“That you were over the carpenter?”
She glanced away. “Maybe.”
There was more to it, and he wanted to know what, but he didn’t want to push. He hated when people pushed him. But he didn’t like to see her morose and defeated. He liked her when she snapped at him, her eyes flashing.
He must be more demented than he’d realized.
“Want a drink?” he asked.
She eyed him warily, but once again climbed back onto the stool. “I thought you weren’t serving today.”
“I’m not. But you can have soda.”
She flushed and he wondered if she was thinking of the first time he’d waited on her, when he’d thought she was underage. “Cola will be fine,” she finally said.
He used the hose to pour her drink, then set it in front of her. “On the house for going above and beyond the call of duty.”
A smile played on her lips. “Is that your half-assed way of thanking me for helping you?”
“Must be. I’m not usually that nice for no reason.”
Charlotte stirred the drink with her straw. Watched the ice move round and round. Sighed. “I wanted to be wanted,” she said in a rush. She lifted her gaze to his. “That night when I came to you. I just...I wanted someone to want me. Stupid, I know, but there you have it.”
“You were hurting,” he said, hating now that he’d added to it.
She snorted. “I was angry. Furious. At myself for being such a fool. At James for not seeing what I wanted him to see, for not having the feelings for me I wanted him to have. And at Sadie for being the woman he wanted. But mostly I was angry he’d messed up all my carefully laid plans for us.” Charlotte twisted her mouth to the side. “You accused me of trying to make James jealous, and maybe a small part of me had hoped that would happen, but mostly I thought sleeping with you would make me feel better about myself. Would prove I was...”
“That you were what?” he prodded.
Her cheeks red, she stabbed her straw at the ice in her soda. “Desirable.”
She said it so softly, he almost didn’t hear, but that one word blew him away.
“I was a late bloomer,” she admitted with another sigh. “And then, not much actually bloomed.”
He smiled at her self-deprecating humor. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“You sort of did. When you told me you weren’t interested in sleeping with me.”
He pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to explain himself, didn’t want to feel the need to. But he couldn’t let her think that. He’d told himself he wasn’t interested in her, but she still kept creeping into his thoughts.
“My level of interest,” he said gruffly, “may have...changed.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I never would have pegged you as a guy to say something he didn’t mean just to spare someone’s feelings.”
Obviously, she didn’t think it was a positive trait.
“I’m not,” he assured her. “I’m just saying that this morning I was interested.” Intrigued. Attracted. “Very much so.”
By the way she dropped her gaze, he knew she understood he was talking about their kiss.
“That time...” He wasn’t sure where he was going with this, just that he had to say something. “I didn’t like that you were willing to sleep with me just to get back at some guy. I don’t like being used.”
Hated that she’d tempted him to revert to the selfish person he used to be, tempted him to take what he wanted without any thought or care as to how it would affect her.
“And here I thought men were more than happy to be used by women.”
“Some are.” He put the last bottles of beer in the cooler, shut the door. “I’m not.”
* * *
CHAR COULDN’T BELIEVE she was having this conversation. It should have been humiliating. It was more than a little embarrassing. But also sort of...liberating. And, if she were to believe Kane, flattering and exciting.
This morning I was interested. Very much so.
She cleared her throat. There was one more thing she had to admit, since this whole confessing thing seemed to be working for her. “You said I’d thank you for turning me down. You were right.”
If they’d slept together it would have been...well...she couldn’t help but think it would have been pretty damn amazing. She wasn’t a fool, after all. But it also could have been life-changing. She would have felt horrible about herself, and was honest enough to admit she would have then put the blame firmly on him.
She didn’t want life-changing. She just wanted the future she’d always dreamed of. The one she was planning for. No side trips. No detours. And no one-night stands with the sexy bar owner.
“You’re welcome,” he said so solemnly she smiled.
The door opened and Estelle walked in chatting on her cell phone. When she glanced up and saw Kane and Char, she waved.
“Sure,” she said into the phone as she sat next to Charlotte. “Uh-huh. I will. Okay. Love you, too.” She held the phone out to Kane. “Granddad wants to talk to you.”
Kane took the phone and disconnected the call. Handed it back to Estelle.
“Daddy! God—that is, like, so rude. And you’ve probably hurt his feelings.”
“My old man doesn’t have feelings. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
Char blinked. “Wait. You have a father?” she asked Kane.
“Most people do,” he said, “at least at one point in their lives.”
“Right, right, it’s just...I hadn’t realized your parents were still alive.”
“Daddy doesn’t like to talk about them,” Estelle said as she leaned over the bar and helped herself to a bag of pretzels. “Because they’re like, super rich.”
Char whipped her head around to look at Kane, her jaw slack. “Your family is well off?” She winced at the shock, the accusation in her tone. What kind of nosy, none-of-her-business question was that?
One she wanted the answer to, she realized.
“They’re not well off,” Estelle said, ripping open the bag. She crunched on a pretzel. “I mean, my mom’s family is loaded, too, but nothing compared to the Bartasavich money.”
