by Larissa Ione
As predicted, Ian agreed, and they settled into comfortable conversation. Ian brought Marcus up to speed on life back in Montana, and Marcus unloaded crap he hadn’t been able to talk to either Logan or Brittany about.
Like how much shit he took from Brit’s father and grandmother. He felt like he always had a target on his back. How were they supposed to have a relationship when he wasn’t comfortable—or welcome—at her house, and she wasn’t comfortable here with Dakota?
He needed to get a place of his own, but spending the extra money on rent would make it harder for him to help out his mother financially. Plus, as Mallory had pointed out just a couple of days ago, he was probably the sole reason Dakota treated their mother with any respect at all. If he left, Mallory was sure that the house would be ground zero for the next frontier war.
And she was probably right.
The doorbell rang, and he excused himself to see who was at the door. Brittany’s BMW was in the driveway, and his heart beat a little faster as he opened the door.
“Hi.” She was dressed in his favorite ripped jeans her dad hated and a skimpy lace top he hated even more. Everything she did lately seemed to be tailored to annoy Sebastian. Funny.
“Hey.” He dipped his head to kiss her, lingering just long enough for his neighbors to think it was inappropriate. She tasted like cinnamon sugar and smelled like some wildflower he couldn’t place, but it made him want to roll around in a meadow with her.
Reluctantly, he lifted his head and stepped back. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to the back patio, where Ian came to his feet. “Ian, this is Brittany. Brittany, Ian.”
“So this is the young woman I’ve been hearing so much about.” Ian held out his hand, and Brittany shook it. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“It’s great to meet you.” She cast a teasing glance at Marcus. “I hope whatever Marcus told you about me was good.”
“Every word,” Ian said. “Now I see why.”
Pink smudged her cheeks and she smiled shyly. Marcus loved how easily she blushed and got flustered. “I didn’t know you were coming for a visit. How long are you staying?”
“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t taken a vacation from the ranch in years, so I figure I’m due.”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I hope you can make it an extended stay.” She turned to Marcus. “I’ve only got an hour before I have to be at the computer for a live lecture. I dropped by to see if you wanted to grab a burger or something, but we can do it another time.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ian said. “You two go get dinner. I need to get back to the B&B and make some calls. I left Rudy in charge.”
Marcus laughed. Rudy was a good guy, a solid worker, but sometimes Marcus thought that the cows had more common sense than he did. “Tell him hi for me.”
“I will.”
Marcus jerked his head toward the back gate. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I’ll catch up,” Brittany said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I need to use the bathroom and then I’ll be right there.”
He gave her a quick peck and walked with Ian out to his rental. But before Ian got in, he turned to Marcus.
“I get it now,” Ian said.
“Get what?”
“Why you’re staying.” Ian gestured toward the house. “You’ve got a good thing here, kid. A real family, nice town, great girlfriend. All of it is worth standing your ground for. I’m proud of you.”
Hector had never, not once, told Marcus he was proud of him. And for some reason, a wave of guilt washed over him. When he’d first come back to Storm, he’d been sure he wouldn’t be here long. And then he’d decided to stay, but not forever. The plan had always been to go back to Montana and help Ian run the ranch. So why did he feel like he was betraying him?
“I’m going back to Montana,” Marcus swore. “I need to be here for now, but I won’t let you down.”
Ian shook his head and gave him a brief hug. “As long as you’re doing what’s best for you, you won’t let me down. See you tomorrow.”
Marcus stood there and watched Ian leave. As the car disappeared around a corner, Brittany’s arms came around his waist from behind.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her warm breath fanning over his back.
He settled his hand over hers and stroked her smooth skin with his thumb. “Thinking about how lucky I am that it was Ian’s ranch I stopped at when I ran out of gas.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”
He snorted. “If anything, I’m not giving him enough. I was such an asshole back then.”
“Back then?” she teased, and he laughed.
