“A desk job?”
“Drove him nuts not being in the field. But he knew we needed one parent home. And Mom was gone.”
“Caleb is your younger brother, right?”
She took a bite of her sandwich. “By one year. He enlisted as soon as he graduated. Loves the army. The army and water, Caleb’s two passions.”
“Water?”
“He’s a swimmer. Would have gone into the navy if he hadn’t been afraid Dad would disown him.” Charlee handed Ian a bottle of water. “So, were you and Jeremiah close?”
“No. Not really.” Ian dropped his gaze and took a long drink.
“Did you know him when he was in Afghanistan?”
“Yeah.” He needed to move this conversation in a new direction. Fact was, it wasn’t Jeremiah who’d told him about the job. When he’d reached town he’d filled his tank at the gas station and inquired about the artists’ retreat. The guy behind the counter asked if he was there for the handyman job.
When Charlee opened her mouth to speak, Ian swallowed and angled to look at the waterfall. “It’s really cool here. Love the falls.”
“Yes. We’re on Caleb’s property right now. It’s a bit more rugged than mine, but Caleb is a total outdoorsy guy. It suits him.” She studied Ian for a few moments. “You know, you haven’t done the study for King Edward yet. Has he mentioned it?”
“No. And I hope he doesn’t. I can’t imagine stripping my clothes so he can stare at me naked.”
“It’s art, Ian. Not porn.”
He shuddered. “It’s my body, Charlee, and I don’t particularly like the idea of it being exploited on a canvas for all the world to see.”
She bit back a grin, causing the dimple in her cheek to deepen. “Why? Hiding something?”
“Go on, make a joke of it, but if it were you having to pose nude, I think you’d feel differently.”
“Well, if it helps, I could see if Edward will let me do the study rather than him. Would that be better?” She blinked wide, innocent eyes at him.
“Yes.”
She wadded the empty bag of chips and threw it at him. “I knew it. You’re just a chauvinistic jerk. It’s okay for a young woman to stare at you naked, but not for an older man.”
He blinked once, twice, and again. “At the risk of sounding old-fashioned, yes.” A smile spread across his face. “Whenever you want to stare at me naked just let me know.”
She stood and stormed off toward the creek. “Idiot. Stupid army jerk.” But there was a hint of teasing in her tone and a definite sway to her hips.
He followed her with enough stealth she didn’t know he was there until he spoke. “You’re a control freak and I’m a jerk. Seems like we’re pretty evenly matched.”
She turned around to find him close. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. His brows rose. She rolled her eyes. When they landed on his, they softened. “Ian, was it you who wrote that letter?”
He wanted to tell her yes even though it would be a lie, to tell her he was capable of a ridiculously beautiful thing like that, but he wasn’t. Ian didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. “No.”
She tilted her head. “Would you tell me if it was?”
“No.” He wouldn’t tell anyone because he simply was inept at letting people know how he really felt. It was in him, in his head, in his heart, but the words got all tangled up.
“Here.” She slipped something into his hand.
He glanced down to find the Jeep keys.
“You can drive.”
“I’d love to.” Before she could comment back, he gathered the blanket and cooler and headed toward the Jeep.
Charlee hustled the artists into the Jeep and Ian followed on his Harley. They were headed to the Neon Moon. It had been a long week and they all deserved a night on the town, though Charlee had some reservations about Ian going along.
Her fence was halfway done thanks to Ian’s constant attention. He’d been sweet and friendly for the last several days since their little talk about deep wounds versus superficial ones, but that smoldering look in his eyes had all but gone. She appreciated that. And missed it. The day mudding had been fun and everything between them seemed to be at a nice, smooth, safe pace.
The Neon Moon was a bar and grill with peanut shells littering the concrete floor and farm equipment attached to the scarred wooden walls. It had been a barn in its former life but served the best burgers and homemade potato chips on the planet. And it was the only good restaurant within a five-mile radius of the retreat, making it not only tasty but convenient. When she was young, her older brother Gabriel would bring his guitar and sing on stage on open mike night. Gabriel had an incredible voice, and there was a time Charlee was certain he’d follow his dream to Nashville. But after her oldest brother had a short-lived and unfortunate brush with fame, Gabriel stopped talking about his dream of singing onstage. The guitar was put away in the top of the closet and the dream died.
