Only in My Dreams Page 15

  “You could actually say that to me since I’m sitting right here,” Kyle said. “You act like I left you in the lurch or something. So I didn’t want the job Dad offered me; why does that make me the bad guy?”

  Hayden glared at him. “Because he needed someone and you were available. And really, don’t you think leaving a note on the kitchen counter and jumping on a plane smacks of running away?”

  Kyle’s jaw tightened and he looked away. Yeah, he’d run away all right. Sara only wished she knew why.

  Hayden leaned his hip against the counter. “So why come back now? It’s not like you give a damn about this project. You don’t respond to any of the e-mails about it.”

  Sara almost wanted to join him in lambasting Kyle, but she felt Mom tense. Stroking her hand, Sara watched her warily.

  “He’s come back to participate, just like I knew he would,” Mom said, pivoting to look at Hayden.

  Kyle turned his stool toward him. “Alex wanted me to manage the restaurant. I changed my mind. I want to be involved from the beginning.”

  “Classic. Let’s all wait around for Kyle to make up his mind.” Hayden set his beer down on the granite counter with a loud clack. “Maybe if you read the e-mails, you’d know we’re nowhere near breaking ground on the restaurant.”

  Kyle crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, his blue-green eyes chilly. “I do read the e-mails, which is how I know Tori is getting ready to draft a design for the restaurant. I’d like to give input.”

  Hayden flicked a disbelieving glance at Sara. She was as surprised as him. Reaching for her sleeve, she remembered her hoodie was back at the job site. With Dylan. No, she couldn’t think about him right now. “You really came back to participate?” she asked. “What about your precious job?” He’d claimed to have found his calling as a beach bartender, which none of them believed or understood. He was a brilliant chef, and concocting tropical drinks was a waste of his considerable talent.

  “I left.” His eyes narrowed. “Why is it so hard to accept that I decided I should come home?”

  “Because you’ve never showed the slightest inclination.” Hayden’s pale blue eyes flashed. “Come on, something prompted you to come back. Did you run out of money? Get fired maybe?”

  Both of those things had happened back when Kyle had been living in Portland. Which is what made his refusal of Dad’s job offer all the more puzzling. Why turn that down and run off to Florida where he had to start over?

  “Yes, Hayden, I burned through my entire trust fund.” The sarcasm in his tone was razor sharp.

  “Stop it.” Mom’s voice cut through the kitchen with the precision of a cold, steel blade. “I won’t sit here and listen to you talk to each other this way. Kyle is home, and he’s here to help.”

  “For how long?” Dad stepped into the kitchen and joined Hayden at the smaller island.

  Hayden pulled a pint from the keg and set it on the counter in front of Dad. Then he circled around to the end of the counter.

  “Indefinitely,” Kyle answered, his gaze turning circumspect with Dad’s arrival. Kyle had pissed off a lot of people in the family, but none more than Dad. And maybe Derek. They’d been the best of friends until Kyle had gone to Florida. Something had happened to completely tear their friendship apart—Derek said it was just that Kyle had chosen to run from accountability, but Sara knew it had to be more than that. Did Derek know he was back?

  Dad snorted before taking a drink of his beer.

  Mom stepped from her stool and angled herself toward Dad. “I’m glad he’s home even if you aren’t.” They always argued about Kyle. Dad was unforgiving about him leaving four years ago, while Mom tried to understand her son’s choice.

  Dad shook his head dispassionately. “I told you not to buy him a ticket.”

  “You tell me a lot of things I choose to ignore. And that’s my prerogative,” Mom snapped, showing a fire she’d kept hidden beneath a layer of sadness since Alex’s death. Tension swirled in the room, making Sara want to crawl out of her skin.

  “Like seeing a shrink,” Dad muttered.

  Mom narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, like seeing a shrink. You should try it.”

  Sara looked between her parents. What was going on here? She knew things were difficult around the house—the routine they’d had for years had imploded with Alex’s suicide—but was it more than that?

  Dad shook his head at his beer. “No, thanks.”

  Mom leaned forward on her stool, her body tight with emotion. “Rob, our son killed himself. You can’t bury your head in the sand.”

