His Best Friend's Little Sister

by Vivian Wood

  “Fine, don’t call in. Do whatever you want,” Larkin huffed, turning to leave the kitchen.

  “Wait, wait,” Remy said.

  Larkin turned back.

  “Take Shi?” Remy asked, holding him out to his aunt.

  Larkin relented, taking Shiloh and cooing to him. “Your mommy’s silly, do you know that? Huh?”

  Heading upstairs to the bedroom she shared with Shiloh, Remy changed into a clean pair of jeans and her tight white work t-shirt. She’d resisted when Grant asked her to wear the flashy, low-cut uniform top, but dang if her tips weren’t 100% more when she complied.

  “Stupid freakin’ men,” she grumbled. She pulled her long blonde hair into a high ponytail, then dusted a tiny bit of shimmery eyeshadow and pink blush on.

  Checking her reflection in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she smiled, then shrugged. She turned, checking out her own butt in the mirror, then rolled her eyes at herself.

  At 28, she looked much the same as ever. She’d filled out a little after having Shiloh, her hips widening and breasts getting a little bigger. Giving birth to Shiloh hadn’t been particularly kind to her body, but nursing, along with hard work on the farm and at the bar… she’d snapped back in about a year.

  Now, she thought, pressing her hands to her stomach as she looked in the mirror. Now it’s almost impossible to tell that I have a 3 year old.

  Well, except for the fact that everyone basically knew. She’d mostly hid out at home during her pregnancy, but even the few outings to church had been enough for gossip to spread like wildfire. Nothing she could do about it then, nor about the judgy looks she still got from some ladies in town.

  Sighing, she put on her shoes and grabbed her purse. She kissed Shiloh and her mother goodbye, then climbed in her rusting Chevy pickup and drove into town. She parked and got inside, then started setting up the bar.

  The Speckled Hen was a bit nicer than the rusting tractor shed in Remy’s backyard, but only by a little bit. There was a well-worn wooden bar with 12 stools, a single pool table, and a handful of booths. There was a small stage and a little dance floor, though the live music acts were few and far between. Sometimes couples would dance to the tinny jukebox music, but usually not.

  There were three beers on tap, plus a handful of bottled beers that changed at Grant’s whim. They had a little of everything, but specialized in a wide variety of mid-level whiskies. There was only one kind of cocktail at The Speckled Hen, which was liquor and Coke or Sprite.

  It was all fine by Remy, since it just meant less to set up, and less to memorize. She tied on a short white apron and unlocked the front doors just as the sun set. In a real city, no bar could open this late, but in Catahoula there wasn’t much demand for drinking in public before dark.

  As soon as Remy flipped the sign on the front door to open, regulars started to trickle in. Catahoula didn’t get much in the way of tourists, but there was a local oil refinery a couple towns over that sometimes provided new faces.

  Tonight, it seemed like the oil workers were celebrating, because 20 of them came in shortly after opening. They were spending big, and tipping big, which was nice… but Remy had the feeling that she’d be kicking some of the rowdier ones out at the end of the night.

  Between the regulars and the celebrating oil workers, Remy was busy. She managed to text Grant, letting him know that there were a few boisterous outsiders. Still, between Remy and a couple of her regulars, there’d never been a need to call in for backup.

  Some of the hardened older cowboys had strong ideas about propriety, and they were more than happy to defend Remy against any visitors who got ideas. The oil workers soon simmered down, too drunk to do much other than sit. After a few of them started to leave, another wave of customers came in.

  Sawyer Roman walked in, his two brothers right on his heels. He made eye contact with her, frowned, and started toward her. Remy paled and turned away, busying herself with other orders. When she turned back, Sawyer was at a booth with Colt, and his brother Walker was patiently waiting to order drinks.

  “Hey,” she said to Walker, trying to keep her cool. Like Sawyer, Walker was tall, dark-haired, and far too handsome for his own good.

  “Three beers,” he said without preamble.

  “Right,” she said, shaking her head.

