Chapter Eight

 

Leaving her room and the egotistical scoundrel in it behind, Colby beelined to her mother’s, a palatial suite all in itself, complete with a lavish sitting area looking out over Boston Commons. The door was cracked, so she peeked in.

“Colby!” her mother gushed. Still in bed with her hair in a stylish turban, Bella Quaid waved her forward. “Come here. Where have you been? It’s been far too long since…” One brow spiked. “Oh, no! You’re not still in the Army, are you?”

Colby embraced her mother, instantly aware of how frail she’d gotten since the last time she’d seen her. “No, Mom. I’m out.” Unless they activate me again.

“It’s about time.” Bella smoothed the quilted silk coverlet over her lap. It matched the powder blue of her turban, as did the bed jacket buttoned up to her chin. “Stay awhile. When did you get here?”

Colby took her place at the end of the bed, startled at the physical change in her mother. Wiry gray hairs peeked out from beneath that silk turban instead of the dark auburn of a woman who’d once valued physical beauty. Her brows hadn’t been plucked recently, and an actual mustache, faint but still there, graced her upper lip. Age spots speckled her cheekbones like muddy smudges cast off from a spinning dirt bike wheel. Most telling of all, Bella wore no crimson lipstick, her trademark tell.

“Power,” she’d once told Colby. “Red is a power color. Wear it well and it will open doors.” That was one motherly lesson Colby had actually taken to heart, though her power color was more blood red than cherry red, and had always been earned the hard way.

“I arrived late last night. Tula and I have kept in touch—” Since you refused to. “—and I needed to check in to see things for myself.” Colby wouldn’t have been there now if not for Tula’s concise, message to come home.

A coy smile lit Bella’s tired amber eyes. “Aw, you came back to see me. Just me.”

She made it sound as if Colby’s being there was a treat. “Of course. I’ve been worried about you. What’s happened since I’ve been gone?”

The coy act faded as if a switch were flipped. “You’ve got a boy in the house, don’t you? That’s why you’re here. You’re lying, aren’t you?”

The same old accusations—so soon? Colby let a slow breath hiss out between pursed lips. She never understood her mother’s out-of-the-blue jumps to unfounded conclusions. Bella must have led one helluva rowdy life as a teenager, the standard she’d set and obviously still judged Colby by. Perhaps she’d snuck boys into her room when she was a youngster, but Colby’d had better sense. She’d never brought a boy home.

Oddly, Ash was the—first.

Wasn’t that a startling revelation? In so many ways Ash had been first. Her first real crush. Her first heartthrob. The first man she’d wanted to settle down with once upon a damned long time ago. Now that she’d made that clear as mud, at least in her mind…

“Actually, yes. Ash Callahan is staying here until—”

“You can’t be serious. That good-for-nothing vagrant’s here? In my home?” A self-righteous tilt of her head stiffened Bella’s long neck. Ah, the wrinkles. The crepey skin. More telltale signs of her decline. “How could you do that behind my back?”

Colby rolled a shoulder, hating the continual battle of wills with her bigoted, outspoken mother. Her family came from Britain, but still. That was generations ago. What’d the Irish ever do to you? “He stays, Mom. I’m not arguing, and I’m not asking. Ash is a good friend and—”

“Why him?” Another hiss. Another benchmark Colby couldn’t jump high enough to meet, dating one of the popular, wealthy Boston boys her mother would’ve preferred. Perhaps that was what had drawn her to Ash in the first place, her need to oppose Bella in all things. To blaze her own way in her pretentious world.

Like it or not, there was a stark difference between a self-made man and the privileged boys born into old money in Boston, the ones who didn’t sweat or know how to make something of themselves without Mommy and Daddy’s help.

Ash was the proverbial bad boy: Irish, poor, and proud of it. He might not fit the socially acceptable category of Boston’s elite, and everyone within the sound of his voice knew he wasn’t politically correct, but to be honest, that was part of his charm. He relied on none of the whitewash, glamour, or double-talk of the upper crust. He’d always known who he was and what he stood for, even back when Colby was still figuring her way out of Boston. Back when he’d decided he’d wanted her. Before she knew she wanted him.

She changed the subject. It was either that or dwell on the puzzle that was Ash Callahan, and that was just—confusing. The man was, annoyingly, not as transparent as she’d once thought. “I’d like to arrange a meeting with the Quaid board of directors, Mother. Can you arrange that or should I ask Tula?”

For a woman supposedly declining into Alzheimer’s, Bella was unexpectedly lucid this morning. Perhaps the extra sleep had something to do with the way she lowered her chin into her high-buttoned collar and peered through shaggy brows at Colby. “Why?”

