Which he did.
But not sex like this.
“Well?” she prompted, finally taking her hand from his chest.
Even though she’d removed the barrier, Hayes stayed in place. “Two days,” he threw out there. Though he didn’t know why he’d chosen that random number. “Give this some thought for the next forty-eight hours. Be sure,” Hayes advised her. “Then, if you still want the fantasy, we’ll go for it.”
Cait blinked, stared at him. He couldn’t tell, though, if that was shock or disappointment in her eyes. Either way, she quickly recovered. She smiled again and had a long sip of her beer.
Just as the electricity came back on.
“Three days,” Cait bargained. “Then you can decide if you want your own fantasy to come true.”
“My fantasy?” He was about to add that, yeah, he’d been having some fantasies about her. Specifically about getting her naked and kissing every inch of her.
She stood and dropped a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. “The fantasy of having sex with the only eligible woman in town you haven’t already nailed.”
With her mouth bent in a self-satisfied grin, she puckered her lips and blew out the Asshole Repellent candle.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CAIT WAS SO tired that she thought she should maybe check and see if her butt was literally dragging on the ground. A twelve-hour shift could do that. A shift that’d started with a bad night’s sleep could do it even faster.
A bad night’s sleep was becoming the norm for her, though, and she knew exactly where to place the blame.
Hayes.
And, well, herself.
She had to share that blame because she’d been the one who’d thrown out that stupid sex challenge. Three days to think about doing what they’d both been thinking about doing since he’d come back to town. That meant tomorrow either he was going to show up at her place, expecting sex, or he could go in the other direction. Hayes could decide that she’d insulted him by the whole fantasy/Slade stuff, and it had jogged him to his senses.
Senses that would prevent him from following through and showing her what the fuss was all about.
Cait wanted to experience that fuss. Wanted Hayes naked and in her bed. Or anywhere else she could get him. But this particular fuss would come with a ding to the heart when he left. Maybe Hayes didn’t want to leave her with a heart ding even if it was accompanied by what would no doubt be an amazing orgasm. Or three.
Cursing the fatigue and the unsettled feelings bubbling inside her, Cait drove home with one thing in mind. Sleep. It was only five thirty and still plenty light outside, but she was exhausted. She needed a nap, bad, and then she could eat and crash for the rest of the night. Maybe tomorrow—which was decision day for Hayes—she’d have a better handle on her blasted hormones.
Her stomach lurched a little when she saw someone on her porch. For a split second, she thought it might be Hayes coming to collect early on the fantasy. But the stomach lurching took a nasty turn when she spotted someone else instead.
Her father.
Since she didn’t have any chairs there, he was sitting on the porch, his back resting against her front door. She couldn’t see his face because he’d pulled his Stetson low, but she recognized the snakeskin band. Ditto for his long, nearly shoulder-length hair that was now threaded with gray.
He put his thumb under the brim of his hat to push it back, and smiling, he stood. His lanky body and face were showing signs of age. Character lines, some people called them. As if her father needed any more character on that famous handsome face. Yep, handsome. Even her severe ire for him couldn’t cause her to see him as butt ugly. Too bad that handsome face, and his fame, had gotten him into too many women’s beds.
“Cait,” he greeted her when she got out of her SUV.
His voice was lazy and unruffled, similar to the way he’d gotten up from his sitting position. He moved as if he had all the time and not a care in the world.
Well, she sure as heck had some cares, and over the years, he’d been the reason for plenty of them.
She glanced around, looking for how he’d gotten there, and she finally spotted the chestnut mare in her corral. It belonged to Shaw, which meant Marty had already paid a visit to the family ranch. She wondered why her brother hadn’t texted or called to warn her, but it was possible that Shaw hadn’t been home. Or that Marty hadn’t told Shaw that he’d be riding over to her house.
“Where have you been?” she snapped, ignoring Marty’s friendly greeting and his equally friendly smile. Both were BS that he could dole out on a whim. “Your grandson showed up nearly a week ago.”
He nodded, and again, it was slow and easy. Friendly, still. As usual, he wasn’t affected by her tone or scowl. And that only made the cut even deeper. It was bad enough that her father didn’t care squat about his kids and now his grandkid, but he couldn’t even muster up enough emotion to lash out at her.
“I had some things I needed to settle first,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. “I went over to the ranch, but Shaw said McCall and Kinsley took the boy into San Antonio for some clothes. I decided to ride Missy over here and get your take on things. I asked him not to let you know I was coming ’cause I was a mite worried if you knew, that you wouldn’t want to be here.”
Nothing he could have said would have cooled her temper, but it especially riled her that he’d called the mare by name when he hadn’t done the same for his own grandson. And, yeah, she might have skipped out on his visit if she’d gotten word of it first. Or at least that’s what she would have wanted to do. But she wouldn’t have. Not when she needed to get some things straight with Marty.
“Adam,” Cait emphasized. “That’s his name, and he needed you here last week.”
“I’m here now,” Marty drawled, as if that fixed everything.
