by Snow, Nicole
Hunter smiles, shaking his head. “Don’t know where he got his ideas, but he thought the fire was his fault. Not the one today...the one in California. He was only two.”
“Kids can blame themselves for many things.” I shake my head, trying not to let my heart break a little more at the thought of Ben thinking he'd had anything to do with their tragedy. “Who knows why, but I’m glad you got it cleared up.”
“I hope we did.” He waves to the leather sofa. “I just can’t for the life of me imagine why he’d have ever thought that.”
We both sit, side by side. “All you can do is make sure he knows it’s not true. Eventually, he’ll forget he ever thought that way.”
“Where'd you learn so much about kids? You got a family of your own hiding away somewhere?” He pours wine into both glasses. There's a sharp, almost jealous glint in his eye that makes me all kinds of anxious.
I laugh. “No! Not at all. It’s just...common sense, I guess. Plenty of little cousins growing up over the years, too.”
“Well, you must have more common sense with kids than I do. Guess I spent all of mine on engineering.” He picks up the glasses and hands me one. I have no idea if it's the one I had while eating dinner or not, but it doesn’t matter.
“To you, Sugar.” He holds his glass up. “I owe you, and someday, I'm gonna pay you back.”
I shake my head, still clinking my glass against his. “No, no, you don’t. I’m just glad all's ending well.”
He nods and takes a sip of wine.
So do I, and our eyes meet across the narrow space. Our gazes lock. Soft, sweet wine sits on my tongue.
God, I can’t swallow. Not with the way he’s looking at me.
There’s some form of silent communication happening here again. I can feel it. Deep inside. That flock of butterflies takes flight in my stomach again, except their wings are flapping with enough force to match a jet lifting off the runway.
“It’s ending very well, Wendy. Thanks to you.”
His voice is so quiet, so husky, so sexy, and so grateful. All at once. I didn't know one man's tone could hold so many emotions.
Then I'm reminded how big an idiot I can be. Wine trickles down my throat, and the next thing I know, I’m choking. Coughing. Throat on fire.
He rushes over, standing at my side. One of those huge, beastly paws goes down heavy on my shoulder. His touch doesn't help anything.
“Wrong pipe,” I say in between coughs. I lean forward to set down my glass, but am still coughing and slosh wine onto the table.
Sweet baby Jesus.
I jump to my feet. Still coughing a few last times in disbelief that there's another mess to clean up. And this time, it's my fault over nothing. Or what should be nothing, like this insanely handsome man touching me.
“Oh, no. S-sorry. I’ll get a towel.”
“Already on it, Sugar. Sit down,” he says, stepping away.
“No!” I hold up a hand so he stays planted to the ground, and then point to myself because another cough strikes. “Just need...water. Hold on.”
Just need...not to die of embarrassment.
I hurry off to the kitchen before Hunter can move, get a glass, and fill it. Pristine water cools my throat. Then, as I’m taking a second drink, I get the sensation I’m not alone.
Turning slowly because the hair on the back of my neck is standing straight, I splutter all over again at the sight of something I don't expect.
A man in the hallway near the laundry room. A stranger. A big – no, huge – man, almost Hunter's size, with long black hair, a black leather jacket with patches, and chains on his boots. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
He grins and steps forward.
I back up, stumble, until my ass hits the counter behind me.
“Wow, darlin'. Long way up on those sweet legs,” he says roughly, still coming forward. “I just want to know what the fuck you’re doing in this kitchen?”
6
Magic Woman (Hunter)
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask Sloan as I enter the kitchen.
Usually, I’m glad to see him, but not right now. Not like this. I can't believe what I'm looking at.
He not only has Wendy backed up against the countertop like a scared cat, he’s leering at her with his patented hey, ladyyy look. Same damn thing I've seen a hundred times when he's hitting on anything with two long legs and a pair of tits.
Normally, I'd roll my eyes. But because it's her, because it's Sugar...this time it pisses me off like no tomorrow.
Sloan turns, his imposing tease melting into a scorned guard dog look.
“Whoa, dude, I just stopped in to check on you. Chill,” he says, backing up a few steps. “Didn’t expect you to have company. I'm assuming that's who she is, right? Seems too well put together to be a frigging cat burglar.”
“Right. Company. ” I step up, and I can't stop myself. I curl an arm around Wendy’s shoulder. The way she’s trembling raises my ire, plus this weird, primal urge to show she's mine. “Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“How’s Ben?” Sloan asks. “That's why I stopped by, really. Figured maybe you guys would need some extra din-din or some shit tonight, and –”
“Ben's fine,” I snap. Harsher than I should considering it's my best friend. “Look, Sloan...”
“What? Just like that, everything's peachy-keen? You got that grade thing worked out already?”
I give him a solid glare. “Tomorrow, Sloan. We'll talk. Trust me. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.” He’s not stupid, and he shouldn’t be pressing his luck now.
I know he's just being a concerned friend, and Ben's uncle, but fuck. It's incredible how hard it is to get him to go now that I'm doing what he always wanted without even realizing it until now.
For a man who’s tried to hook me up with anything with an ass and tits for years, he should already be on his merry way. Actually, he shouldn’t be here at all.
