The Last Letter(19)

I was twenty-five with six-year-old twins, one of whom was in a fight for her life, and I owned my own business, which took up every spare minute of my time. No guy was into me. I tugged on Ryan’s dog tag, the one that had come back with his things, moving it up and down the chain in nervous habit.

“What? He is. Did you see that scruff of beard? Those arms?”

Yes and yes.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

She looked over the pages of her magazine. “If I have to tell you that he looks like he’s about to take Chris Pratt’s role in the Marvel universe, then you’re way far gone, Ella. Those eyes? Unh.” She leaned back in the chair and stared dreamily at the ceiling. “And he’s here until November.”

November. That man was going to be on my property for the next seven months.

“He has that whole super-strong, broody, secret pain kind of look. Makes a woman want to pull him close and—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Oh, give the girl a break. That boy is something to look at,” Ada agreed, leaning against the reception desk. “People skills could use some work, though.”

“That boy is special ops.” I said it like the curse it was.

“And how would you know that? Because of his dog? I still have my reservations about having a dog on property, but she seemed well behaved, and Labs can’t be that aggressive, right?” Ada looked over the desk to see what Hailey was reading.

“One, Labs can absolutely be that aggressive, hence why she’s a special ops dog, or was. Whatever. He’s her handler.”

“Don’t be jumping to assumptions just because you feel a little awkward that there’s an attractive, single man within walking distance,” Ada warned, flipping the page of the magazine herself.

“I’m not—how would you know he’s single?” Had they already Facebook stalked him? Did guys like him have Facebook? Ryan never did. He said it was a liability.

“No one checks in for seven months with only their dog if they’re not single.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Ryan sent him.”

The magazine hit the desk in a flutter of pages as both women stared at me. Ada was the first to react, sucking in a shaky breath.

“Talk.”

“I guess Ryan wrote one of those death letters and asked him to come to Telluride and watch over me. Seriously. Ryan’s been dead three months, and he’s still giving me his opinion on the men I should have in my life.” I forced a laugh and shoved the emotions back in the neat little box they belonged in.

The worst thing about going through so much in such a short time? You can’t afford to feel anything about…anything, or you end up feeling it all. And that’s what got you into trouble.

“You’re sure?” Hailey asked.

“I didn’t read the letter or anything, but that’s what he said. Given the way he looks, the dog…the way he moves.” He’d assessed me from top to bottom within seconds, and it hadn’t been sexual. I’d seen him categorize the details in his brain as clearly as if he’d actually had a computer open. “He moves like Ryan. His eyes scan like Ryan’s…like my father’s.” I cleared my throat. “So hopefully, just like my father, he’ll get bored and move on quickly.” That’s what men did, right? They left. Ryan had been honest about his intentions, whereas Dad had lied through his teeth. Jeff had been no better, spinning pretty little stories to get what he wanted and running the minute he’d realized there were consequences. The lies had always been worse than the leaving.

At least Gentry had been up-front and honest about the fact that Ryan sent him here. Honest, bad choices, I could handle. Lies were intentional, inflicted pain for selfish reasons, and unforgivable.

“What are you going to do?” Hailey leaned forward like she was front row to her own soap opera.

“I’m going to ignore him. He’ll leave soon enough, once he feels like he’s done his duty to Ryan, and I can shut that door on…everything.” On Chaos. “And in the meantime, I’m going to pick up Maisie from school, because we’re supposed to be in Montrose in two hours for her scans. That’s what matters right now. Not some Chris Pratt look-alike who has a huge guilt complex.”

I was almost back to my office—I needed Maisie’s treatment binder—when I heard Hailey laughing.

“Ha! So you did notice!”

“I said it didn’t matter. I didn’t say I was dead.” Binder in hand, I raced back through the foyer, grateful we were empty this Monday with the exception of Mr. Gentry.

“And those eyes? Just like emeralds, right?”

Seriously, Hailey had reverted to junior high.

“Sure,” I said with a nod, shoving my boots back on. “Ada, will you grab Colt after school? Crap. He’s got that cell art project due tomorrow, too. It needs another layer of paint on the edge, can you—?”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry. Go take care of our girl.”

“Thank you.” I hated this, leaving them with everything, walking out on yet another thing that Colt needed. But needs came in seasons, right? This was simply the season that Maisie needed me more. I just had to get her through this, and the next time Colt needed me, I’d be there.