Rekindled

by Maisey Yates

  He didn’t know why he’d asked Amber to dance at Lark’s wedding.

  Ah, shit. Lark was married. That made him feel… well, it made him feel. And that was just something he hadn’t been prepared for.

  But she was his baby sister, and dammit, no matter how unsentimental he wanted to be about it, he and Cole had practically raised her. Which really made Amber closer to the truth than he wanted to admit.

  He had empty-nest syndrome. A thirty-two-year-old single man with commitment issues… and empty-nest syndrome. As if he wasn’t enough of a dysfunctional gimp-bag already.

  He wandered up to the bar behind Amber and settled in next to her, his forearms resting on the wooden surface, which was scarred from years of use and misuse. Bottles broken in brawls and Lord knew what else.

  There was a story on the menus about a shoot-out between a sheriff and an outlaw that had resulted in the outlaw giving up the ghost on that very bar top.

  The Saloon was filled with history. And Cade had spent too many nights in it over the past four years, just soaking in the alcohol haze and absorbing the hormones of those more up to the challenge of getting laid than he was.

  He’d become pathetic. And he didn’t have it in him to change it.

  “Two Buds, please,” Amber said, leaning over the counter and catching the bartender’s attention a lot quicker than Cade would have.

  “I wanted a hard cider,” he said. In truth, he would really like to have something that would knock him on his ass, but he tried to save the pitiful drunk trick for the privacy of his own home. In case he got maudlin.

  “Too bad,” she said.

  He was glad she was here. Because there was nothing she hadn’t been there for. Every hard thing he’d ever had to cope with. Finding out about his father’s affair, his mother’s death, his father’s death… his accident. Lark’s wedding.

  Amber Jameson had been there for every-damn-thing.

  “Beer me,” he said once she had the bottles in hand.

  “Try again. I don’t speak frat bro.”

  “Amber,” he said, giving her his very best plaintive look.

  “Fine. I pity you. Drown your sorrows in the way society has dictated men ought. Much healthier than expressing genuine emotion.”

  “Can I interest you in a friendly game of pool wherein I use your sad, pathetic skills at stick-handling to make me feel more like a man?”

  She arched a brow. “Sure, honey, if you think hitting balls into a pocket will make you feel more like a man.”

  “I do,” he said, getting up from the bar and heading to the table.

  Amber picked up a cue and started chalking the end. “Your balls are mine, Mitchell,” she said, the light in her eyes utterly wicked.

  “Whose balls haven’t been yours?”

  That taunt didn’t come from Cade’s mouth, and it had him on edge instantly.

  Mike Steele. Standard Grade A douche who worked at the mill. They’d all gone to high school together, but he’d never been too big of an ass. He was drunk tonight though, and hanging out with two other guys from high school who fell on the wrong side of the douche spectrum.

  And for some reason, they were interested in letting their asswipe flags fly tonight.

  Cade opened his mouth to tell them to back down, but Amber had already whirled around, the end of the pool cue smacking sharply on the floor, the tip held up by her face.

  “Can I help you, Mike?” she asked.

  “Just saying, is all,” he said, his words slurred.

  “Maybe you should just say a little clearer,” she said, “because I didn’t quite take your meaning.”

  “He’s just sayin’,” douche number two said, “you’re like the town mare. We’ve all had a ride.”

  Cade saw red. Death and destruction flashed before his eyes, but Amber barely blinked.

  “Come on now,” Amber said, her tone completely cool, “official rules say there’s no score if the cowboy can’t stay on for a full eight seconds. And if I recall right… you didn’t.”

  “You stupid slut—”

  And then Cade did step in, his fist connecting with the side of the other man’s jaw. And damn, it felt good. He hadn’t punched anyone since… well, since he’d broken his brother-in-law’s nose a year ago.

  He was worried the other two goons might round on him, but they were too drunk to maintain a thought that went in a straight line, so they didn’t seem to key in to the fact that Cade had just laid their buddy out flat.

  “Hey!” Allen, the bartender, shouted. “Cade, could you not bust faces in my bar?”

