“I knew it.” Tink pouted.
Honey couldn’t help but think that maybe Thanksgiving would prove more interesting than watching Netflix on her old laptop after all.
Nash and Tink headed down the hall, and Honey grabbed the wine he’d left on the Queen Anne table near the front door. She paused in front of the mirror. She’d applied some gloss and mascara, but that was about it. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, the thick ends swinging around her shoulders. Her wardrobe wasn’t exactly fashion forward, but the simple black turtleneck she’d pulled on did the trick. Thank God. She studied her reflection for a moment and pulled at the edge of the three-quarter-length sleeves. Her tattoos were covered, and she looked respectable.
Not at all the image she was used to. A wry smile lit her face. Her friends back in Louisiana would get a kick out of this. She actually looked respectable.
Honey headed after Nash. She passed a library and an office, and then paused at the entrance to a large country kitchen that would have made Martha Stewart envious. A massive table took up the entire right side. It looked as if it were made from barn beams, and there were rustic benches for chairs. The large centerpiece, a cornucopia filled to the brim, set off the table beautifully, the dishes a deep blue stoneware. An island that matched the size of the table boasted an overhead rack filled with copper pots and pans, and several trendy stools were currently occupied. The white cupboards were crisp, the white granite shot through with gray, and the black stainless-steel appliances were perfect. The flooring was the same old worn oak plank as the entrance, and it was about the only thing that was original. Lisa Booker loved her kitchen. No way around that.
Nash stood next to his mother, Tink still in his arms. Honey had met Lisa a few times, and her impression of the woman was that of one who loved life and her family even more. A man leaned over the counter, listening in on the conversation. His head was full of thick silver hair and his face was lined with age, but he was undoubtedly Nash’s father. He turned to chat with a woman scrubbing something in the sink. She was an attractive blonde and wore an elegant navy dress that fell to just above the knee, with billowy sleeves. She turned slightly, and Honey noticed pearls clung to her neck and matching studs gleamed from her ears. She looked about thirty. Propped up on the counter beside her was a toddler wearing head-to-toe pink.
“Well, who is this?” A deep voice slid from behind her, and Honey damn near jumped out of her boots. She turned around and gazed up into the eyes of maybe the handsomest man she’d ever seen. His features resembled Nash’s—this had to be the mysterious Cam—but where Nash was more rugged in looks, this guy was too damn pretty. A slow, lazy smile curved his generous mouth, and his eyes, a shade of silver gray she’d never seen before, took in every inch of her.
He was beautiful. Hollywood beautiful. Thick lashes framed those unusual eyes, and his mouth was full. On another man, it might appear almost feminine, but a square jaw gave him the right edge, while high cheekbones and a perfect nose made the package complete. Judging from his expression…he damn well knew it.
“Do you have a name?” he asked, that slow grin of his widening. Dressed similarly to Nash, the two men were matching bookends. Except for the tie, of course. No Batman hanging from this guy’s neck.
“I do,” she replied, warming to him instantly.
His grin deepened even more, and his eyes looked her over with a wicked glint. Trouble definitely ran in the Booker family genes. Along with looks and charisma, and probably a boatload of other stuff she couldn’t think about right now.
“You going to share or make me guess?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
He leaned against the doorjamb. “Oh?”
“Her name is Honey, and she’s not on the menu, Cam.”
“Too bad,” Cam said with a wink. “I was just thinking about skipping straight to dessert.”
Honey chuckled. “Do those cheesy lines actually work?”
“What do you think?”
“Boys.” The slim blonde now stood a few feet away, the baby resting on her hip. “Let’s back up and give the lady some room.” She smiled. “I’m Melody, and these two Neanderthals are my brothers.” She glanced at Nash, her eyes sparkling. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”
“Nash doesn’t date,” Honey replied dryly.
Cam chuckled. “She’s got your number down.”
Nash ignored his brother. “Honey isn’t from Crystal Lake, and she was alone today, so I invited her for dinner. Nothing more.”
