Naughty Secrets (Naughty Shorts Book 3)

by Sarah Castille

  “What does Aiden see?” I ask.

  “He sees that Sam takes you for granted. That you’re lost and lonely. It’s like a siren song for a guy like him. He’s got that protective thing happening. He wants to fix you, heal you, care for you, protect you from what’s making you sad, and right now that’s your husband, who needs a good old-fashioned kick in the pants.”

  “I’m not after Aiden. I told you that.” I dab at the smudge of lipstick. “I like him, and I like how he makes me feel. He’s easy to talk to and not afraid to share his feelings. And, of course, he’s gorgeous, smart, and funny, and he’s got that whole alpha thing going on, but he’s not Sam. It’s complicated.”

  “It’s not complicated at all.” She sucks in her lips to smooth out her lipstick. “Sam needs to wake up and smell the damn coffee. His head has been stuck in his barley field for so long he’s forgotten you exist.” A sly smile spreads across her face. “I’ll bet he wouldn’t be too happy to see you with Aiden. Maybe he’d get all jealous and fight for you like he did when Rex Morgan tried to kiss you after the senior dance.”

  “He was seventeen, and our relationship was still new when that happened.” My heart warms at the memory of Sam punching his band mate, Rex, after the frontman pulled me into a hallway and kissed me between sets.

  Although I’d hung out all the time with the band, I’d barely spoken to Rex and had no idea he’d been crushing on me. Sam went crazy when he saw us. He floored Rex with a punch and then beat on him until the rest of the band pulled him away. I’d always abhorred violence, but there was something utterly thrilling about seeing the boy I loved fighting for me.

  Until then, I’d never thought of Sam as anything but a musician and a poet, but seeing his muscles ripple, the strength of his body, the power in those strong hands . . . it was too much. I took him to the swinging bridge that night, stripped off my clothes, and sealed our fate forever.

  “He would never do anything like that now,” I continue. “Not that there’s any chance of it happening. He doesn’t know where I am, and he never comes to Sticky’s. He won’t even be worried about me, just annoyed that I didn’t leave any dinner. I’ll bet he’s sitting at the table right now, reading the paper, listening to country music on the radio, and waiting for me to show up to give him his meal.”

  “You never know,” she says. “Our circumstances might change, but inside we are who we are. Sam was a protective, possessive sort right from the start. He might have lost his way since Ethan passed, but that part of him is still there.”

  “I don’t really think—“

  “You just don’t see it.” Alexis cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “I heard he punched a couple of his men because they said something about you he didn’t like. When I went out with that guy from the auto body shop, he said Sam brings in your truck once a month for a safety check. And the raspberries you were telling me about the other day . . . there’s only one place to pick them, and it’s on the other side of town.”

  “Why didn’t I know?” I tuck my lipstick away, frowning at Alexis in the mirror.

  “You didn’t want to know. You’ve been living in your own world for so long the little things have stopped mattering.” She pulls open the door. “Lucky for you, I’m tired of watching you two pussyfoot around each other. You had something beautiful, and now you’re both stuck in your own little bubbles of pain. I would kill to have what you and Sam had together. But you’re going to lose it if you don’t shake things up.”

  I stare at her aghast. “What have you done?”

  Alexis looks back over her shoulder, her dark eyes sparkling. “Something I should have done a long time ago. I did some shaking.”

  Chapter Seven

  SAM

  “Natalie.”

  I have no idea how I’ve made it to Sticky’s Bar so fast. One minute I was pushing open the damn cattle gate. Now, I’m standing beside Natalie’s table, trying not to wrap my hand around Steadman’s throat.

  “Sam.” She stares at me, her eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing here?”

  I swallow hard. Words don’t come easily to me anymore, not like they once did when everything I felt came out in the lyrics of song. “You didn’t come home for dinner.”

  She deflates, as if somehow with those six words, I’ve let her down. “There was food in the fridge.”

