Grant

by Jennifer Ashley

  Christina was already shaking her head. “I’ve been moving into Bailey’s place. Have a lot of boxes and stuff I still need to haul over there …”

  “You know what I mean.” Grant let his hand drop to his side. “Move in with me again.”

  Christina stared at him, vast pain flickering in her eyes. “Because we had sex today? Neither of us could help that. It doesn’t mean we’re ready to have another relationship.” Her voice went soft, wistful. “We were always so bad at it before.”

  Grant knew she was right. “I know, baby, but I’d like to try.”

  She studied the carpet, or maybe his bare toes. “But really, what’s changed?”

  “I don’t know.” Grant’s throat hurt. “Nothing. Everything.”

  “I hate this.” Christina looked up at him, her eyes so full of fear that Grant touched her shoulder. “I hate being without you. But I can’t go through it again. Us fighting all the time, trying our best to hurt each other, because …” She stopped there, not wanting to talk about the elephant in the room. “Then breaking up. I can’t face the pain of that again. I barely made it the last time.”

  “Yeah, I know. Me too.” Grant caressed under the strap of her tank top, getting lost in the soft feel of her. “Maybe we should start all over again, you know? I could come to the bar, feed you that lame line I did when I was twenty-one and cocky as hell.”

  Christina’s tiny smile almost broke him. “You mean when I took one look at you and got hot all over? You were one hunkalicious cowboy that night, smiling at me. I almost climbed over the bar and went for you. I’m as bad as Karen.”

  Grant warmed. “Really? You liked what you saw?” Then he thought about her exact words, and his ego deflated “Wait a minute, are you saying I’m old and saggy now?”

  The corners of her eyes crinkled. “No. I meant that was the first time I’d seriously looked at you. You weren’t just Adam Campbell’s screw-up younger brother.”

  “So there’s hope for me. How about I come to the bar one of these nights and ask you out again? And we’ll take it from there.”

  Christina shook her head. “You always have everything figured out. What are you going to do if I say no?”

  “Ask you again. And again. Until you say yes.”

  She raised her brows and put one hand on her hip. “Stalk me, you mean?”

  Grant pretended to consider, and nodded. “Yep. If that’s what it takes.”

  Christina lost her teasing look and reached for the door. This time Grant moved aside, gesturing that she was free to leave.

  Christina turned back on the doorstep. “If Carter doesn’t kill you tonight,” she said slowly, “then sure, pull your line on me. But give me a couple days, all right? I want to be, you know …”

  She trailed off, but Grant understood. She wanted to be ready and not ready at the same time.

  Grant hated to let her walk out. If he was into that tying-up bondage shit, he’d have her tethered to the bed already, waiting for him to get back from talking to Carter.

  That image had his cock hardening and sweat beading on his forehead. Damn, he should not think about things like that.

  Grant swung the door wider and kissed Christina quickly on the cheek. “Drive safe.”

  Christina gave him a startled look then nodded. “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Christina drew a breath, squared her shoulders, and strode out.

  Grant flipped on all the outside lights and came out and watched her walk to her car—in case coyotes ambushed her or something, he guessed. Or jackrabbits. There were a lot of those in the open field behind his house.

  Christina got into her truck, cranked it on, and turned on the lights. A couple of jackrabbits raised their heads at the beams, then took off, rustling back into the grass.

  Christina turned the truck and drove past Grant, giving him a look but not a wave, heading around the drive to the road.

  Her taillights flashed as she braked, then faded as she drove from dirt to asphalt. A rush of engine, and she was gone.

  Grant watched her, hope in his heart, as her truck’s lights winked out on the other side of the hill.

  Then he realized. “Aw, shit!”

  Carter expected him at the house, but Grant’s truck was already there, since he’d ridden with Tyler from the ranch to the train and then back to town with Karen. He was stranded.

  Damn it to hell.

  He could call someone at the house to come get him, but they’d laugh their asses off. Probably already were.

