Only in My Dreams (8 page)

“I want this job.” With the same ferocity he'd wanted her that night—a night that should've faded in his memory. His conquests—and he had no problem admitting that's what they were—were always one and done. Not like Sara. He wasn't going to be able to file her away or forget about her completely. She'd be in his face, tempting him. And, damn, he was tempted.

She returned his stare, maybe sensing his desire—both for the job and for her. “My dad always says to be careful what you wish for.”

A plump raindrop hit her nose, galvanizing her into action. “Ack! I need to get a file from Tori's car and get back in before it pours again. We'll be in touch soon.” She turned to go.

“Sara, wait.”

Pausing, she looked back at him over her shoulder.

“I was really sorry to hear about Alex.”

She averted her gaze. “Thanks.”

There was nothing else he could say. Nothing else he could do. Except he sort of wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, just for a moment. But he didn't. The rain started falling, and she raced to her sister's car. After she retrieved the file, she tossed him a lingering glance before going back inside.

Dylan retreated to his truck. By the time he buckled his seatbelt, the rain was pelting hard and fast. Puddles were already forming in the mud.

His back pocket vibrated. He pulled his phone out and saw the text from his mom:
We still on for lunch tomorrow?

Lunch.
Right
. Mom liked to see him a couple of times a month, which shouldn't have been difficult since she only lived thirty minutes or so away, but Dylan didn't love spending time with her and knew that made him sound like a complete jerk. Out of a sense of guilt, he scheduled a lunch with her every few weeks, but often had to cancel if a job came up. Work always came first. However, since he didn't have anything scheduled for tomorrow, he supposed he should confirm. He texted her back:
See you at 12:30
.

He started the truck and swung it around toward the road, windshield wipers at full tilt.

As expected, there was no response from her. No “Can't wait” or “Looking forward to it.” There was never any sentimentality or warmth. Mom was as no-nonsense as they came—forthright, tell-it-like-it-is, don't-expect-any-gushing. About anything. Most mothers cherished everything their kids made, and he supposed she did—in her own way. But she hadn't bothered to keep even one of the Mother's Day presents he'd made for her in school. Sure, she put them on the mantel for a few weeks, but then they disappeared. Later on, she'd admitted that she'd tossed all of them because she hated clutter.

He suddenly thought of the Archers. He bet their mom kept all of their stuff, even though there were so many of them. He also thought of the good-natured ribbing between the siblings. Dylan had three half-brothers and a half-sister, and he loved each of them, but he wasn't really a part of either family. His dad, stepmom, and brothers were a unit, and his mom, stepdad, and sister were another unit. He'd always felt like a fifth wheel. It was hard to join in on jokes you'd missed or share memories of things you hadn't done because you'd been with the other family. Dylan was just Dylan.

And that was fine by him. He'd tried the family route when he'd married Jess and failed spectacularly. He was firmly in the solo lane, and he liked it that way. No expectations. No disappointments.

His contracting firm was the most important thing, and he was going to make damned sure he got this job.

S
ARA BRUSHED THE
raindrops from her sleeves as she went back inside.

“Raining again?” Hayden slipped Dylan's presentation folder into his laptop bag.

“Yeah.” Sara handed the file folder she'd retrieved to Tori. It was from the guy they were interviewing tomorrow, another smaller firm like Westcott.

Tori smiled up at Sara. “Thanks for getting that. I would've gone.”

Yeah, but then Sara wouldn't have seen Dylan. “It was no problem.”

“You were out there for a bit, and I just heard Westcott leave,” Hayden said. “Were you talking to him?”

Sara nodded as she took her seat. “He really wants the whole enchilada.” Which meant she'd see him all the time for months and months. So much for the one-night stand, never-have-to-see-you-again scenario.

Tori didn't lift her focus from the file folder she'd laid out on the table. “Yeah, I got that.”

Hayden exchanged looks with Sara. “It's not a bad idea.”

Sara lifted a shoulder. “I don't know. He doesn't have the experience.” He didn't, but was that really what was worrying her? Or was it her fear of having to work with him when he'd done things to her no one else ever had?

