Chapter 2 Stone
Stone
“Boss, you gotta see this,” Ron calls from outside the trailer.
I slam a fist down on my desk. “Dammit!”
“Okay, we’ll leave,” he shouts.
“No, not you.” I rub my face with both hands and groan. On my phone is an image of the original vinyl recording of Saxophone Colossus—an album that just slipped through my fingers.
CollectorPrep561 beat me in the auction.
Again.
How do they keep doing that?
One day I will track down this person and make them a scathingly obscene offer for every vinyl in their possession. They won’t hesitate to sell, and I’ll finally win the albums they’ve technically stolen / not stolen out from under me.
I slip the phone into my pocket. “Come in!”
The trailer door swings open and Ron and Isaac enter. Isaac tips his hard hat to me, while Ron pulls his off as if he’s stepped into a church.
They oversee the resort construction, hired by my brother because they’re his friends. Decent guys. Smart. Honest. Honesty is a good thing.
It’s the best thing.
I grab my hard hat from the desk and put it on. “What’s up?”
Isaac smooths a hand down the braids that fall over his shoulder. “You need to see this.”
“What? Did something happen? Did the shipment not come in?”
They exchange a charged glance and Ron smirks. “Nothing like that. It’s different.”
“Okay, show me.”
Outside, workers jackhammer, steel beams go up, and the Summit at Mystic Meadows is being framed out. It’s the first solo project my brother and I have taken on, and my future rides on it.
We pass a pile of bricks that was unloaded in the wrong place. “Isaac, get those bricks moved. Whoever told the delivery guy to put them there should have known better.”
“Yes, sir.”
My phone rings while we’re walking and I pull it from my pocket.
The name Sylvia flashes on the screen.
Mom.
My step falters. It’s been months since she called, and I hoped she’d given up trying.
Before I can steel myself, the sharp cut of betrayal washes over me. It’s so profound, so sudden, it feels like my chest is being ripped open. It takes everything I’ve got to push it aside, to breathe through it and not let rage worm its way inside me.
She lied to me for the better part of my life and somehow thinks a simple phone call will solve everything.
I push the button to end the call before it can even begin.
There’s nothing she can say to change what she did.
The guys stop and it’s only then that I realize I’m not walking. “Sorry.”
“We found it over here,” Isaac tells me as we reach a line of trees that hasn’t been cleared.
“Found what?”
“This.”
Ron steps into the brush and when he comes out, he cradles a small white creature with a stubby golden horn shooting out from the middle of its forehead.
Isaac gestures to it like a game show host. “We present your very own lambicorn. Found on-site and now the property of one Stone Maddox.”
“No thanks.”
My brother discovered one the night he got married. Wasn’t that enough? Why does Mystic Meadows need two of them?
Besides, the creature looks like a tiny wet goblin. “Sorry, guys. Not interested.”
Ron pets it lovingly. “But it’s a magical creature that just appeared. You gotta take it, Stone. Give it to Pane and Rowe.”
“First”—I tick points off on my fingers—“my brother and his wife are on their extended honeymoon. Second, I wouldn’t know where to put it.
Third, I’m not interested in the responsibility.
What if I let it down? What if it thinks I’m its real father and years later discovers the truth, that I’ve been lying to it its whole life? ”
I admit that last part sounds pretty bitter.
The men’s mouths fall open.
“What?” I shrug.
Isaac blinks. “Not a thing, boss.”
Ron gazes at the creature lovingly. See? He’s a natural Dr. Dolittle. Unlike me.
“I can’t take it, either. Jennifer will kill me. Have you seen how much these things poop?”
“All the more reason for you to put it back where you found it. How’d it get here in the first place?”
Isaac hitches one shoulder. “How do any of the creatures get here? The unicorns? The piggycorns? They just appear.”
“Next thing you know, magical people will be walking out of the bushes.”
“No, boss.” Isaac crosses his arms. “Mystic Meadows has a strict no-people-with-magic policy. The town won’t tolerate them.”
“Why’s that?”
“Something that happened a long time ago. But”—he grins, showing off a row of gleaming white teeth—“lambicorn.”
I shake my head. “Why don’t you take it?”
“Because I don’t have time to watch it—between being here and the bar, there isn’t space to nurture it the way it should be.”
