by Lori Foster
“You look alike more so than the other two.”
“We had a different father. Our father died when Morgan was just a baby.”
“Oh.” She shifted, unfolding her long legs and sitting upright. She reached over and touched his arm, just a gentle touch with the tips of her fingers, lightly stroking, but the effect on his body was startling. He felt that damn stroke in incredible places.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I had thought your mother just divorced.”
He covered her hand with his own to still the tantalizing movement. “She was that, too.”
“But…”
To keep the emotions she evoked at bay, he launched into a dispassionate explanation. “She married Jordan’s father when I was five, and divorced him shortly after Jordan was born. I barely remember him, but he lost his job after the marriage and he started drinking. It became a problem. At first my mother tried to help him through it, but she would only tolerate so much in front of her children, and he couldn’t seem to help himself, or so she’s said. So she left him. Or rather, she divorced him and he took off and we never hear from him. My mother never requested child support, and he never stayed around long enough to offer it.”
“Oh, God. Poor Jordan.”
“Yeah. He wasn’t much more than an infant when they divorced, so he didn’t know his father at all. He’s never mentioned him much. He was always a quiet kid. Morgan loved to beat up the boys who gave Jordan any grief. We both used to try to protect him. We sort of understood that he was different, quiet but really intense.”
“He’s not so quiet now.” She made a face, wrinkling her nose, probably remembering the way Jordan had teased her about her bath. “He’s not as demanding as Morgan, but I wouldn’t exactly call him shy.”
“No. He’s not shy.” Sawyer smiled, thinking of how she’d stomped on Jordan’s foot. “None of my brothers are. But Jordan isn’t as outgoing as the others, either.”
“When did he change?” An impish light twinkled in her eyes. “After his first girlfriend?”
She was teasing, and Sawyer liked that side of her, too. “Actually, it happened when he was only ten. He found some kids tormenting a dog. He told them to leave the dog alone, and instead, one boy threw a rock at it. The dog, a really pitiful old hound, let out a yelp, and Jordan went nuts on the boys.” Sawyer chuckled, remembering that awesome day. “He was like a berserker—impressed the hell out of everyone who watched.”
Honey shook her head. “Males are so impressed by the weirdest things.”
Sawyer glanced at her. “This wasn’t weird! It was life-altering stuff. Sort of a coming-of-age kinda thing. My mother had always taught us to be good to animals, and Jordan couldn’t bear to see the old dog harassed. The boys were two years older than Jordan, and there were three of them. Morgan and I were on the sidelines, waiting to jump in if we needed to, but being so much older, we couldn’t very well start brawling with twelve-year-olds.”
“Too bad they weren’t older.”
He heard her impudent wit, but pretended she was serious. “Yeah. Neither of us is fond of idiots who abuse animals. We wouldn’t have minded a little retribution of our own. But Jordan held his ground and did a good job of making his point. He ended up with a black eye, a couple dozen bruises, and he needed stitches in his knee. My mother liked to have a fit when she saw him. And Morgan and I got lectured for hours for not stopping the fight. But no one messed with Jordan again after that. And anytime an animal was hurt or sick, someone would tell Jordan. I swear, that man can whisper an animal out of an illness.”
“So that started him on the road to being a vet. What made Morgan decide to be a sheriff?”
Sawyer turned her hand over and laced his fingers with hers. Her hands were small, slender, warm. Along the shore of the lake, a few ducks waddled by then glided effortlessly into the water, barely leaving a ripple. Peonies growing on the other side of the house lent a sweet fragrance to the air, mixing with her own enticing scent.
He was horny as hell, and she wanted to talk about his brothers.
“Morgan is a control freak,” he managed to say around the restriction in his throat.
“I noticed.”
Since she’d been a recipient of his controlling ways, he supposed she had. “He used to get into a lot of scrapes, sort of a natural-born brawler. Give him a reason to tussle and he’d jump on it. He got in trouble a few times at school, and my mother was ready to ground him permanently. Gabe’s dad was a good influence on him.”
Honey started. “Your mother was married three times?”
Sawyer didn’t take offense at her surprise. No one had been more surprised by that third marriage than his mother herself. “Yeah.” He smiled, dredging up fond memories. “I was eight years old when Brett Kasper started hanging around. My mother wanted nothing to do with him, and I’d ask her why, since he was so obviously trying to get in good with her and he was a nice guy and we all liked him—even Morgan. Brett would offer to clean out her gutters, play baseball with us, run to open doors for her. But he was always honest about why he did it. He’d tell us he was wooing our mother and ask for our help.” Sawyer laughed. “We’d all talk about him to her until finally she’d threaten to withhold dessert if we mentioned his name again. I now understand how burned she felt, losing her first husband in the military, divorcing her second husband as a mistake.”
“Because you went through a divorce, too?”
He wouldn’t get into that with her. The divorce hadn’t bothered him that much, unfortunately. It was all the deceit that had changed his life.
Sawyer shrugged. “My mother worked damn hard to keep everything going, raising four sons, working, keeping up the house. My father’s pension helped, even paid for a lot of my college. And we all pitched in, but it wasn’t easy for her.”
