Chapter Eight
Peyton had one foot on the bottom step of Emily’s porch when her friend ripped open the door. She slammed it behind her and leaned against it with both hands braced on the doorframe.
“Don’t be mad. He meant well.”
Peyton backed off the porch, pretty sure even the fires of hell wouldn’t get her into the Conleys’ cabin.
Emily took a step toward her. “I guess it’s my fault, really. I just didn’t think it was my story to share. And Adam’s relatively new in town, and even though if he’d thought about it he could have put two and two together, he didn’t think. Well, not about that. He was just thinking about being nice and a home-cooked meal and—”
“Em, stop.”
Emily’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry.”
Peyton turned and looked longingly at her house. It was a hundred yards away. Comfort. A warm bed. Peach schnapps. A locked door. She could be there before Emily could react, and she would be safe. No more confusion. No more anger, mixed with arousal, mixed with anxiety.
She snorted. Who the hell was she kidding? She might be safe from Ryder’s physical presence, but the emotional baggage was riding the luggage carousel in her head. And there was no one around to unload it. At least if she was with him she could keep an eye on him. Plus, there would be people. Sane people. People who wouldn’t let her flounder.
Turning back around, she managed something resembling a smile. “A foursome it is.”
Her boot heels echoed on each step of the porch, and she had to take a deep breath before crossing over the threshold behind Emily.
There. She was inside, and it smelled incredible. If nothing else, the evening would involve good food.
Her eyes sought him out. It was as if they couldn’t help themselves. As if they didn’t remember what he was. What he did. What they’d done.
He wore nothing spectacular—Wranglers and a plaid, long-sleeve shirt. What every other cowboy and ranch hand in these parts wore, and yet only on him did it flush her body with heat and stir every nerve ending she possessed.
Maybe the problem was she’d purposely avoided looking at men over the years. She’d denied herself, so of course he looked better. Well, that ended today. Starting tomorrow she would ogle every damn man within a ten-foot perimeter of her.
Adam came over and hugged her. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek.
She smiled as best she could. The damn butterflies in her stomach, thanks to Ryder and his stupid run of the mill plaid shirt, were wreaking havoc with her sense of normal. Adam, although not knowing her for long, knew her well enough that he recognized the smile for what it was. A charade of epic proportions.
Ryder stayed put, leaning against the island separating the kitchen from the main living space, his hand loosely cradling a longneck.
“Ryder.”
“Peyton.”
And she was tapped out with conversation. Thankfully, Emily and Adam took charge and in less than five minutes the four of them were seated and passing around the salad.
“This is delicious, Adam,” Peyton said, licking a stray drop of raspberry vinaigrette from her lips. Her gaze traveled to Ryder only to find him staring, fork halfway to his mouth. She immediately focused on the loaf of bread next to the salad bowl.
“Thanks,” Adam answered. “But Em actually made it.”
“Don’t sound so shocked.” She swatted her husband on the arm. “Y’all act as if I can’t cook.”
Peyton laughed as Adam rubbed his lovely wife’s back. She beamed at him and the lettuce in Peyton’s throat turned to glue. Reaching for her wine, she dropped her gaze, jealousy burning a hole in her stomach.
Emily and Adam had been through a lot to get to where they were, and she didn’t begrudge them anything. But she wondered why couldn’t she have the same thing. On the heels of that ridiculous thought came the notion that she’d never allowed herself to think of having such a relationship. And then her damn traitorous eyes rose of their own volition to fasten on the man whose feet she would dearly love to lay the blame at.
He met her gaze with his own. It was a mixture of longing, desire, and pain. Had he given up on what Emily and Adam had as well? Or now that he’d returned home, would he finally seek the final piece to whatever future he’d been orchestrating for the past ten years? Would there be another woman? Another woman who wanted to play a role in Mel’s life?
Over my dead body.
The vehemence of that thought rattled Peyton. And then she laughed at the absurdity. She was ready to battle an imaginary stepmother. Lord, she had enough problems without creating new ones.
“What’s so funny?”
Damn it. What is my problem? She smiled at Emily. “Nothing. Just thinking about the apple tart disaster.”
Emily slapped her hand on the table. “They were defective apples.”
Adam and Peyton broke into giggles as Emily pleaded her apple tart case. Peyton chanced a glance at Ryder only to see him smiling at Emily’s impassioned defense. He’d always gotten along with everyone. The easygoing golden boy. Only he wasn’t golden. He was dark, inside and out.
Wasn’t he?
She no longer knew. Glimpses over the past few days, moments, words—all added up to a missing piece. A different man. A different reason for his leaving than the one she’d created—that he hadn’t loved her enough to stay.
Did it matter?
Three days ago she would have said no.
Now?
Well, now she somehow thought it did.
Adam excused himself and went into the kitchen, returning with plates of salmon and asparagus. He placed one in front of Emily and just as he reached around Peyton to put hers down, Emily bolted from the table.
