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The Closer You Come
Gena Showalter
New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter introduces the Original Heartbreakers - three not-quite-reformed bad boys about to meet the women who will bring them to their knees.Just released from prison, Jase Hollister has one goal: stay out of trouble. Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, sounds like the perfect place for him and his two brothers-by-circumstance to settle down and live a nice, simple life. But model citizen isn't exactly this rugged bachelor's default setting - especially when it comes to a certain hot-blooded Southern beauty…Brook Lynn Dillon has always been responsible. Not that it's done her much good. The down-on-her-luck waitress is broke, single and fun-deprived. Until Jase comes along. He is dangerous, sexy and tempting as sin, and the sizzling passion between them is undeniable. But can it melt her resistance? After all, the right kind of trouble might be just what they both need.


New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter introduces the Original Heartbreakers—three not-quite-reformed bad boys about to meet the women who will bring them to their knees
Just released from prison, Jase Hollister has one goal: stay out of trouble. Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, sounds like the perfect place for him and his two brothers-by-circumstance to settle down and live a nice, simple life. But model citizen isn’t exactly this rugged bachelor’s default setting—especially when it comes to a certain hot-blooded Southern beauty…
Brook Lynn Dillon has always been responsible. Not that it’s done her much good. The down-on-her-luck waitress is broke, single and fun-deprived. Until Jase comes along. He is dangerous, sexy and tempting as sin, and the sizzling passion between them is undeniable. But can it melt her resistance? After all, the right kind of trouble might be just what they both need.
Praise for New York Times bestselling author (#ulink_9fb3b672-761b-5099-8993-6f16f477a660)


“Showalter…rocks me every time!”
—Sylvia Day, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Showalter writes fun, sexy characters you fall in love with!”
—Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author
“Sassy, smart characters and an expertly woven, unconventional plot, The Closer You Come showcases Gena Showalter in all her shining talent.”
—Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author
“Showalter makes romance sizzle on every page!”
—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author
“Emotional, heart-tugging, kept me turning the pages!”
—Carly Phillips, New York Times Bestselling Author
“With compelling stories and memorable characters, Gena Showalter never fails to dazzle.”
—Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author
“The Showalter name on a book means guaranteed entertainment.”
—RT Book Reviews
“The versatile Showalter…once again shows that she can blend humor and poignancy while keeping readers entertained from start to finish.”
—Booklist on Catch a Mate
The Closer You Come
Gena Showalter


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Emily Ohanjanians for your invaluable feedback and sheer awesomeness, and to Jill Monroe, Roxanne St. Claire, Lily Everett/Louisa Edwards and Deidre Knight for listening to me, encouraging me and praying for me!
Contents
Cover (#u6e09ef61-3c23-5434-834b-df1567bac204)
Back Cover Text (#u8cf8dea7-95c2-52cc-a88f-793655188c21)
Praise (#ulink_3d71fe73-e0d2-5938-9288-aa276970a483)
Title Page (#u5c8902ad-6b2b-543d-9020-dbfe2561f924)
Dedication (#u9fae68ed-c925-53d7-8311-a83ab8904b49)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_79c78376-f6c7-5a46-9e87-caf640425a27)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_3145a343-baba-502d-8296-4fb377b618fa)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_57ac1d33-eb4c-5e33-996d-81478fc327c5)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_6950e3ac-36a8-541c-b553-96c8a7f42830)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_291cf822-1cb9-5f16-aad6-47e834998815)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_8eb7b5c4-ba33-5110-9b34-6ba249376e37)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
Brook Lynn’s Famous Cheesy Chicken Spaghetti (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_3eb2c021-3844-54d7-8a53-91fb0c27979f)
Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma Population 7,413 7,416 Drive Slow and See Our City, Drive Fast and See Our Jail
BROOK LYNN DILLON was not a fan of mornings. Or afternoons. Or evenings. When a girl reached a certain level of exhaustion, every time of day sucked.
She’d bypassed that certain level, oh, about seven years ago when, at the tender age of eighteen, she’d begun working at Rhinestone Cowgirl. Despite what every tourist passing through town assumed, the RC wasn’t a strip club, thank you very much, but an up-and-coming jewelry store.
Her five-hour shift always kicked off at the butt crack of dawn, or as her mom used to say, before the rooster crows. Afterward she had sixty short minutes for a little R and R—the Reading and Reviewing of any new past-due notices—before working a ten-hour shift at Two Farms, the only “fine dining experience” within a fifty-mile radius. The description came directly from the owner, never mind that his idea of fine dining was using shiitake mushrooms in the beef Stroganoff instead of regular ones.
Today wouldn’t have been so bad if her sister had completed her own shift at Two Farms, but halfway to the finish line, Jessie Kay had taken off without saying goodbye, and Brook Lynn was forced to take over her tables to save both their jobs. At least her sister left a note in her locker.
Don’t stay in tonight. Go out and get drunk. Or, you know, at least pretend to be drunk. Your prudish ways are ruining our good name! XO JK
Brook Lynn had never hustled so hard for less reward. Her back and feet ached, and she wanted to go home and fall into some sort of coma even more than she wanted to win this week’s lottery. Fifteen million and counting!
But here she was. Her best friend, Kenna, had called to tell her Jessie Kay had taken her own advice and gotten trashed, partying hard at the Glass house, acting as if the male attendees were going to die if she didn’t give them a little mouth to mouth.
When Jessie Kay had a few too many “party favors,” she became very...popular. A good-time girl. Brook Lynn, Miss Responsible, had never been a good-timeanything. Too many worries balanced on her shoulders.
Tonight’s worry? Tomorrow’s possible front-page headline of the Strawberry Daily: Former Beauty Queen Turned Slacker Fails to Control Her Whoremones—Again.
Not on my watch!
Brook Lynn stepped out of her car, a one-wheel-in-the-grave beater she’d named Rusty. Like a vacuum, her pores opened up and sucked the stiflingly hot air straight into her body, and not even the sweet, addictive scent of wild strawberries and magnolias made it better. She wiped a sudden sheen of sweat from her brow and marched up the dilapidated porch steps, her gaze sweeping over one of the largest homes in the parish. A hundred-year-old farmhouse in need of brand-new everything. White paint had chipped away, revealing rotten siding. Multiple wood slats had come loose, and the seal on several of the windows had broken, allowing moisture to pool between the panels.
Not altogether beautiful, but the fifty-two-acre spread had come with a greenhouse, a small dairy, two barns, a work shed, vegetable gardens and wild strawberry patches, all surrounded by hand-set stone walls.
Harlow Glass recently lost her family’s sprawling estate, and Lincoln West, a newcomer in town, had snapped it up. He was obviously more tech savvy than manual laborish, considering he’d done no actual work that Brook Lynn could see. Which made sense, she supposed. He’d just moved from Oklahoma City to enjoy good ole country living in Strawberry Valley, and it was common knowledge that big, bad city boys spent the bulk of their time sleeping around, coiffing their hair and posting pictures of food on the internet.
Brook Lynn had interacted with the guy on more than one occasion, and shockingly enough, she’d come to admire his dry wit and puffed-up ego. He loved to brag about his own magnificence, but the hint of humor in his tone always saved him from falling over the edge into obnoxious.
Have you ever seen a body this perfect? No. And you never will, Brook Lynn. The good Lord has an A game, and I’m proof.
For a guy who spent all day behind a computer, he certainly was buff. And because she hadn’t seen a body as perfect as his, she hadn’t been able to rebuke him. But then, she had yet to meet his two roommates. Maybe they were hotter.
Problem was, West’s friends kept to themselves. Not once had she seen them in town. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Jessie Kay, who had a habit of looking for love in all the wrong places. She had not only met the two other newcomers to Strawberry Valley—she’d also already slept with one. Beck...something. Gossip claimed he was a player of players and had totally worked his way through the over-twenty-and-under-forty female population in the city before moving here, looking for fresh lady meat.
The other guy... Jase was his name, she thought. Less was known about him. To her knowledge, he hadn’t hooked up with a Strawberry Valley resident, though there had been a sighting or two and plenty of interest. Older women whispered he was “hunkalicious” while younger girls giggled nervously behind trembling hands.
A cacophony of voices seeped through the cracks around the front door. Brook Lynn wiped the dust from the upper panel of glass and peeked inside...and oh...crap. She hadn’t expected so many guests. At least thirty people congregated in the living room, drinking beer, talking and laughing, and there were indications of others in the hallway and kitchen. Most were in their mid-to-late twenties, so Jessie Kay had gone to school with them—and the rumor mill about her actions this evening had likely already started spinning. These people wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the fight to come, either.
And there would be a sister-versus-sister fight. Jessie Kay always resisted her own rescue.
Brook Lynn reached up and switched her inner ear implants to silent. The devices were a couple of years old but still deemed experimental, used to treat cases of hyperacusis as severe as hers—hearing everyday noises at such a blaring volume, it sometimes felt as if acid had been poured inside her ears. They allowed her to experience a sublime state of deafness whenever she desired. Which she did. Often.
Without bothering to knock, she stepped inside the house. Through a thick haze of cigar smoke, she saw the home’s interior hadn’t had any work done, either, and was in even more desperate need of refurbishment. Wallpaper had yellowed with age and peeled at the corners. The white shag carpet was stained and threadbare in places. In complete contrast, the furniture scattered throughout looked brand-new, flawless.
Finding no sign of Jessie Kay, she moved deeper into the house, reading lips along the way. A skill she’d honed over the years.
“—would never have guessed he was such a citidiot,” the recently divorced Charlene Burns was saying. “But after tonight’s antics?”
Citidiot. She had to be talking about West or one of his friends. They were the only city boys to move here in forever.
“I know!” Tawny Ferguson replied with a nod. “It’s so, so sad.”
“Can we really blame him, though? Smog probably putrefied already damaged brain cells. But Jessie Kay? That girl has no excuse. Trying to steal my Beck before throwing herself at Jase was such a slutty— Oh, hey, Brook Lynn.” Charlene flashed a faux-bright smile and even managed an enthusiastic wave.
Brook Lynn held up her index finger and said, “One.”
Both girls darted away as fast as their feet would carry them.
Over the years, Brook Lynn’s count of three had served her very well. The only warning anyone received before her “viper’s tongue” was unleashed. It was known for drawing blood and leaving internal injuries few could survive, all because she’d flayed Jessie Kay’s ex-boyfriend with a verbal tongue-lashing. Once! But that’s all it had taken. A legend had been born, and that legend had only grown—without any real help from her. Nowadays most folks would rather have their nose and mouth stapled shut—after being waterboarded—than clash with her.
A tap on her shoulder sent her wheeling around. “Kenna,” she exclaimed, happy to see her friend.
The lovely redhead greeted her with a much-needed hug. “I lost track of Jessie Kay, but I guarantee West knows where she is. That boy has his head on a swivel. Come on.”
Brook Lynn followed close behind and wished, not for the first time, that they could just pack up and run away together, leaving the rest of the world behind. But Kenna had a six-year-old daughter to think about. Not to mention a smoking-hot fiancé. And Brook Lynn, well, she had Jessie Kay, who would self-destruct without her.
Well, self-destruct faster.
Kenna led her through an overcrowded game room, where people hovered around a massive, elaborately carved pool table set in the frame of an old car, but no one actually played the game. Probably because a plastic sign hung from an aged chandelier, right over the center of the felt. Touch And Regret.
Another door led to a spacious kitchen. Though the walls were atrocious with an even uglier, darker yellow paper, the appliances were stainless steel and clearly fresh from the factory, the counters a lovely cream-and-rose marble. Someone had done some work in here, and her heart pinged with envy. My dream kitchen in progress.
Kenna stopped and waved her arm toward the sink...where Brook Lynn spotted West. He was in the middle of a conversation with a man she’d never met.
“I’ve got this,” she told her friend.
Kenna cupped her cheeks in an effort to gain her full attention. “You sure?”
“Very. Go back to Dane before he starts hunting for you.” Dane Michaelson, once the most sought-after bachelor in town, was now the reason Kenna breathed.
“I happen to like when he hunts me,” Kenna said, wiggling her brows. “Think Animal Planet goes wild.”
“You make me sick. You know that, right?”
“Don’t be jelly. Your time is coming.” Kenna kissed her forehead before taking off.
Brook Lynn’s time wasn’t even close to coming. She had zero prospects. And with that depressing thought, she focused on her quarry. As usual, the sight of West arrested her, even in profile. Not because she was attracted to him—she wasn’t—but because, on top of that ultrafine body he liked to boast about, he had a face worthy of decorating the most beloved romance-novel cover. With his shaggy dark hair and piercing, soulful eyes, every unattached female in town was ready to throw herself at him—and many already had. But though he was nice, even charming and supersmart, he could have been standing in a full swatch of sunlight, and darkness still would have clung to him.
She did not need another fixer-upper in her life, and there was no question the guy would require work.
According to Kenna, whose fiancé had the inside tract, West allowed himself to date one woman per year, for two months. No more, no less. When the clock zeroed out, he dumped the poor, dear thing for some reason or other that sounded purely made up and never spoke to her again.
How crazy was that?
The guy with West was just as spectacular in appearance, maybe more so. Masculine and muscular, yet almost pretty. His eyes were a perfect honey gold, though his hair couldn’t decide between blond and brown. Not that it mattered. The different colors blended together in beautiful harmony. Even his eyelashes started out black before curling into golden tips.
Brook Lynn read their lips to the best of her ability, considering they weren’t looking directly at her and she didn’t know their speech patterns, picking up snippets of their conversation and filling in the rest.
“It’s only been six months,” Honey-gold said.
“Yes, and I want him to survive the next six,” West said. “This is going to cause problems.”
“Not with me.”
West glared at his friend.
“What? What’d I say that’s so bad?”
“The fact that you don’t know makes it worse.”
West and Dane were working on some kind of project together, which meant Kenna, who was never far from Dane’s side, and Brook Lynn, who spent what little free time she had with her best friend, had interacted with him more than anyone else in town. A few days ago, she’d asked him flat out why a guy who so obviously enjoyed the fast-paced city lifestyle had moved here—other than it being the greatest place on earth, of course. He’d merely turned on the charm, saying, “Why, to make all your dreams come true. You’re welcome.”
And now she had to try to get straight answers out of him. Peachy.
Determined, she walked over and tapped West on the shoulder.
He focused on her, a rebuke clearly poised at the edge of his tongue. When her identity clicked, he switched gears and grinned in welcome. “Well, well. If it isn’t the girl I want by my side if ever zombies attack.”
“When they attack,” she corrected. It was only a matter of time. And yes, she was one of those people. A believer. “Where’s Jessie Kay?”
The two men shared a look before Honey-gold took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Hello, beautiful. I’m Beck, and if you’ll give me thirty minutes of your time, I’ll make you forget your friend and most assuredly your name.”
Ah. The infamous Beck. Number two of the bachelors three. “Jessie Kay is my older sister, so I won’t be forgetting her, I promise you. But if you seriously possess the skill to make me forget my name, I swear I’ll find a way to marry you. Still interested in a hookup?”
Something akin to panic flashed over his features, though he managed to mask it quickly. “Forever with a beauty like you?” he said in the same easy tone. “You’re only whetting my appetite, darling.”
Women fall for that? Really? She focused on West—before she gave in to the temptation to teach Beck a lesson he’d never forget. “Where is she?”
West pushed out a breath. “You sure you want to know?”
She dropped her chin to her chest, her gaze staying on him and narrowing. “This conversation is fixing to start annoying me.”
Beck chuckled. “Fixing to start?”
“Something they love to say here. Just go with it.” West frowned and said to Brook Lynn, “You do realize I’ll be breaking all kinds of bro-code rules if I tell you.”
“Better you break the rules than I break your face.”
“Fair enough.” Looking suddenly and inexplicably irate, he said, “She’s in Jase’s bedroom.”
