My mouth gapes at his insinuating tone and I pull my brows together. “I just took her home… and I didn’t say anything about wanting to see her again.”
“Didn’t have to,” Hank says, walking toward the door and opening it. “It’s written all over that pretty face of yours.”
I scowl.
First of all, my face is not pretty.
Second of all, I hate when people act like they know what I’m thinking… especially when they know what I’m thinking.
And third, because if there’s a first and a second, there has to be a third… I might be seriously fucking attracted to Tempest Cassidy, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be acting on it.
“Yes, your face is pretty,” he drawls. “I’ve seen the way women look at you… all dangerous fighter with Hollywood good looks.” He laughs and I flip him the bird. “And yes, you’re coming to the picnic.” Pausing, with his hand on the edge of the door—one foot out, one foot in, he adds, “I just made it mandatory for all employees.”
Oh, fuck me… and fuck him and his pink pony he rode in on.
Without waiting for a response, he gives me a shit-eating grin and waves, closing the door behind him. I watch him walk down the sidewalk through the large windows and glare at him, hoping he can feel the weight of it like most people, but I doubt it. Hank’s always been immune to my brooding and intimidation.
The two of us are unlikely friends. Ever since we met at Harvard, we’ve been polar opposites, yet connected in a way I could never explain. It’s been a long time since we spent late nights talking about what we wanted to do with our lives. Years have passed since we both dropped out and went our separate ways, but he’s always been a great friend… one of the best.
So, I’ll give him this one. I’ll go to the fucking church picnic. But for now, I’m going to go for a run, because if I don’t burn off some of this excess energy, I might go crazy, and tomorrow, I’m ordering a bag and seeing what I can make out of this place.
Maybe it’ll just be for me.
Maybe it’ll turn into something more.
I’m not sure, but I do know that for the first time in a few months, I feel like purpose is just around the corner. And I need that. Beyond the fight and the challenge of the ring, it’s waking up with purpose every day that I miss the most.
This morning’s run takes me down the sidewalk that runs in front of the building I’m living in, out of downtown Green Valley, past older, well-kept houses, and finally to the highway that leads to the Pink Pony. When I reach the gravel parking lot of the club, I turn around and head back.
I love the way my legs strain as I make the climb up a few hills.
I love the way my lungs burn as I push a little harder on my way back.
I love the way my mind clears, with my only thoughts being focused on my next breath, my next step.
Once the familiar buildings of downtown come into view, I slow my pace and begin my cool down. Wanting a change of scenery, I cross the street and continue my way up the opposite sidewalk. When I see several people coming in and out of one of the buildings, I slow my pace to a walk.
As I get closer, I notice a sign that read’s Donner Bakery — Home of the Banana Cake. One lady carrying a box seems a little startled when she sees me, but quickly smiles and offers a polite hello.
“Good morning,” I say, returning her smile.
“Best muffins in a hundred mile radius,” she says, nodding behind her to the storefront. “I recommend the Folsom Prison Blues.”
Folsom Prison... what?
Instead of asking questions, I just say, “Thanks.”
I had plans of drinking a smoothie this morning, but now that I’m within smelling distance and caught a whiff of the lady’s purchase, my mouth is now watering for carbs. A good run deserves to be rewarded with carbs—that’s always been my philosophy.
One of the reasons I love working out so hard is because I can eat anything I want and never have to worry about packing on pounds.
Holding the door for another lady walking out with what looks like a bag full of deliciousness, hints of cinnamon and sugar and baked bread bowl me over.
“Welcome to the Donner Bakery,” a cheerful voice calls out. “Picking up an order?”
Glancing up and down the glass case, I get lost in the selections. “No, no order… but I am hungry.”
“Another batch of Ring of Fires,” a familiar voice says, making my head snap up and my dick twitch.
Tempest Cassidy.
Her gorgeous red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, showing off the long lines of her neck, and I swallow, licking my bottom lip. Maybe I’ll take her… if she were on the menu.
