Chapter 13
My private jetlands at the Toronto airport as the afternoon sun blazes in the clear blue sky. Fatigue weighs my every step down the stairs to the tarmac. A black SUV is waiting, my driver standing at attention by the back door. I wheel my filthy suitcase behind me, the sunglasses on my eyes blocking enough of the sun to soothe my pounding headache.
Apple pie shots, indeed.
“Good morning, Mr. Beckett. Let me grab that for you.”
“Thank you, Harvey.”
He smiles softly and takes my suitcase to the trunk. I pull open the back door and slide inside, the cleanliness of the leather interior a luxury after a week of driving the farm truck.
Pulling off my sunglasses, I turn to the person sitting beside me. “Miss me?”
Nathan grins and offers me a hand, which I take instantly, gripping it tight. “Hardly.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“How could I possibly miss all this arrogance?”
I drop my hand to my lap. “How are things with my absence?”
“Fine. Alright. Things are tense, and the board is on high alert of everything. I’ve never seen them so involved.”
Not surprising. “Did you bring me everything?”
Nathan bends forward to pull a thick black folder from the leather case on the floor. “I could have emailed this to you. You are supposed to be on leave, in case you forgot.”
“Don’t start with me. It’s smarter not to risk anyone catching you emailing me these reports.”
“There was no reason for you to fly here for this and risk getting spotted.” He hands me the folder, the frown on his face unsettling. “I included everything discussed this past week, as well as the documents from your father’s meeting with Jocelyn. If you need anything else, you know I have your back.”
I didn’t fly here solely for this. There is one other important thing for me in Toronto that doesn’t involve work, but I don’t feel like divulging Nathan in the specifics.
“How are the tabloids?”
He arches a surprised brow. “You aren’t keeping up with them?”
“It’s kind of hard to when you only get signal long enough to send one text every hour.”
“Is it that bad there? Worse than being here and dealing with all the fallout?”
Harvey gets in the SUV and begins driving us away from the plane. I already feel more settled. This place is familiar. I’m confident here, a successful CEO of a multibillion-dollar company and not a simple man in borrowed clothes, sweeping a dirty shop floor.
“It’s dirty and loud. Wade Steele hates me, for reasons that I assume go farther and deeper than just my sudden appearance on his land. Brody is . . . well, Brody. I’ll admit that it’s unnerving to be around him in such a casual way.”
Nathan nods along with me. “Well, you look relaxed. More so than you were before. Maybe it’s not as bad as you think it is.”
“My relaxed state has little to do with the ranch.” The admission is out before I can digest its potential impact. Nathan’s intrigued expression has me pushing forward. “Tell me about the tabloids now.”
He doesn’t push. It’s one of the things I enjoy most about him. “They’re as you’d expect. A couple of them have spewed desperate lies to make a quick dollar, but majority have said nothing besides the obvious. Your stay in Cherry Peak is unknown to everyone but those involved.”
“Fantastic.”
“I could plan to come visit, you know? I’d like to see where you’ve been living and the people who have you so on edge,” he says, leaning back in his seat, one leg crossed over his knee.
“It’s a nice offer. But I need you here. You’re the only person I trust to keep Swift Edge running as smooth as if I were there.”
“Your dad hasn’t overstepped either, Garrison,” he says, his voice cautious.
I tense, gripping the edge of the folder on my lap. “Yet.”
“I don’t think he will. Reggie has never wanted your job.”
“And you know everything about my father, do you?” I snap, lip curled.
“No, not even close. I’m just telling you what I know from working with the two of you from that very first day.”
I blow out a long, slow breath, collecting myself. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. I know how things are between you.”
“I don’t want to talk about my father anymore.”
Not today of all damn days.
“Alright. How long are you home for?”
“I fly back tonight.”
Nathan’s eyes widen. “That’s a short trip.”
“One day was all Wade would allow me.”
“Damn. You’re like a real employee, then. The board will shit their pants if you come back with a country twang.”
Rolling my eyes, I glance out the tinted window and take in the first view of home. I’ve travelled often for most of my life, but Toronto is where I feel the most comfortable, amidst the hustle and bustle of big-city life.
“That won’t be happening.”
“Thank our lucky stars for that.”
“Where are we dropping you off?” I ask him, running my palm over the top of my hair.
“Home. Why? Eager to get rid of me already?” he teases.
“Are you feeling insecure today, Nathan?”
“A bit. I can’t have my best friend replacing me with someone from Cherry Peak.”
