by Penny Reid
I blinked.
Well, hell.
She was good at this.
Really good at this.
Like recognizes like, and what I had on my hands here was a professional charmer. This revelation was as shocking as finding moonshine in Reverend Seymour’s Sunday punchbowl, because her earlier appearance of honesty and awkwardness had been downright disarming. Whereas now she had me wondering if it had been an act.
Impossibly long eyelashes lowered to half mast. An alluring smirk that hinted at devilish dimples played over her lips. Her eyes had changed from a rich mahogany to a dark Peruvian walnut . . . Excuse the clumsy comparison, but I’m a man who knows and loves my wood.
I waited to see what she’d do next, enjoying the building and thickening tension, impressed with her game. Yeah, this girl had game in spades.
At length, her smile grew and she sighed. It sounded whimsical. “This is fun.”
“What’s that?”
“Flirting with a national park ranger.”
My eyes widened because I was both surprised and delighted by her candor. Perhaps the honesty hadn’t been an act after all.
Hell . . . I liked this girl.
“Is that what we’re doing, Miss Sarah?” I was sure to say her name in a low rumble, making it sound like a dirty word.
She gave me a teasingly reproachful look and unfastened her seatbelt. “Come now, Ranger. None of that. We’re all adults here. Plus, I can’t sit in this car all day with a full bladder, otherwise I’m going to pee on your upholstery. And just think of the headlines.”
She gripped the handle and was moving to disembark. Remembering myself, I quickly popped open my door and jumped out, jogging around to her side just as she’d pushed her door open. I held it and reached a hand out to help her out.
Her attention darted between my offered hand and my face with a quizzical look. Shooting me a suspicious stare, she accepted help down from the cab.
Now, something odd happened just then. Odd because she’d grabbed my arm back on the mountain road and I’d felt nothing in particular. Perhaps it was merely a residual after-effect of our recent flirting, or perhaps it was the dry mountain air—or perhaps it was the five years flying solo—but an unexpected shock of warmth traveled up my arm as her palm slid against mine. Her expression didn’t change. Whereas for me, the earth tilted, time slowed, and I was momentarily caught.
When I didn’t release her straight away, she gazed up at me with round eyes. “What? What is it?”
I held her stare and her fingers for another beat, searching. She seemed oblivious, so I dropped her hand.
“Uh, nothing.” I couldn’t quite swallow. “Look for a key under the rug. Let me grab your bags.” My words coming out gruff, I stepped around her and moved to the bed of the truck.
Combating the lingering and uncomfortable sense that something significant just happened, I shook my head to clear it and lifted her luggage from the truck. Just as I had all the bags lowered to the ground, my phone buzzed in my back pocket.
I glanced at the screen before accepting the call and raising it to my ear. “Hello, Cletus.”
“Jethro,” came his typical greeting. Cletus was number three in the family, by far the smartest, and the oddest. “You need to head over to Jeanie’s right now.”
“I do?” I glanced at the phone again, making note of the time and returning it to my ear; it was just past four, too early for beer and line dancing at Jeanie’s place. “Why’s that?”
“Claire needs rescuing.”
My head cleared at the mention of Claire and habit had me mapping out the quickest route to Jeanie’s. Claire McClure was my former best friend’s widow. For the last five years her welfare had been my primary focus, the reason for every good decision I’d made.
“Claire never needs rescuing,” I responded.
And she didn’t. As much as I’d felt it my place to see to her well-being since Ben McClure’s death in Afghanistan, she saw things differently. Recently—and more and more—I got the sense she was merely putting up with my meddling. I did my best to look after her, stop by her house to see if anything required attention, but that woman was tough as nails and as capable as a honey badger. More often than not, she’d give me a beer, let me hang a picture or fiddle with her gutters, then send me on my way.
“Well, she needs rescuing now.”
I sighed, peering through Hank Weller’s open door where the charming and mysterious Sarah had disappeared. “What’s going on?”
