Authors: Jeannie Watt
“Layla!”
She stopped dead, her entire body going stiff at the sound of the man’s voice calling her name. Then she turned with what sounded like a growl to face the guy jogging lightly toward them through the snow. He stopped a few feet away, eyeing Justin suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“Old family friend. Here to help pick up the pieces. You must be the Robert I’ve heard so much about.”
“Is he?” Robert asked Layla. “A family friend?”
“Who he is…is none of your business,” she said with an air of dignity and only the slightest slur.
Robert grimaced. “How much have you had to drink?”
Justin’s jaw slid sideways and he took a step toward the guy. “Since you walked out on her, you mean?”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“But I can’t help hearing the conversation.”
“I’m not going to have her driving off this mountain in a snowstorm with someone I don’t know.” Robert fished in his pocket. “I hadn’t realized you didn’t have the room key,” he said to Layla, holding it out to her. “Take it. You can spend the night as planned. Your overnight bag is in the room.”
Layla stared down at the plastic card, then slowly raised her eyes to Robert’s face. He continued to hold the key, giving it a slight shake as if encouraging her to take it. She pulled in a breath that made her shoulders rise a good inch, then drew back her arm and punched him square in the jaw.
He stumbled backward as she lost her balance and went down. Justin made a grab for her, grunting when her elbow smacked into his cheekbone with a healthy crack.
“Oh, shit…” Tears sprang to his eyes as Layla slowly struggled to her hands and knees, and finally, her feet. She stared at Justin in horror as he stood with his hand over his eye. Five yards away, Robert held a hand to his nose.
“Oh, I’m sorry. So sorry.” She continued to stare at Justin, a dazed expression on her face.
“Get out of here,” he said to Robert, keeping his full attention on Layla, half-afraid of what she might do next. “Leave her bag in the room and I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m not—”
“I honestly am a family friend. I know her middle name and everything.”
“What is it?” Robert asked through his fingers, and Justin had to give him points for not abandoning her.
“Sunshine. Layla Sunshine Taylor.”
“Brothers?”
“Twins—Eric and Derek. Sister is Sam. Formerly Belle Blue, from the song ‘Bell Bottom Blues.’ She renamed herself when she was five because the kids called her Ding Dong.”
“Good enough.” Robert turned and walked away without another word, still holding his nose.
“You didn’t have to tell him all that,” Layla said as Justin put a hand under her arm and steered her the last few feet to the Challenger—an adequate car, but a poor substitute for his classic Firebird, destroyed in a wreck last year.
“I think he already knew.” Justin held the door open and she got into the passenger seat, then carefully arranged her coat over her knees. “Where do you live?”
She muttered an address on Bannock Drive. He made her repeat it, since it wouldn’t be cool to drag her up the sidewalk of someone else’s house. Then he asked for her keys.
“Why?”
“So that you have them when we get to your place.”
With a deep sigh she spilled the contents of her purse onto her lap, then pulled the keys out of the jumble. She slapped them into his outstretched hand before haphazardly shoving stuff back into her bag.
Justin closed the door and walked around to his side of the car. By the time he got the beast started, Layla was leaning against the leather headrest and her eyes were closed.
Good.
He hoped she stayed that way during the entire trip.
It wasn’t to be. She got sick again at the top of the grade leading down to Carson City, where, thankfully, it wasn’t snowing. She was still a bit green when she collapsed back into the passenger seat and fell asleep.
Justin couldn’t say he was unhappy about that because he wanted to focus on the road, not on his passenger. Nearly a year ago, he’d had a close call on this road, when fellow employees at his hotel who were involved in the drug trade erroneously deduced that he was a narc, due to his association with his current brother-in-law, a drug task force member. About a mile past the summit, Justin had been hit from behind, and his beloved classic Firebird sent plummeting down the ravine. He was so damned lucky to be alive, and he’d never felt the same driving this road. What’s more, he missed his car.
Forty-five minutes after passing the spot where his car had been wrecked, Justin pulled into Layla’s drive. He roused her and helped her out, then put an arm around her as they made their way through the slushy spring snow to the front door. Not a bad place. In fact, it was very much what he’d expected from Layla. An efficient box of a house, with neat little shutters, a sturdy fence in front, a no-nonsense white-and-navy-blue color scheme. The bushes were all trimmed into submission, even though it was barely spring.