Mr. Gruber was sandwiched between the sisters in the backseat of the Jeep and though he scowled for the ten-minute drive, Charlee had the distinct impression he really didn’t mind being trapped between the ladies. King Edward occupied the passenger seat, hairy knees spread and his kilt flittering in the night breeze. He wore a brightly colored African hat on his head. One he swore had been given to him by a shaman when he’d visited their beautiful country for a photography safari. King Edward’s stories were colossal and Charlee barely knew where fiction began and fact ended. Especially since she’d found the hat in the laundry once and noted the tag inside, Made in India.
In the rearview mirror she watched Ian. He leaned into the corners and she wasn’t sure why watching him made her heart beat faster. She hadn’t wanted to invite him along because, well, because this was an away from the retreat event and that made it feel too social. But it would have been rude to leave him there. Charlee chewed the inside of her cheek and whipped into the gravel parking lot.
The place was alive and thumping with country music and laughter. Charlee ran her hands through her hair to smooth the strands—which never really worked, but she figured she’d get points for trying. When she turned to see Ian doing the same thing, she chuckled. His cheeks were flushed and his face smiling. “Good to be out?” She hopped out of the Jeep and slammed the door.
He laughed as she stepped over to his bike. “I like riding at night. You have to be careful though.”
“Traffic?”
“No. Bugs. Windshield helps. But I learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut.”
He was in his customary jeans and had just placed his helmet on the seat when King Edward came over. “I’ve unfortunately never been good at that.”
They both turned to face him.
“Keeping my mouth shut.”
Ian slapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to tell us that, Edward. We already know.” The three entered the restaurant behind Wilma, Wynona, and Mr. Gruber.
This was Ian’s kind of place and it felt great to be out in the real world. He was from Oklahoma—one state over—and his home state boasted hundreds if not thousands of restaurants like this one. Greasy spoons and dive bars where you could get a great burger or catfish dinner, where you could tell your secrets to a wizened old bartender and be called Sugar by a gum-smacking waitress. He felt right at home here. It was a lot like home, in fact. Except it didn’t have all his past mistakes to taint the present. Inside, the space glowed with canned light, and the general radiance of happy people chatting about their week.
Ian glanced over to find Charlee bobbing to the song. Her shoulders bumped, hips swaying ever so lightly. Oh God. His mouth went dry. He was pretty sure she didn’t even know she was doing it—which made it that much sexier. “I need a drink,” he said over the noise.
She turned to face him, face alight. “What?”
Her
light eyes sparkled; her cheeks were rosy with the flush of fun and anticipating a great night out, and, with little desire to control himself, Ian wanted to reach out, grab her and drag her onto the dance floor. He wouldn’t, of course. They’d end up a tangled mess lying on the floor. Which actually didn’t sound bad either.
Charlee leaned closer and cupped a hand around her ear. “Did you say something?”
He leaned in and was blasted by her scent of vanilla and life with the faintest hint of mineral spirits. It was an intoxicating mix. “I’m going to the bar to order us some drinks. What does everyone like?”
Her face clouded and she shot a glance at the group of artists behind her. They were just settling at a round table in the far corner. She took hold of Ian’s arm and pulled herself closer.
Ian froze as her free hand cupped his shoulder and she stood on her tiptoes. A moment later, her lips were at his ear and hot lava was trickling down his neckline. It was just her breath, he realized, but it was fire.
“I forgot to tell you, we don’t drink.” She shot another look to the far table. And Ian took the opportunity to give her a confused frown. When she turned back to him and pressed even closer, her lips brushed his ear. Oh yeah.
“It’s for Mr. Gruber. We all took a vow. He’s an alcoholic, sober for the last eight years. It’s our way of supporting him.”