Adam dropped the rest of the plates onto the table in a clatter and went after his wife. A moment later, retching sounds came from the bathroom along with Adam’s deep voice murmuring words of support.
“Should we wrap this up? Keep it warm.”
Peyton looked at Ryder but her thoughts were with her friend. Was Emily sick? She couldn’t recall a time during their friendship when she’d been under the weather. She was a health nut with a capital N, but even the healthiest of people got knocked down now and then.
“Peyton?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“Never mind,” Ryder huffed. He scooted back from the table and took the plates into the kitchen. Sighing, she followed. She grabbed the foil from the drawer and together they wrapped the plates and set them inside the cooling oven.
He was close. Too close. And they were alone. Sure, Emily and Adam were a wall away, but from the sounds of it, they wouldn’t be concerned with their guests anytime soon.
“So this is how it’s going to be? You barely meeting my eyes. I think I preferred the anger over the awkwardness.”
God, if only she could go back to complete anger. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It shouldn’t be this way, but last night—”
“—was amazing, hot—”
“Shouldn’t have happened.”
…
Last night shouldn’t have happened. Ryder knew that, too. At least in regard to the timing of last night. They were both fumbling through his return and the jumbled emotions didn’t help. Still, hearing her regret while she stood less than three feet from him sucked the air out of the room. There was so much baggage between them. It made conversing like normal people impossible, and yet in the bedroom, the communication between their bodies hadn’t changed. Why couldn’t they translate that connection into verbal communication? Into a friendship? Something that would make the next weeks, months, and even years easier on them.
He could tell her why he left. It wouldn’t change that he did, but maybe it would give her new insight to the past and possibly the future. The pain of learning about Mel had eased, so maybe the pain of him leaving her would ease if she knew more.
But not here. Not now.
“Maybe you’re right, but it did happen. We’re adults, Peyton. Adults with a child together. We need to be able to be in the same room without playing Where’s Waldo.”
She chuckled. “When did you get so wise?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Ten years hugging a tree in the cold will sharpen any man’s brain. Either that or turn him into a raving lunatic.” He nudged her. “Aren’t you glad I came back wiser?”
She nudged him back. “Jury’s still out.”
His arm burned. Her touch was brief and innocuous and yet he craved it again. He turned toward her, and she met his gaze. Questions, concern, and arousal mixing in the green depths. Ryder moistened his lips and leaned down. Peyton stretched up on her toes, meeting him halfway. Their lips brushed and the rush of blood to his head left him dizzy. He hadn’t been a monk the past ten years, and he imagined neither had she, but her lips, her body, her scent were a combination that no other woman had ever possessed, and he was starting to think no other woman would.
Another brush of the lips, and she placed her hand on his chest, searing her warmth into his heart. He tried to move closer, but she held firm.
“We can’t do this. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
He looked down into her face, upturned toward his. Her lips rosy, her cheeks flush. She had her reasons, but he would bet any amount of money they had nothing to do with not wanting him.
“I’m not agreeing to that.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she stepped way, leaving him awash in cold. Both physically and emotionally.
“It’s not your call to make.”
He would have argued, but a door opened and a moment later Adam and Emily came into view. Adam’s arm was wrapped around his wife, supporting her. Emily was pale, her hair wet, where Ryder assumed water had been splashed.
His host managed a wan smile. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Ryder waved his hand. “No worries. Is there anything I can do? Help with?”
Adam helped Emily to the couch and Ryder followed Peyton into the living room. He didn’t want to sit or chat or deal with whatever the rest of the evening held. He wanted to go back to the cottage and figure out his feelings. His way forward concerning Peyton.
“No. It’s passed. Although fish will have to be off the menu for a while.”
Peyton gasped, and Ryder glanced at her. He couldn’t read her expression. It was part joy and part fear. She was wholly focused on Emily and Adam. He looked back to see both of them beaming so bright the wise men might be knocking at the door in the next minute. What was he missing?
“How far? How long have you known?” Peyton asked, skirting around the couch and sitting next to her friend. The two women embraced, and puzzle pieces aligned.
Emily was pregnant.
Suddenly the space started to close in. Ryder needed out. Away from the happy couple and Peyton. He took a step back and came up against the support beam. Three faces turned his way.
“I’m going to head out and let you all celebrate. Thank you for dinner and”—he swallowed hard—“congratulations.”
Ryder turned on his boot heel and walked out the door, swiping his hat and coat from the rack on his way.
He got as far as the porch before pain and jealousy roared through him like a freight train. He hated Adam at that moment. A man he’d known for less than twenty-four hours. Who had invited him over for a home-cooked meal. He wanted to rip that smug, content, fatherly look off his face. Adam would be there. He would see the changes in his wife’s body. He would feel the first kick. He would rub her feet. He would be there when she gave birth, and he would hold his newborn baby in his arms.
