Taking the Heat (3 page)

“No problem,” he said. “I'll see you out there. Break a leg.”

She laughed, that big smile returning for a brief moment before it went crooked and uncertain. “Right. Break a leg. I'll try, I guess. Oh, I should pay you back!”

Her hand swung around and hit the martini glass with an alarming chime, but she scrambled and managed to save the glass before it tipped. “Oh, thank God,” she gasped, “That would have been a tragedy.”

“Not an insurmountable one. I promise I'd have gotten you another.”

She laughed again, her round cheeks going pink. “You're really sweet. Thanks for helping me out.”

Gabe was surprised to feel his own face going slightly warm. “No problem.” He backed out and closed the door, leaving this odd woman to her work. He knew less about her after their second interaction than he had after their first, but one thing was certain. She was high maintenance as hell. A drama queen, maybe. Or just high-strung. Whatever she was, he was staying far away from it.

His phone buzzed as he reached the end of the hall and Gabe took it from his pocket, smiling when he saw his sister's name pop up in a text box. Another high-maintenance woman, but one he couldn't bear to keep at a distance: his middle sister, Naomi.

How was your first day?
she asked.

Good. I'm out with the other librarians right now.

She texted a big smiley face.
Girls' night???

Something like that
, he responded.
Are you back home?

Yes, Paris was a blast, but now Mom's trying to feed me, and Dad's just...disappointed.

Yeah, Gabe was disappointed, too. But he was hopeful that once his sister got through a few more years of international modeling, she'd be ready to settle down and take over the family business. Then again, he'd been telling himself that for more than ten years. Unfortunately, Naomi had turned out to be one of those rare models who was even more popular in her thirties than she had been in her teens.

And their older sister? Yeah, she was an even bigger disappointment to their father.

It was all up to Gabe now.

Gabe shook his head and texted back.

Just eat one burger and make them both happy.

I tried that last time. It didn't get them off my back, and I had to run ten extra miles on the treadmill.

Tragedy!
he responded, then added a crying face to the text.

Kiss my ass, little brother.

Love you, too
,
 
he sent before he tucked the phone back into his pocket. One hour of this Dear Veronica nonsense, and then he could head over to his new place, ignore family and work obligations, and get on with his new life.

* * *

V
ERONICA
 
COULDN
'
T
 
FEEL
 
her own hands and she couldn't quite hear what she was saying. It wasn't the martini affecting her, unfortunately; it was pure, unadulterated terror.

Despite the numbness, her hands were still holding the letters she'd chosen to read, and the crowd was still clapping and smiling. She couldn't remember much of the past forty-five minutes, but maybe it was going fine. She might even be doing a good job, but she had a feeling the crowd approval had more to do with the alcohol. Not that she minded.

“And now, our sixth and final Dear Veronica letter,” she said into the microphone, lowering her voice a little to bring down the noise level in the bar. It worked. The roar subsided.

She drank the last of her now-warm cosmo and took a deep breath. “‘Dear Veronica, I feel like I'm a pretty good catch. I'm young, relatively pretty, educated and fun loving. Men ask me out. I wouldn't say I have any problem getting a date, and my standards are reasonably high. I expect a potential mate to be employed and funny and hot as hell—'”

“That's you, Steve!” someone yelled out, causing howls to erupt.

Veronica smiled and pointed in the direction of the noise. “Find me later, Steve.” She waited for the laughter to quiet, then continued. “‘So why do I always end up being the booty call? Why am I never the girlfriend? It makes me feel like I'm not good enough. Don't get me wrong—I love sex, but I'd like more than that, and the last three guys I've dated have all ended up being casual.' It's signed That Girl.”

Veronica looked out over crowd. “Now...this letter might mean something to a lot of you.”

There were moans of agreement.

“Let me start with this. There's nothing wrong with a booty call.” Veronica laughed at the ruckus that caused, then shook her head and moved on. “Sex is fun. Sex is good. Booty-call your way through life if that makes you happy. But apparently, it's not making you happy, That Girl, so you need to figure out why you're willingly participating in this unfulfilling little dance.

“I notice that you referred to yourself as ‘relatively pretty' and then referred to your dates as ‘hot as hell,' which makes me think you could be flattered by their attention. Let's be really honest here—there is nothing flattering about someone wanting to bone you.”

