by Alison Kent
Arwen wasn’t having it. “It’s not nothing if you’re out here in one of the Lasko’s trucks, sleeping on a kitchen table in a very nice suit that, if you don’t mind me saying, has seen better days.”
Smiling absently, Darcy smoothed her skirt down her thighs. “I ran into Josh while walking in town. I was going to have him take me back to the office for my car, but he convinced me there was no need to risk seeing The Campbell. That I should just use his truck.”
The Campbell? Oh, yes, of course. Wallace Campbell, Esquire. Never mind that Darcy had been walking in town to avoid him. “Is this about your dad and his dad and the lease that never was? Y’all butt heads or something?”
A deep vee appeared between Darcy’s eyes. “Seems everyone in town’s heard about it by now.”
Arwen nodded. “I pour shots for a lot of locals who can’t stop talking once they’re drunk. I knew weeks before she died that Tess planned to lease the place to Henry.”
“Then you probably know about the incident in the Blackbird Diner the other morning.”
Nope. That was a new one. “Gossip mill must be running slow, though Dax did tell me he met you there.”
“You saw Dax? When?”
“He was at the feed store when I dropped off a lunch order last week. And he was in the saloon a couple of nights ago.” She didn’t mention that he’d also been in her tub, in her bed. In her. A flush swept through her body, and her voice caught when she asked, “Why?”
“Just a little surprised. He seems to be sticking close to the ranch. He was back almost a week before I found out. I actually heard it at your place from Luck.”
Oh, right. The sneaking around. The hat pulled low. The drinking in the dark corner of the bar, ignoring the dinner crowd and the dancing Kittens. Ignoring everyone but her. Then sleeping in her guest room. Waking her up with the prodding tip of his cock before leaving.
She reached for her sunglasses, toyed with the earpieces. “You know how it is when a new guy hits town. Female antennae start twitching.”
Darcy gave a soft huff. “With my workload? My antennae don’t pick up much chatter. See above re hearing about Dax from Luck. I don’t even remember any buzz when Greg arrived. No one calling for details or fix ups or anything.”
“I imagine the interest in the Dalton Gang boys is more about who they were in the past. The girls have definitely been speculating about the new and improved versions.” Arwen wondered… “You know that leaves Greg wide open.”
Darcy didn’t even hesitate. “That’s not going to happen.”
“You’re not interested? Really? He’s amazingly hot, you know.”
“Guess you have to work with him to see beyond the GQ pinup material. Not that there’s anything wrong with his being a pinup. He’s just not my type.”
Arwen thought about Josh Lasko’s truck parked outside. “Are you more into… Wranglers?”
A slow-to-come smile softened the stress lines on Darcy’s face. “Josh is a good friend. That’s all.”
“Are you sure?” Arwen asked, because she didn’t believe it for a second.
Darcy canted her head to the side and gave Arwen a steady look, one brow arched pointedly. “Didn’t you say something about food?”
“Oh, crap.” Arwen hopped up, dug her keys from her pocket. “I forgot. I brought the boys some barbecue and fixings. Kinda felt sorry for them after hearing how hard they’re having it.”
“Faith’s budget is not making it easy on them, that’s for sure. It’s gotta be pretty tough finding out the place you’ve inherited is going to be more work than it’s worth.”
Arwen settled her sunglasses in place. “Hearing that, I can understand why Tess was going to lease it out. At least the boys can provide most of their own labor.”
“I wonder how long they’ll stay,” Darcy said, echoing Arwen’s earlier musings as she got to her feet. “C’mon. I’ll help you with the food. Might as well bring it in here.”
The screen door opened just then, and she and Darcy both looked up.
The man who stood in silhouette wasn’t Dax, that much Arwen knew, and her disappointment was unaccountably heavy.
He wasn’t as lean and rangy as Dax, but neither was he as big as she remembered Boone Mitchell being in high school. This one’s shoulders were wide, his arms and especially his thighs powerfully muscled. A rodeo cowboy, not one who’d spent the last sixteen years working ranches, and returned to Crow Hill to do the same.
