by C. M. Owens
Her head lifts so she can look at my eyes directly.
“The happiest my cousins have ever been is when they were told they had to change their last name to Malone. The pride on their faces had my dad pretending he wasn’t about to cry. Total saps underneath all that muscle. Each time a new one was inducted into the Wild Ones, there was more pride.”
I brush a wet lock of hair out of her face, and she leans into my hand, so I just keep it there.
“We fit together,” she goes on, and I study her, wondering if she’s referring to us or her cousins.
Clearing her throat, she gets up without clarifying, and snags her towel from the ground. Her body is still damp from the shower I interrupted and stole her from.
“Careful, Liam Harper. Don’t forget I’m trying daily not to go get that permanent tattoo,” she calls out as she walks into the bathroom, presumably to finish up her hair.
I say nothing as I exhale and climb out of bed. Kylie says things that makes me feel like she’s mine for good. But she also fought me hard to remind me she couldn’t risk fully being mine.
A very complex enigma, that one.
Pulling on my clothes, I head to the kitchen to drink some coffee and wait on her to finish up. I’m not in any sort of hurry to rush things, so I’m patiently waiting on her to guide this.
I had my chance. It was me who messed it up last time. This time it’s her turn to take the reins.
Three weeks is a long time.
I know this, because three weeks changed my life one time.
I stalked the girl of my dreams. I moved into a very weird town that loves pot and explosives—a combination that would terrify most. I bought two properties because the first one I bought was in the wrong corner of crazy. And I joined a challenge committee that requires the men to river dance on the weekends if they’re in town when Lindsey Stirling starts playing over the speakers.
Three weeks is what led to this life.
Somehow, I’ve miraculously avoided having to river dance, since I’ve only been to town once on a weekend, and no violin music played.
The point I’m making is that I’m not surprised that after three weeks of having Kylie to myself almost every single day, that I’m falling faster than is probably healthy. In fact, I’m positive I’m drowning.
She’s just wearing a towel when she walks out, her hair perfectly ringleted—my word—already. “Lilah is coming over to borrow a shirt that I’ll never see again,” she tells me as she leans against the counter next to me.
Most of her clothes are here now, considering we kept going and getting more and more.
I cage her in, and she grins when I kiss her. I’m still kissing her when we hear an obnoxious throat clearing.
“I knocked like five times. You two could come up for air on occasion.” Lilah Vincent.
Always a Vincent.
Soon, it’ll always be a Malone when we swap corners of the lake.
I’m not sure which is worse.
When I break the kiss, Kylie is immediately firing back, “Says the girl who just got in trouble having for sex with her husband in the back parking lot of the hardware store.”
Lilah bats a dismissive hand. “Benson’s hot when he gets jealous, and he always gets jealous in the hardware store because of all the guys who aren’t even really checking me out. All they have to do is sneeze in my direction and he’s got his hands all over me. Besides, we’re in the honeymoon phase.”
“Usually the honeymoon phase ends before the actual honeymoon,” I tell her.
Kylie is pouring some orange juice, still trapped in my cage.
“I need to finish my hair,” Kylie tells me, leaning up to kiss my cheek. “Just get whatever shirt you want, but return it,” she calls to Lilah before she heads into the bathroom.
I let her go, watching her until she’s out of sight, and I dart a look at Lilah. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Sure. What?” she asks.
I check to make sure Kylie can’t hear me, then I walk over, grab Lilah by the arm, and drag her quickly toward one of the back guest rooms.
“If this is a ploy to make it put the lotion on, you should know my husband is a total ninja—holy crap,” she says, her eyes widening when I jerk open the closet door that opens into a huge walk-in closet full of…boots. Lots of brand new boots.
“Cheese and rice on a bed of guacamole,” she says, not making a bit of sense as she looks over the obnoxious amount of boots I’m hiding.
“I bought all these for her during the year we were apart. I was going to give it to her as a grand gesture if she wouldn’t have anything to do with me once I found her. Now…I’m already building her dream cabin, with the intentions of giving it to her until she decides how serious she wants to be with me. I don’t want to throw these at her too. It’ll feel like I’m trying to buy her affections, and I’ve been down that road. It’d be stupid to repeat the same mistakes.”
Lilah turns to me, lips pursing. “You won’t ever be able to buy Kylie, Liam. She loves the cabin you’re building—that she thinks is for you, by the way—because of the thought that went behind it. She’d love the boots because of the thought that would have gone into selecting them. It has nothing to do with the price tag.”
I lean back, checking to make sure I can’t hear Kylie. “Just come by later and get them out of here. I’ll save them for a holiday or something. I just…just get them, okay?”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. You’re being ridiculous, but fine. Why are you acting so nervous?”
I smile tightly. “I’m just trying not to mess anything up. Last time around, we had three incredible weeks before I really fucking blew it.”
“And now it’s been three weeks again?” she guesses.
“You can see the reason for the slight panic attack.”
“As long as your girlfriend doesn’t show up from a business trip, you’ll be fine,” she assures me.
Of course she told Lilah.
“I can assure you I only have one girlfriend, and I’m not quite sure she realizes she’s my girlfriend.”
