Chapter Twenty
They snuck around like teenagers, stealing into her father’s room to liberate a few bottles of Cab Sauv from the ‘good’ box at the back of his closet and spiriting them up the back stairs to Glory’s room.
“This is worth three hundred dollars. Act like you can tell, okay?” Glory popped the cork and poured a tiny splash of the rich, ruby liquid. Cherry, anise, and vanilla filled her nostrils as she swirled, then a stab of black pepper nipped her tongue before bathing her palate in earthy flavors of oak and chocolate, finishing with a taste of berry jam and a fragrant hint of violets.
“Oh, my gawd,” Eden groaned without sarcasm when she took her first sip. She sank into the chair and Glory made herself comfortable against the headboard on the bed. “Did you actually pay for this? Why are you wasting it on me?”
“It was Mom’s. She used to drink it when she made the New York Times list.”
“What was that like? Having a famous mom?”
They started to talk. They talked about everything. Treatment and options and what made them good daughters and where they fell short and felt shitty about themselves. They talked about their fathers and mortality and how mad they were at the god neither of them fully believed in. They teared up with powerlessness and tried to be philosophical and grateful and concluded that life was a fucking joke, handing out raw deals no matter how hard you tried.
“At least you’ve done something with your life, before coming here. Back here. This is me branching out from my sheltered existence,” Glory said with a wave of her glass around the room.
“Are you guys going to be able to make a go of this? Because it was all Mom could do to keep a fucking coffee shop open. The town needs an industry like this so bad, but no one else was willing to touch this place. Except the Bascos, but they only wanted to develop it for real estate. Like that was ever going to work. Who wants to live out here just because?”
“Me, apparently,” Glory muttered, rising to open the second bottle. “This is such a bad idea. I’m going to wind up with bed spins, if not worse. You’re staying the night, right? You can’t drive.”
“Sure, but how much are the rooms?”
“Don’t be silly. Sleep there.” She pointed at her bed.
“No, I can pay. I was just curious.”
“All the beds are reserved for crew right now, but I’ll be across the hall with Rolf, so…” She twisted the corkscrew in, thinking he was probably looking for her since it was coming up to dinner hour. She should check her phone.
“Shut the front door!” Eden seemed impressed as Glory came toward her with the fresh bottle. “You sleep with that man-of-war? Since when? What’s he like, anyway? Does he even smile?”
“Once. When Murphy peed on Trigg’s leg. More of a smirk. I think he said, ‘Good dog,’ but it was in German, so I’m not sure.” She topped up both glasses and settled back onto her bed. “When? A few weeks ago. Couldn’t tell you how or why.” She tilted her head back to eye the ceiling. “I’m really drunk. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“We’re soul sisters.”
“You have a real sister. Why aren’t you getting drunk with her?”
“Angel and devil. I love her, but she’s so fucking superior. So good with her perfect husband and perfect life. Dex is not that fucking perfect, between you and me.” She rolled her eyes, made a face. “I’m drunk, too, or I wouldn’t be starting rumors about my sister’s husband. I just get really sick and tired of her making all the right decisions and never forgiving me for leaving town because I could. She chose to get married out of high school and move with Dex to Butte. She chose to get pregnant before finishing massage school. But she resents me for, you know, doing what you said. Having a life. Apparently, I should have settled, the way she did.”
“I’m writing a book.” Glory didn’t know it was coming out until it did.
Eden lifted her brows at the switch of topic. “Cool.”
“No. It’s not. It’s maybe fraud or misrepresentation or something. My dad needs the money for this place, but I’ve maxed out Mom’s backlist. She needs a new release to energize things. So I wrote a book. Most of a book. Is that wrong? To publish it under her name? I don’t know what to do. I was going to rewrite this other thing she had, where it was at least her own idea, but I couldn’t get excited about it. So I wrote something from scratch. My own story. And now I don’t know what to do.” She took a big gulp that paid no respect to the quality of the wine. “I’m super drunk. I shouldn’t have told you that. I haven’t told anyone. It’s like a crime or something, right? I’m gonna go throw up now.”
“No, Glory. It’s fine. Totally in the vault.” Eden squinted at her. “But why would you do that? I mean, if it’s your work… I’ll give the money from a painting to my mom if she needs it, but I’m always going to sign my own name to it.”
“No one is going to buy a book written by Gloria Cormer. They want a Kathleen.”
“And you get nothing? That sounds like a dumb thing to do. And it’s a slippery slope, isn’t it? What happens next year? Another book? Do you just keep doing that to keep this place going? Can you?”
