Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Holland

T he printshop looks even worse than I remember. Dust clings to every surface, and the equipment looks worn. I never liked working here. My dad forced me to come in three times a week once I was old enough to drive and used my horse riding as leverage to get me to commit.

"If you want to ride horses," he'd growl when I voiced dissent, "you'll put in the hours at the shop."

I hated every minute of it, but I loved horses more than I loathed working with him. The constant berating followed by bouts of silence that had me walking on eggshells often left my nerves frayed at the end of my shift, so there's a lot of dark feelings associated with this place. I don't know if I would have liked it had my father been something other than an unloving tyrant, but now I'll never know.

I inspect all the machines—wide-format printers, a digital press, laminators, the binding machine, the folding machine, the heat press—all of it looking like it's on its last leg. I doubt he did the necessary maintenance because my dad was cheap and routinely cut corners.

The shop itself is practically inhospitable. The walls are yellowed with age, the flooring is warped and all the casings and window sills have wood rot. The place smells of ink and neglect.

I sit at my father's old desk, sifting through the disorganized mess of records. He kept some information on the computer and some in paper files, but none of it is in any logical order. Transactions are half-recorded and customer orders are missing. It's a complete and utter mess and my head throbs as I try to make sense of it all.

How am I supposed to clean this up and put it in some kind of shape for my mom to run? The truth is, even if I could, I don't think she has the ability. She never worked in the shop or held a job and it would take me weeks to explain this all to her.

It's been a bitter pill to swallow coming back home. My relationship with my mom is complex and I don't know that I understand it fully. On the one hand, she always made excuses for Dad's alcoholism and behavior. She'd try to shield me sometimes but more often than not, she'd take his side. She was afraid to leave him because she didn't know how to take care of herself.

As an adult now looking back with mature eyes, I can see she was in preservation mode all those times she chose not to stand against him, but that bit of learned wisdom within me doesn't compensate for growing up in a household where no one was on my side.

On the other hand, she has tried in the only way she knows how to maintain a tenuous tie with me. After I left for good, we talked weekly and she always seemed interested in school and then my work life. She never tried to force me to have a relationship with my dad and respected the walls that I had erected over time between us.

And now?

Now, she's just a scared, lost woman who doesn't know how to survive without my dad and I don't know if I can help her. The fact that I have to clean up this mess both saddens and angers me, but I can't just abandon her.

The business phone rings and I ignore it, letting the voicemail I'd programmed yesterday answer. I left a short message that we're closed for renovations and hope to reopen soon, although I don't know if that's true at this point. I invited callers to leave messages with the promise of a return call, but I'll handle those later today.

There's a knock out front on the glass and I ignore that too. I've got a Closed sign on the door and sooner or later, they'll get the hint. I'd left the lights off on purpose so there'd be no mistaking that Rhodes Printing, in fact, is not open for business at this time.

The knocking continues, more insistently, and I sigh with frustration. Looking at my watch, I see that Petey Byers isn't due here for another half hour but maybe he's early. I push away from the desk and head to the front. I make it no more than three steps before I halt in my tracks—Trey is standing on the other side of the dirty streaked door. His hands are cupped around his face as he peers in, and when his eyes land on me, he raises a hand in greeting.

I absolutely hate that my pulse quickens at seeing him and I mentally chastise myself. It's not fair that he's even more gorgeous at thirty-three than he was eleven years ago. There's something about a man filling out a little in the face, plus he's put on some brawn. Of course, he's still got the Blackburn beauty with the raven hair and green eyes, absolutely magnetic, and it doesn't hurt that he wears his hair long like he did way back when. It brushes the collar of his shirt, and I know how soft that hair feels, just as I know how that five o'clock shadow chafes in all the right ways.

"Get a grip, Holland," I mutter to myself and stride angrily across the store. I twist the latch and throw open the door. "What do you want?"

"I want to help," he says.

"I told you I don't need—"

Trey pushes past me into the store, immediately walking the perimeter of the outer lobby. He points to the east wall. "You've got water damage over here, and that wood rot by the windows will need fixing." He then kicks at a warped floorboard. "All of this has to come up. You can see whatever was leaking ran the whole length of the store."

"I said I don't need your help," I repeat, frustration mounting.

"Tough shit," he replies, meeting my gaze with determination. "You're going to take it. It's the fastest way to get it done so you can run back to Zurich, right? Plus, I talked to Petey, who is quite busy at a job over in Lexington, and told him I'd handle it."

I clench my fists in anger, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "Interfere much?"

"Just a little," he says, holding his index finger and thumb an inch apart.

"Fine," I growl, throwing my arms up in frustration. "Knock yourself out. I'll pay you back for the supplies."

