Something Sweeter Read online

  “I’m very sorry about that.”

  “No need to be sorry. It wasn’t all your fault,” she said. “I really do just want you to be happy.”

  “Then how about you quit worrying about me and focus on rediscovering that little girl who used to believe that fairy tales came true and that everyone got a happy ending. If you can do that, I promise you’ll find your own Prince Charming,” he said in such a positive way she almost believed him.

  She shook her head. “I’m not looking for one.”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’ll find you.”

  Later, in the guest bedroom, Allison settled in on the lodgepole-­style bed, which had been nicely decorated with a cozy, handmade quilt. She pushed aside the fact that her dad and his visions of sugarplums currently resided in La La Land and picked up her phone to call Danielle. While she tapped her sister’s name in her contact list, Wee Man jumped up onto the quilt and curled into a ball in the center of her pillow. Moments later, he proved once again that little dogs snored big.

  Though it was late, she knew that Danielle would still be up waiting for her Seattle detective husband to finish his swing shift and come home. Dialing the number, Allison sighed. She wondered if her father had given the same Prince Charming speech to Danielle. Because her sister truly seemed to have the fairy-­tale marriage.

  Danielle and Andrew had dated all through high school and college. Somehow, Danielle seemed to have miraculously overcome their mother’s flighty and undependable genes. She was the one female role model Allison had always been able to count on. The only one to offer a little consistency in her life. Dani had nurturing down to an art. Which was why it seemed so right once Andrew had established himself with the SPD, that they’d gotten married and set up shop in their own Camelot.

  They now had two beautiful little princesses, Lily and Angeline, and they seemed happier than ever. They were a close-­knit, do-­everything-­together family unit Allison both admired and envied.

  In the past year, Andrew had been assigned to undercover work, which was scary and dangerous, and only one of the reasons Danielle never went to bed until he came home safe and sound.

  If Allison ever dreamed of having a long-­term relationship of her own, her sister’s was the ideal model. Danielle and Andrew’s picture-­perfect union was truly rare and, honestly, her one hope to be proven wrong about her doubtful nature.

  After the sixth ring, Danielle finally picked up and without a hello said, “Everything is under control. Stop worrying.”

  Part of being the younger sister was that the older sister thought she knew you too well. Of course, she usually did. Not only did Dani balance being a wife and motherhood like a pro, Allison wasn’t sure she could manage the whole event-­planning business without her. She was a rock. And as the little sister, Allison didn’t mind admitting Dani had always been a beautiful tower of strength in her sometimes wobbly world.

  “Hi, Sis,” Allison said in an overly cheerful tone. “I hope you had a spectacular day. I know you did an awesome job making those calls to find a white horse we can turn into a unicorn for little Jenny Curran’s princess party. I just called to say thank you.”

  “You’re such a bullshitter.” Dani laughed. “How’s Dad? You’re not getting extra points for being there while I’m stuck here, are you?”

  “Ringing up extra points as we speak.” She lay back on the queen-­size bed and kicked her feet up. “Seriously. How are things going?”

  “Seriously? Fine.”

  In the background, Allison heard Dani’s hand cover the phone and her murmured threat of “Get back to bed or no SpongeBob tomorrow.”

  “Sooo . . .” Danielle said when she came back. “Have you met her yet?”

  “Yes. I’ve met her and her entire family.” Including one extremely hot veterinarian. “She seems very nice. Completely different than Mom.”

  “In what way?”

  “Real. Totally the non plastic-­surgery-­queen type. She actually has laugh lines.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign.”

  “She also has a huge family that’s expanding as we speak. Two more weddings are in the mix. There was a young pregnant woman too. And dogs. Oh, and a goat named Miss Giddy who favors satin bows as a fashion accessory.”

  “Crap.” Dani sighed. “I’m missing all the fun.”

  “And the barbecued brisket.”

  “I love barbecued brisket.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a ­couple of days and fill you in on all the details.”

