After the Climb Page 12

  And wasn’t that just the killer?

  That she’d hid it, had her back to him, and he’d sensed it.

  “My friends call me Coco,” she informed him.

  “And my friends call me Bowie,” he informed her right back.

  She turned to him.

  He was sitting at the island and Killer was in his lap.

  Hot guy and little dog.

  Man, she needed this to work.

  “Why are you called Bowie?” she asked.

  Coffee mug lifted to his mouth, he tipped his head at the range, and said, “Finish the omelets and I’ll tell you. You need any help?”

  She shook her head.

  “You makin’ one for you?”

  She faked being utterly aghast.

  “Food passing my lips before eight in the morning? That’s positively barbaric.”

  He quirked a grin at her. “I see you’re your mother’s daughter in one way. She said she liked slow mornings. And back in the day, she was the same. Hated getting up early. Lived for the weekends when she could take her time.”

  “I suspect Mom hasn’t changed much,” she stated leadingly.

  “I’m sensing you’re right,” he muttered.

  So she wouldn’t ruin it, she returned to the omelet.

  She finished it up, plated it, put it in front of him with the fork, knife and napkin she’d already gotten out, then topped up both their mugs before she climbed up next to him.

  Duncan had dropped Killer to the floor in preparation for eating.

  Tuck jumped from the counter to the island and she cooed at him.

  He gave her outstretched hand a sniff, but was more interested in sitting, swishing his tail, and watching Duncan eat.

  For a moment, Duncan regarded the cat in his position that was verboten until Chloe arrived, before he sighed.

  “All right, Bowie, tell me about being Bowie,” she urged.

  “I’m tellin’ you this story ’cause you should know this story and what it says about me and what it says about the way I feel about your mom.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Did she give you the nickname Bowie?”

  He swallowed the bite he’d put in after he’d said that, shook his head and replied, “My dad gave it to me. The first time he took me hunting.”

  She was shocked.

  She’d researched this man to within an inch of his life.

  And although he was not a resolute opponent of that, he’d had a fair few things to say about hunters who did not follow fish, wildlife and game rules, and a fair few more things to say about poachers.

  Especially the fat cat rich ones who flew to Africa and hired locals to drive animals from land that was designated protected game reserve to land that was not in order that they could shoot them.

  Duncan Holloway had lots to say on that matter.

  “Hunting?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want to go. Pitched one helluva fit. And he…was…pissed. He had a temper, but I kid you not, I thought he’d beat the snot outta me. He was that pissed. It terrified me.”

  “Did he beat you?” she asked quietly.

  He looked her in the eye in a way she knew what he said next was important.

  “Never once. Never laid a hand on me.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled. Although glad, unsure, since the man didn’t beat his son, why it seemed that important.

  “But I thought he was gonna do it, so I went hunting with him. And he rode my ass in the car, and he rode my ass in the woods, and he didn’t let up until he had to be quiet so he wouldn’t spook the deer. I was twelve and a goddamn mess. He’d taught me how to shoot. I had the rifle. And I was scared as shit of that thing because I knew the power it wielded and I was shakin’ so bad, I thought, once I got my finger near the trigger, I’d hurt him or me. But fear can also give you focus. Because when we saw that doe, and he told me she was mine, I downed her in a shot.”

  Chloe stared at his profile as he said this to his omelet, and even in profile, his pain was so obvious, so palatable, she felt it with him.

  He was fifty-four.

  Forty-two years he’d carried that pain.

  Apparently unabated.

  “He made me gut her where she lay. Handed me his bowie knife and made me gut her. I didn’t get sick. Didn’t even feel nauseous. I did what I was told with his hand on my shoulder, squeezin’ so hard, I thought his thumb would break my clavicle. And he did this tellin’ me from then on, my name was Bowie, and he’d never been so proud of me in his life.”

  He ate more omelet.

  Chloe didn’t say a word.

  When he’d swallowed, he told his plate, “A father never so proud of his son in a moment of death he forced his son to create, a son who had no desire to do that. That was the only time I made my father proud. But I didn’t make him proud. He made me make him proud.”

  “Duncan,” Chloe said softly.

  He turned his eyes to her.

  “I never went hunting with him again. He grounded my ass at least two dozen times for what he called disrespect because I flat refused to do it.”

  “I’m glad,” she whispered.

  He nodded shortly to acknowledge her comment and kept going.

  “It was about control. It took me a long time to realize it, well past losing Genny. Men like him don’t make men. They make ignorant, mindless automatons who go on to create more of the same if the cycle isn’t broken. I’m not saying at twelve years old I should have manned up and told my father to go fuck himself. I’m saying he was proud of me because he thought making me kill that deer, he was going to mold me in his image. And that was the meaning of his life. He did not create a child to nurture him and set him free on this world to find happiness and do good. He created a child in order to live longer, because it was all about him, not one thing to do with me.”

  “You’re so right,” she agreed.

  “But that’s beside the point.”

  “Okay.”