There were only three keys on the ring, so he had her inside within a matter of seconds. Once the door was closed, she attempted to focus on him. The way her forehead wrinkled, it must have hurt.
She started to say something, but got only as far as opening her mouth before she shrugged out of her coat, letting it fall behind her in a heap. Then she headed down the hall.
Justin hesitated, then followed. By the time he reached her bedroom, she was sprawled on her stomach over the purple duvet on her bed. It looked like something that would need an expensive dry-cleaning if she were ill again, so Justin carefully peeled it back and rolled her onto her side on the sheets.
He stood for a moment then, his thumbs hooked in his pockets, staring down at her. He hadn’t seen her in several years—not since her father had sold the house down the street from his family’s, shortly after Justin graduated high school. She’d put on some weight. In a good way. And her straight dark hair was longer. But she was still Layla. Only not so perfect now. He hoped she could deal with it.
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he set her keys on the dresser and headed out the bedroom door.
LAYLA DIDN’T WANT TO wake up.
Her head was pounding. Her mouth was dry. So dry! And why was she drowning in a sense of impending doom?
The memories started to drift in, each more cringe-worthy than the one before. Had she thrown up outside the hotel?
Worse than that, had Justin been there?
And then the biggie hit her. Robert. Robert and Melinda. Layla’s insides roiled as a wave of depression mixed with pain, betrayal and disgust washed over her.
“You need anything?”
Layla shrieked at the unexpected masculine voice, and scrambled to her knees, ready to defend herself with the pillow she’d grabbed. “Justin!”
“Yeah. Me.”
She lowered the pillow and sat back on her heels as a surge of nausea welled up. But her stomach was too empty to do anything about it.
“Let me get you some aspirin. Where do you keep it?”
She simply stared at him. “Why are you here?”
“You can’t leave a drunk person unattended. Remember what happened to all those rock stars that drowned in their own—”
Layla held up a hand. “Stop. No more.” She dropped her head on the pillow she held in her lap. It made sense, really. Justin had been part of so many of the humiliating moments of her life that perhaps he was on call. He sensed “Layla devastation” and showed up to add to the misery.
“It was too late for Sam to come and stay with you.”
Layla nodded, her head bobbing into the pillow. He had a point. He’d done the safe and logical thing.
“Thank you for bringing me home.” She vaguely recalled trying to stay in the hotel until she sobered up. And students. She remembered seeing her students. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought. Hopefully, she hadn’t appeared too out of it. Private schools were not very keen on their staff being seen drunk in public.
“Aspirin?”
Layla lifted her head. “I’ll get it.” She steeled herself for the trauma of going vertical. “What happened to your eye?” Another dim recollection was taking form in her brain.
“You punched Robert when he tried to give you the room key.”
“Did I…punch you, too?” Had all her pent-up frustrations burst forth? Culminating in a brawl?
“No. You accidentally hit me when you fell.”
Layla swallowed hard and looked down at her hands. Well, now she knew why her knuckles were bruised and her knees felt skinned.
“You can go home now, Justin.” She was certain he probably couldn’t wait to get out of there, even though seeing her like this was probably entertaining as could be. “Thanks for everything.”
“All right.” He stayed where he was, though, and for once he wasn’t smirking. He looked tired.
“Where’d you sleep?” she finally asked, after a few beats of silence. For some reason, he wasn’t leaving.
“In one of those baskets you call a chair.” He leaned his shoulder against the door frame. “How many drinks did you have?”
“Three.” Layla closed her eyes for a second, hugging the pillow to her chest, fighting the urge to topple over. “And a half,” she added, for the sake of honesty.
“How many after Robert dropped the bomb?”
“I told you about that?” Had she no pride when intoxicated? Heat rose in her face, scalding her cheeks.
“I’m not a mind reader.”
Layla felt like melting into a puddle on the bed. “He told me in the room when we were getting ready to go down to dinner.” Actually, that wasn’t quite true. She’d guessed and then he’d confessed. “I hid out in the lounge and called Sam.”