  Grant went inside, redressed, combed his hair, then set off the couple of miles to the ranch on foot.

  ***

  Carter Sullivan was working through dinner in the ranch’s office at the stables, when a plate of sandwiches landed next to his elbow, along with a frosty glass of iced tea.

  He looked up to see Grace Malory, her green eyes warm, taking a step back.

  The high-ceilinged office had walls of polished wood, the one lamp on Carter’s desk throwing a small glow in the big room. Grace stood in the shadows, light catching in her dark hair.

  “Thought you might like something,” she said. “Your mom made only enough dinner for Faith and herself tonight, since everyone else was out.”

  “Yeah.”

  Carter fought the sudden shyness that welled up inside him, the same shyness he’d battled as a kid. He used to go out and get himself into trouble to compensate for how it made him feel. He’d conquered the shyness a while back, or so he’d thought, except whenever Grace Malory walked into a room.

  She was an astonishingly beautiful woman. And untouchable to someone like Carter, born on the wrong side of the tracks. Hell, those tracks were in entirely the wrong town.

  Grace Malory was from an old ranching family who owned whole sections of land in River County. She’d been a debutante in a pretty white dress, then gone to college to major in culinary arts. She’d grown up clean and wholesome, while Carter was exactly the opposite—a foster kid, in and out of juvie, adopted by the kind Mrs. Campbell, still rough about the edges as an adult, with tatts and an attitude.

  Hence, Carter was brusque and tongue-tied around Grace. Didn’t explain why he wasn’t the same way around her sister, Lucy, but whatever.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.

  Grace didn’t look offended. “Helping out with some baking. Your mom wanted to send a bunch of stuff to Faith’s youth group at church for their bake sale, but she ran out of time. Since I’m one of the overeducated and underemployed these days, I decided I could make a bunch of cupcakes and cookies for it. I’d have brought you a cupcake, but they have hot pink icing, really girly. Chocolate, though.”

  “Okay.” It was all that would come out of Carter’s mouth followed by a gruff, “Thanks.”

  Grace’s nose wrinkled. “Your mom said you’d probably starve yourself out here, so I thought—sandwich. Easy to eat while you’re working.”

  Double-decker, toasted bread, with lots of meat and cheese, and not too much lettuce. The woman must be able to read his mind.

  “Thanks,” Carter said again, trying to loosen his tongue. “You didn’t have to.”

  “I know.” Grace shrugged. “I felt like it. Well … good night.”

  “Night.”

  Why that was so hard to say, Carter didn’t understand. When he’d been unable to shove out the right words as a kid, and other kids had laughed at him, Carter had simply jabbed a blade at their non-vital body parts. They’d shut up real quick.

  He couldn’t exactly do that to Grace, nor did he want to. He’d never hurt her—or let anyone else hurt her either.

  Grace lingered, as though she wanted to say something else. Carter waited.

  Her nose wrinkled again, and she gave a little laugh and shook her head. Then she turned around, walked out, and closed the door.

  Carter let out his breath as the latch clicked. His palms were slick with sweat.

  Fuck this. He
was a grown man. Carter had gotten over stupid teenage crushes a long time ago, especially after that crazy bitch who’d been Faith’s mother had thrust Faith at him and vanished into the dust.

  He didn’t get women.

  Carter wasn’t too messed up to eat the sandwich, though. It was seriously good.

  “Hey.” Grant strode in, bringing night wind and dust with him, reminding Carter that he’d asked Grant to come to the ranch. Took him a few moments to shut out the warmth of his encounter with Grace and remember why.

  Grant was breathing hard, like he’d been running. He’d left his truck here, Carter had seen. The stupid-ass must have jogged from his trailer, too proud to ask for a ride. Carter had grown fond of his adoptive brothers over the years, but he still couldn’t figure out why they did what they did.

  “That looks good.” Grant eyed the sandwich but didn’t touch it, or the corn chips Grace had added to the plate.

