Last First Kiss (Brightwater #1)

by Lia Riley

  “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”

  “Does Sawyer know?”

  “That boy doesn’t even have a Tweeter account.”

  “Twitter.”

  “You get my point.”

  Annie shook her head. “Why would you send all those mean comments to me? Seriously, what have I ever done to you?”

  “Are you deaf?” She coughed again. “None of this is about me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not going to be around forever.” Grandma coughed again, pounding her chest with a fist. “I love two things in this world—this ranch and those three boys. Sawyer deserves someone real. Someone worthy of him. Look at you, the way you take those pretty pictures, showing all the good things and none of the bad.”

  “Isn’t that what everyone does? In a conversation, if someone asks how you are doing, you don’t answer, ‘I have a headache, my son wet the bed at three a.m., and my husband divorced me to finger strangers. ’ ”

  Grandma Kane’s mouth had been working double time to get a word in edgewise but the last part of the sentence shut her up.

  “Sorry.” Annie said on autopilot. “No, you know what? I’m not sorry. No one heard the stay-at-home mother’s voice a generation ago. And I do have journalist credentials, not that it even matters. What you are doing is tantamount to bullying, and you know what happens when you sling dirt. You get dirty.”

  “You are leaving town and selling your history to a woman who couldn’t care about it less, a woman who disrespected my Sawyer, your Sawyer, and who will respect the land even worse than your father.”

  “I’d think you’d be happy to see the door slam on the kooky Carsons once and for all.”

  “Is that it?” Grandma narrowed her eyes, coughing into her handkerchief. “Or is it that you don’t want us?”

  “Of course I want into the Brightwater club. It’s what I’ve always wanted. A place to belong. A place where people know my name. Care about me. Care about my family. My life. I had that on Five Diamonds but never in town. And how I feel toward your grandson is . . . is . . . is the best part of me. I love him.”

  “Annie.”

  She closed her eyes, hearing Sawyer’s deep voice behind her. Grandma knew he was there? Maverick knew and hadn’t so much as wagged a tail.

  She was tricked into confessing her love for Sawyer, and worse, she’d told his grandma, not him.

  “I do. Okay.” She threw up her hands. “I love you, Sawyer. There. I said it. Happy?”

  “No. I’m not happy,” he said quietly. “Because you are leaving.”

  She cried now, in public, on the steps in front of his crazy grandma. “You are the best man I’ve ever known. Will ever know. You fix all my broken pieces, and what you put back together feels better than the way things were before. Stronger. Sturdier. A little worn, but hey, that’s the fashion. You . . . you repurpose me.”

  “But you want to move to the city, start again.”

  “Because I’m afraid—afraid of staying here, and having the town hate me. Never being welcome because of my last name. Imagine family reunions, picnics, everyone ostracizing me, and worse, Atticus. I can’t do that to a sensitive little boy.”

  “But this is your home,” he said softly.

  “No, you are my home,” she answered, wiping her eyes. “But I love you too much to ask you to sign on to something that’s going to be too hard.”

  “See, what did I say?” Grandma Kane sounded smug. I’ve always known Carsons are damn fools. This land is for working people, and that’s what love is—it’s hard work.”

  Annie whirled around. “I want to make him happy, more than anything, but the family, the feud . . .”

  Grandma regarded her steadily. “This town listens to me. If I say we are accepting the kooky Carsons, it’s as good as done.”

  “You . . . you’d do that?”

  “If you don’t sell the land.”

  “That’s the deal. You want my farm? And in return you’ll give me Sawyer and peace.”

  “Grandma—” Sawyer stepped forward. “That’s not okay.”

  “What?” the old woman snapped. “Why does everyone suspect me of dealing so dirty?”

  “Because you are The Don of Brightwater,” Annie answered testily. “Besides, you were my blogging stalker.”

  “What?” Sawyer looked between them.

  “I wanted to test your mettle,” Grandma said unapologetically. “See what you were made of.”

