Some truths would never, ever change.
11
“It’s only eight fifty. You’re early.”
Marley looked up from the piece of paper in her grasp, and seriously, was it too much to ask that Greyson would have bedhead or bad breath or a coffee stain on his just-snug-enough-to-showcase-every-damned-muscle T-shirt, just once?
If his broken-in jeans and freshly showered smell and sleepy, Sunday-morning stare were anything to go by, the answer to that question was a big, fat hell yes.
“We agreed on nine, so you’re early, too,” she said, trying to look bored as she propped an elbow on the stainless steel worktable in the center of the back room at the shelter. “Anyway, I just got here.”
Okay, so it was a relative version of the truth. She’d been here for a full ten minutes. But she wanted to get this community service over-with, and the faster they got through everything Louis had planned, the closer she’d be to history. Plus, she’d wanted to work up to being around the animals today. Not that she didn’t like them, or think they were actually pretty cute, even. It was just a hell of a lot easier to stick to the whole arm’s length thing when she didn’t have to cuddle anything.
You wanted to do a hell of a lot more than cuddle Greyson in your dreams last night.
The thought hit her like a line drive, swift and unexpected, snapping her chin upward and her spine straight. But come on—it had been a dream that Greyson just happened to have been in, not an on-purpose fantasy. Sure, having his arms around her in her mind had felt intoxicating, and okay, maybe those dream-hands had done a few other things and she’d woken up with her train halfway to the orgasm station. Still. She couldn’t control her dreams, for God’s sake.
Apparently, she also couldn’t control her face, because Greyson had narrowed his eyes, his dark lashes sweeping over her with a look of growing concern. “You okay? You look—”
“Mmm hmm!” Marley interrupted. “Yep. I’m great. Just perfect.” Also, babbling. What the hell was wrong with her? “So, Louis left us a pretty long list of things to do today,” she managed to spit out, and Greyson’s concern turned to irritation. Whew.
“Of course he did,” he muttered. Moving closer, he asked, “What are we looking at?”
“It’s more of the same, basically. Cleaning the pens, walking the dogs, tending the yard.” Marley didn’t add that Louis had written and don’t mess with that one dog! in big, bold letters at the bottom of the page. Greyson was pissy enough about the old guy. “It looks like he wants us to start building some sort of dog run outside, too. There are plans and a list of materials that are supposed to be out back.”
Greyson took the plans from her, scanning them carefully. “Okay, this shouldn’t be too bad. It’s going to take us all week, at least, but the design is pretty straightforward.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Marley said. The plans might as well have been in Mandarin for how well she could decipher them. “At least one of us is good at this.”
“You managed all that inventory the other day way faster than I would’ve. Not to mention, you were pretty much the boss of that storage closet project,” Greyson said, and once she got over her surprise—which, admittedly, took a few seconds—she answered.
“Yeah, but that kind of stuff is easy.”
“Not for everyone.”
Marley followed him over to the cages along the far wall, falling into the routine of getting ready to clean out the pens. “I guess some things just make better sense to me than others.”
“Me, too.” Greyson gave up a nod, then a soft laugh. “Maybe batty old Judge Abernathy knew what she was doing when she threw the two of us here together, after all.”
“Let’s not get crazy,” Marley said, although she couldn’t help but laugh, too. “I’m pretty sure she’s still not all there.” She tapped her temple with a finger. “But maybe she did get lucky.”
“So, how come you stole a bunch of groceries from The Corner Market, anyway?”
Marley covered up her jumping pulse with a lift of her brows. “For someone with a granite-reinforced work ethic, you’re awfully chatty today.”
“It’s called multi-tasking,” he said, sliding the fat, gray and white cat with the scar on her ear out of her cage with care. “Anyway, if we’re going to spend all this time together, I’d rather not be bored.”
Damn it, she needed to deflect. Telling the truth about what had happened at The Corner Market wasn’t an option, especially with the curiosity brewing in those dark-chocolate eyes of his.
She pasted a sassy smile to her lips. “You’re so charming. Really. I bet you’ve got girls lined up around the block, just dying to go out with you.”
“I might,” he countered, with just enough of a dare in his tone that Marley bit.
“In a town this size? Doubtful. Even for you.”
Greyson’s smirk appeared just as she heard the words she’d spoken, and she heard—too late—what they implied. Even for you, who is so hot, the fire department should follow you around with hoses, ready to douse you and the panties of all the women in your path. God, this couldn’t get any worse.
“Are you flirting with me?” he asked, and Marley made a mental note never to think things couldn’t get worse ever again, even if she lived to be a hundred.
“No!” She needed to either kill this conversation or get it back on the rails and off the topic of them flirting, ASAP. “How come you never paid your parking tickets?”
If Greyson was thrown by the shift in the topic, he didn’t show it. “Truth? I don’t really know. I should’ve. I guess I had bigger things on my mind. Plus, I’m kind of used to bucking authority, so…”
Marley reached for a sweet-faced black and white cat and bit back a snort of irony. “Yeah, I got that. But what could be bigger than paying the tickets that would keep you from being arrested?”
