Chapter Two
Wes tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but the vision of a certain blue-eyed brunette kept popping into his head.
He and Mike had gotten home the night before to find their father, Daniel St. Claire, holding his granddaughter, Annalise, in his arms in their mother’s old rocking chair. Wes’s mother had bought the chair the day Mike announced Anna was pregnant. Many nights, their mother had done the exact same thing their father had done in that moment with his granddaughter.
Wes tamped down visions of his mother holding Annalise in that chair with a scarf wrapped around her bald head, her form so small and fragile by then. Cancer was a vicious animal, unafraid to devour. Always a woman of regal stature, the illness had whittled down Marian St. Claire in a way that turned Wes’s stomach.
Annalise had calmed in her grandfather’s arms but clung to Mike when he wrapped her up and took her back to her room. Their father said she’d been screaming in her sleep, something about seeing her mother in a dream. It broke Wes’s heart.
In his office that sat in the corner of the south wing of the house, Wes looked out the window. His fingers steepled in front of him, he watched the fresh snow that had fallen the night before dance through the air when the breeze blew. Powder on the hillside sat untouched, gleaming in the morning light.
His parents had purchased the land and built the main house when Wes was fifteen. Over time, several more buildings had gone up and several acres were now manicured. It was part of a long line of homes the St. Claire family owned, including a house in Paris, an apartment in Florence, and the main family compound in New York.
Michael traveled to where the races were, although his race car driving days were on hold for now. Lucas had an apartment in New York, but most of the time he was God only knows where. His sister, McKenna, was also hard to keep track of. The only St. Claire child who still lived in their parents’ place in New York, it was basically hers since their father had moved to Montana full time. But with an adventurous spirit, she wasn’t there much either. Their father went back from time to time, but the visits were few and far between since their mother died.
Attempting to work was futile. Being in Marietta, in this house, brought memories to the forefront of his mind he feared his heart couldn’t take. The house, once a place of happy memories filled with white Christmases and summers fishing on the lake, now reeked of illness and death for Wes. His mother had chosen to be there in her last few months, Montana being the place she adored most. That was why—Wes assumed—his dad had chosen to stay.
But in New York, Wes was distracted. The bustle of the city mixed with the daily, steady pace that was his life kept him from lingering too long on the things that were painful.
Wes had a hard time believing it when his father had said he was going to move to Marietta, leave New York and make Montana his main home. It wasn’t that Wes didn’t like it in Marietta. He did. But he viewed it as a getaway. A respite for a short time. A place to go for family vacations, but then return to his life. Then his mother got sick and passed and…well, it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t fathom it ever would be.
Seeing Mike with Annalise, however, stirred something in him he thought didn’t exist in his wiring. Never one to think of settling down or having a family, visions of white picket fences now danced in his head. They were far away, as if through a fog, but they were there.
To say he loved his work was an understatement. As the oldest child, he had determined early on that he would help run the empire his dad had built. Educated in Ivy League business schools, his official role was CEO of the St. Claire Family Office. Together with their in-house accountant and full-time attorney, they ran the family balance sheet. It was Wes’s job to maintain and grow the St. Claire assets for future generations.
His success in growing the family wealth was largely due to his attention to detail—nothing was too small. And although he had full control of the family finances, when his dad occasionally wanted to do a deal—it didn’t matter the size—Wes was the one to manage it.
Adding to the family portfolio via business investments was what he loved most. Acquisitions were complex, full of details and negotiations. Like a great mistress, they got his blood pumping. True, they couldn’t ultimately replace a good woman, but he found closing the deal more exciting and worth his time than most of the women who crossed his path. Married to his work, he had little time to think of any other kind of union.
Once again, the brunette from the saloon came to mind. She intrigued him. He had no clue if she lived in Marietta or what her story was. But when he saw her standing in the doorway at Grey’s, looking around with her sister for a place to sit, his attention zoned in on her and didn’t let go until he’d left with Mike. Maybe not even at that point since he now sat in his office staring out the window and pondering how her skinny jeans had accented her legs that went on forever, and how her smile had warmed him down to his toes.
No. He was here in Marietta to see his dad, visit with Mike and Annalise. He didn’t plan on staying long. And definitely didn’t plan on getting attached to anything, or anyone, for that matter.
A knock at his office door cut into his thoughts.
“Hey, bro. You got a minute?” Mike poked his head through the door.
Wes turned his chair toward his brother. “Of course. Please come in.”
Mike sat in the chair across from Wes’s desk.
“How is Annalise?”
“Better.”
Wes was relieved to hear it, but could see in the wrinkles that formed in his brother’s brow that his daughter’s emotional state was far from what he deemed acceptable.
“Being here has made a big difference.”
Mike had moved himself and Annalise to Montana right after Anna’s funeral. Said they needed a new start. New scenery. Everywhere he looked were memories of Anna. And Annalise refused to go to school, didn’t want Mike out of her sight.
“It’s helped to have her near dad, and around people who didn’t know Anna. Who don’t look at us with pity every time they see us.” Mike set his elbows on his knees, swiped one hand down his face. Mike’s brown eyes stood out against his dark hair and the stubble along his jaw. Their coloring was a complete contrast—Wes with sandy hair and blue eyes like their mother. However, people told them all the time it was obvious in their build and countenance that they were siblings.
Wes had to fight back a smirk at the thought of his dad being any help in the emotional stability department. A man of principles, an intense work ethic, and a drive for success that surpassed anything Wes had seen in his life; warm fuzzies weren’t the first thing that came to mind when anyone thought of Daniel St. Claire.
As if reading his mind, Mike said, “It’s true. He’s softened since…” His voice trailed off as he looked out the window then back at Wes.
Their father did come across a bit softer since their mother’s passing, but Wes still had his doubts.
“He even got Annalise to go to dance class. Someone’s renting the dance school now and has classes for kids. Adults too, I guess. Anyway, I had to stay the first few times Annalise tried it, but now she loves it. She all but worships her teacher.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I am.”
“But you can’t understand us moving here.”
“Not entirely, no.” Wes leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his desk. He eyed his brother for a moment then turned his head toward the window. “You don’t find it hard to be here? After…everything?”
“I’ll admit, it was rough at first. My mind kept wandering to the funeral, the days when the house was filled only with the sound of beeping monitors, and the stench of…” Mike shook his head. “But it fades. It’s filling up again with a more positive vibe.”
“Annalise’s doing, I’m sure.” Wes looked back at his brother with a grin.
Mike’s face matched his, a smile lighting his eyes that a moment ago had been dim with thoughts of lost loved ones. “Yeah. She has a way of doing that.”
He’d admit to being biased, but his niece was without a doubt one of the cutest kids Wes had ever seen.
“I can’t imagine it would be Dad’s doing.”
“What couldn’t be Dad’s doing?”
Both men sat up in their chairs and faced the door of Wes’s office. Daniel St. Claire stood one step inside the doorway and yet still dominated the room with his presence. Both Wes and his brother sat up straighter, something they’d learned was always expected in their father’s presence.
In tan slacks and a crisp button-down shirt covered by a navy blue sweater, his father was dressed more casually than usual. Much like Wes, their daily uniform consisted of dark dress pants and a tailored button-down shirt. A coat and tie were a given, if there was a business meeting.
Wes heard the woman from Grey’s whisper in his head, “You’re dressed quite nice. Did you leave a black tie event to party with the boys or something?” He’d never before been asked by anyone, man or woman, why he was overdressed. Of course, when he’d moved and lived in New York, he wasn’t. Whether in a work or social situation, Wes was put together from head to toe. His father had taught them all that. Well, they’d all been taught. Wes was the only one who still abided by it, even though he was a grown man of thirty-five. But, his life called for it as well. The rest of his siblings, not so much.
However, in Montana or not, he’d never seen his dad so casual. Relaxed, even. Yes, there were more wrinkles around his eyes as well as around his mouth, but his dad didn’t look to be in his sixties. He’d held up well, the old man. But Wes guessed it would take an armada to ever knock his father down.
“We were just saying that Annalise brings a certain joy to the house,” Wes said, attempting to cover their conversation about their dad.
“Hmph,” was all his dad said, not buying it, but ignoring it just the same. “I agree. That little girl brings joy to any room she’s in.”
