by A. J. Pine
She shook her head. “Nothing. Thanks for coming by, Tucker. I’ll be in touch so we can set up the menu tasting.”
He scratched the back of his neck. A lock of his dark hair fell over his forehead, and he pushed it out of the way. She remembered running her fingers through that hair but for the life of her couldn’t drum up any feeling other than the memory.
“I better let Everett off the hook, or he’ll be weeding your garden till sundown.”
Luke. Luke was still here, and she remembered why he’d come home with her in the first place.
The two of them never quite seemed to mix. Except for when his lips were on hers. When Luke touched her, it was like a chemical reaction. She was permanently altered each time it happened.
Why was she unable to find that with the man she’d married?
Lily said nothing as Tucker made his way to the back door and stepped outside. But even though he closed the door behind him, the kitchen window was open, and she found herself inching closer to it to listen.
“You two clear the air?”
She could hear Luke but could only see Tucker from behind.
“Yeah,” Tucker said. “Lil’s great. I know you and she never got along, but I’m glad to see you two at least being civil.”
Luke didn’t respond. Or at least, he didn’t say anything she could hear.
“Anyway, man, thanks for being around through all of this. You know you’re like a brother to me, right?” Tucker asked. “And I still care about Lily, so thanks for helping her out.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t planning on doing this here, but I guess now’s as good a time as any. You’ll be my best man, right?”
She sucked in a breath, not exactly sure why this caught her so off guard.
“You’re not having second thoughts about doing the big wedding?” Luke asked, and she could have sworn there was an edge to his voice. “You could always elope again.”
Tucker laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
Luke stepped into her line of sight, and she dropped to a squat, hoping she wasn’t in his.
“You were there for me with a lot of the Jack Senior shit,” he said. “You know you don’t have to ask me twice for anything, except…”
“Uh-oh,” Tucker said. “What is it? Tell me anything, Everett. I can take it.”
Lily held her breath now. Was he going to tell Tucker what just happened—and what they were about to do?
“The wedding,” Luke said. “It’s the day before the Anaheim rodeo. If I don’t get out there that night, I’ll be in shit shape for the ride the next day.”
“So you’re really going through with it, huh? Another ride after what this one did to you?”
Luke cleared his throat. “I gotta end things on my own terms,” he said. “And what happened a week ago was far from it. I’m good enough to get thrown and not get injured like that.”
“So why did you?” Tucker countered.
There was a long pause, and Lily wished she could see the expressions on both their faces.
“That’s between me and myself right now,” Luke finally said. “So I’ll be your best man…”
“But you can’t stay for the whole wedding,” Tucker said, finishing his friend’s sentence. “If you say you can do this ride and not kill yourself, then I got your back, brother.”
That one word sat like an anvil on her chest—brother.
Luke laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll make sure I’m there for all the important stuff,” he said. “But I won’t be able to party like the good old days. Instead I gotta hop in the truck for four hours and get a decent night’s sleep.”
Tucker snorted. “When did you become the responsible adult in this relationship?”
“You’re just sorry I can’t drive your drunk ass to your hotel afterward.”
Another chuckle from Tucker. “I got a pregnant fiancée to take care of now,” he said. “Looks like the good old days are behind me as well.”
Tucker wouldn’t grow up for her because they didn’t love each other like they should have. Lily got that. But it still stung to see someone else getting what she wanted. Maybe she hadn’t wanted Tucker himself but the idea of what their marriage could have been.
She didn’t hear anything else after that, not until she heard cars starting in the driveway, and she realized Luke must have been moving her car so Tucker could leave. Or maybe he was just going to steal her car and get as far from her as possible. She wouldn’t blame him.
But a couple minutes later, she heard her screen door open and then shut. When Luke appeared in her kitchen, towering over the other side of the island, she was still squatting on the floor in front of the sink.
He dropped her keys on the countertop. More like slammed them down, and she finally straightened to a standing position.
“I’m taking off,” he said, then turned back toward the door.
Her mouth fell open. “You’re what?”
He stopped, ran a hand through his sun-kissed hair, then spun slowly to face her.
“Taking off,” he said again, and she could hear the familiar agitation rising. “Leaving. Getting the hell out of Dodge before I do something really stupid, even for me.”
She couldn’t ignore the sting of his words or how they made her want to sting back.
“You followed me to my car,” she said.
“I know.”
“You kissed me back, Luke Everett.”
He nodded. “And I shouldn’t have. You were Tucker’s girl once, and he’s just as much a brother to me as Jack or Walker. I’m not messing with that just because my dick doesn’t realize we can’t stand each other.”
Okay, scratch what she had said before. That was just the buzzing in her ear before the strike. What he’d just said? That was the real sting, and she wasn’t prepared for how deep his words could burrow under her skin.
So she just stood there, mouth open, but for once with no retort.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath, and then he was out the door.
It took several seconds for logic to return, and when it did she found herself following him out to the quiet neighborhood street.
“You don’t have a car,” she called after him.
