Beautiful Sacrifice (Maddox Brothers #3)

by Jamie McGuire

  “Pardon?”

  “Were you a psych student? Are you trying to maybe shake me up a bit by analyzing my violent temper and then throwing in a few Freud quotes for good measure? Trying to make me feel inferior with your academic prowess? Let me guess. You went to Brown? Yale? Big fucking deal. I might not have a graduate’s degree, but I went to college. You don’t scare me.”

  “Dartmouth. And community college doesn’t count.”

  “I wholeheartedly disagree. I have a bachelor’s in business and a master’s in women’s studies.”

  “That’s insulting. You haven’t been within a hundred yards of a women’s studies course.”

  “That’s just not true.”

  I blew my bangs away from my face, exasperated. “Women’s studies?”

  He didn’t flinch.

  “Why?” I seethed.

  “Because it’s relevant.”

  My lips parted, but I snapped my mouth shut again. He was serious.

  “Okay, I was kidding about the master’s, but I have taken a couple of courses geared toward women’s studies. I’ve found the reading material is on the right side of history.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I might be a civil servant type, but I’m educated. I went to Eastern State University in Illinois, and it’s a damn good school for its size.”

  “Wait. Did you say Illinois?” I swallowed away the sudden tightness in my throat.

  “Yes, and you’re right. I also have a doctorate in bullshit, and I saw you coming a mile away.”

  “Where is Eastern State University from the town of Eakins?” I asked.

  Taylor grimaced, unsure about where I was going with my line of questioning. “ESU is in Eakins. Why do you ask?”

  My heart sped up, booming so hard against my chest that my head began to throb. Breathing was no longer on autopilot. I sucked in air and then blew it out, trying to remain calm. “So, do you go back there very often? Reunions maybe?”

  “I’m from there, so I go back all the time. You didn’t answer my question.”

  By his expression, I could tell that he knew something was up. The entire tone of our conversation—along with my attitude—had changed.

  I watched him watching me. I tried to keep my face smooth and the truth from reflecting in my eyes.

  All the cash in my shoebox upstairs was to pay for a plane ticket to Chicago, a rental car, and a hotel room in Eakins, Illinois. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that this guy had breezed into my café and taken an interest in me.

  “Just curious.”

  His shoulders relaxed, but a spark still smoldered in his eyes. “I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you tonight,” I said. “You’re trying too hard. You could be a serial killer for all I know.”

  “The Forest Service doesn’t employ serial killers.”

  “How do I know you really even work for them?”

  Taylor sighed, reached into his back pocket, and produced his wallet. He picked out his driver’s license and Alpine Hotshot Crew ID. “Is that good enough?” he asked.

  I tried not to take the cards too quickly or look too interested before glancing over his ID card and then his license. His driver’s license was Illinois issued. He really was from Eakins.

  “You never changed your license over?”

  “It expires next month. I’ll get a Colorado one then. My boss has been on me about it, too.”

  I held my breath as I poured over his address. He was telling the truth.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered.

  His address was on North Birch. I held out the cards, slowly returning them.

  “What?” he asked, taking them from my fingers.

  “Your driver’s license picture is atrocious. You look as bad as a hatful of assholes.”

  Taylor laughed. “Whatever. I’m a fucking ace.”

  I clicked my tongue. “Whoever told you that needs to get out more.”

  His eyebrows pulled together, and he tucked his chin. “You’re either a liar or a lesbian. Which is it?”

  Taylor was my way to Eakins. Quelling the urge to scream, laugh, cry, or jump up and down felt like holding on to a wild animal covered in grease.

  I cleared my throat. “I need to lock up.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait for you outside.”

  I had to play it just right. Taylor was only chasing me because I was running. I couldn’t appear too eager.

  I sighed. “You’re not just going to go away, are you?”

  One corner of his mouth curled up, a dimple sinking into his left cheek.

  Taylor was unquestionably attractive. The butterflies I felt in my stomach when he looked at me were undeniable, and I wanted to hate the way I felt, even more than I wanted to hate men. His delicious full lips, a needless decoration for his already perfect features, only added to how ridiculously good-looking he was. The symmetry of his face was flawless. His chin and jaw had just the right amount of stubble—not clean-shaven and not yet the beginning of a beard. His warm chocolate eyes were intermittently hidden behind a thick line of lashes. Taylor had all the makings of an underwear model, and he knew it.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You like watching me assess your looks to decide if I’m going to let that overshadow the fact that you’re a cunt rag.”

  “I’m not that bad,” he said, trying to suppress the odd amusement the words brought him.

  “What is the name of the last girl you slept with? Just the first name.”

  He mulled over my question, and then his shoulders sagged. “Okay, I’m kind of a cunt rag.”

  I glanced down at his arms. They were both covered in neo-traditionalist tattoos. Bright colors and thick black lines displayed an eight ball, a fanned-out hand of aces and eights, a dragon, a skull, and a woman’s name.

  “I’ll go away, but I don’t want to.” He glanced up at me from under his brow, turning his charm on full throttle.

  Any other girl might have melted, but all I could think about was how hard fate had just slapped me in the face.

  “Who’s Diane?” I asked.