Jase, their other friend? Jessie Kay had turned her sights from Beck to him? Meaning Charlene Burns hadn’t been blowing smoke. Great! “Where is Jase’s bedroom?”
“Third door on the right,” West said, even pointed.
Beck slugged him in the arm. “Dude. What if they’re still busy?”
Busy? As in exactly what she suspected?
A tightness came over West’s features but he shrugged. “Her corneas will burn, but they’ll heal.”
“Dude,” Beck said again. “There is such a thing as privacy.”
Leaving the pair to their argument, she stalked out of the kitchen and down a hallway. The couples who’d migrated this way were pressed against the walls, making out, so no one noticed her. She came to the correct door and prepared to knock, announcing her presence...only to hesitate. If Jessie Kay was totally tee-rashed, the guy was taking advantage of her, and if Brook Lynn gave him any warning, he would stop whatever crime he was committing and hide the evidence. He needed to be caught red-handed.
Then again, if she walked in and interrupted two consenting adults while they were getting “busy,” her corneas would indeed be burned.
What was more important? Her sister or her eyes?
Okay, then. Decision made.
Brook Lynn turned the knob. Or would have, if it hadn’t held steady. Dang it! Locked out.
Well, too bad for Mr. Hand-in-the-Cookie-Jar. A lock wasn’t actually a problem for her. Brook Lynn’s con man of an uncle had taught her how to pick anything with a tumbler. And hustle at pool. And cheat at poker. He’d actually taken her allowance every time she’d lost during a “practice” session.
She backtracked, avoiding the kitchen, and soon came to an office with a Keep Out sign posted on the door. Please. After confiscating two paper clips from the top drawer of the desk, she returned to the bedroom door. A quick insertion and twist...yes!...and she was able to push her way inside.
The lights were on. A man stood at the far edge of the bed, pulling a black T-shirt over his head and oh...wow...wow. She caught a delectable glimpse of olive skin and a delicious eight pack that could only be made from adamantium. A maze of intriguing tattoos she would have liked to study in-depth decorated much of his chest, but unfortunately the material covered him a second later, hiding the visual feast of sexy.
One thing became very clear very fast. West and his supposed most perfect perfection could suck it. There was a new and even juicier slice of beefcake in town.
Beefcake paused when he noticed her, snaring her with the most intense green eyes she’d ever seen, making her shiver. Why? Those were not bedroom eyes; they were far too cold for that. They were frosty, practically arctic...but they were also an invitation to do whatever proved necessary to warm the guy up.
She watched as those beautiful, sensual eyes narrowed.
Mortified to be caught staring, she cleared her throat. “Are you Jase?”
He gave a clipped nod. “I am.”
Only two words, and yet she had trouble tracking the motion of his lips. They’d thinned with displeasure, his tone probably stilted and stinging.
“Who are you?” His gaze swept over her as he ran a hand through his dark hair. The strands stuck out in spikes. “How’d you get in here?”
Never admit to your crimes. Uncle Kurt’s voice reverberated through her head.
Never follow your uncle’s advice, baby girl. And there was her beloved father, just before he’d died.
Never forget lies are poison. Her cherished mother.
All three, now gone. A pang in her chest.
“Maybe you forgot to lock the door?” she suggested. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t an admission, either.
“Maybe I didn’t.” His lips were thinning again.
She shrugged. “Faulty lock? Who’s to know?”
He arched a brow. “Did you come here hoping to be spanked?”
Her heart rate kicked into overdrive, the organ pounding against her ribs, as if she’d just been shot up with enough adrenaline to revive a dead horse. “No, I didn’t, but you’re certainly welcome to try—if you want to have your balls surgically removed from your throat.” Had threats of bodily harm replaced proper meet-and-greets, and she just hadn’t gotten the memo?
“What do you want?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Was he trying to intimidate her? She studied him more intensely—and got caught up in his appeal. He wasn’t classically handsome, but then, he didn’t need to be. His features were rugged, total male, with a nose slightly out of alignment and a square jaw dusted with inky stubble, leading to a tattooed neck. Two necklaces hung just over his sternum, one an oval, one a cross. He had wide shoulders, leather cuffs anchored around his wrists and silver rings on several fingers.
He wore jeans that weren’t fastened and combat boots that weren’t tied. Clearly he’d dressed in a hurry. And he could be talking to her right now, but deaf as she currently was, she wouldn’t know it. She returned her attention to his mouth. Once again it was a hard slash.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I need you to repeat that.”
He frowned. “Who are you?”
“Brook Lynn Dillon. I’m looking for my sister, and I was told—” Movement atop the bed drew her gaze. “She’s in here with you,” she finished. If Jase said anything else, she didn’t know and didn’t care anymore. She approached the bed.
The person beneath the covers stretched before sitting up, pale, shoulder-length hair falling into place around a sleep-soft face Brook Lynn recognized all too well. Relief blended with an irritation she didn’t understand as her sister blinked over at her.
Jessie Kay’s lips were moist and red as she clutched a sheet to her naked chest. “Brook Lynn? What are you doing in here?”
She wasn’t wasted, as Brook Lynn had feared, but she was clearly exhausted—from too much pleasure. The irritation spread and spiked.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she demanded.
“Well, the first thing that pops into my head is—annoying the crap out of me.”
A typical Jessie Kay response. “Just...get dressed,” Brook Lynn said. “Let’s go home.”
“No way. You go.” Her sister settled more comfortably against the pillows. “I’m good right where I am.”
“Too bad. It’s late, and we have to work tomorrow.”
“Actually, you have work. I’m calling in sick.”
“No, you are not sticking me with a double two days in a row,” Brook Lynn said. “I’ll tell Mr. Calbert the truth. You know I will.”
Jessie Kay shrugged, unconcerned.
How are we related? “I’m very close to losing my temper with you.” Brook Lynn had only three goals in life: save money, buy Rhinestone Cowgirl and turn her sister into a viable human being.
Love the girl, but I don’t know how much more I can take.
Jessie Kay loved her, too, and hadn’t purposely set out to make her life hell. That was just collateral damage.
“Calm down, Warden,” her sister said. “No need to blow a gasket.”
Warden. A nickname Jessie Kay had given her at the age of fifteen. Brook Lynn gritted her teeth, saying, “Get dressed. I mean it.”
Her sister’s eyes, a darker shade of blue than her own, flashed with impatience. “I told you. I’m not going anywhere.” Jessie Kay said something else, but she’d turned away, and Brook Lynn couldn’t follow the movement of her lips.
“I’m on silent,” she interrupted. “I need to see you.”
Jessie Kay immediately turned toward her, but her gaze got caught on Jase, and she flinched. Before Brook Lynn was able to comment, her sister rushed out, “Okay. All right. I’ll get dressed. Jeez.”
Brook Lynn dared a glance at Jase. He hadn’t relocated from his spot at the end of the bed, his muscled arms still crossed over his chest. His frosty gaze was locked on her rather than the woman he’d just slept with, and she gulped.
“We’d appreciate a little privacy,” she said, praying she wasn’t breathless.
He gave a single, clipped shake of his head. “Sorry, honey, but this is my room.”
Honey? Had she misread his lips? “Well, we want to borrow it for a few minutes.”
“I doubt you could afford my rental fee.”
Depended on the currency. Shivers? Tingles? She currently had those in spades. He exuded the most potent levels of testosterone she’d ever encountered, her deepest instincts recognizing him as the kind of guy every girl should have by her side when the zombie apocalypse occurred.
After a marathon viewing of The Walking Dead, she and Kenna had even mapped out survival plans A, B and C. Glomming on to the first strong (and handsome) man they came across just happened to be the heart of B. Plan A, her personal favorite, revolved around kicking zombie butt while stealing supplies from other survivors—girls had to do what girls had to do—while C boiled down to burning the entire world to the ground.
“Can you at least pretend to be a gentleman and turn around?” she asked.
“I would—if I knew how.”
A quiver ran through her, nearly turning her muscles to jelly. She should not find his unrepentant bad-boy admission sexy. No, she definitely shouldn’t. Somehow she managed to look away from him. He’d just slept with her sister, so he was now and forever off-limits.
Jessie Kay scanned the spacious room. “Anyone seen my shorts?”
A pair of cutoffs and a tank were wadded up next to Brook Lynn’s feet. She picked up both and tossed them at her sister. “Well? Aren’t you going to apologize for missing five hours of work?”
“Uh, why would I apologize?” Jessie Kay tugged on the shirt. “I’m not sorry. Besides, I barely had any customers.”
“All of your tables were full with changeovers every hour. Meaning I had to hustle—without a break—to meet the demands of your customers as well as mine. Which was impossible! I made mistakes and lost tips.” A single penny counted when you had so few.
“I’ll make it up to you, swear,” Jessie Kay said, shimmying into the shorts while still under the covers. “Don’t worry.”
Another spark of anger burned through Brook Lynn. “Have you come into a secret inheritance, or will I be forced to dig into my savings yet again to pay your share of rent and utilities?”
“Hey! I’m totally keeping track of every cent I owe you. I’m going to pay you back.”
It may be too late then, she wanted to scream. Her future happiness had a time limit. Edna, the owner of Rhinestone Cowgirl, had given her until the end of the year to come up with the money to buy the place.
Brook Lynn might not be passionate about her creations, but owning that little jewelry shop was her only viable road to success. And that she wanted with every fiber of her being. She had already begun to make plans. She would pay to have a webpage created and sell her jewelry to people all over the state of Oklahoma, not just to the residents of Strawberry Valley and the seasonal flood of tourists. She would finally stop living day by day and actually live for tomorrow.
Her sister stood and patted her on top of the head. “Hate to break it to you, little sis, but your jewelry store is just about as useless as a cow squirting water.”
Useless?
Useless!
“I just don’t want you unhappy,” Jessie Kay added, throwing fuel on the fire.
The burn of simmering anger became a bomb of rage, exploding inside her. Unhappy? Unhappy! What did her sister think she was now?
“Well, maybe I don’t want you to end up like Uncle Kurt,” Brook Lynn gritted out.
Jessie Kay gasped. “Dude. That’s so harsh.”
Most definitely.
Years ago, one of the massive machines at a nearby dairy farm exploded, killing half the workforce. Many Strawberry Valley residents were employed there, including their dad. He had been pronounced dead at the scene.
Their mother had done her rock-solid best to raise them, but occasionally she’d been so desperate for help she’d called her con-artist brother. And when she later drowned—God rest her precious soul—Uncle Kurt, their only remaining family, had moved to Strawberry Valley “for good” to care for them. Brook Lynn had been fifteen at the time and Jessie Kay seventeen, and though they’d been old enough to see to their own needs, they’d still required a legal guardian. But Kurt had stayed only long enough to collect the life insurance.
Jessie Kay gave her a little push, snapping her back into focus. “I’m nothing like that dirtbag. You take that back.”
“Never!” Brook Lynn returned the push. She only ever resorted to physical violence with Jessie Kay.
Her sister slapped her shoulder.
Brook Lynn delivered a slap of her own. “I’m fixing to start counting, Jessica Kay.”
“One,” her sister mocked, knowing her ways better than anyone.
“Two, three.” Forget battling with words. With a screech, Brook Lynn launched forward, crashing into Jessie Kay. They fell into the mattress and bounced to the floor, where they rolled around in a struggle for dominance. When they bumped into the nightstand, the lamp teetered...tumbled down and shattered. The damage barely registered as they continued to wrestle. Brook Lynn managed to come out on top and pin her sister’s shoulders with her knees. She forced the girl to slap her own face.
“Why are you hitting yourself, Jessie Kay? Huh? Huh? Why?”
Her sister twisted left and right, trying to dodge the blows.
Warm breath fanned the crown of Brook Lynn’s head as strong arms banded around her, and a masculine scent saturated her awareness. Jase.
“Let me go,” she demanded. “Let me go right now.”
His hold only tightened. He hefted her over his shoulder fireman-style and strode out of the room.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_4174006c-5963-5020-9e07-aeaa646d070a)
JASON—JASE—HOLLISTER carted the petite bundle of fury into the backyard. She fought him every step of the way, the little wildcat, but he held on as if she were a well-deserved war prize. The party guests watched with wide grins, enjoying the show. A few even followed him, no doubt curious to see how the scene would play out.
He resented their presence, actually hated that they were here. Truth be told, he liked to keep his two friends close and everyone else at a distance. His head wasn’t screwed on right on the best of days, and today wasn’t the best of days. He hadn’t had a best day in a long time.
Behind him, the firecracker he’d just slept with shouted, “Put my sister down this instant, you overgrown Neanderthal!”
If he hadn’t already regretted sleeping with Jessie Kay before Wildcat had stormed into his bedroom—she was also known as Brook Lynn, apparently—he would have regretted it now. Before moving to Strawberry Valley a few weeks ago, he’d decided to end his sexual bender. A five-month carnal odyssey, Beck had called it, not quite realizing how right he was. It was an odyssey. Straight into hell. Jase had expected pleasure, maybe a little fun, but he’d had trouble relaxing around the women, and it had made for bad sex, great guilt and even worse memories.
Tonight had been more of the same, another regret to add to his ever-growing list. He’d had trouble focusing, constantly on alert for a sneak attack.
The nine-year habit would be hard to shake.
Besides, the move here was supposed to be his fresh start in a place that represented everything he’d never had but had always craved. Roots, permanence. Peace. Wide-open spaces and community support. A clean canvas he’d hoped to keep clean, not mar by creating a perfect storm of drama, pitting two sisters against each other.
Too late.
Though he’d had no desire to shit where he ate, so to speak, and mess everything up with a scorned lover, he’d had a few beers too many tonight, and Jessie Kay had crawled into his lap, asked if she could welcome him to town properly, and that had been that.
At least he’d had the presence of mind to make it clear there would be no repeat performances, no blooming relationship. He’d earned his freedom the hard way—and he would do anything to keep it.
Women never stuck around for the long haul anyway. His mother sure hadn’t. Countless foster moms hadn’t. Hell, even the love of his life hadn’t. Daphne had taken off without ever looking back.
Light from the porch lamps cast a golden glow over the swimming pool, illuminating the couple who’d decided to skinny-dip. They, like everyone else within a ten-mile radius, heard the commotion; they scrambled into a shadowed corner.
“Pay attention, honey,” Jase said to Brook Lynn. “This isn’t a lesson you’ll want to learn twice. You throw a tantrum in my room, you get wet.” Jase tossed the little wildcat into the deep end, hoping to calm her down.
Jessie Kay beat at his arm, screeching, “Idiot! Her implants aren’t supposed to be waterlogged. She’s supposed to cover them with a special adhesive.”
Please. “Implants are always better wet.” He should know. He’d handled his fair share.
“They aren’t in her boobs, you moron. They’re in her ears!”
Well, hell. I’m on silent, she’d said, the words suddenly making sense. “Way to bury the lead,” he muttered.
Brook Lynn came up sputtering. She swam to the edge of the pool and climbed out with her sister’s help, then arranged her hair over her ears before glaring up at him, reminding him of an avenging angel.
He’d hoped the impromptu dunk would lessen her appeal.
He’d hoped in vain.
Water droplets trickled down flawless skin the color of melted honey. The plain white button-up and black slacks she wore clung to her body, revealing a breathtakingly erotic frame, legs that were somehow a mile long, breasts that were a perfect handful...and nipples that were hard.
Those traits, in themselves, would have been dangerous for any man’s peace of mind. But when you paired that miracle body with that angel face—huge baby blues and heart-shaped lips no emissary from heaven should ever be allowed to have—it was almost overkill.
Damn, I picked the wrong sister.
Well, what was done was done. Another piece of broken glass in his conscience. Another memory to leave a sticky film on his soul, like a spider determined to catch flies.
“I’m sorry about your hearing aids, or whatever they are,” he said, “but catfights aren’t allowed in my room. You should save all disputes for the next JELL-O Fight Night.”
She watched his lips. Her eyes narrowed, an indication she’d understood him.
Without looking away from him, she said, “Jessie Kay, get in the car. If I have to start counting again, you’ll regret it.”