“Come to Jeanie’s,” Cletus whispered ominously, then promptly hung up.
I glanced at the screen of my phone and cursed quietly. I knew Cletus wouldn’t answer if I tried to call back. His custom of undersharing and treating everything as top secret was usually funny. But sometimes it was just plain irritating.
Slipping my cell into the back pocket of my uniform pants, I grabbed Sarah’s bags and carried them over the gravel and stone pavers of the driveway. I mounted the steps and rolled the largest bag into the spacious entryway.
“This is a huge foyer.” She spun in a slow circle, taking in the high ceilings.
She’d said the word using its French pronunciation, foy-ay. Cletus said it that way. The rest of us said foy-er, like it’s spelled, because we lived in the United States and weren’t pretentious nut jobs. Not that I thought Sarah was a pretentious nut job or made such a judgment about all people based on their pronunciation of that single word.
Just Cletus. He said foy-ay and was most definitely a pretentious nut job.
Sarah was from a big city so odd quirks could be overlooked and forgiven. I got the sense I’d be happy to overlook and forgive quite a bit of her quirks, should the situation present itself.
“Where would you like your bags, ma’am?”
Her attention settled on me, giving me a warm feeling in my chest, confused amusement playing over her features. “I’m back to being a ma’am? What happened to miss?”
Needing to do something with my hands, I hooked my thumbs on my tool belt and grinned down at her. “I’ll call you whatever you’d like, Miss Sarah. But I’ll need a phone number first.”
What are you doing? Yeah, I wanted her number. I probably wouldn’t call—because I shouldn’t call—but I wanted it nonetheless.
Sarah laughed at that, and I loved the sound just as much as I had earlier. “Real smooth, Ranger. Come on inside; Hank stocked the kitchen. Do you want something to eat?”
I shook my head, irritated with Cletus for his interrupting call. “Can’t. I’ve got to get back on the road.”
Her face fell a little, and damn if that didn’t make me feel good.
“Rain check?” I offered, tilting my head to the side and getting one last sweep of her. Something about her . . . made it hard to look away, or think, or talk.
She nodded, a lingering smile on her lips. “Sounds good.”
I tipped my hat, forcing my feet to uproot. “Well, Miss Sarah. Pleasure to rescue you.”
“Such manners,” she said with a hint of sincere wonder.
I felt my grin hitch higher, unleashing my best—though out of practice—flirtatious eyes. But before I could turn, she surprised me by stepping close and stopping me with a hand on my arm. Leaning forward and lifting up on her toes, she placed a feather-light kiss on my cheek. Her breasts brushed against my chest—not on purpose, but because she had a huge rack—and my body awoke with a start. All blood flowed south. The smell of something flowery, warm, and expensive curled around me, arresting my pulse.
She didn’t withdraw completely. Not right away. But rather stayed close, glanced up at me from beneath her long lashes, and whispered, “Thanks for being my hero.”
I swallowed thickly, another wave of warmth unfurled in my stomach, hotter than before, exhilarating. It felt like an echo of an old addiction.
“Anytime,” I managed to say, though what I wanted to do was grab her and find out what she tasted like. In fact, I was about to do jus
t that when she backed away.
I watched her retreat, keeping my eyes locked on hers. She had me out of sorts. And by out of sorts I mean really, really wanting to put my mouth all over her body.
She gave me a wide, intoxicating grin, and I got a little lost in it until she dismissed me softly. “Goodbye, Jethro.”
I clenched my jaw, affixed a tight smile to my face, and nodded once, maybe even successfully hiding the inexplicable effect she had on me. I wasn’t used to this side of the equation. I was used to doing the charming, not being the one charmed.
I walked out the door. I admit, I was in a daze as I strolled back to the truck. I heard the house door click shut and I exhaled on a low whistle.
This woman . . . holy hell.
I needed a beer.
Or maybe seven.
CHAPTER 3
“Out of all the things I have lost, I miss my mind the most.”
