For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2) Page 7

  Or rather, Rowan pretended to conform.

  With a little ingenuity, and a lot of false smiles, she lived a double life. Demure when in the range of what she tagged the propriety police, a bit of the wild child the rest of the time. Compared to some, Rowan's teenage escapades were pretty tame. But she did her share of crazy. Things that would have turned Agnes Cartwright's fashionable silver hair stark white.

  From the kegger parties out at Starlight Pond, to losing her virginity in the back of Moss Goldberg's beat-up Civic, a big part of the thrill was knowing she wasn't supposed to be having so much fun.

  As the excitement of sneaking around wore off, Rowan cut back on the fun and games, concentrating on school and her future. College. Starting her own business.

  Agnes Cartwright didn't live to show her disapproval over Rowan's choice of professions. On that subject, Leo—in his unique, cool, unemotional manner—would have made his mother proud.

  Quite simply, Leo hated that Rowan insisted on getting her hands dirty for a living.

  Landscaping wouldn't have been his first choice for her. However, since she insisted, he generously offered to give her all the money she needed and more to give her a generous start.

  One problem. As with anything Cartwright-related, there was a big proviso attached. Rowan was expected to supervise the work from a plush, expertly and expensively decorated office located in the downtown building owned by Leo. The one where his very, very, very successful consulting firm occupied the entire top floor.

  For so many reasons, Rowan would never have considered taking Leo's offer. An offer her mother and brother pointed out—again and again—was beyond the realm of generous.

  And they were right. If Rowan wasn't bothered by the long, thick, and ever-changing strings that came attached any time Leo opened his bank account.

  Rowan was lucky. She received a small inheritance from her maternal grandmother. The house she now lived in and enough money to put her through four years of school at the college two towns over.

  Though Rowan's independence hadn't set well with her family, she knew on some level Leo respected her need to be successful—or fall flat on her face—without the crutch of his money and influence.

  "That's a nice outfit." Tess touched the collar of Rowan's dark-blue jacket, slowly perusing the lighter-colored silk blouse and matching, long, flared skirt. The knee-high black leather boots were several years old but looked like new. "Did you get it in New York?"

  "No. Here in Jasper." Rowan smiled at her mother. "There's a new boutique just off Main Street. Lilac and Lace. They have some great things. And all the accessories. You should stop in."

  "Perhaps."

  Perhaps. Maybe. We'll see. All Tess Cartwright speak for not in this lifetime or any other. At heart, Rowan's mother was a snob. Twice a year, she traveled to New York. Or London. Or Paris. On occasion, Rome and Milan. She only wore designer originals—purchased from the design house.

  Beautiful. Stylish. Well-spoken. And vain to her very core. If Tess Cartwright couldn't travel to the best, she brought the best to her. The perks of marrying a very rich man who liked his wife to look the part.

  Tess flew in a top stylist once a month to cut and color her hair the perfect shade of honey blonde. Tess watched every morsel that went into her mouth. Exercised regularly. Though smart, she knew Leonard Cartwright hadn't married her for her brains.

  Catching a rich husband was work. Holding onto one was a career.

  Other than the shape of their face and slender build, Rowan had little in common with the woman who gave her life. She topped her mother's five-foot-three-inch frame by almost six inches. Preferred denim to silk. Tess had a manicure every week. Rowan barely had time to keep her nails trimmed.

  However, for all their differences, Tess was her mother. And she loved her. Sometimes liking her wasn't easy. But the love was bone deep.

  "Is Leo in his office?"

  "Yes. He's been here most of the afternoon. Did you have an appointment?"

  The fact that Rowan needed to schedule time to see her stepfather spoke volumes about their family dynamic. Warm and fuzzy they weren't.

  "He asked me to stop by."

  Actually, Leo's assistant did the asking. But why split hairs?

  "I see."

  "That's it? Aren't you curious why I was summoned by the great man?"

  Tess raised an eyebrow—a well-practiced gesture perfected over the years.

  "Sarcasm rarely appeals to the opposite sex, Rowan."

