Almost a Bravo

by Christine Rimmer

“Jax.” She said it way too sternly.

  “Aislinn.” He echoed her tone, teasing her.

  She sat a little straighter. “We’re married, but not married. And you’re...” She had no idea how to go on.

  Sprawled like a lazy cat in that chair, his foot still hooked across his knee, displaying that manly bulge she was not going to look at again, he waited her out.

  Until she went ahead and said what she’d been thinking a minute before. “I’m a little surprised. I mean, you just never seemed like the type of guy who falls into bed with a near-stranger.”

  “You’re right. I don’t have sex with strangers.”

  “So then why are you—”

  “But you’re not a stranger.”

  She scoffed, “Close enough.”

  “Uh-uh. You’re my wife. And I’m finding I like you, Aislinn. I like you a lot.”

  “It’s all that simple to you?”

  “That’s right. I’m a simple kind of guy.”

  Was she tempted to give him a yes? Most definitely. Maybe she’d gotten past imagining herself in love with him. But he still rang all her bells in a very big way.

  However, it just didn’t feel right to jump into bed with him on her first night in his house—even if he had taken her to a preacher and put a pretty ring on her finger.

  “I like you, too,” she said. “But the fact remains that five days ago, I hadn’t set eyes on you in five years and you couldn’t quite remember who I was.”

  There was a deep stillness in him, as though he were listening very closely, picking up cues most would never catch. Finally, he sat forward and braced his forearms on spread knees. “You’re mad at me about that.”

  “I didn’t say I was mad.”

  “I’m not talking about what you said. You were angry that I didn’t remember you at first.”

  Was she? “It hurt my pride, okay? But I’m over it.”

  He actually chuckled, a wry sound, and sat back in the chair again. “Aislinn, I’m a man. Men are stupid and blind sometimes.” He held her gaze. “And you have to understand. I was married to someone else five years ago. The only one I was looking at then was my wife.”

  “I get that. I do. I respect that.” It was dangerous, how much she liked him. How much she appreciated that he’d come right out and said he wanted her in his bed, that he’d let her know in words where she stood with him, at least about that. “But, Jax...”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

  For that, she got a regal nod of his handsome head. “Fair enough.” He rose from the chair in a single, fluid movement. “Let me show you your room.”

  * * *

  When they left the study, they found Erma in the kitchen rubbing garlic and herbs on a standing rib roast. She gave them each a nod and continued with her work. A real chatterbox, that Erma.

  Jax gave Aislinn a quick tour of the rest of the lower floor, then led her into the foyer and up the wide staircase to her bedroom, which had a large window looking out on the front yard, and plenty of closet space.

  “You can use the big bathroom at the end of the hall. It was Martin’s along with the corner bedroom next to it.” He hefted her suitcase onto the bed.

  “Martin let you have the master suite?”

  “We traded when I married Judy and never traded back. He said he liked the other room better.”

  “What about Burt and Erma? Where do they sleep?”

  “Burt has the foreman’s cottage across the yard. Erma has an apartment over the garages.”

  “It’s just you and me living in the house, then?”

  He watched her as she checked out the room. “That’s right. Just us.”

  She turned the knob of the door beside the closet. “Where does this go?”

  “To my room,” he replied as she pulled the door open on a sitting area, with a bedroom beyond. “In case you change your mind.”

  Laughing, she shut the door. “At least it has a privacy lock.” She turned it.

  He put his hand to his chest. “You’re killin’ me here.”

  She had a powerful urge to go to him right then, to cradle his face between her palms and kiss that tempting mouth of his. She let the urge pass—and found herself thinking that she must have been born in one of the upstairs rooms. “How many bedrooms up here?”

  “Six. Mine, yours, Martin’s—and three smaller rooms in a row along the hall. When the house was built, there were a lot of Winters living at Wild River. My great-grandfather had six children.”

  “Is it all right if I see those three smaller rooms?”

  “Aislinn. You live here now. The house is yours. Explore all the closets, have a long look in every room.”

  “Now?”

  “Anytime you want.”

  She went out the door and along the hall, pausing to look into each of the three rooms. They were dim rooms, each with only one small window on the outside wall. She returned to the middle one after she’d had a quick glance at all three. The room had a single bed, a rag rug and a dresser topped with a ’50s-era lamp.

  Jax had followed her. He stood at her shoulder as she lingered in the open doorway.

  She turned to him. “Do you remember anything about the day I was born?”

  His brow crinkled and he shook his head. “We used to have a lot of visitors.”

  “You would have been eight, right? There was a big storm. Two women had babies right here in this house. And you don’t recall any of it?”

  “Sorry, no. I remember my childhood after I came to Wild River as a series of hazy, happy events. Learning to ride and care for the horses, hiking with Martin and Aunt Claudia on one of her good days. In the years before I came here I’d developed a habit of blocking out anything that scared me in any way. I’m guessing a big storm and two women in labor would have had me grabbing my blankie and running for my favorite closet, the one under the stairs.”

  “Oh, Jax. You still had a blankie at eight?”

  “That’s right.” He faked a tough look. “Wanna make something of it?”