It fixed nothing. But that was typical. She wasn’t actually sure Marty was capable of fixing anything other than a broken guitar string or maybe a stuck zipper on his jeans. He had no trouble lowering said zipper, though, so he could knock someone up.
Cait took out some of her frustrations on the door by jamming the key into the lock with far more force than necessary. Marty moseyed in right behind her. There was no other word for it. The man walked like he drawled. A slow good ol’ boy pace that she figured some people found charming. Cait was too tired and fed up enough for it to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. She dumped her purse and keys on the foyer table and whirled on him.
“Shaw and Mom had to sign papers to keep Adam from being taken by Child Protective Services. He was scared, and you made him feel like shit when you didn’t step up to help.”
He nodded, tipped his head to her fridge. “Mind if I get me something cold to drink, and then my throat won’t be so dry while we talk?”
Cait wanted to say no way in hell, just because she was pissed off, but she gave a go-ahead motion to help himself. That would give her a couple of moments to find some calm to go along with those cares.
She dropped down onto the sofa, closed her eyes and didn’t open them until she felt the nudge on her shoulder. Marty was standing over her, drinking a Coke, and he handed her one. She took it but didn’t open it. Cait just slid her fingers through the cold moisture on the can.
“I went by the lawyer’s and set up a fund with some money for the boy. For Adam,” Marty amended, no doubt because he saw the renewed anger flare in her eyes. Really bad mean anger. “He’ll be taken care of financially.”
She aimed a hard stare at him as he sank down into the chair next to her. “You know he needs more than just money.”
Marty nodded. “But not for long. The lawyer said Debra would be out of jail in only a couple of months. Lenore said it was all right if Adam stayed at the ranch until then.”
Cait waited to see if Marty had fully understo
od what he’d just said. Apparently not. “Adam will be at the ranch for a couple of months,” she repeated. “He’ll need family, and whether you want to be or not, you’re his family.”
He bobbed his head in agreement. “And I made him feel like shit when I didn’t step up to help.” Marty looked her straight in the eyes. “Do you really believe I could have made him feel less shitty had I been here?”
The answer to that was easy, and she felt another tsunami of anger wash over her. “No. But you should have been here anyway. For once in your life, you should have at least made an effort to do the right thing.” Saying all of this was useless, but she couldn’t make herself stop. “Not just for Adam but for Kinsley, too. She’s still a kid, and she’s not raising herself. We’re raising her. Mom, Shaw, Austin, Leyton, Sunny and me. We’re. Raising. Her.”
Her voice had gotten louder with each word so that by the time she finished, Cait was shouting so loud she was surprised she hadn’t caused the walls and floor to vibrate. The anger coming off her felt like an earthquake.
Despite her earthquake shouting, Marty still didn’t jump to respond. He had a couple of sips of Coke first and took his time getting out the words he finally offered her. “And you’re doing a fine job of it. I had a phone chat with Kinsley just last month. She’s a good kid.”
Cait sighed. “A kid who doesn’t have her father.” No shout that time. It was low, hoarse, but still filled with way too much emotion.
She felt her eyes burn, and she cursed. She hadn’t cried over her father in years, and she sure as heck wouldn’t do it now.
Well, she probably wouldn’t.
She hated, hated, hated that he could pluck at her this way. Like taking her apart one small piece at a time and flinging those pieces carelessly aside. Hated that it still mattered that he hadn’t been around enough to be even a marginally good parent. It made her feel too many things that started with un. Unhappy. Unwanted.
Unloved.
That was the worst of the uns. Because even a famous, busy father with a demanding career could still make his children feel loved. Cait had never felt that, and it broke her heart to think that Kinsley and Adam might not, either. It could burn into them the same kind of hurt and anger she was dealing with now, and she didn’t want that for them. For anyone.
“I know what you want from me when it comes to Adam,” he said, his words cutting through the pounding pulse that was now in her ears. “I can do lip service and tell you I will, but you know how this plays out.”
She did indeed know because it had happened way too many times already. “You’ll be around for a little while. Maybe a day or two at the most. And then you’ll leave because it’s more important for you to be somewhere else than here.”
Cait thought of what Hayes had said. Anywhere but here was where I wanted to be. Marty probably felt that, too, but the difference was that Hayes was still a brother, still a grandson, still a reliable presence in his family’s lives. Marty was none of those things and never had been.
“I can’t be here for long,” Marty went on, and she figured this was the part where he would try to explain that he felt like a failure in this small town. That he didn’t fit in. That the urge to leave was more than a mere urge. It had been as necessary for him as breathing.
But no.
That was all he said. I can’t be here for long. The summation of why Marty Jameson was a steaming pile of bullshit when it came to his family.
“Did you know when I was a teenager, I bought tickets to your concerts?” she asked.
He pulled back his shoulders, the surprise lighting in his eyes. Something else was there, too. He was obviously pleased, and he doled out one of his smiles.
“I didn’t do that because I like your music or because I actually wanted to see you,” Cait quickly explained. Her voice was back to snapping again. “I did it because you look at your fans as if they’re the greatest things in the world. You love them. And for three hours, I wanted you to look at me that way.”
