by Jill Shalvis
“Someone’s a little sure of himself,” she said, remaining in the doorway.
“Trust me, we’re not going there. You need some sleep before you fall over.”
Ali McClaw jumped onto the bed with an oof and sat on his pillow.
“Ignore her,” Garrett told Brooke. “Although I wouldn’t try to dislodge her.”
She looked amused. “Are you afraid of your own cat?”
“Ann’s cat,” he corrected. “And hell yes, I’m afraid of her. She sits on my head, shoves her butt in my face, bites my feet, stretches out across my chest whenever she feels like it, puts her entire face in my dinner, and if I so much as touch one single little toe bean, she bitch slaps my hand, like, how dare I not respect her personal space?” He came to the doorway to get her, towing her to the bed. “Sleep,” he said. “I’ll wake you in time to get the kids.” Then he turned to go.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
She climbed onto the bed. He had to look away because he was going to walk away, even if it killed him. She’d been through hell, and he ached for her to the depths of his soul. But that didn’t mean he trusted her with his heart. Because he didn’t. Couldn’t. Not ever again.
He was just shutting the door behind him when he heard it, a tiny little telltale sniff that she’d clearly tried to smother, but couldn’t.
Not your problem. But he couldn’t seem to get his feet to take him away, no matter that she’d done that exact thing to him. Kicking off his boots, he lay down on the bed with her.
She was trembling with the force of holding herself together. “Hey,” he said quietly, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “The past is the past. It’s done and gone. Life moves on, and it’s okay for you to move on as well. You’re not a monster, Brooke. I never should have said that.”
This caused another sniff.
With a rough sigh, he pulled her to him, her back against his chest, spooning her as he wrapped an arm around her and held her tight. “Let it go,” he murmured, running a hand down her arm. “Just let it all go.”
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and shuddered as the storm broke free, leaving her sobbing as if her heart were breaking. His certainly was.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all of it,” she hiccuped out, clutching him. “But I couldn’t tell anyone. I was just . . .”
“What?”
“Ashamed.”
Ah hell, she was killing him. “Never be ashamed of who you are,” he murmured into her hair. “That’s your parents’ job.”
She choked out a laugh and craned her neck to look at him with those beautiful, drenched eyes, and in that moment he knew. He was screwed, upside down and backward, screwed in every way but the way he wanted to be.
Chapter 7
“Worried about shrinkage?”
Brooke jerked awake and practically had to peel herself off the ceiling. Garrett’s ceiling. What the . . .
Three sets of narrowed cat eyes glared at her for daring to disrupt their beauty sleep. Brooke shook her head, confused and befuddled from the first deep sleep she’d had in more days than she could count. She eyed the time. It’d been three hours.
The kids!
She leapt out of bed and realized she had a sticky note on the center of her chest, stuck to her upside down so she could read it: I got the kids, and Brittney’s back. She’s with them and I’m working.
She let out a shaky breath as she looked around her. There was no evidence that Garrett had taken a nap with her, but she knew he had. She’d dreamed about that sinewy hard body holding her close, keeping her warm, his calm infusing her with the same. That calm fled in a single heartbeat when she remembered the brush of his mouth against the nape of her neck.
She rubbed her hand to the spot and realized she had goose bumps. The very best kind of goose bumps. But clearly the kiss had just been part of the dream, because though Garrett might’ve held her while she slept and kept life at bay for a little while, the mental mileage between them couldn’t be bridged. Not after how she’d walked away. Yes, she’d apologized, and he’d seemingly accepted it with a grace she wasn’t sure she deserved.
But too much time had gone by, not to mention that she wasn’t the same person anymore. But sometimes, like now, when she was fuzzy with sleep and especially vulnerable, she ached for all she’d lost. Her sense of home. Garrett. Her sister . . .
Her mom said she and Mindy had been like a pack of kittens: They couldn’t stand to be together, but they couldn’t stand to be apart, either. They’d been quite the set, the two of them against the world.
