And Sawyer would be joining Ms. Stamina and his best friend for the evening.
She tried to ignore the fact that the last part disappointed her. It shouldn’t, she told herself. Truthfully, she should’ve been happy because it meant she could push all thoughts of Sawyer Walker to the farthest recesses of her brain, where he belonged. As much as she’d wished otherwise, she knew that Sawyer would never change.
No matter how much she secretly wished he would.
chapter THREE
Sawyer knew he should’ve gone home and spent the rest of the evening entertaining Buster, but his dumb ass had gotten in his truck and headed straight for AI, where Greyson and the chick were probably sitting at the restaurant bar having drinks and waiting for him.
He’d long passed the point of hating himself for giving in, but the more he thought about it, the more he figured it didn’t much matter what he did or who he did it with. For the last year he’d done his damnedest to get Kennedy’s attention, but she continued to brush him off, and if he analyzed their conversations enough, he heard every single rejection loud and clear. As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, she was still rebuffing every attempt he made to convince her to take a chance on him.
So why should he waste his time with her?
Parking his car near the doors that would lead to the administrative part of the building adjacent to the resort, Sawyer headed inside. He was tempted to stop in his office, try to come up with some excuse to stall for time, but he really just didn’t give a shit and no amount of staring at a computer was going to change his mind anyway.
After ambling into the hotel proper, Sawyer greeted a couple of bellhops and the two ladies who were currently stationed at the check-in desk, then continued to the restaurant. He found Greyson sitting at the bar, exactly as he thought, with a pretty blonde who was smiling at him as though Greyson had just informed her that he’d discovered gold. Hell, knowing Greyson, it was quite possible that he had told her that. There was no limit to the amount of bullshit Greyson had been known to spout just to get into a woman’s panties. Granted, that was more because Greyson had self-confidence issues than because he actually needed to talk himself up to get a woman’s attention.
The guy was good-looking and smart, the ladies loved him, but he still, for whatever reason, came up with some crazy shit from time to time.
Sawyer made his way over and stood beside his buddy, giving the blonde a good once-over and his signature grin.
“Hey, man. This is Sawyer, the guy I told you about,” Greyson said. “He owns this place.”
“It ain’t all mine, I assure you. Nice to meet you . . . ?” Sawyer purposely left the statement hanging, hoping she’d fill in the blank, because he was pretty damn sure Greyson still didn’t know her name.
“Angela,” the blonde said.
Angela? Seriously? Where the hell had Greyson come up with Melanie? Or Sonia?
Sawyer shook his head at the same time he gently squeezed her hand. “Nice to meet you, Angela,” he repeated.
“You too,” Angela replied with a giggle.
Great. She was a giggler.
Just what he needed.
“What d’ya say we take this party upstairs?” Greyson asked, getting right to the point of the evening.
Angela stood—all five foot nothing of her—before replying with a coy grin, “Sounds good to me.”
Well, clearly no challenge there.
Sawyer noticed her black minidress was barely covering her rather impressive assets. Her breasts were spilling out the front of the dark spandex that was stretched to its limit, and the hem was hovering just beneath her cute little ass. And she did have a cute little ass even if she probably didn’t have a functioning brain cell. Where Greyson found chicks like her, Sawyer still didn’t know.
“Give me a sec,” Sawyer told them, tapping the bar after stepping out of their way.
“No problem, man. We’re in Room Three-oh-seven when you’re ready.”
Sawyer nodded at Greyson and then signaled the bartender over.
A few minutes later, after stalling yet again, Sawyer retrieved the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that he’d requested and made his way to the elevator in the main lobby.
“What the hell are you doin’ here?”
Sawyer spun on his boot heel when he heard his brother’s voice coming from behind him.
“I should probably ask you the same. Why aren’t you at home with your wife and kid?” Sawyer asked Kaleb, the brother who had seemed to set the dominoes in motion when he decided to go after his best friend Zoey a couple of years back, convincing her to marry him after making her fall in love with his ass.
“Just had to take care of a problem. It’s settled now, and Zane’s keepin’ an eye on things tonight. Why’re you here?”
Sawyer lifted the bottle of whiskey up as though that was all the answer Kaleb needed. As it turned out, it was.
“Got it. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe?”
“I’ll be in the office at the normal time,” Sawyer assured him.
“Good. See you then.”
Sawyer stood rooted to the floor as he watched Kaleb walk out the main doors and into the night. His brother was going home to his wife, Zoey, and their little boy, Mason. Kaleb was going to spend the evening with his family, while Sawyer was going to spend the night indulging himself in liquor and pussy. When Kaleb woke up in the morning, he’d have his wife in his arms, and before he left for the day, he would kiss her, then his son, before he headed off to work. When Sawyer woke up in the morning, he’d probably have a damn hard time finding his clothes and he’d be intimate with a hangover that would linger for most of the day.
Same shit, different girl . . . uh . . . day. Different day.
Fuck.