Ryder pounded the porch railing. It wasn’t fair. He would never see it. Never get it back. Moments with Peyton and Mel. This was why he and Peyton would never find a relationship balance. Because he didn’t deserve it or her. His pride, his insistence on keeping his whereabouts a secret, his plan to prove his father wrong, it had cost him everything. In leaving her with no explanation, he denied himself the very moments he had always promised he would give his own child.
A red haze filtered through his vision, and he knew he needed to get out of there.
His boots hit the grass just as the door opened and light spilled out behind him. He kept moving. He knew it was Peyton. His body was humming just at her being within a ten-foot radius. But she was the last person he wanted to see at that particular moment.
He reached his truck and yanked open the door.
“Ryder, wait.”
He slid into the seat and pulled the door shut. The engine turned over as the passenger door opened and Peyton slid in.
“Please get out.”
“No. Talk to me. Why did you bolt out of there? It was rude.”
“Peyton, I need you to get out of this truck and go home. Or better yet, go back in with your friends and celebrate.”
“What the hell is your problem? One minute you’re shoving your tongue down my throat ready to feel me up and the next you’re practically tossing me out of a moving vehicle.”
Ryder growled and cut the engine. “What do you want? You called a halt to things and I halted things.”
“This isn’t about the kiss. This is about the Speedy Gonzales act you pulled in the cabin. Emily and Adam are great people and their celebration was marred by your rapid exit. Emily thinks her hasty run from the table is to blame, and she spent the last three minutes apologizing for ruining the dinner. There were tears, Ryder. You can’t mess with pregnant women like that.”
The red haze returned. “I don’t know what the hell I can or cannot do with pregnant women because I’ve never been around them! So excuse me if my manners weren’t up to par. I’ll apologize to Emily another time. Now if your lecturing is done, I need to leave.”
“No.”
“No? If you don’t get out of this truck, Peyton, I’m taking you back to Sky Lake and I don’t give a rat’s ass how you find your way back home.”
“What happened to you?” she whispered, then opened the door, leaving him alone just as asked. The minute the door slammed his body deflated at the loss of her presence. He should talk to her. Explain. His harsh words stemmed from the pain. From his hatred of himself. None of this was her fault. She needed to know he believed that.
His hand reached for the door handle and froze.
Yes, he might have made a mistake in not talking to her all those years ago, but to go after her now would also be the wrong move. There were too many emotions on both their ends to have a civil conversation. And an argument might lead them to the same place it led them last night.
…
Peyton let herself into her house and shut the door, sliding to the floor once behind it. She should have come home the minute Emily let on Ryder was there. They couldn’t be in the same vicinity as one another. It was either a hump fest or a knockdown, drag out fight. They’d always been passionate with one another, but it had been the fun kind. They’d been able to communicate. They’d finished each other’s sentences. They’d had what she thought was the perfect, balanced relationship. They may have argued, but they would talk it out and then make up.
Pushing up off the floor, she walked down the small hall and went into Mel’s room. Her fingers trailed over her daughter’s bed and the nightstand piled with books. She collapsed in the small bungee chair in the corner and closed her eyes. This had to stop. Not only for her sake, but for Mel’s as well. She needed to get a grip on her interaction with Ryder before Friday. Mel deserved to see her parents getting along. Not sniping at each other every time something bugged one of them. Especially when she had no idea what the hell had set Ryder off.
It should have been joyous. Sure, men occasionally had trouble with women and pregnancy, but Ryder wasn’t the typical stoic, no-emotions-displayed male. He’d barely managed a congratulations before bolting. It made no sense. And then in his truck when she called him out, his response hadn’t been about Emily, it had been about pregnant women in general.
Peyton’s eyes flew open. How had she missed it? He’d contained his pain the past two days, but when had it always seemed to come between them? Anytime Mel or something relating to Mel came up. And what better reminder of what he’d missed out on than a happy couple celebrating their first pregnancy.
She massaged her temples as the pressure of their history pounded through her head. It was a freaking minefield. For both of them, although she seemed to have a better grasp than he did. Regardless, they needed a plan, a map through the field so to speak. It all needed airing out. Not snippets of wrongdoings or resentment.
They needed to put everything out on the table between them.
Then she would know the triggers. She would have a plan and could direct their future interactions, careful to avoid what existed simmering under the surface with them. They would put a united front on in front of Mel. Their daughter would never see anything but her parents getting along as friends, her well-being and adjustment foremost in their minds.
Plan made, Peyton jumped up and went into her room. Rummaging through her hope chest, she pulled out a cedar box. It wasn’t the answer to everything, but it would be a start. Tomorrow she was ready to do battle with Ryder Marks. He damn well better have built up sufficient armor over the years, because she was preparing to slay him with all she had. And she suspected he would be launching quite a few jabs her way as well.