Prairie Bliss

by Tessa Layne

  “Damn straight, you will,” he said with a chuckle, arousal quickly flickering back to life. “I have one more condom. Time to roll that pretty ass over, sweetheart.”

  Chapter Six

  Early morning light filtered through the curtains, as Jarrod slowly drifted into consciousness, awakened by the icepick pounding into his right temple. Fuck, how much had they consumed last night? He squinted over at the table where the bottle of Redbreast stood — nearly empty. He’d have to send his sister two bottles for her troubles. He was pretty sure there wasn’t a liquor store within fifty miles of here that was open on a Sunday morning.

  He glanced down at the soft body curled against his chest. Dark tangles partially obscured her face, and he couldn’t resist tucking a few locks behind her ear. Her lashes cast tiny shadows on her cheekbones, and upon close inspection, he could see a spray of tiny freckles splashed across her nose. Cute. Jarrod pulled in a slow breath trying to focus through the pain throbbing in his head. Tomorrow, it would be business as usual. They would still fight like hell against each other in the courtroom, and he’d prevail, like he always did. But maybe… after the trial was over… maybe they’d find a way to be more than frenemies. Maybe they could be friends. And if fucking ever got put on the table again, well, he’d take her up on that in a hot second. He wasn’t getting any younger, and maybe this spontaneous night of debauchery was just the turning point he needed. He could use more of what Jamey had in his life.

  Lexi stretched, legs sliding along his, then groaned. Misery loves company, he thought wryly. But then, quick as lightning, she sat bolt upright, eyes wide. “Ohmygod, we didn’t.”

  He chuckled. Even in the early light, nursing an obvious hangover, she was lovely and utterly kissable. Not for the first time, he regretted having only two condoms. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy each other one last time before he showed up at the church for his niece’s Christening. There was plenty they could do without actual fucking. Several dirty ideas popped into his head all at once. “Oh, we most definitely did, sweetheart.”

  She glared at him. “I am not your sweetheart.”

  “Fine… Alexis. Shall I go over the details?”

  “No. You need to leave. Now.” She crawled over him, taking the sheet with her. That was fine by him. Let her be impressed with his morning wood.

  He pushed himself up to sitting, opening his hands. “What? Not even a good morning kiss? Or a ‘wow’ last night was great?”

  Clutching the sheet around her breasts with one hand, she bent, trying to scoop up his clothes with the other. “Last. Night. Never. Happened.”

  “Like hell it didn’t,” he snapped. He might be a little fuzzy on some of the details in the glaring light of day, but he remembered enough.

  “You-you and that magic whiskey cast some kind of spell on me,” she sputtered, tossing him his shirt. But he didn’t miss how her eyes widened at the sight of his erection. Score one for him.

  “The whiskey you’d laid into before I ever stepped foot in the kitchen?”

  Her eyes glittered, cheeks burning bright. “Clearly, I was not myself last night.”

  God, he wanted to fuck her again, not argue. But the D.C. attorney was firmly back in place. He could hear the difference in her voice. “I guess not,” he answered caustically, shoving one arm then the other into the sleeves. “I should have known it when you explained to me in vivid detail how you were going to suck my cock.” That much he did remember, and the myriad of moans and groans that accompanied their vigorous and repeated coupling.

  Her sharp gasp pierced the air.

  “Oh don’t play the prim and proper perfectly poised lawyer with me,” he snapped, heat racing up his spine. “You were in it as much as I was.” He rose and stalked over to the tangle of clothes she clutched, snagging his boxer briefs, and pulling them on. “If you want to pretend this never happened, that’s your prerogative, but the hickeys on your neck tell a different story.”

  “You didn’t.”

  He chuckled at her outraged gasp. “You begged me to, sweetheart. But I’ll make sure your secret’s safe with me.” He bent to retrieve his slacks.

  She scowled. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Broken the rules? This is old hat for you, isn’t it?” She waved a hand. “No wonder you have the clients you do. You’re just like them.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He shoved a foot through one of the pant legs.