She paused to let the crowd react, and a server sneaked over to hand her another martini. “Oh, thank you!” Veronica whispered, surprised and relieved. Her mouth was drying out and her hands were sweating. She gratefully took a gulp, then turned back to the audience. “I hear some disagreement, but let me be clear. There are men out there who will put their penises in a tree. There are men out there who will put their penises in sheep. You do not need to feel flattered that a man wants to put his penis inside you.

“And as for women...think of all the slimeballs out there you see taking women home every single night. Those women are happy to sleep with a slimeball, so, men, don't be honored that they'll sleep with you, too. Sex is not flattery! It's one of our basic animal needs and people will do a lot of nasty shit to get it.”

“She's talking about you again, Steve!” a man shouted.

“Okay, Steve,” Veronica said, “don't find me later.” She winked in his direction. “But for this letter writer... You describe yourself as ‘fun loving' and I'm afraid proving that you're down for casual sex is part of proving just how fun you are.” She paused to let that sink in and registered a couple of women who looked as if they'd just heard the truth.

“If casual sex isn't fun for you, then don't do it. It's not a requirement—it's an option. Buy a good vibrator and take a break from being the fun girl who's down for the superhot guy. Because if you think those men can't tell that you're flattered by the attention, you're fooling yourself. If
you
believe they're too hot for you, then you can bet your ass that they think so, too. And if you're smiling your way through a booty call and pretending it's a great way to spend a weeknight, those men are not going to try to talk you out of it.”

She took a deep breath. Almost done.

“So take a break. Reevaluate your choices. Figure out what you really want. And if what you want is to get serious with someone, then you wait for a person who's serious about you. You wait for the guy who calls you when he doesn't want sex.”

A few of the women frowned and Veronica smiled. “Okay, wait for the guy who's dying to do you and
also
wants to spend time with you not having sex. Is that better?” All of the women cheered. “All right. Thank you very much, everyone. This has been a blast. I'll see you in the paper!”

She waved blindly at the clapping crowd, then turned, meaning to grab her drink and retreat to the office to hyperventilate, but the glass was empty. Had she downed that whole thing in five minutes? No wonder she felt dizzy. Before she could retreat, someone rushed up behind her and squeezed her waist.

“You were amazing!” said Lauren.

“Was I? I think I'm going to faint.”

“Everybody loved it! You're a natural.”

“I'm not,” she murmured, starting to see spots. She managed to smile toward a female voice that called out a quick thank-you, but then Veronica pointed her body toward the hallway and started walking. “I just need a minute,” she said.

She felt Lauren pat her back, and then Veronica was alone in the cool hallway and the noise of the crowd receded. She made it to the office, shut the door and collapsed into a chair.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Oh, my God, I did it. It's over.” Her heart began to calm. The spots in her vision faded.

The door opened on a loud whoosh, and Veronica smiled gratefully, ready to fall into Lauren's arms now that some of the shock had passed, but it wasn't Lauren. It was Gerald King, the managing editor of the paper.

Oh, God. What if he'd finally seen through her stupid charade? What if he'd hated it?

“I'm not going to beat around the bush, Veronica.”

Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“We were hoping to promote the paper and help pump up the locals' specials advertising with tonight.”

“I know,” she breathed. Unfortunately, the spots were completely gone now and she could see Gerald's stern face perfectly. He was only forty-five, but there was something in his posture that always reminded Veronica of her dad. Some arrogant, implacable way he held himself. She wished she hadn't cornered herself in the office. There was no escape from his disappointment now.

“But this is going to work out differently, I think.”

She was already nodding, conceding her awfulness.

Gerald grunted, but she couldn't decipher the noise. “Anyway, Thursday nights are fairly slow this time of year, and the place was almost full tonight. The owner is damn happy. I think we can make this a great summer tie-in for the paper. Hell, maybe we can even take it to a bigger location during ski season, though I'd much rather increase permanent circulation than just get a temporary bump in advertising rates. But hell, why not go for it all?”

“I don't understand,” she said.

“Every Thursday. Locals' Advice Night with Dear Veronica. One hundred bucks a pop for you, paid as a bonus. Are you in?”