She missed that relationship deeply. And it was hard, so hard, to be with her sister’s beautiful, wonderful babies, because every second of every day she spent here, they wormed their way into her heart, and she was reminded on a visceral level that she’d never have her own.
It was a terrible thing to feel, and she knew it, but it didn’t stop the emotions. Instead it cut to the deep insecurities she hid, the little whisper inside her that cruelly taunted her—you’re not whole.
One of the things Brooke had always prided herself on was how capable she was. She could do anything she set her mind to. But that was no longer true. She’d lost a major option in the crash, and now it was gone forever, leaving a void, an empty place inside her.
Garrett had been every bit as important in her life as Mindy, not that she’d ever told him so, and walking away from him had been more painful than her injuries. Far more. To survive, she’d learned to bury her feelings deep.
It wasn’t smart to let those feelings surface now. But knowing that and keeping herself distant were two very different things.
Leaving Garrett’s house, she walked across the yard and entered Mindy’s kitchen.
Brittney was at the table with Maddox in her lap and Mason at her side. Princess Millie was seated across from them, and they were all playing cards while Ketchup the Tortoise ate from his tin. The twentyish-year-old at the table was everything Mindy had said she was: fit, cute, and perky.
“Go fish!” Millie yelled cheerfully. She was wearing dishwashing gloves, for which Brooke needed no explanation—clearly the cards had germs.
“Hey,” Brooke said, and the kids rushed to greet her with hugs and, in Maddox’s case, with two extremely sticky hands. It took everything she had not to go wash up, but Millie was watching her very carefully for just that urge, so Brooke had to mentally shake off the invisible germs.
“I’m so glad you’re back in town,” she said to Brittney after introducing herself. “Mindy told me you go to your college classes in the morning and then you come here. I’ll be so grateful for your help until she gets back.”
Brittney rose to her feet. Her smile was nervous now, and anxious, too, it seemed. “I love the kids. And I need this job, but”—she lowered her voice to a barely there whisper—“I’m giving my notice.”
Brooke’s heart stopped. “What? Why?” She bent to pick up Maddox, who’d been very busy trying to climb her leg like a little monkey.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that,” Brittney said.
Oh, shit. She gave the kids slices of sweet lemon bread and pulled Brittney aside. “Did . . . someone step over the line with you?” she asked the nanny carefully, thinking she’d have to kill Linc dead if that were the case. And that would be very sad, because she loved her brother-in-law, and not just because he made cute babies. He cared about Brooke and had always been there for her when she’d needed him, and even once or twice when she hadn’t wanted him to be there, just like a true brother.
Brittney shifted on her feet and looked away. “Um . . .”
“What did he do?” she asked.
“He?” Brittney looked confused. “No, it’s Mrs. Tennant.”
“Mindy?”
“Yes,” Brittney said, looking pained. “She . . . doesn’t like me. I can tell. And she’s always so stressed-out and tense, and it makes the babies stressed-out and tense, and
it’s hard because I always think I’m doing something wrong, and—”
“Mindy,” Brooke repeated. “It’s Mindy, not Linc?”
Brittney nodded. “Mr. Tennant’s very patient and kind.”
Brooke let out a breath of relief and also a laugh. “Something I’m guessing you can’t say about Mindy?”
Brittney gave a small grimace. “I always seem to mess up her plans.”
“I grew up with her as an older sister, so I know what you mean, but I can promise you she doesn’t mean to be . . . um—”
“Bossy? Stern?”
“Well, those are nice ways to put it, I suppose. But really she has no idea she’s those things. She’s got a plan and a schedule, you see, and she’s pretty single-minded when it comes to both.”
Brittney went to one of the drawers and pulled a huge three-ring binder from it. “I’ve got the plan and schedule.” The binder was filled to bursting, including dividers and folders. “I’m supposed to follow this to the letter.”
