To Alaska, With Love. Lori Wilde

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 you. These days, I have plenty of time for thinking.”

      “Well, think about something other than me and my supposed need for true love and a wife, why don’t you?”

      She didn’t answer, only sat there in her chair, watching him for about fifteen seconds that only seemed like an hour and a half. He was just about to jump up, wish her a safe trip to California and get out of there when she said, “I asked you here to offer a little something in the way of motivation, a little something in the interest of helping you get past your fears.”

      He stood and set his empty beer bottle on the drink cart. “You never suffered from a lack of nerve, Ma. I gotta give you that. Look, this...whatever it is you think you’re pulling here is more than I’m up for, you know? You really need to mind your own damn business.”

      His mother didn’t seem a bit bothered by his harsh words. She gave a shrug. “I can that see you’re ready to go.”

      “More than ready.”

      “Just listen to my offer before you leave. Please.”

      “Offer? You’re kidding me. There’s an offer?”

      She draped an arm over the chair arm and crossed her legs the other way. “Yes, there is. I know that you and Paige have been eyeing a certain property on Arrowhead Drive, with a large cinder-block industrial building on it.”

      “What the...? How do you know that?”

      She waved a hand. “It was all really quite innocent.”

      “Innocent,” he repeated. Not a word he would think of in connection with Willow. “Right.”

      She fiddled with her earring again. “I drove by there a few weeks ago and saw the two of you standing outside the gate. And then I recalled how, several months ago, you said something about wanting to expand Bravo Custom Cars. I added two and two. Voilà. Four. Tuesday, I paid a visit to the owner. He had a price. And I have paid it.”

      “You’re not serious.”

      “Oh, but I am. I’ve bought that property.”

      “What for? What possible use can you have for a fifteen-thousand-square-foot cinder-block building and a concrete yard rimmed in chain-link fence?”

      “None, of course.”

      He wanted to pick up his empty beer bottle and hurl it at the garland-bedecked fireplace. “I’m going to leave now, Ma. Happy Thanksgiving and have a nice trip to Palm Springs.” He turned to go back through the formal living room and out the way he’d come in.

      And she said, “The property is yours, free and clear. But only as a wedding present.”

      Keep going, he thought. Don’t give her the satisfaction of taking her seriously. But then he just couldn’t let it go at that. He halted and turned back to her. “Reassure me, Ma. Tell me you didn’t just say that if I get married, you’ll give me the property.”

      “But that is exactly what I said.”

      Unbelievable. “What if you’ve got this all wrong? What if Paige and I have zero interest in that property?”

      “Ah,