What Lies Within (8 page)

When her father fell ill, though Kyla was only in her midtwenties, the mantle of leadership fell squarely on her shoulders. Her father remained involved, her constant advisor. But heart complications forced him out of the day-to-day operations. It hadn’t been easy. Not at all. But her dad had been a constant support, right up to his death nearly six years ago. During those last few months, she’d sit by his bedside and brief him on the events of the day, and nothing made her happier than to see that twinkle in his eye in response to something she’d handled well.

“God has gifted you for this work, Kyla. And you’re using your gift well. I’m proud of you.”

Her father’s words undergirded her when after his death, the employees questioned her ability to run Justice Construction … when during those first few months, clients pulled their projects, saying that without her dad, Justice Construction was on its way out.

“I’ve run this company for years!” she’d stormed to Avidan and Annot. “And now not just the employees, but the clients doubt me?”

“Give them time.” The quintessential sheriff’s deputy, Avidan was a man’s man, ready and able to handle whatever came his way. “You’ve been in charge, but to their minds, Dad was there in the background running things.”

Before she could protest, Annot put her hand on Kyla’s arm. “We know
that wasn’t true. Dad told us often enough you’ve been the heart and mind behind JuCo for years. Dad believed in you, Kylie. So do we.”

“And so will others. In time.”

She wished she were more like Annot, so she could do something to vent her frustration … like kick a table. Instead, she clamped down the irritation trying to push free and nodded. Annot was right. Her father believed in her.

That was enough.

Day by day, she showed up, did what her dad had taught her to do, and refused to give up. Thankfully, a number of Justice Construction’s major clients stuck with them. And when JuCo brought the jobs in not only on time, but under budget, the clients made sure everyone knew it. By the end of the first year without her father, the company had regained any lost ground. And last year, just five years after her father’s death, the company he’d founded was more successful than she—or Dad—ever dreamed.

But the company wasn’t just about profit. As she’d learned during those times on the girders, it never had been. From the very beginning, her father decided that his company would do more than construct buildings. Justice Construction would work on projects that bettered the world. And Kyla had honored that decision. Yes, she’d do the commercial projects, the malls and subdivisions. But she’d always work on projects that mattered too. And anyone who came to work for her company would have to be willing to do both as well.

In the last few years, though, as her reputation had grown, Kyla found herself working on more and more projects like the one she’d just finished.

Projects that didn’t matter. Projects that skewed her perspective.

She shifted in the seat, trying to evade the sense of weight on her shoulders. On her spirit. But unease had chosen her as its resting place, and she couldn’t dislodge it.

Why this unrelenting restlessness, Lord? I’m doing good work. Work Dad would be proud of. And these projects may not matter that much to me, but they matter to the clients
.

As though some tiny devil’s advocate had flown in on the wings of her unrest, a response sounded within her almost before she’d finished the thought.

Right. They matter because they bring in a great deal of money, both for you and for the clients. But is that enough?

Kyla’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. No. It wasn’t. Not even close.
It’s not that I don’t want to do the other projects. The money’s there. I’ve set it aside after every project, just like Daddy did
.

She should have known she wouldn’t get off that easy.

Yes, but your father didn’t let the money just sit there. He used it. He helped people
.

Frustration—or was it guilt?—pierced her heart.
I just haven’t had any opportunities come up lately
.

Right. Like the chance to help something? Like the kitten? You wouldn’t have noticed them if they did. You’re too focused on the next accomplishment
.

It was hard to argue with truth. Which explained why, with the completion of each of the commercial projects she’d done the last few years, one feeling was growing and threatening to overwhelm her. A feeling she’d spent her life doing everything she could to avoid.

Failure.

Enough!

Enough thinking. Enough feeling sorry for herself. She had to get out of here.

Now.

She jabbed the key into the ignition, then froze. Was that …?

Her senses sharpened, Kyla jumped out of the car and ran toward the bush near the trunk. Sure of what she’d seen. But the spot where the kitten had been was still empty. Stabbing disappointment stole her breath—until another sound jump-started her breathing, drawing her around the bush, along the landscaped section to another smaller bush nearby.

There, cowering beneath the leafy branches, was the kitten.

This time, Kyla didn’t hesitate. She reached down, cupped the tiny animal in her hands, and drew it close. She tucked it inside her suit jacket, nestling it next to her racing heart, and made her way back to the car.

Easing into the driver’s seat, Kyla rubbed the kitten’s fur, doing her best to dry it and warm it at the same time. Its coat was a mixture of black,
orange, and white—though the white was more of a dingy gray at the moment. The animal’s shivering body and heart-wrenching squeals tightened Kyla’s throat.

“I know, little guy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I left you there …”

The kitten rested its forehead against her, and the simple trust in that motion nearly undid Kyla. She met her own gaze in the rearview mirror, noted the red-rimmed eyes, the tears streaming down her face. “You look terrible.”

Funny thing was, she was smiling as she said it.

Holding the kitten with one hand, she leaned down to pull out the phone book she kept beneath her driver’s seat. It only took a moment to find a nearby animal hospital. A few minutes more to call for directions and let the person on the phone know she was coming in.

“Is this your pet?”

The woman’s question stopped Kyla, and she looked down at the bundle now sleeping against her. She couldn’t keep it. Of course she couldn’t. For one thing, she was gone all the time. For another, there was Mason to consider. She didn’t even know if he liked animals. Shouldn’t she ask him first?

“Ma’am? Is this your pet?”