Glancing over at the elevator doors, Sawyer knew he should turn around, walk back the way he’d originally come, and go home before he screwed up another night.
Yes, that’s exactly what he should’ve done.
But what did he do?
Well, he didn’t turn around. Instead, he found himself standing in front of the elevator doors, still debating. He punched the button to take him up.
Obviously he wasn’t debating too damn hard.
The elevator arrived, so, rather than waste a perfectly good opportunity, Sawyer stepped inside and stabbed the button for the third floor before glancing down at the bottle in his hand. Yep, he’d need his buddy Jack to keep him company tonight. Especially if he was going to be immersed in Angela. It seemed the alcohol had become as much of a necessity these days as a condom.
When the elevator doors opened, Sawyer stepped out, made his way to the hall. He stopped, glanced to his right, then his left. He knew exactly where he was going, but he needed a minute. His feet weren’t quite as on board with the idea as he originally thought. He took a breather, although he wasn’t winded. Leaning against the wall, he studied the black label on the bottle in his hand.
“Jack, you really up for this tonight?”
If only whiskey could talk back, tell him that he wasn’t up for a night with a strange, albeit willing woman, no matter how cute she was or how soft her lips looked. Then again, if the whiskey could talk, his dick would likely argue back. As much as his dick liked the idea of her using those soft lips to blow him, Sawyer’s head just wasn’t in it and he didn’t need Jack to confirm that for him.
He knew that he could push off the wall and make his way down the hall to Room 307, walk in, strip naked, and fuck the blonde in every way possible until the sun came up. But then when he walked out of that room, he would still want Kennedy and at that point he’d have dug himself an even deeper hole. One that eventually he would find himself buried in.
Was that really what he wanted? Another night of mindless sex? He’d spent his entire adult life having one willing woman after another, but even he knew there was a reason he was still single, still pining after the woman he had deemed the one he couldn’t have.
“Come on, Jack. Last chance,” he firmly told the bottle of whiskey.
Yeah, he knew how stupid he sounded. He was talking to a bottle and the sad part was, he wasn’t even drunk yet. He took one step, then another. And then another until he was moving down the hall. He found himself counting as though he were walking to the guillotine and his life was about to end.
Three-oh-one. Three-oh-three. A few more steps. Three-oh-five. “Three-oh-seven,” he said aloud when he stopped in front of his destination.
He stood there, staring at the Do Not Disturb sign dangling from the door knob.
Huh. Was that a sign from above?
Do not disturb. Turn around and go the fuck home.
He didn’t do that, either. Instead, he stood there, having an internal debate with his dick. His cock wanted one thing, his heart another. And they certainly weren’t anywhere close to being on the same page. Never would be at this rate.
No telling how long he’d stood there when he realized his cell phone was ringing. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Hitting the Talk button, he put the phone to his ear.
“Hey, man. You comin’ up?” Greyson asked, his voice low.
Sawyer looked at the doorknob one more time, but then he shook his head, although he knew Greyson couldn’t see him. “You know what, man, I just realized I left Buster at home.”
He was met with silence and he pictured Greyson standing on the other side of the door, with Blondie on her knees and his dick buried in her mouth while he talked on the phone.
When Greyson didn’t say anything, Sawyer added, “But you two have fun. And I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. Cool?”
More silence before Greyson’s disappointed voice sounded. “Sure, man. I get it.”
Sawyer doubted that Greyson really understood what this meant. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he understood what it meant. The only thing he knew with absolute certainty was that he couldn’t keep doing this. If he wanted a chance with Kennedy, and he really fucking did, it was time he put a little more effort into winning her and a lot less effort into pushing her away.
This might not do the trick, but it was a damn good start.
KENNEDY WALKED OUT of Moonshiners about forty-five minutes after Sawyer did. Before she’d talked herself into going home, she had spent most of her time sipping water after downing her last drink and watching those around her, namely the Walker twins getting drunk at the back of the bar, hustling the unsuspecting guys who’d happened upon their tiny town, looking for a watering hole to waste away a Thursday night. She had listened to the laughter and whistles mixed with the clack of the pool balls as Brendon Walker played some naive fool until the guy was walking out of the bar with probably fifty fewer dollars than he came in with. Knowing she would still have to get up in the morning for work, and that her house would still be empty no matter what time she went home, Kennedy finally gave in.
She said good night to Mack before walking out into the brisk evening air, wishing she’d thought to bring her jacket with her. Rather than race to her car, Kennedy stood there, looking up at the full moon, a brilliant white circle in the inky night sky. Even here, with the muted sounds of the jukebox and conversation on the other side of the bar’s front doors, it was still peaceful. Still perfect.
Stepping off the porch, she listened to the crunch of gravel beneath her boots and she thought about all the other nights she’d come to this very bar, hanging with her friends or her father, just wanting to spend time with the locals, the same people who loved their small town as much as she did.
“Hey, Kennedy!”
