Chapter Six
Peyton woke to rain lashing at the windows. Her sleep-deadened senses urged her to close her eyes and burrow back into the warmth of the quilt but some recess of her mind told her to focus. Straining, she fought through the sounds of the storm to hear the crash of glass. Rolling over, she squinted at the bedside clock, which registered 1:08 a.m. A thump had Peyton sitting up and scrambling out of bed. No one should be at the door—maybe something had happened and it was Molly knocking. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time a storm had knocked phone lines out. Stumbling down the stairs, she rubbed her eyes as a key slid into the door.
Now she was sure it was Molly. No one else would know about the spare key in the lantern.
Peyton flicked the small lamp on the end table behind the couch just as the front door slammed open on a gust of wind. Standing framed in the doorway was a man, his head bent as he grabbed the large duffle at his feet.
Definitely not Molly.
Peyton staggered back toward the kitchen, keeping her eyes trained on the intruder. His head lifted, rain dripping off the sides of his hooded windbreaker. Their gazes clashed across the room. A mixture of horror, disbelief, and anger arcing between them.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The words ripped from someplace raw deep inside of Peyton. She wasn’t ready to face him yet. Everything from that morning was still exposed and jumbled. Though she was starting to realize she might never be ready.
Ryder stepped through the door and shut it behind him. He pushed his hood back, revealing that head of jet-black, unruly hair. Her fingers itched to smooth it out only to ruffle it again. She shook her head, even as his eyes raked her from head to toe.
“I was just about to ask you the same damn question.”
…
Ryder was in no mood to play twenty questions with Peyton. She was the last person he needed to see after this morning and the subsequent trip he took through his daughter’s years in pictures. But despite the pain and regret pulsing through his veins, there was also the spark. The one that had ignited the minute he saw her in the bar and had only intensified during their brief kiss last night. Now she stood in front of him, sleep ruffled and looking deliciously stunned, and he couldn’t help but remember how her body molded to his. She wore nothing but a short flannel nightgown, her shapely legs peeking out from the hem, and it was more distracting than he knew what to do with.
Funny, in all the years he’d imagined coming back to Sky Lake, she hadn’t entered the picture. He’d pictured his mother in tears, which had proven accurate. His father with crossed arms and stern disapproval. Again nailed that one on the head. Old friends clapping him on the back wondering where his impulsive adventure had taken him. But never in any of them had he thought of Peyton. It had been self-preservation, really. He’d been a jerk for leaving her so abruptly and then not contacting her at all, but he’d been afraid of two things if he’d caved. One, that she would tell his parents where he was and his mother would find him and demand to fix whatever had sent him running. And two, that she would beg him to return and he wouldn’t have the power to say no.
He’d loved her. Well, as much as a nineteen-year-old could, but he hadn’t seen her as his forever. Honestly, he hadn’t seen anything as his forever, which was part of what propelled him to leave. But in all his haste and new plans, he hadn’t counted on leaving Peyton affecting him like it did. A part of her had always been with him and now, looking at her, he wondered how on earth he’d ever walked away from her. He’d been an idiot.
He unzipped his jacket and pulled it off, sending droplets of water to the oak floor. Peyton stood rooted to the spot, her eyes following him.
“Are you going to answer my question?” He hung his coat on one of the hooks by the door.
She crossed her arms. The movement stretched flannel across a very ample chest. Peyton had been wonderfully built before, but by God, she was totally a woman now and something about plaid material encasing her feminine body had him shifting uncomfortably.
She jutted out her chin. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
Ryder sighed. He was soaked and tired. Emotionally, he was a piece of wood after it came out of a chipper, and he really didn’t have the strength or leash on his temper to play word games with Peyton tonight.
“I was worried about the storm. A tree came down at my parents’, and I thought whoever was running this place might need some help. After checking in with the front desk, I figured it would be better if I crashed here. So, now, maybe you could tell me why you’re here. In my old house at”—he looked at his watch—“one in the morning.” He took a step toward the kitchen, wondering if there was anything to eat. Peyton scurried around the island. He froze.
“What the hell, Peyton? I’m not some stranger off the streets. You know me. We were together for three years.” He lowered his voice. “Goodness, we have a kid together.”
