by Ava Miles
Someone knocked, but the sound seemed so distant. He couldn’t sense anything beyond Peg’s heated mouth, the anguished moan from her lips.
The rapid knocking matched his heartbeats.
“Mac! Are you in there? I need to talk to you about Dustin.”
Peggy shoved him back and ducked away. He wiped his mouth. Rearranged his clothes. Turned around and saw Peggy doing the same, her face as red as the can of Coke she’d drunk earlier. He motioned her aside and opened the door.
“I’m finishing up with Deputy McBride. I’ll find you in a few.”
His sister’s face was chalk–white and tense, the lines around her mouth visible. “Let me come in, please. I want to apologize. Tell her what a good boy Dustin is.”
He had to reach deep for control—and pray his sister didn’t notice his loss of composure or his whopping erection. “I already have. Please, Abbie, let me finish this alone. I’ll find you.”
The movement behind him sent a bolt of frustration through him. Peggy was going to use his sister as her means of escape.
She stepped into view. “I need to go.”
If she’d known how fiery her face was, he’d have bet the house she wouldn’t have stuck her hand out to his sister. Abbie looked at Peggy and then at him. He veiled his eyes, but who could miss the elephant in the room?
“You’re…Deputy McBride.” Her hand drew back as she realized who she was. “I’m Abbie Maven,” she choked out. “I can’t tell you…how sorry I am. I expect Mac has.”
Picking up on her tone, he gave her a warning glare.
Peggy went redder. “Yes. I’ll see you in court. I need to go and write up my report.”
“Peggy,” Mac called, but she dashed into the hall. “I’ll look forward to picking up that other conversation.”
She didn’t slow down, not one iota.
Abbie flicked a hand at his still–noticeable erection. “What are you doing? That woman tried to destroy our reputations before the city council. You aren’t…trying to seduce her so she’ll take it easy on Dustin?”
He bristled. “Good God, no! What do you take me for?”
She stared at a place over his shoulder. “Frankly with both you and Dustin, at this moment, I have no idea. Come find me when you cool off.”
He stepped into his office, resisting the urge to slam the door, and walked over to the ice bucket. Putting some cubes in his silk handkerchief, he pressed it against his neck. It did nothing to cool the furnace inside him. He figured a trip to the Arctic would be the only remedy.
Well, he’d learned one thing today. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
But as he watched her car streak down his driveway, he was unsure if things were better or worse between them—and if she’d ever let him touch her again.
“Shit,” he uttered to the silent room.
Chapter 8
Abbie Maven surveyed the lush mountains through the squeaky clean windows. Her brother had outdone himself again. Only she understood how far he’d come and how much he’d built. As she paced the family quarters Mac always kept at his hotels, she smoothed her hands down her crisp linen dress. Would she be a bad mom if she used ear plugs to buffer the rap music coming from the adjoining room?
She hated rap music. Didn’t understand how anyone could like songs with such gutter language and themes. But since Mac liked rap too, she let her son play it. She couldn’t keep the world out or make Dustin act like a choir boy.
But listening to questionable music was a big step away from stealing a car for a joy ride and speeding away from a deputy. Since when had her kid become reckless and stupid?
Consequences—teenagers just didn’t get them.
Hadn’t she been the same way? She poured a Diet Coke into one of Mac’s Venetian crystal glasses. Wasn’t that why she was the thirty–four–year–old mother of a sixteen–year–old boy? Days like today made her feel older than she was.
The rap music intensified as the door opened. Dustin had on his “defying the world” face. When he was like this, it was hard to reach him.
“Heard you had quite a morning.” she casually observed, knowing she needed to walk a fine line. He could spark like a firecracker if she chose the wrong tack.
His chin lifted, the dimple looking like a crater in his still developing face. “Uncle Mac wanted me to go to jail, Mom. Can you believe that crap?”
She let the minor language infraction go. “I doubt that very much, Dustin.” Since Mac had played the bad guy, and Cince the good guy, she was settling for something in between. God knows it did take a village to raise a kid—especially one without a father. “Of course, you could have gone to jail. What you did wasn’t simply reckless, it was illegal. You could have gotten hurt or hurt someone else.”
“Uncle Mac already hammered that one home. Look, I’m sorry! I just wanted to drive his car. He wouldn’t let me.” He dived onto the Italian leather sofa. “It’s not fair.”
She sat across from him. “Seems to me, he was right all along. You didn’t drive responsibly.”
He lurched up. “I just got my license. Mom, everybody speeds.”
Abbie crossed her arms and tried to keep her temper under control. God, she hated when her kid blamed everybody else for his own actions. “Then you should have pulled over when the deputy caught you and accepted your first ticket. Why didn’t you?”
He pulled his ball cap lower over his forehead, but his thick black hair still curled around his ears like seaweed. “I didn’t want Uncle Mac to find out.”
“Do you mean the all–knowing Mac Maven? Who’s kidding who here, Dustin?”
“I panicked, okay?” He sprung up, his leaf–green eyes fierce, showing the fear of a little boy who was not yet a man. “I didn’t want to get into trouble.”
“Well, you are in trouble,” Mac confirmed as he walked in. “Big time.”
