Jill Shalvis - Then Came You

He pulled into the driveway just as the sun was setting behind the Bitterroot mountains. There was nothing like fall in the mountains. A brilliant cornucopia of colors in every hue flashed beneath the last of the sun’s rays. He parked his truck and noted that there were no fire trucks. A bonus—the house was still standing—Well, somewhat. All good signs, he figured.

Zoe opened the door as he hit the top step. “’Bout time,” she said.

“Fire?” he asked.

“There was no fire. I just was getting tired of waiting on you.”

He glared at her, but she was unaffected. It was hard to intimidate someone who’d seen him wear a Superman cape to bed until he was eight.

“Dammit,” she said. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” If fine was half a minute from falling asleep on his feet.

She narrowed her eyes and studied him, her fingers clutching a pad of paper that he knew held the dreaded “to-do” list.

The list had to be tackled, was being tackled, one item at a time. Nightly. By the person least done in by their life that day. He and Zoe had a little who-was-busier competition going. She was a pilot at the small, local airport, and worked long hours. Wyatt worked long hours. So usually, it was a toss-up.

“How was your day?” she asked casually. Too casually.

But this wasn’t his first rodeo. He knew how to stay on the bull. “Delivered two baby sheep, expressed anal glands, cast a leg, cut the nuts off a sheperd,” he said. “You?”

“Crop dusted, and dropped the mayor at Yellowstone for an interview.”

They stared at each other, waiting to see who would crack first.

“Jesus,” came a disgusted voice from the couch. “Whose penis is bigger?”

Zoe hugged the list to her chest. “Mine is.”

Wyatt snatched the list from her for pride’s sake, for his entire male race.

Darcy, prone on the couch, cackled.

Wyatt pushed his way in and stood in the center of the living room, hands on hips as he studied his baby sister, still recovering from her accident nine months earlier, and the five surgeries she’d required in the time since. “Thought we agreed, you’re using your powers for good these days,” he said.

“But evil is so much more fun.”

Emily was hanging upside down from the pull-up bar across the foyer doorjamb when her sister walked in the front door, stifling a little scream.

“Jesus,” Sara said, hand to her chest. “You look like a vampire.”

“Vampires don’t sleep in the open daylight,” Emily said. “How do you use this thing every night? I’ve only managed one stomach crunch.”

“That’s because your idea of exercise is reading in bed until your arms hurt from holding up your Kindle,” Sara said.

Unfortunately true. She righted herself and jumped down. “But I want a stomach as flat as yours.”

“Then you need to do more than hang upside down,” Sara said. “Burn some calories.”

“Calories,” Emily said on a sigh. “The evil tiny creatures that live in my closet and sew my clothes a little tighter every night.”

Sara laughed and pulled off her sweatshirt, shedding a layer of sawdust as she did.

“Hey,” Emily said. “Did you hear anything funny when you drove up?”

“Like the sounds of my sister vampire snacking on the mailman?”

“Ha-ha,” Emily said. “No, I mean I keep hearing some odd howling. I don’t know if it’s a dog or coyotes—”

Sara dropped her sweatshirt to the couch. She wore cargo shorts, heavy-duty work boots, and a men’s wife-beater tank that showed off her tats. Her short, spiky hair was still dusted in sawdust—as was most of the rest of her. She’d come to Idaho with Emily as a show of support, the both of them putting on a show of being psyched for the wild, wild west that they’d imagined Idaho to be.

Emily was still missing Los Angeles.

Sara, not so much. She’d recently had her heart run over—and backed up on and run over again. She was open to the idea of staying if it turned out that Sunshine, Idaho had a place for a rock chick, broken-hearted lesbian who’d collected degrees like some women collected shoes and yet chose to be a carpenter instead of using any of those degrees.

Sara kicked off her badass boots and more sawdust flew everywhere, drifting slowly to the floor of their rental house.

“Meow.” This came from Q-Tip, the ancient fuzzy gray cat who’d come with the rental. She’d appeared out of the shadows on move-in day, looking deceptively sweet—until she’d bitten both Sara and Emily within the first half hour for having the audacity to try to pet her.

No one wanted to claim the old cat, and the landlord had suggested they take her to the shelter. Sara, who wasn’t crazy about cats, and bleeding from the bite, had been on board.