They stare at me expectantly. “And what makes you think I have time to do this?” Both men glance at the trailer and then back at me. “Oh no. I’m really bad with living things. The last plant I had? It died a slow death—and that was a cactus. Do you know how hard it is to kill a cactus?”
“You’ll be fine.” Ron pushes the lambiwhatever—okay, fine, corn. He pushes the lambicorn into my arms. “It’ll drink goat’s milk. Be sure to warm it up.”
Then they walk off, leaving me alone with the baby.
I put it down and follow the men. “I don’t want it.”
Ron shoots a look over his shoulder. “Looks like it wants you.”
I turn back to see the lambicorn following me. Or them. It could be following them. After all, Ron did touch it first. Maybe it imprinted on him and now believes Ron to be its slightly overweight and balding mother.
I head back to the trailer. Not my lambicorn. Not my problem.
I open the door and walk through. I turn to shut it behind me and—
“Baaaaaaaa.”
It looks up with big brown eyes that will not make me fold. “Listen, kid, I’m not your mom. Or your dad. I’m not interested in complications. I want to build this resort, make my money, and move on. Got it?”
“Baaaaaaaa.”
What is it with this sheep? Can’t it take a hint?
Just as I’m about to shoo it away—I mean, really shoo, like actually push the creature into the woods where maybe it can find another lambicorn and live happily ever after—a car drives up the red-clay landscape and comes to a halt.
I figure it’s one of the workers showing up late, but when I peer closer, it’s a woman.
At a construction site.
Don’t get me wrong, plenty of women are fixtures on construction sites, but not this one. This is an all-dude affair.
When she exits the car, the first thing I notice is how her dark hair is slicked up into a tight, perfect bun. She’s wearing jeans, a flowy shirt, and heels. But it’s the bun that grabs my attention. It gives her this whole librarian vibe that’s very alluring.
And her legs—they’re astronomically long. Wow.
The urge to meet her is like a punch in the face.
She hauls a stack of papers from the car and shuts the door by bumping it with her rear end—which is quite round and very attractive. Then my date with destiny takes a long look at the steel beams and the poured foundation.
Impressive, I know.
She frowns. At my construction site. Peers again. Takes off her sunglasses and stares.
“Can I help you?” I ask, approaching.
She spins toward me, startled, and every piece of paper slips from her grasp. They plummet to the ground like a waterfall, and she drops to her knees to gather the scattered sheets.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
I bend down to grab a few of the pages and hand them to her, wiping off the dirt first.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The woman, still crouching, looks at me and smiles. Freckles constellate her red cheeks and she has big doe eyes. Long, dark lashes. She appears a bit younger than my thirty-five years.
“Can I help you?” I repeat, rising.
She clears her throat nervously and unfolds. “I’m looking for—”
The lambicorn bleats and she gasps. “It is a lambicorn! I saw it from the car. Where did you get it?”
Her eyes flash up to me. They’re hazel—gold and brown. Warm.
Before I can answer, she shoves the mess of papers into my hands, picks up the lambicorn, and hugs it. “She is so sweet. Is it a she?”
“No idea. It just showed up.”
“Where?”
“In the woods. It’s yours if you want it.”
She rubs her cheek against its head. “Awwwww. You are so sweet.” The sheep closes its eyes, clearly enjoying the affection. “I’ve heard they imprint on one person and that becomes their mom.”
“This is your lucky day, because it looks like it’s imprinting on you.”
The woman grins at me again, and I find my own lips tipping skyward, all thoughts of my mom forgotten. She puts the lambicorn down and gives its head another stroke.
“Let’s see who it goes to.” She steps away and the lambicorn pads over to me.
Great.
“The lambi has spoken. You are her new daddy.”
I rub my cheek. “It’ll be the first time someone’s called me that.”
“That’s good.” Then she quickly adds, “Unless you want someone to call you daddy. If that’s the case, then I take back my previous statement.”
“No one’s calling me daddy. You’re good. I mean, I don’t know if you’re good, and when I say that, I’m not trying to be suggestive. I just met you, obviously. I have no idea if you’re good. Wait. Does it feel like I’m digging an actual hole with my mouth, or is it just me?”
She laughs, and our gazes latch for a beat. She looks away first, and when she does, my pulse skips in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time.
I’ve been so focused on the resort and, before that, the competition with Pane that there hasn’t been time for stopping to smell the roses.