Tori looked up. “True, but I like his hometown approach. Call me sentimental, but that really appeals to me.”

“Just like Dad,” Hayden said, leaning back, “he almost always goes with the local guy.”

“This firm might work, too,” Tori said, thumbing through the papers in the file. “I really liked Dylan's aggressive attitude, though.”

“Me too.” Hayden stood. “I need to get back to Archer for a meeting. See you guys here at ten tomorrow morning.”

Before the door closed behind him, Sara watched him sprint toward his car in the downpour. “He's not coming to dinner tonight?”

Both she and Tori were temporarily staying at home—at their parents' house. They'd kept their residences, Sara near Portland and Tori in the Bay Area. Hayden lived in his own house in Ribbon Ridge and periodically came to dinner, which was a welcome respite from the doom and gloom of their parents, who were—understandably—still struggling with Alex's death.

“Guess not.” Tori looked up from the file. “Do you blame him?”

“No.” Sara sat beside Tori and rubbed her hands over her upper arms. The monastery was drafty, and the space heater they'd brought didn't provide much warmth. “I doubt Dad will be home either.” He spent a lot of time at the office or out cycling.

Tori closed the file and sighed. “Probably not. Thanks again for getting the proposal from my car. Did you offer so you could talk to Dylan? Didn't you have a crush on him in high school?”

Sara stared at her in the way that sisters stare at each other when they're being pains in the butt. “That was a decade ago. Totally irrelevant.”

The one-night stand? Not so much. But it
should
be irrelevant. She wasn't going to let it color her decision on awarding the job. And she sure wasn't going to tell Tori about it. It had, however, been difficult to ignore the flutters in her belly when Dylan had walked into the monastery. And then outside, the sun shining down on him from between the angry clouds, highlighting the gray-green of his eyes as he'd looked at her in that clothes-stripping way . . .

Get ahold of yourself, Sara. He wasn't mentally undressing you. He was fighting for the job
.

“Well, he's still totally hot. And ex-military.” Tori watched Sara's reaction.

Sara shook her head. “Uh-uh. I'm not biting. Let it go.”

Tori exhaled and tossed her a small smile that signified the end of her goading. “Just as well since we'll probably be hiring him for phase one.”

“He's your first choice?”

“For the cottage, definitely. And his attitude today only sealed the deal for me. You seemed pretty hesitant about even considering him for the other phases though.”

She
was
hesitant, and if she thought about it, not for the right reasons. She couldn't let their one-night stand and any lingering attraction, which she absolutely felt, influence her decision. “You're not?”

“Maybe a little, but I'm inclined to give him a chance.” Tori sat forward and waved a hand. “We're putting the cart before the horse here. I need to work on the plans before we consider anything, and I can't focus on that until we get underway with this cottage. You're sure you're up for overseeing that phase?”

Sara frowned. The last several weeks had been tough as she'd transitioned management of her business to Craig, and half-moved home to help with this project and provide support to Mom. Craig had eagerly agreed to help out—he'd been great actually. Mom, on the other hand, was a basket case. She'd started seeing a therapist but was still incredibly depressed. Dad was keeping everything bottled up and was pulling further and further away emotionally. It was like he just didn't want to deal with Alex's death at all.

All of that had combined to create stress, and Sara's sensory regulation had been all over the place. So much for proving her capability if she couldn't keep herself from having meltdowns every couple days. Granted, it wasn't quite that bad, but it wasn't as good as things had been the last few years. Which made Tori's question all the more grating, even if it was well intentioned.

“I can do it,” Sara said. “I know you think I'm struggling, and I suppose I am, but we all are. I just look different doing it than you.” That was the crux most of them didn't understand. Yes, she was different, but she was okay with that. “The cottage is my baby anyway.” No way they would stop her overseeing it.

