Roughing It With Ryan (2 page)

It wasn't much bigger than one, but it did have a window to the street, where she could see an array of shops and galleries, and people walking up and down the sidewalks. It charmed her, and was infinitively better than sleeping in her car.

Then she caught the sign for the shop directly across the street and her heart leaped. “An ice-cream shop?”

“Open until 11:00 every night,” Taylor confirmed. “You just keep that in mind now, as you look at the bathroom.”

The bathroom was the size of a postage stamp. No tub, Suzanne thought with a sigh, but it had all the basics—a shower, a sink and a commode.

“Everything's in working order,” Taylor promised. “That is if you don't try to make toast and use a hair dryer at the same time. And hey, with a good scrubbing, the place might even be cute. What do you think?”

“I think if the price is right, I'll take it.”

“The price is right,” Taylor promised. “Come with me downstairs, I have the forms. When would you move in?”

Suzanne thought of her belongings all wedged into her car. “I hope now is good.”

Taylor laughed. “If you have first and last month's rent, plus a small security deposit, now is perfect.”

Damn. “Uh…how attached to the security deposit idea are you?”

Nicole stopped and looked her over. “Hurting for cash?”

“You could say that.” Tim had let her purchase his very expensive bedroom furniture with her savings several weeks ago. Furniture he now claimed had been her gift to him. Gift, ha! She could have fed a small country for a year on what she'd paid. Odd how mad that made her now, when she'd so happily given him everything only a month ago. “But I do have a job,” she said positively, which was true. “Will that help?”

“Yes, a job is good.” Taylor thought it over. “We can skip the deposit.”

They started down the stairs again, Taylor in her fancy wear, looking like royalty visiting the slums, and Suzanne with her gypsy dress, fitting right into her immediate surroundings.

“What is it that you do?” Taylor asked.

“I'm a chef at Café Meridian.” As Suzanne mentioned the café only about five blocks from this very spot, a flicker of unease rolled over her shoulders. She'd moved up from a less esteemed kitchen when Tim's sister had purchased the place and Tim had insisted Suzanne would love working for his sister.

Now that they had broken up, Suzanne hoped it wouldn't be awkward to continue working there. Though she'd taken less money than she'd wanted to, she loved the job.

Okay, so she loved food. Period. But she needed the job. Without it, she'd have to rely on her catering, which was simply a hobby and would stay that way. Running a business would be…well, too regimented. Far too regimented.

Sorry, Mom.

Carters in general—meaning her and her dad—didn't do serious. Which was why her mother couldn't talk to either of them without her jaw getting all bunched up. Her father was still a struggling stand-up comedian at nearly sixty years of age. On the outside it looked like he was a slacker left over from an age when that was a good thing, but the truth was, he loved his carefree life. Material possessions and corporate success meant less to him than his freedom.

Suzanne, according to her mother, was a chip off the old block.

She and Taylor came to the second floor landing, where Taylor unlocked one of the two apartments, then gestured for Suzanne to enter. “This is my place.”

Suzanne stood in the empty living room not so different from the one on the floor above, except this place had been cleaned spotless. “But it's…empty.”

“I've just moved in myself, and into the bedroom only. The rest is a job for this week.”

“You own the building?”

Taylor slid a very tasteful beige pump, which probably cost more than Suzanne's entire wardrobe, over the smooth floor. “I do now.”

“Pardon my frankness, but you're dressed to the nines, dripping elegance and sophistication, and yet I have the strangest feeling that you don't have any more money than I do.”

Taylor sighed and rolled her head on her neck. “What gave me away? The not wanting to put money into the trees?”

“Let's just say desperation recognizes desperation.”

Taylor laughed. “You know what? I like you. Okay, here's the humiliating truth. I grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth—the best of
schools, the whole works. College at Brown University, courtesy of Great-Grandpa's Swiss bank account. After graduation, I traveled Europe for fun.”

“Also on Grandpa's Swiss bank account?” Suzanne guessed, and when Taylor nodded, she shook her head. “I'm not feeling sorry for you yet.”

“I know, we're getting to that.” Taylor lifted her hands in a surrendering gesture. “I was spoiled rotten, I admit it. I never worked a day in my life, never worried about money, nothing. Then Grandpa, who I only saw every few years when he felt the need to see firsthand how his money was paying off, up and died on me.”

