United by the Twins
Author
Jill Kemerer
Reads
17,5K
Chapters
16
Chapter One
After fifteen years, his mother’s dream of expanding her bakery was about to come true. The stately brick building on the corner was finally available.
Marc Young inhaled the cold air, common for early April in Jewel River, Wyoming, and shoved his hands into his coat pockets as the door to Annie’s Bakery clanged behind him. His mother, Anne Young, had opened the small shop when he was sixteen, not long after his dad had left them. If it hadn’t been for her hard work and sacrifice, Marc wouldn’t know where he and his sister, Brooke, would be today. He certainly wouldn’t be the proud owner of the now-thriving ranch they’d almost lost.
His mom’s patience was about to pay off. Over the years, she’d described her vision for the bakery countless times, always insisting the corner building was the only one that would do. Two months ago, Gus Prater had retired, leaving the former jewelry store empty.
It wouldn’t be sitting empty much longer.
He turned toward his truck as a movement across the street caught his eye. A woman dug through a large purse on her raised knee near the corner building’s entrance. The brick exterior boasted two huge picture windows to display Mom’s donuts, cookies and freshly baked breads, and the ornate door had a transom window to let in light.
Marc couldn’t place the woman. Her stylish outfit stuck out in their small town. Maybe she was the leasing agent Gus had mentioned when Marc had paid him a visit a few weeks ago about purchasing the building.
He’d been surprised to learn Gus didn’t own the place. The man had kindly given him the contact information of the property manager, but she hadn’t known much beyond the fact MDW Management held the deed. Marc’s research showed that the late Dewey Winston had started the company, but no one seemed to know who’d taken it over after his wife’s death last year. It was strange not knowing who made the decisions for the company.
Maybe this woman would have the answers he was looking for—mainly, how could his mother buy or lease the place? The last thing he wanted was for someone else to swoop in and steal it out from under her.
Marc looked both ways, then loped across Center Street, the main drag of downtown Jewel River. After a hop onto the sidewalk, he slowed his pace.
“Excuse me,” he said as he approached the woman, still digging in that pit of a purse.
She straightened quickly, tossing a glance over her shoulder. Her face arrested him. Big light brown eyes—so light they were almost gold—widened under sculpted eyebrows. Her straight nose was sprinkled with pale freckles, and her lips were a raspberry tint he couldn’t decide was natural or the result of gloss. Brown hair rippled down her back, and she was wearing a tailored dark gray wool winter coat with a cream-colored scarf carefully wound and tucked inside the neck. Slim-fitting black pants and tall boots completed the look.
Not from around here and dressed up? The leasing agent. She had to be.
“Hi there. I’m Marc. Marc Young.” He circled to stand in front of her, forcing a welcoming smile as he nodded to her purse, still resting on her lifted knee. “Can I help you with that?”
She blew an errant lock of hair away from her face. “My purse? No, thanks. I’ve got it.”
Her voice was melodic, smooth. As pretty as her delicate features.
“Are you here about the building?” he asked. He stretched his neck to peek inside the window closest to him, but without the lights on, there wasn’t much to see.
“How did you know?” She lifted out a set of keys and hauled the purse straps onto her shoulder before giving him her full attention.
“Gus Prater mentioned you’d be coming by.”
“Gus Prater?” She edged toward the door, gripping the keys. Was he making her uncomfortable? Didn’t want her under the impression he was coming on too strong. He stepped back to give her more space. That should set her at ease. She hitched her chin. “The name isn’t ringing a bell.”
“Gus. The man who owned the jewelry shop for twenty years. This building.”
“Oh, right.” She stared at him and didn’t move. Seemed to be waiting for him to continue on his way so she could unlock the door. Wasn’t happening. This woman had no idea how important this building was to his mother. And why would she? They’d never met.
“My mom’s been waiting years to open her bakery here.” His palms were getting sweaty. What was his problem? He wasn’t the nervous type. “So whether you’re putting it up for sale or for lease, I want to be first in line. In fact, we could work out the terms now. Or anytime, really.”
The woman gave her head a slight shake as her cheeks grew flushed. “I’m not putting it up for lease or selling it.”
