Fighting Love

by Melissa West

  “I’ll let you get to it.”

  “Do you need a ride back to the house?”

  “Nah, your mother will be by soon enough.”

  Zac hesitated, the idea of leaving his father alone unsettling, but hovering over the man who’d always been the strongest man Zac knew was even more unsettling.

  As if he could read Zac’s mind, Ned waved him on. “Go on now. Take care of my granddaughter. I’m fine.”

  “All right. See you later, Dad.” He watched as his father focused on the farm, his eyes strained, and a pang of sadness worked through him.

  Death might be easier than having to give up doing what you loved. Zac hoped he would never have to find out. So long as he could run both the farm and Southern Dive, he would keep doing it.

  Now if only he could feel so certain about the other elements of his life.

  * * *

  Night set in faster than Zac cared for, and by nine thirty, he had already downed a couple of beers, surfed the TV in search of a game that apparently didn’t exist, and called both of his brothers, who were out on dates. Because it was a Friday night, and that’s what people did on Fridays.

  Well, all people except him.

  Zac tried to remember his last true date, and all he could come up with was a lunch with one of Kate’s friends. Gemma? Jane? He could scarcely remember, having never been a name person. But what he did remember was the way she called him too quickly after the date. How she came by the farm, claiming to look for Kate, as though Kate had ever been a regular at the farm. And then she showed up at Brighton’s Sandwich Shop, her eyes bright like she couldn’t believe she was running into Zac. Again. And that was the end of that.

  To be honest, he probably should have tried harder, but there was something about earning a woman’s company, not simply asking for it and receiving it, that appealed to him. He hoped Carrie-Anne would make the boys beg for her attention, unlike all the foolish girls who posted on Instagram and Facebook in outfits and poses inappropriate for women twice their age, all in an effort to what? Get boys to notice them? Well, they likely did—but not in the way the girls hoped.

  And now Zac had drifted into father mode. Again. He landed there more often than not these days, and he shuddered to think of what he’d become by the time Carrie-Anne went off to college.

  What he needed was a distraction, a healthy or semi-unhealthy distraction that would tide over his brain until he could go to sleep without feeling like a boring old man. A distraction, a distraction—what could Zac do to pass time for a while? He thought back to the last time he’d been truly distracted, hell even entertained, and only one name came to mind—Sophie Marsh.

  Hmm . . . Sophie Marsh.

  The name kept creeping back into his life, much like the woman it belonged to, and Zac needed to end all thoughts of her before she and her name made a home in his head for good.

  Grabbing the phone off the mount in the kitchen, Zac searched the call history until he found Sophie’s number. He hit Call, not really sure what he would say when she picked up.

  “Fancy hearing from you at nine thirty on a Friday night. Don’t you get out?”

  Zac grinned, the pressure in his chest easing. “Don’t you?”

  “Actually, I’m in mourning, so I have an excuse.”

  “Mourning?”

  “You saw me at the salon.”

  A laugh broke free before Zac could tuck it away. “Now you have to send me a picture so I can see it. What are we talking about here? That pink stuff Donna puts in her daughter’s hair, or did she just butcher it? Ah, damn, you’re not sporting one of those boy cuts, are you?”

  He could almost hear her cringing. “No, Mr. Chauvinistic. And besides, it’s just hair.”

  “Right. And that’s why you’re stuck inside on a Friday night, probably staring at your reflection in the mirror in your bedroom, then the hall bathroom on the way to the kitchen, then doing it all over again, turning your head this way and that to see if you like it in different light.” He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice. He’d seen Kate and his mother work through the same thing too many times growing up not to recognize the signs of a hair appointment gone horribly wrong. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Shut up.”

  His grin spread, and for the briefest second, he thought he wouldn’t be annoyed if Sophie were around more often just so he could spar with her. She brought out reactions in him that no one else did. Anger, sure, but there were other reactions. Reactions he didn’t want to analyze right now.

