Crazy Ever After

Chapter One

“Sorry to interrupt, Samara, but Travis Murray is on the phone, and he needs to speak to you urgently.”

Samara Hayden paused, holding up the remote control for her PowerPoint presentation on second quarter sales figures, gaping at her assistant Jennifer standing in the door of the conference room. The only thing that would have stunned Samara more was if an earthquake had started shaking the office building in which she stood. Her arm slowly lowered to her side.

“Travis Murray?” she repeated.

Just saying his name sent a rush of remembered heat through her body. She blinked at Jennifer.

“Yes.” After a short pause, Jennifer repeated, “He says it’s urgent.”

“Oh-oh,” said someone at the long conference table in a teasing tone of voice. “It’s the big boss. Maybe you’re in trouble, Sam.”

She forced a smile.

“Nah, probably a big promotion,” Barry said, also joking. “Better go talk to him, Sam.”

“I’m so sorry for the interruption.” She set down the remote control. “I’ll be right back. I guess when the VP of Wholesale and Retail Operations calls, I answer.” None of the others knew of her relationship with Travis. Her heart raced and her hands trembled, but she flashed an apologetic smile as she exited the meeting room, leaving the district managers and supervisors of Cedar Mill Coffee Company sitting around the long table. “Please excuse me.”

Outside in the hall, Jennifer said, “Do you want to take it in your office?”

Samara swallowed. “Sure. Thanks, Jenn.” She strode down the carpeted hall as fast as she could in her narrow skirt and high-heeled pumps, her mind racing with a million thoughts and questions. Travis? Travis was calling her? Why on earth...?

Technically, he was her boss, heading up the wholesale and retail operations office in Los Angeles, but several layers of management separated them, and in the two years since she’d been in a management position at Cedar Mill Coffee, he’d never had occasion to call her. Why would he? What was this about? It wasn’t likely to be a promotion, as Barry had joked, nor could she be in any kind of trouble. Her forehead tightened as she closed the office door behind her.

She stood behind her desk and paused with her hand on the receiver, gazing out the large window of her office where the Transamerica Pyramid thrust its sharp white tower into the cloudless blue sky above the San Francisco skyline. Her hand hovered over the telephone, as if she was afraid it was going to electrocute her if she touched it. Then she drew in a deep breath and picked up the receiver. “Samara Hayden,” she said crisply.

“Samara.” Travis’s deep voice, still so familiar after all these years, made her knees go weak. She sank into her leather chair.

“Hello, Travis.”

“Hi.” A short pause followed. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting. Your assistant told me you were doing your quarterly update meeting.”

“Yes.” Why are you calling me? She wanted to shout the words into the phone. With a shaky hand, she pushed her hair off her face.

“I have some bad news for you, I’m afraid,” Travis continued, his voice going even deeper. “It’s about your father.”

Samara frowned. “Dad? What is it?”

“He...he was in...Matagalpa.” Travis’s hesitancy was unusual for him. He’d always been so confident, so sure of himself. “On business.”

“Matagalpa? Really?” Her frown deepened. “We haven’t done business there for quite some time, I thought.”

“That’s true. But he was there talking to some growers. Apparently last night he’d been at a fiesta, and on the way back to his hotel, he had an...accident.” Another pause. Samara’s skin went icy, and she straightened in her chair. “His vehicle crashed and caught fire and burned with him in it. He’s...he’s dead, Samara.”

Samara’s office began to slowly spin around her. She rubbed her forehead. “That can’t be true. There must be some mistake.”

“No. God, I’m sorry, no. I spoke to the Matagalpan authorities myself. I...had the same reaction―it must be a mistake. But apparently not. They contacted your mother this morning, and she called me. Then I called them.”

Samara’s stomach contracted painfully. Her mother had called him. Of course she had. Who else would her mother contact? Samara didn’t even need to ask why her mother hadn’t called her.

“I still don’t believe it,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence built. Again, her mind raced with thought fragments and questions, confusion swirling inside her.

“I...I...” Good Godfrey, could it be true? Her dad...dead?

“You okay?” His voice went even huskier with concern. “Are you alone, Sam?”

“Y-yes. I’m in my office.”

“Samara. I’m leaving for Portland in a few hours. You need to come home too.”

Home.

She hadn’t been home for seven years.

And the man talking to her on the phone was the reason.

She pressed a hand to her stomach. Her father was dead... How could that be? It was ridiculous! Agony stabbed through her to her core, and she briefly closed her eyes again.

She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t. But she had to.

She swallowed through a dry, tight throat and tried to speak. “Yes,” she finally said. “I’ll...make arrangements.”

“Let me know your flight,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“No!” The word burst from her lips before she could stop it, and she fought for control. “No, that’s not necessary. I don’t know....when I’ll get there.”

She gazed around her office helplessly. What...? How..? Oh Godfrey.

“Samara, are you sure you’re okay? What can I do? Let me talk to your assistant.”

“No. That’s okay. I’m fine.” She blinked. “I’ll...I’ll be fine.”

