sigh. His mother had been born with nothing. Her own mother ran off when she was three weeks old and Willow grew up in a double-wide, just her and her father. Gene Mooney, deceased before Carter was born, had had trouble holding a job and drank too much. It probably wasn’t all that surprising that, over the years, Willow had developed a passion for elegance and gracious living. The way Willow saw it, if a man insisted on drinking beer, he should at least use a glass.
Too bad. Carter took the beer, sat in the chair across from hers and watched as she skillfully whipped up her martini—stirred, not shaken.
Willow took her seat again and raised her glass. “To happiness.”
Happiness? His mother had never struck him as a person who put a lot of store in happiness. She’d wanted Frank Bravo and the good life he provided for her. And she’d fought tooth and nail to get both.
But hey. She was getting older. Maybe she missed the happiness that had never seemed all that important to her while Carter was growing up.
“Happiness it is.” He lifted his bottle in answer to her toast and resisted the urge to come right out and ask her why she’d summoned him here. It wouldn’t kill him to try a little friendly conversation. “So, what’s happening in Palm Springs?”
“The usual. Shopping. Spa time. And the weather is lovely there now.”
“Well. Have a great time.”
“I will, darling.”
Ho-kay. So much for cordial conversation. He took one more stab at it. “We’ll miss you at Clara’s.”
She smiled her cool smile. “Somehow I doubt that.”
Annoyance gnawed at him. His half siblings had made it more than clear that they wanted to forgive and forget. Her decades-long love triangle was seriously old news. “You’re wrong. We will miss you.” He took care to say it gently. “And I think you know that.”
She sipped her drink. “I didn’t ask you here to talk about dinner at Clara’s.”
“Well, all right. What’s going on?”
Willow lounged back in the chair and crossed her legs. “Notice I made a toast to happiness?”
“Yeah, Ma. I heard you.”
“That’s because lately I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness, about what makes a man—or anyone, really—truly happy.” She paused. Just to be nice, Carter made an encouraging sound low in his throat. She said, “Take your brother.”
“Which one?” He had two full brothers, both younger than he was—Garrett, thirty-three, and Quinn, thirty-one. And then there were also Sondra’s sons, Darius and James.
“I’m talking about Quinn,” his mother said. A former martial arts star, Quinn had retired from fighting last year and brought his little daughter, Annabelle, home to Justice Creek. Now he owned a gym and fitness center on Marmot Drive. Just recently, he’d gotten together with gorgeous Chloe Winchester, who’d also grown up in town. “Now that Quinn’s married Chloe, he’s a truly happy man.”
Carter wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. “Can’t argue with that,” he answered cautiously.
“I want that for you, too, darling. I want you to find happiness.”
Okay, now. He definitely didn’t like where this was going. “What are you up to, Ma? Just spit it the hell out.”
“Love, darling. I want you to take a chance on love.”
He really wished he hadn’t asked. “Oh, well, sure. I’ll get right on that.”
“Don’t give me sarcasm. You’re thirty-four years old. When a man reaches your age and he’s never been married, the likelihood that he’ll find someone to be happy with is...” Another sigh. God. He hated her damn sighs. “It’s not looking good for you. You have to know that.”
Carter sat very still in the silk wing chair and reminded himself not to say anything he would later regret. But she pissed him the hell off. She acted as if he didn’t want to get married. He did. Very much.
But somehow the whole romance thing never worked out for him. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. He had. Repeatedly.
There was just something about him, something wrong with him. Because he always attracted the drama queens.
Things would begin well. Lots of fireworks in bed, yes, but otherwise the woman would seem like a reasonable person, someone he could talk to, someone easygoing and fun. Early on, his girlfriends reassured him that they wanted what he wanted, a solid partnership and a balanced life. He always explained up front that he expected an exclusive relationship and he planned someday to get married, but if they were after passionate declarations of undying love, they should find a different guy. The woman would say that was no problem; she completely understood.
But every woman he’d ever dated had eventually told him she loved him. He never said it back. And his silence on the subject never worked for them. The downward spiral would start. There would be heated accusations, generally irrational behavior and a messy breakup at the end. He hated all that.
Truthfully, deep down?
Carter thought the whole love thing was pretty damn stupid. The way he saw it, falling in love was a good way to lose your mind.
His mother said, “I know, darling. I understand. I wasn’t a good mother.”
“Did I say that? I never said that.”
“You don’t have to say it. It’s simply the truth. There were way too many big dramatic scenes. I loved your father to distraction and I wanted him to leave Sondra. Every time I kicked him out, I swore I would never take him back.”
“But you always did.”
“I loved him.” She said it softly, gently. As though it explained everything.
Carter kept his mouth shut. It was stupid to argue about it. To some people, love excused the worst behaviors. All you had to do was call it love and you could get away with anything—steal someone else’s husband, make your children’s lives an endless series of shouting matches and emotional upheavals.
His mother set her empty martini glass on the small inlaid table by her chair. “I want you to take a chance on love. I may be a bad mother, but I do love you. And a mother knows her children. At heart, you’re like Quinn. A family man. I won’t have you ending up alone because of my mistakes.”
She wouldn’t have it? You’d think he was ten, the way she was talking. “Ma, you really need to dial this back. It’s not all about you. I’m a grown man and have been for quite a while now. It’s on me if I can’t make things work with a woman.”
“Not entirely. I know very well that my actions when you were growing up have made you afraid of strong emotions.”
He looked at her sideways. “Have you gone into therapy or something?”
“No. I’ve only been thinking—as I’ve already told