“How inconsiderate,” Suzanne murmured.

“But he left me this building.”

“It's prime real estate. It's got to be worth a for tune.”

“Yeah, if you have a fortune to spend on it.” Taylor grimaced. “He didn't leave me any money to go with it, not one single dime. I've never had to save money and I don't have a job so I'm flat broke.”

“Except for this building.”

“Except for this building,” she agreed. “Obviously I need tenants, as I've found I'm rather fond of eating.

I figure I can get cash flow from the rentals. And as it all starts to come in, I promise to fix the place up. If
you want to help, I'll give you a break on the rent. So…still want the loft?”

Suzanne might have grown up with her comedian father, who thought everything was a joke, but she did have a brain. “Why not just sell and pocket the dough?”

Taylor vehemently shook her head. Not a single hair fell out of place. “Cave on my first real challenge? No way.”

Suzanne felt herself let loose a genuine smile—her first since finding her belongings stacked in the hall and the locks changed. “You know, I think I like you back.”

Taylor's return smile came slow and easy. “Good.” There seemed to be relief in that smile. “Here are the rental forms. Just you, right?”

“Just me. Single forever, from this point on.”

“Ah. Something else we have in common.”

“I mean it. I'm…” What the hell. “I am relationship cursed.”

Taylor laughed, then when Suzanne didn't, her laughter faded. “You're…not kidding.”

“Not on this, believe me.” She lifted a hand and made a solemn vow. “No matter what the temptation, I shall resist.”

“I'm with you. No matter the temptation,” Taylor agreed just as solemnly. “Even temptation in the
form of a magnificent tree man with an ass that makes my knees weak.”

Suzanne's lips twitched. “Even that.” She signed on the dotted line.

“To us,” the pretty blonde said, lifting an imaginary toast. “And a prosperous future all on our own. No men. Soon as I can afford it, I'll buy
real
champagne to toast with.”

“To us,” Suzanne agreed with a smile. “Good luck, Taylor.”

“And to you, Suzanne.”

Suzanne raised both her imaginary glass and her gaze to the ceiling, picturing her loft above.

Luck? She, for one, was going to need it.

R
YAN
A
LONDO
stood in his shower, head bent as the hot water beat down on his back. His hands braced on the wall kept his exhausted body vertical because he wasn't certain he could trust himself not to fall asleep right there on his feet. He stood that way until the hot water gave out and he turned off the flow of water.

And then found not a single towel in sight.
“Angel!”

“I know, I know, I took the last clean towel.” A giggle followed from just outside the bathroom door. “Sorry.”

Great, she was sorry and he was bare ass naked. And cold.

Outside the small beveled window of the bathroom came the sounds of a whipping wind. A storm was definitely brewing but he was too tired to think about what that might mean to the countless property owners who had disregarded his recommendations that old trees be cut down before they blew down. Right now he just wanted to dry off, eat something and then
sleep for a decade or two. Since no towel had materialized, he shoved his wet legs into his jeans, wincing when the thick denim clung to his wet body.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Angel's voice came from the kitchen. “Your fridge is empty but I found a can of soup. I heated it up for you.”

His fridge wouldn't be empty if she hadn't had friends over studying until all hours the night before, but he refrained from pointing that out because, as he walked into the kitchen, she was smiling at him.

As always, the heart he'd never learned to harden caved.

“I know it's a pain in your butt having your baby sister crash at your place,” she said softly, watching him sit at the table and pull the bowl of soup closer. “But Russ and Rafe are such pigs I can't handle their place.”

Their brothers
were
pigs, so he nodded and started eating. He was starving. But soup wasn't going to cut it, so he could only hope something more substantial still existed in his cupboards. Anything.

“Lana's place will be ready by the weekend, and I'll move in with her.”

Ryan put down his spoon, and looked at his baby sister. She wasn't really a baby anymore at eighteen but as he'd practically raised her, it was a tough image to dispel. The baby sister he'd taught to read, slug
a baseball out of the park and drive a car in between the dotted lines was going to move in with Lana, a fast, big-mouthed girl whose behavior made his jaw feel too tight. “I thought Lana had a live-in boyfriend,” he said carefully when what he really wanted to say was “no way.”

