12. Beck
Beck
The whole plan was to keep Lyla at arms length, to not get personal. I knew spending one on one time with her like that would be a mistake. It would blur lines, get messy. But all I can think about when I look at Lyla is that sixteen year old girl who got broken up with at a house party.
She was a mess that night, and I could tell something was wrong by the tone of Austin’s voice when he called and asked if I’d make sure she was okay. I did whatever I had to do just to get to her–including cutting my own date short.
Fuck, was I angry. Not at having to ditch my date, not at having to trek through town to find her because the address Austin texted me after we got off the phone was all garbled.
It was the way Lyla was crying when I found her, black tears streaking her face, and the fact that it was some little prick’s fault.
Since coming home, I’ve caught moments where she has that same look of rejection and unworthiness as she did then, all those years ago. Like the way her eyes cast downward when she talked about her dating life, or how the corners of her mouth turned down when I asked about her job.
As if reading my thoughts, my dad interrupts them.
“How was your day?” he asks, putting another bite of food in his mouth. Nash and Skye are here for our weekly family dinner, a tradition that hasn’t gone anywhere since we were kids.
“Fine,” I say, trying not to reveal too much. I don’t want Nash getting any ideas about my relationship with Lyla and having it get back to Austin. They work together a lot on the ranch, and I’m sure they talk about more than cattle prices.
“She is a lovely girl, that Lyla,” he continues. “She really helped me out today. Did she have any good advice about the ranch?”
Nash and Skye exchange a glance over the table, it’s loaded with questions and confusion.
“Lyla’s helping with the ranch?” Skye asks.
Nash cuts in. “The better question is, Beck is letting someone help with the ranch?”
“Dad basically hired her before I had a say,” I answer, and luckily Dad has a mouthful of food so he can’t argue and tell them the truth. That I’ve been desperate, that the situation is dire enough that yes, I need help.
I shelter my siblings as much as possible, and shoulder as much of the responsibility as I can.
They’ve been through enough, between Mom leaving and Dad only being present as a father in the last few years.
I think he’s finally woken up and realized how many years of our lives he missed out on being so caught up with his work, and stepped up out of guilt.
“Beck… I told you if you needed it you could use some of my winnings from last weekend.”
Skye approached me at the bar when she caught me sulking the other night after losing the steer roping event. I refused her offer and my answer would be the same now. I’m not taking the money she worked so hard for.
I don’t want her to be tied to this place. She has opportunities that I never did to make something of herself.
“That’s a good idea,” my dad pipes up, and Skye nods in agreement.
Of course he thinks it’s a good idea. Sometimes I feel like the ranch is the only thing that has ever mattered to him.
I’ve given a lot of myself to Wild Sage, and he has happily taken.
But I’m not letting him take from Skye, too. She would bleed herself dry for him.
“I said no.” It comes out more abrupt than I’m intending, and Skye’s eyes drop to her lap.
Fuck. I know she’s sensitive, and she’s just trying to help. “We have other options,” I say, softening the hard edges of my tone.
“Then you better hope Lyla is a goddamned miracle worker,” my dad says.
I have to hold back from saying the words that are simmering beneath the surface.
Lyla wouldn’t hold back. At least, she wouldn’t have in the past. But now? I don’t know anymore, her spark has been dimmed a little, and it’s been bothering me since our ride today. Since she admitted to me that she’s “working on it”, that she thinks she’s too much.
But she’s not. She’s just enough. She’s everything.
“Speaking of, where is Lyla tonight?” My dad asks before shoving a mouthful of steak into his mouth.
“Probably enjoying a night of solitude in the guest house,” I answer coolly.
What I wouldn’t give for a night of solitude. Instead, I’m getting the third degree from my family who has no business grilling me like this. I cut my steak, my knife scratching against my plate until I think the ceramic might break.
“What do you mean? You didn’t invite her?
” He places his cutlery down on the plate and glares at me, as if he couldn’t have invited her himself.
He also saw Lyla today, she did him a favour.
He’s been having a harder time getting around these days, and can no longer drive himself to appointments.
Normally I’m the one who takes him, but he forgot to tell me about it today.
“Bosses don’t typically invite their employees to family dinners,” I deflect. Truth is, I didn’t invite Lyla because we already spent enough time together, and it did nothing to staunch the crush I have.
“Lyla is more than an employee. She’s practically family. I raised you to have more hospitality than that.”
The disappointment in my dad’s voice stings. All the shit I put up with, everything I do around here, it still never measures up.
“I can be hospitable,“ I practically growl.
Skye and Nash burst into laughter at the clear irony between the words and my tone, so I shove my chair out from the table, feet scraping against the floor, and take my plate into the kitchen.
Light footsteps pad in behind me a moment later, and I don’t have to look to know it’s Skye. She wordlessly sets the rest of the dishes down on the counter next to me as I stare into the soapy bubbles filling the sink.
“I hate seeing you like this,” she says, her eyes glassy. “All stoic and walled off. You don’t feel like my older brother.”
Skye has a point. I’m not the same as I once was, getting into all kinds of trouble with Austin. While I’m glad I didn’t follow in his footsteps–I don’t exactly care to get tangled up with the law–I do wish I could lighten up sometimes. Have a little more fun.
“I’m doing what I have to,” I answer.
Head down, blinders on, until I get business sorted.
Then I can relax. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
I can relax when, I can have fun when. But when has been a distant speck in the future for the last two years.
Ever since Dad’s health went downhill. Congestive heart failure, while in the early stages, means that he has to be careful how much he exerts himself.
