by Leanne Davis
Hunter often scorned their stupid relationship. Viewing it from the distance of his marriage and former life in the city, it all seemed so pointless. He said so to Asher when he was poised to marry Francine. Why didn’t Asher and Daisy just get married then? Figure it out? If they loved each other the way Hunter felt about his wife, why give it up? What could ever be more important? He never doubted Asher’s commitment to Daisy in all the many years and times of separation. Staying faithful was an easy matter for Asher as he had eyes for no one but Daisy. Even now. Honestly? He was shocked to learn Asher had a girlfriend. No one could hold a candle to Daisy.
Then to discover Kyomi Wade was the secret identity of Asher’s pseudo girlfriend? Oh crap. Was that a surprise. Probably the absolute antithesis of Daisy. No chance of Asher mixing up one bed partner for the other. Kyomi was a brunette for starters, curly-haired, careless, natural and free. She didn’t care a fig about society’s mores. She was not shy or unsure. She was sarcastic and easily slid into hanging out with the guys. How easily she fit into place with him and Asher when they were drinking to get drunk and playing cards. Not only could she keep up with their drinking, she also won most of the card games. She never had trouble keeping up with all the crap they slung at her when they were drunk. Never their finest nor most articulate moments, but Kyomi was right in there all the same.
She was fabulously fun. He had to give her that. Never prudish or prissy. She laughed at bawdy, crude jokes and filthy innuendoes or made them up herself.
It was no wonder Asher found someone to spend time with. There could have been no one else but Kyomi in Hunter’s opinion. She accepted the situation unconditionally. She tolerated his love for Daisy. She knew Asher was ridiculously hung up on a woman who would never live with him. She was content to receive only fifty percent of the heart and devotion that Daisy received from Asher.
Maybe that’s what stuck so much in Hunter’s craw, even if it weren’t his business. He knew what Asher was like with Daisy. He’d witnessed Asher when he was fully engaged and committed to a woman. He could see that Asher barely gave Kyomi half that when she was such a fine, great, fun, wonderful woman, and it irritated the shit out of him.
Even if they were stupid honest with each other. He couldn’t fault Asher for that. But he did fault him for not attending to the woman he had right in front of him now. She was right there. She could have moved into Reed Ranch and been the perfect addition to it. She loved it as much as Asher did. Kyomi Wade lived the lifestyle that Daisy shunned and doubted she could ever find satisfaction from. Kyomi was right there already, like a freaking illustration of it. And Asher doesn’t scoop her up?
Asher was too casual and blasé with Kyomi. The more time Hunter spent around Kyomi, the more it annoyed Hunter that Asher didn’t realize what a gem he had in her. Furthermore, it made him irrationally angry that she so willingly settled for that. She accepted it. She was the perfect companion, friend, hang-out girl and sex buddy one could ask for. On the mornings when she stayed there and Asher couldn’t be bothered to delay his work, Hunter started drinking even earlier to allay that annoyance in him. Angry thoughts toppled over his already full tank of rage from his own relationship.
He was still watching the sweaty, ash-covered woman who seemed to be the sole rancher of this place.
His mouth had tightened as he studied her moving around. It wasn’t right. He wondered how Asher never bothered to check out her place of residence? How could he not come here at least once? Kyomi was capable, strong, independent, never complaining and a truly kickass, awesome girl, but she was only five-foot-four. He doubted she weighed more than a buck and a quarter. Strong for a girl of her height and weight, but there was nothing to suggest she physically had half the strength of Asher or Hunter. Sexist as it was to observe, Kyomi was no match for either man in height and strength despite all her efforts to get the work done.
