by Candis Terry
“I’ll take her out to dinner while I’m here,” Dec said. “See if she has anything to say.”
Jordan grinned. “You might want to take along your hot assistant too.”
“Good God, give it a rest.” Dec leaned forward and grabbed a folder off the desk.
“That’s the latest financials minus the pilfered money Dad took,” Ryan informed him.
Dec opened the file and had just begun to scan the contents when the office door opened.
“Look who we found,” Aunt Pippy announced, followed into the room by Nicole, Brooke, and Moochie.
Dec and his brothers all stood as the women entered the room.
“Hey.” Jordan wasted no time in wrapping Brooke up in a big hug, much to Moochie’s dismay. “Great to see you again.”
Ryan, ever the professional, reached out and shook her hand. Moochie didn’t like that any better and gave another little growl. For whatever weird reason, Dec felt proud that at least the little dog seemed to approve of him.
“Isn’t she adorable?” Nicki picked up the dog and gave her a nose kiss.
“I’m not sure Fezzik is going to like dog smell on you,” Jordan said with a laugh about the kitten he’d bought her before he’d headed off to his last NHL play-offs last spring.
“He’s used to parfum de dog from Ziggy,” Nicole returned. Then she told Brooke, “Lucy’s golden retriever shares his loose fur almost as often as he passes gas. And I lean strongly on the word often.”
Brooke chuckled.
“We were just about to throw out some ideas for the vineyard,” Ryan said. “Care to join us?”
“I thought we were going to wait for Parker and Ethan.” Not that Dec wanted his youngest brother anywhere near Brooke after he’d put the moves on her last night.
“The wait is over.” Both of the aforementioned devils came into the room bearing gifts of sugar-laden treats from Sugarbuns.
Since the bakery was so popular, Dec thought maybe they should consider giving it some space in the picnic market they’d talked about opening.
“Hey, Brooke.” Parker gave her a hug. “We heard you were in town.”
Brooke smiled. When Ethan kissed the back of her hand, she freaking giggled. Dec clenched his hand around his coffee cup to keep from doing him bodily harm.
“Have a seat.” Ethan pulled out chairs for all three women and Moochie planted her tailless butt on Nicki’s lap.
“I didn’t want to intrude.” Brooke crossed her legs and it didn’t go unnoticed by Dec that every single brother watched. “But Pippy and Nicole said you all were rarely seen in the same place at the same time so I thought I’d just stop in to say hello. And to ask Dec when he wanted to get started on the Flavios’ investment deal.”
Dec grimaced. If he’d handled that detail before he left his grandfather’s cabin, she wouldn’t have had to make her way up the hill where his obviously enchanted brothers could ogle her all they wanted. “After this meeting will be fine.”
“You could never be an intrusion,” Ethan insisted, claiming the chair next to Brooke.
If he didn’t know his brothers would give him ten tons of shit, Dec would groan loudly. As it was he miraculously maintained his professional demeanor. “So are we ready to put some ideas into action or what?”
“We still need a theme.” Nicole stroked her hand between Moochie’s little winged ears. “Otherwise we’re going to end up going in too many directions.”
“Good point,” Dec said.
“Our sister’s not only pretty,” Parker said, giving her a hug Dec knew was meant to quell her misgivings about her place in the family. “She’s smart too.”
Conversation ping-ponged around the room and it became clear to Dec that their sister was right. Everyone did have vastly different ideas about the future of the vineyard.
Dec’s lifestyle choices steered him toward something modern contemporary with sleek lines. Parker favored a Tuscan look. Ryan thought Old West might be a better option. Ethan liked an Adirondack theme. Nicole wanted modern funk, whatever the hell that was. Jordan thought a sports theme would work. And Aunt Pippy suggested a retro sixties look à la Austin Powers.
Dec was more confused than ever. How the hell could they all be related when they had such infinitely different concepts?
“Maybe Brooke has some input,” Dec said. “She’s a lot more objective-minded.”