  “The point I need to make is, I did what I did to your mother, and the regret I feel for that is fierce. But you need to know, the thing I regret most in my life is that I had a choice that day. A possible beating for me, or the life of that deer. And I picked killing that deer. He’d never laid a hand on me, Chloe, and I still picked that deer. And every time he’d lose it and I’d think, ‘now’s the time, he’s gonna whale on me,’ and he didn’t, I remembered that deer. I remembered I took her vitality to save my own ass. And to this day, I prefer to be called Bowie to remind me never to be that person again.”

  “I understand that,” she said.

  “Make no mistake, I wish like hell I’d done things differently with your mom.”

  “I understand that too.”

  “But if I had one thing in my life I was allowed to go back and change, I would not have killed that deer. It says nothing about how I feel about your mom or the pain I caused her. It says something about the man my father was trying to force me to be that I had to overcome before I could really be with her. But the truth of it is, mostly, it’s about that deer.”

  She nodded. “And that’s understood too. And it doesn’t make me feel badly toward you. In fact, I get it. I’ve never killed anything. But if I did, I probably would wish that too.”

  “Okay, honey,” he said in his lovely gentle tone. “Now I need to understand why it means so much to you, me being with your mom.”

  Sneak attack.

  Yes.

  She was pulling nothing over on Bowie Holloway.

  “I want her happy.”

  “It’s more than that. You’re sharp as a knife, and you’re lethally loving. But you do not strike me as a woman who focuses her formidable energy on a whim.”

  “Dad and her are never going to get back together,” she blurted.

  “Okay,” he said.

  He was going to say more, but she spoke fast.

  “I’ll let her explain why.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

 
“She needs someone strong to protect her.”

  He shot straight on his stool and practically barked, “Why?”

  Yes.

  She was right.

  Oh, hell yes, she was.

  Shewasrightrightright.

  It was him.

  “She doesn’t have a stalker or anything,” she assured quickly. “She’s just…” she shook her head in short shakes, “She’s just Imogen Swan.”

  “Your mom is strong and capable.”

  “It isn’t about her.”

  “What’s it about?”

  She rolled her shoulders. “It’s about me.”

  “What about you?”

  “I just need to know she’s looked after.”

  It dawned on him, what she wasn’t saying, and the man she was coming to know, she should have known it would.

  “Divorce sucks,” he murmured.

  “Yes, it does,” she said bitterly.

  “She’s going to be okay, with or without me.”

  “I’d rather her be okay with you.”

  It took him a second, his hazel eyes concerned and warm on her.

  And then he said, “Me too.”

  Chloe relaxed.

  Then she declared, “No offense, Bowie, but your dad’s a dick.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “No offense, Bowie, but I’m kinda glad.”

  He grinned at her, shaking his head, and replied, “None taken, Coco.”

  “Though, well done you for breaking the cycle.”

  He kept grinning and shaking his head, but he said nothing.

  “I’ll vamoose after Mom shows so you two can have some privacy.”

  “That’d be appreciated.”

  “But be forewarned, I’m not leaving because this is the best vacation I’ve ever had.”

  He burst out laughing.

  She watched.

  Then she reached out and forced Tuck to endure the indignity of enjoying some chin scratches.

  After that, she climbed off her stool to do some tidying.

  Chapter Nine

  The Tour

  Duncan

  “Aren’t you nervous?”

  Chloe was standing at his side on the porch, both of them watching the black Cayenne roll up the drive.

  Since breakfast, she’d morphed from pretty girl in pajama bottoms, cami and Sully’s purloined flannel shirt to fashionista in jeans, slouchy sweater belted at the waist, and shoes he knew—and did not get why women did not find it funny and stop doing it—they called booties.

  The heels again were high.

  He was learning not to worry about it.

  In fact, at this point, he’d probably be more concerned if she wore flats.

  “With age, honey, you learn a lot of shit. One of the things you learn is that, in this world, there is absolutely nothing you can control, except your own actions and reactions.”

  He looked down at her noting, not for the first time, she was visibly nervous.

  And one of many things she made clear about her personality, Chloe Pierce was not a nervous person.

  Maybe she was thinking her mom was going to be ticked at her.

  Mostly, he suspected, it was wanting what was to come to work.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I want with all I am to carry on the good work Gen and me started last night. But I got one job in this and all I can do is do it right. I fully intend to do that. What comes of that is beyond my control and the only thing I can do is react when it happens in a way that’s best for your mom.”

  “You know…” she hesitated and then, “I shouldn’t say it.”

  He turned fully to her.

  And he got down to it.

  For him.

  And for her.

  Because whatever was going to happen was imminently going to happen.

  And this had to be said.

  “Whatever goes down with your mom, Chloe, you and me, we have what we have, and I want you to know, it’s means something to me. If things don’t work out with Genny, I get I’ll likely lose you. And you’re an extraordinary young woman. So that will pain me. But I’ll understand, and we’ll have had our time. And I already know it’s an honor that you gave it to me. But while we’re having it, I don’t want you to feel you can’t say something to me.”

