Chapter Two
The headlights of Peyton’s car swept across the forest of trees lining the road. Emily drove because Peyton’s emotions simmered so close to the surface that focusing on anything, let alone the twists and turns of Wyoming back roads, would have been a Herculean effort. And as much as she lauded herself on her strength, tonight, Hercules she was not.
Emily remained quiet throughout the drive, and Peyton was never more thankful for her intuitive friend than she was at this moment. There was a time not so long ago when their roles were reversed, and Peyton hadn’t been nearly as forgiving. Or silent.
They broke free of the forest and several houses came into view, spread out on either side of the narrow road. Emily turned right into Peyton’s driveway and cut the engine. They sat in silence until Emily shifted in her seat.
“I can stay or I can go. You tell me what you need. I’m not as good at this stuff as you are, but I want to be there for you.”
Peyton turned and smiled. It was dark out, with just the smallest sliver of porch light making its way through the windshield. “You’re being there for me in every way I need right now, but I think…I think I want to be alone tonight. How about tomorrow? Could we meet at the diner?”
“First painting class is eleven, so I’ll need to be at the ranch by ten to set up. Is eight too early?”
“Perfect.”
Both women got out and met up at the trunk of Peyton’s car. Emily hugged her tight and whispered, “I’m just across the street. Call, text, flash the porch lights and I’ll be here.”
Peyton swallowed back the lump in her throat and managed to nod. Emily crossed the street and headed for the log cabin diagonal from Peyton’s house. Her friend would find her husband inside and sleep in his arms tonight. Whereas Peyton? Well, she was going to wrap her arms around a bottle of something and try to drown all the emotions and feelings that had surfaced thanks to Ryder Marks’s grand homecoming.
Peyton let herself into her house and shut the door, leaning back against it. No lights were on and only a sliver from the porch filtered into the living room. It was still. Eerily so. It hadn’t been this quiet since she and Mel moved in five years ago.
Thinking of Mel brought about a smile. She wondered what her vivacious daughter was up to tonight at camp. This was the longest they’d been apart, and Peyton already couldn’t wait for her to be back home. Of course, Ryder’s return had changed everything Mel would be coming home to. Her smile quickly dissolved as dizziness threatened to make her already weak legs give out.
She would have to tell him. But how? She doubted Google had a list of instructions on how to break the news to someone that they’re a father.
Maybe his mother, Shelby, already had?
Peyton shook her head. No, if she had, Ryder would have said something to her tonight. Something much less flattering than “you look good.”
Instead, he’d acted like a long-lost friend who’d popped in, and she should be happy about it. That in the time he’d been gone, she should have gotten over him walking out on her. On them.
Another woman might have been able to, but Ryder had left something behind with Peyton.
Sure, they’d been young, and who knew what the future would have held. But she’d loved him, and she’d thought he’d loved her. You didn’t walk away from someone you loved. Not without explanation. Without warning. And you certainly didn’t stay away for ten years.
She snorted, thinking of how naive she’d been back then. She’d thought he was “the one” and had dreamed of marrying Ryder. She’d believed he was the kind of man one could depend on, but clearly her foolish nineteen-year-old self had been wrong. Still, her first love—and heartbreak—came with a bonus surprise she wouldn’t give up for the world.
Would he be mad when she told him he had a daughter? Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough to find him over the years. She’d been too stunned, too heartbroken when she found out about Mel to form a coherent thought. Then had come the requisite fallout. She was an unmarried, pregnant nineteen-year-old. Her very straight-laced, appearances-are-everything parents had essentially cast her out. If it hadn’t been for her grandmother and Ryder’s parents, she didn’t know how she would have managed.
Crossing over to the sofa, Peyton adjusted the pillows, her fingertips playing with a loose thread. She never really understood why the Marks had come to her aid. She just recalled Shelby Marks showing up at her grandmother, Polly’s, one afternoon and asking her point blank if Peyton was carrying her grandchild. When she confirmed what everyone else in Fly Creek assumed, Shelby had enveloped her in a vanilla-scented hug and promised her whatever support she needed.
It had been oh-so tempting to let them take her in and smother her. A substitute for the son who had abandoned them, but Peyton had pride and a long stubborn streak. She allowed them to help her through school, but she paid them back after she finished. And she made them interview her for the position she held at the ranch. Maybe she would have gotten it anyway, but at least she knew she was qualified for it and had given a damn good interview, even if Mitchum had smirked the entire time Shelby had asked questions.
She’d inherited parents with the Marks. They’d loved her as their own over the years, filling a spot left empty and cold by her own parents.
Would Shelby tell her son before she could? Peyton doubted it. She would respect or more likely expect that Peyton would do it when the time came. They’d both sort of come to an agreement after a few years that Ryder would come home when he was ready, or he wouldn’t. They knew he was safe, his letters came regular enough at that point, but it was never more than letters. No phone calls, no slip on where specifically he was in Alaska, or what exactly he was doing. Even the two PIs they’d hired had found nothing. Peyton had never questioned their decision to stop.
Until now.
