Chapter 2
Two
“Remind me why we’re here on our day off,” Jonah wanted to know.
“Because she’s a single mom who needs help, and we have time and capable hands.” Holt wheeled his 4-Runner into the tiny gravel lot in front of the little house Cayla had rented for her office, parking beside her older-model Camry. Brax and Mia were already here. The flower beds had been weeded since last week. Not that it said much. The bushes out front were still scraggly and overgrown. They needed pruning at the least, yanking out at the best. He wondered what she had planned for the beds. Something bright and cheerful like she had at the little bungalow where she lived? Or something more sedate and professional? He hoped for the cheerful. Anything else didn’t seem like it would suit her.
“And this has nothing to do with you wanting to bone her?”
Even knowing this was payback for poking at him about Rachel the other night, Holt shot Jonah an icy stare. “Watch your mouth, and no. I’m not looking for a package deal. I did my time raising Hadley.” Not that he regretted the sacrifices he’d made for his baby sister.
“But you adore that kid.”
It was true. “Maddie’s my little buddy. That doesn’t mean anything.” And if I keep telling myself that, maybe I’ll believe it. Because both daughter and mother are way too damned appealing.
He shouldn’t have given in to temptation and sung with her. Well, it wasn’t so much the singing as the dance he’d pulled her into because he’d wanted to wipe that anxious expression off her face. And to get a sense of the feel of those soft curves. The whole thing had gone against his personal code of being her friend and nothing more. But he just hadn’t been able to help himself, and damn, it had been the most fun he’d had in longer than he cared to remember.
Jonah hit him with some not insignificant side eye. “Methinks the Ranger doth protest too much.”
“Look, you were raised by a single mom. Wouldn’t she have appreciated some help when you were coming up?”
“Fair point. And to be clear, I have no problem helping Cayla out with this. She’s always been a sweetheart. I just wanted to bust your chops.”
“I’ll exact revenge in our next sparring match.”
Jonah grinned. “Bring it, Broadway.”
After a perfunctory knock, they went inside. Mia and Brax were already at work, applying painter’s tape around the windows and all the trim. A neat stack of painting supplies sat in the middle of the scarred wood floors. There was no immediate sign of Cayla.
“Holt! Holt! Holt!” A little blonde dervish came racing toward him from the kitchenette.
He bent and scooped Maddie up before she could careen into his bad leg. She settled against his waist, snuggling against him as if she’d been doing it for years. “Hey, Bumblebee. How are you today?”
“I’m good! Grandma made pancakes for breakfast this morning!”
“That is, indeed, an awesome way to start the day,” he agreed.
Sobering, she reached up to press her little hand to his brow.
“Whatcha doing, kid?”
“Checking you for a fever.”
“No fever. Why?”
“Mama says you’re hot.”
Mia snorted, and Brax choked on a laugh. Cayla, who’d been coming out of the tiny bedroom that served as an office, pressed both hands to her flaming cheeks and did an abrupt about-face.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Jonah intoned.
It took everything Holt had to repress the delighted smile. He shouldn’t be delighted. It didn’t matter that Cayla thought he was hot. He wasn’t pursuing anything. He was here, with friends in tow, to help her out. That was all.
Lowering Maddie to the floor, he looked her in the eye. “Are you helping us paint today?”
“Little Miss Big Mouth will be watching movies on the iPad.” Face still pink, Cayla emerged from the back, a stern gaze on her daughter.
Maddie’s eyes were wide and innocent. “What?”
Cayla sighed. “Nothing, Munchkin. The iPad is in the office. Go pick what you want to watch, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy.” She scampered down the hall.
As Cayla watched her go, Holt studied Cayla. Something about her seemed off somehow. Dimmer than usual.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
She flashed him a smile, but it wasn’t her usual sunny beam, and he recognized fake-it-til-you-make-it when he saw it. Something was definitely bothering her, and he didn’t think it was embarrassment over what Maddie had blabbed. Was it something to do with the two of them getting their flirt on Thursday night? Was she upset by his admittedly mixed signals? Or was something else going on? As she looked around the room with something like yearning, it struck him that maybe he’d made a mistake, all but shoving their help down her throat.
