Loving Amber: Book 1 Riverstone Series - standalone (Riverstone Estate Series) Read online

  Paul was sitting in the back behind Ken. Every now and then, I turned my head to chat with him and listen to his unwelcome advice about my upcoming wedding day and marriage.

  “And… make sure, Aiden… make sure you fuck your wife at least once a week,” he went on. “Anything less and she’ll go look elsewhere, buddy. Keep your marriage well-oiled.”

  As I listened to his little speech, I winced. I wondered how many times a week he and Amber fucked. I didn’t like the thought of them fucking or making love or even kissing. He must have not been following his own advice, I told myself, because Amber had definitely been distracted. But that was mostly my fault. I was the one who had tempted her, and I regretted it wholeheartedly.

  Truth is I couldn’t really look Paul in the eye that night because of what had happened with Amber a few days before—the whole thing had messed me up pretty good.

  I smirked. “I’ll be sure to fuck Melissa nice and good every week, sir.”

  And those were the last words uttered just before Ken ran a red light and we got T-boned by a furniture store transport truck.

  I got thrashed about and banged up pretty good, but somehow I managed to come out of it with a minor head injury, some broken bones, and a shattered leg. I remember being frozen, paralyzed—my body had gone into shock from the impact. When I came to, tangled and helpless, a lone man came to my aid. Then shattering pain consumed me, every breath seeming out of reach. There was blood everywhere. Slipping in and out of consciousness as the paramedics worked on me, I wondered about Paul and Ken, but I couldn’t utter a single word to ask if they were okay.

  Over two years of recovery and physical therapy, and I’m still left with a small limp. But I was lucky—I had been sitting on the right side of the car.

  Paul and Ken had pretty much died on impact, I was told.

  Needless to say, the wedding never happened. And Melissa, who had been pretty, sweet, and fun, wasn’t so fun once I was stuck in a hospital bed. Sure, she came to see me at first, but then a week passed, then two weeks. She didn’t want a cripple for a husband. That suited me just fine because I didn’t want a selfish bitch for a wife.

  My parents and my sister stood by my side. And my old buddy Flynn. Lucky him, he’d had a bad case of strep throat the night of my bachelor party. If he hadn’t been sick, he might have been in the car with us. He came to see me every week. He held no grudges. I’d always ask him about Amber, about how she was holding up.

  I could always tell by his expression that she wasn’t doing so well. God, how I wanted to see her. I could only imagine how excruciating their loss had to have been for her. She had not only lost a husband, her child’s father, but she had also lost her twin brother—her “other half,” as she always called him. To lose both of her halves… she must have felt hollow. I wanted to see her and help her, ease the pain. I also felt tremendous guilt because I had been there. I could have changed the course of events, but I’d done absolutely nothing. I desperately wanted to tell her how sorry I was.

  Flynn would apologize on her behalf. “Amber’s just going through a lot right now. I’m sure she’ll come and see you when she has the time.”

  She never did. I knew she wouldn’t. I knew she hated me. But I still thought about her every day. Every minute of every day. I thought about her and Trevor. How hard it must have been for the little guy. I knew he was too young to really understand. It was hard on me too, losing my best friend and business partner. I’d sob late at night into my pillow, trying to muffle my cries, but I’m sure the night nurse always heard them.

  Now I hardly ever think about Melissa. But not a day goes by that I don’t think about Amber and Trevor. I don’t cry anymore. But sometimes late at night, God, I want to. That’s usually when I reach for a bottle of scotch.

  I love to watch the horses grazing in the distance as I wait for Trevor’s school bus. He travels the same route I did as a child. I feel a bit sorry for him. Thirty minutes on a bus is a long time for a six-year-old, but he has his books and his iPod Touch to keep him occupied. And he just adores school.

  As his bus approaches, I spot his big gap-toothed smile through one of the small windows, and my heart swells. He’s not allowed to get up until the bus has come to a full stop, and he doesn’t. He’s a good boy, my Trevor. He’s a goody-goody like me.