Lilah snorts. “Trust me, she knows. You’ll be fine, Liam. Stop worrying.”
“I never want to be the reason she has that look on her face again, Lilah. You didn’t see what it was like. Every bit of everything was sucked out of her that day. I’m still—”
“Trying to seek penance for something she’s clearly forgiven and moved on from? It took her less than two days to end up back in your evil clutches. Stop freaking out. You’re giving me anxiety, and I’m trying not to change anything about my body in case it somehow messes up the birth control I’m truly depending on right now.”
It takes me a second to follow all that.
“Just hide the boots. And I’ll get them when there’s a good time to give them to her without it looking like I’m showering her with gifts all the time.”
She just grins. “She really will like them, but why’d you have to buy so many?”
“She had all these catalogues,” I grumble. “She circled her favorites. I bought all the ones circled, since she left the catalogues behind.”
“That is so fucking sweet,” she says on an exaggerated sigh, and I narrow my eyes as I point at her in warning.
“Not a word about this.”
“Right. I won’t let her know how pathetic you really are. You can keep all your cool points, because I’m an excellent secret keeper,” she quips, not even looking back as she skips out the door.
Lilah just thinks she’s not as annoying as the other two Vincents. Most of the time, she’s worse.
I shut the closet door, and then walk out and shut the guest room door behind me. Just as I head back into the kitchen, Kylie is walking out of the bedroom, as Lilah goes on.
She turns to look at her in confusion. “You haven’t found a shirt yet?” Kylie calls.
“Liam pulled me aside to show me his dick. Benson’s is bigger,” Lilah is quick to say, and the c
olor drains from my face.
Kylie bursts out laughing, and I immediately relax. Damn Vincent. Why did I ask her for help instead of Penny?
I’m way too on edge, feeling an expiration date that isn’t really here.
“You okay?” Kylie asks me when she sees my face.
Forcing myself to calm down, I give her what I hope is a genuine-looking smile and not one of manufactured tension.
“Yeah. You ready? I’m not sure how I feel about surprises, but…you can talk me into anything,” I tell her, aiming for charming and not stupid.
She grins. “Lock up, Lilah,” she calls behind her.
“I’ll do it as soon as I get finished with your vibrator,” Lilah deadpans.
Sometimes I can’t tell when she’s joking or when she’s serious. Does Kylie have a vibrator here? Pretty sure I cover all those needs.
Kylie just laughs and leads me out. I try to stop acting like a damn spaz before I ruin this thing with my fear of ruining things.
Damn frustrating woman.
What the actual hell is wrong with me?
Why am I panicking this much?
Her fingers twine with mine, and some of that panic dies down. Things are fine.
Just fine.
***
“What’s this?” I ask, confused as we tie off to a tree and start climbing up a hillside where a dilapidating old bridge is.
“The Nickels are just beyond this bend. Their daddy is full-blooded Cherokee, and he used to live on Reservation, but he moved out here years ago to be with their momma, who was born a Wild One,” she states randomly. “Even though she’s of Irish descent, she adopted his heritage to the extreme to show her support of Native American culture. She’s a little wacky, but she has a huge heart. They also bought all our moonshine distilleries a while back when we got tired of the operation, and that’s how they make the bulk of their money now.”
“Okay…” I’m not really sure what else to say to that.
“The Wilders are more complex. Their dad was wild in the wrong way, and got himself killed when they were little, while he was off on a bender somewhere in Arizona with some other woman,” she says with a sad smile. “Momma Wilder, as we all call her, never wavered. She held strong for her kids, and carried on the name like it was always hers and never his. You already know about all the pot they grow.”
I run my hand along my jaw, debating on whether or not I should tell her. Deciding I’d rather piss her father off than continue to lie to her about what I know, I come clean.
“Speaking of Greta Wilder,” I say on a sigh. “There’s something you should know about her and your dad. They—”
“They’re dating?” she asks, a small curve of her lips hinting at a mocking grin.
My brow furrows. “You know?”
“Of course I know. Most all the Wild Ones have figured it out, except maybe Nila. You should see the way they look at each other when they think no one is paying attention.”
Now I’m just confused.
“How do you know?” she asks me, tilting her head.
“I sort of walked up on them when they were rattling the hunting shack on my land. And—”
She bursts out laughing, much to my surprise. Since her father wanted her not to know, I assumed that meant he was worried about how she’d take the news of him moving on.
Kylie rolls her eyes. “They sneak around like teens, but we know. The rest of the town doesn’t know. It’s not local knowledge, since it’s against town rules for two Wild Ones—no matter their age—to date. Tomahawk problems.”
My grin steadily grows.
“So I’ve been carrying that around for nothing?”
“Pretty much,” she says with an impish grin. “But don’t let Dad know I know.”
“No worries,” I mutter under my breath.
“Anyway, no one gets the other information I gave you about the Wild Ones unless they’re inside the Wild One circle. Consider yourself unofficially inducted,” she states, not meeting my eyes.
“Is this you telling me you believe I’m really here and not going anywhere?”