  She stared up at him, expression open and sweet, and yeah.

  Someone was in for a helluva ride with Chloe Pierce.

  But when that ride was over, life would be really fucking good.

  “You remind me of my dad,” she blurted.

  It had not been lost on him, in coming home last night from Genny the way Genny had been at the bar, getting his laptop, and doing what he’d not once allowed himself to do: a deep dive into her life—that there were definite physical, and it would seem if he could believe what he read, other similarities between him and Tom Pierce.

  Duncan was unusual because he didn’t have a type. He enjoyed women. Height. Weight. Race. None of that mattered. He was attracted to a variety of things.

  Which was evidenced by the fact Gen was tall, slender and blonde, Dora was just under average height, curvy and brunette and Betsy was tall, voluptuous and mixed race.

  But they were all funny. They were all loyal. And they were all motivated.

  But it was clear Genny had a type.

  Something that didn’t bother him, and not only because Chloe had openly, and not unwittingly, but perhaps not understanding how crucial it was, shared that Gen and her ex would never get back together.

  Tom Pierce, as far as he could tell, was halfway to sainthood.

  The public didn’t know something, though.

  And neither did Duncan.

  Considering the fact that family still seemed very tight, he just hoped, if Genny gave that to him, he didn’t lose his shit when he found out.

  Onward from that, he’d discovered that neither of them had dated since the divorce.

  It was just over a year old, but even so, they were both vital people, it was high time to move on.

  Until Chloe had shared what she’d shared that morning, Duncan had found this concerning. Because it might be they couldn’t move on because they were still hung up on each other.

  Now, he just saw it as something else made clear at the bar.

  Genny was out of practice with this shit.

  Which was why, last night, sitting next to a man she wanted, she was cute, nervous and a babbling mess.

  He’d seen her that way twice before.

  When she was coming to terms with their mutual attraction in their teens.

  And at Corey’s wedding, before he’d taken her home, they’d torn each other’s clothes off and had sex on the carpet five feet from her front door.

  “I find that a compliment,” he told Genny’s daughter.

  “It was meant as one,” she replied. “And newsflash, Bowie, I love my mom loads. But I’m not the type of gal, and she isn’t either, that would let anything stand in the way of something that means something. And it means something, you and me being amies. So my mission today is to find some boots so we can go riding tomorrow. And I’m leaving them up here because I have no use for riding boots in Phoenix. And because we’re going to go riding again.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he replied.

  “As it should be,” she stated.

  Christ, he liked this kid.

  He grinned at her.

  She shot him a sassy smile then turned to the drive and cried, “Ma mère chérie!” and flung herself down the steps.

  His body automatically jolted.

  Nope.

  He was still worried about her in those heels.

  “My dastardly, nefarious daughter!” Genny, who was out of her car and rounding the hood, cried back.

  But her face said she didn’t mean it.

  And Duncan started chuckling.

  “You know you love me,” Chloe stated, throwing her arms around her mom.

 
“She makes it hard. I best the mother of the year competition every year with all her varied tests, but I do it,” Genny called up to Duncan, and he noted she was holding her daughter close.

  Duncan watched, but he did it aware there were things he refused to see.

  No.

  Feel.

  He’d unpack that later.

  Maybe with Genny.

  More likely with Harvey.

  They broke apart only for Chloe to seize Genny’s hand and start dragging.

  “Come!” she shouted. “You must have le grand tour.”

  “Lead the way, my darling,” Genny said unnecessarily, since her daughter was pulling her up the steps.

  Duncan watched and noted their outfits weren’t much different.

  Gen’s sweater was crewneck and fitted. She had a little scarf tied around her neck. And the heel height on her booties wasn’t stratospheric.

  Still not Prescott.

  But at this point, he couldn’t imagine either woman in anything less.

  Chloe tugged her mother to a stop in front of him.

  “Hello, Duncan,” Genny greeted.

  “Genny.”

  She looked nervous again and unsure what to do.

  So he caught her by the side of the neck, pulled her in and up, and kissed her cheek.

  The woman was blushing when he let her go.

  “Maman, vraiment?” Chloe murmured teasingly.

  “Shut up,” Genny mumbled.

  Duncan made note look up the word “vraiment.”

  “Tour!” Chloe exclaimed. “Then I’m vanishing so you old people can do boring things like chat over coffee. Come, Mummy. Come, Bowie.”

  And off Chloe went, again dragging her mother with her.

  But Genny looked over her shoulder and mouthed, “Bowie?”

  She knew.

  He was steadfastly “Duncan” to outsiders.

  He was “Bowie” to those he let in.

  He shrugged.

  She disappeared inside his house.

  He followed but stopped a few steps in, even though Chloe was pulling Gen to the great room at the back of the house.

  He then looked around.

  He’d designed this place, came once a week to watch it go up and lived there for five years, but it was like he was seeing it for the first time.