by Cari Quinn
It was her turn to remain silent.
“I know you’re pissed. I’ll tell you more before we go back home, all right? Just take these couple days, that’s all.”
“Not more, everything. Do you expect to stand in front of me every day for the rest of my life?”
He let out a raw laugh. “As if you’d let me.”
Not that he wouldn’t.
That she wouldn’t let him.
They traveled up and down winding country roads, taking the curves too fast until Mal spotted a family of deer about to cross. He braked just in time, and she pulled out her phone to take a picture through the windshield. Grainy, dark, but she didn’t care. She didn’t often see deer strolling about in downtown LA.
If he thought she was crazy, he didn’t comment. Nor did he say anything when she let out a gasp of delight as they turned onto the gravel road that led up to Happy Acres. The lane led into a clearing that served as overflow parking before leading up to a regular paved lot that bordered the side of the main house and gift shop. A ways behind it stood the Lodge and beyond that, the pasture. Even farther out was the little rehabbed church where her brother and Li and Simon and Margo had gotten married.
“You missed the wedding here.”
“Come again?”
“My brother’s. I’m sure because he was marrying Li, and she’s the devil.”
He surprised her by chuckling. “Not the devil, but yeah, I wasn’t exactly top of the guest list. Mike was though.”
“She loves Michael like her own son. Just like she would’ve loved you if you’d let her.”
“She’s barely older than I am.”
“So?”
“Little creepy.”
“That’s your father’s doing, not hers.”
Mal pulled up close to the main building and turned off the SUV. Little twinkle lights were strung from the eaves of the wide front porch, and rocking chairs with thick pillows drifted lightly in the breeze. Bright red ribbons decorated the posts beside the stairs.
“Already fucking Christmas.”
She let out a happy sigh. He still hadn’t changed the radio station, and “Little Drummer Boy” was playing. “It’s been too long since I’ve been here. I’ve missed it so much.”
“How often do you come?”
Deliberately misunderstanding him, she sent him a sly look he probably couldn’t see in the darkened vehicle. “Not often enough.”
“Asking for it, Crandall.”
“I sure am. If I make it any plainer, I may just need a sign.” When he didn’t respond, she sighed again. “I think it was springtime last time I was here. I try to come when Nick and Li do, but only if they’re bringing the girls. Otherwise, they usually leave them with me. They don’t want them left with anyone who’s not family or part of the band family if they can help it.”
Again, Mal was quiet, staring up at the place his grandparents had built from nothing. “Your brother is a good dad.”
“The best,” she agreed proudly. “He didn’t think he wanted kids, and now he keeps trying to convince Li to have more.”
“Hmm.”
“Li’s a good mother too. The girls matter more to them than anything. The way it should be.”
Mal toyed with the keys still dangling with the ignition, his gaze never leaving the main house. “He had the same shit environment growing up you did.”
“Yes.” She figured that was obvious, but Mal so rarely spoke unprompted that she wasn’t about to shut him down.
“But he’s not doing the same to his own kids.”
“He would die first.” She swallowed hard and took a leap. “If you use what you learned as an example of what not to do, your toxic environment doesn’t have to mess them up too. You can move on from it, do better. Like your brother’s doing,” she added.
Wrong move.
“We better get inside. They’re waiting for us.” He’d slammed out of the truck and was halfway to the porch before she had time to blink.
She climbed out and went around to the back of the truck to get her bag, only to have him stomp back to her and snatch it out of her hand before she’d even managed to lift it.
“I was going to get that later.”
“Yeah, well, one trip.” She started to grab it back when footsteps sounded on the gravel pathway.
“There they are! Finally.” Mrs. Ronson, Lila’s mom, hurried down the steps ahead of her husband, wearing a long denim apron and with her snowy hair pinned back. “We were starting to get worried, but we knew with my boy here driving, you would be safe.”
