by Nicole Helm
With that, Carter was dismissed, and while usually Kaitlin would as soon chew off her own arm than let Beckett lead her anywhere, today Beckett was just the escape she needed.
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Beckett had no idea where Mrs. Shuller was, but he kept his hand firmly on Kaitlin’s arm and ushered her away from Captain Douchebag.
Beckett was probably the only person attending this wedding who thought Carter was something of a tool for picking the youngest Shuller sister over Kaitlin. Even Luke, the oldest Shuller and Beckett’s business partner, didn’t seem to get it.
Maybe Beckett saw it because he’d spent some inappropriate time fantasizing about Kaitlin, or maybe it was simply because he was the only person she didn’t like so he could see past all the polish she kept the real Kaitlin hidden under. But he’d known, as apparently most people hadn’t, that Kaitlin had set her sights on Carter a long, long time ago.
The man who didn’t fall for those sights was a douchebag indeed.
He didn’t remember much about the first summer he’d spent with his grandmother here in Marietta. Mostly just being a dick and trying to hurt anyone in his path. Thirteen and angry would never be a good combination, even for a better person.
Kaitlin had been ten or eleven, had stood between him and some kid who’d dared get in his way, and called Beckett a bully without an ounce of fear in her. She had been matter-of-fact, certain, and so contained. At ten.
He’d been in awe of her ever since, and for a long time, determined to wipe that polish right off. As a teen, he would have settled for any outcome. A punch to the face. Tears. A kiss.
He wouldn’t say he’d quite given up on getting a reaction out of her, but time and space and some semblance of maturity had dulled the impulse on the few times a year they ran into each other.
But sometimes, old habits felt like home, when he could really use one.
“I don’t particularly want to find my mother,” she said. He couldn’t pick out her tone. Tired, maybe. Anything but the sharp-edged razor that made up so many of their interactions.
“That’s handy. I don’t have a clue where she is,” he replied cheerfully. Cheerful because it would annoy her and a wilted Kaitlin was…well, it was a thing.
She didn’t say anything. No reaction whatsoever.
“I’m not chancing running into your brother in order to find her.”
She let out a gusty breath. “What did you do now?”
It was an accusation, but it was weary. Disinterested. And his hand was still enclosed around her elbow without her yanking away from his grasp. The frothy dress she was wearing was as out of character as her attitude. Everything about Kaitlin was very practical, a touch staid, not an inch of frilly whimsy had ever emanated from any part of her. At least, not that he’d ever seen.
Today, her usually pulled-back auburn hair was an overlapping twist and twirl of curls and flowers. Like the complicated inner workings of a car engine. The misty grey of her dress made her hair seem redder than usual, and her face was all made up in colors that made her lips and eyes stand out.
She was beautiful, a fact she always seemed so determined to play down. To ignore. So, it was disorientating to see her this way, elegant and bare-shouldered.
In fact, he could almost convince himself he was dreaming. He had all but rescued her from Carter, and she’d let him. She was acting strange, allowing him to keep holding onto her arm long past necessary. So, to test a theory, he loosened his grip and let his fingers trail down the smooth skin of her forearm. She jerked away, and there was the glare he was normally greeted with.
“I’m not in the mood for you, Beckett.” Ah, there, his name hissed like a curse. Home at last.
“You never are, but I think you owe me. I just got you out of the clutches of a McArthur.”
Her glare died, her posture wilted. “I have to go check on the bouquets.”
“Save me a dance.”
“In hell, Beckett.”
Beckett grinned after her as she stalked away. Until he heard Luke utter his name. Much like his brushing his fingertips down Kaitlin’s arm had knocked her out of her acquiescence to him, Luke’s voice knocked any cheer out of Beckett.
“We need to talk.”
Beckett did his best to affect a blank expression, make his voice casual as he turned to face his best friend. His business partner. A person he never thought would think the worst of him. “Thought you wanted to wait until after the wedding.”
“It’s too important.”
Beckett looked at his oldest friend. Some might even say his only real friend. They’d built a business together, because Luke had trusted him in a way no one else in his life ever would.
