Burning Love (Lost and Found Book 3) Read online

  “Bea, let’s go to the library to talk.”

  I shrugged my shoulder. “Why? So you can yell at me, too? Gloat how one day when Dad retires, it’ll be your company and I better not pull that crap with you.” I embraced the teenage tantrum and waved my hands around while mimicking Konrad’s voice.

  He folded his super-thick arms and gazed down at me from his skyscraper height. I had a theory that his mom took special hormones while pregnant to turn her three boys into oversized ape-men. They all were unusually tall, had thick hair, and muscles that belonged on stallions.

  “No. I have a side project.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice so Jacoby couldn’t hear. “My friend is setting up an exclusive resort, completely high-end. I’m just investing because I’m too busy here to do more.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “But,” he pulled me toward the hallway outside my dad’s office area, “they need help finding clients to invest their products into the resort. They are looking for anything from exclusive services to specially made towels and robes. I knew you’d be perfect to help them.”

  My ear perked up because it sounded interesting, but was my brother only doing this to get me out of the way from taking over? He knew I was better than he was. Maybe that was his plan. With me gone, he’d look good.

  “What’s in it for you? Praise that you found someone to help with your project?”

  His jaw tightened, and at that moment, he reminded me of Dad. I braced for the argument my father gave me when he donned that expression.

  “Bea, you know Father won’t change. You could become President of the United States, and he’d still think you weren’t up to the task of running his company. As old-fashioned as he is . . .”

  I mumbled sexist under my breath, which caused Konrad’s face to crack with a slight smile.

  “Yes, as sexist as he is, he’s still our dad, and it’s his company. There’s nothing you or I can do about that. I am a part of this side project where I have a say. And I promise you all that are involved aren’t sexists. But putting a resort together for billionaires isn’t as easy as it seems.”

  My ears really perked up for that part. “Billionaires?”

  Konrad belted out a hearty chuckle. “Your favorite word, I know.”

  I admit it. My tastes fell heavily toward the moneyed crowd. While my sister played with farm animals in Maine, I liked to play with yachts on the Chesapeake.

  My mind immediately started to churn with ideas. And as hints of the coffee that Ms. Jackson left the office with lingered in the air, an idea formed that caused most of the anger from dealing with my father to melt away.

  “Okay, Konrad, you got a deal.” I shook his hand, and we both refused to be the one to let go first, an immature game that we both played since we were kids.

  He broke first, and as I smirked in triumph, I said, “I just need to make a quick trip to visit Olivia, and then I should have your first deal made.”

  Konrad was confused. Good. The less he knew, the better. I liked sneak attacks with my deals. The more surprised, the more delighted people were with the outcome. And the less likely anyone could steal your ideas.

  I clapped my hands and rubbed them together. “It’s time to order some flannel so I can blend amongst the mountain folk.”

  TWO

  Mica

  “The refrigerator door fell off.” My sister stood over me; her blue eyes narrowed as she folded her arms. “Again.”

  My gaze darted up from the colander, where I had been shaking the remainder of the freshly roasted coffee beans onto my uniquely designed cooling plate. Clapping my hands together, I wiped off the chaff as I stood.

  Her long, light auburn hair, tied back in a loose braid, appeared more frazzled than usual. My heart did a double-check—messy hair wasn’t a good sign.

  There were two things I knew for certain about my sister. The first, she was the sweetest, most open-hearted person I knew. This was where we differed. I wasn’t mean, just grumpy, something she never failed to point out to me. As for my heart, it was sealed shut many years ago.

  The second thing about Chloe was that she spent time on her hair. Even if she was taking the day to look after our two-year-old niece, she made sure each lock was perfectly quaffed in case she needed to run into town.

  I suspected Shelby, our niece, was being extra-Shelby today.

  “Let me find my tools. Top or bottom?”

  This wasn’t the first time the door fell off our refrigerator, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  “Bottom, thank goodness, or it would have killed our niece.”