Elle started to speak, then fell into stunned silence as Mrs. Ronson wrapped big, burly Mal in a huge hug—and he let her. Not only that, he returned it, whispering back to her in a hushed conversation that ended with laughter on both sides.
“Hey there, you. Long time no see.” Mr. Ronson took the opportunity to give Elle a big hug of her own, and she laughed as he lifted her off the ground a little. He immediately set her down and eyed her sling. “Sorry about that. I forgot for a moment that you’d had some trouble.”
“I’m okay.” She smiled and spread one arm wide, covering her grimace at the pull through her shoulders. “I’ve been hiding out in New York. I should’ve thought to come up here sooner, but I was staying with my friend Teagan—”
“Oh, posh. Girl time is always more important than hanging out with a couple of old folks. C’mere you.” Mrs. Ronson enfolded her in a gentle embrace. “Let me look at you,” she added, drawing back to frame Elle’s face in her sweetly lemon-scented hands. “You look good. A little tired, a little thin, but good overall. And this arm.” She brushed her fingers over the sling. “You’re in physical therapy?”
“Not yet.”
“Soon,” Mal said from a few feet away, crossing his arms in his best version of an enforcer.
Elle stuck her tongue out at him and Lila’s parents laughed.
“How was the trip up? Long, I imagine.”
“Would’ve been longer without Dale Earnhardt behind the wheel.” Elle shot Mal a glance before she stepped toward the open back end of the SUV and grabbed her much smaller satchel. He even stepped forward for that and she shook her head. “Seriously? You haven’t been gallant with me for two years. Don’t think you can start now.”
“He’s only looking out for his lady,” Mrs. Ronson said, laughing.
Here we go.
Elle affixed a bright smile on her face and shifted, still clutching the satchel. “About that. We’re not exactly—”
“Hope you don’t mind a room in the main house,” Mrs. Ronson continued, rolling over Elle’s halfhearted objection as if she hadn’t even heard it. “We have a bit of a full house this week, thanks to a few big events in town. So we had to hurry up and have Jackie make up a bed. It’s a nice room,” she added hastily as her husband gave her some serious side-eye.
Why, Elle had no idea.
“I’m sure it’s fine. It’s just—”
“We’ll love it.” Mal took Elle’s uninjured arm and towed her along to the decorated steps. “Let’s go in and visit for a few before it’s time for bed.”
“Oh, stop. We’re not ninety, you know. It’s not nearly our bedtime yet. Besides, I have an idea.” Mrs. Ronson clapped her hands. “You can help us finish decorating the lobby. We want it all nice and sparkly for our new friends staying with us this week.”
At her side, Mal braced, though he smiled just the same. “Sounds wonderful.”
Chapter Seventeen
Only for his grandparents would he stay up until nearly two am stringing popcorn balls and hanging vintage ornaments on trees and boughs of greenery.
And only for Ricki, who seemed captivated by every new thing they took out of their tower of boxes.
Every ornament came with a story. Every decoration had a past. They were mementoes of a family’s life, and though he wasn’t much for sentiment, he couldn’t help being moved at how excited Ricki was. This wasn’t her blood fam
ily—and no, they weren’t his either, but he’d convinced himself they might as well have been years ago. Ricki apparently felt the same, since she behaved as if they were hers too. She absorbed each story with a child-like wonder he would’ve scoffed at with anyone else, but was rapidly becoming addicted to when it came to her.
An ongoing problem, it seemed.
“So Lila made this? Really?” Ricki giggled and held up a little reindeer made out of clothespins with a red pom-pom nose and a shiny green pipe cleaner bow. “It’s so cute. Are there more?”
“Well, of course. Can’t have Rudolph without his reindeer, can you?” His grandmother chuckled and bent to retrieve another bunch of the little clothespin reindeers. They all had different colored pom-poms and different tinsel bows.
“They all have colored noses? How come?” Ricki added her Rudolph to the big tree directly across from the front door of the main house.
A small gift shop was off to the left beyond what they called the parlor where bakery items and beverages were served, and there was also another gift shop in the apple barn. Adding on a winery was their next big project. They were forever expanding the business.