Was he staying at his parents’ or maybe somewhere else on the ranch? A lot had changed since his abrupt departure. Even the house he grew up in adjacent to the main lodge was now empty; his parents having built a new home not long after he left. And if he stepped foot in their house he was sure to see the pictures of Mel scattered around the living room. There was no valid reason for his parents to have a picture of a young girl. Ryder was an only child.
She would find him tomorrow and tell him. And if he wanted to see Mel, she would let him. Maybe at his parents’ house if he was still in town when Mel got back. Lord, how would she take it? Peyton snorted. That child let everything roll off of her. Her daughter analyzed, made a decision, and went with it. She was never rattled by anything.
But all that could be dealt with tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to spend her first night alone in her house getting drunk. Peyton walked into the kitchen and grabbed the step stool. Climbing up, she opened the cabinet above the fridge and reached into the back, pulling out a bottle of peach schnapps. It was her favorite, and she’d bought the bottle yesterday, knowing she would be alone this week and perhaps in need of some adult sustenance. Excellent planning on her part, since Ryder’s return warranted a lot more than a tin of cookies and some ice cream.
She climbed back down, grabbed a glass from another cabinet, and let herself out onto the back deck. It was September, a month that never seemed to make up its mind in Wyoming. Tonight was cool but not freezing.
The house backed up to woods, her yard small but functional. Mel had a little getaway tucked under a weeping willow. There was a fire pit at the corner of the patio off the deck that Emily and Adam had helped her build last fall. She was tempted to light one up but something about the darkness comforted her at the moment. Maybe in a bit she would need the warmth of flames. That was, if the schnapps didn’t do its job effectively.
She sat on the wicker settee and curled her feet under her. Pouring a glass, she took a healthy drink and closed her eyes as she became reacquainted with the peach and all its wicked schnapps goodness.
Ryder Marks.
She’d be lying if she said she never imagined him returning to town. His parents lived here and surely at some point he would want to see them. They wouldn’t live forever, and he was their sole heir. Which was something his father used to harp on him about consistently, alongside numerous lectures. But in her vison of him returning, he was fat and pudgy and balding, and she was married with a family and home.
Well, she did technically have a family and a home, but marriage didn’t appear to be in the cards. And Ryder wasn’t balding. Or fat, if the brief glimpse she got of his chiseled abs when he wiped his face earlier tonight was any indication.
No, he looked better than when he left all those years ago. He was a man now. His face leaner and sharper. His body filled out in muscles, not residual baby fat. His eyes were bright and excited, not full of despair like that last night she’d seen him. It was that despair that she recalled over the years. Once she got past the heartache and shock of him leaving her and the even bigger shock of finding out she was pregnant. That bleak look would surface from time to time and she would almost feel at peace about him going. Of course, that peace passed swiftly and the bitter resentment followed in its wake.
Her phone chimed, and she swiped to see a picture of Mel shoving a s’more in her face, the campfire behind her and her eyes sparkling with laughter. Peyton let her mother hen have free reign as she traced the familiar lines of her daughter’s angelic face. When Mel was at rest, which happened only when she was completely conked out, her face looked like that of a china doll. Pale fine skin, large chocolate eyes framed by thick dark lashes, and a dark head of curls that bounced relentlessly with her daughter’s enthusiasm.
It was in those moments that Peyton remembered Ryder the most. Mel had received everything from him, right down to the eyebrow over her left eye that grew straight up. It seemed cruel that Peyton would be reminded so often of her abandonment, but there was nothing she would change about her daughter or how she came to be in her life.
Just as there was nothing she could change about Ryder now becoming a part of Mel’s life. They’d been forever connected the minute she found out she was pregnant, it was just now, that connection would be real, visible. The only thing she could control was her relationship with Ryder. They would be two individuals who shared a past and now a future involving Mel. She hoped so, anyway, for her daughter’s sake. But that future would not involve them together.
Falling for Ryder Marks was not a road she was willing to travel down again. Cause that road was littered with broken trust and ended in a shattered heart.
…
Ryder sat in his parents’ new kitchen. Everything bigger, newer, less homey. It had been a huge shock after his mother stuffed his face that afternoon to have her drive him around the lake and pull up to a log cabin nestled on the far side of the property. Ryder had laughed a little in disbelief at fate’s trick. He’d suggested to his parents over the years that they’d needed something bigger and away from the main hustle and bustle of the ranch. A place they could relax after the long days they put in. Mitchum had accused him of wanting to waste precious resources. Of wanting to grandstand to the workers.
Clenching his fists, he rolled his neck this way and that and took a deep breath. He was no longer the Ryder who left all those years ago. Who took every barb, every insult straight to the heart. He knew his plans for Sky Lake, even back then, were only to benefit it and his parents. And now he was home, part owner and ready to show Mitchum Marks just how wrong he had been about his son.
What will be wonderful is when he leaves again. The first words his father had spoken to him upon his return echoed in his heart, leaving little slices of pain. Ryder had changed in so many ways, but deep down he was still a son craving his father’s love and approval. He snorted. Maybe some things would never change. Then he took a quick glance around him and smiled. And maybe some things did.