And as for the place she ranched? She needed physical help. She’d probably try to kick Hunter’s feet out from under him if he said that out loud, but looking around, so much needed tending like, yesterday. Whatever her story for coming back here, years, many years must have passed without anyone caring for it. She was singlehandedly reviving a dying plot of land and a ranch taking its last gasp of life. Nature always prevailed, and easily started to take over and fully engulf it with its relentless clutches. This girl was all that stood between the resurrection of her ranch and the ceaseless proliferation of wilderness. Not that she couldn’t do it, but the aid of a few strong backs would have been a godsend and she needed them. Badly.
Her fucking rancher boyfriend, would have been the most reasonable and perfect solution to her frustration. Even if he only got her started. But Asher never even came there. Not once. Stupid prick.
Silly, stubborn Kyomi for not insisting on it. For not planting herself directly in front of Asher and demanding he look at her, and forget the gone, long gone Daisy Rydell.
Yeah, it really started to tick him off that she accepted her rank as second place to a memory.
On top of that, she thought their openness and honesty made them special. It didn’t. It made them strange. She deserved to be wooed and courted. Someone to romance her up one side and down the other. Sure, she was one of the guys. She liked that. She had far more guy friends than girls. He knew her well enough to know how much she valued that.
But goddammit. She deserved to be number one with her own boyfriend. She should expect that. She should shine in the spotlight and be the wonderful center of attention. He understood she clearly rejected the type of romance and attention someone like Francine would insist upon. If he were Asher, he’d have to do something completely different with Kyomi than the way he approached, pampered and eventually wooed Francine. Didn’t boyfriends, or whatever they were, do that? Learning who each other was and trying to do the things they liked? Where Francine would ask for a diamond bracelet, Kyomi might ask for help lifting the truss beside her burn pile that she was rolling and trying to wrangle into the fire.
That would be how one might woo the indominable Kyomi Wade.
But Asher Reed couldn’t even come out here one time?
He sighed. Not being dressed for it, he had no intention of doing it. But fucking Asher should. Stupid prick hung up on a selfish dream. A memory. When the best slice of reality was right there. How could Asher not fully commit to this ideal, literally perfect woman? For almost anyone, Kyomi was that great.
Suddenly, she’d noticed him and all his warm, good thoughts of Kyomi whiplashed as she’d marched up and began yelling. She was seething with unreasonable anger towards him.
He was so sure he clearly articulated what Kyomi was to Asher. He’d fully explained why their relationship so thoroughly pissed him off, whether it was right or not. He hated how Asher treated her, even if she thought it was fine. The excuse of full honesty did not make them special. Asher didn’t notice how special Kyomi was or treat her accordingly and that was beyond maddening to Hunter. She was so confident, and freaking amazing so why didn’t she realize she should be treated thusly by her boyfriend? How could she be so clueless?
There was no need to decide how he felt about her. She was just Kyomi. There. Always so far. And he wanted her to be like that. So?
But today, he’d purposely come to find her. Went to a lot of trouble to put himself in this field before her. The antithesis of everything he wanted. Everything he sought from life. But there he was.
The only thing he’d realized was that he wanted nothing more than to be there, right there, waiting for her to notice him.
But ouch, when she did…
And now here he stood, looking ridiculous, holding a putter and about to play a child’s game? But the smiling twinkle in her eyes when she dropped her ball prompted him to step forward, albeit glumly, and play miniature golf with her.
She stopped before the laughable excuse of hole number one: a glorified planter box. This was not a golf hole. It was built-up box with fake gra
ss, a randomly placed hole and a fake bridge to cross while a large-bladed, spinning fan tried to block it. Eye-rolling cheesy.
She leaned down to align her golf ball, standing to the side of it, facing it and wiggling around until she was directly behind the ball. She waited… and waited… well crap, several seconds to what? Focus. He had to lift his eyes to hold back a laugh. She was studying the shot with every fiber of her being. At miniature golf. Taking a deep breath, she took a stroke. She didn’t even hit the opening to the small bridge. It bounced back and stopped behind the spot she just teed off from.
Her torso jerked upright. “Oh, shoot.”
