“Well, bye. I left the cake on the counter.”
I watched her hourglass figure stroll away and toward the elementary school. Linda might want to screw me but she was also Candi’s best friend, and I wasn’t about to delve into that with Grace. After another hour working on the electrical wiring – there’d been a few mishaps I was having with the lights—I wiped my hands and went into the house. I needed a ride. The mutt whined, wanting to be let out. Ignoring it, I undid my boots and shed most of my clothes at the door, greasy and grimy as they were, and headed for the shower.
One last whine from the mutt and I turned in the hallway. “Fine.” I turned back around and crouched down so I could open the crate to let the dog out. It bounded into me, knocking me slightly off balance and my ass landed on the carpet.
“Hey, tiger. Settle down,” I chuckled. She was a complete fur ball. I could barely see her eyes as she pawed all over me. “Easy.”
She rolled onto her back with her shaggy paws in the air and I knew she wanted me to rub her stomach. Sucker that I was, I obliged.
“This doesn’t change anything, fur ball. I’m still sticking to my decision of not liking pets,” I warned as I used my fingers to rub her belly. I hated to admit that it did seem like a sweet dog. I could see how Grace was already getting attached to her.
“Okay, enough’s enough. Back in you go.”
As if the dog understood me, it sat on its hind legs and watched me beneath the puff of bangs, refusing to follow instructions.
“Go,” I pointed toward the crate.
It cocked its head to the side as if to say “screw you” and continued watching me.
“Fine,” I captured it between my hands and pushed her into the crate. “In you go.”
Then I went to my room where I quickly made my bed, adjusted the pillows and went into the master bathroom. Turning the knob to scalding, I got in beneath the heat and welcomed the burn as it washed over me.
Grace Patterson.
Two days ago, I hadn’t a care in the world. No drama. No complications. My biggest complication had been the bike in the garage and the letter I’d gotten from my dad asking for me to come and visit. He also asked me to bring my mom and that cracked me up. I haven’t seen him in two years. I haven’t seen her in longer. Seeing him behind bars was difficult. He was my biological father and I loved him as best as I’d been shown, but knowing who he was before that – class clown who’d turn violent in an instant – it was tough to see his stony expression. The seriousness of that life and how it’d caught him in its web.
He’d been called Joker for longer than I could remember. There couldn’t be a more fitting name for him when he was out in the real world. He’d swear to me that life was the joke and we were all the fools for letting it consume us and turn us into assholes.
Those two things had been my biggest complications until Grace arrived. Granted, it’d only been a day, but she was fucking with me big time. More than I was willing to admit to her. Or anyone for that matter. Especially her brother. Just look at me, happily willing to go to the Founder’s Day Picnic only so I could watch the bidding wars ensue with her entry. There was a reason I steered toward women like Tiffany. They were all about sex and fun – nights spent at the Lazy Dogs Saloon – and enjoyed a good ride on my bike as much as I did.
The coolness in Grace’s eyes when she saw my bike told me she thought them beneath her. Hell, I was sure she thought I was beneath her until I felt the air heat between us when I told her how perfect I thought her tits were. Are. They are perfect but I vowed to myself I couldn’t touch them. Looking was fine but I respected the fuck out of Thatcher and I couldn’t jeopardize our friendship for a quick roll in the hay with his sister. I’m positively certain he would not trust me to be with her in a relationship, let alone as a fuck buddy.
As much as I wanted to.
Christ. Taking my throbbing rod in hand, I pumped and pumped, hoping thoughts of Grace’s cleavage and young, curvy body would stop once I could get this out of me. Her fucking voice—come on baby, let me take care of you. Come on baby, come sleep with me. I released it all, watching as it melded with the spray of water and disappeared down the drain as I rested my arm and head onto the cool tiles.
Irritated, I stepped out and dried off. A ride was in order. No destination in mind, all I could hope for was to clear my head. Get away from her, as well as the mutt I could hear whining in the living room and the bubbling of my past that was threatening to break me.
