O’Riley’s was in the black, and it was all because of him.
Not that it had been a struggling business to begin with. When Kane had first stepped into O’Riley’s, it had a solid customer base, a good reputation and income enough for Gordon, the previous owner, and his one employee.
Now Kane did enough business for him to be more than generous with his six employees and still have money left over.
He should use it to buy some new chairs, maybe have the floors redone or renovate the kitchen. After all, this was his place. Every shot glass, every bottle of whiskey, every damn thing, from the beer taps to the utility bills to dealing with pain-in-the-ass customers who couldn’t hold their drinks or their tempers, was his problem. He knew these people, the men and women—young, old and in between—who came here night after night, weekend after weekend. He was a business owner, a member of the Shady Grove Chamber of Commerce for Christ’s sake.
In a short time, he’d somehow become enmeshed in this small town, a part of it.
He could see himself here next year. And the year after that. His roots digging deeper and deeper into the Pennsylvania ground, his ties to this community, to these people, growing tighter and tighter.
Cold touched the back of his neck. His stomach got queasy.
He’d tried ignoring the signs, had pushed aside the sense of unease, which had dogged him for weeks, riding his back like a deranged monkey, screeching, tugging his hair and slapping him upside the head. A man could only escape the truth for so long.
It was time to move on.
He’d given it a good run, he told himself, twisting the lid onto his water bottle and setting it aside to take an order from a fortysomething-year-old guy in khakis and a button-down shirt. He drew a beer for Button-Down, exchanged it for money and added the small tip to the wide-mouth jar under the counter.
Buying this place had been an impulsive move, born of instinct and perhaps heredity. He’d seen an opportunity to take a business and build it up, make it bigger, better and more profitable.
And if that opportunity just happened to be in some small town where no one knew him or his family, far away from Houston and his past? All the better.
O’Riley’s was doing well, better than he’d expected. Despite his best intentions, he’d taken after his father after all. At least in one area: making money.
But staying in one place too long was never a good idea. It made a man comfortable. Complacent. Careless.
Better to stay one step ahead. Always.
First thing Monday morning, he’d call a real estate agent, see about getting the building appraised. Start thinking about where he wanted to go next. Maybe he’d head north this time. It didn’t matter where he ended up, Maine or Greenland or somewhere in between. As long as he kept moving.
* * *
IT’D TAKEN A WHILE, but Charlotte was back on the horse.
Her sneakers squeaked on the gray floor as she walked down the main hallway of Shady Grove Memorial’s E.R. The baby with a high fever in room 3 cried, his scream heartbreaking and eardrum-piercing. Two middle-aged men—brothers by the resemblance between them—spoke quietly outside room 5, their faces drawn in worry.
Char approached the nurses’ station. Okay, so technically there was no horse to speak of, but figuratively she was there, sitting tall in the saddle, ready to gallop after her dreams.
And to think, she’d almost talked herself into believing she’d made a mistake, a big one, in going after what she’d wanted. In planning, scheduling and goal-setting. That she could float along, living the rest of her life taking each moment as it came all willy-nilly without a thought or care about her future.
Oh, she’d tried to do exactly that. Hard not to want to try something different after you’ve been rejected by the man you’d planned on marrying. Throw in a second rejection, this time by a man the complete opposite of what you were looking for, and any woman would question herself, her choices. So she’d gone in the opposite direction of anything and everything she’d ever done.
She’d stuck with it for as long as she could, shoving aside her dreams and goals and letting life happen. She’d gone to the grocery store without a list, didn’t note appointments in her phone’s calendar and spent her weekends zoned out in front of the TV, ignoring the work needing done around her new house. For six long months she’d been laid-back, spontaneous and impractical.
It had been torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.
Until one gloomy Wednesday morning last month when, on her way to the store to buy milk after discovering the empty carton in her fridge, her car had run out of gas. Waiting for her mother to come get her, good sense returned. Once back at home, she’d immediately listed her one-month, six-month and yearlong goals, cleaned and organized her refrigerator, and balanced her checkbook and, just like that, all was right in the world again.
Sitting back and waiting didn’t make things happen. It took planning. Control. Discipline. With those three things—traits she had in spades, thank you very much—anything was possible. Any goal achievable.
She walked around the high counter of the nurses’ station, plugged in her laptop and printed out her patient’s discharge papers. She’d been foolish, idiotic even, to try to be something she wasn’t. Someone she wasn’t.
Someone like her sister.
It’d taken time, but luckily she had come to her senses, Char thought as she gathered the papers and scanned them to make sure the information was correct. There was no way she could blithely toss aside all her dreams and the future she wanted.
Her mistake wasn’t in believing in that future, in working toward it. No, her mistake was choosing the wrong man to share it with. Yes, technically James fit the bill when it came to the type of man she wanted to marry. He was successful and smart, handsome and kind.
It was his kindness that had done it. He’d been so sweet to her when she’d been a gawky teenager, too tall, too thin and way too awkward around the boys her own age. James had assured her those boys were blind and stupid not to notice the wonder and awesomeness that was Charlotte Ellison, and they would, one day, line up for the chance to be with her.
Alas, no lines had ever formed, but she had eventually blossomed—her mother’s word for Char’s miraculous transformation from a skinny, flat-chested, geeky teenager to a fashionably thin, small-chested, personable college coed.
Ah, the miracle of those latent hormones finally kicking in. She’d developed curves—slight as they were—and, more importantly, confidence. James had been right that hot, sunny Memorial Day, the day she fell and fell hard for him. The day she got it into her head he was the only man for her.
How ridiculous.
She’d developed a crush. Well, honestly, what teenage girl wouldn’t when an older, darkly handsome guy smiled at her? Laughed at her jokes? Paid attention to her?
So, mistake number one? Confusing a childhood crush with true love.
Mistake number two? Not realizing the object of her affection was already in love with her sister.
Of course, it was incredibly clear in hindsight. James had always been head-over-heels for Sadie, even when they’d been just friends.
Stupid hindsight. It could have shown up a bit earlier and saved Charlotte a ton of humiliation.
Taking the papers, she went into room 1. After going over the discharge instructions for five-year-old Dallas Morrow with his mother, Char led them through the maze of hallways to the exit. Heading to the