by Shandi Boyes
Although the sun rays bouncing off the white paint appear angelic, the absolute horror tearing at my chest is anything but. I forgot him. It may have only been for a minute, but I still forgot. That is unforgivable.
Upon spotting a rogue tear careening down my cheek, my dad murmurs, "Oh, baby girl." His cracking voice adds to my devastation. "We'll head back to Smith Street; go home via Duke's place. Come on."
Faster than I can blink, he helps me into his truck via the hanging open driver's side door. I bite on the inside of my cheek to stifle a sob when Alex reenters the cab from the opposite side of my father. Instead of sitting where he did earlier, he takes my spot in the passenger seat, squishing me between him and my father's slumped shoulder.
The tension is so high, nothing but the erratic thump of three hearts is heard. After my father executes a U-turn, we quickly slip away from an area responsible for tearing my heart in two, but it comes too late. Nothing can impede the train wreck of memories hammering me: the horrifying words Luca and I screamed at each other as he dangerously careened down the narrow road we are traveling on, the smell when I awoke after twenty minutes of unconsciousness, his low-hanging head. They crash into me like a violent wave, ensuring my eyes have no choice but to release the flood inundating them.
“Don’t,” Alex murmurs when I protest him seizing my wrist to pull me into his lap. “You either let me hold you, or I’m gonna cut down that damn tree with my bare hands.”
My dad’s tightened jaw slackens from Alex’s comment. He has threatened to destroy a certain tree many times the past eight years.
Although I feel utterly ridiculous grieving one man while nuzzling into the chest of another, I can’t help but accept Alex’s comfort. He peers down at me without a single pang of doubt in his eyes. His comfort comes with no strings attached. I won’t owe him a single dime if I accept what he is offering. He is with me because he wants to be, not because he feels obligated.
That was all I ever asked from Luca.
Only now am I realizing it was the one thing he never gave me.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’ve got her.”
Regan’s dad, Hayden, glares at me. “She’s my daughter, which means she is my responsibility.”
Before I can give him the old, "You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your parents line," a pretty blonde I'd guess to be early to mid-fifties joins our intense standoff. Even though a willow tree shadows half her face, I can confidently declare she is Regan's mother. She is just as beautiful and seemingly just as confident.
“Supper is now over; dessert is up next. If you two aren’t inside within the next ten minutes, I’m feeding your share of the pie to the dogs.”
After her eyes drift between me sitting in the passenger seat of her husband’s truck with a sleeping Regan in my arms, and Regan’s dad standing guard at my door, she pivots away with a laugh, leaving me stranded with a man who believes I’m incapable of carrying his daughter up a flight of stairs.
Once the creak of an old screen door screeches through the uncomfortable silence, Hayden’s slit eyes lock back with mine. “God dang it, boy, if you make me miss out on Sally’s homemade pie, I’ll suck out your gizzards with a bucket milker.”
I don't know if he is putting on a country accent because we’re surrounded by his family dairy farm, or because his patience is running thin. Either way, I'm not giving in. Regan trusts me enough she fell asleep on my chest. I'm not giving that up for anything.
“I swear to you, I won’t drop her. Look at her; she’s not the least bit worried.”
For the first time the past twenty minutes, Hayden does as requested. The deep groove between his blond brows smooths when he notices Regan’s unmarred face. She is so blissfully unaware of the volatile situation surrounding her, she is without a single wrinkle or blemish. She is so peaceful, if it weren’t for Hayden’s demand that we move her into her room, I wouldn’t budge an inch. I’d keep her nestled in my chest for eternity.
Rather than allow Hayden to make his own decision, Sally forces one on him. “Hayden, get your ass inside before the workers see you making a fool of yourself. He’s a grown man, for crying out loud. He won’t drop her like you did when she was a baby.”
My quiet snickers cause Regan to stir in my arms. I shush her as if she is a baby I've only just laid down for a nap, praying she remains asleep. I love Regan's sass, and her sharp tongue is even more fire-sparking than her beautiful body, but I also like being the man she can rely on when things get tough. She is struggling tonight, so I want to be there for her.
