The Lemon Sisters Read online

“Text me later?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Love you, Min.”

  “Love you, too,” she said, but felt a lot less warm without him on the line.

  Tommy distracted her by taking her to craft services. There was a juice bar set up, and suddenly, she was in her element. She created unique juices for her entire squad based on what she’d learned of them over the past hours, and they all squealed in excitement, gushing over her skills.

  From there, they went to a bar, and then a late dinner, and then a club.

  She had the time of her life. Or so she told herself.

  “You okay?” Tommy asked her.

  “Sure, I’m great.”

  “Is that why you kept sneaking into the bathroom to check your phone?”

  She sighed. “Mom guilt.” And wife hope. But nothing more from Linc.

  Tommy reached for her hand. “You love your family. You miss them. That’s the hard part. The good part is that you’re taking a little well-deserved time to put yourself back together after cracking.”

  She looked at him. “You think I’ve cracked?”

  “Like Humpty Dumpty, sweetness.”

  She thought about that as she crawled into Brooke’s comfy, clean bed, luxuriating in the fact that she didn’t have to share it with a husband and at least one kid. Tommy was right. She had cracked. She just hoped she could put all the pieces back together again, and quickly, since Brooke was expecting her home tomorrow. But even as she thought it, she knew she wasn’t ready. She needed more time, a few more days.

  Or months . . .

  She was awakened the next morning by the banging in her head. Damn wine, she thought, and started to fall back asleep.

  But then Tommy was standing at the bedside, looking disgusting healthy and not hungover in the slightest. He held out his phone. “For you,” he said.

  “’Lo?” she managed, holding her head onto her shoulders. Damn. Thirty years old was too old to drink until two in the morning.

  “When you’re not dead,” Brooke said in her ear with false politeness, “you return a damn phone call.”

  Mindy gasped, sitting straight up. “The kids, is everyone—”

  “They’re good. They’re great, actually. But jeez, Min, tell me you’re not still sleeping while I’m over here working on no sleep at all.”

  Mindy let out a breath of relief. “Not still sleeping, at least not anymore. And hey, sometimes you just need to lie in bed and rest for a couple of years, ya know?”

  “I hate you.”

  Mindy could hear Maddox crying in the background. “What’s wrong with my baby?”

  “Lots of things,” Brooke said. “But at the moment it’s the fact that I won’t let him get into the oven with my sweet lemon bread.”

  Mindy snorted, but only because she totally understood. There was no reasoning with Maddox on the best of days. “You’re making my kids your sweet lemon bread?”

  “Yeah. Figured it was more acceptable than a pitcher of frozen margaritas. So it’s been the agreed-upon two days, Min. What time are you coming home today?”

  “Yeah, about that . . .” Mindy bit her lower lip, torn between momma guilt and the need to clear her muddled head. “I’m not.”

  Chapter 5

  When life gives you lemons . . .

  Brooke stood in the kitchen staring out the window, running the pads of her thumbs over the tips of her fingers, back and forth, back and forth.

  The calming gesture wasn’t working today. It’d been an hour since Mindy had told her she wasn’t coming home, and Brooke was still trying not to freak out.

  Mindy wanted the rest of the week.

  Brooke had taken personal time off from work for these past few days, and that hadn’t been a problem. Calling out for the rest of the week would be. Cole had a lot of good qualities. Patience wasn’t one of them. He’d most definitely bitch about it.

  Or he’d show up here in some misguided attempt to take her back. Sweet, but she didn’t need him here. She had this.

  Restless, she stepped out back to sit in the only shady spot on the deck. She had a glass of homemade lemonade—because when life gives you lemons, and all that—but wished it was something stronger.

  A lot stronger.

  She turned the glass around in her hands. Exactly twice. Then twice more. Rolling her eyes at herself, she drew in a deep breath of fresh air. Late May in Wildstone was just about perfect. Seventy-five degrees, with a light breeze that was scented with oak trees, sea air, and . . . more than a hint of lost hopes and dreams.