  “Why’d you do it anyway? Seems if a lady has good hair, she should leave it alone.”

  “Is there a compliment somewhere in that statement? I’m not good at deciphering bullshit from honesty.”

  Zac swallowed, unwilling to admit to as much, leaving the space open for her to talk so he could just listen and forget everything else for a while. “Trying to impress some guy in town?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, not everything a woman does is for a man.”

  “All right, so what then? A bet? A run-in with the law and you needed an identity change?”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Hey! No need for name calling. Just tell me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Ugh! Fine. I’m trying to suck up to Donna, all right?”

  That gave Zac pause. “Suck up to her? Why would you want to get in with Donna? Unless . . .” An uncomfortable feeling that felt a heck of a lot like disappointment settled over him. “Wow. I had no idea you were—”

  “You can end that fantasy circling through that mush brain of yours right now. I wasn’t trying to get-get with Donna.”

  “I believe that’s two insults now. You’re going to owe me dinner if you keep this up just so you can adequately say you’re sorry.”

  “I’m not sorry.”

  “Not the point. You’re supposed to say you’re sorry to be polite.”

  “Says who?”

  Zac leaned against the railing on his front porch, enjoying himself too much now to end the call. “Why’d they kick you out of Merryville again?”

  “They didn’t kick me out,” she said, but Zac caught the break in her voice as she said it. There was definitely a story there, and he had every intention of uncovering it. But one thing at a time.

  “So if you’re not trying to get-get with Donna, then what are you trying to get from her?”

  He could hear her tossing something around in aggravation, and he wished he were there so he could watch her feistiness taking shape, that petite thing so full of sass it was amazing she didn’t grow a foot every time she lost her temper.

  “Her business, okay?”

  “Her hair business? Since when are you a hairstylist?”

  “Ughhhhh. I’m not.” She paused, and he suspected she was biting her tongue to keep from insulting him again. It made him want to push her even more. “I’m trying to get her lemon and lime business.”

  At that, he went silent, the urge to keep from laughing so strong that he feared if he breathed, the laugh would break free and she’d hang up on him. A good fifteen seconds of silence passed before he trusted himself enough to speak.

  “You realize she gets maybe a bag every two weeks, right? That’s like, what? Five bucks of that expensive stuff you sell? You hurting that badly, Marsh, that you gotta swindle away five dollars? Look, I’ll save you the trouble and bring over a five right now. Make you feel better and all.”

  “God, you really are insufferable.”

  Zac grinned as he lay back in the porch swing and let it sway back and forth, the night peaceful, not a cloud in the sky to block the stars. “Thank you. I try.”

  “Gah, see that. You are horrible!” She hesitated, then added, “Ugh, wait. I’m sorry. I’m not normally such a mean person, but you make me want to—”

  “Scream? You know, I’d love to test that response in other areas.”

  “Are you this ridiculous wit
h everyone, or do I get that prize all to myself?”

  He thought about it, and surprisingly, he couldn’t think of another woman who he liked to jab at like Sophie. At first, it was the competition between them, especially on market days. But there was something else there, too. He enjoyed her reactions, the way her lips pursed in aggravation every time she saw him. It made him want to push her buttons a little bit more to see if she’d pop. Which was mean as hell, but fun all the same. Still, he had no intention of admitting that to her.

  “Now, now, you wouldn’t think you’re that special, would you?”

  “Look, I—”

  “Back to Donna. So you screwed up your hair to try to get her business?”

  “Not just hers. All those ladies that hang around her salon. Donna let me leave some pens and magnets because I spent like two hundred dollars on a cut and highlights and lowlights and shampoo and conditioner and hair volumizer and some pomade crap that scares me to even think about putting in my hair. And yet, I didn’t even get to talk to the other ladies. They hate me.”

  “They don’t hate you.”

  “They don’t like me.”

  “I, well . . .” Zac dropped a foot to the ground and pushed, causing the swing to move again.