  Tears built behind Sara’s eyes, and her throat pinched. Her senses thrummed with the need to run or jump or swing—anything to release the tension. “Dad, maybe you could go to the counselor with Mom. I think it would help.”

  “It sure as hell wouldn’t hurt,” Kyle said gruffly, as though he was also fighting back some emotion.

  Sara had almost forgotten he was there. She ran her fingers along the edge of the counter, pressing against the smooth ridge.

  Dad looked down and curled his hand around the base of his pint glass emblazoned with the Archer logo. “Look at what therapy did for Alex.” He raised his head and the look in his eyes chilled Sara to the bone. “Absolutely nothing. He killed himself in the end, didn’t he?”

  A darkness seemed to encompass the room. Everyone went completely still—no movement, no breathing, nothing but shock and emptiness. It felt like the day Alex had died.

  Mom’s hand went to her mouth. Then she turned and stalked from the kitchen.

  “Brilliant move, Dad.” Hayden swore violently and left, going toward the mudroom.

  Sara wished Hayden hadn’t left her alone with the two men she least wanted to spend time with. She looked between them. “You’re both Class-A jackasses.”

  As she turned and walked from the kitchen, Kyle’s voice followed her. “Hey, I’m not the one who provoked Mom!”

  Maybe not, but his coming home had completely upset the apple cart. Hell, who was she kidding? The apple cart was in irreparable pieces at the bottom of a ravine.

  She crossed the house to Mom and Dad’s bedroom. The door was closed so she rapped softly. “Mom? It’s me. Can I come in?”

  She heard sniffing and a muffled response that might’ve been “yes.” Taking that as a sufficient affirmative response, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

  Mom and Dad’s suite was huge—bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, his-and-hers closets. Sara turned to the left and saw Mom in the sitting room perched on the edge of her favorite chair, which was situated near the tall French doors that led to a veranda overlooking the rose garden. A long, cozy couch faced the fireplace. Sara had so many memories of snuggling up there for stories or even to sleep if she’d woken up in the middle of the night. More than anything, she recalled happier times of Mom and Dad sitting there together, their legs propped on the leather footstool where they would play footsie. The vision faded, slipping away like a distant memory. Her heart constricted.

  Mom dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. “Please don’t be too hard on Kyle. I know you were upset that he left so suddenly and that he rarely came home to visit.”

  “So were you,” Sara gently reminded, then wished she hadn’t. Being right wasn’t important here. Helping Mom feel better was.

  “I was. I am. I still don’t understand why he went.” She looked up at Sara. “And yes, I admit I’m surprised he came back now, but I won’t question it. Not when having my children around me is the only thing keeping me sane. I’m happy he’s home.”

  And just like that, Sara’s heart broke all over again and she wondered if the pieces would ever fit back together.

  DYLAN’S FINGERS HOVERED over the laptop keys as he considered how to sign his e-mail to Sara. He’d detailed the demolition of the house, which they would finish today, and plans for removing the roof in order to add on the new second story. In the end, he just typed: “Your hoodie sweat
shirt is in the office if you want to pick it up. Dylan.” He hit SEND before he could overanalyze anything.

  He felt bad about how their conversation had gone the other day, but it was for the best. They couldn’t keep pawing after each other, not when neither one of them wanted anything more. A horny voice in the back of his head asked, But if you both want the physical, why not do that? And answered, Because she’s your boss, numbnuts.

  He pushed up from the desk just as his e-mail sounded. He sat back down and pulled it up. He ignored the shaft of disappointment when he saw it was from Tori, not Sara. He’d emailed Tori about the underground space and pitched the pub idea to her. He quickly read through her response, which was positive. She’d be back in town next week and asked if they could meet to discuss. Dylan typed in a response, feeling buoyed by the turn of events. Contracting the additional phases seemed closer than ever.

  He shut his laptop and stood just as the door to the office swung open. Sara stepped inside and Dylan’s body reacted instantly. She looked fresh and beautiful, dressed in skinny jeans and a light ivory sweater with ankle-high boots that made her legs look impossibly long. And sexy.