Just as I laced my boots, Grace waltzed through my front door.
“I’m back,” she smiled.
I sighed.
“What? You aren’t happy to see me?”
“I’m going for a ride.” I glanced up and saw the flash of disappointment on her face. It was quick, as she was good at putting on a front she wanted people to see. Not me. I caught on quickly. “I thought you had work stuff. Behavioral systems.”
She smiled and hell if it didn’t make the corners of my mouth twitch up.
“You remembered.”
“It wasn’t that long ago. Course I remembered. Ask me in two weeks and you’d get a different story.”
“Did you like the cake?”
Shit. I forgot she brought that. I surmised she knew the answer from the look on my face. Again, there was that quick flash of disappointment. What was up with her? She didn’t even like me, save for the sex sounds. At least she didn’t like the way I was – my loud Harley, how she thought I was so unhelpful, as well as my aversion to pets – so why she was disappointed in me, was anyone’s guess.
“I forgot about it. Maybe later.”
“Try it now. Please. It’ll be a nice treat before you go off to where ever you’re going. The Lazy Dogs Saloon or where ever it is that you ride that thing to.”
The tone of her voice was all over the place. It wasn’t the normal confident tone she used when I’d run into her at the feed store. It was like…hope. Hope-filled. And something else I couldn’t identify. The hope shit had me concerned enough. Gracie Patterson was looking to me to make her feel good about baking a cake? The world must be ending.
I opened my mouth to tell her no and made the mistake of looking over at that damn mutt. It, too, sat silently, wide brown eyes watching me as if this were going to be a life-changing event.
“Fine. I’ll grab a bite. Come on.”
She let the dog out of its crate and the two of them followed behind me like an entourage.
“Why are you shaking your head?” she asked as she let the dog outside.
“Was I? Probably because this is not my life.”
“You mean eating the chocolate cake or allowing the dog to stay here?”
Both. Somehow eating the chocolate cake, which I was strictly doing only to make her happy—which was a whole other issue I was going to ponder on my ride because since when had I worried about making anyone happy—but eating that cake was going to take things to a whole new level. My gut had never steered me wrong before and the churning I felt now was a sure sign something was going to be different between us.
As her lithe fingers popped off the lid and exposed the decadent chocolate frosting, she asked, “You aren’t going to answer me?”
“Huh? Oh. I was shaking my head because women don’t bake things for me. Let alone convince me to do something I know isn’t good for me.”
She flipped her perfect hair away from her face. “Since when is chocolate not good for anybody? Biker dude or not?”
“Since I – never mind. Just give me a fucking piece.”
“Fine. You don’t have to get all crabby.”
She reached up to the cupboard – the right one – and withdrew two small plates, “How do you know where I keep all of my dishes?”
“Just seems like the obvious place to me and since I’m learning how unhelpful you are, it’s easier to figure out my way myself.”
“I’m not always unhelpful.”
“Right. Just in my case. Try
this.”
She pushed my plate toward me with a large slice of cake on it and the smell of frosting – the fucking smell – reminded me of Candi. Pregnant with her bare feet and belly sticking out, the two of us sharing a slice of chocolate cake. The kind that has frosting in the middle and on the top, moist and almost crumbly. It had been my birthday and she’d bought it for me. I was young then. Pretty much Grace’s age now. I hadn’t a clue how my life would turn upside down two months after that.
Her hand gripped my forearm and I looked down at the contradiction of her small, pale fingers and perfect manicure against my tanned, hairy skin.
“Where’d you go?” she whispered.
Ignoring her and shrugging her hold off me, I picked the cake up, crumbles falling everywhere as I took a large bite, hoping I could swallow down the painful memories of Candi along with the best cake I’d ever had. It slowly melted in my mouth just like the cake from my birthday. The chocolate wasn’t bitter, more of a silky-smooth milk chocolate that coated my mouth and left me wanting more.
