Once I ease her back out of the truck, holding her to me, making sure I got the key out before I got her, I make my way to her front door. Unlocking it, I hesitantly peek my head inside. It’s weird being in someone else’s space, especially not knowing her. Not really. And even though she’s with me, I still feel like an intruder.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I ask, just wanting to make sure she’s safe and tucked in, so I can leave with a good conscience and not worry about her all night.
“Down the hall,” she mumbles, snuggling into my chest.
I pause. She really shouldn’t do that, because even though my brain wants to be a gentleman and take care of her, my dick has other things in mind.
“Not upstairs,” she says. “That’s where …” She drifts off, her hand grabbing onto the fabric of my t-shirt. She doesn’t finish the statement, but if I had to guess, that’s where she used to sleep … before her husband dipped his dick somewhere it didn’t belong.
Flipping on a light switch, a kitchen is illuminated and it looks like a baker’s dream—large counters, big mixer, a stainless steel island with shelves that hold every kind of baking sheet imaginable. When I start to feel like a creeper, I turn toward the hall and walk until I get to an open door.
It’s a nice room, small, obviously a guest room. Walking over to the bed, covered in a fluffy comforter, I set her down and she groans.
Once my arms are free, I look around, wondering what I should do now. This is definitely unchartered territory for me. As she wiggles around, trying to get comfortable, I bend down and slip the red heels off, smiling at them before setting them on the floor beside the bed.
They’re not fuck-me stilettos that most women would wear on a night out, but they’re still fucking sexy as hell.
Pulling the comforter out from under her, I cover her up with it and she turns over, her hair a wild mess around her beautiful face. When I brush a few strands away, she angles her face into my hand and I have to force myself to step back.
I know she’ll need some water and something for her head, so I walk quietly back to the kitchen and snoop around until I find a glass and some Advil. After I get some water from the fridge, I walk back down the hall and pause for a second in the doorway.
What the hell is it about her?
I’m never like this.
The last seven years, my life has been a series of dry spells and one-night stands. I don’t ever get attached. It’s never hard for me to walk away. Even after an amazing night of sex, I don’t wonder what the girl is doing the next day. I’m never tempted to call them or text. So, why am I finding it difficult to walk away from her.
Tempest Cassidy.
Recently divorced.
Cheating husband.
Been in trouble with the law.
That’s usually enough baggage to send me running for the hills, but all I really want to do is pull up a chair and watch her sleep, making sure she’s okay.
Setting the water and pills beside the bed, I can’t help but reach out and stroke her cheek … just one last touch … something she won’t remember, but I have a feeling I will.
Chapter 5
Tempest
The incessant banging in my head reminds me of why I don’t drink tequila.
Please God, I’ll never drink again if you’ll just make the banging stop!
God must still be talking to me, because suddenly, the banging goes away, only to be replaced with a high-pitch yell that sounds a lot like Anna Cassidy.
Hell.
That’s it, I must be in hell.
“Tempest Cassidy!”
No, not Anna. Please, God, no. I would rather my mama be here right now, giving me a lecture about being responsible, instead of Anna. She’s mean and bossy, and thanks to her alcoholic father, she hates drunk people. And as I shift around in bed, I still feel drunk. Is that even possible?
Two seconds later, the blinds of my bedroom windows are yanked open and I peek out of one eye to see perfectly-coiffed blonde hair sitting on top of a sasquatch that looks like it swallowed a basketball.
“What the hell, Anna?” I whine, my voice coming out rough, like I swallowed gravel and washed it down with motor oil. Somehow it sounds exactly like it tastes—thick and gritty. I need to brush my teeth and scrape the fur off my tongue.
“Language!” Anna exclaims, holding both sides of her protruding stomach, like her unborn child just heard me say hell, which is in the Bible, so it doesn’t even count.
“Fuck!” I moan, rolling over and covering my eyes.
“Tempest! Are you trying to send me into early labor?” she gasps, clutching her stomach even tighter. “What has gotten into you?”
“Nobody, lately,” I answer. I’m not this crass to everyone, basically just Anna, because it’s fun.
“Lord, she does not mean the things she says,” Anna prays, looking up at my ceiling and then back at me. “Tell Him you don’t mean the things you say!”
“No,” I tell her, hating her for even making me speak. “I don’t feel like it.”
She huffs, crossing her arms on top of her belly. “You’ve always been so stubborn and pig-headed, but it’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you.”
I sit straight up in bed and manage to open both eyes. “Did you just say you admired something about me?” Anna doesn’t envy anyone; it’s a sin. However, she’s the envy of everyone. If it weren’t for her being in so tight with the Big Guy, she’d probably flaunt that fact a lot more, but pride comes before the fall and all that.
“Oh, hush. There are many things I admire about you,” she admonishes, swatting at me and making contact because I’m too slow to move away from her. I’m definitely still drunk.
“Do tell,” I say, as eagerly as I can manage, fixing the pillows behind me. Drunk or not, I’ve gotta hear this.
