Page 17

Abbey frowns at me, still unsure. “Why did he drive all the way to Helena?” It’s only a few hours’ drive but it might as well be on a different planet. We don’t make the trip but a few times a year.
“He said something about family business.” Since James is his brother, it’s technically true so I don’t feel bad for saying it. “I promise you, Abbey—Damien reminds me of Luke. I could never feel that way about him.”
When I mention Luke, Abbey’s face falls. “I’m sorry, Kaity...” She shakes her head while reaching across the table to grab my hand. “I’m being terrible. I just...”
“Saw me get into Damien’s truck at 5AM and got jealous,” I finish for her with a smirk.
“God.” She drops her head onto the table with a sigh, her forehead hitting it with a dull thunk. “I’m terrible and obvious.”
“Yes, you are.” Giving her hand a squeeze, I laugh when her head pops up so she can frown at me.
Withdrawing her hand slowly, she sighs. “Gee, thanks...”
“It’s okay,” I give her a grin. “You’re only obvious to me. Mom and Dad are completely clueless.” Or rather selectively blind. Abbey is still daddy’s little princess. As far as he’s concerned, she walks on water. As for our mom, she picks and chooses what she sees and confronts.
“Thanks, Kaity.” Abbey gives me a flat smile, ready to change the subject. “Where are Mom and Dad? I haven’t seen them all day.”
“They went to Helena too,” I tell her before taking a drink of iced tea. “They were both awake and dressed when I came downstairs. Dad said they had an appointment at the bank and that they were staying overnight.” I purposely leave out the part about our houseguest up at Northpoint and the fact that I’ll more than likely be married off to Brock Morris by this time next year. “They won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.”
Abbey perks up at the thought of an entire night without parental supervision. “Then hell yes, I want milkshakes for dinner,” she says, slapping the table with a grin of her own. “Let’s go.”
TEN
Wentworth
The hunting cabin Damien talked his boss into renting to me may look like a cabin but it’s far from roughing it. Left on the front steps and to my own devices when my brother whisked the rancher’s daughter away, I carried my duffle and portfolio up to the porch and tried the front door. Thankfully, it was unlocked.
Letting myself in, I found myself in the kind of hunting cabin I assume the CEO of a Fortune 500 company would call a rustic little getaway.
A pair of large, brown leather couches face off in front of a massive stone fireplace with a living edge mantel and beautiful framed watercolor of what I’m pretty sure is the lake on the other side of the driveway. Worn but meticulously polished hardwood floors covered with what I’m sure are hand woven rugs lead to an open concept kitchen that undoubtedly would get my father’s stamp of approval, separated from the living room by a large, curved island, occupied by a line of rustic but obviously expensive barstools. On the other side of the large, open space is a wide staircase leading to the second-story where I’m assuming I’ll find the bedrooms.
Not quite ready to make the trip yet, I drop my duffle at the bottom of the stairs before taking a slow cruise around the living room. On either side of the fireplace are tall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Intermingled with leather-bound first editions and commercial fiction hardbacks are framed family photos and mementos. Picking a framed photo up at random, I recognize the rancher's daughter right away, even though she’s years younger than she is now and from what I can see in the picture, infinitely happier.
Kait’s been through hell these last couple of years...
That’s what Damien said to me earlier, in between telling me to forget that she asked me for help and calling me a rich, out-of-town asshole. Comparing the girl in the picture to the young woman I met earlier, I can see that my brother’s assessment of the last couple of years of her life was an understatement. Not that she looks bad—she doesn’t. Matter of fact, she’s without a doubt the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met—but the girl in the photograph shines. Standing next to her at what looks like some sort of BBQ or community picnic is a man, a few years older but he resembles her enough that I’m sure he’s a close relation. Between them is an even younger girl, this one blonde and willowy with soft delicate skin and wide brown eyes. The man and the younger girl are smiling at the camera while Kait’s head is thrown back, her mouth open and grinning on a silent laugh.
Suddenly feeling like I’m spying on her in the shower, I set the picture frame down and step away from the bookshelf without looking at anything else. Moving across the room without a clear course of action, I’m almost relieved when my phone rings. Pulling it out of my back pocket, I answer it without checking to see who it is and instantly regret it.
“You were on Extra! last night.” Delilah informs me as soon as I say hello. “Mother is absolutely losing her shit. She’s got her pack of lawyers off the leash and foaming at the mouth.”
“I’m okay, all things considered—thanks for asking,” I answer dryly while I make my way to the open front door. “Tell mother she can put her suits back in their kennel—I have it taken care of.”
Delilah gives me one of her put-upon sighs. “Went, please don’t make me talk to her.”
Moving through the door instead of closing it, I step out onto the front porch. “Who flew to New York and bailed you out of jail last month when you—”
“Fine,” she hisses at me while I lower myself into one of the large gliders that sit in pairs under the deep eves of the porch. “I’ll tell her but this makes us even.”
“Lilah, I could ask you to handcuff yourself to her for the rest of your life and we still wouldn’t be close to even,” I say, reminding her of the countless times I’ve bailed her out and rescued her since she was fifteen. She sort of went off the rails when our grandparents died. I was already in college—not because I wanted to go but because my grandfather made it clear that even though he supported and encouraged my dreams of being an artist, he still expected me to get an education.
Wentworth, I don’t care what you do with it once you get it, but please humor your grandfather and go to college and earn a business degree.
I understood why—Hawthorne International was going to be mine someday and even if I didn’t want it, I needed to have at least some idea of how to run a multi-billion-dollar hotel business... but instead of staying in Boston and going to Harvard like he hoped, I moved across the country and went to UCLA. Neither one of us dreamed that he and my grandmother would be gone before I even finished my sophomore year. Without them, Delilah went wild and nothing I did or said could reel her in and aside from lamenting over how embarrassing her behavior was, our mother didn’t do anything to stop her. When she turned seventeen, she moved to the New York hotel so she could be closer to the rest of the spoiled trust fund kids she started running with. I quit trying and just started praying she didn’t end up dead.
“Fine—whatever.” I can practically hear her eyes rolling. “Where are you?” When I don’t answer her right away, she gives me another one of those sighs but I can hear the hurt underneath. “Jesus, please—like I’m going to tell anyone.”
“I’m in Montana.” I contemplate it for a few seconds before I give up the rest. “With Damien.”