Just Say Maybe: A Thistle Bend Novel (12 page)

He should hear my stories from me.

Regardless, Holly shook her head. “Not here. Not now.” She imagined how frustrating it had to be for him not to know the basis of Dean’s concerns—and her own. “Like I said to Dean about my grandpa, there’ll be a better way to tell you. A better time.”

He roughly swiped his napkin across his mouth, his expression tight. “I can see why this might not be an ideal setting. Clearly the story makes you emotional. But I’ve let you in on everything I’m doing with the lodge. Full access. Full disclosure. I need to understand where you’re coming from, even if it’s a really bad place.”

Her conscience nagged at her. What he was asking for was only fair. If she didn’t want to tell him her family’s story, she should’ve never accepted him as a client, much less gone with him to the lodge—twice.

And kissed him and promised him more.

Bryce was going ahead with his plans for the lodge regardless, and there were plenty other women who’d be interested in him. There were also other real estate lawyers he could employ. Either she walked away now, or opened up, hoping she could resolve the situation with her grandpa.

She slid her half-eaten slice of pizza back onto the pan. “Let’s wrap this up to go and get out of here.”

They left Pie in the Sky under the watchful gaze of many diners. Usually Holly would stop, greet people, and chat, but her mood was too somber for that. She kept her gaze focused forward, her thoughts in turmoil over what to do about Bryce…about her grandpa. This wasn’t how she’d imagined their not-yet-official date turning out—not by a long shot. It seemed like hours since she and Bryce had been playfully flirting across the booth from each other, the subject matter no heavier than pineapple versus pepperoni.

They got into the Jeep and Bryce drove Holly to her house, even though she could’ve easily walked the few blocks from the restaurant. It would’ve been way too awkward for her to tell him she’d rather walk, that time alone in the fresh air and twilight might help her get her mind straight.

Bryce parked the Jeep on the street in front of Holly’s place, a two-story Victorian farmhouse painted taupe with bright white trim and brown accents. There was even fish-scale siding beneath the main gable in front.

Home sweet home…

“I grew up in this house,” she said wistfully. “Turned cartwheels on the lawn, planted a little wildflower garden out back.”

Bryce turned off the engine but didn’t make a move to get out.

“When my parents moved to Florida a couple of years ago, I moved back in. They said as long as I’d let them stay when they visited, I could treat it as my own.”

My parents…

Holly struggled not to wince. She needed to call them, to explain what was going on. No doubt her dad would figure out something was up with her grandpa soon enough. But would her parents react as Dean had? Holly hated to even think about it.

“That’s a sweet deal.” Bryce lazily placed his hand on her thigh, its warmth seeping through the denim of her jeans. “I like the big front porch. Especially the swing.”

Holly almost smiled. That swing was a fixture in so many of her memories. “I’ve got a pretty awesome view of Paintbrush Peak from there.”

It’s perfect for watching sunsets.

But the afternoon had remained overcast since the storm, and the evening was much the same. Tonight would not be the night she invited him to watch the sunset with her…or the night she invited him in.

She placed her hand on top of his. “At the restaurant, I said there was a better way for me to tell you about my family’s experience with the lodge.”

“Yep,” he said.

“I need you to go back to your place tonight and read the articles circled in those newspapers we found in the suite. They’ll explain a lot, and give you some context. That way I can keep it simple when we talk about my family’s story.” She shrugged. “And maybe I won’t get so emotional.”

He nodded and squeezed her thigh. “It’s okay if you do.”

She gave him a rueful smile and nodded, suddenly exhausted from all that had happened since she’d met Bryce.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” He slid his hand from her thigh and unbuckled his seatbelt.

Holly’s heart pitched. Her emotions were so raw that his simple, chivalrous offer had her eyes welling. Bryce had sat like a gentleman through Dean’s reproach. Without pushing, he’d agreed to her request to read the newspaper stories, and now he was walking around to her side of the Jeep to politely let her out and walk her to the door. By every indication, he was too good to be true. She’d be a fool not to take a chance on him—and she’d better get herself straight before he withdrew the offer.

Bryce opened Holly’s door and she stepped out. They headed up the sidewalk in silence, his hand placed lightly at the small of her back. As they climbed the stairs, their boots scraped on the firm brick. She had a fleeting thought about the stairs leading to the side entrance of the lodge—the rotten planks, the splintery breaks.

Definitely should’ve used brick.

A cool evening breeze had the porch swing swaying ever so slightly, and Holly wished they could just relax there together and not talk. But there was too much between them that needed to be said.