Dustin headed for the room he’d claimed. “Fine. Punish me. Send me to jail.”
Mac strode across the living area. “Turn the music off and come back here.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
Mac angled his bulk in front of the door, and her son stood just inches away from him with clenched fists. Abbie wouldn’t be surprised if one of them stomped a foot, lowered a shoulder, and charged like a bull. When they went at it, neither backed down.
“Dustin, close the door and turn the music down. Your uncle and I need to decide on your punishment.”
“But he already took my phone.”
She shook her head and winced as pain spread up from the base of her neck. Her kid gave her migraines. “That’s not enough this time. Let me repeat myself. What you did was serious. This goes beyond anything you’ve ever pulled.”
Mac lowered his arms from the doorframe. “You could have killed someone…or yourself. What kind of stupid, asinine thoughts were going through your head?”
“I don’t want to be here! I wanna go home.”
Mac ran a hand through his hair. “You know the rules. We’re a family, and we always stay together.”
“Then stop building these damn hotels! I hate moving every time you need some new Legoland built in your honor.”
“Watch it, kid. You’re batting zero today with all the crap you’ve pulled.”
Abbie stepped forward and laid a hand on her brother’s arm. Since she understood them both, she kept her voice light. “We’ll call you when we’re done out here, Dustin.”
“Don’t I even get a say?”
She looked at him and wanted to touch his cheek. No one knew better than a teen mom that growing up could be a bitch. But she was the parent now.
“I’m afraid not. Go in now,” she ordered and closed the door.
The music lowered to a faint, persistent beat from the other side. Mac stalked away from her and opened the patio door, stepping onto the skinny balcony. She followed him, shut the door to block out inquiring ears, and put a hand on his back when he lowered his head into his hand
s.
“God, Abbie. He could have been killed.”
She leaned onto his back for a moment, resting there. The moment they put Dustin into her arms at the hospital, the “Imagine Every Horrible Scenario” software had been downloaded into her brain. Mac seemed to have received the same download. They’d shared endless fears over Dustin—record–high fevers, cracking his forehead open—but never anything like this.
“You always tear into him when all you want to do is hug him,” she observed.
He sighed and rose to his full height again. “It’s not like when he was a kid. He’s too big for a hug, and this is serious. Shit. He could have killed Peggy.”
Her cheeks flamed, remembering the signs of Mac’s lust—not something a sister wanted to see. Ever. She didn’t like it—or the deputy—but she wanted to respect Mac’s business. “That woman’s been eating at you.”
“That’s not only it. She has a kid, too, Abbie. He’s seven.”
Since his muscles seemed carved in marble, she rubbed his back. “We can only thank God nothing worse happened.”
He grabbed her hand. “Damn Maven genes, right? I’d hoped we’d stamped them out of him. He’s giving me gray hair, Abbie, I swear.”
“I could find some shoe polish to touch up your roots.”
“Funny.”
“Might melt if you sweat. Oops, you don’t sweat. I forgot.”
“Stop trying to make me feel better.”
“Is it working?”
“Yes.”
She crossed her arms. “Now help me.”
He rubbed his chin, considering. “He has more support and resources than we did growing up, and we didn’t do so badly.”
Her mouth refused to smile. She thought of Dustin’s father. Wasn’t she really scared of what that gene pool carried? “He’s likes the fast lane just like you do, but he’s still a good kid. We have to keep believing that.”
Unlike their own father, she thought, but didn’t say. Their old man had called Mac everything from stupid to worthless growing up. Mac had proven him wrong. She hoped Dustin would want to prove them right. God knows he wasn’t perfect, but who was?
“Peggy said she’d talk to the city attorney since Dustin’s remorseful, and this is his first offense. He’ll likely do some community service. But I want to make it up to her.”
Abbie pretended to study the scenery. So, he really did have it bad for this deputy who’d tried to stop him from building the hotel. Not his usual no–strings, uncomplicated type. She’d have to check her out more.
“What do you have in mind?”
“What does a single mom need?”
She put her hand under her chin, thinking. “Someone to mow the lawn. It’s summertime. Do they have a yard?”
He nodded his head like he was considering it. “Yes, a nice big one for the kid. Good idea. I knew you’d have one.”
“I’m a woman. We know what we don’t like to do. Of course, we could have Dustin take the garbage out for her.” She nudged him gently to diffuse their tenseness.
He pulled her close and tucked her against his side. “Really stinky garbage. Like chicken guts or fish heads—with maggots.”
A laugh puffed out, but with it, a bubble of fear so strong, she bit her lip. “Oh, Mac.”
His arms pulled her close. They hugged as the mountain sunlight rained over them, the trees whispering secrets as the wind rushed through the valley.
“He’s going to be okay, Abbie. I promise.”
“I know.”
He’d said the same thing to her when the doctors had allowed him to come visit her hospital room more than sixteen years ago. Dustin had been born four months premature. The doctors had scared her to death with talk of brain and lung damage, disabilities. Sick herself from nearly hemorrhaging to death, something inside her had clicked. Given how he’d been conceived, she hadn’t completely wanted her baby. That had changed the moment she learned he would need to fight to survive.