  “Will you bring me brisket?”

  “How about a whole cow? The Wilders have plenty. I’m sure they have one they could spare.”

  “Ha-­ha.”

  “How are Andrew and the girls?”

  “Andrew is amazing as always. He’s still working undercover in the massage-­parlor investigation. Actually . . .” she whispered, “it’s a prostitution ring. Meanwhile, the girls have discovered the Fancy Nancy books and have been hounding me to buy every single one.”

  “Tell them Auntie Allie will buy them the collection.” Her nieces were adorable, and feisty, and Allison couldn’t imagine her life without them. That she tended to spoil them whenever possible couldn’t be a bad thing.

  “Every single one?”

  “You know how I feel about reading.” Getting lost in a story had been her escape while her parents battled it out in another room. Or sometimes in the same room. After she’d discovered that horrific events and the unknown were much more tolerable between the pages than in real life, her favorite books quickly became R. L. Stine’s Goosebumps series. Mummies and ghosts she’d been able to handle. A shrieking mom and dad? Not so much.

  “I’ll tell the girls as soon as we hang up,” Danielle said. “Maybe that will settle them down so they’ll go to sleep.” Earsplitting emphasis was put on the last three words and was obviously meant for her nieces. “So . . . Jana Wilder really seems nice?”

  Allison pictured the woman and mentally replayed the past few hours. Pushing aside the truth that she’d been totally distracted most of time by Jana’s charismatic son, she said, “Yeah. She seems really nice.”

  “Then if there’s no boogeyman or woman to uncover, you should be able to come home faster and take over the planning of Blair Rutherford’s Carnival of Delights Sweet Sixteen.”

  “Maybe.” An image of Jesse’s flirtatious smile flashed through her mind. Replacing that likeness with some spoiled rich girl’s overzealous frothy pink party seemed wrong in too many ways to count. “I finagled a lunch date with just Jana and me tomorrow. Something tells me there’s a lot more here to discover than I initially thought.”

  “Like what?” Danielle sounded worried.

  “Like . . .” A hot guy in cowboy boots and a tight T-­shirt. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

  With a promise to check in after the lunch date, she disconnected the call, tossed the cell phone on the dresser, and pulled her computer onto her lap.

  Event planning wasn’t the only way Allison spent her time. Even her sister would be surprised to know she had a secret life as a blogger. Project Happy Ending was a postparental divorce and often cynical blog she’d created as a place to voice her frustrations, relationship observations, and maybe—­hopefully—­find proof that everlasting love truly existed.

  The latter had yet to transpire.

  After twenty years of a dreadful marriage, her father had finally stuck a fork in it and walked away. Most children would be disappointed. Allison had been grateful. Her father was an amazing, special man who deserved to be happy. Her mother ranked much lower on the deserved-­to-­be-­happy scale.

  For years, Allison and Danielle had tried to ignore the shrieking, mostly one-­sided, arguments. The temper tantrums. The late-­night slamming of doors that often meant their mother would be gone for days
.

  In her absence, their father made a valiant effort to keep his daughters happy and give them as normal a life as possible. They’d cook silly dinners together like mac and cheese and potato chip sandwiches. They’d take walks on the beach—­even in the rain. They’d tell stories in a round-­robin fashion that often added a hilarious element. And sometimes she and Danielle would fall asleep on the sofa with their father in the middle stroking their hair softly while he hummed an Irish lullaby.

  While their dad had worked hard to build his party empire, their mother worked hard at blowing his money. Their father had been ultrasupportive, always telling them that through hard work and determination, they had every opportunity to rise to the top of anything they chose to do. Their mother insisted nothing lasted forever, and it was always better to find a way to have things given to you instead of working for them, so you had time to move on to the next best thing. Hard work made a person look and act old, she’d say. According to her, it was more important to keep the package looking good.

