After the Climb Read online

  The square entry was very large, open, and this feeling was increased by the upstairs gallery that ran the entire space. There were seating areas up there, one recessed in an alcove. The walls were covered in shelves that held books, things Duncan had picked up while traveling, framed pictures of the boys or their terrible, but cute and hilarious, artwork from when they were little and trophies his sons had earned.

  The back of the house was a great room that had two-story, floor-to-roof windows and a view of the lake curving around the back of the property, the forest, and the mountains.

  Off to the right of that, the open plan kitchen with a walk-in pantry, access to the four-car garage and wide doorway to the dining room. And to the left, hidden beyond the wall where the large stone fireplace was, was utility and laundry as well as a powder room.

  The rest of the house, upper and lower floors, had two halls leading off each side of the entry (down) and gallery (up).

  Downstairs there was his office. A den. The dining room. A room that held pretty much nothing but an antique pool and poker table, because Duncan and his buds liked to play poker and pool. A couple of guest baths, because there was a lot of space, and when you needed one, you didn’t want to have to walk miles. And a game/media/TV room, because he didn’t want his boys hogging the television with their game play, nor was he a fan of seeing them on their asses for hours, so since they dug that on occasion, he gave them space where he didn’t have to look at it.

  Upstairs were all bedrooms, each with their own en suite bathroom, and the master had a balcony and a pretty damn spectacular view of the lake, forest and mountains.

  It was furnished in comfortable, sturdy furniture and decorated in family, west, old west and southwest with some mission and Native American thrown in.

  It was masculine.

  Already felt lived in.

  And it was entirely overkill.

  He felt a pang in his side at holding back the need to bend double laughing.

  Sure, in his current, smug self-actualized state, he could admit this was a realization of a dream.

  But it was also a massive, six-thousand-square-foot fuck you to his dead dad.

  And last, it was a house Imogen Swan would feel comfortable in.

  Because no matter the sturdiness of the furniture, it was top of the line, looked great and cost a whack.

  And the west, old west, southwest and Native American stuff was mostly art, carvings, statues, weavings, antiques, and it had all cost a small fortune.

  She wasn’t even a dream, the idea of Genny coming back into his life. Until his assistant got a call from her assistant a few days ago, not even a possibility.

  But he’d built this for her.

  For Genny.

  For the woman she was today and the man he’d always wanted to be for her.

  And he could not deny that.

  “You look amused,” Genny noted, coming back into the entry.

  “I am.”

  “Is it because my daughter, who does not live here, has commandeered guide duties and is giving me a tour of your home?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered.

  She tipped her head to the side in curiosity.

  Chloe ignored this exchange and pulled her to the stairs.

  “I won’t bore you with the rest of down here. It’s all man stuff, outside the dining room, which you’ve seen. And the den, which has no purpose, since the entirety of the house is set up for men to do indoor manly things, and the den is no different. Therefore, that would be the room a woman could requisition and cover in floral wallpaper and chintz furniture. We’ll save that for last. Now, we’ll go to my bedroom. Which, if you don’t poke yourself on the sharp things, is divine.”

  He didn’t miss Genny glanced at him several times as she went up the stairs.

  But he waited until she and Chloe disappeared down the hall before he went to his office, grabbed his laptop, took it to the kitchen, refreshed his coffee, and opened it up.

  The room he’d put Chloe in was the room he’d designed for when his mom came to visit.

  Ruthy Holloway loved her boys, but she also loved to read and have quiet times, and it wasn’t lost on Duncan she savored these after living in a house with a man who claimed every inch of space as his own and demanded every second of attention for the same.

  Duncan wouldn’t describe the room as “divine,” but for his mom, he’d made sure it was damned comfortable and designed to be relatively self-contained.

  It included a larger walk-in closet than the other bedrooms had (save the master, which had two). It had a lounge area. It was the only room outside the master with a balcony, though it was much smaller. And it had a closed-away niche that had cabinets, a counter that held a coffeemaker and a wine-rack, and a small built-in fridge, all of this offering snacks, beverages, with not a small selection of wine.

  It was a cool room.

  But he sensed that was their current destination not because it was a cool room, but because mother and daughter needed some time and he was down with giving it to them.

  He was not wrong.

  Twenty minutes later, he was standing at the island, replying to an email when they reappeared.

  “May I liberate the hounds, warden?” Chloe asked.

  He’d put the dogs in the utility so they wouldn’t overwhelm Genny.

  “Have at it,” he invited.

  Gen wandered his way.

  Chloe went toward the utility room.

  “My daughter has made a mess of your guest room,” Genny shared.

  Duncan had two boys. Duncan was a veteran of many messy rooms.

  Therefore, Duncan shrugged.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, because Tuck has nested in a cashmere sweater in a way I think he might be most annoyed if he was forced to give it up and Bounce has made a hutch of her suitcase,” she remarked.

  Duncan grinned.