  “Tell these assholes not to run their misogynistic mouths in your bar.” He looked around at all the people who were staring at him, agape. “Yeah. Ten-dollar word, I just raised the IQ of the entire room,” Cade shouted.

  “Oh, Cade, for heaven’s sake,” Amber said. “Knock it off.”

  “He said—”

  “Like I haven’t heard it before?”

  “I’m not going to listen to it.”

  “There’s no point. And I don’t need you to step in save me. I just wanted to play pool. Now you punched him and we have to go so he doesn’t call the cops on you.”

  “I know the cops.”

  “So what? Now I’m a spectacle, so thanks.”

  “Are you… are you pissed at me for punching a guy who called you a—”

  “Yes! I am pissed at you! Outside,” she said. “Now.”

  They walked out the swinging front door of the bar and into the dirt and gravel parking lot. Dust hung in the air, clinging to the smell of hose water and hay, all mingling together to create their own unique scent of summer.

  “What did I do? He was the one—”

  She turned to face him, her cheeks red, her blue eyes glittering. “He’s not worth it. He’s got half a brain and a tiny peen. And all you needed to do was just let it go. I don’t need attention called to shit like that, Cade.”

  “What do you mean ‘shit like that’? As in, it happens frequently?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never…”

  “Because they’re normally too sober to do it in front of you. Why do you think I have no friends other than you?”

  “Because I’m all you need?” he asked, knowing full well that wasn’t true.

  “Because I came into town with a bang, no pun intended, sixteen years ago, and no one can forget it. Because a lot of the guys from high school and I… and now as far as the women are concerned, I’m that skank their husband screwed under the bleachers during free period.”

  The blood was pounding in his ears, his heart racing. “I don’t think of you that way.”

  “I know. But I didn’t have sex with your husband.”

  A laugh rushed out of him, awkward and angry. “Obviously that will never be a problem I have with you. And it’s not like you slept with their husbands after they were married.”

  “Granted. But it doesn’t seem to matter.”

  “Who cares about that high school BS, anyway?”

  “Everyone,” she said. “Everyone but you. Which is why we’re friends.”

  “I did a lot of stupid things in high school. Nobody gives me crap.”

  “That’s because you were never naked with them. Guys are dumb about that stuff,” she said, the lines around her mouth curving downward. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, Cade.”

  “It does.”

  “No. It doesn’t. And don’t go punching people for me anymore.”

  “Come on… you liked it a little.”

  The previously noted grooves at the covers of her lips turned up a bit. “Fine. A little bit. But only because he so had it coming.”

  “He really did.”

  “I wo
nder if any of your former flames are going to come up and accuse you of being a man-whore.”

  “Nah,” he said, “they won’t. But only because they don’t want anyone to know they slept with me. That guy’s just pissed cuz he’s not going there again.”

  “I’m going to go ahead and take that as a compliment.”

  “I would never mean it as anything else.”

  “I know,” she said, looking down at her thumbnail. “I’m not the same person I was then.”

  “Sure you are. You’re just more emotionally well-adjusted.”

  That earned him a smile. “Is that what you call this? Shooting pool, drinking beer, bar fights?”

  “If it’s not well-adjusted then we’re both screwed.”

  “I think we’re screwed.”

  “Good thing we’re screwed together then.” He slung his arm over her shoulder and they started walking back to her truck, the gravel shifting underneath his boots with each step.

  “I guess so.” She pulled away from him and rounded to the driver’s side, climbing up inside the cab and turning the engine over.

  He got in behind her, slowly. Pissed that just climbing into a truck made him conscious of his limitations. Made him see the bad kind of stars—not the orgasmic kind, but lightning bolts of pain shooting up his thigh and crawling up his back, stabbing right at the center of his spine.

  He settled into the seat and let out a long breath. For a second there he’d felt ten foot tall and bulletproof, punching that jackass in the face.

  He didn’t want to know what that said about him. But maybe it didn’t matter, since he was back to feeling roughly six foot three and vulnerable to being trampled on by a horse.

  Which he was.

  He held on to the handle just above the passenger window and leaned out, shutting the heavy truck door.

