baby monitor alerted her when he began to stir. It was early—not yet six—and she had another hour of repairs. So she took him out of the stroller, changed him and put him in the playpen she’d set up in one corner several days ago. But less than thirty minutes later, he was tired of his toys and getting hungry. She was just lifting him into her arms when Riley showed up, carrying a sawhorse.

“Cute kid,” he said as he let himself in.

Somehow, in her hurry to get started last night, she’d forgotten to lock the door after he left. It was fortunate that she lived in Whiskey Creek these days and not the dumpy neighborhood she’d had to brave in Fresno, or that could have been a much bigger deal. Here, a lot of people didn’t lock their doors at night—which was probably why Riley didn’t comment on the fact that he could stroll right in.

“Thanks.” She watched the muscles ripple under his T-shirt as he put down the sawhorse. He was good-looking, and he had a nice build. Maybe he wasn’t as breathtaking as Aaron. Few men were. But neither was he as troubled.

“No problem.” Dusting off his hands, he examined her work. “You’ve made some great progress.”

Presley couldn’t believe he’d really come back, especially so early. “What are you doing here?”

“You know what I’m doing here. I told you last night that I’d be building your reception area this morning.”

She shifted Wyatt to her other hip. “You’re either a really nice guy—or a glutton for punishment.”

“Are you asking me? Because if you are, I’m a really nice guy.”

Wyatt, interested in this newcomer, had stopped crying. She wiped the tears from his face as she said, “You’re still going to be disappointed when I won’t sleep with you.”

She refused to feel obligated, not when she’d warned him. She wouldn’t let anyone pressure her into making choices that were detrimental to her, no matter how grateful she felt for his friendship. That was the old Presley.

He put a hand to his chest as if she’d wounded him. She expected him to accuse her of being too brash. Cheyenne would never have blurted out something like that. But she’d been frank on purpose, to highlight the truth: she wasn’t his type.

Surprisingly, his response wasn’t what she’d predicted. “Who said you won’t sleep with me?”

She gaped at him. “I told you—”

“That you won’t trade sex for money. If I get a massage, I get only a massage.”

“That’s true.”

He nodded. “Then we’re fine. Because when we have sex, I don’t plan on paying you.”

He’d said that with a straight face, but she could see a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “When we have sex?”

“I’m not saying it’ll happen, so don’t get mad. I’m just not ruling it out. In other words, if we ever reach that point, I’m open to getting physical. In case you were wondering.”

She didn’t know how to respond. She’d accepted long ago that she’d never be able to attract the kind of solid citizens her sister did. So why was popular, handsome, someone-who-should-know-better Riley Stinson even giving her the time of day?

He chuckled at her stunned silence. “Don’t tell me you’re that easily embarrassed. You started it.”

She’d been trying to scare him off; she hadn’t expected him to say something equally shocking. “But...you’re my little sister’s friend.”

“What difference does that make?”

“I’m older than you are.”

“There’s two years between us. Two years hardly makes you a cougar.”

She jiggled Wyatt, who was getting fussy again. “It’s not just the age difference I’m worried about. It’s the other differences.”

“And those are...”

“Vast.”

He tilted his head as he peered into her face. “Isn’t that the case with most guys you meet? Not many people have been raised the way you were.”

“And Cheyenne turned out all right. That’s what you must be thinking. But you have to understand that Cheyenne is special. She could’ve been raised in any circumstances and survived them.” Somehow her sister had navigated their crazy childhood without ever screwing up. She’d left all the bad stuff to Presley, who’d tried everything once—and the most damaging things a lot more often than that. “She never made the mistakes I did.”

“Which makes you...what? A bad person?”

“Some people might see it that way.” His crowd typically did.

“Well, I appreciate the warning. But Chey says you’ve gotten your life under control.” He searched her face. “Is that true?”

Wyatt was struggling to get down, but she couldn’t let him because of all the tools and nails and wet plaster. “It is. I haven’t done anything wrong in two years.”

“And ‘wrong’ includes...”

“I haven’t had sex. I haven’t taken drugs. I haven’t even had any alcohol, other than an occasional glass of chardonnay.”

“Then I’d say your recent track record’s better than mine,” he quipped.