  The cacophony began, heralding the imminent arrival of “the hounds” which reminded him.

  “Baby, Rocco’s got some strength. Missing his front leg, he’s developed muscle in a way other dogs don’t. It can be surprising. Be aware. Yeah?”

  She nodded quickly, turned, and then he lost her.

  Because she squatted so low, he could only see the top of her head.

  “Oh, my goodness. Oh, my darlings. Look at you precious beings,” she cooed.

  Shasta barked her greeting.

  Killer scooted and whirled around.

  And as suspected, Rocco tackled her flat on her ass.

  She let out a cry and started giggling.

  Duncan moved positions to get a better view.

  They were all over her.

  “You’re not going to have any makeup left, Mother, if you keep letting them kiss you like that,” Chloe warned.

  Gen made not one move to stop them from licking her. “If I need to, I can touch up using your things.”

  “You are forbidden to get dog saliva residue in my Chanel cosmetics.”

  “I’ll buy you more.”

  “Well, okay then,” Chloe huffed.

  Christ.

  He loved these two.

  He loved them.

  He didn’t question it; he just knew it.

  With only half an hour in their combined presence, he knew to his gut and bones, Genny, the mother, and Chloe, her daughter had his love until the day he died.

  And he suddenly wished he had daughters and wondered what Sasha was like.

  But he refused to dwell on that.

  “Well?” Chloe demanded.

  Of him.

  “Sorry?” he asked her.

  She pointed at her mom. “Are you not going to rescue her from canine carnage, the canines perpetrating the carnage being yours?”

  Duncan didn’t get a shot to answer.

  Genny did.

  “Stop being dramatic.”

  “For the last time, that’s never going to happen!” Chloe announced on an outraged cry. “No
w, I’m leaving. I can witness this no longer.”

  On that, she stomped to the island, nabbed her bag, then stomped toward the door to the garage, smacking her leg and calling, “Come here. Come to Auntie Chloe. Come say goodbye. I’m going to be gone for a while, and you’re going to miss me because I’m pretty sure Daddy doesn’t give you full turkey sausage patties as treats.”

  Jesus.

  She was right.

  On two counts.

  One, he did not do that.

  And two, heading toward the door to the garage, so the dogs knew she was departing, they defected the woman who was a human-size dog toy on the floor for the woman who gave them turkey sausage as treats.

  Duncan went to Genny and helped her up.

  “Ta ta, mon ami et ma jolie maman. I’ll text before I head back. Be good,” Chloe called.

  Then she was gone.

  The dogs stared at the door in confusion.

  “Is my makeup a mess?”

  Duncan looked from his dogs to his Genny.

  There was a smudge of black at the corner of her left eye, but otherwise, she’d come out unscathed.

  “Not bad, though I don’t know how important it is to you, so the powder room is through there.”

  He pointed across the room.

  “Be back,” she murmured, hustling that way.

  The dogs chased after her.

  “Stop!” he ordered. “Enough!”

  They skidded, turned and raced to him.

  And when they arrived at him, he nearly went down.

  Gage was petitioning for another one.

  Duncan’s youngest had some asinine argument about how having five pets upset the balance of the universe because the number needed to be even. He was hoping for a cat, but Sully, who’d bought into this shit, was pushing for another dog.

  Duncan’s response was, “When you flunk out of U of A, you can get another animal because you’ll be around to feed them and take care of them as well as the horses, chickens, and anything else I make you do to be all over your ass for flunking out of college.”

  That ended the discussion.

  But right then, he gave orders for the ones he had to cool it, which Shasta and Rocco did, but Killer totally ignored him, and he ignored his baby girl doing that.

  He then heard a noise coming from the garage and was still smiling when Genny came out of the bathroom.

  “Now what’s amusing you?” she asked on her way over.

  “Your daughter took my car.”

  She stopped dead in the middle of the room, arched far back with her hands clenched at her chest, and called to God, “Please, please let there be a partner out there who can handle the handful she is or make her a woman who is perfectly fine in her own company for eternity. Please.”

  “Babe?” he called.

  She looked his way.

  “That sedation you considered for your ex?”

  She nodded.

  “It wasn’t because she’s a handful. It was because she’s a handful. He knows that. She’s the reason shit like duels was invented. You should be praying for the guys, or gals, or whatever she’s into. Because there’s probably a pack of them she’s already laid waste to in her wake. They’re the ones who need your prayers.”

  “Now I think I need sedation,” she said, finishing making her way to him.

  “Sorry, I only got coffee.”

  She grinned and stopped at the island.

  The dogs fanned out all around her, hoping she’d collapse on the floor and play.

  Instead, she looked to his laptop and a hint of worry shadowed her face.

  “Do you need to work?”

  There was no denying it.

  All that was happening, he was getting behind.

  Gen in his house for the first time, there because she was ready to talk things through, no way in fuck he was working.

  “No.”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  She started to say something, but he asked, “You wanna meet the horses?”

