by Nicole Snow
I don’t realize how bitter I sound until I see the way she’s looking at me.
Fuck.
Holding in the hot air scorching my lungs, I realize just how true that statement is and how it irritated me, even back then.
I’d left Hollywood and enlisted because I’d hated that life already, but because of Mom, I’d returned. Let her have her way because she was my mother.
I loved her, and I didn’t understand then why the life had gone out of her, why she sounded so sad, so defeated, every time we’d talk about my future.
If I’d only known how desperate she was to stay in the limelight, while there was still time...
“I’m rambling,” I say, severing that train of thought. “Back to more important shit than my Army days.”
“It’s none of my business but...you didn’t like acting?” she asks, eyes lit with curiosity.
These are the times when I wish they made foot removal kits for mouths.
“Yes and no. I mean, who wouldn’t love being a star? The praise, the money, the prestige, the creativity...it’s all fine and dandy for the ego stroke and sense of accomplishment. Real easy to get caught up in the high of your next film or a brand-new digit in your investment portfolio, but it’s also an ugly fuckin’ world.”
She blinks, taken aback at how I say it.
I don’t blame her.
“Picture a world with no privacy. The sleekest, sexiest human zoo you’ve ever imagined. Always somebody watching every step you take. Plenty of vultures circling, ready to pounce if your mistake is their gain.”
Shit, rambling doesn’t begin to cover this.
I’ve never opened up to anyone and played the world’s tiniest violin. Not even to Tobin.
But if it helps her open up and trust me, it’s worth it.
I’m not looking for sympathy. I’ve had a great life with luxuries and experiences most people can only dream of.
And honestly? It feels genuinely good to get a fraction of this toxic load off my chest.
“Ridge, I’m really, really sorry about those articles. The nasty things they said, always painting you like you’re some kind of crazy, broken person who just wanted to run away...it isn’t fair.”
I look up, surprised at the venom in her voice.
It’s rare when I hear someone genuinely angry.
Not at me, but for me.
I shrug. “I’ve had hot garbage written about me before a thousand times. You should’ve seen the time I showed up for my co-star’s birthday in the big Romeo and Juliet remake. Don’t know who the fuck was more embarrassed over the imminent wedding rumors, her or me.”
She laughs, her cheeks flushed sexy pink.
Goddamn.
Seeing Grace squirming in her seat over old gossip does terrible things to my cock.
“Good news is, I doubt Grendal has any clue how showbiz works. They’re hungry-ass lions in the media. You’d better keep the red meat coming or else they’ll move right on to the next big flap about who’s in rehab or what dress malfunctioned and exposed a shiny new boob job.”
“Maybe so.” Her smile fades. “But your privacy was really breached this time.”
I know, and I plan on calling Faulkner for an update as soon as she’s in bed.
Preferably several walls away from my case of blue balls, which is a subject I still need to broach. Not the smurf nuts, obviously, but keeping her here.
I take a few big bites of my sandwich, swallow, and then go to the stove where the cocoa’s just waiting for a splash of hot water, warm milk, my secret sauce, and a drizzled topping of chocolate sauce and shaved coconut.
Billionaire or not, I was raised right—I know to use both water and milk for the best damn cocoa this side of the Mississippi. Plus, I think Tobin would have a conniption fit if he caught me throwing it together any differently.
Sitting down next to her, I pick up my sandwich and finish the last few bites, urging her to do the same.
“Go ahead. Eat.” Nodding at the cup, I add, “And drink your ambrosia. I make a mean sandwich, but my hot chocolate blows panties into the stratosphere.”
She snorts and gives me a suspicious look. “Don’t tell me that’s how you pick up dates. I thought fame, riches, and good looks would beat a cocoa recipe any day?”
“Casanova never had Bavarian chocolate.” I pause, taking a pull off my water. “Hell, or maybe he did. I’m a better cook than a literary expert.”
Right now, there’s only one woman I’m aiming to please, and ironically, it’s to send her off to a bed I won’t even share.
She glances at the empty hot chocolate packets on the counter and lifts an eyebrow. Luxury brand or not, they come from Europe in these single-serve packages just like the stuff in the stores.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I say. “Trust me.”
Shrugging, she eats her sandwich and looks at me with a grin.
“Honestly, it doesn’t look like much when I pick it up but...it’s plenty tasty. Oh, and I like that it has a kick.”
I wink at her. “Hot sriracha-curry sauce mixed in the mayo. Tobin’s secret, passed down to me.”
Then she closes her eyes, bites into the last of it, and damn near kills me as I watch her devour my creation.
I pick up my hot chocolate. “Glad you like it. Cheers.”
She raises her cup, looking at me over the rim, and nods as she takes a long sip. Her brows loft as she takes a second swallow. “Um. Holy. Wow. This is just...effing delicious.”
I grin. “Told ya.”
“You’re a good liar.” Eyes still locked on me, she takes another drink. “No way this came out of those packets.”
“Sure did. I just doctored it up.”
“Doctored?” She takes another drink and holds it in her mouth for a moment, then swallows. “Vanilla. Coconut. Ohh, I definitely taste vanilla.”