  For as long as she could remember, her mother recited things the opposite sex didn't like. Rowan stopped paying attention long ago. But she was fairly certain that sarcasm fell somewhere between a smart mouth and not wearing lipstick.

  "You look lovely."

  As she was known to do, Tess switched gears for no discernable reason. Smiling, she reached up, adjusting the length of Rowan's long hair, leaving the ends of the simple ponytail cascaded over her shoulder instead of down her back.

  Rowan didn't protest. What would be the point? No matter how perfect, her mother liked to tweak things. The flowers in a vase. The settings of silverware. Her daughter's perfectly fine hair.

  "Thank you," Rowan smiled, as her mother finished fussing. "So do you. I like your hair that way."

  Tess preened, plumping the ends of her new chin-length bob. Though her mother would have preferred to live in a more cosmopolitan city, she embraced her role as Jasper's Queen Bee. Part of her job—as she saw it—was to mix up her look from time to time. To be a trendsetter amongst her peers.

  "Not too short?"

  Knowing her part, Rowan stood back as if contemplating her answer.

  "Perfect," she said.

  "If you like, I can have my stylist fix you up the next time he's in town. Your hair is so thick, a little thinning wouldn't hurt. Bangs would look good on you. Maybe one of those modified shags?"

  "We'll see." Which in Rowan speak meant, not now, not ever. "I don't want to keep Leo waiting," she checked her watch. "He said five o'clock."

  "Why didn't you say so?" Tess gasped. Punctuality wasn't taken lightly in the Cartwright household. "Go. Can you stay for dinner?"

  "Not tonight." Nick was taking her out for the meal they skipped the night before. "I'll stop to say goodbye before I leave."

  The office was located at the end of a narrow hallway painted a pale lime color. The long walk gave a visitor plenty of time to consider the fate awaiting them.

  Once, and only once, Rowan jokingly dubbed it The Green Mile. Her stepfather wasn't amused. Then again, in her experience, he rarely was.

  Defused lighting cast shadows on the pictures lining the walls. Black and white photos of family through the years, they always struck Rowan as something out of an old movie. The horror variety.

  Pausing outside the carved oak door, Rowan took a deep breath, sorry that every meeting with Leo felt like a chore instead of a pleasure.

  Growing up, Rowan rarely tried to hide her rebellious side. And Leo hated not getting his way. Not the best combination. They didn't exactly butt heads. Leo didn't argue. With anybody. When displeased, he became a glacier. Solid ice. More than once he had frozen her out, the thaw—whether or not she could be persuaded by her mother to apologize—was slow.

  Eventually, Rowan learned to keep her opinions to herself. Which meant biting her tongue whenever she and Leo were in the same room.

  Their relationship at best was strained. Now and then, Rowan asked herself if she could have done something to bring them closer. To her sorrow, the answer was always no. She and Leo were too different. Oil and water.

  Rowan's engagement to Wilton Jacobs was the only time she could remember receiving Leo's full approval. He still blamed her for breaking things off.

  When Rowan explained why, Leo shrugged, imparting a bit of wisdom. Two words. Spoken in a calm, matter-of-fact manner.

  "Men cheat."

  To this day, R
owan's head almost exploded when she thought of the way Leo shrugged, his sympathy firmly with her ex-fiancé.

  However, time moved on. Rowan had gained perspective. If she hadn't exactly forgiven Leo for his callous take, she had shrugged off most of the hurt. Mostly because she hadn't been in love with Wilton. Infatuated. But her heart had never been in danger.

  As for the engagement. Their families weren't entirely convinced the problem that ended things so abruptly couldn't be fixed. How crazy was that?

  Shaking off her thoughts, Rowan raised a hand, giving the door a brisk knock.

  "Come in."

  Squaring her shoulders, Rowan turned the doorknob, flicking the hair her mother had so neatly arranged back over her shoulder.

  "Hello, Leo."

  "Rowan. Please, take a seat." Not looking up, Leo continued reading the paper he held in his hand. "Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?"