For the first time that evening, her sister heeded her command and took off as though her feet were on fire.
West and Beck arrived a second later and scoped out the scene: a gorgeous woman who was soaking wet, probably chilled, stood as still as a statue, her hands fisted at her sides, while Jase couldn’t seem to look away from her.
“What the hell happened?” Beck demanded, running a hand through his hair.
“This is between him and me.” Brook Lynn pointed to Jase. “You guys go inside.”
“Your hand is bleeding.” West frowned and reached for her.
“I’m not your concern.” She stepped away, avoiding contact, and would have toppled back into the pool if Jase hadn’t caught her arm.
With her sex-kitten curves, he was surprised by the slenderness of her bones. Even more shocked by the soft silk of her skin, the warmer-than-melted-honey temperature. She wasn’t chilled, after all, and the longer he held on, the more electric the contact proved to be, somehow cracking through the armor he’d spent years erecting around his emotions, until he practically vibrated with the desire to touch all of her...to hold her...
To devour.
What the hell?
He released her with a jolt and widened the distance between them. His inner armor wasn’t something he maintained just for grins and giggles. It was for survival. As a boy abandoned by his parents and sometimes mistreated by fosters, he’d learned emotions were a weakness that could be used against him. To feel something for a person or object meant he’d placed value on it—whether for good or ill.
Feel nothing. Want nothing. Need nothing. For the most part, the motto had served him well. There had been times the armor vanished, the darkest of emotions consuming him...pushing him to do things he shouldn’t. Trouble had always followed.
Brook Lynn peered down at her wrist, as if she’d felt something she couldn’t explain, before focusing on him, her eyes narrowing once again.
To Beck and West, who’d remained after her command to leave, Jase said, “Get everyone inside. I’ll handle her.”
The two glanced between him and the girl, and he knew they wanted to protest. Tension thrummed from them both. But then, tension always thrummed from them both. They loved him, but when they looked at him, they only saw him through the dark-tinted glasses of a shared past, a trip they’d taken together through hell. Their guilt and shame always radiated below the surface.
They blamed themselves for the worst years of Jase’s life, a time he would have been far better off dead. It was the reason West had once battled a drug addiction, and Beck still refused to connect with anyone for more than an hour, maybe two if the girl was good. Whether they admitted it or not, they wanted to make themselves suffer the way Jase had suffered. The way he sometimes suffered still.
“Get everyone inside,” he repeated. The gossip vine in this town worked faster than a cable modem, and he had no desire to be the topic du jour. He guarded his privacy the way other people guarded their most valued treasures. Maybe because he had a lot more to hide.
Really, in today’s digital world, there was no such thing as a secret, and the citizens of Strawberry Valley would learn about him soon enough. He just hoped they didn’t attempt to run him off with pitchforks and torches.
“Now,” he added.
This time his friends obeyed. Once the backyard had been cleared, however, they returned to his side.
West offered Brook Lynn a towel. She failed to notice, her attention somewhere in the distance, where tall oaks and blooming magnolias stretched across the acreage. The wild strawberries growing along the forest floor were his favorite part of the property, vivid red fruit that sprang from flowers of the whitest white, with sunshine-yellow centers. A landscape more beautiful than anything he’d ever thought possible.
“Brook Lynn,” he said, but still she paid him no heed. Were her hearing aids ruined?
Guilt pricked at him.
West tapped her on the shoulder, and she yelped. When she noticed the towel, she accepted with a quiet “Thanks.”
“You guys head inside, too, like she said.” Jase hiked his thumb toward the house.
West put his back to Brook Lynn and said softly to Jase, “Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
What? That the girl looked good—and would look even better in his arms? Too late. Just as quietly, just in case, he replied, “I’m not going to try anything with her.”
Beck gave Brook Lynn his back, as well. “Jase, you just threw her in the pool. I’d say your chances of anything but a catfight are slim. The only thing left to do is finesse the situation, and that just happens to be my forte.”
Allow Beck to finesse the delicate beauty? A bead of anger rolled through Jase, surprising him. He’d never directed his temper at his friends. The night’s activities must have screwed with his head more than usual.
“Besides,” West added, “you can’t afford trouble.”
No, he couldn’t. He’d endured his fair share already.
“What if she decides to file a complaint with the sheriff?” Beck’s gaze was grim.
Panic prickled the back of Jase’s neck.
“Whatever you guys are saying about me, stop. If you’ll figure out the cost for repairs,” Brook Lynn said, nudging West and Beck aside to peer up at Jase, “I’ll reimburse you for the lamp and nightstand.”
After what he’d done, she thought she owed him? And get serious. As if there was any way in hell he would ever take her money. He’d heard her argument with her sister, knew the two were barely scraping by.
“Go.” He gave his friends a push toward the door. They reluctantly returned to the party, not because they thought it was the right thing to do, but because they felt they owed him. “I ruined your hearing aids, honey. How about we call it even?”
Her hands immediately went to her ears. To ensure her hair was still in place, hiding them?
The self-conscious action did something to his chest. Made it hurt.
“How about we don’t,” she said.
He ignored her, saying, “Your hand might need to be stitched.” Fat drops of crimson trickled from the cuts the lamp shards had caused.
Her chin lifted another notch. “I’ll be fine.”
“At least let me get you a bandage.”
She watched his lips, took a moment to decipher his words and shook her head. “No, thanks.”
So polite. So distant.
So not worth the hassle.
He’d apologized. He’d offered to pay and had even suggested he play doctor. Now there was nothing left to do but make an exit. “Whether you believe it or not, we are even. It was nice meeting you, Brook Lynn. Let’s do this again in never.” He turned away, fully intending to put her and her sister in the “better off avoided” category of his life.
“Wait,” she called, and for some reason, he stopped. “What are your intentions toward Jessie Kay?”
He closed his eyes. Don’t need this drama. Slowly he turned and said, “You pinned her down and made her slap herself. You seriously care?”
“I do,” she replied, fire crackling in the blue depths of her eyes.
Lying had never been his thing. “I have no intentions. Tonight was a one-and-done experience.”
The fire intensified. “So that’s it? You just screwed her, and now you’re dismissing her?”
“That about sums it up, yes.” In fact, he was pretty sure he was done with all women for a while. When things settled and a need for companionship grew, he might think about contacting Daphne. She already knew some of the horrors he’d endured as a kid, the sins he’d committed as a young man. Though she didn’t know everything he’d been through as an adult—he shuddered, recognizing soul-deep he would never discuss certain things, even with West and Beck. He could have something good with Daph, something permanent. She’d had her reasons for leaving him, and they’d been good ones.
But what could he offer her? It would be impossible to build a future on the crumbling foundation of his past.
And...looking at Brook Lynn now, his body said to hell with Daphne, take this one. The girl smoldered with life and vitality, and he experienced another unbearable urge to grab on to her and hold tight. Warmth spilled through his veins, causing his skin to prickle.
This reaction wasn’t as much of a mystery as the others. Until six months ago, he’d gone nine years without a woman. Of course his body wanted the one that was nearby.
“Jessie Kay is a person,” she said. “She has feelings.”
“So am I. So do I.”
Brook Lynn’s skin flushed to the deepest rose, the change startling, mesmerizing. Irritating.
“She also knew what she was getting into,” he added. “I made sure of it before I ever escorted her into my bedroom.”
Brook Lynn removed one of her sensible flats, but rather than throwing it at him as he expected, she dumped out the water. “Do you do this often, then?”
“Do what?” he asked.
“Seduce and abandon women.”
He laughed; he just couldn’t help himself. “Honey, you must not know your sister as well as you think. She came on to me.” Just a few weeks ago, she’d done the same to Beck. Not that either of them had put up much of a fight or ever complained. “At first, I even told her no.”
“Are you saying she forced you?”
He lost his grin in a hurry, dark waves of rage breaking through his armor, rushing over his mind. His hands balled into fists.
He took a deep breath. Feel nothing. Want nothing. Need nothing.
Tone flat, he said, “No. I was willing. And now, this conversation is over.” He turned before he did something he would regret—too many of those already—and once again began to walk away.
Once again she called, “Wait.”
Something must have been seriously wrong with him, because he faced her, snapping, “What?”
She stepped back, as if frightened.
“What?” he asked more gently.
“I really am sorry for the damage I caused in your room.” Her features softened, making her appear vulnerable in the most tantalizing way, rousing protective instincts he hadn’t known he possessed. “I will pay for what I broke.”
He recognized integrity when he saw it and respected the hell out of it. To so many people, words were just a means to an end. To him, words were a bond. Jase wouldn’t prevent this girl from doing what she felt was right.
“I’ll mail you a bill,” he said, deciding he wouldn’t charge her more than twenty dollars for items he’d spent well over two grand on.
“Thank you.”
“And I’ll pay for the damage to your hearing aids.” He wondered why she had them in the first place. Had she suffered with deafness all her life?
“No.” She shook her head with confidence. “I was out of line, barging in on you and Jessie Kay and then starting a fight in your room. I don’t blame you for tossing me in the pool,” she admitted, surprising him. “I can’t in good conscience allow you to pay for anything.”
He made sure she had a perfect view of his face. He wanted no misunderstandings between them. “Refusing payment isn’t going to do you a bit of good, honey.”
She peered at him for a long while, silent, before recognizing his own determination and sighing wearily. “Fine,” she said. “Whoever owes more can deduct what the other owes and pay the rest.”
“Agreed. And now...” He motioned to the back door of the house.
“Dismissed?” With a humph, she stalked around him—but didn’t head toward the house. She exited the yard through the side gate. He followed at a discreet distance to make sure she reached her vehicle safely.
She climbed into a rust bucket that couldn’t have been close to street legal.
“Are you okay?” her sister asked. “What did Jase say to—”
Jessie Kay’s voice was cut off by the slam of Brook Lynn’s door. As the engine sputtered to life and the headlights blinked on, Jase returned to the house.
West and Beck were waiting for him inside his bedroom, where they knew he couldn’t avoid them.
Beck reclined on the bed, flipping channels on the TV. West sat beside him, tossing pieces of popcorn in the air and catching them with his mouth.
“Hiding from your own party?” Jase asked.
Both glanced over at him.
“I’m the crotchety old man who doesn’t like having people in his space—after I’m done with them.” West threw several pieces of popcorn at him and missed. “I’m currently done with them.”
“Old?” Jase arched a brow. “We’re twenty-eight.”
“Physically twenty-eight. But our souls? Those are older than dirt.”
Beck grabbed the last handful of kernels and stuffed them in his mouth. “I don’t mind people in my space, but we’re currently out of fresh lady meat, and you know I never go back for seconds.”
Exasperated, Jase said, “Then why did you invite everyone over?”
They peered at him, expectant. Guiltier than usual.
“Maybe we thought you could use it,” West said, his tone thick with emotion.
“Whatever you want, you get,” Beck said. “No questions asked.”
They were trying to make up for everything he’d lost. He wished he could comfort them, reassure them, but he’d never even been able to comfort or reassure himself. “For future reference,” he said, “a party isn’t the way to make me happy. I’d rather be alone than surrounded by strangers.”
More guilt from West, sorrow from Beck. Regret from Jase.
“I wanted to move here,” he said. “We’re here. That’s enough.” Six months ago, he’d asked the two to find him a new place to live. Somewhere outside city limits, where the crowds were thinner and the pace slower. West had connections out here, and what he’d described had enthralled Jase. Trees, hills, the closest neighbors miles away. And when the isolated famansion—farm-mansion, as he’d heard it called—suffered a foreclosure a short time later, the two had uprooted their entire lives, unwilling to let him make the move on his own. True, the estate needed a little TLC, but that was something Jase excelled at and was actually enjoying doing.
Beck had lived next to a golf course and West inside a room adjacent to their plush office suite in downtown Oklahoma City. Each place had been purchased soon after they’d created and sold some kind of computer program, hitting it big, and even when they’d made far more money, investing a huge chunk for Jase, they hadn’t bought bigger and better. Change had never been easy for either man. Jase knew that well, hated change himself, but the two had been willing to move here for him.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he would have survived the past nine shudder-inducing years without them or as if he’d have any kind of life now.
“Remember when we first met?” he asked, switching topics. Anything to distract the pair.
West cracked a smile. “The fosters had no idea their request for troubled adolescent boys to guide and nurture would lead to the three of us joining forces.”
Beck snorted. “I believe the mother—what was her name?—told my social worker we were fully capable of building an actual Death Star to destroy the world.”
They’d been eight, and the ten months Jase had spent living with the boys had been the best of his life, an unbreakable bond forming. Even after the system split them up, they’d never lost touch. They’d occasionally attended the same school or lived in the same neighborhood, but at sixteen, when they were able to pool the money they’d earned doing odd jobs, they’d bought a car, and that had been that. It had been the three of them against the world. Still was.
These men were the only people in the world Jase trusted. The only people he would ever trust. They were his family.
“Hey. What’s with the reminiscing?” West asked. “You wouldn’t be trying to avoid the mention of a certain girl...Brook Lynn Dillon?”
Jase rolled his eyes, even as his body quickened with...yearning?
“I’ll take that as a hell, yes,” Beck said, his grin wide and irreverent. “He hoped to avoid.”
“Are you wanting a gossip fest? Why don’t we paint our nails and give each other back massages?” Jase asked.
“Yes,” the two deadpanned in unison.
“I call dibs on the pink polish,” Beck added.
“No fair.” West pretended to pout. “I wanted the pink.”
“You guys aren’t ridiculous and immature at all.”
“But you love us anyway,” Beck said.
He did, and they loved him. “West, go kick everyone out of the house. And if you leave any popcorn crumbs on my sheets, your blood will soon join them. Beck, haul ass to the kitchen and cook your famous morning-after special. I’m starved.”
“On it.” West flew out of the room.
“Can do.” Beck grinned as he passed, even paused to pat Jase on the shoulder. “It’s not morning, but you sure did get screwed, didn’t you.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b036cdcc-a0f3-5b46-8929-38c7bcc883b7)
TWO WEEKS AFTER “The Dunking,” the state of Brook Lynn’s life should have improved by leaps and bounds. What was the saying? When you were at the bottom of a pit, you had nowhere to go but up.
Somehow she’d managed to burrow deeper.
After she’d gotten Jessie Kay home from the party, the implants had basically short-circuited, causing massive headaches, uncontrollable dizziness and extreme nausea. She’d had to have them replaced the very next day with a surgery that accumulated thousands of dollars in medical bills. Insurance had refused to pay, citing the devices were still experimental. A ridiculous excuse. But Jase hadn’t yet contacted her to settle their debt—thank God he’d insisted on paying his part—and she desperately needed the money.
The new implants required three days of complete bed rest to heal and attach to her canals properly. Three days without pay. As soon as she’d recovered, Jessie Kay had taken off for who-knew-where, looking for a man to console her after Jase’s rejection. For two days after that, Brook Lynn had been forced to work double shifts.
Jessie Kay had come back, only to take off again and return last night. Now Brook Lynn called her sister’s cell to tell her to keep her butt home and rested for tomorrow, but she went straight to voice mail. Dang it! The girl was off carousing again, wasn’t she?
Argh! Her sister sometimes reminded her of a mouse in a wheel, spinning, spinning, but never going anywhere. Of course, the same could be said of herself, she realized with a sigh, simply in a different way. Jessie Kay chased guys. Brook Lynn chased Jessie Kay.
Perhaps it was time for a change.
Perhaps? Why was that even a question?
As she began cleaning Two Farms for closing, she thought back to the “fun list” she and Kenna had created a few weeks ago. Fun—something neither of them had ever really experienced. The list of activities was supposed to spice up their lives. The plan? Try every flavor of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, text I hid the body to a random number. Be Cinderella for a day, and eat a real Krabby Patty. Get a tattoo, TP someone’s house, solve a case with Sherlock and Watson. Ask out a boy. Throw a drink in someone’s face, gulp blue Gatorade out of a Windex bottle. Jump into a body of water with all of their clothes on. Spy on someone. Oh, and speak with a fake accent for an entire day.