  “It means, that just like the clients you take, you believe the rules don’t apply to you. Well guess what, Mr. Shark Attack? They do.”

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” How dare she run down his clients? How dare she run down him? Okay, well maybe he deserved it just a little bit, but still…

  “Do you really want me to spell it out for you?”

  “In small words,” he gritted, temper rising as he pulled up his pants.

  “You go after the big bucks with no regard to ethics, to the damage your clients have done to people… to-to-to, the environment.” She flapped a hand, face growing pinker with each second.

  If he wasn’t so offended, he’d think she looked lovely, all flushed and bothered, ready for another tumble and not a courtroom battle. “They have a right to make a profit. To conduct business without being hamstrung by arbitrary regulations.”

  “There’s nothing arbitrary about regulating pollution, or work environments,” she snapped. “Your client is clearly in the wrong.”

  She wanted to duke out the case at her tiny little kitchen table? Fine. He’d go there. Hell, he’d even pour out the remaining Redbreast for this, obscenely early though it was. “Negative. Your client has no legs to stand on.”

  “Is that so?” she snapped “Don’t tell me you want to discuss the trial over eggs and bacon?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. He’d admire it if he wasn’t so pissed.

  “Fuck, no,” he retorted, “The only trial discussion will be how I’m going to crush you in the courtroom.”

  Alexis’ eyes glittered and she drew herself up, closed the space between them and poked him in the chest. “Don’t you dare threaten to crush me in my home, you-you-you—”

  “Arrogant bastard?” he supplied with a smirk.

  “You may think you’ve got this case locked up, but you better think again. You may think you’re such a hotshot with your deep sexy voice and your nice suit and your flowery words, but you don’t fool me. You’re still a callow snake in the grass, and I don’t care how good looking you are, you won’t tempt me.” Her breath came in shallow gasps, and he opened his mouth to object. “I am not done,” she snapped before he could make a sound. “I’ll admit that once upon a time, I was interested in you. But that day is long gone. So you can take your fancy car, and your fancy life and slide back under the rock you crawled out from. I will see you in court.”

  Jarrod’s mouth twitched. He could hear the exasperation coloring her voice, and he should know better than to poke a hornets’ nest, but that was exactly what he did. “That day is so long gone, you just had to fuck me.”

  “Oooh, get out.” Her voice shook as did her hand as she pointed to the door.

  With a grin he bent and swiped up his shoes and socks. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart,” he said as he headed to the door. “Better do what you can to cover up those hickeys. I hear the judge has a thing for propriety.”

  He ducked out the door just as a glass shattered on the door frame. “Round two to Uncle Jarrod,” he chuckled as he buttoned up his shirt and headed for his car.

  Chapter Seven

  Five Months Later

  * * *

  Jarrod’s feet crunched the gravel as he ran under the cherry blossoms along the Mall. Today was going to be a good day. He could feel it in the fresh dew still hanging in the early morning air. The breeze curling around him and dancing through the trees carried the scent of money. Not only would today’s bonus allow him to retire next year, but the trial that had consumed his waking m
oments for the better part of the last nine months was finally, truly over. The plaintiffs had lost their appeal, and a four a.m. email from the plaintiff’s legal team informed him that they wouldn’t be appealing to a higher court. Nothing tasted quite so sweet as a hard-fought victory.

  Alexis had been stellar in court, her arguments airtight. At one point, he even thought his perfect record of wins might be marred. It wasn’t her fault their digging brought up last-minute evidence showing the plaintiff had lied and had polluted the water himself to salvage a failing business. But that’s why he got paid the big bucks. Asshat McGee would be going to jail, and he would be pocketing a big check at noon.

  He had half a mind to call up Alexis and offer to take her out for a pity dinner, but the memory of the scathing glare she’d sent his direction their last day in court kept him jogging. Besides, who called someone up at six a.m.? The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. It would be worth a too-early call to Alexis just to yank her chain. Just to discover if her indignant sighs at all matched the sighs he remembered from their drunken fling all those months ago.

