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“We could keep clear of each other. I rarely set foot in there anyhow.”
“This conversation just gets weirder and weirder.” She shook her head, copper-colored curls jiggling with the motion. “Is this some kind of trick to humiliate me down the road? Do you want to invite your rich friends to heckle me while I wait on them?”
“Hardly.” He’d do his damnedest to keep his friends away from a mercenary beauty queen. “I bought the diner because it was a good business move, not because I frequent the place. Don’t let me keep you away if you want to work there.”
“Now I know it’s a trick,” she said drily, bending forward to retrieve the phone she’d dropped on the car’s floorboards. She sat up, eyes flaming. “There’s no chance you would do anything to help me after the way you broke up my engagement and chased me out of Catamount last time. You’re probably just angling to find the fastest method to send me running out of town again.”
“That’s not true—” he began, but she continued as if he’d never interrupted.
“No doubt you could make my life a living hell if you were my boss, so I’ll pass. Thanks just the same.” She jammed the phone into a cupholder and rolled up her window, effectively ending their conversation.
As efforts to smooth things over with her went, it wasn’t half-bad.
It’d been almost civil. Or as civil as things had ever been between him and Fleur.
Still, as he watched the rusty car disappear up the road, Drake guessed he’d have to dig deeper on his campaign to win her over if he ever wanted her to sell him her grandmother’s land.
Two
Standing in the bright yellow kitchen where she’d spent many happy hours cooking with her grandmother, Fleur leaned a hip against the Mexican tile countertop and adjusted her tablet on its stand. The oldest of the sisters, Lark, had FaceTimed her to finalize details for Antonia Barclay’s memorial. Fleur was grateful for the virtual company when the house at Crooked Elm seemed to echo with loneliness now that Gran wasn’t there. Not to mention, talking to Lark kept her mind off Drake and the frustration of their unexpected encounter.
Had it been her imagination or had he made an overture to friendliness after all this time? She knew she had to be misreading the situation. Better to focus on her plans for Antonia’s memorial.
How many times had she and Gran sat at the table in the blue painted chairs, taste-testing one another’s recipes? She glanced up at the decorative plates hung on the arch above the copper apron sink, remembering taking them down one day to clean them. Gran had narrated where and when she’d acquired each one, reminiscing about meeting Fleur’s long-deceased grandfather when they were teens, then traveling the country with him before they settled on his family’s ranch in Catamount. Fleur had treasured every story, her inner romantic thrilling to the idea that marriage didn’t have to be the war zone that her parents had created.
Tugging her attention away from the plates, she refocused on Lark’s face framed on the tablet screen. A practicing therapist, her older sister had glossy dark hair, arrow straight and reaching midway down her back. She wore it in a long braid today and her green eyes had shadows beneath them as she packed toys in her work satchel after counseling children in her home office in Los Angeles. Fleur guessed Lark must have some upcoming appointments on the road if she was loading her travel bag. Lark consulted with a couple of local schools in addition to her practice at home.
“Are you sure you can’t spend the night after the memorial?” Fleur asked her for the second time.
She ached for family now, even more than usual. While her relationship with both Lark and Jessamyn was strained she was more likely to have sway with the eldest. Lark didn’t hold as much of a grudge about Fleur’s efforts as family peacekeeper as Jessamyn.
“I wish I could.” Lark scooped up the last of the toys, a rag doll and a stuffed puppy with floppy ears, then pitched them in her duffel bag. “But I’ve had to draw big-time boundaries to protect myself from the drama with Dad. And I’m sad enough about Gran without adding his inevitable BS to the day.”
Fleur clamped her teeth around her lower lip to prevent herself from arguing. Her sister looked exhausted, and Fleur knew it would be tough for her to return to Catamount even without family dysfunction. Lark’s hockey player ex-husband had purchased a ranch in Catamount where he’d planned to spend his retirement after his sports career ended—right next door to the Barclays. And although the marriage had fallen apart before that day had come, he still hadn’t sold the place yet. Her very private sister hadn’t shared the full scope of the breakup with Fleur, but she knew it had been bad.
And if there was one thing Fleur understood, it was a bad breakup. She bore the scars of hers to this day.
“I understand.” She traced the pattern in one of the tiles on the countertop, her finger following the blue flower petals before outlining the green stems. “It’s just so quiet here without Gran.”
“I’m sorry.” Setting down the bag of toys, Lark looked right at her, surely seeing the hurt Fleur couldn’t begin to express. “It feels strange for me, too, seeing that bright, happy kitchen without her there. I can only imagine how hard it is for you.”
Fleur nodded, not trusting her voice to speak with all the emotions welling up in her throat. Their grandmother had been more like a mom to her in the years when Fleur’s mother had been recovering from the divorce and the depressive spiral that followed it. Jennifer Barclay had mustered energy to fight her husband in court at every juncture of their divorce proceedings, but once she’d won decisive judgments against him and the marriage was truly over, she seemed to lose all sense of purpose.
Lark had been a rock for their mom, ensuring she got the care she needed during those years. Jessamyn had moved in with their father, convinced their mom had persecuted Mateo Barclay unfairly. Their dad had cut off all contact and financial support to both Lark and Fleur as a result. That hadn’t stopped Fleur from trying to mend things between them all over the years, but the more she tried to open a dialogue, the more she seemed to alienate everyone. After her breakup with Colin Alexander, she’d given up her peacekeeping efforts. But she still missed her family.
“I wish I’d been here more this past year,” Fleur admitted, guilt piling on her shoulders. She’d been so focused on her job, saving up for her own establishment while trying to make a name for herself in the Dallas restaurant community.
She never wanted to be reliant on someone else’s support again. She’d turned to Colin at a low point in her life, thinking he’d be a friend and partner. But their relationship hadn’t been strong enough to withstand Drake’s scorn. He was used to having women fall over him for his good looks and wealth, so maybe it was easy for him to think that’s all she’d seen in Colin, too.
“So do I.” Lark dropped to sit on a low leather hassock. A bright, inspirational painting of a rainbow over a green field spread out in the background behind her, at odds with her sister’s sad expression. “I’ll never forgive myself for avoiding Catamount these past few years because of Gibson. I missed out on that time with Gran.”
Her sister drew in a slow, shaky breath while Fleur searched for the rights words to console her. Before she could come up with anything, Lark spoke again.
“I was surprised to hear from Drake Alexander this week,” she blurted as she stood again, hitching her duffel over her shoulder as if ready to leave the office soon.
“Excuse me?” Straightening, Fleur dragged the tablet closer to her so fast she knocked it sideways on the stand. “What did Drake want?”
“He was feeling me out about making an offer on Crooked Elm.”
