by Maisey Yates
Alex was skating closer to the truth than Liam would like him to be, but he didn’t really know what to say about it. He wasn’t going to say anything.
“Hey, it’s nothing. I’m your big brother. I’m there to give advice that I don’t even believe, I’m there to protect you. Whatever.”
Alex let out a long, slow breath, his expression looking tortured. Liam had a feeling it was because their exchange was involving genuine emotion. And that was torture for the two of them.
“You’re my hero, Liam,” Alex said.
Liam felt like he had been punched in the chest. He didn’t know what to say. Not about any damn thing.
“Come on, soldier boy,” he said. “I’m not a hero. You are.”
“No. Don’t do that. You were my hero. All of my life. You took care of me. Always made sure that I got off to school all right, and things like that. And I know I was angry at you for a while for leaving. But I was just angry at everybody.”
“No. You had every right to be angry at me. I left you there, and you weren’t ready to be by yourself. You were still living in that hell and I just took off.”
“That was an excuse,” Alex said. “An excuse that I gave to myself so that I could stay mad. About everything to do with Mom and Dad. About everything to do with our childhood. Because I was scared. I was scared shitless, quite frankly, when I started having feelings for Clara, and that made me an angry son of a bitch. I lost a lot of people. But you are still here. Now that I have my head out of my ass I really appreciate that.”
“There’s nothing much to appreciate,” Liam said. “It’s just older brother stuff.”
“Whatever. You’re still my best man. Now, can we never speak of this again?”
“I would prefer it if we didn’t,” Liam responded. He turned to leave, his hand stuffed into his pockets. Then he stopped, giving that weight in his chest its full moment, its full breadth. Then he turned back to face his brother. “You’re my hero, Alex. I hope you know that. You’re the bravest son of a bitch I have ever known. You put your life at risk for this country. You’ve lost a hell of a lot. And then when push came to shove, you were brave enough to let go of all of that and go after Clara. You’re my fucking hero.”
Alex cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Thank you.”
Liam nodded once, and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE TASTING ROOM was ready for its grand opening. Mid-December, and everything had gone along according to plan. Better than according to plan. It was all ready. The menus were made, the tables were set, the countertops were in. They had a register, they had an official schedule. They had an adorable little Open sign with a pun.
It was all absolutely perfect. A gorgeous little gem to add to the already sparkling town of Copper Ridge. Sabrina smiled gleefully as she walked down the cheerfully decorated street.
She looked up at the banner proclaiming the dates of the Victorian Christmas events. The first one would start this weekend, and coincide with the tree lighting, and the Grassroots Winery Tasting Room would be open for business that evening.
She was downright giddy. And her giddiness wasn’t just down to the tasting room. Things with Liam were...incendiary. They were together whenever they could be, though, he often opted not to spend the night at her place, citing the fact that he needed to be back at the Laughing Irish to get work done early in the morning.
She had a feeling it was an excuse. Just like at this point keeping her hair tied back so that it didn’t get tangled was an excuse for her.
She didn’t know why she was being such a weirdo about it. Except that he had asked her to take it down, and she had made an issue out of it. So, they were both clinging to the issue now.
Also, it had something to do with the tattoo. Something to do with not turning herself into that idealized girl he had once known.
It would keep her safe, she was certain. Or at least she needed to feign certainty.
Because she had a lot of feelings for Liam Donnelly, she couldn’t deny that. Couldn’t deny that there was a hell of a lot of caring happening, and that her heart was involved in ways she would rather it wasn’t.
He was more than a fantasy now. More than a bogeyman that lived in her closet. He was a man. A man with flaws, a man with a hard, hurtful past. A man that she knew intimately.
She was familiar with every inch of that gorgeous body. But she didn’t know what all the ink on his skin meant. She had purposefully kept herself from asking.
For the same reason she kept her hair up, really.
There was no reason to think of any of that now, though. She had a grand opening on her mind. She paused at the space between the shops, where a cross street ran through, where the town Christmas tree was already set up, the lights strung over the evergreen boughs, waiting to be lit.
She let out a long, slow breath and watched as it floated away on a cloud.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
She didn’t have to turn to know that it was Liam. But still, it made her heart leap. “We planned to meet here,” she said.
“So we did,” he responded, smiling broadly. “Still, pretty damn fancy.”
“What is?”
He grabbed her hand and spun her toward him, drawing her up against his chest. On Main Street. In front of God and everybody.
“Your coat,” he said, looking down. “I like it. It’s very...pink.”
“It’s fashionable,” she said, running a hand down the smooth wool.
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “I like all the little buttons. But mostly, I like thinking about undoing them.”
She turned her head to the side, her heart thundering hard. “Liam Donnelly,” she said, breathless, “you are shameless.”
“Which, you have to admit, is one of my better qualities.”