  “You wanted to get to know me? You could have invited me over for a cup of coffee.”

  “So what say you? Don’t sell the farm and you get Sawyer and my blessing.”

  “What about me? I’m standing right here,” Sawyer said tightly.

  “I’m handling this, boy,” Grandma snapped.

  “He’s not a boy.” Annie stepped forward. “He’s a man. He’s my man. And I don’t need your permission to be with him.” Here she was, staring down the heart of the matter, and all she could see was Sawyer. The rest was details. “If you want to set the whole Kane family on me, I’ll take it. I was wrong to care about all that. And as for Atticus, what he really needs more than anything in his life is love. And he’ll see that, between me and Sawyer. Real love. I’ve been scared of all the wrong things.”

  A hand gripped her arm and she turned, staring into Sawyer’s face, his expression tight with restrained emotion. “Are you saying—”

  “Ruby doesn’t get to win,” she whispered, placing a hand on his cheek. “Not on Five Diamonds or continuing to harass you. Quincy Bankcroft offered me a position as editor in chief of the Brightwater Bugle, and I’ll accept it. We’re going to complement it with online lifestyle stories. A good idea, seeing as most everyone and their grandma out here uses a computer.”

  Grandma Kane at least had the good sense to look abashed.

  Sawyer cupped her chin in his hands. “You mean it.” His eyes shown. “You will stay in Brightwater? Give us a shot?”

  “There’s no shot.” Annie covered his hands with hers. “I’m an all-in kind of girl, remember? I don’t wade. I jump.”

  He kissed her hard then and it felt like falling, and strangely enough, falling felt exactly like flying.

  Grandma laughed. “Go on then, get.”

  “What’s so funny?” Sawyer asked.

  Grandma chortled. “You two.”

  “You act like everything is going to your wishes,” Annie said.

  “Because it is,” she responded haughtily.

  Annie shook her head. “I’m not giving you Five Diamonds.”

  “Maybe not me, but you forget, I care about family, not soldiers. You marry Sawyer and you become a Kane. Then the Kanes get Five Diamonds no matter what,” she said with a cackle.

  “Grandma,” Sawyer said, warning in his voice.

  “I’ve got this handled.” Annie released Sawyer and walked toward the old woman, still snickering at her cleverness.

  Annie froze at the bottom step. “You’re right. What I have will be Sawyer’s, but you forget, what is Sawyer’s will also be mine.” She looked around at Hidden Rock Ranch. “Home sweet home. I’ve always liked this place.”

  The laughter dried in Grandma’s throat. “Now you see here, missy.”

  Sawyer started laughing. “She’s got you there, Grandma. And little grandbabies will be running around someday with both our blood. Who knows, maybe they’ll inherit everything.”

  Annie walked back toward him. “I always have wanted more children. And I have the perfect name for our first one. Carson. Little Carson Kane.”

  “At least I’ve got other grandsons. I’ll get them fixed up right.” Grandma walked back toward the house shaking her head.

  Sawyer smiled at her, and the joke swelled her heart, because as she said it she knew this was
real. She’d have more children with him, build a life. And this time when they both started laughing, it was real, and it was good. So very good.

  “I need to call my dad and tell him I’m refusing the offer. He’s going to freak out, but I don’t know what to do,” she said, taking his hand.

  He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I can come live at Five Diamonds.”

  “But you have your cabin. You love it. I love it too.” She looked out at the mountains. “I have to believe again.”

  “In what?”

  “Magic. Let’s go back to the farm. I’m going to call my sister. She’ll help me break the news.”

  AS ANNIE PUT down the phone, Sawyer frowned, unable to read her face. “What’s happened?”

  “A miracle,” Annie whispered. “My sister, Claire, is going to buy Five Diamonds from Dad—offer enough so he can get his place in Mexico.”

  His stomach twisted even as his chest swelled. “Come again?”

  “She said after she was here that she reconsidered her priorities. Once she heard I wanted to stay in Brightwater, she said we could still make our plan work, the one where we are neighbors.”