  I don’t know how to tell her it’s not really about the food. It’s about her. And how the house was empty and cold without her in it. How the food didn’t have a taste, and my heart didn’t beat, and the air couldn’t reach my lungs when Alexis told me she was here with another man.

  No. Not just a man. Steadman.

  “Do you want me to order you a meal?”

  I don’t miss the sarcasm in her tone, the clipped voice, or the glance she shares with Alexis across the table. Nor did I miss the blush in her cheeks when she shoots Steadman an apologetic smile before she moves to stand. “They have prime rib here. And potatoes. I can tell them not to put gravy on the vegetables.”

  “No.” The word comes out so loud she freezes, half in and half out of her seat. “I didn’t come here to eat.”

  “You haven’t eaten since sunrise.” Her brow creases in a frown. “You must be starving.”

  “No.” I shake my head, struggling to find the words I want to say. How ironic that the poet in me disappears when I need him the most. “I don’t need food. I came to take you home. With me.”

  She sinks down in her seat. “I’m not ready to go just yet. I’m having a good time, Sam. It’s been a long time since I had fun.”

  I don’t know what kind of fun she is planning to have in a dress that teases with hints of her warm olive skin beneath the lace—was she wearing it at home before she left?—but it won’t involve Steadman, who is watching her intently like a predator about to feast.

  “It’s cold.” I unzip the jacket I threw on when I left the farm. “You should cover up for the ride home.”

  “I’m not cold, and I’m not leaving.” She makes no move to take the jacket from me.

  “Please join us.” Steadman gestures to the empty chair across the table. “I’m Aiden Steadman, by the way.” He holds out his hand—the hand that I imagined touching my wife as he plied her with drinks.

  A fierce possessive anger grips me hard, shocking me with its intensity. Natalie isn’t the problem. It is this man. This . . . dentist with his brilliantly white teeth, his unnaturally smooth face, and his challenging stare.

  I pull out the chair and position it beside Natalie. Taking a seat, I throw my arm over her shoulders. Natalie shoots me a puzzled glance. Clearly, I have been complacent for too long. Although I never say the words, my feelings haven’t changed. Natalie is mine. She belongs with me. This educated, professional, city slicker, walked-out-of-a-men’s-fashion-magazine bastard across the table saw a beautiful woman hurting, and thought to take advantage because she was alone.

  But I’m here now, and no one is touching my girl.

  “Sam? Do you want to order something?” Natalie gestures to the waitress who is now standing beside the table.

  “What’s he having?” I ask without taking my eyes off Steadman. Some primitive instinct warns me not to look away.

  “Scotch,” Alexis says. I make a mental note to thank her for alerting me to the threat. She is a good friend to Natalie—a good friend to us both.

  “How many has he had?”

  “Three, I think. Maybe four.”

  I tip my head at the waitress. “Bring me the bottle.”

  “You need to eat something if you’re going to drink that much,” Natalie insists.

  I grit my teeth, annoyed both at her lack of faith in my ability to hold my liquor, and the insinuation of weakness. But how does she know how much I can drink? We never go anywhere together, and rarely drink at home.

  “I’m good. Thanks, babe.”

  “Babe?”

  I cut her off with a quick kiss, more as a warning for
Steadman, rather than affectionate. Except for the occasional peck on the cheek, or the perfunctory brushes of our lips in the middle of the night when we come together in a basic need way, we haven’t kissed since we lost Ethan. Really kissed. But her lips are so soft, so sweet, so heart achingly familiar, I need more than a little taste. Turning in my seat, I cradle her jaw in my hand and pull her closer, covering her mouth with my own. My heart pounds. My pulse races. Electricity arcs between us, connecting us in a burst of white-hot heat. It’s like our first kiss all over again.

  “Here you go, sir.” The waitress places the bottle on the table, and I reluctantly pull away, instantly feeling bereft. Natalie draws in a ragged breath and touches her lips as if she is as shocked as me at the intensity of that kiss.