I shared a look with Grace, her bright blue eyes beaming with all that happiness and sunshine shit I’d avoided for so long and I felt a stab of guilt. What happened in this woman’s life that she was looking for praise from a man like me?
“So the moaning means you like?”
“I didn’t moan.”
“You did. It was low in your throat. Not the growling kind you do when you don’t want to answer my questions but a sort of low sound like you’re enjoying it.”
“I hardly notice I do that,” I smiled.
She fidgeted with the plastic lid as she watched me lick frosting off my fingers.
“You do it almost all the time. At least when I’m around.”
She brought the cake up to her lips. Her mouth parted, her wet tongue darted out and licked the frosting. Her eyes closed momentarily before she shoved a small corner into her mouth.
“Mmmm,” she moaned. “I could see why you let out such a moan, it’s delicious. But I’ve made better.” She lowered her eyes again as she consumed another bite, savoring the chocolate like she’d never tasted it before.
Suddenly, I was tempted to find out what she’d do if I kissed her, sharing in on those last remnants of chocolate in her mouth. Or better yet, if I pressed myself into her hips, zipper to zipper so she could feel what she was doing to me. Heat blazed between us. Her gaze dropped to my lips.
I leaned forward, closing the space between us and pressed my mouth to her lips. I coaxed her stiff lips open with my tongue and caught her whimper as I shifted gears, ready to devour her.
My phone jingled on the counter, breaking the moment, and when I reluctantly pulled away, her eyes were wide with surprise. Was she surprised I kissed her? Or was she surprised at how great it’d felt for those brief moments? Thatcher’s name lit up my screen as the phone vibrated something fierce. This was why she shouldn’t bring dessert over. This was why we had to keep our distance. At least me. She seemed to be utterly clueless to how she made me feel while she stood there a mere foot from me as she sucked the little bits of frosting off her fingers from where the cake had been.
Christ.
“Hello?”
“Cap, what’s going on?”
“Thatch, my man.” Grace looked up in surprise, shaking her head. “Yeah, stop by. I’m home.”
I shrugged, what was I going to do? I couldn’t tell him no. I shouldn’t have to tell him no just because his hot-as-fuck sister was standing next to me in a panic. Her and I had a non-existent, yet existent, relationship—how confusing was that?—and what Thatcher and I had was awfully damn tight—much more than her and I.
“Okay. See ya soon, man.”
“Shit. Why didn’t you tell him you weren’t here?”
“I couldn’t. He’s bringing me something. Are you going to stand there and pout or get your ass out of here? It’s your call, Princess. We can hash this out when he shows up,” I offered.
She huffed and puffed and let the mutt back in. Neither one of us mentioned the kiss. She scooped the mutt up and with a dirty look thrown over her shoulder, she hustled out the front door. When it slammed shut, I let out a hoot of laughter. What was I doing? What was I getting myself in to with her? One minute she pretended like she was on top of the world – I’m a woman hear me roar – and the next she acted like she needed reassurance from me to make her happy.
Intriguing. Confident. Smart. Innocent.
But naughty.
No. I did not need her in my life, no matter how much I wanted her in my life.
I’d have to make a point to be occupied when she came around.
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could fuck with Tiffany when the woman I wanted waltzed into my house numerous times a day, acting sassy and looking sexy, feeding my sweet tooth with all her glorious goods.
Chapter Five
Grace
I watched my mother as she utilized the community center’s gym space to help organize the supplies for the Founder’s Day Picnic. She’d asked me to help her do inventory on what was on hand for the picnic and whether or not there were any last-minute items we would need to get.
“Grace, did you count the table clothes?” she asked.
“One hundred and three. Is that going to be enough?” I asked. Most of Lone Star would turn out for the event. The town council provided lunch for a small fee and every year, it was decorated to the max. Lone Star had even been featured in Country Times magazine a few years back when Mrs. Reynold’s pie entry garnered four-hundred and ninety-five dollars—the most anyone had ever bid for a pie—and she donated it to the magazine in the hopes it would help “bring the periodical back to the good old days.” After that, Lone Star changed the rules to say the proceeds from the pie auction had to go to a registered not-for-profit organization designated by the person who had bid the highest.