  The scene is like a short film playing on an eternal loop, and it’s my favourite part of the day. The sight of him as he gets off the bus, a giant schoolbag slung over his shoulder, never ceases to thrill me. He throws himself at me and gives me a big bear hug. I tousle his crazy red hair and kiss the top of his head. His hair is so soft and always smells so good. I grab his schoolbag, and as we set out along the long winding drive to our house, he tells me stories, riddles, and asks me silly questions.

  “If you had to choose, Mommy, what would you choose: to be locked in a box full of wasps or one full of spiders?”

  I smile at him. “Um…” I mull over his question for a beat. “It depends… are these spiders venomous?”

  He cocks a brow. “What?”

  “Are they poisonous like black widows?”

  “No, they’re like regular house spiders.”

  I smile. “Well, in that case, I’d have to choose the spiders.” As I answer, I’m brought back to when I was a kid. I was always the one who’d venture into the shed to retrieve whatever it was we kids needed—the boys were a bunch of wimps.

  The trees are in full leaves, and the sun is shining. This house of ours, this estate, is truly magnificent. Because of its Victorian design, it’s always reminded me of a dollhouse, one of the expensive ones in specialty stores. And it’s even more beautiful this time of year. The veranda, a series of stone arches covered with ivy, is surrounded by stunning bushes, hydrangeas and lilacs. My mother was the one who oversaw the landscaping years ago, and we haven’t changed it since we took over. As a child, I never fully appreciated our home, but as a grown woman and a mother, I can finally see its beauty.

  “Third time’s a charm.” Not so much. That was what I thought when my father died six months ago. A heart attack at the age of fifty-nine. Three times… and I’m done. First, my mother died of breast cancer a few months before my wedding, just when a woman needs her mother the most. Seven years later, a tragic accident took not only one but two loves of my life. And now my father has left us too.

  But I still have something big to live for—my little ginger-haired boy. Because of him, I can’t swallow a bottle of pills or lock myself in the garage with the car running or jump off a cliff. Because of him, I don’t even dare entertain the thought.

  Because my sweet boy needs his mother.

  I’ve come to Riverstone to ride again, to take the edge off. The horses always calm me. Ever since the accident, I’m not exactly the man I used to be. I can’t run like I used to—riding is relaxing and low-impact.

  I think about her the whole time. Maybe it’s because she’s so near. I picture her baking banana muffins, her hair up in a loose bun, a lone tendril falling over her shoulder. Little Trevor pulls at her apron, begging for a taste. They’re both smiling, which makes me smile too.

  It’s been another long week, but long is good. Long means busy, and busy means a lot of fucking money. Busy also means not thinking too much. My guys and I are working on the old mansion across from Riverstone Estate—the one that always spooked us as kids.

  I always smile at the memories surrounding the Kimble house. Ages ago, I dared Flynn to sneak into the basement with me. I told him I’d pay him ten dollars, which was a lot of coin back then. The window was easy to break into. Flynn was quivering like a mouse the whole time. The basement was dark and spooky and full of old junk and spider webs. I used to get those kids to do all kinds of crazy shit.

  The house dates back to 1896 or so. It was in major disrepair when we started, and the new owner wants it renovated from top to bottom. The guy seems kind of weird and quiet, but he’s loaded—a bestselling author. He ha
s this parrot he talks to. I pretty much do what he asks and cash in his cheques. My crew has to deal with him most of the time, and he can be particular and demanding. “The customer is always right,” I remind them.

  These past two years have been tough without my partner by my side. Being the only one in charge, the one who has to make all the decisions, is hard. It’s stressful as hell. I occasionally drink a little too much to drown my worries. I don’t really have my shit together, and I’ll be the first to admit it.

  Riding calms me though, so I’m back at the Riverstone estate. I kiss the top of Hershey’s head as I tie his leash to the old red maple by the barn. He’s gotten a lot bigger since I got him as a puppy from the rescue shelter. They said he was a chocolate lab, but I suspect he’s a mixed breed, a mutt. I loved him as soon as I laid eyes on him.