“Gotcha, buddy. My bad for the intrusion. I'll be back soon to fill you in on the latest company reports,” he says, turning around and plodding down the hall.
Christ. I'm too on edge, glued to this woman I'm clinging to like we just said our vows.
It's not just Sloan showing up unexpectedly. I hadn’t even heard the alarm system go off. It dawns on me then that I’d shut it off when I’d opened the door to let the smoke out, hadn't I? Had to, otherwise it would've continued to squeal the whole time the door was open.
“Who was that?” Wendy asks, a tremor in her voice.
To most people, I call Sloan my business partner, but I’m not in the mood to cut him any slack right now. “An employee,” I say. “A friend. A royal idiot, sometimes. Don't worry about him. It's just business. Mostly.”
Her eyes are wide, her brows lifting as she asks, “What sort of business are you in?” She shakes her head. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know.” She dips out from beneath my arm and spins around. “Sorry, I gotta go.”
I open my mouth to protest but stop myself.
Sloan's appearance shattered the undercurrent growing between us. As annoyed as I am, maybe he'd done me a favor.
Had she not spilled the wine, who knows what might've happened. Who, being me.
Because I'm sickeningly sure I'd have done it. I'd have kissed her, deep and hard and just a hint of teeth. I'd have taken her sweet ass with both hands, pulled her into me, and then anything and everything might've happened next.
“I’ll walk you out.” I can tell she’s about to fight me on it, so I add, “Make sure Sloan's gone, too.”
She startles slightly, then agrees with a nod.
“Thanks again for the meal,” I say, guiding her into the hallway with my hand in the center of her back. “And for your help with Ben.”
“No thanks necessary.” She glances up at me. “Just, um, well, stay calm tomorrow morning, when talking to the game shop owner, for Ben’s sake. You get more bees with honey than you d
o vinegar.”
Sage advice from a lovely creature. I’d been trying to stay calm for Ben’s sake for the past twelve years, and I still haven’t mastered it. When he's in trouble, it's my problem, too.
“I'll do my best,” I tell her.
“I know.” Her eyes twinkle almost as bright as the ones she’d drawn on her unicorn cake. “And I’m right. It’s common sense, yet there’s a large number of people out there who don’t get that.”
“Lack of common sense,” I say.
She nods.
“What? Your customers?” I ask. “At the bakery?”
She shrugs as we enter the foyer. “Some, but mostly, I’ve lived with it my whole life. Seen enough mini-meltdowns that were so easily preventable.”
I wonder if she's talking about family. Her mother had been hard-nosed, but not flighty. Neither had her old man, Will. Not that I'd been around either of them long enough to pin her folks' personality types down.
“My sister,” she says as if catching my thoughts. “Rochelle.”
I stop in the doorway as she enters the formal living room to retrieve her purse.
Lifting the brown leather bag off the sofa, she says, “Last week, she was upset...beyond upset that she couldn’t release a thousand Monarch butterflies at her wedding. In Minnesota. In early winter.”
Fuck. Now, I'm starting to understand what she means about missing common sense.
“The wedding in two weeks?” I ask, just to clarify we're talking about the same sister. The same wedding.
“That's it. The one and only.” She walks toward me, flipping the handle of her purse over her shoulder. Her strawberry lips catch my eyes, pursed like a heart, so many pent up thoughts hanging there, I want to bury them all. However many reckless kisses it takes.
“It’s coming soon, isn't it?”
“Yeah. Just a few weeks out. Nothing says wedding like Minnesota in December, a few weeks before Christmas.”
“Damn.” I can think of other things to say about that, but choose not to.
“There’s more. She wanted them to be white.”
“White butterflies?”
She shakes her head.
“Birds. Doves or something, too. I told her both bugs and birds were equally insane.”
“Your Rochelle sounds like something else,” I say. “Doesn't she know how to take no for an answer?”
Her grin answers that question.
One thing's for sure: Wendy Agnes is something.
Something sweet, something sexy, something wrong I shouldn't be wanting as bad as I do.
I shake my head as we finally walk to the closet to grab her coat. “Why would someone ever want to release a thousand butterflies?”
“I don’t know. Just like I don’t know why someone would want their wedding cake to be shaped like a yacht.”
Her eyes swell and her cheeks flush, but she's not smiling.
Shit. It's not a joke.
“Seriously?”
She nods. “Seriously.”
I open the closet door, remove her coat from the hanger, and hold it up for her to slip on. “Are you baking it? This yacht wedding cake?”
I'm intrigued, as insane as it is. After that unicorn cake, I want to see it.
She sets her purse on the table and slips both arms into her coat. “It’s times like this when I’m very thankful for my mother. She settled the butterfly issue and the yacht cake. I’m baking it, but it’s a simple tier cake because the big day's about Rochelle, not Wendy’s cakes.”
Something in the way she says that irritates me. Not at her, but for her.
She's not getting the recognition, the thanks, she deserves.