“Just wondering if I need to hook up with this Robert guy for leaving you drunk and alone in a hotel lounge.”
The last thing she wanted was for Justin, of all people, to defend her honor. That would be so wrong.
“Justin…I’d really like to be alone now.”
“If you’re sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” He cocked his head, and she added, “Physically.” Obviously, she had some other nonphysical issues to deal with.
That seemed to satisfy him, and a few seconds later the front door closed. She heard the purr of a powerful engine coming to life.
What had they driven home in?
She couldn’t for the life of her remember. Perhaps because her memory was so jumbled with other more humiliating images. The bush outside the hotel came to mind. And…oh, yeah. She’d tossed her cookies once again along a road somewhere.
What did they put in those drinks?
Lots and lots of alcohol. And she was a lightweight.
She gingerly crawled off the bed, realizing only then that she still had on her slightly damp T-strap high heels. Justin hadn’t taken off her shoes, although he had removed the duvet cover. Well, they were buckle shoes, perhaps too complicated for him.
She’d started for the bathroom when the doorbell rang. What on earth had Justin forgotten? She glanced at the domed mantel clock on her way to the door. Ten-thirty? Criminy. She’d lost twelve hours of her life.
The doorbell rang again, the sound reverberating through her skull. Must disconnect that thing. She pulled the door open, about to ask, “What did you forget?” and then almost slammed it shut again as she found herself facing the sweet, round face of Kristy Mendoza, the girl who lived next door.
CHAPTER TWO
KRISTY’S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN, as did her mother’s. But Mrs. Mendoza, who stood a few feet behind the girl, managed a polite, if wary, smile.
“I have the cookies you ordered,” Kristy said abruptly, shoving the box forward.
Layla took them. Smiled. Resisted the urge to look down and see what her very expensive black silk cocktail dress, perfect for a night out in Tahoe, looked like after being slept in. “Thank you, Kristy.”
“Are you all right?” the girl blurted out before her mother clamped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Hard, judging from the way she winced.
“I’ll get my wallet,” Layla said, hoping she had five bucks. “Just a sec.” She left the door open in spite of the cold and turned to find her purse in one of the living-room chairs. She dug through the contents. Frowned. Dug again, then dumped everything out.
“Uh, that’s all right,” Mrs. Mendoza called.
“No, really. I have the money.”
“You can run it over when you find it. We have more deliveries to make. Come on, Kristy…
Kristy!
”
“No, wait…” Layla called. She really didn’t want to face these two later today.
But it was too late. Mrs. Mendoza was already guiding her daughter firmly down the sidewalk toward safety. Layla sighed and shut the door, the click of the lock making her head throb.
After another futile search for the wallet in her coat pockets, she headed for the bathroom and faced her reflection with a sick feeling growing inside her stomach.
She was a raccoon. A punk raccoon with ratted hair, and wearing morning-after clothes.
What? What had she ever done to deserve all this?
Dated Robert Baldwin?
Her stomach twisted and she was afraid she was going to be sick again.
JUSTIN PARKED IN THE ALLEY behind Tremont Catering and sat in his car for a minute before turning off the engine. Hell of a night. Well, the next two days weren’t going to be any kind of a picnic, either, so maybe it was just as well to tune up on an unrelated event. Tomorrow marked the tenth anniversary of the day he’d signed the papers that had changed his life, and even though he’d been happy at the time, now he wondered if he’d made the right choice. If he should have pursued other options....
Not that there was anything he could do about it now.
Justin let himself in the back door of the kitchen, where the smell of tomato sauce instantly hit him. It was Sunday and his sister Eden, who moonlighted as a personal chef in addition to her duties with Tremont Catering, would thankfully be busy making a week’s worth of meals for her client families—one of which she’d cooked for since beginning the business and the other brand-new, replacing the family she’d lost after her fiancé discovered they were involved in the drug trade. A tough chapter in both Eden and Justin’s lives.
