Chapter Twelve

Peyton found Mel nestled in front of one of the stone fireplaces in the main lodge. A plate of cherry tarts and a glass of milk sat on the table beside her. Mel, apparently well recovered from the wailing match thirty minutes earlier, swung her left foot freely while shoveling in the sweets as fast as her throat could swallow them down.

Perhaps she’d been a smidge too hard on Ryder? Maybe even more than a smidge, as she watched their daughter. But he didn’t know the depth of love a parent had for a child. To watch them get hurt or the fear of them getting hurt. How it paralyzed your entire self. Temporarily turning you into something no one recognized.

Yet it wasn’t just the fear for Mel. She could see that now that she saw her whole and hearty daughter succumbing to a sugar coma. It was that she trusted Ryder to love Mel and protect her as much as she did, and he had broken that.

Everything narrowed down to that finite connection parents have with their children.

Now knowing just a bit about Ryder and his relationship with his father, she didn’t know if he understood that love. She’d thought he’d been surrounded by love and family his entire life, and maybe he had with Shelby, but even the loss of one parent’s love would leave its mark. She knew. She hadn’t had either. Having a parent there but not actually a participant in your life was almost as bad as not having the parent at all.

Maybe Ryder didn’t know how to extend that love to others. How could someone leave their family for ten years if they were capable of love?

And the pettiest reason of all, she’d discovered, was that she now had to share the reins. Ms. “I’m Always in Control of My Life” Brooks now had a partner. And her control tendencies were bucking at the thought.

So, yes, she’d been too harsh, and she owed him an apology and an explanation.

She crossed behind the chairs and plopped into the one next to Mel, startling her daughter. Half a cherry tart dangled from her open mouth.

“I see recovery has been swift and sweet.”

Mel nodded as she removed the uneaten tart and placed it back on the plate.

“Nothing’s broken? No lingering effects from the fall?”

Her daughter shook her head.

“And the waterfall dried up miraculously.”

Mel’s gaze dropped to her lap. She played with the few crumbs lying on her jeans, and Peyton realized she and Ryder had been played by their ten-year-old daughter. Oh, she had no doubt that Mel might have been a little upset over what she heard, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the waterworks were totally for Grandma and perhaps to achieve other means.

“I asked him to.”

The words were so light, Peyton leaned closer, even though her daughter had already stopped speaking.

“What did you say?”

Puppy dog eyes glanced up at her through thick lashes. “I asked Dad to teach me.”

Thank God she was seated, or Peyton would be spread-eagled on the floor. She’d imagined Mel would work the situation to her advantage, and she even imagined her daughter working up the floodgates to get something from her grandparents. But in all her anger and worry and fear and disgust, she hadn’t imagined the initial cause of all of this to be Mel going against her stated wishes and asking her father to teach her to rope.

“Do you hate him?” She wrung her small hands. “It wasn’t his fault. Please don’t hate him because of me.”

“I don’t hate him. Trust me, honey. It would be a heck of a lot easier if I did.”

“Do you love him?”

That was a question she couldn’t answer…because she refused to lie to her daughter. And the truth was she didn’t know the answer because she refused to allow herself to think about it.

Mel must have taken her silence as a no. “Do you think you could love him?”

And wasn’t that most children’s wish? That their parents be together. Married or in a relationship. Side by side as a family.

“Sweetheart, there’s a lot of distance between not hating someone and loving them.”

Mel reached for the last of her tart, offering it to her. “I suppose there has to be a middle ground then. Right?”

Peyton took the peace offering and wondered at that moment just who was the adult and who was the child. “Yes, honey. Middle ground is the best I’m hoping for right now.”

…

The next day, Peyton paced the small room, her finger working the hem of her blazer. She loved business. Thrived on meetings and planning. It was how she maintained order in her life and everyone else’s. She didn’t like surprises. Ever since the biggest one of her life ten years ago, she vowed things would run her way, according to her plan, and she wouldn’t be caught off guard. Leave it to Ryder to throw years of careful planning right into outer space. And planning for co-parenting was next to impossible when someone wouldn’t bow to her dictates.

She bit the inside of her cheek and searched the room for water. Of course there was nothing to quench her sudden thirst. Just like there seemed to be no great plan in dealing with Ryder. When they were apart, she thought about him and what they might be able to have in the future. When she was with him, lord, he drove her crazy with their clashing over everything.

