Hold Me Page 3

  The wariness never left Starr’s eyes. “Why?”

  “There are kids your age there. And different classes. Drama, singing, music. You’d be outdoors. That’s better than being stuck in here.”

  Given the choice, Destiny always preferred to be outside. She wasn’t sure if she’d been that way before she’d gone to live with Grandma Nell, but she certainly was after. The sky seemed to beckon her. Trees were tall friends who provided protection and shade on a hot, sunny day. There were a thousand discoveries to be made and the magic of the music Mother Nature created with rustling leaves or the call of birds.

  Starr took the offered brochure and opened it. “I’d like to study drama,” she admitted. “And music.” She looked up. “Get better on the guitar.”

  There was no accusation in the statement. Just fact. Which didn’t prevent Destiny from squirming. The day she’d picked her half sister up at the airport, Starr had asked if Destiny could help her learn to play her guitar better. She’d admitted to being self-taught and frustrated by a lack of instruction. Destiny had lied and said that she didn’t play much and couldn’t help.

  Two weeks later, the lie still sat heavy on her shoulders. Music had been as much a part of her upbringing as breathing. Given who her parents were, it was inevitable, she supposed. She’d been playing a child-size guitar before she could read, and by the time she was six, she’d added piano to her skill set.

  Nearly twelve years ago she’d made the decision to put that part of her life behind her. To focus on what she saw as the normal world. She rarely played anymore and did her best to ignore the lyrics that bubbled up inside her head. Sometimes she gave in and spent a long afternoon playing and writing. Usually, that was enough to get it out of her system until the next time the feeling overwhelmed her.

  She told herself that she had the right to make that decision. That she didn’t owe Starr that piece of herself. And while that might be technically true, she knew she shouldn’t have lied about it.

  “I looked,” Destiny said with a smile. “There are guitar classes. Piano, too, if you’re interested.”

  “Do you play piano?”

  “I used to.”

  “You don’t have one in the house.”

  No, she had a portable keyboard with a great set of headphones instead. It was tucked under her bed.

  “I move around too much to have a piano,” she said with a shrug. “It would be tough to bring a piano on a plane as my carry-on.”

  Starr’s full mouth pulled up slightly. Not a complete smile, but closer than she’d gotten before, Destiny thought.

  “I think the camp would be fun for you. I know it’s tough being away from your school friends. There have to be a couple of cool kids in town, right?”

  “I don’t hang out with the cool kids,” Starr told her. “But I’d like to make some friends.”

  “Great. Then look that over and tell me what you think.”

  Starr nodded. She didn’t ask about the cost. Jimmy Don’s lawyer had explained there’d been a life insurance policy on Starr’s mother, and the money from that had been put into a trust. Their dad had kicked in some, as well. No doubt the teen assumed her expenses would be paid from that.

  While Destiny knew that legally she could take money from the trust, she didn’t want to. She would cover the cost of the camp herself, just like she planned to pay for Starr’s living expenses. They were family. Sort of. At the very least, they were related, and that counted.

  “Come on,” she said as she stood. “You can read about the camp while I start dinner.”

  They went into the kitchen. Starr settled at the small kitchen table while Destiny pulled out the ingredients for fried chicken. As she opened the refrigerator, she saw a few unfamiliar casserole dishes.

  “Did you cook?” she asked.

  “No. A couple of ladies came by with them. There’s instructions on heating them. They both look good.”

  Destiny glanced at the labels. One simply said lasagna, with suggestions on warming in both the oven and the microwave. The other label said it was Denise’s Many Layered Tamale Pie. Destiny was pretty sure she hadn’t met anyone named Denise, but that didn’t matter. Small-town folks took care of each other. Anything noteworthy brought out the casserole brigade.

  “We can have these for lunch,” she said. “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure.”

  She dumped flour, salt, pepper and paprika into a large plastic bag. After washing off the chicken, she patted it dry and then soaked it in buttermilk for a few seconds before putting the pieces in with the flour. A couple of shakes later, the chicken was coated. She set the pieces on a plate. The trick to really good fried chicken was hot oil and letting the flour mixture get a little gooey.

