Chapter Thirteen
Travis extended a hand to one of his longtime clients. The beak-nosed, beanpole venture capitalist clasped it and shook heartily.
“You did well. You paced yourself,” Travis said, pleased that Hunter had started to rein in his overly aggressive style.
“Wasn’t easy. I was dying to bet it all on that one hand,” Hunter said, shaking his head as if he were amazed he’d held back. The air-conditioning hummed softly in the background of the upscale private club in San Francisco, one of those members-only type of places.
Hell, Travis was amazed at Hunter’s self-control when he’d had two jacks. Playing that hand wisely had helped him to win. “That’s what I’m talking about. More of that. Keep doing that. Got it?” he said, letting go of Hunter’s palm and heading to the door of the suite.
“Got it, boss,” Hunter said with a salute. “I have a game in Napa in two weeks¸ but don’t worry. I know you’ve got your bachelor auction that weekend anyway. Maybe I’ll even bid on you and help you win for that charity of yours.”
Travis laughed. “Please don’t bid on me.”
“Just kidding. Anyway, I might not even need you to help me prep for the game.”
Travis smiled. “Nothing could please me more. My goal is to make you so good that you don’t need me. If I do that, I’ve done my job.”
“I love that your mission is obsolescence.”
That hadn’t been easy with this man. Hunter loved to bet, loved to go all in—probably why he remained Travis’s top client. He needed Travis because risks were too alluring for him—hence Travis still being here, several years later, walking him through his games. Hunter ran a poker tournament once a month at this club, as well as regular weekly games with his wealthy Silicon Valley buddies.
“I’m going to hit the road,” Travis said, and quickly covered the miles between the city and Hidden Oaks. He stopped at the grocery store, picked up some items for that night, and quickly set to work in the kitchen when he arrived home. Then he showered, and dressed for his dinner date.
He buttoned up the final buttons on the crisp white shirt, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth. He flashed a quick smile in the mirror to inspect his teeth. Not that he’d have anything stuck between them—he hadn’t eaten since a lunch break at the game earlier that day.
The game had been civilized and drew a clean-cut business crowd. Those were Hunter’s rules, and he’d set them up because he’d unknowingly dabbled in some rigged games a while ago. Hunter invited him to play occasionally, too, knowing it would up the game to play with someone like Travis—someone who had taught them when to hold, when to fold, and when to go all in. Travis wasn’t some poker god, with aspirations for the Texas Hold ’Em TV circuit, nor did he long to march through Vegas casinos, mopping up chips like a king. But he had the requisite pro cred, and he also had a knack for the game.
He played like he fought fires. He knew how to read a fire, and he knew how to read the players in a game. He was calculating, he assessed the situation, and he’d learned to pick the best route through the tough spots, just like a fire. Detect the hot zones. Check the door temperature before opening it. Spray water on a surface to see if it sizzles. Didn’t always beat the fire, and didn’t always win a hand, but the strategy had proven successful over time in both fields. He’d honed his card skills thanks to his firehouse mentor—the guy who’d looked after Travis when his dad was gone, who’d taught him both the card game and how to battle a blaze.
Today’s game had required steady focus and a cool hand, because the other venture capitalists Hunter brought in were used to taking big risks.
That was where Travis was different. He’d spent his lifetime taking necessary precautions, practicing safety, determining how near or how far to push. The approach had served him well, and today he returned home with a few hundred extra bucks that went straight to the bank.
Well, some of it went to the Families of Fallen Firefighters. The charity had sent out another email to its supporters that afternoon, asking for help, citing the downswing in giving in the last few years, which had hit it hard and led to cuts in support services. Travis had responded immediately, donating as much as he could part with from his winnings. But the email had made his shoulders tense as a kernel of anxiety sped through him. He had to win the auction. He desperately wanted to be one of the reasons the charity could keep doing its good work. Win the auction, snag the matching grant from the insurance broker, and help send the Families of Fallen Firefighters back on the upswing. That was the mission.
And then, a bit of his earnings from today made their way to the grocery store, because he’d picked up butter, chocolate chips, brown sugar, and the other ingredients to bake the cookies for Cara. These chocolate chip cookies were pretty much the pinnacle of culinary delight, and it had made perfect sense that Cara wanted to win them.
He snapped his fingers. Megan had something else he knew Cara would like.
He rolled up the cuffs on his shirt, headed to the kitchen to grab the Tupperware container full of cookies, and tucked his phone to his ear as he dialed his sister and made his request.
“Come on by,” she said. “Becker’s at the bar, and it’s just me here right now, so you won’t have to be embarrassed by him teasing you.”