  He looked down at his feet. “Why do you ask?”

  I nodded toward his arm. “Is she an ex-girlfriend? Are you a scorned man, sleeping your way through debilitating heartbreak?”

  “Diane is my mother.”

  My mouth immediately felt dry, my throat like I’d swallowed hot sand. I blinked. “Shit.”

  “I prefer shit to sorry.”

  “I don’t apologize … anymore.”

  He grinned. “I believe that. Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I’m a little overprotective when it comes to men getting aggressive with women. I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again, but I can promise that it won’t happen tonight. So”—he looked at me from under his lashes, exuding the full force of his magnetic charm—“let’s go.”

  I pressed my lips together. Now that I needed him, the game had become particularly risky. I had to be stubborn but not impossible. “Nope.”

  His face fell, and he walked away, but then he came back, frustrated and flustered. “Goddamn, lady, quit busting my balls!”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want me to go out with you so badly? Did you make a bet or something?”

  “Because you keep telling me no!”

  I offered a half smile. “So, if I go, you’ll leave me alone?”

  “Why would I ask you out again? You think I enjoy getting shot down?”

  “You must.”

  “It just … doesn’t happen … to me.” The thought simmered. He was clearly unhappy.

  “Now, I really want to tell you to kick rocks.”

  “Lady,” he said, struggling to rein in his temper, “just have a couple of drinks with me. I won’t even walk you home. I swear.”

  “Fine.” I reached behind me, pulling my apron tie loose with one tug. I wrapped the strings around my tips and then put it behind the counter.
“Let’s go enjoy our last night together.”

  He held out his hand. “It’s about fucking time.”

  I let my hand fit snugly inside of his as he led me through the front door. His skin on mine made me feel warm all over, soaking into my pores, thawing a part of me that had been cold for a long time.

  A quick glance over my shoulder, I could see Phaedra and Chuck waving good-bye with matching devilish grins on their faces.

  Taylor pulled me across the street, not even mentioning my thrift-store jeans or the fact that I smelled like the Bucksaw. I stepped up onto the curb and continued half a block to a growing line in front of Cowboys, the country-western bar.

  “Really?” I complained.

  Taylor gestured to a guy at the entrance and then pulled me past the more appropriately dressed women who weren’t lucky enough to know the bouncer.

  “Hey!”

  “No fair!”

  “That’s bullshit, Darren!”

  I tugged on Taylor’s hand, forcing him to stop.

  “Darren Michaels,” I said to my former high school classmate.

  “Falyn Fairchild,” Darren said. His body nearly filled the entire doorframe, his too-small black shirt stretched over the muscles hiding under his tanning bed–browned skin.

  “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  Darren chuckled. “Since I turned twenty-one, Falyn. You really should leave the Bucksaw once in a while.”

  “Very funny,” I said as Taylor pulled me past Darren into the bar.

  We passed the windows where women were taking money for the cover charge. One of the women behind the counter saw us but didn’t even attempt to get Taylor’s attention, instead looking to the next people in line.

  “Are you using your frequent-flier miles?” I asked loud enough for him to hear me over the music.

  Taylor smiled, and I pushed down the ridiculous fluttering in my chest.

  “Want a beer?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me you’re a wine-cooler girl.” When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Cocktail? Whiskey? I give up.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “You don’t … huh?”

  His confused expression made me grin.

  “I don’t drink,” I said, enunciating each word.

  “I don’t understand.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I drink,” he said. “I also smoke. But that’s one thing they won’t let me do in here.”

  “Disgusting. I’m even less attracted to you than before.”

  Taylor was unfazed, leading me to a tall table. He waited until I climbed onto a stool.

  “I’m going to grab a beer,” he said. “You sure you don’t want anything? Water? Soda?”

  “I’ll take a water. What are you smiling about?”

  “You just said you were attracted to me.” His self-satisfied smile was contagious.

  “Yeah, but that was before you spoke.”

  Taylor’s smile immediately vanished. “You’re so fucking mean. It’s disturbing that I like it so much.”

  He approached the bar, my insults not affecting his arrogant swagger in the least. Music heavy in steel guitar and twang filled the entire space of the two-story dance hall. I let my chin rest on the heel of my hand as I picked out the people I knew from the tourists. Then I observed Taylor chatting up Shea, who had graduated a couple of years after I had and had been tending bar at Cowboys since the day after her twenty-first birthday. I waited for Taylor to flirt with her or do something else that would help solidify my initial opinion that he was a total slimebag.

  Shea cocked her head and looked completely smitten, but then they both turned to me. There was no point in looking away. I had already been caught.

  I waved, and they waved back.

  Shea popped the cap off of Taylor’s beer, and then she filled a plastic cup with ice and water. She patted his shoulder just before he carried the drinks toward me.

  “Shea,” he said.

  “I know her.”

  “You asked me for the name of the last girl I bagged. It was Shea.”

  I made a face.

  “It was my first weekend here. She’s a sweetheart … and wild as hell.”

  “Bagged her? What does that even mean?” I asked, already wishing I hadn’t.