  I stopped my sluggish steps toward the side of the barn with a chill that rippled down my back, and it wasn’t from the cool weather creeping in the simple timber walls.

  The barn no longer held animals or farm equipment. I had turned it into a place I could roast coffee about five years ago. Our family business, Fire Lake Coffee, was my passion and my sister’s attempt at business. I say attempt because she would love to do more if not for my refusal to expand beyond the bounds of our town.

  Turning with dread in my voice, I asked, “Is she hurt?”

  “No. I was right there. I grabbed the door before it could land on her. All she did was try to open it.”

  My heart, which just seconds ago felt as if it was going to fall on the floor too, eased.

  “Okay, you scared me there, Chloe.” I held my chest for a moment before reaching for my red metal toolkit. Lifting it off the table, the side of the handle broke. It swayed in my hand on one hinge. I mumbled under my breath before placing the box back down.

  “Looks like everything is falling apart,” my sister inconveniently, though correctly, observed.

  “Nothing a little duct tape won’t fix.”

  She groaned, and I ignored her lack of appreciation for the miracle that was duct tape. After a few moments, the toolbox was as good as new. I held it up with a smile to show off my handy work to Chloe, pride curling my lips.

  What was the opposite of pride? Shame. That best described the look she threw at me just before she rolled her eyes. My sister was not a connoisseur of quality craftsmanship.

  “Make sure you bring the miracle duct tape for the fridge.”

  I couldn’t help but notice Chloe was more sarcastic than usual. She was always trying to find the silver lining while I was the sour puss. It was weird that the roles were reversed, and she was the testy one.

  The door falling and almost hitting Shelby had to have unnerved her.

  “I promise. I’ll fix the door. And tomorrow, I’ll head over to Hooksville and get some solder at the hardware store over there—”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared. “Seriously? There’s a perfectly good hardware store in this town.”

  The tightening in my shoulders was automatic whenever she brought up the hardware store.

  “I don’t go to that one anymore.”

  My gaze slid from my sister to the wood floor as I moved to place the toolbox on the olive-green metal folding chair near the wall. I should have turned around to face Chloe, but I wasn’t ready. Facing her would force me to see the creases around her youthful eyes, which appeared much too early, and the dull gleam that no longer shone brightly in her azure eyes.

  Those things were harsh reminders of the youthful mistakes I had made.

  “It’s not the hardware store’s fault. That’s ridiculous. Lily wasn’t—”

  “Maybe I like being ridiculous,” I said a little too loudly.

  Chloe snorted, and like magic, my sister made the bad memories dissolve.

  “It’s about time you own up to it. I always told Mom and Dad they gave birth to a clown.”

  I grabbed the toolbox and finally turned toward my sister. She wasn’t smiling, and I didn’t blame her. As hard as I tried, I would never be as good a replacement for our parents.

  I had taken care of my sisters since I was twenty-one. My parents died in a plane crash ten years
ago. It was winter, in Maine, and that plane should have never been in the air.

  Chloe was eighteen at the time, and Lily was fourteen. It hit her the hardest.

  “I’m afraid, Mica.”

  The fridge door was too much. It was time for me to go around the house and make a list of everything that needed to be fixed. That’s what Dad would have done.

  Starting with the kitchen. That sort of thing shouldn’t happen again.

  “I’m sorry. I thought the refrigerator door felt wobbly. I should have checked it before—”

  “Not that. It’s about Shelby.”

  Instinctively, I reached for my sister and pulled her in for a hug. It’s what us Angrovs did when we hurt—we protected each other and did our best to help.

  We didn’t need the world if we had each other.

  “But you said she wasn’t hurt.”

  “Not by the door. No. It’s that she can’t walk and can barely crawl. That’s not normal. I’m going to talk to the doctor tomorrow at her two-year checkup.”