And this meeting? Well, she didn’t have control over it, either. Or at least not much of it. And even more worrisome was Mitchum. No one controlled the man. Hell, no one even tried except Shelby, and she only succeeded because Mitchum loved her more than the dirt that made up Sky Lake Ranch. And it was that damn dirt that had Peyton pacing around the tiny boardroom in some nondescript brick building in Cheyenne.

“They’re late.”

Peyton paused in her circuit and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “Ten minutes. We’re early.”

Early meant no surprises. No rushing. Time to plan. But Mitchum wasn’t a waiter. Never had been. And his impatience had grown ever since he’d been in the hospital, which was what had Peyton more on edge.

She knew the man. Knew his temper, his pride, and a whole host of other blemishes in his personality. But her sole purpose in being here was to ensure he didn’t get worked up. How on earth she was to do that in a meeting with some investors who essentially now owned part of Sky Lake, she hadn’t a clue. Not even a specter of a plan.

Mitchum had been furious when he learned what Shelby had done while he lay in the hospital bed. But Peyton had agreed with Shelby’s decision to sell part of the land and together they had calmed him down enough for him to see that the deal had made sense. It was an odd deal to say the least. Nothing the likes of she or any other rancher that they knew understood, but their lawyer had pored over the offer and couldn’t find the loophole that both Shelby and Peyton were sure existed.

So here they were, about to meet the elusive new co-owners of Sky Lake, and Peyton couldn’t sit still. She couldn’t plan or dictate because the unknown would walk through that door in about five minutes and a time bomb sat at the table behind her waiting for detonation.

“When we get back, the lawyers are going over this thing again. If there’s a way out, I’m finding it.”

Peyton placed her hand on the top of a chair across from him. “Mitch, the deal’s done. They’re here to break ground. This is merely a formality. A handshake. A chance to meet faces.” She paused and let her voice soften. “This is all for Sky Lake. Remember that.”

Mitchum closed his eyes and years crept into every line on his face. His blue eyes, faded from years in the sun, snapped open. “For Sky Lake and for Mel.”

Both Shelby and Mitchum had made no bones that they intended on Sky Lake passing into Mel’s hands one day. But that had been before. “Yes. For Mel and, well, for Ryder, too.”

Crimson flooded Mitchum’s face. “To hell with Ryder. He doesn’t deserve Sky Lake. He never did.”

“Hmm, seems I heard those exact same words ten years ago. Nice to know some things never change.”

The air whooshed out of the room. Peyton stared at Ryder, who looked beyond mutinous, his arms folded across a chest that her fingertips itched to explore. He’d shaved his beard, the square of his jaw picking up the harsh fluorescent light. He wore a suit with no tie. His pale-yellow shirt was open at the collar, where a glimmer of dark hair enticed. Lord, corporate Ryder was nearly as intoxicating as cowboy Ryder.

He stood in the doorway, his gaze zeroed in on the man who’d given him life, and she couldn’t detect an ounce of love. What had happened between these two? Ryder had shared a glimpse of what set off the events ten years ago, but seeing the two of them together, the anger and pain drowning out any affection that must have existed, drove home just how deep the antipathy went. Tearing her gaze away, she noticed the rapid rise and fall of Mitchum’s chest. His breaths grew shorter. She was around the table kneeling beside him in no time.

“Slow it down, Mitch. You know where you’ll end up if you don’t.” Her fingers wrapped around his hand and she squeezed. He finally ripped his gaze from his son and met hers with a quick nod. It was a full minute before she felt safe enough to stand and face the cause of so much upheaval in the last week.

“What are you doing here?”

Ryder’s eyes were slow to meet hers. He’d been staring at his father. The earlier look of satisfaction replaced by worry and concern.

“Is he okay?”

She glanced back at Mitchum. He was looking anywhere but at the doorway. “He’ll be fine.” She walked the few steps to him. “Now, why are you here? Is something wrong at Sky Lake?”

Before he could answer, Mitchum stepped up beside her. “Answer the lady. And it better not be because you’re following her around. She deserves someone sure as sight better than my absentee son.”