Kane sent his daughter a narrow look. “Is this what they teach you at private school? To discuss your family’s personal finances?”
“What? It’s not like I’m bragging. It’s not my money.” She turned to Char. “You’ve never really heard of them? Bartasavich Industries?” Char shook her head. “What is this place? Like some kind of alternate dimension where you don’t get the news?”
“Only petty things like war, disease and famine. Nothing as important as who Kane’s family is.”
Estelle, in a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, her face clean, her hair up in a messy bun, was still stunning. And oblivious to Char’s sardonic tone.
Kids these days. Too busy texting to pick up on subtle verbal nuances.
“It’s okay,” Estelle said, patting Char’s shoulder. “So, Dad is one of the Bartasaviches. From Houston.” When that didn’t seem to register on Charlotte, Estelle continued. “His father is Clinton Bartasavich. The Clinton Bartasavich of Bartasavich Industries.”
“Sorry,” Charlotte said, “never heard of them.”
“Don’t be sorry about that,” Kane said. “Be grateful.”
Estelle rolled her eyes. “Clinton just happens to be one of the top five wealthiest men in Houston, making him one of the top two hundred wealthiest men in America.”
Char frowned at Kane. He raised an eyebrow. None of this made sense. He owned a run-down bar and lived in a cramped apartment with second-hand furniture. He’d been in the military, for God’s sake. The wealthy didn’t let their kids go into combat, did they?
She’d thought he’d
grown up on the streets, struggling to survive. Had pictured him poor and neglected because of his drug addiction.
Shame filled her, made the soda turn in her stomach. She’d been wrong. Worse than that, she’d been judgmental and arrogant to think only the less fortunate could have problems.
Everyone had their own burdens to bear.
Estelle looked at Kane. “I can’t believe she didn’t know this. She obviously wasn’t being nice to you this morning in the hopes of getting some huge reward.”
“She’s not usually nice to me,” he said.
Unable to meet either of their eyes, Charlotte sipped her drink, tried to sound natural. “That’s true.”
But Estelle had already turned back to Charlotte. “There’s Uncle C.J.—Clinton Junior—he’s the eldest and Granddad’s right-hand man—”
“If you consider his right hand up Senior’s ass,” Kane muttered.
Charlotte inhaled sharply and choked on the soda. She coughed, cleared her throat. “You have a brother?” she wheezed. Kane gave a quick, jerky nod. “Dear Lord, there are more of you?” The mere thought of several Bartasaviches running loose in the world terrified her.
All that sex appeal couldn’t be good for anyone.
“Oh, he has more than one,” Estelle said. “Like I said, there’s Uncle C.J., then Daddy.” She ticked the names on her fingers. “Then Uncle Oakes who’s a defense attorney, but Granddad is trying to get him to work for the company. Or at least, get into politics.”
“Is that it?” she asked the teen.
“Nope. Next is Uncle Zach who—” Estelle leaned closer to Charlotte and lowered her voice “—knows, like, one hundred ways to kill a person.”
“Who told you that?” Kane demanded.
“He did. Uncle Zach’s some sort of supersecret soldier with all sorts of nasty skills.”
“Not so supersecret if you’ve heard about it,” Kane pointed out.
“Anyway, Uncle Zach’s sort of the black sheep of the family on account of he has all sorts of issues. I guess because he’s the only Bartasavich son who’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket. But even though he seems all scary and unapproachable, he’s actually nice once you get to know him.” Estelle frowned. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I haven’t seen him much. He doesn’t visit Granddad very often.”
“What he is,” Kane said, “is smart.”
“Uncle C.J. says he’s messed up because Granddad didn’t marry Uncle Zach’s mom and she took him away.”
“Uncle C.J. has a big mouth,” Kane growled.
Char’s thoughts whirled. She could barely comprehend the truth of Kane’s background, let alone try to follow everything Estelle had said.
“I...I don’t know what to say.” Char couldn’t take her eyes off Kane, either; his mouth was tight and a flush colored his cheeks. It was ridiculously appealing. “I’m flabbergasted.”
Shocked to hear about Kane’s background. Saddened he didn’t seem to be close to his family. Didn’t want to be close to them. Did anyone in town know about his past? About his brothers? Sadie certainly had never mentioned it.
Unless Kane had confided in her and sworn her to secrecy.
Irritation pricked at Char. Irritation with a healthy dose of envy. She didn’t want her sister keeping Kane’s secrets.
That was Char’s job.
Estelle popped another pretzel in her mouth. “I know. It’s because he lives like a hobo. No one ever suspects he comes from money.”
“There’s nothing wrong with living frugally,” he told her, coming around the bar to stand between them. “I’m sure you’re in a hurry to get to your dinner,” he said to Char.
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “You’ll have to drag me out of here. Really. All of this has been fascinating.” She turned to Estelle, mostly so she could ignore Kane’s darkening expression. “What about your grandmother?”
