Ride Wild

by Laura Kaye

“No, no,” Haven said. “That was all Slider. I just helped with a few ideas. Seriously, it was so cute, Cora. He really wanted everything perfect for you.”

  Cora couldn’t quite bite back her grin. “He and the boys are being really sweet about it. And with what he’s paying me, I might be able to join you in a class in the spring.”

  Eyes wide, Haven gasped. “Really? That would be great. I think that’s toast-worthy, too.”

  Cora didn’t disagree, so they raised their glasses one more time.

  “We better keep eating with all these toasts,” Alexa said.

  Laughing, Haven nodded. “Especially because I kinda got a job today.”

  Pandemonium erupted around the little table.

  “It’s just part-time. But, do you remember Dutch, the man who owns that little diner downtown? Well, I sent him a basket of my baked goods after his hip replacement surgery, and he liked them so much he wants to hire me to do all his pastries, cakes, and cookies for the shop. Apparently, he wants to try opening for longer hours, so he needs the extra help.”

  “Haven, you got a job as a baker. A real, honest-to-goodness baker,” Cora said, just beside herself for her friend.

  “I did,” Haven said. “Can you believe it?”

  “Yes,” Cora said, just as Alexa said, “Absolutely! When do you start?”

  “Soon, but we’re still figuring it out,” Haven said. “We’re going to go over his current menu, and then I’m going to suggest a new one and he’ll order all the supplies and inventory in time for my first shift.”

  “Wow, this is so awesome. What did Dare say?” Cora asked.

  Haven’s smile was immediate. “That he wanted to be my very first paying customer.”

  It was all news that necessitated another round of toasts.

  “Look how far we’ve come,” Alexa said. “We should be proud of ourselves.”

  Cora laughed, but it was true. They’d all walked through their own paths of fire, and come out the other side. Maybe not unscathed. Maybe with some scars. But they’d made it through. And that counted for something. No, it counted for a lot.

  And it made her feel bad for not coming clean with them about everything she’d been through, when they’d been so open about everything that’d happened to them. But tonight was about triumphs, not trials.

  At least, that was how Cora justified it to herself.

  Between dinner and the movie that followed, they ended up polishing off the bottle of champagne, and a bottle of wine besides, so they decided a sleepover was in order.

  Except Cora didn’t anticipate Alexa suggesting that they all sleep on the couches in the living room together, the three of them and Alexa’s weird little cat, too. And that put Cora in the position of having to ask something she’d rather not. “If we’re going to sleep out here, can we leave a light on? I always have to get up to pee and I don’t want to wake you guys up stumbling around.”

  “No problem,” Alexa said. “I’ll grab us blankets and pillows.”

  “I thought you hated sleeping with the lights on,” Haven said, laughing. Of course she would remember that, given how many sleepovers they’d had growing up.

  “Yeah, well, I guess it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.” Not after months of getting used to it, it didn’t. And, usually, it helped keep the nightmares away, because her dad had come after her in the dark. First, where she’d fallen asleep on the living room couch, and then where he’d chased her into her dark bedroom.

  Problem was, Cora was so nervous that she’d have a nightmare in front of Haven and Alexa that she never fell asleep. She’d had this problem before, back when she and Haven were on the run, but then she’d brushed off her sleeplessness as keeping a lookout and being cautious.

  When morning came, she was absolutely wrecked.

  “Did you sleep at all?” Haven asked.

  “A little,” Cora hedged. “Just insomnia, I guess.”

  “Probably all the excitement of moving,” Alexa said.

  “Yeah, probably,” Cora said.

  That poor night of sleep no doubt explained why she fell so dead asleep when they got back to the clubhouse—and was still sleeping when Slider arrived to pick her up on Wednesday afternoon.

  A knock at her door jolted her awake. “Yeah?” she called, still half asleep.

  Slider stepped in, his expression immediately transforming into a frown. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, God, what time is it?” she said, shifting out of bed.