  “You’re just fine here,” I tell him. “Nice and shady.” I pour water in a bowl I’ve brought along.

  He lets out a heartbreaking wail, and I smile at him.

  “That’s not going to work.” I laugh, stroking his ear just where he likes it. “Are you jealous again?”

  He lets out another wail, almost as if saying, “Yes, I’m jealous. You love Liberty more than me.”

  “I just need to let off a little steam. Don’t be jealous. I won’t be long.”

  I find Flynn tacking up a horse, and he shoots me a huge grin. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hey, Flynn. Not much. How about you guys?” He knows I’m asking about all of them. Him and Amber and Ruby. When I heard they’d decided to keep the estate going after their father’s death, I thought they were all crazy as bats. Somehow they seem to be handling everything okay though. The truth is they amaze me.

  “Busy season just started,” he tells me as he grabs the horse’s leg and scrapes at his hoof. “The guests will be coming in droves, and we’ve had three weddings already.”

  “So who’s in charge of the weddings? Amber?”

  “Oh, no, we have Patricia and David for that. Amber’s in charge of the inn—makes sure everything runs smoothly, makes the food and entertains the guests. She loves it. But she does always seem to stick her nose in at the weddings,” he adds with a grin.

  “It must keep her busy.” I smile. I’m thrilled to know she’s happy. It seems I talk about Amber with Flynn every chance I get. Since she hates me and won’t see me, he’s the only chance I have to be close to her, to hear about her and Trevor’s life.

  “Well, Ruby just moved back in. Broke up with her boyfriend. I’ll spare you the details.”

  I give him a hand with the saddle. Rocket is always jittery; he likes to thrash around a bit. “That’s too bad.”

  “It’s nice to have her back. And she can help Amber.”

  “How’s Trevor?”

  He hands me the girth, and I help him hook it around Rocket’s middle. “He’s great. Happy kid. I try to spend as much time with him as I can, but it’s crazy busy around here these days.”

  I’m glad to hear Trevor’s happy too. Losing a father can really mess up a kid, but Trevor has so much love around him. “Does he ride with you?”

  Flynn shakes his head as he grabs the bridle. “Nope. Amber won’t let him. I don’t know what the holdup is. We all used to ride when we were his age.”

  His words take me back to when we were all kids and always up to no good. Riding was as natural as breathing for the Riverstone kids—they all grew up around horses. I was scared shitless at first. Amber, Flynn, and Ken pushed me into it. They got me started on this really pathetic overweight pony who didn’t like to move very fast, which suited me just fine. They all had a pretty good laugh at my expense though.

  I smile at the memory. “How about Amber? Does she still ride?” Martyrs will be martyrs. The truth is every time I’ve come here this past year or so, I’ve been hoping to run into her.

  I fantasize about her a lot. I picture her scowling at me and running away. Then I always get her to turn around and look at me, and we get to talking and laughing like we used to. Occasionally, late at night, I can’t help letting things go further. In the dark recesses of my dirty mind, there’s always been a spot for her. We find ourselves against that old red maple, my mouth pressed against hers, my hand buried under her shirt, sweeping across her soft skin. And fuck, she smells so damn good, so damn sweet.

  Because as much as I know how wrong it is, ever since that fucking kiss, I just can’t stop thinking about her.

  Flynn shakes his head and gives Rocket a pat on the rump. “Nope. She doesn’t ride either.”

  I decide to drop the subject. There’s no need to torture myself further.

  Saturday, May 18th, 1996

  Dear Diary,

  Oh my God!

  I was on my way to the barn this morning when Aiden nearly crashed into me with his new bike. He likes to come right up behind people and turn his wheel at the last second and scare the shit out of them.

  I caught my breath. “Aiden!”

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Stop doing that to me.” I glared at him while we walked.

  He rolled his bike as he walked next to me. He was holding a schoolbag full of what I assumed were stolen goods and not books. He grinned. “You like it.”

  “What have you got there?”

  “Some CDs. I’ve got a bunch.”