Be smart, Kyla
.

She opened her mouth to answer, and one word jumped out. “Yes.”

Kyla had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She tightened her hold on the kitten, and this time her answer came out solid and sure. “Yes, it’s my pet.”

So it wasn’t smart. So what? This little creature nestled against her seemed to think it belonged to Kyla. And for the life of her, she couldn’t disagree.

All those years of telling Annot you weren’t an animal person, and now you do this? You’re knocking on crazy’s door, you know
.

The kitten shifted, rubbing its soft face against her hand and releasing a soul-deep sigh. Kyla’s heart melted.

Crazy or not, this kitten was exactly where it belonged.

And if Mason doesn’t agree?

He would. Of course he would. Because it was important to her. And when someone loved you, they cared about what mattered to you. Right?

She didn’t give herself time to ponder the answer. She’d faced enough crises for the day.

It was time to give her heart—and her doubts—a rest. At least for tonight.

SIX   

R
afa, if you stare at that doorway any harder, it will melt.”

Rafe took another sip of his coffee and angled wide-eyed innocence at his sister. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her eyes scolded. “Do me favor,
porfa
?”

“Whatever you ask, ’
manita
.”

“Keep in mind that just because I’m your sister, that doesn’t make me
una cretina
.”

“I would never call you an idiot.”

“
Vale
, but you try to treat me like one, hmm?” She waved at the door he’d been staring at. “You tell me you’ve come to work early so you can have everything ready before the first
clienta
comes in. And then you sit there, drinking your coffee, waiting for her to show up. The morning passes, and still you sit there for every break. Watching the door. Hoping. And
tu creo que
I don’t know that’s what you’re doing?” She swatted at his shoulder. “Besides, you know as well as I do it’s still too early for her. She doesn’t usually show until at least early evening.” She winked at him. “A little touch of heaven on her way home, si?”

“My coffee heaven?” Rafe let a broad grin spread across his lips. “Si,
hermana
. I’ll agree with that.”

Olivia flounced past him. “Not your coffee, you! Ooo, you make me crazy when you do that.”

He held up his hands, still laughing. “I’m not trying to annoy you,
mija—
”

She planted her hands on her slim hips. “Oh, don’t give me that. You love annoying me. And all I’m trying to do is help you.”

Rafe fought hard against the laughter. He really did. But there was no holding it back.

Olivia tossed back her long black hair, pressed her lips together, and glared at him.
“¿Qué?”

He stood, going to slip his arms around her. “Sorry, mija. I don’t mean to laugh at you. You just look so much like
Mamá
when you scold.”

Olivia’s frown melted into a warm smile. “Look like her, si. But not sound like her. Mamá scolded in
Español
.”

“You do too. Sort of.”

Olivia went back to the glass display case she’d been stocking. “Spanglish, Rafa. You know Mamá hated Spanglish.”

“She didn’t hate it. She just chose not to participate in it.” Rafe set his coffee cup on the counter. “I miss her.” Hard to believe their parents had been gone for five years. Killed in a car crash when he was twenty-eight and Olivia had just turned thirty-four.

A soft hand came to rest on his shoulder. “They would be so proud of you, Rafa. Of all you’ve done here. That you didn’t let your injury destroy you.” She waved her hand at the shop. “That you used all you’ve learned, all you are, to make this.”

Rafe couldn’t say he was sure about a lot of things. But this place? He’d known the day he opened Cuppa Joe’s that his coffeehouse would be a success.

Oddly enough, he owed that to the military—prime territory for coffee addiction. Especially in his Force Recon team. Now, Rafe had always liked coffee. Good, strong coffee, the way his
abuela
made it. He smiled. Nobody made coffee like his grandmother, but these guys … just the smell of the stuff put a gleam in their eyes and a blissful grin on their faces. But it was watching them consume the liquid that opened his eyes.

True coffee lovers didn’t just drink the stuff. They lived for the whole crazy experience.

It was the one thing that Thales, Monroe, and Green shared. Those three were hooked, big time. A fact proven the day Thales came back from a street market with a package stuffed with bags of coffee. It wasn’t long before the three men disappeared. When they showed up again, it was with one of those fancy coffee makers—the kind that makes coffee and espresso.

Thales and Monroe handled the machine with a reverence usually reserved for their weapons. Sabada watched over their shoulders. “How much did that thing cost you guys?”

Monroe’s eyes went wide. “Who cares, man. It’s coffee!”

Rafe frowned. The kid might have problems keeping his temper, but he was a pro at not letting his money get away from him. “You can get coffee free at the mess.”

Green opened the bag of beans like it was some sacred, long-awaited treasure. He held the bag beneath his nose and inhaled, drawing the fragrance in like it was purest oxygen. Monroe held out the grinder as Green poured beans in, then pressed down the button. “That’s not coffee, Asadi.” Monroe held up the grinder. “
This
is coffee.”

“Not just coffee, Farm Boy.” Green took the grinder and dumped the grounds into the holder and tamped it down. “We’re talkin’
great
coffee.”

As black liquid flowed into a mug, Thales poured milk into a small pitcher, stuck it over a protruding tube, and turned a knob. The machine responded with spitting and hissing.

Rafe sat back, torn between laughter and amazement. There were these three big Marines, men he’d seen take fire with total calm, acting like little kids waiting for the go-ahead to tear into the gifts beneath a Christmas tree. When the rich, dark liquid was perfectly doctored with cream and bottled syrups, they drank.