Recognizing the boisterous voice, and the undeniable slur of words, Kennedy turned around to see Brendon, or maybe it was Braydon—half the time she really wasn’t sure—standing there with the door open. She opted to believe it was Brendon because he’d been the one playing pool.
She lifted an eyebrow, not responding, hoping he was just drunk and wanted to say his good-byes. They’d been known to do it before. The Walker brothers—any one of them—were often known for getting in the last word.
“You got your car here?” Brendon asked.
“I do,” she said slowly. “Why?”
“You mind givin’ us a ride to the hospital?”
Oh, hell. What had they done now? “Is somethin’ wrong?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t decided to loiter in the parking lot because if she’d been halfway home, the Walker twins would’ve been someone else’s problem.
“Nope!” Brendon hollered. “Hold on.”
He was gone as fast as he’d arrived.
Kennedy took a step backward, moving slowly. Maybe if she reached her car before he came back, she could pretend this never happened. Another step, still no Brendon. She took two more, moving a little faster. Glancing over her shoulder she noticed she wasn’t that far away. She could make a break for it and no one would be the wiser.
The doors burst open and a round of cheering erupted from the inside, spilling out into the night.
“Come on, we gotta hurry!” Brendon hollered, jumping off the porch and skidding on the gravel before coming to a stop directly in front of her.
She looked up in time to see Braydon do the exact same thing. And then she was standing there with two huge, eerily similar-looking cowboys grinning down at her as if she’d agreed to mud-wrestle naked while they brought their friends to watch.
“Why’re we goin’ to the hospital?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
“To see the football, why else?” Brendon announced happily. “Come on, woman. Let’s get goin’.”
“Football?” Kennedy asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Braydon replied. “Travis’s football finally arrived.”
“What the hell are y’all talkin’ about?” she asked, extremely confused.
Football?
“Kylie. Pregnant. Baby on the way. Come on, woman. Where the hell you been for the last nine months?” Brendon asked, tugging on her arm.
Oh, crap. Travis’s wife was having a baby, wasn’t she? But how the heck had Kennedy been assigned the job of designated driver? More importantly, what the hell did it have to do with football?
“Why can’t someone come pick you up?” she asked, knowing the answer probably wasn’t going to really matter. Brendon had already steered her toward her car and was opening the door for her after she hit the button on the key fob.
“’Cause they’re on their way to the hospital. Good grief,” Brendon glanced back at Braydon. “I coulda swore she was smarter than this.”
Kennedy laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“Fine. But both of you can get in the backseat,” she told them, sliding into the driver’s seat quickly and pulling her legs in before Brendon closed them in the door. It was a close call, but she managed to get behind the wheel and they managed to cram their tall, broad bodies into the backseat. Less than a minute later, the three of them were on their way.
“Which hospital?” she asked, stopping at the only stop sign in town.
“Round Rock,” Braydon offered. He didn’t sound quite as drunk as Brendon, but he couldn’t have been that far off.
“I assume you’re talkin’ about the one on 620?” she asked, taking a left. Round Rock wasn’t the actual name of the hospital—that was the city it was in—but considering it was the closest to Coyote Ridge, she figured it was the one they were referring to.
“Yep. Now, if you don’t mind, maybe you could drive a little faster if you didn’t talk so much,” Brendon stated.
Kennedy chuckled, glancing at the two of them in her rearview mirror.
She did as they wished, keeping her mouth closed for most of the twenty-minute drive while they chatted away in the backseat like a couple of women. According to Braydon, Jessie was catching a ride with Jared. Curtis and Lorrie had been out having dinner, so they were on their way from the restaurant. Gage was driving Kylie because Travis
was somewhat of a basket case. Their words.
Kennedy wasn’t sure “somewhat” was an apt description, especially since they had referred to the kid as Travis’s football on more than one occasion.
“Why do y’all keep callin’ the baby a football?” Kennedy asked.
She glanced in the mirror again, noticing they were looking at each other as though she was the one who’d lost her mind. She had news for them . . .
“’Cause he’s been hoverin’ over her for the last few weeks, ready to catch that baby when it came shootin’ out.”
Great visual.
“We were startin’ to think the kid was hidin’ from Travis the same way we usually do,” Braydon said, laughing as he looked out the window.
“I wouldn’t blame him if he did,” Brendon tacked on.
“So it’s a boy?” Kennedy asked, slowing down as she exited the highway.
“Don’t know,” Braydon answered. “They didn’t find out.”
“So, who’s the father?” Kennedy asked. She knew it was the million-dollar question, one that had received a tremendous amount of speculation in Coyote Ridge.
Coming from a small town and owning a vet practice in that same town, gossip ran like wildfire through her office. It had been pretty big news when Travis had announced he was tying the knot. Well, actually, at first it had been news that he was already married and that his wife had returned to Coyote Ridge to find him. Kennedy really didn’t know which story was true—either Kylie had returned to serve him with divorce papers or she had returned to tell him she’d married Gage. Either way, Kennedy knew that Travis was now married to both Kylie and Gage.
Sawyer Page 4
