He’d dragged his ass home to Gordon’s apartment, where he was staying while he looked for a new condo. He hadn’t yet found one he liked since selling the place he and Ashley had shared for their year-and-a-half-long marriage. He finished the scotch sitting on the Natuzzi leather couch, staring out the huge windows that had the best evening view of Manhattan, and feeling miserable about his entire life.
In the blink of an eye, he was no longer a restaurateur, was officially divorced and living with his former sous-chef, and was shit-faced by himself.
Rock fucking bottom.
He’d been propped up on that same couch scanning real estate listings when he’d gotten the call from the lawyer in Calgary. He was in a giant rut, spinning his wheels, so when he was told the plane ticket was paid for already, he figured it couldn’t hurt to get away. Go out, have the will read, say his condolences, and then come back and figure shit out with a bit of fresh air in his system.
He had to. The money from the sale of the restaurant and condo was decent, but he didn’t want to fritter it away. He needed work. He needed to keep his reputation as a top chef in one of the busiest cities in the world intact to prove he still had it before the next guy came along and eclipsed him. The perpetual reinvention was exhausting, but it was what you did as a restauranteur.
He couldn’t do that sulking on his friend’s couch, feeling sorry for himself. As much as he and Gordon got along, and Gordon was always there for him, Jake would wear out his welcome eventually. Finding a new place to live was also a top priority.
Jake scanned the horizon out the windshield, letting the open space and the blue skies settle him further.
Cows dotted a field off to his right, and he wondered what was in store for him. Apparently, Brett had a big ranch just outside of Brightside that did well, with cattle, horses, and crops, now run by his sons. So, he had half brothers. The lawyer was hazy on details, but it didn’t really matter.
Brett West was no more his father than a stranger on the street, so “brothers” was a stretch too. From what his mother had always told him, she’d left that “shitty backwater” when Jake was still a toddler, hightailed it back to the US, and given him a real life. When he was a kid, he’d often wondered why she hadn’t left him behind, even secretly wishing she had when times had been tough.
Jake shook his head, not wanting to relive all the upheaval that growing up with his mother had involved, and forced himself to focus on the here and now. The welcome sign for Brightside loomed ahead.
He turned left into the outskirts of town, and the map app on his phone announced that in another five miles he would be at his destination. A curl of apprehension wound through his stomach. What would he say to these people, who probably didn’t want him there? He’d never been a part of their lives. He wasn’t looking forward to any of this. But maybe they would be nice, decent country folk and it wouldn’t be a shit show.
A line of tall pine trees came up on his left, and he turned into a driveway. A big, carved wooden sign with a bright blue paintedWand a wavy line under it, followed by the wordswest and sonsunderneath greeted him. Petunias and geraniums burst out of the flower boxes below it in a riot of reds and whites. The grass was partially cooked from the summer sun, but the fence line was straight as an arrow, heading up the driveway toward what appeared to be a cluster of houses. He could just see another driveway farther down, and barns.
He took a deep breath. Well, here went nothing.
* * *
Liz was sitting on the front step of her house when she saw a black Toyota hatchback drive in and stop beside Brady’s rig, parking sideways in front of the main house. She shaded her eyes with her hand. That must be the long-lost brother.
For the second time that day a black car driving in was bringing bad with it. Well, hopefully not too bad, she amended. Couldn’t be much to worry about in the long run. He certainly had no claim on this place, and the boys would never put up with an uptight, citified asshole staking a claim even if he tried.
She stood and walked over, ready to face the reason her family was yet again in upheaval. Might as well be friendly.
Yet again.
When the tall, dark-haired man unfolded out of the tiny car, she stopped, wondering if she was seeing double, or at the very least a mirage in the heat.
The wave in his hair, the way he stood, and the set of his jaw were unmistakable. That was Brett West’s son, to the letter. He and Tanner could be twins.
Her mother, standing at the top of the steps of the front veranda of the main house, gasped and put her hand to her mouth.
“My god, you look just like him,” Peony declared, and carefully moved down to him.
“Ma’am,” was the response from the stranger, a polite smile forming as he reached her. He held out a hand, which she gratefully took, to help her down the last step.
Liz reached them and really looked at him for the first time. Intelligent, warm brown eyes stared back, and she blinked in surprise. Brett had been a good-looking man in his youth; she’d seen the pictures. Tanner and Brady were good-looking guys, too, but this one . . . well, he had been given the West genes in spades.
He was fucking gorgeous.
Like the models in the watch ads from the back of the fashion magazines her mother always bought. She found herself staring like a heifer would look at a fresh alfalfa bale, and backed up a step to gain her bearings.
“You must be Jake West,” she decided to say, to break the tension, and offered her hand. “I’m Liz Baker, and this is my mother, Peony.”
The man blinked again, meeting her eyes, and took her hand. At least he had a firm grip. Liz’s first impressions of a man were always based on how he shook hands, how he treated animals, and how he walked. This one had already ticked two of the boxes.
“Yes. Jake West.” He rushed the words out awkwardly, and made that face people do when they offer sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear about your, I mean our, father passing away. I just found out two days ago.”
“Ohhh, no. He’s not my father. My mother married Brett when I was a kid. I’m not a West,” Liz blurted, determined to make that perfectly clear.
