by Nash, Willa
“Kerrigan.” His hand whipped out, smacking against the door. “Just . . . stop. That’s not what I meant.”
“Of course it was.”
“You’re right,” he admitted, rubbing at a temple with his free hand. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m not myself tonight. And Nellie doesn’t have a lot of friends. She never has. I can tell that she really likes you.”
“And I really like her.”
He pulled his hand away from the door, holding them both up. “You can’t leave. It’s not safe out there. There’s plenty of room in this house for us both if you’d like to avoid me until the weather blows over.”
The wind chose that moment to let out another ear-splitting scream. Son of a bitch. I really didn’t want to go out there. I might get buried in a snowdrift on the way to the car.
“Fine.” I backed away from the door and without another word, wearing my coat and boots, stomped out of the entryway.
My pride wouldn’t let me return to his living room. Instead, I marched in the opposite direction, unsure of what I’d find at the end of a short hallway. It was the kitchen.
The space was massive. Dark cabinets filled the U-shaped room and accentuated the rustic theme. A copper farmhouse sink gleamed under the lights and the range was larger than any I’d seen outside of a professional kitchen.
There was a bouquet of fresh flowers on the island. I walked closer to smell the roses and lilies. A note card tucked under the vase read Welcome Home and was signed from the club with a phone number.
“You’ve listed your home.”
My head whipped away from the flowers as Pierce walked into the kitchen. “I thought you said we could avoid one another.”
“I was thirsty.” He walked to the cabinets, opening one after another until he found the glasses. “Water?”
“Please.”
He took two glasses and filled them both with ice water from the fridge. After setting one beside me, he went to one of the stools at the island and took a seat. “Why did you list your home?”
“To pay you.” Duh. “I’m selling anything necessary. My car. My clothes. My blood, if needed.”
He took a long drink, his eyebrows furrowed. “You own seven properties. Why not one of the other properties?”
“Because they have tenants who pay rent. I’m not going to kick people out of their homes.”
“You could sell them as occupied rentals.”
“There aren’t many people in Calamity who want to own and manage rentals. And I love my tenants. The last thing I want is to sell the place and then have them worry their lease won’t be renewed. Besides, their rent is paying my mortgages with the bank.”
The properties I’d bought with Gabriel’s loans had been the farmhouse and the building downtown. If I had to sell one of my rentals, then I’d do it. But it would be my last resort.
“What about the gym?”
“It’s covering utilities and my living expenses.” Not that it was much.
“What happens if you sell your own home?” he asked.
“There’s a vacant studio apartment above the gym. I’ll move in there. If I find someone to rent that place, then luckily, I have a big family. I’ll couch surf for a while.” I’d hate every minute of it, but if I had to, I’d move home with my parents until I built up money for rent.
“And what about this farmhouse?”
“That’s a long story.”
He glanced to the windows and the gusts of snow hitting the glass. “We’re not going anywhere. Not tonight.”
Oh, how I hated that he was right. If this storm kept up, I wouldn’t be able to leave for hours. Maybe not until morning.
But he was here, asking me questions. This was why I’d come here, right? To make him listen and understand. For some reason he was curious—maybe it was atonement for putting his foot in his mouth.
This was my opportunity and since I was stranded, I might as well make the most of my window.
I rounded the island and took a stool, keeping one between us. The distance was important, because even though I was irritated with him, the man was still too handsome for his own good. Or mine.
“Have you ever heard of Lucy Ross? The country singer?” I asked.
“Sounds familiar but I’m not really into country music.”
“She’s a friend of mine and lives in Calamity. She moved there two summers ago and rented my farmhouse.”
It had been an interesting property, even before the drama from that summer. All my life I’d known it as Widow Ashleigh’s farmhouse. I couldn’t remember her husband, who’d died when I was a kid, but Mrs. Ashleigh had gone to our church.
When she’d died, the farmhouse had gone to her niece, who’d had no interest in owning a home in Montana. The niece had sold everything inside along with the house and its twenty acres.
The family who’d bought the property had been from Texas, and the year they’d moved in had been one of the coldest, snowiest years in decades. When they’d put the house back on the market the following spring, no one had been surprised.
They’d moved away but the house hadn’t sold, probably because their price had been outrageous. Clearly they hadn’t been desperate for the money—I couldn’t relate, but Pierce probably could.
“Before I bought it, the property sat abandoned and empty for years. There’d been squatters inside once. Another time, it had been vandalized by teens needing a place to have a keg party, so they’d used the land and the old barn. As you can probably guess, it was a mess, and I was able to get the place for a steal.”
The Texans had finally dropped their ridiculous asking price when their realtor had texted them pictures of the interior and the county had sent a letter threatening a fine if they didn’t clean it up.
The day they’d lowered the price, I’d jumped.
“I called Gabriel, so excited. When I told him about it, he immediately loaned me the money because I didn’t have the capital on hand. The timing worked out because he’d already drafted our contract so I could buy two buildings on First. He just increased the loan amount.”
“Two buildings.” He cocked his head. “I thought you just had the gym.”