The last was the only thing Brook Lynn had done. Meanwhile, Kenna the overachiever had done everything. Dane had made it his mission to ensure she checked off every item on the list.
Brook Lynn simply hadn’t had time for the others. Or, to be honest, the inclination. But...maybe she needed to start despite her lack of enthusiasm. Just pick something and go, go, go. Like...asking out a boy...even seducing one.
An image of Jase flashed through her mind. What he might have looked like minutes before she’d entered his bedroom. Naked, flat on his back and hard as a rock.
No! Oh, no. Jase? She recoiled...even as she shivered. The man had used and discarded her sister, leaving no doubt he would use and discard Brook Lynn. If he even wanted her. So, ask him out? No. Nope. Never. The guy she picked would give her what she hadn’t had since the death of her mother: security.
A long-term commitment with a nice man with a nice income and the unending patience required to deal with Jessie Kay without sleeping with her, flirting with her or hurting her feelings seemed like just the ticket.
Attainable. Surely.
He had to live in Strawberry Valley, be over twenty but under forty, and he had to have had steady employment for at least a year. He had to be stable, reliable and in no way a fixer-upper. So, of all the eligible men in town, that left...
A few too many, surprisingly enough. To narrow the playing field, she decided he could have zero history with Jessie Kay. Well, well. That left only one name. Brad Lintz, the supersweet owner of Lintz Automotive. He came into Rhinestone Cowgirl every so often to buy a present for his mother, sisters, an aunt, a handful of nieces, whoever happened to have a birthday, and he always said something to make Brook Lynn laugh. Once or twice she’d even suspected he wanted to ask her out.
Brook Lynn...would you do me the honor of...would you, uh...show me that necklace again?
Could she put on her big-girl panties and actually make the first move? She never had before. Part of her had always feared the slightest hint of aggression would lead the man to assume she would settle for as little as Jessie Kay did: a single night of sexual pleasure. And she wasn’t casting stones. She understood her sister. Despite what everyone thought, sex wasn’t a frivolous, sterile transaction for Jessie Kay. It was a means of finding the acceptance and affection she craved, if only for a short while. A craving that only grew every time she woke up in bed with a guy, expecting more from him, and he made her feel as if she’d committed the cardinal sin of moving too fast. Too fast, after he’d slept with her.
None of the guys heard her crying in her bedroom the next day.
Brook Lynn, too, had often wondered if a moment of comfort would be better than no comfort at all. But then she would remember doing what felt good today often led to regrets tomorrow.
Of course, on the other end of the spectrum, doing what scared her today often led to happiness tomorrow. So... Yes. For a chance at improving her life and finally having fun, she could put on her big-girl panties.
She would go see her doctor tomorrow after her shift at the RC, get on birth control—just in case—and then go to Brad’s shop. Her stomach began to twist into a thousand tiny knots of nervousness already.
“My office, Brook Lynn.” Her boss’s voice echoed through the empty restaurant, startling her from her thoughts. “Now.”
Mr. Calbert sounded gruffer than usual. Was he going to yell at her for Jessie Kay’s absence or the plates Brook Lynn had broken or the orders she had screwed up—or all three? Yeah, probably that last one. The knots in her stomach tightened. But at least the new implants were doing their job, leveling out the noises around her while allowing her to distinguish certain nuances.
“On my way,” she called. She trudged into the break room to grab her purse from her locker.
Heart hammering, she entered Mr. Calbert’s office. He was in his midfifties with thinning hair, glasses as thick as her wrist and a build that suggested he enjoyed tasting the foods he served.
His office was small, crammed with file cabinets and a desk too big for the space. He was already seated, drumming his nails impatiently. When she eased into the chair across from him, he got straight to the point.
“Your sister was a no-show. Again.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.” When Brook Lynn had seen Jessie Kay this morning, she’d been hunched over a toilet, vomiting her guts out from too much to drink, her mascara running down her bright red cheeks.
You going to be okay for work? Brook Lynn had asked.
I’ll be there. Jeez! I’m not a total slag.
Mr. Calbert shuffled papers around, saying, “Why do you put up with that girl?”
Because Jessie Kay had done whatever was necessary to keep Brook Lynn fed after Uncle Kurt had taken off. Because she’d comforted Brook Lynn when they’d lost everything. Because her sister was all she had left.
“That has no bearing on our conversation,” she said, raising her chin.
“Actually, it has everything to do with our conversation.” He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his forehead in his palms. That did not bode well. “Look. I like you. I do. I think you’re a good girl with bad problems, and that’s what makes this so difficult, but this is a business, and it has to be done.”
Dread slithered through her, a boa with every intention of choking her out. She could guess where this was leading and vehemently shook her head. “Don’t do this, Mr. Calbert. Please. I need the money.”
He lifted his head, his hazel eyes bleak. “I’m sorry, Brook Lynn. I loved your parents. They were nice people, and I respected them, but I can’t rely on you anymore. You’re too tired to work as much as you do, but I can’t cut your hours because you always beg me for more. You break things—”
“I’ll pay for them.”
“—and you get a ton of orders wrong.”
“I apologized to everyone.”
“You put peanuts instead of croutons on Mr. Crawford’s salad, and he had an allergic reaction. I have to pay his medical bill and for his mental anguish!”
“Anyone could have made that mistake.” But okay, all right. Yes, her mind had been zapped by all the extra hours and tasks she’d taken on. “At least now Mr. Crawford knows his EpiPen is working properly,” she tried.
Mr. Calbert shook his head. “I need to be able to rely on my staff.”
“But—”
“I can’t rely on you or your sister. You and Jessie Kay are fired, Brook Lynn. Effective immediately.”
* * *
JASE HAD JUST finished off his third beer of the evening, knowing it wouldn’t be his last. He had seriously dark emotions to drown, and by hell, he was going to drown them. If he failed, he’d get in his car and head into town to see her.
The new bane of his existence, Miss Brook Lynn Dillon. He hadn’t been this obsessed with a woman since Daphne.
Daphne. Yeah. He’d think about her. Unlike Brook Lynn, the thought of her actually mellowed him.
He let his mind drift to the night he and Daphne had met. They’d both been sixteen, and while he’d earned money repairing and washing cars, she’d worked at a fast-food joint. He’d gone in for a burrito and had come out with her phone number. They’d spent the next two years together, inseparable, and had been saving to rent an apartment together.
She’d represented the future. Stability. And unlike most of the foster families he’d lived with, he’d wanted her to stick.
“Want a beer?” Beck asked West.
They were congregated in the game room, their sanctuary. Beck and Jase were playing pool, while West watched. Or, more accurately, thought about something; the guy had been lost in his head for the past half hour.
“No,” West finally replied, and Beck breathed a sigh of relief.
Jase observed the entire exchange with a frown. Beck had been testing West’s resolve to remain sober more and more lately, and he couldn’t figure out why. But then, the two had a history he knew nothing about. So many years’ worth of memories made without him.
He never had a problem convincing himself he was fine with it—until moments like this.
“You aren’t an alcoholic, West,” Jase pointed out.
“But I am a recovering drug addict,” West said. “Alcohol is my gateway.”
West had gotten high for the first time nine years ago, and he’d stayed high for the next three.
Dark eyes grim...haunted, his friend admitted, “I wasn’t even feeling the temptation...until recently.”
“What changed?” Jase asked.
“What else? The time of year.”
Lightbulb. The oncoming anniversary of Tessa’s death.
Tessa had been West’s first and only girlfriend. The two had met mere days after Jase first encountered West and Beck. She’d lived down the street, and while Jase and Beck had grown to love her like a sister, West...he had grown to love her intimately, desperately. The pair had been halves that depended on each other, rather than wholes that complemented each other, and West had never recovered from her loss.
I’m never going to end up like that.
Brook Lynn’s image drifted through his head, taunting him. He gripped the edge of the table, nearly snapping the wood.
Tessa had dropped out of high school her senior year to waitress full-time and help her mom pay bills. Later, though, she’d passed her GED exam. Her deadbeat mom hadn’t cared enough to celebrate, so West had promised to throw her a party. He’d toked up instead. She’d left the apartment they’d all shared with a sad smile, saying it didn’t matter. But afterward Beck confessed he’d seen her crying as she’d driven away.
That night, she’d crashed her car into a lamppost.
Sweet, beautiful Tessa had died at the age of nineteen.
“I get it. The anniversary of Tessa’s death is three months away,” Jase said. According to some of the tales Beck had told him, West spiraled more and more, drinking, flaking on clients, even picking fights. Soon after, he picked a woman, showered her with affection and gifts and ended things in exactly two months, as if he was willing to give happiness a shot because it was what Tessa would have wanted, but he didn’t feel he deserved more than a taste.
“Yes,” West responded, head bowed, “and I’ll be fine this time. I will. I’m not going to limit what you can do because of a weakness I have.”
“For a smart man, you can be really stupid.” Jase clasped him by the nape and stared him down. “We help each other. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. What makes you think I’d want anything to do with something that bothers you?”
“You’ve lost so much already.”
Yes. More than either man knew. Jase had shared only a few of the atrocities he’d suffered—and committed—during the years of their separation. He could barely stand to think of them. “So have you,” he said. “A scholarship to MIT, and soon after that, Tessa.”
Pain flashed in dark eyes that had already witnessed the worst the world had to offer.
“You’ve been clean six years,” Jase said. “During that time, you’ve created and sold different computer programs and games I won’t pretend to understand, and you’ve made us richer than we ever dreamed by investing the profits for us. Cut yourself some slack.”
“Put that way, I am pretty awesome,” West said, the barest hint of a smile revealed.
“Though only a close second to me,” Beck said, thumping his chest like a gorilla.
The doorbell rang before Jase could pop them both in the back of the head.
Everyone displayed different variations of dread.
“Bet it’s one of Beck’s women, coming to request seconds,” West said.
Beck lined up his shot. “Too bad. The candy store is currently closed.”
West snorted. “If only it stayed closed for maintenance. These women are upsetting my schedule.”
Jase had noticed West’s time-management and schedule-building skills had only gotten sharper over the years, though he’d done his best to relax and pretend he could roll with spontaneity. In reality, he’d always lived by a regime, preferring to have every minute planned.
Another round of ringing echoed from the walls.
“Don’t everyone rush to the door at once,” Jase said.
Beck peered at West. “Do me a solid and get rid of her.”
“Happy to, but you’ll owe me.” West strode from the room.
“Like that’s anything new,” Beck called. The amused vibe vanished in a blink. He tossed Jase a look rife with concern. “He’ll come through this, but it’s going to be hard. I’m glad you’re here. It’s been rough going it alone with him these past few years.”
“Whatever I can do to help, I’ll do.”
“Just keep reminding him that you’re here.” As Jase got in position to drill the eight ball into the far right pocket, Beck switched gears, starting a joke. “So, an angel walked into a den of iniquity.”
The word angel made him think of Brook Lynn again, and certain parts of his body began to ache for contact. Every day since he’d met her, he’d gone into town to give her that bill she was so determined to pay and to reimburse her for the implants he’d ruined.
If he were honest, settling their debt had little to do with his frequent trips.
He’d wanted to talk to her, to find out what it would take to break through all of her stubbornness and prickly anger and make her smile. To prove she wasn’t as beautiful as he remembered...or as soft and warm. But every time he’d seen her, he’d realized she was more beautiful—and probably softer and warmer.
She worked at a jewelry shop Monday through Saturday, and while there, she wore her pale hair in some kind of intricate knot on top of her head, thick locks at her temples tumbling down to frame her exquisite face and, he was sure, to cover her ears. She usually had a pair of magnifying glasses over her eyes and a small pair of needle-nose pliers in hand. Once, as she had helped a guy with grease stains on his hands and overalls, she had talked with her hands, laughing happily at whatever he’d said to her.
Jase had experienced a wave of anger he hadn’t understood then—and didn’t understand now—and had left before Brook Lynn could spot him.
But he’d gone back again and again.
Most evenings, she worked at Two Farms, and because she was usually the last to leave, she often had to walk to her car alone. Anyone could hide in the shadows, jump out and perform a grab-and-stab. Or worse. And okay, yes, she got points for carrying what looked to be pepper spray, but she lost even more for not paying attention to her surroundings. She was like a Disney princess, practically dancing and singing, “I’m so ready to be disarmed and mugged!”
Did she not realize even small towns had crime?
Case in point: he could be cited for stalking. Hence the multiple beers and his desperation to stay inside the house tonight. He would not risk a legal battle for anyone.
He sank the ball and smirked at Beck. “You going to tell me the rest of the joke?”
“Not a joke. A fact.” His friend motioned to the entrance with a tilt of his chin then wiggled his brows.
Jase looked, and yep, he had to agree. An angel had walked into a den of iniquity. Beside West stood Brook Lynn Dillon.
Hauntingly beautiful. And completely off-limits.
The urge to touch her, to hold her, bombarded him all over again, and he had to grit his teeth against it.
Feel nothing. Want nothing. Need nothing.
“Hey, Brook Lynn,” Beck called. “You’re looking mighty fine today—which can mean only one thing. You came to ask me out. Well, it’s your lucky day, pretty. I accept.”
Jase hit his friend in the arm and muttered, “Don’t flirt with her,” before he could think better of it.
Beck frowned at him. “Who was flirting? I was baring my soul.”
The conversation ceased to matter when he noticed Brook Lynn’s eyes were swollen and red, as if she’d been crying. There was a cut on her bottom lip, as if, in her despair, she’d chewed a little too hard.
He threw down his cue. If someone had hurt her—
His hands fisted at his sides as he closed the distance.
Her gaze landed on him and widened. Gulping, she stepped away from him. “Do you, uh, know where Jessie Kay is?”
Had he scared her?
“No,” he said, careful to moderate his tone. “I haven’t seen or spoken to her.”
Her shoulders slumped with defeat and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a big dose of fatigue. She worked far too much, couldn’t get much more than a few hours of sleep each night. While he admired her fortitude, rarely having seen anyone push themselves so fervently, he knew she couldn’t go on like that forever. Soon she would break down. If she hadn’t already.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “How are your ears?”
Chin trembling, she said, “They’re better. I can hear.” A second later, the trembling stopped, and determination darkened her eyes. Stubborn side engaged. “By the way, I never heard from you, so I didn’t know which of us needed to deduct the money. I just took a guess at how much I owed you.” She stretched out her hand. In her palm rested three crisp one hundred dollar bills.
He jolted back as if she’d just offered nuclear waste, wondering how long she’d had to save for so little. “Hell, no. That’s way too much.” A single penny was too much, he decided. “The lamp was ugly, so you did me a favor. I should probably pay you for getting rid of it. And the nightstand has a crack, nothing more. It’s no big deal.”
Brook Lynn breathed a sigh of relief as she stuffed the money in her purse. “If you’re sure...”
“I am. Now, how much do I owe you for the implants?” he asked.
She shifted from one foot to the other. “They...weren’t cheap.”
“That’s fine.”
“Like, over two thousand dollars not cheap.” She whispered the amount, as if scandalized. “If your furniture cost something similar—”
“No.” He didn’t blink. “I’ll bring the money to Rhinestone Cowgirl tomorrow. The full amount.”
She looked taken aback. “You know where I work? Never mind. Everyone knows. I don’t...I can’t accept so much...I—”
“Just say thank you and save us the trouble of arguing. You won’t win.”
She rubbed at her temples in a clear effort to ward off an oncoming ache. “Thank you.”
Better.
“And now,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I guess there’s nothing more for us to say.”
He hated himself and his weakness for her, but he wasn’t ready to be parted from her, even though he knew better than to try to hang on to anything. The longer you had it, the more it hurt when it was taken away—and it was always taken away. “I’ll walk you out.”
“No need,” she said, turning on her heels. “I’ll be okay on my own.”
