Chapter 11 Frankie
Frankie
Ilean against the door, my whole body burning.
Not from Cal’s kiss—okay, from that too—but I can’t separate the heat from our kiss from the hot shame of his rejection.
I've got no clue what I did wrong—what made him run—but it must have been something. Could be a million things, really. I just wish I could peg the main culprit.
One second, we’re pressed together closer than surf wax on a hot board. Next blink, he’s pushing me away and jogging down the hall. But not before I missed every signal he was sending and tried to launch myself at him when he pulled away.
Not even the packaged toothbrush, fresh towels, and borrowed pyjamas Jo set out for me can ease my embarrassment. It’s Brandon all over. I mistook Cal’s interest in helping me as interest in me. Like I haven’t vowed I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
That’s some deep therapy stuff right there.
First Dad, then Brandon, now Cal. I should have paid someone when I had the money to help me unpack why I jump in, boots and all, every time a man shows the tiniest interest me.
What’s so broken in me that, the second some guy tries to protect me, I forget I can take care of myself?
Whether it’s Malcolm keeping me from making a “bad” investment, Brandon getting me away from Malcolm and the guy he’d chosen for me, or Cal whisking me away from stickybeaks.
There’s no unpacking that tonight, even if I did have a therapist on hand. So, I do the thing I do best.
Dodge.
I climb into bed, bury my head under a pillow, and force my brain to stop interpreting why Cal pulled away.
Doesn’t work.
My brain gives me a list of choices. Regret? Self-control? A mistake? Came to his senses? All of the above? I run through all the possibilities before eventually falling asleep.
When I wake—quarter of five, like usual—the memory of the kiss wakes with me, stupidly vivid and warm. I reach for my mobile to call an Uber and escape before anyone else is up. Unfortunately, the only thing Jo didn’t supply me is a charger. Mobile’s dead.
I’m beginning to suspect her kindness is an act and she’s got more nefarious motives convincing me to stay.
Could be she’s teamed up with some influencer or journalist—or, worse, Brandon—to sell a story about me.
She’s waited years to exact revenge against me for almost destroying her family’s ranch.
Then I smell coffee.
Good coffee.
Like I used to order at Frothed in LA.
I decide to take my chances that a) I’m writing another script in my head—this time a revenge thriller—and Jo is, in truth, fantastic; and b) it’s not Cal in the kitchen.
Just in case it is him, I glance in the mirror, smooth my hair, and wipe vestiges of yesterday’s mascara from under my eyes. I debate putting on a bra but decide to peek out the door first. No need to unnecessarily torture myself any more than I already have.
Jo’s at the counter, so no bra for me. When I walk into the kitchen, she’s got a World’s Best Mom mug at her lips and a book in hand. When I see the title, The Grand Sophy, I know I’ve made the right call about her. She’s good people.
“Are you a fan of Georgette Heyer?” I ask.
She looks up from her mug with a welcoming smile. “Huge fan. This is her funniest, but Frederica is my favorite.”
“Same.” I clasp my hands together, as excited about finding a fellow Heyerite as Junie gets about Bluey.
And I’m a little more in love with Jo than I already was.
Her mug doesn’t lie. She is the world’s best. Even if I can’t sort out how I feel about her opinion that we have to love family where they are.
“Well, sit down. Let’s talk Heyer.” She motions toward a seat at the counter then goes to the cabinet and pulls out a mug. “Coffee?”
As much as I’d like to escape facing Cal and reliving the embarrassment of last night, I can’t exactly leave now when I’ve finally got someone to talk Georgette Heyer with.
So, I take a seat and the coffee Jo offers me, and we talk Regency Romance for a good ten minutes before I remember I was going to borrow a charger for my mobile so I can call an Uber.
I set down my empty cup and sigh. “Thanks so much for the hospitality, but I should be on my way. I’m happy to call an Uber, but my mobile’s dead. Could I nick yours for a bit?”
Jo’s face falls. “I hope you’re not thinking of leaving already. But if you want to grab some things, I’ll get someone to take you in, if you don’t mind waiting. No Uber will come out this far.”
“No worries. It’s early. I can wait until someone’s up.”
Jo laughs. “Oh, sweetie, Junie’s the only one still asleep here. Ranch work starts early and ends late…actually, it never ends, but we try to sleep every once in a while.”