Mrs. Reynolds was eighty-six and still believed the world lived in the fifties. Along with her beehive hair-style that she’d worn since the late sixties, her car—which everyone around town knew—bless her heart, was a 1954 Hudson Hornet that took up most of the road when she drove around.
“We had eighty-three tables last year. I’m hoping so,” my mom replied.
“What else do you want me to count?”
“There needs to be two-hundred and six flags—two for every table. Plus, Sally Mae is supposed to be stopping by to drop off some pleated-fan flags. That way, they can be attached to the fronts of the food tables.”
“Here she comes now,” I said as Sally Mae walked across the gym carrying two large trash bags.
“They’re plum full of flags. All I could find in the storage shed behind Town Hall,” she said, slightly out of breath.
My mother and I each grabbed a bag from her and began pulling the banners out.
“How long have they been in storage? Some of them aren’t in the best shape,” I said, as I pulled a few half-rotted ones off the top.
“We used ’em last year. Hopefully, they ain’t all bad. Grace, congratulations on your pie entry. Your mom told me. Think you can beat the reigning champ?”
An odd amount of pride filled me as I considered the idea of my mother bragging about me to her friends. I glanced at my mother, who was waiting for my answer.
“I’m going to do my damnedest to try,” I said fiercely.
“That a girl. Good luck! I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sally Mae pointed to my mom as she turned on her heel and walked out of the gym.
“Don’t act so shocked that I would be proud of you for winning a ticket for the auction.” My mother picked up her trash bag and flipped it over and all the banner flags dropped into a pile at our feet.
“It’s a big deal,” I said. It was a big deal and I was proud, but I wasn’t fully trusting that she wasn’t looking for what she might garner from this.
“There you go again. You think for one second I can’t manage to be happy for my own daughter?”
“No. I be
lieve you.” I didn’t want to start an argument so I saw no point in opening my mouth about what my real thoughts were.
“Just forget it, Grace. Why do I even try with you?” She reached for my bag, still two-thirds full and yanked if from my grasp.
“Why do you even try with me? I’m sorry, but almost all the time you have some sort of agenda. Excuse me for thinking that you’re simply proud of me without seeing what you could get from the ordeal.” When her eyes darted to the left, not returning my gaze, I knew I wasn’t wrong about my assumption.
“The Cattlemen’s Ball is constantly trying to raise money throughout the year. Every little bit helps. All I’m saying is it would be nice recognition if you won, to bake pies for the silent auction. Much to your dismay, it’s not for me as you’re so inclined to believe.”
That was fair. But it still had to do with her. When she wasn’t drinking, she wouldn’t press the issue as much as she would if she was drinking. Then, she’d be all in my face about how selfish I was to not agree to help with the ball.
“Well, it’s a moot point right now because I haven’t won anything.”
“Keep it in mind,” she said. “If you won, people would be thrilled to be able to purchase one of your pies at a later date.”
I shrugged non-committedly. She was proud of me for winning a ticket to the pie auction because there was a chance she could raise more money and awareness to the Cattlemen’s Ball – if I helped her by baking pies.
Was I wrong to want to feel that maybe just once she could be proud of me or happy for me without trying to further her agenda? The rest of the time went smoothly and I did my best to put my hurt feelings aside – I was used to it.
It wasn’t until she began arguing with a group of middle-aged men who came into the center—wanting to use the gym for basketball—that I’d realized she’d been drinking.
“It’s off-limits. Find somewhere else to play,” she pointed toward the door.
“Mind your own business. We’re here to shoot a few hoops,” one of the men told her.
“Mom, it’s fine. They can play on the far side-”
Wicked: A Small Town Romance (Love in Lone Star Book 3) Page 6
