Last First Kiss (Brightwater #1)

by Lia Riley

  Inside, Archer and Kit’s noisy guffaws threatened to shake the window panes. Yeah, because your family are a bunch of shrinking violets, huh?

  “It’s time you steer clear of my grandson.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did I stutter?” Grandma leaned in, practically poking Annie’s eye with the umbrella. “Sawyer’s a good boy. He doesn’t deserve to be toyed about by a kooky Carson.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, this conversation is totally out of line.”

  “Look at you, with that fancy cappa-whachamacalit. This town needs to remember its roots before it’s too late.”

  “First of all, those are your kin inside that shop drinking espresso. Second, the Carsons were on the same wagon train as the Kanes. Don’t even think of trying to Out-Brightwater me. I’m fifth-generation. You’re the one who married in.”

  Boom, how you like those apples, Granny?

  Grandma’s color rose as her eyes turned to slits. “And you are willing to throw it all away, slink out of town with your money bags.”

  “You’re upset because you want the land for yourself. You’ve always wanted it. When I was a kid, how many lawsuits did you file trying to encroach on access?”

  Annie jumped when a large hand clasped her shoulder. She turned, and it was Archer, his mouth firm. “Are you yelling at my grandma?”

  Great, out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  “She’s commenting on things that aren’t her business,” Annie responded.

  “This is Brightwater!” Grandma hollered. “Everything here is my business.”

  “Pretty sure Sawyer won’t want to hear his grandmother is disturbing the peace on his woman.”

  “His woman?” Annie gasped as Grandma Kane said, “Disturbing the peace?”

  “Come on, Grandma,” Archer said, offering her an arm. “I’m sure there’s someone you can scowl at over at The Baker’s Dozen. As for you”—he rose his chin at Annie—“how about you figure out what you are to my brother, and quick.”

  As grandson and grandmother stalked away, Annie resisted the urge to stomp in the largest puddle in sight. Instead, she turned back toward Haute Coffee. Hopefully there was an entire chocolate cake calling her name.

  Her phone rang again. What now? This time an unfamiliar local number appeared on the screen. “Hello?” she said tentatively.

  “Daisy, darling!” Quincy’s faint accent crisped his speech.

  “Oh, hello.” She straightened her posture. “So good to hear from you.”

  “I’ll cut straight to the chase. Do you want good news or better news?”

  “Um, let’s start with good and go up from there.”

  “The deal closed on The Brightwater Bugle. This little town paper is the newest jewel in the Bankcroft Media crown.”

  “Wow.” A flutter of excitement ran through her. “Congratulations.”

  “I’m not looking to keep The Brightwater Bugle a rinky-dink backwoods paper. We’ll still cover the local 4-H meeting and the obituaries, as those are the most popular sections, but features—that’s my vision. Why let other magazines fly by night through here? We should generate our own content. Highlight Brightwater and the rest of the New West.”

  “New West?” Annie repeated, before face-palming. Acting like a parrot wasn’t going to impress this man.

  Quincy continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “The old West is changing and residents need content that reflects the new landscape. These days, people appreciate a little glamor in their country. Now on to the better news. Would you like to be the Bugle’s new Editor in Chief?”

  “The . . . ” Her mouth worked soundlessly, the words unable to permeate her brain. Instead, they bounced around her skull like rogue Ping-Pong balls.

  “That’s right. I want you, Annabelle Carson.”

  “But my qualifications are—”

  “Absobloodylutely what we need. Besides, I like you and your voice. I go with my gut on these decisions, and this time my gut cries out, ‘Annie! Annie Carson!’ ”

  Quincy Bankcroft’s gut cried out for her? The phone trembled in her hand. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say the only word I want to hear—yes.”

  She pressed a hand to her forehead. “How about you let me think about it?”

  “I like those words far, far less.”

  “I’m in the middle of a few major life decisions and need to think everything through.”