“Oh. No. I couldn’t.” Brooke put a hand to her chest and, yep, every brother’s eyes strayed there. “I really wouldn’t know.”
“Your marketing degree and workplace experience say otherwise,” Dec said before any of the testosterone injected dipshits in the room could interject. Plus, as he knew personally, she had a hell of a good imagination. “Now that you’ve seen the place, I’d love to hear your ideas.”
Her eyes widened like he’d handed her a gift.
“Do you all mind?” she asked everyone.
A flurry of concurrences rang throughout the room and she smiled.
“Well . . . the first thing you have to ask is who’s your market? Is it people of retirement age with set budgets? Young, unmarried singles? Or maybe young marrieds with double income? Are they locals? Or maybe those who are looking for a weekend getaway? If they’re marrieds, which partner will be the one to suggest coming to Sunshine Creek for wine tasting or perhaps a stay at the bed-and-breakfast? Once you decipher that information you’ll know whose needs you’ll be catering to and what type of theme you should give the place. And then knowing how and where you’ll target your market will be easy.”
“Brooke’s right,” Dec said, his admiration for her growing in leaps and bounds. He realized now that everyone in his family had been so rattled by the sudden tragic death of their parents and the discovery that the vineyard was in the red that they’d missed the bigger picture. “We need to do a market analysis. I have an associate who could probably put one together and get the information back to us sooner than anyone else.”
“Do you want me to make the call?” Brooke asked, already standing and ready to take care of business.
“That would be great. Try to get him on the phone. I’ll be back at the cabin in a couple of minutes.”
“Right away.”
Dec watched her scoop up her little dog, say her goodbyes, and exit the room. When he turned his attention back to his family, all eyes were zeroed in on him.
“What?”
Nicki grinned. “Nothing.”
The brothers chuckled and Jordan clamped his hand over Dec’s shoulder. “This sure is going to be fun.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Watching you crumble at Brooke’s pretty little feet.”
Chapter 7
With the restaurant choices in Sunshine ranging from surf and turf courtesy of the Pacific Fish House, to the greasiest cheeseburgers in town from Mr. Pickle Buns, to healthy eating at the Pita Paradise, Brooke chose Cranky Hank’s Smokehouse. The place was a favorite of Dec’s brothers because it was a guy kind of restaurant that served huge servings of barbecued ribs and brisket. Most women would balk at the portions.
Not Brooke.
As the server placed an enormous combo plate of ribs, brisket, and chicken with sides of potato salad and coleslaw in front of her, she grinned and rubbed her hands together.
“I don’t know how you’re going to eat all that or where you’re going to put it,” Dec said, in admiration that the woman didn’t order just a salad.
“I don’t plan to eat it all right now.” She squirted some extra sweet and spicy sauce over the top of everything then dug her fork into the juicy, tender chicken. “I’m just sampling. The rest is to take back for leftovers.”
“Leftovers?”
“Don’t you ever do that? Order more so you’ll have some for breakfast, lunch, or dinner the next day?”
His fork, filled with steaming brisket, halted halfway to his mouth. “No. With five hungry boys growing up, leftovers were never a co
ncern.”
“I can only imagine. Your parents must have gone broke trying to feed all of you.” She picked up a rib with her fingers and sank her teeth into the tender meat. As her tongue darted out and licked away the barbecue sauce at the corner of her mouth, she closed her eyes and moaned. “Oh my God, this is heaven.”
His fork remained in midair while he watched her turn a simple bite of food into a sensuous experience and he wondered how she kept doing that. Maybe she really did live on leftovers and convenience store food.
“So if not leftovers, what do you keep in your refrigerator?” she asked, licking the sauce from her fingers. “No. Wait. Let me guess.”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that Brooke had the ability to turn everything into a game. And it took even less brain power for him to admit he really liked that about her.
“Yogurt. Eggs. Fat free milk. Carrots. Celery. And lettuce. And in your cupboards you have a variety of powdered protein shakes and brown rice.”