  “No, of course not.” She did, however, have about a hundred questions concerning his early childhood.

  But before she could ask any of them, he said, “Don’t feel bad for me. By ten or so, I didn’t need that blankie anymore—and I’ll bring the rest of your stuff up. You can change, get settled in.” He was gone before she could decide which question to ask first.

  Half an hour later, he’d brought everything up from her car and gone out to his horses. She put her pretty bouquet of white flowers in a vase Erma found for her and set it on the dresser in the room that would be hers for the next three months.

  Unless she joined Jaxon in the master suite.

  Her cheeks heated at the thought, and she felt truly silly. Okay, okay. Jax had said straight out that he wanted her. Good to know.

  And now, moving on...

  Once she’d put her clothes away and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, she sat on the bed and wondered if this was all some kind of weird dream she’d fallen into. She had too many questions that needed answering: Who was she really? She almost didn’t feel like the same Aislinn anymore. How would she explain to her best friend that she’d gotten married without even telling her? And the family...

  How would she break the news to them that they apparently had a sister they’d never even met?

  The blue folder that contained Martin’s will, his outrageous last letter and the list of contact numbers sat waiting on the dresser where she’d dropped it when she unpacked her suitcase.

  She got up, got the contact list and took out her phone to call the private investigator Martin had hired to track down Madison Delaney.

  * * *

  Jax found Burt in the tack room.

  “Rab
bits?” groused Burt when Jax had finished explaining what he wanted him to do. “This is a horse ranch. We don’t keep rabbits.”

  Jax had learned from years of experience that the best way to deal with Burt’s bellyaching was to ignore it. “There are two of them. They’re large rabbits, according to Aislinn. They need a safe, enclosed space to wander around in.”

  Burt plunked his ass down on a chest full of saddle blankets. Ace, his border collie, sidled up and eased between his legs. Burt gave the dog a good scratch around the ruff, behind the ears and down his back. “She’s gotta have cages for them, right? Rabbits live in cages.”

  “These particular rabbits need room to roam. I’m thinking we clean out the big shed in the backyard.” The shed, which had been Martin’s workshop way back when, was well insulated and wired for electricity, with windows and a woodstove. “We can put a fan in there on hot days, and a window-box air conditioner. If she’s afraid to keep the stove going with the rabbits loose, we can just use a space heater to keep it warm in winter.”

  “Winter? She’ll be gone by mid-November. And we got stuff in that shed.”

  “Which is why we’ll need to clear it out. Today, Burt. She’s bringing the rabbits tomorrow.”

  Burt muttered something unrecognizable under his breath. Jax knew the man well enough not to ask what he’d just said.

  Instead, he moved on to the next point. “She also needs a workshop for her jewelry-making. I’ll find out what kind of equipment she’s bringing. Maybe we’d be wiser to put the rabbits on the enclosed side porch and use the shed for her workshop.”

  “The porch is for sitting.”

  Jax reminded himself that Burt was a good man, a hard worker and amazing with the horses. So he had big issues with the female half of the human race. All men had flaws. “Let me make this clear,” he said flatly. “Whatever Aislinn wants Aislinn is getting. We’re not losing Wild River because she gets pissed off and leaves before the three months are up.”

  “Kissing her ass, are you?”

  And whatever else she wants kissed. “Be nice, Burt.”

  Burt grunted. “She’s not going anywhere. She wants her fifty grand. And according to that letter of Martin’s, she’s got a real soft spot for you.”

  “We don’t know what she wants, not really.” He still couldn’t be sure she hadn’t gotten to Martin somehow, gotten to him and convinced him to make those bizarre changes to his will. From what Jax had been able to piece together about her, she went from job to job. As of now, she worked as a clerk at an art gallery and made jewelry. She couldn’t be bringing in a whole lot. Maybe the fifty K payoff was huge for her.

  Then again, from what he’d learned about the Valentines and the Bravos, they had plenty and they took care of their own. They loved Aislinn. He’d seen that clearly this morning, when they’d all shown up on zero notice to be there for her wedding. That wasn’t going to change no matter whose blood ran through her veins. The Bravos would rally around her—whether she needed moral support or help paying the bills. Money didn’t seem to be a big issue for her.

  Nothing really added up, not to a clear sense of her motivations, anyway. And bottom line, he tended to think she was as blindsided by their situation as he was.

  Still, he had to watch himself around her. Already, he liked her far too much. She seemed honest. Sincere. And smart and way too damn good-looking for his peace of mind, with those huge eyes and all that thick black hair in a pretty tangle around that delicate face. And the scent of her...

  Sweet and tart and spicy, all at once.

  He wasn’t quite sure what had gotten into him earlier, to offer a sexual relationship outright. A more experienced man would’ve had sense enough to be smooth about it, to make a decent move on her, with kisses and slow caresses, letting nature take its course.

  Next time he had a chance to coax her into bed, he would do better.

  Because there would be a next time. Maybe he’d been oblivious to her five years ago. Not anymore. Whatever she might or might not be up to in the grand scheme of things, she’d married him. He wanted her and he was pretty damn sure she wanted him back. Why shouldn’t they both get a little pleasure out of this mess Martin had put them in?

