Broken Hero Read online

  "Oh?"

  "There's no ‘oh' to it."

  "Look, nothing against your honor, man, but you wouldn't react that strongly to just anyone."

  I rub my hand over my face. Their words refuse to leave me. Sample her services. "Fuck. I'm going to have to hire her."

  "What?"

  "Sarah wants to create a spa section at the ranch and hire Lucy to offer treatments for the guests."

  Logan bumps my shoulder with his. "And for the owner?"

  I ignore the insinuation as we head back to the parking lot. "It'll be amazing for the promo of the site. If we can get another photographer out here, shoot fancy pictures of massage tables and rolled-up towels…"

  "And she'll be away from shits like Gavin."

  "Exactly."

  Logan clears his throat. "Mandy's good at photography."

  "She is?"

  "Yeah. Or she was, at least. When I knew her."

  I throw my arm around his shoulders, my comrade-in-arms, one of the few people on earth who knows exactly what it is to have family and friends look at you and see a stranger instead. I rub his hair, virtue of the two inches of height I have on him, and ignore the punch he sends to my kidneys.

  "You're going to start working at the Ranch, and you're going to start talking to Mandy."

  He pulls away with a frown, running a hand over his buzz-cut as if I’d mussed it up. "And you're going to get with the massage therapist," he declares.

  I snort. "Don't hold your breath."

  5

  Lucy

  I'm in the bakery the next day too, alone again, as my aunt and uncle take the chance to run some errands. It suits me perfectly—I can turn on the radio and re-introduce myself to Claremont again. Quite a lot of people pass through By the Rhode every day, and surprisingly enough, some of them come by just to say hi. Mrs. Masters stops by, buying banana bread and reminding me again about church on Sunday. I meet a Gavin Whittaker, who I remember from my past summers in Claremont. He seems as insufferable now as he did then.

  Oliver doesn’t swing by for his order—Phil had taken them out on his usual delivery round. I couldn't deny that I was a bit disappointed by that. The famed Mr. Morris was some serious eye-candy.

  The lunch rush is as hectic as it gets in Claremont. Phil's ready-made sandwiches and Claire's quiches sell like hot cakes. I'm heating one up as I'm taking the order for the next, and every time, I say more or less the same thing. Yes, I'm Lucy. Right, I do remember you, how nice to see you again!

  My phone lit up that morning with yet another text from Kyle. I ignored it like I had his many others. They all said the same thing, to be fair. Come back. Let's try again. Forgive me.

  Not going to happen. I walked in on him and one of my best friends, and that was it. Boyfriend and best friend gone in an instant. It didn’t help that I’d lost my job not soon afterwards.

  No one has texted me about a massage yet. I put up flyers all over town yesterday, so at least I got the word out there. Day three of the new me is going fantastic.

  The bakery turns quiet and calm again after lunchtime, the only sound coming from my trusty little radio. I'm packing muffins into little cellophane bags when the bell above the door rings again.

  Big boots, strong legs. A striped button-down and a faint scowling expression. Thick, blond hair that falls down his forehead.

  "Hello."

  Oliver raises an eyebrow. "Hi."

  I make a show of holding the counter hatch shut. "Are you here to argue some more? I'm going to put up a fight this time."

  Almost despite himself, his lip curls. "No, I'm not here for that. Not that you'd win if I was, though."

  "You underestimate me. It might be the last thing you do, you know."

  "I'm shaking."

  "You should be." I bite my lip as we stare at one another. He is the most ruggedly handsome man I’ve ever seen. The rough tan, the thick hair, the tall frame. He’s a man who's seen the world and knows his place in it.

  "I heard you work as a massage therapist."

  It's the last thing I expect him to say.

  "I do, yes. Trained and licensed."

  He rubs his neck. "Have you ever been up to the Morris Ranch?"

  "No.”

  "I'm looking to convert a section of the retreat into a combined gym and spa area. We have a lot of guests coming in from out of state, many looking to go horseback riding and relax. Sometimes we have bachelorette parties or wedding receptions as well. I'd like to hire you to offer massages to our guests."

