Gone Country (31 page)

“Ask her where her boyfriend will be,” Sierra demanded. “And if he knows I’m her daughter and not her sister.”

What the fuck? When had that happened? Why hadn’t Sierra told him?

“What’s Sierra saying?” Ellen demanded. “Has she changed her mind? Tell her we’ll have a wonderful time together.”

Ellen spoke so loudly Sierra had heard every word.

This back and forth bullshit hurt his ears and his head. Nothing would be resolved today anyway. “Look, Ellen, let me talk it over with Sierra and we’ll figure something out. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, all right?”

A long pause. “All right. She’s my daughter too, Gavin. And don’t think for a second I don’t miss her, because I do.” She hung up.

Fuck. He wished he could just be pissed off at Ellen for being unreasonable, but she had a point. This was the longest she’d been away from Sierra. Granted, it’d been Ellen’s choice, but he felt he should at least try to find a way for them to spend time together.

He handed Sierra’s phone back.

“Please, Dad, don’t make me go.”

“Sierra, sweetheart—”

“I can’t believe you’re even considering this!”

I can’t either.

“You won’t let me drive into Sundance by myself but you’d send me halfway across the world by myself? That makes no sense.”

“She’s your mother. She has a right to see you.” Gavin glanced up to see that
I’ll argue this to death
stubborn set to his daughter’s chin so he tried a different approach. “She misses you. And I know you miss her too. So think about that before you say or do something rash.”

Sierra made an exasperated sound and stormed out.

He turned to the window and opened the shade. The sunshine reflecting off the snow made everything blindingly white. From this distance the pristine view looked like an old-fashioned scene from a vintage postcard.

Maybe it was silly and sentimental, but he’d been looking forward to their first Christmas in Wyoming. The snow covered pine trees and the chilly air made everything more festive. Add in all the upcoming McKay family parties and for once he wasn’t dreading the holidays.

Sierra had spent the last five Christmases with Ellen, leaving him to face the day alone. After his mother died the pity invites for Christmas dinner tended to piss him off—to the point he morphed into Scrooge the week before to stave off said invites.

He’d never been that big on holidays anyway, not even when his parents were alive, save for the few times he had Sierra all to himself on Christmas morning. Seeing her eyes light up when she saw her gift from Santa and the piles of presents from him. The two of them lazing around all morning in their pajamas, playing with her new toys and eating Christmas candy for breakfast.

Eventually they’d get ready for Christmas dinner at his parents’ house. Sierra dolled up in a fancy holiday dress—the more taffeta, lace and velvet the better, with matching shoes and hair ribbons.

Gavin remembered combing the tangles from her snarled hair and her explicit instructions on where to place the barrettes, headband or ponytail holder. Her instructions had amused him, because he’d been putting her hair in a ponytail or pigtails since she’d turned two.

Now she was sixteen. Sometimes he wondered how that’d happened so fast, her change from a sleepy-eyed toddler dragging her favorite Tigger blanket, to the eye-rolling teen with her hand out for the car keys.

Arms snaked around his waist. Body heat and his lover’s sweet honeysuckle scent surrounded him. Rielle placed a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“You okay?” she asked. “I heard Sierra’s door slam.”

“Yeah. Just lost in thought.”

“I know. I called your name but you didn’t answer.”

He turned around and held her face in his hands, kissing her deeply. When he eased back, she wore the secret smile that was an instant aphrodisiac. He seriously considered sweeping everything off his desk and taking her right there.

“I recognize that look in your eye, tycoon. But I’m afraid I’ll have to take a raincheck, since there are four loaves of cranberry orange hazelnut bread and eggnog spiced pumpkin bread baking in the oven that will require my attention shortly.”

“Mmm. Hot bread sounds almost as good as hot sex.” He kissed her again, with a little more zeal, letting his hands wander to fondle her breasts. When Rielle emitted that sexy squeak, he grinned at her. “Sorry. Just a self-reminder that nothing compares to sex with you.”

“You are tempting me to just let the damn bread burn.”

He had a brilliant idea. “Ree. What are you doing for Christmas?”

Her eyes narrowed at the abrupt subject change. “Same thing we do every year. Put up a tree, bake and eat until my jeans are too tight and hang out by the fireplace with Rory, chugging hot chocolate or wine…depending on the day. Why?”

“How would you like to go to Paris with me for Christmas?”

Rielle’s jaw dropped. “What? Paris? As in Paris, France?”

“I sure wasn’t talking about dragging you to Paris, Texas,” he said dryly.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Doesn’t that sound romantic? You and me strolling along the Seine? Kissing on the Eiffel Tower? Checking out the handmade goods at the markets? Sipping wine by candlelight in a cozy café? Rolling around in a big bed in our hotel suite?”

A couple long seconds passed before she said, “Gavin. I’m…stunned.”

“Good. Then say yes. We’ll spend two weeks together, just the two of us. You’ll be pampered like you deserve. You won’t have to lift a finger or do anything but relax.” He kissed her again. “You work too damn hard, honey. Let’s take a break.”

Rielle stepped back. “I can’t afford a trip like that.”

He tried to curb his offense, but his words came out clipped. “I don’t expect you to pay your way. I was inviting you as my guest.”

“As your guest?” The look in her eyes and her tone made the word guest sound like
whore
. “Then definitely not.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” She threw up her hands. “Who suggests a Christmas vacation in Paris? Who can just set aside two weeks and go play tourist? Maybe you can, but I sure as hell can’t. I have responsibilities—”

“Here we go. You act like you’re the only one in the world with a job, Ree. Like the entire state of Wyoming will fall into ruin if you’re not around to do your part.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re damn right it’s not. You work like a dog. Everybody takes time off once in a while. You never do. So excuse the hell out of me for wanting to give you something you’ve never had.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? You want to show me all I’ve been missing by taking me to a place I’d never be able to afford to go to on my own. Well guess what? I don’t care about any of that. I never have and I never will.” She clenched her hands into fists. “Don’t try and change me, Gavin. I am who I am.”