Which she is not.
Get your mind out of the gutter.
When she notices me, she stops and tilts her head, like she’s examining me, and I realize that she’s having trouble placing me, which is crazy. Usually, people meet me once and never forget. I’m not being cocky. It’s just the truth. My dad is full-blooded Scandinavian and he passed on his pale blue eyes and blond hair, as well as a very defined jawline.
In the UFC, I was known as The Fighting Viking.
“Can I help you?” she asks, her eyes still scanning my face, but I don’t miss the way they fall to my chest, which I’m sure is covered in sweat. I just ran at least six miles.
“Uh,” I start, trying to get my bearings and not make a complete fool of myself. “I heard the Folsom Prison Blues is—”
“Out,” she says, sliding in a fresh tray of muffins that are twice the size of any I’ve ever seen. “But we have a fresh supply of Ring of Fire… cinnamon, cloves, oats, and raisins… and a hint of cayenne pepper.” Her eyes light up as she’s describing the muffin and my traitorous heart hammers in my chest. “Sounds crazy, but I promise… they’re delicious.”
“I’ll take two.”
I watch as her creamy complexion turns a lovely shade of pink. “You, uh… you were,” she swallows. “You were at the…” Now she’s completely flustered and it’s fucking adorable. Somehow, she’s even more tempting and I wonder how far that blush goes… down to her chest? Tits? Are they just as creamy and delicious as what’s visible?
“Pink Pony,” I offer. “Cage Erickson.” When I reach my hand across the counter for her to shake, she hesitates for a moment and I wonder if she’s going to bolt or get sick, and that takes me back to putting her to bed the other night.
Finally, she takes my hand and I swear, heat travels from her hand to mine like a sizzling spark of electricity. “Tempest Cassidy.”
“I know,” I tell her with a smile. “I, uh…” I wonder if she has any recollection of me taking her home… or if I should tell her?
“You took me home.” The color now drains from her face.
I nod.
“Thank you,” she says quickly, tossing my two muffins in a bag and handing them to the girl at the register. When I see that she’s getting ready to run off to the back, I stop her, not ready for this conversation to be over.
“Were you alright… I mean, did you feel okay?” I ask, unsure of what to say.
“Fine,” she says, now unable to look me in the eye and I hate it.
Fucking look at me, Tempest.
Give me those gorgeous green eyes.
“Good,” I tell her. “I was worried about leaving you, but you went right to sleep.”
It’s then I realize the other girl’s eyes are as big as saucers.
“Uh, yeah…” She gives me an uncomfortable smile, side eyeing the girl. “Sometimes tequila makes me…”
Dance on bars, I want to tease, but I don’t.
“Sleepy,” she says, swallowing again.
“Five twenty-seven,” the girl at the register says and I realize I don’t have my wallet.
“Shit,” I murmur. “Uh, can you hold these for me? I just realized I didn’t bring any money… I was out for a run and—”
“It’s on the house,” Tempest says, taking the bag from the
girl and handing it over to me. “Well, on me… I owe you one.”
I smile at her, wanting to say so much more… things like: I have ideas on how you can pay me back… I can make it good for both of us… let’s work out some of that obvious pent-up aggression… but I don’t say any of that. Instead, I opt for, “thank you” and then I walk out the door, leaving Tempest Cassidy and all the temptation that pertains to her behind.
She’s not on the menu, Cage.
End of story.
But these fucking muffins… I take a moment while out on the sidewalk to sniff the bag. When the aroma of cinnamon and sugar with a hint of spice hits my nose, I can’t wait any longer. Opening the bag, I take one of them out, observing its size once more. My hands are huge and it literally takes up the entire span of my palm.
As I take my first bite, the second the baked perfection touches my tongue, I groan.
Not only is Tempest Cassidy going to be a temptation, so are her muffins.