  “But her job in San Francisco . . . ”

  “She’ll keep doing it for now. But she’ll come out every chance she gets. She wants to remodel the main house and get to work hiring a contractor. I can live here for now with Atticus, and then soon . . . ”

  He liked how she flushed. “Yeah. I want my home to be yours too.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  He enfolded her in his arms and breathed deep. “Annie Girl.”

  “So we are doing this, me and you, for real?”

  He kissed her slow. “Forever.”

  Epilogue

  ATTICUS THREW A stick for Maverick and the dog ran long, leaping to catch it in his mouth.

  “Score!” Atticus threw his hands up in victory before chasing after him. He had been allowed to select a puppy from the litter before the rest were adopted into neighborhood homes, and he’d chose the runt, naming it Orion after the first constellation Sawyer taught him.

  Maverick turned and tackled Atticus, licking him from chin to forehead. Annie froze, heart in her mouth, but her son only shrieked with laughter, hooking his arms around the big dog with glee. Orion yipped and jumped on Atticus’s stomach.

  The sun dropped behind Mount Oh-Be-Joyful and the peak reflected the fire that grew in Annie’s heart, the warm crackle of a hearth. She realized she hummed under her breath.

  Sawyer left the telescope he’d set up, walked over, helping her to her feet. He led her in a few dance steps while she kept up the tune.

  “You bet I could never get you to dance.” She curved her mouth into a coy smile. “Looks like you owe me.”

  “This is true.” He grinned in that easy way that made her melt. “Name your price.”

  She tapped her chin. “I demand a kiss, Sheriff.”

  “Guess I better pay up.” Sawyer stepped back and pulled her to the quilt.

  “Mmmm, good idea.” She snuggled against his broad chest, craving the body heat radiating through his flannel button-down. “Don’t want you getting in trouble with the law.”

  “Yeah, better not mess with those guys.”

  “Well,” she whispered against his ear. “I’d kind of sort of planned to mess with one of them.”

  “Got to say”—he leaned close and traced his index finger under her chin, brushing the sensitive skin beneath her jaw—“it’s not a chore being in your debt.” His kiss tasted of warm apples and cinnamon sugar with enough spice to send her bare toes curling into the dewy grass.

  “Don’t you think it’s kind of funny?” She held him as tight as he held her. “To think all this time my happy ending was waiting here, at home, with you?”

  He shook his head. “Our story isn’t going to end, Annie Girl. When those mountains out there become nothing but empty spaces, and this world stops spinning, it won’t matter, because we’ll be somewhere else, somewhere better, forever burning bright.”

  Right on the horizon, where night and day met, a shooting star blazed, the glittering trail of dust illuminating the dark. “You make me believe in magic again,” she said.

  “I believe in us.” Sawyer’s steadfast gaze held infinite promise.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of Lia Riley’s next fantastic

  Brightwater novel

  RIGHT WRONG GUY

  Sometimes two wrongs can make a right. . .

  Bad-boy wrangler Archer Kane lives fast and loose. Words like “responsibility” and “commitment” send him running in the opposite direction—until a wild Vegas weekend puts him on a collision course with Eden Bankcroft-Kew, a New York heiress running away from her blackmailing fiancé . . . on the morning of their wedding.

  Eden has never understood the big attraction of cowboys. Give her a guy in a tailored suit any day of the week. That is, until all she can think about is Mr. Rugged Handsome, six feet of sinfully sexy country charm with a pair of green eyes that keep her tossing and turning.

  Archer might be the wrong guy for a woman like her, but she’s also wrong to think he’ll walk away without fighting for her heart. And maybe, just maybe, two wrongs can make a right.

  Available August 2015

  An Excerpt from

  RIGHT WRONG GUY

  ARCHER KANE PLUCKED a dangly gold nipple tassel off his cheek and sat in the king-sized bed, scrubbing his face. The trick lay in not disturbing the two women snoring on either side of him. Overturned furniture, empty shot glasses and champagne flutes littered the hotel room while a red thong dangled from the flat screen. He inched his fingers to grab the Stetson resting atop the tangled comforter. Vegas trips were about fillies and fun--mission accomplished.