Zipping up her coat, she turns and picks up her purse. “About that. The wedding. There's no need for you to –”
“Yes, there is.” I’d have never imagined I’d ever become this committed to taking someone to a damn wedding as their make-believe date, but I am. More so than this morning. “You helped me with Ben, and I’m taking you to that wedding. We'll drink, we'll dance, we'll have an awesome time. End of conversation.” I open the door, holding it for her.
She gives a nod, but I can’t say it’s affirmative.
More like one of those we’ll see nods. I know them because I use them all the time. Used to, when I was working. The past couple of years, with Ben in school, I find myself twiddling my thumbs, and being as bored as an empty suit of armor in a museum.
I walk down the steps beside her. Sloan’s motorcycle isn’t in the driveway, or his pickup, just a gray Chevy Cruze.
She holds up her hand at the bottom of the last step. “I can make it the rest of the way on my own.” Glancing up at the house, she says, “You have a nice place. Real nice. And Ben’s a good kid. You've got nothing to worry about, Hunter.”
She walks to her car then. I consider following, but there's truly no reason.
The cold air penetrates my shirt as I watch her climb in her car and then back it around to pull out. I don’t go inside until after she drives around the corner, completely out of sight.
* * *
I enter the house and shut the door, remembering her words.
This is a nice house. It’s also a lonely one. It’s not empty, though.
Both Ben and I are home, but it’s still lonely. Haunted. Too many obligations and bad memories to relax.
But that's not just our place in Saint Paul. That's been everywhere for a long damn time, ever since Cory died.
More than my brother, he’d been half my soul. My twin.
Identical in so many ways, yet complete opposites in so many other ways.
Cory was smart. Hell, genius in some ways. He saw opportunities I didn't, but his intelligence made his better judgment waver at times. Especially when it came to Juno.
The two of them were fire and ice since the first day they hooked up.
I liked Juno, loved her, she was my sister-in-law, but I always wondered if Cory made her happy. Or vice versa.
Then Ben was born. He brought those two together like industrial strength epoxy. Ironed out their issues.
That’s why I’d brought Sloan into management, so Cory would have more time to spend with Juno and Ben. We'd given Landmark a kick off the ground, a brotherly team effort, and we were on track for over a cool two million in profit by the time we landed our first contract.
I sit in my office, slumping back in the chair, too damn exhausted from the day to pour myself a drink.
Not too exhausted for more bad memories, unfortunately.
Those relentless, shitty ghosts always have a way of catching up.
* * *
Twelve Years Ago
“You gotta check into it, Hunter. No fucking joke.” Cory sets his beer on the table. “Andre in IT said we were hacked, and it was by serious cyber-muscle. A foreign intel op, or their associates.”
I take a swig off my beer, slowly so the conversation won’t escalate.
Cory’s already had a rough couple of weeks. Scary weeks.
Ben was sick. Pneumonia. Bad enough to keep him in the hospital.
Poor little guy. My baby nephew isn't even two yet, and he's already given us the scare of our lives.
Swallowing, I nod. “I’ll have Sloan on it. He's good with IT.”
“No.” Cory slaps the glass top of the table on his patio. “You have to look, Hunt. Not Sloan. It's too important.”
Fuck, I hate this.
Feel as if I'm tiptoeing around shards of glass. I’d promoted Sloan to take some of the load off Cory’s shoulders. And mine, honestly, but I'm feeling the resistance.
My brother's the kind of guy who doesn't want to let anything go. He loves to micro-manage, especially the odds and ends of our company that could bring us down if anything hiccups.
No, he's never flat out said he didn’t like what I’d done, the restructuring, but it's there in his tone. Every single time we talk about this shit.
“Andre said the whole system was breached. Se
rious shit. Bad enough to compromise our clients, if any of that leaked. Jesus, bro. You do understand this could –”
I throw my hands up and he stops. I don’t want to hear anymore.
“We're fine, Cory. You know we've got the fucking NSA standing over our shoulders on this, right? They check to make sure we're crossing every T. If there was a breach that bad, we'd know.” I just don't understand why he keeps coming back to this. His suspicions of foreign agents around every corner have gotten old. “I promise you I’ll look into it,” I say.
I'll look, even though there's nothing there, I think to myself for the thousandth time.
Cory leans closer, lowering his voice. “Talk to Andre. And only Andre, Hunt.”
He's too paranoid. We're the only two people within hearing distance.
We’re sitting in his backyard for Christ's sake. “All right. Read you loud and clear.”
I nod, but can’t just have him believing it’s this serious. If there was a hack, which I doubt, it was probably some kid trying to hack into free wi-fi or something. “But Landmark’s a small company, Cory. We’re growing, and making money, better than we ever believed, but...come on, man. We're not big league. We're too small to attract any foreign espionage.”
He stiffens.
Guilt hits me. So does frustration. He looks down at his beer, quietly simmering.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll take care of it. I've always got your back.” I don’t point out that Sloan’s background is in security, and the reason we, Cory and I, had hired him on in the first place was because he had the right expertise. Plus he was an outsider.
There's nothing like an outside perspective to catch any missteps.
“I’ll talk to Andre. You just focus on that vacation you've got planned.”
Cory sits up again, taking a long pull off his beer. “No need. We aren’t going.”