“She must be incredible.”
“Brett used to say she was as stubborn as an aged mule and twice as ornery.”
“What a romantic.”
Sawyer laughed. “He didn’t cut her any slack, which is good because my mother is strong and she wouldn’t want a man who couldn’t go toe to toe with her. Brett wanted her and he went after her, even though she was gun-shy and didn’t want to take another chance. Sometimes she was rude as hell to him.
But Brett was pushy and he kept hanging around until he finally wore her down.”
Honey gave him a dreamy smile. “A real happy ending.”
“Yeah. They’ve been married twenty-eight years now. Brett’s great. I love him. He’s always treated us the same, as if he’d fathered the lot of us. Even Morgan, who can be so damn difficult.”
“You said he helped Morgan?”
“He helped redirect Morgan’s more physical tendencies by signing him up for boxing. And he set up a gym of sorts in the basement, which we all used until Gabe moved down there. Now there’s just a weight room in what is supposed to be a den. My mother frets every time she sees it.”
Honey laughed again, a low, husky sound that vibrated along his nerve endings and made him acutely aware of how closely they sat together, their isolation from the others, the heaviness of the humid summer air. He reacted to it all and kissed her knuckles before he could stop himself.
Just that brief touch made him want so much more.
Trying to regroup, he said, “Morgan chose to be a sheriff because he likes control, and for him, that’s the ultimate control. But regardless of what he says, it isn’t control over other people, it’s control of himself. He knows he’s more wild than not, that he’ll always be more aggressive than most people. Choosing to run for sheriff was his way of forcing himself to be in control at all times.”
She gave a very unladylike snort. “I think he’s a big fraud.”
Her misperceptions prompted Sawyer to grin. He could just tell she and Morgan would butt heads again and again if they spent much time around each other.
Of course, that was iffy, with her planning to leave and him planning
to eventually let her.
“The hell of it is, Morgan never starts fights, he just finishes them. With that scowl of his, he can bring on a lot of attitude that men, especially bullies, generally object to. And to be fair, he always gives the other guy a chance to back off, but there’s that gleam in his eyes that taunts. Morgan’s always had an excess of energy and he gets edgy real quick. So to burn up energy, he either fights or he…” Appalled at what he’d almost said, Sawyer stemmed his ridiculous outpouring of personal confidences, wondering if he’d already stepped over the line. He was so comfortable with her, a fact he’d only realized, and she was so damn easy to talk to, he’d completely forgotten himself.
She tilted her head, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Or what?”
“Never mind.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” She shook her head even as she fought off a yawn. “No way. You can’t just tease me like that and then not tell me.”
She looked sleepy and warm and piqued, all at once. Again he felt that unfamiliar rush of lust and tenderness and knew he was reacting to her when he shouldn’t. But he just couldn’t help himself. She drew him in without even trying.
Caught by her gaze, he admitted in a hoarse tone, “Morgan either fights…or he makes love. Either way, he burns off energy.”
Her cheeks immediately colored and her eyes widened. “Oh. Yeah, I guess…I guess that could work.”
Having caught her uncertainty, Sawyer leaned forward to see her averted face. “You don’t sound certain.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s not like…that is…” She peeked at him, her brow furrowed in thought. “Is it?”
Sawyer stared at her, blank-brained for just a moment, then he surged to his feet. Damn, if she was asking him if sex was really all that vigorous, he didn’t think he could suffice with a mere verbal answer. Surely a woman as sexy, as attractive as she would already know! Damn her, she plagued his brain with her contradictions, her looks earthy and sensual, her behavior so modest. Bold one minute, timid the next.
He stared down at the lake for long moments, trying to get himself together and fight off the surge of lust that swamped him. He heard her stand behind him.
“Sawyer?”
“What?” He didn’t mean to sound so brusque, but it felt as if she were killing him and his resolve by small degrees. Torturous, but also extremely erotic.
“Can I ask you something?”
Her tone was hesitant and shy, and he prayed her question wouldn’t be about sex. He was only human, and she was too much temptation.
He looked at her over his shoulder and tried to dampen his frustration. “What is it with all these questions? I thought your throat was sore.”
“It is. But your family is so different, so special. It’s the way I always thought families should be. I’ve enjoyed hearing about them. And I have had a few things vexing my mind.”
A grin took him by surprise; she sounded so worried. “Vexing you, huh?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” Turning, he gave her his full attention. The setting sun did amazing things to her fair hair and her blue eyes while making her skin appear even smoother. It was still hot and humid outside, even though it was evening, and she’d removed his shirt. He could visually trace the outline of her breasts beneath the T-shirt, the full shape of them, the roundness, even the delicate jut of her nipples. His abdomen pulled tight in an effort to fight off the inevitable reaction in his body, but he still felt himself harden. He could see the narrowness of her midriff, the dip of her waist. She hadn’t tucked the T-shirt in, and still the flare of her hips was obvious and suggestive.
She shaded her eyes with a small hand and blurted, “Why did you kiss me?”
Taken completely off guard, he blinked at her. After a moment, he said, “Come again?”
“Earlier.” She bit the side of her mouth and shifted nervously. “When you kissed me. Why’d you do it?”
