by Kati Wilde
“I’ll do that.” I stick my thumb on the scanner. “I guess these are the perks, huh?”
He grins, then with a lift of his chin gestures behind me. “That’s your perk.”
Audrey. Looking fucking beautiful as she crosses the lobby toward us. She’s wearing a thigh-length puffy coat over a long white sweater and black leggings, with heavy snow boots that look twice as big as her feet. Her blonde hair is braided this time, with a fuzzy red hat pulled down over her ears. She’s carrying a canvas bag that I assume holds her ice skates, and I take that small burden from her as she draws near.
“Thank you, Caleb,” she tells me in a soft voice, her pale eyes searching my face. Still wary, and seeing her fear tears at my gut. After a second she pulls her gaze away and glances at the security guard. “Did you get everything you need, Reggie?”
He nods. “We’re all squared away.”
“Thank you. Have a good evening.”
He wishes us the same as we head for the exit. I open the passenger door of my truck and take her hand to steady her as she steps up into my cab—because it’s not a big step, but I’ll use any excuse to touch her. Even buckling her in. I feel her gaze on my face as I lean in close to perform that simple task, aware of her soft pink lips and her incredible smell and the way she’s holding her breath.
And that quick, I’m hard as hell. Jesus. Taking this slow is going to kill me. But I suppose it’s what I deserve.
I toss her bag behind the seat and slide in behind the wheel. The directions to the carnival are already loaded into my GPS. We’re quiet as I fire up the engine and head out, and I don’t know what the hell to start with aside from a, “How was your day?”
“Good,” she replies.
“Was it?” Because that remote response doesn’t sound like it was good. Then I remember what she said about questions like that. “That’s not an empty question. I’m really asking, baby. Because if you had a shitty day, you can unload on me. And we’ll make sure the rest of your day is better.”
Her eyes brighten. “It wasn’t a shitty day. I spoke to my lawyers regarding your case. They’re confident that they’ll prove the will’s validity, since Eleanor wrote it almost ten years ago—and she reaffirmed the contents of the document with her lawyer every year afterward. So it will be difficult to argue that she wasn’t in her right mind, which is what the Wyndhams are trying to do. And her intentions were clear. She made several statements to witnesses that echo the reasons she gave for disinheriting the other Wyndhams. So her habit of speaking bluntly will work in our favor.”
“I guess that’s good news for us both.” Otherwise Eleanor Wyndham can go fuck herself all the way down to Hell.
“Yes.” She glances at me curiously. “Did you ever meet her?”
“Once. At my mother’s funeral.”
Her brows furrow. “Only once? How long ago was that?”
“Twelve years.” My throat tightens as I say it, because it feels a hell of a lot longer than that—and also like it was only last week. “And meeting Eleanor once was enough.”
“You didn’t like her, either?”
That understatement drags a harsh laugh from me. “After the funeral was over, she came up to me and said, ‘Your mother might have been a thieving slut, but obviously she wasn’t the liar that I believed she was. You’re the spitting image of Robert.’ Then she asked me to lunch.”
“But you declined, obviously.”
“Declined is a very nice way of putting what I said to her.”
Her pink lips curve into that gorgeous smile. “You must have been surprised by the will, then.”
“Yeah, I was. And my first impulse was to tell the executor to burn the damn thing, because I didn’t want anything from her.”
“Burning the document wouldn’t invalidate it. And there would be copies.”
I grin. “That’s what her executor said, too—and that I’d have to officially disclaim the inheritance. But then those Wyndham fuckers contested the will and I started rethinking. Because I don’t want them to have it, either.”
She nods, then casts me a speculative look. “How many times did Keith Shayne contact you today?”
The lawyer I tried to hire? Laughing, I shake my head. “I blocked him after the third message.”
“Jessica and Jeremy told him that I’ll eventually return his calls,” she tells me with a mischievous little grin. “They probably have a bet regarding how long it’ll take him to realize that a call from me is never coming.”
“When would your guess be?”
“That he’ll realize it on the day that we run into each other at some event.” She shrugs. “I’m not good at stringing people along.”
No surprise there. It might amuse her that Jeremy and Jessica do, but she would tell Shayne flat out that she’d never hire him. Thinking of her assistants, I ask, “What’s your middle name?”
“Madison. Why?”
I can’t stop my grin. “Just curious.”
She eyes my grin for a long moment, as if wondering what I’m not saying. Then she asks, “Why do you drive a pickup truck?”
The first thing that pops into my head is wondering whether she thinks a pickup’s not classy enough to ride around in. The same kind of shit that popped into my head last night.
I’ve got a big fucking chip on my shoulder. Knowing that never bothered me before. But I’ve got to knock it off. At least with Audrey. Or I’ll risk hurting her again.
“Because I spend a lot of time in junkyards,” I tell her. “And it’s better for hauling auto parts around in than a car or an SUV is.”
“Ah,” she says as if my answer solves a mystery. “So you also use it for work, then?”
“Not usually. The shop where I work has its own vehicles.”
Her brow furrows. “Then why haul auto parts around?”