She makes her pouty lips even poutier and slides her big brown eyes across the room, refusing to even look at me. “No, I’m still mad at you. Cole told me about taking you to the… strip club,” she hisses, obviously thinking that God, as omniscient as He is, might not hear her if she whispers. “He also said he never got a call from you last night and I’ve been worried sick.”
“I’m sorry, Anna,” I say with all sincerity, because I am. Even though she’s a pain in my ass, I love her and she’s one of the few people still on my team, so I can’t afford to lose her. “How can I make it up to you?” I know it’s better to pay my penance now than to have her mad at me for the next month.
Turning her gaze back to me, her face is glowing, as she smiles from ear to ear. “Come to the church picnic with me next week.”
What a player.
She was just waiting for me to fall into her traps so she could con me into a church activity.
“Not the church picnic! Anything besides that. Please,” I beg. The only thing worse would’ve been her bi-weekly prayer meeting. So I add, “except prayer meeting. I’m not doing that again.”
“You would deny a pregnant woman this one simple wish?” she asks, an eyebrow going up to her hairline. “You just asked how you can make things up to me and that’s my answer—church picnic.” Her arms cross over her belly again and her face goes rigid.
Damn, she’s good.
“Fine.”
She squeals and hugs me so tightly that I’m afraid I’m going to throw up all over her pretty pink dress.
“Okay,” she says, standing up, “So, I’ll save you a seat at church.” She barely makes it out of my bedroom, before she pops her head back in. “Your mama will love to see you there.”
I roll my eyes and feel it in the back of my head… my still pounding head.
I said I’d go to the church picnic, but not church. The last time I beckoned the doors, I ran smack dab into Asher and Mindy. I barely made it through the sermon, anxiously twitching the entire time, kind of hoping God would smite them on the third pew in front of the entire congregation.
When the final amen was sai
d, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
The next day, I let the air out of Asher’s tires.
That’s one thing I didn’t get caught doing… and didn’t go to jail for.
I feel like God knew I deserved that one and gave me a pass.
“Oh, and wear that green dress,” she yells back, as she’s heading out the front door. “It really makes your eyes pop!”
Even though it kills my head, I roll those eyes, because why do I need them to pop? Who are my eyes popping for these days? No one.
She and my mama have this crazy notion that my divorce is a phase. Asher is going to come to his senses and realize the error of his ways and I’m going to take him back and we’re going to fix this, as my mama would say.
I hate to break it to them, but that is not happening.
As angry as I am about the demise of my marriage and all of my hopes and dreams that went down the drain with it, I know me. I’m loyal to a fault and I thought Asher was too, that’s what made our marriage work. I trusted him. He’d been my boyfriend since I was sixteen. He was the only man I’ve ever been with. When I walked in that morning and found him in bed… my bed… with Mindy, everything changed.
I can’t say I immediately fell out of love with him. I don’t even know if that’s possible. Logically, I know there is a fine line between love and hate. A professional might say all of my actions lately have been misplaced feelings, lines getting blurred. Since I can’t love Asher anymore, I channel those emotions into other… things… like driving a truck into a pond and burning clothes and yelling at windows in the middle of the night.
Maybe Judge Carson’s punishment of anger management isn’t the worst idea. Someone to talk to, who isn’t closely connected to my life, would be nice. I really do need to get a grip and get on with my life. I might no longer have a husband or a vehicle, and soon, I won’t have this house, but I still have myself and my job, which I love, and my family. They may be pushy and overbearing, but they mean well.
Looking down, I take inventory of myself since last night is a big drunken, fuzzy blur. My shoes are off, but other than that, my clothes are still intact, which is always good after a night at the bar. I scan back in my memory, trying to piece the previous night together.
There was tequila.
And a few margaritas.
And singing.
And dancing… on the bar.
How did I get back here?
It physically hurts my brain to try and recollect the past however many hours. I don’t remember calling Cole to take me home. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand and scrolling my call history proves I didn’t. The last call on here is when I called him for a ride to the bar.
Well, I’m not in jail, so that’s a plus.
There’s no way I walked.
I wouldn’t have made it past the first block.
Wait—wait a damn minute.
There was a guy… big muscles and very, very blue eyes.
And blond hair.
And a beard, not like a scraggly, unkempt one, but just a little… more scruff than beard… one that accentuated his strong jaw.
Weird how I was obviously very drunk, but remember all of that.
What was his name? Cain? Cade?
There were some words exchanged and then everything went fuzzy.
Shit.
Chapter 6
Cage
“I really like what you’ve done with the place,” Hank says, his eyes scanning the open space.
Laughing, I shake my head. “You made it out like this place was a dump.”
“Well, it’s not luxury, that’s for sure.”
No, it’s not, but it’s great and it’s the perfect place for me right now. “I was actually going to ask you something.”
“Shoot,” Hanks says, taking a few steps closer to the stainless steel island.
“Well, I’m still rehabbing the shoulder, but I’d like to start doing some upper body workouts and I was thinking those steel beams downstairs would be perfect for some kickboxing bags.”