He resisted the urge to laugh. She was so serious in her exclamation and her head bounced around as she tracked her ball so earnestly. The journey terminated in the little box. Proud of himself for holding in his hysteria at her serious demeanor, he said, “Bummer. Next one will be better.”
Then he set his ball down. He didn’t line it up or even look at it. He swung the club back and hit. The ball tinkled as it rolled across the plastic liner that was supposed to be grass, hit the bridge, crossed it just after the swipe of the “windmill” fan blade, rolled through the next box wall and finally thumped directly into the hole. He calmly turned to her and smiled with placid interest.
She was bright red. Her cheeks filled with air as an indignant response exploded from her. “I knew it. I knew you could play. Look at that. You golf every week, don’t you?”
He burst out laughing. He had to step back to brace the gasps escaping his chest, he was laughing so hard. She looked up at him with burning eyes. “Don’t laugh at me. You lied. You totally know how to play. You know how to play and you planned to kick my ass.”
“I don’t. Really. I don’t golf. It’s just… it’s a tiny box, Kyomi. Is this supposed to be hard? You don’t need any skills to win this. You just need to inhale and exhale.” His unperturbed defense, as he predicted, made her eyes blaze with fire. He patted her shoulder. “For most of us, that is. Go ahead, push your ball at least back to the starting line.”
She dramatically jerked her shoulder free, screeched, and scooped up her ball to start over. “I’m not counting that one. It was a fluke.”
Oh, dear, competitive Kyomi intended to cheat at mini-golf? He let her. Why not? He was enjoying the entire round. She was so terrible at it. Never less than four or five strokes per small hole.
Her shot scrabbled all around the box, circling the hole from all directions. Always too hard when she needed to be soft, or not enough momentum when she needed more speed. She hit each obstacle. She bumped and ground her way through it. Twice, she launched the ball over the inner walls of the boxes and they thumped onto the concrete walkways, and bounced away. One went over to another hole and the last one actually hit the wall of the building with a loud, resounding thunk!
Hunter nearly died from laughter. He laughed so hard and long, he was gasping for breath, and clutching his aching chest and lungs. He coughed and sputtered as she swore.
By the last hole, she was so pissed off, frustrated and annoyed, she quit trying so hard and finally sunk it in the hole on her second shot.
She stared at the miracle for a profound moment without moving, or rising up after the shot or exclaiming. For a full thirty seconds she did nothing. Then suddenly, she was jumping around. “Did you see that? Come on! Yes! That ball was my bitch.”
And there she was. From screeching and inappropriate swearing to literally child-like screaming and ecstatic joy at her own performance. At putt-putt golf. After seventeen epically failed attempts, she was so pleased with herself she could not stop grinning maniacally.
He had to grin with her. He threw his fist at her and she immediately knew what he meant and fist-bumped him back. “Nice, Wade. Real nice.”
She beamed. “I swear I’m usually awesome at sports. Always the first chosen on all the teams in PE at school. This…” she waved at the course behind her, “was an anomaly. I think I was nervous because of you. So…”
“So it’s my fault?”
“Might be.” She grinned cheekily and he grabbed her, putting her in a headlock under his armpit and rubbing her scalp. She screamed and laughed, then tugged and pulled, struggling with her own gasps of humor before she finally wiggled free. Whipping her head up, he burst into a fresh round of mirth.
She put a hand to her hair and the other to her waist. “What?” she screeched.
“Your hair…” he gasped. He managed to knot it irreparably and it was all twisted up on her scalp, looking weird.
She grabbed some of it and started finger-combing it. “You are so freaking immature.”
“Oh, because calling the golf ball that went in the one time when you wanted it your bitch is so mature. Real bastion of adulthood, huh?”
“Damn right it is.” But there was no denying the smile in her voice.
And he too smiled. He was with her, right then, being immature and silly, fun and stupid. Causing a small spectacle. Being demonstrative, adolescent.