  “Do you feel like a man now?” she asked, maneuvering the truck out of the lot and onto the cracked two-lane road that led back to Elk Haven Stables.

  “I’m riding bitch in your Ford, how much of a man could I possibly feel like?”

  “Would you like me to throw you a raw steak when we get back to your place?”

  “No. Tuck me in and read me a bedtime story.”

  “Aw, poor baby.” She leaned over and put her hand on his thigh. Second time that night. Weird, but he seemed to be keeping a ticker on “number of times her fingers come into contact with him” that evening.

  “She’s married and off on her honeymoon,” he said, resting his elbow out the truck window.

  “Yeah. What do you think they’re doing right now?”

  He whipped his head around to face her. “Playing Scrabble.”

  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  He had no frickin’ idea what the kids were calling it these days. He hadn’t had it for four years. Four. Years. He half expected the League of Men to come and confiscate his dick after so much time off.

  He grimaced. His thoughts had taken an unsanctioned turn. He didn’t like to think about his celibacy. His sister on her honeymoon was honestly preferable.

  “Word games. In flannel pajamas,” he growled.

  “Fine, Cade, whatever works for you.” She cleared her throat. “I bet Quinn got a triple word score.”

  “No!” he said. “I punched a guy for you; don’t torment me.”

  “You deserve it. You’ve given her enough hell.”

  “I have not,” he said. “I’ve been a steadying and wonderful influence. Godlike, in many ways.”

  “In what ways?”

  “I have to think of examples.”

  “No, I believe you.”

  “She turned out in spite of me,” he said, letting out a heavy breath. “I’m well aware of that. Kind of amazing that Cole and I were able to turn her into a functional human being. Or maybe she just did… anyway.”

  “Either way, you should be proud.”

  “Damn. I am an empty-nester.”

  “As you pointed out, you still have Cole.”

  “Oh, yes.” Never mind that living in his older brother’s domain was suffocating as hell. Cole was a great guy, but when it came to the ranch, which they all owned equal stake in, he could be a control freak.

  And Cade was usually happy to be in the backseat on decisions, because he liked to be a silent investor, so to speak. He’d put money into the ranch from his wins on the circuit, reaped profit in return, had a place to crash at when he was home, and mainly got to live on the road.

  But now he was home. All the time. And having a brother who thought of himself as his boss didn’t really do a lot to help with their sibling rivalry.

  Cade had been fine for a while, playing the dumbass and in general drifting along with whatever Cole said.

  But now that this was starting to look like it was going to be his life… like he was never getting back in the saddle in a serious way… well, now he was starting to realize he was going to have to make a new success for himself.

  Otherwise his glory days would be perpetually behind him. And never in front of him. Ever again.

  What a nice thought that was.

  “I only drank half a beer and I’m starting to get philosophical and shit,” he said.

  “Uh-oh, better get you home then. I wouldn’t want to embarrass either of us by being present for this.”

  “You really are a good friend,” he said.

  She looked at him and smiled. “The best.”

  “Pretty much the only one I have.”

  “Because you’re surly.”

  “Am I?” he asked.

  “You just a punched a guy in the face for offending you, so yeah, I’d say so.”

  “I think it was noble of me,” he said.

  “Noble and godlike in one conversation. If this is your version of being a sad drunk then I’d hate to be exposed to your ego when you’re feeling sober and upbeat.”

  “You’ll be around me in that state tomorrow. Because now I owe you a game of pool.”

  “I don’t know. I think I owe you for defending my honor. I didn’t need it defended, but nonetheless, I appreciate you risking bruised knuckles for me.”

  “Anything for you,” he said. “You know that.”

  “Oooh, dangerous promise, Cade Mitchell. You never know what I might ask of you.”

  “I’ve known you for sixteen years and you haven’t shocked me yet.”

  “That smacks of a challenge,” she said, giving him an impish smile. “You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

  Maisey Yates is a USA Today bestselling author who divides her time between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light, sexy contemporary romances set practically in her backyard. She has written many romances for Harlequin, including The Couple Who Fooled the World, as well as the Silver Creek Romances (Unbuttoned, Unexpected and Untouched) for InterMix. She lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon.