Bad Boys of Red Hook [2] You're the One (31 page)

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. Give them away or sell them. I don’t care.”

She sucked in a breath, lost her balance as if he’d hit her, and took a step back to keep from falling. “Why?” Her voice was quiet; there was no guile, no artfulness, no wiles, no Payton—not the Payton he knew.

“Because, Payton, these watches…” He opened the drawer. “They’re not me. I’m not the person you thought you were marrying. I pretended to be someone I’m not, and you helped. You gave me the twenty-four-karat gold bond—but what I’ve learned is that no matter how good the gold plate, the brass always ends up showing through.”

It didn’t take long to dig through the rest of his clothes. He tossed his tux on the bed—something he needed for this weekend—and two suits just in case he had to meet with bankers for a loan for the microbrewery or if he ever talked Skye into marrying him.

He skipped all the flashy shirts and ties Payton had bought him. He grabbed his belts, a few pairs of shoes, and smiled when he found his old motorcycle boots. Payton had hated them and his bike. He’d caved and sold his bike, but he refused to get rid of the boots—they’d even had a huge fight when he found them in a pile of clothes she was giving to Goodwill—that had been one for the record books.

He pushed all the clothes to the middle and checked out the edges—places he knew Payton would shove the things she didn’t want him to wear. He laughed out loud when he found his leather biker jacket—that was a keeper. He’d saved for months to buy the darn thing and even now, he still liked it. He found his Rangers jersey. Pop had taken him and his brothers to a hockey game and sprang for them. Pop had never been one to buy much or take them out at night. Taking them to the game
had been a big deal because it meant taking a night off. He grabbed the jersey signed by Mike Richter and Adam Graves—his two favorite players—and folded it. He’d wanted to have it framed and put in his office, but Payton nixed the idea. He stuffed his jersey in the box, taped it up, and carried it, his hanging bag, and a leather suitcase to the front door with the others.

The last twelve years of his life fit into a handful of boxes and two bags; the first twelve fit into a beat-up duffel bag and a photo album. What did that say about him?

*   *   *

Logan stepped into Walt’s study and looked through dim light and wisps of sweet, cherry-flavored pipe smoke. The study was the only comfortable room in the house. It was a room filled with large, heavy, worn leather and oak furniture he didn’t have to worry he’d break. It invited him to sit a spell, put his feet up, and relax, watch a game, or talk business over a bottle of wine or scotch.

“Logan, glad to have you back, son.” Walt Billingsly wrapped beefy arms around Logan and pounded him on the back. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see you again. You’ve been missed around here.”

“Thanks, it’s good to see you too.” Logan took a step back and realized Walt was the only person in the state he would miss. He looked like the aging linebacker he was—big, not so lean, but still in good enough shape to inflict serious damage.

“All ready to go?”

“Yes. But there are a few things we need to talk about.”

“Okay.” Walt went back around his desk and then emptied his pipe into the ashtray.

Logan did his best not to fidget. He wasn’t normally a fidgety person, but he’d never had to drop a bomb quite like this one. He’d much prefer dealing with explosives. Walt had a type A personality with a short temper, and an even shorter fuse. Most things didn’t bother him, but Logan never knew what would act as an accelerant. Chances were that dumping his precious daughter and breaking her heart would probably do the trick.

“Sir, I really appreciate you giving me a leave of absence, but I’m afraid I have to tender my resignation.”

Walt was in the process of filling his pipe. He stopped and looked up. His smile fell and hung there like a tattered flag on a windless day. “Why?”

“I recently found out that I have a daughter. She’s ten and her home is in Red Hook.”

“Red Hook? Where in the hell is Red Hook? I thought you were from New York.”

“Brooklyn. I’m from Red Hook, Brooklyn.”

Walt backed up and sat in his squeaky desk chair. “And how does Payton feel about this?”

“We’ve called off the engagement.” Logan sat and scrubbed his face with his hands. “Payton didn’t take the news well.”

Walt held the arms of his chair in his viselike grip. He blew out a breath and seemed to be fighting his temper. “I’m sure it was a shock, but something she’ll overcome. There’s no need to call off the wedding.”

Logan didn’t want to discuss Payton or her reaction. “Walt, since I’ve been away, I’ve taken some time to think about my life, Payton, our future. I’ve realized that with or without Nicki, the marriage would never have lasted.”