“With how little warmth I’ve gotten from most of its residents, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
There’s only one woman in Cherry Peak who’s offered me more than simple warmth. I had to shower twice, opting out of sleeping, before hopping on the plane this morning just to get the scent of her off my skin. It was a reminder that left me rock-hard and aching from the second I stepped out of her house and began my walk to the ranch. The half hour it took to get back was nowhere near long enough to gather my thoughts. Neither was the hour drive to the small airport in Lethbridge or the five-hour flight from Lethbridge to Toronto.
I should consider last night a mistake. It’s the smart thing to do. We had sex, and I can wipe my hands of it now. But I don’t want to. Of course I don’t. Poppy is my sexual equal. The chemistry is there, alarmingly so. And it was good. Far better than good. It was nothing short of phenomenal. Better sex than I remember ever having.
Yet despite all of that, it’s complicated. I’m the enemy in town. Her best friend’s boyfriend’s evil boss. If either Anna or Brody caught a whiff of our sexual relationship, I doubt they’d take well to it. For me, things are different. The stakes are much lower. The Steele family likes my father too much to go back on their word to him, although I can guarantee they would make my life utter hell for the rest of my stay.
“You’ve never minded a bit of bitter hate from anyone,” Nathan says.
“It makes me work harder in a boardroom.”
But Cherry Peak isn’t a boardroom. It’s damn annoying that I’ve been forced to witness such close familial bonds and friendships over my time there already. Instead of their razzing and dirty looks making me work harder, it’s driving me further into the ground. Although I will never admit that anyone.
“You’ve got this, G. Soon, you’ll be back, and this will all have been one big bad memory.”
I clasp a hand on his shoulder and nod appreciatively. “Yeah, I think I did miss you after all.”
Nathan’s laugh fills the vehicle as we drift further through town, and I’m glad to be back, even momentarily. For the next few hours, I’m shoving Cherry Peak and Poppy Huntsly into a box in my mind and throwing the key out of sight.
My childhood hometowers over me, the white-stoned chimney, black peaked roofs, and rock siding the same bland picture as always. The curved driveway and three-car garage are more a showpiece than useful. There hasn’t ever been anything inside of the garage besides old music equipment and a hunk-of-junk car that my father bought to fix up but never did.
There are no flowers blooming in what was once my mother’s garden. The bird feeder is empty, no birds in sight. The only reason the lawn is mown is because I paid the landscaping bill last week.
I watch Harvey drive out past the metal gate at the end of the driveway and head for the street. The security camera above the door soothes me when I find the door unlocked.
The grey wood floors gleam with a fresh mopping as I slip out of my shoes in the foyer and lock the door behind me. It’s quiet in the house, but I follow the scent of baking and my mother’s typical lavender and orange essential oils, letting them lead me.
My heart grows frantic in my chest as I turn into the kitchen, worry piercing my armour. The first person I see is Margaret, the gentle-natured woman who has become a pivotal member of our lives over the past two years. She spins to face me when I step through the threshold, her mouth curling in a smile that settles some of my worry.
“Cynthia, your son is here,” she says, a hand moving to cup my mother’s upper arm.
I blow out a long breath of relief when Mom twirls, steady on her feet, and stares at me. The tears instantly filling her eyes shatter my heart, pain striking deep. She moves quickly toward me—too quick—but for the first time in a long time, I don’t chastise her for it. I accept the running hug she gives me and soak in the comfort of it.
My mother is so small in my arms, so fragile and breakable. The top of her head only reaches my collarbone, and the full length of her arms hardly wraps fully around my middle. I set my chin to her crown and close my eyes, rubbing a hand up and down her back as her tears wet my shirt.
“You and your tears.” I clack my tongue.
She pinches my side, and I jump, laughing. “Don’t start with me already. Can’t a mother just be excited to see her son?”
“I never said you couldn’t.”
Stepping back a step, she wags her finger at me. “It was all in the tone.”
“The dramatics have already arrived, and I’ve only been here for two minutes,” I tease.
Mom gasps, one hand flying to her throat before she glances at Margaret. “Do you see how he treats me?”
“So, so cruel,” Margaret snickers.
“Two-on-one isn’t a fair fight.”
“Oh, you poor baby. Will a cookie help soothe your sore feelings?” Mom asks, already strolling back to the silver pan on the stovetop lined with a pink silicone mat and a dozen cookies.
“Always,” I say before reaching over her head to grab two. They’re hot, burning my fingertips as I curse and set them on the marble countertop.
“Careful, they’re hot,” she sings, a too-knowing grin on her face.