At the mention of Junie, I remember I promised to make her pancakes. But with the kiss stuck on replay in my head, I’d rather avoid Cal if I can. The second he sees my face he’ll not only see how embarrassed I am about throwing myself at him, but also how much I want to do it again.
“So, how soon til someone can take me into town, yeah?” I ask tentatively.
She tilts her head and her eyes dart back and forth, searching for an answer.
“Cal’s taking Joey and Wes to check our cows for IBK, which leaves us shorthanded with the avocados.
Sanctuary gave us a big order, so we’ve got a lot of picking to do.
Hayes is in charge of the crew—he has the best Spanish.
And I need Cassidy’s help catching up on accounts and paperwork.
The boring stuff. And Ben’s in charge of Hayes—because somebody’s got to keep that boy on task.
” She looks back at me. “Noon or so? Is that too long? We’ll find a way to get you home if it is. ”
I doubt I can dodge Cal until noon. At the same time, I don’t want to inconvenience the Holloways any more than I already have—not just today, but for the past three years.
They could probably hire more help if they didn’t have solicitor bills to pay off because of me.
And I don’t want to pull them away from work the hotel has given them.
“Yeah, nah, Jo. It’s all good. What can I do to pitch in?”
I hold my breath. If she says cows, I’ll know she’s not only intent on revenge, but also a mind reader. That’s the only way she’d know I’m avoiding Cal.
“Nothing at all except stay here and rest. You could use it after what you’ve been through.” Her sincerity kills my revenge-thriller script.
“I’m no good at resting. ‘Specially when something needs to be done. I’ve never harvested anything, but I’m a quick study.
” I leave out any mention of helping Cal deliver a foal—something else I’d never done until a week ago.
But I don’t want to give her any ideas about assigning me to his work crew.
“Well,” she says with a friendly shrug, “I’m not going to try and stop you, but I will feed you first. What would you like?”
I hold up my coffee cup. “Got all I need right here. But I did promise to make pancakes for Junie, so what if I take over for you?”
Jo shakes her head, throwing in a dramatic eye roll.
“Coffee won’t get you through fifteen minutes of picking.
I put some clothes in the dresser drawers in there.
I’ll start pancakes, along with some eggs and bacon, while you get dressed.
You’re welcome to shower, but you’ll be dirty before you know it. We’re working in the groves.”
I open my mouth to insist on making the pancakes at least, then change my mind and push away from the counter. “Righto. Cheers.” I’m reluctant to leave Jo, but even more reluctant to have Cal find me looking like I do.
I walk to my room—scratch that—the guest room. No need for me to move in just yet.
If only. The last time anybody waited on me—took care of me the way Jo has the last twelve hours—was before I left Hollywood.
And that’s because they were on salary. It’s been even longer since my mum made me brekkie.
To tell the truth, I don’t remember her ever making brekkie.
We had cooks for that. She did eat with us most mornings, though, when her calendar wasn’t booked.
Malcolm never had time for brekkie with us.
Once in the guest room, I run my hand over the scratched and sun-faded chest of drawers.
I reckon it’s been in the Holloway family for generations.
Or maybe Jo-Joe found it at a second-hand store.
Wherever it came from, it’s full of more than just Cassidy’s old clothes. It’s holding stories I wish I knew.
As long as they’re Holloway stories. I got a taste for them last night, and Jo whet my appetite even more this morning.
I’m hungry to understand how they stay a family.
How they work things out instead of cutting people out of their lives.
Archie and I are good at patching things up with Dex and Rhys when things go bad, but we chose them as family.
Why bother with the people you didn’t choose if they’re jerks?
That’s a mystery I don’t have time to solve. I pull faded jeans from the middle drawer and slip them on.
Cassidy is taller than I am, but our waist size is close. They’re a little loose, but nothing a bit of rope can’t fix. I’m sure the Holloways have plenty of that around. Cal, at least, has some in the back of his truck.
I roll the hems and find a worn T-shirt with a logo advertising The World’s Oldest Continuous Rodeo in Arizona, and if I needed one more reminder that I’ve left Hollywood in the rearview, this would do it.
I knot it on one side, then slip on my trainers and head back to the kitchen where the smell of bacon mingles with eggs.
Jo’s at the stove with her back to me when I walk back in the kitchen.
“All ready. Put me to work,” I tell her.
She smiles over her shoulder at me, then points to canisters of flour and sugar. “Pancake recipe is right there if you want to mix up the batter.”
I go around the counter and pick up the handwritten recipe card. “Smells great in here.”