He rocked back on his heels. Then why was she there?
“You’re not?” He tried to figure out what was going on but came up short. “You’re the leasing agent, right?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m Reagan Mayer. I own this building.”
She owned the building? How was that possible? She seemed too young. He scrambled to regroup.
“Nice to meet you, Reagan,” he said so quickly he might as well not have said it at all. “When you’re ready to sell—or rent it out—give me or my mother a call. I can write down the contact information for you or text you my number if that’s easier.”
She tightened her hold on the purse and inched backward. “I don’t think you understand.”
“What?”
“I’m not selling or leasing this place. I’m starting my own business here.”
Starting her own business? The words didn’t compute. Had she recently purchased it? How had she gotten the jump on him?
Why hadn’t he known it was for sale?
“But you can’t.” He puffed out his chest as he firmed his stance.
“Why not?” Her head tilted in genuine curiosity.
“Because it’s my mom’s,” he sputtered, kicking himself for being unable to form a cohesive argument.
“The deed’s in my name.”
“The deed is owned by MDW Management.” He clenched his teeth, his molars grinding together. What was he missing? He felt blindsided and helpless and...upset. Really upset.
“I’m the sole owner of MDW Management.”
“You?” He drew his eyebrows together. This woman—Reagan—couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old. Twenty-six, tops. He gave her another glance. Okay, maybe twenty-seven. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight. Not that it’s any of your business. How old are you?” Her offended tone alerted him he was crossing lines he shouldn’t be crossing. Get yourself under control. You’ve mastered the art of it over the years.
“Thirty-two.”
“What did you say you did again?” She narrowed her eyes.
“I own Young Ranch, about twenty minutes east of town. I’m also a member of Jewel River’s planning and zoning commission. My mother, Anne Young, owns Annie’s Bakery, across the street.” He pivoted to point to the narrow building wedged between an insurance company and a dental office. Just seeing her tiny storefront gnawed at his heart.
His mom deserved this building. She’d risen before dawn for years and years to run the bakery, and she’d always clung to her dreams of expanding it right here, in the corner brick building.
This pretty outsider wasn’t going to take it from her.
“What will it take to convince you to sell?” He crossed his arms over his chest. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were the wrong ones to say.
“I’m not selling.” Her lips drew into an offended line, and he expected to see sparks of fire in her eyes, but all he saw was resignation and a hint of vulnerability. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He wanted to stand there and argue and convince her. But what would be the point?
He wouldn’t let Mom’s dreams be snuffed out. Not after all they’d been through. Not after all they were still going through. He’d find a way to get the building for her. He wasn’t letting this get snatched away from her, too.
If only she wasn’t such an unorganized mess, she would have easily found the key, unlocked the building and slipped inside before that unfortunate confrontation with Marc Young, the man she’d instantly dubbed Hot Cowboy.
Reagan Mayer waited until Marc was across the street before turning to unlock the door. She fumbled with the key, then unlocked it with a click, pushed open the gorgeous wooden door and went inside. She dead-bolted it behind her just in case anyone got ideas about coming in. And by anyone, she meant Hot Cowboy.
Her heart was still pounding over the encounter.
She’d taken one look at him and her mouth had gone as dry as the bread she’d popped into the toaster and forgotten about earlier. The man was tall—she guessed around six feet three inches—muscular and dressed like a typical rancher in jeans, cowboy boots, a Carhartt jacket and a simple Stetson on his head. His hooded brown eyes, straight nose, thin eyebrows and chiseled jaw all added up to gorgeous.
But then he’d gone and opened his mouth. She could handle a simple misunderstanding—clearly, he felt entitled to this building due to his mother—but his dismissive attitude? No. She couldn’t handle that. And asking her age as if she were a twelve-year-old with no clue what she was doing? So condescending.
If only she’d had a snappy comeback. Her sister, Erica, would have had one; she always did. After getting divorced two years ago, Erica had moved to Jewel River to live with their great-aunt Martha on Winston Ranch. Then Martha had died, and Erica had inherited the ranch, while Reagan had inherited MDW Management, founded by her great-uncle Dewey. Her brothers had inherited Martha’s investments. The company’s assets comprised three commercial buildings, including this one, a hefty bank account and a small house four blocks away that had been sitting empty for more than a year.
