Grif’s gut tightened the way it did any time someone mentioned Eddy Steele. And if his dad actually showed up, Grif’s gut normally tied itself into a noose. “Not since I’ve been in town.”
“Is she upset about that?”
He sighed. “If she is, she hasn’t said.”
“And she won’t.”
Their parents had been living this weird lifestyle for years. One day, their dad up and left the house and didn’t come home that evening. After a week, their mom had been frantic, and the sheriff organized a manhunt. They’d found Eddy Steele holed up in a ramshackle cabin about five miles outside town. Since that time, he’d come and gone as he pleased. Sometimes he’d paid the bills. Sometimes he hadn’t. Their dad’s lack of reliability was the reason Britt, as the oldest of the kids, had never left town.
None of them had trusted that their dad would follow through and take care of their mom, but Britt had been the one who’d shouldered the responsibility. He’d acted as if it was no heavier than shrugging on a down coat rated for forty degrees. But Grif knew staying here had cost him.
From where he and Evie stood on the porch steps, he continued scanning the crowd.
She poked him in the side. “Who’re you looking for?”
“Do you know Carlie Beth Parrish?”
“Of course.” She wiggled her right arm, where an iron snake wrapped three times around her wrist and laid its head against the back of her hand. “She made this in the forge behind her house. Her jewelry is amazing.”
“So she’s making a living from blacksmithing?” That night years ago, she was just back from her apprenticeship and glowing with the joy and potential of it all. She’d been like a sunrise—warm and promising—in his arms. He couldn’t have kept his hands off her even if he’d tried.
No more than he’d been able to keep them off her last weekend.
Her touch had done something to him—lured him in, yanked him around, and laid him flat. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who dated moms. That was stickier than the La Brea tar pits.
“Not from the jewelry. Even if tourism was hopping, Yvonne is the only one in town who carries her work. Carlie Beth is in decent demand from land owners, though. Repairs a lot of fences and does other welding work. What’s got you so interested?”
“Ran into her the other night at Triple B. When did she get divorced?”
“What do you mean?”
“Yvonne mentioned Carlie Beth has a daughter. Guess she ended up settling down with someone local.” Strange, since she’d had such big plans to get her work into galleries all those years ago. And it sure didn’t explain why thinking of her with some unambitious good ol’ boy burned him up inside. Carlie Beth was the kind of woman who deserved a good life. A successful life.
Maybe he was just mad that she’d apparently settled.
“Far as I know, she’s never been married.”
“But she has a daughter.”
Evie laughed and punched him in the arm. “Aw, Griffy, do I need to give you a basic biology lesson? We all know what Mrs. Van Dyke used to tell us in Sunday school, but”—she lowered her voice—“babies aren’t actually dropped from heaven. You see, when a man puts his pen—”
“Shut it, Evie.” He did not want to think about what man had put his pen close enough to Carlie Beth to get her pregnant.
Fuck, he was an idiot.
Grif looked out over the lawn only to see people flocking around Jonah like he was the winningest quarterback in NFL history. “What the hell is going on with him?”
Her brow wrinkling, Evie rose to her tiptoes to get a better look. “No way.”
“No way, what?”
“It looks like people are asking to take pictures with him. Now it’ll take a sledgehammer to get Jonah’s fat head back in the house.”
Grif grinned at his sister. Jonah still bitched from time to time that his place as the rightful baby of the family had been stolen by Evie the Usurper, but the Steele family wouldn’t be the same without her quick wit and smart-ass mouth. “I missed you, kid.”
“How many times do I have to tell you lunkheads that I’m not a kid? And yes, even though all four of you aggravate me until my hair stands on end, I miss you when you’re not home.”
Home?
This town hadn’t been home since he’d tossed a bag into his fourth-hand Ford Taurus and pointed the damn thing west fifteen years ago. One of the best days of his life was when he’d finally traded in that POS for a Mercedes coupe at the dealership in Beverly Hills.
Catching sight of Maggie in the crowd on the lawn, Grif waved her over to the porch and said to Evie, “Can you give us a minute?”