“Okay or not, I’m still walking you out.” He would not be like the double-douches at the restaurant and leave her on her own.
She’d definitely gotten the implants fixed. Without reading his lips, she had a ready reply. “If your goal is to make sure I make it to my car, feel free to watch me through the window. You do like it when women walk away from you, do you not?” She disappeared through the doorway.
“Poor Jase. Denied and burned at the same time,” Beck said, shaking his head with mock sympathy.
West grinned. “Would you like some aloe vera for your soul, Jason?”
He flipped both of them off, choosing levity over man-pouting, and raced after Brook Lynn.
The moon seemed to have withered into a small hook, its golden glow hidden by clouds. The air was fragrant with the sweet scent of the magnolias, roses and strawberries growing along the edges of the house, turning what should have been a creepy night into a time for lovers. His hands curled into fists.
Brook Lynn stiffened as he came up alongside her, but said nothing to rebuke him.
“Pepper spray,” he said, noticing she carried her weapon, at least. “That’s good.”
“Oh, this isn’t pepper spray.” She held up a tube of hand sanitizer. “I don’t want to hurt people, just germs.”
This is a joke.Has to be. “So if a mugger leaves you bleeding on the street, at least you won’t contract a case of the sniffles. Is that it?”
“A mugger?” She scoffed at him. “Where do you think we are? The city? There hasn’t been a mugging in Strawberry Valley since Wanda Potts decided to role-play with her husband and steal his virtue.”
“I don’t care what’s happened in the past. I want you armed for the future.”
“Hello. I am armed.” She waved the sanitizer in his face. “The world is going to spiral into a zombie apocalypse one day...unless we get proactive and do something. It’s called germ warfare. Look it up. I’m doing my part.”
“That’s not what germ— Never mind. You fear zombies?”
“Fear? No. That’s Kenna. I’m actually looking forward to battling the undead. I plan to collect their heads like trophies.”
Why was that so damn sexy?
Hint: everything about her was sexy. Even the fact that she was clearly a hot mess. He’d never actually met someone who believed zombies were a real possibility.
His legs were longer than hers, his stride faster, so he reached her car first and opened the door for her. She didn’t get in right away, pausing to blink up at him. Confused by the gesture? Did she not expect the men in her life to be nice to her—or did she not expect Jase to be nice?
Either answer would have annoyed him, he was sure, so he didn’t bother asking.
“You’re headed home, right?” Knowing her—and as much time as he’d spent watching her, he was beginning to learn—there was a chance she had a third and fourth job.
“No. I have to find my sister. She and I are due to have a chat.”
Wait. He shifted, blocking Brook Lynn from sliding into the car. “You have no idea where she is. How do you know where to start looking?”
“I feel like you should already know the answer to that,” she said, a little sass to her tone. “Did you or did you not sleep with her?”
He glared, not appreciating the reminder.
“Fine.” She held up her hands, all innocence. “I’ll be starting with the bars.”
“And you’re going to...what? Go inside every one you come across between here and the city?”
He expected her to deny it. Wanted her to deny it. Instead, she softly announced, “Yes. But don’t worry. This won’t be the first time. Everyone pretty much knows me now and leaves me alone.”
Oh, hell, no. This delicate female had no idea how to protect herself from predators. Zombie or otherwise. He would stake his life on it. And yet she planned to trek through seas of drunken men who were only looking to score? Who may not take kindly to being rejected?
“I’m going with you.” The moment the statement registered, he cursed. He couldn’t help her the way she needed without finding himself in a whole lot of trouble she wouldn’t understand. He added, “West and Beck are going with us.” Problem, meet Solution.
Her surprise was immediate. Not used to anyone doing anything to help her with her sister? The idea alone made his chest throb, and he couldn’t blame coincidence this time. For some reason, this woman affected him in a way no one else ever had.
Would Daphne affect him even more deeply, now that they were adults?
“I couldn’t ask—” she began.
“You didn’t ask. I’m telling.”
Her eyes narrowed, her golden lashes nearly fusing together. She opened her mouth to snap a sharp reply, he was sure, before her shoulders sagged with defeat. “All right. Thank you.”
Determination could only carry a person so far, and she’d reached the end of hers.
He called for his friends, explained the situation; they didn’t hesitate.
“We’ll find her, no problem,” Beck said.
“Grab your keys,” Jase said to West. “We can reschedule pool time.”
“You don’t have to reschedule—” Brook Lynn began, but Jase gave her a withering glare, and she changed her tune. “I’ll drive.”
West glanced at Brook Lynn’s junkyard clunker and grimaced. “I insist we take my car.”
“I don’t want to use up your gas,” she called as he stalked back into the house.
Much better to use West’s gas than what little there had to be of hers. “Come on.” Jase helped her settle into the backseat of West’s Mercedes.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, even more confused. “You don’t like Jessie Kay, and you don’t like me, but you’re still willing to help us?”
“I never said I didn’t like you,” he informed her, moving in beside her.
As his friends claimed their spots up front, she looked at him, her lovely face illuminated by the vehicle’s interior light, her expression almost...sad. “I’ve learned that actions speak so loudly, words often don’t need to be uttered.”
“Well, I think my actions tonight are proving I like you just fine.” Liked her far too much.
As they motored down the country roads, he turned and gazed out the window—anywhere but at her—hoping to stop the now-constant ache, end the conversation and shatter his awareness of her in one fell swoop.
He accomplished only one out of three and cursed.
Brook Lynn sat so close to him, the heat of her enveloping him, the scent of her filling his nose, and both fogged his mind.
They passed through his favorite part of town, where different-colored buildings formed connecting lines on each side of the road. Some of the buildings had tin roofs, some shingles. Some were flat; some were pointed. Some of the walls were made of red brick and some of wood. But every single one had character, as if they had come straight out of a painting.
Brook Lynn shifted, rubbing her thigh against his, breaking his concentration. His hands itched for contact... How easy it would be to reach out and twine their fingers.
Hand-holding? What, I’m in junior high now?
“Jase,” Brook Lynn whispered and sighed warily. “I like you just fine, too. You’re actually a pretty nice guy.”
Kind words. For him. The least-deserving person on earth. If she knew half the things he’d done...hell, even a tenth of the things he’d done...she would have kept her lips zipped. But she didn’t know, and he reached for her without thought, the need to connect with her stronger than the need to remain self-contained, distant.
Who am I?
The moment his hand covered hers, she visibly relaxed. He tightened his grip, actually clinging to her. I’ve helped soothe her. Me. And maybe...maybe she’s soothing me, too. At least a little. Because even though desire for her was building, turning his body into a pressure cooker, he experienced wave after wave of peace. As if the world could catch fire and burn around him, and it wouldn’t matter. He was finally where he needed to be, doing what he needed to be doing.
Might not know who I am, but I know I need more of this. Which was the very reason he forced himself to release her.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_e10367bc-1590-5d00-aedb-8a53bc529b26)
JASE REVERENTLY LAID Brook Lynn on one side of his bed while Beck just sort of plopped Jessie Kay on the other. Both girls were passed out, though for different reasons. Brook Lynn was exhausted. Jessie Kay was trashed.
The lamp on the nightstand cast soft beams of light over Brook Lynn, and Jase found himself standing there, unable to move, staring like a creeper. He’d never expected to meet the real Sleeping Beauty. Silky blond hair spilled around a face as delicate as an antique cameo. Her lashes were so long they curled at the ends. Her heart-shaped lips were red, plumped...begging for a kiss.
A muscle flexed deep in his gut.
“Jessie Kay?” she muttered, the girl clearly never far from her mind.
“She’s fine. She’s right next to you,” he said quietly, not wanting to yank her from that sweet place between sleep and wakefulness. “Beck is tucking her into bed right now.”
Her eyes remained closed as she burrowed deeper into the covers. “Home?”
“My home. You slept through most of the search.”
“Have to tell her...we...fired.”
She and her sister had been fired...from Two Farms? Surely. It was the only job they worked together.
Her earlier tears suddenly made sense. That muscle in his gut flexed all over again.
He’d learned a lot about Brook Lynn tonight, and he’d liked every detail. She was dedicated. Loyal. Kind. Caring. Determined. Sweet.
Too sweet for me.
Only a fool would fire her. And knowing her situation? The fool had to be a major asshole. Somehow she had become a mother to her older sister, and she was a damn good one.
“Jase?” Beck’s voice whispered through the room.
He glanced up. His friend now stood in the doorway, waving him out. Though he hated to leave, he dragged his feet into the hall, shutting the girls inside.
In the kitchen, West gripped a beer in each hand. His eyes were darker than usual, reflecting the shadows underneath.
Beck cursed under his breath. “Seriously?”
“No need for a hissy, Becklina. These aren’t for me.” West handed a beer to each of them. “You’ve both earned a drink. And don’t even think about refusing.”
In unison, they claimed a spot at the table.
Jase clinked his bottle against Beck’s. “Congratulations. You got twelve numbers during tonight’s mission. It’s a new record.”
“Yeah. An all-time low. I must have been off my game somehow,” the guy said with a slight pout.
West rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Beck’s lack of success is not tonight’s top story. This just in—Jase has feelings for Brook Lynn.” He waved his hand around the center of the table. “Discuss.”
Feelings? Him? He slammed the bottle on the table with more force than he’d intended. “You’re wrong. I barely know her, but even if I did feel something—which I don’t and never will—I won’t go after her. That delicate Southern flower would cut and run the moment she learned the truth about me.”
West frowned at him. Beck patted his shoulder. Both radiated the ever-present guilt and sorrow he hated so much, as if they were to blame for even this.
He loved them, but sometimes he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with them. It hurt too much.
“Besides, if I wanted Brook Lynn, why would I be thinking about finding Daphne?” he asked. “Tell me that.”
“Daphne?” Beck shook his head, hanks of hair falling over his forehead. “Why the hell are you thinking about her? She left you when you needed her most.”
“Maybe I left her,” he said. He might have blamed her for their split at first, but then he’d gotten over himself and reviewed the situation through her eyes. His actions had presented her with a clear-cut choice: a life of misery with him or a chance at happiness without him. It wasn’t brain surgery.
West scowled at him. “You were forced to leave her.”
“No. No, I wasn’t. I chose to do what I did, and the decision cost me.”
Silence descended, tense, oppressive. Jase looked away from his friends, his gaze skipping over the room. Have got to finish repairing this place. It was time. They were settled in, and they weren’t going to move. Not again.
The yellowed wallpaper had what looked to be strawberries scattered in every direction. He’d already replaced the chipped and stained laminate counters with marble and the parquet floor with stone, only to stop. Some part of him recognized the house had become a metaphor for his life.Bits and pieces fixed up, the rest a crumbling wreck.
While a little manual labor would change the house, nothing would ever change him.
“Jase,” West said. “Forget about Daphne. We need to talk about the reason you won’t admit you’re developing feelings for Brook Lynn.”
Seriously. When had these two become such pusses? “I have no feelings,” he insisted. “I’m too screwed up.”
“We’re all screwed up,” Beck said. “But that doesn’t stop me from trying.”
“Boy-o, you haven’t been trying,” West said. “You’ve been plowing, sowing the proverbial wild oats.”
If people were clay, then the past was the pair of hands on the spinning wheel, shaping...shaping...misshaping. They’d each been dried and hardened damaged. The only way to change them now was to break them. But Jase had been broken before and had tried to glue the pieces of himself back together. Had suffered in ways he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He was different now—worse.
He would not break again.
“Forget about me. You’re avoiding the heart of the issue, Jase,” Beck said softly, leaning back in his chair. “We all are, and it’s not doing us any good. So I’m just going to say it. Because despite the fact that we all did what we did together, we’ve never spoken the words aloud.”
A stilted pause as Jase shook his head. They hadn’t spoken the words aloud because he couldn’t bear to hear them.
“Nine years ago,” Beck continued, “we committed a terrible crime. The three of us. Together.”
Not ready to do this. Jase drained his beer then drained Beck’s. “Enough.”
The color faded from West’s face, but still he said, “We killed someone.”
Jase went still. Why were they doing this to him? As if he would ever forget.
West, looking haunted, said, “They deemed it voluntary manslaughter.”
“You refused to name names and testify against us to reduce your sentence,” Beck added, “so you were given the maximum penalty.”
“I know. I know all of this,” Jase snarled, his rough voice echoing off the walls. “Enough!”
Damn it, the girls.
He twisted in his chair to watch the door in the hallway. A minute passed...two...three... To his immense relief, it never opened.
He released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He never wanted Brook Lynn to discover he was an ex-con. A murderer. That he’d committed the crime not in self-defense but in white-hot rage.
“I expected the purging of the poison to make me feel better,” Beck said, slumping in his chair. “Instead I only feel worse.”
“Yeah,” West said, just as despondent. “That kind of sucked.”
Jase’s mind drifted to the hours before his entire world had come tumbling down...when he and the boys had been so hungover they’d slept the day away. Tessa had come barreling into the apartment, tears streaming down her cheeks, waking them. It had taken a while, but West had finally gotten the story out of her. She’d gone to a party with her girlfriends and one of the guys there—Pax Gillis—had followed her when she left and raped her in her car.
Even now, bile burned his stomach at the thought.
They’d gone after the guy and beaten him bloody, and it should have stopped there. But even after Pax passed out, their rage hadn’t cooled. They’d continued to whale...and whale...until finally stopping no longer mattered. The damage was done.
Even though Jase had paid for the crime—again and again—guilt had plagued him ever since, almost as bad as prison. Almost. Books and movies often tried to depict the horrors of life behind bars, but they weren’t even close to the reality. There was no privacy. Few privileges. Food he wouldn’t serve to dogs. Hour after hour spent with nothing but memories—and other inmates. Constant threats of violence...rape. Carving weapons in secret simply in an effort to protect yourself, all while living with the knowledge that years would be added to your sentence if you were ever caught. But what else could you do? Let someone shank you?
Been there, done that. And he had the scars to prove it.
Jase would rather die than go back.
“I know you.” Beck returned to subject one. “You prefer commitment. Need it. But ever since your release—”
Speaking over him, Jase said, “The boy locked behind bars was not the man who emerged. I’ve changed.”
“The core of you hasn’t.” Beck pegged him with a hard stare. “You’ve been settling for randoms, and I don’t know why. I mean, I know why I do it. Panties melt off whenever I enter a room, and it’d be criminal not to do something about it. But that’s not the reason you do it.”
“I know why,” West said softly. “You don’t think you’re good enough. You don’t think you deserve better.”
He pushed to his feet. “This is the last time I’m going to say it. Enough.” A familiar rage brewed, dark and hungry.
Calm. Control.
His friends only wanted the best for him. He knew that. Just as he knew they thought they owed him for letting him take the fall for them, not realizing they’d long ago paid their debt in full. And not just for the money and the house. They were the only visitors he’d had his entire time behind bars, showing up at least twice a week. They’d offered ears to listen and, as puss as this sounded, hearts to care. Not that he’d ever shared the worst of his experiences.
They didn’t know he would never trust anyone else and would always assume the worst of everyone around him. That he would never stop looking over his shoulder, expecting to be attacked. No woman would ever be able to put up with that for long. If one even wanted to be with an ex-con.
Brook Lynn was the one who deserved better.
So was Daphne. Hell, so was Jessie Kay.
Damn it! He’d come to Strawberry Valley desperate for a clean canvas, but all he’d done was paint it black.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said. Have to get out of here. There was a pond deep in the heart of their land where the fish practically jumped into his hands. The little slice of tranquillity might be just what he needed.
Beck glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s 2:00 a.m.”
“I think I can handle the dark,” he said, trying for a dry tone. Deep down, he knew his words weren’t exactly true. There was darkness in his mind, in his soul, and he’d never handled them. Would he ever?