Chapter 7
Tempest
Stepping out of the truck, a warm breeze catches the bottom of my dress and I stop it just before it soars over my head. My daddy is letting me borrow his old pick-up until I can figure out something of my own. It’s not that I can’t get a loan or anything, but until the house is sold, I don’t want to make any large purchases. As I turn around, I make sure no one saw what just happened and quietly curse the blasted wind and Anna for making me wear a dress in the first place.
Trucks and cars are lined up in rows out in the pasture, just a half mile from the church. I spot my daddy's truck, surprised Mama didn’t make him drive the sedan. That’s their church car.
Everyone is congregating under a big white tent, but there are blankets scattered out in the deep green grass surrounding it where some have staked their claim for the afternoon. As I walk closer, I can hear the reverend greeting everyone and asking them to bow their heads in prayer.
Stopping just short of the crowd, I do as he asks and listen to him thank the Lord for good health and the rain we got last week, and asking Him to bless the food we're about to eat.
"Amen."
“Nice to see you still remember how to pray.” I hear the easy voice of my father in my right ear, a little mirth behind his words.
“Stop it, Daddy,” I say, swatting blindly behind me and making contact with his arm.
“Don’t make me have to get the sheriff after you for assaulting an old man,” he jokes, but then pauses for a second as we both take in the crowd of familiar faces. “It really is good to see you, Tempest. And you sure do look pretty in that dress. You’re gonna make your mama one happy lady today.”
I glance beside me to see his mustache twitch as he smiles underneath it.
“Well, it’s far too nice of a day to be cooped up inside,” I tell him, smoothing my dress down in the front.
“Uh, huh. I hear you also had some smoothing over to do with Anna, who looks like she’s coming this way,” he says, turning my shoulders to see the reason I’m here making a beeline for us. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear some fried chicken calling my name.”
“Chicken shit,” I whisper, just before he gets out of earshot.
“What was that?” Anna asks, saddling up beside me and winding her arm through mine.
“Uh, I was just saying that chicken smells good!”
“Well, good, because I fried up plenty! Cole found us a nice shady spot over by the tree. Let’s hurry, before he eats it all!”
We say hello to people as we make our way through the tent and over to the large oak. I don’t miss the side-eyes and whispers directed my way. Thankfully, I remembered my big girl panties, so I just smile and nod, not letting them get to me.
Anna wasn’t lying when she said she made plenty. Cole already has three chicken legs on his plate eaten clean down to the bone by the time we walk up.
“Tempest,” he greets, wiping his hands on a pretty, paisley napkin, before standing up to hug me. “Fancy meeting you here.” When he pulls back, he winks and I smile.
Anna and I fix our plates, making ourselves comfortable on the blanket. The fried chicken is heaven. I could’ve used a few pieces of this last weekend when I had my hangover. Anything fried is great hangover food. Fortunately, I’ve managed to stay sober this past week. No trips to the bar or even to the liquor cabinet at my house.
My first anger management session was this past Tuesday, and as much as I didn’t want to go… and I really hate to admit it… I think it helped. It was awkward, at first, and I felt completely out of place, but the longer I sat and listened, the more I started identifying with the people around me and realizing they were all there for the same reason—to get help, to figure out a better way to express themselves and find a solution to their impulsive behaviors.
Impulse control was on the agenda for this week’s session and I felt it down to my toes. Control over my impulses has definitely been missing from my life lately and the session came with good timing. I’m sure, at some point today, I’m going to have to put a few of the coping strategies to use.
Be mindful of the impulse.
Be aware of your feelings.
Recognize the negative behavior, but channel it into something positive.
I haven’t seen Asher and Mindy yet, but I’m sure they’re here somewhere. They don’t seem to pass up an opportunity to pretend like they’re Green Valley’s Couple of the Year.
After we eat, the three of us fall into comfortable conversation, reminiscing about old times and talking about the future, like we typically do when we’re together. The newest topic of conversation is the baby. I can’t wait to become an aunt. Cole may be my cousin, but he’s like a brother to me, and I fully intend on spoiling their baby as if it were my own.