“You missed the microwave popcorn.”
One smooth, arched eyebrow lifted. “So basically you eat at restaurants all the time but you don’t take home leftovers.”
“I never really thought about it before. But yes, you’re probably correct. Is that a crime?” He didn’t know why he found this conversation so entertaining. Maybe it was because the tone Brooke used wasn’t reprimanding, but humored. He didn’t know where any of this would lead. But as she took another bite of barbecue glazed ribs and then sucked the sauce from her index finger, Dec was all in. Even if he shouldn’t be.
“Not a crime. But it’s a shame.”
It was even more of a shame that he couldn’t suck the barbecue sauce from the rest of her fingers.
“Okay, smarty-pants. Two can play at this game.” Once he’d passed the age of ten, it seemed he’d tragically misplaced his sense of humor. In the hardworking years since, no one who knew him would ever call him playful. But Brooke’s easygoing flair stirred a fire in him that made him want to join in on the fun. “What’s in your refrigerator?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Yogurt—the non-diet kind with lots of gooey fruit at the bottom. A slice of white chocolate caramel macadamia nut cheesecake from dinner the night before we left. Although Kyle will probably snarf that down. A gallon of two percent milk. Leftover Mongolian that I’ll have to throw away when I get home. And a box of pinot noir.”
“Wait. You actually buy wine in a box?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
He laughed at the impish smile she gave him.
“I wouldn’t mention to my brothers that you drink boxed wine.”
“Would they think less of me?”
“No. But they’d probably send you home with a couple cases of the good stuff just so you’d know the difference.”
“Then I’m totally telling them.”
“So, if leftovers are so good . . .” He leaned in. “Why are there still some in your refrigerator?”
She leaned in too. “Because I got in a car to drive up the coast with you.”
“So you’re saying if you were at home you wouldn’t let those exotic meals go to waste.”
“Not a single one. Besides, it beats convenience store food and food poisoning.” She slid a forkful of brisket dripping with sauce into her mouth, closed her eyes, and moaned again.
Dec almost went across the table to kiss her because, come on, a man already hot for a woman could only take so much.
“Do you even know how to cook?” she asked him.
“I leave that to Parker.”
“But Parker lives in Portland. So how can his cooking skills benefit you?”
“Can you cook?” he asked, dodging her question because really, he had no freaking idea. In fact, with each bite and moan she performed, he lost a little more of his mind.
“I cook like a rock star,” she boasted.
“Really.”
She nodded.
“Yet you dine on convenience store snacks and you have leftover takeout in your refrigerator?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t say I cooked like a rock star every day of the week.”
“I’m intrigued, Ms. Hastings.”
“You should be, Mr. Kincade.”
Yeah, he may not do playful, but whatever this was going on between them he was enjoying the hell out of. “Then how about you take a challenge to cook dinner tomorrow night?”
“Easy.”
“It has to be something I’ve never had before.”
“Soooo . . . no seared ahi?”
“You did hear the never had before part, right?”
Her head cocked and her eyes narrowed just slightly as if she knew she was being tricked. “How do I know what you’ve had or what you haven’t?”
“Guess that will be up to you to find out.”
Mischief lit up like golden sparklers in her eyes. “And what do I get if I prove to you that I can cook like a rock star? Will you cook dessert?”
“I believe I mentioned that I don’t cook.” But he would be willing to do a taste test using her body as a plate.
“Okay. You’re on. Challenge accepted.” Her playful grin lit a fuse inside him.
Right then. Right there. Dec knew his brothers were right.
He was in deep.
“Oh my God. Stop!”
On the way home from Cranky Hank’s Brooke shouted and Dec managed to slam on the brakes without deploying the air bags.
“What?”
“Look!” Brooke pointed out the window.
THE MOTHER LODE BAR
KARAOKE TONIGHT
CASH PRIZES!
