by Laura Wright
A sliver of warmth touched his eyes once again and he smiled back. “Can’t wait, darlin’.” Then he leaned in and gave her a kiss before leaving the apartment.
* * *
He’s fucking her. Blue is fucking that stupid worthless waitress.
Inside Gaby’s Books and Stuff, through the picture window at the front of the store, Natalie watched her man get into his truck and drive away.
That bitch had to be manipulating him in some way. It was the only reason Blue would do something like this. Natalie had to find out. Then she could help Blue. He was so vulnerable right now. With all he was going through. He’d shared everything with her. Told her she was the only one he trusted. The only one who understood him.
I’m sure he’s told that bitch nothing.
Emily Shiver didn’t truly care about him. And Blue needed to know that.
Eighteen
“Morning,” Elena called as she entered the kitchen.
It was past breakfast time, and the kitchen was cleaned up already and shining in the sun. But Blue needed something to tide him over until lunch. Instead of grabbing a meal at Mirabelle’s, he’d headed straight back to the ranch. His cows were coming in, and there wasn’t time to order and go. “Just grabbing a few biscuits if that’s all right.”
“’Course it is.” She gave him that strained, hopeful look he was used to. “How ’bout a little coffee to go with them?” She opened a cupboard and took out a large mug.
“I can get it.”
“It’s no trouble.” She poured him a cup, placed it in front of him at the counter.
“Thanks,” he said tightly.
“I didn’t hear you come in last night.”
He didn’t answer. Just took a bite of the still-warm biscuit.
“Did you stay down by the river?” she fished.
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
A tense silence followed. Within Blue, that same conflict he’d been wrestling with for the past few days emerged once again. A need to connect, to share with his mom what was happening in his life. About Emily. About their news. About his feelings for this woman. He wanted to ask her advice, tell her how scared he was to give himself to somebody again. But the other part of him, the one that continually refused the call, started going back over all the instances of betrayal. His whole life was a lie. How did he forgive that?
“I’ve got cattle coming in,” he said in a voice far gentler than Elena was used to.
“You could always bring her here,” Elena said.
He gulped down the coffee, then said, “Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“I’d love to meet her,” she added hopefully. “Is it someone I know?”
The expression on her face cut into him deep. She looked so excited, full of curiosity and life and caring. She looked truly happy for him. And she had no idea . . .
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said tightly, rinsing the cup and putting it in the dish drainer. “And the biscuit.”
He wasn’t talking, wasn’t sharing, and she understood that immediately. Her face fell; the glow of excitement gone in a heartbeat. “’Course,” she managed, opening a drawer and taking out a few place mats. “That’s my job. Feed the cowboys.”
For a second or two, he just stood there, disgusted with himself, watching as she set up for lunch. It was starting to get to her. Break her down. He could see it in her eyes. His apathy, his coldness. Everything in him, forged from a wonderful childhood with this person, told him to just let it fucking go, forgive her, move on. Maybe if he did, he could be with Emily. Really be with her. Not just as a father to her child.
And yet, his guard remained in place as he left the kitchen and headed for the front door.
* * *
Emily viewed the large table she’d just been given with interest and slight trepidation. They’d been in the Bull’s Eye before. Many times, in fact. Separately, all together, and just the girls. In her gut she knew they’d asked for her section. What she didn’t know was why.
She approached the table with an apprehensive smile. “Afternoon, folks. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
Mr. Ocean Eyes was the first to look up, first to smile with familiarity. “Hi, Emily.”
She nodded. “Hello, James.”
“Everything okay with the apartment?”
Well, the hot water . . . “All good.” And strangely, it came with your handsome half brother. She left off both of those thoughts, the memory of last night and this morning still very much with her, making her belly clench. “Thanks again.”
“My pleasure.” He gestured to the woman beside him, the woman he was holding hands with. “This is my fiancée, Sheridan.”
“Hi,” Emily said. Sheridan was very pretty with her hair tucked in a bun, and far fancier than most of the women in River Black. She suspected Sheridan came from the city.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” she returned warmly.
“And you know my brother Cole,” James said, pointing to the fierce but definitely good-looking tattooed man across from him. The man nodded. “And his fiancée, Grace.”
Emily knew Grace. Probably best of the bunch. The town’s veterinarian came into the Bull’s Eye pretty frequently.
“Hi, Emily,” Grace said. “It’s good to see you again. Would you like to sit down?” The woman instantly realized what she’d said and grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know you’re working.” She glanced at Cole and shrugged her shoulders.
Emily eyed the Cavanaugh clan, and, not being someone who shied away from uncomfortable situations, she said on a sigh, “You all know, don’t you?”
The women looked instantly sheepish, while Cole just stared at her hard like he was trying to read her mind.
“I don’t think Blue meant to tell us,” James admitted. “Came out when he was hollerin’ at me about renting you the apartment.”
Of course it did. Emily shook her head and blew out a breath. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Don’t be. That’s not why he’s mad at us.”
“It’s because he wants the Triple,” Cole put in, his black eyes flashing.