  Allison had dreamed her mother was someone else—­Mrs. Cochran down the street, who sacrificed fixing her hair so she could play in the sprinklers with her four children. Or Mrs. Lorenzen, who lived across the street and invited Allison and Danielle over to eat cinnamon toast and play with her weenie dog Dutchie. Or even Mrs. Jerry who often helped her and Danielle with their homework while their mother spent the day at the beauty parlor.

  Allison supposed she loved her mother. At least, she continued to try. But most of the warm, loving moments in her life had come from her dad. Of her two parents, he’d been the nurturer. The caretaker. The one she and Danielle ran to when their mother blew out of the house like the Wicked Witch of the West.

  Her blog, as pointless as it might seem to some, allowed her to let go of her bottled-­up emotions and also to keep a miniscule grain of hope alive that some ­people were meant to be together forever. Then again, it could be more than likely that she’d just plopped down on her sofa to watch The Notebook one too many times. Because it didn’t take a genius to know a relationship like the one depicted in the movie was only Tinsel Town trickery.

  She flipped open the lid of her laptop and pushed the power button. When the program opened, she typed her new blog heading.

  Picture-­Perfect? Or Too Good to Be True?

  An hour later, after conveying her thoughts on all she’d observed that night at Wilder Ranch, her eyes grew bleary, and she powered off her computer. She flopped down on the bed beside her dog and stared up at the outdated popcorn ceiling. For several minutes, she lay there stroking Wee Man’s soft fur and listening to the crickets and cicadas outside her window. She thought of the evening’s events and the Southern hospitality that had been extended to her. Amid a yawn, she had to remind herself—­again—­of why she’d come to Sweet.

  And though she was intrigued as hell, her reason had absolutely nothing to do with Jesse Wilder.

  Chapter 4

  Sundays were all about sleeping in. Relaxing. Getting rid of the week’s stress so you could prepare for the coming week’s bucket of troubles. Yet even as Jesse sat shoulder deep in the swirling waters of his hot tub, he couldn’t get a break from all the bits and pieces that jumped around in his head, like his brain was a custom-­made trampoline.

  Last night, he’d spent sleepless hours tossing, turning, and staring at the ceiling. Though he enjoyed the time spent at his mother’s house amongst family, friends, and beautiful women, he didn’t know if he’d ever get over the absence of his father and brother. Equally, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to let go of the promise he’d made before everything went south.

  The secret often converged on his mind like a dark cloud, hovering there until a ray of sunshine broke through. For him, that usually came in the form of his niece’s infectious giggle or something as simple as holding a puppy and getting a whiff of puppy breath. Common sense told him he’d feel relief if he just told someone. Loyalty prevented that from happening.

  Unable to close his eyes and let his mind go, he searched for the small things in life that momentarily pushed away the weight of the responsibility and made him smile.

  This morning, his spa-­side entertainment came courtesy of his dog Dinks, who chased the slobbery tennis ball Jesse tossed over and over. An added source of amusement was provided by the look of utter disgust on his cat Rango’s face as he observed the drooling mess of black Lab from his perch on the outdoor kitchen bar.

  Though the clock had barely reached 8 A.M., the sound of a truck coming up his driveway told Jesse he was about to have company. Which meant it would either be Jackson or Jake. Chances on either were fifty-­fifty.

  He lifted the cup of coffee to his lips, sank deeper into the water, and waited for whoever it was to make an appearance.

  “Holy shit. When did you put all this in?”

  Through his Ray-­Bans, Jesse looked up at his youngest brother’s sudden arrival, which sent the cat scampering and the dog leaping around like it was Christmas Day.

  “Over the past year,” Jesse said. “Finished up about two months ago. Thought about waiting for you to come help but figured you’d get more enjoyment if it was already done.”

  “Dude. This is fucking party central,” Jake said as he petted the drooling canine, then chucked the slobbery tennis ball out into the yard. Casually, he strolled the perimeter of the backyard to check it all out.