“Because it’s time I got involved with the company. Is Mitch still handling everything?” I hope so. That will make divestiture—if that’s what it’s called—so much easier.

The strategy in talking with Bella was to keep the ball rolling. Any lag in dialogue invited opinions Colby didn’t want to hear. Mitch Rhoades, her father’s friend and trusted Chairman of the Board over all Quaid operations, might’ve been the better person to have had this conversation with, but Colby didn’t intend to lie or beat around the bush with her mother. If Bella wasn’t well, someone strong needed to make decisions for the company.

“Where is he?”

“Who? Mitch?”

“That boy…” Bella folded her hands in front of her, interlocking her fingers, and her eyes hard as steel. “Is he hiding in your room again?”

Right on cue, the jaunty Irishman himself walked past her mother’s bedroom. He leaned backward and did a double take with a twinkle in his blue eyes Colby couldn’t miss. Despite their failed attempt at discussion, there was a definite bounce to his step. He nodded to her, but addressed her mother. “Good day to you, Mrs. Quaid. You’re looking a might spry this morning.”

Darned if Bella didn’t pat her turban as if she’d been complimented. “I am spry, young man, and don’t you forget it.” She rolled one shoulder. “Are you sneaking around behind my back with my daughter? Confess and I’ll go easy on you.”

A roguish smile curved Ash’s lips. The silver-tongued Irishman had just come up against the sharp-tongued lady of the house. Colby leaned back, her palms to the bed behind her, ready to watch the sparks fly.

How he could be in such high spirits after losing his business to a fire was no small thing. And therein lay one of the differences between them. Ash was born with nothing but a lifetime of sweat, tears, and hard work in store for him, yet he was the one who knew how to throw back and party with his friends down at the pub. Now he acted as if there’d been no close encounter between them, much less her harsh words.

Colby’s life had been quite the opposite, full of privilege and wealth, she’d never wanted for anything until she’d left her pretentious life behind for the hard knocks of the Army. Why? Simple. The prospect of a life of leisure didn’t entice her then or now. She didn’t want doors held open for her to glide through, nor the rough ways smoothed over and the squeaky wheels greased until all she had to do was mention her name to have everything handed to her. Where was the fight to victory in that? The gut-busting joy at the end of the field in the winning goal?

Soccer was her first way out of the Quaid dynasty, but the Army offered the complete lifestyle change she’d craved. Nothing felt better than the day she’d traded her name brand jersey for the Army’s OD, olive drab.

Yes, the top brass had known precisely what they were getting when she’d enlisted. They knew who she was, but she’d held them to every line of her contract. More than anything, she’d fought to be one of their best grunts, to be capable all by herself. To be that damned Army of one. To them it might’ve been just a glib sales pitch, but it was her chance at a real life. Her life. She’d earned every last ribbon, badge, and stripe—the hard way.

“Ah, would I sneak behind the back of such a fine lady as yourself, Mrs. Quaid?” Ash asked, his brows raised in mischief. “Never, ma’am. I was just wondering if you might have a few pieces of paper I could sketch out my new building plans on. Maybe a pencil or two.”

Building plans?

“What could you possibly afford to build in this town?” Bella’s tone of superiority galled, but Colby had to wonder. You haven’t enough money to start over again, do you Ash?

Damned if the cocky guy didn’t invite himself into Bella’s suite to stand at her side as if he were her servant instead of a guest. “Ah, but you see, I’ll need a new warehouse for me business, and I have a solid plan. My last place burned to the ground yesterday, but it belonged to someone else before I bought it. It was old and some of the inside partitions were already falling apart. But this one will be built to my specifications. ’Twill be all mine and ’twill be spacious enough for the pallets of all my woods on one side, all the filled customer orders on the opposite side.” His eyes glowed with excitement. “And if I can get enough financial backing, I’ll build an apartment in the rear of it or the days I work late. I’m not against sleeping over and working hard if it keeps my customers happy.”

Bella’s fingers fluttered on her lips. “My husband used to sleep over on the jobsite when we were first married. When it was too late to drive home.”

He did? Colby didn’t know that.

Her mother turned a shy shrug at Ash. “And sometimes…” She giggled. “I used to stay with him. It was quite fun sleeping in sleeping bags, maybe on the floor of his office, but sometimes in a tent, with Burton.”

“Ah, you are an adventurous lady,” Ash teased. “I see where your daughter comes by it. ‘Tis a noble trait for an explorer. Next thing you’ll be telling me you danced naked in the moonlight and went skinny dipping.”

Another shy giggle and—Bella blushed? Colby could only stare at the clever man romancing her mother. Who ARE you?