  She hurried to fill his order, then placed three mugs before him. “It’s 10, please.”

  He dropped a twenty on the bar. He sipped one of the beers, then nodded. “I tried to take him to the Dirty Cur.”

  “Oh… I…” Remy said, blushing. “It’s fine.”

  Walker arched his brows but didn’t say anything. He picked up the mugs and returned to the booth, making room at the bar for a group of local men Remy’s age. Scott Brass, Jared Elsythe, Tim Brien, and a few others she didn’t know as well.

  “Hey, y’all,” she said, eyeing Scott, Jared, and Tim warily as they sat down before her. Not her favorite customers, truth be told. Good-looking, cocky jerks… and not in a good way.

  “Hey there, baby,” Jared drawled. “I see your boyfriend’s back in town. He gonna be mad that you’re so in love with me?”

  Remy huffed a laugh, trying not to roll her eyes. “Yeah, Jared. Real jealous.”

  “Mmhm, I thought so.”

  “Shut up, man,” Scott said. “Remy, can we get some shots and beers?”

  “Yep,” she said, shaking her head. She started to line up up their drinks.

  “Hey, here’s a question,” Scott said, a nasty grin on his face. “Does Sawyer know about you gettin’ knocked up? I bet he thinks you waited for him, all this time. Huh? Or does he know you spread your legs for some other guy?”

  Remy slammed the last shot of whiskey down on the bar. “Mind your own business, Scott.”

  “Awwww, he don’t know! Ah, this is so great. I can’t wait for Mr. Hero Soldier Prom King to find out what you did,” Scott chuckled.

  “You still mad that I wouldn’t go to prom with you, Scott Brass?” she asked as sweetly as she could manage.

  Scott glared at her, then smirked. “You know what just now occurred to me? Maybe you ain’t a slut, maybe it’s Sawyer’s bastard.”

  “Drink your beer,” Remy said, trying not to overreact. Scott didn’t know anything, he just wanted to get her goat.

  “Well, I’m just saying. Maybe a liar is better than a slut.”

  “Last warning,” she said, holding up a finger. “And if you ever call my kid a bastard again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  Scott’s eyes flashed, but he just grabbed his shot and beer and turned his back on her, muttering a curse.

  Remy released a pent-up breath, but she couldn’t relax. This was a nightmare scenario. Everyone in town knew she had a kid. Everyone but Sawyer, unless his brothers had filled him in.

  And if Sawyer found out, if he got even the slightest sense that Shiloh was his son…

  He could take over Remy’s whole life, maybe even sue for custody and take Shiloh away from her. Just like his father had promised, back when Remy was pregnant.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she moved down the bar to refill some more empty glasses.

  Between the hometown boys and the Roman brothers, Remy spent a lot of her night avoiding eye contact and ignoring heavy gazes. Every time she turned around, Sawyer was staring at her so intently that he was like to burn a hole through her shirt.

  Jared, on the other hand, spent the whole night staring at her ass. He even kept up a running commentary about it, growing bolder and more crass as the night wore on. Around ten, she turned around and found him behind the bar, standing far too close for her liking.

  “You know, Remy… I’m real good in the sack,” he said, drunk and dark-eyed.

  “Uh huh,” she said. “Get out from behind the bar, Jared.”

  She glanced over to find that Tim and Scott were distracted, turned away to ogle Arlene Thompson’s tan legs as she danced around the pool table in a short denim
skirt.

  “I’m just saying, I always thought you and I should get horizontal. I’d blow your mind, little girl,” Jared said.

  He reached out and grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her closer.

  “Jared, don’t make me tell you again,” she warned, her heart starting to pound. “Turn me loose and go back to your seat.”

  “I like that sassy mouth,” he said with a grin. “Although I can think of other things I’d rather you do with it—”

  Then Jared yelped, because Sawyer Roman had wrapped a hand around the base of his neck, stabbing his thumb into a sensitive pressure point.

  “Let. Go,” Sawyer growled at Jared.