“Have you talked to Payton about this?”

“Yes, when she visited me.”

“The wedding?”

“Is off. I thought she would have told you.”

“Logan, I know Payton is a little spoiled and Lord knows, she can be difficult—”

“Payton and I don’t love each other, Walt. We never have. After all that’s happened at home, having Nicki, I want more—for me and for Payton. Payton deserves to be loved. We both do. I’m just not the man for her.”

“But your relationship with Payton has nothing to do with business.”

“I appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me. But I need to think of Nicki now. I can’t take her away from her home. I’m sorry.”

“Logan, you need to think about this. This is your future and the future of your daughter we’re talking about. Take some time. Take all the time you need. You have a hell of a future with Billingsly Vineyards with or without Payton. This is business. I’ve invested a lot in you. I’ve groomed you to take over. I saw something in you even before you and Payton started seeing each other. You have the drive to succeed. You work hard, no matter what that work is. That’s rare. You’ve earned my respect and my trust. You’ve built yourself a good, stable life here. Do you just want to throw it all away because you’ve broken up with my daughter? What are you going to do?”

“I’m thinking of opening a microbrewery—maybe a restaurant too. I’ve enjoyed running my dad’s place. I have no firm plans, just an idea and a location so far.” He pushed himself out of the chair.

Walt stood, walked around his desk, and leaned on it. “I’m
sorry to lose you as a future son-in-law, but I’ll be sorrier to lose you as an employee. You are the best I’ve seen. You need to think about this and not make some knee-jerk reaction to a lovers’ quarrel.”

“I have thought about it, Walt. Nicki needs the stability of her family, and they’re all in Red Hook.”

“Kids move all the time. They’re resilient. She’d have a much better life here in the Wine Country than she’d have in Brooklyn. She’d have all the opportunity she could ever want. We’ll see to it. Think about it, Logan. Think about what you want. More money? You have the house.…What will you be able to offer your daughter if you leave here?”

Logan fought his temper. There were a lot of things he could do.

“All I’m asking is that you let this marinate for a little while. We have a lot to offer you and your daughter. This is a business, Logan. Whatever happens between you and Payton, you need to know that there will always be a place for you at Billingsly Vineyards. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank you.”

“I just want to ask you one favor. Can we keep your breakup under wraps until after the competition? I have a feeling we’re going to bring home awards, and I don’t want the story to turn into something for the society pages instead of what it should be—a story of our success.”

“That’s fine. I’ll let you deal with the announcement. I’m heading home right after the competition. I’ve already packed my things to be shipped home and sold the Jag. I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

Logan’s phone vibrated and he glanced at it. Skye. He let it go to voice mail and turned to follow Walt out.

The door flew open, almost hitting Walt. Payton walked in, wearing her debutante-on-a-mission look. Maybe she was going to the club—he never understood the subtle competition between the women with whom she socialized—the way she spoke about them, he wondered if they even liked one another. Payton stepped into her father’s arms and kissed his cheek. “Daddy? Are you ready to go?”

Logan skirted the two of them. “I’ll wait outside. Walt, we’ll leave whenever you’re ready.”

Payton pulled away from her father. “Good, I put my bags next to yours, Logan. Be a dear and make sure Jeffrey loads them in the limo.”

Shit. “Why?” He supposed an emergency trip to Tahiti was too much to ask for.

“Because I’m coming with you.” She shot him a twisted I-got-you-by-the-short-hairs grin.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“I’m the PR person. It’s my job.” Payton put her hands on her hips. “Right, Daddy?”

Walt folded like a protein into a tertiary structure.

Logan had that same sinking feeling in his gut that he always got just before disaster struck. “Since when?”

“Since I came back from college.”

“Payton, I lived with you, remember? I know you’ve never worked.”

“I’m working now. Isn’t that right, Daddy?”

Walt patted her shoulder. “I had Arleen book a suite. We can order a cot if you two can’t share a bed. It will be fine, Logan.” He gave Payton a look Logan had only ever seen when Walt dealt with problem employees, a look that put them on notice. One look, and whatever happened
never happened again. A look Logan was willing to bet Payton had never seen before.

“Fine? I don’t think so. I’ll call the hotel and get my own room.”

Payton’s smile was back.