Ouch. He didn’t have to sound like it was a repulsive idea.
Nash looked pointedly at his sister. “Trust me, we’re not dating.”
“Not that I’d ever go there, but we’d never work out.” Honey felt the need to say something. No way was Nash gonna have the last word and make her look like an idiot.
“See?” Nash shrugged. “Honey and I are just friends.”
“I also have a brain in my head,” she retorted.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“I don’t think Jade Daniels is auditioning for Jeopardy anytime soon, do you?” A strange sort of exhilaration coursed through Honey. Her heart thumped against her chest, and she felt her cheeks heat up. “Besides,” she continued, eyes flashing. “You couldn’t handle me, Booker.”
Melody laughed and punched her brother in the arm. “Too bad. I like her.”
Nash glared at his sister. “I give up. Let’s talk about something else.”
“But we can’t talk about the thing,” Tink said.
Cam slowly looked away from Honey and rested his gaze on his nephew. Gone was the teasing spark from his eyes. Melody shifted, her discomfort easy to see. “What thing would that be, little man?”
Oblivious to the tension, Tink shrugged. “Your thing. Mommy said we couldn’t talk about it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Because it was a bad thing.”
“Did she, now.” Cam shot a look to his sister.
In less than five seconds, the mood had gone from teasing and light to dark and moody.
Lisa Booker breezed over and gave Honey a hug. “Let’s not bother Honey with any of that. I’m glad you’re here. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.” Lisa’s voice was a tad too high and her smile overly bright. She looked at Honey and held up the wine bottles. “Red or white, dear?”
If Honey had any manners at all, she’d make up some sort of excuse and go home, because she was pretty damn sure Nash wouldn’t give a crap anymore. But the thing about growing up in Sunset Park Trailer home? Her manners were a little rough around the edges and sometimes nonexistent. The devil nipped at her toes, and a slow smile spread across her face. This felt like familiar territory. The tension. The unsaid dark things. Hell, she might even enjoy it considering it wasn’t her pathetic excuse of a family stirring up trouble.
“White,” she replied. Honey accepted the glass and settled in for the fireworks.
4
Though the afternoon had a rocky start, eventually, the Booker family dynamics kicked in, and the tension and bad vibes disappeared. It was slow going at first. Cam was too quiet, Nash’s mom too animated, his dad too jovial. And no one commented on the absence of Melody’s husband. It was the oddest Thanksgiving Nash could remember, but Tink’s enthusiasm was contagious, and eventually, everyone came around. The kid had a way of livening things up. Even Cam’s stony face had given way to the occasional smile.
Though most of those were directed at Honey. Nash frowned at the thought. Honey had good instincts when it came to people. He’d seen them firsthand at the bar. But Cam had always had it easy—too easy—and he’d honed his skills to a dangerous edge when it came to women. Nash hoped Honey was smart enough to see through the bull. And if she wasn’t, he had no problem setting her straight.
Nash glanced around the kitchen. His mom had hit one out of the park, and Nash assumed she’d gone above and beyond because she hoped the amazing meal and hug
e assortment of desserts would stop him from ripping into his brother. But it wasn’t the meal or his mother’s feelings that stopped Nash. No goddamn way. When he and Cam got into it, they needed to be in a place where breakables didn’t hold sentimental value and furniture could be easily replaced.
He closed the dishwasher and put away the tab bucket. The Bookers were an equal opportunity kind of family. The women did most, if not all, of the prep work, so it was only fair they put up their feet and enjoy a glass of wine while the men cleaned up.
Nash put away the last pot and wondered what Honey thought of his family. She hadn’t said much during the meal, but he’d watched her, and she sure as hell was listening. The woman was a bit of an enigma, and Nash was intrigued. Or as intrigued as a boss man allowed himself to be with one of his employees.