Casper Jayne.
He took off his hat, scraped his hand over the buzz cut of his dark blond hair. “Darcy.”
“Hey, Casper.” Darcy was the first to move, wrapping her arms around his neck and rising up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, smiling. “It’s like Christmas came early this year, all of y’all gone so long and all back at the same time.”
“Takin’ some getting used to on our end, too.”
She pulled back, ran her hands down his shoulders, straightening his shirt, mothering. Or sistering, Arwen supposed, watching Darcy tend to the man who was twice her size. “You’re looking good. Or at least a lot better than Dax.”
“Having seen more of your brother than I care to, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” He lifted his gaze from Darcy’s, glanced over her head at Arwen. “I’m guessing from the Hellcat Saloon truck outside that you’re Arwen Poole.”
Yeah, because he wouldn’t have remembered her otherwise. She came forward, offered her hand. “I am. We may have passed in the hallway at school a time or two.”
He nodded, resettled his hat after letting her go. “Did I hear you say something about food?”
“In the truck.” She started toward the door where he was still standing. “You’re welcome to help.”
He took a step out onto the back porch, held open the screen door, followed her and Darcy down the steps to the truck. The wood creaked ominously beneath the fall of six hurried feet, and dust from what once was the yard rose in clouds to coat their legs.
The state of things got Arwen to wondering if the house had been left alone because the guys couldn’t afford the needed repairs, or if there was a deeper sense of respect for Tess and Dave that had them bunking elsewhere—a thought she filed away as they reached the truck.
She handed off the larger, messier pans of beans and barbecue to Casper, loaded Darcy up with potato salad and loaves of Texas toast, and brought up the rear with the hot peach cobbler and wheeled five-gallon cooler of iced tea.
Weighted down with the small feast, the three returned to the kitchen where Arwen arranged the food on the table. Then she grimaced. “I meant to bring disposable plates and utensils. Are there enough dishes here to use?”
“I have no idea,” Darcy said, turning to Casper and waiting.
His gaze moved between the two of them before settling on the steaming aluminum pans. “I guess Dax didn’t tell you we’re staying out in the bunkhouse.”
Good grief. Men. “Do we need to load back up and take this over there?”
But Casper was shaking his head. “There’s no table. Only a couple of chairs. We do a lot of standing up. Or eating on the porch.”
And on the porch would mean in the heat. Sounded like things were worse than she’d thought. “Well, we can take things over there, or I can let down the tailgate and we can use the bed of my truck. Or we can stay here. Your call.”
Blowing out a heavy sigh, he pulled off his hat again, tossed it to a counter, then scrubbed both hands down his weary face. “No. It’s dumb not to use the house. It’s our place, though hard to think of it that way. Or look at this kitchen and not expect to see Tess whipping a wooden spoon almost as fast as any beater I’ve ever seen.”
Arwen stared at the sweat gathering on top of the cobbler pan. She’d only known the Daltons as the couple who’d employed the boys. But Casper’s poignant memory… Her chest tightened with the realization of what Dax and the others were going through, coming back here when everything they’d known and loved was gone
.
“I’ll find the dishes,” Darcy finally said. “Since they’ve been sitting awhile they may need to be rinsed.”
Yes. Something productive. “I’ll help. Casper, maybe you call the others? Tell them chow’s on?”
“I can do that.” He backed out the door, hat in hand.
Arwen looked over at Darcy as she counted out forks, knives, and spoons. “I’m not sure I ever knew how close the boys were to Tess and Dave.”
Darcy nodded. “I think during his senior year, Dax spent more time over here than he did at home. And honestly I can’t blame him. Those last few months before graduation were not happy times.”
Arwen remembered. None of what went on at the mansion on the hill was happy. She wouldn’t have known details, but she did recall returning to school in January after that last Christmas vacation as a senior. The rumblings had darkened the hallways even before the ringing of the first period bell.
