Flying around an icy looking corner, he turned off the main road onto a pristinely smooth driveway. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds disgusting. Please don’t say anything like that in front of my parents.”
Claire ignored the comment and looked around. How could he not love Foothills? The long driveway was flanked with massive evergreen trees, branches hanging low, and heavily frosted, winterized maples created a mystical canopy overhead.
Then the house came into view.Holy shit, Claire, you’re in way over your head. Her eyes gaped open, and her tongue grew thick and dry and a little itchy, like she’d been chewing on alfalfa all afternoon. This was not the northwest ranch she’d imagined when he described his logging mogul stepfather and his mother’s fondness for horses.
Painted immaculately snow white with black trim and a black roof, the house stood grandly over the massive estate. Even the entrance was intimidating. Topiary-trimmed hedges flanked a solid black wooden door, and the doorstep was wide enough to fit her entire family. Ryder parked the flashy car and hopped out. Claire followed along behind, remaining as unobtrusive as possible. “Shouldn’t we get the bags?” she whispered behind him.
“I’ll get them later. Let’s head inside. I need a drink.”
Before they reached the front door, it swung wide open. An ancient woman with thick gray hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, dressed in black jeans and a purple cable-knit sweater, greeted them. Claire hoped this was his mother, but wasn’t optimistic at this point. And she looked nothing like him. “Ryder, it’s about time. Your flight landed hours ago.”
“Hattie. It’s good to see you.” He smiled and accepted the woman’s warm hug.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to our guest?” Hattie smiled widely and peered around Ryder to get a good look at Claire.
With a deep breath, pasting on her friendliest expression, Claire bravely stepped forward. This woman was approachable and clearlynothis mother. “Hi. I’m Claire.”
Before she knew what hit her, rather than taking her offered hand for a casual greeting, the woman dragged her into in a firm embrace. “Welcome, Claire. I’m glad Ryder found you. You’re just the sweetest thing, aren’t you? Come on in, let’s get you settled. You must be worn out after a long day of traveling.” The woman rattled away, not leaving room for awkward silence as Claire struggled to catch her balance. “I’m Hattie. Most would consider me the housekeeper, but I’m a woman-of-all-trades. I keep things running around here and am your point of contact for anything you might need or want. Mostly, I keep these boys in line.” She winked at Claire behind Ryder’s back. She pulled back and squeezed Claire’s hand, face scrunched in an eager grin as she guided Claire into the house.
“Thank you, Hattie. I’d love to freshen up.”
Inside, Claire’s intimidation fired right back up again at the sight of the imposing foyer. Expansive white tile floor covered the area, looking remarkably similar to the ice she’d biffed it on earlier. Beyond the foyer, a stately parlor with white carpeting and white sofas and white pillows and white blankets overlooked the mountains through a mammoth wall of invisibly clean windows. That window was the real gem of the house, the one appeal she’d found so far. With its inspiring view of the snowcapped Cascades, she felt like an eagle catching an updraft, soaring from peak to peak. Despite the roaring fire inside the grand fireplace, and the stack of white and cream-colored knit blankets rolled and artfully displayed in a basket under the sofa table, the room remained cold and unwelcoming.
Hattie led them up the stairs on the left and down a long, wide hallway until they reached the suite on the end. “This is the blue room. Make yourself at home. Dinner is in an hour.” Hattie squeezed her hand again, as if sensing her complete lack of ease, and left her alone with Ryder.
Ryder went straight for one of the facing leather chairs in the sitting room and plopped his feet onto the wagon-wheel coffee table in the middle, groaning and looking markedly unrelaxed as he settled in for a long vacation. Off to the right, there was a robin’s egg blue wall with a shaggy cow picture hanging in the center, and through a set of French doors on the left, was a bedroom that could be featured in a magazine. Expensive-looking tree-stump side-tables surrounded the rustic iron bedframe, and a blue and white railroad striped duvet capped off the designer look.
Claire turned toward Ryder, hoping they could sit and veg before meeting his parents. Her limbs were tingling with too many nerves to even attempt the feat at the moment. If they were half as intimidating as the house, she’d never fit in. In the time she’d taken to scope out their suite, he’d poured himself a glass of whiskey and was back in his chair. “Hey, Claire. Why don’t you go freshen up a bit, get changed, and we’ll head down for dinner? Sounds like Patricia will be home from work soon.”
“I guess I don’t normally ‘dress for dinner.’ Is this a formal thing?” She cringed, imagining having todress for dinnereach night that she was here. Despite her over-packed suitcase, she hadn’t exactly planned for multiple outfit changes each day.
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. Stupid dimples again. “No. Washingtonians don’t ‘dress for dinner’ as a general rule. Your butt’s wet from the ice.”
“Oh. Ok.” Ribs heavy from exhaustion, Claire headed into the bathroom to freshen up, as directed. By the time she got back, she found Ryder rolling in with their suitcases. Whether or not this was a dressy affair, she felt she ought to step it up a bit. She pulled on a black plaid skirt over cable-knit tights, adding knee-high boots and a rose-colored sweater. Close enough.
As she walked out of the bedroom, Ryder’s dimples softened. “Hey. Thanks again for doing this.”
“What?”
“Coming up to meet my family. It’s been way too long since I’ve been home.”
“Of course.”
He reached out and took her hands, pulling her against him. Bracing one hand on each of her cheeks, he kissed her slow and easy. “It’s been a long haul for us both. I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing you here for our first real vacation and not having wrapped up the vodka campaign first. Next time, let’s go someplace we can relax and be ourselves.”
Nodding sadly, she feigned a smile, wishing she could remember what that meant. Had she ever seen Ryderrelax?
Grady dashed up theleft stairs to the guest suites and let himself in the first door on the right. Not his childhood bedroom, as that had been converted into a craft room years ago. Not that anyone around here crafted, so the room was largely an experiment in dust collecting. If dust were allowed in this house.
Now that he was an adult, he was to stay in one of the larger guest quarters. If he ever found a wife, it would be more suiting. So said his mother.
He was assigned to the green room. And it was very green. Olive green area rug, lime green modern art on the wall, forest green sheets, drab green towels. It was rather tempting to call the army to see if they wanted any ideas for a new camo design, although some of these shades did not exist in nature. Some would call it on-trend. He called it nauseating.
Not that he was complaining. He was glad to have a roof over his head. After their rental house burned down a few weeks ago, Asher moved in with Sophie. Not much had been Asher’s anyway, as he’d already been transitioning to Sophie’s bit by bit. Grady, however, had been forced to start over, down to the socks and shampoo.
From the soot-covered shell of a house, not much had been salvageable. Most of his belongings had been so saturated with smoke, they would never have come clean, anyway. Right away, he’d been forced to reinvest in personal essentials. The rest, furniture and other odds-and-ends, could wait until he found his own place.
It had been four exceedingly long weeks at his mother and stepfather’s house. His own father had passed away before he was old enough to remember. Theoretically, Patricia was a romantic, as she’d kept his name, not changing when she married his half-sister Haley’s father, nor when she married Bill. But Grady knew it was because she liked the sound of Dr. Mallory, or, more importantly, it was the name she was already published under. Either way, as much as Patricia drove him nuts, she usually meant well and took pride in her children.
