by Alison Kent
She didn’t care because this thing between them was more than his cock in her pussy, his mouth damaging her skin. His fingers gouging her, his heart pounding as if it were nailing her body in place.
Whatever he might want from her, it never occurred to her to withhold anything. She could never turn him down. She could never tell him no. She wanted him too much not to follow.
And yet hadn’t this sort of selfishness nearly been her undoing?
What in the world was wrong with her?
“Faith? Baby? Are you okay?”
“No,” she said, realizing she was the one who had stopped. She wasn’t moving, frozen against the wall for fear of ruining everything. “I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all.”
He stopped inside of her, still hard, still thick, molded perfectly to fit her. Made for her. Her man. Hers alone. Hers. Only hers.
“Am I hurting you?” he lifted his head to ask. “Do I need to move?”
“Yes and yes,” she said, though she did so without explanation.
“Okay. Give me a sec,” he said, shifting to pull free.
“No. Don’t.”
He was still half inside her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
But what about her hurting him? Yet the tears burning her cheeks as they spilled weren’t about her pain, but torn from the realization of how badly she’d behaved, coming here with him and all the while knowing how this would end. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Jesus, Faith. Of course it matters.” His breath was heavy and damp, his heart a hammer pounding from his chest into hers. “You’re all that matters. The only thing.”
“Don’t say that,” she said, crying now, pulling at his shirt to urge him close again.
“It’s the truth,” he said, and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, his own face wet, his mouth soft against her skin as he kissed her.
Her back was aching, her thighs were aching. Her heart was aching most of all. She closed her eyes and blotted out all of that to know nothing but the ache between her legs. She squeezed him, and he pushed deeper, groaning, his whole body shaking as he held them both still.
And then he gave up trying, shuddering once as if he’d been hit with more than he could handle. He drove into her, confused, uncertain. He didn’t say a word but she could feel the emotions spilling with the white hot bursts of his cum. She couldn’t blame him. She’d turned the night’s expectations upside down, messing with his head when he was just beginning to find his path.
She was the one who had ruined everything this time, stealing away the comfort and courage he’d found with her, and doing it tonight, of all nights. The night he’d had no choice but to let everyone into this place that had been his hell for so long.
What was she thinking? What in the hell was wrong with her? She was such a selfish bitch.
He let her down slowly, pulling from her body without having to ask if she was done, or if she was even close. She wasn’t, and she wouldn’t be. Not here, and he knew it. There was no need to pretend otherwise, which made this joining bittersweet.
He adjusted himself inside his shorts, pulled up his pants, tucked in his shirt. His big brass belt buckle caught the light from the moon and winked at her. He scooped her panties from the floor, handed them to her, not letting them go until she’d raised her gaze to his, which was tortured. His throat was working, his jaw was popping, and his eyes flashed with both truth and tears.
“You are all that matters, Faith. Believe it or don’t. Nothing in my life comes close.”
He was halfway to the door before she found her voice to call out, “Casper, wait.”
But it was too late. The room was empty, the door open, the light from the windows at either end of the hallway casting shadows on the walls, crooked, broken fingers, pointing this way and that as if the direction she chose to go wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
Nothing would be the same now that she’d let the man she loved walk out of her life.
THIRTY-THREE
CASPER STOOD ON the northeast corner of the porch where he’d first seen Kevin, leaning a shoulder into the column there, his hip into the railing, his back against the rear of the house. The structure was solid, sturdy, able to support his half-drunk ass while he listened to the music spilling into the night through the open windows, the deep thrum of the stand-up bass pulsing through the soles of his boots.
The last time he’d heard music in this house…He thought back. It had to be the night he’d graduated, after he and the boys had tossed their caps in the high school auditorium. He’d never planned to return to Mulberry Street after the Dalton Gang’s booze and pussy bender, but for some unknown reason he had. As drunk as he’d been, making it back had been a miracle. He didn’t remember a thing about the trip.
He did remember walking into the kitchen, having stumbled off the sidewalk where he’d parked and around to the back of the house, to see his old lady dancing, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, her arms raised overhead. She held a bottle of Ezra Brooks between two tobacco-stained fingers, an empty glass of ice in the other.
From the boom box she kept on top of the fridge, The Who’s I’m Free played on repeat. He figured she’d been shaking her bony ass and sucking Ezra since he’d headed to the ceremony hours before. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d walked inside, or seen him watching her toss back her head, smoke curling through her stringy bangs to leave a tar and nicotine circle on the ceiling.
Instead of heading upstairs to sleep, he’d hit his room and shoved what he could in his backpack, sleeping off that particular drunk in the cab of his truck in a pasture fifteen miles out of town. It was only the first of many nights spent that way. But it was the last night he’d let himself wonder if he might be leaving anything behind.
Even learning of Tess and Dave Dalton’s deaths hadn’t changed that. There was nothing for him in Crow Hill without his boys. He’d only come back to Texas because Dax and Boone were doing the same, and it had been too long since they’d raised some hell.