― Mark Twain
~Jethro~
Claire didn’t require rescuing.
I did.
From my surprise birthday party.
“Happy birthday, Jethro!” was hollered at me from every direction just as the lights in Jeanie’s Bar flipped on. What felt like a hundred flashes went off, scaring me half to death.
Also shouted, mostly by my brothers and some of my fishing buddies: “Happy birthday, asshole!”
My heart had nearly jumped out of my chest, so I was sure the pictures of my entrance were going to be hilarious. I had a suspicion I’d find print copies of my shocked face in odd places over the next few months. Cletus had been known to sell our more embarrassing pictures on stock photo sites. Whereas my youngest brother, Roscoe, would make them into photo calendars and gift them at Christmas.
In defense of my complete surprise, during the entire drive over and as I’d entered the bar, I’d still been preoccupied with thoughts of a certain brunette I’d helped earlier. The last thing on my mind was finding half the town grinning at me like I’d just eradicated all the rabid raccoons on the mountain.
Nothing I could do now about my scaredy-cat expression, so I decided to shrug and laugh it off.
Cletus and Claire strolled forward from the grinning crowd of at least fifty people, probably more. Her smile was huge. His smile was satisfied. He was clutching his camera.
She wrapped me in a big hug and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, wiping away her lipstick with her thumb as she stepped back.
“Happy birthday, Jet.” She used my nickname, her blue eyes happy. It was good to see her happy.
“You’re in trouble.” I pointed at her and shook my head. “I’ll get you back for this.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she replied ominously.
But before I could question her further, Cletus clapped a clean hand on my shoulder. “I see we’ve surprised you.”
I should have known Cletus was planning something when I spotted him scrubbing his fingernails earlier in the day. Cletus, along with our twin brothers, Beau and Duane, owned the Winston Brothers Auto Shop. If any of them had clean hands, then chances were they were up to no good.
“You certainly did, especially seeing as how my birthday was last month,” I conceded as two of my work colleagues stepped forward to wish me a happy birthday.
Cletus waited until my friends had walked off before addressing my last comment. “Last month Naomi Winters and Carter McClure had birthdays. You know I don’t like eating cake more than twice a month.”
“How inconsiderate of Jethro to be born in April.” Claire fought a smile and nudged my arm.
Cletus shot her a confused glare. “It’s not his fault he was conceived in July, even if it makes no sense. They didn’t get air conditioning in the cars or the house until 1997, so you know it couldn’t have been pleasant.”
Billy, the second oldest of my brothers, had been hovering just outside our threesome while nursing a beer and a sour expression. Billy always wore a sour expression when I was around, but others had told me—mostly women—he was the best looking of us Winston boys. Objectively, I knew they were right.
He’d been listening to and watching our conversation, but saying nothing. At Cletus’s statement he rolled his blue eyes and grumbled something under his breath.
“Have something to say, Billy?” Cletus asked, cocking an eyebrow at our brother.
Billy was dressed in a suit, as was usual, which meant he’d just come from work. Truth be told, I was surprised to see him. First of all, he worked eighty-plus-hour weeks at the mill where he was intent on climbing the corporate ladder.
And secondly, he hated my guts.
I studied him, wishing for the same things I always wished for when I looked at Billy: that I’d been a better older brother growing up, that I’d protected my momma from our daddy’s abuse, that Billy hadn’t taken the beatings for all of us, that I hadn’t been a good-for-nothing asshole.
But currently, since none of those other wishes were likely to come true, I mostly wished I had a beer.
I turned to shake hands and exchange a greeting with Claire’s father-in-law, the local fire chief, but caught the irritated glance Billy shot Cletus.
“I’ve got nothing to say,” Billy said, a hard edge to his voice. Then his eyes flickered to Claire. He gave her a tight, uncomfortable smile, like he regretted his words. Then he asked in an infinitely softer tone, “Did you want anything to drink, Claire?”
Claire shook her head, not quite meeting his eyes. “No thanks.”