  It's so unexpected that for a few moments all I do is blink at him. Oliver takes a step forward, hands shoved into his pockets. "I heard that you're looking for clients?"

  "Yes, yes, I'm interested. Absolutely. Very interested."

  "Despite my abominable behavior yesterday?" His mouth twists into a teasing smile, and it changes his face entirely, just like it did the first time I saw him smile. From chiseled and ‘fuck-off and leave me alone,’ he becomes handsome and alive.

  "Despite that. As long as you promise not to barge into my treatment room."

  "I won't."

  "I'd want to combine my work with shifts here at the bakery."

  "Of course. I would like your input in setting up the space, and then you would come out to the ranch to do the individual treatments, depending on when you have time and when the guests make a booking. I can't promise a steady income." He rubs his neck again. "It will depend on the season, and how many guests are interested."

  He’s right. It might come to nothing. But it's a chance to do what I love. It's a chance to combine my work in the bakery with my profession. My mind whispers the third reason, almost inaudibly—it's a chance to get to know Oliver.

  My answer comes quickly. "I can show you my license as well as my diploma. I have experience across fields—I've worked both with spas focused on relaxation and those who focused on sports massages." I take a breath, nerves dancing like butterflies in my stomach. "If you'd like references, I have—"

  He holds up a hand. "No, no, that won't be necessary. I'm sure you'll be great."

  My exhale is one of pure relief. "Thank you."

  "We'd like your input in the creation of the spa as well. When does your shift end today?"

  "At three."

  "Come to the Ranch afterwards. We’ll sign the paperwork and my sister will show you around."

  "Your sister?"

  “She was here yesterday.” His eyes fill with exasperated fondness. "Sarah has a knack for decor. The two of you can decide what the space needs, and I'll get started on the work tomorrow."

  "That sounds… amazing. I'll be there around four, then."

  "Do you know where the Ranch is?"

  "Yes."

  Well, barely, but I'll manage. The idea itself feels ludicrous—insane—that I'll get to set up a spa here in Claremont? I'll get to work with what I love again? If I win the lottery tomorrow, I'll know for sure that I'm dreaming. But if I am, I hope no one wakes me up.

  Oliver heads towards the door. I watch him, still in a daze. Only when he opens it do I find my voice. "I'm better at massaging than I am at baking. I promise."

  He shoots me that look over his shoulder, the challenging one, the one that made my throat dry yesterday. "I wouldn't have hired you if you weren't."

  Then he's gone, and my world has changed yet again.

  Only this time, it's for the better.

  The spring warmth in Claremont has been pleasant. Just warm enough to wear a tank-top, but not yet boiling with heat. But when you're biking along the side of a road, up a hill, under the baking afternoon sun? It’s scorching.

  With sweat running down my back, I pass beneath a beautifully forged iron gate. A sign with the name Morris hangs above, encircled with wrought-iron leaves. Hard to miss, this place.

  The Ranch itself comes into view. I've never been here, not even as a child during the summers spent in Claremont.

  It's beautiful. A tree-lined road lead
s up to a gravel courtyard in front of a huge white farmhouse. Large windows with blue shutters decorate the front. The courtyard is calm, the adjoining parking lot half-full. Pots of flowering hydrangeas flank the stairs up to a wide porch.

  It's idyllic.

  I park my bike next to the sign for reception and head inside.

  The small lobby is as welcoming as the outside, with neutral, warm colors and a wide oak desk. A woman my age sits behind it, her head bent over a paperback.

  I step right up. "Hi there."

  "Oh, hello! I'm sorry that I didn't see you there. How can I help you?"

  "I'm Lucy Rhodes, and I'm here to see Oliver and Sarah Morris?"

  She gives me a wide smile. "Yes, about the spa section, right? The idea is so exciting."

  "It is, isn't it? I’m thrilled."

  "My name is Mandy. I work as the receptionist here." She pats her book. "We're not always super busy."

  "Are you from Claremont?"