Peyton glared. “You’ve been gone ten years, Ryder. Of course you’re a stranger.” She picked at the hem of her nightshirt, exposing another inch of her curvaceous thighs. “And I would prefer you not speak of our past, because that’s where it is. In. The. Past.”
Ryder cocked a hip against the island, satisfied when her gaze dropped for a brief moment. “It didn’t seem like it was in the past when your lips attacked mine last night.”
Peyton’s face turned red and she crossed her arms again. “That was a drunken mistake. I was only trying to—”
She looked like she’d swallowed a toad.
“Only trying to what?”
Peyton held his gaze, her lips firmly shut. Ryder replayed the night before and everything that led to that briefly sensual moment. Conclusion hit him upside the head. “Only trying to distract me because I was asking about your kid? Our kid.” He took another step toward her, and this time she held her ground. “Tell me, Peyton. If I hadn’t stayed. If I hadn’t found the pictures on the mantle and forced you—would you have told me about Melanie? Or would you have kept her a secret? Kept her from my life even now?”
She exploded. Two steps had her up against him, hands pounding on his chest. “I didn’t want to keep her a secret. But you didn’t give me the choice! You made it for me when you left. Tell me, Ryder, how on earth was I supposed to have told you when you ran off and didn’t contact anyone for almost a year? Eleven months. She was sitting up and starting solids by then.”
She stopped the pounding and turned just as he heard the catch in her breath.
“Do you think I wanted to go it alone? Don’t you think I know she lacked so much by not having two parents?” She whirled around again, tears pouring down her face. “Don’t you think I would have chosen to bring her up surrounded by as much love as I could have possibly given her since I knew what a house full of nothing was like?” She shoved a finger in his chest. “But I did the best I could with the circumstances I had. So don’t act all affronted like I’m the villain here. Like I’m some scorned woman who kept your daughter from you for payback. I know that’s what you’re thinking and you can shove that misconception right up your ass.”
She turned from him and went farther into the kitchen. Farther away from him.
“You could have found me if you wanted to.” And yet he heard how weak an argument it was. He’d purposely made it next to impossible to be found over the years. He’d wanted things on his terms and now, looking back, he recognized how selfish it was. But the truth was, he hadn’t known any other way. He’d wanted a reunion to be on his terms, on his field of battle.
Peyton leaned on the sink, her shoulders slumping. “Do you really believe that? That we didn’t try? Let’s put aside the fact that your parents didn’t know if you were alive or dead for almost a year. I won’t even begin to tell you what that did to your mother.” Peyton paused, her shoulders hitching up and down several times. “I swear, sometimes I wonder if it hadn’t been for Mel, if she would have just ceased.”
Ryder’s guilt, the swell he’d managed over the years to keep very carefully behind a self-constructed seawall, breached and he found himself stumbling toward the stool at the island. He’d written as soon as he arrived in Alaska to let her know he was okay. Eleven months? He knew there had been at least another letter in there during all that time.
Closing his eyes, he forced air back into his lungs. He regretted so many things, especially the pain he knew he’d caused by leaving. He would make it up to his mother—and Peyton—somehow.
“And your dad—”
“Could not have given two shits.” The guilt was gone, replaced by cold fury. He may have been the one to leave all those years ago, but his father had given him the swift kick through the door.
Sky Lake would be better off without you.
Peyton glanced over her shoulder, a look of concern on her face—brought on by his outburst, no doubt.
“Your dad cared, Ryder.”
He shook his head, trying not to hear anything.
“I caught him reading one of the letters you sent to your mom once.”
He held up his hand. “Peyton, spare me, please. I really don’t care to know anything my father did or didn’t do since I’ve been gone.”
She closed her mouth, but he felt her gaze raking his face. He’d given too much away in this conversation.
“We tried,” she said softly. “We hired two private investigators. After a few years we just gave up. Your letters were coming regularly, we knew you were safe, and we knew you didn’t want to be found.”
Had they looked just a little longer they would have found a paper trail eventually—from when he and Alex formed their company. If he hadn’t been so stubborn, he might have known about his daughter so much sooner.
“Tell me about her,” he said, so softly he wondered if he’d only thought it.