His eye was still throbbing where Layla had decked him, and he couldn’t say he was in the best of moods after spending a nearly sleepless night at her house. Hell, he could have easily stretched out on the bed beside her and been comfortable, but knowing his luck she would have woken up and smacked him again.
If only she’d had a sofa…which made him contemplate just what kind of person didn’t own a sofa. Well, Layla wasn’t your normal type.
He stifled a yawn as he came into the main kitchen area after kicking off his street shoes and putting on his clogs. He didn’t spend as much time standing in front of a stove as his sisters, but still put in long hours on his feet, creating every flower known to man, and some that weren’t, out of butter cream and a piping bag.
It was a living, and fortunately, since he spent so much time at it, one that he enjoyed.
“You’re here early,” Eden muttered when she looked up from the stove. She blinked when she saw his eye, which had swollen up nicely, but asked no questions. That was a sad commentary on how many times she’d found him in a similar condition throughout their lives.
“Fight in a parking lot,” Justin said. “And no, I wasn’t drunk.”
“Well, you look like hell.”
“I feel like hell.” He wandered over to the stove, breathing in the savory smell of his sister’s homemade tomato sauce.
“Where’s the oregano?” he asked.
“Going straight basil this time.”
“You shouldn’t mess with perfection.” His sister used a perfect blend of oregano, thyme and basil in her sauces.
“There’s always room for improvement.”
Indeed. Justin never stopped trying to improve his technique.
Eden started chopping olives again. “Where’d you have your fight?”
“The lake. It was more of a scuffle, really. I caught an elbow.”
“No arrests?”
“Not that I know of. Then I drove Layla Taylor home and stayed with her for most of the night to make sure she was okay.”
The rapid movement of Eden’s knife had abruptly stopped around the time Justin said Layla’s name.
“Run that by me again,” his sister demanded.
“All of it?”
“No. Just the Layla Taylor part.” Eden set the knife down and brushed her blond hair off her forehead with the back of her wrist. “None of this makes sense.”
“Sam Taylor called me at the lake and asked me to give Layla a ride. We had a minor altercation in the parking lot with her ex-boyfriend, then she puked and I took her home.” It wasn’t quite the right order, but Justin didn’t think the chronology mattered.
“She puked because she was…”
“Drunk as hell.”
“Layla? Drunk?”
“Mmm-hmm. And for once it wasn’t with power.” Justin went into his pastry room and took a look at the list he’d left himself the night before. He didn’t turn on the music because he knew it wouldn’t be long before—
“I want details,” Eden said, leaning her shoulder against the door frame.
“I wish I had some. I don’t.”
“Wow.” She processed his words for a moment, then slowly turned and went back into the kitchen, deep in thought. Even though he and his sisters had grown up up the street from the Taylors, neither Eden nor their older sister, Reggie, had ever warmed up to Layla, probably because she had nothing to do with anyone in their neighborhood. Reggie had thought Layla was pretty damned stuck up back in the day, which was saying something, since Reggie hadn’t been the warmest of people herself then. After their mother had died, their father took more and more long haul truck jobs, basically leaving the kids to fend for themselves. Reggie had been too busy running the household in their father’s absence to socialize, and too angry at his abandonment to be particularly warm and fuzzy to anyone.
Eden reappeared in the doorway. “I forgot—Cindy stopped by yesterday.” Justin continued to study the list. “She dropped off a bag of clothes. Your clothes. It’s in the laundry room. She’ll get the key back to you when she picks up her stuff.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t quite meet his sister’s eyes.
“What happened?”
“Things just didn’t work out.”
“Damn, Justin. You finally date a girl I like and—”
“You suddenly feel a deep need to mind your own business?” he asked.
Eden wasn’t in the least insulted or deterred. “I thought she was perfect for you.”
Yes, Cindy had been practically perfect. She worked in a downtown restaurant. They understood each other’s occupations; they’d had a lot of fun. And that was as far as he would let it go. He didn’t know why, wasn’t a huge believer in self-analysis, but once a relationship hit a certain point, he was done. Just…done.
His relationship with Cindy had hit that point.
“You’re going to run out of compatible women,” Eden warned before heading back into the kitchen.
“Reno’s a big town and lots of people move here every day,” Justin called after her.