Ignoring his smug grin, I turn and march back to the office, trying to focus on the records again. But it's impossible with Trey moving around and making noise. I try not to look into the lobby and even manage to devote a solid ten minutes to organizing paper files.

But then he's standing in the doorway, filling up the office with his presence, even though he's only leaning against the jamb. "I've got that list of supplies." He looks down at his phone to where he's apparently typed a list before shoving it in his back pocket. "I'll price some flooring for you. If they have it in stock, I can start on it this afternoon."

I pin my gaze at the stack of invoices before me, not willing to give him too much attention because I know he'll turn it into more. I'm aloof but polite. "That would be fine. Thank you."

I wait for him to leave but he doesn't. I study the paperwork, trying my best to ignore him, determined to wait him out.

"What exactly do you do in Zurich?" he asks, breaking the silence.

I sigh, pushing my hair back from my face. "I'm a senior business consultant at Global Strategies Ltd."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means I help them optimize their operations, expand into new markets, that sort of thing."

I return to my work, but he's not finished. "Is that what you went to school for?"

I nod. "International business administration."

"And you like it?"

"I like it," I admit. "Now, I really have to—"

"But you don't love it," he says.

My head whips his way, my eyes narrowed. "Who says I don't?"

"I do." His eyes roam over my face, searching for something to prove himself wrong.

"You don't know anything about me," I snap.

Trey crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a lopsided grin. "Oh, I know things about you, Holland. But in this instance, if you loved it, you would have said so when I asked. Your face would have lit up. You would have told me more about it."

"That's ridiculous," I sputter indignantly, mainly chafed that he would reference our past. "Zurich is beautiful. The city is clean, efficient, and I have a great group of friends there. It feels like home."

"Didn't ask about Zurich, although I have heard it's beautiful. I asked about your career. Are you married?" he asks bluntly.

In hindsight, I'm sure the proper response would be something to the effect of, "It's none of your damn business," but instead I shake my head, discombobulated by his poking and find myself admitting, "No. I work a lot and it doesn't leave time for dating." And because if I'm going to hate myself for engaging, I might as well really turn on the loathing. "Are you married?"

"Nope. Do you still ride?" His expression softens with genuine interest.

"Yes," I murmur, and for whatever reason, I don't mind sharing that. "Not as often as I'd like but there are some beautiful trails outside of Zurich, and I've found a stable that reminds me a bit of Blackburn Farms."

Trey smiles, looking pleased. "That makes me very happy, Holland."

Somehow, the tension inside me has eased, and I do have curiosities of my own. I lean back in the creaky office chair, place my hands on the armrests. "Your mom and dad looked good. They doing okay?"

"They're great. Fully retired and traveling, spending a few months each year over in Ireland with Mom's family. Ethan's running everything now."

"And Wade, Kat and Abby?"

"Abby's a vet practicing in Pittsburgh, but Wade and Kat work on the farm with me. We're mostly doing all the training and lessons, but we've had to step in to help Ethan now that his daughter, Sylvie, came to live with him."

"Daughter? He was married?"

Trey tips his head back and laughs. "Oh man… you have missed out on so much since you left. Let's just say Ethan had a drunken one-night stand with Alaine Mardraggon that produced the cutest little girl."

"Alaine Mardraggon!" My jaw drops, because I know the history as well as anyone.

Trey nods, his face turning somber. "She got pregnant and didn't tell Ethan. We didn't find out about Sylvie until a few months ago when Alaine died of cancer."

"Oh," I murmur, a million questions racing through my mind. Alaine was a few years older than us but I knew her, just as I knew her brother Gabe.

"It's been an adjustment, but Sylvie has settled in and Ethan's dating a really wonderful woman named Marcie."

Ethan dating. What do you know?

That sparks another question. "And what's up with Kat and Gabe?"

"There's so much to catch you up on. I think you should come eat dinner with the family tonight."

Warning bells go off in my head. It was so painful to leave eleven years ago and while most of that pain had to do with this man, it was heartrending to leave behind the Blackburn family. A part of me died and I'm not sure I can walk back into that environment. There's no doubt they'd welcome me with open arms, but what's the point? I'm returning to Zurich, and I can't afford to let my heart get entwined with this family again.

"I really can't," I say, turning back to the desk and shuffling papers. "I've got so much to do—"

I'm distracted by Trey pulling his phone out of his jeans—which fit him very, very well. He taps the screen and holds the phone to his ear before saying, "Hi, Mom. Yeah… I'm at Lyle's store and I'm going to fix everything for Holland." He pauses, listens to his mom and then nods. "Yeah… I already invited her, but she declined. I think you need to talk to her."

I wave my hands frantically in a silent plea that I do not want to talk to Fi. He ignores me and says, "Here she is."

Thrusting the phone at me, he grins. I glare at him, and we engage in a staring war before I growl in frustration.