They reached the door and she faced Bryce, certain that her weariness showed in her eyes. He gently lifted off her cap, hung it on the front door latch, and smoothed the loose strands of her hair away from her forehead, similar to what he’d done on the balcony at the lodge. Gathering her in his arms, he pressed her head against his taut chest and rocked her—more soothing than any porch swing, any day. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, calmed by his strong arms and steady presence.

“Let me know when you’re ready.” The rumble of his voice resonated in his chest and vibrated lightly against her ear. He kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek there.

How long had she yearned for a man with Bryce’s instincts and patience? He seemed to know exactly what she needed tonight. She imagined the thrill of having a relationship with a man like him, how fulfilling it could be on every level.

I have to take this chance.

But she also had to work things thorough with her grandpa and her parents.

Holly raised her head, bringing her face-to-face with Bryce. She reached up and turned his cap around backward, getting its bill out of her way, and making him look much younger. Skimming her fingers along his neck and tangling them in his hair, she cupped her hand at his nape and drew his head down. She pressed her forehead against his for a moment, a warm eddy of desire swirling beneath the calm.

“I will,” she whispered as she pressed her palm against his pec and clutched a handful of flannel in her fist. She tipped her head and met his lips with hers, swept away by the sweet sensation.

Slow.

Tender.

The urgency of passion reserved for another time.

Bryce’s tongue sought hers, the slow strokes lulling her senses, drawing her in, deepening her emotional need. He pulled her tightly to him, her curves pressed against lean muscle, her thoughts focused on nothing but him.

Holly lost herself in the hazy pleasure of the moment, wishing she knew how to make it last.

Eager to understand what he was missing, Bryce returned to his rental cabin just outside of town, grabbed a cold beer, and got to work. After getting everything organized, he settled in the center of the brushed-leather couch, took a sip of his beer, and set it on the end table next to the picture of his father and the woman from the suite. Their smiles seemed to dare him to solve their mystery, taunting him every time he looked at it. But that kept him motivated toward his goal of getting past this unexpected detour and moving forward.

Numerous newspapers were spread on his lap and by his sides. He’d arranged dozens more in chronological order on the split-log coffee table in front of him. The papers were brittle, yellow, and thin—nothing like the story he hoped to glean from them.

Bryce had resisted the temptation to first check out the calendars he’d swiped from the suite today, in favor of doing as Holly had asked. He had all night. If he could stay awake long enough, he’d get to the calendars next. Just like Holly had claimed about her story, the notations on the calendars were likely to make more sense if he had the context of the lodge’s history firmly in mind.

He already knew the gist of what had happened during the “lodge” years, but the detailed saga appeared to be even more compelling—as if someone should write a book or make a movie about it. But it had been real-life for Holly, her family, and the people of Thistle Bend.

Despite the significance of the story—especially to Bryce’s future—his thoughts kept drifting back to Holly and their kiss on her front porch. Cradling her in his arms in the Jeep during the storm had lit up his whole body, but tonight’s kiss had tugged at his heart. He squinted at the newspaper in his lap, type blurring as he tried to remember if he’d ever gotten that feeling when he had kissed Whitney.

Never.

And that was hard to admit to himself. He’d been prepared and eager to ask her to come live with him in Costa Rica. He’d thought he was in love. But he and Whitney had rarely had issues during the weeks they’d spent together, just a vacation lifestyle and decent sex.

Maybe this experience with Holly was meant to show him what he’d been missing with Whitney. He already had more warmth in his heart for Holly than he’d ever had for her. Even so, they had a long way to go if they were going to make it anywhere, and lots of obstacles to overcome.

Bryce sucked in a deep breath and blew it out with a hiss. Resting his head on the back of the couch, he stared at the tongue-in-grove ceiling, wishing things in his life would come together as seamlessly. There were so many pieces to fit into place, and he wasn’t even sure they were from the same puzzle.

His association with the lodge was his greatest challenge—with Holly and everyone else. Dean Dooley had made it clear what reactions Bryce could expect from some of the townspeople, once it was widely known that he was buying the lodge. Would he be able to go anywhere in public without people approaching him, eager to say their piece? Bryce hadn’t heard that expression in years, and he wished he hadn’t heard it from Dean today.

“They should’ve razed that place when they had the chance. That would’ve settled things for good.”

Oddly, Bryce couldn’t disagree. But if they had torn down the lodge, he never would’ve come to Thistle Bend. Never met Holly. And never had the chance to prove that he was not his father’s son.