  I straightened and shook my head. “Shelby’s just late at walking. She probably needs more exercise. Instead of taking her in the stroller outside, we should let her crawl—”

  “Mica, you’re not listening. I looked it up, and she should be walking. You’ve seen her. She can barely crawl across the room without tiring out. Shelby needs help.”

  “No.” I started to head toward the barn door. “She’s fine. Every child is different. The doctor will only want to bill us for tests she doesn’t even need.”

  “You are as stubborn as a goat going down Main Street.”

  My feet moved swiftly, and I was out the door, heading toward the back of the house before my sister could continue to berate me.

  “What does that make me? A clown-goat?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does!” I heard her footsteps behind me as she tried to keep up.

  “Why can’t you admit that Shelby might need some help?”

  I wasn’t listening to this. I ignored the early spring chill and kept marching.

  “Shelby isn’t Lily.”

  Stopping, I opened the screen door to the kitchen with the screen hanging partially off. Another thing to add to my fix-it list.

  “No, she isn’t, and I’m going to keep it that way.” As I reached for the doorknob, it came off in my hand.

  I grumbled again, but this time louder and laced with more profanities.

  “This house is falling apart, Mica. We need money to fix it, and if Shelby does need help, we’ll need money for that, too. Is that why you’re living in this clown-goat denial? The lack of money from our coffee business. Maybe if we expand beyond the town, we’d make more money—”

  After shoving open the door with my shoulder, I turned back to Chloe. With one hand gripping the duct-taped toolbox handle and the other pointing the doorknob at Chloe, I let it all out.

  “Why? So the world can destroy us like it did Lily or our parents? Get another quack doctor so he can hurt our niece like he hurt her mother? Or maybe I should go back to The Lodge where they can rip us off and try to take us to court, knowing full well we couldn’t afford a lengthy legal battle, just so they could get the coffee from us without paying.”

  My sister was silent for a moment before she reached forward. She gingerly removed the toolbox from my hand and pushed the door open. Moving past me, she placed it on the small, square, wobbly wooden table in the center of our kitchen. Then she deflated into the only chair that didn’t have extra screws holding the legs together.

  “I really didn’t see this as my life ten years ago . . . before Mom and Dad died. Did you?”

  Turning back toward the door, I closed it as best I could without a doorknob. I came over and sat next to my sister, placing the doorknob on the table. I twirled the bulky brass and watched as it wobbled around. “No. Not at all.”

  “Yeah, you wanted to save some money up working at The Lodge so you could go to school for hospitality,” she said as I stared at her.

  We broke out into laughter and my sister snorted. “Oh, God, I can just picture you grumbling at hotel guests, telling them to carry their own damn bag.” Her head flew back as her laughter grew louder.

  “What about you? Didn’t you dream of being a baker?”

  Her laughter came to a halt. Lifting her head, she furrowed her brow. “How is that funny?”

  That didn’t come out right. I needed to fix this. We were having a great moment, and, as usual, I screwed it up. “You know I love your baking—”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms. “But?”

  Shaking my head, I held up my hands. “No, no but. I love your baking, especially your cinnamon rolls.”

  “Then why was it so funny that I wanted to become a baker?”

  “Because . . .” I scanned the small, square kitchen with chipped yellow wooden cabinets and blue linoleum counters to find something that would explain everything and not cause my sister to hate me.

  Thankfully, I didn’t need to explain because right at that moment, a miracle of all miracles happened. The refrigerator door fell off and smacked the wooden kitchen table, causing it to splinter in two, sending the doorknob flying across the room through the glass window of the kitchen door. Once through the kitchen door, it tore the remainder of the screen off before landing somewhere out back.

  My sister and I sat in our seats, luckily, untouched by the chaos. We turned our heads to stare at each other before we burst into laughter once again.

  It was at least a few minutes before our laughter subsided. Once it did, we sat in silence. Our lives had changed dramatically in the last decade and not in a good way. I was tired. I knew my sister was lonely. It was time for me to take a risk. To do something to help our little family.

