“I hope you mean Jason, not us.”
I sigh. “Of course I mean Jason. I missed y’all like crazy. Even though I talked to everyone pretty often, it wasn’t the same as being with you here. Here.”
At our table. In the house where we grew up. In the places we shared with Mom.
Home.
Hannah doesn’t comment, doesn’t speak at all for a long time. Her mind isn’t quiet, though. She always gets this little frown when she’s thinking. “How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know yet. I was…I was thinking of staying for a while.”
Hannah’s head jerks up. “How long is a while?”
“I don’t know. A while. What difference does it make?”
Again, she makes no comment. “So what sent you in here like such a terror this morning?”
“A terror? I wasn’t—” I stop when I realize what she saw. “Oh, right. That. That was just me running from my libido.”
“What do you mean?”
I glance over my shoulder and lower my voice. “Nixon. You’ve seen him, right?”
“Of course I’ve seen him. Why?”
“Why? Oh my God! He’s… Oh my God!”
“He’s good-looking, but…”
“But?”
“There’s something off about him. Don’t you think?”
“Not really.”
“It’s probably just me then. Maybe because I have my eye on someone else.”
I gasp. “You do? Spill!”
I lean in, as does my sister, and we dish like we did when we were in high school. All the hot boy talk, all the latest gossip, all the giggling and whispering. It’s the best hour and a half I’ve spent in a long, long time.
By the time I walk back to the cottage, my mood is calm and light. So much so that when I come through the front door and see Nixon standing in the little kitchen, I meander over to the stove and lean around him to see what he’s cooking. There’s a small, flat basket of eggs on the counter beside a neatly wrapped cut of bacon.
“Nice package,” I whisper near his ear before turning to walk away. Before disappearing toward my room, I glance over my shoulder and find that he’s watching me. “I love me some bacon.”
After a few seconds, Nixon’s lips curve into a wolfish smile. “You just declared war.”
It feels inexplicably good to flirt with him. Maybe a little harmless fun will be good for me. What could it hurt?
I laugh. “Don’t forget. Two can play this game.”
“God, I hope so.”
“We’ll see if you still feel that way in a few days.”
I don’t let my smile break free until I’m safely in my room.
11
Nixon
My eyes pop open before daylight. I haven’t needed an alarm in years, but I didn’t wake up on my own this time. I heard a noise.
I sit up in bed and listen closely. It sounds like…like…
I don’t bother putting on extra clothes as I leave my room. If Haley’s awake, she can get an eyeful. And she’s definitely awake.
What do I see when I step into the living room?
My mouth drops open. Haley is dressed in skintight leggings and a sports bra, and God help me, she’s doing jumping jacks. Jumping jacks, of all things. I’ve never been more grateful for aerobics in my entire life.
I stand watching her, taking in her smooth, alabaster skin and the light sheen of sweat on it, memorizing the perfect curve of her ass, drooling over the nipples that strain so delectably against the material of her bra. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, a woman like her ought to be illegal.
After a minute or two, she turns her head and spots me. I don’t move, and she doesn’t stop. She just smiles at me. Not a full smile, but a teasing little half-smile, damn her. The kind that could make me hard as a rock if I let go of my self-control for about two seconds.
“You’re right,” she says, huffing. “Early mornings are a great time to do it.”
She stops jumping, and I think I might get out of the living room without embarrassing myself in my boxer briefs, but then she turns away from me and starts doing toe touches. Christ Almighty, toe touches! The kind of move that flexes her long, long legs and pushes that tight, tight ass right up into the air. It’s practically begging me to spank it. I have to grit my teeth to keep from walking over to her, stripping off those leggings, and pounding into her from behind. Instead, I stomp back to my room.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m not ready to play this game with her.
Not unless she’s ready to deal with the consequences.
12
Haley
Sitting down to my first family dinner in ten years is like chaotic bliss. I’d forgotten what a beautiful mess eating with my family is. From a distance, it probably sounds like a gaggle of geese are stuffed into the formal dining room of the main house, but it’s just the Brandt women. I missed this more than I ever realized.
“Looks delicious, Hannah,” Dad says from his throne-like chair at the head of the table. He reaches for a bowl of the fluffiest mashed potatoes known to man, but Hannah smacks his hand.
“Not until I finish bringing the rest in and we say grace.”
He rolls his eyes, but folds his hands in his lap and obediently waits.
When the tabletop is nearly overflowing with platters, bowls, and tureens, Hannah takes a seat to the right of Dad and grabs his hand. It sends a poignant pang through my heart to witness it. It’s clear she’s become the matriarch of the house since Mom died and I left, and rightly so, as she’s the second oldest.
The rest of us join hands, me reaching across to Harper who’s sitting beside Hannah, and we bow our heads. Daddy says grace, just like he always did.
“Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for this bountiful feast. Please use it for the nourishment of our bodies. Thank you for my beautiful family, and for the safe return of Haley. Lord, bless my girls, bless all they put their hands to. Let them always remember that we are home to each other. No one can ever take that away. Forgive us our trespasses, cleanse us from all sin, direct our every step. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
We all repeat his amen, and when I look up, my eyes aren’t the only ones welling with tears. My throat is tight, and my words are thick when I confess, “It’s good to be home. I’ve missed this place.”