  He caught her by the arm, and sank down on the bed next to her. “Seriously, it’s okay. There’s time.”

  She dropped her face into her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I slept terrible last night, so I laid down for a nap, but I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”

  “If you’re not up for working tonight, I’ll figure something else out,” he said, concern etched onto his face. He wore a thin layer of scruff on his jaw, and somehow it was even sexier than the clean shave had been.

  “No, I’m sorry, I’ll be fine.”

  But by the next day, it was clear, she wasn’t fine. She was getting sick. But she refused to give in to it, not when Dare and Maverick had returned from their relocation, which meant they could both move a day earlier than planned. This was supposed to be a good day for her. So she pushed on, popped some ibuprofen, packed up all her meager belongings, and arrived at Slider’s via her final clubhouse pickup.

  “Welcome home,” he said, smiling at her across the bench seat of his pickup. And oh man, there was that dimple.

  “Thank you,” she said. Good thing she was tired, or she’d have a hard time restraining herself from climbing over there and straddling Slider so she could examine that little mark of softness a little closer. “That sounds really nice.”

  But later that night as Cora helped Ben take a bath without soaking his cast, she was shivering with fever. “You don’t look so good, Cora,” Ben said, his face too like his father’s with concern shaping his little features.

  “I’m okay, Ben.”

  But apparently not. Because when she rose to help Ben climb out of the tub, she must’ve gotten up way too fast. The whole world went topsy-turvy.

  Cora fell, just catching herself against the toilet, before going down to the floor again.

  “Cora!” Ben yelled, scrambling out after her. “Sam, it’s Cora!”

  Dazed, Cora blinked and tried to right herself, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move.

  The door burst open, and Sam was there above her. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben said. “I think she’s sick. Look how red her face is.”

  Crouching over her, Sam put his hand to her head. “Jesus.”

  “That’s a bad word,” Ben said, his voice wobbly.

  Sam rose, opened the medicine cabinet, and returned to her again.

  “I’m okay,” she said, her teeth chattering. Why was she so cold? “Just help me up.”

  “Did you hit your head?” Sam asked. “I took a first aid class in school, and I think you’re supposed to ask that when someone falls.”

  “No,” she managed. The boys helped her sit up until her back was against the tub.

  “I think you should take this,” Sam said, holding out a thermometer.

  “I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” she said, but she did as he directed.

  Kneeling in front of her, both boys watched her like she might fall again at any second. When the thermometer beeped, they both leaned in.

  Ugh. 103.7. Not good.

  “That’s bad, isn’t it?” Ben asked.

  “That’s real bad,” Sam said, brow cranked down. “Should we call an ambulance, Cora?”

  “No,” she said. She didn’t have insurance, so no way did she want to go that route. “Let’s just try to get it down.”

  So while she gave orders, the boys fetched her what she asked for—ibuprofen, a couple of wet, cold washcloths, her cell phone. Just in case.

  B
ut she was kind of stuck on the bathroom floor, because every time she tried to get up, the world spun on her again. “I’m just gonna rest here,” she said, curling over on the little rug in front of the tub.

  “Okay, Cora. I’ll be right back,” Sam said, adjusting the cold cloth on her forehead again. “Stay here, Ben.”

  She wanted to reassure them, to take away their worries, but them talking over her was the last thing she knew.

  “Dad, Cora’s sick. Real sick.”

  Sam’s panicked voice echoed in Slider’s ears the whole way home. He didn’t care that he was midshift. Or that he hadn’t been able to find a replacement. He’d bailed and gone immediately home.

  Because Cora and his boys needed him.

  “Sam?” he called the minute he walked in the door.

  “Up here, Dad.”

  Damnit, he hated the fear he heard in the kid’s voice, and as he skidded into the hall bathroom, he saw why.

  Cora lay in a ball on the bathroom floor, face splotchy red, body shivering.

  “She has a real bad fever, Dad,” Ben said, his eyes wide, his little forehead furrowed.