Her blue eyes narrowed, but she gave him a final hug and took the steps into the yard.
“Cornhole’s just about to start,” Maggie grumbled. “I don’t want to get replaced.”
“It’ll wait a minute.”
“Jonah paired you with Reid.”
Grif groaned. “I thought this was supposed to be a laid-back, fun get-together. I wouldn’t be surprised if Reid plays corn hole with an Uzi.”
“Lucky for you, your partner throws from the opposite board.”
“Easier for him to gun me down. And speaking of violence, any more word on Darden’s header down the stairs?”
“Why all the interest in a guy you didn’t know?”
“I got to know him when he slapped Carlie Beth’s ass. Have you found out anything more?”
“Apparently, a couple of Roy’s neighbors remember hearing someone knocking on his door earlier that evening.”
“Anyone get a look at his visitor?”
“He lived over at Shady Pines. That’s the kind of apartment complex where you mind your own damn business, so no.”
“Something about this whole thing strikes me as off.”
Maggie’s pat to his cheek was, in reality, more of a one-two slap. “Remind me to consult you once you get your law enforcement certification. Now, Jonah said you’re playing corn hole on the first set of boards under the white oak tree, so you’d better get your ass over there.”
A quick stop at one of the beer kegs, then Grif made his way over toward the tree and what looked like two new corn hole boards. They were made from pine and painted with the gray outline of three overlapping mountains. The words Steele Ridge were printed below the mountains, and everything was sealed with a glossy lacquer.
Those bitches were gonna play fast.
Grif stooped down and picked up a bag, tossed it in the air, let it drop, and measured its weight in his palm.
Then the force of a sledgehammer rammed him between the shoulders, and he staggered under the blow. He turned to find Reid—aka the sledgehammer—sneering at him. “Who the hell wears country-club clothes to a barbecue?”
Grif straightened his polo collar and took in his brother’s party attire of T-shirt and cargo shorts. “Someone who gives a shit what he looks like.”
Reid chuckled. “Hey, if you think a pink shirt and pussy shoes can get it done, then bring it on.”
Pussy shoes? He’d dropped a cool grand on his black loafers. Reid had probably stomped into a sporting goods store and tossed down a couple of twenties for those work boots he was wearing. “You do realize we’re on the same team, right?”
Reid huffed. “Told Jonah I wanted Britt.”
This. This was only one of the reasons Grif didn’t belong in North Carolina anymore. Somewhere along the way, he’d acquired a little style, a little class. Unlike Mr. Neanderthal here. “I’m more than happy to trade you to him.”
“Aw, don’t get your Victoria’s Secret thong in a wad, pretty boy. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
Yeah, normally Reid was a little rough-edged, bordering on totally inappropriate. But since he’d recently blown out his knee, his asshole quotient had shot into the stratosphere. “Where is Britt?”
“Jonah’s probably having to pull him out of a treehouse in the woods.”
“Is this bra
cket number one?” A young female voice cut into their conversation.
“Sure is, sweetheart.” Reid turned on the charm as they both looked down at the girl with red hair.
Her tentative smile widened, revealing silver-and-pink braces. “Cool. I’m Mr. Britt’s partner.”
She was a little bitty thing, probably no more than eleven. No way would Jonah have paired her with three grown men, especially not his brothers. Grif said, “Looks like there’s been a mistake. Maybe we should walk over and check the pairings. I know Jonah put together a special kids’ bracket.”
The girl drew herself up tall, but she still didn’t come to Grif’s shoulder. “I’m not a kid.”
He looked closer, noticed a touch of lipstick and blush on her innocent face. “Maybe not, but…” Spotting Jonah strolling by, Grif called out to him, “Hey, I think this young lady is lost. Maybe you assigned her to bracket one in the ki…uh…youth game.”
Jonah glanced their way and said cheerfully, “Hey there, Aubrey. These two morons giving you a hard time?”
Her red-blond brows went sky-high. “They want me to play with the kids.”
Jonah’s smile took on an evil edge. “Well, all the other boards are booked up, so you’ll just have to try to hang with the big boys.”