She had to ask? He was thirty-six years old, had been kissing females since he was twelve, and yet none of them had ever asked him such a thing. Trying to figure out what she was thinking, he countered her question with one of his own. “Why do you think I did it?”
She looked so young when she turned bashful. He wondered at the man who’d given her up, who hadn’t really loved her, as she’d put it. Sawyer had already decided he was a damn fool. Now, seeing her like this, he was glad. She deserved better than a fool, better than a man who’d be stupid enough to let her go.
He stepped closer, so tempted to kiss her again, to show her instead of tell her about her appeal. But he knew it wasn’t right, that he was taking advantage of her situation and confusion. She stared down at her bare feet. “My sister always told me I was pretty.”
He wanted to see her eyes, but no matter how he willed it, she wouldn’t look up. “You’re very pretty. But I hardly kiss every pretty woman I see.” And in truth, he’d known women much more beautiful. They simply hadn’t interested him; they didn’t draw him as she did. “Besides,” he added, trying for some humor, “your face is bruised, and your lips are chapped, and there’s dark circles under your eyes.”
“Oh.” She touched her cheeks, then let her hands drop away with a frown.
He waited while she thought about that. “Alden used to tell me I was shaped…okay.”
“Okay?”
She gave a grave nod. “Men can be…enticed, by physical stuff, I know.”
She was attempting to sound blasé, and he barely held back his laugh. Alden must have been a complete and total putz. She was much better off without him. “Honey, you’re sexy as hell, and sure, to some men that’s all that matters, but again—” He gave a philosophical shrug.
“You don’t kiss every sexy woman you see?”
“Exactly.”
She licked her lips, and her expression was earnest, if reserved. “So then why did you?”
Very softly, he admitted, “I shouldn’t have.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Her cheek was sun-warmed beneath his palm as he tilted up her face, determined to see her eyes, to read her. Besides, he couldn’t seem to not touch her. “What’s your real question, sweetheart?”
Her eyes darkened, and the pulse in her throat raced, but she didn’t look away this time. She fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the next. “Did…did you think since I was available, but determined not to be here too long, you could just…you know. Have a quick fling?”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much. But she amused and delighted him with her every word—when she wasn’t provoking him and pricking his temper. She was both the most open, honest woman he’d ever met, sharing her feelings and emotions without reserve or caution, and the most stubbornly elusive, refusing to tell him any necessary truths. “Anyone who knows me could tell you I’m hardly the type for a quick indiscreet fling, or any kind of fling. But certainly not with someone who didn’t want the same.”
She looked startled. “You think I don’t want—”
Interrupting that thought seemed his safest bet. “I don’t think you know what you want right now. But it surely isn’t to be used.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m human, and I get restless like any other man. But I have a reputation here, and a lot of people look up to me. I have to be very circumspect.”
She stared at him, her expression almost awed that such sanctimonious words had escaped his mouth. He felt like an idiot. “Honey, I’m sorry, but I just can’t—”
She took an appalled step back. “I wasn’t asking you to!”
His mouth quirked again, but he ruthlessly controlled it. “When I get too restless, there are women I know outside of town who feel just as turned off by commitment as I do. They’re content with physical release and no strings.”
Her mouth formed an O.
Feeling aggrieved, he explained, “They’re nice women, who are content with
their lives, but they get lonely. The world being what it is, it’s not easy to find someone respectable who isn’t looking for marriage. We suit, and it’s simple and convenient and—”
Her face was bright red. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten into this.
“I see. So you…indulge yourself with these women you don’t really care about. But I don’t fall in that category?”
His teeth clicked together. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to haul her up close and nestle his painful erection against her soft belly. He shook his head, as much for himself as for her. “You most definitely don’t fall into that category. You’re young and confused and scared. You’re not from around here and you don’t know me well enough to know I have no desire to remarry. And that’s why I said I shouldn’t have kissed you.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a determined step away. “It won’t happen again, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
She drew a long, considering breath. “I wasn’t worried. Not really. I just wasn’t sure…” She bit her lip and then blurted, “Most of the time you don’t seem to like me very much. You feel responsible for some dumb reason, and you’re kind enough, but…I just wasn’t sure what to think about the kiss.”
She obviously had no experience with aroused men, to mistake his personal struggles for dislike. And no sooner did he have that thought than he tried to squelch it. It was dangerous territory and would lead him into more erotic thoughts of what he’d like to show her, and just how much he liked her. Instead of explaining, he said, “I’d like you a whole lot more if you’d stop keeping secrets.”
She got her back up real quick, turning all prickly on him. “We agreed we’d talk in the morning.”
“So we did.” He was more than ready to let it drop before he dug himself in too deep. “Why don’t you head on in.” If she stood there looking at him even a minute more, he was liable to forget his resolve and gather her close and kiss her senseless—despite all the damn assurances he’d just given her. These uncontrollable tendencies had never bothered him before; now he felt on the ragged edge, like a marauder about to break under the restraint. The things he wanted to do to her didn’t bear close scrutiny. “You look ready to drop,” he quickly added, hoping she wouldn’t argue.
