11. Easy on the Mugs

Chapter 11

Easy on the Mugs

H arper clenched her fists as she paced around what she considered a dingy little room. Even though she would never admit it, she knew full well that the sprawling ranch house was aesthetically beautiful, from the rich, rustic, rough-hewn woods all the way to the sturdy, custom-built furniture.

Running her fingers across her brow, she gave a voiceless scream. “What am I doing here!”

Her performance through dinner was a well-honed skill, perfected after decades in the public eye, but even that took every ounce of energy she possessed.

Now immersed in solitude, Harper’s curated composure was beginning to crack.

Scrolling through her dwindling accounts, she noticed her credit cards were maxed. Apparently, she actually couldn’t afford the flight in first class — and now there was only one person she might be able to coerce to get her home.

Harper — typing…

Delia. I need help.

She pressed send, hoping she wouldn’t be asked to share the humiliating story of how she ended up all the way in Montana. For some time, she had suspected Delia was screengrabbing their private conversations, sharing them in a side chat with those who had devoured her scandal.

Her phone dinged with a notification. When she looked at the screen, she saw that Delia had blown her off entirely, simply marking the text with a heart.

Harper wound her arm back, gripping the device tightly with the urge to fling it at the wall. Rationality taking hold, she tossed the phone on the lumpy bed, draped with what she deemed a hideous patchwork quilt. She sat beside it, scrubbing her face in her hands as she contemplated her next steps.

Her head was still pounding, and she heard the call of the pain medication in her purse. Retrieving the bottle, she twisted off the lid and eyed the last few pills clattering against the orange plastic.

Just to take the edge off.

Popping a smooth caplet in her mouth, she stowed the bottle safely out of sight in her nightstand drawer. She was grateful when her spinning thoughts finally began to slow. Glancing out the window at the darkness, she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

What felt like only minutes later, Harper’s eyes wrenched open to an earsplitting eruption of noise. She pulled her pillow tightly around her ears just before the shrill cry again burst through her peace. Her blurry mind struggled to locate the source as her eyes focused on the bright early morning sun through her frosted window.

There was a funny-looking little rooster perched on the fence below, thunderously announcing the dawn of a new day.

She closed her eyes again and rubbed angrily at her temples.

I need a drink.

Easing up in bed, she swung her legs over the edge and placed her feet on the chilly hardwood floor. Running her palm across her brow, she glanced again at the drawer beside her that held the little orange bottle.

The nagging desire she felt scared her a little.

She reached down and picked up her purse off the floor, rifling through it until she found the little bottle of vodka she had stored away in case of an emergency.

“If this ain’t an emergency,” she said with an ironic smirk. “I don’t know what is.” It was just one little bottle, and Harper figured what her prudish sister didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone — especially her .

She twisted off the cap with a snap and brought it to her lips, savoring every last drop that burned down her throat.

No big deal.

She stuffed the evidence into the bottom of the trashcan beside her bed and pivoted her thoughts to the day ahead. She couldn’t go home, and she knew she couldn’t let on to exactly why. Maeve would probably take great pleasure in buying her a plane ticket on some rattletrap airline that would barely make it off the runway.

“I’ll never give her the satisfaction,” she vowed to the empty room. She’d have to endure until she could get her accounts straightened out. “It won’t take any time at all,” she reassured herself.

Tossing her luggage on the bed, she pulled the zipper around, letting it fall open. She retrieved her cosmetic bag, tucking it under her arm as she went to her pitiful little bathroom. Going through her usual morning routine, she squeezed a dab of cleanser in her palm and scrubbed away the previous day’s makeup. Splashing away the suds, she searched with her fingertips for the rough hand towel hanging on the hook. She patted her face dry before applying the layers of eye cream and moisturizer that boasted of reducing wrinkles. After blending a fresh layer of foundation, she twisted open the cap of her mascara and brushed on her eyelashes.

Pulling at the corners of her eyes, she gave a dissatisfied sigh. Being surrounded by young people in the house made her feel pressured to keep up . She was confident that Maeve’s beauty routine was minimal, yet somehow, she maintained a youthful glow.

Just one more reason to loathe her.

She twisted the cap back on the tube of mascara, resisting the temptation to dash it across the mirror and blot out the reflection that stared back at her .

Digging out her designer jeans from the suitcase, she paired them with a white button-up top and fashionable slingback heels. One thing she had noticeably failed to pack in her unfortunate episode was anything remotely warm enough for a frigid Montana winter.

Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, she sat on the edge of the bed, intending to hide away for the day in the privacy of her room.