…

This was it. The moment years in the making. The moment Ryder let the hammer fall on his father. The moment he’d prove to him that Ryder was more than the wastrel he accused him of being both ten years ago and ten seconds ago. And yet for those seconds when Peyton knelt beside his father, he wanted to rush over and forget it all and tell him how much he loved him.

Some critical piece of information was missing. Something was wrong with his father, and no one had bothered to mention it to him. Not Peyton or his mother. Heck, even Dan could have spilled the details.

It’s not like I asked.

Well, he would. Later. But right now, the man stood there daring him to argue. Telling him once again he wasn’t good enough. This time for Peyton. He’d questioned a lot of things about himself over the years and one of them was had he ever been good enough for Peyton. Maybe he wasn’t, or at least not yet, but he was good enough to be here. To own the business he did and now part of Sky Lake.

He walked around the two of them and stopped at the head of the table. Peyton and his dad turned, and he made sure both were wholly focused on him.

“I believe we have a meeting scheduled.” He looked at his watch. “In one minute, to be exact.”

The blood drained from Peyton’s face while it flushed his father’s.

“You’re involved with ARC Investments?”

Mitchum stepped toward his son. “What are you? Some errand boy? They sent some nobody to do business.” He turned to Peyton. “I told you this deal was horse manure. We’re leaving.”

His dad turned away, but Peyton stood rooted to the spot. Her gaze raked his face, and he wondered if she, too, would discount him much as his father continued to do. The punch to his gut told him that while it was expected of Mitchum, to have no faith from Peyton would leave a wound that might not heal. This was the moment he had feared ten years ago and even a few days ago when he shared a little of what he had faced. Which way would the cards fall?

He met her gaze, determined to keep how important this moment was from her. But the connection, the one that he now valued almost as much as his daughter, rose to the occasion.

“You’re the R in ARC, aren’t you?”

She had the faith. His lungs expanded on his first full breath since entering the room and he swore the look of absolute belief in Peyton’s green gaze made him three feet taller.

At that moment, he knew if he’d trusted her ten years ago, she would have had the faith then, too. She’d never doubted him. Never given him cause to doubt himself, and he hadn’t trusted her. He couldn’t make that up to her, but he would never make the same mistake again.

“Yes, I am.”

Mitchum slammed his hand down on the table. “Don’t you listen to a word he says, Peyton. He’s a no-good wastrel who’s some company’s whipping boy.”

Ryder refused to be baited. Somehow knowing someone else believed in him gave him the strength to remain calm. He gripped the top of the chair. “Actually, Dad. I’m half owner. I, along with my partner, Alex, built this company from scratch. So it would seem that’s the second time you’ve been wrong. At least about me.”

Peyton sucked in a breath, but he refused to meet her gaze. Instead he locked everything he had onto his father’s harsh blue eyes. What had he done over his life to make his father hate him so much?

Alex chose that moment to come into the room. He was a numbers guy. A genius with social media, marketing, and vision. No one who ever met him or saw him would believe the man could climb a tree faster than any lumberjack Ryder knew, and have the tree sliced and diced at a record pace.

He was also astute at the undercurrents of a room. Not that it would take any genius to see the tableau in front of them and draw any other conclusion.

“Ahh, sorry I’m late. Left the blueprints in the truck.” He stepped toward Mitchum. “Mr. Marks, I’m Alex Plank, co-owner with your son. It’s a pleasure to meet you officially. I’ve seen you around the ranch.”

Mitchum looked down at Alex’s hand and back to his son. “So how did my son con you into believing he’s capable of running a business?”

Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled at Ryder. “Well, it was pretty convincing when we earned enough with our first investment to pay off the startup loans.”

Peyton snorted.

Alex continued. “So let’s sit down and talk about what we have planned for Sky Lake.”

Ryder owed Alex a case of beer and maybe the names and phone numbers of some eligible women in Fly Creek. He took a seat and Alex sat beside him, sliding the blueprints in his direction. They looked up at Peyton and his father. She turned, grabbing Mitchum’s hand and tugging him to the seat farthest from Ryder. She took the seat beside him. After Peyton whispered something into Mitchum’s ear, he grunted and crossed his arms. Peyton looked at Ryder and smiled. “Let’s hear about your brilliance, Mr. Investment.”