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_d112b0fd-0b4d-51bb-9b22-125483bd7a18)
BROOK LYNN LIFTED her arms overhead, arched her back and extended her legs while pointing her toes. As she stretched, the heavy ache of slumber gradually receded from each of her limbs. Sunlight spilled over her, warming her. The seductive scent of masculine musk mixed with the pleasant fragrance of honey and oats enveloped her, fusing with the very fabric of her being. The softness of the sheet beneath her paired with the comforter above her made her feel as though she’d been swathed by clouds. It was, quite simply, heaven on earth. Something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. If ever.
The only thing that would have made the moment better was a bowl of her French toast casserole, baked with layers of fresh bread, heavy cream, brown sugar and the pecans that fell from the tree shrouding her front porch.
Her stomach rumbled, all get up and prepare this now.
She blinked open her eyes. An unfamiliar—no, slightly familiar—setting greeted her. A single window was draped by navy blue curtains. Minimal furnishings: a bed, two nightstands and a dresser. The wood floor was scuffed. Realization struck, and she frowned. She’d been here once before—and it had not been an enjoyable experience.
Realization struck a second time. This was Jase’s bedroom.
She jolted upright, her heart a wild cascade against her ribs as she zeroed in on the damage she had caused here. The nightstand with a crack, nothingmore looked ready to crumble. The “ugly” lamp was a porcelain beauty marred by a crater.
The dark brown comforter on the bed—moved.
Gasping, she scrambled back...falling off the edge of the bed and hitting the floor with a loud thump. She jumped to shaky legs, ready to defend herself from—
“Jessie Kay?”
A soft, sleepy moan registered, followed by a breathy sigh. Relief poured through Brook Lynn as her sister rolled to her side, soon returning to a sleep coma anyone suffering with exhaustion would envy.
A quick scan proved the girl was unharmed and fully dressed, missing only her shoes. Brook Lynn was fully dressed and without shoes, as well, wearing the same T-shirt and shorts she’d worn last night. But though she searched, she found no sign of their footwear.
Bits and pieces of memory teased the fringe of her mind. Searching bar after bar with West and Beck while Jase opted to guard the car. At some point she must have fallen asleep. She had a vague recollection of Jase carrying her to his bedroom. For a moment, she’d thought she was floating. Then she’d felt a strong heartbeat against her temple...steel-hard arms undergirding her...the most delicious heat wrapping around her.
Why hadn’t Jase taken her and Jessie Kay home? To their home? And dang it, where was her cell phone? If she didn’t call Edna soon, there would be hell to pay. Who was she kidding? There was already hell to pay. The clock beside the bed proclaimed 10:03 in bold red numbers. Brook Lynn was seriously late. And if she lost that job...
She stalked into the bathroom, took care of business and washed up quickly, brushing her teeth with paste on her index finger. It wasn’t ideal, but the only other option was using Jase’s toothbrush, and she would rather die than allow his mouth to come that close to hers, even by proxy.
Her reflection revealed a bedraggled mess with rosy cheeks and eyes sparking wildly. With anticipation? Excitement? No, no. Of course not. More like frustration and annoyance.
In the hallway, the scent of bacon and eggs saturated the air, causing her mouth to water and her stomach to rumble all over again. She hadn’t had a decent meal in... Crap, when was the last time she’d had a decent meal? There was rarely enough time to shop or cook, even though she loved to do both, so she usually snacked on bread and cheese at Two Farms.
Won’t be able to do that anymore.
Before she could work up another cry over the loss of a major source of income, the sound of banging registered. She followed the noise to the kitchen, where two plates piled high with food rested on the table. Somehow she found the strength to keep walking without snatching a piece of bacon—or twelve.
Hinges creaked as she pushed her way outside. The temperature instantly rose...oh, if she had to take a guess, she’d say seven hundred degrees. Bright rays of sunlight burned her eyes.
Squinting, she padded onto the cement. “Ow, ow, ow.” It burned, too! She jumped onto the soft grass, two black birds taking flight in front of her. She scanned the yard—and finally found the source of the banging. Jase, with a hammer. Shirtless Jase. Muscles honed from intense manual labor bulged as sweat glistened and trickled down tanned skin and more tattoos than she’d realized. One of his arms was fully sleeved, the colorful ink wrapping over his shoulder and covering his pectoral. On his other side, his rib cage and torso were etched with intricate designs. A handful of what looked to be letters rose above the waist of his shorts.
Am I drooling?I’m probably drooling. Wow. Just wow. He was major man-candy. Gourmet. The house specialty. He radiated the most sublime sex appeal, the kind that shattered the most ingrained resistance and battered the staunchest inhibitions, and he would definitely satisfy even the most intense sweet tooth. He worked the hammer with masterful expertise, as though he could fix anything, anywhere, anytime, and she had to admit it was total girl porn.
How she longed to close the distance and study every inch of him more closely. Study, yes...
Perhaps touch...
He paused to wipe his face with a rag, and she almost moaned at the increased deliciousness of him. If almost was the new word for loudly.
He looked up and stilled.
“Brook Lynn.” His sunglasses were light enough that she was able to watch his gaze travel over her slowly, leisurely.
Her body reacted as though physically caressed, tingling and aching in her most intimate places. Heat flash? Maybe. Probably.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice a husky rasp just as sexy as the rest of him.
“Morning.” She gulped and wiped her hands on the side of her wrinkled shorts. Don’t gawk at his chest. Certainly don’t glance lower. “My phone. My keys. Shoes.” Making words should not be this difficult. “Do you know where they are?” Better.
“Phone and keys are in the kitchen. Shoes are in your car.”
She must have been too focused on the noise—and then the food—to notice the phone and keys. “Well, then. Thank you. For everything,” she added, only to hesitate. “But, uh...I’m a little confused about why you didn’t just take Jessie Kay and me to our home.”
“Two reasons.” He set the hammer aside. “I didn’t have permission to enter your residence, and Jessie Kay had had too much to drink. She needed to be monitored, so...” He shrugged.
So he’d acted like the gentleman he’d once claimed he wasn’t. “Well, thank you. Again,” she said and turned to retreat inside. Only then, with her gaze off him and a little distance between them, was she able to breathe.
How did he affect her so strongly? And how could she make it stop?
“You didn’t eat,” he said, coming in behind her.
Her eyes widened as she rounded on him, her breath hitching when she discovered he was close enough to touch. Close enough to press against, male hardness to female softness, if only she leaned forward the slightest...little...bit. No! Bad Brook Lynn! Bad!
Then his words hit her. “That feast is for me?”
His nod was slow, and his gaze hot on her, as if he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts. “Your sister, too.”
Needing no further encouragement, she sat at the table and dug in, soon caught up in a whirlwind of different tastes and textures, moaning with rapturous delight. Yes, she would have added a few other spices to take the flavor to a whole new level, but all in all the meal rocked her socks.
When she finished, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. Oh, now I’m ladylike? She looked up to find Jase had removed his sunglasses, but hadn’t pulled on a shirt...and he was staring at her as intently as she’d stared at him. It was disconcerting. Especially since his features were blank, and she couldn’t read him.
A blush burned her cheeks, and she cleared her throat. “Don’t judge me.” Or my new food baby.
He arched a brow. “Is that what I was doing?”
Surely. “Well.” She cleared her throat again. “Anyway. My compliments to the chef.”
“That would be Beck.”
Never would she have guessed the pretty boy had a skill that didn’t involve a mattress and a panting partner. “Did he train at the Institute of Divine Cuisine and Hellish Addiction?” Jessie Kay had often accused Brook Lynn of sneaking into classes.
“More like the Institute of That Was Fun, But Now It’s Time for You to Go.”
Nice. “You guys and your one-night stands,” she said and rolled her eyes.
“Is that judgment I hear, angel?”
Angel? The endearment proved a thousand times more personal and tantalizing than “honey,” shocking her to the core. Of course, he’d meant nothing by it. She figured he probably used the words interchangeably with every female he encountered—even with her sister. But...
I’m still reeling.
“No judgment,” she said and stood. “And now it’s time for me to jet.” Before I do or say something more stupid. “I’m late for work, so...this is goodbye.”
His gaze still locked on her, he stepped closer to her, too close for comfort. She should have backed up, if only out of a sense of propriety, but she remained in place. He crossed his arms over his massive chest, those green eyes heating, burning. A sign of...arousal?
The provocative scent of him filled the air between them; it was masculine, sultry and heady, and it fogged her thoughts. It must have. Why else would she have continued to gaze up at him instead of running away?
“Jase?”
“Brook Lynn.”
Her heart must have heard music her ears couldn’t pick up, because the treacherous organ whipped into a frenzied beat, perhaps even doing cartwheels. Her breaths began to come faster, and shallow. I’m panting. I’m freaking panting. She shifted from one side to the other. He took another step toward her, as if compelled, then another, the last whisper between them vanishing.
He’s the predator, and I’m the prey.
Need more space. Now!
Finally, the synapses in her brain connected, and she hopped backward. As one minute ticked into another, relief remained just out of reach. In fact, she’d just made everything worse, her body aching...desperate to be close to him again...determined to hold on to a strength unlike any she’d ever encountered...to be held onto, as if she were precious, as if she were worth anything, worth everything.
The distance had the opposite effect on him. He snapped out of...whatever they’d been doing and gave a clipped shake of his head. He massaged the back of his neck and even took a step backward on his own, asking, “How much money do you make at the jewelry store?”
No way. No way he’d gone there. “What size is your penis?” she snapped.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Ex-large.”
His balls were that size, too. “Well, my paycheck isn’t your business.” It was so pathetic, she almost wished it wasn’t her business.
She carried her empty plate to the sink, at last spying her phone and keys...right next to a check for two thousand dollars, made out to her. She nearly hyperventilated as she clutched the small piece of paper to her chest. It was more than she’d ever had in her possession.
“I don’t...I can’t...”
“Don’t even think about refusing,” he said.
“I...I won’t.” She couldn’t. And she couldn’t face him, this man who’d just saved her from certain financial ruin. She’d finally do what her body wanted and throw herself at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her phone vibrated, signaling a text had just come in. She checked the screen to find three missed calls and four texts, all from Edna.
You’re late, Brook Lynn. I’m going to assume you meant to call and alert me?
Edna had never learned to abbreviate.
Where are you??????? the second text read.
Third: Are you coming in today or not?
Fourth: THIS IS VERY UNPROFESSIONAL MISS DILLON. PERHAPS YOU AREN’T SERIOUS ABOUT WORKING HERE OR BUYING THE SHOP.
Just peachy. “I’ve got to go,” she said on a sigh. “If you could give Jessie Kay a ride home, I’d appreciate it.” Brook Lynn continued to do her best to avoid looking at him, although her reason for doing so had changed. Reminded of her sister...reminded of what this man had done to Jessie Kay, with Jessie Kay, a flood of guilt swept through her.
I shouldn’t want to hold him or be held by him. I should want to slap him.
Jase opened his mouth, closed it. He ran a hand through his hair, the thick muscles in his arms knotting, his body radiating a frustration his facial features failed to project.
“I’d...like to offer you a job,” he finally gritted out.
That was what bothered him? The thought of offering her a job?
Wait. Back up. He actually wanted her to work for him? Shock forced her to meet his gaze once again. His eyes were darker, deeper...infinite. She shivered, her tone breathless as she asked, “A job?”
He inclined his head, saying more easily, “As my assistant.”
“Your assistant?” When had she become an echo?
Another incline of his head.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why do you need an assistant? What do you even do?”
“I live.”
“You live.” Echoing again. “What does that mean?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I have to fix this place up, make sure it’s safe. Habitable. I can’t do that if I’m always leaving to buy supplies.”
“So you’d want me to buy supplies?”
“Among other things,” he muttered.
“What other things?” Love-shack cleanup? Finding all the panties stuffed in his mattress?
“This and that.”
“Wow. You’re so informative.” But she needed another job. Desperately. Her Rhinestone Cowgirl wages weren’t enough to survive and thrive. “How much would you pay me? What hours would I work? Monday through Saturday, I wouldn’t be able to start until sometime after noon. And why do you want me?”
The words reverberated in her head, the burn returning to her cheeks. “I mean,” she added, “what skills do you think I bring to the table?” She’d graduated high school, sure—barely. After her mother died, she’d stopped caring about her grades. And after Uncle Kurt left, she’d been too busy working any odd job she could find, trying to make money and remove some of the burden from Jessie Kay’s shoulders. Delivering newspapers and running errands for her neighbors hadn’t exactly allowed her to build a sought-after skill set.
Jase thought for a moment, sighed. “You’re loyal and dedicated, two of my favorite things. In an employee,” he was quick to add.
Her brow furrowed as she considered his words. “How do you know I’m loyal and dedicated? This is only our third conversation.”
His expression said do we really need to get into that?
No, she supposed they didn’t. The answer was simple. The way she chased after Jessie Kay.
“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars a week,” he said.
What! Did he expect her to hand over a kidney, too? Did she care? The greatest opportunity of her life had just presented itself on a maple-syrup-soaked breakfast platter. And, really, the job would be easy. A basic fetch and carry, with a little of this and that on the side. Baking? Getting rid of one-night stands?
Done, done and done. With a smile.
But she couldn’t rush into anything, had to chat with her sister, weigh the pros and cons. “I need a day to think about it,” she said.
He nodded, as if he’d expected such a response. “Call me tomorrow.”
“I’ll need your—”
“My number is already programmed into your phone.”
Uh... “How is it programmed into my phone? I didn’t add it.”
“No, you didn’t. But I did.”
How— Oh! There was no pass code to safeguard her list of contacts—because she couldn’t afford a new phone and had to make due with an old flip.
Her hands curled into fists. “You had no right to do that.”
“Delete it, then,” he replied, shrugging. “Whatever.”
“Delete what?” Jessie Kay strolled into the kitchen, looking as fresh as a daisy. No sign of a hangover, which hardly seemed fair. She patted Jase’s behind as she passed him, saying, “Hey, handsome. You sure are looking good this morning.”
His lips almost—almost—deepened into a scowl as he backed away from her. Did he ever feel anything? Really feel?
“What?” Jessie Kay asked with an unrepentant grin. “Just appreciating the machinery. Nothing wrong with that.”
Brook Lynn battled an intense surge of jealousy at the thought—
Jealousy? No, no. Indigestion. Almost definitely for sure there was a chance indigestion was all it was. “There’s food for you on the table,” she said, and her sister immediately changed directions. “After you eat, Jase will drive you home.” The indigestion grew worse. “Stay there. Please. After my shift at Edna’s, we need to talk.”
You were supposed to go see your doctor and ask out Brad today.
Well, crap. Forget the doctor and Brad. Forget the fun list. Opening lines of communication with Jessie Kay was far more important. How would her sister react to Jase’s job offer? Happy for her? Envious?
“Dude,” Jessie Kay said. “Don’t we have a shift at the restaurant tonight?”
As if she cared. Heck, as if she really would have shown up.
“News flash. We got fired.”
“What?”
“Mr. Calbert fired us. He said he couldn’t rely on us anymore.”
“Us? Or me?”
“Both of us. I got looped in because I couldn’t hack double shifts all the time.”
“Well, he did us a favor. I did us a favor.” Her sister shrugged. Actually shrugged. “That job sucked donkey balls.”
“Maybe, but we needed it.” Brook Lynn sighed. “Just...make sure you’re home when I get back from Edna’s. We need to talk about things. I mean it.”
“Sure, sure.” One slice of bacon vanished, then another, and her sister moaned with delight.
“I don’t think you heard me. You go home, you stay.”
Jessie Kay rolled her eyes. “I’m not a total slag. I said I’ll be there, so I’ll be there.”
“Like yesterday at work?”
“Extenuating circumstances.”
“Such as?”
“I’d lost most of my stomach lining and probably a lung.”
That was fair. “All right.” Brook Lynn allowed herself a final glance at Jase—those dark eyes were still locked on her. She shivered, cursed herself and her apparent weakness for the forbidden and left the house.
* * *
BROOK LYNN PARKED her car in a lot a few blocks from Rhinestone Cowgirl. Edna claimed the spaces in front of the shop needed to remain free for customers, but the truth was she considered Rusty an abomination.