Hayden’s words are delivered via a sneer. “If you drop her—”
“I won’t. I swear to god, I’ll never let her go.” I lower my eyes to his chin, praying he’ll miss the possessiveness in my tone. From the way his bottom lip curls into a snarl, I doubt it.
With Hayden guiding my every move, I curl out of his truck and start the sixteen stair climb to Regan's childhood bedroom. Her room is as expected; there are just more dairy cow ornaments than I imagined. It is glamorous, pink, and smells like fresh flowers. . . and perhaps a hint of cow dung?
I'm reasonably sure the last reference is compliments of Hayden. He was so pedantic about directing my every step, he refused to remove his boots—much to Sally's dismay.
"On the left," Hayden instructs me when I move toward Regan's bed on the back wall of her room. "She prefers sleeping on the left so she can see the meadow when she wakes."
Keeping my eyeroll on the down-low, I head for the left side of Regan's bed. Her pasty white skin looks vivid against the hot pink sheets covering her double mattress. Even her platinum blonde hair appears more intense.
I let out a little chuckle when I notice her feet dangle off the edge of her bed.
Hayden doesn’t find my laughter appealing. “Something funny, boy?”
I’m saved from explaining myself when Sally enters Regan’s room. “Leave the man alone, Hayden. Regan wouldn’t have invited him into our home if he was up to no good.”
She taps my shoulder in support before dropping her focus to Regan. “She’ll be out until morning, so why don’t you two go and grab some supper and a shower. It smells like horse manure in here.”
My jaw falls open when Hayden murmurs, “That’s straight up shit, and it ain’t coming from me.”
He shrugs as if he never said anything when Sally shoots him a dirty glare. I can understand his defense of ignorance. I use a similar argument when subjected to Regan's intense glare.
While carefully tugging out a cow-printed blanket from beneath Regan’s feet, I ask, “Should we wake her for tea? Excluding a few olives, she hasn’t eaten since breakfast.”
I never knew you could hear a jaw tick until now. Hayden proves you can. Apparently, his daughter’s failure to announce her hunger is somehow my fault.
“You didn’t feed my girl?”
“I tried. She wouldn’t accept anything I offered.” My words garble at the end, choked by the fear clutching my throat. From the way Hayden’s nostrils are flaring, anyone would swear I just told him I attempted to feed Regan my cock . . . Oh.
“I meant food. She’s picky about what food she consumes.”
The redness on Hayden’s cheeks doubles. “Of course you meant food. What else would you be talking about?!”
I swallow—harshly. “Condiments?”
Someone file a missing person report, as I'm fairly confident I just signed my death certificate.
“Condiments? Are you sure of that, boy?” He says the term usually spoken in a positive light as if it is a derogatory term.
“Hayden. . .”
I stare at Sally, stunned. She utters one word, and Hayden’s anger is subdued in an instant. I so much as breathe, and he mentally sharpens his ax.
“Go grab some fresh towels from the linen closet. I forgot to lay them out when you left to pick up Regan.”
Hayden stands frozen for a minute, unsure if he is coming or going. He isn
't the only one confused. I don't want to leave Regan, but I'm not sure she'd consent to a sleepover. We worked through some issues on the roadside over an hour ago, but we’ve still got a shit-ton to weather.
Once Hayden leaves—after a silent threat of dismemberment directed my way—Sally’s carefree eyes lift to mine. “Are you hungry?”
Her lips tug up in the corners when I shake my head. “Your stomach too twisted with worry to eat?”
My shake turns into a nod.
"If you think it's hard on you, imagine being him." She jerks her chin in the direction Hayden went. "He doesn't just have one woman to take care of; he has three. Four if you include his momma." She is discreet, but I don't miss the faint crinkle of her nose when she mentions Hayden's mom. "Regan is our eldest. She's the one we cut our teeth with. That's even more reason for her daddy to be extra-protective of her. Things have been tough with them since Luca’s accident. They both take blame for what happened.”
Before I ask how either of them could be blamed for an accident, Hayden reenters the room. The towels in his hands are as girly as Regan’s sheets, ensuring I can’t miss his silent message. He didn’t fetch these towels for me. They are for his baby girl.
Regan's mattress squeaks when Sally stands to her feet. "We'll let you get some shut-eye. Things start early around here, so the earlier you head to bed, the easier you’ll rise."
Hayden doesn’t announce a single protest with his eyes before Sally curls her hand around his elbow to lug him out of the room. Considering there is a good foot difference in their heights, it is no easy feat for Sally to do, but she manages—somewhat. Her determination proves what I knew from the moment I laid my eyes on her. Regan got her fiery core from her mother.
“If you need anything, we’ll be just down the hall.”
“Uh-huh. That’s right. Just down the hall. As in two walls. Six steps. One level," Hayden adds on before his words are swallowed by Sally shutting the door behind them. "I also have a shotgun under my bed!"
I hear them bickering in the hall, but once my focus returns to Regan, their voices fade into the background. Regan looks so peaceful when she is sleeping. Beautiful. Calm. Controlled. Mine.
I’m not as surprised by my last admission as I should be. Coming here was a bad idea because the more time I spend with Regan, the deeper I want to sink my hooks into her. I brought her here under the guise we needed to investigate the incident in her apartment last night, but in all honesty, that was a ruse. The conversation I had with Brandon while Regan packed guarantees I can’t use evidence-seeking as an excuse for our getaway.
A sick, demented section of my brain wanted Regan alone so I could show her the real me away from the prying eyes of those watching her every move—not just my colleagues, but men like Isaac as well. But instead of doing that, I thrust her into a real-life nightmare by forcing her to face truths she isn't ready to face. I barely know this woman, so what gives me the right to force her to do anything?
I should come clean and admit everything, but if I do that, I not only sacrifice my career, I run the risk of losing Regan. That scares me more than anything. This weekend is my only chance to show Regan who I really am. Then perhaps once I unveil the man behind the job description, she won’t be so quick to judge my deceit. Then maybe—just maybe—she’ll grant me both items on the top of my wish list.
I can have her and also arrest Isaac. It will truly be a win-win.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I wake up disoriented and confused. Where I’m waking up is nothing out of the ordinary. I was born and raised on my family ranch, so my childhood room is burned into my retinas. It is the scent surrounding me that is brand new. It is virile and sweet, an intoxicating mix of a manly sexiness and fresh flowers. Considering I know the scent is emanating from an extremely alpha man, it should be odd admitting he smells flowery, but for some reason, it isn’t. Floral shampoo and body wash are scents Alex wears well. It is nearly as devastating to my senses as his body curled around mine.
While picturing his enviable lips, chiseled cheekbones, and a jaw that shouldn't be covered with wiry blond hair, the circumstances of our night crash back into me. He comforted me—a man with an impenetrable shell calmed me in my hour of need.
The spell he has had on me since we bumped heads should have lifted, but instead, my quest to bed him is even more ravenous. A weasel of a man would have run for the hills at the first sign of moisture in my eyes. Alex didn't. He bunkered down and rode out the storm. That doesn't just make him admirable; it gains him my respect.
After what he did for me last night, it might not seem like much, but the list of men who have my trust is very slim. The tally now sits at four—sometimes five when Isaac's right-hand man doesn't annoy the shit out of me. Otherwise it was only my dad, brother, and Isaac’s names on my list. Now Alex is listed right alongside them.
Does that mean I'll go easy on him when his panties get in a twist? Hell to the no! Gaining someone's respect doesn't mean boredom. I don't care what Alex says, he loves receiving lip as much as he enjoys dishing it. It keeps us on an even playing field and assures no hesitation when I jerk my elbow back to slam it into his ribs.
“What the fuck?” A smile creeps across my lips from the way Alex gasps the words. “Did you just hit me?”
“No,” I lie, shaking my head. “I was merely stretching. If you weren’t all up in my business, you wouldn’t have got hurt.”
“Up in your business?” I can’t see his eyes, but I don’t need to see them to know they’re burrowing a hole in the back of my head. “I’m sleeping—"
“With your arms wrapped around my waist and your cock digging into my ass.” I grind against him to prove a point.
Mainly.
Not even.
I was merely seeing if my memory was stacked with fact or fiction. It's fact. His cock is as thick now as it was when I was grinding against it Friday night. It's just a pity I couldn't assess its rigidness without my ego being bitch-slapped.
Friday night—a mere two days ago that seems more like a lifetime.
Friday night—the night he dissed me without a word escaping his lips.
Friday night—a night I’d give anything to experience again even with a psychotic stalker and brutal blow to my confidence.
If it weren’t for Friday night, Alex and I wouldn’t be in my childhood home, spooning like an old married couple who bicker as much as we do. I also wouldn’t be tackling issues I should have confronted years ago.
It hurts coming back here, especially this week, but with Alex by my side, the bite is similar to Clancy’s warning gnaw. It cautions of impending danger, but it isn’t painful enough to stop you looking past the storm clouds for the rainbow sitting on the horizon.
I'm returned to the present by Alex's winded remark, "You didn't complain about me being ‘all up in my business' when you were drooling on my chest last night."
My smile widens from his impersonation of my voice, but it doesn’t halt my retaliation. “I don’t drool.”
“Uh, yeah you do. And you talk in your sleep.”
I rib him harder this time. “Better to talk in my sleep than snore as loud as you do.”
“I do not snore!” He sounds more mortified now than when I confronted him about his cock getting friendly with my ass.
I flip over to face him. Bad move. He’s not wearing a shirt. “Yeah, you do.” The dip in my tone reveals I’ve noticed his shirtless torso, glistening tattooed pecs, and a stomach that should be featured in every men’s fitness magazine in the state. “You were so loud, the pigs oinked back, grateful for your mating call.”
A stretch of silence passes between us, blistering with unbridled lust and excitement. I am consumed by it, utterly defenseless to it. I struggle to breathe through the thickness, but my mouth only opens and closes—no air is sucked in.
Before I can act on one of the many inappropriate thoughts running through my head, Alex throws his head back and laughs. My ab
ility to leave this room without assistance is lost when his deep, husky chuckle vibrates through my body. It is manly and hot and makes me incredibly horny.
Is it possible to come without knowing it? If so, the undeniable wobble of my thighs has me wondering if the thrill from his laughter was just a figment of my imagination. The joy strumming through my veins matches the sensations I experience after I’ve O’d.
Once Alex's laughter settles down, he lowers his glistening baby blues to my face. They are darkened with undiluted heat.
When he attempts to speak, I beat him to it, "Why are you sleeping in my bed?"
“Ah.” He stops talking, seemingly conflicted about whether to tell me the truth or not. He goes for the former when he stammers out, “Your mom thinks we’re an item.”
I cock a brow. “That’s not surprising. She’s an old romantic at heart. She believes she can spot a couple from a mile out. My dad, on the other hand. . .” I leave my question open for Alex to answer how he sees fit.
He doesn’t keep me waiting long. "Warned me about the shotgun under his bed."
A smile creeps across my face. “You know he’s joking, right?”
"About the shotgun, no. I’m certain he has one. About shooting me with it. . .I’m hoping for some leniency," Alex answers without delay, his grin as intoxicating as his confidence makes me. "But even if I’m off the mark with your dad’s protectiveness, I know I don't snore."
I roll my eyes. “I might have elaborated on that part of my statement, but I’m sticking with my original complaint. Even if my mom thought we were hot for one another, what gives you the right to share my bed without asking? You could have slept on the floor.”
A bucket of water is thrown over my fire-hot attitude when Alex removes a strand of hair from my face. It isn't his caring nature causing my heart to stutter; it's what he says while doing it. "I know. But just like I'm aware I don't snore, I wasn't joking when I said you talk in your sleep." My throat dries when his eyes dance between mine. The lust holding them hostage earlier has dissipated, leaving nothing but respect and understanding. "You called out for Luca a few times last night. That settled once I hopped into bed with you."