Eden wasn’t saying anything Glory hadn’t thought in the dead of night, when her brain wasn’t occupied by other things, like how good Rolf’s naked thighs felt against her own.
As if she’d conjured him, she heard the squeak in the hall floorboards right before he came in the way he always did, without a knock, just the door swinging inward as though this was his room, then him gathering up all the air with the swirling force of his personality.
He came up short as he saw she had a visitor. He casually leaned his forearm into the doorjamb. “Hello.” His alert gaze hit Eden, Glory’s bare feet, their wineglasses, the bottles.
“Eden is here,” Glory said. “We’re having a pajama party.”
“With really expensive pajamas,” Eden said, tilting her glass. “Burgundy silk.”
Glory held out her glass to him. He came across to sample it.
“Nice,” he concluded, sipping again.
“If you bring us food and your own glass, you can join us.”
“I’ll bring food and water and suggest you pace yourselves.” He stole one more sip, nodding with appreciation, then returned the glass, holding her gaze in the way that turned her inside out. “But you look like you’re having fun, so I won’t intrude.”
He didn’t even kiss her, but he left her shivering, mouth seeking the place his own had rested on the rim of her glass. She kept thinking about her dad warning her that romance novels weren’t real. In moments like this, though, when she felt all the feels, and he was so sexy he made her melt, she thought some of it was real. Maybe he wasn’t going to show up on a charger, shirtless and with the blood of her enemies on his hands, whisking her into his castle to fuck her blind, but maybe, when she really needed him, he would be there for her. And he did manage to screw her sightless without hardly trying.
“Oh, baby,” Eden murmured as the door shut behind him. She licked her finger and pretended to press it on Glory. “Sssss.”
*
“I’m not an alcoholic,” Glory mumbled when she came into his room like a drunken bull into a china shop, knocking his small whiteboard off the wall by the door, snapping him awake. “Swear to God.”
“This is the second time I’ve seen you have more than one.” He came up on an elbow as her shadow swayed toward him. “That doesn’t suggest to me you have a problem.” Except right now she was clearly pissed to the gills.
“The family dinner.” She fought with her pullover and tried to open her jeans at the same time.
“I drank way more than you that night, so it doesn’t count. Here. Sit before you fall.” He tugged her onto the edge of the mattress.
She plopped down beside him. “The first day we met I was half-cut.”
“You were?”
“You thought that was my natural personality? No wonder you couldn’t stand me.” She stopped helping, melting heavily across his legs and letting him do all the work tugging sleeves and threading her top over her head. “I can’t have sex tonight. Not unless you want a dead starfish.”
“I don’t know how I’ll resist that erotic image, but of course I respect your lack of consent. Leg up.” He grunted as he shoved her jeans down and off. “Sock. Other one.” She really was dead weight. He dragged her into place beside him and wrestled her under the covers. “Are you going to throw up?”
“Probably. I wish you’d staged an intervention when you brought dinner. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“What was the occasion for this little party?”
Her sigh held the weight of the world. “Suzanne has cancer. All of the treatment options they’re suggesting are palliative.”
“And Eden came to you with that?” He didn’t think he approved of her anymore.
“I really like Suzanne,” Glory said with a pang, snuggling deep into his chest. “I’m so sad for them, Rolf.” She sniffed.
For them?
He gathered her close, stroking his hands all over her as ripples of tension took her over. She began to shake with suppressed sobs. She wrapped her arm around him, the other bent in to his abdomen, buried her face against his chest and he felt her tears adhere her cheeks to his skin as she whimpered like a tortured animal.
“I don’t want to cry about her anymore,” she choked at one point. “It hurts too much.”
He had wanted this. Her heart open to him, but he ached every time she showed it to him. His throat hurt and his eyes were hot.
“Last one.” He kissed the top of her head and petted the ripples of her hair. “Make it a good one.”
She did. Crying and crying until his own heart threatened to break.
When she finally quieted, she pressed a kiss to his chest, then his Adam’s apple. “Thank you,” she whispered, and her sigh held something like peace.
They fell asleep cleaved together like two halves of a whole.
*
Trigg was supposed to be back today and Rolf wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was glad. He and Nate were maxed out. There weren’t enough hours in the day and now the board had decided to fly in for a look-see. Of course, that meant some vandals had crept up here in the dead of night and pulled all their survey stakes.