“Bingo. A couple drops. Makes all the difference in the world, doesn’t it?”
“Jesus, yes. I’m going to remember that.” She sets down her cup. “I wish I’d known it before now. This stuff would’ve sold like gangbusters at the pumpkin patch.”
Taking my cue, I set my cup down and look at her. “There’s something else we need to talk about. Jackie Owens needs a place to sleep.”
Swallowing, she takes another sip of hot chocolate, revealing nothing in her eyes.
“Right. I told her she could sleep in the other bed, and I’ll crash on the couch.”
I shake my head. “No way to live. You’ll wake up every time she checks on Nelson and run yourself ragged.”
“Well, I’ll want to wake up and check on him, too.”
“That’s Nurse Owens’ job, darlin’. We’re paying her very well to take the load off all of us and give him the care he needs. I already told Tobin to bring your stuff over here soon, after we’ve had a chance to talk. There are several spare rooms upstairs. You can pick your favorite and tell us what you need.”
“Ridge, no, I—”
“You agree? Awesome. Look at it this way—if he was in the hospital, you wouldn’t be able to stay there. Frankly, if we weren’t able to get the nurse and Dr. Abrams out here, that’s where he would’ve wound up.”
She tries to deny it, the little firecracker, but I watch her lips twitch and whiten as they pinch shut.
“Fine,” she whispers.
Ouch. I’m old enough to know that’s one of the most cryptic, lethal words in a woman’s lexicon.
“Grace, I’m not just doing this to shut you down. I’m trying to look after your health the same as Nelson’s. If he were in a hospital, they’d tell you to go home and get some rest. That’s what you’ll do here, too, as long as we’re sharing one roof.”
“But—”
“Too late for buts. Save the effort. Your dad needs rest and Owens needs to do her job with no one else in the way. There’ll be plenty of time during the day to visit. Look, I know you don’t like it. I know it’s hard as shit after everything that’s ha
ppened, and you’re both used to looking after each other. I just want to hear one thing,” I say, holding out a hand. “Will you trust me on this? Will you let me take care of you?”
13
No Place to Hide (Grace)
Common sense tells me what he’s saying is true, but this is my father we’re talking about.
I need to be at the cabin.
I stare at that big, thick hand he’s holding out with my heart on fire.
“If you won’t do it for your dad or the nurse, or even yourself, then please...do it for me,” Ridge says quietly. “You want to help, I get it. Trouble is, you won’t be much help to anybody if you’re so exhausted and sick with worry you can’t switch off. When people use up every last ounce of mojo, they have an ugly way of screwing themselves over. I learned that in the military, too.”
Guilt hits my stomach like a stone.
He’d been visibly repulsed when he’d mentioned his mother not wanting a son in the military.
I wonder again about what I read concerning Judy Barnet’s death.
Possible suicide.
I wonder if us being here, and Dad being critically ill, brings back bitter memories.
I’m not comfortable asking because he’s already given up more than he should.
Answers about his murky private life are his, and his alone. Whatever secrets he’s hiding, I’ve decided one thing.
I can trust this man.
He hasn’t asked me for anything outrageous, either, not even now, when all he wants is for me to stay out of the nurse’s way and get some sleep.
“Point taken,” I say, taking his hand. “I’ll spend the night here.”
“Nights.” He emphasizes the plural S. “Until Nelson gets well enough not to need a nurse.”
Just when I’m about to pull my fingers away, his hold tightens. It’s like grasping some gentle beast’s paw, thick and strong and pleading.
Those bright-blue stares he beams at me send a hot current down my spine.
Sighing, I nod in agreement.
I may hate it, but there’s really no argument.
Besides, Jackie Owens seems very competent, and the cabin is a lot closer than if Dad was shuffled off to the nearest hospital.
“Glad that’s settled,” he tells me, tracing his fingers lightly over mine one last time before letting go.
Dear God.
What am I even doing?
Letting my body freak out over a man who’s helping me without being creepy.
A man who’s so freaking far out of my league, I wonder if he’s even from this planet.
Ridge Barnet lives with the immortals, gods of good looks and wealth and adoration.
I shake my head at him and at my own thoughts.
Truly, despite backing down, nothing seems settled tonight at all.
Aside from Dad’s health, hopefully.
“Thanks, Ridge, for all you’re doing. All you’ve done. I couldn’t believe it when Tobin had a doctor drive out here. That would’ve never happened where we lived.”
“It’s the country.” He stands up and carries his plate to the sink. “It’s been that way since I moved here. The people are down-to-earth. Honest. Helpful. I’d heard other guys in the Army talk about their hometowns, the hospitality, places tucked away in Oklahoma or little Colorado mountain towns. I never had that back in California, but I felt it instantly on my first visit to Dallas. I told Tobin I was buying this place even before I’d seen it because of the way we’d been treated in town. They’d been warm, welcoming, without even knowing who I was behind the baseball cap and shades.”
“That must’ve been nice. I can’t complain about anything here so far.” I smile and stand to carry my cup and plate to the sink.
The sandwich was as good as he promised, and the hot chocolate slayed.
Thank God my panties are still intact and not in orbit.
He carries the sandwich fixings to the fridge.