Mac had taken her hand that day and made her a promise. Whatever they needed to make Dustin and her better, he’d provide. He’d been as good as his word. Though they hadn’t possessed medical insurance at the time, he’d won what they needed playing poker. It had been the start of his grand career. And though their homes might be like musical chairs, they always stayed together.
“Let’s go tell him,” she said. “And let’s chalk this whole thing up to a learning experience.”
Mac opened the door for her. “Let’s hope he’s a fast learner. Otherwise, I’m going to have Peggy throw his ass in jail for a night to scare the shit out of him.”
“She looks like she might just do that.”
A strange look passed over his face, and then he met her eyes. “She might, indeed.” He reached for her arm again. “Wait. I need to tell you something.”
His tone caught her off guard as much as his touch. “What is it?”
“Rhett called me. He’s coming to the tourney.”
She struggled to keep her face from changing into…shock, excitement, fear? It was hard to say how many emotions bubbled through her. “Because Rye’s coming…”
“Maybe. You know Rhett. He’s spontaneous. He’s a late addition, but he’s such a crowd pleaser. He knew we’d make room.”
Yes, indeed. Rhett Butler Blaylock was anything but methodical—except when it came to poker. His free spirited ways and classic good looks turned heads everywhere he went. For a while, he’d turned hers, starting on a sleepy June morning after an early run when he’d encountered her weeding in her garden. His sweaty, shirtless chest had blown the circuitry in her brain. He must have seen the lust in her eyes because he strode forward, threw the trowel she was holding aside, and kissed her deeply, darkly, until she fell back on the grass, his body covering hers. They’d stumbled to the guest–house and proceeded to have the wildest and most intimate sex imaginable.
Afterward, he’d held her and made her laugh—even as the magnitude of what she’d done hit home. He was Mac’s best friend. She’d known him for well over a decade. And he wasn’t her type.
But she hadn’t been able to stay away from him…or the sex. Their ease with each other inside and outside the bedroom shocked them both. For six months, they met secretly when he came to visit the Mavens in Arizona, or when he and Mac were playing in a poker tournament. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know, especially not Mac or Dustin. They’d just be disappointed when it didn’t lead anywhere. Plus Rhett’s flamboyance and wild lifestyle embarrassed her.
Falling in love hadn’t been part of the plan, but it had happened. When she saw him making a beeline for her after a tournament one day, soaked to the bone in champagne after his win, flanked by sequin–clad poker babes and calling out dirty jokes to raucous fans, she’d realized it was time to end things. He had momentarily forgotten their secret arrangement, inebriated on Dom Perignon and the rush of winning another huge pot.
He wasn’t husband or father material, and how long could a girl carry on with a man like that without breaking her heart? When she’d told him the next day, his response had been cool, but understanding. It had surprised her when he left the country to play in several international poker tournaments…and it had surprised her more how much she missed him.
“It’ll be good to see him,” she lied, focusing back on her brother.
“It’s been a while.” Mac’s hand closed over her arm. “You okay?”
His perceptiveness threatened her secret. She needed to walk away. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Since he wouldn’t release her arm, she halted.
“Did you think I didn’t know about you two?”
This conversation could not start. She didn’t need him worrying about something that had long since ended.
Discussing her personal business made her cheeks flame, but she tried to downplay her embarrassment. “It wasn’t serious. You know Rhett.”
He stared at her with that intense gaze she so envied—she couldn’t even look at herself in th
e mirror that way.
“Yes, but I know you. You could never do anything but serious.”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Mac.”
He let her go. “Okay, but he’s coming. And he means a lot to me.”
“I won’t mess anything up.”
“I wasn’t worried you would. I just don’t want you two to be at odds.”
She smiled to reassure him. “I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it. I certainly have.”
He dipped his finger into his pocket and took out his lucky piece. He carried one chip for luck—a thousand dollar denomination in canary yellow from his first World Series of Poker win. He tossed it straight up into the air.
“Heads you’re lying. Tails, you’re telling the truth.”
She reached to catch it, but he was too fast for her—like usual. “Heads, Abbie. Better work on that poker face. Rhett will see right through you.”
“Oh, shut up,” she fumed uncharacteristically. “I have enough to worry about with Dustin turning delinquent and you panting after some female deputy who threw us to the wolves.”
He chuckled. “Ah, there’s the Maven blood. Always looks good on you when it comes out.”
She threw up her hands. They could talk to Dustin after she burned off her anger at the gym. She hoped it would also help her stop thinking about why Rhett Butler Blaylock was coming back now and what he might or might not want from her.
Chapter 9
By the time Peggy finished her day job, she could have become NASA’s first human test subject to launch into space without a shuttle. God knows she had enough fire in her engines. The dark chocolate bar in her desk had done nothing to curb her appetite. Why did that surprise her? When a woman wanted sex, she wanted sex. Too bad chocolate didn’t work as a substitute when a girl was in overdrive.
“Curse Maven’s black soul,” she muttered, gathering plates to set the dining room table.
“Mom, when are they going to get here?” Keith whined, returning to the kitchen after at least ten sprints to the front door. Did seven–year–olds ever get tired?