He’d missed lunch today, watching camera footage, but the guy had worn a hoodie, knew where the cameras were, had been on foot, and timed his trespass between security patrols. Rolf supposed he’d have to start paying guards to be out here every night, all night.
He was so annoyed by that, and hungry, when Glory walked in with a foot-long sub in cling wrap, he almost turned into Trigg and flippantly asked her to marry him.
The fact the words had sprung onto his tongue that easily, even as a joke, disturbed him. He was grimly possessive of her, staring down any dipshit in a hard hat who had the nerve to take a second glance at her, but they were a long way from declarations of love and vows of forever. When he’d told her he would try, he’d meant exactly what he was doing, allowing emotional intimacy along with the physical. It wasn’t easy for him and he backtracked as often as he revealed himself, so rather than get effusive over a very thoughtful and much-appreciated sandwich, he simply said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t get too excited. Half of that is for me.” She moved to the window to look up the hill at the surveyors replacing the ribbons and pins for the tower footings. “I’m running away from home. Did you tell Vivien to start organizing something for board members flying in?”
“Had to.” He sorted the papers from his in-tray into piles.
“She has Dad okaying Devon’s overtime to get the rooms ready. We can’t afford that, Rolf.”
“What are you saying?” He looked up. “That you want me to pay for it? The rooms have to be finished at some point.”
“Not on overtime.”
“You can charge full price if they’re finished rooms.”
“For the handful of nights they’ll be here. Then you’re going to fill up all our unfinished rooms and what? We have rooms we can’t use until—Forget it. This is—You and I can’t talk business.” She turned back to the window. “This is why I want to hire a manager, but we can’t afford that, either.”
He sighed and shoved the papers into different-colored folders, stacking them to the side as he did.
“I didn’t come here to fight,” she said. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
He stuck labels on the folders and wrote in block letters on each one, distantly thinking he ought to get Vivien to find him a P.A. as good as she’d been.
“Can I ask you something? Is this, like, a legacy project for you? Does it bother you that Trigg’s name will be attached along with yours? Is that why you guys fight all the time? Because you want it to be yours?”
He swore. “You sure you didn’t come here to fight?”
“Yeah, that came out a lot more loaded than I meant it to.” She turned from the window. “I’m just thinking about some stuff Eden said last week, about putting her name on her own paintings.”
“The name on this place is Whiskey Jack. Doesn’t even rhyme with Rolf.” He set the folders in the wire rack on the cabinet behind his desk. “I already have a legacy that’s all mine.”
“I don’t.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Sometimes.” She rubbed her fingertips between her brows. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m here and think about really running away from home.”
His heart took a sharp swerve in his chest.
Then she gave him the big eyes, chin still dipped, lashes coming up so he could read the soft, rueful, kindling desire in them.
“Then I have sex with you and I don’t worry about much of anything.”
“We can do that right now if it would help.” He picked up the sandwich and set it behind him, waving at the now empty desktop.
“You got a condom?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, but knew he didn’t. “Fuck. We’ll improvise.”
She snuck two fingertips down the front of her dress and into her bra, showing him the foil packet.
“You really didn’t come here to fight.”
“I was thinking about it earlier, before you canceled lunch and Dad ambushed me with bills we can’t pay.”
“Is it really that bad?” He folded his arms.
“No,” she said, looking to the floor in a way that almost made it sound like a prevarication. “I’ve got a contingency plan. It’s just…” She shrugged, shaking her loose hair as she lifted a smile to him and came to thread her arms beneath his safety vest, around his waist. “Clear my head, would you?”
“Love to.” He shed his vest onto his chair and gave the chair a nudge with his knee, so they had more space. Then he picked her up and sat her on his desk. He lowered his head to kiss her as he climbed her dress up her thighs, skin already tightening before they’d found the right slant of their mouths.
Which is what Trigg walked into when he swung the door inward, swore and said, “Again? Fuck, dude. Learn to lock a door.”
He slammed out, but Glory drew back when he tried to return to their kiss. “Your brother is back.”
“I noticed.”
“What did he mean, ‘again?’”
He winced. “He might have walked in on some things in the past.”
“Maybe we should pick this up later.” She set her hand on his chest.
“Glory.”
“I’m not mad. Honestly.” She looked him right in the eye, gaze more amused than offended, but her expression grew solemn. “But I really should get back and figure some things out.”
He wanted to keep her here, sensing something was off, but she was wearing a frown of distraction and pressed him back so she could stand. He kissed her before walking outside with her, remembering to grab the sandwich on his way. She waved off taking half and headed back down the lane toward the lodge.