Seemed like a hell of a lot of work to him, but he knew they loved it there. And God knows it was an escape for him, even more so now that he had to deal so much with the public and the press as part of his duties with the band.
The winery might just come in handy too. Shame it wasn’t open yet.
Also a shame he rarely drank.
“Leelee didn’t want any of the reindeer to feel not as special, so she gave them all the little poms. Always had a soft heart, that girl.”
Mal couldn’t help snorting. Everyone ignored him.
His grandparents knew quite well that he and Lila had issues, despite his attempts to not be obvious about it in their presence. His grandmother had chided him gently a few times, but she mostly let them do their own thing. He was sure she figured he’d come around someday all on his own.
The worst part of it was she was probably right.
Not that he now thought Lila was a saint. But neither was he. And it was easier to see with the passage of time that she hadn’t taken advantage of his father so much as the other way around. His father was a predatory dickhead, and Mal could only imagine how quickly he’d moved on a barely legal Lila when he met her. An innocent farm girl at that. Christ, hard to accuse her of doing much when he understood so much more now than he had as an angry teen who thought he had to defend his mother—then kept right on doing it because it was a habit.
Lila wasn’t without blame. She’d pulled strings in his life for her own aims a few times now, and one of them had led him to this place with this girl.
But it was hard to hold that against her either. Not anymore.
Not when he was right where he wanted to be. Even if it wasn’t going to be for much longer. He was already pushing it since he’d told the investigators he’d be back first thing in the morning.
Or maybe the next morning. What the hell could they do to him? Arrest him because he hadn’t hurried to answer their questions? He didn’t have any fucking answers for them. He was as much at a loss about what had happened the night of the show as anyone else.
The only thing he had to fall back on was his gut feeling all wasn’t as it seemed. Added to a few of the weird events he’d heard around Ripper—and even with Ricki herself—and the niggle grew.
They wanted to interview Ricki too, of course. He wasn’t going to be able to hide her away forever. Hell, he shouldn’t even be trying to shield her now. She was a strong woman, she could handle it, and she had a right to deal with everything as she saw fit. But it was too soon. She was still raw. If he was, she had to be. Ten times worse.
He could give her these few days here in this sanctuary, so he would.
“Oh, they’re so sweet. I love them all. The purple one is my favorite.” Ricki stroked its pom-pom nose before moving around the tree to find the right bough. She inched up on her tiptoes, her long dark ponytail swinging, and he moved forward to pluck it out of her fingers.
“Before you topple the tree.” He hung it on the branch he thought she’d been aiming for. “This right?”
“I’m considered tall everywhere except next to you, Giant.” She elbowed him in the gut and the noise he made wasn’t faked. She had some power behind the blow.
“You should’ve seen him at seventeen. Over six feet already by then and not done growing yet. His poor brother hated standing next to him.” His grandmother shook her head, smiling over the memory as she pulled a loop of tinsel out of the box.
“Mike hated standing next to me back then because he was half my weight too. Skinny fu—” He cleared his throat as his grandmother suppressed a smile. She had quite the vocabulary too—especially when she was riled—but he’d always been careful not to swear too much in his grandparents’ presence.
Ricki was smiling too, except she wasn’t trying to hide it. “Potty mouth.”
“Yeah, well, you’re no better.”
“Why, I’ve never heard our Richelle swear even once.” Grams wrapped her arm around Ricki and tipped her head against hers. “How about some hot cocoa?”
“With marshmallows?”
“Is there any other way to drink it?” His grandmother smiled and glanced from Ricki toward Mal. “I know you want some. Marshmallows and a candy cane, just like always.”
He didn’t flush, but he came close. His grandmother and grandfather went off to the kitchen, holding hands, squabbling about who knows what. Never with much rancor, just with the natural familiarity of spending your life with someone.
