Yours to Hold: Ribbon Ridge Book Two (3 page)

Compassion eased her anguish, and she let the emotion seep into her bones. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, knew she appeared sheepish. “Perhaps I’m overreacting.”

“Not at all. This was a traumatic event. Don’t discount your own feelings and reactions because you think they aren’t somehow worthy or earned. There is no finite amount of grief to go around here—you feel what you feel, and you’re entitled to it.”

Intellectually, Maggie knew this, but emotionally? Gah, she was such a disaster. She dropped her forehead into her hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone back to work. Maybe I should be teaching or something. What’s that saying?
If you can’t do it, coach
?”

Amy laughed. “The very tenet of our profession. We’re all messed up, Maggie. It’s why we help others not to be.
Do as I say, not as I do
—there’s another saying for you.”

Maggie thought about why she’d chosen to become a therapist in the first place. She liked problem-solving and helping others. That this career path was a disappointment to her parents—they’d really hoped that Maggie and her brother would pursue their artistic sides—had been an added bonus. She’d been eager to separate herself from them as much as possible. And maybe, no probably, she’d hoped that counseling others would give her the ability to work through her own issues. She was still waiting for that part to kick in, which made Amy’s comment truer than ever. “You’re right.”

Amy went back to nodding—a default action for any therapist—and wrote on her pad. Her gun-metal gray bob swung against her jawbone as she looked up once more. “Do you think you’ll see Kyle again?”

“I hope not.” In another life, she might’ve liked to. Whenever Alex had shared pictures of his family, her eye had always been drawn to the tall, blond god whose megawatt grin surely lit up every room he entered. But the man she’d met yesterday, though still attractive, hadn’t looked a thing like the Kyle who’d always intrigued her, the brother who’d disappointed everyone and who Alex had said was his hero.

Because he was fearless.

Yes, he’d made mistakes, which Alex hadn’t delved too deeply into, but Kyle did everything with gusto and a love for life that most people never had. The envy in Alex’s voice when he’d spoken of his brother had always pierced Maggie’s heart. Probably because she had no idea what living one’s life with that sort of joy felt like.

“Where’s your mind at right now?” Amy interrupted Maggie’s total rathole train of thought.

Maggie shook her head. “Sorry. I was thinking about Alex and Kyle’s relationship. Kyle left Ribbon Ridge rather abruptly a few years back. The family took it hard, and from what Alex said, they pretty much treat him like a massive disappointment.”

“Ah.” Amy made a note. “He’s looking for some approval and acceptance then.”

“Should I have tried to help him? I’d actually like to know how Alex got those drugs, too.” Maybe solving that mystery would appease some of her guilt. The person inside of her wanted to cling to that even while the therapist told her it didn’t work that way.

“If you do, you’ll need to do it for the right reasons.”

Maggie finished what Amy didn’t say in her head:
Don’t expect it to alleviate the pain. It might push it away for a while, but only one thing will ease your grief: time.
How she hated telling patients that, even though she knew it was true. She was particularly glad Amy hadn’t said it out loud to her.

“I’m not saying I’m going to help him.” But she was thinking it. Geez, the more she thought about it, the more she was
interested
in helping him. “Would it be bad if I did?”

Amy shrugged. “That depends. If you’re doing it to find some healing and comfort for yourself and for him and his family, then probably not. But, Maggie, I have to wonder if any association with the Archer family is a good idea. You closed your practice in Ribbon Ridge and moved out of that bungalow you loved because you said you couldn’t face the Archers.”

Right.
And they owned over half of Ribbon Ridge. Hell, they owned a good part of the entire county and had for over a century. “I did love that bungalow.” Especially the garden—the English daisies would be in full bloom right now. “You’re right. The Archers have every reason to despise me.” The animosity in Kyle’s tone yesterday pinged in her memory. “I don’t want to cause them any more pain.”

He’d told her she’d think of something to help him. Was he waiting for her to call him with information? She didn’t know anything.

“So you’re going to leave it alone?” Amy asked.

“Yes.” There was nothing she could do anyway, even if she wanted to. And she sort of did.
Careful, Maggie . . .

They spent the rest of the fifty-minute appointment discussing Maggie’s transition to the new practice and whether some of her former clients had followed her. They had—which had surprised Maggie. One of her patients had killed himself. She would’ve thought people would steer clear of her brand of treatment. However, Amy and a handful of friends from grad school had persuaded Maggie to not only start again, but to stay in the same area. They’d been right—the patients who had followed her needed her, and they didn’t blame her. What’s more, the consistency of staying with them had done wonders for her own sense of self-worth.

By the time she left, she was feeling much better and had convinced herself that things were never as bad as they seemed.