Did you hear about Dax Campbell? He’s not going to law school. Told his family at Christmas dinner. His father nearly shit a brick. First Campbell male in five generations not to join the family firm. He wants to cowboy. Man, he’s cracked.
Puzzle pieces shifted and clicked, and Arwen’s tummy tumbled. What a complicated man she’d taken into her bed. What a strong man, standing up to all those expectations, knowing himself and what he’d wanted at an age when it was all she could do to get herself to school for fear her father would forget about her and vanish while she was gone.
She cleared her throat, started loosening the crimped edges of the tops to the pans. “It can’t be healthy for them to keep this place as a shrine, or whatever it is they’re doing.”
“Agreed,” Darcy said, closing one drawer, opening another. “I’m going to see if they’ll let me pack stuff, do some cleaning. At least get rid of the Daltons’ personal things.”
“You have time for that with the hours you work?” Arwen asked, knowing Darcy was right. It needed to be done. “You probably put in more time than I do.”
The younger woman shrugged, laying the handful of flatware on the table, going back for plates. “My client list is pretty small. Not much going on at the moment.”
That totally contradicted what Darcy had just said about her workload, but before Arwen could dig for more, footsteps pounded against the back stairs and porch, the screen door whipped open, and Dax burst into the kitchen as if expecting a fire.
Finding company instead, he looked from one woman to the other, his gaze going from fierce to fiercely protective. “Darcy? Arwen? What the hell’s going on?”
“Nice to see you, too,” Arwen said, ignoring the prickling sensation at her nape, the tight pull of her breasts and her belly, waving an arm to indicate the spread laid out on the table. “I brought supper.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He pushed his hat up on his forehead, settled his hands at his hips. “Casper said you were waiting in the kitchen. He didn’t say it was about food.”
Casper walked through the door then, catching the backhanded swing of Dax’s arm to his midsection with a loud, “Oomph.” Boone Mitchell followed on his heels, forcing his way past.
“Don’t do that again,” Dax said to Casper.
“Don’t do what? Let you know you’ve got women waiting for you? Since when?”
Then Casper bullied his way by and headed for the table, leaving Dax looking at Arwen, and Arwen wondering what had gone through his mind to put that look of panic in his eyes.
Wondering, too, why the look of relief that followed felt like a shot to the heart.
TWELVE
NINETY MINUTES LATER and hating to go, Arwen scooted her chair away from the table and stood. She wasn’t looking forward to wedging her full-as-a-tick stomach behind the wheel of her truck, but she needed to get back to the saloon for closing. Besides, she doubted any of her supper companions would miss her. Or even notice that she was gone.
Except for Dax. He’d had his eye on her all night.
Sure, he’d exchanged barbs with the boys, argued about grazing and hauling water and all the money they didn’t have. And after making sure his sister was okay, he’d teased Darcy about looking like hell and what exactly might be behind her driving Josh Lasko’s truck.
But even while gnawing on the ribs, his gaze had held Arwen’s, lingering and potent and fiery enough that she couldn’t blame the flush of heat raising her blood pressure on the jalapeños. And, oh boy, had body parts heated under his entirely inappropriate scrutiny.
The attention of the others, however…
Having shed her suit jacket, shoes, and pantyhose, Darcy stood at the sink washing dishes, muttering to herself in some sort of rejuvenated sense of purpose that Arwen was happy to see. Even lacking experience with a traditional family unit, she could empathize with Darcy’s frustration at having her father dismiss her input, her feelings. Her.
Casper and Boone had the look of men in food comas, eyes closed, boots propped on empty chairs, hands laced on top of bellies filled to bursting. Arwen thought Casper might even be snoring, while Boone chewed on a piece of hay in lieu of a toothpick. No idea where he’d found it because he hadn’t moved since sitting down.
The pans of food, though not emptied, had been nicely dented, and that had her smiling. She hadn’t done the cooking, but she’d provided a much needed and appreciated meal, and there were enough leftovers to feed the boys a second time.