“Chill out, Cole,” Grace said, giving him a pointed look.
“I’m just laying all the cards on the table. Me and Deac are fixed with housing, of course, but James is still up in the air. Everett was a damn jackass for splittin’ it four ways. He had to know what a problem he was causing. Probably why he did it.”
“Or maybe he just wanted the four of you to talk,” Grace tossed back.
“Not here, you guys,” James told them. “Emily has nothing to do with any of that.”
“Her baby does,” Cole said, keeping his voice low, so only Emily and the people at the table could hear. “Or will. First Cavanaugh baby.” He gave Grace a wink and a look that belonged behind closed doors. “First of many, I hope.”
“I really need to get back to work,” Emily interrupted, feeling as though she’d walked in on a family discussion that wasn’t meant for her ears.
“Of course,” James said. “Sorry.”
“Really sorry,” Grace put in, looking at Emily and trying to convey a girl-to-girl understanding. “I’ll have a beer. Whatever’s on tap.”
“Same,” Cole said.
When Emily had taken all the drink orders, she left the table and headed to the bar. Well, that was uncomfortable, she mused. And enlightening. So the Cavanaughs knew she and Blue were having a baby—well, most of them of anyway. She didn’t know about Deacon and Mackenzie Byrd, although she could assume they probably knew too. And they were feeling what? Sentimental about it? Guarded? Worried? Suspicious? Blue did seem to be bent on owning the Triple C. She wondered what that dynamic was. Did James want it too?
Dean strolled back behind the bar, a bottle of red in his hand. “What do you need, Em?”
“Three tap, and a white wine,” she told him.
“You got it.”
As she stood there waiting, a thread of
unease moved through her. This was a small town, and the news of her pregnancy was going to get out. Would she lose her job? Her gaze swung to Dean. He was filling glasses with cold beer. Her manager might not want some pregnant woman waiting tables in his bar. Kinda killed the mood . . .
She had a few months before she started showing, if she could keep her news quiet. A few months to find a new space and a loan. A few months to get the flower shop off and running.
“Here you go,” Dean said, drawing her out of her thoughts.
“Thanks.” Tray in hand, she headed back to the Cavanaughs’ table. She was going to ask them, each of them, including the dark-eyed fierce one, to keep her pregnancy to themselves. For now. But she hadn’t taken more than a few steps when she felt something. Something strange. Her heart skittered in her chest and she stopped between two four-tops and glanced around. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Or who.
Her gaze traveled the entire bar, but there was nothing of note. Nothing strange. No creepy guy. No Natalie Palmer. Damn Blue. He was filling her head with fear, and now she was thinking she was seeing things—or feeling things.
Rolling her eyes, she headed for the Cavanaughs’ table.
“You okay?” James asked her when she arrived, his concern real. “Saw you stopping short over there.”
“Fine.” There was no way she was bringing up Natalie now, to this crowd. But she did have something she needed to get off her chest. And this was as good a time as any. “Before I get your food order, can I ask a favor?”
The entire clan looked up and gave her their full attention.
“About this little bun I have in the oven . . .”
Nineteen
Well, hell, he was no gourmet or anything, but he’d sure picked up a few things from Elena over the years. One of them was how to make soup. His mother liked to say it was easy and filling and could be pretty comforting on a cold night. He’d paired it with some biscuits, which he’d bought from the diner, and he felt pretty good about what was waiting at home.
Not home, Blue corrected himself as he leaned back against a tree outside the Bull’s Eye. That tiny apartment was Emily’s place. Which was all hers, and decently furnished now, thanks to him and her brothers.
He checked his watch. Six o’clock. He hadn’t wanted to go inside. Give her a chance to say no, tell him she was fine getting home on her own. Granted, she probably was. But he wasn’t dealing in probablys anymore—not since he’d met her, and not since Natalie Palmer was skulking around.
“It’s only a couple of blocks, you know?” she called out to him as she exited the bar in jeans and a brown leather jacket.
She looked hot. Pushing away from the tree, he grinned. He was starting to know this woman. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here. Walking a girl home.”
When she reached him, she gave him a suspicious look. She knew his motives for waiting on her weren’t purely chivalrous. But she didn’t say anything about it.
“How was work?” He reached out and took her hand as they started back toward the apartment.
“Fine.”
He didn’t like that word. It meant too many things. “What happened?”
She shot him a look. “You need to relax, Blue.”
Yeah, maybe he did. But his unease wasn’t about this—about her. “Tell me.”
Realizing he wasn’t about to give up, she blew out a breath. “Some of your family was in today.”
His gut turned. Damn Cavanaughs. “I don’t have family,” he said as they crossed the street. “Except for my mother, and she’s never set foot in the Bull’s Eye. That I know.”
“I’m talking about the Cavanaughs,” she said, interlacing her fingers with his. It was just a small thing, but it spoke to her comfort, her ease, with him. “And they don’t see it that way. You’re their brother whether you want to acknowledge it or not.”
He snorted, unconvinced.