“I will admit no such thing,” she said, taking hold of his hand and trying her best not to melt into a puddle when he laced his fingers through hers and continued to hold it as they walked down the street. “It would be unseemly.”
“Well, we can’t have you looking unseemly,” he said.
“Indeed.” She sniffed dramatically and they continued to walk on down the street together. This was kind of going against her let’s-not-announce-that thing, but she didn’t really care at the moment. What did it matter if people knew? Liam Donnelly was such a large part of her life, such a large part of her history. She had never been able to pretend that he’d meant nothing to her. And after this... Well, after this she would be no more able to pretend that he was just part of the town scenery.
Just thinking about that made her heart sink. Made her feel wobbly and sad. Because there was no way that she was ever going to feel neutral about him. She had accepted that, fully. And any vague idea she’d had about working him out of her system was ridiculous. There would be no working him out of her system. He was part of her. He had been from the moment she met him. She had a feeling he would continue to be. That he would always have a place in her heart, that he would always own a part of her soul.
That didn’t mean that forever was in the future. It didn’t even mean she wanted that. She didn’t. She was almost completely certain.
But she was slowly accepting that the ache Liam made her feel was simply part of who she was. That he was part of her story. She was never going to be able to tear those pages out. And at this point, she didn’t want to.
She was remaking herself, it was true. At least, she was working on it. Figuring out how not to be so afraid. Figuring out who she was apart from all that guilt that she carried around because of what had happened with her father.
Someday, when she dealt with all of that—and she was definitely going to—it would be due in part to Liam.
So
why not hold hands with him? Why not have the physical satisfaction and feelings of closeness while they had it?
“I’m so excited about this,” she said as they made their way around the corner and into the front door of the tasting room.
Everything was set, all the stock was in place, shelves full of breads and crackers and various things from both Lane’s shop and Alison’s bakery. There were wine racks full of bottles from Grassroots, and refrigerator cases full of Laughing Irish cheese. It was everything they had planned on it being and somehow more. Because it was real. It was something she and Liam had built together. A physical piece of evidence of what they had accomplished. Of how they had changed something together.
It felt symbolic. To how she personally had been changed by her association with him.
He looked at her and flicked the lights on, and it illuminated the space. The wooden floors that had been polished to a honey-colored glow, the glorious blue walls, and the slightly wavy glass windows. The old-fashioned fixtures that they had installed to keep with the original, early Copper Ridge theme.
“It’s almost perfect,” she said, turning around in the dining area.
“What else does it need?” he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “I thought you were the experienced one.”
He chuckled. “I am. We both know that.”
“I’m not talking about your sexual exploits,” she said, waving her hand at him.
He feigned shock. “Neither was I.”
“Sure you weren’t.” She looked around the room again, and then out to the decorated street. “Well, it clearly needs a Christmas tree, Liam.”
“I suppose it does,” he said. “So, you know what that means.”
“What?”
“We have to go get a Christmas tree.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LIAM DIDN’T KNOW who he was, not at the moment. Not considering he had sent Sabrina back to her house to acquire warmer clothes and a pair of mittens, something more practical than that long, elegant wool coat and her gray high-heeled boots. While he had gone over to Pie in the Sky to procure pies, to The Grind to get quiche, and then over to Rebecca West’s store, the Trading Post, where he acquired a plaid blanket and picnic basket.
He was being romantic. He was never romantic. He was crass, he was good in bed, but he was not romantic.
Sabrina deserved it. He wanted to give her things. And he didn’t even know what exactly he wanted her to have. Just more.
Sometimes he felt like he wanted to give her everything.
And then, more disturbingly, sometimes he felt like he already had. Because the essential problem with that realization was that it came along with one that reminded him he didn’t have all that much to give. That if what he’d given her so far was everything, he was a damn sorry excuse for a man, and not one who deserved to be called a hero by his younger brother.
He shook his head, turning into her driveway and putting his truck in Park. He picked up his phone and texted her, letting her know that he was there. It would have been much more romantic, much more gentlemanly, for him to walk up to the door to signal his arrival, but he was kind of at his limit. Or at least, he needed to be.
Sabrina appeared a moment later, that blond hair resolutely pulled back still, this time, he suspected in a braid, as she was wearing a little knitted hat. She had also changed into a short, shearling coat and woolen mittens. And boots. With pom-poms.
And she was still sexy. With fucking pom-poms.
He sat resolutely in the truck, and she climbed in, looking rosy cheeked and excited.
“Where we going?” she asked.
“We have to find some snow,” he said, pulling out of her driveway and heading away from Copper Ridge, away from the ocean. “I figure we would head up to Pyrite Creek, and if there was nothing there, we can go on up as far as Saddle Horn. I have four-wheel drive.”
“That sounds very adventurous, cowboy,” she said, putting her feet up on the dash. The little pom-poms on her boots bounced.