With the help of her large family, Reagan had moved into the house on Saturday. Hard to believe she’d slept in it two nights already. It needed some TLC, but the two-bedroom home within walking distance to this beautiful building was perfect for her.
Let’s see what I’ve got to work with. She inhaled deeply—it smelled dusty, old, with a hint of mildew—then flipped the light switches on. A sense of wonder filled her heart.
This was it.
Her chocolate shop would no longer be an idea she was chasing—it would be reality. Her reality.
Reagan brought her fists just under her chin, savoring the burst of delight rushing through her. She needed this. Needed a new creative venture. Needed to see if she could make it on her own away from her loving, and overbearing, family.
After spending her entire adult life working alongside her mother as they’d built a hugely successful online candle business—Mayer Canyon Candles—Reagan was ready to do things her way. And who knew? Maybe Jewel River would cough up the perfect guy for her in the process.
She wanted to get married and have her own family. But only with a man who accepted her and didn’t try to change her mind when she decided to act on intuition rather than logic. Her parents affectionately called her a dreamer, and she supposed she was. An optimist, too.
The downside was that she’d spent her entire life avoiding conflict and ended up doing things everyone else’s way. Not anymore.
Reagan set her purse on the counter and slowly ambled around the store, trailing her fingers along the dusty glass cases where the jewelry had been displayed. Then she studied the walls filled with shelves as she made her way to the back, where two offices, a bathroom, a break room and a storage space were located. A hallway led to the rear parking lot.
She returned to the main showroom and started picturing all of the chocolates she’d learned to make in Denver over the past six months as she’d apprenticed under a gourmet chocolatier.
Creating things—coming up with unique combinations—came naturally to her. It hadn’t been much of an adjustment to switch from the precision required to make candles to the precision required to make chocolates. And now she could make her own special candies. Yes, a new creative challenge was exactly what she needed.
But first she had to get the business set up, along with all the paperwork, phone calls, permits and everything else necessary to remodel this building. It gave her a headache just thinking about it.
Maybe she should have asked Erica to join her today. Her sister was analytical and determined. She’d been the business end of Mayer Canyon Candles for several years. Plus, she used to run one of her ex-husband’s dealerships and was in the process of creating an event center—the Winston—on her ranch. Erica was good at getting things done.
However, the whole point of Reagan coming to Jewel River was to make her own decisions. Find her own path. No more falling in with everyone else’s ideas of what she should do and how she should do it.
Reagan rooted around in her purse until she found a notebook and pen. Then she leaned against one of the glass cases and began to sketch the space, leaving out the current displays and adding ones she’d need. As ideas came, she flipped to the next sheet to write them down inside random circles. She’d figure out how the ideas connected later.
Tapping the pen against her chin, she wondered how much of this she could keep. The maroon carpet was worn and faded. It had to go. A nice hardwood or vinyl-plank floor would work well in here.
She could picture the pretty navy boxes she’d picked out for the chocolates stacked on the shelves. Her sister-in-law Holly—a marketing genius—had been emailing her designs for logos. Reagan had narrowed it down to three, all with her company name: R. Mayer Chocolates.
Hugging herself tightly, she did a twirl. Then she stood still for a while to soak in the place.
She’d discussed her plan with her mom and two sisters-in-law. The three of them were now the heart of Mayer Canyon Candles. They’d all agreed Reagan’s chocolates would be the perfect companion product to feature with the candles. They were adding a tab for R. Mayer Chocolates on the company’s website to link directly to Reagan’s online store once she was ready to open and had her website set up. This would allow her to sell the chocolates exclusively online until she had a feel for how much interest there was in them. Later, she’d bring on employees and open this store to the public.
A knock on one of the windows made her jump. Please don’t let it be Hot Cowboy.
At the sight of Erica’s face, Reagan let out a happy squeal and ran over to the door. She unlocked it and let her sister and Erica’s three-year-old son, Rowan, inside.