  “I want to meet the horses and see the chickens, but Bowie, maybe we should talk.”

  He closed his laptop, kept his hand on it, rested his weight in his other hand on the counter, and queried, “Something new on your mind?”

  But she was staring at his laptop.

  “Genny, I don’t need to work,” he assured.

  “You did that,” she told his hand.

  “Sorry?”

  Her eyes came to his. “Even back then when things weren’t…” she lifted a hand a circled it, “heavy, like they are now. If something was on my mind, you dropped everything. And listened.”

  “Genny,” he said softly.

  She drew in breath and let it out, saying, “I’ve had my coffee. I try to keep it at two cups, only in the morning. But I can hang if you want to make another cup and maybe we can go on the back porch and chat?”

  He was a coffee fiend. Always had been. Drank it all day. Caffeine didn’t affect him, or his sleep.

  She knew that, but even if she didn’t remember, it didn’t matter.

  It was time.

  And he’d pushed for this.

  But he was fucking dreading it.

  He refreshed his cup. Led the way to the back porch.

  Genny came with him.

  She settled in an Adirondack chair that was angled to the lake.

  He settled in standing and leaning against a roof post, facing her.

  She didn’t look at his view.

  Her gaze was glued to him.

  It was time to do this.

  Then face the consequences.

  “I’ll start,” he said.

  “Please do,” she replied quietly.

  “I never felt good enough for you.”

  Pain slashed through her features and it took all he had to stay where he was.

  But she whispered, “I know.”

  “It wasn’t you.”

  “I know.”

  “It was my dad.”

  She nodded.

  “And Corey played us both.”

  She nodded again.

  “I let him because that was where my head was at. Yesterday, I realized, there was a part of me that nagged day in and day out since it happened that I knew to my soul you didn’t step out on me. But I jumped on that excuse to let you go because I had to. Because I needed to set you free for you. But also, for me, because I had something to prove.”

  She rolled her head on her shoulders. Pressed her lips together.

  But said nothing.

  “To Dad and to myself.”

  She finally spoke.

  Softly.

  And it was a statement.

  Not a question.

  “But not me.”

  “Not you,” he confirmed.

  She got up and he had no idea what she’d do after he confessed that.

  Confessed the rotten truth that it wasn’t really Corey being a slimeball.

  It was Duncan.

  And in his head, her knowing that without doubt, even more than she had to know it before, he thought was worse.

  She was too classy to just take off.

  But with whatever goodbye she gave him, he had to stand there and take it.

  And then let her walk into his house, get her bag, only to walk out of it, get in her car and leave.

  He felt sick to his stomach.

  But for her, he could not move.

  So he didn’t.

  She stood for long moments, studying him.

  Then she looked to the lake.

  To his dogs who were pressing against the windows with their noses.

  And back to Duncan.

  She then walked to him and lifted her hands.

  She didn’t shove him into the post in fury.

  She set them on his chest and pressed.

  He held his breath.

  Up.

  And she pressed against his shoulders.

  Up.

  And she curled the
m around the sides of his neck.

  Up.

  And she cupped his jaw.

  She watched her hands as they did this.

  He watched her.

  Not breathing.

  Then she took her hands from his face, slid her arms around his middle, and fitted herself to his front, resting her cheek to his chest.

  He let his breath go and closed eyes that were suddenly stinging.

  “I couldn’t have helped,” she whispered to his shirt.

  “No,” he grunted.

  “You had to take that journey yourself.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Corey still played you.”

  “Yes.”

  She let out a little sigh and melted deeper into him.

  Good Christ.

  Christ.

  Genny.

  He wrapped an arm around her, twisted his neck, and rested his jaw on her head.

  “But you know I always believed in you.”

  He shut his eyes tighter and felt the wet slide over the bridge of his nose.

  “Yeah, baby. I knew I always had you.”

  “Then as long as that’s the case, let’s figure out what’s next.”

  Fuck.

  Christ.

  Fuck.

  He had to open his eyes to put his mug on the railing, something he did and quick.

  Then he curled his other arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight.

  She squeezed him back.

  His voice was hoarse when he started, “I wasted—”

  “Stop it.”

  “We lost—”

  “Stop it, Bowie.”

  He shut up.

  “It would have happened, you know, somewhere along the line,” she said.

  Yeah.

  He knew.

  “It could have been my career taking off as quickly as it did. It could have been you not liking LA, because I’m not sure you’ve been there, but it’s not one thing like here.”

  A startled chuckle burst from his chest and he kept holding her tight.

  “I’ve been there, Gen, and I’m not a fan.”

  “I bet not,” she muttered.

  They were silent.

  She spoke first.

  “It would have been something.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We weren’t ready.”

  “You were. But I wasn’t.”

  She tipped her head back. “You let me go and I let you let me go, Bowie. One could argue it isn’t the place of a woman accused of something like that when she didn’t do it to chase after her man. But you knew me better and I knew you did. And I didn’t chase after my man.”