“I sold the other. It was at the end of the street with the most room to expand. I bought it without plans for exactly what to do with it, but the price was right. A friend of mine runs a construction company. He outgrew his office and was looking for a new spot. I sold it to him and paid Gabriel some of the money I’d owed.”
At one point, I’d owed him nearly a half million dollars. Apparently, my payment history didn’t count for much in Pierce’s book.
“I put a lot of money into the farmhouse,” I told him. “Maybe too much. But it needed it and I was planning on renting it to vacationers coming through. When Lucy called and inquired about the place, she didn’t bat an eye at my price. She wanted a longer-term lease, and I was ecstatic. It was better than I could have hoped for. But . . .”
How was I supposed to predict death? It was hard for me to go to the farmhouse now. I used to walk into the kitchen and see the new cabinets and the walls I’d painted myself. Now, I simply saw the blood.
“But what?” Pierce asked.
“Lucy had a stalker. She was living in Nashville and came to Montana, hoping the stalker would leave her alone. But it didn’t work out that way. The stalker found her. Tried to kill her in that house. If not for the sheriff, Lucy would probably be dead—along with my other friend Everly and two teenaged kids who happened to be there that day. Duke saved their lives. But to do it, he had to shoot the stalker. She died in my house.”
Pierce blinked. “Oh.”
“Exactly. Oh.” I took a drink of my water. “I’m surprised you didn’t come across the story.”
“I checked for listings with the real estate office but that was about the extent of my research.”
“Well, you didn’t know about the incident, but every person in Calamity does. No surprise, nobody wants to
buy the farmhouse. Especially in the winter. And now that it’s on the market, I can’t exactly set up vacation rentals.”
The house was sitting empty, costing me money for utilities each month. I wasn’t sure how I’d pay December’s bill, which was coming in a few weeks. I’d barely managed November’s. Hopefully when they asked what I wanted for Christmas, my parents wouldn’t make too many comments when I requested cash.
“Do you think it will sell?”
“Not unless I slash the price.” It was listed at $220,000, which was less than it was worth given its acreage and my updates. But because of the terms of my loan, I couldn’t go much lower. If I could sell the farmhouse at that price, after the fees and such, I’d be close to paying off Pierce.
“Hmm,” Pierce hummed, raising his glass to his lips.
Silence stretched between us. Without the noise from the fire, the wind seemed louder. Angrier. A nasty gust slammed against the windows and even though the house was solid, it was like a blast of cold snaked through the kitchen.
“How about a payment plan?”
I was midsip and nearly choked on my water. Had I heard him right? “What?”
“A payment plan. Ten years. Interest-only annual payments. Balloon payment of the principle at the ten-year mark or sooner. No prepayment penalty. Ten percent interest rate.”
I waited for the catch. There had to be a catch, right? Those terms were almost as good as the ones Gabriel had given me. The interest rate was steep but I was in no position to argue.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“That’s it?”
“Should there be more?”
“Uh . . . no?”
He chuckled and slid off his stool, coming closer and holding out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”
“Deal.” I slid my hand into his and an electric jolt raced up to my elbow.
Pierce must have felt it too because his eyes flared, his gaze dropping to my mouth. He leaned in, just an inch, but what a difference it made. He was so close that his body chased away the room’s chill. His eyes ensnared me and my lips parted.
Did I want him to kiss me again? Yes. But before I could get my wish, he let go of my hand and took a step back. “Come on. It’s cold in here. Let’s wait out this storm in the living room.”
The living room. Where we could put more space between us. An excellent idea.
Because now that we’d come to an agreement on my loan, the last thing I needed was to screw it up by doing something stupid.
Like kissing Pierce Sullivan again.
Chapter Seven
Pierce
The black of night seemed only to provoke the storm. As Kerrigan and I sat in the living room, the minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace. There was no way I’d let her leave but every minute she stayed was one where I needed her to leave.
What the hell was wrong with me? I’d almost kissed her. Again.
There was no alcohol to blame tonight. Maybe it was delirium—these chills wouldn’t stop and my headache was blooming through my entire skull. Or maybe it was simply . . . her. She was as desirable as she was persistent.
With her knees tucked beneath her in the chair, she stared at the fire. It had been an hour since we’d retreated from the kitchen to the living room, waiting for the snow and wind to subside. It wasn’t going to stop, was it?
“You’d better plan to stay tonight,” I said.
The look on Kerrigan’s face was pained but she forced a smile. “That would be great. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Her presence had been a fantastic distraction from the reason I was here. There’d be no sifting through Grandpa’s belongings with Kerrigan under the roof and I’d rather sit in agonizing silence than face my task at hand.
Besides, we’d come to an agreement. My decision to extend her loan might be one I regretted in a month or a year. As far as loans went, hers was small potatoes—to steal her words—compared to the other investments and licensing deals in my portfolio. But I wasn’t cruel and wouldn’t kick her when her luck was down. The story she’d told me about the farmhouse was unreal. No wonder it hadn’t moved. That sort of event would have made the news in Denver and I suspected it would live exponentially longer in the minds of Calamity’s residents.