Peyton sighed, but she moved toward him and a moment later slid onto the stool next to him. She didn’t ask specifics, just started talking. They’d always been in tune with one another that way. Not needing to clarify because each knew the other inside and out. He’d never been connected to someone else like that in all the years.
It had been a precious gift, one he recognized way too late. And he, yet again, wondered what would have happened if he’d talked to her back then rather than running away to fix things on his own terms.
“She’s stubborn as a mule, too smart for her own good, and wise beyond her years. She loves to build things and tear them apart just to rebuild them again. She’s definitely not a frilly girl and would prefer splashing in the creek covered in mud and algae to sitting at your parents’ dinner table in a dress.”
Ryder listened, but he kept coming back to her love of building and tearing things apart. He understood that drive. The curiosity behind it. His chest warmed at the realization that she shared more than just his physical features.
“She can’t handle sugar. It’s like flipping the switch on a banshee. So we have agreements. Friday night ice cream and Saturday morning pancakes. That’s it, unless it’s a special occasion.”
Ryder moistened his lips. The biggest question stuck in his throat. He gripped the edge of the island and asked, “Has she ever… Does she know about…”
He risked a glance at her, and Peyton swallowed hard. This truce between them was fragile, but he had to know. Had to know what he might encounter when he finally met his daughter face-to-face.
“She asked once.”
Ryder held his breath. Peyton could have said any number of things and most of them would make his relationship with his daughter that much more difficult to establish.
“I told her a version of the truth. That you didn’t know about her, and I hadn’t been able to tell you, but that…”
“But what?”
She looked at him then, holding back tears. “I told her that if you’d known you would have been there. That you loved her even not knowing.” She broke eye contact, fingers tracing the plaid of her gown. “She never asked me about you again, but I’m beginning to think she talked with your parents.”
Ryder reached across and placed his hand on top of Peyton’s, stilling her fingers. “Thank you,” he said as he squeezed. “I know you could have said any number of things. And now knowing only some of what has happened over the years, I realize you could have taken the easy way out. The way you thought I deserved.”
Peyton laughed. “I want to hate you. I’ve wanted to hate you for ten years, and yet…”
He didn’t ask, and she didn’t tell. They sat there holding hands, him sending a small prayer of thanks for the woman beside him. For her strength and character and her love for their daughter even when it was hard and not fair in any sense of the word. She should hate him. He hated himself. But the past was the past. There was nothing that could be done about ten years ago. What they could do was figure out now and the next ten years.
…
Peyton wasn’t sure why she allowed the contact or the silent support, but she suspected it had a lot to do with knowing she didn’t have a secret anymore. Carrying the burden all these years hadn’t seemed bad until she’d unloaded it and the relief in her heart overwhelmed her. And if she was being honest, it felt good. Mel had been created in love and nothing would change that.
“So how long have my parents been taking vacations?”
“Five years.” She wasn’t about to tell him about his father’s health problems. Especially after the brief mention of Mitchum and Ryder’s resulting outburst.
“And who’s in charge? Dan?”
Sliding her hand out from under his, she hopped off the stool and circled into the kitchen. She spoke to the sink when she said, “I am.”
“Of course you are,” he muttered.
Peyton spun around, hands on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ryder smiled. “Nothing.”
Nothing her ass, but a crack of lightning followed by a floor-shaking thump had them both jumping and running to the window. Despite the darkness of the hour, Peyton could clearly see the outline of a heavy branch across the road.
“Crap. I wonder how many more downed trees there are. It looks pretty bad out there.”
“At least one by my parents’ house.”
Okay, Peyton needed a plan. First up was to leave a message for the Gunthers, whose son handled trees in the area. She turned to go, but Ryder stopped her, his hand burning through the flannel covering her arm. It would be so easy to lean into that warmth and remember the sensations that flooded her body when she was with a man. Or more specifically, this man. She wanted to so badly. It had been so long since she’d had someone to lean against. No, stay strong.
“I’ll take care of them in the morning.”