  “Damn, Sawyer!” Jared said as he let Remy’s arm drop. The second Remy was free, Sawyer did something that made Jared drop to his knees with a howl of pain.

  Scott and Tim and a few others started to move in, but Walker and Colt Roman had their brother’s back, sidling closer with twin expressions of not-messing-around. The whole bar seemed to go silent, everyone’s eyes glued to Sawyer and Jared.

  “You ever touch a woman against her will again, I will make you hurt,” Sawyer gritted out.

  He shoved Jared away, looking disgusted.

  “You’re crazy, man,” Jared said, springing to his feet. “You went over there to fight, but you didn’t come back right, man.”

  “You want to find out just how wrong I am?” Sawyer offered, stone-faced.

  “Naw. Hell, you two deserve each other,” Jared said, backing around the bar to escape. “Scott, Tim, let’s get out of here.”

  Remy watched them leave, belatedly realizing that she was trembling. She glanced at Sawyer, who watched her closely. Several things bubbled up in her mind at once.

  Thank you, and By the way, I had your baby, and I never want to see you again were amongst them.

  Instead, she blurted out, “You didn’t have to do that!”

  Sawyer didn’t even flinch.

  “Remy, I was hoping—” he started.

  “I have a lot of work to do,” she said, the words coming out as rudely as possible.

  He hesitated, then nodded and moved back toward the booth with his brothers. Hands shaking, Remy went about refilling drinks and wiping down the bar.

  The whole time, in the back of her mind, all she could think about was the day that Arlo Roman had showed up at her house, wanting to talk.

  6

  She was seven months pregnant with Shiloh by that point, and hadn’t even been in town for weeks because she was half out of her mind with equal parts shame and heartache.

  Arlo found her walking a little patch right between the River and Roman property line, picking blackberries. She was sweating hard, and kept eating more berries than what actually made it into her wicker basket.

  “So it’s true,” Arlo said, making her jump.

  She straightened up from the bramble, turning to find Sawyer’s father behind her, mounted on horseback. He and Sawyer could have been twins, if not for the age difference and the fact that Arlo always looked as sour as if he was chewing on lemons.

  “Colonel Roman,” she said, nodding to him. Trying to pretend he hadn’t scared the daylights out of her, wishing she could slink behind a bush and hide.

  Sawyer’s father had always made her feel nervous, made her feel self-conscious of how poor her family was compared to the Romans. Now, heavily pregnant, she felt like she’d proved him right, having a baby out of wedlock like this.

  He swung down from his horse, holding the reins loosely in one hand and sweeping his hat off his head with the other. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt, then gave her a long look.

  “How far along are you?” he asked.

  “Oh,” she said, looking down. “Um, about seven months.”

  “Mmhm,” he said, staring at her as if he could look right through her. “Funny how that coincides with the last time my son was in town.”

  “Oh,” she said again, going red. “I, uh… I don’t know.”

  Lame, but it was the best she could do.

  “How much?” Arlo asked.

  “Sorry?” she said, glancing up at him.

  “Just give me a number. How much do you need to make this go away?” he asked.

  “Go… away?” she asked, giving him a confused look.

  “Yeah. You, the baby, whatever,” he said, flapping a hand. “All of it.”

  “I’m not really sure what you’re saying, sir. I think I should be getting home,” she said, clearing her throat and turning to leave.

  Arlo’s hand clamped her shoulder like a vise, making her freeze.

  “A number,” he said, spinning her around.

  “Um… there’s no… it’s…” she mumbled, then shook her head. “It’s… not Sawyer’s baby.”

  The lie surfaced out of nowhere, and it was out of her mouth before she could even think about it. Arlo released her with a smirk.

  “You’re a bad liar, Remy.”

  “Well, it’s true,” she said, growing stubborn.

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. Producing a pen, he started making out a check.

  “Sir…” she tried.

  “I think $20,000 ought to suffice,” he said.

  “I… what?” she asked, taken aback.

  “Consider it… a trust, for the child. Babies are expensive, and your family isn’t exactly flush with cash,” Arlo said, signing the check with a flourish.

