When We Met (2 page)

He hesitated only a second, then realized it had been long enough since he'd lost Marcus. The pain was still there—would always be a part of him, like a scar, or his heart—but it had become manageable. He thought by now he would be able to work with teenaged boys without wanting to argue with the heavens about how unfair it had all been.

“Sure,” he said easily. “I can run a grove.”

Amusement twinkled in Mayor Marsha's blue eyes. “I'm glad to hear it. I think you'll find the experience fulfilling on several levels. I'll make sure you get your material in the next few days. Then you can meet with the Grove Council.”

He grinned. “Seriously? There's a Grove Council?”

She laughed. “Of course. These are Future Warriors of the Máa-zib. What else would there be?”

She rose and he did, as well. “Thank you, Angel. Usually I have to go out and convince new residents to pitch in. I appreciate that you came to me.” She studied him. “I assume your interest in giving back is the result of your background. You grew up in a coal mining town, didn't you? West Virginia?”

While the information wasn't secret, it wasn't something he shared very often. “You're a spooky woman,” he told her. “You know that, right?”

The smile broadened. “Not many people have the courage to say it to my face, but I do hope that's what they're saying behind my back.”

“They are,” he assured her.

They shook hands and he left. Marjorie was still in tears, so he hustled out and hit the stairs at a jog. Maybe he would spend the afternoon looking for campsites, he thought cheerfully. He had plenty of survival skills he could pass on to his FWM grove. Ways to help them grow up to be confident men. Yeah—this was going to be good.

* * *

“J
ACK
,
STOP
IT
,”
Taryn said without looking up from the papers in front of her.

The shifting sound stilled, only to start up again five seconds later. She drew in a breath and glanced across the small conference table.

“Seriously,” she told him. “You're worse than a five-year-old.”

Jack McGarry, her business partner and ex-husband, rotated his shoulder. “When does Larissa get here?”

“I told you. She gets here tomorrow. In twenty-four hours you'll have her back. Now can you please focus?”

Sam, the only calm, rational partner, leaned back in his chair. “You're trying too hard. You know that never works.”

Because it was her job to try hard. She kept “the boys” on a tight leash because if she didn't, they would run all over her.

She'd known Jack the longest. After their quickie marriage and equally speedy divorce, he'd set her up in business. He'd provided the money, she'd brought the PR know-how and Score had been an instant success—helped by Jack throwing a lot of business her way. It had been a great arrangement.

Unfortunately four years later, Kenny had blown out his knee and ended his career. Sam had been thinking of getting out of the NFL, and for reasons Taryn couldn't figure out, Jack had joined them. Her ex had walked away from his starring role as a quarterback with the L.A. Stallions. He claimed he wanted to go out on top, but she suspected his departure had more to do with his friends than anything else. Not that Jack would admit it.

There they were—three ex-jocks—with plenty of cash and fame and no second act in the wings. Oh, wait. Jack was half owner of a PR firm. Before she'd known what was happening, he'd brought Kenny and Sam on board and all four of them were partners.

At first she'd been sure they would crash and burn, but more quickly than she would have guessed possible, they'd become a team and then a family. Jack and Kenny were the salesguys. They brought in the clients and were the public face of the firm. Sam handled the finances, both for the company and for each of them privately. Not only was he smart, but he'd actually gone to his classes in college.

Taryn handled everything else. She ran the business, bossed around the boys and created the campaigns that had continued to add to their net worth. Theirs was an unconventional arrangement, but it worked for them.

Jack shifted again, the muscle in his cheek tightening. She reminded herself he wasn't trying to be difficult—he was in pain. No one could get through nearly a decade in the NFL and not have the battered body to prove it. Larissa, Jack's personal assistant and the boys' private masseuse, hadn't been able to move to Fool's Gold as quickly as the rest of them. After nearly a month without her healing touch, all three of the former players were suffering.

“Tomorrow,” she said again.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” She paused. “You could take something.”

The statement was made in her most gentle voice, one her partners almost never heard. Because she knew that Jack was going to refuse. With permanent injuries and the discomfort that went with them, painkillers could be a slick road to hell. None of the guys wanted to go there.

“What's next?” he asked, ignoring her words.

“We're up,” Kenny told him, then opened the file in front of him. “Jack and I had a second meeting with the CEO and founder of Living Life at a Run.” He reached for the remote in the center of the table and hit a button. The screen at the far end of the room lit up and a logo came into focus.

Taryn studied the angular letters and the quirky acronym. LL@R. She wanted to point out that one of the
a'
s was missing, but she knew there wasn't any point. The company's CEO had a reputation for being eccentric and difficult. But he offered them a shot at traditional retail—one area of the PR market where Score had never had much luck finding clients.

“They're growing fast,” Kenny said. “They're trendy and a lot of celebrities are wearing their clothes.”

