by D. L. Roan
“Not at all,” she assured him. “But the hard work is yet to begin.”
“Well, Papa Joe was never one to shirk hard work.” Grey set the milk on the kitchen counter, then took the plastic bag from the drugstore from Gabby’s hand. “Is this for Car?” he asked, peering into the bag.
“Yes,” Gabby replied with a sigh. “I hate giving Ralph’s a single dime, but Car took the last of the flu tablets from the medicine cabinet this morning, and we didn’t have time to run all the way to Carlton and back before Cory’s baseball game.”
Breezy stood at the end of the counter and watched as they talked.
“And did you know?” Gabby huffed, her fists on her hips, “that maniac put a mechanical bull in the middle of the drugstore! Says that Con broke some record on it back when they first started recording.”
Grey’s expression smoldered. “I’m going to have another chat with the city council,” he threatened. “There has to be some way to stop that shit! Some city ordinance or code he’s violating.”
“Dad! I can’t find my uniform pants!”
“They’re in the dryer!” Gabby shouted back to who could only be the youngest McLendon boy, Cory.
“I looked in the dryer! They’re not there, and I’m going to be late!”
“I’ll be right there!” Gabby shouted at the ceiling, shoving her fingers through her hair with an exasperated huff. “Sorry,” she gave Breezy an apologetic smile. “Things are a little crazy with Matt and Mason down in Billings for the week. You’d think a fifteen-year-old would be a piece of cake after raising two sets of twins.”
“He’s a McLendon boy,” Grey snorted. “Nothin’ easy about us.”
“You got that right.” Gabby giggled, playfully pushing Grey away when he moved to capture her smaller frame in an intimate embrace. “Go get the rest of the milk from the car while I find Cory’s pants.” She snatched the drugstore bag from Grey and handed it to Breezy. “Would you mind running these down to Car?” she asked, pointing to a door just off the kitchen. “He stayed down in the basement last night, although why is beyond me. He and Con have a perfectly good room upstairs.”
“I’m sure he’d love to see you,” Grey said, giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze on his way out.
Breezy gripped the bag that was shoved into her hand, watching in shocked silence as everyone disappeared from the room. Alone, she stared at the basement door, her heart pounding inside her chest, sure there had been some kind of mistake. She was the last person on earth Carson would want to see.
She walked to the closed door, each step laden with heavy apprehension.
Maybe he’s sleeping. She twisted the doorknob and the door creaked open. Old habits being hard to break, she looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. When no one appeared, she shook her head. She was being ridiculous. She wasn’t fourteen anymore, for goodness sake.
Each step down into the darkened room was quieted by the thick carpet beneath her feet. At the bottom of the steps, the muted light from the television eased the strain of the darkness that filled the cool room. She spotted Carson immediately, his sleeping form—wearing only a gray pair of boxer briefs—stretched out on the couch in the center of the room.
Breezy froze at the arresting sight, taking advantage of her first opportunity to study the man he’d become. End to end, Carson’s large frame covered every square inch of the cushions beneath him.
Unruly blond hair dusted his sweaty brow; his full lips were parted in slumber. A faint shadow of hair, darker and coarser, dusted the masculine lines that dipped and curved along his chest, down to his narrow hips and disappeared under the waistband of his underwear. His long, lean legs were parted in a casual-macho way that drew her gaze to the one place she hadn’t dared look before.
In the quiet darkness, her heartbeat stuttered as she remembered his twin’s erection pressed against her hip. She wondered, remarkably for the first time, if everything was identical to Connor.
A cacophony of voices above snapped Breezy’s attention back to the task at hand. She tiptoed over to the coffee table, setting the bag down at the end where he wouldn’t miss it when he woke, slowly unclasping her hand from the noisy plastic.
“Hey.” She started at Carson’s sleepy greeting, tensing when he reached out to capture her wrist. She didn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t, frozen in place by the sudden rush of adrenaline that coursed through her veins. “Mmm,” Carson hummed, tugging her closer. His grip loosened as he turned her hand over, placing a tender kiss on the inside of her wrist. “So soft.”