She would’ve provided more if she’d had any clue about the ranch’s capacity for food storage. Then again, she did need to watch the bottom line, because as often as she was accused of running a charity by the girls she hired, she really wasn’t. She just found it hard to say no to someone in need.
“C’mon.” Dax broke into her reverie, hands on his thighs as he pushed to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.” Boone, Casper, and Darcy all chimed in with their waved good-byes and thank-yous.
“Bye, y’all,” she said to the others, then to Dax, “You don’t have to do that,” though she did stop halfway to the door to wait for him, to watch the roll of his hips as his long legs covered the distance, to remember what he felt like inside her and to die a little bit with wanting him. “I think I can find where I parked.”
“Funny girl,” he said with a wink, his hand on the small of her back guiding her onto the porch and down the stairs and across the hard-packed yard.
She let him. Let him lead her, let him touch her, let him take charge of getting her to where she needed to be. Silly, when it was a short walk and she had plenty of steam. But something about this particular Dax Campbell made her want to lean—a something intensified by his near panic ninety minutes ago upon arriving in the kitchen to find her.
And that just wouldn’t do. Leaning was only a few short steps from depending, and losing oneself wasn’t far behind. She knew that. Had watched those emotions destroy her father. Even so, when they reached her truck and Dax held out his hand and said, “Keys,” she handed them to him like a mindless Stepford wife.
He opened her door, but before she could do more than put a foot on the running board, he grabbed her arm and turned her to him, stepping into the vee of open space, blocking her, crowding her, moving in to breathe deeply of her hair.
“Mmm,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “You always smell so good.”
Suppressing a shiver, she brought up her hands between them, thinking to nudge him away and find her control, but flexing her fingers into the muscles of his chest instead. “Right now I smell like barbecue.”
“And oranges. Or lemons. Something fruity and cool.”
Her bath beads. “And I’ll bet when you got out of my tub, you smelled the same way.”
He chuckled, the thrum of the sound like the stroke of his tongue against her skin. “That’s what Darcy meant when she said I smelled like oranges.”
Now that was funny. “Did you tell her why?”
“I didn’t know why.” He stepped back, looked down at her, his gaze flaring.
She
cast a glance toward the house, her heart racing, her blood rushing like lava beneath the surface of her skin. She couldn’t afford the things he was making her feel. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. “I imagine she’s figured it out by now.”
He fingered a thick, silky lock of her hair, watched it spread over his fingers, frowning as it caught on a nick of callused skin. “That was a nice thing to do. Bringing the food.”
She shrugged. She had to regain her footing before falling further. “Just making sure you keep up your energy.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, but she could tell he was elsewhere.
She decided to bring him back, to remind herself, too, of where they stood. “Because of you being my whore.”
“Oh, right.” He still wasn’t looking at her, was still lost in her hair.
Lord, what had she gotten herself into? “You say, ‘Oh, right,’ like it’s no big deal.”
He moved in again, nuzzled his nose to her neck, nudged up into her hairline, nipped at her earlobe, and blew over the dampness he’d left till she groaned. “Is it? A big deal?”
It was going to be if she didn’t push him away because, oh, he melted her. She was weak in his presence, spineless when he was near, and she arched her neck, her sex damp and tingling, and because of all that, her voice was harsh when she found it. “Of course it’s a big deal. What kind of question is that?”
He stopped, straightened, gave her the space she wanted, she didn’t want, she wanted. “I don’t know, Arwen. I thought we were playing here.”
She held his gaze, a shift of emotions knocking at her center, and asked, “Here? As in here and now, this moment? Or here, as in you and I hooking up?”
He huffed, shook his head, looked down at the ground then looked back, his eyes darker now, the glint of flirtation pinched out. “Is this like the movie where Julia Roberts didn’t want to kiss Richard Gere? You and I can do the nasty, but I can’t tease you about it?”
“You’ve seen Pretty Woman?”
“Show me a guy who hasn’t, and I’ll show you a guy who never figured out how to use a movie to get in a girl’s pants.”