“We thought we’d pop over and see how Auntie Reagan’s doing, right, Rowan?” Erica waited for Rowan to hug her before coming in for her own embrace. “So, this is it, huh?”
Reagan nodded, her stomach starting to clench with nerves. This was where her outspoken sister would tell her exactly where everything should go and how she should do things. And if Reagan contradicted her, Erica would give her a skeptical look, the one she’d inherited from their mother. Then Reagan would second-guess herself and eventually do it Erica’s way because maybe she was right. In her heart, though, she knew her way made more sense. Maybe not to anyone else, but it did to her.
“I love it! Look at these windows.” Erica’s eyes sparkled as she gravitated to one of the picture windows.
Reagan joined her. “It’s going to be fun changing the displays seasonally.”
“This place has so much character.” Erica looked around in awe. Rowan was busy sprinting from one wall to the other in the open space behind them. “It’s big. Way bigger than it appeared when the jewelry store was still in here.”
Reagan slowly circled to take in the space. Now that Erica mentioned it, it was big.
Could it be too big?
Nah. Once she had the counters and sinks installed along the back wall, along with all the chocolate-making equipment and the racks, the space would feel just right.
“Slow down before you trip and fall,” Erica called over her shoulder to Rowan.
“But I’m fast, Mama!” He continued running at top speed. “See?”
“I know you’re fast. You’ll probably run sprints in high school, but not in here.” Erica turned back to her and rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait for the weather to break. Keeping him cooped up indoors all day is wearing on my nerves and Gemma’s. She never complains, though, unlike me.”
“How is Gemma?” Erica’s middle-aged housekeeper/babysitter was a sweet woman. Very private, Gemma rarely left Winston Ranch.
“Great. Johnny Abbot finally got up the nerve to come out and visit her last weekend. I’ve never seen her so flustered. I told her they could have tea in my house if she didn’t want him in her cabin, but shockingly, she declined. I know she was nervous because she made three kinds of cookies, apple bread and a sour cream coffee cake.”
“Who is Johnny again?” She couldn’t remember if Erica had already mentioned him. Her sister had shared so many stories about the various residents of Jewel River, and especially the members of the Jewel River Legacy Club, that Reagan had a hard time keeping them straight.
“The nicest man, Reag. He’s sixty-five—older than Gemma, but not by much—and he’s kind of shy but not as shy as she is. They went to school together back in the day, and I think he’s got a crush on her.”
“That is so sweet.” Reagan loved the thought of someday reconnecting with an old classmate who had a crush on her. Except none of her old classmates had ever had crushes on her, and her dating life back home had been nonexistent. At least in Denver she’d gone on dates with three men. They hadn’t been the right guys for her, and that was okay.
The right guy was out there. Mom insisted he was. Of course, she also insisted that Reagan should settle down with a nice cowboy, and that hadn’t happened. Still...a girl could hope.
Erica rubbed her hands together. “So, what’s the plan with this place? What are you going to do first?”
Tempted to press the heels of her hands into her temples, Reagan forced herself to keep a cheerful demeanor. The looming tasks were daunting, yes, but she would figure it all out. Maybe.
“I’m not sure. Now that I’m here, I’ll start getting a plan together.”
“You’ll need permits. Henry Zane is the building inspector. Nice guy. Oh, and did you file the paperwork to register the name of the chocolate shop yet? Once you get that done, you can get your Employer Identification Number and your online banking system figured out.”
“Stop.” She thrust her arms out. “I have plenty of time. I’m not going to rush. I haven’t even unpacked my house, and this is the first time I’ve set foot in here.”
“I’m not rushing.” Erica flicked her fingernail against her thumb. “I’m simply excited for you. And I want to make sure every i is dotted and t is crossed.”
“I know, and I appreciate your enthusiasm. But this isn’t Mayer Canyon Candles. I’m older now. I’m capable of figuring it all out.” At least, she hoped she was. One huge blessing from all of this was that she was financially secure. The buildings and bank account she’d inherited, along with her stake in the candle company, would pay her bills indefinitely. She could take her time learning how to get this business launched.