She wasn’t wrong.
As the sun glared, Brook Lynn raced down the sidewalk. People she’d known her entire life waved and hollered out greetings.
“Running late?” Virgil Porter asked from his rocker. Though he owned Swat Team 8—we assassinate fleas, ticks, silverfish, cockroaches, bees, ants, mice and rats—he often sat with the owner of Style Me Tender Salon across the street from the jewelry store, playing checkers.
“Unfortunately,” she replied. In a town this small, everyone knew everyone else’s schedule.
“Explains why Edna was pacing the sidewalk, telling everyone who passed you’d broken her heart,” Mr. Rodriguez said. He gave the best buzz cut in a twenty-mile radius. His only competition, Rhett Walker, gave what Mr. Rodriguez referred to as “bootleg butchers” in his mother’s garage.
“Edna’s going with a broken heart?” Peachy. Usually, whenever Brook Lynn messed up, she went with betrayed trust.
Brook Lynn flew through the shop doors so late she’d missed more time than she would actually work, a horror of horrors for a perpetual early bird.
“I’m so sorry, Edna.”
The owner of the RC leaned against the counter and crossed her arms.
Brook Lynn expected to be scolded, wanted to be—deserved it—but in the ensuing minutes Edna somehow made her feel as if she’d dropped an H-bomb on the town.
Oh, the guilt trip.
“Do you know how many frantic calls I had to deal with this morning, people wondering if I was going out of business?” Edna asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Two!”
Wow. That many?
“It ruined my entire morning, Brook Lynn—you ruined it. And after everything I’ve done for you.”
“I’m sorry, Edna,” she said again. “I promise to bring you a Swiss enchilada casserole tomorrow. Your favorite.”
Edna dabbed at eyes that weren’t even close to watery. “You were once my favorite, too. I loved you like the daughter I never had.” Edna had always been one of those people who craved the sympathy hardship bought her and milked every situation to her advantage. “It’s like my heart is breaking right inside my chest.”
“You actually have a daughter,” Brook Lynn pointed out.
“Yes, but she’s such a disappointment. You never were...until today.”
Ouch.
Edna puttered around the shop, dusting display cases that didn’t need to be dusted. She was a short, round woman with miraculously unlined skin and a pretty crop of silver hair. Her cheeks were always rosy, and to be honest, she could have passed for Mrs. Santa Claus...until she opened her mouth.
“Caroline moved to the city to attend massage school, you know,” Edna continued, stuck on the topic of her daughter. “Never mind the fact that I have back pain and could use a healing touch every now and then.”
Brook Lynn faded in and out of the ensuing lecture about giving being better than taking, offering the occasional “Mmm-hmm” and “You’re so right.” Heard this a thousand times before. But at least they were back on familiar territory.
Then the words “If you’re serious about buying this shop one day...” caught her attention.
“I am,” she rushed to reply.
“Yes, but if you’re truly serious—”
“I truly am.”
“I mean truly, truly serious, then you’ll show up on time,” Edna said with a sharp stare. “Every. Single. Day.”
“Absolutely.” Brook Lynn would offer no excuses for today’s tardiness. She’d heard too many over the years and had learned to hate them.
They had it coming, baby girl. Always courtesy of Uncle Kurt.
Dude. I had to. That beer was calling my name. Always courtesy of Jessie Kay.
So, even though this was one of Brook Lynn’s first official offenses at the RC, she made no effort to defend herself. “I promise you it won’t happen again.”
Edna released a long-suffering sigh. “We’ll see.”
“I’d be happy to stay super late to make up for it.”
“That might be a start.” Edna gathered her purse and strolled to the front door, saying, “I’m headed to my new book club. We’re deciding whether to call ourselves The Strawberry Bookcakes or Strawberry Fields of Books.” She gave another heavy sigh before saying, “I’m not sure I’ll recover if I missed the vote.”
More guilt. “Which one are you voting for?”
“Not sure yet,” she replied and disappeared outside.
“If you don’t know,” Brook Lynn muttered, knowing Edna would never hear, “why do you even care which name is picked?”
The next few hours passed without incident...or a single customer. As Brook Lynn gathered her tools to create a spectacular necklace for the window display case, sure to draw the eye of those passing by, she phoned Kenna to tell her about Jase’s job offer, keeping her phone on speaker to save herself from having to press the device against her implants.
“Are you going to take it?” her friend asked.
“Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know.”
“He’s offering a lot of money.”
“Yes.” She could be debt free in a little over two years. The impossible finally made possible.
“So what’s the problem?” Kenna asked. “Do you think there’s more to the job than he told you?”
“Like washing and ironing the clothes his myriad lovers leave scattered on the floor? Yes.”
Crackling silence over the line before Kenna chuckled softly. “What is that I hear in your tone? Is that jealousy?”
“What? No!” More calmly she repeated, “No. I’ve been battling indigestion today.”
“Indigestion. I see.”
“You see? What do you think you see, Miss Starr?”
Sweet, tinkling laughter echoed. “I see fun times ahead—for me. By the way, I’ve booked an appointment at some place in the city for you and Jessie Kay to try on bridesmaid dresses. And I will, of course, reimburse you for any time off work—” A gasp. A low, needy moan. A giggle. “Dane. Stop.”
Well, well. Her fiancé had arrived. Never far from her side.
A pang of envy as the man whispered, “I’ll stop when you’ve given me everything I want,” and oh, wow, his voice was so low, so hot, even Brook Lynn shivered.
I want a happily-ever-after like theirs. Surely I’ve earned one.
“Brook Lynn,” Kenna said, breathless.
“You’ve got to go. I know. Love you.”
“Love you, too. But oh, oh. Wait a sec. I meant to tell you I would be eternally grateful if you would make me a smoked chicken salad sandwich with fresh-baked bread...like, tonight for dinner, maybe? Because you love me and want me happy. I’ve got a craving.”
“You’ve always got a craving.” When they’d lived together, Kenna had left little sticky notes all over the house, begging for this or that sandwich.
“She meant to ask for two sandwiches.” Dane’s voice shot over the line.
“I meant two sandwiches,” Kenna said. “I can have the ingredients waiting at your house and pick the sandwiches up later...”
“You know I can’t resist your pleas,” she said.
“You’re the best!”
“I know.” Click.
Brook Lynn sighed, wondering if she should rethink her plan to stop by Brad’s auto shop after work and just do it, live a little. Her shoulders drooped. No, he still didn’t rate higher than her conversation with her sister. Or, for that matter, Jase’s job offer. Or her sister’s lack of employment. Or past-due notices. Fingers crossed she and Jessie Kay discussed everything without a single argument.
She still wasn’t sure how her sister would react to finding out her lover—her onetime lover—had asked Brook Lynn for help. As if she’d been rejected by him—again?
Can’t do that to her.
Well, then, decision made. As easy as that.
Tomorrow, she would find another second job. Virgil at Swat Team 8 had just lost Kenna and might be willing to take a chance on Brook Lynn. He wouldn’t pay nearly as much as Jase, but killing bugs might be better for her state of mind than killing the hopes and dreams of his scorned lovers. Plus, the job wouldn’t hurt her sister’s feelings. It also wouldn’t test Brook Lynn’s resolve to avoid the most delicious of temptations.
And he was delicious, wasn’t he? Still wrong for her, and nothing her life needed, but 100 percent melt-in-your-mouth delicious. And kind of emotionless. What was up with that?
Doesn’t matter. Not my problem.
At the end of her shift, she drove straight home, more convinced by the minute that she’d made the right decision. But Jessie Kay’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and she wasn’t inside the house.
Brook Lynn baked the sandwiches for Kenna and Dane, and chatted with the pair for half an hour when they came to collect the food.
She had made sandwiches for Jessie Kay and herself, as well, and wanted to eat them together, but as she waited for her sister to return, one hour bleeding into two, hunger got the better of her and she caved, devouring her own.
She watched two old episodes of The Walking Dead. She paced the living room, watched another episode of The Walking Dead and practiced severely cool head-chopping moves. And...still there was no sign of her sister.
Finally she could stand it no more and texted:
Where R U?
Duuuuude, her sister replied. Lost my phone. Will call U when I find it!
UR srsly telling me U can’t find UR phone? she texted back, wanting to scream You’re using it right now! How drunk R U?
Only had a few, swear! But sis! Sis! My liver was a bad girl 2day & NEEDED 2 B punished.
Attached was a photo of Jessie Kay and her favorite partner in crime, Sunny Day.
Sunny’s parents had probably thought “so cute” when they’d come up with the name. Brook Lynn’s verdict? So not.
The two were in quintessential selfie mode—Jessie Kay was bent over, lips parted in a perfect O, while Sunny held a paddle at her bottom. Sweat dotted both of their brows. From dancing? Probably. Men stood all around them, practically drooling.
Another text came in, the misspellings out of control.
Knw eve prom 2 all bt came we postpo? Plese?? Pleas???????
Translation: know we promised to talk, but can we postpone? Please? Please?
Beads of anger rolled through Brook Lynn. From the moment their father died, she’d done her best to protect her sister from any sort of emotional pain. She’d even upped her already stellar efforts after their mother died. And this was the result?
Brook Lynn had known she needed to change her ways, but this just cinched it. If she wanted different results, she had to do something different. And she would start by refusing to coddle Jessie Kay.
Yay! a part of her cheered. Finally.
She wouldn’t feel guilty about this. She wouldn’t! She’d had enough.
She scrolled to Jase’s number in her address book. After only two rings, he answered, the roughness of his voice greeting her, bypassing the usual hello, how are you and getting right to business. “Nice to hear from you, Brook Lynn.”
Shivers danced through her. This is stupid, dangerous for my peace of mind. But she said, “I’ll take the job,” before she could talk herself out of it. “Most days I can be there shortly after noon, but tomorrow I can’t make it till two. After my shift at Rhinestone Cowgirl I have a personal errand.” Her doctor was good about getting her in whenever she had a spare hour. Because yes, she was sticking with the birth-control part of her plan no matter what.
“Two is good.” His breath crackled over the line. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.” Something about his tone...
It was deep as always, but it sounded like...a promise? Or a warning?
“Me, too,” she whispered.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_7a48245e-aeab-502b-90bd-5662ce94bef0)
JASE MIGHT HAVE made the biggest mistake of his life. Then again, he’d done nothing illegal and wouldn’t end up in prison, so...
Nope. Somehow this was still a top contender for Worst Mistake Ever.
As another knock sounded at his front door, this one faster and louder, he trudged into the entryway. He knew Brook Lynn waited on his porch, eager to begin her first day as his “assistant.” Eager...dreading—little difference.
What the hell am I going to do with an assistant?
It was the last thing he needed or wanted. Until she’d mentioned the loss of her second job. He’d hated the thought of her struggling to find another, one that might not pay as well, then working herself to the bone and slogging her way into an early grave.
He’d tried to prepare himself for his first boss-employee encounter with her, but a man couldn’t ever really prepare for torture. And that was exactly what the situation would be. Somehow, she made him feel as if he’d been stripped and strapped to a rack, his chest carved open and his every nerve ending exposed.
And I signed myself up for a daily dose.
Tense, girding himself for impact, he opened the door—the sight of her utterly stole his breath. Silky hair hung around her shoulders in gleaming, platinum waves. Wide, baby-doll eyes that should only ever sparkle with passion were now hardened with determination, but no less arresting. She wore no makeup, and he found he liked the natural rose flush on her cheeks, the golden tips at the ends of her lashes. Liked the sheen of moisture left on her lips as she traced her tongue over the plump bottom one.
That deep, throbbing ache kicked off in his chest, and he gnashed his molars in annoyance.
Feel nothing. Want—
Screw that. He wanted something. He wanted her.
He simply wasn’t going to do anything about it.
Her T-shirt read Math Problems? Call 1-800-{(10x)(In{13el)]-[sin(xy)/2.362xl. A pair of faded jean shorts displayed the spectacular length of her legs to perfection. So did the scuffed, dirt-caked cowgirl boots.
Was his tongue hanging out? The girl could probably rock a garbage bag.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” she said, the words flippant...but the little tremor in her voice betrayed her agitation.
He remained in place, blocking her from entry. “First things first. What made you change your mind about working for me?” He’d wondered all night.
Her eyes narrowed, her lashes practically fusing together. “Maybe I used the eenie meenie miney moe method.”
“Do you also settle arguments by sticking out your tongue?” I shouldn’t be thinking about her tongue. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He waved her inside.
She stopped in the living room and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Are West and Beck here?” How hopeful she sounded.
Did she not want to be alone with him? Not irritated by that—thrilled. “West is in the city for business. Beck is out trying to find a place in town for him and West to set up shop.”
“And probably sleeping with his real-estate agent,” she mumbled. “What do West and Beck do, anyway?”
“Create different kinds of computer programs and games.” Jase was as far from tech savvy as possible. Being cut off from society for so long meant everything digital that was so commonplace for everyone else was alien to him. He wasn’t even sure how to use some of the apps West had put on his phone.
“Why don’t they just work from home?” she asked, her tone now reverent, as if working from home was a dream everyone entertained. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going to drum up a whole lot of business in Strawberry Valley.”
“They drum up business all over the world, wherever they are, but they aren’t their most productive while I’m making repairs on the house. Or so I’ve been told.” He motioned to the peeling wallpaper. “The boys are part of the reason so little has been done.”
Beck, far more than Jase and West, hated change—which was surprising, considering he changed lovers almost every night. Jase had to ease him into each and every home improvement. And West, well, he liked to plan every detail down to the studs—which usually took months.
“Ah.” Caught up in their conversation, Brook Lynn forgot to be leery and smiled up at him. The amusement brightened her entire face. “Gave you a verbal spanking for your noisemaking, did they?”
So bright...blinding me to everything else. Making the ache a thousand times worse.
“Nah, they know better than that,” he managed, rubbing the spot just over his heart. “I finally kicked them out so I could get started on the larger tasks.” Not because he’d wanted to be alone with Brook Lynn.
“Why don’t you work with them?” she asked. “Considering how close you guys are, I mean.”
“Cubicles and computers aren’t my bag.”
“Are you a silent partner, then? Is that how you guys met? Business?” She blinked and shook her head, as if she’d just realized something important. “You know what? Forget it.” She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. “We might as well get started. What’s my first assignment?”
Good question.
He looked around, considering his choices. Something easy. Maybe something that required very little bending over—or a lot of bending over.
He must have taken too long to reply, because she added, “How about I give you a detailed history of your house? It’s been in the Glass family for a million generations, but there is now only one Glass left. Harlow. She refused to get a job when her mom died, which is how you guys were able to snatch it up, I guess. She was the town bully once upon a time, before becoming a recluse. She’s a year older than me and still hangs around town, though no one knows where she’s living right now.”
Detailed history...or cautionary tale?
“I promise not to bully you. Now, start with the living room,” he said, “and end with the kitchen.” That way, she’d feel as though she’d contributed something to his day without actually straining herself. And he could make himself scarce so that he wouldn’t have to see any bending or not bending.
“You mean...clean them?”
“Spotlessly.”
She pursed her lips. “So I’m a maid, as suspected.”
“You’re an assistant.”
“An assistant who cleans your house.”
“Good for you. You catch on so quick.” He patted the top of her head and tried not to marvel at the silky softness of her hair—or to think about twining a lock in his fist and angling her head for better access to her lips.
What the hell was wrong with him? Since his release, he hadn’t kissed a woman. Not even the handful he’d bedded. Not because he thought kissing was anything special. It wasn’t. The less distraction, the better, especially while already vulnerable.
Brook Lynn neither stepped away from him nor batted his hand away. “It’s funny to me. You truly aren’t afraid to lose that hand,” she said, utterly calm. “But okay. Fine. Where are the supplies?”
“You’ll find everything you need under the kitchen sink. And now, I need to return to my own work.” He left her then, forcing himself to walk away.