Funny that he’d finally killed that trust and it wasn’t even his fault.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
Beckett didn’t even want to be at a Marietta wedding, let alone a McArthur one, but the dismissal stung. Luckily, Beckett had a lifetime of dismissals under his belt and knew how to appear as though he didn’t care.
“I thought I had another job in Marietta. Some old motor—”
“Maybe we should postpone.” Luke’s face was utterly unreadable. “Do you have the keys?”
Beckett did his best to take a page out of the Shuller handbook and not show any emotion or reaction. He leisurely pulled the keys out of his pocket. As a favor to the Shullers, he’d restored some old truck of the McArthurs’ the soon-to-be-married couple wanted to use as their conveyance for the day.
The McArthurs who’d given him a bad name in this town before he’d even had a chance to change. But he’d swallowed his pride and his old hurts and done it, because the Shullers had always been nice to him.
He thought of Kaitlin. Maybe not nice, but Kaitlin’s disdain had always felt different than everyone else’s. A protective response, more about her than him. There was something about him that got to her, and she didn’t let anyone else get to her.
“Beckett, you can’t be pissed at me for this. You put my whole company at risk…” Luke’s normal even-temper was obviously strained.
His company. Risked. As if Beckett would steal from a thing he’d built that hadn’t failed.
Bad blood. He’d heard that from just about everyone in this town, but he’d never expected Luke to think it of him. Not at this point. Fifteen years of friendship. More than half their lives.
The irony of it was for all the things he’d done, the trouble he’d caused, the way his temper or hurt lashed out, quite often at people who didn’t deserve it, the thing Luke was mad about wasn’t his fault.
But he couldn’t find a way to prove it.
“Why did you do it?” Luke finally demanded. Beating around the bush had never been his strong suit.
Beckett tossed the keys to Luke. He tried to affect the don’t give a shit he’d had back in the day. The year Mom had gotten married and shipped him off to Grandma and Marietta for good, when every bad thing that ever happened at school had been heaped on his shoulders.
Every once in a while, he hadn’t even been to blame. But he’d taken the blame and the hate, because he’d had some warped idea it made him strong. Stronger and better than all these people.
It was Luke inviting him to be a part of his business venture that changed him. It had come at the right time, he supposed. Grandma had died and he’d been falling rather deep into bad, and Luke had trusted him enough to ask him to join Shuller Restoration.
Beckett had known part of it was good business sense. He had an affinity and natural talent for figuring out what was wrong with a car and fixing it, and he could help Luke when his dyslexia got in the way. Mostly, Beckett had an eye for changes to make cars look better. And, because his grandmother’s house had been filled with his late grandfather’s ridiculous piles of magazines about cars and motorcycles, he knew everything about the old vehicles Luke wanted to restore.
But, he’d also known it was trust and friendship that had prompted Luke to make the offer. God knew it was
n’t money, as Beckett had been wasting his minor wages at a mechanic’s shop in Billings on booze and bad ideas.
He didn’t know how long they stood there, apparently both lost in old memories and wondering how they got here.
Why did you do it?
Not did you? Not how were you involved? No, it was a foregone conclusion he’d taken the money, despite the fact he wouldn’t need to. The past three years of his life he’d finally moved from barely scraping by, to solvent, to well off.
Bad Blood Beckett Larson had a job he loved and a padded bank account. Why would anyone think he’d steal now?
He could try to explain himself, but he could afford to be kicked out and hurt a lot more than Craig could, if Craig was the real perpetrator, so… So, this was it.
He turned his back to Luke and walked away.
For once in his life, he was taking the high road, and what he thought might actually be the noble one.
Funny, it felt as much like shit as the low road he was so used to.
Find out what happens next…
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More by Nicole Helm
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About the Author
Nicole Helm writes down-to-earth contemporary romance—from farmers to cowboys, midwest to the west, she writes stories about people finding themselves and finding love in the process. She lives in Missouri with her husband and two sons, surrounded by light sabers, video games, and a shared dream of someday owning a farm.
Visit her website at NicoleHelm.wordpress.com
Follow her on Facebook and Twtiter@NicoleTHelm
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