  When they’d been kids, Grant might have helped himself, and then Carter would have chased him down, and they’d have a fight. Carter had usually won the fights, unless Adam joined in, making it two on one.

  Carter had learned to pull his punches, though—he’d grown up street fighting, which meant disabling your opponent quickly, no matter what it took. Either the other guy went to the hospital or you did.

  It had taken him a few fights to realize that wrestling with brothers wasn’t about truly hurting them. It was about dominance, learning lessons and, weirdly, friendship.

  “Hands off,” Carter said. “There’s food up at the house.”

  Grant should have chuckled, remembering the old days, but he just stood there, thumbs on his belt buckle. He was dressed, hair combed, but it was so obvious he’d spent all afternoon and evening in bed it wasn’t funny.

  “About Christina …” Grant said slowly.

  “What about her?” Carter asked when Grant stopped. “You guys back together?”

  “No.” Grant said the word too quickly. “I mean, I don’t know. Do me a favor, and don’t talk about it with anyone.”

  Carter shot him an annoyed look. He didn’t gossip. “Who am I going to tell?”

  “Mom. Faith. Ross. Tyler. Adam …”

  “It’s your business, and Christina’s. I won’t say a word.”

  Grant lifted his hands. “All right, all right. What did you want that had you coming to my trailer instead of calling?”

  “I did call.” Carter leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “You didn’t answer, so I figured you lost your phone again. What happened with Karen today?”

  “I took her out to lunch, and we talked about the script,” Grant answered easily. “Then she tried to jump my bones, then she went home.”

  Chapter Ten

  Okaaay, Carter thought. “Christina interrupt you?”

  “What?” Grant looked harassed. “No. Christina … It’s complicated.” He drew a breath. “Christina came to tell me that Karen wants to buy up Riverbend. Did you know that?”

  Carter gave him a nod. “I only found out myself this evening. Mom said they made an offer on Circle C as well, and told me everyone saw you and Karen drive out toward your trailer. That’s why I came down.”

  Grant balled his fists. “How could we be the last to know? Apparently, everyone in the diner was talking about it.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been focused on the commercial, and fifty other things this ranch is doing at the same time. I don’t have my ear to the ground about the real estate market.”

  Carter spoke calmly, but anger rolled around inside him, the rage of the youth who’d been pulled from place to place, never able to control where he went. Hearing that someone wanted to buy Riverbend, and Circle C Ranch, his sanctuary, smacked him in the gut.

  “Mom said no, right?” Grant asked.

  Carter gave him a look. “What do you think? But if Karen’s company succeeds, Riverbend is gone.”

  “And we’ll be surrounded by housing developments and shopping malls and golf courses, right?”

  “Yes,” Carter said tightly.

  Grant looked as unhappy as Carter felt. “What the hell can we do about it? We could buy up all the land ourselves—do we have that kind of money?”

  “Not that kind,” Carter said. “And it’s more complicated than that. The developers are wooing the town council with all the money they’ll bring in when new people move here. The council will try to get current buildings condemned or writs served on owners to either fix up their property or pay so much in fines they’re forced to sell.”

  “They can’t do that,” Grant said indignantly. “Can they?”

  “’Fraid they can.” Carter didn’t like government or politics, having had to deal with the law enforcement part of it so much. But he’d learned that officials could be more corrupt than the nastiest drug dealer, all while they went to church on Sunday and helped out at the school.

  “Well, we can’t just sit around and wait for the bulldozers,” Grant growled. “Some of the people around here have nowhere to go. Hell, we have nowhere else to go.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this,” Carter said. “I’m betting we can stop them by keeping Karen Marvin happy.”

  Grant opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Carter watched thoughts go through his brother’s head, churning them as he rearranged his ideas. “Okay,” Grant said. “What does that mean?”

  “Karen isn’t the only person in her development company,” Carter answered. “Her ex-husband, for one, is the CEO, but she has a lot of pull, a lot of influence with the board of directors, from what I’ve found out. If we show her the real Riverbend, get her to know the people here, and get her to like the town, she might not want to ruin it.”