  Right?

  “What the—” A dove dive-bombed him, swooped to his left, and perched on the room service cart to peck at a peanut from what appeared to be the remnants of a large hot fudge sundae. Who knew how a bird got in here, but at least the ice cream explained why his chest hair was sticky, and farther below, chocolate-covered fingerprints framed his six-pack. Just to be on the safe side, he tugged the sheet lower for a status check. Looked like he’d had one helluva night. Too bad he couldn’t remember a damn thing. He should be high-fiving himself, but instead, he just felt dog-tired. This Vegas trip hadn’t been like the others and waking in strange women’s hotel rooms didn’t hold the same old thrill.

  He emerged from beneath the covers and crawled to the bottom of the bed, head pounding like a bass drum. As he stood, the prior evening returned in splintered fragments. Blondie, on the right, cuddling his empty pillow, was Crystal Balls aka The Stripping Magician. The marquee from her show advertised, “She has nothing up her sleeve.” Dark-hair on the left had been the assistant . . . Destiny? Dallas? Daisy?

  Something with a D.

  How in Houdini they’d all ended up in bed together was where the facts got fuzzy.

  A feather-trimmed sequined gown crumpled by the mini bar and an old man ventriloquist’s dummy appeared to track his furtive movements from the corner. Archer stepped over a shattered champagne bottle and crept toward the bathroom. Next mission? A thorough shower followed by the strongest coffee on the strip.

  Coffee. Yes. Soon. Plus a short stack of buttermilk pancakes, a Denver omelet and enough bacon to require the sacrifice of a dozen hogs. Starving didn’t come close to describing the hollow feeling in his gut, as if he’d run a sub-four-hour marathon, scaled Everest and then wrestled a two-ton longhorn. His reflection stared back from the bathroom mirror, circles under his green eyes and thick morning scruff. For the last year a discontented funk had risen within him. How many times had he insisted he was too young to be tied down to a serious committed relationship, job . . . or anything? Well, at twenty-seven he might not be geriatric, but he was ge
tting too old for this bed-hopping shit.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he muttered to himself.

  Mr. Brightwater wasn’t looking his best. His cousin, Kit, had given him that nickname after he’d graced the cover of a “Boys of Brightwater” town calendar last year to support the local Lions Club. He’d been February and posed holding a red cardboard heart over his johnson to avoid an X-rating, although, as his big brother Sawyer had dryly noted, “Not like most women around here haven’t already seen it.”

  In fairness, Brightwater, California, didn’t host a large population. For a healthy man who liked the ladies, it didn’t take long to make the rounds at The Dirty Shame, the local watering hole. Trips to Vegas meant variety, a chance to spice things up. Although a threesome with Crystal and Diamond—Deborah? Deena? Dazzle?—was akin to swallowing a whole habanero.

  He reached into the shower and flicked on the tap as a warm furry body hopped across his foot. “Shit!” He vaulted back, nearly going ass over teakettle, before bracing himself on the counter. A bewildered white rabbit peered up, nose twitching.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He peered into the steam with increased suspicion. Hopefully, Crystal’s act didn’t also involve a baby crocodile or, worse, a boa constrictor. He hated snakes.

  The coast was clear so he stepped inside, the hot water sending him halfway to human. There was a tiny bottle of hotel shampoo perched in the soap dish and he gave it a dubious sniff. It smelled like flowers but would do the job of rinsing away stale perfume and sex. He worked a dollop through his thick hair, shoulder muscles relaxing.

  He’d always prided himself in being the kind of good-time guy who held no regrets, but lately it seemed like there was a difference between dwelling on past mistakes, and reflecting in order to avoid future ones. Did he really want to live out these shallow morning-after scenarios forever like some warped version of Groundhog Day?