Anna looks at me with sad eyes from time to time. She knows about me and Asher trying for a baby, and I know she probably feels bad she’s the one who ended up pregnant, but it’s not her fault. None of us know how life will go.
A year ago, if someone would’ve asked me where I’d be today, I’d have said right where Anna is. But I’m not. I’m sitting here on the flip side—divorced and not with child.
“Hey, baby girl,” my mama coos, leaning down for a hug. “It’s so good to see you here today. I was just telling your daddy how pretty you look.” As she gushes, I zone out a bit—nodding my head and smiling. When she gets going, there’s no stopping her. I just hope she doesn’t say anything too embarrassing. Cole loves to use things she says against me at later dates.
As my mama starts visiting with the Tanners, my eyes drift to a pair of long legs in faded blue jeans. I look a little further up and see a taut chest squeezed into a gray T-shirt and a familiar head of blond hair.
What is he doing here?
I mean, it’s a church gathering and the pastor always makes it clear everyone is welcome, but damn him. The run-in at the bakery the other day was enough to fluster me to no end. Seeing him face-to-face filled in the missing pieces from my drunken memory and I was mortified when I thought about him driving me home and putting me to bed, and also a little smitten. No one had ever done anything like that for me, besides Cole, and that was only once, right after my first night in jail.
But being attracted to someone is completely out of the question right now. There is no way I’m going to be the woman who jumps right into someone else’s bed. I’ve seen that time and time again—women who think they can’t be alone or that they need a man to feel complete. That’s not me. Sure, one of these days, after I work on me and making myself happy, I’ll consider the possibilities, but not right now. And not with someone like Cage. He’s… well, he’s big and strong and kind of scary beautiful. He’s the polar opposite of Asher and I have no idea why I’m attracted to him, which must mean it’s a fluke.
I’m still trying to rebound from the shock of Asher’s betrayal and suddenly being divorced. That’s it. It has to be. There’s no other logical explanation. Just like my irrational behav
ior, my emotions are following suit.
He’s laughing at something Mrs. Tanner is telling him, and I see her hand reach out and rest on his strong forearm. With his short sleeves, all the muscles and tendons are on full display. I love a good strong forearm. I don’t think I realized that about myself until right this very moment. The visual causes my mouth to go dry and I swallow hard, trying to ignore the pull I feel toward him.
Oh. My. God. Tempest June Cassidy, get ahold of yourself.
Yeah, I just first, middle, and last named myself, because I really need to get my shit together. I also need to stop cursing in my head at a church picnic. I know, God, You’re still listening.
“Lemonade?” Anna asks, as if she could read my mind and knows I need to take it down a notch.
Dear Lord, please don’t let her be able to read my mind. She really would go into early labor.
I nod and accept the glass she’s offering, tilting it back and draining half of it before I come up for air.
She cocks one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows at me. “Thirsty?”
“Yeah,” I say on an exhale. “I think it was all that chicken I ate. I’m sure it’s loaded with sodium… makes you thirsty.” I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace and I can feel her interrogating stare.
“Uh huh,” she says, as she eyeballs me and then looks back over to where Cage and Mrs. Tanner were standing just a few moments ago. I’m not disappointed when I see he’s no longer there.
Maybe he’s gone.
Maybe he just came for some food and left.
“Uh, I’m gonna go bid on one of the pies over at the silent auction,” I tell Cole and Anna as I stand up quickly. “I’ll be right back!”
“Oh, Tempest,” Anna calls. “Be a dear and put my name down on your mama’s Mississippi mud pie!”
“Anna, you know you’re not supposed to eat all that sugar!” Cole admonishes.
“Excuse me, but are you the one carrying around a Butterball turkey?” Anna starts. I’ve heard this rant before and I scurry off before I get caught in the crossfire. If the pregnant lady wants a Mississippi mud pie, a Mississippi mud pie is what she’ll get.
Stud Muffin: Donner Bakery Book #2 Page 7