  Grant looked skeptical. “This is your great idea?”

  “It worked in the neighborhoods when I was a kid. If someone moved in and tried to take over, we got him to like it there, to protect the place instead of just gut it.” Carter paused. “It didn’t always work, but mostly, it did. People like places where they feel welcome, at home, respected. Even gang lords.”

  “If you say so.” Grant frowned at him, blue eyes troubled, angry.

  “Karen can be won to our side and help us,” Carter went on. “Or she could walk away and not care. I prefer to keep her happy. Was she mad at you for not sleeping with her?”

  Grant shook his head. “Didn’t seem like it. But I’m going to tell you this right now, Carter.” He leaned on his fists on the desk. “I’m not going to make myself a man-whore to save Riverbend. Someone else can throw themselves on that grenade.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “Then what do you want me to do?” Grant unclenched his fists and dropped into a leather chair on the other side of the desk.

  “Just make sure Karen’s pleased with us. Wine her, dine her, take her to the bar. Find her a cowboy to hit the sack with, if that’s what she’s into. Butter her up.”

  “Meanwhile, the whole town wants to lynch me for consorting with the enemy.”

  “She won’t be the enemy if we do this the right way.”

  Grant let out another growl. “Sure. Then you can take all the knives out of my back, but I might already be dead. Why can’t you wine and dine her?”

  “Because I know fuck-all about wine and food,” Carter said. “You know the spots to go. So does Christina. Ask her to help you.”

  “Wait, wait, wait a minute. You want me …” Grant pointed at his chest…“to ask my ex-girlfriend—the woman I want more than anything to get back into my life—to help me woo a shark of a woman, so we can save our hometown?”

  “You got it.”

  Grant shot him an irritated look. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It is easy. You’re good at this, Grant.”

  “Yeah, but why me? Why not Tyler? Or Ross? Ross can be her cowboy-cop fantasy. Women like that.”

  “Because Karen likes you. She told me so.”

  Grant
shook his head. “What she wants is another notch in her bedpost.”

  Carter sat back again. “You’re chased by women all the time. It’s never bothered you before. Usually you lap it up.”

  “Not the same thing at all. And if I’m going to have another chance with Christina, I don’t want other women anywhere near me. I’ll become a monk if that’s what it takes.”

  “Might defeat the purpose,” Carter said dryly. “Tell Christina what’s going on. She’s not stupid. She might be willing to help.”

  “Yeah, right.” Grant got to his feet with restless energy. “You’re crazy. Think I’ll go on up to the house and find something to eat.”

  Carter shrugged. Grant would have to come at this in his own way. He always did.

  “Grant.” When Grant paused at the door and gave Carter an inquiring look, Carter said, “Don’t screw it up with Christina this time. I think it will be your last chance.”

  Carter didn’t miss the pain in Grant’s eyes, a pain that ran deep. “Thanks, bro. You sure know how to make me feel better.”

  “Hey, I got your back.”

  Grant snorted something, banged out, and slammed the door.

  ***

  Carter ate the sandwich, one of the best he’d ever had. He spent another hour finishing up the accounts, shut everything down, and carried the empty plate back with him to the house.

  Grant had already gone—he pulled out in his truck as Carter left and locked the office. Grant lifted his hand in farewell, and drove away.

  Grace Malory, on the other hand, was in the kitchen, doing the dishes.

  Carter halted in the kitchen doorway, plate in hand, ready to fade silently into the hall and head for his suite in the back of the house. He’d get rid of the plate somewhere along the way.

  But his daughter, Faith, sat at the kitchen table, doing homework. She heard Carter and looked up. “Hi, Daddy. I saved you a cookie.”

  Grace turned around, wet to her elbows, and gave him her crinkle-nosed smile. “She wanted to wait for you.”

  Carter made his feet move into the kitchen and head for the sink. Numbly he started to put the empty plate on the counter.