Erica gave her a look that screamed if you say so as she shrugged. “I’m glad you nixed the idea of using the other two buildings for your shop. They would not do at all.”
She agreed with her sister there. One of the buildings was currently leased to a thriving convenience store, and the other, while empty, was more suitable for industrial work, not a retail shop.
“Well, if you can’t get a hold of Henry—Angela’s been keeping him busy—and you need help navigating the permits, call Marc Young. He’s a member of the legacy club and on the planning commission. He can help you out.”
Reagan was reasonably sure she grimaced at the sound of his name.
“What was that look for?” Erica asked.
“I met Marc. Right before I came inside.”
“He’s pretty cute, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Yeah.” She left it at that.
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. I know you better than that.”
She might as well give her the short version. Her sister would only pester her until she did anyhow.
“He seems to think his mom is opening a bakery here.”
“Here? As in this building?” Erica cringed and peeked over at Rowan. He’d taken a toy car out of his pocket and was running it on the shelves as he made vroom, vroom sounds. “I didn’t realize... I mean...it’s well-known that Anne wants to expand her bakery. She’s been waiting for the right space to open up. I didn’t realize this was the space she had in mind.”
“Do you think it’s going to be a problem?” Reagan nibbled on her fingernail as visions of angry townsfolk boycotting her chocolates came to mind. She’d spent her entire life in a small town. She knew how they worked. Loyal to a fault, the residents would rally around Anne. Leaving Reagan—the newcomer—the loser.
“I hope not. She’ll be disappointed, but she’ll understand.” Erica’s gaze shifted toward the window. “But Marc? I don’t know. He’s like Jet. Protective of his mother and his sister, Brooke. And the past year has been awful for Brooke. Her husband died in an accident overseas—Ross was in the air force—and six months later she gave birth to identical twin daughters. That was back in January, so she has her hands full.”
“Oh, no, that’s terrible.” Reagan’s heart hurt for the poor woman. Losing her husband while pregnant? And having twin babies to raise on her own? “Does she live around here, too?”
“Yeah, Brooke moved back to Marc’s ranch after Ross died. And once the twins arrived, Anne moved out there, too—temporarily—to help out with them. Anne has her own house here in town.”
“It sounds like the entire family has their hands full.” She bit the corner of her lower lip. “I feel bad about his mom and sister, I really do, but this building is mine. I said goodbye to everything I know—besides you—to move here.”
“Exactly.” Erica put her arm around Reagan’s shoulders. “And once this town tastes your chocolates, all will be forgotten and forgiven, although there’s nothing to forgive. Why don’t you come to the legacy club meeting tomorrow night? You can meet the members. They’ll love you. Have I told you how happy I am you moved here?”
“Only a thousand times. I’m glad I’m here, too.” She hugged Erica again. Her big sister always had her back. “Now, enough about me. How is the pole barn renovation coming along? Will the Winston be ready in time for the wedding?”
“Oh, it will be ready.” Her eyes got the scary fire in them that meant she was on a mission. Erica and Dalton’s upcoming wedding reception would be the grand opening of the Winston. “Dalton has to be tired of my never-ending to-do list. But the pole barn—you wouldn’t even recognize it. It’s been transformed. There are special rooms for the bridal party, a stage for a band or DJ, a state-of-the-art sound system... You name it. I’ve got it.”
“I can’t wait to come out and see it.”
“I can’t, either. That reminds me—your maid-of-honor dress is a slightly different style than we originally planned. I’ll show you later. If you hate it, we’ll go a different route.”
“I’ll love it.” She would, too, no matter what it looked like. She wanted Erica to be happy with a man she deserved, and Dalton was that guy.
After catching up for several more minutes, the three of them went back outside. Reagan blew Rowan kisses as he waved to her on the way to Erica’s truck, and then she ducked her chin into her scarf and strode down the sidewalk toward her house.
She hoped Marc Young and his mother didn’t cause problems. The chocolate shop was all she’d dreamed of for months, and Reagan wasn’t settling for anything less. She’d done things other people’s way her entire life. No one—not even a hot cowboy—could make her compromise this time.