  “An eighteen-year-old Macallan?” I inspect the bottle. “You know your scotch.”

  Steadman shrugs. “I asked the manager to buy a few cases after I saw what he had in stock.”

  I pour a glass and sip the amber liquid. Smooth on the tongue, with barely any burn, and a medium cigar-smoke finish. It’s been a long time since I had the good stuff. Hell, it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything but work.

  “Very nice,” I say to Steadman, who still hasn’t taken the hint to leave my wife alone.

  He swirls the amber liquid around, his gaze on Natalie. “Why put up with average when you can have perfection?”

  Alexis chokes on her drink. Natalie blushes. I pour myself a second glass, and then a third. When I pour a fourth, Natalie touches my hand.

  “Maybe you should slow down.”

  I toss the fourth glass back because I’ve spent the last ten years in the slow lane to nowhere, and somewhere along the journey I lost my wife. Time for courage, not caution, for speed, not safe driving.

  I give Steadman a quick once-over as I pour myself another. He might be taller than me, but he is lean with the kind of muscles you get only by running on the hamster wheel at the gym, or lifting weights for no reason other than to beat the pull of gravity. I easily outweigh him in sheer muscle bulk, and my strength is real, coming from working every day in the fields, hauling equipment and bales, and hammering fences and steel. My hands are callused from hard labor, whereas his are soft, almost elegant. Hard to believe hands so smooth could wield a whip or paddle in his dungeon of doom, but it is clear he should not be underestimated. His dominant nature ripples beneath the surface, informing everything about him; from the way he studies me as he sips his drink, to the spread of his legs beneath the table.

  “Natalie says you have a farm just outside of town,” he says, blinding me with the whiteness of his smile.

  “Yes. We’ve got wheat, soybeans, canola, barley, and oats to keep us busy in summer, and five hundred head of cattle to keep us busy in the winter.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work.” He cocks his head to the side. “No time for fun.”

  “No time for anything.” Which is exactly what I wanted after losing both my son and my father in the same year. But somewhere along the way, I lost touch with what really mattered, who I am, and what I want out of life.

  “How is the dental business?” I ask. Not because I care, but because I want to understand the man who pulled Natalie out of her shell, put a smile on her face and a flush on her cheeks, and is enough of a threat that her best friend texted me a warning.

  “Busier than I expected.” He sips his drink. “I thought things would be slower in a small town, but I’ve got more patients than I did in the city.”

  Alexis laughs. “That might have something to do with the fact that the only other dentists in town are in their sixties, married with grandkids, and using the same equipment and techniques they’ve been using for the last forty years. Not that they aren’t nice guys, but your office has more . . . appeal.”

  He chuckles. “It does feel like time has stood still in Revival. Maybe the town should join the modern world.”

  “The town is fine the way it is,” I snap. Four quick shots of scotch on an empty stomach after years of drinking very little, coupled with the crowds and the music is setting me on edge, not to mention the undercurrent of tension at the table.

  “You can’t stop the march of progress.” He pats Natalie’s hand. “Natalie was telling me about her dream of providing online distance education for rural communities. It’s a great idea, and I told her I’ve got spare office space to rent when she gets it going. I bought the entire building my office is in, and I’ve had it all updated and wired with the latest technology.”

  He keeps talking. His lips keep moving. But all I can focus on is his hand on Natalie’s hand, the way her ring is there and gone with every pat, like it is slowly winking out of existence.

  “Not all progress is good.” I pull her hand away from his, thread my fingers through hers. “People don’t put the same care into the things they make anymore, or they make them too complicated. I’ll take mechanical over computerized any day. New equipment breaks down too easily. Give me a combine without a computer and a GPS, and I can finish a field in half the time using the sun and the horizon to plot my course. The vegetables that are mass-produced don’t taste anything like what Natalie grows in her garden. And if she needs an office, I’ll build it on my land with my own two hands.”

  I didn’t know Natalie was thinking about setting up an online education business, but damned if I am going to let him know.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Natalie whispers under her breath.

