Hawk

I pace back and forth outside of the carriage house with my initial blueprints under my arm, my stomach in knots and my head spinning. This is not how this was supposed to go. I was supposed to come home, do the job, and leave. No muss, no fuss. No drama. Nothing. And now, I have stepped in a giant pile of horse shit of my own making. I not only had mindblowing sex with Parrish, but now, I can’t even avoid her in shame. I have to work next to her, side-by-side, for a month, as if nothing ever happened. And I can’t tell dad why I don’t want to do this, because he’ll shoot me. And that’s not exaggeration. He has a giant, vintage shotgun over the fireplace that he’d pull down and use to chase me off the property and back to Los Angeles if I ever tell him what I’ve done. Today, or ten years ago.

I have no one to blame but myself. I should have expected things would end up this way. Even in Los Angeles, I had a penchant for getting myself in stupid situations. Dating two sisters, sleeping with clients, banging the mother of the sisters I dated… I don’t make good decisions, and I never have. But this is above and beyond my usual idiocy. I’ve painted myself into a corner of my own making, and now I’m going to face the consequences.

I walk up to the door of the carriage house and knock. Since Parrish lives over the top of what is technically the garage, I expect it’s going to take her a minute to get down the stairs to answer me. But I stand waiting for what feels like forever to no avail, so I knock again. Then again. Then I start to get annoyed, and pound on the door with a knock that echoes across the ranch. Finally, I yell.

“Parrish! I know you can hear me up there! I’m not going to stand out here all night for my health!”

A window in the middle of the upstairs opens, and Parrish sticks her head out. “Would you knock that off, you stubborn ass? I just put Gracie to sleep! You’re going to wake her up, along with everyone in whole damn city! Go back to the ranch house. I’m not talking to you tonight.” Then she disappears back inside and shuts the window.

I don’t know why, but this just makes me angrier, so I knock harder. I can’t explain why she brings out this instinct to be a jerk in me, but it’s intense and I’m finding it hard to control. Finally, I hear the sound of her stomping down the stairs. The door flies open, and Parrish is standing in front of me in flannel pajama pants and a Pink Floyd tee-shirt that I recognize used to be Matt’s. She fills it out better than he ever did. Her long, honey blonde hair is swept up in a braid, and she isn’t wearing any makeup. She looks beautiful, and I have to remind myself I’m annoyed.

“I told you to go away. I will talk to you tomorrow, Hawk,” she says as she starts to shut the door again. But I put my foot in front of it, blocking it from closing.

“I need you to look at these plans tonight so I can make changes if you have any. We’re supposed to meet with a contractor tomorrow and if I don’t have updated blueprints, we can’t get a proper estimate.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. “Gracie is going to have me up at five a.m. I have a phone meeting at seven. You’re telling me this can’t wait until tomorrow morning?”

“No,” I say trying to stifle my annoyance. “If you want changes, I’m going to be up all night making them as it is. Can we just get this done? Then I’m out of your hair until tomorrow.”

She scowls at me even harder, then swings the door open, turns on her heel, and stomps back up the stairs. I follow her up, awash in memories of all the times I spent in this place when I was a teenager. The dark wood and forest green walls of the living room are the same, but all of the appliances in the kitchen have been upgraded. One of the bedroom doors is closed, so I assume that must be Gracie’s room. The other door is open, and I can see the huge sleigh bed and vaulted ceilings in Parrish’s room, the room where I took more than a few girls back in the day. I have a feeling she doesn’t know that, and it’s probably for the better.

“So, feeling nostalgic for all of the cheerleaders you screwed in here?” she asks as she plops down on the giant brown sofa and picks up a steaming cup of hot tea.

Well. So much for that.

“I don’t… how do you… What?” Jesus. I can’t form a proper sentence around this woman unless it’s hostile.

“Matt told me everything. There isn’t much I don’t know about you, Hawk,” she says as she takes a sip of tea.

“Yeah, no kidding,” I answer as I sit at the small bar. “Listen, can we just go over these plans so I can get out of here? I don’t want to keep you up and I’d like to sleep at some point tonight too.”

Parrish crosses over to me, and sits down on the bar stool next to me. When her arm brushes against mine, I feel a full shiver spread through my entire body, and I have to consciously fight to keep from showing it. I spread out the first of the blue prints on the bar so she can see the exterior design.

“So, I’m using the Royal Stables at Versailles as my base of inspiration, then adding the latest in technology upgrades for all of the interior design. I think the natural wood and lighting will suit the concept and fit in well with the general design aesthetic of the rest of the ranch.”

Parrish snort laughs, and covers her face with her hand. I instinctively feel rage course through me. “What? What’s so frigging funny?”

“Have you shown these to your father, Hawk?”

I sit back, my defenses up. “No. Why?”

“He’s going to tell you they’re perfect, because I don’t think he’d tell you were doing anything wrong if you were taking a steaming crap on his dining room table. But this is insane. You want to take a royal French aesthetic and use it on Sam McCormick’s ranch? I mean, seriously? Chandeliers? I think you’ve been in Los Angeles too long, man, because you are totally out of touch with Montana.”

I feel my eyebrow furrow as I watch her survey the plans. “Oh? So what do you suggest? Some wood and hay and a thatch roof and call it a day?”

“Don’t be a defensive asshole, Hawk. I’m just saying, you’re not thinking about what your father wants. You’re thinking about what you want. And probably, what will get you on the cover of Fancy Ass Architect Monthly magazine. This isn’t California. And your father isn’t the King of Versailles. Maybe you should take a day and reacquaint yourself with what it means to be a McCormick. Not what it means to be Mister Big Shot Hollywood Architect. Remember what it was like to grow up here. Talk to your dad. At the end of the day, you can whatever you want, and the only say I have is when it comes to money. And don’t think I won’t put my foot down if you try to buy those chandeliers. But trust me when I say, that this,” she gestures at the plans, “is not what your father really wants.”

And with that, she stands up from the bar stool, picks up her tea, walks into the bedroom, shuts the door, and leaves me sitting at the bar.

I look down at the plans, and as much as it pains me to admit it, she’s totally right. I’m seeing everything I’ve designed through fresh eyes, and it’s ridiculous. It’s something you’d see on a ranch in NorCal, not my father’s old school horse farm in Montana. Hand-blown glass chandeliers? Wrought-iron stable gates imported from France? What the hell was I thinking?

I gather up the blueprints and run for the office, where I can spread out my materials and literally get back to the drawing board.

So much for sleeping. It’s going to be a long night.