  His cock stirred at the memory, albeit still slightly fuzzy, of moonlight and pale skin. Entwined limbs, moans and groans, hushed whispers, and begging for more. Jarrod shook his head, trying to free himself from the memory. There were easier fish to catch in a sea of beautiful women. So why hadn’t he gone fishing? His phone buzzed, saving him from having to examine that question too deeply. He pushed ‘decline’, and kept jogging. His morning run was sacrosanct, the only time he didn’t answer his phone. There was peace in the rhythm of his breath, of his feet crunching on the gravel path or slapping the pavement, the only zen in his day.

  His phone buzzed again as he passed the Lincoln Memorial and turned along the Potomac. By the time he reached Arlington National Cemetery it was ringing nonstop. His zen feeling shot, he stopped and answered. “I stopped my morning run for you, this better be good.”

  “Oh thank god,” his sister Jamey sobbed into the phone. “It’s- it’s—”

  Instantly, Jarrod’s mind went to his sweet little niece. Dread pooled in his stomach. He’d never heard Jamey sound like this. Ever. “What is it? Tell me.”

  “It’s Jason,” she wailed with a heart-wrenching cry. “It’s, oh god, Jarrod. He’s gone.” Her sobs came so loud he couldn’t think. But every cell in his body shouted that something was very, very wrong.

  “What do you mean?” But he knew the answer even as he asked the question. His body heated as a wave of grief hit him like a tsunami, then he went stone cold.

  “He collapsed at the fire station. An-an-and, he’s gone. They couldn’t save him.”

  Jarrod scanned the group gathered at his parents’ pub. His suit felt out of place among the firefighters’ dress blues. He and Jamey had chosen other paths, and he knew that’s why they’d grown so close over the years. His brothers stayed in Boston, firefighters, every one, and just like his Pops. The pub had been a side-venture, and they’d all pitched in to run it. Everyone, that is, except he and Jamey. He glanced her direction. She perched on a stool bouncing a gurgling Fiona on her lap, but she looked ten years older than the last time he saw her. Unexpected death did that. Hell, he felt one-hundred, burdened to breaking with the weight of fresh grief.

  Jason shouldn’t have died. Three years his junior was too fucking young. Fuck, none of them were even forty. His younger brother, Jon Paul, glanced up from the pool table. “Join us next round?”

  “Sure.”

  He’d never noticed it before, but the pub had the same vibe as the Trading Post back in Prairie. The only difference was here, the jukebox blared Irish folk-rock, instead of country music. Maybe it was the people, or the camaraderie, but there was an element of familiarity about both places that felt like home.

  Jamey caught his gaze and tilted her head to the empty seat next to her.

  He poured two shots from the bottle of 12-year Redbreast that had been set on the bar, and joined her, placing a glass in front of her. “At least Fi’s happy,” he said, wishing for once that he was as blissfully ignorant as a baby.

  Jamey acknowledged the irony with a small smile. “Jesusfucktits, Jare. Jason of all people. Two kids and a third on the way? God, if anything happened to Brodie…” Her voice trailed off as tears welled in her eyes.

  “You’d have all of us to help you, just like Mary Ann.” Jason and Mary Ann, Mary Ann and Jason. Two sides of the same coin. High school sweethearts since ninth grade math. You couldn’t think of one without thinking of the other. And now his little brother was gone, dead from the stress of firefighting and a so-so diet. He’d looked fit, and been as strong as an ox. No one suspected his arteries were as hardened and clogged as an eighty-year-old smoker.

  Jamey held out Fiona, and he took his niece, nuzzling her tummy and making growly sounds until her giggles temporarily filled the void in his chest. “Don’t worry, Fi,” he crooned. “The rest of your uncles are going to live a long time.”

  “How can you say that?” she said, aghast. “Have you been to the doctor? Tell me you’ve had a checkup.”

  He hadn’t. “I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.” He bounced Fiona on his knee, spirit lightening at her squeals and gurgles.

  Jamey narrowed her eyes. “When was the last time you were at the doctor’s?”

  He shrugged. Honestly, he couldn’t remember.