Snatching the phone from Trey, I put it to my ear. "Hi, Fi. I really appreciate the invitation to dinner but—"

Her Irish brogue rolls right over me. "Don't even think of saying no, child. You've been away for eleven years, and not a peep out of you. Now, be a good lass and accept the invite and give this old woman something to look forward to tonight."

I snort and roll my eyes. "You're not old and you're so manipulative."

She doesn't outright laugh but I can hear her amusement. "That's a yes, then?"

"It's a yes," I murmur in resignation.

I hand the phone back to Trey who tells his mother he loves her and then slides it into his pocket with a smug look. He throws a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll head out and grab what I need to fix up this store. I'll be back."

"Fine." I wave my hand as I look to the mess that is my dad's business life sprawled before me. "But I'm busy, so stay out of my hair when you get back."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawls and then he's gone.

When I hear the door close, I sigh and once again lean into my chair. I really should have declined their invitation but part of me yearns for that connection. I've never found anything quite like it in my life since, and it awakens all those feelings I had when I was younger, of feeling like I was genuinely loved and cared for by the Blackburns.

The smell of Miranda's pot roast filled the house, mingling with the buttery aroma of freshly baked rolls. The kitchen was a warm, welcoming space, the heart of the Blackburn household. They never ate in the formal dining room, instead preferring to crowd around the kitchen nook table so we were jammed in elbow to elbow. I felt a sense of belonging here that I never felt with my parents and while that caused some guilt, it was always banished when I was immersed in this family.

After Miranda brought all the dishes to the table, Tommy carved the pot roast while we served ourselves from the bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans and warm buttery rolls. Abby and Kat sat on either side of me, chattering excitedly about our sleepover plans for later. Wade, Ethan and Trey sat across from us, Wade sneaking extra rolls while Trey tried to keep a straight face.

"Holland, would ye pass the gravy, please?" Fi asked with a warm smile.

I handed it over, swinging my legs and bouncing with happy energy.

After dinner, we cleared the dishes and moved to the living room, where, to my shock, a large cake with candles sat waiting. My eyes widened in surprise. "What's this?"

Fi beamed at me. "It's for your birthday, silly."

Kat and Abby grabbed my arms and pulled me forward while Tommy got to work lighting all twelve candles.

My birthday had been the previous week, completely uncelebrated and forgotten because my dad had gotten drunk and my mom was angrily locked away in her room. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I looked around at the Blackburns, their faces glowing with affection. They had remembered when my own parents had not considered it important at all.

"Make a wish," Kat whispered excitedly, and for some reason, my eyes landed on Trey. He was on the opposite side of the room, slouched in a chair with an easy smile on his face.

I closed my eyes, made a wish, and blew out the candles. Everyone cheered, and I couldn't help but laugh, feeling warm and safe and loved.

Wade handed me a neatly wrapped package. "This is from all of us."

I unwrapped it carefully, revealing a T-shirt inside. I unfurled it, held it up and read out loud, "Honorary Blackburn Family Member" printed across the front. I stared at it in disbelief, a lump forming in my throat.

"It was me and Kat's idea," Abby said with pride. "But Mom helped us get it."

"We wanted ye to know how much ye mean to us," Fi said softly. "Ye're part of our family, Holland."

Abby and Kat hugged me from either side, their small arms squeezing tight. "You're our sister now," Abby declared.

Wade grinned. "And sisters are supposed to keep their brothers in line, so you've got your work cut out for you."

Tears streamed down my face, but for once, they were tears of joy. I had never felt so loved, so accepted. "Thank you," I managed, my voice choked with emotion. "This means more to me than you'll ever know."

Tommy raised his glass of iced tea in a toast. "To Holland, the newest Blackburn. May you always feel at home here."

Later that night as I slept on a blow-up mattress between Kat's and Abby's beds, I reflected on the most perfect evening ever. I knew that no matter what happened in my life, I would be okay because I was officially a Blackburn. Their love and acceptance would guide me through even the darkest times.

The phone rings again, startling me from my reverie, and without thought, I grab it. "Rhodes Printing."

"Yes, I'm calling about an order I put in last week for my wedding invitations," a woman says, and I immediately search for the order manifest.

"Yes, ma'am. Just a minute and I'll look that up."

"No need," she says crisply. "I've been calling for three days to make a change and I can't get anyone to call me back. I'm going to cancel my order."

My first inclination is to tell her bluntly that my dad died and I'm trying the best I can and could do with a little empathy, but I resist. It's not this poor woman's fault, so I say, "I'm so sorry. I completely understand."

I take the woman's name and promise to refund her deposit. I then dive back into the mess my father left behind, knowing that was one customer the store just lost and fearful of what else I might find lurking beneath the surface of this paper jungle.