She glanced over at him and raised one eyebrow. “And thanks for spilling our beans, by the way. Our one little few-weeks-old bean.”
He frowned. Damn Cavanaughs. “Didn’t mean for it to come out. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve asked them to keep it to themselves. For a few months at least. I can’t afford to lose my job right now.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he said confidently, squeezing her hand. “But if it did, you know you’re taken care of.”
They reached the side door of her apartment. Emily stopped and looked at him. “Blue, listen to me. I’m not asking to be taken care of. By you, my parents, anyone. I don’t want that. I’m finally in charge of myself, finally pushed myself out of the nest, and I’m not looking to fly back in. You understand?”
Conflicting emotions coiled within Blue. The part of him that wanted this woman, cared for her, and for the life growing inside her, felt like growling with irritation. Refusing her words. It was his job, his pleasure, to take care of her. But then there was the part of him that found her claim on independence admirable and damn sexy.
“Come on now, darlin’,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Her brow lifted. “That’s not a proper response.”
He opened the door with his key. “I’m just saying we can argue this point inside as well as outside. Nice and warm in there, and far more comfortable.”
Her eyes probed his, trying to find the root of his humor and deflection—but she didn’t push him to answer her previous question. In fact, she forgot it altogether when she stepped inside her apartment moments later.
The rich scent of chicken and vegetables wafted into her nostrils and made her smile. “Did you cook?” she exclaimed.
She looked so shocked by the possibility, he laughed. “I’m not completely useless around the house.”
Her eyes flashed with a sudden heat. “Oh, I know.”
That heat went straight into his gut and dropped. His nostrils flared. This desire he had for the woman before him seemed to keep growing. Keep intensifying. Right that very moment, the urge to take her into his arms and claim her mouth was hard-core.
Reservations be damned.
But he never got the chance. She eased her hand from his and started for the bathroom.
“I’m going to take a quick shower. Scrub the Bull’s Eye off my skin.”
Shower?
Oh, baby. Me want.
That primal part of him was screaming. Go after her—follow her, be her washcloth, that bar of soap... guiding it from her toes upward . . .
But once again, he refused himself the pleasure. With tight jeans and a tight jaw, he watched her go, then headed into the kitchen to grab a beer out of the refrigerator and check on the soup.
* * *
Emily’s stomach was in love. Warm and happy and in love. “This is so good.”
“You sound surprised,” Blue said, glancing up from his steaming bowl of chicken soup.
“Maybe a little.” She laughed. She was sitting across from her chef du jour at the extra dining set her parents had kept in the basement. It was small, perfect for an apartment, and Susie and Ben had insisted that Steven put it in the back of the truck. “The dinner,” she continued. “The apartment. These flowers.” She nodded in the direction of the glass vase with pink roses inside. “You and my brothers did a fine job today. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You know, I’m pretty decent at the caretaking.” He shrugged. “I think I’ll make a pretty good dad.”
Her insides softened. If this man would just let the past go, let his anger and resentment go, and just trust—in both himself and her—they could really make a go of it. “I bet you had a good teacher,” she said.
He was silent, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Sorry,” she said. “I know this is a sore subject right now.”
“It’s fine.”
Her gaze traveled over him. Rigid, a heart full of pain. “Doesn’t seem like it. You’re not eating your soup anymore. And this is some killer soup.”
His eyes connected with hers. They were a deep, thoughtful blue. “I don’t know. With all I’m mad about, the grudge I’m holding on to for dear life, I can’t deny her skills as a mother.” That gaze turned a little sad. “She was the very best. She gave out the perfect amount of toughness and love. Taught me that being a man was about many kinds of strength.”
“Not just muscles?” she teased ever so gently. She didn’t want to lose the mood. Didn’t want him to stop being vulnerable with her.
“Nope.” His eyes softened to affection. “Character and drive, honor and kindness.”
“I like the sound of that.” She ate a little more of her soup. “Have you told her, Blue?”
His brows came together. “About?”
“The baby?”
“No.” He picked up his spoon and started eating again.
“You plan to?”
“I don’t know.”
She watched him. Granted, it had been hard telling her parents. They weren’t rigid in their beliefs or anything, but explaining a baby born out of what she’d told them was a very short-term relationship was rough in any family. But to actually contemplate not telling them at all . . . about their grandchild . . .
“Right or wrong,” Blue began, his expression darkening. “Well, it’s a sort of gift to know about the baby.” His eyes lifted and connected with hers. They were resolute. “I’m not giving her any gifts right now. She doesn’t deserve them.”
A tingle of tension settled over Emily’s heart. “This part of you scares me, Blue.”
“Which part is that?” he asked tightly.
“The cold, unfeeling, unforgiving part.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I have reasons for the way I am, the way I react.”
“I believe it. Anger and bitterness are real and reasonable feelings—reactions to the tough shit that happens in life.”
“But . . . ,” he prodded, ripping apart his biscuit with no intention of eating it.
“But they’re not building blocks to anything good, anything solid and lasting. If they’re held on to, they only destroy and keep on destroying.”
His expression hardened. “You don’t understand.”