  Since he’d been about ten years old, Jake loved to landscape. He loved to get his hands in the dirt. He’d learned to appreciate stone, wood, water, and any other natural element he could get his hands on besides a woman’s body.

  The hint of envy in Jake’s eyes was obvious.

  “Outdoor kitchen, built-­in grill, pool, spa, fire pit, freaking waterfall.” Jake’s hands dropped onto his hips. “Bet it’s even easier to get the chicks over here now, right?”

  Jesse grinned his response. Although, like the others, baby bro might be sorely disappointed to know that not a single female other than their mother, their future and former sisters-­in-­law, or little Izzy had stepped foot on this portion of Wilder Ranch.

  “Damn.” Jake came full circle to where Jesse sat neck deep in the spa. “All you need to go with that Stetson and smirk is a cigar and a whiskey neat.”

  God, what a ridiculous reputation he’d managed to build for himself. “Little early for alcohol consumption.”

  Party Central as his little brother called it was actually the piece of paradise he’d carved out for himself with his own two hands, plus a lot of sweat, blisters, and sore muscles. The several hundred acres of Wilder Ranch had been divided up amongst all of them. Reno had built his home first. Jesse had been second. And now Jackson had broken ground for his own place.

  Jesse figured he’d live here forever, and he’d planned the entire concept of the house and the yard so he’d have somewhere to relax and host numerous family gatherings with the ever-­increasing Wilder brood. He loved his family and loved having them around. So he’d created a space for their enjoyment as well as his own.

  “Until last night, I hadn’t had a beer in eight months,” Jake said. “Damn thing tasted so good. Sometimes you just want to wash the taste of sand out of your mouth with a good ale. Know what I mean?”

  “I do.” Jesse nodded, remembering all the months he’d spent living in a tent with a bunch of other guys. No privacy. Always on edge. No comforts of home. No good old American ale. “There’s an extra pair of board shorts in the bathroom off the patio if you want to take a swim.”

  “I’ll pass on that for now.” Jake rolled his head, relieving the obvious tension in his neck. “Got things to do. ­People to visit.”

  “Such as?”

  Jake grinned. “Jessica Holt.”

  “On a Sunday morning? Doesn’t she sing in the church choir?”

  “It’s been a long dry spell. She s
tayed home to put together something tasty.”

  “Breakfast?”

  Jake’s laughter floated across the yard. “I was hoping more for scented oil and lingerie.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Yeah.” Jake did another quick scan of the landscape. “I’ll take a quick cup of coffee and be back later for a dip if that’s okay.”

  “Door’s always open.” Jesse got out of the spa and dripped water over the rock surface as he reached for the towel he’d dropped near the edge. “Hang on. I’ll get that coffee for you.”

  “Bullshit. Nobody waits on me.”

  Jesse shook his head and chuckled at the streak of stubborn independence that ran through all of them. He joined Jake at the outdoor kitchen island. Eager for a little catch-­up, he freshened his own cup. “So how’s it going over there in good old Camp Leatherneck?”

  “Same shit, different day.”

  “Still think you’re making a difference?”

  “Keeping the faith.”

  Jesse sipped his coffee and, with tremendous respect, studied the little brother who’d once struggled to keep up with the rest of them. What he saw was a leader. A man who took stick-­to-­it to the max. And though Jesse knew he’d had nothing to do with the man Jake had become, he was damned proud.

  “You sure about that?” he asked, noting the exhaustion in his brother’s eyes.

  “You’ve always been the most intuitive brother,” Jake said.

  “It’s a gift.”

  “Or a curse, depending on which of us you’re dealing with.” A chuckle rumbled in Jake’s chest before he looked up, and the bright morning sun washed out the vivid blue of his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m just . . .”

  “Tired of fighting?”

  “Yeah. In the beginning, I thought maybe I could be a lifer. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “Takes a lot out of a man to fight that battle every day. To be on guard twenty-­four/seven and then some.”

  Jake nodded. “I’m only twenty-­ nine, and I feel fucking old.”