“Because restoring vintage cars is a hobby of mine.” Or a side job, maybe. Just not one that’s very lucrative. “I pick up an old junker for cheap, rebuild it, then sell it off for a profit. Then pick up another junker and start again.”
“That’s what I do, sometimes. But with junker corporations. And usually more than one at a time.”
I laugh. Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly the same. “You enjoy that?”
“Very much. Do you enjoy restoring cars? You must, if that’s how you spend your free time.”
“I do. How do you spend your free time?”
“Working, usually. Because my job is also my hobby.”
“So you really like what you do.”
“Making money? Yes, I like it very much. Because then I can spend it on whatever else makes me happy.”
“Making and spending money are good hobbies to have,” I say with a grin, then follow the GPS’s directions to pull into a long driveway. At the top of the hill sits the big mansion that overlooks the city—the Bennet House. I’ve seen it a million times but have never been here before. “So how does this Christmas carnival thing fit in? Are you making money or spending money?”
“Giving it away—because I enjoy that, too, and even after I reinvest some of my earnings into the company, I keep making far more than I could ever personally need. So I donate a few billion every year to a variety of foundations and charities around the world. And ice skating is also fun.”
I can’t argue with that. The snow-covered lawn in front of the house looks like a parking lot. I find a spot alongside a school bus, then shove her bag into a backpack containing my hockey skates.
She’s already out of the truck and zipping up her coat when I make my way around to that side. I frown at her hand as she begins pulling on her gloves.
“You’re still wearing the ring? I thought we agreed that you’d say ‘fuck you’ to that tradition.”
“It’s a different one.” Now that she says so, I notice that the diamond is much smaller, too. “I told the jeweler that the feel was annoying me, so he suggested a comfort band. This one feels okay.”
An
d with those gloves on, she’s clearly not wearing it just for show, like she did last night. Shit. I should have been the one to get a ring for her. Not that I could afford the one she’s wearing. But I can probably swing the other rings we’ll need—the wedding bands.
Because I’m marrying this woman. Holy fuck, I’m marrying this woman.
“Caleb?” She’s frowning up at me. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I tell her and hear how hoarse that sounds. Because I just got the wind knocked out of me. “Just, uh…realized something.”
Again. But this time, I’m not wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake. Instead I’m wondering how I got so damn lucky. It’s the one thing I’ll ever be grateful to Eleanor Wyndham for: leaving me the property that Audrey Clarke wants to buy.
Slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I take her gloved hand in mine. The Bennet mansion is lit up, but everyone’s heading around the house instead of into it, so we join the crowd of people moving in that direction. Speakers are blaring Christmas music, and already I can hear little kids screaming and laughing. “Is all this noise and shit going to be all right?”
She squeezes my fingers. “I’ll let you know if I’m not.”
All right. And the way her face lights up when we step through an arbor and into a winter wonderland of a garden tells me that nothing’s bothering her yet. A lady dressed in an elf costume hands out a little map, where different sections of the estate grounds are given labels like “Santa’s Village” and “Reindeer Rink” and “Sugarplum Pond.”
“Where will the raffle drawing be held?” Audrey asks the elf.
“At the Gingerbread Gazebo in Mistletoe Midway, at eight-thirty.”
She thanks the elf and tells me, “We need to be there at eight-fifteen. Since I donated the prizes, I’m scheduled to draw the tickets.”
So not just here to spend money and have fun, but also to work. Yet if it’s all the same thing to her, it’ll be all the same to me. “So that gives us about two hours at Reindeer Rink,” I say and scope out the map.
“I saw how to get there.” She tugs me toward a snow-covered path, anticipation brightening her face. I pocket the map and let her lead the way. The place is a blur of Christmas lights until we reach the skating area—which includes two temporary rinks, one for figure skating and the other a hockey rink surrounded by a safety net, complete with skates and gear provided for the kids lining up, and a bevy of attendants. I’m thinking the Bennets must have spent a pretty penny on this carnival until I see the “Sponsored by Clarke, Incorporated” written in small letters on the banners over the entrances to the rinks.
Giving away money here, indeed. So maybe the second rink is how Audrey makes sure she’ll get to do what she enjoys most. I hand over her bag, and she sits on a bench to pull off her boots.
“You prefer hockey or the other?”
“The other,” she says, then glances at the black skates I take from my bag. “But if you prefer to play, go ahead. I’ll be fine on my own. And if I finish skating before you do, I don’t mind waiting. I enjoy watching the game.”
And I love playing it but I’m not at all tempted. “I’d rather spend the time with you.”
A touch of pink brightens her cheeks. Ninety minutes later, that pink is a deeper flush from the cold and exertion. And I knew I’d enjoy being with her, but messing around on the ice with Audrey turns out to be even more fun than I expected, because she might not play hockey but she’s still damn competitive and apparently loves a race. Plus I skate a hell of a lot better than I can dance—and since lifting her up in my arms and spinning until she’s breathless with laughter allows me to perform a manly display of strength, I figure it’s a win overall.
To keep my streak going, I jog over to the concession stand as soon as I’ve got my boots back on and while she’s still unlacing her skates. With two hot chocolates warming my hands, I walk alongside the hockey rink on the way back to the bench, then stop short as an arc of shaved ice flies in front of my face.