Her knees weakened. She tried to pull her hand free, but he re-tightened his grip and tugged again, pulling her down onto the edge of the cushion beside him.
“Car?” she whispered, trying to wake him. He had to be dreaming she was someone else.
“I’m so cold,” he said with a drowsy, raspy voice, tugging her down to lie beside him.
“Wait,” she protested and tried to pull her hand free, but Carson wouldn’t let go. Every muscle in her body tensed as his sinewy arm banded around her waist and drew her back against his bare chest. “Mmm, you’re warm,” he sighed against her neck, nuzzling his chin into her shoulder.
A shiver wracked his body and traveled through hers. Breezy closed her eyes and swallowed the tight lump in her throat, pulling her feet up onto the edge of the cushion. Spooning with a deliriously ill Carson McLendon was not how she imagined her morning would end. He was probably drunk on cold medicine, or his fever was making him delusional enough to forget that he hated her. Whatever the reason, he felt too good to let go.
Even after his brutish and absurd behavior the day before, she couldn’t resist the dreamy pull of his embrace. Lying in his arms, she could almost pretend again that he was hers.
He felt so good it hurt, but she ignored the ache inside her chest, which served as a constant reminder that a world where this was real would always be nothing more than an empty wish.
Peering through the darkness, she took note of the time on the radio clock that sat on top of the bookshelf. One hour. She’d let herself have this dream for one hour before she pulled herself away and made her way back to Joe’s for his noon therapy session.
She closed her eyes and breathed in Carson’s manly scent, releasing it with a wistful sigh. She didn’t know if he would remember any of this when he woke, but she’d be adding this moment to an already long—and admittedly unhealthy—list of unforgettable McLendon memories.
The door creaked open at the top of the stairs, jolting Breezy awake. Before she could pull herself from Carson’s arms, Connor stood at the base of the stairs, his wide eyes visible even through the dim light.
Awareness, then guilt, washed away her drowsy haze before she could put a name to the emotion that colored his expression. She bolted upright, withdrawing from Carson’s searching arm.
“I...I’m sorry,” she said, rising on unsteady legs. Just yesterday she was kissing Connor, and now he’d found her in the dark basement cuddled with his twin. Sure, they’d shared Charlotte, but that didn’t mean...she didn’t know what that meant. “I came down to give him the flu medicine your mom bought and, um, he was sleeping. He said he was cold.”
“Hey, bro,” Carson mumbled and stretched behind her, his yawn turning into a groan. “Ugh, I feel like roadkill.” Breezy stepped aside as Carson rolled from the couch and stumbled into the bathroom.
Connor pushed his hands into his pockets, the corners of his mouth turning up into an understated grin. “Papa Nate called looking for you.” His gaze darted to the bathroom door. “Said you were supposed to be there at noon.”
She whipped around and looked at the clock. “One-thirty?” She rushed around the coffee table towards the stairs. How could she have slept for over two hours?
“Hey-hey, wait.” Connor reached out as she tried to step around him, his arm circling her waist and pulling her to him. “How was your morning with Mom?”
“Good,” she squeaked
with a nervous nod, pushing against his embrace. He didn’t let her go.
“Got any plans for tonight?” he asked, his arm tightening around her.
She nodded, and then shook her head, looking over her shoulder at the clock, the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at him.
“Was that a yes or a no?” Connor chuckled.
“No,” she said, her cheeks flaming. If he didn’t let her go soon, she would die from mortification and his question would be irrelevant.
“Good.” Connor planted an intimate kiss on her furrowed brow. “Pick you up at seven.”
*~*~*~*~*
Hot holy damn! It’d happened. Connor stood at the foot of the stairs and tried to remember how to breathe.