He pivoted so he was walking backward now, but he didn’t stop.
“Ranch is only a couple miles.” He pressed a hand to his right side, then quickly dropped it. Not quick enough that she didn’t notice.
“Those broken ribs all healed after one week?” she asked.
He stopped then, shoved his hands in his front pockets, and considered her for a second more than made her comfortable.
“I’ll see ya around, Lily,” he said.
And just like that he turned the corner and disappeared from her line of sight.
She wondered why, after years of assuring herself that they hated each other, watching Luke Everett walk away made her stomach sink like a stone.
It had been so easy to blame him for Tucker’s less-than-grown-up behavior. The two of them were as tight as brothers, and she’d been so certain she’d chosen the responsible man. The safe man. Surely Tucker’s wild tendencies had come from his equally wild friend.
Lily wasn’t so sure anymore. Yet regardless of any misconceptions she had about Luke’s behavior, an antagonism had always been brewing beneath the surface. She wasn’t sure how or when it had started, but once there, she’d bought into it. Fueled it even because somehow it had fueled her both then and now.
So much for the chemical reaction she’d been hoping for. “It’s more likely we’ll explode,” she said aloud.
But there it was again, like she’d swallowed something near to a boulder.
Today had just been too much. That’s what it was. That damned corn dog, the illogical heat between the two of them, topped off with a surprise visit from her ex-husband. There was also that bullshit line—that Luke had come out on the dance floor that first night to meet her. But that’s all it was—a line he
fed her to get what he wanted before he walked out the door. Never mind that she had done the exact same thing last week. She was entitled to a double standard after the day she had.
Lily strode back into the house, straight for the kitchen, and scrubbed her hands in the sink. Then she did what she always did when life tried to pull the rug out from under her.
She baked.
Chapter Seven
Enough. It had been two weeks since Luke lost his focus on that bull, and he was running short on time to train for Anaheim. This was it. He’d get his eight seconds to qualify or die trying because like it or not, the vineyard would produce a crop, and if he knew his big brother—and he did—that crop would yield their first vintage, and everything about his life as a rancher would change.
They’d have two businesses to run. And as much as he liked a good time, Luke knew he’d be putting more hours in at home. Because this was a family business, and family—whether blood or not—was all he had.
He’d promised his brother he’d stay one more night, then finally head back to his own place in the morning. But hell if he could wait a second longer. He said good night to Jack and Ava, waited for them to pull the door to their first-floor bedroom shut, then decided to slip upstairs to grab his few things.
“Where ya headed, cowboy?”
Midway up the stairs, Luke turned to see his younger brother, Walker, silhouetted in the frame of the front door.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he retorted, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake his nephew.
Walker swayed a little where he stood, and Luke rethought his plan, descending the stairs to meet his brother.
“You’re half in the bag,” he said. Walker didn’t argue. “Where’s your car?”
His brother shrugged. “All I know is I didn’t drive it here. Someone drove me here, though.” Walker scratched the back of his head. “Shit. I don’t live here anymore. Do I?”
“No,” Luke said softly. “We moved out.” Because Jack and Ava and Owen were a family now—one that didn’t need to deal with Luke’s late nights or Walker’s even later ones. “But it looks like you’re crashing here tonight. Let’s get you up to bed.”
His younger but far from little brother stumbled, and Luke braced a hand on his shoulder.
“This isn’t getting old yet?” he asked, but Walker just mumbled something incoherent.
Somehow Luke got him up the wood stairs without the two of them tumbling to the bottom in a broken heap. He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory of a seventeen-year-old Jack doing just that. Though he didn’t fall. Their father—in a similar state to Walker—had pushed him.
Walker slumped against his shoulder, which should have brought Luke fully back to the present, but all it did was drum up more memories of Jack Senior, the father that almost killed his oldest son.
“Easy,” he whispered, guiding Walker through the door where Luke had been staying.
“This ain’t my room,” he argued, and Luke slapped a hand over his brother’s mouth.
“You don’t have a room anymore, asshole. Remember? That’s Owen’s room now. Can I trust you to stay the hell away from Owen’s door?” And although there was a master bedroom up there, too, no one used it, not even Jack and Ava. And they wouldn’t until the Callahans gutted it and turned it into something new.
Walker collapsed onto the bed without comment, and Luke took that as a yes. He dragged the trash can from the corner of the room to the side of the bed, hoping his brother wouldn’t need it. And though he had somewhere to be, he stood there for a good fifteen minutes watching his brother’s chest rise and fall, wondering if and when his luck would run out and Walker wouldn’t make it home after one of his benders.
“Don’t fuck up,” he said under his breath. “We lost Jack for ten years, Walker. No way in hell we’re losing you.”
Walker stirred but didn’t wake, so Luke ignored the weight pressing down on his chest and backed out of the room.
He couldn’t be a prisoner anymore. He couldn’t turn off the primal need to test his limits.
He needed to ride.