  Burt was watching him. “You should see your face. She’s getting to you. But you don’t trust her any more than I do.”

  “You’re wrong. I think she’s a good person and all this is as much of a surprise to her as it is to us.”

  “Sure, you do.”

  “I want you to get along with her, Burt.”

  Burt sat there and fumed for a good thirty seconds. Then he pushed to his feet. “Women are nothin’ but a nuisance, and that is a proven fact.”

  “Clean out the shed.”

  Shaking his head and grumbling in protest, Burt headed for the door.

  * * *

  By the time Aislinn said goodbye to the PI Martin had hired, he’d already emailed her the report on Paula and Madison. She’d instructed the man to email Percy the file as well and to accept Percy’s phone calls and answer any questions he might have. After she hung up, she called Percy to let him know that the report was waiting in his inbox for him.

  That evening, Erma served the rib roast in the formal dining room. It was the four of them—Aislinn, Jax, Erma and Burt—all of them in jeans and casual shirts. Nothing fancy, except the meal, which was delicious, with fingerling potatoes, a wonderful pear and walnut salad and oven-browned brussels sprouts. Erma might not be a sparkling conversationalist, but she really could cook.

  After dinner, Jax and Burt went back out to the stables.

  Aislinn helped Erma clean up after the meal, though Erma protested that she always did the work herself.

  “Oh, really,” said the housekeeper in a breathy little voice. “That’s not necessary. I’ll take care of it.”

  Three whole sentences. Erma was growing downright talkative. “I insist.” Aislinn used her firmest tone. “Please don’t argue.”

  With a tiny sigh, Erma allowed her to help.

  As they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, Aislinn tried to get the older woman talking and was marginally successful. Erma revealed that she’d lived and worked at Wild River for fifteen years, since her husband, a salmon fisherman, had died. She had no children. This summer, there were three grooms and a stable hand working at Wild River, all four of whom went home after work.

  The minute they had the dishwasher going and the kitchen and dining room back in order, Erma said good-night and headed for her rooms above the garage.

  It was barely seven thirty. Aislinn wanted to jump in her car and drive home to Valentine Bay. She could cuddle with Bunbun and Luna, maybe get in a few hours in her workshop. But there was no going home right now. Her sisters would be all over her, wondering what was wrong.

  After all, it was her wedding night. They would demand to know what had gone wrong.

  She was just about to go on upstairs and stream a movie on her laptop, when she heard the front door open.

  A moment later, Jax appeared from the central hall in his stocking feet. He must have left his boots at the door. For a moment, they both stood there, just staring at each other.

  Dear Lord, he got her hormones cooking. The way those jeans hugged his narrow hips, the way he filled out his fly. And those shoulders, so broad and deep, the kind a woman could really hold on to. He wore an old Henley, the sleeves pushed to his elbows. The tendons in his forearms were perfection. She might take up sculpture, make a statue of him, just to try to capture the level of carefully controlled hotness he had going on.

  Finally, he asked, “You, uh, holding up all right?”

  “All good.” It was so weird and awkward—her body humming with his nearness, her words stilted, wooden. Really, what had she gotten herself into here? “I was just going to go on upstairs.”

 
“If you need anything—”

  “Nothing. Truly.”

  Tendons and muscles flexing, manly poetry in motion, he folded his arms over his chest and leaned in the archway. “Tomorrow, I thought we’d have an early breakfast, then we could all head for your place in Valentine Bay around eight.”

  “All?”

  “You, me and Burt. We’ll have two pickups, both with horse trailers if you think you’ll need them, and your Honda. Maybe we can make it in one trip.”

  “Sounds good, thanks.”

  They did the mutual staring thing again. Her heart had found a faster rhythm, and a strange little shiver raised the fine hairs at the back of her neck. She could just picture herself sauntering over to him, taking his hand, leading him upstairs into her room—but only long enough to pull him through the door that led to his.

  And then he peeled his tall frame away from the doorway and came toward her, silent on those stocking feet. He stopped so close that if he took one step closer, her breasts would brush the front of his shirt.

  He lifted a hand as if to touch her, and then let it drop. Ruefully, he muttered, “Tell me I don’t smell of horse.”

  “You don’t.” She stared up at him, transfixed by the blue fire in his eyes. “Not that I would care. I like horses.”

  “I kind of figured you must, or I wouldn’t have hired you back in the day.”

  She had to press her lips together to keep a goofy giggle from escaping. “It’s so flattering, how well you remember the eight weeks I worked for you.” His beautiful mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. He lifted that hand again. She smelled soap then—he’d washed up before he came inside.

  Catching a curl of her hair, he rubbed it between his fingers. She let him. He held her gaze as he did it, and she almost felt as though he touched her skin. “Silky,” he said, his voice gruffer than before. “I love how thick your hair is.”

  “I had a horse of my own once,” she said, her body aroused by his very nearness, her voice sounding dreamy and soft to her own ears.

  He wrapped the curl of hair around his finger. “You want to talk about horses, huh?”

  “Why not? You don’t?”