“Oh, so that’s where she keeps it,” Brooke said.
Brittney gasped in horror. “You haven’t been following the schedule according to the master plan?”
Brooke shrugged. “I never found the binder.” She left out the part where she hadn’t looked very hard.
“Maybe you should quit, too, before she fires you.”
Brooke smiled. “She can’t fire me. We’re blood. So . . . how about we put the binder back where it came from and forget about it? We’ll take care of the kids together, and if I can’t get Mindy to chill once she gets home, then I’ll tell her you’ve given notice if you still want to go.”
Brittney scooped up Maddox, who laid his cute little head on her shoulder with sweet trust. She brushed her hand over his wild hair and, after a moment of hesitation, nodded.
“Thank you,” Brooke said with huge relief.
Maddox suddenly barked loudly and wriggled frantically to be freed.
Brittney set him down and he went running down the hall. He slammed open the bathroom door, and a few seconds later, they heard him peeing in his special little portable potty. Then he came running back into the room.
Brooke pointed in the direction he’d come. “What did you forget?”
Maddox looked down at himself.
“I didn’t hear the lid go down. I know for a fact that your mom has a firm no-lids-up policy. Also, you forgot to wash your hands.”
With a nod, he went running back down the hall.
“With soap!” Brooke called after him.
“Wow, you’re potty training him,” Brittney said with admiration. “None of us have been able to talk him into it. What did you do?”
Maddox came back into the kitchen and held out his hand, palm up.
Brooke slapped a piece of candy into it. “Bribed him,” she said to Brittney.
Brittney grinned. “Nice.”
“So you’ll stay?”
She nodded.
Brooke felt hugely relieved. “Thanks. I’ll make dinner.”
“And I’ll do the bedtime thing,” Brittney said.
Since bedtime was utter chaos—“I need water,” “I need another story,” “He’s looking at me!”—this was a good deal for her.
After dinner, Brooke happily made her way out to the porch for a few minutes of quiet. There she went through some work emails while having three separate text convos with Mindy, Tommy, and Cole.
Mindy told her that no, she still hadn’t actually talked to Linc. They’d been texting, though, and he was due to come home tomorrow night at some point.
Perfect. Brooke looked forward to some answers. Or ass-kicking. Whichever was required.
Her text conversation with Tommy was about Mindy. She was apparently doing great, but Tommy missed Brooke. Good to know. He wanted to know if she needed him. She told him not to come up because one, there were no strip clubs, and two, she was coming back the second Mindy got her ass home, and that if he wanted to aid the cause, he’d stop doing her sister’s hair and taking her out at night for all the fun.
Cole also wanted to know if she was okay and when she was coming back. She told him she was fine, that she needed to do this for Mindy, and that she’d see him soon.
Tucking her phone into her pocket, she stared out at the view. It was that time of year when the days were getting as long as the shadows and the sun stayed warm until it set. At the moment, it was nearly gone behind the horizon. The temps would drop fast now, along with the daylight. She watched the last of it work its magic on the land, casting the sea of vineyards and rolling green hills beneath a glow of gold.
The beauty took her breath.
Or maybe that was the man about twenty feet away, crouched low in front of the hose spigot, cleaning off what looked like dry wall tools. As the day turned to night, she watched, transfixed by his efficient movements. He almost didn’t even seem real to her. He was a past crush, and there was too much bad history. She kept telling herself this, but it didn’t stop her from wanting him.
Good thing lust was different from love.
From the other side of the fence, the one that belonged to the neighbor to the right of Mindy and Linc, a horse stretched her neck and used her big head to give Garrett a shove between his shoulder blades.
He turned his head and smiled at the horse. “Hey, Moose. Feeling neglected?”
Moose snorted.
Garrett laughed, the sound low and sexy and dangerously contagious. Knowing damn well that he knew she was on the porch watching him, Brooke said, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to talk to strangers?”