  "Nothing. Thank you."

  Patiently, Rowan sat in the chair opposite Leo's desk. She didn't need to look around, easily conjuring a picture of the office.

  Meticulously organized. Not a speck of dust to be seen. The features never changed. One wall was covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leather-bound first editions that she learned the hard way were there to be seen, not read. Heavy wooden furniture that included an antique desk passed on to the oldest son from generation to generation.

  Leo, as the latest Cartwright to lord over his holdings, sat relaxed as if the world were his and no one would dare challenge his supremacy. Which, for the most part, was true.

  But that didn't mean Leo's world couldn't be rattled. Why else would Rowan be sitting in his office as Friday afternoon slid into evening?

  "I understand your job for Marsha Frederick is progressing nicely."

  Surprised, Rowan nodded. Leo never discussed business. His or hers.

  "We're ahead of schedule."

  "Good thing. Forecast is calling for the first hard freeze end of next week."

  "I heard this afternoon. My crew is working through the weekend to finish up by Monday. Tuesday at the latest."

  "Smart."

  Leo rose, moving to the bar trolley that the staff kept fully loaded, replacing the ice several times a day. He poured himself a whiskey—neat—repeating his offer to Rowan.

  "Nothing for me."

  Pushing sixty, Leo could easily pass for twenty years younger. Still handsome and slender, with a full head of dark hair lightly salted with gray. He was an active man with the same youthful vigor as when he and Rowan's mother first married.

  He drank a bit too much. And his office smelled of fresh smoke from one of those imported cigars he liked so much. However, he was a stickler for watching his diet.

  As for exercise, Leo finalized many a business deal on the golf course. He had a personal trainer who came to the house every other day.

  Leo's love was tennis. He even had an indoor court in the basement. Though finding a worthy opponent wasn't easy. Her stepfather—as with every aspect of his life—expected to win. To say he wasn't a gracious loser would be like saying the Pacific Ocean was a vast body of water. Both gross understatements of the obvious.

  "Morton Simpson has added a four-season conservatory to the back of his home."

  "Always a good look."

  "Mm." Instead of sitting, Leo walked to the window, staring out at the backyard. "He wants to fill the thing with all kinds of tropical crap. Fountains. Lights. Hell if I know," he said with a dismissive shrug. "Told him you could help."

  Rowan didn't know what to say. Never—not once—had Leo pushed business her way. Considering his attitude toward her chosen profession, she wasn't surprised.

  So why the sudden change in attitude?

  Rallying her thoughts, Rowan gave Leo a speculative smile.

  "With holidays coming, we're not taking any new jobs before the first of the year. But tell him to call the office."

  Leo turned, sporting the stern frown she recognized all too well.

  "He's a friend, Rowan."

  Rowan knew about Leo's crony network. Rich, powerful men scratching each other's backs. Not literally. Though the image made Rowan's smile widen.

  "Did I say something amusing?"

  Leo? Make a joke? Rowan liked to think he was capable of genuine humor. But she had never been witness to him sharing so much as a bad pun. Wisely, she kept her thoughts to herself.

  "The best I can promise is a consultation."

  "Morton is a busy man."

  "And I'm a busy woman."

  Leo raised an eyebrow. Never mastering that particular power move, Rowan simply tilted her head, her eyes never wavering. Wondering if her imagination was playing tricks on her, she thought she saw a flash of admiration in his dark gaze. But the moment passed before she could be sure.

  "He may decide to go with someone else."

  "If you like, I'll give you the names of several excellent people Mr. Simpson can call."

  Leo's eyes narrowed. He expected capitulation. Always. No exception. Those who dared challenge him quickly felt the sting of his wrath. Sometimes socially. Sometimes professionally. But he never let a perceived slight go unpunished.

  Family wasn't immune. However, on occasion, Leo would let an annoyance slide with only a withering glare. Once upon a time, Rowan dreaded him turning that look on her. Back when she still harbored a sliver of hope he would be the father figure she longed for.