“She kicked him out.”

Much as he wanted his own space back, including his clean towels, he wouldn't be able to sleep if he thought Lana's no-good boyfriend was around. “Promise?”

“Promise.” From behind, Angel wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his. “You're cute when you're worried. I love you, Ryan.”

He groaned. “Oh no, the I-love-you card. What do you need?”

She laughed in delight. “Nothing. For a change. Absolutely nothing.”

Ryan crossed his arms, taking a stand with the only child/woman who'd ever bested him. “Nothing really? Or nothing, I don't want to tell you yet?”

“Nothing really.” Her smile was indulgent. “You worry too much about us.”

Sheer habit. Their parents had been little more than kids themselves when they'd had Ryan. “A blessed accident” his mother had called him. It had taken years for them to get established, which was why his
three siblings hadn't started to come along until he'd been thirteen.

His parents had been deliriously happy with their late-in-life family, until they'd been killed in a car accident seven years ago. That had left twenty-five-year-old Ryan to raise an eleven-year-old Angel and twin twelve-year-old boys, Russ and Rafe. A nightmare by any standards.

“We're not lost little kids anymore, okay?” Angel said. “You can ease up on the overprotective thing.”

He probably could, but raising all three of his siblings from teenagers, by some miracle getting each of them through those years without any unplanned pregnancies or drug addictions, he still felt…tense.

Kissing his cheek, Angel leaned over and grabbed the check he'd left for her on the table. “Thanks for my tuition and book money.”

He shoveled in some more soup and grunted. God, he was tired. It was so bad his eyes were closing right there on the spot.

“Oh, Ryan, get some sleep tonight. No hot date, okay?” She patted the top of his head. “Unlike last night, I might add.”

Last night he'd been at college, same as she, only on the other side of the campus, where he'd been feverishly attempting to finish the landscape architectural degree that would get him out of the tree business
once and for all. Not that he had explained that to Angel or his brothers, which is why they believed him to be some sort of sex fiend who dated one woman or another three nights a week.

He could have told them the truth. After putting his life on hold for so long to take care of them, they'd understand and support him.

But for once, he wanted to do something alone, not by Alondo committee. As much as he loved his siblings, he didn't need their advice about courses, academic life or any other topic they considered them selves experts on. Plus there was the added bonus…if they believed him to be a wild man, they'd stop trying to set him up on disastrous blind dates. So far the plan had worked like a charm. “No hot date,” he murmured. No class. Just his bed. Alone.

Heaven.

And it was that. So much so that when he finally crawled under his sheets, practically whimpering with gratitude, he was out before his head hit the pillow.

And stayed out until he woke with a jerk when the phone rang at one o'clock in the damn morning.

Sorely tempted to ignore it, he stared at the offending receiver. Sleep was trying to tug him back under, but it could be Russ or Rafe, in some sort of trouble.
Or worse, Angel, in need of his help. “Better be good,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Ryan?”

Not Russ, not Rafe. Not Angel.

“Ryan, it's Taylor Wellington.”

And not the police or hospital, thank you God, just Taylor, the woman with the nightmare oak trees.

He'd been surprised, and quite honestly disappointed, when she hadn't seen the urgency of her own situation. After all,
she'd
called
him,
greeted him in an outfit that cost more than his truck, then turned her nose up at his price to take down the trees, which had been damn reasonable, if he said so himself.

“Taylor…is everything all right?”

“No. Remember that tree you warned me about?”

“Which one?”

“All of them, but most importantly the one on the east side of the building. It just fell on my roof and through the loft apartment's bedroom. I really need you to clear it. Now.”

That particular tree had been at least one hundred years old, massive and severely damaged from the last few Santa Ana winds. The sheer size of the thing had worried Ryan, with good reason apparently. “At least the apartment is empty.”

“
Was
empty. Tonight it has my new roommate in it,
Suzanne, the woman you saw me interviewing today.”

The image of Suzanne flashed through Ryan's mind—long, wavy, dark-red hair, a lush, generously curved body beneath a flowing sundress. Crystals hanging from her ears, and the biggest, greenest, most expressive eyes he'd ever seen.