Pushing thoughts of Dean’s remarks aside, Bryce forced himself to focus on the newspapers. The room grew chilly as he read. After an hour, he stood and stretched. He headed to the fridge to get another beer, then lit the logs in the stone fireplace. The energetic fire warmed the room quickly. As it burned down to embers, he read every circled article in the newspapers, beginning with
Evanston to Present Lodge Proposal to Town Council,
and ending with
FORECLOSED—The Saga of the Lodge at Wild Rose Ridge Ends,
one of several articles accompanied by pictures of his father. The sad tale took Bryce deep into the night and threatened to keep him awake for the rest of it.

He’d had no clue that debate over the lodge had been so heated, that people suspected his father of bribing town council members to get their votes of approval, or that Holly’s grandfather had been president of Thistle Bend Bank, the lodge’s financier. The poor guy had been tasked with breaking a stalemate between the board of directors, and he’d ultimately made the final decision to approve the loan. Article after article cited Fred Birdsong’s decision, seemingly blaming him for bringing the scourge of the lodge to bear upon Thistle Bend.

Bryce couldn’t imagine the kind of stress Fred Birdsong’s quandary had caused him and his family, or how it had affected them. Holly had been a high school girl, looking ahead to college, and suddenly her grandfather’s decision had become the talk of the town. She had to have been relieved to get away from it all, especially after bad things began to happen with the lodge—and continued to be blamed on her grandfather.

Before Bryce had come to Thistle Bend, he’d mistakenly thought the larger problems with the lodge had started after it was under construction—mistreatment of contractors and employees, partial paychecks and IOUs, and default on a big fat loan, leaving people unpaid and unemployed. But he’d only had a glimpse of the big picture.

His stomach pitched as he thought of what Holly and her family had been through—and everyone else who was negatively affected by the lodge.

My father was a terror from the start.

Something scratched at the back of his mind, something from the day he’d gone looking for a lawyer and been stunned to find that Holly was H. G. Birdsong. He’d been so busy trying to process the coincidence that he’d forgotten her exact words—until now.

“Adam Evanston started blazing a trail of wretchedness the moment he came to Thistle Bend.”

No understatement there. And Holly and her family hadn’t just stood by and watched as it happened. They’d personally suffered through it from the beginning.

And they’re still suffering today.

No wonder Dean had so vehemently taken up for his friend. From what Bryce could surmise from Dean’s comments to Holly, her grandmother had been around for the drama, yet must have passed away since. No wonder the story wrecked Holly’s emotions.

Although he couldn’t change the past or make things whole for Holly and her family, he was determined to make himself and the lodge positive influences in their lives.

While he was working on that, Bryce had to resolve his own unexpected issue with the lodge and his father. Finding the hidden suite had added a new layer of sickening intrigue to an already disturbing story. He assumed that the woman who’d likely lived there had circled the articles in the papers. That revealed little except an unusually keen interest in the negative drama caused by the lodge. Considering that the woman appeared to have been involved with his father, her interest wasn’t remarkable. But why save all the newspapers?

Despite the answers he’d found tonight, Bryce still had plenty of questions. Who was the woman, and what had become of her? Clearly his father had done plenty of people wrong, but was he an even crueler man than Bryce had realized?

As far as Bryce knew, his father was alive and presumably well, living in Las Vegas, working in management at one of the big casino hotels. But the young blonde Bryce had seen him pictured with on social media during the last five years was clearly not the woman from the suite.

Bone tired from trying to make sense of it all, he rubbed his forehead and dragged his hand down his face. He put the last newspaper on top of the stack, got up, and headed for bed. Despite the firm mattress and comfortable pillow, he doubted he could sleep soundly after the bedtime story he’d just read. Lying down, he stared at the dark ceiling, pushing thoughts of the lodge and the woman from his mind, and just thinking about Holly.

Holly…

A few hours later, the chirping of birds caused him to blink open his eyes. He’d been lucky enough to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, avoiding the nightmares he’d feared. Sun streamed in through a part in the curtains, and he squinted, his eyes adjusting to the light. He was surprised to see his clothes strewn across the foot of the bed—he usually hung them up or put them in the hamper so he wouldn’t have to bother with them in the morning. His mom had told him over and over that it was easier to deal with a mess right after he made it than to have to deal with it later.

The story he’d threaded together last night from the circled newspaper articles leapt into his mind. Clearly his father hadn’t adhered to his mother’s advice, and now Bryce was left to deal with the resulting mess.

And I’m going to start with Holly.

After a shower, a couple cups of coffee, and a slice of leftover pepperoni pizza, he got into the muddy Jeep and headed to Holly’s house. At just after eight, he hoped he wouldn’t be showing up too early. She’d told Dean she was going to help her grandpa plant a section of his garden today, and Bryce had no idea what time she would go. Hopefully he’d catch her before she left.

