The Damaged Hearts Bargain (Tetherington Hearts #2)

Chapter One

T he day her mother died, Callan Roberts was propping up a bar somewhere in the north of France, hitting on a waitress, thighs throbbing from the heat of the motorcycle that was standing outside. All in all, it was a good day. Less so for her mother, admittedly, but Cal bedded the waitress, so, silver linings and all that.

Perhaps the day would have been slightly less good if Cal had known that her mother had died. But since she didn’t, the fact had no bearing on the rest of her trip.

It was close to three months later when she got the phone call. This time she was propping up a bar from the opposite side in a firmly English pub, watching Syd wipe glasses and contemplating going for a smoke break even though she hadn’t smoked for fifteen years. Sometimes she just liked to go out back and feel the sun on her skin for a few minutes.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and it was an excuse to go outside so she pulled it out. “Gotta take this,” she said.

Syd nodded, intent on polishing the glass she was holding, and Cal slipped out back before she answered.

“Yep?”

“Callan Roberts?”

Was it ever a good sign when someone called you by your full name? Cal had been in enough trouble in her life that she felt an automatic shiver go up her spine. “Depends on who’s asking. ”

There was an exasperated sigh from the other end of the phone and then the man collected himself. “I’m a solicitor.”

“I’m a bartender.”

A second of silence. “Right, um, okay.”

Cal took pity on him. “And I’m Cal. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings.” Papers shuffled. “I’m, er, calling to inform you that a Mrs. Pamela Roberts has unfortunately passed away. Your mother, I believe?”

Cal looked up at the uncharacteristically hot sun and thought about this for a second. She let the information sink in through her skin with the sunlight, felt it begin to percolate inside her, and wondered just how she felt about it.

It didn’t take that long to figure out that she didn’t feel that much different from how she’d felt thirty seconds ago. Just slightly warmer.

“Yes, my mother,” she said. Not that the word meant that much. Not anymore.

The solicitor cleared his throat. “The thing is, Ms. Roberts, we’ve had some trouble in tracking you down. The, uh, deceased’s will lists you as both the executor and sole beneficiary.”

“Huh,” said Cal. Though now that she thought about it, that probably made sense. She was an only child, her father had died when she was five. Her mother hadn’t had anyone else to leave anything to.

“And, well, um, there is the question of what you’d like to do with the property and its contents.”

“Right.”

Again there was that confused silence. “Uh, perhaps I should call back at a more convenient time?”

“No,” Cal said, sniffing and straightening her back. She should go back inside, start cutting lemons, help Syd. “I’ll come down next week. Deal with things then.”

“Right, yes, of course,” said the man. “I’ll, uh, email you the details and such, shall I? ”

Cal gave him her email address and then hung up, sliding her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. She took a second to check on her bike before she went in, polishing a non-existent spot with the sleeve of her shirt. Then, satisfied, she went back into the pub.

“Everything alright?” Syd asked, glasses all arrayed and ready for opening now.

“My mum died,” said Cal, getting out a knife and pulling the basket of lemons closer to her.

“Shit.”

Cal looked up and Syd was staring at her.

“Sorry?” tried Syd.

Cal shrugged. “Don’t be. Haven’t seen her since I was seventeen. We weren’t what you’d call close.”

“Still though,” Syd said, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear in a way that Cal had found sexy this morning but didn’t now. “It’s your mum, isn’t it? It must be… strange.”

Was it strange? If she thought about it, maybe. She’d left home at seventeen and never gone back. She supposed that her mother had always been there, but she’d not spared her many thoughts over the years. Not after what had happened.

She’d thrown herself into her own life. Working bar jobs, traveling when she could, saving up for the bike. Sleeping with bartenders and waitresses, that seemed to be a theme. Speaking of which, Syd was still looking at her somewhat expectantly.

“Um, yeah, I suppose it’s strange,” Cal said.

Syd stepped up to her, put a hand on her arm. “I am sorry.”

She had friendly dark eyes and was as sweet as they came. Not that it made much difference now, or would have even before. There were rules to this. No more than six weeks. Six weeks behind one bar, six weeks in one bed. That was how things went. Cleaner and easier.