  “You can admit it. I know they don’t. I just don’t know what I did? I’m nice, right?”

  Zac laughed, and Sophie growled into the phone. “I was about to say yes. It was on the tip of my tongue.”

  “Sure you were. I just don’t know what to do. If I can’t get them to like me, they’ll never buy from me. I need . . . oh my God. Why didn’t I think of this before?”

  Zac glanced around as though she were there and had picked up on something he hadn’t. “Um, not following you here.”

  “Are you at home? Wait, that was a stupid question. Of course you are. You called me from your landline. Come to think of it, why did you call?”

  He released a slow breath. “I . . . I don’t really know.”

  “But you’re not going anywhere right now, right?”

  “Probably not. What are you—” He heard the dial tone, and he eyed the phone, unsure what the hell had just happened. Clearly, Sophie was this side of crazy, and he needed to get said crazy person out of his mind. Right now.

  He drew a breath and released, cleared his mind. There, see? Done. Gone.

  Twirling the phone around in his hand, he stared at the keypad, curious if he should call her back. Maybe she’d accidentally hung up, or he had, and she was waiting on him to call back.

  And now he sounded like a chick. Freaking hell.

  Resigned that he needed to find something to do, he hit the shower and then put on pajama pants and double-checked that he had everything set up for the next few dive classes at Southern Dive.

  Everything was all set. He’d killed twenty minutes, and yet he ached to call Sophie back. He had just opened his laptop and sat down in his dark leather recliner to research new equipment for the farm when he heard a knock at the door.

  Sure that it was Carrie-Anne, homesick, he raced to the door, prepared to baby her the way he was known for doing. Instead, he opened the door and stared straight into the clear blue eyes of someone else—Sophie.

  Her hair flowed down her back and shoulders in long blond and strawberry waves, like it had been kissed by the sun itself. Her face was bare, so the tiny brown beauty mark on her right cheek stood out. She wore baggy jeans with a hole in the knee, a white tank top, and flip-flops—this Sophie in such sharp contrast to the one he was used to seeing that he did a double take.

  His mouth fell slack, his mind shutting down, and only one word came to mind. “Wow.”

  “Are you going to let me in or keep staring at me like a fool?”

  Fool sounded about right.

  Chapter Five

  “I know. I look like a freaking Bratz doll. And I’m sorry about this.” Sophie swirled a finger in front of her face. “Had to get over here, and I’d already taken off my makeup. I’m a total raccoon, but I assure you it’s me.”

  Her brows threaded together, and she contemplated covering her face with her hair, but it was a hot mess, too, thanks to Donna. “Look, I get that I look crazy, but seriously? I’m not an alien or anything. Why are you staring at me like that?”

  Zac jerked back like he’d finally snapped back to reality, then he cleared his throat and looked away.

  “Oh my God.” Suddenly Sophie realized that she’d walked in on Zac Littleton in his home, at night, and he was dressed for the hour. His hair was still wet from a recent shower, and beyond a pair of low-hanging plaid pajama pants that showed off the deep V of his pelvic muscle, he was naked. Naked except for a thin pair of pajama pants. Heaven above . . .

  Now it was Sophie’s turn to stare. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “No, I’m talking about you.” Sophie pointed at him, unable to hide her thoughts. “I didn’t know you had so many tattoos. Or so many muscles.”

  Zac glanced down at his bare chest, and Sophie took that as an invitation for her to do the same. Wow didn’t even cover it.

  She knew Zac was fit, but nothing like this. This? This was magazine worthy—drool worthy. Cut muscle after cut muscle, wish-she-could-stroke-his-abs worthy. Now she understood why Donna had thrown out a “Sweet Jesus” after she touched Zac’s stomach at the salon. Sophie was close to mumbling her own sweet Jesus, and she hadn’t even touched him.

  Clearing her throat, she glanced away before she embarrassed herself.

  “What are you doing?”

  She covered her eyes to keep the devils from wandering. “Letting you get dressed.”