  She shakes her head. "No, I'm from a town a few miles over. It's a long story, but… Oh, here he is now."

  We fall silent as Oliver emerges from the back. He's still wearing the button-down and the dark pair of jeans, topped off with a nearly impassive expression. My nerves return as he nods at Mandy and strides towards me.

  "Lucy."

  “Hi.”

  "Glad you could make it. Let’s head out, and I’ll show you the space."

  I fall into step beside him, down the stairs and out into the warm afternoon sun. His steps are long, and I have to move fast to keep up with him.

  "This place is beautiful," I venture. "I can see why it's called a retreat as well as a ranch."

  "It's effective marketing."

  I had spent the afternoon at the bakery on my phone, reading up on the ranch's website in between customers. I have to ask. "So, you offer trail riding? This place actually has stables as well?"

  "Yes, we do. It's one of the major draws for our guests.”

  In the distance, I hear a horse neighing and excitement pulses through me. It's been many years since I went riding, but the small-town girl I once was is itching to be set free. This place is heavenly.

  "It's right up ahead. It's not much, but it has potential." Oliver points to a small, white building at the end of a short gravel trail. It has a red-tiled roof and a winding path leading up to the main entrance. Behind it, trees form a green thicket. I can hear birds chirping.

  "Wow."

  He snorts. "It's probably not what you're used to, but I think it might turn out well. Give us a chance."

  "No, no, this looks perfect. This place is beautiful, Oliver."

  He doesn't respond, just opens the door to the old house. There's a small hallway, which opens up into a wide, open room. Huge windows line the back wall. They let in plenty of light and a gorgeous view of the meadow, with trees in the background. It's perfect.

  "We've used this as a reception hall at times, but it's too far off and too small, really. There are two rooms back here that can be used for whatever you like…" He leads us through the wide space, opening the door to a secondary, smaller room. There's only a couch in it now, the white walls bare.

  "This could be a treatment room," I say. It's easy to picture it—the massage table, the soft lighting I'd put in. Fresh flowers. A low bench with oils and materials. It would be tranquil.

  We head back out into the main room. The view from the windows is truly astonishing—nothing but wilderness and Texas summer.

  "Good. Sarah should be here now." He looks down at his watch and the sleeve of his shirt rides up, revealing a tanned forearm. I force myself to look away. I don't think I've ever known a man before who exudes so much…man. Claire said he was thirty-three, which makes him seven years older than me. He’s nothing like the men my own age.

  I clear my throat. "Your sister? We met the other day, in the bakery, I think."

  "Yes, she mentioned that. This was her idea.”

  “I’ll have to thank her.”

  He nods, looking around at the space. I find it difficult to see any obvious resemblance between the bubbly woman I’d met in the bakery and Oliver, with his quietness and his restless eyes. She felt like his complete opposite.

  “She’s lovely,” I say.

  He snorts again. “Yeah, we’re different that way. Sarah is… stubborn."

  "And you aren't?"

  His gaze meets mine, and one side of his lip curls. "Perhaps I am too, sometimes.”

  We don't say anything for a long moment, eyes still locked.

  "Hello! I'm here!" A woman's voice comes floating from the doorway.

  Oliver breaks eye contact. "You're late."

  "No, I'm not, Ollie, you're early. Hi Lucy! I’m so happy to have you here.”

  I can't help but smile in response to her wide grin. Curls bounce around her face, and she's wearing a bright green dress today. Sarah is a force of nature.

  "I’m happy to be here.”

  She reaches out and gives my arm an enthusiastic squeeze. "Oh, I'm just so excited about this! I think this space has so much potential, don't you? You're going to have to tell us what you need and what you want. I've only been to a spa twice, and I'm sure they were nothing compared to where you've worked. Did Ollie show you the back rooms? Come, let me—"

  Oliver cuts her off. "I've shown her the potential treatment room. I'll let you two brainstorm design ideas in peace. Here." He pulls out a notebook from his back pocket, a pen tucked through the spiral. "Make a list of everything you think is needed and we’ll go through it later. I'll make sure the work starts first thing tomorrow."