She looked into his deep brown eyes. She could see he meant it. But he wasn’t part of her plan. She wasn’t supposed to be relying on him, but maybe she should consider it? On a strictly platonic, business level. Concern replaced the desire and she leaned against the window, dropping her gaze, a million questions circling through her heart. Why had he come home? How long was he staying, and most importantly, how much would it affect her and Mel’s carefully planned life?
She sensed his gaze and when she finally allowed herself to look into eyes the color of dark chocolate, lust and desire slammed into her rib cage. Sensations he apparently recognized in himself as well, if the increased breathing and slight tightening of the hand still on her arm, burning her like a brand, were any indication.
Ryder ran a finger down her cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I meant it the other night. You look good.”
It would be so easy to forget the past. Just for the night. But the morning would bring a harsh reality and things were already complicated enough. She stepped into him and brushed a kiss on his stubbled cheek. “You look good, too. Welcome home.”
Then she stepped past him and toward the steps. “I’ll just get my clothes and move into a room in the lodge. You stay here.”
He laughed. “I’m pretty sure two bedrooms is enough for two people.”
The entire town of Fly Creek isn’t big enough for us. She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s only one. The other is being used for storage. It will only take me a moment.”
“No.”
Peyton stopped, hand on the banister, everything screaming at her to turn around.
“Peyton, we’re adults. Go to bed, I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ll probably be up and gone before your pretty head leaves the pillow again.”
Adults. They were that. Without facing him, she said, “I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.” She didn’t wait for a reply.
Once Peyton stepped into the bedroom, she shut the door and collapsed onto the floor. If asked, she wouldn’t describe herself as dramatic or even highly emotional. She liked order, things that made sense, the safe bet—and Ryder Marks didn’t fall into any of those categories. He wasn’t supposed to be here. With each year that passed with no arrival and even less information, she had grown comfortably complacent.
That had been a mistake.
He hadn’t changed. Except for in all the good ways a boy becomes a man. And Ryder Marks was definitely a man. All lumberjack, scruffy beard, and lord-are-there-six-more-of-you-hiding-in-a-cabin-in-the-mountains man. She hadn’t wanted to notice. Didn’t want to remember the increased heartbeat or the sweaty palms or the way her lips brushed the whiskers on his cheek.
Pushing up off the ground, she moved efficiently to the closet and grabbed a blanket and pillow. If Ryder decided he wanted to be a part of Mel’s life, then that would be what their future was. Two people helping to raise her. Although, how much could he possibly be involved? He wouldn’t stay. He’d been away for ten years. This was probably no more than a passing fancy, and he would be off again, sending nondescript letters to his parents and now Mel.
Which was fine by her.
Better for her, actually.
A firm nod to her reflection in the mirror across the room sealed the deal.
She came down the stairs to find Ryder sprawled out on the sofa, his bare feet propped up on one end, his arms tucked behind his head. He watched her through a hooded gaze, and her feet refused to move forward. She was Riding Hood and he was the wolf, except some part of her body apparently liked wolves and was trying desperately to convince her to tangle with this one.
“How long are you staying?” The question blurted out from pure desperation. Because no matter how much she begged her orderly and meticulous mind to ignore Ryder and any part he might play in her life, her body seemed to have woken from some long, damn hibernation. And her body was winning.
He smiled, and it was pure alpha wolf. “Ready for me to be gone already?”
She didn’t answer because they both knew whatever she said would be both truth and lie.
“I’m not sure. It’ll depend, but no plans to leave anytime soon.”
Depends on what? She desperately wanted to ask and then berated herself for even caring. Nothing he did or didn’t do affected her. Only if he was staying, she had to stop kidding herself that he would not be a part of her life. Time to figure out a plan on how to deal with that.
She placed the blanket and pillow on the coffee table, keeping the solid piece of wood between them.
“I don’t bite, Peyton.”
She met a chocolate gaze full of laughter. “Are you sure about that?”
She turned and went up the stairs. Heat traveled down her back knowing his gaze took in every step. Only once she was safely wrapped up in a quilt did the tension and desire flow out of her body. How on earth could Peyton control her safely cocooned little world if Ryder Marks planned to be in her orbit? Especially if every time she came within ten feet of him her body instantly perked up. Her heart and brain had so far remained true to her plan of protecting her future by keeping Ryder out of it, but how much longer would she be able to stick to that plan?