Are you in?
He asked the question so casually. Almost as an aside, a formality. Of course she was in, because the paper wanted her to do it and she always said yes.

Veronica stared at him.

“Hey,” Gerald said, snapping his fingers. “Are you in? The manager wants to announce it before everyone leaves.”

She nodded, meaning that she understood what the manager wanted, but Gerald took it as an agreement. “Great. I'll let him know. Good job out there.” And then he was gone, and Veronica had to come back and do this all over again next week.

The black spots swarmed again, descending on her like flies on a carcass. Could you die of regret and terror and stage fright? Veronica lowered her head to the desk and let the coolness of the fake wood seep into her face.

She'd succeeded and become a disaster in one fell swoop. The same fucking magic trick she'd been pulling off her entire life. But there was no running from it now. Jackson was home. She had nowhere else to go. She'd have to keep this charade going for a long while. And it had only
felt
as if everyone was watching before. Now they really were.

CHAPTER THREE

G
ABE
 
STRETCHED
 
OUT
 
on the sun-warmed surface of the rock and let his sore muscles absorb the heat. The sky was a pale, pure blue above him and the breeze dried his sweat. His fingertips ached from bracing himself in a vertical crack after a misstep, but even that was perfect. He closed his eyes and melted into the mountain.

“Water?” his climbing partner asked.

Gabe opened his hand and felt a bottle hit his palm. “Thanks.”

“You're out of shape, man.”

“Fuck you,” Gabe said, opening one eye just so he could glare at Benton. “You try living in Cincinnati and see how rusty your climbing skills get.”

“We'll work on it,” Benton said.

“Hell, yeah, we will,” Gabe sighed. “Sunday?”

“You got it. Are you up for climbing Exum?”

Gabe sat up and stretched his left arm. “Jesus Christ, what is that? Eight hundred feet?”

“Sure, but it's six pitches. And I'll lower you down if you get too tired.”

“You're an arrogant ass, you know that?”

Benton grinned. “That's why you love me.”

“I don't think that's it,” Gabe muttered. “Hell, I'm not even sure I love you.”

“Don't tell me you're just using me as a route leader?”

Gabe shrugged. “You come at the right price. Free.”

“Yet again, I'm just a cheap piece of ass.” Benton adjusted the tie holding back his dreadlocks and slipped on the shades that Gabe's sister had once said made him look just like Lenny Kravitz. He tipped his head toward the cliff edge. “Ready?” he asked.

“Just give me another minute. I'm enjoying the hell out of this.” He closed his eyes again and let the silence wash over him. It wasn't completely quiet, of course. Trees below them rustled in the breeze and Benton's equipment clinked when he moved. But it was more profoundly quiet on the rock than it was when hiking or camping. There was no rustle of chipmunks through brush, no chorus of birds singing, no crackle of dead leaves under boots.

He stretched and pulled himself up. “I'll see you Saturday morning, too.”

“No shit?” Benton asked. “You're in?”

“I'm in,” Gabe answered. He'd just gotten word that his application for Technical Search and Rescue had been approved. After a couple months of training, there was a good chance he'd be out there helping with mountain rescues during the summer months.

Benton clapped him on the arm. “I never doubted it for a second.” He gestured toward the edge of the cliff. “After you.”

Gabe hooked back into the line and stood at the edge, but before he leaned out, he took the chance to look around one last time. This was his first solid climb since getting settled in Jackson a week before, and it was the perfect day. Sixty degrees and unlimited visibility. Valleys and peaks stretched out beneath him, the trees looking like stunted bushes from this height.

A hawk glided by, not shifting a feather as it rode an air current down. “Christ, I'm happy to be here,” he said quietly.

“I know. I still remember the day I decided I wasn't leaving Jackson. It's a great place to stay forever, even if I do have to live on a bartender's tips and the occasional guiding gig. I'm guessing librarian doesn't pay much more, but I guarantee you won't find a reason to leave.”

Yeah. Unfortunately, Gabe already had a reason to leave. He couldn't put good views and crisp air over his family, no matter how much he loved living here. He didn't have the option to stay. Not forever. But he'd be damned if he'd waste his time here dwelling on that.