It was unprecedented for him. Even when he was a teenager, he never interacted with a girl or woman like this. Never.
And he never had so much fun being silly and immature or spent a day so uselessly… and so wonderfully.
Chapter 8
“CAN I ASK YOU something?”
“Sure. You know almost every embarrassing thing in my life right now.” He waved his hand in front of him. Hunter was sitting on the lip of a planter box filled with barren, decorative trees that were covered in thousands of twinkly lights. He was in the middle of town in Leavenworth, dressed in a suit designed to close a multi-million-dollar deal, and blowing off the steam from a freshly made large cup of hot chocolate. He was with his cousin’s girlfriend, after he chickened out from confronting his cheating wife who screwed her stepbrother, who probably stole his job from him. They played two, count them: two rounds(!) of miniature golf. Hunter won both games, but Kyomi’s performance did improve, creating a respectable challenge on the second round.
Did he really make her nervous? Something to consider.
“Why not just call in to work? Start there. Make a phone call. Why go to the trouble and drama of driving back there? Why not start with baby steps? Call your work to see if you still have a job and if so, what it looks like now. Can you handle that? Do you want to keep the job still? Ask what you should expect to find when you get there.”
Kyomi leaned forward with her tongue out and dipped it into the lidless cup she’d been blowing on for a few minutes. Now, she was licking off the mountain of whipped cream she put on top of her drink, as if it were ice cream. She swallowed and looked at him, waiting for his answer. Reasonable.
He felt strangely entranced, watching the small, pink tongue licking with such vigorous repetition before leaning forward to sip the hot liquid. He shook his head, and looked away. “I thought it would be more effective to show up. But… I don’t think I can face it. Maybe you’re right.”
He got off the lip of the planter and her eyes lifted to watch him. Digging around in his pants pocket, he finally found his cold, dark phone and handed it to her. “Battery might be long dead. I don’t know. It’s been completely off since that night.”
“You mean you don’t even know if any of them tried to contact you?”
He sat back down. “Nope.”
“Aren’t you dying to see if there are any messages? From her? From her dad? From work? And… didn’t you close a big deal that night? What about your commission for that?”
His stomach hollowed as his nerves jangled but the images stuck in his head. Yes, he was sad and upset to lose the job and career he worked so long and hard for. But Francine’s dad was the face of it for him. How could he ever go back? Maybe he didn’t care. Then again, if the shock ever wore off, maybe he’d end up heartbroken. He could only wonder.
He turned to her and slowly reached over to sweep away the strand of hair that stuck to her lips. He smiled at the careless ease she em
bodied. “You’re cute as hell, you know that, don’t you?
Startled, she lifted her gaze to him. “What?” her voice faltered, which was unusual for her.
“You. You’re very cute sitting there licking your hot chocolate and whipped cream instead of waiting for it to cool down enough to sip. What could make you happier? Cute. As. Hell.”
She frowned at him, then shook her head. “Not a kid.”
“I didn’t mean cute like a kid is cute. I meant, cute that you were so carefree and joyful. Something I wish I were.”
“Instead of a city-slicker?” She smiled sweetly and he pretended to grab his chest as if she just shot him.
“Cruel. Cute and cruel.”
She pushed her elbow into his side. “Seriously, stop it. Stop with the stupid charm and flirting. It’s annoying. You’re treating me like any other girl you intend to charm and manipulate instead of as a friend trying to help you out. Stop using that to justify ignoring your phone and at least, turn it on and see what’s there.”
“I am. I’m trying to ignore it.”
“You’ve been ignoring it for a month now. That’s too long a time, Hunter. What if… well, your job seems impressive and must pay a lot. When all of this calms down, what if you actually want to continue doing it? Just make sure you still have all the options you deserve, despite the circumstances that were forced upon you.”
He sighed. “You do make legitimate and important points. I was trying to ignore it all. But I guess, I should turn my phone back on.”