  “Fine. You can have until the end of the week. But don’t be daft, darling. You are the exact right person for the job, and something tells me you know it too.”

  He hung up, and she was left holding the phone, staring, as a literal tumbleweed blew down the street center. All this time she’d been telling herself how staying in Brightwater was pointless, that she couldn’t advance her career or her life—that San Francisco was the only sensible option.

  Now these words were thrown back in her face, but the effect was like getting dumped over the head with an ice bucket. She stepped back inside the coffee shop, determined to eat Edie’s flourless chocolate cake before her words.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  SAWYER SWERVED TO miss the little old lady. Scratch that. There was nothing sweet or stooped-back about the woman glaring at him from the middle of the road underneath a black umbrella.

  “Grandma, are you trying to get yourself killed?” He stuck his head out the window.

  She shook her finger at him. “If that’s what it takes to get you to see sense, then I’ll consider it a death worth dying.”

  A few people paused on the sidewalk, watching them curiously. Sawyer swore under his breath and drove his squad car to the curb, then parked it, got out and slammed the door. He set his hand on Grandma’s bony elbow and led her out of the middle of the street.

  “Jay-walking is a crime.”

  “Good, that was the idea. Book me. Take me in.”

  “You want me to arrest you?”

  “This is a one-woman protest.”

  “It looks like you might need a nap and cup of tea.”

  She shrieked in outrage. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way. I remember changing your diaper.”

  Sawyer grimaced. “For that, I’m sorry.”

  “Bring me in and maybe I’ll be able to talk some sense into that numbskull head of yours.”

  “Grandma, I’m the sheriff.”

  “And I’m your elder.” She looked up at the sky. “It’s going to start raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock again any second, so let’s cut to the chase. Annabelle Carson sold Five Diamonds.”

  Her words hit him like a slug to the gut. “What?” He’d failed.

  “Did I stutter? She’s sold the place, and to the worst person you can imagine. I heard that old fat cat King make the call. Ruby preened next to him smug as a cat who got into the cream.”

  Sawyer took off his hat, rubbing his forehead. That didn’t make any sense. “Annie would never sell the farm to Ruby.”

  “The price was more than right. Your little girlfriend doesn’t care about the farm, or the fact that Ruby will lock it up, tear it down and build a sunken pool, and tennis courts to entertain her Hollywood friends. All that prime land will get mowed under to put in a nine-hole golf course.”

  Sawyer’s insides were scoured empty. Ruby said she wouldn’t let him go without a fight, but he never expected this.

  “I’ll talk to Annie.” That was it. That was what he’d do. Once he laid out his feelings, she’d see sense and stay.

  Wouldn’t she?

  AFTER ANNIE STUMBLED back inside the coffee shop, she discovered Margot had wheedled Edie into letting her help behind the counter during tonight’s concert and then sleep over in her above-shop apartment afterward. Atticus was tucked in bed, and now the house was too quiet by half.

&n
bsp; Truck tires ground up the gravel. She set down the book she wasn’t reading anyway and went outside as Sawyer parked his truck. The nearby pine grove looked dark but not forbidding, and for once the peaks didn’t make her feel lonely. The landscape had a hushed quality, a night for futures to be decided.

  Grandma Kane might have spewed mean, hurtful words in town today, but they weren’t anything she hadn’t thought herself. For so long she’d let things happen. Terrible things. Mundane things. Until she’d gone numb. Never asking for what she needed. Ignoring what she wanted.

  The truck door slammed.

  She grabbed her want and found the feeling fit perfectly. She didn’t have to suck it in or shimmy.

  “Annie?” Sawyer called out, a trifle wary as she stood and approached. “I heard you and Grandma had words.”

  “I don’t care about what your grandma thinks of me, Sawyer.” Annie wrapped her arms around him. “Follow me.” She led him inside, pointing at the giant blanket fort strung up in the living room. “Atticus and I built it earlier, just like Claire and I used to do.”

