Where There’s A Will

by Stacy Gail

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “I went through a couple boxes left over from Lefty’s era and found my high school senior yearbook. By the way, why didn’t you tell me I had a mullet back then?”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “No way. It was a total accident.”

  “Accidental mullets are even sadder than deliberate ones.” She transferred pies ready for baking onto a baking sheet, opened an oven door and slid the whole thing in. “What does your yearbook have to do with the Brookhaven will requirements?”

  “Dan Osweiler, my shop teacher back then, wrote something in there that jarred a couple memories loose. He also wrote that he’d be retiring to Kerrville and that he’d wanted to stay in touch with me. I’m driving up there tomorrow to have a chat with him.”

  Lucy turned back to the workstation, brows raised. “Do you think he might remember something about the valve? Would his testimony be enough for a probate judge to convince him you’re the original inventor?”

  “Maybe. Or it might be a wild goose chase. Either way, I’ve got to give it a try.”

  “Hell, yeah. Just think how life’s going to be once you’re swimming in moolah.”

  “I don’t really give a shit about the money.” And he didn’t. Sure, it’d be awesome to have a bank account busting at the seams, but the fact was he did fine on his own without the added income. “I just have to get this done.”

  Lucy frowned. “If you don’t care about the money, why the urgency? Because you finally get to prove that damn valve was yours all along and B.B. Brookhaven was the dickhead who stole it from you? That’d be my goal.”

  “No, I don’t care about showing up B.B. Brookhaven. In case you missed it, I grew out of the chest-thumping phase a long time ago.”

  “Then what’s the rush?”

  “Miranda.” He couldn’t help but hear how he said it—gently, as if taking care of each syllable would somehow soothe the woman behind the name. “I need to get this done for her, even more than myself. Out of everyone, this situation hurt Miranda the most.”

  “She wasn’t the one who got robbed.”

  “I lost a fucking valve, Luce. A valve I’ve since improved on, along with half a dozen other little gizmos I’ll get around to patenting one day. But Miranda...she lost the two men she loved and counted on to love her back. When that didn’t happen, she was left alone in the world and dead inside. You tell me who got hurt the most.”

  “Right.” Lucy bit her lip, looking both shamefaced and horrified, and he figured that was exactly how she felt. No one knew better than Lucy just how painful past mistakes of loved ones could be. “Geez, that makes me hate that asshole of a father of hers all the more. First he throws her under the bus where you’re concerned, then dumps the whole mess on her shoulders to deal with after he’s gone. What a dick.”

  “Yeah. And I thought my old man was bad.”

  “Neither one of them would have ever won Father Of The Year awards, that’s for sure.” She went back to her one-woman pie assembly line. “No wonder you want to put this in the rearview mirror as quickly as possible. It can’t be pleasant for either of you to slog through all those memories.”

  The raw pain reflected in Miranda’s eyes flashed through his mind, and he tried not to grimace as an echo of that hurt squeezed his chest. With one look, she’d convinced him that she really had been crushed by what her father had done. And by what he had done, as well. “I have to get her free of it. Something got crippled inside of her seven years ago. Something important. I just can’t take that.”

  “And you think that finding the evidence she needs to give you the valve will fix what’s broken inside of her?” Lucy lifted a brow, and her doubtful tone caught his attention. “It’ll probably help her move on with her life, but I don’t know if it’ll make her not be crippled, to use your word.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People aren’t cars, Coe. There are no simple fixes here. If you find that evidence Miranda was forced to come here to collect, great. Her job will be done and she won’t have to think about how she was betrayed by everyone. But that doesn’t mean that the wound isn’t still there. Or maybe I’m wrong.” She shrugged when he didn’t answer. “You know her better than I do. Do you think it’ll erase all the crap she’s carrying inside if you can find proof that you invented the valve first?”

  He’d thought about it; God knows he thought about nothing else since this whole mess unraveled. But no matter how many scenarios he’d pictured in his head of presenting evidence to Miranda, they all wound up the same way. “I think she’d just leave Bitterthorn and never look back.”