  “Camping this weekend until Tuesday will be a breeze compared to this.” She waved her hand around the room.

  Right. I almost forgot my sister was going camping with her friends. She needed the break, and it’s about time I did more for this family than make coffee.

  “I’ll take Shelby to the doctor tomorrow.”

  My sister’s eyes widened. She gently placed her warm hand on my shoulder. “It’s only her two-year checkup.”

  I could almost hear the breath Chloe held.

  I nodded. “Yes, but you’re worried. And even if it’s nothing, I should ask the doctor about it anyway. We’re the only family Shelby’s got left. It’s our responsibility to make sure she’s healthy and not just happy. If she needs some tests, then,” I glanced around our broken kitchen, “I’ll find a way to pay for it.”

  My sister smiled and, for the first time in a while, there was hope in her eyes. It was quickly dashed when the baby monitor made sounds of Shelby calling for Chloe, who she called Cla.

  My sister sighed and glanced down at the mess of the kitchen. “It’s like she knows we’re busy and that’s when she decides to wake from her nap.”

  “If she inherited anything from our side of the family, it’s definitely bad timing,” I said as I reached over and gave my sister a side hug.

  THREE

  Bea

  “The way you’re looking at that guy, I wonder if Carter should be jealous,” I said, turning in the direction of my sister’s stare.

  She licked her lips and moaned.

  I was only joking, but now she had me worried. When it came to men, I never had contemplated a serious relationship. Olivia got the romantic-lovey-dovey genes. As my twin, we shared the womb and an unusual sixth sense. I always knew when she was in trouble and she could sense when I was about to get my period.

  Like I said . . . unusual.

  But when Olivia met her mountain man, who also happened to be a sheep farmer, last year while running away from her wedding, I knew it was meant to be. I liked Carter, even if he didn’t care much for me.

  But Olivia would never cheat on Carter. Or was I wrong?

  “We have an open relationship with these things.”

 
My mouth fell open. She was sounding more like me. Did the mountain air mess with her brain?

  I reached over the red, chipped diner table and grasped my sister’s arm. She wore an ill-fitted navy sweater, and I fought the urge to pick off the pills that had formed.

  “Is something wrong in sheep paradise? Why would you lust after . . .” I turned, and my eyes swept over the guy’s body, “some middle-aged guy with a beer gut and a trucker hat that says Pretty is as Pretty does?”

  She tore her hazel eyes off the guy in question and pushed her blond bangs aside.

  Bangs, another change that had me worried.

  “What? No, not the guy. What’s on his plate.”

  That’s when I noticed the bacon. Lots of it. It was a mountain of bacon.

  “Don’t you get enough of that stuff? I would have thought you figured out a way to inject it into your veins by now.”

  Her bottom lip wobbled. Something was wrong with Olivia. That wasn’t like her—overly emotional and staring at bacon as if she contemplated putting it into a blender and creating a bacon milkshake.

  My sister was sweet, at times naïve, but she wasn’t the type to cry at any moment.

  “Olivia, is everything okay? Does, uh,” I looked around and leaned closer, “is Carter cheating on you with the . . . um, sheep? You can tell me.”

  She yanked her arm back and snorted. “No. Why does everyone think sheep farmers have sex with their sheep?”

  I shrugged. “Because it’s funny and disturbing and that’s mostly what people think about on average. I heard a podcast about weird things that pop into people’s heads. You’d be surprised how often animal sex popped up.”

  She covered her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, like you’ve never thought about it before.”

  “No, I mean, I might actually be sick.”

  She got up and ran toward the back of Fire and Ice Diner. I came up to Maine to visit my sister this morning. She was happy to see me and took the morning off at the veterinarian’s office where she worked and decided to take me out to eat.

  I was happy to see my sister, but the real reason I was here was for business. As I lifted the cup of hot caffeinated goodness to my lips, they curled at what awaited my taste buds.