He’d never put much stock in the lightning bolt, earthquake hoopla their dads and Papa Joe fed them over the years about what they felt when they found Mom and Gran. Twenty-four hours earlier, he would have rolled his eyes at one of their stories, but the second he came down those stairs and saw Breezy curled up in his brother’s arms, he knew. She was theirs. Completely.
There had been no lightning bolt, no thunder, not even a tremor. The pull to join them on that couch, however, had been like a subtle, vivid instinct seated deep within and impossible to ignore.
He pressed his fist into the center of his chest where the feeling was still fresh and fluttering around like a caged bird begging to be freed. It was the most amazing feeling, comparable only to bringing life to a new song.
The instant attraction he’d felt to her suddenly made sense. Her taste, her scent, the feel of her beneath him, had all felt so fresh and familiar. On some elemental level his body knew she was the missing part of him.
“You were right to cancel New York, bro,” Carson said, dousing his new revelation with a barrel of cold reality. “No way I could sing like this anyway.”
Connor studied his twin. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going back to bed.” Carson groaned as he flopped back onto the couch and pulled a quilt over his legs.
“No. I mean, what are you doing with Breezy?”
Carson rolled his eyes and turned his back to him. “I was sleeping.”
“Car, I’m serious.” He walked over and snatched the quilt from his twin. “What kind of game are you playing with her?”
“I’m not playing any games.” Carson reached out and snatched the quilt back. “You were right, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“Right about what?”
“Me fucking everything up, Breezy, all of it.” Carson sighed, settling back into the couch, his face pinched in pain.
Connor tried to read between the lines, unsure of what he meant. “I don’t understand,” he said, plopping down on the end of the coffee table.
“I’ve been a dick,” Carson said, sliding farther under the quilt. “What more is there to understand?”
That was an understatement. “Let’s start with why you’ve been a dick.”
Carson huffed, wiping his palm across his sweaty forehead. “Does it matter?”
“Hell yeah, it matters.”
“I don’t want to fight anymore, okay? I want things to go back to the way they were between us, and for Papa Joe to get better. That’s it.”
“And what about Breezy? Are you saying you all of a sudden don’t believe the shit you’ve spouted about her for how many years now?”
“No. Maybe.” Carson stared at the ceiling, his lips pressing into a grim line. “Papa Joe told me some things last night that don’t add up.” Between coughing spells, Carson relayed the things their grandfather had told him, including his possibly cataclysmic misconception about Ford’s visits with Charlotte.
“Damn, Car. You don’t think he beat her, do you?” He searched through his memories, but couldn’t remember seeing any bruises. That didn’t mean there hadn’t been any.
“I don’t know,” Carson grumbled. “But if it’s true, I don’t know why she hasn’t told me to go to hell already.”
Connor shook his head. “I talked to her yesterday. She’s just as eaten up about everything as you are.”
A contrite look swirled in Carson’s eyes before he looked away, his fingers plucking at the stitches in the quilt as he spoke. “Did she, uh, say anything else? About yesterday?”
“Shit, Car. What did you do?”
“I didn’t—”
“Did you kiss her?”
“No!” Carson snapped, searing him with a calculating glare. “Did you fuck her?”
“No.” Though, he may have if not for their Uncle Cade shooting down that drone. He’d never felt a spark, an electrical overload, like the one that arced between them. “She’s different. It’s not like that.”
“Are you saying you want her all to yourself, then? That you don’t want to share?”
No sooner had Carson’s question reached Connor’s ears, than that very image appeared in his mind. Christ, she’d been so hot beneath him. He could only imagine what it would be like with her between them, naked and writhing and responding to them with that same passion. His cock responded to the fantasy and Carson took notice.
“I didn’t think so.” Carson chuckled and rolled onto his side, turning his back to Connor again.
Dammit. What was he going to say? He sure as hell wasn’t going to say no, but should he tell his brother how serious he was about her? If what he’d felt earlier was real, Carson would have to feel it too, wouldn’t he? But if they couldn’t even share a bedroom, how the hell were they going to share a wife?
