Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Ruby
Ruby sat—okay, hovered—above Thom’s dining table, on top of Thom’s computer, her biker boots resting on the empty seat of the dining chair Thom’d picked up off the floor.
Lila didn’t make excuses for her ogling: she was a connoisseur of fine-looking men, and Thom was eye candy.
Naomi loved that he played her favorite bands—Nirvana, The Ramones, and The White Stripes at shatter-her-eardrums volume—and that his favorite way to waste time was to watch orange cats being assholes on YouTube.
That had to be because he was the unfortunate owner of the hound from hell.
On cue, the bastard dog lifted his head, looked straight at her, and growled.
Ruby didn’t get it; she liked dogs. Mostly because animals were simple—they either liked you or they didn’t.
No mixed signals, no mind games, no hidden agendas, no surprises.
And dogs generally liked her right back.
This one clearly did not, so what else could a girl do but growl back?
When they were done insulting each other, Ruby turned her attention back to Thom …
a much more pleasant subject. She loved his messy, touched with red, dark hair, his cool gray eyes, the way his biceps flexed when he did …
well, anything. His forearms … God, his forearms. They were works of art.
All three female ghosts loved watching Thom-TV, and the day he swam naked in the lake was a highlight across two lifetimes.
But men like him were safe to look at but dangerous to want, chase, or to try and pin down.
Men like him came with price tags attached, and she’d paid the price.
Dearly.
Beyond his incredible face and muscled body, Ruby loved Thom’s emotional self-sufficiency, his couldn’t-give-a-damn attitude, and his lack of impulsivity. Thom always, always thought things through…
Unlike Ruby, who acted first and regretted later. Thom was also analytical and calm, while she’d lived life loud, rode fast, and was more impetuous than anyone she ever knew.
Along with being impulsive, she also had terrible taste in men. Case in point: the last had been a mechanic from a rival bike gang who promised her a normal life, babies and picket fences instead of booze and bad decisions.
He made her believe, then vanished with her Harley, her savings … and her dog. Heartbroken and furious, she stole her club leader’s powerful bike, gave chase in the rain, and ended up skidding under a semi. Death, at least, had been quick.
Like Poppy, she’d chased love and approval. But Ruby had died without ever receiving either.
Ruby turned to watch Poppy walk into the kitchen, looking a little mussed, with a “oh, shit, what do I do now” look on her face.
She and Naomi listened in as Poppy and Thom argued about the pearls and where the missing one could’ve landed. Ruby peered over the edge of the table, and there it lay, just beyond the table leg. If one of them got down on their hands and knees, they’d find it.
What was wrong with these people?
Then Thom bent down, picked up the pearl, and handed it to Poppy.
Good job, handsome. After putting it in the jar, Poppy went back down on her hands and knees to look for the other one.
Ruby floated off the table, and when Naomi cleared her throat, she looked to where she was pointing and saw the second pearl lying against the skirting board.
Right, Poppy was heading in the right direction; there was no way she wouldn’t see it.
Ruby frowned when Poppy’s hand darted out and scooped up the pearl, then slipped it into the pocket of her shorts. Ruby and Naomi exchanged puzzled looks as Poppy continued to pretend to look for the missing pearl.
But she had the pearl…
In her pocket.
What was this girl up to?
Poppy
Poppy looked Thom in the eye and lied directly to his face.
She had the pearl. There was no way he’d be able to see it under the baggy clothing. She hoped.
Poppy ignored the hand he held out to help her up and climbed to her feet. Her shorts were in dire danger of falling, so she hoisted them up. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” Thom asked, and she heard the reluctance in his voice.
Honestly? More than she wanted to keep breathing.
Meeting Thom’s eyes, a smoky, sexy gray with a black ring encircling all that smoke, she nodded, not able to thank him.
In fact, talking was currently beyond her.
Her legs shaky, she sat down in the closest chair and crossed one leg over the other, trying to keep her expression calm and controlled.