Times like this, when everyone he loved was nearby and he was as happy as he’d ever been, he could almost believe that everything would turn out.
And maybe, just maybe, it would.
Chapter Two
Marisol Moreno hummed to herself as she mounted the porch steps of the Flower Hill bed and breakfast to deliver their recent order of baked goods, some of them still warm from the oven. She’d been up since four a.m. and, fueled by coffee, had baked for two hours until Cuppa Joe’s morning shift arrived to open.
She usually didn’t make the deliveries, but she’d been antsy lately, and the bakery’s four walls were closing in. She hadn’t been able to pinpoint the cause of her acute case of hyperactivity and scattered thoughts, but it was driving her crazy. Luis was doing great in school, the business was thriving, and things were going as well as could be expected with Ginny and her pregnancy, especially now that the media had backed off in favor of other scandals.
Well, whatever it was, she couldn’t deny that it was making her remarkably industrious.
She let herself into the B&B through the unlocked front door and went straight to the kitchen, where Rita Mae was mixing what looked like blueberry pancake batter.
“Good morning, Marisol.” Rita Mae grinned at her from over her shoulder. “Did you get my message about doubling the order of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies?”
“I did.” She lifted the extra-large bag. “You must be expecting a lot of guests.”
“The extra cookies are for me,” Anna Mae called out as she entered the kitchen from the back, her arms loaded with a big bag of flour and a giant mixing bowl.
“Someone is feeling a little stressed,” Rita Mae explained, giving her sister a pointed look.
Marisol loved these two ladies, and she hoped to have the same easy relationship with her own sister when they were older. Right now though, Marisol was too busy playing mom to her siblings.
“Anything I can help with?” she asked.
Anna Mae clucked at her sister but spoke to Marisol. “It’s nothing, and my sister has a big mouth.”
Rita Mae sniffed haughtily and poured batter onto a hot skillet. Blueberry-scented steam rose up as the batter sizzled. “Better a big mouth than a blind eye.”
There was definitely some subtext wafting in the air with the berry aroma, and as curious as Marisol was to know more, she’d always been more of a peacemaker than an instigator, so she changed the subject.
“So...how many guests do you have this morning?” she asked brightly.
“Just Mr. Briggs.” Rita Mae gestured with her spatula to the backyard.
Curious, Marisol set the bag of treats on the counter and peeked through the French doors. And oh...oh, my.
It was the tall, dark-haired man who’d asked directions in her bakery yesterday. And he was practically naked, his thickly-muscled body a work of art as he performed a series of martial arts forms. She figured he must be in his late thirties or early forties, but he had the physique of a twenty-two year old, the kind of body that came from long days of hard work, not hours of weightlifting.
“Wow,” she breathed, and behind her, Anna Mae chuckled.
“You should have seen him when he got in from his jog.”
“Glistenin
g skin and muscles everywhere,” Rita Mae said, appreciation dripping from her voice.
Marisol’s mouth went as dry as a store-bought cookie as he lowered his lean body to the ground and started doing pushups. “What did you say his name was?”
“Ian Briggs.” Rita Mae flipped the pancakes. “I guess Marcus used to work for him in Montana.” She glanced over her shoulder at Marisol. “How’s everything at home? Is Ginny doing okay? Is the press still harassing her?”
“Not really. They’ve moved on to a new scandal. Something to do with that grocer who is running against Sebastian Rush for state senate.” Reporters still called the house, and every once in a while a photographer would snap a picture of Ginny in public, but for the most part, the scandal had died down. But only because there was no proof that the baby Ginny carried belonged to a married senator. Once the baby was born, Marisol feared that the paternity test would confirm the worst, that the child would belong to Senator Rush and not Ginny’s late best friend, Jacob Salt. “Ginny’s doing good. She’s taking some online classes and getting ready for the baby.”
“She looks adorable in her maternity clothes,” Anna Mae said, and was there a note of wistfulness in her voice? She didn’t have any children, and at her age, chances were that she never would. Had she wanted them?