She leaned back just enough to look Ian in the eye. Lord, he didn’t care if they were there to drink gasoline, he just wanted to keep her talking. When his blank expression gave nothing away, she leaned in again. “Of course, you don’t have to not drink. I mean, it’s fine. I’m sure it won’t bother him. Just a decision the rest of us made.”
Again she tilted out and chewed her lip while Ian tried to keep the nonchalant frown of interest on his face. All he really thought was, Keep breathing in my ear and on my neck.
Charlee kneaded her bottom lip. When Ian realized she was going to go move away, he asked, “So what does everyone like?”
“I’ll have an iced tea, same for Mr. Gruber. King Edward usually orders a Shirley Temple. And the sisters like root beer.”
When she turned to go to the table, he reached out and grabbed her. She turned and came easily back to him where her body pressed against his. Now it was his turn. Rather than yell over the din of noise, Ian used his hand to lift the hair off her shoulder and move it behind her. Ah, there was that long, gorgeous neck. Slowly, he leaned in and though Charlee had been moving to the music, she stopped. Even her breath seemed to catch in her throat. In a fast swoop, Ian tilted down until it was his lips against her ear. He drew in a breath before speaking and was pretty sure he felt it quiver over her skin. “Save me a seat beside you.” His upper and lower lips teased the delicate skin on her ear and if he wasn’t mistaken, a little bit of Charlee melted. He couldn’t help the satisfied grin on his face when he tilted away and she looked deer in the headlights glazed. His eyes made a quick trail down over the white T-shirt and jeans she wore. When she didn’t move, he took her by the shoulders and angled her toward the table of waiting artists. A little press on her lower back had her walking to them. But really, Ian only did that so he could watch. Back pencil straight, she dropped into the seat and had them scoot over so Ian could sit beside her.
Ian ordered drinks at the bar, waited for the tray of beverages, then turned to go back to the group. When he caught sight of what was going on, the hair stood on the back of his neck. Two guys hovered over the table of artists and from wide-eyed, nervous looks on the artists’ faces, they weren’t welcome guests.
Ian bullied his way between the two men and sat the tray of drinks in the center of the table, quickly changing the atmosphere and joking about how hungry he was. He slid in beside Charlee and gave her a long, slow look, perfect easy smile in place—to let the guys behind him know they were no threat. When he finally turned to face them, they’d puffed their chests a bit more, elbows angled out and standing a little taller.
“Who’s your friend, Charlee?” the one on the left said. He was dressed in camo with a tight ball cap shoved down over his forehead. Light brown hair curled over the hat rim and he wore a short-bladed pocketknife in a sheath on his belt. Ian knew how to handle a guy with a knife. He continued sizing up the enemy in case this conversation went south.
Ian stood, easily, held out a hand. “Ian Carlisle. I’m working for Charlee.”
Knife guy didn’t shake his hand, but Ian hadn’t figured he would. The one on the right grunted. “If you need male attention, Charlee, you can hire me for free.”
Fire shot from Ian’s ears into his gut. He could feel the fury building, but it was King Edward who spoke up.
“You wouldn’t be hiring someone if it was free, moron.”
The guy on the right leaned over the table into Edward’s face. “What did you say?”
Edward leaned forward to put himself nose to nose with the man. “I said—”
Wilma’s hand clamped over Edward’s mouth. “If you don’t mind, we’re tired. We just want to eat a burger and have a nice evening.”
Ian stood toe to toe with Curly. The guy’s hand stayed close to the knife on his hip, an intimidation tactic that might work on civilians, but didn’t on him.
Charlee spoke up and Ian cast her a quick look. She wasn’t afraid, wasn’t nervous. Just . . . looked frustrated.
“Excuse me.” She pushed past Ian and Curly. “Dean, you’ve had a lot to drink. Why don’t you go home to your wife?”
Dean pointed to Edward. “I want an apology from Sissy Britches over there. Anna said he flashed her. On purpose.”