Wes sat back in his chair. Sure, the child was Daniel St. Claire’s granddaughter, but he’d never heard his father say such nice things. Not that his dad was an unkind man; he was just more…serious. Business. Get things done. Do what’s expected of you. It was why he was as successful as he was. But Wes could see Annalise chipping away at that tough exterior, and it was…nice. Weird and would take some getting used to, but nice.
“Well, I came in to tell you that Annalise is napping. I think the events of last night tuckered her out. She fell asleep in my lap as we read a story so I put her in my bed to rest.”
Again, Wes found himself shaking his head. The little girl had found a way into the old man’s heart as well as his oversized bed that could fit four people. He’d had it made special when their mother got sick. He wanted her to be comfortable. She teased him that she didn’t need room for a party to be comfortable in her own bed, but Wes knew his mother loved the attention, how his father doted on her. Tough as he might be, Daniel St. Claire had adored and loved his wife on every level until death tore them apart. Wes hadn’t desired the same kind of love in his own life so far, but he appreciated having a loving example in his parents.
And he couldn’t argue with Annalise having his dad wrapped around her little finger. The little girl had both her uncles, as well as her aunt, at her beck and call and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
“And I came in to tell you, Wesley…” his father’s deep voice pulled him from his thoughts “…that I have volunteered you for a charity event in town.”
All thoughts of Annalise, his mother, and his mystery woman fled from his brain. His brother’s smirk didn’t go unnoticed by Wes either. He sat up tall in his chair again.
“Dad. I’m not here for long.”
His father waved a hand at him. “You have plenty of time. You can work from anywhere, certainly from here.” He waved a hand around the room, drawing attention to the fully functioning office Wes sat in.
Wes leaned his elbows on his desk and ran a hand down his face. Stubble had formed on his jaw, not unlike his brother’s, both men aware that in Montana, they could relax a little.
“Dad…”
“Don’t argue with me, son. It’s for a good cause.”
After thirty-five years in Daniel St. Claire’s household, Wes knew better than to try and argue.
“I met with my friend from the Crawford County Group and he said they’re working on turning an old house on Church Avenue into an after-school center for kids. It will provide a safe place for them to be in the afternoons and on weekends as well as a place they can receive help with homework.”
“I heard about that,” Mike said. “They want to call it Harry’s House after the first responder who died not long ago.”
“Yes. He was killed by a hit-and-run while helping an elderly couple change a flat tire. His family runs the largest grocery store in town.”
“And what exactly does this have to do with me, Dad? Or our family?”
His father cleared his throat as if needing to collect his emotions for a second. “Your mother loved it here. She was connected with the ladies in town, the quilting group and such.”
Wes was aware of how much his mother was liked in Marietta. But he was still trying to wrap his head around what that had to do with him and his father volunteering him for a fundraiser.
“But the rest of us,” his father continued, “well, we are somewhat seen as ‘the wealthy family on the hill’ if you will.”
Wes was also aware of that image his family had and in all honesty, it never bothered him. His brothers showed frustration with it sometimes and McKenna hated it for sure, but he didn’t give it much thought.
“Maybe it’s one of those bachelor auctions I heard they’ve done. You’d get to strut around Grey’s with no shirt. Show the ladies what they’re in for if they fork over some dough,” Mike teased.
Wes’s heart rate accelerated and his face flushed warm. There was no way on God’s green earth his dad had volunteered him for something like that. Or had he? The old man was doing things he’d never done before, making decisions Wes had trouble understanding. God help him if his father had tossed him to the wolves.
“Well…”
“Dad. Tell me that’s not it.”
“No. Well…” His dad dug his hands deep into his pants pockets.
In Wes’s lifetime, his dad had never stumbled over words. Ever.
“Dad.” He’d also never spoken to his dad in such a stern tone, but his patience was wearing thin.
“It’s a bachelor auction, but nothing like that.” His dad waved a hand at Mike as if to bat away all that his brother had said. “You’ll be baking. That’s all.”
Wes leaned forward in his chair. Did his father just say baking?
“Baking?” Mike asked.
“Yes. Baking,” their father said. “It’s a Bachelor Bake-Off. And you’re in it.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left the room.