In what way? It had to be sex or alcohol; no one in Cheyenne’s group would risk the damage drugs could cause.

“But two years isn’t that long,” she argued. “It’s not enough time to be able to trust me.” Lord knew she didn’t trust herself. That was why she had to stay away from Aaron. With one touch, he could make her forget everything she was striving to be.

“Tell me this, what are you looking for in life?” Riley asked.

He was no longer joking, so she sobered, too. “Someone who’ll love me—for me—at last.”

That wasn’t something a girl usually admitted to a guy who was interested in asking her out. But she wasn’t a teenager anymore, and they were having an honest conversation. Why hide the truth? Presley had been trying to warn him off from the beginning. If this didn’t do the trick, he deserved whatever disappointment she proved to be.

To her surprise, her words didn’t seem to make him uncomfortable. He pursed his lips as he considered them. Then he nodded. “I’d like to see if I’m the right man for the job,” he said, and walked out to get more of his tools.

4

Aaron located what had to be Presley’s yoga studio from its proximity to Reflections by Callie. He had pictured the old antiques emporium as soon as Kyle and Riley mentioned it. But it was worth coming by to see how far along she was in the process of opening. He was curious about her and everything she was doing; he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind since running into her last night. So he’d told himself he’d swing by on his way to Reno. If she happened to be alone, maybe he’d stop and say something, get what he was thinking and feeling off his chest. It didn’t seem fair that she suddenly seemed to believe the worst of him. Not when he’d been convinced that she was one of the few people who truly understood him.

But then he saw Riley Stinson’s truck parked in front and he pulled over—even though she clearly wasn’t alone. She wasn’t open for business yet. So why was Riley hanging around?

He decided to find out.

The high-pitched whine of an electric saw cut through the air as he crossed the street, and he could see a ladder and some paint tarps through the wide storefront windows.

The door had been propped open for ventilation. For a moment, he stood at the threshold, watching Riley check the length of a piece of wood he’d just cut. Presley wasn’t around. Maybe she was in another room. That he was glad she was out of earshot, glad he had the chance to confront Riley alone, told him he shouldn’t be here. He’d been in a terrible mood ever since he’d encountered her at the bookstore. The fight with Dylan hadn’t helped and neither had the sleepless night he’d spent trying to convince himself that he didn’t care if Presley no longer wanted him in her life.

He’d let her go easily enough two years ago, hadn’t he?

Not that easily. He had thought about her a hell of a lot, at odd hours when it was late and the house was quiet. He’d missed her, missed the fun they used to have and the excitement she’d brought him in bed. But missing her didn’t really explain why he was so out of sorts. He should be glad she’d moved on. There’d been plenty of instances when he’d wished she would. He’d known all along that she cared more than he did, and that kind of thing never ended well.

“Hey!” he called.

Riley whipped his head around. Then he turned off the saw and lowered the goggles protecting his eyes. “How’s it going?”

Still no sign of Presley. “Where is she?” Aaron asked.

Riley didn’t ask who. That was obvious. “Had to take her little boy home. She was up all night, patching the walls in here, so I’m hoping she’ll catch a nap, too. But, stubborn as she is, she’ll probably come right back.”

He was talking as if he knew Presley well—but he didn’t. Not really. No one in Whiskey Creek, except Cheyenne, knew her as well as Aaron did. Like him, Presley had always been an outsider, someone regarded with distrust. He’d never cared much about what other people thought. He didn’t let their opinions bother him. But Presley hadn’t grown the same thick skin. “So you’re working alone?”

Using a measuring tape, Riley marked the board where he wanted to make his next cut. “For the moment.”

Aaron kicked a loose nail that’d fallen to the tarp back and forth between his feet. “I didn’t realize she’d hired you to build her tenant improvements. You didn’t say anything about it at the bookstore.”

“I didn’t know I’d be doing this.”

He sauntered closer, eyeing what Riley was building. “Receptionist’s station?”

Riley blew the sawdust from his hands, then brushed off his white T-shirt. “That’s right.”

“Does she have the money to pay for all this?” He gestured at the work that’d been done so far. Dylan had told him Presley wasn’t in a good financial situation. “It’s tough, being a single parent.”