It was just before dawn when Luke hobbled into the still-under-construction winery. He knew Walker would be passed out in his bed, and Luke was sure that if he tried to reenter the house this early, he would wake the dog—thereby waking the whole house. The last thing he needed was Jack’s third degree. The first thing he needed, though, was a couple hours of sleep before the crew showed up and he’d have to oversee the day’s construction. Plus the horse stalls in the stable were due for a cleaning, and he wasn’t sure if their new stable boy was on the schedule for today or tomorrow. He’d have to look into that. There was also that new restaurant owner who’d called late last week about wanting Crossroads Ranch to be part of their farm-to-table menu.
It was gonna be a hell of a Monday.
He made it through the door, locked the place back up, then sucked in a deep breath.
“Shit,” he hissed, hand pressed to his side. Maybe he’d ridden an hour too long. And maybe hitting the speed bag was overkill for his still healing ribs. But it had been two weeks, and he was feeling—soft.
So, like a rebellious teen he’d snuck out to a buddy’s stable and then hit the twenty-four-hour gym.
“And now I’m paying for it,” he said softly as he made his way to the office. He’d crash on the couch and then be fine once the crew arrived.
He pushed through the door and was greeted with an earsplitting shriek followed by what he swore was a brick to the side of the head.
“What the fuck!” he yelled, his vision blurred for several seconds.
“Oh my God!” The voice belonged to a woman. “Oh my God, Luke! Are you okay?”
The figure in front of him came into focus—chin-length blond hair, a fitted green T-shirt that matched her eyes, and hip-hugging jeans that would have made him hard in seconds if he didn’t want to tear her goddamn head off.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his teeth clenched and his tone full of vinegar.
She winced and reached for his temple, but he swatted her hand away just in time to feel the small goose egg forming.
“I’m sorry!” she said. “I thought you were a prowler! Did I—re-concuss you?” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
He rolled his eyes but at the same time wondered how soon you were supposed to get hit in the head again after having a concussion. He guessed it wasn’t supposed to happen at all. Especially not in his case. Not that she knew that. Not that any of them did.
“A prowler? First of all, who the fuck uses that word? And second—second—what are you doing in my winery, in my office, on my futon?”
Because Christ, now he had a headache to boot, and he just. Wanted. To sleep.
She reached for his face again, and for reasons unknown to him, he didn’t swat her away this time.
“Bumps are good,” she said. “Right? Means the swelling is on the outside rather than in…by your brain?” She rubbed a thumb over the small wound, then spun to a bottle of water, wet with condensation, sitting on the small coffee table in front of the futon. His futon. Where he wanted to sleep. Had he mentioned sleep?
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward said futon. “Here,” she said. “Sit.”
Only because it was what he’d wanted to do all along did he obey. She sat beside him and raised the bottle to his right temple.
He sighed. “Fine,” he conceded. “I guess that helps. But let me remind you that I wouldn’t need the help if you hadn’t just clocked me with your crazy bag. What the hell is even in there? And why the hell am I always in worse shape after a run-in with you?”
She gave him a nervous smile. “My planner,” she said. “I’m really sorry. I couldn’t sleep, and Ava asked me to help her go through paint swatches today. I have a key, so since I was restless at home, I figured I might as well make myself useful here. Plus, the menu sampling is today, and Sara and Tucker wanted t
o do it here, get a feel for the place. So really, I guess you could say I’m just early for work. What’s your excuse?”
He blew out a breath and grabbed the water bottle with his own hand. She scooted back the few inches that she could. But it was a futon. She was as far as she could get yet still close enough to scramble his brain with or without her damned bag.
“You gonna report me to the authorities if I tell you the truth?”
“Your brother?” she asked, and he gave her a single nod. “I guess I sort of owe you one, so no.”
He raised a brow.
“Okay, fine,” she added. “I guess I owe you more than one after attacking you. But you did scare me, and I was only protecting myself.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he fought the urge to smile. He didn’t want to like anything about this woman, let alone the fact that she kicked ass and took names later. And he sure as shit didn’t want her to see that he found anything other than their sexual chemistry appealing. That he couldn’t hide. But it didn’t change the fact that they just didn’t mix. That they couldn’t mix. Not now. Not ever.
“I was training,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “For the rodeo?” she asked.
“No. For the next adult spelling bee.” He shook his head. “Christ, yes. For the rodeo. Anaheim is it. My last shot to qualify for the finals.” And maybe ever, but he didn’t tell her this. It was the one part he hadn’t told Jack either.
One more real head injury—not a daily planner–induced goose egg but a real concussion—and he was out for good. Even now the risk was great enough that he was going against his doctor’s recommendation. Doc wanted him to retire. Now. But he at least needed to be granted the choice. To do it on his own terms. And he knew if he could just keep his damned head in the game, he’d walk away clean. Then—and only then—could he call it quits.
She opened her mouth to say something, then paused. He waited for the reprimand because if it wasn’t his big brother or his aunt trying to parent him, why not her? Never mind that he was a grown man. Everyone seemed to want a hand in telling him how to live his life.