Some people might say I’ve buried myself in work to avoid other things (looking at you, Mom). But it’s almost impossible for outsiders to understand the burden that comes with the last name Maddox.
Failure is not an option.
But this sensation—feeling my heart like this—is good and, sadly, foreign.
I plow my fingers through my hair, trying to tamp down this sensation swirling in my rib cage. “But really, lambicorns and construction sites don’t mix.”
“Not unless you want them to,” she tells me. “If you want anything to work, it will. All it takes is a little commitment.”
“Is that a poster with a cat on it?”
“Sounds like you’re an expert. You must have one in that trailer of yours.”
“I may allow a lot of things, but I draw the line at cat posters.”
“Too bad. I’m a sucker for them.” Our gazes lock again and hold a beat too long. She breaks first. “Even if you don’t believe it, I bet you’d be a great dad to this little guy.”
A great dad.
Those three words encase my chest in ice.
“If you only knew,” I mutter bitterly, and curse myself because she wasn’t supposed to hear that.
But she does, and she peers at me as if peeling back my wards, catching a rare glimpse of the dips and valleys carved in my heart.
“Trust me,” I say dismissively, in an attempt to take control of the narrative, “there’s nothing I want more than to be unconditionally loved by this little guy. But I’m afraid my life isn’t conducive to lambicorns.” I offer my hand. “I’m Stone Maddox, by the way.”
“Coco Higginbotham.” She shakes my hand. It’s warm, like her eyes.
“Higginbotham? That’s a mouthful.”
“Yes, it is. I’m from the Department of Zoning and Development. I’m the new magical land coordinator.”
I frown. “What exactly do you do?”
She lifts her chin and says proudly, “I review development permits, ensure projects are in harmony with the town’s environmental zoning, and act as the town’s liaison for ‘sustainable integration,’ which includes symbolic preservation of magical sites—like where the unicorns and piggycorns first showed up.
And now that you have a lambicorn, I guess here, too. ”
I shoot her a grin. “That’s even more of a mouthful than your last name.”
“It is,” she replies, laughing. “But it really just means I’m here to sign off on the resort.”
“Let me get you a hard hat and we’ll walk the site.”
I grab an extra hat from the trailer, but when she tries to put it on, her bun is in the way.
“Is that a pencil sticking out of your hair?”
“Yeah.” The tops of her ears redden in embarrassment. “Sometimes I do that.”
“Let me get it for you.”
I gently remove the pencil and Coco shakes out her hair. The wind catches it, and I stare, mesmerized as ebony strands flip, then spill over her shoulders.
Coco blushes, and it’s . . . adorable.
Dammit. No complications. No ties. No lambicorns. No tangled emotions. I’m here to build a resort and that’s it.
“Here you go.” I hand her the pencil. “Unless there’s some other place you’d like to put this? Maybe through a buttonhole?”
“No. Thanks, though.”
“All right.” I clap my hands, inwardly scolding myself for saying something so dumb. What the hell, Stone? Does flirting now include using props like hair accessories? “Let me show you around.”
As I lead her through the construction site, she stays right beside me. “Watch your step,” I tell her as she nears a mound of clay.
She steps over it while studying the site, eyeing the machines and the men sharply. But when we get close to the building, she stops.
Coco approaches one of the beams and touches it. Tips her head like she’s listening to fairies whispering from inside the steel or something.
“You okay?”
She doesn’t respond but moves through the space, continuing to touch and tip her head.
“Ms. Higginbotham?”
She blinks, sucks in a deep inhale.
“Are. You. Okay?”
“No, I’m not.”
Please don’t vomit. The last thing I need is for her to throw up and then have the lambicorn eat it. Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.
“You look a little pale. Do you need to sit down? Drink some water?”
“No. It’s not me. It’s this building.” She runs a hand down a beam. “It isn’t right.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just what I said.” She hugs the papers to her chest and shivers. “You have to stop construction right now. You can’t build this resort—not like this.”
“What do you mean, I have to stop building?”
She eyes the steel beams and the workers. The sounds of construction are thick in the air: warning alarms as machines reverse, rocks being dumped in the background, men talking.
Coco’s expression becomes grim. “Because if you don’t, you’ll destroy the magic in this land.”
My jaw tightens, and only one thought flashes in my mind: There’s no way in hell I’m changing one damn thing—magic or not.