  “We can’t fit in there, can we?”

  “We might have to get cozy, but it’s better here. He’s sleeping upstairs.”

  “You convinced me.” They crawled inside and he eased her on top of him, swearing. “Shit, what’s that?” He reached beneath and pulled out a flashlight. He flicked it on and her eyes constricted from the light.

  “Sorry.” He lowered the beam so it hit directly on her breasts. “Wow.”

  Her shirt had popped a button and a lot of cleavage showed. “I kind of have that whole heaving bosoms thing going on, huh?”

  “Whatever you want to call it, they look all right.”

  “All right?” She giggled. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  “Your bosoms—your heaving bosoms—look incredible.”

  “Incredible, really?”

  “Would you prefer fucking hot?”

  “I’m like a heroine in my own romance novel, the coy down-on-her luck single mom who is plucky.” She palmed a breast and arched a brow. “And perky.”

  “Works for me.”

  “And you’re the hero, obviously. Strapping. Sexy. A sheriff, even. Oh my God, we are a cliché.” She reached for his belt. “Do you have a throbbing member?”

  “Jesus, Annie.” He looked torn between choking and laughing.

  “A rampaging cockstand?” She opened the buckle.

  “That sounds dangerous.”

  “What about . . . ” She lowered her voice with dramatic flair. “A quivering member?”

  “Annie, you know I love talking to you, right? But I’m going to have to shut you up.” He kissed her hard then, and whatever it was that rampaged, quivered or throbbed pressed against her. The flashlight rolled from his grasp as he fisted her hair and she did the same. They kissed each other hard, grabbing as if they tried hard enough they’d merge into one self.

  Annie undid his zipper and didn’t think. Tonight she knew exactly what she wanted, and it was high time she had it. Lowering her head, she took him down as far as she could go, her mouth hitting a point where it was full of Sawyer, everything he had to give. Then she drew back, kissing him along his shaft as his mangled words distilled to one refrain.

  “Annie. Annie. Annie.” He tried to pull away. “Stop. Please, you don’t have to . . . Aw, shit—”

  She shook her head, and the side-to-side motion pushed him in deeper, making him swear again.

  “Annie.” He hauled her up against him.

  “Why’d you stop me?” She touched her lips, swollen, a little puffy, but in a good way. “Wasn’t it okay?”

  “You’re goddamn amazing, but there’s a rule I have.”

  “A rule?”

  “With you.”

  “Okay.” She had no idea what he’d say.

  “You come first.”

  “What?”

  “That’s my rule. I get you off first.”

  “Oh . . . ” Her brain exploded in a silent burst. She was vaguely aware that he pulled a condom out of his wallet, that her underwear came off, and that the diffuse flashlight glow caught flecks of gold in his green eyes.

  “So good watching you respond to me.” He parted her legs, teasing her with the tip, grinning as she squirmed, helpless, shamelessly begging with her body for more. “So good hearing you make those little sounds when I do this.” Inch by inch he buried deeper as she let out an incoherent moan.

  He withdrew, but the absence couldn’t even be missed because then he was there, plunging again. Her mind was right there, in this moment. His gaze didn’t leave hers as his hands gathered her hips, tilting them so he could plunge impossibly deeper. This man was inside her, and yet he’d always been there in his own way. She’d carried a piece of him all these years, so now having him here in truth only intensified the experience.

  He made a low rasp in his throat and she shivered. She was normally the one gasping and crying out, he was always so focused. What would it be like to get him going? She sucked in a sharp inhalation, clenched around him and whispered the only two words that mattered in this moment. “Sawyer. Yes. Sawyer.”

  A definite groan this time. He rode her harder as she leaned up and sucked at the hollow of his neck. His skin flavored with sweat and need.

  “You feel so good,” she murmured, and his throat worked hard.

  “Fuck,” he muttered through his teeth as she reached to hold his sac in a featherlight caress.