Holt rubbed at the sudden heat in the back of his neck. “Listen, Cayla, I should have done this the other night before I dragged everybody else into this, but… are you okay with us being here?”
She blinked, focusing in on him with a faint frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I mean, maybe you wanted to do everything yourself. To take ownership of the place. I didn’t mean to minimize that. I just thought you’d get done quicker, and I basically told you we’d come instead of asking if you even wanted us to. Orders are kind of a hazard of my former occupation.” And damn, the men of his unit would razz the hell out of him if they could see him now.
For the first time that morning, she really looked at him, those big doe eyes searching his face with cautious wonder. “It’s really sweet that you even thought of that as a potential issue. And no, I’m thrilled y’all are here. I’m absolutely terrible about asking for help, but I’m sure as heck not going to be so precious as to turn it down when offered.”
She stepped closer, laying a hand on his arm. The warmth of those slim fingers soaked into him, soothing some disquiet he’d carried for so long he barely even noticed it anymore except when it wasn’t there. What would that gentle touch feel like on the rest of him?
“Anyway, everything we get done today will get me that much closer to being able to see clients here.” This time, when she smiled, it reached her eyes. For now, anyway, she’d willed away whatever was bothering her. Holt was satisfied that whatever it was, it wasn’t about him. He’d take that for the moment.
“And, hey, your business doing well is better for our business,” Brax added.
“I consider this payback for all those pep rally and spirit week banners you painted back in high school,” Jonah put in.
It was a startling reminder that they’d known each other for years. That this was her town, and she had a long history here.
Cayla laughed. “I’m surprised you even knew I’d made them, since I was just a lowly freshman to your senior.”
“Easy to remember, since Lance Peterson had the biggest crush on you.”
“He did not! He never asked me out.”
“Yeah, that might have been because we gave him shit in the locker room when one of the guys found the epically bad poetry composed about your smile.”
“Language,” Holt growled.
Jonah winced, shooting a glance toward the sound of pattering footsteps from the back. “Sorry.”
“What ever happened to Lance?” Cayla wondered.
“I think Mama said he moved to Louisville and became a banker or something.”
“Didn’t he marry Jenny Sheridan?”
As the two of them continued to swap small town gossip, Holt just shook his head. This whole thing was so alien. He hadn’t grown up in a small town. Hadn’t played high school sports. He’d been too busy busting his ass, working, making sure his baby sister was taken care of and that his mom didn’t pass out and choke on her own vomit after her latest bender. His mom hadn’t handled single parenthood well—or at all—preferring to fall into the bottle whenever her latest shit choice in partners disappeared, as they always had. She’d been nothing like Cayla. She’d never once put her kids first. Hell, maybe that was part of his fascination with Cayla. He had mad respect for everything she juggled on her own and the good, solid life she’d built for her kid. She was a truly good mother, on top of being sweet, funny, smart, and beautiful. And Maddie was?—
“Holt! Holt! Holt!”
She came running in, the iPad in hand. “It’s Maui! Do Maui!”
“Um.” It was his turn to avoid everyone’s gazes as Maddie held up the screen, paused at the key scene in Moana. He’d known singing for her a couple weeks back was going to come back to bite him in the ass. But he couldn’t help it. After all these years, all the work he’d put into it for Hadley, he was programmed to sing along to all Disney tunes, and she’d been watching Oliver and Company.
“We’re about to get to work, Bumblebee.”
“Oh please, oh please, ohplease! Just one!”
“Yes, please, Broadway,” Jonah smirked.
“Yeah, seriously. I’ve been hearing stories about this voice of yours,” Mia urged.
Holt looked back at Maddie’s pleading face and sighed. Damn it, she looked just like Hadley at that age. He was toast. “Ok, ok, I see what's happening here.”