Then her phone buzzed in her purse. She’d left it on silent after the appointment. Sliding it from the front pocket as she used her key fob to unlock her ten-year-old Jetta, she glanced at the caller ID on the screen only briefly before sliding her thumb across it. Damn, was it too late to simply hang up and pretend the call had dropped?

No, she’d just call back.

Maggie forced a smile into her voice. If she didn’t, there would be an inquisition. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, my little flower bud. Haven’t heard from you since dinner last week. We haven’t had a chance to discuss Rowan’s new girlfriend. She’s a little uptight, don’t you think?”

Maggie slid into the car and closed the door. “Mom, you think everyone we’ve ever dated is uptight.” Though in this case, Maggie agreed that her younger brother’s latest was at least high maintenance. Designer purse? Check. Immaculate hair and nails? Double check. Name dropping, need to impress, and overly touchy with Rowan? Triple check. But it was natural that he’d go for either someone just like his mother or the polar opposite. Rowan was definitely a polar opposite guy. Not that Maggie hadn’t done the exact same thing with Mark.

“Well, that’s probably true.” Mom made some sort of noise away from the phone—it sounded like she was talking to one of her two dogs. “At least he’s dating someone,” she said with a hint of accusation that was impossible to ignore.

Maggie stuck her key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. “Hey, you’re the one who encouraged me to put myself and my goals first. That’s what I’m doing.”

“And I will always encourage you to do that. But I know you, dear. Better than you know yourself.” Nothing she said grated Maggie’s nerves more than that. “You need someone in your life. Someone you can take care of.”
Because then maybe you’ll take better care of yourself.
The words, spoken so many times before, hung on the phone line between them.

“Mom, can I call you later? I was just getting into my car, and I need to get to an appointment.”

“Oh! I didn’t mean to keep you. I always forget to ask if it’s a good time to talk. Just cut me off in the future, will you?”

Hadn’t she just done that? “I’ll try. Talk to you later.”

Maggie ended the call and started her car. She didn’t really have an appointment—it was Wednesday, and she didn’t see patients on Wednesdays. She did have some work she could do, but instead of driving to the clinic or home to work in her office, she found herself at the local nursery.

Twenty-five bucks and two flats of premium annuals later, she went home and did the only thing that would absolutely soothe her—she got herself nice and dirty.

Chapter Two

K
YLE PULLED INTO
the large dirt lot that served as the parking area of The Alex. He still smiled when he thought of Sara coming up with the idea to name their brother’s dying wish after him. It only made sense.

The hundred-plus-year-old monastery rose in front of him, its church spire stretching two hundred feet into the vivid blue summer sky. The sounds of construction came from the west end of the property. A dirt lane led to what had once been a small house occupied by the head monk or whoever had been in charge at the monastery before it had been abandoned twenty-odd years ago. Phase one of the project Alex had conceived—renovating the property into a premier hotel and event destination—was underway. It would be the newest space and the first of its kind under the Archer name, which included nine brewpubs across the northern valley and into Portland.

Alex had purchased the property using the trust fund left to each of them by their grandfather, then set up a trust for each sibling to inherit an equal share of the project. He’d planned for everyone to participate in the renovation, assigning key roles to every sibling. And he’d made his attorney, Aubrey Tallinger, the trustee.

She’d endured copious amounts of anger and blame immediately following Alex’s suicide, because to all of them, it had seemed unlikely that she’d established the trust without knowing what Alex had planned. But she insisted she hadn’t known, that Alex had told her he was simply preparing in the event that he died young, something he’d convinced her was likely with his chronic lung disease.

However, things hadn’t quite worked out the way Alex had envisioned. Not everyone had been eager to return to Ribbon Ridge, least of all Kyle. He’d declined to come at first, as had Liam and Evan, but Kyle had come home a few months later. Alex’s project had given him a purpose, but it wasn’t the sole reason he’d fled Florida.

A sharp prick of regret pierced his chest. He shook the discomfort away. He’d fucked up. A lot. And he was trying to fix it. He owed it to Alex.

While Alex had been tethered at home with his oxygen tank and debilitating illness, the rest of them had gone off and pursued their dreams. Well, all but Hayden. As the youngest, he’d sort of gotten stuck staying in Ribbon Ridge and working for the family company. His participation in the project should’ve been a given, but then his dream had finally knocked down his door, and he was currently in France for a yearlong internship at a winery.

Kyle stepped out of Hayden’s black Honda Pilot. He’d completely taken over his brother’s life while Hayden was off making wine—his car, his job, his house. Too bad Kyle couldn’t also borrow the respect and appreciation Hayden received.

He slammed the car door. It wasn’t going to be that easy, and he didn’t deserve it to be. He should be driving his own goddamned car, but he’d had to sell it before leaving Florida so the same shit that had driven him from Ribbon Ridge wouldn’t also drive him from Miami.