  As she waited, she glanced at Starr. The teen read the camp information intently.

  There was a stillness about her. Or maybe it was just sadness. Starr’s young life hadn’t been easy. She rarely saw her father; her mother had been in and out of rehab and had eventually died of an overdose. Now Starr lived at a boarding school. She had no grandparents, and all her siblings were either half or step and total strangers.

  Destiny’s guilt returned, but this time for a different reason. She needed to make time for Starr, she thought. They had this summer together. They could get to know each other.

  She supposed that in a lot of families, half sisters would already be friends. But not in hers, and that was because her father couldn’t resist a beautiful woman, Destiny thought grimly. Jimmy Don loved the ladies, and they loved him back. Over and over. He’d married young and often, divorcing and remarrying again and again. Not that her mother was any different. Lacey Mills was on her seventh husband. Or maybe her eighth. It was difficult to keep track.

  Destiny was Jimmy Don and Lacey’s firstborn. She’d been witness to the early years of their relationship. She’d grown up with the screaming, the plate throwing, the drama. She’d learned early to get out of the way when tempers flared and that the good times were always temporary. She’d vowed to be different. She wanted a calm, quiet, practical marriage. No great highs or lows for her. She was looking for a man she could respect and have children with. Not one that got her heart beating faster.

  Her determination was the reason she avoided the Kipling Gilmores of the world. Sure, he was a handsome devil with an easy smile and a charming way about him. She was sure that he knew things that could make her beg. But she didn’t want to beg. She didn’t want to yearn, lust, dream or even long. She wanted certainty. A solid, dependable, comfortable kind of love.

  Sex was the root of all evil. She’d learned that early, too. She’d never let herself be swept away, which was a point of pride for her. No hormone was more powerful than her determination, and nothing about that was ever going to change.

  * * *

  THE MAN CAVE had been an old hardware store, back in the day. When Kipling had first gotten the idea of opening a bar where guys could be comfortable, he’d immediately thought of the store for sale on Katie Lane. As the seller also happened to be one of his business partners in the bar, he’d gotten a good deal on the place.

  Renovations had gone quickly. It helped that several of his new business partners knew the local trades, and things got done. Now they were only a few weeks from opening.

  Kipling stood by the double front doors and glanced around. There was a long bar along the east wall that housed a self-serve beer fridge. Tables filled the front area. There were pool tables and dartboards, a poker room in back and plenty of TVs, including a couple in the bathrooms so no one had to miss a play.

  The second floor overlooked the main bar and had plenty of seating. Sports memorabilia covered the walls. Not just the usual Sports Illustrated swimsuit covers, but actual trophies and other items. Josh Golden, a partner and the guy who had owned the building, had brought in one of his yellow jerseys from the Tour de France. There were footballs and helmets donated by the former pro players at Score,
a local PR firm, and dozens of trophies from them and former quarterback Raoul Moreno. Kipling’s contribution was one of his gold medals from the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.

  But what he liked the best was the big stage and state-of-the-art karaoke machine he’d ordered. Sure they could have bands come in and perform, but for him karaoke was the real draw.

  Back when he’d been competing and traveling year round, karaoke was what had always pulled the teams together. No matter where they were in the world, they found a place with a machine and spent many a night making fools of themselves. Kipling could carry a tune. Barely. But singing well wasn’t the point. It was about having fun.

  The idea for the bar had been with him for a while. When he’d come to Fool’s Gold, he’d realized this was where he could make it happen. Jo’s Bar in town did a good business, but catered mostly to women. The pastel color scheme and TV stations tuned to fashion and shopping kind of freaked him out. Where did guys go to just hang? A few conversations later, he had partners and a long-term lease from Josh.

  He flipped on lights and surveyed the room. They were still waiting on some tables and chairs. The liquor license had been approved the previous week. Now they were getting suppliers lined up.