Maddie giggled and danced as he rolled into the song. He kept his focus on the kid, on her effervescent happiness that was absolutely worth whatever crap Brax and Jonah would sling his way.
When he’d finished, Maddie clapped and bounced. “Again!”
“Another time, Munchkin,” Cayla told her. “As he said, we’re about to get to work. Say ‘thank you.’”
Maddie waved him down, so Holt crouched to her level. She pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek. “Thank you!”
This kid.
“You’re welcome.”
As she scampered back down the hall, he rose, rubbing at the little ache in his chest.
“Wow. I’ve really got to make it to karaoke night next time,” Mia observed.
Cayla was looking at him with amusement.
“You know she’s going to be like a dog playing an endless game of fetch now, right?”
“Yeah. I’m familiar.” And Holt chose not to think too hard about the fact that he didn’t mind it. “Okay then, where do you want to start?”
“Oh, my goodness! Look how much y’all got done today!”
Cayla joined her mom in a survey of the little house. With everyone’s help, the entire place had been primed and the first coat of cheery butter yellow applied. “We’re so close. Thanks for staying with Maddie tonight, so I can stay late and finish.”
Brax, Mia, and Jonah had packed up half an hour ago to head out to other obligations, but Holt was still at it, so Cayla made introductions. “This seemingly tireless saint of a helper is Holt Steele. Holt, this is my mother, Donna Black.”
“Ma’am.” He nodded a greeting and tipped back a fresh bottle of water.
Cayla tore her eyes away from the ripple of his throat as he swallowed. Why on earth should that be sexy?
Donna split an appraising look between them, clearly wondering about the nature of their relationship. “Nice to meet you. You’re one of the bakers from across the street?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maddie tugged at her sleeve. “Mimi, did you know Holt can sing Maui?”
“Can he, now?”
“He can. He knows all the words.”
With suitable sobriety, Donna nodded. “That’s very impressive.” But it didn’t save Cayla from The Eyebrow.
Lord have mercy, her child was digging all kinds of holes today.
Better to quash whatever ideas that put into her mother’s head.
“Aren’t you ready to call it a day, Holt?”
“I’m sticking around to help.” As if to emphasize the point, he just picked up the roller and began to apply the next coat.
Flustered, Cayla scrambled. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. We’re so much further along than I thought we’d be.”
He just leveled those implacable blue eyes on her. “I am not leaving you here alone at night. You stay, I stay.”
Her mouth fell open, but nothing came out. What the hell could she say to that?
Donna had no trouble stepping in. “Oh, I have to tell you that puts my mind at ease. I know things have been quiet since the—” She glanced down at Maddie. “—trouble across the street, but a mother worries.”
Trouble. That was one word for the showdown a few months back when some nut job nearly killed Mia during the renovation of the bakery building. Thank God Brax had showed up in time to stop him.
“I’ll see her home safe, ma’am.”
Her mom beamed a considerably warmer smile in his direction. “Thank you, Holt. And you should come by for Sunday dinner some weekend.”
Cayla fought not to drop her face into her hands again. Now her mom was playing matchmaker? Or was she just lining him up for an inquisition to determine if he was worth matchmaking?
“That’d be nice. You just let me know when, and I’ll bring dessert.”
Don’t I get a say in all this?
Evidently deciding that Cayla’s opinion wasn’t needed, her mother just rolled on. “Excellent. I’m sure we’ll been in touch.” Taking Maddie’s hand, she started for the door. “We’re gonna go on, so y’all can get back to work.” The eyebrow waggle she aimed in Holt’s direction suggested she thought Cayla should do something else that had nothing to do with work.
Ignoring that, Cayla picked up another roller herself. “Thanks, Mama.”
“Mimi! Can we read Ice Cream Soup before bed tonight?”
“We can probably make that happen.” Donna shut the door behind them, cutting off the fresh ramble Maddie started about her day.
Cayla let out a slow breath and with it some of the fierce hold she had on the mask she wore, pretending she had everything together. It had been a long ass day, and she was so damned tired. She’d be tireder yet before it was through. Par for the course. But maybe they’d at least get done with this main room.