Her situation hadn’t improved much with the dawning of a new day. She had no doubt that her mother—maybe Benji, if he could rouse enough energy—was currently cursing her to the moon and back.
She was wearing too-big clothes, had a pounding headache, and her childhood idol was, inconveniently, a sexy, hot, ripped, sullen man. His pewter eyes and rich, auburn hair were the same, but everything else about him had changed.
He’d grown taller and wider. Packed on muscle and attitude; and while he’d never been the life and soul of the party, he’d been chattier as a young man, far more gregarious.
Poppy took in the small details, the nicks on his broad, masculine hands, his granite-hard expression, the wariness and cynicism in his amazing eyes.
When she was a kid, Thom had been her safe place.
A little older, steady and solid, he was where she ran when her siblings were cruel, or the world seemed too loud or spun too fast. He’d protected her.
And he’d listened. He’d dealt with her frequently dramatic feelings with a calm, anchored patience that made everything feel survivable.
Poppy had instinctively trusted him, without thinking deeply.
And then it all changed. One minute he was there, the next he pulled away. Hard. He stopped being that solid presence. Stopped hanging out with her. Stopped joking, stopped communicating. Stopped letting her orbit his world. Stopped being part of her world.
To Poppy, it felt like abandonment—deliberate, specific, personal. He went from being the one person who got her to the guy who wouldn’t even talk to her.
It had hurt. God, it had hurt. He’d treated her heart as casually as someone tearing bread from a loaf.
Poppy bit the inside of her cheek, desperately wanting to ask why he’d ghosted her, but so much time had passed, and she felt stupid for still letting the death of a childhood friendship bug her. He’d moved on … his loss.
But it still felt like her loss, too.
Now she and Thom had collided again because Thom was living in her childhood home. Look, she wasn’t an idiot; she knew Thom would never waste his time and money on a cash-draining asset like the inn if he didn’t own it lock, stock, and every inch of gingerbread trim.
He’d somehow managed to buy it, from either her grandfather or from the estate, and someone in her family (probably everyone) had been aware of that.
That they could, so easily and without telling her, let go of the house she adored, a house that, as the song went, built her, was going to take some time to work through. Another hurt she’d have to process.
When it came to the McMaster family, there was always crap to deal with. Not, admittedly, so much for her siblings, but for her. That’s what happened when one family produced four exquisite examples, and then the last sample broke the mold. And not, in their eyes, in a good way.
Poppy pushed those negative thoughts away; they’d come back to haunt her later—they always did—and kept her eyes fixed on Thom’s broad back.
Today he wore another plain T-shirt—this one was white and loose-fitting—and straight-legged and easy to wear cotton trousers, perfect for lounging around the house.
It still felt like her house, where she needed to be.
She was caught between a rock and a hard place. She couldn’t admit that she accepted Thom’s purchase of the inn, because that left her without a leg to stand on. Or more accurately, without an excuse to stay at Solstice Deep. And she needed to, more than she needed her lungs to keep functioning.
Maybe it was because she’d never stayed anywhere else in H-Town—sleepovers with Wren had always happened here, not at Luna’s. Maybe because the Inn was where she instinctively ran whenever her life felt like it was falling apart.
As a kid, she’d endured time away from H-Town by shrinking at home—never offering her opinion, hiding from her older siblings, dodging her mother’s attention, all while her father was too busy being important to notice her. If she’d had a choice, she would have stayed away from home, too.
But holidays were different. She’d be packed and ready two days early, desperate to be with her grandparents, craving the freedom H-Town offered. And once Thom had appointed himself her protector, her summers in H-Town had become synonymous with joy.
To her, then and now, H-Town was freedom. Creativity. Spontaneity. Everything she’d hadn’t experienced for the longest time.
Now, free of Benji, probably disinherited by her family and disowned by her siblings (which didn’t bother her much), she could try to reconnect with what mattered; to rest, to just … be. To find herself again.