“You mean you’ve missed us,” Dad corrects.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve missed you miscreants, too.”
“Miscreant?” Harper repeats with a curl of her upper lip. “Where the hell do you come up with this shit, Hay? Did they give vocabulary lessons at pole dancing school? That’s where you’ve been the last ten years, right?”
I glance over at her, at the cheeky grin and twinkling eyes she’s now wearing. She’s below Hannah in age, the second youngest, and somehow, she ended up more like me. She has a wild, rebellious streak a mile wide, and she loves to shock people at the dinner table. She always did. I can’t remember a single holiday party my parents hosted where she didn’t mortify them in some form or fashion. One Thanksgiving, she brought up testicles at the dinner table; one Easter, she finished eating and burped so loud the windows nearly rattled, and I remember a Fourth of July cookout when she ran through the yard naked and holding a water gun, yelling for us to chase her. If her goal was to outdo me, she reached it fair and square by age ten.
Now it’s a point of pride with her. She relishes being the loose cannon of the bunch. I relish it, too, because I love that she’s still just doing her own thing. She hasn’t conformed, hasn’t bent or broken or melted under pressure. She’s just Harper. Crazy, zany, loud, awesome Harper.
“As a matter of fact, they did. They also taught the foreign language of your choice.”
“What did you pick?”
“French, of course. Seemed to go better with the outfits. Spin, twirl, mon dieu! Shimmy, shimmy, shake, mais oui!”
Hope jumps into the family roast of the long lost sister. Many would take offense at
this type of thing, but it’s something that warms my heart. Rough play and imaginative nonsense have always just been part of our rapport. I’m glad that, after a decade away, that hasn’t changed. Slipping back into our old rhythm is like slipping into a pair of comfortable, old shoes. “She didn’t go to pole dancing school, Harper. I told you, she was a professional topless scuba instructor.”
“In Colorado?”
“Lot of deep mountain pools, I hear.”
“I did know a guy with the last name ‘Bends’.”
“As in ‘he bends me over’?”
“Hope,” Daddy cautions in his sternest voice. He tolerates our hijinks pretty well for the most part, but sometimes, we can get a bit graphic for him. It’s usually Harper who pushes him over the edge, though.
We all look to Hannah. “Well? Where are you saying I’ve been for the last decade?”
She sets her fork down, steeples her fingers over her plate, and takes her shot at me. “Clearly, you were the model for the new sex robots. The kind that take quarters.”
“Ohhhh!” we all exclaim in unison, Harper and Hannah high-fiving.
“I think you probably won that one, Han.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for at least two years.”
“Two years and that’s the best you could come up with?” Harper asks in mock disdain. “Weak. And she’s your sister for Chrissake. You know sexy time with her would be worth at least a dollar fifty.”
We all start to laugh, but a different voice interrupts our raucousness. I recognize it instantly.
“A dollar fifty? Is that all?”
Four heads ranging in color from bright copper to dark auburn snap around, mine included. I’d be willing to bet that only one of us goes breathless, though. And I blame Nixon for that. His eyes are on me, hot and intent. One dark brow is quirked, and a grin is teasing the edges of his mouth.
I feel blood gush into my cheeks.
“That was her Christmas special. ‘Sugar and spice, more naughty than nice’,” Harper chimes.
“Harper,” Dad barks, pushing to his feet. “I apologize, Nixon. I raised my girls with better manners than this.”
“Oh, calm down, Daddy Dearest. We’re just joking. I’m sure hotter-than-hot here knows that.” I swing my gaze to Harper, who is eyeing Nixon like he’s the most delicious thing on the menu at her favorite restaurant.
I’m surprised when a surge of jealousy spikes through me. I’m also surprised by the deep disappointment I feel at the thought that Nixon might’ve had some kind of sexual run-in with my sister. I’ve only known the guy for a short while, but somehow, I’d already begun to think of him as mine. Even to me that sounds ridiculous, and yet…
“Sorry to interrupt. There’s a matter I need to speak with you about. I’ll be brief, so you can get back to your dinner.”
“Of course.” Dad excuses himself, and I have to make myself not look over my shoulder to watch him leave with Nixon.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, Harper starts in. “Ohmygod, what the hell was that?”
“What the hell was what?”
“You two were totally flirting with each other!”
“You’re off your rocker. I didn’t speak a single word to the man. How was I flirting?”
“Well then, dammit, you should’ve been flirting. I’ve tried for two months to turn his head and nada. I was beginning to think he’s gay.”
“Just because he didn’t jump into your bed?”
“Not only that. He hasn’t hit on any of the Brandt women.”
“So?”
“Look around, Haley. Do you see a lot of other female options? We’re on a ranch out in the middle of BFE. Every male employee who’s been through here since we hit puberty has hit on at least one of us. You know the drill.”