  “Intimate relations. Intercourse. Coitus. Doing the deed. Nookie. Fornicating. Laying pipe. Screwing. Sex. Tapping that ass. Fucking. Need I go on?”

  “Please don’t.” I sipped my water.

  “I’m a vagrant, as your dad put it.” He lifted his bottle and took a swig. “There is little else for us to do between calls.”

  “Only if you have no imagination.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. August is a good time to summit Pikes Peak. The Garden of the Gods. Manitou Springs. The zoo. The Fine Arts Center. Seven Falls. The Air and Space Museum.”

  “Okay. Let’s knock those out. How about this weekend? We’ll start with Pikes Peak. That sounds fun.”

  “This is our last night together, remember?”

  “Not at all,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes and then tried to find something interesting on the dance floor. There were several sights to choose from. I saw a father-and-daughter couple … at least that was what I’d thought until he tried to give her vertical mouth-to-mouth. A man was attempting to get rejected by every female standing within three feet of the dance floor. A woman in head-to-toe black fringe was two-stepping backward by herself—and quite possibly starring in a Broadway musical playing in her own head.

  Taylor pointed at her with the mouth of his bottle. “We call her Cat Woman. She’s just getting warmed up.”

  “Who’s we?” I asked.

  “Me … and them,” he said, pointing to the two men walking toward us.

  Zeke and Dalton were shaking their heads in disbelief.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” Zeke said. “I’m disappointed in you, Falyn.”

  Both men reached into their pockets, and each one handed Taylor a twenty-dollar bill.

  I looked to Taylor. “I was wrong. You’re worse than a cunt rag.”

  Zeke looked to Taylor, genuinely concerned. “What’s worse than that?”

  Taylor held up his hands, palms out, in surrender even though he was clearly still amused. “Just because I bet them I could get you here doesn’t mean I didn’t want you to come with me. Besides, I can’t pass up a lock bet.”

  I shook my head, confused.

  “Oh!” Taylor said, even more animated since his friends had arrived. “Can someone write this down? Ivy League does not understand my vernacular!”

  “You mean, your verbiage,” I deadpanned.

  Dalton’s mouth curved up into a half smile.

  Taylor leaned in toward me. He smelled like cologne and cheap body wash with a hint of mint and sweet tobacco on his breath. “A lock bet is pretty much a sure thing.” His voice was low and smooth.

  “Yep,” I said, “that’s my cue.” I stood up and headed for the door.

  Dalton and Zeke made a fuss, yelling, “Oh!” at the same time.

  Within seconds, Taylor’s fingers gently encompassed mine, slowing my progress to a stop.

  “You’re right. That was a very douche-like thing for me to say.”

  I spun around, crossing my arms. “I can’t really blame a dick for making a dick move.”

  Taylor’s jaw flitted under his skin. “I deserved that. I was just screwing with you, Falyn. You haven’t made any part of this easy.”

  I glared at him for a moment and then relaxed. “It’s late. I have to work in the morning anyway.”

  Disappointment weighed down his shoulders. “C’mon! It’s not that late! And you promised me drinks—plural.”

  “Do waters count?”

  “Let’s dance.”

  “No!” I said so loud and shrill that I surprised even myself.

  Taylor was a bit s
tunned as well. “Whoa. Calm yourself. It’s just dancing. I won’t even grab your ass.”

  I shook my head and took a step back.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I don’t know how to dance … like that,” I said, pointing to the couples twisting and spinning on the dance floor.

  He laughed once. “Two-stepping?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Can you count?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s insulting.”

  “Just answer the ques—”

  “Yes! Yes, I can count,” I said, exasperated.

  “Then you can two-step. C’mon, I’ll teach you.” He walked toward the dance floor, tugging me by the hand.

  Despite my repeated refusals that turned into fervent begging, he pulled me onto the wooden rectangle in the center of the building.

  I stood, frozen.

  “Relax. I’ll make you look good.”

  “I don’t like country music.”

  “No one does. Just roll with it.”

  I sighed.

  Taylor put his right hand on my hip and gripped my right hand with his left. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”

  I looked around. Some men had their hands on the shoulders of their partners. Some women were too busy spinning in circles to put their hands anywhere.

  “Oh God,” I said, closing my eyes. I didn’t like doing things I didn’t already know I was going to excel at.

  “Falyn,” Taylor said, his voice calming and smooth.

  I opened my eyes and tried not to let the dimple in his cheek distract me.

  “I’m going to take two steps backward with my left foot. You’re going to step forward with your right. Two times, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Then I’m going to step backward once with my right foot, and you’ll step forward with your left foot. Just once. The count is two quick, one, two quick, one. Ready?”

  I shook my head.

  He laughed. “It’s really not that bad. Just listen to the music. I’ll take you around the floor.”

  Taylor stepped, and I went with him. I counted in my head, trying to mirror his movements. I wasn’t completely ignorant in the realm of dancing. Blaire had insisted on ballet lessons until I was thirteen, and it had become obvious that no amount of instruction could teach me how to be graceful.

  Two-stepping, however, seemed to be fairly painless, and Taylor was actually pretty good. After a few laps around the dance floor, he let go with one hand and spun me once. When I returned to the original position, I couldn’t help the smile erupting across my face.