“Rappelling,” he called out, checking the anchor, the rope and the lock on his carabiner one last time.

“Rappel on, my friend,” Benton said.

Gabe turned around, stepped down and let his weight settle him into the right position. There was nothing but two hundred feet of air behind him and it felt perfect.

“Hey!” Benton called as Gabe began to descend. “You coming out with us tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great. We're heading over to a new locals' night at Three Martini Ranch. Dear Veronica hosts it. Supposed to be a blast.”

Gabe's hand tightened reflexively around the rope, slowing his descent. He loosened his grip and shook off his surprise.

Between moving all his belongings into a new apartment and working his ass off at the library, he'd been too busy to think much about Veronica Chandler in the past week. She was a distraction Gabe didn't need. But she was definitely a distraction.

He had no idea what to think of her. She was pretty, a pain in the ass and absolutely not his type. She was also funny and smart as hell, if last Thursday's performance was any guide. She'd been transformed into that warm, welcoming version of herself once she'd started speaking, but more than that, she'd been bright as a star.

He'd agreed with every one of the answers she'd had for the letter writers, and he'd been looking forward to discussing them with her after the performance. So much so that he'd realized what a bad idea it was to stay, and he'd said his goodbyes and hauled ass before she could come out to join Lauren.

He'd figured that was the end of it, but apparently, he was going to see her again tonight. Not that he had to go, but...what good was a day off if he couldn't hang out with old friends?

Gabe slid past an overhang and kept up a steady descent until he was back on flat ground, then shouted the alert back up to Benton.

“Geronimo!” Benton yelled back. He was down in a few minutes.

“What time tonight?” Gabe asked.

“Starts at eight, but we'd better make it closer to seven. I hear it might be packed.”

That would work in Gabe's favor. He could check out Veronica again, but he wouldn't draw her attention. He didn't want to date her. He just wanted one more chance to figure her out before he filed her away.

“Hey,” Benton said, nudging Gabe's elbow as they began to pack up the gear. “Did you bring that book?”

“Sure.” Gabe dug into his hiking pack and withdrew his worn copy of
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
. Benton's nephew had been diagnosed with autism and Benton had read through two dozen nonfiction books about the condition. Now he was looking for fiction, too.

“If you want anything else, let me know and I'll see if I can order it in to the library.”

Benton shot him a narrow look. “I don't know, man. Will I have to sit in on circle time on the rug?”

“Benton, it's a library, not a preschool.”

“Same thing, right?”

Gabe was used to this, but he still rolled his eyes. “I don't run the kids' section. Come on.”

Benton shrugged. “All right. Since you're in the adult section, any sexy librarians I should be aware of?”

“Yeah,” Gabe said, slipping on his pack. “Me.”

“Tempting,” Benton countered. “But I'm gonna need you to take the lead next time so I can get a better look at that ass.”

“I'll wear running shorts,” he promised, prompting Benton to groan.

“Now I'll never get that image out of my head.”

Gabe grinned. “I like that you pretend it's awful. That's cute.”

“Good Christ, man,” Benton muttered. “Your hairy fucking thighs. To change the subject entirely...how's your sister?”

Gabe shook his head. “Naomi is great. Want me to pass her a note from you?”

“I can pass my own notes,” Benton said. “I've still got her number from last time. Is she coming to visit anytime soon?”

“No idea,” Gabe said, throwing Benton a wary look. He didn't want to know if his sister had hooked up with Benton three years ago when Gabe and Naomi had met up here with a group of friends. He didn't care who his sister slept with; he just didn't want to know any details.

“Fine,” Benton said, holding up his hands. “How's your dad? Still pressuring you to take over the family business back in New York?”

“Always,” Gabe answered, not adding more. Even Benton didn't know about Gabe's plans. He wanted to live the next year as if he wasn't planning to return to the city. He didn't want to field questions about MacKenzie's. He didn't even want to admit the truth out loud.

His dad knew, of course. It had been the only way to get his agreement to retire in a year. And his sisters knew, because Gabe had tried to talk each of them into stepping up and taking over the MacKenzie's chain of restaurants. His sisters were older, after all, and someone had to do it or their dad would work himself into an early grave.

But they'd refused, and so it had come down to Gabe, the one who liked to keep the peace and make things right.