He lifted the longneck, frowning at the label after he swallowed. Jesus. This was the shit Boone drank, flavored with more than the malted barley and hops in the forties his old man had downed like water. Suzanne had preferred the men, turning to Jack and Jim and Jose to do her right. Fit right in with her career.
And goddamn if he hadn’t followed in their booze-soaked and twisted-sex footsteps, hopping from one buckle bunny’s bed to the next and staying drunk while he did it. The fact that money hadn’t exchanged hands, and he hadn’t beat the everlovin’ shit outta the women he’d fucked, was the only thing that kept him from sinking to his parents’ level of depravity.
He’d thought himself happy when rodeoing. His dick hadn’t complained, but he knew now that his head had never been in it. Hell, his head had belonged to the booze—meaning in the end, he really wasn’t any different, or any better, than either his old lady or the man she claimed had spawned him.
But then they’d taught him well, hadn’t they? Every man for himself. Me first. Look out for number one. None of that Dalton Gang musketeer bullshit.
He’d thought he could do this. Turn this house into what it should’ve been all along and forget the house it had been. The house he’d known. The house he’d lived in for the six most fucked up years he could remember.
He’d thought he could do this because he had Faith. But he didn’t have Faith. And thinking he did had been a bigger mistake than coming back to Crow Hill in the first place.
He wanted to believe he’d done the right thing, returning for the inheritance, taking on the partnership with his boys. And he knew he had when it came to Clay. That was going to keep him here. He was going to do for that boy everything right no one had ever done for him. It had taken Faith for him to see that he had it in him. To be an example, if not a father.
He’d stick close to home. And he’d have to do something with this house. He couldn’t be coming to town and running into her. An
d Boone would have to damn sure keep her from coming out to the ranch. He lifted the beer again, laughed under his breath. As if she’d want to see him. She’d made her feelings about them being together more than clear.
Once again, he’d managed to ruin everything. Only this time, he wasn’t exactly sure why. He thought Faith had been onboard with their relationship. Yeah, she had her fusses, but most women did. And he wasn’t exactly a prince, making her worry, making her fret. Not that he gave a damn about anything he made her feel…except he did. Because he loved her.
He’d never been one to stand around and brood about feelings, yet look at him, here on the back porch, his body still wanting hers, his heart heavy in his chest, his eyes aching. He didn’t know what he’d done, why she didn’t believe him when he’d said she was all that mattered.
The truth of that struck him harder than any arena floor he’d hit with his face. He loved her. And he’d fucked things up, and he didn’t know how to fix them.
Goddamn, how was he going to fix them?
“Can you believe this house?”
The question came from one of Arwen’s girls as two of them exited the kitchen and made for the stack of ice chests loaded with beer.
“It’s some serious shit,” said the other.
“Man, what I wouldn’t give to live in a place like this.”
“With a man like Casper Jayne?”
“For a place like this, I’d dance with the devil.”
“Like Faith Mitchell was doing earlier?”
“I know. Did you see them?”
“The whole room saw them.”
“You think there’s something between them?”
“Oh, hell no. Faith’s too straight-laced. Casper needs wild.”
“And I guess you think you’re the one to take him on.”
“Honey, for this house, I’d take on Satan.”
“I thought maybe that’s what Faith was doing.”
Thing was, he didn’t believe them for a minute. Faith wasn’t with him for the house. He’d bet the house itself on that. She’d talked only about what he planned to do with it. She hadn’t once put herself in that picture, even though their agreement made her half-owner.
But they were right about the rest. She didn’t have any reason to be with him. And he needed to get over thinking she did, that he had something to give her when both of them knew better.
His loving her didn’t change any of that.
He pushed out of the darkness, stepped into the circle of light cast by Faith’s hanging lanterns. “Want to hand me another of those before you take ’em in? One that doesn’t taste like shit?”
“Oh. Casper. I didn’t…We didn’t know you were there.”
He wasn’t sure which girl had said it. He knew they worked at the Hellcat Saloon, but that was about it. “Yeah. That wasn’t hard to figure out.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking the longneck she handed him, his fingers brushing hers, lingering, his thumb stroking hers. It was her gaze holding his that made up his mind. “You gonna be done here soon?”
She blinked, glanced to the other wide-eyed girl and back. “Uh, I can probably clock out if you’ve got something on your mind.”
“I do,” he said, twisting off the beer’s top and raising the bottle to his mouth for a swallow. “My truck’s parked out front.”
“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He nudged up the brim of his hat with the longneck, walked by and heard the two of them twittering behind him as he crossed the yard. Luck. That was her name. She was Royce Summerlin’s girl. Meaning this probably wasn’t a very good idea.
Right now, he didn’t give a fuck.
THIRTY-FOUR
FAITH MADE HER way down the staircase alone, stopping in the first bathroom she saw to do something about her face and her hair. There wasn’t much to be done since her purse was in the kitchen, leaving her with no lipstick and only her fingers for a comb.