“Payton, behave,” Walt said.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and her smile only got wider. “All the rooms are sold out—even in the neighboring hotels. It looks like you’ll have to rough it.”

She clutched his arm and brought her lips to his ear. “But then, you always liked it a little rough. Didn’t you, Logan?”

*   *   *

Skye ended the call without leaving a message and tossed the phone beside her on the bed. She hated leaving messages—especially when she had no real reason to call. She’d sound like a sap if she told Logan she’d just wanted to hear his voice.

“Skye,” Nicki yelled over D.O.G.’s and Pepperoni’s barks, “some guy is here.”

Shit. She jumped off the bed and ran into the living room, where she found Nicki with a strange man wearing a black leather jacket and worn jeans. “Nicki, didn’t I tell you you’re not supposed to answer the door without an adult?” She pulled Nicki behind her and looked up—way up. Damn, this guy was tall. Tall, and broad, with longish, curly chestnut brown hair. The curls hung in messy ringlets. His hazel eyes were so warm, she considered losing a layer of clothing.

Nicki squirmed. “I didn’t answer the door. He has his own key.”

“Can I help you?” The man looked big, tall, and dangerous—not in a run-for-your-life kind of way. No, he looked dangerous in a hold-on-to-your-panties kind of way. Not that she was interested, but damn, she wasn’t blind either.

D.O.G. planted his front paws on the guy’s chest and licked his chin, while Pepperoni used his jean-clad thigh as a scratching post, vying for attention.

“I’m looking for my father, Pete Calahan. I’m Slater Shaw.” He had a deep voice with a hint of Brooklyn, and a smile that would make any sane woman’s knees weak, confirming the fact that she was certifiable.

Logan had described his brother Slater as a pocket-protector-carrying computer nerd. Skye might not be drooling over him, but this guy was no computer nerd. “Welcome home. We weren’t expecting you, were we? Pete’s out for the afternoon. I’m Skye Maxwell—chef turned babysitter.” She released Nicki, who jumped in front of her like she had springs for legs.

“Slater! You’re here. I’m Nicki, your sister.”

If it was possible, his smile brightened, and his head bobbed in time with Nicki’s bounce, either confirming her statement or trying to follow her. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Nicki. I thought it was about time I came home to meet my little sister. You’re even prettier than they said you were.”

Nicki pinked up and Slater shot Skye a sideways glance and winked. “Where’s Logan?”

Nicki stopped jumping and dug her foot into the carpet. “He’s in California with Payton, but he loves Skye, so he’s coming back. He promised.”

Slater’s gaze bounced from her to Nicki and back again.

Skye felt her face flash hot and put her hands on Nicki’s shoulders, wishing she could put one over her big mouth. “Nicki.”

Nicki leaned toward Slater. “Skye’s weird about people knowing they love each other, ’cause they work together. I think it’s dumb, but whatever—”

Skye gave Nicki’s shoulders a squeeze. “Nicoletta, that’s enough.”

Nicki leaned toward Slater again. “See what I mean?”

Slater looked like he was holding back a laugh. “Nobody tells me anything. I guess I’ve missed all the news. It’s a good thing I’ve got you around, Nicki, or I’d be clueless. Last time I talked to Logan, he was engaged.”

Nicki shook her head. “Not anymore. He dumped Payton, but that was okay ’cause she didn’t love him. But he loves Skye and she loves Logan, so it’s all good.”

Skye wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. “So, Slater. Since you’re here, I guess I can pack my things and head back to my place once Pete comes home.”

He tossed his bag down. “There’s no rush. Let me take you ladies out to dinner. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”

“Can we go for pizza?” Nicki asked.

“If that’s okay with Skye, it’s okay with me. I haven’t had a good pizza since the last time I was home.”

Skye just wanted to go back to her place and worry in private. “Thanks for the invitation, but I think I’ll let you, Nicki, and Pete have some family time. You don’t need me getting in the way.”

“Skye, you’re never in the way.” Nicki grabbed her hand. “You have to come. You’re practically family.”

“Sure she is.” The rumble of Pete’s low voice sounded behind them.

They turned to find him standing inside the door. Pete’s gaze landed on Slater and stuck. “Damn, boy, I wasn’t expecting you home for a few more weeks.” He wrapped Slater in a hug and then held him at arm’s length. “You need a haircut, but you look good. I’m glad you’re home.”