It’s good to see her this happy. There’s always the hope that she is, but unless I’m here, watching her like this with my own eyes, I can’t be certain. The last time I didn’t take her safety seriously, she wound up in the hospital with a broken ankle and collarbone and, a day later, an osteoporosis diagnosis to match. That was two years ago, but not a day has passed since where I haven’t stressed over her. Even with Margaret here to help.
My new stay in Cherry Peak has become a hindrance to the frequent visits I like to pay throughout the week.
I carefully nip at the side of a cookie, narrowing my eyes at her. “Thanks for the warning now.”
“You’re very welcome, sweet pea.”
“How was your week?” I ask after finishing the first cookie and moving on to the second.
Mom’s slippers slap the kitchen floor as she moves to the fridge and pulls a full jug of juice from the shelf. I’m moving at the same time Margaret is, but I get there first. With a scowl, I take the jug from her thin fingers and carry it to the island.
“Garrison Beckett, I was getting that myself,” she scolds, jutting her chin up at me before I spin to face the other way.
I ignore her, keeping the fear ripping through my stomach hidden behind clenched teeth. My inhale is sharp, my exhale long. Grabbing three glasses from the cupboard, I set them on the counter hard enough to ping and fill them with deep red juice.
“Don’t ignore me,” she says.
“Cynthia.” Margaret meets my mother’s stubborn tone with one of her own.
I take all three glasses in my hands and carry them to the table in the other dining room. The windows are tall in this room, looking out to the firepit and custom-made outdoor barbeque. With the green grass and tall trees, you’d hardly be able to tell it’s still only early April.
Only one set of footsteps sounds behind me, and I swallow, tucking my hands into my pockets. Mom sighs, the sound sad, tired.
“I’m sorry. I understand why you were upset about what I did,” she says, stepping into my side with a hand to my back.
“You can’t be—” I cut myself off before the rest of my angry words escape. “I know that you’re capable of doing things for yourself. That doesn’t mean that you need to. Not when you have Margaret and me to help.”
“I’m not weak. A bit more breakable than some, sure, but I’m tough,” she jokes, but I don’t laugh.
“You have to take care of yourself. I’m not here to make sure that you are?—”
She pivots in front of me, gently pulling my hand from my pocket before taking it into hers. Her green eyes are so similar to mine, yet not as they stare at me with a daring sense of knowing. They’re one solid colour, whereas mine shift between two whenever they wish to.
“I am fine. No slips or tumbles in months. I’m careful, but I also know my limits better than even you know them, Garrison,” she explains, as if that should be enough to make me snap my fingers and dissolve all of my worry and doubt.
“Promise me that you’ll be more careful. Especially over these next two months.”
She nods. “I promise. Now, can we please just chat? I’ve missed you this week. The house is too quiet without your scoffing about and pointless arguments with your father. I want to hear all about Cherry Peak.”
We settle into two chairs, and I take a long swig of the cranberry juice. “You would find it quite fascinating. The horses especially.”
“Oh, tell me about them! Are they as gorgeous as they look on TV? Oh, how I’ve always wanted to ride one.”
“I’ve only been up close with one, and he looked more like a war horse than a pet.”
“That isn’t such a bad thing in a place like that, though, is it?”
“The ranch isn’t a harsh place. It probably has more to do with its rider than the environment,” I mutter.
“Ah. Wade Steele’s horse, I’m assuming?”
“The one and only.”
Mom takes a sip of her juice and hums. “It’s been hard on you being there.”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting a welcome parade.”
“I would certainly hope not. You’re my boy, and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, but sometimes, you can be a real jackass. And you’ve been a huge one to Brody Steele.”
A laugh rips up my throat. “Mom!”
“It’s true! Don’t try and insult me by denying it either. I’d bet that you haven’t made it very easy for them to enjoy your company there.”
“This is offensive.”
“Am I wrong?” she pushes, clasping her hands and resting them beneath her chin. “You can’t demand respect without offering it in return. Especially when they’re already going out of their way to help you.”
“I still can’t believe you went along with his plan in the first place,” I tell her, sounding like an insolent child and hating it.
“I agree with it, even if it’s a bit unorthodox.”
“A lot unorthodox. I could lose my company, Mom.” My biggest fear comes tumbling out verbally for the first time. I drink the rest of the juice to keep from throwing up.
“You will not lose the company. That’s a promise. No matter what,” she swears.
Setting down the empty glass, I chew on the inside of my cheek and nod. If losing Swift Edge does become a reality, she won’t have the ability to stop it from happening, but her support? That’s something I’ll never take for granted.
So, for the moment, I let it rest. I didn’t come here to wallow, and as often as it comes around to bite me in the ass, right now, I’m proud to be stubborn. It keeps me focused on why I’m here.
Everything else can wait.