  The front door opened, and Nick and Aidan Mitchell walked inside.

  The two men were locals, born and raised in Fool’s Gold. From what Kipling had heard, there were five Mitchell brothers. The youngest two were twins. The twins and the oldest brother, Del, had moved away.

  At his partners’ suggestion, Kipling had hired Nick to manage the bar. Aidan, a year or two older, ran the family business—Mitchell Adventure Tours. The company catered to tourists and offered everything from easy day hikes to white-water rafting.

  “Looking good,” Aidan said as they approached. “You’re going to be opening soon.”

  “Three weeks max,” Nick said easily. “I’m already hiring servers.”

  Both men were tall, with dark hair and eyes. Aidan glared at his brother. “Seriously? Hiring servers.”

  Nick’s relaxed expression tightened. “Don’t start on me.”

  “You’re not worth the trouble.”

  There was both frustration and affection in Aidan’s tone. From what Kipling had been able to piece together, the family was close, but not without its troubles. The father was Ceallach Mitchell, the famous glass artist. He was known both for his brilliance and his temper. Nick had apparently inherited his ability but not his interest. From what Kipling could tell, Nick had been tending bar for years, rather than working with glass.

  Aidan was on his brother a lot—complaining that the younger Mitchell could do so much more than simply run a bar. As Kipling had a complicated relationship with his own sister, he did his best to stay out of these family dynamics.

  “You given any thought to what we talked about?” Kipling asked Aidan.

  The older brother raised one shoulder. “You know I don’t have time.”

  Kipling knew when to keep quiet. It was a trick he’d learned from his coach. Let ’em talk it out, and they’ll almost always come round to your way of thinking.

  “Yeah,” Aidan continued. “I know it’s a volunteer assignment, but we get busy in the summer.”

  “You’re busy all year round,” Nick said cheerfully. “What if it’s one of your customers who’s lost?”

  Aidan swore at his brother. “No one asked you.”

  “I’m a giver. I don’t need to be asked.”

  Kipling held in a chuckle.

  Aidan glared. “Don’t pressure me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kipling told him. “Did I mention it was Mayor Marsha who suggested I ask you?”

  Aidan swore again. “Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll be one of your damned volunteers.”

  “Good to know. I’ll get you the paperwork within a day.”

  “There’s paperwork?” Aidan shook his head. “No good deed.”

  Nick slapped him on the back. “You know it.”

  “Don’t think you won’t be right there beside me,” Aidan told him.

  “Never planned for it to be otherwise.”

  Two for the price of one, Kipling thought with satisfaction. The search and rescue team, which he refused to think of as HERO, would be staffed mostly by volunteers. He would be in charge, and he was hiring a second-in-command, not to mention a couple of support staff. But everyone else would work on a volunteer basis. It was the easiest way to keep costs down.

  Given the willingness of the community to get involved, Kipling didn’t think he would have a problem getting everyone trained. He’d already spoken to both the police and fire chiefs, and they’d assured him he would have plenty of their folks showing up.

  Aidan was the one he wanted, though. With his business, he knew the area better than almost anyone. When someone was lost, Kipling wanted Aidan on the ground, looking.

  “When does training begin?” Nick asked.

  “Not for about a month. The facilitator from STORMS arrived a couple of days ago. She has to get the terrain mapped and the software up and running first.”

  Aidan nodded. “The tall redhead, right? I’ve seen her around town. What’s her name?”

  “Destiny Mills.”

  Kipling wanted to say more. Like the fact that her green eyes reminded him of spring leaves against the last snow of the season. Only he wasn’t a guy who talked like that. No one did. At least no one he knew.

  “You could use a woman,” Nick said, nudging his brother.

  “She’s not my type.”

  “How do you know? You haven’t met her.”

  Aidan’s expression tightened. “She isn’t. Let it go.” He turned and walked out.