“This has nothing to do with me trying to change you, or seeing it as an opportunity to rub it in your face that I have a bigger bank account than you.”

“Yeah? Then how come you got so pissed off when you thought Vi was trying to buy Sierra’s affection? How is offering to take me on an all-expenses-paid trip to France any fucking different?”

“It’s a helluva lot different, but you’re too busy…” Goddammit.
Take your own advice. Stop and think before you say something you can’t take back.
“It’d be nice if you’d take that damn chip off your shoulder once in a while.”

“I will. Just as soon as you take that silver spoon out of your mouth.”

Fuck.

They were both angry. Breathing hard. Neither willing to back down.

The timer on her watch started to beep. She spun on her heel and left the room without a word.

He shouted, “Nice talking to you.”

That was mature.

He paced. Then he slumped against the wall. Was he really such a bad guy for wanting to spend some alone time with the woman he loved? Not that he’d told her that.

Would he ask her to drop everything and go to Paris with him if he wasn’t going for Sierra?

No.

Good thing that hadn’t come up, because it did put his offer in a different light.

Trying to get any work done in this frame of mind would be pointless. He changed clothes and ran five miles on the treadmill. Then he beat the crap out of his heavy bag until he could hardly hold his arms up.

After a long shower, he felt calmer. In a better frame of mind to tackle the problem, because it wasn’t going away, no matter how much he wished it would.

Paris.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Didn’t Gavin know her at all?

When had she ever let anyone pay for anything she hadn’t earned?

Never.

Being intimately involved with him shouldn’t earn her a trip to France, for Christsake.

Rielle placed the loaf pans on the cooling racks and loaded the next batch of bread into the oven. She glanced at the time. Noon. Where had this day gone? She set her watch and tackled the stack of dirty dishes.

Paris.

Besides, she didn’t have a passport. She angrily scrubbed the dishes. It was mortifying to admit that she’d never been on an airplane. She’d never been anywhere. She and Rory had taken a camping trip to Yellowstone once. She’d been to Denver a number of times. She’d driven into the Rockies. She’d visited the farm and range land in Nebraska. Same with the Black Hills and the prairie in western South Dakota.

So she couldn’t see herself buying luggage and boarding a plane that’d fly over the ocean when she’d never actually seen the ocean.

That is not Gavin’s fault.

Maybe she did have a chip on her shoulder.

Or worse, maybe she had the fear if Gavin took her someplace sophisticated, she’d embarrass him with her wide-eyed wonder. Maybe he’d realize that if she couldn’t live in his world even temporarily, then he couldn’t live in hers either.

Damned if she did; damned if she didn’t.

Once the dishes were done, she updated her short to-do list. This was the slow time of year for her.

Gavin knew that. Was that why he’d suggested taking a trip now? Because he understood how hard she’d be working again in another few months?

Possibly. But she didn’t believe it was a coincidence that Sierra’s mother was living in Paris and all of a sudden he planned a trip there. Was he trying to prove something to his ex-wife by inviting Rielle along? Especially since Sierra had mentioned her mother’s boyfriend?

Another three hours passed. She was thinking it odd she hadn’t seen Sierra or Gavin in the kitchen looking for food, when Sierra walked in.

Rielle smiled. “I wondered if you were so engrossed in your homework you forgot to eat.”

Sierra shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

That didn’t sound good. “You feel sick?”

She looked away, but not before Rielle noticed she’d been crying.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Then Sierra threw her arms around Rielle and sobbed.

Caught off guard, because this was unlike Sierra, she rubbed circles on the girl’s back, trying to soothe her.

It must’ve worked because Sierra sighed. “Thanks for the hug, Ree. I’m just having a shitty day.”

Welcome to the club
. “You’d probably feel better if you ate. I made a loaf of pumpkin bread. Would you like some?”

“Sure.”

Sierra watched from the breakfast bar as Rielle sliced two pieces and poured a cup of milk.

A small smile played on Sierra’s lips.

“What?”

“It’s like you’re feeding me milk and cookies.”

“Have you ever seen me bake cookies?”

Sierra’s brow furrowed. “No. I guess I haven’t.”

“That’s because I suck at cookies. I burn them. Or I undercook them. Or they’re too big. Or too small. Or they’re too squishy. Or too hard. So I’ll stick to baking breads, rolls and muffins.”

Sierra pinched off a corner of the bread and popped it in her mouth. “My dad used to eat a big blueberry muffin and a banana every day for breakfast. It drove me crazy because he never ate anything else. If he couldn’t have that then he wouldn’t eat.”

“I remember. But I’ve yet to see him eat a single muffin since he’s lived here.”

“Not on his diet anymore. Now he eats cereal or yogurt. Or something else disgustingly healthy.”

Rielle laughed.

Sierra broke off a couple more bites. Then she said, “I heard you guys fighting earlier.”

She blew across her cup of tea. “Does your dad know you overheard?”

“No. He’s been locked in his office.” Sierra looked up. “My mom wants me to come to Paris for Christmas. He won’t let me fly alone. So that means he’d be stuck in Paris for two weeks.”

She made a noncommittal noise.

“My mom…she can be such a bitch to him. She basically said he’d be better off not going to Paris since he doesn’t know the meaning of romance and wouldn’t know what to do with himself.”