  “I have rules too,” she said. His eyes rolled back in his head. She had forgotten the part of her that was playful, liked to try things out, have fun. She’d never been able to be this close to someone while having sex. “My rule is tonight, we come together,” she panted. “Same time.”

  “Annie.” He adjusted her so her legs were on the outside, his on the inside and every movement went from amazing to mind-blowing. His pelvis skimmed her clit as his rough callused fingers circled the softest, slickest, most sensitive part of her. When he flicked his tongue against the side of her mouth she opened, let him slide the curve of his lower lip against hers while she gripped his biceps.

  It wasn’t a flame within her, it was a conflagration, as if she’d thrown her mask on a bonfire and given him her truest face, and he showed her his. Memories flashed. The long ago day the tall, beautiful boy, all big hands and feet, stared but didn’t speak in the freezer section of the grocery store. She’d glanced at him through the open door and frozen herself, until the glass between them fogged and she dropped her head in embarrassment. The next time he approached she’d been in the river, and she hadn’t understood the look on his face, but liked the way that he’d watched her.

  She wrapped her legs around him and pressed her forehead against his chest as he increased the rhythm.

  “Eyes on me, Annie Girl.” He gritted his teeth, his one bracing arm shuddering as his strokes took her to the edge. She hovered a moment, toes curling. One last rolling thrust and she jumped, knowing he fell alongside her, holding her hand the whole way down.

  Afterward, she lay with her head on his shoulder, fingers entwined. They hadn’t said much. Words seemed strange, useless things to describe the journey they’d taken.

  This man lit up her life like the North Star, yet on the kitchen table sat an offer of sale for the house. What to do? Stride forward toward the light, even as it seemed so high, painfully beautiful and unattainable, or spin and spin and find herself in a new place, with a new start, a new life?

  “I . . . ” Sawyer smoothed back her hair and wrapped his arms around her. The house was quiet. They hid in their blanket fort inside this stolen moment of time. “I don’t always have an easy way with words.”

  She squeezed his hand. Something told her he’d opened up to her more in the last few weeks than he ever had with anyone. “It’s okay.”
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  “But sometimes there are things that need saying.” He rolled her gently onto her side, wincing as they separated. His hard pectoral muscles tightened. “I need to tell you that I’m falling—” His phone rang and he muffled a curse. “That’s work. I have to take this.” He tugged his phone out of his pocket and answered, “Kane here. What? Shit. On my way.” He hung up and looked over.

  “Duty calls?”

  “Yeah, a car accident got called in outside town. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” He gave her a kiss on the forehead.

  “Of course.”

  He sighed and kissed her again, a light brush on the lips. “You know how hard it is to leave when you look like this?”

  She patted her head. “A half-drunk porcupine?”

  “Nah. Like a woman who’s been well-loved.” And with that he was gone, and the blanket fort was hers alone.

  Falling. He was falling. She was too, but the thing about falling was eventually you hit, splattered, and then the fun was over.

  She pressed her hands over her face, couldn’t bear to wake from this dream. Falling in love was one thing, but what happened after the fall was the scary part.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ANNIE WAITED BUT Sawyer didn’t return. At four in the morning, she wandered into the kitchen and flicked through the deed of sale. Who was this mystery buyer? This was a big decision, and to pass the farm off to a nameless stranger made it seem as if she cared far less than she did. There was a lot of money at stake, and even more family pressure, but how could she leave Sawyer?

  The laptop sat on the table, and she flicked through old blog comments that did nothing to make her feel better. Everyone expressed positivity, validated her choices, but they didn’t know anything about her, the real her. She might as well be a fictional character. It was amazing and kind that they took time to reach out, but maybe it was time to be honest. Show her life, warts and all.

  Joy of joys—Ms. Hootenanny had left another comment. I don’t believe in you.

  “I don’t believe in me either,” Annie said out loud.