  Slider’s gut went on a Tilt-A-Whirl. He’d been here before. Taking care of someone he lo—well, someone he cared about. “Let me in there, guys.” He crouched beside her. “Cora, can you hear me?”

  Her eyes eked open. “Aw, no. You’re home. I’m sorry.”

  Slider put his hand on her forehead. “Jesus.” He grabbed the thermometer. “Can you take this for me?”

  She managed something like a smile. “You remind me of Sam.”

  103.2.

  “It’s gone down a little,” Sam said.

  “But not enough. Sam, turn on the tub. Make the water cool, but not cold.” It was a good plan with one major problem: getting her jeans off, because they’d be hell to remove once they were wet. “Okay, boys, why don’t you give Cora a little privacy here, because I’m going to put her in the tub and let the cool water help her.” Neither wanted to go, that much was clear. Slider grabbed each of their hands. “Hey, she’s gonna be fine. It’s just a fever.” He hoped.

  When the door closed behind them, Slider brushed Cora’s hair back from her face. “I’m going to sit you up on the toilet and take off your jeans, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Sweet talker.”

  Why did he suspect that her humor here was more for his benefit than an attempt to play down the situation? Sliding his arms under her shoulders and knees, he lifted her up to the toilet seat, where he undid the button and zipper on her pants. “Now put your arms around my neck. I’m going to stand you up and push your jeans down.”

  With eyebrows raised, she gave a smile that looked like she really wanted to offer some more smart-ass commentary, but she was too sick to do it. And damn, that slayed him, it really did. “Okay, then.”

  “Here we go,” he said, supporting her back with one hand as he worked the denim down over her hips. He returned her to the toilet seat and tugged the jeans the rest of the way off.

  “Shirt, too?” she asked.

  “Yeah, probably,” he said, gently pulling it over her head until she sat there in a white bra and a pair of white silk panties. He tried to keep his focus all on the business of helping her, he really did. He felt the water. “Okay, I think this is ready.” And, man, as hot as she was, it was going to suck for her. Lifting her once more, he stepped to the tub, but it was almost hard to let her go when she laid her head against his chest.

  She hit the water with a shriek, eyes wide, hands flailing. “It’s freezing.”

  “I know. You don’t have to stay in long.”

  “Slider,” she whined.

  “Ssh, I know. Scoot down as much as you can.”

  She did as he asked, peering up at him with bloodshot eyes as the water crested her shoulders. He found one of the washcloths she’d been using and soaked it again before bringing it to her face. Rinse and wipe, rinse and wipe, until he had her hair mostly wet. She hugged herself so tight and held herself so rigidly that the bones of her clavicle protruded.

  “Just a few more minutes,” he reassured her.

  “You know,” she said, licking the water off her lips. “I suspected a really hot guy hid under all that facial hair, but I never expected just how sweet a man hid under all the gruffness.”

  The comment hit him about a dozen different ways. Pleasure. Surprise. Embarrassment. More. Plus, she thought he was hot?

  No, no. He was not starting down that train of thought while she lay there mostly naked and sick. “I think the fever is going to your head.”

  “No, just using the cover of the fever to say something I might not otherwise. Guess I blew that cover, though, huh?”

  He managed a chuckle, because this playfulness was evidence that she was doing a little better. “Let’s see where your fever is,” he said, handing her the thermometer again.

  102.1.

  Better. Improved enough that relief flooded through him. “I’d be happier if we got this down into the 101 range before getting you out,” he said. “Think you can make it?”

  Teeth clattering, she nodded. “Yeah, I can feel it working. Thank you. I’m sorry you had to come home.”

  “I’m not,” he said. And he wasn’t. Admittedly, it raised some memories he’d rather not revisit to be taking care of another woman in this house, but that was where the similarities with Kim ended. Cora wasn’t terminally ill. She didn’t have cancer. And she was a cooperative patient, which Kim had never been. Maybe that was because Kim knew, as he did, that if she hadn’t gotten sick, she’d have still been with the other guy, whoever he was. And she knew, too, that that other guy hadn’t stuck around when she’d told him about her cancer. But Slider had.