“Holy shi—eeeoooot.” A Santa goalie in the hockey rink abruptly seems to remember how many kids are around. “Caleb Moore? S’mores Moore?”
I haven’t heard that nickname since high school. The big guy has to remove his beard and Santa hat before it clicks, and even then it’s his size that clues me in before his face does. Only one friend from back then had any inches on me. “Cole Matthews? Fuck me. I thought you were long gone.”
“Just to the other side of town.” He nods to the two cups I’m carrying. “You got someone waiting for you? Let me get all this gear off and I’ll meet you by the benches.”
Shit. “For a minute, maybe. We can catch up another night.”
“So it’s like that?” He grins and skates backward, hand over his heart. “I won’t fuck it up for you, man.”
I know he wouldn’t. But I’m not here to spend time with anyone but Audrey. I can meet up with Cole some other day.
She smiles when I return with the hot chocolate, and her sigh of pleasure as she takes a sip goes straight to my dick. Her eyes are bright and her nose is pink, and I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so bad in my life. But even though she hasn’t given me that wary look in a while, the plan is still to go slow—and now there’s goddamn Cole. I turn to greet him.
“Caleb, damn.” Still in that Santa suit, he gives me a solid handshake, slapping my shoulder. “Fuck, it’s been a while. How you been?”
“All right.” I step aside a little so he can see Audrey behind me, wishing I didn’t have to share her. “This is—”
“Audrey?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting high.
“Hello, Cole.”
He looks from me to her and back again before he starts laughing. “Where the hell did you pick this asshole up?”
“Caleb picked me up.” As if thinking she needs to protect me from that insult, she slips her hand into mine—still ungloved after unlacing her skates, and her left hand holding her cup. His gaze lands on her ring and his laughter stops.
His eyes narrow. “That’s an engagement ring.”
“Your observational skills haven’t failed you, detective,” Audrey replies with laughing curve of her lips. “How long have you and Caleb known each other?”
How long have we known each other? How long has he known Audrey? How does he know her? “We grew up on the same street,” I tell her.
“Ah,” she says. “Friends or enemies?”
“Friends,” Cole says, apparently getting over his surprise, and now enjoying the hell out of this situation.
“I’m glad. It means I won’t have to destroy your life.” She smiles sweetly at him. “We were just on our way to find Mia. Are you heading in that direction, too?”
“Yeah,” he says with a grin, then falls into step with Audrey between us.
“Mia?” I ask.
“My wife.”
“No shit? How long?”
“A little less than a year.”
“Congratulations.”
“That seems to be going around.” He glances at Audrey. “Does Mia know about your engagement yet?”
“I sent her a message today. And you should receive an invitation tomorrow,” she tells him.
Which means this Mia is one of the five people in Audrey’s social circle that she enjoys being around, I realize. Which also means Cole will be part of that circle.
Sounds damn good to me. “Did Audrey call you ‘detective’?
“Yeah. I’m at the station downtown. And you?”
“Still working at Phillips Auto, still restoring shit in Patrick’s garage.”
“Patrick?” Cole grins. “What’s he doing?”
“Woodwork at Crenshaw’s. We get together with that crew at Murphy’s most Fridays. You should come.”
He nods. “I’ll do that. How’s your mom doing?”
“She’s gone.” The raw edge to my voice tells him exactly what that means.
Abruptly stopping, he stares at me. “Ah, fuck no. What
happened?”
I shrug and feel Audrey moving in closer beside me, as if trying to protect me again—or comfort me. “She hit a patch of black ice driving home from work one night. They say it was quick.”
“Shit.” Jaw clenched, he shakes his head and we all start walking again. “I’m so fucking sorry, man.”
“I am, too,” Audrey says softly.
“You’d have liked her,” Cole tells Audrey. “Hell, everyone liked her. There was a reason why his house was the most popular in our neighborhood.”
“Because she was always gone,” I say. Working her ass off, holding down two or three jobs just to pay the bills.
“Nah, that wasn’t why. Not for me, anyway. She’d come home at, what—midnight?—obviously tired as hell and wanting nothing more than to get some sleep, yet she always made sure I’d be all right if I went home that late. And told me to come back and wake her up if I wasn’t.”
Because Cole’s father had been an abusive drunk. We never hung out at his house because it was never safe. But my home was. We didn’t have any of the shit that kids love—no snacks, no video games—because my mom couldn’t afford them, but I always figured it was the lack of supervision that made my place a haven for my friends. Now, though…I can see my mom being a big part of that. Because Cole wasn’t the only friend who sometimes stayed a few days.
“I think I would have liked her very much,” Audrey says.
How could I have ever thought this woman was cold? Throat tight, I lift her hand and press a kiss to her ungloved fingers, then enfold them in mine to warm them. We reach Mistletoe Midway and Cole leads us to a gazebo covered in fake gingerbread and icing.
Inside, Cole leaves us behind and heads straight for a tall, raven-haired woman. Clearly more congratulations should go around, because his big hand cradles her swollen belly as he leans in to kiss her. As he does, I’m greeted with the sight of one the toughest nuts I’ve ever known cracking open.