Until she caught the rich, earthy scent of fresh coffee.

It made her stomach pang with hunger. Steeling her nerves and fortifying her walls, she loathed herself for surrendering to her basic needs.

Pathetic.

Holding a sliver of hope that everyone had left for the day, she planned to quickly fill a mug and promptly escape back to her room without being noticed.

Of course, that wasn’t the case.

Hesitating before coming around the corner, she heard Maeve and Oakleigh conversing in the kitchen. The two were absorbed in a discussion of ranch business, which wasn’t even remotely interesting to Harper’s snooping ear.

What grated on her nerves more than anything was how Maeve talked to Oakleigh. Her tone wasn’t like a boss talking down to her employee. Rather, she spoke to her as though she were a business partner and an equal.

“Dallas and the boys are stuck in Alcott with Peaches,” Maeve informed her. “I’ve sent Sawyer and Crew to get the sleds from storage.” She paused, taking a long drink of her coffee. “And we need to discuss this rooster situation.”

“His name is Nugget, Maeve,” Oakleigh asserted, holding her chin high to indicate that the issue wasn’t up for debate. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have farm-fresh eggs?”

“Oakleigh,” Maeve articulated with a heavy sigh. “There’s at least a dozen ranches around here selling farm fresh eggs . They’re practically giving them away.”

“Well, now we’re one of them,” Oakleigh stated unapologetically. She took a long sip of her coffee, setting it down gently beside her on the counter before carefully bringing up the next subject. “And I suppose the airport is closed?”

Maeve nodded. “Which means we do the best we can with our houseguest.”

There it is.

Harper felt her blood pressure rise as she stepped around the corner into the warm glow of the kitchen. She cleared her throat, hoping to catch the shame dash across their faces over their reprehensible gossip.

She was disappointed yet again.

Maeve went to the stove and pulled a coffee mug from the high cabinet. She tipped the heavy percolator, filling the mug with dark black brew.

“It’s a good thing you like your coffee black,” Maeve remarked. “With this weather, I don’t know when we’ll have a chance to stock up on groceries. ”

Harper carefully accepted the brimming mug of coffee from her hands. “And just how long do you think the airport will be down?”

Maeve shrugged, “It’s hard to say, really.”

Harper took a long sip of her coffee, noting the airport closure at least gave her a moment to figure out her precarious financial situation.

“I couldn’t help but overhear about the snowmobiles,” Harper pivoted. “Remember all the family trips to Aspen, Oakleigh?” she reminisced, taking another drink from her mug. “You used to love racing around while we hit the slopes.”

“I remember being left at the lodge with the nanny while you hit the slopes,” Oakleigh bit back, letting the resentful comment hit its mark despite the noticeably sharp glance from Maeve.

“And just who do you think you’re talking to, young lady?” Harper slammed her mug hard on the kitchen island, causing coffee to slosh over the rim.

“Easy on the mugs, ladies,” Maeve implored, stepping between them. “We’re not doing this today.”

Before things could escalate, the front door opened and closed with a loud bang. Oakleigh’s handsome cowboy paused to hang his hat on the hook and kick off his boots before going through the living room.

Oakleigh brushed past Harper without a word. Going straight to Crew, she wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. Leaning her head on his chest, she quietly whispered. He responded by pulling her close, pressing his lips to her brow with a comforting kiss.

Harper rolled her eyes, knowing precisely who her daughter had the audacity to vent about.

“All right, enough of that,” Maeve announced, stepping into the living room. “Crew, how was your ride this morning?”

“Afraid another fence is down,” Crew stated, running his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair. “This bear has it out for our herd.”

“Go help Sawyer mend that fence,” Maeve instructed. “That takes first priority.”

Harper quietly observed Maeve command the room. She couldn’t deny that they were alike in that way. However, there was something different about her younger sister. She drew people in and made them feel valuable. Maeve had been instilled with a natural spark for leadership, an attribute that Harper had always envied.

Harper often got her way, but it always required raised voices and a few well-placed threats.

Maeve turned her attention to Oakleigh, “You and I are going to work on the barn,” she said, raising her hand before Oakleigh could interject. “I know you hate it, but I don’t want any complaints.”

Oakleigh’s eyes held a whimsical spark. “You’re not wrong there,” she smiled. “Fine, no complaints.”

The seamless teamwork between the two made Harper’s jealousy burn hot .

“Don’t forget about me,” Harper chimed, using all available energy to force her trademark smile.

“You’re our guest,” Maeve deflected.