“Whew. ’Cause I don’t need shit from him right now.”
“You’ll only get it from me. See you soon,” she said, but her voice sounded muted and she hung up quicker than usual.
He shrugged to himself. He’d be seeing her soon enough, and if something was wrong, he’d find out. He leashed up Henry and went on his way. When Travis arrived at her house—the one she shared with Becker since she’d moved in with him—he spotted what he wanted by the front porch.
Megan had a green thumb, and a talent for turning any place she lived into a garden paradise. She’d quickly made her mark on Becker’s home. His front yard dazzled with a veritable potpourri of vibrant colors—bright orange dahlias, rich purple asters, and sunshine-loving daisies.
He rolled down the window for Henry, who hung his snout out and watched from the passenger seat as Travis walked to the door. He knocked. Becker opened the door. Travis jerked his head, surprised to see his friend. “Hey. I thought you were at The Panting Dog tonight.”
“I was. But I came home for a minute,” he said.
Travis held up his hands as stop signs. “No need to say more,” he said because clearly a minute was code for a quickie.
Becker rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. Megan said you need some flowers.”
“I do,” he muttered, and wished his sister had answered the door. He didn’t need to be harassed by one of the guys about picking up some of Megan’s homegrown flowers for a bouquet for the woman he wasn’t even truly dating.
Becker slapped a pair of gardening scissors in Travis’s hand. “Megan said to take what you want, but be sure to put them in water, so I’ll get you a vase.”
He furrowed his brow. “Is she okay?”
Becker nodded but said nothing more.
“You sure?”
Another nod was Becker’s only answer.
His silence gave Travis pause, especially since Megan hadn’t been herself on the phone. But he’d have to trust Becker on this count. “If you say so,” Travis said, then he turned and walked down the steps to the front yard. As he snipped a few daisies, his spine tingled with awareness. He looked up. Becker leaned against the side of the house, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest, a knowing smirk on his face.
“What are you smiling at?”
“You. Bringing flowers to Cara. It kills me,” he said, chuckling.
Travis sliced a few asters, keeping his face down, trying to reveal nothing. “How do you know they’re for Cara?”
Becker laughed deeply, the sound echoing across the yard. “Oh, that’s a good one, Trav. Here’s your answer—because I have eyes.”
Travis called on his poker skills. He bluffed, mustering his best nonchalant tone. “Just getting them for my mom.”
But as the white lie tumbled out, he cringed. What was wrong with him? That was the worst bluff he’d ever attempted.
Becker called him on it. “You let Mrs. Jansen know I hope she enjoys the daisies. I look forward to seeing them on her kitchen table when we stop by tomorrow to have dinner with her,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Travis rose and held out his hands, full of flowers and scissors. “Fine. You got me. They’re for Cara. I’m having dinner with her tonight.”
Becker nodded, seemingly satisfied that he’d succeeded in this round. But he pressed on. “Why can’t you just admit you’re crazy for her?”
Travis narrowed his eyes, a lick of annoyance racing through his blood. He wasn’t crazy for her. He wasn’t crazy for anyone. “It’s just dinner. She’s helping me with Henry, that’s all. And I helped her with her car,” he said, because at least that was all truthful. He was playing these cards better, so he upped the ante of his denial. “And why do you even want me to be crazy for her? You want me to join you on this side? C’mon. You were like me. You stayed out of the line of fire when it came to this stuff.”
“Yeah, and then everything changed when I met Megan, and I haven’t once looked back. But the funny thing is, man, you look an awful lot like me when I was chasing your sister,” he said, gesturing to the burst of color Travis gripped in his palm. “Granted, I’ve only known you for two years, but never in that time have I seen you bring flowers to a woman.”
Travis held his chin high. “I’ve given plenty of gifts to women before, thank you very much. I’m not some jackass who doesn’t do the basics like flowers and chocolate.”
Becker laughed. “Fair enough. But from your sister’s garden? The flowers your sister grows? That’s a horse of a different color. Next you’re going to tell me you’re baking brownies and cookies for her.”
Oh shit. A flush of heat spread over his cheeks. What the hell? He didn’t blush. He had no tells. And now was the time that a splash of red raced across his face? His brain cycled through possible denials, reaching for something plausible. But he was saved by the appearance of Megan in the doorway. She held out a vase filled with water. Her face looked pale, and her hand felt clammy as he took the vase. “You okay? You don’t look so hot.”
“I don’t feel so hot. I’m a little under the weather,” she said, then absently dropped her hand to her belly.
Travis’s radar went off, blaring like a police siren. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He pointed. “You’re pregnant.”