  She glanced at him, but looked away quickly. “Hey, I came by to pick up my hoodie. I left it in the basement the other day.”

  “It’s there.” He pointed toward the coat rack to the left of the door. “I just sent you an e-mail.”

  She pulled the hoodie down and laid it over her arm. “Oh? How’s everything going?”

  “We’re finishing up demo today, but we may have to knock off a little early with the storm coming in.”

  “Yeah, that’s too bad.”

  The awkwardness of their stilted conversation was making him antsy. He wondered if this was what her sensory disorder felt like. “I’m going to meet with Tori next week about the underground space.”

  Her fingers stroked the hoodie. “You told her your idea?”

  “Yes.” Dylan frowned. He didn’t want their interactions to be like this from now on. They’d been friends, hadn’t they? “Listen, I want to apologize for the other day. I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I hope we can go back to the way things were—coworkers and . . . friends.”

  She looked at him finally, but her gaze was guarded, skeptical. “Maybe not exactly the way things were.”

  The attraction. They couldn’t go back to that. At least that’s what he thought she meant. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

  She nodded. “I’ll do the same.” Still, she didn’t relax.

  “Is there something else bothering you?” he asked. “I could be your friend, if you need one.”

  “Family stuff. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  Probably just as well she didn’t want to discuss it. He wasn’t exactly an expert in the family department.

  Her phone rang—a chime that sounded like falling rain. She pulled it from her back pocket and glanced at the display before answering the call and putting the phone to her ear. “Hey, Craig.”

  Who was Craig? Dylan wasn’t sure if he should wait or give her some privacy, but she was blocking the doorway, so he didn’t have a choice but to stand there. Which he perversely realized was fine with him because he wanted to know who the hell Craig was.

  “Can it wait? I’m a little tied up.” She looked at the floor and toed her boot across a line in the linoleum. “Oh? Uh, okay. I’ll be there in a few.” She hit the display and stuffed the phone back into her pocket.

  The call had sounded important, not anything flirty, which calmed the flash of jealousy he’d felt. Little worry lines streaked across her forehead.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “I need to go meet with my assistant.”

  Assistant. He ignored the pulse of relief. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s been running things for me while I’ve been back in Ribbon Ridge. I thought he’d figured things out, but maybe not.” There was a vulnerability lurking in her clear blue eyes, and he had the urge to hug her. “Thanks for bringing my hoodie up. See you later.”

  She turned and left. Dylan stopped himself before he could follow her and try to soothe whatever was causing her distress. That wasn’t his job. They were tentative friends at this point.

  What sort of family problems was she having? It could just be related to her brother’s death. Dylan knew from losing fellow soldiers in combat that someone’s death stayed with you, and he imagined it was exponentially harder when it was your immediate family. He couldn’t imagine losing one of his siblings.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face to banish the dark thoughts. Which left him dwelling on Sara, something else he needed to stop doing. He needed to get his head on straight—preferably without Sara Archer lodged in the dead center of it. Losing himself in a one-night-forget-fest sounded like an excellent cure for what was ailing him. And this time, he’d damn well go through with it.

  After downing an energy drink from the fridge, he strode to the door and swung it open perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary. He stopped short at the top of the pair of steps and blinked. Kyle Archer was standing a few feet away. Dylan hadn’t seen him in years, but they’d been on the football team together in high school and he hadn’t changed that much.

  Kyle smiled and raised a hand. “Hey, Dylan. Good to see you.”

  “Yeah, you, too.” Dylan stepped down from the trailer. “I didn’t know you were here.” Was this why Sara was upset? Kyle had been AWOL for the renovation project. Maybe his return had caused an uproar at home.

  “I came in a few days ago,” Kyle said. “I wanted to check things out. Will you show me around?”

  “Sure.” Dylan walked from the trailer toward the dirt track.

  Kyle fell into step beside him. “I was pretty stoked to hear they’d hired you for the gig.”

  “Just for the house,” Dylan kept his tone even. “They haven’t hired anyone for the next phases.”