  Because that was what family should do, even when that family had fucked things up. Big time.

  Still, he sometimes wondered whether the other man or he was the bigger asshole. Because that douchebag had abandoned her when she was ill, but Slider had taken care of her knowing she wanted to leave him. Sonofabitch.

  “Slider, I can’t take it anymore,” Cora said.

  He reached in and pulled the plug, and then he turned and grabbed a towel. “You did good, Cora. Real good.”

  This time, the thermometer read 101.5.

  “I think I can stand,” she said.

  “Let me help at least.” He offered his hands, and together, they pulled her to her feet.

  “If you’ll hold up the towel, I’ll slip out of these wet things.”

  He gave a nod, looking away as he held up the towel to give her some semblance of privacy. Wet clothing slapped against the tub, once, twice. And he tried like hell not to think about the fact that she was utterly, totally naked two feet away from him. An arm’s reach away. Because he was finding it damn hard not to want to take her into his arms.

  She wrapped the towel around herself.

  And then she listed to the side.

  Slider caught her in his arms after all, and then he lifted her into a carry against his chest. “I’m putting you in my bed tonight so I can keep an eye on you.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  After that, he put her in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers and tried like hell not to like the look of her in his clothes as much as he did. And then his bed became the center of activity for the rest of the night. Ben brought Cora drinks and Popsicles on a tray, and she invited them to stay and play a game of cards to keep her company. And Slider had the weirdest, most unexpected thought.

  Family.

  They felt like a family.

  He liked Cora. He did. Obviously, he couldn’t deny that anymore.

  But he should not be thinking of her as family.

  She was his employee, an employee who now lived in his house. That was boundary-pushing enough. And he was still a man with significant faith, trust, and abandonment issues when it came to relationships with anyone but his kids. And, Jesus, his kids loved Cora far too much for Slider to ri
sk doing anything that might mess up their relationship with her.

  So he and Cora could be friends, sure.

  But family, that was something he was better off defining by those who shared his blood.

  Maybe that was no guarantee, either. Because his parents sure as shit hadn’t done right by him. But Slider knew how he felt about his boys—and always would. So blood ties were the best chance he had to create something true, real, and lasting.

  Just once.

  Chapter 10

  By the time the boys were in bed, Cora was slipping in and out of consciousness. She seemed so tired that she couldn’t keep her eyes open and when she spoke, it came out in a slur. But her temperature was down to 100.9 as of the last time they’d taken it, so at least they had this thing moving in the right direction.

  Which meant he could get ready to hit the hay, too, especially since he’d finally found someone to cover the rest of his shift. Usually, Slider slept naked, but tonight he pulled on an undershirt and a pair of sweatpants.

  “Leave a light on, please?” she mumbled against her pillow.

  “Yeah. Okay,” he said. “Need anything else?”

  She didn’t answer, which left Slider standing at the edge of his bed and debating. Sleeping with her seemed all kinds of problematic, given how much she got to him. And she did, he had to admit that much. But he didn’t think she should be alone. Maybe he should just sleep on the floor . . .

  “You getting in?” she asked, trying to peer over her shoulder but not quite strong enough to do it.

  He sighed. It was fine. They’d slept in the same bed together before. They could do it again. He crawled into the empty side.

  Cora made a little whining sound that immediately had him propping himself up on an elbow. “No, not behind me. Can’t take you behind me.” She dragged herself to turn over, finally coming to lie on her side facing him.

  “What?” he said, his gut churning at her words. He hadn’t given her request to leave the lights on a second thought. But hell if it didn’t look different with her saying she couldn’t tolerate him at her back. And, oh, Jesus, the way she’d freaked out that night in the family room . . .

  “That’s better,” she whispered.