He didn’t have a clue what was going on inside his twin’s head. Whatever he was thinking, Connor wasn’t dumb enough to believe it was thoughts of forever. Not yet. But, if he had any chance of making that dream a reality, they had to start somewhere, right?
“I like her, Car. I like her a lot, and I want you to like her, too, but not if you’re screwing around. Not with Breezy. She’s not like the women on the road you can fuck and forget.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Carson grumbled into the back of the couch. “Look, I’m game for whatever you want, Con. Just let me know when and where.”
“I don’t want her to get hurt again,” Connor clarified.
“I’m not screwing around,” Carson assured him, his irritation evident in his tone even as he struggled through another round of rattling coughs. “Damn, this cold is kicking my ass.”
What was Carson thinking? What had changed? “Do you think you can truly let go of the past and see where this goes?” he asked one final time. “Look at me and tell me that’s what you want.”
Carson rolled over, letting out a long sigh before he met Connor’s questioning gaze. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”
Connor studied him for a moment, seeing a mixture of resigned indifference and hesitant sincerity in his brother’s eyes. It was enough, for now. He gave his brother a nod of agreement and stood. “Okay,” he said and held his brother’s gaze. “But, if you do hurt her, I’ll be the one kicking your ass.”
Chapter Sixteen
Grassland’s annual Independence Day picnic was in full swing. The sun had set. Countless strings of festive lights and banners dangled from the ancient cottonwood trees. The scent of smoked ribs still lingered in the air from the dinner rush at the Bar-B-Q pits, reminding Carson that he’d missed yet another meal.
In years past, the picnic had been a small-town affair, a couple hundred townspeople at most. He and Connor would play a few cover songs on their student guitars, and the small crowds would clap and cheer. Their mom would cry. And then they’d run off to collect their free Sno-cones from the concessions manager as their official entertainment fee.
Time had changed more than the guitar he played. The place was packed. People from three counties had crammed into the town park and stuffed themselves to the gills with homemade pie and spit-smoked beef and were now either sprawled out on a blanket in the middle of the freshly mowed lawn, waiting on the fireworks show, or stumbling into each ot
her on the over-crowded dance floor.
A fast-paced country song—not one of theirs—boomed over the speakers. Carson leaned against a tree, hidden in the shadows as he watched the festive crowd. His mom was dancing with their dad, Mason. His sister Dani was cutting a path through the crowd with some guy he’d yet to meet, their dad, Grey, watching her like a hawk from the sidelines.
Jonah and his friend, Pryce—another Grunion—had given Carson a ride into town and had long since disappeared to meet up with a group of friends down at the reservoir in Yellow Water to have their own party. Cory was off pouting somewhere because he wasn’t allowed to tag along with them.
He felt bad for the kid. Being the youngest of five siblings, the only one without a twin, had to suck at times; though to hear Dani and Jonah screaming at each other over the stupidest of things every day, one would think being a twin was the worst curse on the planet. Those two had been like oil and water from the day they were born.
A stimulating laugh caught Carson’s attention. He turned to see a radiant Breezy being twirled around the dance floor by their dad, Matt. She’d managed to worm her way right into the heart of his family in record time.
Ten days had dragged by since he’d opened his eyes and found her hovering over him in his parents’ basement. After his argument with Connor in the barn, he’d taken a truckload of cold meds and crashed on the couch, trying to figure out a way to make her understand that she had to leave. It wasn’t long before his libido had taken over and filled his head with images of her beneath him, between them and he’d drifted off to sleep planning her seduction instead.
Blame it on the fever, the medicine or a combination of the two, he hadn’t given a thought to all the reasons he needed her gone before he’d snagged her wrist and pulled her down to lie beside him on the couch that day. It hadn’t been part of any plan, just a natural impulse to be close to her.
A reluctant sense of satisfaction had coursed through him as he wrapped himself around her warm, firm body. He could still remember the silky feel of her hair against his skin, the fresh scent of her shampoo as he breathed her in and fell asleep with her in his arms.