Cal turned back to the lemons and started slicing. “So, uh, I’ll be heading out at the end of shift, things to deal with and all of that.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I’ll take you off the schedule. Take as long as you need.” There was the smallest of pauses. “Um, how long do you think that might be?”

Cal leaned on the bar. She was under no illusions about how she looked. A fully butch lesbian, short hair, pot belly and all. She was no super model. And yet… there was always someone who found her interesting enough to spend time with.

She never stopped being grateful for that. Never stopped being thankful that she didn’t have to spend too many nights alone.

She also never made any promises, which made the conversations like the one she was about to have all the more difficult.

“Listen, Syd.”

Syd’s face fell. “I already don’t like where this is going.”

“You know that you’re amazing. I know that you know that,” Cal said. “You’re beautiful and you’ll find someone for real one day and remember all of this with a smile.”

“And… you’re not coming back, are you?”

Cal rolled a lemon on the cutting board, softening it up. “I was only ever the pre-summer help. It doesn’t make sense for you to hold a job for me when I was going to be leaving anyway.”

“You could have stayed,” Syd said. Then she looked like she might be regretting saying that already.

Cal laughed. “See? You know as well as I do that this was just a bit of fun. Well, a lot of fun.” She quirked an eyebrow and Syd blushed satisfyingly. “But life moves on and so do I.”

Syd sighed and came to stand next to her, nudging her aside with a hip so that there was room at the cutting board for both of them. “I suppose so,” she said, grabbing a knife.

“Is that a good suppose or a bad suppose?” Cal asked, eyeing the knife. “Because if you’re going to gut me with that thing you should know that I’ve just mopped all the floors back here.”

“Trying to get on my good side now, are you?” asked Syd, slicing into a lemon. “Do all your break ups end up like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know, sort of… happily, I suppose?” asked Syd, still ch opping away.

“So, you’re happy that I’m leaving?”

She stopped chopping for an instant and looked up. “No, Cal, no, I’m not happy. But… I get it. No strings attached, going where the wind takes you, I wasn’t under any illusions that you were going to stick around for me.”

“I try not to make promises that I can’t keep,” Cal said.

“Yeah, you definitely didn’t do that.” Syd grinned and went back to chopping. “I suppose you’ll want a pay check as well.”

“I’ve done the work,” Cal said. Then she reconsidered. “Mind you, I’m an heiress now, apparently, so maybe I don’t need it.”

“Rich, was she? Your mum?”

“Nah,” said Cal, thinking back to the little house. “Not rich. We did alright though.”

“Not alright enough to be upset that she’s gone.”

“It was three months ago,” Cal said.

“Yes, but you’re just finding out about it today.”

Cal sighed and put her knife down. “It’s… complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” Syd said. She put her knife down too and turned, clutching at Cal’s arm to make her turn as well so that they were face to face. “Cal.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Syd said. “Losing your mum is a big thing. Whether you liked her or not. There’s still going to be a hole where something once was and isn’t anymore.”

Cal said nothing to this. How could Syd understand? She hadn’t been there.

“You deserve more than all this, Cal,” said Syd quietly. “You don’t see yourself as others do. You’re kind and patient. You’re—”

“I’m a drifter who doesn’t like being tied down. I’m a bull dyke that most people think is a man, and I luck out every now and again and find someone nice like you,” Cal said. “And then I promptly leave them.”

Syd shook her head. “You’re kind, patient, generous, and loving, Cal. It’s obvious that you’re running away from something. But at some point you’re going to need something to run to.”

“And you’re suggesting that’s you?”

Syd laughed again. “No, Cal. I’m not that naive. What I’m saying is, once you find that thing, and you will find it, don’t let all of this… attitude, this stereotype you have of yourself, prevent you from seeing that you do deserve a nice life.”

Cal rolled her eyes. “Fine. And, since you’re asking, no, not all my break ups are as weird as this.”

“Shut up and get those lemons sliced. We’ll be here all day,” Syd said.

So Cal went back to doing her job for her last shift, trying very hard not to think about the fact that she was going to have to go backward. That she was going to Tetherington, a place she’d sworn she’d never set foot in again.