“He’s definitely not gay,” I defend before I can think better of it.
“’Definitely not’ huh?” She narrows her eyes on me. All Brandt women have green in their eyes. Harper’s are the most brilliant of the bunch. They’re clear and bright, and as sharply perceptive as her mind. “And how can you be so sure?”
I say nothing, but I feel the creep of heat back into my cheeks. I will it away, but it stubbornly refuses.
Harper stands so quickly, her chair rocks back like it might fall over. She gasps and points an accusing finger at me. “You! You’re sleeping with him!”
“I most certainly am not!”
“Liar. You’ve got the stench of lies all over you. And sex! Hot, sweaty, cowboy sex,” she exclaims with a sassy wrinkle of her nose.
“I am not sleeping with him, Harper. Have you forgotten why I left here ten years ago?”
“You were young. And Jason was an ass. This is different.”
“Not that different.”
She finally sits back down, but it’s clear by her expression that she’s nowhere near ready to give up this conversation. “Has something happened at the cottage?”
“No, Harper. Nothing has happened.”
She glares at me again. “Something is up. My Harpy sense is going ape shit.”
“Your Harpy sense is on crack.”
“That remains to be seen. But rest assured, Oh Eldest One, if there is dirt here, it will be found. Oh yes, it will be found.” Harper leans back in her chair and offers up her best diabolical cackle. When she’s finished, there’s about a five second delay before we all start laughing, and the subject is thankfully dropped.
I’ll worry later about how relieved I am that Nixon Holt wasn’t involved with any of my sisters. I can decide then if I have a problem or not.
13
Nixon
From the moment I walked in from repairing a fence in the east pasture, Haley has been acting strange. She’s glanced at me and smiled, but she hasn’t said a word other than to answer my questions.
Did you enjoy your dinner?
Yes.
Glad you came back?
Yes.
Missed your family?
Yes.
Something’s on her mind, though. I’ve only known her for about three seconds, but I’m getting a sense of her quickly. Maybe it’s because I’m interested. Or maybe that’s why I’m interested. She’s a gorgeous, flame-haired ball of contradictions, and I want to unravel her, strand by strand.
When I get out of the shower, I walk through my bedroom, and I can see her in the living room, pretending to watch television. The thing is, she was watching for me. I saw her jerk her head when I crossed in front of the door.
I grab a shirt, not even bothering to button it up before I march out and sit down beside her on the couch.
“What’s eating you?”
“Nothing’s eating me.”
I cock a brow. “Well that’s a damn shame.”
I wait for the color to appear.
I smile when it does.
Her blushes never disappoint.
“Something you want to say?” She shakes her head, refusing to meet my eyes. I reach over and hook a finger under her chin and make her. “Spill it or neither one of us will be able to sleep tonight.”
Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but then she changes her mind and clamps them shut. I settle in on the couch, throwing my arm along the back of the cushion behind her head. I can practically hear her squirm. God, she’s fun. I’ve never seen someone fight attraction as hard as this woman.
I scoot a little closer. From the corner of my eye, I see her gaze dart over to me and away. So I scoot even closer. “What are we watching?”
“A show about flipping houses.”
I nod.
She’s tense, waiting for me to move. I lean into her and cross my feet at the ankles. After a minute, without looking at her, I make her an offer I doubt she’ll refuse. “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s on your mind.”
There’s a long pause as she debates, but she finally bends a knee, angles her body toward mine, and dives right in. “Why aren’t you interested
in any of my sisters?”
My gaze snaps to hers. “Why would you want me to be?”
“I didn’t say I wanted you to be. I’m just curious why you aren’t.”
“Because they’re the daughters of a man I’m working with. That’s not really my style.”
“What about me?”
“You’re the exception.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t know who you were when I first met you. By the time I knew, it was too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Too late for me to just let you walk away.”
“So if you’d met one of them like you met me, without knowing who she was, you might be with her right now?”
“I didn’t realize I was with you.”
Her eyes round. “You’re not. We’re not. I just mean…I just…”
She’s flustered, and I love it. “What brought this up?”
“Harper. She thought you were gay because you didn’t hit on any of them.”
“And this bothers you…why?” She shrugs and looks down at the fingernail she’s been picking. “Wait, are you…are you jealous of something that didn’t even happen?”
Her gaze clicks up to mine. “Of course not. That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Sure as hell doesn’t.” Still, she fiddles nervously. “Your sisters are beautiful, but they’re not you. You intrigued me from the second I walked into that bar.”
“One of them may have intrigued you, too. You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I can. I know without a doubt I wouldn’t have reacted the same way.”
“You can’t possibly know that,” she repeats.
“I can and I do. I bet not one of your sisters can take tequila shots like a man. I bet not one of them would kiss a stranger in a crowded bar, or greet her roommate with naughty aerobics, or—”
“I wasn’t doing naughty aerobics.”
“You were absolutely doing naughty aerobics. I could close my eyes right now and draw your ass in that damn spandex from memory.”
At that, she grins. “That’s what you get for torturing me the way you have.”
Tequila High Page 5