But hadn’t it?
No.
Things hadn’t gotten as bad as they had four years ago. No one had bailed his ass out this time. He’d learned. He wasn’t the same man.

His sister Tori stepped out of the trailer that served as the site office. She slid a pair of dark glasses on and fidgeted with her long, straight hair, now sporting some light streaks. He swore she changed something about her hair color every couple of weeks.

“Hey, sis,” he said, striding over to her.

“Hey. Did we have a meeting?” She looked up at him, though he couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses.

“No.” And it wasn’t like her to even ask a question like that. She was the most organized, the most managerial, the most
anal
of all of them. “Just here checking on the progress. What’s up with the cabinetry?”

The wrong color had been delivered a few days prior. Kyle had almost felt sorry for the sales rep when not one, but two Archer women ripped him a new one. After Tori had chewed him out, Sara had called him back and demanded a discount for the fuckup. Reticent in their youth, Sara had blossomed into a capable and formidable force of nature. Kyle couldn’t have been prouder of his youngest sister.

“They’re delivering the right color on Monday. Dylan also worked a deal to get the cabinetry for the restaurant at a reduced rate.”

Even the contractor had taken a piece out of them? Now Kyle did feel sorry for the cabinet guy. Dylan was ex-military and could be a total hard-ass. He was also Sara’s boyfriend, and he was as committed to this project as the rest of them. Maybe even more, since he’d worked his butt off to land the entire construction project.

“What does that do to the schedule?” Kyle asked. The renovation of the house into a midsized entertainment space was being managed by Sara, who was an event planner, and was due to be finished by early August. They
had
to make the date because Derek and Chloe were getting married here.

“Dylan says he’s working around it. It’s going to be tight, but we knew it would be.”

“I’ll offer to help out again this weekend.” Kyle had worked onsite with Dylan and his crew the past couple of Saturdays. He’d become quite accomplished at grouting tile.

Tori offered a rare but fleeting smile. “Careful, or you’ll make yourself indispensable, and when you run back to Florida, everyone will be even more pissed than last time.”

He knew she was kidding. Wasn’t she? She and Sara had gone easier on him since he and Sara had patched things up last month. Of all his siblings, he shared the closest bond with Sara, and his leaving four years ago had impacted her the most. He’d apologized but still hadn’t come completely clean about why he’d left. And he wasn’t sure he ever would. There was only so much disappointment one could endure.

He decided to ignore the comment altogether. “Are your latest restaurant drawings in the trailer?”

She nodded. “I’m ready to submit them for permits if you are.”

“I think so.” He’d been over them a million times, ensuring everything was perfect, but he was petrified he was missing something. Seems like if you heard that you were a screw-up enough times, you began to believe it. “I’ll let you know later if I have any final changes.”

“Okay,” she said, a tinge of admonishment in her voice, “but don’t add any more refrigerators or stoves or anything. I’ll have to redraw the entire power grid.”

He grinned, knowing he’d made some changes that had likely driven her nuts. “Gotcha, sis.”

“Does that mean I’ll see you for dinner tonight?”

Kyle often went and cooked dinner for Tori at the Archer family house, which is where she stayed when she was in town. Sara and Dylan joined them from time to time, and it was always a fun evening. “Will Dad be there?” Kyle had been avoiding him since their confrontation the other day.

“Probably. Why does it matter? You’ve come and cooked for him before.” Tori slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “You should talk to him.”

He should. And he would. When he had something good to say—when he could tell Dad who had supplied Alex with the drugs. Then maybe Dad could move on. Or grieve. Or whatever he needed to do. “It’s not just me, you know.”

“I do. Alex’s death devastated him. I think he’s even worse off than Mom was—not that you were here for that.”

He glared at her. “Thanks for the dig. At least I came home later, which is more than I can say for some of our siblings.”

“Sorry.” But the flash in her gaze said she wasn’t really. “It was a really shitty time.”

“I know, and if I could go back, I would’ve stayed.” Would he have? Yes, and not just because it would’ve avoided the problems he’d spiraled into in Miami.

She pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. Her blue-green eyes, the same color as his, clouded with concern. “I want to believe that, Kyle, but it’s so hard when there seems to be this thing . . . I don’t know. I just don’t understand why you disappeared like that, why you rarely came home. It’s like you just forgot you had a family for four years.”

“I didn’t forget. Why is it that Liam can leave Ribbon Ridge without anyone accusing him of turning his back on the family? For that matter, why can
you
?” She lived in San Francisco and was only here temporarily for the renovation.

She pursed her lips. “You know it’s not the same.”

“That’s right. The rules aren’t the same for everyone in this family, and I’m tired of it. No, I won’t see you for dinner.” He stalked off toward the job site without looking back at her. The sound of her car firing up and pulling out of the lot drained the tension from his shoulder blades.