  She didn’t miss LA. That was the shocker. She didn’t miss her current job, either. That wasn’t a shock at all. No, the things she missed, like the weight of her camera around her neck and the ability to go adventuring, hadn’t been within her reach in a long time. They were within her reach now. Or so she told herself. After all, she had her plan: Help Mindy and kick Linc’s ass. Apologize to Garrett. But that was proving harder than she’d thought it would be, and she’d thought it’d be really hard. He’d been right in front of her, and instead of apologizing for what she’d done, she’d . . . She shook her head. She’d ended up tongue-tied and unable to bring it up at all. She had no idea what was wrong with her, but all her feelings for him from that time in her life seemed stuck in her throat. Fact was, she was crushing on him all over again, and that couldn’t happen. She needed to handle this chapter of her life and move on. Go back to LA, talk to Cole about getting her old job back or one like it, and live life again.

  She couldn’t wait. She’d absolutely loved traveling the planet on someone else’s dime, going home between gigs, keeping both worlds in motion. Loved the freedom that had allowed her to wander to her heart’s content, but also have a place to call home.

  That’s what she missed.

  With the kids still at camp for another few hours, she set her head back and closed her eyes, which was when she heard it, an odd thunk, thunk, thunk. Rising, she followed the sound to the side yard, passing the Slip ’N Slide, which appeared to have gotten bigger and longer than the last time she’d seen it.

  The fencing was open rail. The neighbors to the back and right of the house were both horse ranchers. Garrett was to the left. He had enough land to ranch, but at the moment, it was just the house, the barn, and empty pasture.

  Following the rhythmic noise, she made her way through a break in the fence, finding herself insatiably curious in a way she hadn’t been when she’d grown up here. The barn door was open. Three cats sat in the doorway, one of them Princess Jasmine, all watching someone inside with intense interest. Brooke moved closer and solved one mystery.

  Garrett stood in the center of the barn wielding an ax in the same way he’d handled his hard-knock life—with effortless ease. But that wasn’t what stopped her in her tracks and had her heating up from the inside out. No, that honor went to the fact that he’d stripped off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but low-slung jeans and work boots as he attacked a mountain of wood rounds.

  Once upon a time, he’d been tall and skinny to the point of gauntness. But Ann had nurtured him to good health with her home cooking and abundant and overflowing love, just as she had for every single kid she’d ever taken in.

  Garrett had spent his teenhood as the third musketeer to Brooke and Mindy. At first, Mindy had crushed on him, privately lamenting his cluelessness to Brooke. Given how many girls Garrett had gone through during his Dumbass Boy years and how smart he’d been, Brooke had always known he’d never been clueless. But she’d played the game with Mindy so her sister hadn’t been forced to face her first real rejection.

  Then Linc had stepped up and claimed Mindy’s heart, and that had been that. Mindy’s friendship with Garrett had adapted, and become much more real. It wasn’t until one night during the summer after Brooke had graduated from high school that her friendship with Garrett had adapted and taken on a whole new level.

  They’d both agreed it was a one-time thing.

&nb
sp; Especially since she’d been gone for long stretches of time for work, which was anything but work in her mind. Photographing the wild adventures of thrill seekers, she’d been sent on assignments with little more than a camera around her neck. It’d been heaven on earth.

  And okay, yes, when she’d come home between gigs, she and Garrett had had another “one-time” thing. And then another. And so on, until it became a joke between them. But it had allowed them to keep their emotions in check. Until it didn’t. By the time she was twenty-one, she’d realized Garrett was one of the few real things in her life, that he actually grounded her in the very best of ways, and she’d started to wonder . . . could they ever make it work for real?

  Turned out that the question was moot, because she’d gone on to screw up and destroy everything.

  Clearly not bogged down by the same memories, Garrett continued to wield the ax without so much as glancing at her or slowing down, which was actually an incredibly difficult thing to do. His sleek muscles bunched and released fluidly with every movement. The boy had turned into a man, and she wasn’t above taking the time to appreciate that and his current rangy, cut look. He hadn’t gotten that way in a gym, either. Nope, that body was born of years of manual labor and the heavy lifting required to build and renovate homes with your own two hands.