  There was a long beat of silence. “Would that be the best thing for her? Leaving, but also leaving that wound untouched and unhealed?”

  Miranda would still be crippled that way. The very thought made him sick in the deepest part of him. “Leaving isn’t the answer. I’m just not sure what is.”

  “Maybe it’ll come to you.” She sprinkled more flour over the workstation through a sifter. “What’s Miranda doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Nothing, as far as I know.” That was how it was when opportunities dwindled down to a choice of having to sleep in a toxic trailer or a car. Thanksgiving became just another day.

  “Bring her along for Thanksgiving dinner. She can help us break in the new house by celebrating our first Thanksgiving there.”

  Coe stared. “Are you sure? You two aren’t exactly friends.”

  “I told you, that’s all in the past. I can be civil and heaven knows she can, with those swanky country-club manners of hers.”

  “It’d be nice if you two could one day do more than fake a...” He trailed off when his ears picked out a single feminine voice from the madness going on in the front room. Like magic, the claws of stress that had been sinking into his gut suddenly retracted, leaving behind a wave of sweet, sweet serenity. He beamed at Lucy while his whole body seemed to heave a sigh of relief. “She’s here. Miranda’s here.”

  “Yippee,” Lucy joked, but he was already gone.

  * * *

  Miranda barely had a chance to ask Pauline what baked goods she had available before Coe appeared out of nowhere. At first she thought he’d somehow manifested from her overworked imagination, as she’d been standing there questioning her judgment on making an appearance in a place that was connected to Coe. Then he was suddenly there, plucking her out of the line she’d been in for the past ten minutes to drag her away from the front room.

  Nope. Definitely not her imagination. Nobody could both baffle and irk her in under five seconds like this man could.

  “Coe,” she muttered as the delicious scents of sugar and spice hit her full force. “Thanks for nothing. I just lost my place in line.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He had the audacity to throw a wink over his shoulder, as if her irritation had bounced off him without leaving a mark—which it probably had. He continued to pull her into a warm kitchen occupied by an apron-clad Lucy, a mountain of stacked pink boxes and a wall of ovens filled to capacity. “You can have your pick of anything you want, right, Luce?”

  “You can’t put the poor woman on the spot like that. Ignore him, please,” Miranda added, nodding a guarded greeting to the other woman rolling out pie dough at a record-setting pace. “I’ll actually be happy to put an order in for something that’s not even related to Thanksgiving. I’m hoping to pick up something for a neighbor who watches her cute little grandkids, to thank her for all that she’s done for me since I came back to Bitterthorn.”

  “I’m pleased you thought something from this kitchen might make a good gift.” Lucy smiled with such friendliness that for a moment Miranda wondered if the other woman somehow didn’t recognize her. “Cute kids and a nice grandma, huh? I think I can come up with just the thing. Ho
w about pumpkin spice cupcakes that have been decorated to look like turkeys?”

  Miranda smiled, stunned at the offer. “Wow, that would be perfect, but are you sure? That sounds complicated.”

  “She’s sure, don’t worry about it.” Coe kept pulling her ever deeper into the back. “Let’s leave Lucy to her genius, okay?”

  “I don’t want to interrupt. Weren’t you helping Lucy, or something?”

  “Or something.” Clearly not sold on whatever Coe had been “helping” her with, Lucy snorted before shooting him a pointed look. “Let me guess. Tripping and falling?”

  Unless Miranda was losing her mind, she’d swear Coe blushed. “Uh...yeah. Heh.”

  “Got it.” Lucy wiped her hands on her apron and reached for a nearby remote. Music suddenly sounded overhead, then rose in volume as she fiddled with the remote’s buttons. “I know nothing. I see nothing. I hear nothing. Oh, and don’t forget there’s a lock. It used to be busted, but Sullivan was motivated to fix it about a month back. Tripping and falling, dontcha know.”