“The clothing is a secondary market for them,” Jack added. “Their main focus is sports gear. If we could get them, we could move toward bigger companies. Like REI.”

Taryn would love to get her hands on a premium company like REI but the old cliché was true. They would have to learn to walk before they could learn to run.

“What's next?” she asked.

“I have another meeting in a few days,” Kenny said.

Taryn waited and sure enough, Jack stared at his friend. “I? I? Is that where we are? Each out for what we can get? What happened to the team? What happened to us being a family?”

Kenny, all six feet four inches of blond brawn, groaned. “Give me a break. You know what I meant.”

“Do I? Sounds to me like this is all about you.”

“You need to be specific,” Sam said mildly, obviously content to join the mock argument. Taryn knew that any second now he would turn on Jack, because that's what always happened when they were like this.

They were each successful, good-looking and worth at least eight figures. Yet there were times when they were as unruly and mischievous as a litter of puppies. Sam and Jack were both dark-haired. Sam, the former kicker, was lean and just six feet tall. Jack had him by a couple of inches and at least thirty pounds of muscle. Jack's classic quarterback physique—broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs—had served him well, both on and off the field. Then there was Kenny, the gentle giant of the group.

Her boys, she thought as they bickered. They were responsible for her move to Fool's Gold—something she wasn't sure she was willing to forgive just yet. The town wasn't as bad as she'd first thought, but it sure wasn't L.A. She loved L.A.

“So I'll be in charge?” Jack asked with a grin.

“Your mama,” Kenny told him.

“Don't break anything,” Taryn said as she collected her papers and started for the door. Because whenever she heard “your mama,” body blows were sure to follow.

Sam went with her. “Not going to try to stop them?” he asked cheerfully as they stepped into the hallway.

“That would be your job.”

Something hit the wall with a thud. Sam kept walking. “No, thanks.”

“The three of you are never going to grow up, are you?” she asked.

“I'm not the one fighting.”

She glanced at him. “Not this time.”

He gave her a wink, then sauntered away. Taryn continued to her office. In the distance, she heard a crash. She ignored it and checked her schedule for the day. She had a conference call at eleven and Graphics had asked for a few minutes.

“Thanks,” Taryn said as she sat at her desk. She glanced at her computer. “Just another day in paradise.” And she loved every minute of it.

The boys were her family, and no matter how many chairs, tables, windows and hearts they broke, she would stand by them. Even if every now and then she fantasized about how much more serene her life would be if she'd gone into business with a couple of pacifist guys who believed in the power of meditation for conflict resolution.

Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered. Taryn continued to look at her computer screen as she kept on typing.

CHAPTER TWO

T
ARYN
STACKED
DISHES
on the narrow counter. The kitchen was tiny. A miniature galley-style, with a three-quarter-sized stove and refrigerator. The colors were nice and the appliances updated, but still there wasn't actually room for two people.

“Explain this to me,” she said, unwrapping glasses and setting them next to the plates. “I sign the paychecks. I happen to know you could afford a bigger place.”

Larissa Owens lifted a pot out of the box she'd put on the table. She'd pulled her long blond hair back into a ponytail and didn't wear a speck of makeup. She was lithe and tan and looked amazing in yoga pants and a T-shirt. If Taryn didn't already adore her, Larissa could be easy to hate.

“I don't need a bigger place,” her friend told her. “A small one-bedroom is plenty. The rent is really cheap so I'll have more money for my causes.”

Which was exactly what would happen, Taryn thought, picking up scissors and flipping the empty box so she could cut across the tape and then flatten it. Larissa was a giant bleeding heart when it came to causes, especially if there were animals involved. In addition to her full-time job, she volunteered at a couple of shelters, fostered dogs, cats and bunnies and sent money to nearly every organization that asked.

Taryn glanced around at the maybe six-hundred-square-foot apartment. “You won't be getting a pet bigger than a goldfish in here.”

“I could get a cat,” Larissa told her cheerfully. “I wouldn't want a dog. I'm not home enough. Besides, if I need something bigger—”

“There's always Jack's place,” Taryn said, finishing the sentence. “Yes, I know.”

Jack, who let Larissa use him to support those organizations near and dear to her. Taryn had never been able to figure out why, but the situation worked for them. As a former NFL quarterback, Jack was expected to throw his weight behind some kind of charity. As he'd lost a twin with a heart condition back when they were both kids, he'd chosen to get involved with kids needing organ transplants. Or rather, Jack wrote the check for housing, transportation, whatever, and Larissa took care of staying in touch.

“He misses you desperately,” Taryn told her.

“I've been hearing that in his incessant voice mails.” Larissa wrinkled her nose. “He misses my massages. It's not exactly the same thing.”

“You're also his assistant. I'm sure he misses you getting him coffee.”