  “I am dressed.”

  “You know, the rest of the way. With a shirt.”

  “Look, lady, you came to my house. This is what I look like at my house at ten forty-five at night.”

  Steeling herself for the sight of those abs again, Sophie forced herself to face him and lift her head a touch higher. “Where’s Carrie-Anne?”

  “At a friend’s tonight.”

  Sophie caught the way he glanced at his cellphone as he said it, the hint of worry around his eyes. “First sleepover?”

  “Yeah, first one not with my parents or Kate.”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah,” Zac said, running a hand through his hair that caused the wet strands to stick out in the most adorable way. And . . . craptastic. She needed to get her head on straight if she had any hope of doing what she came here to do. “She’s not the problem.”

  A pinch of understanding worked through Sophie’s heart. “Ah, growing up too fast?”

  “So fast. It feels like she was just learning to walk yesterday, and now she’s talking about lip gloss and sleepovers and God knows what else when I’m not around.”

  “She’s a good girl, Zac. You raised her well.”

  His eyes met hers for the first time since he opened the door. “I hope so. Feels like you can only do so much, and then you have to hope the groundwork you built over all those years stands up to the pressures they’ll face, ya know?”

  She nodded, though she didn’t really know at all. By now, she had hoped to have children, but he didn’t want children, so she . . .

  She trailed off before her thoughts went any darker. That was in the past, where it would remain.

  “Anyway, enough dad drama. I thought you hung up on me.”

  Sophie cocked her head, her lips twitching at the corners. “You sound disappointed.”

  “What can I say? I enjoy fighting with you.” He winked, and Sophie felt her neck burn. She couldn’t have this conversation with Zac when he was standing there in next to no clothes, looking like that. Seriously? What sane woman could have any conversation at all?

  “Can you put on a shirt?”

  That arrogant grin of his flashed on his face, and he crossed his arms, flexing his biceps in an I-know-what-I’m-doing-to-you-and-I-like-it way. Sophie swallowed hard.


  “You know, I don’t think so. Seems I need an upper hand around you. This seems to give me that margin, but if it’d make you feel better, you can remove your shirt so we’re on the same playing field again. I won’t be offended in the least.”

  Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in, before she shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. You’re such an arrogant ass muncher.”

  Zac grabbed her arm just before she made it to the door and peered down at her. His clean, all-outdoors scent washed over her.

  “Ass muncher.”

  “You deserved it.”

  “I did. And I’m sorry. Don’t leave. I’ll be good.”

  She cocked her head.

  “And I’ll put on a shirt.”

  “Good. I’ll just wait here.”

  “See, we’re getting along better already.” Zac tossed her a crooked grin before disappearing down a long hallway.

  Sophie took the opportunity to examine his house. She’d never been there before, but if she could have guessed what it would look like, she would have guessed this.

  The walls were a warm caramel throughout, and the family room had been decorated with a dark leather couch and two recliners, a few photos on the wall. It was an open floor plan, the granite-and-stone kitchen visible from the family room, the dining room with rustic furnishings to its left. She wondered if his mother had helped decorate or maybe Kate or if he’d done it all on his own. There was a cozy vibe, but also something decidedly male about it. She wondered if he allowed Carrie-Anne to paint her room pink or if he had blanched at the idea. She wondered a lot of things about Zac Littleton, and she found each detail she discovered only made her desperate for more.

  “Better?”

  She turned to find him in a basic white T and the same pajama pants as before, barefoot.

  “You didn’t say the PJs were an issue.”

  “They aren’t . . . so long as they stay in place.”

  Zac broke into laughter. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t drop my pants every chance I get. You’re safe with me.”

  “I know that.”

  Their eyes locked for a second, and Sophie noticed brown flecks within his green irises. His tongue wet his bottom lip, and he swallowed, causing his Adam’s apple to bob. Sophie took a step back, needing space from the energy bouncing between them.