“Sam.” His voice softened again. “I’m so sorry.”

His words sunk in. Travis and her father had been friends and business partners for many years. This had to be hitting him hard too. Her throat closed up even more. “I’m sorry too,” she choked out. “Travis...are you okay?” She shouldn’t ask the question, shouldn’t even care about the man who’d hurt her so deeply, but...she did. Hell.

She heard his soft exhalation. His image appeared in her mind— the shaggy mop of dark blond hair, deep blue eyes, and tanned face with strong cheekbones and chin— as clearly as if she’d seen him yesterday and not seven years ago. The breath she drew in quivered.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Still in shock. This is...”

“I know,” she whispered. “Oh Travis. What will we do?” The words sounded wrong, as if she meant the two of them. Yes, they, along with her mother, would personally feel her father’s loss. But she’d meant, what would the company do? The death of the popular, charismatic CEO of Cedar Mill Coffee would devastate the entire organization.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice strong and reassuring. She nodded. “Take my cell number, Sam, and call me or text me if you need anything at all.”

She picked up a pen and wrote down the number even though she knew there was no way in hell she would ever call him about anything. Except possibly business.

“I’ll see you back in Portland,” he said as they hung up.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks and sucked in another shaky breath. She’d see Travis.

Oh my damn.

This was a family crisis, and she needed to put aside all that old hurt and humiliation and deal with this like the adult she now was.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes, and more pain swept through her in a shocking wave at the thought of her father being gone. Despite her efforts to blink them back, tears slid down her cheeks. She grabbed a tissue and swiped them away before rising to find Jennifer.

Jennifer looked up from her computer with a smile at the sound of Samara’s door opening, but her smile quickly faded. “What’s wrong?” she immediately asked.

Samara leaned against the small counter in front of Jenn’s desk. “My father...he had an accident on a business trip. He’s...dead.”

“Oh my god!” Jenn rose to her feet, covering her mouth with her hands. “Parker? Oh my god!”

Samara straightened her shoulders with another deep breath. Not only was this a family crisis, it was a business crisis, and she had staff that she had to consider too. Staff and clients and other stakeholders in the business. “I’m afraid so,” she continued quietly. “I can hardly believe it myself. I have to go back to Portland right away.”

“Of course. Of course. What can I do?”

“Book me a flight,” Samara replied. “The soonest you can get me on. I’ll need to finish a few things here and then head home to pack.”

Jennifer was already clicking with her mouse, going on-line to book the flight. Then she paused, rose from her chair and circled around from behind the counter, arms outstretched. She enfolded Samara into a big hug. “I’m so sorry, Sam. He’s our CEO...but he’s your father.”

More emotion welled up inside Samara at Jennifer’s sympathy, and she hugged her assistant back. “This is awful,” she whispered. “So awful.”

They pulled back, and Jenn’s eyes gleamed with tears too. “We’ll all do whatever we can,” she said, voice shaky. “Barry can take that meeting you have scheduled tomorrow. I’ll reschedule your other meetings. I’ll finish up the reports, and I’ll get Jason to check them over. You’re so on top of things it will be easy to cover for you for a few days. Just tell me...whatever you need. We’re here for you.”

Samara could have burst into tears at that, at what a loyal and caring staff she had working for her. Normally she hated having to accept help from anyone, but she was so agitated by this turn of events she just nodded, lips pressed tightly together in an attempt to smile. “Thank you, Jenn.” Rumors would fly about what was happening. She needed to communicate with her team before she left, make sure things were looked after... She focused on business, pushing her disbelief and grief to the back of her mind as she prepared to―at long last―go home.

If she’d ever imagined going home again, she’d always thought her father would be there to ease the way. But now he was gone. And she was going to see Travis again.

The minute Samara pulled her rental car into the driveway of the house she used to call home, she had to fight the urge to keep going right around the circular driveway, back onto the street and all the way back to San Francisco.

She sat there gripping the steering wheel, her stomach in knots. During the nearly two-hour flight to Portland she’d felt okay, but now she was there, sitting in the driveway, her hands started to shake.

She looked out the window at the Tudor-style house she hadn’t seen for seven years, still elegant, immense, impressive. Three cars lined the curved stone driveway, all of them expensive. Bright petunias, verbena and ivy cascaded out of massive terra cotta planters, bright splashes of red and purple and green in the afternoon sunshine.

She closed her eyes, her heart aching at the thought that she’d never see her father again. It still didn’t seem like it could be true.

She opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. No tears. Not now.

She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and straightened her spine. She could do this. She blew out a breath that lifted the long bangs slanting across her forehead and tightened her fingers momentarily on the steering wheel. Then she climbed out of her car, slung her slouchy leather bag over her shoulder and started toward the front entrance of the house.

A wave of nostalgia swept over her as she climbed the steps. Her life in this house had been full of love and laughter and joy. That had all come slamming to a halt pretty damn quick, throwing her into adulthood overnight, ending her romantic teenage dreams, and sending her out into the world alone. She inhaled, straightened her shoulders and pushed down on the gleaming brass lever of the door.

