The employee at the Poppy Gold Inns reservation desk directed him to the John Muir Cottage where his family was staying in the Yosemite suite. Nathan was sitting in a comfortable chair in the back garden, and Tyler’s gut tightened. It had been a month since they’d seen each other, but his brother’s face seemed as gaunt as before.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Nathan returned tonelessly.
“I was able to come home a few days early and went to the rehab center for a visit, only to learn you’d checked out. You didn’t mention it when I called.”
“I knew you’d do the big brother thing and try to stop me.”
“Yes, if you weren’t ready,” Tyler couldn’t keep from retorting. “I happen to know your doctor didn’t want you to leave. One of the patients at the center told me.”
Nathan made a rude gesture, which was completely out of character for him. “Screw doctors, I’m sick of ’em. When I said I was checking out of rehab no matter what, Mom got a referral or something to come here.”
Tyler looked around. “Where is Mom?”
“At a shop called Sarah’s Sweet Treats. I didn’t like her hanging over me, so she got a job there. Now she’s gone most of the day, except when she brings something for lunch and checks in on her breaks. It’s much calmer this way.”
A job?
Tyler stared. His mother had never worked in her life, and it seemed unlikely she was in any condition to start now considering how shaky she’d been when he’d left for Italy just a few weeks earlier. Lately she’d seemed a little better when he’d phoned, but still anxious and uncertain.
The guilt he felt for even going on the business trip returned full force, but what else could he have done after postponing it twice? He’d designed a private museum in Rome, and his contract required him to spend a certain amount of time on-site. While the clients were sympathetic and had agreed to a shorter period, they’d run out of patience when he’d tried to delay his visit another time. Then he’d needed to leave for a few days in the middle to fly to Illinois for an emergency.
“All day?” Tyler repeated. “As in full time?”
“I guess. The first day she was just gone in the afternoon, and then she asked if I minded her staying away longer. I was all for it. I’m sick of people fussing at me.”
It was hard for Tyler to picture their mother being able to focus on anything, much less stick to an eight-hour workday. Rosemary Prentiss was a Washington, DC, socialite—a sweet woman with a short attention span, flitting from one cause to the next. She’d never even balanced her own checkbook or paid a bill, leaving everything to her husband.
When Tyler’s father had died, Rosemary had fallen apart. She’d been so unstable, her doctor had considered hospitalization. Then Nathan had gotten injured in Iraq. Needing to concentrate on her son’s recuperation had forced her to set aside her grief for a while, but it didn’t mean she’d fully recovered, any more than Nathan had.
“I’ll go check on her,” Tyler said.
Nathan shrugged. “Are you staying?”
“If I can get a room.”
“No problem. There are two extra bedrooms in the suite. Mom asked for the largest space available, thinking it would be quieter. That’s one of the problems with the hospital and rehab center—it’s never really quiet.” Nathan put his head back and closed his eyes.
More concerned and frustrated than ever, Tyler looked up Sarah’s Sweet Treats on his phone and followed the directions. It occurred to him that he ought to think it through first, but instead he marched inside.
“I need to speak with Rosemary Prentiss,” he told the woman at the counter.
“Rosemary isn’t available right now.”
“She works here, doesn’t she?” The question came out harsher than he’d intended.
“Uh, yeah. Let me get the owner.”
She hurried into the back, and a minute later another woman appeared. There was a smudge of white on her right temple, and she was wiping her hands on a towel.
Tyler assessed her quickly. Young, probably no more than thirty. Beautiful. Pale blond hair in a French braid. Striking green eyes. She also had an enticing figure, discernible despite the spotless chef’s apron wrapped around her.
“Hello, I’m Sarah Fullerton. I own Sarah’s Sweet Treats. Can I help you?”
Tyler pushed his physical response to her aside.
“My name is Tyler Prentiss. I want to know what you were thinking, hiring a woman as fragile as my mother to work for you?”
* * *
SARAH BLINKED.
Rosemary...fragile?
Were they talking about the same person?
Over the past two weeks, Rosemary had saved her sanity. The woman was an organizational marvel, with a quiet way of stepping in wherever needed. While she hadn’t been paid to work before, she’d spent most of her adult life running massive charity events, blood donor drives and church bazaars. Apparently marshaling volunteers into line was excellent training for managing the chaos of a bakery-restaurant and catering business.
“I’m sorry, but my employees aren’t your concern,” Sarah replied carefully.
“They are if my mother is one of them. There are safety issues to consider, along with everything else. I don’t want her exhausting herself in a hot, crowded kitchen.”
Sarah glanced at Aurelia who was watching wide-eyed. Other customers also appeared to be watching with varying levels of interest.
“Let’s step outside,” Sarah said in a tight tone. She didn’t appreciate scenes, particularly in front of her patrons.
“Just tell me where my mother is and we’ll both get out of here.”
His arrogance took Sara’s breath away. “What are you going to do, issue an order and expect Rosemary to follow it?”
“I’m going to reason with her. You can’t possibly understand the situation.”
“I understand you’re a chauvinistic jackass—how’s that for a start?” she shot back, quickly losing the battle to control her temper. Rosemary had talked often about her son the architect, but she hadn’t mentioned he was utterly impossible.
“Sarah certainly has figured you out, my darling,” said Rosemary. She’d returned from a visit to the office supply store and was glaring at her son. Sarah was reminded of her iron-willed grandmother who’d helped raise her. Yet Rosemary’s expression softened when she gestured to the red scar at her son’s hairline.
“What happened? You didn’t tell me you’d had an accident.”
He snorted. “You didn’t say anything about coming to California, either. We’ve talked every day since I left, and the subject never came up?”
Rosemary turned pink. “I knew you were busy and didn’t want to distract you. How did you get hurt?”
“It isn’t important. I’m fine.” He lowered his voice. “Look, you have to realize your doctor wouldn’t approve of you working. And I know that Nathan checked out of rehab against medical advice. So let’s go back to the suite and pack your things. We can leave in the morning.”
Rosemary shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m sure Nathan wants to stay, too. Besides,