It’s been too long. Even if I don’t get to punch the shit out of them, I can still get a nice leg workout in. I’ve been running every morning and doing crunches and some light weight workouts, but there’s still something missing. That it factor I get from pouring all my power into another object—follow through.
I miss the cage, the fight, the rush of adrenaline. And I know I can’t do that anymore, but I think I can find a new way to reach that place of Zen.
“Yeah,” Hank says, nodding his head thoughtfully. “I think that’d be great. Whatever you need, man.”
I let out a deep breath, not that I thought he’d say no, but just because it feels right. “Thanks. I think I’ll start out with just a bag and a few mats. Maybe I’ll add to it down the road.”
“Maybe you’re onto something here,” Hank adds and I can see his wheels turning, always thinking. “You know, Green Valley doesn’t have anything like what you’re used to… gyms dedicated to training elite athletes.” Pausing, he raises his eyebrows. “There’s a chance a kickboxing class could turn into more. You could add equipment as you go. Maybe one day, build your own ring … put up a cage.” His brows rise up to his hairline and then a wide smile breaks across his face. “I know it won’t be the same… you’d have to stay on the other side, but it could be good for you. You could be good for someone else … someone like you.”
Scratching my head, I huff a laugh. That’s a little more than I’d let myself daydream about, but I’m not going to lie, what Hank’s saying doesn’t feel too bad either. “Huh,” I finally say, still mulling it over, because now my wheels are turning.
“Don’t think too long and hard about it right now,” he says, hands braced on the shiny surface. “But do think about it. Start small and see where it goes.”
As we walk back down the stairs and into the large, open room, I start to look at it as a blank slate—a new beginning—and for the first time since I rolled into Green Valley, I try to see myself staying indefinitely.
What does that look like?
Could I permanently live in a small town?
I didn’t come here with a plan, but in the back of my mind I thought I’d get lost for a while, let the news of my early retirement die down, and then go back to Dallas.
“It’s already seeping in,” Hank says matter-of-factly, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“What?”
“Green Valley,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he scuffs his feet against the concrete floor, the sound echoing off the bare walls. “It does that to people. Kinda sneaks up on you and the next thing you know, you find yourself liking it … and then one day you wake up and realize you never want to leave.”
I scoff. “Not sure about that, but…”
“You’re thinking about it.” His smile is contagious and I can’t help giving him one in return. “Heard you took Tempest Cassidy home last night,” he says, effectively changing the subject and making me swallow my tongue. “Don’t look so surprised. Small town… plus, I swung by while you were gone. Floyd filled me in.”
“Oh, right.” I let out a deep breath, trying to release the pent-up tension in my shoulders. I need a run. No, scratch that. What I really need is a good bout. I need to go nose-to-nose, toe-to-toe, glove-to-glove with someone. I need to feel the exhaustion that only comes with exerting every ounce of energy and adrenaline in my body… and then some—pushing myself to the limit.
But that’s not going to happen, not today, anyway. So, I’ll settle for a run.
“Yeah, she had a little too much to drink. Floyd tried to get in touch with her cousin …”
“Cole,” Hank offered.
“That’s right,” I say with a nod, trying to not sound as interested or invested as I feel. “So, I drove her home. Made sure she got in okay.”
Hank laughs. “That girl has really been stirring things up around here.”
I’ve heard, but I don
’t tell Hank that. I wait and see what information he has to offer.
“I can’t say I blame her, though,” he adds, sighing.
For a second, I’m afraid he’s going to stop there and leave me hanging, but then he continues. “She walked in on her husband and his … mistress,” Hank informs, choosing his words carefully. “Guess she didn’t handle that too well. First she ransacked the bedroom, and then one night, she set his shit on fire in the driveway.” This garners a full-on belly laugh from my old friend. “And I don’t just mean a few old shirts. She practically had a bonfire going. The fire department was called out and everything. I mean, I’ve heard of scorned women, but she seems to be taking it to a whole new level. Disturbing the peace, breaking and entering, destruction of property…”
Huh. Can’t say I really pegged her for one to break the law, but it also doesn’t surprise me. There was fire behind those green eyes… like an angry, sleeping dragon.
“So, it’s good you took her home. She’s a good girl, just had a lot of shit thrown her way lately and she hasn’t been handling it so well.”
I nod, trying for a non-committal response. Although, I’m not sure why. I doubt Hank would care if I told him I was into her, but that’s my business, not his. Besides all that, she seems like she has a lot on her plate and a shit ton of baggage, so I think I’ll keep my distance—do my job, work on this space, and figure out what I want to do with my life.
A clothes-burning, peace-disturbing, property-destroying, fiery redhead would only complicate things.
“You should come to the church picnic next Sunday.”
I turn to look at him with what I’m sure is a confused expression. “Me?”
“Of course you,” he says, laughing. “It’s not a church house… you’re not gonna get struck by lightning. It’s a picnic… there’ll be some good food and a pie auction. Well, cakes and all sorts of desserts. It’s a great place to meet some locals. Who knows? Tempest Cassidy might even be there.”
Stud Muffin: Donner Bakery Book #2 Page 6