“Grandma Gwen? She lives in Houston, too. She and Granddad divorced when he cheated on her with Uncle Oakes’s mom and got her pregnant. They were married when Granddad had an affair with Uncle Zach’s mom. A few years later, he got divorced again and married Grace—or was it Bambi?”
She looked at Kane. His mouth remained a thin line. A shut, thin line.
Estelle waved a pretzel in the air. “I’m pretty sure it was Bambi then Grace and then Carrie. They’re still married, him and Carrie.”
Good Lord, Kane’s father had been married that many times? And he’d cheated on Kane’s mother—on more than one wife? She couldn’t help but feel bad for Kane. “And your mother?” she asked him.
For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to answer, but then he shrugged. “She never remarried.”
“She lives in a house Granddad bought for her,” Estelle said, wiping her hands down the front of her pants. “He pays her bills and she pretends to pine for their great love when really, all she misses is his bank account.”
“Estelle,” Kane said sharply.
The teen blinked at him, as innocent as the angel she resembled. “What? That’s what Uncle C.J. says.”
“Junior needs his ass kicked.”
She batted her eyelashes. “Funny, that’s what he says about you.”
“Story time’s over,” Kane said, gesturing for Char to stand up. She was too stunned to do otherwise.
Plus, she really was running late, and Irene Ellison did not tolerate tardiness.
Estelle jumped to her feet. “Before you go we want to invite you to dinner, to thank you for taking such good care of Daddy.”
“We do?” Obviously this wasn’t Kane’s idea.
Estelle frowned at him, as regal as any debutante chiding the less mannered with one severe look. “Of course we do.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Char said.
“We insist,” Estelle said with a big smile. “It’ll be fun.”
How could it be otherwise with the chatty, bright teen?
“Charlotte works nights,” Kane said, and there was that damn tingle when he said her name. “As do I.”
It must have been the tingle that prompted Char to say, “I have Wednesday off.”
Estelle clapped her hands together. “Perfect. And Daddy, you own this place. You can have someone cover your shift or whatever for you. Where shall we go?”
Kane was watching Char, his expression unreadable. “I’m sure Charlotte would be more comfortable eating in instead of going to a crowded restaurant.”
She flushed. What? He read minds now? It was as if he knew she didn’t want to explain to anyone who saw them what she was doing with him. People might get the crazy idea she and Kane were a couple.
And she needed Justin to know she was single. Available. Interested.
She just couldn’t figure out why, if she was so interested in Justin—and she was—she wasn’t doing more to try to decline Estelle’s dinner invite.
Estelle wrinkled her nose. “You want to eat here?” she asked her father.
Kane nodded. “Upstairs.”
“Fine,” Estelle said, sounding about as far from agreeable as she could get. She turned to Char. “Does seven work for you?”
“Perfect.” And if Char was actually looking forward to it, no one had to know but her.
“Fabulous. Speaking of eating,” Estelle said to her dad, “I’m hungry. Can we get pizza?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll wait upstairs.” She smiled at Char. “It was so nice seeing you again.”
Char couldn’t help but grin back. It was like Estelle was half teenager with all the moodiness and chattering that went with it and half adult socialite complete with extreme politeness. “You, too. I hope you enjoy your stay in Shady Grove.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will,” Estelle said.
Then, pushing buttons on her phone, she left the bar.
Kane walked Charlotte to the door. “So...a rich boy from Texas, huh?” she asked, unable to stop herself. Unable to stop from being curious about him. She leaned against the door. “Not how I imagined your childhood.”
“I’m a born and bred Texan of the country club set. Grew up in a mansion big enough for five families, was educated in the finest private schools and had my own credit card with no spending limit when I turned twelve.”
“Sounds—”
“If you say nice, I may have to rethink you settling for the carpenter and his wages.”
“I was going to say indulgent.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “It was.”
“Must have been hard, growing up like that and not becoming spoiled.”
His grin flashed, fast and wicked. Her breath caught. “Who says I wasn’t spoiled?”
She laughed. “I can’t imagine you being pampered.” He was so controlled and hard, independent and aloof. She knew from Sadie he put in sixty-hour workweeks and never complained about taking a shift behind the bar, cleaning up or washing dishes. “You don’t seem like the type to ask for someone to bring you what you want on a silver platter.”
“I didn’t ask for it,” he said, his tone cool and dismissive. “I demanded it. I was a spoiled kid, a rebellious teenager. I lashed out at everyone and everything until I realized what I really wanted to lash out against was my entire lifestyle.”
“Is that when you became...involved in drugs?”
“I didn’t become involved in them. I lived for them. For the next high. The next time I could numb my thoughts. My feelings.”
How horrible. She wanted to touch him but didn’t dare. Not when he looked so angry and dangerous. “You must have been in so much pain.”
“I was bored,” he said flatly. “Looking for attention. It’s what happens when kids have too much freedom, too much money and not enough interest from their parents. I was an addict at seventeen. By nineteen I’d been to four different rehabs.”
“But you’re sober now.”
“I got clean, joined the service and learned what it’s like to work for a living, to make something of myself.”
Small-Town Redemption Page 15