  He ripped it from the checkbook and offered it to Remy. When she only stared at him, he dropped it into her basket.

  “Take the money. Forget we ever talked about this,” he said.

  “I don’t want anything from you,” she said.

  “Well, I want my son not to have knocked up some barefoot farmer’s daughter, but we don’t all get what we want,” he said, pulling the reins over the horse’s head.

  He gripped the pommel of the saddle, ready to mount again, then paused. When he looked back at her, Arlo Roman was deadly serious.

  “If you try to come after us for support, or you involve Sawyer in any way, I will hire the best damned lawyer in the state. I’ll come after you. Take the kid, take the farm. Hell, I’ll get you locked in an institution before I let you ruin my son’s future.”

  Remy felt herself crumple, her shoulders sagging. Arlo mounted, swinging his leg over to sit on the horse. He stared down at her for another moment.

  “Don’t contact Sawyer again, Remy. Keep that bastard of yours out of sight. And you’d better cash that check, or I’m going to come calling. Our next conversation won’t be so pleasant.”

  With that, he put his hat back on and rode away, leaving Remy gaping after him…

  7

  Back in the bar, Remy thought she might be sick. She worked through it, keeping her head down, drowning in her own thoughts.

  By midnight, the bar was nearly empty but for a couple of older regulars. The Romans were gone, thank the Lord.

  Tossing a towel onto the bar, she excused herself and went out back. Sitting on a stack of milk crates, she leaned her head back against the rusting tin wall and tried to breathe.

  She’d barely had a full minute to herself when she heard, “Remy.”

  Her eyes snapped open. Sawyer was walking toward her; she could see his flashy black SUV idling in the parking lot. He moved toward her like a prowling jungle cat, big and sleek and muscular. In well-worn jeans and a tight white t-shirt, he could have been walking off of a movie set instead of hanging out in middle-of-nowhere Catahoula.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, pushing up to stand.

  “Hey, I come in peace,” he said, raising both hands. He stopped a few feet away, respecting her space.

  “Well, I have nothing to say,” she said. “Well, except maybe thank you, for earlier.”

  “It was nothing,” he said.

  She pursed her lips and watched him. He crossed his arms and stared her down. When she didn’t speak, he looked frustrated.
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  “Why are you mad at me?” he asked.

  Remy scowled. “Who says I’m mad?”

  “This isn’t really how we… connect,” he said, frowning.

  “We don’t connect, Sawyer. You don’t live here anymore.”

  “I do now,” he said, stopping her cold. “And I don’t want there to be bad blood. I’d rather there be something way better between us.”

  His words were heated, sending a little chill down her spine. She could imagine just what he might mean by something better… imagine it in vivid, heart-pounding detail.

  “Sawyer, you should leave.”

  “What if I don’t want to, darlin’?”

  Remy didn’t have a response for that, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. The dark look in his eyes did things to her, made her weak in the knees and… hot. So, so hot, she was almost sweating just from standing this close to him.

  Why does this man make me so vulnerable? she wondered.

  “Remy,” he said, drawing her name out like Rayyyyy-meee. She shivered; she’d always loved the sound of her name on Sawyer’s lips.

  “Sawyer, what do you want?” she asked softly.

  “I want things to be like they were,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah? How were things, before?” she challenged.

  “Well… we were friends, at least,” he said, starting to look uncomfortable. How typical of a man his age, using the word friend to describe a relationship that was so, so much more.

  “I don’t want to be your friend, Sawyer. And I need to get back inside,” she said. She turned toward the back door.

  “Wait, Remy. Please,” he said.

  That one word, please, had her turning back to him. His expression was puzzled and hurt, his eyes shining with some unnamed emotion.

  “Is this because I didn’t write?” he asked. “I thought you understood.”

  “Understood?” she asked.

  “That when I was deployed with the SEALs, I didn’t get much chance to write. I know I only sent you a few letters…” he said.

  Remy’s heart dropped. She’d never received any letters, not that it would have mattered.