  The cats were riveted, and so was she. He’d had some ink done. Bold black roman numerals across one pec, just above his heart. There was more script around his right biceps, and then just above that was the outline of rolling hills dotted with oaks. It signified Wildstone, she realized, betting that the numbers were the longitude and latitude of the town.

  The afternoon sun slanted in through the barn’s windows and the doorway in which she stood, giving the air a golden halo-y effect. Dust and wood particles floated around Garrett, landing on his shoulders, chest, and arms. This didn’t appear to bother him in the least as he moved, seemingly oblivious to anything around him.

  But she knew that wasn’t true. He was never oblivious to anything. He knew she was there. It used to be that she could tell whenever he was near as well. She’d feel a shift in her force field in the form of goose bumps and an undeniable longing running through her veins.

  He knew she was watching. He either didn’t care or couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge her.

  She knew she should walk away, but she didn’t. She continued to watch, and even from the distance she could see the roughness of his hands as he raised the ax high above his head and slammed it down powerfully, easily splitting a log. The sound reverberated off the barn walls and rang loudly in her ears.

  “You should move back,” he finally said, picking up another log and dropping it on the block. “This stuff flies everywhere.”

  “I’ve gotten dirty before.”

  He looked up from his task, the intensity of those hazel eyes still as piercing as ever, his expression unreadable. His body wasn’t the only thing hard about this man. His heart was hardened, at least to her.

  When she didn’t move back as suggested, he merely shrugged and swung the ax again. Wood shards flew everywhere, hitting him in the chest and shoulders, but he carried on without a flinch. His skin shone with sweat from the exertion, and she bit her lower lip, remembering with sudden clarity what that skin tasted like under her tongue.

  Suddenly, he tossed the ax aside. When he moved toward her, the air backed up in her lungs, even as unexpected hunger for him pooled inside her. Would he put those strong hands of his on her and pull her into him?

  And what would she do? She had no idea.

  No, that was a big, fat lie. She knew exactly what she’d do. She’d climb him like a tree.

  With every step he took, her pulse kicked harder. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She looked at his mouth, knowing from experience that it would be both soft and hard, and suddenly she needed it on hers so badly she trembled. Once upon a time, her world hadn’t worked without him in it. But she’d learned to be okay without him. In fact, she was really good at being alone. But what she wouldn’t give for even an hour in his arms, knowing that he could make her forget all her problems. Hell, he could make her forget her name when he set his mind to it.

  He stopped an inch from her, chest glistening. She could feel the heat pouring off his body and into her own chilled one.

  “The kids?” he asked.

  Her entire body tightened in anticipation of what that question meant. Was he asking if they were alone? “Still at camp,” she said breathlessly, and slowly lifted her eyes to his.

  She knew what was probably in her gaze. Lust. Longing. Need. And now she also knew what was in his.

  Nothing.

  Face carefully blank, he nodded. Then he gave a jerk of his chin to the cats and the three of them strode into the barn like royalty. Garrett waited for them and then . . . slowly slid the barn door closed, leaving him on one side of the wood and Brooke on the other.

  AN HOUR LATER, she was in Mindy’s kitchen slicing her fresh-out-of-the-oven sweet lemon bread, concentrating on making an even number of slices. When in doubt, she baked. And she did a damn good job of it, if she said so herself. Not up to her sister’s standards, but no one was up to her sister’s standards. Mindy could give Martha Stewart a run for her money in the baking department.

  But Brooke had needed the distraction, desperately. Every time her mind rewound to the barn, she flashed hot with mortification. “Not thinking about it,” she reminded herself. She was going to find a way to say what she’d come to say and do what she needed to do to make sure Mindy was okay. Then she was out of here, and she wouldn’t think about Garrett again.

  Ever.