Nerves trickled in again as the silence settled. Without the buffer of other people, they were harder to ignore, so she focused on the painting, starting on the wall opposite him. She didn’t know what they were doing here. Why was he helping? Why was he entertaining her daughter? Because he wanted to be friends? She’d certainly never had a friend like him. Friends didn’t make her belly swoop and her skin heat with a look. Maybe she was just viewing this through the lens of her undeniable attraction, wishing and hoping against her better judgment for something that wasn’t even there. Holt Steele was a good man. She’d known a few in her life, but none had been interested in her. Why should that change now?
Despite the attraction, the silence between them was easy. He wasn’t hard to just be with. There was no implicit demand in his presence, no role he seemed to expect her to play. So she painted, soaking in the quiet that was rare as hen’s teeth in life with a five-year-old. By the time they reached the end of their respective walls and turned onto the one between them, some of the sharp edges from this morning had smoothed out a little.
“I appreciate you sticking around.”
“No problem.”
A little of the disquiet returned. “Is there reason to worry that someone is lurking around?” God knew, she worried about that enough on her own for reasons that had nothing to do with her business neighbors.
“No. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m just being cautious.” His gaze settled on her face for a long moment before he moved away to refill the paint tray. “You can tell me no, and I’ll leave it alone, but just in case you didn’t want to mention it in front of everyone else, I’ll ask again… what’s wrong?”
Her heart thudded. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“You’re a lousy liar.” The statement was made without malice or accusation. “Something’s upset you. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I’m not big on talking either. But in case you do, I’ve got a good ear.”
She dipped her roller and applied it to the wall in front of her, finding that she wanted to tell someone. “I got a letter from my ex-husband yesterday.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Unfortunately, no. He can’t get to me any other way from prison, so he sends letters.”
“Prison?” With that one word, she heard him snap to attention, the protector instantly assessing a threat.
She blinked, belly swooping with dread this time. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Nobody here knows. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not.” His ready assurance of discretion eased the tension.
Cayla could feel him waiting, but despite his obvious, vibrating need to know, he didn’t pressure her. She debated with herself. No one here knew but her mother, and even she wasn’t aware of the letters. Maybe it would be good to tell someone the story. Holt claimed to want to be friends. If he could hear this ugliness and still wanted that, it would be a blessing to have him in her corner. And if he didn’t, well, she was pretty sure he’d still keep his mouth shut if for no other reason than he wasn’t a gossip.
“I met Arthur when I was a senior in college.”
“Arthur?” Holt didn’t quite manage to hide the sneer in his tone.
Cayla’s lips twitched. “Arthur Bronson Raynor, III.”
“Sounds like a pretentious Upper East Side accountant.”
She snorted. “Oh, he’d hate that description. Despite the name, he didn’t come off as pretentious. He was… magnetic. Older than me by almost a decade. I was flattered by his interest and primed to be swept off my feet. I was such a cliche. My dad died when I was little, so I guess I was always looking for that strong male influence. We were married in six months, and I ended up not graduating. What did it matter if I got my degree? He could afford to support us both, and he wanted to shower me with this lavish lifestyle. It felt like I’d found my very own prince charming.”
“You’re divorced, so I’m guessing it didn’t stay that way.”
“No. I was so bespelled at the beginning, I didn’t realize how he was slowly, systematically cutting me off from home. From my family and friends. Our life was in San Francisco. It was a long way from Tennessee, and I had obligations and duties as his wife. I wanted to please him. So I stopped coming home. Stopped returning calls and emails. I told myself I’d catch up later. After he’d impressed this client or achieved that goal. But later never came.”
From six feet away, she could feel Holt’s coiled tension. “Did he hurt you?” The question came out deadly calm, almost conversational, but Cayla sensed the potential for violence beneath. Here was a man who protected women and children—the innocent—because it was the right thing to do.
“Not physically. It was all about control. Psychological manipulation. I’m not sure if it would have escalated if I’d stayed.”