  He opened the bag and let me rummage through it. He did have a great selection. TLC, Nirvana, Brandy, Ace of Base, some AC/DC, Guns ‘n Roses—an oldie but a goodie.

  “Mariah Carey… I already have that one,” I told him. “Bonfire. Awesome. My brother has it, but I’ll take the Boyz II Men.”

  “You like those wusses?” he teased.

  I didn’t care where he got the discs. I don’t need to ask. I know he goes to the music store downtown and gets the five-finger special. He’s really good at it. Everyone has a talent, and this is his. Nothing wrong with that. And also, the stoner who sits at the cash register is always high, so that makes it real easy.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Five bucks. But for you, two dollars each.”

  I smiled. “I still have some money from my birthday at home. I’ll owe you.”

  “You want a ride?”

  “Here… put this back in the bag for now.” I handed him the CDs and hopped on his handlebars.

  Sometimes he likes to rest his chin on my shoulder as we zoom down the curved drive around my house.

  I hopped off when we got to the barn. He got off his bike and followed me. I wasn’t sure why he was sticking around, but I didn’t ask too many questions. For once, we were getting along.

  “Thanks for the CDs,” I told him, not knowing what else to say—he was acting kind of weird.

  “No problem. I like you, Amber. I know that sometimes I act like I don’t… I’m not sure why.”

  I turned to him. I like him too… sort of. “I like you too.”

  And then, he inched closer to me, staring at my lips. It felt strange… but a good kind of strange. I wanted him closer. And then I stepped toward him.

  And that’s when it happened.

  He kissed me. Or I kissed him? I’m not sure. Anyway, we kissed.

  It wasn’t one of those gross sloppy kisses you see on TV, but it was nice, and it made me feel kind of good. I still can’t believe he kissed me.

  He pulled away real fast and said he had to go, practically tripping on his own two feet as he ran from the barn. I stood there, frozen like an idiot.

  My first kiss. I always thought it would be with Paul. I can’t believe it was with Aiden.

  Don’t get me wrong, I still like Paul the best. But I have to admit… that kiss wasn’t horrible. But it felt really strange. I still don’t know if I liked it or not. I think I did. But how can I have liked it when I don’t even like Aiden that much? I’m so confused.

  I’m pretty sure Aiden thinks the kiss was really bad. I ran into him after, just before suppertime, and he couldn’t even look me in the e
ye.

  He probably thinks I’m a horrible kisser.

  I find Ruby cuddled up in her bed with Ginger. She’s stolen my cat. Again!

  The bed bounces a little as I plop my rear next to her. She smiles and puts down her trashy novel. She loves the steamy ones. I, on the other hand, don’t need to go all the way when I read romance. I guess I like to be teased.

  “What is it now: billionaire CEO or alpha biker with a filthy mouth?”

  “No, this one isn’t like that. It’s a sweet story,” she tells me. “I can’t handle the sex scenes right now since I’m not getting laid.”

  That’s Ruby for you. No filter.

  She sits up straighter with a pout. “That part of breaking up sucks.”

  “How have you been, really?” I ask her. “Lack of sex notwithstanding. You can tell me anything, you know.”

  She shoots me a closed-lip smile. “I know,” she says quietly, staring at her book. “I have no right to be depressed. Not next to you anyway.”

  I hate it when they do this. When they pity me. I’m trying to move on as best as I can, but how am I supposed to do that when everyone still looks at me as if I’m a Jenga tower that’s about to crumble? I’m stronger than they think. Yes, I’ve lost so much, but I also still have so much—my sister, my big brother, and my beautiful boy.

  “I’m good. I keep busy. I don’t have time to be sad,” I add then swallow hard. “I don’t have the luxury of being sad. What kind of mother would I be if I just moped around, crying all day?”

  She bites her lip and stares at me with those gorgeous blue eyes of hers. “Well, you can take little time-outs from your busy day to let it all out, you know. I’m here to listen. I honestly don’t know how you do it. If I were you, I would have fallen apart.”