“I haven’t regretted my move here yet,” he says. “Not even with winter smothering everything for half the damn year.”
“Until I came along, you mean, and your privacy went up in smoke.”
Closing the fridge, he turns, grasps my hands, and holds them firmly.
“How many times are you going to make me say it? That wasn’t your fault, darlin’. Shit, if anyone wanted to know where I was, they’d have found me. It’s not like I changed my name and went into witness protection. Just kept a low profile here since we landed, revealing myself very selectively. My buddy, Faulk, he knew me from way back in the Army. Grady and Drake, I told later as I got to know them, knowing they’d seen enough crap to be trusted.”
Holy sex-eyes, batman.
My entire being snaps, crackles, and sizzles at the way he’s looking at me, and my heart skips a beat when he leans closer.
Try to breathe.
Try to not dare think about kissing him.
I don’t even know where those thoughts, those desires are coming from. But they’re there, grinding me down with reckless heat.
And he’s still coming closer.
It takes a hot, heavy second to realize what hits me.
Ridge’s lips, warm and soft and deliberate, touch my forehead in this sweet, chaste kiss that still feels dirty.
“It’s going to be all right,” he tells me, those blue eyes burning a hole through my skin. “Let’s get you to bed.”
I take a step back, trying to separate myself from him, from the sheer disappointment of wanting him to kiss far more than my forehead. “Uh, sure thing. I just...I need to go get my suitcase.”
“Tobin will bring it over.”
“Oh, yeah!” I wonder how maniacal I look wearing the world’s most awkward smile.
I nod, and needing to put some space between myself and Hotlips, I say, “I’ll take the room at the end of the hall. I saw it’s got plenty of space and its own bathroom.”
I know the layout of the house well enough from my decorating walk-through.
“Smart pick. That one that has a window facing the cabin,” he says with a grin.
I nod again, feeling like my head still wants to drop off.
“Go on up to bed. I’ll have Tobin set your suitcase outside your door. Holler if you need anything.”
I look down, breath stalling in my lungs.
Uh-oh.
So he still hasn’t let go of my hands, ruining my dreams of a normal pulse.
Crud. I haven’t even thought about kissing or how unbearably handsome a man can be, or how good they can smell, in a long while.
Before, there wasn’t time. Not with Mom being ill, work to do on the farm, and then stressing, running, escaping.
There isn’t time now either, you idiot, a dark voice says from the back of my mind. Don’t ruin this. Don’t ruin yourself with bad memories.
With a parting smile, I snatch my hands out of his and start walking, resisting the urge to run.
I’m flushed, dizzy, overheated, and more confused than I’ve ever been in my life.
Mostly, I’m just shell-shocked this is even happening.
After what had happened with Clay, I thought I’d never, ever let a man touch me again.
By the time I make it upstairs, down the hall, and into the bedroom, I’m trembling, refusing to let my mind drift back in time to the worst day of my life.
The day I made things go from bad to worse.
There has to be something I can do...
Crossing the room, I yank aside the curtain and see Tobin’s dark shape on the walkway below, carrying my suitcase. The very same pink-and-black rock chick bag I’d packed this morning and set beside the door.
I was ready to carry it to the truck, but Dad was on the porch, trying to make his way to the barn to fetch the horses.
I’d helped him over there and then got in the truck.
Stupid.
If I’d known then how weak Dad was, that leaving here was totally impossible...
Sighing, I
push my face into my palm, trying to rub away the fierce throb in my temples.
Even if a miracle happens today—several Hail Marys fulfilled—we’re still years late and so many dollars short it makes me sick.
So what if Dad gets better? What then?
What if Ridge manages to scare Grendal and his crew off our trail without getting hurt?
What do you do when your life isn’t just going off the rails, but takes every dream you had with it?
I’m still mulling painful questions the next day after checking on Dad.
He’s already awake by ten a.m. and feeling somewhat better, thank God.
Good enough to tell me to go away because he sure as hell doesn’t need two women hovering over him. That’s Dad, all right, and he’s already figured out that Jackie won’t take any crap from him, and getting rid of her is next to impossible.
She also mentions how much she likes the picture collages I’d made for Ridge’s house out of the old barn wood I’d found in the shed, so I decide to throw together another one for her as a thank you for looking after my grump of a father.
It doesn’t take long to find another board in the storage shed, wash it down with saddle soap to bring out the grain, and also nip off a few spindly twigs to attach to the board.
I bring it into the sunroom off the laundry room for several reasons.
One side of it faces the cabin. It has a large table for me to work on, and Tobin swears Ridge has barely spent an hour in this room ever since they moved here.
His loss. It’s so freaking beautiful. Especially today, when the sun shines down so bright, banishing the blanket of winter one inch of melt at a time.
The wicker furniture with pink floral cushions must’ve been Tobin’s idea, too. They might have something to do with why Ridge wants no part of trying to stuff his tall Herculean frame into a granny chair.
And honestly, after last night?
I desperately need space to hash things out in my head.
It’s hard for me to look at him when every glance stirs up swarms of butterflies. And these particular butterflies are dicks, swooping in with a hundred wicked thoughts about this man I shouldn’t be having.