What else could he say to her, really? Besides, getting chatty with her would be a huge mistake. Already she’d asked a question he hadn’t been prepared to answer. Is that how you guys met?
His past was his business and not a topic for conversation.
He shut himself outside, hoping the distance between them would help him relax. He only tensed further. It was almost as if he...missed her? Already? She was just so bright, a total contrast with his mind, which was always so dark. He felt drawn to her, and it both ramped him up and soothed him. It was difficult not to crave her presence.
Had to be the summer heat. Yeah. Definitely the heat. The air was thick with humidity, already stifling. He removed his shirt and picked up his hammer. He’d finished repairs on the shed just before Brook Lynn arrived, knowing it was always best to ensure his tools had a proper place for storage before he took on any other projects. Without tools, a man couldn’t work. Without work, Jase would have to listen to his own thoughts.
He labored on the house for an hour...two...replacing slats on the shutters. His gaze constantly strayed to the kitchen window, his desperation to catch a glimpse of Brook Lynn maddening but undeniable. The first time she appeared, he struck his thumb with the hammer and had to choke down a curse. He was grateful she never glanced in his direction.
When he finished with the shutters, he moved on to siding, removing and replacing damaged panels. Sweat continually poured from him and had he been alone, he would have stripped bare and jumped in the pool he’d repaired the first week he’d moved here.
What would Brook Lynn think about skinny-dipping?
She’d let him know, that was for sure. Girl was opinionated. He didn’t have to wonder where he stood with her, a trait he liked. In prison, inmates smiled to his face and stabbed at his back. In a few of his foster homes, parents laughed with him at lunch and had hushed, closed-door conversations about him after dinner.
Not that every moment of his life had been terrible. There’d been good times. A lot of good times. With Beck and West. Tessa. Daphne. A few foster families. But the bad times had been so damn bad, they often completely eclipsed the good. Could he even remember the last time he’d laughed?
What had Brook Lynn’s childhood been like? She seemed well-adjusted, if a little overly concerned with her sister. Straitlaced. Normal. The kind of girl who would fear a guy like him, once she discovered the truth. He wouldn’t be able to blame her.
Keeping her at a distance was now his only defense.
Tomorrow he had a meeting with his new parole officer and— Jase stiffened as problems crystallized. Brook Lynn wouldn’t understand a day off so soon. And what if his parole officer ever came for a surprise home visit while she was here?
Damn it, he should have thought this through.Now it was too late.
He’d give her the list of supplies he’d planned to pick up. She could— No, she couldn’t. Her beater of a car wouldn’t be able to hold pipes and wood planks and boxes of marble. He didn’t even want her trying to carry those things.
He’d tell Beck to let her borrow the truck. And for Beck to go with her, do all the heavy lifting.
Jase stiffened all over again. He didn’t like the thought of Brook Lynn and Beck spending time together. Alone. In a cramped space.
“Thirsty?”
Her voice startled him, and he almost reintroduced his thumb to the hammer. Damn it! He never lost awareness of his surroundings. He’d trained himself to listen for every incoming footstep, every whisper of movement. That kind of OCD diligence had saved his life on more than one occasion.
In an act of self-preservation, he threw the hammer in the toolbox. As he climbed down the ladder and faced her, this new bane of his existence, she held a glass of ice water out for him.
The thoughtful gesture unnerved him. “Thank you,” he muttered and drained the contents. The chill of the liquid soothed the dry heat in his throat.
“You’re welcome.” She took the empty glass from him and stepped away. “So...three women have already come to the door looking for Beck.”
“So few?” And what do you think of Beck, Miss Dillon? He looked her over, noticing the streak of dirt on her cheek, the smudges of grease on her shirt. So adorable. “How old are you?” he asked then flinched at the accusation in his tone.
Most women would have glared at him. She didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-five. What about you?”
“Twenty-eight.” Considering he had the life experience of a gutter rat, he felt decades older.
“Have you ever been married?” she asked.
There was only one reason the answer would matter to her, and it caused him to shoot harder than those steel pipes he was going to ask her to buy.
“No,” he rasped. “No wife.” He’d had a few girlfriends before Daphne, but nobody nearly as serious.
Daphne had seemed to accept him just as he was...until his sentence was handed down, and she realized she’d have to live without him for almost a decade—more than that, he wouldn’t be the same when he got out. He’d be different. An ex-con. Harder. Probably mean as hell. Teenagers never fared well behind bars.
He’d begged her to stick around, to trust him, promising to be whatever she needed the day they were reunited. Part of him had still been a little boy, desperate to hold on to some kind of family.
She’d sobbed while she’d walked away, but she’d still walked. He’d cursed her, apologized, begged some more. She hadn’t turned around, hadn’t even slowed. It had hurt then, and yeah, it still hurt now, but he saw it for what it was. Self-preservation. He couldn’t blame her for that.
Had life treated her well? Hell, maybe she was married with a dozen kids. Maybe not.
What would he say to her, if he saw her again? You were the best thing to happen to me. I miss you.
Was that still true? And would the man he had become even appeal to her? If she found out some of the things he’d endured throughout the years...would she react as fearfully as he suspected Brook Lynn would?
“Jase?”
Brook Lynn’s voice, gentle now, summoned him out of the dark mire of his head. He blinked and found her standing directly in front of him, her cool, dainty palm resting on his knotted shoulder. His hands were fisted, he realized, his nails cutting into his skin. Razors seemed to have grown in his nose and lungs, turning every breath into an act of torture.
Steady. When his gaze met hers, she dropped her arm and backed away.
“So...uh...yeah. I’ve finished the living room and kitchen.” She ran her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly nervous. “What would you like me to do next?”
Put your hand on me again. Never let go. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Go home.” Before I do something stupid.
“But I’ve only worked three hours.”
Only, she’d said. “Your check isn’t contingent on the number of hours you’re here, honey. Simply on doing what I say.”
She shook her head, saying, “Why don’t I clean the bathrooms?”
He did not like the thought of this girl scrubbing toilets. “No bathrooms.”
“Bathrooms,” she insisted. “Then I’ll wash up and cook dinner. Unless you have plans?”
He bristled. “No bathrooms. No dinner.”
“I’ll take that to mean ‘no plans.’”
“If you want to do something, clean the garage.”
“Great. I will. After I take care of the bathrooms.” With a saccharine-sweet smile, she skipped into the house.
“Stay away from the bathrooms. That’s an order, Brook Lynn,” he called. “My word is law.”
She waved at him through the glass door...and might have also flipped him off.
Did she think she could do whatever she wanted without consequences?
Well, she would have to be taught differently.
Anticipation zinged through him, so strong it was almost a shock to his system.
Boom!
The noise sent Jase to the ground, already reaching for the hammer, the closest weapon. Sweat beaded at his temples, trickled down, and he had trouble catching his breath—until the purr of a car engine registered, and he realized a vehicle had simply backfired.
He lumbered to unsteady legs. His heartbeat refused to calm, bucking in his chest like a horse trapped in a stall.
It’s okay. I’m okay.
At the end of the day, feelings didn’t matter. They were unreliable. He chose to believe he was okay, so that would be that.
Once he regained his composure, he toiled over the shingles. A few more hours passed, and he somehow managed to maintain his focus until Brook Lynn stuck her head out the door.
“I spilled cleaner on myself. I need a shower and a shirt,” she said. “Would it be okay for me to use your bathroom and dig through your closet?”
Just like that, she fried what was left of his brain. A thousand cars could have backfired, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Shower—she would be naked. Water—it would drip down her body, catching in all the places he longed to lick. A towel—the cloth would rub all over her curves, caressing her skin. His shirt—something that had touched his bare skin would soon cling to hers, his scent fusing with hers.
Hard. As. A. Rock.
“That’s fine,” he gritted out.
“Thanks.” She vanished.
A few more hours passed, and he spent almost every minute imagining the things she was doing to herself. At last the sun began to set on the horizon, dusting the sky with a wealth of gold, pink and purple, drawing his full attention. He stopped what he was doing, utterly transfixed.
While locked away, he’d missed the simple things most. The everyday things he’d once taken for granted. Sunrises and sunsets. Holidays with his friends. The smell of fresh-baked bread and—
Fresh-baked bread?
He sniffed, and sure enough, he caught the telltale scent of yeast. His mouth watered. Almost in a trance, he made his way into the kitchen. Brook Lynn stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot, and oh...damn. Her hair was still damp from her shower, curling at the ends. The shirt she’d chosen read I’m In for the Win, and even though it was too big for her, she made it look like something out of a high-fashion magazine.
My every fantasy made flesh. She was gorgeous. Sexy. And completely within reach...
He rubbed at the newest ache in his chest.
And a meal made from scratch? That was something he’d never really had, even in foster care, where most of the dishes he’d eaten had come from boxes or cans.
Brook Lynn noticed him and waved the steam away from her face. “I hope this shirt isn’t one of your favorites.”
It is now. “No,” he managed.
“Good. I’m afraid I dribbled sauce on it. Oh, and I’m assuming you like cheesy chicken spaghetti and rolls because that’s all you had the groceries for.”
He had no idea if he liked them or not. He hadn’t even bought those groceries. They’d arrived yesterday, a gift from one of the women hoping to sleep with Beck a second time. “We’ll have to learn the answer together.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat,” she said, the heat flushing her cheeks to a deep rose. “Everything will be ready in forty-five minutes.”
A lump grew in his throat, and he wasn’t sure why. “I’m going to shower.” Desperate to escape her, he stalked to his bedroom, locked himself inside.
His bathroom smelled of disinfectant and gleamed like a diamond, and all he could do was curse. Damn that girl. She’d cleaned it, even though he’d forbidden it. Did I honestly expect anything less?
He showered quickly, toweled off and dressed. He moved toward the door, only to realize he wasn’t quite ready to face Brook Lynn. The urge to touch her still plagued him—and it was stronger than before. He wanted to shake her...then make everything better with his mouth.
Sick to his stomach, he sat down and wrote out a very long, very detailed list. Then, and only then, his mind centered on her upcoming chores, did he return to the kitchen; he placed the list, a wad of cash and a key on the counter.
Brook Lynn looked at everything, looked at him and arched a brow in question.
“Your chores for tomorrow,” he said, gazing past her. The ache in his chest bloomed with renewed force. “Also money to pay for the supplies, and a way into the house. I’ll be gone. Personal business.”
“Well, I am your personal assistant. Right?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to go.”
“Go?” she echoed. “Now?”
This minute. This second. “I...I’m sorry.” He strode out of the kitchen...out of the house, not turning back.
* * *
SHOCK HELD BROOK LYNN immobile. He’d left. He’d really left. Without telling her about his plans for the evening. Without tasting the food she’d slaved over. Without commenting on all her hard work.
Uncle Kurt had taught her a lot of things she would be better off not knowing, but there was one fact he’d unwittingly driven home. When actions contradicted words, actions won. Every time.
I love you, girls, Uncle Kurt had said. But leaving them destitute wasn’t an act of love.
Just now, Jase’s actions had said plenty. She wasn’t important to him. Her efforts weren’t important. But okay. All right. She wasn’t here for back pats and flattery. Show me the money. She had worked for grumpy, gruff Mr. Calbert, and she could work for—gorgeous—gruff Jase. Probably. Maybe.
At first, she’d hardly gotten anything done. She’d been too busy peeking out the windows, savoring the sight of him and his mighty hammer, trying to avoid his notice whenever he’d glanced her way. But then she’d somehow found the strength to force him out of her mind and buckle down. She’d cleaned as if the Lord Himself planned to come for a visit, no speck of dust left behind. And, surprise surprise, she’d enjoyed every moment of it, knowing she was making Jase’s life just a little bit better, the way he was making hers better. So of course, she’d started thinking about him again...about his strength, his tattoos and his hands...all the naughty things he could do with them.
Then she’d walked past his bedroom and remembered finding her sister in bed with him.
Anger and indignation had hit Brook Lynn, and part of her had even yearned to quit. If only giving up were in her nature. The other part of her had demanded she take a stand and let Jase know she was no pushover. He’d tried to baby her, which was why she’d disobeyed his orders. She’d expected a thank-you afterward, maybe even an admission that he’d been wrong. Hello, backfire.
She put the casserole in the fridge without baking it and left a note on the counter with heating instructions. She bagged the rolls, leaving an air pocket to prevent condensation, and finally read over his list—nearly fainting.
Clean the entire house. Even the rooms you cleaned today. All except for the game room, which you are to avoid. Did you get that, Miss Lynn? AVOID.
Grocery shop. At least two carts’ worth.
Bake three cakes—one for every owner of the home. There WILL be a taste test.
Wash the windows. Even the hard-to-reach ones.
Wash and fold the laundry.
She shuddered, wondering if he sorted his laundry like most other men—“filthy” and “filthy but wearable”—and wondering why she wasn’t horrified by the thought of handling his underwear.
Iron everything in my closet.
Rearrange the furniture in the living room. Lady’s choice. Take a picture, then put everything back the way it was.
Stack the wood outside. Never know when a cold front will come in.
The slam of a door startled her, and she glanced up, her heart beating in time to the newcomer’s pounding footsteps. Had Jase returned?
Beck rounded the corner, flooding her with disappointment. No, no. Not disappointment. Relief. Of course.
He drew up short when he noticed her—and grinned. “Well, well. My Christmas present came early this year. West scheduled a late night out, and Jase is obviously gone, considering his car is missing, so it’s just you and me, all alone. Whatever should we do?”
Flirting? Really? He probably couldn’t even help himself, it was so ingrained. While Jase had showered, two other women had come knocking, wanting to speak with “my Beck.” They’d also demanded to know who the hell Brook Lynn was and what the hell she was doing in My Beck’s house. The blatant hostility had merely amused her.
“I don’t know if Jase told you,” she said, “but he hired me to be his assistant.” Maid. “And then he had to go...somewhere.”
“An assistant, huh?” Beck pointed at her, waving his finger to indicate her entire head. “You should probably wear glasses and put your hair in a bun.”
“Why?”
“For the role-play. Fully committing to your character makes all the difference.”
She nearly choked on her tongue. “We are not role-playing. I really am his assistant.” Maid.
“If you say so.”
“I do. And now I’m leaving. Office hours are officially over.”
Beck held out an arm, stopping her from passing. “Hold on a sec, pretty. Your car isn’t parked out front.”
“That’s good, because I walked.” There was no reason to use up precious gas when this house was only a mile—or three—from Rhinestone Cowgirl.
He gaped at her. “So...Jase left without giving you a ride?”
“Clearly.” Or were they talking about role-playing again? In which case the answer would still be the same. “I’ll be fine,” she said.
“You sure will, because I’ll be driving you to your car.” Beck scanned the kitchen and sniffed. “After I eat. Something smells amazing, and I’m not just talking about you.”
Good to know. “Hungry?” she asked.
“Starved, actually.”
She placed the casserole in the oven. “It’ll be ready for consumption in twenty to thirty minutes.”
“Just enough time for a shower.” He undid the top button of his shirt. “Looks like you could use one, too. Why don’t we conserve water and do it together?”
“I would rather be stabbed in the kneecaps before walking on hot coals.”
“So...maybe next time?”
“Maybe never.”
“Your loss.” He winked at her before disappearing around the corner. A door shut.
Another knock sounded from the living room. Another of Beck’s women?
With a sigh, she strode to the foyer—and found Jessie Kay on the porch.
“What are you doing here?” Brook Lynn asked with a frown. Her sister had been too hungover this morning to chat about the new job.
“What are you doing here?” Jessie Kay removed her sunglasses and stepped inside without an invitation.
“I work here. Something I would have liked to discuss with you.”
The statement of fact was met with a glower. “Was that last night?”
“You know it was.”
“Well, did you account for Jessie Kay Standard Time?”
Meaning, what Jessie Kay agreed on shouldn’t ever be counted on, and it was Brook Lynn’s bad for assuming otherwise. “No. I actually thought you’d keep your word for once.”

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