He pulled up in front of her house—pretty and bright, well kept, with a wisp of whimsy, nestled on the quiet corner. It was easy to imagine Holly growing up there, and living there now, as if her personality matched the place.

Bryce caught sight of her on the front porch swing and his heart hitched. He put the Jeep in park, grabbed the box he’d brought from the passenger seat, and got out.

Holly swayed in the cushioned swing, holding a mug with both hands, a multicolored quilt slung over her lap. The morning was chilly—upper forties at best. But this was summer to the people in Thistle Bend. After the harsh winters they endured, forty-something probably felt balmy.

She waved at him shyly as he made his way along the sidewalk, up the stairs, and onto the porch. Bryce loved her fresh-morning look—her hair all tousled and loose and sexy. She normally kept her makeup light, yet he admired her face without it, getting a clearer vision of little-girl Holly who’d turned cartwheels on the lawn. Her milk-chocolate-brown fleece pullover brought out the gold in her eyes, and they shimmered in the morning sun.

“Hi there,” she said as he approached, his hiking boots thudding on the porch’s painted planks.

He fought the urge to sit right down and kiss her. “Thought you might be looking for this.” He held out the box.

Her eyes brightened. “Yes! Pineapple pizza is definitely what’s for breakfast.”

He flattened his hand against his stomach. “Or pepperoni.”

“Hope you were able to enjoy it more this morning,” she said with chagrin, setting the box aside. She lifted her mug. “Get you some coffee?”

“Thanks, but I’m already buzzing from two big cups.”

“Lucky you.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure.”

Holly touched her moccasins to the floor and stopped the swing from swaying. He joined her, pushing off of the balls of his feet and setting the swing in motion again.

“Man,” he said, getting an eyeful of rugged Paintbrush Peak with the full-wattage blue sky glowing behind it. “You do have quite a view.”

She smiled softly. “That mountain has been a part of my life for so long, but I never get tired of it. It’s so majestic and amazing. Quietly focusing on it is like a spiritual experience for me. Somehow it keeps me grounded.”

“I understand. It’s like getting the gift of awe, seeing something so naturally magnificent every day.” All of the adrenaline-infused highs he’d experienced doing adventure sports weren’t nearly as satisfying as some of his calmer moments spent appreciating nature at its most beautiful. From an unexpected wildflower to a giant redwood. A towering, snow-covered mountain, or a vast serene sea. Bryce wanted a woman who could relate—a woman with whom he could share those moments. “I have a view from my villa in Costa Rica that does the same for me.”

She took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “I bet it’s amazing.”

“I’d like for you to see it someday.” Worried that she might not be interested, his stomach knotted around the slice of pepperoni pizza he’d eaten earlier.

“Don’t even tell me about it,” she said.

His heart stuttered. That sucker punch had come from nowhere. Here he was thinking that the two of them were really connecting, and she didn’t even want to hear about it?

Holly gave him a sidelong look, the hint of a curve at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t want any preconceived notions. I’d rather be completely surprised and blown away when I see it.”

Bryce exhaled. He’d love to take her to Los Halcón, to show her what his life was like there, and see how she might fit in with it. He reached behind her and propped his arm on the back of the swing, skimming his fingers along her shoulder and tangling them in her hair. “Fair enough.”

She nodded once, looking pleased with their plan. Her mood seemed to have lifted since last night. He hated to bring it back down with talk of the lodge, but that was the main reason he’d come.

The swing swayed back and forth and they sat for a while in silence.

“I read the newspapers.” Bryce dared to ruin the mellow moment.

“Thank you.” She gave him a rueful smile. “All the lodge issues were really hard on my grandpa, and that affected all of us.”

“I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for him. That little talking-to I got from Dean yesterday wasn’t the most pleasant encounter, and your grandpa was getting that kind of stuff every day—for years.”

Holly lifted one shoulder. “He was getting some encouragement, too. Especially in the beginning when he had to make the decision about the loan. But after that, it was mostly people blaming or complaining. He’s such a good-hearted man—he never meant to cause harm to anyone. It really wore on him.”

This wasn’t about Bryce, but he could envision himself experiencing the same thing as soon as word got around town that he was buying the lodge.

Holly drew her feet up into the swing and sat cross-legged, rearranging the quilt so it covered his lap, too. “My grandma warned him that he’d take all the blame for whatever went wrong and that vile Adam Evanston would get all the credit should things go right.”