  For some reason the remark made Coe chuckle before he led her down a short hall and veered off into a small whitewashed mudroom by the back door. Weak sunlight filtered in from a single frosted high window. On either side of the small room, cubbies had been placed where coats and jackets hung and various personal items were stowed in drawers beneath sturdy built-in navy blue padded benches. It was neat and snug and, the moment Coe closed the door behind them, absolutely private.

  Her heart waltzed around in her chest as he turned to face her. “I had no idea you were here. I was going to come looking for you after—”

  The rush of words came to an unceremonious halt under the pressure of his mouth, and if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that what she was saying wasn’t important. This was, this intimate closeness that every cell in her body yearned for from the moment she’d made herself leave him. It had been too addictive, being with him again. Coe wasn’t good for her; she knew that without any doubt. And no matter how she looked at it, she wasn’t good for him, either. She would always be a Brookhaven, the one who opened the door for her father to smash Coe’s dreams. Innocent or not, that was a scar that would never go away.

  But that didn’t stop her from stepping into the curve of his body and offering up her mouth. He tasted her with his tongue while his fingers slid into her hair, loosening it from the simple knot at her nape. Breathless, she couldn’t help but smile when he slowly ended the kiss by resting his brow against hers. Lord, she loved how he kissed—like it was his goal in life to make her reach climax with just a kiss alone.

  A woman had to admire that kind of ambition in a man.

  “Phone etiquette, Miranda,” he murmured, and the low, intimate sound made her shiver as he nuzzled his nose against hers. “From now on, pick up when I call, especially when I have no idea where you are.”

  Did it matter so much to him? That was hard to believe. “I’m a big girl. I fell out of the habit of reporting my whereabouts to anyone a long, long time ago.”

  “Yeah? Well, do me a favor and get busy falling back into it.” He kissed her brow, his lips lingering there, and the surprising gentleness of the caress made her breath catch with painful bliss.

  Ahhh, Coe. What you do to me...

  “So? Where’d you spend the night?”

  “The Nooner.” At the mention of the town’s infamous no-tell motel, he pulled back in obvious surprise. She smiled and lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to see if I could handle living there for the duration of my stay.”

  That snapped his brows together. “Even though I offered you a perfectly decent place, you went hunting for alternatives? Goddamn it, you are the most stubborn, impossible...”

  She decided to head him off at the pass before he said something really nasty. “Long story short, the Nooner won’t work. Ever. Trust me on this.”

  “So take the loft already. Forget that it’s me offering it. Just take the fucking thing.”

  “Since the offer’s still open...okay. And thank you. I really mean that.” She could only hope it was her imagination that made her feel like the final nail in her coffin had just been driven in. “I’m only sorry I didn’t accept yesterday. It would have spared me a sleepless night at the Nooner. The walls of that place might as well be made of paper.”

  His scowl, verging on an outright pout, vanished under the weight of a reluctant grin. “Entertaining night, I take it?”

  “I’ve never heard so many oh Gods in my life.”

  “Maybe it was choir practice.”

  “The bedsprings were certainly singing a hallelujah chorus.”

  “I’m glad someone had a fun night.” He ran his hands up her back before pushing her coat from her shoulders. “I, on the other hand, had to stop myself from driving all over town like an idiot, looking for you.”

  So immersed in trying not to be mesmerized by the fixated, heavy-lidded look in those bedroom eyes of his, she barely noticed when her coat fell to the floor. Then the full impact of his confession hit her. “Why would you even think about doing that?”

  “Stupid question.” His hands had the front of her shirt and pants unbuttoned with the sleight-of-hand adeptness of a Vegas illusionist. “I don’t answer stupid questions. It’s a rock-solid policy of mine.”

  “But why—”

  “Figure it out, babe.” With that, he sank back onto a padded bench and pulled her between his knees.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miranda leaned over to keep their mouths locked, automatically following his kiss as he seated himself. The cool air hitting her exposed torso startled her, as the last thing she expected was to be stripped in what amounted to be a public place. And as she still had high ambitions for covering the tattoo decorating the small of her back, losing clothes in broad daylight wasn’t part of the plan.