He gave her a curt nod, his attention lingering on her profile for a brief moment. Then his eyes skipped to mine, and he frowned at my undemanding expression. Billy’s frown became a scowl, and he abruptly walked away.
“He’s so rude,” Cletus said, watching our brother disappear into the crowd. “What if I wanted something to drink?”
“He’s fine.” Claire frowned at her hands, which had suddenly become very interesting. “He just doesn’t like Jethro much, but he’ll get over it eventually.”
“Jethro isn’t the problem,” Cletus contradicted, eyeballing Claire while I accepted a hug and exchanged a few quick words with Daisy Payton, my momma’s best friend. She was also the owner of Daisy’s Nut House in town, the local doughnut shop and diner.
“Your momma was so proud of you, Jethro.” Daisy gave me a big squeeze, then stepped back, holding my face in her hands. “Never forget how much that woman loved you.”
I nodded down at her, feeling a pang of guilt as I always did when someone mentioned my mother. I hadn’t been a good son, hadn’t made good choices until the last three years of her life.
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks so much for coming.”
“Such good manners now you’re no longer stealing cars.” She patted my cheek, giving me a large smile.
I gave her my very best who me? grin. “Well now, Mrs. Payton, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” She glanced heavenward and sighed. “You’re too charming for your own good. I’m getting myself a drink. It’s been a long week. See y’all later.” She waved at Cletus and Claire before crossing to the bar.
The music finally started up and I glanced at the small stage. A few fellas were picking out the first lines to “Hey, Good Lookin’” by Hank Williams.
“That’s our cue.” Cletus lifted his chin toward the stage while offering his arm to Claire. “I’m on banjo duty tonight and Claire is singing. So we’re leaving you to fend for yourself.”
“I think I’ll survive.”
“Maybe . . .” A devilish glint flashed behind Cletus’s eyes. “Just so you know, I invited the Tanner twins.”
I froze, staring at my brother with immeasurable dismay, and croaked out, “You did what?”
I was glad I didn’t have a beer because I would’ve spit it out in horror.
“And Suzie Samuels. And Gretchen LaRoe,” Claire added, not trying to hide her amusement at my expense.
I grimaced, stepping forward, and asked
through clenched teeth, “Did you invite all my old girlfriends?”
Claire threw her head back and laughed while Cletus answered, “What? I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. Did you go steady with one of these fine ladies?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“No, no, no.” Claire giggled. “Tell us. Tell us what you mean.”
I glowered at her, and she glowered back, but her uncontainable laughter ruined her glower.
Meanwhile, Cletus answered my question as though he were giving the matter serious thought. “Jethro, I merely invited some of your more colorful past exploits.”
“Oh my God.” I closed my eyes.
“Think of this evening as a retelling of a Christmas Carol. You are Ebenezer Scrooge, and you’re being visited by the awkward escapades of years past.”
“You are the worst. I’m getting you back for this. Both of you.” I opened my eyes to glare at my brother and Claire, to show them I meant business.
“It takes a lot to get you this riled up, so I certainly look forward to whatever retribution you have in store.” Claire patted my shoulder while Cletus ushered her toward the stage, leaving me alone in the sea of people.
Strike that, leaving me alone in a minefield of people.
I couldn’t bring myself to lift my eyes and instinct told me to sprint—not walk—for the exit. The problem was, this crowd was mixed. Childhood friends, friends of my momma, my siblings, extended family, work colleagues . . .
And fuck buddies from over a half decade ago.
If it had been six years ago, any inconvenience would’ve made me hop on my motorcycle and leave without thinking twice. But I couldn’t leave now. I wasn’t that person anymore. I had to stay.
“Jethro Winston, you owe me,” a shrill female voice accused from behind me.
I tensed, bracing myself. I didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t mean much. Just because I couldn’t place it didn’t mean I hadn’t known the woman at some point. Plastering a smile on my face, I turned to face the music.