Eden came back a few seconds later with a calendar showing the events for the week. “Okay. Patty has her surgery set for next Wednesday, and it looks like you’ll be on your own for the next six weeks.”
Justin reached up to adjust his stocking hat. “I told the hotel I can’t be called in for any emergencies for a while.” After hiring on as a prep cook at Tremont, Patty had, for some reason, made his work her priority, and he’d come to depend on her—which allowed him to take extra work at the lake and make more specialty cakes than he’d been able to before.
“That’s the sanest thing you’ve said in months,” Eden muttered. She placed the calendar on the counter between them. “You’re working the parties on Tuesday night and Wednesday night, right?”
“Right. And that business brunch at the lake tomorrow.” After that, he was holing up for the evening.
“Okay.” She laid the list on his stainless-steel counter. “Here’s the desserts we’ll need for the bookings this week and next....” Her voice trailed off and she looked up at him with a slight frown. “I am having the hardest time visualizing you and Layla fighting in the parking lot.”
“Don’t forget the boyfriend. He was there, too.”
“Strange.” She gave her head a slight shake, then pointed back at the list. “Seven dozen cherry bomb mini cupcakes for the tea on Thursday—”
The phone in Justin’s pocket vibrated, making him jump. It was the Tremont cell, not his own, that he was carrying. “Tremont Catering. Justin here.”
“Uh, hi.” The voice was hoarse, feminine and distinct.
“Layla?” Justin said, rather enjoying the way Eden’s head snapped up.
“Would you mind checking your car to see if my wallet fell out in there? Because if it didn’t, then I have another headache to deal with.”
She was probably dealing with a whopper already.
“Sure thing. Stay on the line and I’ll check right now.” He walked past Eden and out the back door without saying a word into the phone, because he really couldn’t think of anything to say. He opened the passenger door, dug around under the seat, then shoved his hand deep into the crack between the seats and struck gold.
“Got it,” he said, pulling out a slim eel-skin wallet. “You must have lost it when you dumped your purse out.”
“I dumped my…never mind. Thank you for finding it.”
“I’m pretty swamped today, but I can drop it by your house on my way home.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll pick the wallet up tomorrow on my way to work.”
“It’ll be here waiting for you.” And Justin wouldn’t be. “I’m going to the lake tomorrow for a catering event. I, uh, could pick up your overnight bag there if you want.”
“Oh.” It was obvious she hadn’t even thought about that. And that she wanted to say no, but wasn’t going to. “Thank you. I would very much appreciate it.”
He smiled at her stiff tone. Likely she was torn between gratitude and a desire to keep him out of her life. “You know me, Layla—always there to lend a hand.”
There was a slight choking sound and then the phone went dead.
SAM, WHO COULDN’T MAKE IT up to the lake in her little car to rescue Layla, did make it across town just fine to see her sister on her way to the small shop she ran a few blocks from Layla’s house. But in Sam’s defense, the snow that had pelted the mountains was a slushy sleet in Reno.
“Oh. My.” Sam stopped dead in the doorway and stared at her sister for a long moment, oblivious to the wet snow blowing into the house. Layla grabbed her by the sleeve and tugged her inside.
“I haven’t had time to shower.”
“Well, at least wipe the mascara from under your eyes.”
Layla nodded. But she didn’t move.
Sam’s eyes grew wide. “This is bad, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a worse day than yesterday.”
“Considering some of the stuff the twins did to you, that’s saying a lot.”
Layla nodded again, then sat on the upholstered window seat. She hadn’t changed out of her dress, hadn’t managed to do much of anything except to lie quivering on her bed, fighting the mother of all hangovers. She did feel slightly better now that the Pepto Bismol and aspirin had taken effect. Physically, anyway.
“Tell me about it,” Sam said, sitting beside her.
Layla turned to her sister, who was so very different from her, and took in the short red hair, the fuchsia lipstick painted into an exaggerated Cupid’s bow, the clothes that appeared more costumelike than conventional. Yes, they were from different planets, but if anyone was going to understand… She took a deep breath and the story poured out. One solid hit to her ego and self-dignity after another.