So I was cutting her a break.
Grandpa would have loved that.
I shuddered at the image of them together. I bet he’d had her here, sitting on this very couch before this very fire. He would have been in those silk pajama pants he’d always favored. Her hair would have been down, catching the light from the flames as she cuddled beside him wearing whatever skimpy piece of lingerie he’d bought her from La Perla.
The pounding in my head tripled as something in the room growled.
“What—” It was her stomach. “You’re hungry.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Returning to the kitchen was dangerous, but now that I’d conjured an image of her and Grandpa together on this couch, I was ready for a new room. Besides, I didn’t trust myself with her in any space, so we might as well eat. “I’m not sure what the club caretakers stocked for me but let’s take a look.”
She waited until I was off the couch and already on my way to the kitchen before she peeled herself out of the chair. As she followed, the distance she kept between us seemed deliberate.
It probably was.
There’d been no mistaking the hitch of her breath earlier. The parting of those luscious lips. Either she was worried I’d kiss her again, or she was worried that she’d kiss me back.
The refrigerator was full of prepared meals when I opened the door. I chuckled.
“What?” Kerrigan asked, settling on the same stool she’d been on earlier.
I stepped aside so she could see the fridge. “Nellie called the club and arranged for meals. She knows I’m hopeless in the kitchen so it’s all reheatable.”
“You don’t cook?”
“Rarely. I have a chef who prepares my meals for me at home, and I live in downtown Denver, so many of the restaurants will deliver.”
She opened her mouth but closed it before speaking.
“What?” The more she spoke, the more I found myself hanging on her every word. I didn’t want to miss one.
“We just . . . we lead very different lives.” There was sadness in her voice. Resolution. Like she was drawing a visible line between us. We were in the same room, but we’d always be a world apart.
“We do.” And it was just another reason to keep myself away from Kerrigan Hale.
My life was as complicated as it had ever been. If she actually knew the details, well . . . I doubted she’d look at me the same.
Turning for the fridge, I poked around until I found a glass bowl that looked appealing. “How about homemade chicken noodle soup?”
“That sounds great.”
Maybe soup would help knock this bug out of my system. I pulled it out and began poking around the kitchen. “I’ve never, uh . . .” Where were the pans?
After I found them in the second to last cabinet I opened, my next search was for a spoon. Finally, with the soup poured into the pan and heating, I found a loaf of sourdough bread on the counter. Where were the knives? And a cutting board?
“May I help?” Kerrigan asked.
“Would you mind picking out a wine?” I nodded to the wine fridge on the other side of the room, hoping that I wouldn’t feel like such a fool if she wasn’t watching me fumble around the kitchen.
She slid off her stool and walked to the wet bar, bending to peruse Grandpa’s selection. Her sweater rode up on her hips, giving me the perfect view of her ass.
Damn, but she had a great body. My cock swelled. Fuck my life. I might not feel one hundred percent, but my dick didn’t care when Kerrigan was in the vicinity.
This was not what I needed tonight. I tore my eyes away from her curves and focused on the meal, yet the image of her bent before me was running rampant in my mind,
doing nothing to help the problem behind my zipper.
How long had it been since I’d been with a woman? Months. On one of my work trips not long after my divorce had been finalized, I’d met a woman at the hotel bar and let her drag me to her room. But otherwise, it had been my fist in the shower.
And for the past three months, when I’d closed my eyes, the woman in my head was the woman stuck with me under this very roof.
By the time this meal was over, I’d be in dire need of a cold shower.
“Red or white?” Kerrigan asked.
“Either.”
She picked out a red and while I stirred the soup over the gas range, she opened the bottle and found two glasses, giving them each a healthy pour.
“I’d better try and call home,” she said after bringing me my glass.
I took a long gulp as she left the kitchen, then breathed. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”
I swore I could hear my grandfather laughing. He’d love this, the prick. He’d love that I was into Kerrigan. He’d love that I’d caved and made a special arrangement for her business. He’d loved that I was trapped here with her, in his house.
He’d love that I was infatuated with a woman who’d been his.
I grimaced, taking another long gulp of wine. I hated that he’d had her. That he’d cupped her perfect ass in his palms. That he’d had those lips I wanted as my own.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“Something wrong?” Kerrigan asked, causing me to whirl around as she returned to the kitchen.
“Uh, no. Just not great at this,” I lied.
“I’m happy to help. The only chef who cooks for me is me.”
“That’s all right. I can handle this. Enjoy your wine. Grandpa prided himself on his collection.”
She hopped on her stool again, a smile on her mouth. God, I really had to stop looking at her mouth. “He made me try my first glass of wine. It was one of his trips to Montana, when he’d invited me out to dinner.”
“You’d never had wine before?”
“Not unless you count Boone’s Farm.” She feigned a gag. “Up until that point, I mostly drank vodka or beer in college. The occasional red Solo cup of jungle juice if I went to a frat party. Gabriel ordered the best bottle of wine at the restaurant, and I remember taking a drink and doing my best not to cringe.”