His smile faded, and she watched as the verbal blow landed hard. Just as she’d wanted it to. He nodded, stood and turned away from her. She expected him to walk out. Marty was a pro at walking out. But much to her shock, he stayed put.
“I love you, but I can’t look at you with love,” he said.
Again, he paused for a long time. So long that Cait finally snarled, “What kind of bull crap is that? You can’t look at me?”
She hurried in front of him so he’d have to do just that. Oh, he looked, but there was plenty of gaze dodging along with it.
“Does the sight of me disgust you?” she demanded. Then she went for another verbal blow, but he’d already struck just by not looking at her. “Is it because I resemble you too much?”
He sighed, and that was his only response for more of those long draggy moments. “You look like your mother, too, and she’s a beautiful woman. You’re beautiful,” he added.
“Then why can’t you look at me?” she shouted. Cait latched on to each side of his jaw, locking his head in place so that he had no choice but for his eyes to finally meet hers.
He sighed again. A sound that made her want to throttle him. Then again, she usually felt that way about Marty.
Making her own sigh, Cait let go of him and backed away. “That part about me being beautiful is malarkey,” she grumbled, hating that she’d latched on to it for even a second. Mercy, she wouldn’t take even crumbs from him.
“I can’t look at you,” he repeated. But he turned to her and did exactly that. Full eye contact. His eyes staring into hers. “Because when I see you, I remember just how much I didn’t do right by you.”
Another crumb. That’s all this was, and Cait mentally repeated that to herself a lot in the silence that followed.
“I know I’m the one who screwed you up,” her father admitted. “I’m the one who failed you,” he added in a mumble. “And despite all the emotional baggage I gave you, you turned out to be amazing. You’re a damn miracle, Cait.”
She was glad he wasn’t looking at her because she didn’t want him to see her blinking back tears. Didn’t want him to hear her swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in her throat.
Crumbs. But this crumb hit her right in the heart. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who could land some powerful verbal blows.
“You hurt me,” she whispered.
The moment she said the words, Cait wished she could cram them all back inside and give them a shove to bury them deep. Just as she’d always done. She hadn’t wanted him to know he had that kind of power over her. She wanted no man to ever know that.
And there was the gist of her insecurities.
She didn’t need years of therapy or elevated enlightenment to know that her insecurities had started with this “been there, done that” country-music singer who’d fathered her but had never been a father. When she hadn’t felt loved, she hadn’t felt complete. Maybe that was Marty’s fault, but she put some of the blame on her shoulders. Because he shouldn’t matter. After all the crap he’d pulled, Marty Jameson shouldn’t matter.
But he did.
Damn it. He did.
“I’m real sorry about hurting you,” Marty finally said, and she thought maybe his voice was a little bit choked up.
She wanted to believe the emotion was real, but then again, she’d heard him spill out plenty of genuine-sounding emotions in the songs he sang for his adoring fans. Those fans whom he loved when he looked at them.
Cait didn’t acknowledge the possibility that his apology had been sincere, but she wanted to hang on to the chance that it might be. She also wanted to hang on to the sliver of hope that she might finally be getting her message through Marty’s thick head.
“You need to fix things with Adam before it’s too late,” she tried again. “You need to show him that he matters. Ditto for Kinsley. For Av
ery and Gracie. Please don’t give them the clichéd baggage you handed over to the rest of us.” Especially since those four had already been through enough.
He nodded his thick head. Just a nod. No verbal acknowledgment whatsoever that she’d said something that had finally made him take a hard look at what he was doing. And at what he’d done. He repeated that “just a nod” when she continued to stare at him.
Cait waited. Cursed herself for waiting. Then cursed herself for holding on to the possibility that her father could mend his sorry ways.
Now she was the one who broke eye contact and looked away. She’d had more than enough of this. Enough of Marty and the crap storm of emotions he always brought with him. There’d be other crap storms, other times when he was able to grab on to her heart and give it a good twist.
She wasn’t a miracle, not to Marty. Not to anyone.
Unbearably exhausted to the bone, she was about to demand he leave when she heard a vehicle pull up in front of her house. It was one of her brothers, no doubt, who’d come to check on her since Shaw would have told everyone that Marty had ridden over to see her, and the troops would be arriving to try to pull a Humpty Dumpty and put her back together again. If there was a miracle in this scenario, it was her family. Minus Marty, of course. Then again, he had family status in name only.
Cait quickly wiped her eyes, steeled herself up and went to the door. She threw it open, ready to deliver a snarky line that would assure whichever sibling was on the porch that she was all right whether she was or not. But it wasn’t one of her brothers.
It was Hayes.
He moved fast for a man with cracked ribs. Too fast for her to tell him that they weren’t alone. Hayes hooked his arm around her waist, pulled her to him and kissed her. This wasn’t an “it’s good to see you” kiss, either. This was long, slow, deep and thorough.
And incredibly effective.
It gave all the hurt a quick shove and replaced it with a scalding heat. She stopped it only because she was about to pass out from lack of oxygen.
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