Megan’s answer flashed in her eyes—a flicker of joy. Her lips dared to curve up ever so briefly with the start of a wild grin that she quickly reined in. “Why would you say that?”
“Who’s in denial now?” he said, smiling widely. “I say it because it’s true. Isn’t it?” He stared hard at her, giving her a look as if he had X-ray vision, knowing it had worked when they were younger. Her lips twitched, and her eyes sparkled, and after a few seconds, she nodded vigorously.
Travis wrapped his arms around his sister, giving her a warm hug. The strangest burst of panic skipped through his nervous system for a second. Everyone he knew was marching forward so purposefully—settling down and starting families. “I’m so happy for you,” he said. Even if he was odd man out by personal choice, he was downright thrilled for Megan.
“Thank you,” she said softly, choking back a sob.
He pulled back to look her in the eyes. “You’re going to be a great mom.”
She punched his arm. “You’ll be a great uncle.”
He turned to Becker, who beamed with pride and happiness. “That’s why I found your sorry ass here when you were supposed to be working.”
Becker shrugged happily. “Gotta take care of my woman when she’s not feeling well. She’s the mother of my child soon.”
Travis hugged Megan once more. “I guess this means you’ll be a pregnant bride.”
When he let go, she laughed lightly. “That’s fine by me. We weren’t trying to prevent it, if you know what I mean.”
He laughed. “How far along are you? Have you told Mom?”
“Twelve weeks, and not yet. But I will tomorrow.”
Travis mimed zipping his lips. He clapped Becker on the back. “Congratulations, man. I’m unbelievably happy for the two of you. You take good care of her, you hear?” he said, wagging his index finger at his sister’s fiancé.
Becker saluted him. “I always do,” he said, then draped his arm around Megan and dropped a kiss on her forehead. She beamed at him, and in that wink of a second Travis saw so much love, so much joy, and so much certainty between the two of them. They hadn’t even waited to get married; they simply knew they wanted to have a family.
As he drove to Cara’s, he did his best to push that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest far away. Those kinds of plans might be perfect for his sister and her man, but they had no place in his life. Not when he’d assessed the risks, and determined the best course of action. That route to safety remained the same—steer clear of serious relationships. They were fraught with too much danger.
He flashed back on a fire he and Becker had fought a few months ago in an old winery, and how the beast of a blaze had tried to eat them alive in a mad dash to scorch everything in its path. Careful and methodical, they’d battled back and took it down, but at any moment things could have gone differently. A fallen beam here, a backdraft there. Take all the precautions in the world, find the hot zones, and you still never knew if your life was about to turn into a blank slate of sadness for years, like his mom’s had when his dad left this earth.
Travis prided himself on weighing the options and choosing wisely, on knowing when to act and when to refrain. This situation with Cara was no different. He’d keep his cards close to the vest, only playing the ones that were guaranteed to win.
Like the ace of their chemistry, so to speak.
That was all she wanted from him anyway. There was no need to even worry about the crazy notions Becker had tried to plant in his head.
When he arrived at her house, he had the tin of cookies and Henry’s leash in one hand, the vase of flowers in the other, and condoms in his back pocket, a reminder of the type of game he and Cara were playing.
Focus on the sex, he reminded himself.
Besides, it was high time for him to take a dose of her medicine. She was a smart woman, and she knew the cure for what ailed her. He suffered from the same affliction, so he’d take the same remedy and fuck her out of his system too. Take her, have her, claim her.
Then he could finally be free of this hold she had on him. He could stop thinking about her all the damn time, once they finished this brief affair in another week.
When she opened the door, he knew he’d have no problem with his plan. She wore a white sundress that landed mid-thigh, her hair was swept up in a clip, with loose strands framing her beautiful face, and her legs were bare.
In seconds they’d be wrapped around him.
“Hi,” she said, her voice sexy sweet.
“Hi.”
Henry chimed in next, barking at Violet, who pawed at the floor, eager to play with a four-legged friend.
“I’ll let them into the yard and they can chase each other out there,” Cara said, then patted the side of her leg, a signal for the dogs to follow her as she walked to the sliding glass door. His eyes stayed on her the whole time, on the white fabric of her dress, the way it fell loosely on her body, and the tantalizing question of whether she was wearing anything under it.
He set the tin of cookies and the flowers on the entryway table and shut the door behind him.
When she returned, he cupped her face in his hands, backed her up against the wall, and kissed her hard and fiercely—so hard all thoughts drained from his head as she speared her hands in his hair, wrapped a leg around his, and kissed him back like she wanted all the same things.