There'd been awareness in those eyes, an awareness he might have been interested in, if his life could handle one more interest. Now dread filled him. “Is she—”

“She's okay, but the way the tree fell, it's blocking her way out.”

“I'm on my way,” he promised and hung up the phone, only to immediately lift it again to wake up his crew, made up of Rafe and Russ, his two younger, very groggy twin brothers. At least they'd been in their apartment, alone and available, he thought with relief, racing for his truck. Old habits were hard to break, which meant he still felt like mom, dad, boss and older brother all at the same time—too many hats for any one person.

He lost five minutes stopping at his office, but if he was going to be pulling a tree off a building, he needed the big rig from the yard there.

As he switched trucks, rain slashed through his
clothes, aided by a vicious wind that wouldn't help him tonight.

She's okay,
Taylor had said, but the devastating possibilities made him go as fast as he dared. South Village was deserted, unusual for the trendy streets, even at this hour. The storm had sent everyone scampering home.

When he finally pulled up in front of the building, his stomach tightened. The huge old oak had indeed hit the roof. And as Taylor had said, just the far east corner, which was both good and bad. Good, because the main structure and all three floors were intact. Bad, because the crash impacted the loft apartment, specifically the bedroom, where according to Taylor, Suzanne was at this very moment. The window was gone, blown out, as well as the entire left half of the front wall, where the tree protruded obscenely.

Ryan squinted past the downpour and squeezed the arm of a worried Taylor, who stood on the porch in a silk lounging robe, looking as absolutely glamorous at one in the morning as she had twelve hours earlier.

“Her bedroom door is blocked,” she said, gripping the edges of her robe tight against the wind, staring through the stormy night to the destroyed window three stories above them. “The way the tree fell, she can't get out.”

“We'll get her.”

“Hurry. And Ryan,” she added when he turned away to get to work. “I'm sorry. So sorry I didn't listen to you.”

“It'll be okay,” he said. And hoped he could make it so.

His crew went to work, and when the rig ladder had been set parallel to the fallen tree, Ryan started climbing. Rain and wind whipped his face and body, but if he felt unnerved, he could only imagine what poor Suzanne was feeling, and he climbed faster. From below, Rafe directed a spotlight, highlighting Ryan's way.

When he got to the top, he could understand why Suzanne hadn't been able to get out. The tree had fallen diagonally across her bedroom, trapping her in the far corner of the room, away from both the blown-out window and the door.

He was at the hole now, but the massive trunk and branches blocked his view. Craning his neck, he tried to see past the dark and the driving rain and all the drenched greenery. He moved from the ladder to the ledge, wedging his body in with the tree.

Still couldn't see a damn thing. “Suzanne?”

“H-here!”

Hunkering down, he was able to crawl on his belly beneath the trunk, ignoring the sharp branches
scratching his arms and back. He slicked the rain from his face, and still couldn't see her. Where was she?

A sudden female sneeze gave him his answer, and he moved forward until he saw ten toes. Pulling himself up, Ryan squeezed into the cramped little space with her, letting out a pent-up breath because she was here. Alive.

She'd indeed found the one small safe haven available to her, and as he pulled the flashlight from his belt and turned it on, his heart clenched. She was huddled, back to the wall, knees to her chest, her arms wrapped tight around her legs.

Careful of the broken glass, he shifted up to his knees. “Suzanne? You okay?”

Her long hair, wet from the blowing rain, clung to her head and shoulders as she gave him a jerky nod paired with a shudder. She relaxed her position slightly, not huddling quite so tightly.

Her arms and legs gleamed in the glow of the flashlight, bare and also wet. No longer dressed in her long, flowing sundress and crystals, she wore only a tank top and a pair of panties, and even as he looked her over for injuries, trying not to linger on the way the material clung to her breasts or the way her nipples were so clearly defined, she continued to shake. The hem of the tank top didn't meet her panties,
showing him the smooth skin of her belly. It quivered with her every shallow breath, whether from fear or cold, he didn't know. It didn't matter.

Reacting only to the fact she was shaking so violently—probably in shock, damn it—he simply put down the light and pulled her close.