Honey Harrison wasn’t anything like the women he took up with. And that wasn’t to say that he was attracted to doormats—he liked spunk in and out of the bedroom. But Honey was different. She was all hard edges and biting tongue. She had attitude and a lot of it. Aside from the whole boss/employee thing, he didn’t have time for complicated. And there was no doubt in his mind that Honey Harrison was complicated. And moody. And prickly as hell most of the time.
She also had a smile that could light up a room, a dry wit, and a keen intelligence he could appreciate, and a butt that filled out a pair of jeans like no tomorrow. But he’d be doing all that appreciating from afar, because he was pretty damn sure if he and Honey ever got involved, things would go from complicated to combustible in less time than it would take to grab her up in his arms and plant a big old kiss on those delectable lips of hers.
Shit. Nash glanced around sheepishly. He needed to get his head back in the game and forget about Honey Harrison.
His father left the room, mumbling something about garbage—an excuse to sneak out back for a smoke—and Nash tossed a soggy dishrag into the sink.
“Didn’t take you for the strong, silent type.” Cam leaned against the island. “You’re usually the first one to get up in my business.”
“Not now,” Nash replied, eyeing his brother. At twenty-nine, the kid was five years younger than him, so he wasn’t exactly a kid anymore, but to Nash, he’d always be the little brother. The one he looked out for. It was one of the reasons this situation was so damn hard. He couldn’t help Cam. And truth be told? He didn’t want to.
“It’s just the two of us. I think right now is good.”
“Not doing this, Cam.”
Cam’s expression was unreadable. “You believe what you’ve heard.”
The anger that had burrowed deep in Nash’s gut for the last two weeks erupted. He clenched his fists and glared at his brother. There were three things Nash didn’t tolerate. Talking during the national anthem. Mistreating a lady. And anything to do with drugs.
He wasn’t preaching from a pedestal, and he wasn’t some noble man with a point to prove. He’d seen firsthand how drugs destroyed people. When he played college ball, his wide receiver—the most talented receiver he’d ever had the pleasure of playing ball with—got hooked on meth. In less than a year, he’d lost his scholarship and dropped out of school. A couple of years after that, he’d been found dead in an abandoned building in Seattle, a syringe still in his arm. The guy had left behind his college sweetheart and their three-year-old daughter.
“A kid ended up in the hospital, Cam.”
“I’m aware.”
“A kid who bought drugs that apparently belonged to you.”
“That’s not how it went down.”
“I don’t give a flying crap how it went down. I’m not Mom or Dad. Your pretty face isn’t gonna do shit when it comes to me.” Nash had to take a moment, because the fire in his gut was about to erupt. He looked away and ran his hands through his hair. “What happened to you, Cam? I thought you were better than that.” He swung his gaze back to his brother. “You were better than that. When in hell did you become the kind of man I despise?”
Cam squared his shoulders, and his eyes narrowed. Nash’s heart tightened. This was his line. The one he’d never cross. Not even for his brother.
“Guess you’ve made up your mind, then.”
“Give me a reason to change it.”
Cam grabbed a container of leftovers and moved toward the doorway. He paused and looked back at Nash, his eyes dark with thoughts and words that should have made Nash wonder, but the pent-up anger and disappointment inside Nash were too much. He didn’t see it.
“I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” Cam disappeared, and Nash swore, turning when he heard his mother come in.
“His situation isn’t what you think,” she said softly, crossing the kitchen and grabbing the kettle from the cupboard beside the fridge. Her smart moss-green skirt was a tad wrinkled, and her creamy blouse sported a few new grease stains. She picked at one near her collar while she waited for the water to boil.
When the silence had stretched on long enough, Nash leaned against the counter. “You going to elaborate on that?”
She glanced up, and his heart twisted when he saw the unshed tears that made her eyes glitter like ice-chip diamonds. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s not my story to tell. But you have to trust that your brother would never do what he’s been accused of. He just…he wouldn’t.”
As much as he felt bad for his mother, he was frustrated with her. She’d always caved when it came to Cam. It was as if his brother was born with the hand of God on him. He could do no wrong, and it had been that way for as long as Nash could remember. Maybe it was time for him to share some of Cam’s so-called truths. Time to throw some shade on all that glitter.