“Well, if Naomi does come out here, let me know.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Benton shouldered his own pack. “All right, you're not as pretty as your sister, but you'll have to do for now. Come on, beautiful.”

Gabe laughed as Benton started down the trail, but Gabe didn't immediately follow. He was distracted by the echo of his own laughter off the rocks behind him. How long had it been since he'd heard that? His voice bouncing off mountains instead of being swallowed up by a cacophony of cars and air conditioners?

He took a deep breath and felt years of stress fall away. If he'd been in any kind of shape, he'd have turned around and headed right back up the face again, taken a slightly different path, pushed himself a little harder. But his arms already burned and there was no way his hands would hold up. Sunday would be soon enough to push himself. And then every Sunday after that.

Gabe rolled his shoulders, stretched his hands and set off down the trail, suddenly eager to get out, have a beer and watch the Dear Veronica show from the crowd. He'd just be careful not to get too close.

* * *

V
ERONICA
 
CHEWED
 
HER
 
gnocchi and watched as her father typed out an email on his phone. She didn't know why she'd accepted his invitation to dinner. It wasn't as if there'd been any chance that an hour with him would be relaxing. On the other hand, the stress of his disapproval did distract her from the stress of worrying about tonight's performance, so maybe that was what her subconscious had jumped on.

And he always chose great restaurants. Judge Chandler was used to the best.

He finally looked up, glancing around the restaurant before he looked at her. “Did you say something?”

“Yes, I said that it went so well I'm doing a live Dear Veronica again tonight.”

He frowned. “For free?”

“No, Dad, I'm getting paid.”

“Not much, I'd bet.”

No, not much. Not as much as she'd get paid if she'd followed in his footsteps and gone to law school. “I told you I'd be happy to pay rent.”

He waved a dismissive hand before picking up his Scotch. “At least I don't have to worry about the unit being vacant during the spring and fall.”

Yes. At least she could do that for him. Fill space in the smallest apartment in the building he owned.

“I only got you that job as temporary work,” he grouched, settling back into his sweet spot of disappointment combined with magnanimous gestures.

“I'm a writer, Dad. It is an actual job.”

“Is it?”

She stuffed more gnocchi into her mouth and stared hard at her water glass. If she'd been making even a few hundred dollars more a month, she'd never have accepted her dad's offer to live in his building. She'd known exactly what it had meant. But she'd spent her life savings trying to make ends meet in New York. When she'd come home to start over and try again, she'd thought maybe—just maybe—she'd find a soft place to fall.

She'd been wrong. “Just tell me the market rate on the apartment and I'll pay it,” she said, not for the first time. “Then you won't have to worry about my job or my decisions.”

He gave the same answer he always did. “You can't afford it.”

The problem was that he was likely right. As small as the apartment was, it had a nice kitchen and a fireplace and it was in Jackson. It was a place she definitely couldn't have afforded during ski season, but she told herself that a yearly lease wouldn't be quite so much. It wouldn't be like living in New York. Nothing was that expensive.

She set her fork down hard. “I'd better go,” she said. “I need to get ready for the show.”

“Knock 'em dead,” her father said, already looking at his phone again.

He was always like this. She knew it had nothing to do with her, but it was sometimes hard to believe it when he was directing his arrogance at her. “Sure, Dad,” she said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. He patted her hand, then got back to his phone.

Maybe her plan to see her dad tonight had actually worked. She was still nervous about the show, but she had a little anger to energize her now. She stalked toward her apartment, pissed that her dad was such a self-absorbed ass and mad at herself for failing so hard at life that she was relying on him again. She was living one of her Dear Veronica letters.

“Dear Veronica,” she snarled as she jammed the key into her apartment door, “I'm a stereotypical twentysomething who couldn't quite make it out of the nest and now whines nonstop about it. What should I do?”

She slammed the door behind her and looked around at the furniture that had once filled a Brooklyn apartment she'd shared with two virtual strangers. “Shut your mouth,” she told herself, “stop whining and find something you're good at.”

Actually...

She stared at the stylish little chair she'd found on the curb in front of a nice brownstone near her subway stop. It had been one of her most triumphant moments in the city, sadly, and she still loved that chair.