“To be fair, I didn’t realize I’d get arrested over it,” he pointed out. “But to answer, I guess I was focused on my farm.”
“Being focused on work makes sense,” she said. She’d been all about the paycheck ever since her mother’s medical bills had started piling up.
“I didn’t say I was focused on work. I said I was focused on my farm.”
Marley rewound the words. Played them back. Yep, still nothing. “There’s a difference?”
“Uh, yeah there’s a difference.” Greyson shot her a quizzical look, which she returned in kind, so he continued. “I don’t mind the work. I mean, that’s part of the deal. But even though there are sometimes long days and hard labor, that’s secondary. The farm is what matters. That’s where I belong.”
“That is the weirdest concept to me.”
The words had flown out before she could check them, and—ah, hell—Greyson’s brows were already more than halfway to the fall of dark hair tumbling over his forehead, arched in full-on curiosity. But she’d made no bones about not wanting to stick around town any longer than was necessary. It’s not as if it’d be some giant news flash to say it again.
Marley shrugged. “I don’t belong here, is all.”
“So, where do you belong?” he asked. They worked for a minute, then another, while Marley gave the question legitimate thought.
“Not here,” she finally said. In the beginning, she’d assumed she’d go back to Chicago once she’d checked coming to Millhaven to meet Tobias as her mother had asked her to off her To Do list. But the more she thought about it, the less sure she became that she’d ever be able to drive past the old house they’d rented, or all the places she and her mother had loved to go, or—a chill raced over her skin, leaving goose bumps in its path—the hospital where her mother had died. But that was the bonus of not belonging anywhere. She had options. As long as her options took her far away from here, she’d be just fine.
“Okay. Where’d you come from?”
Greyson’s voice was surprisingly devoid of all his usual pushiness and arrogance, and the tension knotting Marley�
�s shoulders slipped loose along with her answer.
“I’d have figured everyone in town would know that by now. You guys pretty much live in each other’s pockets around here.”
“Fair enough.” He paused to take the gray and white cat out of her temporary cage and scratch her belly, then put her back in her freshly cleaned pen before adding, “There aren’t really any secrets in Millhaven. Still, you can’t believe everything you hear.”
Now it was Marley’s curiosity that sparked. “Like what?”
“Like what, what?” Greyson asked slowly. But oh, no. She’d heard that hint of scorn in his tone. Lord knew she could spot sarcasm from a thousand yards away, and whether he’d meant for her to hear it or not, Greyson had just been chock full of the stuff.
“You just said you can’t believe everything you hear. So, what shouldn’t I believe?”
“It’s kind of just a saying. I didn’t mean it literally. You don’t even talk to anybody around here,” he pointed out.
Her mouth fell open in surprise. “You’re dodging the question.”
“You dodged the question about where you’re from,” Greyson countered, and Marley had to admit, he kind of had her there.
“Fine. I’m from Chicago.”
“Really?”
God, the shock on his face was so complete that Marley almost felt bad teasing him. Almost. “No, I made it up.” Her laughter softened any snap the words might’ve held, making him laugh, too. “Yes, really,” she continued. “I had a distant great-aunt who lived just outside the city, so my mom figured it was as good a place as any to live. She moved there a few months before I was born, and I lived there my whole life, so yeah. That’s where I’m from.” Marley exhaled, then clamped down on her lip when she heard how much she’d said. “Anyway. Your turn.”
“Oh.” Greyson blinked. He must have realized she wasn’t going to let it drop, because he said, “I guess all I meant when I said you shouldn’t believe everything you hear is that people tend to make assumptions in small towns.”
“People do that everywhere,” she said, and his laugh slid through her, unexpectedly deep.
“Yeah, but around here, you can’t ever get away from it. You probably thought you knew me before we ever ended up in that jail cell, right?”
“I…”
Marley wanted to protest, she really did, to say, “How could I have known you when I’d never even met you?”
But the truth was, she couldn’t. She might not know a lot of people around Millhaven (okay, so she knew like six, and Scarlett wasn’t even technically a local), but her brothers talked. They sure had enough to say about Greyson. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
He turned to look at her over one shoulder. “And what did you think?”
“Um.” Jeez, way to put a girl on the spot. Not that she wasn’t down with honesty, because she was. But calling Greyson a jerk when he was being a jerk was one thing. Right now, he was just being real.
“Let me see if I can help you out,” he said. “Cocky. Arrogant. Smug.” He ticked them off on his fingers, one by one. “Rough around the edges. Downright mean. Am I warm?”
“Well, yeah,” she said, because they both knew he wasn’t wrong. “But you have to admit, you back at least some of that up.”
“You wonder why?”
Marley opened her mouth to answer with the obvious, then stopped short. Okay, yes. He could be cocky and rough around the edges. He’d been damn near close to a total jackass when she’d first met him, and her brothers had stories for days. There had even been that bet with Eli last year. But Greyson had also been kind with the animals, and despite the curiosity he’d clearly shown earlier over her past and where she was from, he hadn’t prodded nosily to get the details. Plus, he never hesitated to roll up his sleeves to do the work Louis heaped on them, always diving into each task with not just determination to get it done, but to get it done well.
