His Best Friend's Sister

by Sarah M. Anderson

  They weren’t kids anymore. Life had changed them both but he could still give her those moments of joy.

  “Are you coming?” she yelled from the front door.

  He rolled onto his hands and knees and made sure he had his feet under him before he stood. Pond water sheeted down his body, leaving muddy rivulets all across his legs. “Hell, yeah,” he called back.

  Because she wasn’t going anywhere without him.

  Eight

  “These aren’t bad,” Oliver said around his sixth attempt to eat one of Renee’s cookies.

  “Really?” Renee ducked her head, a delicate blush pinking her cheeks. “That was the last batch. That survived anyway.”

  He wanted to cup her blushing cheek in his palm and kiss her again and again. But then again, earlier he’d wanted to pull her back upstairs and try out a few other positions with her, but he couldn’t.

  Just like always, Oliver had bowed to the demands of reality. Stupid reality.

  Frankly, he was lucky he hadn’t mooned half of Mineola. Because that’s about how many people had suddenly appeared on his property.

  While Oliver had been splashing in the pond and doing everything in his power to make Renee laugh and fight back, his housekeeper, Lucille, had called three times to see if the house was on fire or not. When she couldn’t get ahold of anyone at the house, she’d called the fire department. The fire trucks had shown up about five minutes after he’d got his naked butt back inside the house, with Lucille hot on their tail. And then she’d scolded Oliver like he was a schoolboy and demanded to know why he’d installed a houseguest without telling her because she could have brought over some more food.

  “Or at least some better desserts,” Lucille had grumbled when she’d got a good look at the kitchen.

  But Oliver had introduced Lucille to Renee and, after her initial shock, Lucille seemed to be warming up. She picked up a cookie from a different batch and took a small nibble. “Good heavens, you’re not supposed to use that much salt!”

  “Well, I figured that out,” Renee said defensively—but at least she said it with a smile. “Eventually. Why would anyone label teaspoon and tablespoon so similarly?”

  Lucille gave Renee a look that made it clear the older woman didn’t know if Renee was joking or not.

  Oliver snagged another edible cookie and handed it over to Lucille. “The important thing is she figured it out.”

  Lucille was not one for effusive praise, but even she nodded and said, “That’s not half bad,” which made Renee bust out another one of those luminous smiles. “Honey, I can teach you to bake, if you’d like.” She eyed the mess again. “Might be easier. Or at least safer. When are you due, honey?”

  “Oh.” Renee turned a pretty pink and stared down at her belly. Oliver couldn’t figure out if she was embarrassed by this question or not. “September 27.”

  Because of course she knew the exact date of conception. The day her husband took his own life. Oliver didn’t like the way Renee seemed to pull back into herself. He shot Lucille a look that he hoped communicated say something nice.

  And Lucille, bless her heart, did. She wasn’t a grandmother of six for nothing. “Pregnancy suits you,” she announced a tad too loudly.

  “It does?” Clearly, Renee didn’t believe her.

  “You’ve got that glow, honey. Some women look tired or drained, but you?” She waved her hand near Renee’s belly. “Some women were born to this. You’re one of them, you lucky duck.”

  Renee looked doubtfully down at her stomach. “But I’m fat.”

  Lucille looked truly insulted by this. She patted Renee on the arm. “Oh, honey—who told you that? They were nothing but jealous. You’re gorgeous.” She turned a hard stare to Oliver. “Isn’t she?” It was not a question.

  “I already told her that. Multiple times—because it’s true,” he replied, watching Renee’s cheeks color even more. Which meant he almost missed the look Lucille gave him, one that had him realizing that he might have overplayed his hand.

  Thus far, he and Renee had attempted to stick with their original story—they were childhood friends and he’d given Renee free use of his ranch while she was hiding and he was working in Dallas.

  But that story wasn’t holding water, so to speak, and Oliver knew it. It was the middle of the workweek and yet he was at Red Oak Hill. And not only was he at Red Oak Hill, he’d also barely got out of the shower and got pants on before the place had been crawling with firefighters. At least Renee had located her leggings. They’d told the fire crew that he’d fallen into the pond trying to deal with the carbonized cookies—which, again, was true.

  But it wasn’t a huge leap to get from him naked in the shower to him naked with Renee. He’d even caught two firefighters nudging each other with their elbows and winking at Oliver’s story.

  Yeah, no one was buying that half-truth here. Worse, he’d screwed up and used Renee’s real name when he’d introduced her to Lucille within earshot of at least three firefighters and now there was no going back.

  For all intents and purposes, