by KC Klein
His eyes were hooded and darkened with purple smudges underneath. A light dusting of blond shadowed his cheeks. Nikki didn’t think she’d ever seen Jett not clean-shaven.
“I need a drink tonight. And I’m not drinking alone.” He picked up a glass and handed it to her.
Maybe it was his damn jacket. She must be allergic to his aftershave since her head was foggy and her throat a tad tight. She shrugged out of the jacket and placed the bag of peas against her face, glad for the excuse to cover her warming cheeks.
He waited, his hand outstretched, shot glass full.
Not sure what to do, she took it. “Jett, what’s going on?”
There was a look of resignation in his eyes that scared the crap out of her. “Have you ever done this before?”
She felt like she was watching a movie underwater and upside down. This wasn’t the Jett she knew. Not the guy who was part best friend/part safety crush. Not sure how to answer, but pretty sure her answer should be no regardless, she shook her head.
He nodded. Then taking her free hand he brought it to his mouth and licked the small webbing between her finger and thumb.
A jolt sparked from the tiniest patch of her skin to a warming pool deep in her gut. Not prepared, she startled. As it was, she spilled half her shot down her shirt. No, this wasn’t good.
She tried to disengage her hand.
He held on tighter.
He got the salt, and with a few shakes sprinkled some on her hand. His gaze locked onto hers. “You ready?”
No. No she wasn’t ready, but the allergic reaction was getting worse, and she didn’t seem to be capable of speech. Instead, she just watched as her hand was raised back up to his mouth.
Monday through Friday, she cursed. There it was again! But this time, through the power of her own super coolness, she was able to hold on to her drink. Who knew that exact spot on her hand was directly connected to . . . well . . . to every other part of her anatomy. She watched as he downed his shot in one smooth glide of his throat. Then was mesmerized again as white teeth bit into the fleshy part of the lime and sucked the fruit dry.
Shut the front door! When had it gotten so warm? Was this what all the other women were subjected to? Nikki had heard that some women credited Jett with “bedroom eyes.” The talk around town was that looking into Jett’s warm brown gaze was the quickest way to go from an upright position in the community to a fall from grace into his bed. Nikki had scoffed when she’d heard, but now . . . He’d barely touched her, and she was ready to complete her fall from grace and go headlong straight to hell. The full force of the Avery charm was frightening. No man should wield that much power.
At least her hand was free. The spot where his tongue had dipped and tasted her skin tingled. She wiped her hand on her leg. It didn’t help. She wiped her leg.
“Your turn.” His expression mocked her nerves, as if bored with the mundane process of getting a woman drunk, in the middle of the night, alone in his house.
Mundane to him maybe, but not her. “What’s this about, Jett?” Her voice was shaky, but she didn’t think she showed how rattled she was.
He leaned back against the couch, his frame taking up more than half the shared space. “Do you know the gossip going on around town?”
The heat in her blood took a downward turn. There was always talk about the Logans. There was always talk about her. Mostly she didn’t care—mostly. She squared her shoulders, readying herself. She swirled the colored liquid in her glass, seeing how high up to the rim she could get without spilling. “There’s always talk. I didn’t take you for someone who put much stock in gossip.”
He nodded. “When the talk is about you, I always notice.”
She swallowed. “Fine, I’ll take the bait. What’s the gossip?”
A sly smile hovered around his mouth. “Drink first.”
Her heart thudded in her chest, but her mother had always told her the Logans never backed down. Nikki doubted her mother had in mind a game of wills over body shots, but out of respect, Nikki felt she should apply her advice liberally. She grabbed his hand, not nearly as smoothly as he had, licked between his forefinger and thumb, then tried to apply the salt. Her hand shook so bad it took a few attempts.
He smirked. “If those bikers could see you. Not so tough now.”
She went back to lick the salt, but used her teeth instead.
Jett snatched his hand back. “Ouch!”
She looked up, completely innocent. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before.”
He grimaced. “Then next time you can practice on your own hand.”
She took a sip, then, not to be outdone, opened her throat and downed the contents. A burn quickly rose up as she tried hard not to cough. She didn’t manage it.
Jett laughed as he pounded her back. “You’re not supposed to inhale it. That’s a sixty dollar bottle of tequila not a Jell-O shot.”
She knocked his arm away, not up to his teasing. If sixty dollars meant she’d feel the tequila in her head almost as soon as she felt it in her belly, then he hadn’t overpaid.
“Tell me what’s being said.” She had to keep things moving along before she found herself facedown in a pillow.
Tense lines fell about his mouth. Brown eyes turned overcast, shocking her to realize that under his charming smile and twinkling eyes was a man hungry and desperate. And she knew that look. Had seen it in her own face. But if it wasn’t money Jett was hungry for, what was it?
Then the moment was gone. Back was the easy smile she’d come to know. He stretched one arm along the couch. “Rumor has it that you want me bad, Texas. You want me real bad.”
She laughed, the absurdity of it too much. She’d seen Jett make the moves on his women before, but never thought he’d have the audacity to throw her in that category. “So that’s what this is all about? You’re getting me drunk so I can admit that I have the hots for you?”
“I figured you were taking too long, and the tequila would speed up the process.”
“I’ll put you out of your misery. The answer is no, and I don’t have to be drunk to admit that.”
He nodded as if agreeing to what color socks she should wear, but the upward turn of his lips mocked her. “Then kiss me.”
“What?” The alcohol must’ve hit her brain hard. Her hearing seemed to be affected.
“Kiss me. Prove it. If nothing else, considering how you handled the body shot, I’m sure you need the practice.”
Had he actually winked at her? How cheesy could a guy get? Except it was kinda working . . . kinda.
His smile reached his eyes, but there was definitely something else hidden in those depths. Nikki just didn’t know if she had the courage to find out what.
“Oh, so this is sorta like a public service then. Help the poor girl seduce the rich man.”
He leaned in close. “Oh, you didn’t know? My family’s really big into philanthropy.”
She almost swallowed her tongue whole to keep from being too predictable. He knew she’d rather be strung up by her thumbs than take his charity. And yet, he’d thrown the challenge out there anyway. Probably just to piss her off.
It could be the tequila or her super coolness kicking back in, but Jett wasn’t going to get to her. He was way too sure of himself. Maybe she was too much for Jett to handle? Had he ever thought of that?
She’d never gotten the flirting thing down, but she knew how to smile over a pool table to get a man interested.
Apparently, by the way Jett’s eyes widened, men were all the same. She supposed a challenge was a challenge.
“So I’m a charity case now? Ah well, then for that I’m definitely gonna need to be drunk.”
And she poured herself another drink.
Chapter 12
I’m engaged.
Cole hadn’t replied, just left. He was afraid he’d what? Hurt her? Because why? She’d cheated on him, was disloyal? Yeah, right.
The words didn’t even seem real, di
dn’t make sense. How could she be engaged? How could she consider leaving here . . . leaving him. But who was he kidding? She’d left once before, not a word, not a glance back, with the worst possible image of him in her mind.
He’d had no choice but to send her away. But was that true? Really, how many martyrs walked around singing the same tune?
I’m engaged.
The cloudless night sky dazzled with stars above him. The moon shone bright, lighting the land with a pale white glow. The night sky couldn’t have promised a brighter tomorrow. And Cole’s stride crossed the wild grass like that of a man with an actual plan to his life. When, in reality, he’d never been so aimless. Cole stopped on the rise of the small hill between their houses. From this point he could survey his kingdom like a feudal lord.
His ranch had doubled in size over the last five years. The barn was new and the fence line had all been replaced by his hand. If the black numbers in his account books were anything to go by, his ranch was successful. He’d never be a rich man. People didn’t go into breeding horses for money. As the saying goes, to end with a decent size ranch you had to have started out with a big one.
So why did people get into this crazy line of work? For love?
Cole always scoffed at such romanticized notions. There were some horse-crazy people out there. Ones who felt closer to their horse than family, but he’d never felt that. Sure, he liked horses well enough, but this had never been his dream. It had been his father’s. And now it was Cole’s life, his one atonement for the fatal mistake he’d made at sixteen.
“Hold the horse steady, Cole,” his father had said. “Don’t let up on him. This horse is in pain, he’s gonna be jumpy. No telling what he’ll do.”
“Yeah, yeah . . . got it,” Cole said. It wasn’t like the old man hadn’t repeated the same thing over and over. Maybe he was getting senile. Or maybe just hard of hearing. Didn’t know why he had to be out here anyways at the butt crack of dawn. This wasn’t his ranch, or his stupid horses. He couldn’t have cared less. He’d rather be working at a real job, saving money to buy that old Camaro Mr. Brooks promised to sell him. He sure the hell didn’t want to be working for free, or as his father had said, for a roof over his head and food in his belly.
Cole sighed. Julie had let him cup her breast through her bra last night. When he tried to unsnap the clasp in the back he couldn’t find it. It wasn’t until later that Jett told him some bras clasped in the front. Damn, that’s why he loved that guy. Jett was so smart, knew everything about women. He’d try again tonight. Maybe after he was done here he’d practice with one of Nikki’s bras, though he didn’t know if those thin “training” ones worked the same way.
Cole’s hand slacked on the harness. His grip loosened for a fraction of a second. It was enough. The horse’s head lowered and he kicked straight back. A loud umph and something heavy crumpled to the ground. “Dad?”
Cole quickly got the horse under control and tied him to the fence. He looked back to where his dad had stood. Lying in the dust, squirming, holding his chest was his father. Cole dropped beside him, fear knotting his bowels.
“I’m okay. I’m okay. Just need a minute. Gotta catch my breath.” But his dad’s low moan canceled out his words. “Don’t look so worried, son. It was an accident. Just help me up, and damn, don’t tell your mother. She didn’t want these horses anyways.”
And his father smiled.
Cole remembered the way his grin was always lopsided, a little bit crooked. He hadn’t known that would be the last time he would see his father’s smile. The next morning they found him dead in his bed. A massive heart attack in his sleep.
No, the ranch had never been his. Not with the cloud of his father’s presence hanging thick in the air.
Make sure those fence posts are straight, son.
That’s not a proper way to train a horse, you need to be patient, but firm.
Focus, son, this is not a game.
No matter how hard he worked, it would never be enough to make up for being stupid and sixteen.
Not until the day Katie had left. Then things changed. So yeah, maybe he still scoffed at the romantics who dedicated their lives to horses. But he knew Katie was one of them, and his only chance of getting her back was to offer his ranch like one of those apples she tempted Sweet Thing with.
Maybe that was all he ever had to offer her. His ranch, her horse.
I’m engaged.
Damn it, Katie. Her words cut like the sharpest of weapons. Cole shoved his hands into his pockets and found humor in the fact that he could laugh up at the purest sky he’d ever seen.
And wasn’t context the devil. Because even when he was poor, young, and stupid, his heart had soared when he’d thought she’d utter those same words . . . but about him.
But he’d ruined his chance. He’d made sure even the ashes of Katie’s love had been blown out, stirred and doused with water.
The end of senior year
Summer roared in with a heat wave, when the record-breaking temps had nothing on the ninety percent humidity. And Cole felt every blistering gust of hot wind, especially with the steam coming out from under the hood of his ’76 Chevy. Of course, it didn’t help that he had to push the damn thing up the gravel drive.
Cole propped open the hood and leaned over the steaming metal. The foulest word flew from his mouth, the one he only reserved for special occasions. And today, well, today felt mighty special.
Too pissed to go into the barn, Cole took off his pitted-out shirt and wrapped it around his hand before gripping the radiator cap. Water jumped and spat on his forearm for his effort.
“Son of a—” Cole bit off the rest of the sentence. He was not going to deteriorate into a stereotypical redneck. His mother always reminded his sister and him that they might be poor as dirt, but that didn’t mean they had to act like it.
Cole took a deep breath for calm. Yeah, the beliefs of his mother had been drilled into him since infancy, so much so, he couldn’t delineate where hers ended and his began. But if there ever were a day to go back on convictions, this was it.
Nothing was going right. The morning had started at four o’clock with a desperate call from Nikki, and continued going strong with his truck overheating. And the worst part, his day wasn’t even close to ending.
But what did he expect? Everything in his life was broken. Everything he’d inherited from his father, that is. Broken ranch, broken truck, broken family left behind. The only thing that kept him going was his promise to his mom to make his father’s dream a success, and to try and take care of his sister, Nikki. Of course, he couldn’t forget his own personal guilt. But days like this made him want to add breaking his word to his ever-growing list of sins.
He wiped the sweat from his face and used it to slick back his hair. Damn hair was too long. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten it cut. The other day he’d been so fed up, he grabbed the kitchen shears with the intention of chopping it himself, but a surprise flash of vanity stilled his hand. Apparently, he had no desire to look like a newly sheared sheep.
Cole walked over and reached into the bed of the truck for the old milk gallon filled with water, and then poured it into the radiator. The water glugged and boiled down the black hole, hissing in protest.
Damn truck. The POS was held together with his sweat and blood, that and a full roll of duct tape. He rubbed at the tightness in his lower neck, a tightness that never went away. Cole closed his eyes. He was too young to feel like this, too young to feel this old and cynical. But he was tired. Sick and tired of coaxing the life out of a truck that obviously wanted to die.
But that’s what he did, right? Squeeze the life out of everything, his paycheck, the ranch . . . his body, until there was nothing left, and for what? A ranch that had clients asking if his horses were fed organic hay? We are talking hay here, right? And for Nikki, whose announcement of, “Cole, I’ve got into some trouble, and I need you to come get me,” had him glad she wa
s in the next town over because the need to wrap his hands around her throat scared him.
He remembered sitting up in bed in the morning talking on the phone with his sister, or more like just breathing heavily since he hadn’t trusted himself to speak. He’d white-knuckled the phone in one hand and braced his lowered head with the other. He could tell Nikki had been crying as she told him her night at the pool tables hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. The police had been called and though no charges had been filed, they’d discovered she had a butt-load of unpaid traffic tickets. Her car had been impounded, and her release was dependent on her paying the back fines—fines that exceeded three grand.
His mind had literally shut down after she told him the amount. Three grand?
But Nikki had kept talking. He was sure she’d mentioned that she’d work overtime, pay him back. Oh yeah, and that she was sorry. She’d used that word a lot. But three f-ing grand!
He could tell she was broken, at the end of her line. If he was a better person, he would’ve tried to comfort her. Hell, if he was a better brother he would’ve known she had crossed county lines and had been out all night. He should’ve told her it would be okay, and that he’d always be here for her. Except he hadn’t; instead he launched into his regular lecture about being responsible and that it was time to grow up. He said things he regretted, things he couldn’t take back. But now the anger was gone, replaced by fear that his baby sister was hitching a ride in the handbasket to hell, and he had no idea how to pull her back up.
Nikki was his responsibility, and he had the money. Yep, he had over ten grand in the bank, money he’d saved and scraped together by eating freeze-dried noodles and taking cold showers. The money he’d painstakingly set aside and never touched even for haircuts or a damn pair of desperately needed new boots.
Won’t be a problem. In fact, he’d be glad to pay all the outstanding fees, purchase the most expensive dried grass on the planet, and with the money left over, hell, he could probably buy himself those boots. And he’d sure put them to good use, since he’d more than likely be walking to work!