Aubrey’s lips also curved into an expression that spelled trouble, and she sighed dramatically. “I’ll do my best.”
Jonah gave them all a smart-ass salute and walked the other way. A couple minutes later, Britt finally showed up. He and Reid took their places by one board while Grif and Aubrey headed toward the other. “How about a few warm-up tosses?” he asked her.
Those brows rose again. “If you feel like you need it.”
By God, he liked this girl. “Aubrey, how old are you?”
She gave him a sassy wink. “Old enough to play with the big boys.”
They’d just see about that.
7
The game started with a passable toss by Britt, with his first corn hole bag hitting the slick board, sliding to the back edge, and clinging there like someone sharing a mattress with a bed hog. Not surprisingly, Reid’s first throw dethroned Britt’s bag through force alone. When their showdown was over, the score was a meager one to zero, with Reid and Grif in the lead.
Grif glanced at Aubrey. “Sorry about that.”
“My mom says you shouldn’t ever apologize for being good at something.”
“Aubrey, I like your style.” Oh, yeah, he liked this girl. A lot. Too bad he didn’t date moms, because if the kid was this feisty, her mother was probably a crackerjack, too.
Assuming, of course, there was no Mr. Crackerjack.
“You say that now, but you haven’t seen me throw yet. Don’t forget we’re enemies.”
Lord, he could never be enemies with a girl this cute. Maybe kids weren’t as baffling as he’d thought. His grin was wide as he sighted on the far board, smoothed out his arm rhythm, took a couple of steps and threw. His white bag thunked solidly to the board but missed the hole by a few inches.
She patted his arm in mock-sympathy, much like Evie had done a million times. “Don’t feel bad.” Then she ignored him, her complete attention thirty feet away. She let her own light blue bag fly and it cut through the air like a knife headed directly where she’d aimed. And damned if it didn’t hit the board, careen into his bag, sending it to the ground, and veer into the hole like she’d just hit a bank shot on a pool table.
“Nice luck,” he muttered.
“Not luck. Skill.”
Yeah, Aubrey’s skill became damn apparent over the next twenty minutes. She and Britt were up nineteen to twelve, and Grif could all but see the steam whirling up from Reid’s ears. He finally raised his arm and yelled, “Beer break! Grif, with me.”
“Back in a sec,” Grif told Aubrey.
“Take all the time you need,” she said sweetly.
He and Reid stalked over to the keg. “What the hell?” Reid demanded. “I know you don’t want to hurt that little girl’s feelings, but if you throw this game, we’re out. This is a single elimination tournament. And I’ll be damned if Britt is gonna beat us. You need to start playing like a man.”
“Me throwing the game? You’re the one who couldn’t make the bag in the hole if it was the size of a goal post.”
“Nine of those twelve points are mine,” he growled.
On his way back to the game, Grif rummaged through a cooler and scooped out a can of orange soda for Aubrey. He smiled and held it out to her. “Thought you might need something, too.”
“Thanks,” she said, clicking open the top. “How did you know this was my favorite?”
He’d had no idea, but had chosen it because he’d always loved orange sodas when he was a kid. But he tapped his temple. “ESP.”
She giggled and set her drink aside. “Thank you, but I’m still gonna beat you.”
Game. On.
It wasn’t fair. In fact, it was downright low, but just as Aubrey was about to toss the next time, Grif said, “So tell me about boys.”
But her aim was as true as ever, and her bag landed and slid into the hole like Ichiro Suzuki stealing third base. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you date?”
She gave him a look girls must be taught at birth, the one where they cut their eyes to one side in exasperation.
“My advice? Stay as far away from guys for as long as possible. You can’t trust them.”
“Aren’t you a guy?”
“Which is exactly the reason I know what I’m talking about.” Yeah, because if he ever got his hands on Carlie Beth again, he couldn’t be trusted not to take her on a trip down Memory Lane. A very hot, sweaty trip. “In fact, I should probably sit down with your mom, tell her you shouldn’t date until you’re thirty. Maybe forty. What’s your last name?”