Trigg stood about a hundred feet away in the other direction, throwing a stick for Murphy. “Wow,” he said as Rolf walked toward him. “Not even three minutes. That’s not the kind of speed record anyone brags about, dude.”
“Keeping the wit in fuckwit, I see. It’s a real public service.”
“So you two are still going at it?”
Rolf bit into the sub. The answer to that seemed obvious, so he only asked, “How’d training go?”
“Landed on my shoulder. It fucking hurts.”
That’s why he was throwing the stick with his right arm, then, since he was a goofy foot.
“What’s going on up there?” Trigg jerked his chin toward the activity up the mountainside.
“Same shit, different day.” Rolf explained about the stakes. “Police have the login codes. I looked at the tapes myself, but there’s nothing there. I need some answers before the board gets here next week so get on that, would you?”
“I thought you were going to make a report in a couple of weeks, when you and Nate fly over to place the orders.”
“I thought that, too, but they’re not happy with our two steps forward, one step back, pay twice for nothing game.”
“Weird. Gimme the other half of that.”
Rolf did, then watched him feed shreds of roast beef to Murphy while they both ate.
“Seriously, dude. What does she see in you?”
“Do you want me to punch you in the shoulder?”
“I just don’t get it. If it was sex or looks or money, she could have come to me. I’m everything you are, plus a bag of chips. It cannot be your fucking personality.”
“Striving to be everything I am in every way. I’m flattered.” Rolf balled up the plastic wrap from his sandwich and stuck it in his pocket, then dusted his fingers on his thighs.
“Does she think it’s going somewhere? Do you?”
“Does this affect your life in some way, Dad?”
Trigg shrugged. “Maybe. What happens when it stops working? You’re the one got all over me about mixing business and pleasure.”
Rolf wanted to bite out that it wasn’t going to happen, but he and Glory had just nearly fought about that precise thing. He was putting himself out to her in ways he never had with a woman. It wasn’t comfortable, but they seemed to be working. What happened if the lodge struggled, though? Was he supposed to watch them stumble? Or step in?
“It’s not like we aren’t aware there’s a conflict of interest.” He didn’t mention that they’d almost argued about exactly that before trying for pre-emptive make-up sex.
She was frustrated when she couldn’t talk business with him and it bothered him, too. He liked talking things out with her. Two brains and all that. At the same time, there were pain points that impacted their relationship.
“Well, good luck explaining her to the board when they show up.”
Fuck. Well, he wasn’t going to hide it. Still, he was annoyed enough by Trigg’s smirk to give him a light slap in the middle of his back, just enough to tweak his shoulder. “Good to have you back, bro.”
“Fuck you’re an asshole.”
*
Glory sat on her hands and stared at the email, body going hot and cold as she reread it. Clammy then feverish. Nauseas, yet tingly and lightheaded. Maybe she was going to faint. She should breathe. Was she breathing?
Who even read a book in a week? Only super-voracious readers. Not editors. Not freelance editors who had to be booked months in advance. That was the only reason Glory had sent the stupid manuscript over to Barb. At one time, Barb had been her mother’s editor, before New York editors had been whittled down to working for the Big Five or hanging out their shingle to indie publishers and small presses.
Barb was great. She had helped Glory with all those rewrites while her mother was alive, had a brilliant mind for structure and an eagle eye for typos. She was super business savvy and one of her mom’s most cherished friends. Glory had hung out with her at conference loads of times while her mother was alive. They’d had countless lunches and dinners and drinks. Barb was her friend.
Barb was supposed to have put Glory’s book in the queue. Glory had even said when she sent it that the ending needed work and to let her know when she was going to read it so she could send a different version if she had made changes by then.
She had expected to have weeks, maybe months to back out. But the bank balance was circling the brushed nickel drains that her father was having installed, and he was pulling all the stops to impress Wikinger’s board—which she realized had value. Schmoozing kept all the wheels greased—she knew that, but still.
She had needed options so she had sent the stupid book over to Barb, telling her she’d dug up one of her mother’s early manuscripts and “edited it a little more than I have in the past.”
Barb’s response was short and to the point.
Read it. Loved it. But there’s no way that’s a Kathleen Cormer. You wrote it, didn’t you?
Glory was going to cry. Were they happy tears? Sad?
Terrified. Barb knew.
Let’s talk about this. Are you going to conference next week? We should meet up.