Marisol sighed. “She doesn't think so. She held off wearing them as long as she could, but she finally caved in last week.” She glanced out the door and nearly broke out in a hot sweat. Mr. Briggs was doing crunches now, and the sight of all those muscles bunching and flexing with each roll of his spine...oh, Lord.
All that antsy she’d been feeling was now in her pants as her body sputtered to life like a tractor starting up again after a long winter.
Marisol watched, spellbound, as he collapsed onto his back and panted up at the sky. She imagined him lying like that in bed, with a woman straddling his waist while they both recovered from a sexual marathon, and a sweet, pinching ache began to throb between her legs.
He rolled onto his side and his dark, piercing gaze locked with hers through the glass in the French doors. She suddenly felt very, very exposed, as if he was looking right into her brain and seeing the naughtiness that had been playing like a dirty movie in her head.
Heat seared her cheeks and her pulse jumped wildly and holy cow, it was time to get out of there.
“I, ah...I have to go.” She wheeled around, banged into the counter, and barely avoided stumbling. Smooth, Marisol. Mortified, she gave the sisters a wave and rushed toward the door. “I’ll send your weekly invoice later.”
Her heart was pounding and she was hot all over, and what was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man work out before. And it certainly wasn’t as if she’d never been turned on. Before her parents died and she’d given up college to raise her siblings, she’d been hella wild.
She winced at the realization that the word hella was a part of her vocabulary, thanks to Luis. Then she winced again at the idea that she’d been some sort of rebel. She hadn’t been wild, let alone hella wild. But she’d had boyfriends and she’d done some experimenting. Becoming the legal guardian to two kids overnight had made her grow up and get serious real fast, though, and she hadn’t made time for a man for years.
Not until Patrick.
Patrick.
Shame slammed into her like a punch to the gut. She liked him. A lot. He was sexy and noble and sweet. He wanted her and had made every attempt to take their relationship to the next level. Heck, he’d be happy to just take it public. He’d been so good to her, giving her space and time even though she was sure he didn’t understand why she’d been so insistent upon keeping things casual. His patience was yet another quality that made him an amazing man.
But he’d never made her insides quiver or her heart race or her pulse pound at the juncture of her thighs.
God, she was a jerk. She’d told Patrick she needed time because she was too busy with life to actually have a life.
But what if the reason she hadn’t committed to Patrick wasn’t because of how busy she was? What if it was because she hadn’t found someone who made her want to make room in her life for him?
Not that the someone was Ian Briggs. Obviously. He was only visiting, and it wasn’t as if they’d even talked beyond polite chat in the bakery.
So...no, Ian Briggs did not get to make her feel guilty for keeping Patrick at arm’s length.
But she couldn’t help but wonder if Patrick would ever make her feel like throwing caution to the wind and doing something for herself.
As she started down the steps, she tried to convince herself that her instant attraction to Ian Briggs was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
* * * *
“Well, that was odd,” Anna Mae said as the thud of the front door closing reverberated through the kitchen. “She ran out of here like her pants were on fire.”
Rita Mae waggled her brows and canted her head toward the backyard. “Maybe they were.”
“Rita Mae!” Anna Mae made an attempt to sound scandalized, but her sister just laughed.
“You act like your innards have never been stirred by a hot man.”
“Of course they have.” Anna Mae shuffled around the kitchen, gathering the ingredients she needed to make a big batch of hamburger buns for the annual Johnson barbecue this weekend. “But it’s been forever.”
She regretted the words before they even faded from the air, and sure enough, her sister jumped right on them.
“Not since Chase Johnson,” she murmured as she stacked pancakes on a warming plate.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” And where were the measuring cups?
“You can’t ignore it anymore.” Ever able to read her mind, Rita Mae gestured to where the cups were sitting next to the flour. “He’s back in town.”