But Emily had looked into Q-Tip’s eyes and known the truth. Q-Tip was old, grumpy, and set in her ways. No way was anyone going to adopt her, which left only an incomprehensible future ahead of her.

Emily had refused to do it, and so they now owned a cat. Correction, they were now owned by a cat.

Sara, a forgiving soul, reached down now to pet Q-Tip hello. The cat accepted this like it was her due . . . for about three seconds. Then she bit Sara’s hand—not too hard, more like a warning—and then, head high, the feline moved a few feet off and began to clean herself.

“Queen to peasant,” Sara said, shaking off the bite as she looked at Emily. “We feed her again why?”

“Because when we don’t, she yells at us.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Sara said. “So . . . how was your first day on the job?”

“Terrific,” Emily said.

“Really?”

“No. Guess who my supervisor is?”

“Uh . . . a werewolf?” Sara asked. “A zombie?”

“Wyatt.”

Sara blinked, looking confused. “Who?”

“My one-night stand.”

Sara stared at her then thrust both hands high in the air. “Score!” she yelled.

Q-Tip jumped about a foot, glared at Sara, and stalked off down the hall.

“No,” Emily said to her sister. “Not score. How’d you like it if your one-night stand was suddenly your supervisor?”

“My supervisor is a six foot three, three hundred and fifty pound, hairy, chunky, twice married, serial hetero male,” Sara said.

“You know what I mean.”

Sara moved to the kitchen, pulled open the fridge, and stared at the contents.

Q-Tip came running in, belly swinging to and fro. She could hear food coming from five miles away.

“Chicken or spaghetti?” Sara asked Emily. “And what did you do when you saw him?”

“Spaghetti,” Emily said. “And I made a fool of myself.” She paused and mentally groaned. “I accused him of stalking me.”

Sara gave a bark of laughter, grabbed salad makings, set them on the counter, and then went to the sink to wash her hands. She was an amazing cook, which was a good thing because Emily could burn water.

“And how did he take this turn of events?” Sara asked.

“He thinks it’s funny.”

“It is.”

“No, it’s not.” Emily sighed.

“You gonna sleep with him again?”

“No!” Emily said. “And would you focus on the real problem here? I now have to work with someone I got naked with.”

“So?”

“So, it’s unprofessional!”

Sara out and out laughed at this. “Only if you accuse him of stalking you again.”

Emily opened her mouth, but realized Sara was grinning. And it had been a long time since her sister had been happy. Since she’d dumped her model girlfriend Rayna in fact. Six long months. There’d been times Emily had despaired of ever seeing Sara happy again. “Well I guess it’s nice to see you smiling, even if it’s at my expense.”

Sara shrugged. “Like you always say, life sucks and then you move on.”

Did she say that? Had she really taught her sister that? “No,” she said slowly. “Life doesn’t suck.”

“Uh-huh,” Sara said. “Let me see your calendar.”

Emily strode to her purse and pulled out her phone. “Here. Why?”

Sara accessed The Plan.

“Hey,” Emily said. “That’s just for me—”

“Right here.” Sara had gone back to the day Emily had found out where her internship was going to be. All that was typed in the square was “life sucks.”

“Okay,” Emily said. “But that was a really bad day. Sara, life doesn’t suck.”

“Then why does today’s page say: three hundred sixty-four days left until—”

Emily made a grab for the phone, but Sara was quicker. And taller. Sara held it out of reach. “—until I’m back in L.A.,” she continued reading, “at a great job and can reconnect with John.” She frowned. “John?”

“John Number Two.” She didn’t talk about John Number One, the cheating, lying, rat-fink bastard. At Sara’s blank look, she added, “My college study partner.”

“Yeah, but that was for what, two minutes?”

“A whole semester,” Emily said defensively. John had taken her out for pizza in exchange for help in their psych class. He’d been handsome and smart, and he’d seemed genuinely interested in her. Plus he’d always paid for her meals, a huge bonus since she’d been on a budget so tight anything other than ramen had been a treat.

After he’d gone to law school and she’d gone to vet school, they’d lost contact. But it could still happen.

Maybe.

Okay it was highly unlikely, even she knew that she used the abstract idea of getting together with John as a way to give herself security, and something to look forward to on her plan.

After a very complicated, not to mention emotionally draining, last few years, she wasn’t up for the complication.