“Just don’t forget about the people who love you, who care about you.” Skye’s voice is quiet, and when I dare to look at her face, my chest pinches at the sight of those big blue shrink wrapped eyes. “I really do want to help, you know. I’d give you money for the ranch in a heartbeat.”
I reach out and squeeze her arm, and gently flick her nose with my index finger the way I used to when we were kids. She can’t help the smile that lifts the corners of her mouth.
“I know. And I love you so much for that, Skye,” I say. “But I won’t do it. That money is yours. Wild Sage isn’t your dream, and Sage Valley isn’t your forever. Put it in savings for something that really matters to you.”
She nods in acceptance and I watch her retreat from the kitchen. The front door opens and shuts a moment later. Then, I’m all alone, the only sounds of Dad moving around in the living room, settling in to watch his shows.
From where I’m standing at the kitchen sink, I can look out to the yard, across the lawn where Lyla does her morning yoga, over to the house she’s occupying.
There’s a light on in the bedroom, and I stop myself from imagining what Lyla does when she’s alone at night. I wonder if she’s ever lonely. She’s on her own a lot, and alluded to the fact that she’s never truly had a partner. Not even in the city.
Personally, I hate the thought of living in the city. The hustle and bustle in place of slow living, and concrete in place of tall grass, skyscrapers shadowing the streets in place of open skies. No one ever caring to get to know you. Not like in Sage Valley.
Some would argue that small towns feel suffocating, but me, I feel free. Free if it weren’t for the crushing weight of the responsibility of the ranch.
I felt some of that weight ease today, with Lyla. I felt more like myself, even though the situation with the fence was worse than I anticipated.
But I should have invited her to dinner.
She’s living on the property, two acres away, and she’s having dinner alone.
After she opened up to me and told me how she thinks people are put off by her emotions.
I meant what I told her, that no man would run from her feelings.
So where does that leave me? What kind of man does that make me if I shut her out because I can’t control my feelings?
There’s nothing left from dinner, but I have some peaches in the fridge.
They were Lyla’s favourite. I remember her and Austin returning from their family summer holiday in the Okanagan, the truck sagging a little lower on its way back from the amount of peaches they’d bring home.
Lyla would eat them all, juice dripping down her chin and hands, a huge smile on her face.
These might not be Okanagan peaches, but I peel them and slice them all the same, and put them in a bag along with the coconut whipped cream I picked up at the store the other day.
I thought she might like it if she came over for pancakes again.
Then, I make the walk across the yard to the guest house.
My heart stutters as I reach my hand up to knock on the wooden door to the bungalow. I hesitate, nerves fluttering around in my gut. The teenage boy inside me is still nervous to be near her, and yet eager to have any time alone together.
I rap my knuckles three times.
Footsteps get louder as they near the door.
It swings open, and she’s standing in front of me, all soft curves and smooth lines, hair tucked back into a clip, tendrils framing her heart shaped face.
She’s not wearing makeup, but her cheeks have a natural flush to them, eyelashes brushing them as she blinks at me.
Her plush lips open and close a few times before she speaks.
“Beck…” Lyla says, and god the way she says my name tonight makes me fucking weak in the knees. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I know, I think. I can tell based on the set of satin pyjamas that drape loosely over her curves. The lace edge of her tank top rises and falls with the shape of her full breasts.
I hold up the bag in my hand. “I brought you some dessert.”
She takes it when I hand it to her, her eyes going wide with delight when she looks inside and sees the peaches.
It makes my heart clench, seeing her happy like that.
I haven’t seen her happy–truly happy–since before she showed up here.
Maybe even longer. Since before the accident maybe.
It’s like her light was dimmed, and every once in a while, it shines through the cracks, reminding me that her fire is still there.
Hearing her talk about herself today, I wonder if she’s the one that tries to snuff it out.
“Thank you,” she says. “These are my favourite.”
I nod in recognition of that fact, a subtle confirmation that I remember.
My gaze flicks over her shoulder and into the kitchen.
The traditional style wooden pedestal table is now covered in loose papers, and legal boxes are spread around on the floor beside it.
Legal boxes that look familiar because they sat in an untouched and haphazard stack in the corner of Dad’s office.
I tip my chin toward them. “Doing some light reading?”
An exasperated sigh pushes out of Lyla’s lips, and her shoulders drop. “I’m trying to go through them and organize some of them but…”
“You’re fighting a losing battle?”
Lyla chews on the inside of her bottom lip and nods. “I wanted to try and get a handle on the books, see if I could find some funds for the fences for you, but it’s a mess.”
“Trust me, I know, I’ve spent many nights trying to figure out my dad’s ‘system’ as he liked to call it.”
Lyla chuckles and gestures toward the table, opening the front door a little wider. I spot Lyla’s tiny dog, if you can call it that, standing behind her. His head is tilted, tongue hanging out the side of his small muzzle.
“Care to join me? I could use your expertise.”
I scoff as if to say what expertise? But something stops me from answering right away.
Lyla and I have crossed some barriers–in good ways, but also in dangerous ones.
Those books? They’re nothing but a reminder that Lyla is my employee.
I hold myself to a high–some might say too high–standard with my employees.
It’s why I didn’t engage in the conversation about how hot Lyla was in her yoga attire the other day, despite everything in me wanting to agree.
I need to be on my best behaviour around my staff.
Especially staff who are also my best friend’s little sister.
Lyla, almost as if she senses me faltering, says “Honestly, it would be nice to have some company.”
That’s all it takes. My resolve shatters, so I follow her into the house.