He felt a corresponding ache in his cock.
“Well, you have to be adventurous if you’re going to hunt Christmas trees. Especially if you’re after the elusive silver tip.”
“Excellent,” she said. “What is a silver tip?”
“You don’t know what a silver tip is?”
She waved a mittened hand. “A pine tree is a pine tree.”
“A pine tree is most definitely not a pine tree, country girl. I’m the one that went and lived in New York City for a while. You would think that you would be educating me on different pine varieties.”
“They are green,” she said, holding a hand up. He had a feeling that she was holding up her index finger like she was counting off. But he couldn’t tell. Because mittens. “They have needles,” she said, her hand wiggling, confirming his theory about her fingers. “They are trees.” It wiggled again.
“And you are cute,” he said, grabbing hold of her hand and giving it a shake before turning his focus back to the road.
“That felt dismissive,” she said, making an indignant noise.
“Is calling somebody cute dismissive now? I could call you prickly. That would also be true. Is that less dismissive?”
She made a sniffing sound as he drove on until they came to the pyrite gulch ranger station. Then he pulled off the highway and turned into the driveway.
“We need to get ourselves a permit before we go hunting Christmas trees,” he said.
“That,” she responded, “I do know.”
“Well, thank God for that,” he said. They walked into the small outpost, and Sabrina jumped slightly when she looked to the left and caught sight of the large, taxidermic cougar that was standing sentry.
“I can’t believe that’s still here,” Liam commented.
“You are familiar with the...” She gestured toward the beast. “Him?”
“Yeah. It’s been here since I used to come visit my grandpa.”
She treated him to an expression he couldn’t quite decode. “Tell me more about that.”
But that was when a ranger came out from the back and asked what he could do for them. So, Liam set about to getting the five-dollar permit, and acquiring a map that would show them where exactly they could pull trees from.
Then they took both and headed back out to his truck. “I still want to know,” she said when they got back in the truck.
“All right,” he relented. “Starting at about twelve I used to spend summers in Copper Ridge. I guess you kind of knew some of that. My grandfather decided that he wanted to get to know his grandsons, since his own deadbeat son never seemed to take much of an interest in us. He tracked us down. And he brought us back to the Laughing Irish, and he worked us to death.”
She laughed. “Clearly he didn’t work you to death. Or you would be a great deal more diminished than you are.”
“It’s true. Death has a way of diminishing a man. So, maybe it was only half to death.”
She snorted in response, and then he continued on with his story.
“Alex and I lived up in some crappy housing development in Washington. Not the big city by a stretch of the imagination, but not this. My grandfather taught us about ranching. He taught us about taking pride in building something with your hands. He taught us that we could do more than our parents had showed us. I’ll be grateful for him for that forever. He was one of the biggest influences on me. And even though I didn’t go straight into ranching, he’s the reason that I got hired over at Grassroots when I was twenty. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. I also didn’t feel like staying on the ranch like Finn did was really what I wanted. So, Callum put a good word in with your dad. Who I imagine regretted trusting the old coot forever thereafter.”
Sabrina laughed. “Well, I imagine he did.”
“We all came out for Christmas break one winter. And Grandpa took us sledding. He drove us up this way, sat on his ass in the truck with the heater on and a hot coffee while we gave ourselves hypothermia in the snow. When we were older we’d come up and do ATV stuff. So yeah, I’ve been up this way lots of times.”
“It’s a shame you couldn’t be here all the time,” she said softly. “Did your grandfather know? I mean, did he know about what your mother did?”
Liam shook his head. “No. He didn’t know. Nobody did. Like I said, Alex doesn’t even know. Not the whole story.”
“Why didn’t you... Why didn’t you tell?”
He paused for a long moment, mostly because he didn’t have an answer. It was a question he’d asked himself more than once. Why hadn’t he just told somebody? Why hadn’t he told somebody at school? Why hadn’t he told his grandfather? Alex? Somebody?
And it all came down to the same thing. He could only assume he had done it because part of him wanted to endure it. Part of him wanted to prove her wrong. And part of him had been waiting to come back with that check and say, “I sure as hell matter.” All of his life. Even though that hadn’t been the specific fantasy from the time he was a little boy, proving himself had always been a part of him. A bigger part of him than he had realized until much, much later.
“I suppose,” he said slowly, “it’s for the same reasons you haven’t written off your dad. Because even though you know it’s not your fault part of you wants to fix it. I know part of me wanted to fix things with her for a long damn time.”
“You gave her money,” she said gently.
“I did. Damned lot of money. And she’s used it. But I don’t think she was ever impressed. I think she just felt like it was what she deserved for putting up with me. She’s angry. She’s angry, and she resents her children. She always has. Alex is a war hero. She’s not proud of him. She damn well should be.”