Harper knew it was her sister’s way of telling her she wasn’t welcome. If Harper had wilted every time she faced rejection, she would have ended up like Maeve — obsolete.

“I’d like to help, Maeve,” she insisted, crossing her arms. “Don’t be so prideful. It certainly doesn’t suit you.”

She watched Maeve and Oakleigh exchange tentative looks. Their unspoken unity made her want to throw her mug at the wall, causing it to shatter into a million pieces.

“You’ll need some warmer clothes,” Maeve relented, beckoning Harper to follow her.

They went up the stairs and down the hall to Maeve’s bedroom. It was a corner of the spacious house that Harper had never seen before. When Maeve opened the double doors, Harper’s mouth gaped as she took in the expansive bedroom with vaulted ceilings and stunning, hand-hewn furniture.

Of course, Maeve is living in luxury while I sleep in a dusty little broom closet.

Maeve went to her large walk-in closet. She pulled some warm leggings off the hanger and a pair of khaki Carhartt pants. She handed off a flannel shirt and a hefty jacket.

The pile of heavy winter clothing caused Harper’s arms to flex under its weight. Maeve finally topped it off with thick wool socks and a pair of heavy boots .

Harper grimaced at the terrible clothing. “I probably don’t need all of this,” she objected. Selecting a wool sock with two fingers, she let it flop to the floor.

“Sure, if you want to lose your toes,” Maeve replied, a little too casually. “Which I’m guessing won’t be stylish for sandal season.”

Harper shuddered at the thought.

“I mean, most of this will be far too baggy,” Harper speculated, raising a sharp eyebrow. Even though they both knew Maeve was fitter and healthier than she had ever been, Harper expertly used her expressive eyes as a weapon, scrutinizing Maeve from head to toe.

Maeve pressed out a sigh. With a quick shake of her head, she reached back into the closet. Whipping a belt off a hanger, she tossed it onto the pile in Harper’s arms.

“Oh, I suppose that will do,”Harper smirked. Taking delight in needling her sister, she headed toward the door.

“Harp?” Maeve called out.

At the sound of her childhood nickname, Harper turned on her heels.

“Surely, there can’t be any more hideous clothes to add to this pile,” Harper practically begged, her brow furrowing in disbelief.

Maeve crossed her arms and leaned her shoulder on the doorframe. She chewed on her lip as she appeared to be collecting her thoughts.

“I don’t think my stipulations were unreasonable. ”

Harper scoffed, flipping her hand nonchalantly. “Oh, get over yourself, Maeve.” She couldn’t believe she was being confronted, let alone by someone she couldn’t possibly respect any less.

“If this is about what happened downstairs,” Harper rushed to her own defense. “Oakleigh started it — you saw the whole thing.”

“That’s not it,” Maeve stated. “Although, I don’t care for that either.”

“Then what?” Harper spat. She didn’t know why, but she felt pressed to defend herself.

“There’s alcohol on your breath,” Maeve confronted her.

“Oh yes,” Harper goaded. “Because you’re so perfect.” She ran her tongue over her smooth veneers, her eyes darting away to the corner of the room. “So what if I had a drink?” she shrugged. “I’m not a child, Maeve.”

“Not in my home,” Maeve emphasized, doubling down on the boundaries she had set from the start.

Attempting to gain the upper hand, Harper was determined to use all the tools of manipulation in her extensive kit.

“I suppose you’re just going to throw me out into the snow,” she accused. “Just like you were going to throw me out into the storm.”

Maeve remained quiet and calm in a way that infuriated her, causing her voice to rise as she filled in the space left by the uncomfortable silence between them. “I forgot you’re the epitome of moral superiority, right Maeve? ”

Maeve sighed, flicking her eyes to the ceiling before connecting them with Harper. “Last I checked, I’ve never claimed to be perfect,” she calmly replied. “And I’ve never asked you to be either.”

Harper felt uncomfortably vulnerable. Maeve’s posture was firm, but her tone was simply welcoming her to be better.

She excused herself from the room, feeling unsettled by the entire interaction.

I’m not falling for it — whatever this is.

Harper returned to her bedroom and dumped the warm winter clothes in a chaotic pile on the bed. She had never been at the mercy of anyone, and she especially wasn’t going to allow the disgraced outcast of the family to have the upper hand.

Holding up the hideous items of clothing, she wondered how she had ever managed to get herself stuck in such an awful predicament.

Although — she would never admit it out loud, but there was something mildly comforting that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Whatever it could be was fractionally better than being left all alone at Davenport Estate.