So Wright (The Wrights 1)

“You don’t know anything about my track record.”

“I know you shouldered the responsibility of raising Dylan and me when you were just a kid yourself,” Gypsy said. “I know you did a better job of it than our mother ever did. I know you stuck by her even when she didn’t deserve it, even when she hurt you and held you back. I also know you were the youngest woman ever to get her welding certificate in the state of Tennessee, you’ve consistently been offered more work than you can take on, and all it takes is one look around this place to see your skill and artistic talent.”

Miranda was shocked Gypsy knew so much about her. Humbled by her sister’s acknowledgment of Miranda’s struggles. She looked down at the ground and ran her boot across the gravel. “Marty talks too much.”

“The point is, I know you sacrificed, Miranda. I may not have been able to see it then, but I see it now. You have the depth of character it takes to create a successful business.”

Marty’s earlier words echoed in Miranda’s head. “You can take twenty years and do this yourself, or you can accept help and be living your dream in two.” But Miranda knew the worst mistake she could make right now was taking money from the wrong person.

She let out a slow breath and forced the tension from her shoulders. “I appreciate the offer, but the answer is no. Thank you.”

Gypsy gave her one of those of-course-you-won’t smiles. “Let me know if you change your mind. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to help.” Gypsy pushed to her feet and passed Miranda on the steps. “Why don’t you shower and relax awhile? Elaina and I will start dinner.”

Gravel crunched under Gypsy’s sandals, and Miranda rolled her eyes at what she was about to say.

“There really isn’t room for you here,” she told Gypsy. Her sister looked over her shoulder. “But I’ll be busy working, so you can sleep on my couch. For a few days.”

Her smile was genuine this time. “Thank you.”

Miranda watched her sister stroll across the common area, set up with picnic benches, colorful triangular awnings stretched between decorative iron posts, and an industrial-size smoker and barbeque Miranda had made from scrap metal. Open, shaded, and spacious, this was where Marty liked to hold cookouts and celebrations with his friends and fellow veterans.

She pictured Gypsy milling among the group. Her sister would probably fit in well. But Miranda doubted Gypsy would be around long enough to prove her theory correct. Once Gypsy had fulfilled whatever self-imposed “visit” she seemed to need with Miranda, she would move on. Maybe to Switzerland. Or maybe wherever Dylan, the roving freelance war correspondent, called home.

Miranda pushed off the truck and climbed the stairs to her deck, where she picked up the basket of folded laundry and brought it inside.

One step in and Miranda halted. Gypsy had definitely been busy today. The trailer was small, maybe eight hundred square feet, but perfect for one person. Miranda had been upgrading the single wide little by little—new windows, doors, siding, and flooring. Added stone fascia two feet from the ground on all four sides and put a big deck on the front, facing the picnic area. She’d replaced the cabinets and sinks, upgraded the countertops. Then she’d played with scrap material and welded shelves and awnings and furniture.

But she sucked at keeping it clean. She never put things away, dropped her clothes wherever, and she utterly loathed cleaning the bathroom and kitchen. Now, the open space containing the living room, dining room, and kitchen was clean and organized. Every surface clear, every appliance sparkling. Through the open door to her bedroom, she saw the bed was made, the pillows fluffed.

“Goddammit,” she muttered, setting her laundry basket down on the sofa. Now she felt like a shit for being so cold to her.

Vowing to keep an open mind, Miranda stripped and stood beneath the hot shower stream. Tension had been coiling in her neck and shoulders since she spotted her sister two days ago, and the heat spilling over her body felt good. Her thoughts instantly drifted back to the shower she’d taken at the hotel and the smokin’-hot man she’d shared it with.

She couldn’t quite believe that had been three days ago. It felt a lot like a dream, and her body burned for a repeat performance. Miranda had an insane urge to show up at Jack’s hotel room to see if he was up for another night together. It might get her away from her sister and occupy her mind, but the aftermath… Miranda had made a concerted effort to avoid loss for years. She didn’t want or need to turn back that clock. But would one more night really be a big deal?

She sighed, opened her eyes, and reluctantly turned off the water. She reached for the towel hanging over the door. Miranda couldn’t ever remember her shower being this clean. The fiberglass walls and textured floor were bright white, the chrome fixtures shiny.

She dried her body and rubbed at her hair. She found Gypsy’s helpful gestures awkward. Cleaning Miranda’s trailer, doing her laundry, cooking dinner—she didn’t quite know what to do with it all. She couldn’t help but think the thoughtfulness came with strings. Like Gypsy was buttering her up for a big blow or cornering Miranda into something.

By the time she had brushed her hair and dressed, the delicious scent of spicy barbeque drifted through the trailer. Despite the growl of her stomach, Miranda had the nearly irresistible urge to call in to the bar to see if she could sub for someone. She really didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever problems and expectations Gypsy had brought with her. But as soon as the thought sank in, fatigue followed, reminding Miranda that if she didn’t slow down and get some good sleep, the stre

ss would catch up with her.

She pulled on her boots, ran her hands through her hair, and looked at herself in the mirror. “Suck it up.”

Miranda slid her phone into her back pocket and exited her trailer. Marty, Elaina, and Gypsy were sitting in the picnic area, lounging in brightly colored Adirondack chairs, each with a drink in their hand while the barbeque sent smoke signals into the cool evening air. A picnic table was set for four with Elaina’s cobalt-blue plastic dinnerware. And by the scents filling the air, Miranda guessed tri-tip and corn were grilling. Her stomach seemed to fold in on itself with hunger.

Miranda approached the group. Marty and Gypsy were talking about the bar.

Elaina smiled at Miranda. “There you are.” She patted the arm of the chair next to her. “Sit, sweetheart. You’ve got to be tired. Marty, will you get Miranda a drink?”

Marty rose and wandered to the iron-framed cutting block Miranda had made to match the barbeque and picked up a pitcher of iced tea. “That feels like a big learning curve,” he was saying to Gypsy. “I’m barely holding it together as it is. I never imagined adding live music and using quality liquor would make as big a difference as it has. Social media isn’t this old man’s game.”

“But it’s how ninety percent of your clientele communicate,” Gypsy insisted. “There’s really nothing to it. You may have to put some effort into creating your presence and gaining followers, but once that’s established, you can automate everything so that it will only take you a few hours a week. Giveaways and announcements are really fun for your customers. I’ve implemented it in a couple dozen different ways, and I’m telling you, they really love it. They’re going out for a good time. The more fun you can create, the more friends they’ll bring, the longer they’ll stay, and the more they’ll drink.”

Marty didn’t look convinced as he came toward Miranda with sweet iced tea laced with fresh mint. “What do you think, Miranda?”

She took the drink. “I think I’m useless on the topic. I know even less about social media than Marty does.”