“What made you leave?”
“I found out I was pregnant. And I could just see how he was going to make excuses and say we didn’t need my mother’s help or whatever. How he’d cut me off further. I didn’t tell him about the baby. I’d already made up my mind to go when I found out about the identity theft.”
“Identity theft? Yours?”
“No. He had a home office. It wasn’t where he did most of his work, but everything was kept on cloud drives, and he was more careless with his passwords than he should’ve been. I hadn’t set out to snoop. My laptop got the blue screen of death, so I went in to use the computer in his office, and I found out that he’d committed mass scale identity theft. Some for himself. A lot more for some really powerful people. The lavish lifestyle we led had been built largely off ruining the lives of children and the elderly.” Even now, it disgusted her how blind she’d been. Shoving away the sense of failure, she continued, “So I gathered everything I could find, and I took it to the FBI. He was arrested, convicted of I don’t know how many counts of fraud, and sent to prison.”
“Shit. That’s incredibly brave.”
“It didn’t feel brave. It felt… necessary. And not anywhere near enough for all the lives he destroyed.” She shrugged, as if the twitch of her shoulders would dislodge the weight that had settled there. “I came home after that. Didn’t tell a soul the truth other than my mother, and I started over. I divorced him after he was incarcerated. That took forever.”
“Does he know about Maddie?”
“I’d have kept her existence from him entirely if I could, but it had to be disclosed as part of the divorce proceedings. He’s never met her. Never even seen a photo. She’s not his in any way. If he ever got his hands on her, he’d break everything bright and beautiful about her. I will do anything to stop that from happening.”
“You keeping tabs on him?”
“Yeah. I check in every couple of months. And he sends letters about as often.” Just enough to remind her that he remembered. That he was waiting.
“Threatening?”
“Not overtly. Xander’s got copies of all of them, just in case.” Though the sheriff had been clear that there wasn’t much that could be done based on vague allusion. As long as Arthur stayed in prison, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t do anything from where he was.
“Good.”
They lapsed back into silence.
Feeling exposed and more than a little uncomfortable with her admissions, she flashed a self-deprecatory smile. “Anyway, that is the sad and tragic tale of my complete crap taste in men, and the reason I’ve been single ever since.”
“Not entirely sad and tragic. You got Maddie. She’s amazing.”
Cayla stared at him. He got it. He so clearly understood that her daughter was her greatest joy. “Yeah, she is. There’s none of her father in her.”
“Being a sperm donor doesn’t make someone a father.”
This guy was just racking up the points left and right.
“True enough. You’re really great with her.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She backpedalled, trying to mitigate the damage. “I don’t say that because I’m auditioning replacements. It’s just an observation.”
One corner of that usually serious mouth quirked up. “I like kids.”
“How is it you’re so good with them? I wouldn’t have thought a life in the Army would’ve predisposed you to be.”
“I raised my baby sister.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he just turned back to the wall. Accepting that maybe that topic was off-limits, she did the same and changed the subject. “How are the plans for the opening going?”
“We’re still deciding on a date for the grand opening. But we’re gonna do a limited-hour soft opening to test recipes out starting next week.”
“That’s awesome! I have to confess, I’m surprised y’all are actually going with Bad Boy Bakers for the name. I was half joking when I suggested it.”
He jerked those big shoulders. “You weren’t wrong. It’s hooky. And we need whatever help we can get to get the place off the ground. If that means we get a chunk of traffic that wants to check us out like slabs of beef while we get baked goods in their hands, so be it. We’re cheap advertising. After that, the food will speak for itself.”
“You know, I know a little bit about bootstrapping marketing. I’m happy to help with that in exchange for the free labor y’all have been kind enough to offer.”
“We’re friends. Friends help each other without expectation of repayment. That said, we know we can’t just rely on ‘If we bake it, they will come.’ So we’ll take whatever marketing help we can get.”
Relieved to have something to offer, Cayla smiled. “Then consider it a deal. Friend.”