Ricki was staring after them. “I should’ve asked for a candy cane too.” Then she tilted her head and a loose dark wave tumbled over her eyes. “Or maybe I can take a lick of yours.”
Even knowing she would go there—in some dirty way or another—his body still reacted like a teenager’s on prom night. “I think you’re obsessed with my candy cane.”
She lifted her good shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“Okay?” He growled. “Next you’re going to say you’ve—”
“I’ve had be—” He grabbed her as she started to say it, then turned her around in his arms fast enough that she let out a gasp.
“You haven’t had anything yet. Just wait.”
She angled her head and looked up at him. “I am.” She wet her lips. “Fucking impatiently.”
His grandmother’s footsteps sounded behind them on the rough-hewn floors. “Here we are, hot cocoa for four. Or hmm, maybe not.”
Mal might’ve moved back from Ricki, if she hadn’t reached back and hooked her fingers in his back pocket. “We’ll take them to go, if you don’t mind.”
“Her arm is bothering her,” Mal said quickly, ears burning.
He was as open about sex as anyone, but hello, these were his grandparents. He couldn’t just be like “excuse me, gotta fuck” in front of them.
Even if it was hot as hell that she could. That she wanted him that bad.
“Not so much,” Ricki said cheerfully, “but it’s as good an excuse as any.” She slipped out of his embrace to go help his grandmother with the tray. Mal would’ve done the same if he didn’t have another pressing need.
Mainly to move behind the tree so he had some coverage for the situation the little vixen had caused.
“These look wonderful. Oh, you gave me a candy cane too. Bless you.” Ricki kissed his grandmother’s cheek and picked up her cocoa, taking a long sip with a moan that didn’t make it any easier for him to move out from behind the damn pine.
Christ, if she made that same sound while they were in bed, he was going to lose it.
Might even lose it before they made it up the stairs.
“Figured you’d want some sweetness too. Though it looks like you’ve got that covered.” Her wink made Mal die a little inside.
He was so going to spank Ricki’s tight little ass. She’d probably love every second.
“If it’s all the same to you kids, we’re going to turn in with our cocoas as well.” His grandfather saluted them with his moose mug. “Have fun. Just remember we’re old, but we’re not dead. And we’re sleeping right down the hall.” He turned to head up the wide stairs to the second level.
Ricki giggled. “Oh, we’ll be quiet. He’s already told me he’s going to cover my mouth.”
Dear God. Was there a category beyond mortified? Maybe humiliation-induced mortality?
“Be careful with that asphyxiation stuff, dear. It’s all fun and games until someone passes out.” His grandmother leaned around the tree, her eyebrows raised. “Here’s your cocoa. Drink it while it’s piping hot.”
He took it and said nothing. All he could hear was his heartbeat and Ricki’s giggles.
That sound would probably follow him to the other side.
He mumbled goodnight to his grandmother when she finally went upstairs, then turned to press his flame-hot forehead against the icy windowpane.
The wench was laughing again. At him. His cock didn’t even have the courtesy to mind. It was getting harder by the second, just from knowing she was behind him and ready to fuck.
He gripped the handle of his ridiculous Grinch mug—Ricki so didn’t need to know it was his favorite—and turned to face her, registering the sheer joy in her dancing eyes. She might’ve just caused him enough embarrassment to fuel a hundred family jokes for the next decade, but she was happy. She was excited.
She wasn’t thinking about anything that came in a baggie or a vial.
What she was thinking about, however, was written all over her face the longer he stared. Some of the amusement fled, replaced by something much darker and hotter. But the mischief was still there, causing her to hitch up the hem of her tank top just enough for him to see the slice of skin above her jeans. That teasing hint of her belly button was enough to make his throat go dry.
He tried to find enough breath to speak. “All these months and you never once looked at me this way.”
“I’d say the same, though you say otherwise. But you never let me know. I’m not a mind reader.” She let her shirt drop, hiding her skin from view. “You acted as if you hated me. Worse, as if I was beneath your contempt.”