She bristles. “It’s me extending a lot of trust,” she defends.
“And what does all that have to do with the bridge?” I ask, deciding not to push too far too quickly.
“Remember last week when you were talking about finding a way to prove to people Tomahawk is your home because you’re sick of Chester Perkins expecting you to leave? Which, by the way, what’s up with that?”
I shake my head. “I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
She shrugs. “Anyway, I was thinking about all that wood in your wood shop, and about the fact you’re actually good with your hands.” She gives me a wink and a dirty grin that has me moving closer, but she moves away from my hands, going to stand on the rickety bridge.
“Kylie,” I hiss, not daring to go after her because the weight of two might send this thing collapsing. “Get away from there!”
She just moves closer to the center while holding her arms out and grinning.
“This is the unusable yet most helpful road from the north end of Tomahawk to the south. Yet no one can use it, because the bridge will fall apart under a car. There’s also a waterfall type area when the beavers don’t have it dammed up, but the dam helps keep the lower areas from flooding or draining the upper level until it’s just dirt. So there’s no way to drive through here on a boat either, since you’d be dropping thirty feet.”
“Could you stop standing on the unstable bridge that might drop you those thirty feet so I can breathe, please?”
Her grin grows as she walks toward me, and I snatch her to me the second she’s in reach, holding her so close that she mocks a suffocating noise.
I barely loosen my hold, and she squirms away, laughing a little as she turns and leans her head against my chest.
“We don’t let the state do much for us, so we do most repairs on roads and such on our own.”
“That explains why the roads are so shitty around here,” I say before I can stop myself, not realizing how much of a douche I sound like until it’s too late.
She shrugs. “We’re not high maintenance. But this bridge needs more skill. It’s only a year old, and as you can tell, it looks a hundred.”
My eyebrows go up. Only a year?
“Two Nickels fixed it last time,” she says as though that explains everything. “Anyway, I thought maybe you could build the new bridge with all your fancy engineering information and wood skills.”
She turns and faces me, and I stare down at her like she’s a puzzle.
“Only those who really love Tomahawk take the time to help out with something that benefits everyone and not just themselves,” she goes on, shrugging one shoulder.
My fingers go to her hair, and I tilt her head back as I grin and kiss her lips. She’s trying to give me something. Something special. Something that money can’t buy.
She’s giving me the key to respect from a town that holds its outsiders at arm’s length.
The key to hopefully shutting Chester Perkins right the hell up.
And a chance to leave my mark on Tomahawk doing something I love to do.
She’s trusting me with something that clearly means a lot to her and this town.
“Don’t worry. People don’t sue if it doesn’t work. We just block the roads so no one can drive through if the bridge messes up. But it’s cool if you’re worried and don’t want to risk it.”
I’ve never built a bridge before, but this is a small section, and I can do the research. And I can also call a lawyer to draw up iron-clad waivers so that I don’t risk getting sued.
“I’ll do it,” I tell her, watching as that smile transforms her face.
My thumb brushes her cheek, and suddenly I realize why I’ve been freaking out. I guess it would have been obvious to anyone who knew the constant stirring of unexplainable and mostly conflicting emotions before. Someone who knew what it was like to
feel excited and full of dread all at once.
I’m in love with Kylie Malone.
And she’s just spending time with me to ‘see how it goes.’ No wonder I’m acting like a fucking lunatic.
I don’t even realize she’s taking her boots off until she pushes away so she can stack them off to the side.
“What’re you—”
“Okay. Now we can jump,” she says, confusing the hell out of me.
“What?” I ask, just as she takes off running, laughing manically as she leaps off the unstable bridge.
My heart thunders out of my chest as I stumble to a halt at the edge before I even realize I’ve chased her. I look down at the long drop where she’s emerging, her head coming breaking the water’s surface already.
“That shower did you a lot of good,” I call down to her.
“Couldn’t resist. Your face was priceless!” she calls out, her voice barely carrying up the steep area. The bridge literally hangs over the uneven ground. Maybe fifteen feet long.
One side has a drop of five feet. Kylie jumped off the side that might as well be a fucking cliff. I really shouldn’t be surprised.
“You coming in? Hold your arms crossed over your chest or anchored at your sides. And close your legs!”
“That water is really cold,” I remind her.
“Oh, it’s fucking frigid as hell,” she agrees, swimming backwards as she grins up at me.
“Hell isn’t particularly known for its frigidness,” I retort dryly, staring down and wondering if I’m really about to do this.
Shit.
Without thinking too much about it, I kick my shoes off and pull my shirt over my head, then toss my pants to the ground.
Then…I take the leap.
My stomach climbs up my throat as the sensation of falling has me flailing my arms. I swear the water slams into my arms hard enough to bruise them, hence the reason she told me to hold them to my sides. Thank fuck my legs stay closed.
And that water is as cold as I used to be.
But Kylie laughing as my teeth chatter and my balls try to burrow their way into my body makes it worth it. No. No, it really doesn’t, but I won’t tell her that.
We both swim to the bank, freezing for no good reason, as we hike up the hill full of twigs that have a mission to destroy our feet.