  “You.”

  Natalie blushes. I like seeing that bloom on her cheeks, knowing that it was me who put it there.

  “You talk like a man twice your age,” Steadman says with a laugh.

  “I’m a fan of tradition.” I glance over at Natalie. She is staring at me rapt, like she’s seeing me for the first time. Maybe, in a way, she is.

  I have a sudden, urgent need to get her away from Steadman and his talk of progress. After a childhood of hand-me-downs that she associated with being the unwanted child in the family, she was driven by the desire to blaze her own path—city living, modern new things, exciting experiences, and a man who loved and wanted her above all else.

  Working with my dad to build the farm after my mother left us, I developed a love for the land and the simpler living of a rural lifestyle. But I also loved my music, and it was no hardship to pursue that dream by following Natalie to Billings so she could live the big-city life she wanted. It wasn’t easy for her to return to Revival when we found out she was pregnant. With no money and no prospects, we didn’t have a choice. Steadman represents everything she lost. I need to show her that what we have is worth saving—that I’m back, open to new experiences, and I won’t abandon her again.

  “Let’s dance.” I stand, and the floor undulates beneath my feet. Five shots of scotch in half an hour and no food are really taking their toll.

  “Dance?” Natalie frowns. “You don’t dance anymore. You hate this music, and you can barely stand.”

  “I love this music.” I steady myself and clasp her hand, leading her away from the table. “Some songs just bring back bad memories—the ones I played for Ethan.”

  “So you locked them all away?”

  “I guess I’m an all or nothing kind of guy.” I feel awkward when we reach the dance floor. It’s been a long time and my body isn’t used to the unfamiliar beat.

  “Is that what all the drinking is about?” she asks. “Go big or go home?”

  I put an arm around her waist to try a different type of dancing, follow the gentle sway of her hips. She leans into me and becomes easy, familiar. Like I’ve finally come home.

  “You were drinking with that dude,” I say with a shrug of feigned indifference. “Thought I’d catch up and join the party.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “That dude’s name is Aiden. You don’t seem to like him very much.”

  “Don’t know much about him except I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

  Her eyes widen
with surprise. “You’re jealous.” A statement, not a question, and one that is entirely accurate.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman in the whole damn bar, and I’m not a sharing kind of man.” I rest my cheek against her hair, breathe in her fragrance of flowers and sunshine. It isn’t just easy now, it’s right. Perfect.

  “It was kind of sexy the way you put your arm around me and glared at him across the table.” She laughs, and I realize I haven’t heard that laugh in far too long. “Not very polite and totally uncalled for, but sexy just the same.” Her voice softens. “I didn’t think you noticed me anymore. Or cared.”

  “I didn’t think I had to say those things. I thought you knew.”

  She stiffens in my arms. “Sometimes it’s just nice to hear them. I can’t always guess what you’re thinking.”

  Now it’s my turn to go still. “I thought you knew me, Nat.”

  Her mouth opens and closes again, and she leans away, putting a few inches between us. “I do know you, but you’re different. Closed off. We don’t talk like we used to, or do the stuff we used to do.” She gestures vaguely at the dance floor where the people around us are smiling and dancing about. “I never thought we’d dance like this again. Or drink together. Or talk. It’s nice. I almost can’t believe we’re here.”

  I can’t believe it either. If someone had told me when I got up this morning that I’d be drunk and dancing at Sticky’s at the end of the day, I would have laughed. The forecast is for rain in the two days, and I have beans and canola to get in before the storm hits. But now that I’m here, with her in my arms, I don’t want to go back to the way it was. I miss this intimacy. I miss my Nat.

  “There’s always work to do,” I offer. “You know that. But if this is what you want, you don’t need to hang out with a dude you barely know. After harvest is done and before calving starts, we can—”

  “No.” She pulls away.

  “No?” I thought things were going good. Clearly I was wrong.

  “I want you to want it, Sam. Not just me.”