Converting the ranch-style house at the edge of the property into a wedding-event space had been Sara's brainstorm when they'd first toured the property several weeks ago. The idea had come to her after she'd talked with Derek's fiancée, Chloe, who'd been concerned about getting married at the Archers' house given Alex's suicide and the overall aura of depression. Moving the wedding to this new space would take the pressure off Mom. Plus, Sara could totally envision the place as a premier event destination. Once the hotel was operational, it would be in high demand.

“You're right, it is your baby,” Tori said. “But I'm still your sister, and it's my responsibility to watch out for you, even when it's annoying.” Her gaze softened. “Really, Sara. I know I can be overbearing sometimes, but you know my heart's in the right place.”

“I do. Although I don't always appreciate it, I understand it.”

Tori crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you going to do when that part of the project is done? Go back to your condo and your event-planning business?”

“That's the plan, yes.” They'd discussed the need to hire a team to run the hotel and restaurant—none of them believed Kyle would ever come back to do anything. While she, Tori, Hayden, and Derek had consented to bring Alex's dream to fruition, they didn't see it eclipsing their current jobs permanently.

Sara's cell phone vibrated on the table. Glancing at the display, she saw it was her assistant—funny since she'd just been thinking of him. She shot Tori an apologetic look. “I have to take this.” She swiped the phone up and stood. “Hey, Craig, how's it going?”

“Terrible.” He sounded stressed. “Kristy is really unhappy that you're not here.”

Sara rubbed her forehead between her eyebrows. “I know. I've explained to her that I was on a leave of absence and that you're fully capable of helping her plan these details.” Kristy was a classic Bridezilla. “I told you she'd be difficult. You just have to manage her with a soft but firm hand. She'll come around.”

“I don't know.” Craig sounded doubtful. “I think she might be ready to walk. She said she's talked to another planner.”

Sara walked to one of the windows. A patch of blue sky was trying to overtake the dark clouds dumping their rain. “It's an empty threat. She wants Archer beer for the reception and I'm the only one who can make that happen.”

Craig exhaled. “I know. I just think we need to do something to stroke her ego.”

“Do whatever you think you need to. She's a good client—rather, her parents are.” Sara turned from the window and watched Tori packing up. “Listen, I have to go. I'll call you back later.”

“I need you to help me figure out how to placate Kristy.” Craig was doing a great job covering for her, but when it came to soothing upset clients, he usually expected her to take over.

“We've talked about how to work with difficult clients—it's part of the job. I'll call you later and we'll figure something out, 'K?”

“Fine.”
He sounded like a whiny teenager, but she knew he was just blowing off steam.

Sara suppressed a smile. “Talk to you later.” She hung up and went back to the table.

“Ready?” Tori asked. They'd driven up together in Tori's car.

Sara collected her work bag and her purse. “Yep. Have you heard from Liam or Evan? Or Kyle?”

“Just Evan, but only because I harass him on a biweekly basis.” Because she looked out for him. Like Kyle used to do for Sara. “Not a peep from the other jerks. I take it you haven't either?”

Sara shook her head. Though Sara had expected Kyle's lack of response, it still stung. It seemed she was still waiting for him to fix things. And she was beginning to wonder if she would wait forever. “I see what Alex was trying to do—bringing us together,” she said softly, the still-painful wound of his death digging into her chest. “Did he really think he had to die to make it happen, though?”

Tori blinked, probably fighting back a tear or two. “And it isn't happening, is it?” She grew quiet and looked at her hands for a long moment. “I wish I knew what he'd been thinking, why he thought death was a better choice than life.”

“We'd all like to know that.” While they were all coping differently—with anger and sadness and isolation—this was the one thing that united them.

“I hope his letters tell us—not that we'll get them anytime soon.” Her tone dripped with resentment. “Next time we meet with Aubrey about the trust and the zoning for the project, I've half a mind to demand my letter.”

Sara knew Tori was angry and upset, they all were, but it wasn't Aubrey's fault. Sara felt sorry for the lawyer. Alex had put her in a pretty lousy position. “We'll get them when Alex intended. Doesn't that mean something? Isn't that what we're doing here—honoring him and his last wishes?”