“Okay.”
“Okay.” He went to grab it from the cooler, but I slapped his hand away.
“I’m not giving it to you. But you can stay for dinner. And we can both make sure she knows how much it was appreciated.”
Not his first choice, but he kept his mouth shut and nodded.
Most of the time, I wanted to strangle Easton. But then there were moments like this one where he showed me a glimpse of the good man lurking inside that solid body. The man who would come here and suffer through a meal with a woman he couldn’t stand, just so the next day he could make sure his mother felt appreciated and that her grief had not gone unnoticed.
I glanced at the clock on the microwave and saw it was nearly five. “Are you hungry now?”
He shrugged. “I could eat.”
“Then I’ll get it started.” I went about preparing our meal, following the instruction card Liddy had taped to the casserole’s aluminum dish. While it was in the oven, I set the small table while Easton went outside to bring in some more chopped wood to set beside the stove.
“Is that always here?” I asked as he stacked the split logs. “The firewood.”
“No, I, uh . . . I brought it over yesterday.”
“You?” My jaw dropped.
“As tempting as it is to let the snow and cold chase you away, the last thing we need is a city girl freezing to death on ranch property. Goes against the sales brochure for the resort.”
I snorted. “Was that a joke? Who knew Easton Greer has a sense of humor buried beneath the snide remarks and muttered censure?”
He frowned.
Predictable, this man. “Ah, there’s the face I recognize. I was worried for a moment.”
The timer dinged on the oven before he could deliver a snarky comeback. I smiled to myself as I took dinner from the oven. Tonight’s banter felt different than our normal bickering. It was almost fun. Charged.
It felt a lot like foreplay.
Not that Easton had any notions of taking me to bed. At least, not again.
With our plates served, we sat and began the meal in silence, neither one of us doing more than shovel those first few bites.
“Wow. This is amazing.” The casserole was the definition of comfort food. It was warm and cheesy with just the right amount of salt and those blessed starchy potatoes.
“Told you,” he said, dishing his plate with seconds. “You and Kat seem to be getting along.”
“We always did. Before I left.”
“You lived together, right? In California?”
I wasn’t sure where this curiosity was coming from, but I’d take conversation over a quiet meal. I’d eaten alone enough times in my life to prefer company, even if it was grouchy. “In a junkyard outside of Temecula.”
“When Kat told us about that, I didn’t believe her at first. Not because I thought she was dishonest. It just didn’t seem . . . I couldn’t wrap my head around it.”
“That’s because you grew up with a family in a loving home.” I’d told my story to enough people to know the reason Easton struggled to understand—he had good parents.
“There were six of you?”
“Yes. One of the kids lived in the neighborhood where I grew up. Karson. He ran away when he was sixteen, and since it seemed like a damn good idea, I left too.” After a particularly bad night at home, I’d finally had enough. “It was impulsive,” I told Easton. “I didn’t have a bag packed. There was no preparation. No stack of cash hidden underneath my mattress or a stash of extra clothes and food. One day I lived with my mother. The next day, I lived with Karson in a junkyard and slept on the dirt.”
“Jesus.” His fork was frozen midair. His eyes were filled with pity.
“Don’t do that,” I whispered. “Don’t pity me. Just believe me when I tell you that the junkyard was the better place. Running away was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
If Easton asked for more details, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to talk about it tonight. I didn’t talk about that time with anyone but Dr. Brewer, and even then, I’d stopped seeing her four years ago.
Some memories were better left in the murky corners of our minds where, if we were lucky, they’d eventually fade.
“Londyn came along after me.” I forced a smile as I ate another bite. “Her parents were drug addicts.”
“Katherine’s were too, right?”
I nodded. “Her mom. I don’t think she ever knew her dad. Karson was working at a car wash and met her. She was begging for change, so he brought her to the junkyard that day. Introduced us. She actually went home after that, then showed up two weeks later with a garbage bag full of clothes and a black eye.”
Easton’s hand gripped his fork so hard I worried the metal would snap. “She didn’t tell us that.”
“We don’t like to talk about it.”
“That’s fucked up,” he said. “Not that you don’t like to talk about it. The black eye.”
You have no idea. “After Katherine came two other girls. Twins. Aria and Clara lived in Londyn’s trailer park with their uncle after their parents died in a car crash. The uncle was mentally off. Creeped the hell out of me the one and only time I saw him.” The image of his beady eyes still gave me the shivers. “They came to the junkyard one day, holding hands and wearing backpacks, and that made six.”
“You were just kids. Living in the dirt.” He shook his head, his lashes lifting. When his eyes met mine, they weren’t full of pity this time. They were soft. Kind. He almost looked . . . proud. “And you just sold your company for twelve million dollars. Good for you, Gemma. Good for you.”
Whether it was his expression or the sincerity of his words, I wasn’t sure. But I wanted so badly in that moment to cry. To let Easton be nice to me and stop holding up that arm that kept everyone at a distance.
But I didn’t cry.
I didn’t lower my arm.
Instead I lifted my glass and gulped the last swallow of my wine.
Then I picked a fight.
“Do you like your job as assistant manager of the ranch?”
Chapter Eight
Easton
Assistant manager.
That woman knew exactly where my hot buttons were and just how hard to poke them.
It had been two weeks since I’d stormed out of the cabin, irritated and angry that she’d known damn well I was in charge of the ranch but had purposefully pissed me off.
If Gemma wasn’t running from people, she was shoving them away.
For the past two weeks, we’d stayed clear of one another. At least, as well as we could considering we worked together and my family had pulled Gemma into the fold.
My family loved her, especially Grandma and Mom.
After Mom’s casserole, Gemma had sent her a bouquet of two dozen roses, delivered all the way from Missoula, as a thank-you for the meals. Grandma had received a case of expensive wine the next day.
Whenever I’d come to the lodge, she’d be at the front desk with a smile waiting. Though never for me. Those smiles would vanish the second I walked through the door. But it was nice to have a cheerful face behind that desk.