In the cool foyer, the sound of muted voices drifted down the hall. The alarm chimed when she closed the door behind her. She waited, but nobody appeared, so she started down the hall. The tap tap of her heels on the dark wood floor surrounded her, and as she drew closer to the den, the voices grew only a little louder. With each step, the cramping tightness in her stomach grew worse, and memories flooded back of that last time she’d walked into the house through the front door and taken these same steps down the hall toward the den.

She’d been out with friends and had arrived home in the middle of the afternoon, surprised to see Travis’s car in the driveway at that time of day. With her heart banging in her chest, she’d entered the house, an unreasonable, crazy hope spiraling up inside her that he was there to see her...

Unsure where he was, she’d poked her head into the den, much as she was about to do now, and had seen Travis and her mother sitting on the couch, their heads bent close together. Travis’s arm rested along the back of the couch around Mom’s shoulders. Samara had paused, hand on her throat, their murmured words reaching her ears.

“How on earth did he find out?” Mom had asked Travis.

“I had to tell him,” Travis said. “I’m sorry, Dayna. I had to. I never meant for this to cause problems for your marriage.”

Mom had nodded, head bent. “It’s not all your fault,” she said, her voice thick. “I didn’t handle things very well when he confronted me.”

Travis’s low groan had made Samara’s eyes widen. He sounded so agonized. “He wants me to move to L.A.,” he’d told her mom. “He says we can’t work together anymore.”

“Oh, Travis.” Mom had looked up at him with wet eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to go. But maybe that’s better...for everyone.” She’d leaned in as Travis’s arm pulled her closer.

Samara couldn’t watch anymore. With a buzzing in her ears, her legs stiff, she’d slipped unseen down the hall and had climbed the stairs to her bedroom. There she’d sat on her bed for a long time, thinking about what she’d seen and heard, fighting the nausea rising up inside her. Remembering the argument she’d heard her parents having in their bedroom the night before, and putting it all together, her already bruised heart splintering into sharp shards.

Those old feelings returned along with the memories, and Samara now paused in the hall with a hand pressed to her rolling stomach. She closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath and then stepped up to the French doors of the den.

Her mom sat on the chocolate leather sofa across the room, the sunlight streaming in the big mullioned windows lighting up her auburn hair, the exact color of Samara’s own but worn in a shorter flippy style. Samara studied her mom’s face. She’d hardly aged at all in the last seven years, although maybe she was a bit thinner. What Samara really noticed was the heartache on her mother’s face, her pale, her eyes and nose pink, and her eyebrows pulled down in sadness.

Seeing her mom after all this time, seeing her looking so sad, tugged at something deep inside Samara, something soft that she didn’t want to feel. She’d been so hurt by what her mom had done all those years ago she did not want to feel sorry for her. Her throat tightened, and she drew in a shaky breath.

Beside her mom sat Alec Duffy, the Chief Financial Officer of Cedar Mill Coffee. Alec’s tanned handsome face wore grooves from his nose to the corners of his mouth and a furrow between his brows. His hair might be little grayer than the last time she’d seen him, but he was still an attractive man in his early fifties. Another man Samara didn’t recognize sat on a chair to his right, his face just as somber.

Then Samara’s gaze moved to the fourth person in the room. Travis. Her breath caught in her throat like a fishbone. He was here.

Her heart started thudding painfully against her ribs and she pressed a hand there, still standing unnoticed as the four in the room talked. Travis sat in a chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. Seven years ago he’d looked like a tanned surfer dude with shaggy blond hair. Those deep blue eyes hadn’t changed, and though still tanned and athletic, he wore his blond hair shorter now and brushed back from his face. His wide shoulders seemed even broader in the fitted white dress shirt, the sleeves turned back on his strong forearms. Seven years had passed, but he was still intensely male, strong and sexy.

As she watched, he reached out and took one of her mother’s hands in his.

Pain sliced through Samara, right through her core, so fierce her knees weakened. She gripped the door frame to steady herself and drew in another fortifying breath, cursing inwardly. She closed her eyes. He should not affect her like this, seven years later. Should. Not.

Then her mother looked up and saw her. Mom’s eyes widened, her mouth curved into a smile that even Samara had to admit was beautiful, and she jumped to her feet, oblivious to the hand that held hers. Her eyes glowed with surprise and joy, and Samara’s throat constricted again. She swallowed painfully.

“Samara!”

“Hi, Mom.”

Her mother flew across the plush Oriental rug toward her then stopped right in front of her, her expression suddenly uncertain. “Oh, Samara. You came.”

Her mother’s emerald-green eyes devoured her, the glowing love and pride and relief in her gaze filling Samara with confusion and unexpected guilt. Then her mother took her in her arms for a hug. Samara leaned in stiffly, let her mother press her cheek to her hair and embrace her. She rested one hand on her mother’s shoulder, the bones there narrow and fragile, and felt a sudden urge to sink into her mom’s embrace, bury her face in her shoulder and sob like a little girl.