Dec had put the top up on the convertible, so it wasn’t a chill that sent a zap of oh hell no up his spine. It was the flashing red-and-yellow neon sign of the dive bar he and each of his brothers—minus Jordan, who’d been absent because of his contract with the NHL—had gotten to know up close and personal when each of them had turned twenty-one.
Back in the day they’d been more hell-raisers than angels, a truth their parents had never witnessed. Most of the time they’d been the polite young men their parents had raised. A help to the community. Servants of goodwill to sweet little old ladies who tried to cross the street. But put them inside the Mother Lode and their behavior went a little west of wild. And more times than not they’d been thrown out on their asses and had come home with black eyes and hangovers. Not that they’d done anything illegal. They’d just been looking for a good time. And they’d found it.
Repeatedly.
Dec bit back a smile at the memories.
“You don’t want to go in there,” he said, taking his foot off the brake and pushing down on the gas pedal. “It’s a dive bar.”
“I love dive bars!”
“Well, you can’t love that one. It’s . . . questionable.”
“But that’s the best kind.” She ducked her head to look at him. “Come on, Dec. Live a little. You can add karaoke to your bucket list and fulfill it right now.”
“I am not putting karaoke on my bucket list.”
“But your list only has like . . . two items on it. You need more. A lot more. And I say karaoke is a prime candidate. There’s even a twenty-five dollar prize for the winner.”
Laughter burst from his chest. “You want me to get up on a stage and make a complete fool of myself for a chance at a lousy twenty-five bucks?”
“Come on.” Her smile turned seductive as she leaned across the armrest, danced her fingers up the long sleeve of his shirt, and batted her thick, sooty eyelashes. “Do it for me. I’ll even sing a duet with you if you’re too afraid.”
“I repeat for the umpteenth time, I am not afraid of anything.” Except these crazy things she made him think and feel. Like what would happen if he pulled her over the armrest into his lap.
“Except singing karaoke.” She made chicken sounds.
“Are you kidding me?”
She grinned. “Cluck.”
&nb
sp; “Fuck. That’s it.” He flipped a U-turn, careened into the busy lot, and parked next to a dented lime green monster truck with tires big enough to build a swimming hole in. While memories of the good old days splashed through his brain, he noted that neither of them were appropriately dressed for the Mother Lode. Brooke—fortunately for the situation, but unfortunately for his greedy eyes—had little skin exposed in a flouncy blouse, jeans, and sandals. He however . . . “If I’d known we were going to come here I wouldn’t have worn a button-down shirt and slacks.”
“What would you have worn?”
“Threadbare jeans, biker boots, and a Harley Davidson jacket.”
“Are you afraid you’ll get your ass kicked?” Her eyes went wide. “And might I add that knowing you even own biker boots and a Harley jacket is a huge turn-on?”
“Are you forgetting I grew up with four brothers? Kicking ass was a way of life.” And he definitely needed to remember to haul his Harley jacket out of the closet.
They both got out of the car and he hit lock on the key fob. He hit it again as an extra precaution. Still, chances were that when he came out of the bar, his red convertible would either be dented or it would be gone.
“Because if you’re afraid, I’ll protect you,” she promised. “This isn’t my first dive bar rodeo.”
“Brooke?” Near the door he stopped and cupped his hands on her elbows. He ignored the obnoxious music blasting through the thick wood walls and concentrated on inhaling her sweet scent and savoring her soft sigh as she looked up at him. “If anyone is going to do the protecting, it’s going to be me protecting you. You’re my assistant and too valuable to lose to a broken arm from a bar brawl.”
She scrunched her nose. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“Daring me to sing karaoke isn’t enough?”
She shook her head. “Right now, can you pretty please forget that I’m your employee? Right now, can we have just a little bit of fun without the whole boss/assistant thing interfering? Can’t we just walk in there like . . . friends?”
Friends?
And there lay the whole enchilada of a problem.
The more time he spent with her, the harder a time he had remembering the whole boss/employee thing. Every little tick of the clock he spent in her presence was rife with the temptation of hauling her against him and kissing her sweet lips.