  Those days were long gone. As were the effects of Leo's perpetual displeasure.

  "Are you doing so well you can afford to turn away a paying customer?" Leo asked, sipping his whiskey.

  Rowan shrugged. "Business will never be that good. However, making promises I can't keep is the best way to lose those paying customers. Don't you agree?"

  "Are you staying for dinner?"

  End of conversation. Rowan sighed. What had she expected? Agreeing with her would be tantamount to Leo admitting he was wrong.

  "I wish I could, but I have other plans."

  Leo's gaze sharpened. Rowan had given her stepfather an opening to finally bring up the subject of Nick. She waited to see if he would step through.

  "A date?"

  "Yes."

  "Anyone I know?"

  A loaded question if ever there was one.

  "You've never met."

  Even from across the room, Leo's frustration was palpable. Without asking directly, he expected Rowan to give him the information he wanted. He should have known better. But Leo never understood her. Sadly, she doubted he ever would.

  "Was there anything else you wanted to say?"

  "No." Leo set his glass on the trolley. "And you? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

  "Not right now." Rowan stood. "Perhaps we'll have something to say to each other at another time."

  "Perhaps." Leo watched as she crossed to the door. "Do you know what I prize about all things, Rowan?"

  Instead of giving Leo the obvious answer—Money? Power? More money?—she simply shook her head.

  "Loyalty. You might want to keep that in mind." Having made his point, Leo turned his back on her. "Have a good evening."

  Rowan silently closed the door behind her. Damn the man, she thought as her stomach clenched. Leo was the guilty party here, not her. If he had agreed to see Nick right away, all his questions would have been answered.

  Taking a straightforward approach—something Leo rarely did—would mean giving as much information as he received. He preferred holding his cards close while those around them spilled their guts.

  How dare Leo play his games with her? Rowan felt her stomach settle, a wave of anger replacing the guilt.

  Nick's story wasn't for her to tell. Knowing what he had to say, keeping the information to herself, wasn't disloyal. If she thought for a moment that Nick meant Leo harm, she would have come to him immediately.

  Leo already knew who Nick was. And why he had come to
Jasper. Nothing Rowan told him would have mattered.

  Loyalty. Maybe Rowan's had shifted. She waited for her stomach to protest the thought. Nothing. Not a single twinge.

  Foolish? Reckless? Rowan wouldn't argue. But sometimes she had to follow her instincts.

  Maybe Nick didn't deserve so much blind faith. Maybe he would prove her wrong. Until then, it seemed she had planted herself firmly in his corner. Though she had only known Nick a short while, she knew Leo very well. And what he was capable of doing.

  Leaving the house after a quick goodbye to her mother, Rowan buttoned her coat against the brisk breeze that blew off the ocean. Thoughtfully, she slid into her truck, starting the engine and turning the heat on full blast.

  More than ever, Rowan believed Leo was Nick's biological father. And if she was right, her stepfather was the one who had to do the explaining.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  "DO THEY SERVE pie?"

  "Naturally." Rowan smiled at Nick's teasing question as he drove around the last winding corner into the close-to-overflowing parking lot. Luck was on their side, a car pulled out as if anticipating their arrival. "But not the every day, made by Mom kind. The chef thinks outside the pie box. There's a different kind every day with some very unusual combinations."

  The building that housed Jasper's most popular restaurant sat on a bluff overlooking the town. Originally, the location contained little more than a rundown shack used as a lookout station to watch for summer fires. When the forest service moved to newer, more state-of-the-art digs, the owners of Pie in the Sky jumped at the chance to buy the land and build their dream restaurant.

  Elegant yet understated, the cuisine was eclectic, changing with the seasons. The chef filled her menu with as much locally supplied items as possible. Unique. Fresh. And most of all, delicious. Pie in the Sky was a huge success.

  Getting a table on a Friday night meant making reservations weeks in advance. Or, in Rowan's case, the fact that last summer she turned the yard behind the restaurant into a gardener's paradise—including a state of the art greenhouse—at a price nobody else was willing to match.