Wilma’s hand had fallen away from Edward’s mouth until he spoke up. “Afraid you can’t measure up?”
Wilma sucked in a breath and this time slapped her hand hard enough it made a loud clap.
Charlee reached out and placed a hand on Dean’s arm. A gesture Ian found not only revolting but irritating. “Dean,” she oozed. “Please. Edward has a big mouth and admittedly doesn’t know when to keep it shut.” She threw Edward a harsh look.
His eyes grew wide with his shrug.
“I’m tired,” she purred. “I’ve had a hard week and I don’t want to have to babysit one of my artists in the hospital.”
Ian had lost interest in Curly; his eyes fitted tightly on Charlee and how she melted the room by soothing this guy. “Please. Can we let this one go? I promise to do my level best to keep King Edward on a short leash.” And then, she batted her eyes and it wouldn’t have taken much more than a feather to knock Ian right off his feet.
Dean swallowed, cleared his throat. “Okay, Charlee. For you.”
Was there a dude in town that didn’t have a crush on her?
“Thank you.” She stood on her toes and dropped a peck on Dean’s cheek.
All the air left Ian’s lungs. Dean and Curly walked away.
Conversation picked up at the table, but Ian didn’t care. He couldn’t seem to drag his thoughts from watching Charlee stand, pucker up, and land her lips on that jerk’s cheek. It was a moment before he heard someone say his name.
“Looks like someone’s been struck by the green monster.” Mr. Gruber had finished his iced tea and was using the straw to clink the ice around in the tall plastic cup.
“Shh,” Wilma warned.
Gruber just smiled his crooked grin.
The rest of the evening passed with the weight of the earlier interaction looming over them, though no one seemed that bothered by it except Ian.
When they left and the cool night breeze hit them just outside the door of the Neon Moon, Ian decided he was too keyed up to go home and try to go to sleep. “I’m going for a ride,” he barked as Charlee dug the Jeep keys from her jeans pocket.
“You’re not going back with us?”
“No.”
She angled to face him. “What’s your problem, Carlisle?”
He took a dangerous step toward her. “What’s my problem? How about the fact that two idiot rednecks insulted your friends and you reward one of them by kissing him.”
Charlee brushed a hand through the air. “Is that what you think?”
His hand fisted at his side as the image played over in his mind. “I watched it, Charlee.”
“Mind your own business, Ian.”
When she spun from him to storm off, he grabbed her. “You kissed him.”
She jerked from his grasp and Ian was quickly reminded this was a woman who’d grown up with four brothers and didn’t get intimidated easily. “And you’re the one who’s being a jerk right now.” She shot a hand behind her. “I’ve known Dean my whole life. Since kindergarten, okay? He’s not the outsider here, you are. So stop trying to rescue me because you’ll only make things worse.”
His hand dropped to his side. Honestly, he didn’t know how to take that. She started to walk away, got three steps and turned to light into him again. “And for your information, King Edward did flash his wife! He flashes all the ladies in town whenever he gets the chance. Most of them just know to glance the other way when Edward leans over to pick something up. Dean was trying to defend his wife.”
Ian opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “I’m sorry, Charlee.”
She held up a hand. “You know what? Save it. I knew bringing you tonight was a mistake.” And then she walked away, pausing for only a moment before climbing into the tall Jeep. He watched her shoulders rise and fall, then she cast a glance behind her to him and he must have looked like a pitiful excuse because when she blinked, there was regret in her eyes. Charlee tilted her chin and got into the Jeep. He watched as she peeled out of the gravel drive and headed in the direction of the retreat.
For several minutes, Ian sat on the curb by his bike. He wasn’t in the mood for a ride anymore and he wasn’t ready to go home. Screwup. The word rolled over and over in his mind. Maybe the only time he wasn’t a screwup was when he was in the military. Maybe he didn’t have what it took to make it on the outside. Maybe he just didn’t belong anywhere.
Along the Broken Road (The Roads to River Rock Book 1) Page 9