Larissa grinned. “That, too.” She reached for the scissors and flattened her box. “So, the town. I thought you were kidding when you described it to me.”

“Would that I were,” Taryn told her. “But, no. It's charming and clean and the people are overly friendly.”

“I like it,” Larissa said as she handed Taryn another box, then got one for herself. “I feel like I've already made friends. The lady who owns that cute coffee shop paid for my coffee this morning. That was really nice.”

“Patience,” Taryn grumbled. “Her name is Patience. Yes, she's lovely. They're all lovely. Except for Charlie, who's a firefighter and crabby. I like her a lot.”

Actually she liked everyone she'd met, which was kind of annoying. What if all the
niceness
wore off on her? What if she started smiling at random strangers and saying cheerful things like “Have a nice day”? She shuddered. Being sarcastic and emotionally distant had always served her well. Why mess with success?

“Are the guys settling in?” Larissa asked.

“I guess. You know I try to avoid talking about their personal lives with them whenever possible, so my information may not be totally accurate. But as far as I know, Jack and Kenny seem bimbo-free for the moment, and Sam, well...” She grinned. “Poor Sam.”

Larissa pressed her lips together. “We shouldn't make fun of him.”

“Why not? It's not like he can hear us.”

“But it's so sad.”

It kind of was, Taryn thought, but it was also really, really funny. Sam Ridge, all-star kicker and multimillionaire, had the worst luck when it came to women. If there was a femme fatale in a fifty-mile radius, Sam found her and fell for her. He'd experienced everything from a stalker to an ex-wife writing a near tell-all to having his girlfriend sleep with his best friends.

“I'm waiting for him to fall for a transvestite,” Larissa said with a grin. “Poor Sam.”

“I don't get it,” Taryn admitted. “He's smart and insightful. But when it comes to women, he can't seem to find anyone normal.”

“What about you?” Larissa asked, her tone teasing. “Met anyone tempting?”

The question was meant as a joke. Taryn knew that. She rarely dated. She liked guys, she slept with them, but she didn't get involved. There was no way she was trusting her heart or any part of her psyche to some man. Talk about stupid.

Except when Larissa asked her question, Taryn immediately thought about Angel. And thinking about Angel meant she wasn't thinking about anything else and she couldn't seem to make her mouth move to form the words
What? A guy? With me? No way.

Larissa put down the frying pan she'd just unwrapped and stared at her friend. “Oh my God. What? You met someone? Who is he? Tell me everything.” Her big blue eyes widened. “Is he local? Like a single dad.” She sighed. “That would be so romantic. Some sweet guy with a couple of little kids. Like a car mechanic or maybe he owns a little grocery store and they live upstairs. He still misses his wife, but he's ready to move on. Only I don't know how you're going to feel about the kids.”

Taryn stared at her. “You don't need me here for this conversation, do you? A widower with two kids and a grocery store? That is not happening.”

Larissa's shoulders slumped. “Why don't you like him? He's so nice.”

Taryn held in a scream. “There is no grocery store guy. You made him up. What's wrong with you? Jeez. The only guy I'm interested in is a former black ops sniper with a scar like somebody slit his throat.”

Larissa handed her the frying pan. “I'd rather date the guy who owns the grocery store.”

“The one who isn't real?”

“You always focus on the wrong stuff. So tell me about Sniper Man.”

“There's not much to tell.”

Taryn starting putting plates and bowls in the cupboards, knowing that wasn't going to be close to enough to distract her friend.

“There's something,” Larissa told her. “You're attracted to him.”

“Maybe. Yes. A little.” She sighed. “At least he's a widower. That should make you happy.”

She'd learned that much at least. But it was hard to get information without telling people why she wanted it, and she wasn't ready to tell the world that she thought Angel was hot.

“It's something. But he won't buy a grocery store?”

“Larissa, I beg you. Stop.”

Larissa smiled. “Everyone thinks you're tough, but you're really not.”

“I can be, just not with you.”

“Okay, this Angel guy. You're dating?”

“Not exactly. We're sizing up each other.”

“What does that mean?”

Taryn thought about Angel's announcement that he was good at waiting. A little ripple of anticipation shimmied down her spine as she wondered when he was going to make his move. He was making her wait on purpose, and she respected that. He wanted the game to be intriguing...for both of them.

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “But I'll let you know when I figure it out.”

* * *

A
NGEL
PUT
THE
copy of the bridal magazine on the desk. Ford stared at him in disbelief.

“Just like that?” his friend asked. “Did you wake up thinking this would be a good day to die?”

“She's engaged,” Angel said, grinning. “She's wearing an engagement ring. I'm celebrating the moment.”

Ford held up both hands in a classic move of surrender, but Angel was feeling adventurous. Lately, he'd had the sense that everything was going his way. The answer to the
Dirty Harry
question of “Do I feel lucky?” was yes. He did. It didn't matter that the movie had come out a year before he was born. He could relate to the character. When in doubt, a bigger gun usually got the job done.