  “Well, if it’s up to me, I’d love to have you work on the restaurant. That’s going to be my gig.”

  The way that the cottage was Sara’s. “I’d be happy to do it.”

  “Yeah, I saw your proposal. I think they should’ve hired you outright.”

  Dylan shook his head and looked at him askance. “Too bad you weren’t here when they decided.”

  “I take it they’ve shared their irritation with me.” His voice had darkened.

  Dylan shot him an inquisitive glance, not that Kyle could see it through Dylan’s sunglasses. “Uh, no. Should they have?”

  “They’re all pissed at me for not being here.” Which probably did explain Sara’s mood. Now Dylan found himself annoyed with Kyle on her behalf. Kyle slowed. “The best part? Now I am here, and they’re still pissed.”

  Yep, that explained it all right. “Cut them some slack. They’re going through a rough time.” He was speaking for Sara, but it was true for all of them.

  “So am I. My brother died, too.” He sounded defensive and sad.

  “I don’t think it’s a contest.”

  Kyle stopped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Dylan wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “Nothing. I’m not a great confidant about this sort of thing. Family’s not exactly my forte.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Sorry. You’re right that it’s a rough time.” Kyle started walking again. “How is everyone? Your dad? Your brothers? Your stepmonster?”

  Dylan chuckled. He hadn’t called Angie that in years. “They’re good. Cameron’s working for a winery here. Sales. Luke’s a vineyard manager down in Napa, and Jamie’s working on his master’s.”

  “Bunch of losers, just like I said they’d be. Looks like the army treated you well. I was sorry to hear about you and Jess. I really thought you guys were in it for the long haul.”

  “A lot of people did. But you remember her mom, right?”

  Kyle winced. “How could I forget? She was the worst ‘cheer mom’ in town. Freaking nightm
are.” He shuddered. “Is that why you and Jess split? Her mom?”

  “Partially.” Jess was particularly close to her family, which had made her separation from them difficult. To Dylan, it had simply been another instance of him coming last in a family unit. Kyle had done a nice job deflecting the conversation. Two could play at that. “Why’d you leave Ribbon Ridge?”

  Kyle threw Dylan an enigmatic look. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Anyway, it doesn’t matter since I’m back now.”

  “I don’t think your family feels that way. You said so yourself. If you’re going to barge back into their lives, do it with a little finesse. And a lot of explanation.” Damn, where had all that come from? He’d already chastised himself for failing to mind his own business. And yet, here he was sticking his nose in.

  They’d reached the house. Kyle turned toward him. “Seems like you know quite a bit. I passed Sara on the road when I drove in. Did she say something?”

  “No.” But now Dylan wanted to ask her. “Forget I said anything. It’s really none of my business.”

  Kyle studied him a minute longer. He let his shoulders relax. “I appreciate you caring, for what it’s worth.”

  Caring about the Archers was something Dylan didn’t have time for. He liked them, but his primary objective was to continue their business relationship. To that end, he’d do best to keep his trap shut. “Come inside and I’ll show you around.”

  Chapter Twelve

  THE DRIVE DOWN the hill from the monastery—rather, The Alex—could be nausea-inducing enough with its twists and turns. Throw in Craig’s demand to see Sara immediately and her already unsettled insides thanks to family drama, and she was ready to hurl by the time she drove into Ribbon Ridge proper.

  She parallel parked a block away from Books and Brew and stepped out of her Audi into the darkening day. Locking the car, she told herself that whatever Craig’s crisis was, it couldn’t eclipse the situation with her parents or Kyle’s return. No, she could totally handle whatever Craig threw at her. In fact, it would probably do her good to have some major distraction.

  Books and Brew was Ribbon Ridge’s only bookstore. It carried every genre and hosted “Meet the Author Mondays” on the first Monday night of each month. The best part of Books and Brew was that the brew referred to beer as well as coffee. They’d arranged a deal with Archer to pour their beers, including a special variety only available there: a strawberry-infused ale called Artemis. It was Sara’s favorite beer, if such a thing existed, and she idly wondered if—she glanced at her phone—eleven was too early to drink.