He hadn’t had a chance to explore earlier with his mom, and even now when he’d come into their home, he’d made a beeline for the kitchen. Tomorrow, in the daylight, he would see just what his parents had created for themselves.
The lights were off in the large open space, only the glow of a small nightlight shedding any illumination. He recognized the navy lampshade with cutouts from the cottage. It would appear not everything had been left to rot in the house he grew up in.
He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Ten years was a long time, and it was only natural that things would change. He’d changed. But somewhere in his mind he must have expected his parents to remain stationary. To do what they always did because, well, that’s what they always did. After all, much of what led him to leave was the constant battle between his father and him over change. Ryder making suggestions and his father vetoing them as lazy and disrespectful to his heritage.
He tucked his anger back inside and sighed, his thoughts turning to a certain blonde. His parents’ living situation wasn’t the only thing that changed.
Peyton Brooks was certainly different. Not just in the way a girl grows into a woman, although from his brief encounter, he would say all changes had only benefited her. She’d been a beauty at nineteen. Angelic and sweet but with a backbone of steel. Now she blew every other woman away. Not just with her crystal green eyes and perfectly proportioned body, but with the intrinsic confidence that oozed out of every pore.
He’d left the bar pretty quickly after Peyton. Somehow getting a drink thrown in his face by his ex-girlfriend wasn’t exactly the welcome home he’d hoped to receive. Obviously Peyton still hated him for how he’d treated her all those years ago. He couldn’t blame her.
Ryder stood and paced, not used to sitting still or having the time to do it. In truth, leaving her had possibly been harder than leaving his mother and Sky Lake, because he knew she’d never forgive him. He’d wanted to talk to Peyton about everything, but it seemed wrong to speak to her about not wanting the life he was being given gift-wrapped when he knew her family worked so hard for everything they had. They weren’t poor by any means, but they hadn’t been handed a damn thing. Every time he went to mention it to her, he’d stopped, fearing she wouldn’t understand. Just like his mom and dad. And hearing it from her, the person he loved, would have hurt ten times worse.
Dropping onto a bar stool, he hung his hands between his legs. Peyton had deserved more from him all those years ago. He’d known he wasn’t worthy of her at the time, but a heads up would have gone a long way. He’d just been so focused on leaving that everything else had taken a back seat.
The house phone rang and brought Ryder out of his zone. He crossed over to the old-time replica hanging on the wall and smiled. Another transplant from the cottage. Most people didn’t even bother with house phones anymore, but in Wyoming reception was a fickle wench. Besides, his mom wouldn’t be denied any forms of communication and she’d always loved this behemoth of a thing. Another shrill pierced the kitchen, and Ryder picked up the little earpiece. He opened his mouth to say hello but was interrupted by a fierce voice.
“A warning, Shelby. After all these years you couldn’t at least have given me a warning? A text message, a quick phone call to let me know your offspring had deigned to show his face and had come home to Fly Creek.”
There was a pause, and Ryder heard a tapping on the other end. He should make himself known to Peyton. Tell her his mother was out with his dad dealing with a birthing mare.
“And, Shelby, please. Please don’t tell him. I will. I promise. Tomorrow. Just let me find a way to do it if you can. I’m asking a lot, but what’s twelve more hours?”
Know what? Ryder mumbled something, thanking God his mother had a husky voice. She stayed silent, and he wondered if she realized his mother wasn’t on the phone. Then came the first sniffle.
“Why, Shelby? Why after all these years? I was fine. We were fine, and now…”
Every word, every syllable punched Ryder square in the gut. It had been ripped from someplace so raw that he wondered if she was even standing right now or just letting the ground do the supporting. The urge to go to her, to make sure she was okay, left him fidgety and pacing the kitchen. She was upset and sounded drunk, and even though he didn’t understand half of what she was saying or feeling, he knew he was to blame. It was his responsibility to handle it.
The phone clicked.
God, where did she live now? His mother had obviously kept in touch with her all these years, which shocked Ryder on several levels. It appeared they had a close relationship, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. They certainly hadn’t been bosom buds back while they were dating. In fact, his father had often mentioned she was just a passing fancy, no one to get too involved with since Ryder would probably move on eventually. But clearly they had a connection…and that meant his mom would send her cards. Connections to Shelby Marks meant birthday cards and holiday cards and get well cards, and if Peyton was getting cards that meant her address would be in his mother’s book.
Ryder spun around and hunted for his mother’s office. It turned out to be a little nook off the back den. There, sitting in the center of an otherwise perfectly clean blotter, was his mother’s address book. It was battered and bruised and looked as if it was barely hanging together, but it was his mother’s pride and joy. Her diary of friends and acquaintances and connections.
Carefully, he lifted the stiff letter B and folded it open. Another page and there was her name. Peyton Brooks and all the little intricate markings next to her name and address meant his mother had been sending her cards for…nine years. Since he’d left, practically. No time to examine the whys. He typed the address into his phone and headed out to make sure she was okay. He couldn’t fix the past, but he could damn well try to fix this.