  Nick waited until his brother was gone to shake his head. “He won’t date anyone longer than fifteen minutes. One day that lifestyle’s going to bite him in the ass. What about you? What are your thoughts on Ms. Destiny Mills?”

  Kipling wasn’t sharing them with anyone but the woman in question. “I’m working with her, not dating her. Why all the interest?”

  “I’m the bartender. I need to know things.”

  Kipling thought briefly about warning Nick off. He had his own plans for Destiny. Then he realized there was no point. If Destiny was interested in the same thing he was, he would know soon enough. If she wasn’t, then Nick was welcome. Kipling had never had much trouble getting or keeping women. His problem was more along the lines of never feeling he wanted more than a temporary arrangement. But until it was time to walk away, he was interested in wherever Destiny wanted to go.

  * * *

  DESTINY WOKE UP earlier than usual. By the time she’d showered and dressed it was still a few minutes before six. She grabbed her wallet and stuffed it in the front pocket of her jeans then walked quietly to the front door and let herself out.

  It was still cool, although the weather guy had promised a nice warm day. The sky was clear, and the neighborhood quiet. She zipped up her hoodie and turned toward town.

  One of the advantages of constantly moving around was discovering local businesses. So far her Fool’s Gold finds were a street truck that served incredible sandwiches by Pyrite Park and Ambrosia Bakery. The former solved her lunch problem and the latter was going to require her to add a little exercise to her routine.

  She crossed empty streets. As she got closer to the bakery, she saw a few people and a couple of cars. A jogger nodded as he passed her.

  Destiny liked discovering the rhythm of each town she worked in. They were all similar, with just enough differences to keep things interesting. In a way, like the rhythm of a song. Stanzas told a story, and the chorus was the exploration of a theme. The backbone that held it all together.

  She turned on Second Street and saw the bakery ahead on her left. The doors stood open, which meant it was now after six. She walked in and inhaled the sweet combination of sugar, cinnamon and freshly baked bread. Talk about heaven.

  A petite blonde stood behind the co
unter. She had blue eyes and a pretty face. There was something familiar about her, although Destiny knew they hadn’t met. Her name tag said Shelby.

  “Morning,” Shelby said with a smile. “You’re up early.”

  “Not as early as you.” Destiny motioned to the display case full of pastries. “Unless these were baked last night.”

  Shelby laughed. “No such luck. I was here at three.”

  Destiny winced. “Okay, I like to get up early, but that would challenge even me.”

  “I know. When I have a day off, I sleep late. Which means four-thirty. It’s an odd schedule, that’s for sure. What can I get you?”

  Destiny chose a half-dozen Danish. She would leave most of them for Starr and maybe take one to work.

  Shelby put the pastries in a silver-and-white-striped box. “Are you new in town or visiting?”

  “I’m new. Here for the summer to set up software for the search and rescue program.”

  Shelby nodded. “HERO.” She laughed again. “My brother is Kipling Gilmore. I don’t know if you’ve met him yet. He’s running the program. And totally hates the name, by the way. If you want to torture him or something, just keep saying it out loud.”

  “I have met him, and I appreciate the advice.”

  Destiny studied the other woman, realizing now why she looked familiar.

  Shelby handed over the box. “You know, you don’t have to come here for Danish. Not that I don’t appreciate the company. But most people want coffee, too, and we don’t do that. You can get our baked goods over at Brew-haha.”

  “I’m not much for coffee. Just sugar.” Destiny thought about her conversation with Kipling and what Mayor Marsha had said about the program. “Have you lived in town long? I got the impression that Kipling was a relatively new addition to the population.”

  “Nearly a year.” Shelby’s smile faded. “I moved here last summer. My mom died and, well, it’s complicated. Kipling was in rehab until January. Physical, not the other kind. Oh, do you know who he is? The skiing and all that?”

  Destiny nodded. “I figured it out. The accident was pretty bad. I’m glad he’s okay now.” She hesitated, not sure what to say about Shelby’s mother. “I’m sorry about your mom.”