  Then his big, callused hands invaded past the layers of her pants and underwear, easing them down as his touch seemed to worship the curve of her bum and the length of her thighs. Despite her best efforts, the hope of holding onto her sanity began to fade under a wave of all-consuming need.

  “Coe.” Her hands had buried themselves in the thick wealth of his hair without her permission. Her own hair closed around them, a pale curtain that held back the world. “You’re insane. We can’t do this here.” But she wanted to. More than her next breath, she wanted to.

  “I locked the door. It’s just you and me.” The words were spoken against her mouth, as if he couldn’t find the will to physically separate from her long enough to speak. “Step out of your clothes, babe. I won’t let you fall.”

  Her flats came off as she did as instructed without a thought, and within moments her lower body was bared to him. A humming sound of approval sounded deep in his throat before his mouth drifted down the line of her neck, his teeth gently nipping the inner swell of a breast showing above the line of her bra. Then he went lower, as if he had ambitions of covering every exposed inch of skin in slow, openmouthed kisses. The feel of his tongue gliding a path down to her navel made her toes curl.

  “Be careful,” she murmured, all the while dragging her nails over the expanse of his back. She was only sorry there was a layer of fabric separating him from her. “You said I was a screamer. You wouldn’t want me to get too noisy, now would you?”

  “Oh, hell yes, that’s exactly what I want.” There was a smile in his voice that she couldn’t see before he nipped playfully at the flesh stretched over a hipbone. “No one’s going to hear you lose control over the music and general chaos outside. And make no mistake, Miranda—I’m going to make you forget what the word control even means.”

  That should have worried her. She knew that. Instead a rush of anticipation made her shiver so hard it tugged a low laugh out of him. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

&nbs
p; “What do you think?”

  “I think talk is cheap.” No one was more surprised than she was at the challenge in her tone. “Let’s see if you’re half as good as you think you are.”

  Coe was apparently a believer in actions speaking louder than words. He pushed his knees in between hers then sat her down on his lap. Not too close, which surprised her, and he blocked her the moment she reached for his belt. “No, you don’t. You’re not getting anywhere near me until I’ve decided you’ve had enough.”

  “Enough of what?”

  “Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.” He slid his hands up her thighs as if savoring the feel, before sneaking one hand around to her bum while the other cupped her sex. She jumped as he delved deeper, exploring her crease until he found her most sensitive point.

  “Oh, yes.” A ragged sound burst from her before she could stop it, and she clapped a hand over her mouth before anything louder could escape.

  “None of that, now.” His smiling mouth pressed against the backs of her fingers, the only thing separating them from a kiss. “No need to be shy. No one’s going to hear you but me.”

  But she shook her head, and over her hand she looked into the wicked darkness of his. Damn him, he was enjoying this way too much. If she didn’t do something soon she’d be putty in his hands while he...

  His first two fingers breached her entrance while his thumb pushed with sudden, deliberate pressure. The simultaneous assault shot a jolt of pure ecstasy into every nerve ending, and it was a jolt hot enough to melt her bones. Her body bucked helplessly, an instrument now at the mercy of a master who knew exactly how to make her sing. He made her move to his rhythm, her hips rocking in a blind race to capture more sensation. Again she tried to touch him, hungry to give as well as she got.

  The bulge of his arousal could now be clearly seen behind the veil of faded blue denim, an ancient pair of button-fly jeans that no doubt would come apart with one measly tug. The changing contours of his body seemed strong enough to do it alone, but again he thwarted her by capturing her hand and holding it behind her back. The position arched her toward him, and he lowered his head to nudge the lace of her bra aside to explore the swell of a breast. She shrugged to further dislodge the material veiling her and sighed in relief when cool air hit her breasts. She needed to feel his mouth on her and if she didn’t get that she would lose her damn mind...