“Do you remember when I was thirteen and got in trouble for spray-painting the side of old MaGee’s barn?”
She nodded.
“It wasn’t me. It was Cam. I took the fall for him because he was supposed to leave the next day for summer camp, and he started bawling. He looked up at me with those pretty eyes, and I felt bad. I was grounded and missed football practice, which meant that I didn’t start for a few games. Do you know how hard that was for me?”
His mother looked shocked.
“Hell, he was only eight and already a pro at manipulating the situation. Cam has always been reckless, and we’re all to blame for allowing him to be that way. But this…” He shook his head. “This is something else entirely.” He paused. “Don’t let him drag you into his mess. Let him deal with it on his own. He needs to deal with it on his own.”
His mother was quiet for a few moments and then took a sip of tea. She set down her mug and looked him square in the eye.
“You’re wrong, Nash.”
Un-fucking-believable.
“This time, there is more to the story.”
Nash glanced up at the ceiling and prayed for strength. What was it with her and her youngest child? He was never going to change his mom’s mind, so why even try?
“Let’s just drop it, okay?”
She nodded and sighed. “Where’s your father?”
“He’s outside. Said something about garbage.”
Lisa Booker made a face. “I wish he’d give up that nasty habit.”
“I wish he’d come clean about it,” Nash grumbled. “I mean, we all know he sneaks smokes.”
“Your father would die before he admitted that to any of us, considering he supposedly quit ten years ago.” His mother’s tone changed, and he shot her a look. “Honey seems like an interesting girl.”
God. Here we go. “There’s nothing going on, Mom.”
“She’s got a beautiful smile.”
“Hadn’t noticed.”
“And she’s so pretty.”
“Seriously, Mom. Nothing going on.”
“My goodness, she has lovely hair.”
An image of Honey half-naked in her underwear, all that silky hair flying around her shoulders, crept into his mind, and he had to shake it off. His mother was looking at him strang
ely. “What was that?” he asked.
“I just said she has some interesting tattoos. She told me she has six.”
Six? Hell, he’d only seen three. Made him wonder where the others were hidden.
“Are you heading over to Hudson’s soon?”
“That’s the plan.” Ever since fifth grade, Nash went to his buddy Hudson’s after Thanksgiving dinner was over. The boys would drink soda and eat popcorn and watch football. Of course, as they’d grown into men, the menu changed to beer, and there were several gap years when neither one of them had been home for the holidays. But since Hudson had returned to Crystal Lake, they’d fallen back to their old ways, and he was looking forward to hanging with his oldest pal.
“You give that sweet boy a kiss from me,” his mom said.
“I’m sure Hudson will appreciate it,” he replied with a wink. “And I’ll make sure to give one to the kid too.”
“The kid has a name,” she said with a chuckle. “Though the last time I saw Hudson, I heard him call the little guy Hank. I thought his name was Jameson?”
“It is.” At his mother’s curious look, he shrugged. “I have no idea why.”
He took a step toward the hallway that led to the front of the house and the family room when he stopped. “What’s up with Melody and Jason?”
Lisa Booker fiddled with her mug. “I’m not sure. She said he had to work.”
“And you believe her?”
Lisa glanced up. “No.”
He crossed the room and grabbed up his mother in a hug. “It’s not exactly the Thanksgiving you were hoping for.”
Again, she spoke, her voice a soft tremble. “No.”
They didn’t say anything more, and after a few seconds, Nash pulled away. “You want me to stay? I don’t have to go to Hudsy’s.”
“Go.” She shushed him with her hands. “Have a good night, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He headed for the hall.
“And Nash?”
“Yeah?”
His mom smiled. “Make sure you take Honey with you.”
Nash didn’t bother to reply to that comment and headed for the family room. He walked in and was immediately accosted by Tink, who practically jumped into his arms.
You Own My Heart Page 3