It would’ve been nice to have access to her cover-up for the bruise at the base of her throat. The one time she went low-cut instead of sticking to a collared, buttoned blouse. Served her right, trying to attract a bad boy. Falling in love with a bad boy. Letting a bad boy break her heart. Breaking his.
She took the last few stairs slowly, not wanting to draw attention from any of Arwen’s staff bustling in the kitchen. It was an amazing kitchen, gorgeous, huge, and airy. It was meant for parties like this one. Myna Goss, who cooked at the saloon, was even frying Boone’s breaded okra on the new stainless-steel stove.
It was hard to believe half of this place was hers. Hard because she would never live here. She would never cook here, or sleep here, or hear the patter of her babies’ feet up and down the main corridor, or stay up till the middle of the night waiting for her teenagers to sneak through the front door long past curfew.
She wouldn’t be here in thirty-five years, dancing with Casper, standing at his side, watching their grown children fight over the cost of their anniversary party. She wouldn’t sit on the porch swing and listen to the crickets and the cicadas and the coyotes at the end of the hot summer days.
None of that would happen because Casper wasn’t hers, even if he was her other half.
For so long she’d made wrong relationship choices, and when she’d finally made the right one, she couldn’t see it for the reflection of the inappropriate things she’d done in the past, all in the name of adventure and spreading her wings. They’d brought her here, but they’d gotten in her way, keeping her in a job she hated, keeping her from the man she loved.
God, why couldn’t she let herself move on?
“There you are,” came a voice from behind her that had her quickly nudging a knuckle beneath both eyes.
“Hey, Daddy.” She hitched a breath and swallowed, hoping to clear her throat. “You’re a guest of honor. You’re not supposed to be skulking back here where all the work’s being done.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked, sidling up to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, lifting a hand in greeting at one breezy, “Hey, Coach,” then another.
“Looks like it,” she said, forcing a soft laugh.
“And here I thought I was just looking for my girl.” He leaned close, dropped a kiss to the top of her head as they both watched Arwen’s staff, along with Kendall and Everly, scurry around the kitchen with braziers of food—empty ones coming in from the parlor, full ones going back to replace them, longnecks and soda bottles heading for wash tubs of ice. “You and your brother managed a hell of a feat here. Neither your mother or I ever suspected a thing.”
“That’s the point of a surprise party,” she said, her laughter coming easier this time.
“The biggest surprise is everyone else keeping the secret. We’ve got some friends who seem to find it necessary to tell us the state of their dog’s bowel movements,” he said, causing Faith to cringe. “Them staying close-mouthed about this will become known as the miracle on Mulberry Street.”
“Well, I’m glad they did. It wouldn’t have been as much fun if you’d known.”
“I’m kinda curious, though. What in the world made you two choose this house?”
Her heart flipped. “Should we have gone to the country club? Or had it at home? Boone wanted to have it at home.”
“No, sweetheart. Relax. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. I just never thought to see this house in this condition. Been a lot of work done here. A big expense.”
“Casper’s been doing some extra work for Royce Summerlin. Breaking horses.” As if those few hours a week would explain away the money poured into this house. Her father was not a stupid man.
“And a few ribs, I hear.”
“You talked to him?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Earlier. Before I saw the two of you dancing. I think you two were more the belle and beau of
the ball than your mother and I.”
“I helped him out with his budget,” she said because nothing else came to her.
“Is that all it was?” her father asked, a chuckle rising up his throat as he dropped another kiss to her head, leaving her to wonder if his intuition was as strong as her mother’s. “I saw him leaving a few minutes ago. I was kinda surprised to see him here at all, to tell you the truth.”
Had he seen him going upstairs with her? Coming down later alone? “It’s his house. Why wouldn’t he be here?”
Her father laughed. “No, Faith. This house isn’t his. This one’s…” He gave a low whistle. “This one’s something else.”
She didn’t think it a good idea to take credit when he had no idea she was the one who’d financed the renovations. “I guess.”
“Trust me. It is.” He pulled her with him out of the way of the caterers, stepping four steps up the staircase and sitting on the fifth. “I imagine that’s tough for him. Seeing it now. Remembering it then.”
“Did you know how things were when he lived here?” she asked, smoothing out her skirt as she sat beside him.
“Some of it, sure.”
“Was it as bad as rumors have it?” She didn’t need to ask. She’d seen enough. Casper had told her the rest.
Her father nodded. “Worse. Your mom and I had to come here a couple of times with Boone.”
“Why?”
“Usually Casper was in some kind of trouble. He needed help getting out.”
Because his mother wouldn’t have cared or offered. “What was his mother like?”
“Suzanne?” He shook his head. “Sad’s about the best word to describe her. Sad and self-centered. And not much of a parent.”
“I never saw her that I can remember,” she said, getting a whiff of freshly toasted bread as she breathed deeply to settle her nerves.
“I don’t think you ever would have. She spent her time at the truck stop. She wasn’t one to get involved in what Casper had going on at school.”