Consuelo, their petite colleague, walked into the office. She looked at the magazine, then at the two of them.

“It was him,” Ford said, pointing at Angel. “He did it.”

Angel glanced at his friend. “Is that how things are now?”

Ford inched toward the door. “Law of the jungle, bro. While she's feeding on you, I can make my escape. Isabel and I are trying to make a baby. I want to be around to see my kid grow up.”

Consuelo, all five feet two inches of muscle and determination, picked up the magazine, flipped through it, then put it back on the desk. She smiled at Angel. “Thanks. That was thoughtful.”

He shot Ford a “See?” look, then moved toward her. “I know you and Kent got engaged. I hope you'll be very happy together.”

Consuelo stepped into his embrace and hugged him. When he drew back, she casually stepped to the side, grabbed Ford by the arm and flipped him onto his back. He landed on the floor with a thud. When he could breathe again, he sat up.

“Hey, what was that for?” he asked in a tone of outrage.

“For being cynical. You're married and you should know better.”

Consuelo turned her back on him, picked up the magazine and headed for the door. “I'll be back after lunch,” she called.

“It's not even ten,” Ford grumbled as he climbed to his feet. “Why does she get to leave?”

Angel chuckled. “You want to tell her she can't?”

“No.”

“Didn't think so. Come on, we'll head out, too.”

“Where are we going?” Ford asked, falling into step with him.

“To a nursery.”

“Baby or plant?”

“Plant. I ordered an orchid a couple of months ago. It's in and I have to sign the card so it can be delivered.”

They went outside.

“Why would an orchid take two months to get here?” Ford asked.

“It's rare. I wanted a specific one.”

From Thailand, Angel thought. An orchid known for its contrasting colors. The outside of the flower was the palest pink, but inside was a dark violet blue. The unusual shade was nearly the exact color of Taryn's eyes.

“Why do you care about flowers?”

Angel glared at his friend. “What's with you today? Stop asking questions. Are you coming with me or not?”

Ford leaned against his Jeep and grinned. “Someone's not getting any. You always get moody when you're not getting laid.”

“Shut up.”

“Thanks for illustrating my point.”

* * *

T
ARYN
PARKED
HER
car and collected her briefcase. She'd gone through paperwork the previous evening, had caught up on emails and then been in bed by ten. As a personal life went, it was beyond sad. She needed to get out more, make some friends. As she'd told Larissa the previous day, people in town were certainly nice enough. The women had all been friendly. It was just...

She started across the parking lot and sighed. The town wasn't the problem, she admitted, if only to herself. She was. She had trouble making new friends. She didn't trust easily, so sharing any part of herself was difficult. She'd had more than one man point out that after seeing her for several weeks—and by
seeing,
he meant sleeping with—the guy in question knew absolutely nothing more about her than he had when they'd first met. She never bothered to tell them that was the point. If they were too stupid to figure that out, why should she waste breath telling them?

She hadn't wanted to leave Los Angeles, but she'd been outvoted. Score was now located in Fool's Gold. She had to make the best of the situation. More important, she needed to get her life moving again. There had to be more to her days than work.

She heard the sound of a basketball steadily hitting the sidewalk and ignored it. But Sam was nothing if not persistent and he quickly caught up with her.

“Driving to work?” he asked. “You live a mile away.”

She paused and faced him. “Have you seen my shoes?” she asked. “I'm wearing Charlotte Olympia pumps with a five-inch heel. Could you walk to the corner in them? I don't think so. Besides, you can't talk to me today. I'm taller.”

Sam sighed. “It's going to be one of those days, isn't it?”

“You betcha.”

She flashed Sam a smile, then disappeared into their building. He walked across the street to the basketball court the guys had insisted be part of the remodeling. Not even a half-court, like at their last office. No, this was regulation size. She didn't know what it had cost and she didn't want to know.

Had any of her business partners been with her, she would have grumbled to them about how annoying they were, but as she was alone, she paused to look out the window. The three of them, Kenny, Jack and Sam, all wore baggy shorts and T-shirts. Sam, six feet tall and muscled, looked small next to the other two, but he was fast and used his brain when he played. Kenny and Jack mostly reacted. Which explained why Sam usually kicked their butts.

They fought for the basketball, and then Sam ripped it away, turned gracefully, jumped and scored. As she watched, Taryn realized that the boys needed more than each other, too. The same three guys playing basketball a few mornings a week couldn't be that much fun.

She started toward her office. When she was at her desk, she picked up her phone but set it back in the cradle. She told herself the guys were well into their thirties and could take care of themselves. That she didn't want anyone—namely Angel—thinking she was angling to find ways to see him. Of course telling him this wasn't about him would only make him think it was. She sighed and picked up the phone again.