  Her phone sat on the counter, judging her. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said, still counting slices—three, four . . .

  Her phone didn’t respond, but the silence was filled with ’tude. She had a whole slew of texts and messages from Mindy, who, in spite of her chosen absence, still felt the need to direct from two hundred miles south in Los Angeles. There were also four missed calls from Cole, and a text that read, Tell me you’re home and are coming to work tomorrow.

  Dammit. She called Cole on speaker and kept slicing.

  Cole answered with “Why do I have a bad feeling about this call?”

  She made a big show of sounding sick, because telling him she was still in Wildstone would worry him enough to maybe actually drive up, and she didn’t need him in protective mode. “Caught something from the kiddos,” she said. “I need the rest of the week.” She sniffled for good measure.

  “You need more phlegm on that lie,” Garrett said from behind her.

  She went to cut piece number seven but slashed herself with the knife—proof that odd numbers were evil. The cut wasn’t deep, just enough to completely annoy her.

  “Shit,” Garrett said, and grabbed the paper towels.

  “It’s nothing. Just a nick. A Band-Aid will do it,” she said, having adopted Mason’s motto. When you had a cut, a Band-Aid will do it. When your world fell apart, a Band-Aid will do it . . .

  Garrett took her hand to inspect the injury. He’d put his shirt back on, which was definitely for the best. She could think much better when he had his shirt on. She pulled free.

  “What’s going on?” Cole asked tightly from the phone.

  “Nothing,” she said, glaring at Garrett. “My brain just has too many tabs open.” She jabbed a finger at the door, an obvious demand for Garrett to get the hell out.

  “Why don’t you sound sick anymore?” Cole asked.

  “It’s . . . complicated,” she said, and grimaced. “And hard to explain.”

  “Uh-huh. Maybe you’ll try over dinner tonight. I’ve got veggie tofu stir-fry leftovers.”

  Garrett, who hadn’t budged in spite of her repeated and dramatic gesturing in the direction of the door, made a face, probably at the tofu. Cole was a vegetarian. Garrett was most definitely not. The sexy jerk took up his favorite position leaning against the counter, looking
better than the sweet lemon bread, damn him, as he casually reached out and stole slice number six.

  Which left an odd number of slices. Clueless to her turmoil, he added a slab of butter to his piece and dug in.

  “Brooke?” Cole asked.

  She turned her back on the sight of Garrett inhaling her bread. “I’m still in Wildstone.” There. The truth.

  Silence from the phone.

  “Cole?” she asked. “You okay?”

  “Are you going to come back?”

  “Yes,” she said definitively.

  “Then I’m okay. What’s going on, sweetness?”

  Incredibly aware of Garrett in the room, she drew a deep breath. Cole cared, deeply, and that caring was in his tone and in everything he wasn’t saying. He was a good enough guy to assume she was a grown-up and would tell him if she needed help.

  So maybe he didn’t know her quite as well as she thought. “What’s going on is that I’ve got some things to take care of up here. I need more time. That’s all.”

  “Do you need me?”

  She closed her eyes against the onslaught of guilt. He would take her as is, right now, if she wanted that. She’d told him she wasn’t meant for a deep relationship, and he’d taken her at her word. She could love him for that alone. “I’m okay.”

  He paused, then simply said, “Call if you need me,” and disconnected.

  A beat of silence reigned in the kitchen. Then Garrett spoke. “You’re still good at that.”

  She turned to face him. He’d indeed taken a second piece.

  “To leave an even number of slices,” he said quietly.

  She lifted a startled gaze to his. He knew.

  “I’ve always known,” he said.

  She’d have to dwell on that later, how her own family had never figured it out, but he had. “Good at what?” she asked instead, ignoring the quiver in her belly.

  “Keeping people who care about you at a distance.”

  “Cole’s my boss.”

  Garrett licked some crumbs and butter from his thumb and shrugged, like it was no concern of his what Cole was or wasn’t to her. “You still make amazing sweet lemon bread.”