“I do now,” she said. “Why would you act like that if you didn’t mean it?”
He closed the cage in front of him, turning to face her fully. “Because this is Millhaven. People believe what they’re going to, and I’m never gonna prove them wrong. Trust me, I’ve tried. But my family legacy was laid out for me a long time ago.” His voice took on a mocking tone. “That Greyson Whittaker’s an ornery bastard. After all, the apple don’t fall far from the tree.”
Marley’s pulse whooshed in her ears as what he’d said clicked all the way into place, like a row of Dominoes falling tat-tat-tat-tat-tat in a line. “So, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy? You act the way you do because that’s what everyone expects of you as your father’s son.”
“Sometimes,” Greyson said, and Marley’s brows went up.
She didn’t even care that her curiosity, and all of the interest in him that went with it, was probably on full display. “Why only sometimes?”
“Because that cockiness isn’t always for show.” He took a step toward her, then another, before stopping to level her with a smile so hot and so dark, she felt it on her skin like a touch.
“Sometimes, darlin’, I really am that damn good.”
Marley’s muscles felt like someone had replaced them with old rubber bands and even older rubber cement. But since she could have either worked herself into exhaustion or closed the space between her and Greyson to kiss him and not stop until they were good and naked and screaming each other’s names, she’d gone for what had been behind door number one for the sake of both dignity and decorum. He’d followed suit, just as Marley had figured he would. Titanium work ethic aside, he’d been flirting with her not because he was interested, but to prove his point. Everyone thought he was Millhaven’s baddest bad boy. His father’s son. Hard-edged and difficult.
God, she still wanted to kiss him.
Shaking off the thought, along with all the heat pooling low and tight in her belly, Marley peeked past the Toyota and over the path leading away from the shelter. She’d used the old “I should probably use the ladies room before I head out” excuse to linger today, shooing Greyson off with the promise that yes, she’d be just fine to lock up, and no, he absolutely didn’t need to stay to walk her to her car. He hadn’t protested much—thank you, lucky stars—and she’d loitered for an extra five minutes, just to be sure he was good and gone before she’d come back outside. Her grocery delivery had gone without a hitch the other day, and if she played things just right, all the rest of them should, too.
Sierra and her mother shouldn’t be hungry. Marley had needed to stop at a Quick Mart in Lockridge to stock up on canned goods—after all, a trip to The Corner Market didn’t seem like the best idea, given her reputation, and she hadn’t wanted to raise suspicion. She might not be able to do anything big for the Becketts. Lord knew she was spending money she didn’t really have on the handful of items as it was. But maybe if they had enough to eat, Sierra and her mom could start to get back on their feet.
Marley pulled the plastic bag full of canned beef stew, cling peaches (which weren’t nearly as good as the real deal, but they were selfishly Marley’s favorite, so in they’d gone), powdered milk, and peanut butter from the spot where she’d tucked it on the Toyota’s floor mats. She’d snagged a pair of tomatoes from the bowl on the island in the main house at Cross Creek, too. Yes, she’d technically stolen them, she supposed. But they’d been too pretty to pass up, and they were healthy on top of it. She’d just skip having her share this week to make up for the indiscretion.
Moving as casually as possible, she walked to the fence line, crossing over into the Becketts’ yard as if she had every right and reason to be there. The grass was overgrown, practically to Marley’s knees in spots, and she sent up a fervent prayer that she wouldn’t run across any snakes. She sent a glance over her surroundings as she got closer to the wooden steps leading up to the back of the trailer, taking in the clothesline, which now held a timeworn set of sheets and a few T-shirts and pairs of shorts, and the rest of the patchy grass. Soft sounds of
water running and a radio in the background sounded off from inside—good cover, Marley realized with a small sigh of relief. She crept to the stairs, where the laundry basket sat, just as it had the other day, reaching out to slowly, sloooooowly slide the thing close enough that she could make her delivery and retreat.
Her hand jerked to a stop, mid-motion. There was already a bag full of groceries in the basket.
And she hadn’t left it there.
With her heart in her throat, Marley peered around the scraggly yard again. Everything was as quiet and still as it had been the other evening, when she’d left the first round of canned goods here. Yet somehow, this new bag had appeared, seemingly from out of thin air.
Not wanting to tempt fate—she did have a pretty shitty track record for getting busted in the wrong place at the wrong time—she tucked her bag next to the one already in the laundry basket and made her way back to the fence line. Her brain spun with confusion, trying to come up with some viable explanation as to who had put the groceries on Sierra’s back step and why, when an all-too-familiar voice invaded her thoughts.
“Do you want to tell me why you’ve been leaving groceries on the Becketts’ porch for the last two evenings we’ve done community service?”
Marley bit back the scream in her throat, but only just. “Jesus,” she said, slapping a hand over her sternum, her heart pounding steadily beneath the thin material of her T-shirt as she spun toward the giant oak tree Greyson had propped himself against. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”
Crossing Hope (Cross Creek Series Book 4) Page 11