Anna Mae snorted. “But for how long? He’s always been a rolling stone.”
“I see what you did there,” Rita Mae said in an annoying, singsongy voice. “Chase was a big fan of the Temptations, and he played that song until his guitar strings wore out.”
“Didn’t I just say I don’t want to talk about it?”
“Don’t do this, Anna Mae.” Rita Mae rounded on her, waving her spatula around like a lunatic to emphasize her words. “Don’t keep it all bottled up like you always do. We all know what happens when you finally blow your lid.” She jabbed the spatula at her. “You get mean and say things you can’t take back.”
Well, wasn’t that a slap to the gizzard, as their mother used to say. She didn’t know what it meant, exactly, but it seemed appropriate in this situation.
“Why don’t you say what you’re really thinking?” Anna Mae snatched up the mixing bowl. “You think one of those mean things is what chased him away.”
One salt and pepper eyebrow went up. Rita Mae really needed to pluck those things. “Was it?”
Anna Mae turned away and slammed the mixing bowl on the counter.
Her sister sighed. “Anna Mae? You’ve never told me why he left. Not all of it, anyway.”
“I told you he wanted to roam the country like a gypsy, playing his guitar for his dinner, and that wasn’t the kind of life I wanted.”
Strained silence fell in the kitchen, broken only by the hiss of the griddle as Rita Mae loaded it with bacon. Anna Mae knew her sister was dying to remind her that she might have been able to get him to stay if she’d just been honest with him. But it was too late for that. Her secret would stay that way as long as she kept her distance from Chase Johnson.
Because her sister was right. Anna Mae had a bad habit of holding things in and then snapping like a frozen tree branch in a blizzard. She couldn’t seem to control her mouth, and when that happened, everything came out. Every thought, every grudge, every curse word she knew she shouldn’t say. It was ugly, and she’d spent a lot of time making amends.
But Chase didn’t deserve amends. She might have said a few things in anger when he’d
told her he was leaving town even if she didn’t go with him, but it was ultimately he who’d abandoned her.
The back door opened and Mr. Briggs came inside, a towel draping his broad, bare shoulders. He inhaled deeply and smiled. “It smells amazing in here.”
“Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes,” Rita Mae said, “but if you’re hungry now, we have muffins, yogurt, fruit—”
He held up his hand with a laugh. “Thank you, but I’m fine. Ten minutes gives me just enough time to shower and dress.”
“How was your workout?” Anna Mae asked, grateful for his arrival and the release of the tension in the room.
“It was much needed after a long day in planes and on the road yesterday,” he said as he wiped his forehead with the towel. “I saw you had a visitor. The lady who works at the Cuppa Joe.”
“Yes, that was Marisol.” Anna Mae took a package of sausage out of the fridge and tossed it on the counter next to Rita Mae. “Her little brother is good friends with Marcus’s sister Mallory.”
“She seemed nice.” He moved toward the staircase to the upstairs bedrooms, but at the base, he paused. “Is she...single?”
The way his cheeks flushed pink was adorable on such a rugged man.
“Marisol would have to answer that,” Rita Mae said crisply, her voice carrying just a tinge of disapproval.
But did she disapprove of Marisol’s are-they-or-aren’t-they relationship with Patrick, or did she disapprove of Mr. Briggs’s interest?
“It’s complicated,” Anna Mae said with an apologetic smile. “You know how it is.”
He nodded. “Do I ever. See you in a few minutes.”
Anna Mae waited until the boards creaked under Mr. Briggs’s room to cluck at her sister. “What was that all about?”
Rita Mae shrugged. “I just don’t want Marisol to get involved with someone who’s going to leave. You of all people should understand that.”
She understood that all too well. But she didn’t appreciate being reminded. “That’s different. Mr. Briggs is a respectable rancher. He’s not a faithless drifter who thinks it’s okay to leave everyone he loves behind and drop off the face of the earth.”