No, she wasn’t going to conference. She was going to go drown herself in the pond, thanks very much.
She wrote back, You weren’t supposed to read it so fast. Can I call you tomorrow?
Then she went back and read the words, ‘Loved it,’ again. She stared at them so long, her eyes started to sting. She made herself close her laptop and have a cool shower, then made herself dress like a woman with an ounce of confidence and go downstairs. Rolf wanted her to join him at dinner with his bigwigs from Berlin.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly when she appeared at his side. His brow crooked with concern.
“Yes. Why?”
“You look pale.”
Five minutes later, when she was holding a glass of white wine, Vivien sidled close and murmured, “Should you be having that, dear?”
“Excuse me?”
“You look…delicate.”
“I’m not.” She double-checked with some mental math, thinking that was all she needed to complete her emulation of her mother’s life, but no. She not only wasn’t pregnant, she didn’t have a career to curtail.
When they sat down to eat, Trigg was on her right. He asked point-blank and without lowering his voice, “Are you coming down with something?”
“It’s the lighting. You look really pallid and unhealthy, too.”
“You’re spending too much time with my brother, you know that?”
She wished she knew what to do. After that day with Eden, she’d been more confused than ever. This email from Barb had her in a complete tailspin. If Barb could tell, her mother’s fans would be able to tell. She couldn’t lie to them.
But she couldn’t tell the truth. Forget the books. Forget everything. Her father would—
She didn’t know what he would do. He was in his element right now, talking about all the interest in the lodge, coming in from near and far.
“Glory hasn’t even started advertising. The website is only our contact information and a couple of photos, isn’t it? But we have a waiting list for bookings already.”
“An email list,” Glory clarified. “To keep people updated on progress.” It wasn’t even a hundred people yet.
“But it’s all word of mouth. Imagine what the demand will be once Whiskey Jack is properly on the map.”
Dinner was a blur and she didn’t know how off she’d been until Rolf asked her later, “Are you sure you’re all right? You seemed out of it all night.”
“I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind. But can I ask you something?” She took off her earrings and left them on his dresser, then kicked off her shoes next to it. “What if you can’t make this hill happen?”
“Not an option. I’m committed.” He peeled off his shirt. “If they want to tighten the purse strings, I’ll find the money somewhere else. Take on a partner. I don’t know what the solution will be, but I’ll find one.”
“But let’s say it failed.”
“It won’t.”
“But—Okay, let’s try another analogy. What happened when you fell and couldn’t finish a race? You lost your chance that year. It must have happened at least once. What did you do?”
“Falling happens. You try not to, but if you do, then you get up and finish the run unless you have to be carried off. Then you get yourself back into shape and try again with the next race or the one after that. Why?”
“I think I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid it will hurt and I’m afraid I’ll be laughed at.”
“By idiots, maybe, but…” He shrugged it off, but he was watching her through his lashes.
“I’m so envious of your confidence.” She closed in to splay her hands on his sides, stroking inward to the firm muscles of his abdomen, up his ribcage and across his broad shoulders. “I think I’m afraid that if Dad fails, that’s on me, too.”
He touched her chin, making her look at him. “It’s not.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “But can we not talk about your dad when you’re coming on to me? It gets weird.”
“Don’t call you ‘daddy?’”
“Only if you want a spanking.”
She looped her arms around his neck and lifted on tiptoes to kiss him. She had almost told him she loved his confidence, but balked because it was too big and honest. She was starting to love a lot of things about him. It made everything even more murky than it already was.
Still, she couldn’t help pouring that emotion into her kiss. He made a noise of appreciation and helped her strip her dress. She fumbled his belt open, but before she’d more than got his pants open, he had her on the bed beneath him. He practically rolled on the condom and buried himself in her with the same determined stroke.
She wasn’t quite ready and arched to ease the pinch, making a little noise as she took him.
He paused, lifting his head to say, “I’m not sure why I needed to be here so bad, but I did. We can slow down now.”
“No, keep going.” She drew him down for a passionate kiss.
He began to move in easy, steady strokes. It wasn’t fancy, but it went on a long time, while they kissed and fondled, sighed with shared pleasure and pressed tender kisses to tender places. And when the culmination came, it was so perfectly timed she watched his pupils contract as the tingles of orgasm climbed and overcame her. He pumped into her all the way through it, drawing it out for both of them, sweet and endless.
He settled his weight upon her and she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t want either of them to move. Ever.
Her only coherent thought was, I love when you make love to me.