  I smile at him. "Thank you. Truly.”

  "Don't thank me yet," he says gruffly. "There's still a lot of work to do before we get this going."

  "Don't be a downer! This is going to be great, you just have to visualize the finished product. Now go." Sarah shoos him out. "We have interior design to discuss."

  As soon as the door shuts behind him, she turns to me with a wide smile. She clasps her hands together. "Tell me honestly. What do you really think of this place?"

  "It's amazing. The room in the back will make for a great treatment room. I have a portable massage table that we can set up, and then change the decor a bit. Is there a bathroom here?"

  "Yes, with a shower, too. You just tell me what you need, and I'll get it. I found some photos online, would you like to see?"

  We spend nearly an hour looking at Sarah's suggestions, and I have to give it to her—she has a real eye for this sort of thing. The list in Oliver's green notebook grows by the minute. Shelves, a huge number of towels, essential oils, an essential oil burner. A changing room needs to be put in place, the bathroom decor updated. A few chairs for the waiting room…

  "There needs to be a no-shoe policy and a shoe rack, right over there." I point at the hallway.

  Sarah laughs. "Right. This is a farmhand-free zone."

  "Oliver mentioned something about a hot tub?"

  "Yes, we want to install one right outside of this wall… maybe over there." She points through the windows to a spot outside, near the thickets. "I'm thinking that guests could book it in advance."

  "It could be part of some sort of spa package… A one-hour deep muscle massage, half-an-hour in the hot tub, a face mask… There are tons of things we can do."

  Sarah grins at me. "I'm so excited! And I'm really happy that you came to Claremont, and that I have your help in this." She leans closer. "Between you and me, Oliver is the numbers guy. I had to convince him that a spa was a good idea, but I know this place has potential."

  "Is that so?"

  “Oh yes. Is there anything else you can think of that we should absolutely have? You're free to think big here. I'm certainly not a numbers girl," she says with a wink.

  "Yes, actually, this large room would make a great yoga studio, or a meditation space. Can you imagine being on your mat here with the sun rising on the meadows through the window? It would be amazing."
/>
  Sarah's eyes widen. "Oh my God. You're right. Yes! We could have yoga classes in the morning when we have big parties of guests, or when we get a group booking for a weekend. Maybe even during wedding season… You don't happen to know some yoga, do you?"

  I smile. "I've practiced yoga for years, actually, and I even took a twelve-week course to become a teacher a couple of years ago. But I haven't taught since then."

  Unexpectedly, Sarah pulls me into a hug. She smells like cinnamon and baby powder, and her hold is strong. "Lucy Rhodes, I don't know why you decided to move to Claremont, but I'm damn happy you did."

  6

  Oliver

  "Just make sure you're here by noon tomorrow."

  "Absolutely, sir. We're sorry again about the delay."

  I clear my throat. "Shit happens. I get it."

  "Until tomorrow, then."

  I hang up and let out a groan. The contractors I work with are great—that's why I keep giving them my business—but they use sub-contractors in turn. Sub-contractors that are okay with subpar work, and shoddy delivery times.

  We're nearly two days behind schedule on the work on the spa. It's not much, but I'd like to have the place up and running before the first wedding reception in June. The spa has already been announced on our website.

  I rise from my desk, and like clockwork, Austin gets up from his sprawl by my feet. He shakes out his fur and stretches.

  "I know how you feel.” My muscles are sore—the familiar ache in my shoulder is back from the recent days of construction work. The fucking thing has never been the same since I got shot, despite all the hours at the physical therapist's office before I delisted. It'll never be the same again, but I know I'm a hell of a lot luckier than many others. I made it back.

  I look out across the courtyard and the rest of the ranch. It's easy to see this place and remember the good times, Mom hanging laundry or Sarah playing fetch with the dogs. Bread rolls fresh from the oven and the sound of laughter. Now, all I hear are farmhands cussing or the house staff’s pleasant chats with guests.