“She’s not a stranger. She’s a neighbor.” He sent Moose a long look. “A grumpy, stubborn one.”
“Is she aware that you’re also grumpy and stubborn?”
He didn’t try to deny this, and when the horse gave Garrett another shove, he rose to his feet. “Fine. You win.” And he held out the hose.
Moose took a long drink and then tossed her head, spraying Garrett with water. He was in jeans, a gray henley, and battered hiking boots, all of which were now splattered with drops of water.
“Not cute,” he said, and wiped his face.
From over the fence, the horse set her big head on Garrett’s shoulder.
“So all the females fall all over themselves to please you,” Brooke said.
“Not all.”
Their gazes met, and Brooke’s stupid heart gave a hard kick.
Clearly not liking the competition, Moose gave Brooke the side-eye and pressed her big face to Garrett’s. He simply took Moose’s affection as his due, reaching up to stroke the horse’s jaw. When Moose had finally had her fill, she turned and walked away.
Garrett looked at Brooke. “You thirsty?” He held out the hose as he had for Moose.
It was practically a dare. So she took the hose and twisted it, letting the water hit him in the chest. “Oops. My bad,” she said, waving the hose around a little, making sure to get him wet everywhere before carefully bringing the water back toward herself to drink. She got one good swallow in before he snaked an arm around her, clamping her tight to his chest.
She braced for him to take control of the hose and douse her, but he didn’t. He liberated it from her hand and dropped it to the ground before wrapping his other arm around her as well, making her realize he didn’t have to nail her with the hose. Nope, his torture was far more subtle as he pressed his entire body into the back of hers. Since she’d drenched him, he was able to get her just as wet without trying, and she gasped at the chilly water suctioning her to him. She fought for a moment to get free, in case anyone in the house was looking out the windows, then realized it was already dark. No one could see them. “I suppose you think this is funny.”
“It’s payback.”
“For squirting you, or . . . ?” She broke off, unable to bring herself to say it. The past.
Without answering, he turned off the hose and then looked her over, not above clearly enjoying his handiw
ork as his eyes went from amused to . . . something else, something that heated her up. “You’re cold.”
Sure. Let him think that. It was safer than the truth.
With a shake of his head, he took her hand and led her across the yards to his back deck. He lifted the lid of his hot tub, his soaked shirt sticking to the muscles of his shoulders and back as he moved. He hit the jets and the steamy water began to gently swirl.
Then he crooked a finger at her.
The water looked amazing, but her inner BAD IDEA alarm was blaring.
“The temp’s set at one hundred,” he said. “Not ninety-nine. Not one hundred and one. One hundred.”
She bit her lower lip. The man certainly knew how to speak her language.
“We’ve done this before,” he pointed out.
True, but at her parents’ house. They’d hot-tubbed several times, in fact, all of them late, late at night—and without any clothes. “Is this a come-on?” she asked.
He laughed.
Okay, fine, it wasn’t. Suddenly irritated down to her frozen little toes, she yanked off her shirt, shoved down her jeans, and then checked the jets, turning the knob off and then back on. And then again. Finally satisfied, she climbed into the hot tub in her extremely plain white sports bra and matching bikini panties. Yeah, great way to make an impression. And yes, she’d have liked to make an impression. She wanted him to take one look at her and die of wanting. But then she glanced at him and nearly swallowed her tongue.
He stood still as stone, eyes hot and locked on her.
Feeling vindicated, she gestured at his clothes.
He pulled his shirt off, leaving him in just low-slung jeans that had slipped so low on his lean hips, they were a few inches past decent. Sweet mother of God. The unexpected urge to nibble every inch of him as if he were an all-you-can-eat fried chicken special nearly overcame her. But—as of right this very minute—she no longer gave in to her questionable impulses, so she carefully rolled her tongue back into her mouth and played it cool, cocking her head. “Problem?” she asked. “Worried about shrinkage from the water?”