  “You haven’t, have you? The rest of the boys are going. Getting EKGs, even. The full work-up. You should, too.”

  “I’m fine, sis. Really. I run six miles every morning.” And you probably drink too much, and eat too much take-out. A voice that sounded surprisingly like Alexis’ voice pointed out.

  “And Jason could run up fifteen flights of stairs in full gear.”

  “Okay, I’ll go. But I’m telling you, you’re worried for nothing.”

  Her eyes bored into him. “Am I? Of all our brothers, you work the hardest. No one ever sees you. Not even at Christmas,” she accused.

  Guilt gnawed at it. “I know, I meant to, but the damned case—”

  “Don’t you see? It’s always a damned case. And now Jason’s gone.” A tear spilled down Jamey’s cheek. Fuck, he hated when his sister cried. She was tough as nails. Stronger than all his brothers put together, and to see her cry… he couldn’t take it.

  He stood, cradling Fiona against his shoulder, and wrapping an arm around Jamey. “Why don’t I take some time off? Come stay for a while? You can send me to your country doctor—”

  “She’s a helluva lot more than that,” Jamey corrected.

  “Okay, fine, whatever. How about you and Brodie finally teach me how to ride in exchange for some babysitting?”

  Jamey tilted her chin. “I want you to be a part of Fiona’s life. I want her to know you. I don’t want you to be some picture on the mantel draped in a rosary.”

  “I promise, I won’t die anytime soon.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she scolded darkly.

  The more he thought about it, the more the idea felt right. His parents and brothers had each other in Boston, but what about him and Jamey? They weren’t black sheep, but they lived life on their own terms, and that meant being far away from family. He could go home to Boston, spend a week with his parents — something he owed them, and then he could fly out to Jamey. At least they’d find solace in each other's company. And… there was always the chance he’d run into Alexis.

  Chapter Eight

  One month later

  * * *

  The church was packed to overflowing. Lexi shook her head at the sight of townspeople lining the walls and crammed in the narthex. Whose bright idea was it to hold a funeral for Prairie’s mayor for the last fifty-some-odd years in a church that only held two-hundred people? Especially when the luncheon was going to be out at the Hansen’s arena?

  Lexi’s sisters had spent all morning out there helping their mother and Jamey Sinclaire prepare food for the masses. She, on the other hand,
spent the morning in her happy place — on her new horse Oreo, a beautiful black and white paint that Hope Sinclaire had trained. It was still funny to her to think of Hope as a Sinclaire and no longer a Hansen. After the generations of feuding between the families, the Hansen women had married two of the Sinclaire brothers, and just like that — feud over. She glanced over to her sister Lydia, who was happily bouncing Bubba, and letting him chew on her finger. Apparently, everyone in Prairie was having babies, too. By her count, among the kids she’d grown up and gone to school with, there were close to a dozen new babies in Prairie.

  Lydia leaned in. “Rumor has it that Jamey’s hottie brother is back in town.”

  “Jarrod?” she squeaked.

  Lydia waggled her eyebrows, a broad grin spreading across her face. Lord, she would never live Carolina’s wedding night down. Of course, she’d spilled everything the next morning to her sisters. Not willingly, of course. There was no hiding the hickeys that peeked out of her shirt, and no amount of artful dodging put them off.

  Oh, no.

  They’d pretty much held her captive at the kitchen table, grilling her over hangover breakfast, pulling out the details one by one until her confession — her humiliation — was complete.

  “It’s fate,” her twin whispered with obvious glee.

  Lexi shook her head firmly. “Uhm, hmm, no. If there’s such a thing as fate, then I will never have to lay eyes on that fine ass ever again.” She’d admit that much to her sister — that Jarrod O’Neill’s ass was as perfect as Michelangelo’s David sculpture. At least she could take solace in the fact that she’d never cross paths with him again, now that she was home. And it would be easy to lie low if she got word he was in town. Heck, at the very least, she could go spend the weekend in Kansas City with Luci Cruz and her husband Mason. Their place had an obscene number of bedrooms.