This
was why he hadn’t come home sooner. He couldn’t stand the scrutiny, the meddling. Growing up, people always commented on how great it must be to live in such a big, loving family. In reality, it was a major pain in the ass.

After talking with Dylan and arranging to help out on Saturday, he went to the trailer and reviewed the drawings. Still annoyed by his conversation with Tori, he decided to take the drawings and leave before she got back from lunch.

His mind went back to Dad and trying to find a way to demonstrate that he was worthy of respect and trust and . . . love. Kyle was doing his best at Archer and here on The Alex. Add that to discovering the identity of Alex’s drug dealer, and Dad would see how much Kyle had changed, that he could be proud of him.

Kyle turned the Bluetooth on in the car and dialed the number of Maggie Trent’s office. The ultra-mellow receptionist dude answered, “Mental Health Services.”

Christ, that guy’s voice would sedate a sleepwalker.

“Yeah, hi. May I speak with Dr. Trent?” Kyle looked at the clock—it was 1:23. He knew from scheduling his appointment that her lunch ran from twelve thirty to two. Hopefully she was in the office. “She should be free right now,” he added, in case the guy wanted to send him to voicemail.

“May I say who’s calling?”

“Cal Drogo.”

“Thank you, Mr. Drogo. Hold on, please.”

Kyle fought the urge to take a nap as a result of the receptionist’s droning voice and the hypnotic lute hold music.

“Mr. Drogo?”

Kyle couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think that was Maggie Trent’s sultry voice.

Sultry
? What the hell?

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Trent’s assistant, Stacy. Listen, I know who you are, Mr. Archer. She asked me to tell you that she doesn’t have any information for you and wishes you luck in your endeavor.”

“I need to speak with her, please.”

“No, you don’t.”

The annoyance he’d felt toward his sister earlier came back with a vengeance. “Actually I do.”

“She’s not coming to the phone, okay? Sorry, but have a nice day.”

Click.

He growled in frustration as he redialed the number.

Again, Monotone Man answered. This time, Kyle altered his voice, pitching it lower. “Hello, my name is Ned Stark. Dr. Trent is expecting my call at one thirty.” Kyle glanced at the clock.
Close enough.
“She told me to ask you to put me straight through to her office.”

“Will do.”

More fucking lute music. This time with a dash of sitar thrown in.
Awesome
.

Coming off the hill on which the monastery was perched, he pulled onto the main road that went through Ribbon Ridge and, after a few blocks, turned right toward Archer Enterprises.

“Ned Stark? Really?” The assistant’s voice again. “You do realize I watch
Game of Thrones
? That I said as much the other day?”

Of course he knew that. “I wasn’t expecting to have to talk to you again.”

“Clearly. Your attempt to get straight to Dr. Trent, while amusing, was a complete fail. Do yourself a favor and think twice before calling back as Jon Snow.”

She hung up again.

Goddamn it
.

Kyle gave up trying to get the woman on the phone. What the hell was her problem? He’d been clear about wanting—no, needing—her help. She’d spent hours and hours with his brother. She might know something about where Alex had gotten his drugs. Something she didn’t even realize was
something
.

Why wouldn’t she help him? Kyle had the impression she’d held Alex in high regard. Her reaction had been that of someone who’d cared about Alex, but then she likely cared for all of her patients. Enough to close up her practice in Ribbon Ridge and start over someplace else? No. There had to be something more going on. Her dark eyes had been full of emotion—anxiety, concern, trepidation—and he meant to find out why.

He had a vague idea of her overall schedule from when he’d set his appointment. Monotone Man had asked him if he’d needed an evening appointment, which was available on Thursdays. Today was Thursday, and her last appointment would be over at eight o’clock.

Gripping his steering wheel with grim determination, he made plans to be there waiting for her.

M
AGGIE LOCKED THE
main door of the office and took the elevator down to the lobby. It was almost dark outside, but the remnants of the sun cast a pale glow on the partially cloudy sky. The automatic doors slid open, and she stepped into the summer night, inhaling the scent of grass and juniper.

She turned to the right, toward her car, and jumped as a figure moved into her path from the shadow of the building.

She shrieked and threw her purse and keys, the former landing at her feet and the latter ending up who-knew-where.

Kyle Archer’s face came into the light of the parking lot lamp. His expression was one of surprise, which really pissed her off, as he’d been the one to scare her.

“God, you’re an asshole!” she yelled, her hands shaking and her stomach twisting in knots. Mark had done this to her four or five times before she’d gone to get the restraining order. He’d wait for her to leave the library or finish up her intern shift at the hospital, then jump out at her from the shadows in an effort to convince her that he loved her and she should come back to him. Except sane men didn’t menace the women they loved or make them feel unsafe.

“Let me get that.” Kyle bent and tried to retrieve her purse.

She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch it. Just leave me alone.”