“Uh-uh,” she said, tossing again and landing every damn bag in the hole. Twenty-one to twelve. She turned to him and swiped her palms against one another in victory. “Everyone says you’re a charmer, but I’m not stupid.”
“This is a small town,” he shot back, realizing he’d been having so much fun that he hadn’t thought about LA or his clients in hours, much less reserved a flight back west. “I’ll find out who you belong to.”
“Let’s hope you’re better at that than you are at corn hole.” Her grin was so cheeky Grif couldn’t help but grab her and pull her in for a hug.
* * *
As soon as Aubrey’s corn hole game was over, Carlie Beth cornered her daughter near the dessert table, filled with goodies her stomach had been too upset to accept. And that was a shame because Yvonne had brought her famous lemon poke cake. But when Carlie Beth had spied Aubrey and Grif playing corn hole and chatting like they knew one another, her appetite had skedaddled. “It’s time for us to get home.”
A bite of pecan pie halfway to her mouth, Aubrey froze. “What?”
“I have some projects I need to finish in the forge.”
“Mr. Britt and I won the corn hole game.”
“Congratulations.”
“No, Mom. This is a tournament. I can’t leave or we’ll have to forfeit. We could win this whole thing, and the prize is a hundred bucks.”
Shoot. And that was quite a motivation for a girl Aubrey’s age.
But Carlie Beth stood to lose way more than money. “What if I told you that you could have that makeover slumber party you’ve been begging for?”
“Are you serious?”
As serious as she’d ever been in her life. She might not have a clue how to do makeovers for half a dozen girls who were dying to be full-fledged women, but maybe Randi could help her figure it out. On the cheap. “Sure.”
Aubrey’s eyes narrowed. “Why now?”
Oh, her girl was no dummy. Sharp as an upholstery tack, as Carlie Beth’s mom would say. But Carlie Beth tried to make her shrug casual. “You’ve been asking for a while. Your grades were good on your last report card—”
&nbs
p; “They’re good every report card.”
“—and it’s getting closer to the end of the school year, so it’s perfect timing.”
“Can we order pizza?”
“As many as you want.”
“And stay up all night?”
Internally, Carlie Beth winced. She’d need a case of Red Bull to keep up, but that was a small price to pay. “As late as you can stay awake.”
“Can I ask Miss May to bake cupcakes?”
When Carlie Beth had become pregnant, her mother had claimed she was too young to be a grandmother. Instead of allowing Aubrey to call her Grandma or Nana or Mimi, she’d insisted that her granddaughter refer to her the way she would any other familiar adult, adding Miss to her first name. Once Aubrey was born, her mom had been captivated with her in a way she’d never been with Carlie Beth, but she hadn’t compromised on the name. “Absolutely, but the decision is up to her.”
Aubrey’s eyes gleamed with sly avarice. “And we can watch back-to-back movies?”
“I don’t see why not.” Carlie Beth sensed her mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “But they have to be appropr—”
Aubrey grinned and executed a victorious hair flip. “Magic Mike XXL, here we come!”
Carlie Beth grabbed the plate from Aubrey’s hand and shoveled in some pie. God help her, if Grif Steele didn’t leave town soon, she’d be the size of Dave’s barn.
* * *
Grif dropped down on the porch swing beside his mother and took a sip of his beer. At least his consolation prize was cold and topped with the perfect head.
She patted his leg sympathetically. “Tough game.”
“Reid probably won’t talk to me for weeks.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Grif laughed, blowing some of the foam out of his cup. “Have I ever mentioned what a smart lady you are?”
She took a sip from her own cup of—if he had to guess—sweet tea. She wasn’t a teetotaler, but she wasn’t much of a beer drinker. “I managed to raise six relatively intelligent and well-adjusted children, didn’t I?”
Grif wouldn’t comment on the sixth, the one who was living a life none of them agreed with. Instead, he joked, “You can’t be blamed for the faulty one. We’ll lay Reid on Dad’s shoulders.”
Going Hard: Steele Ridge Series Page 6
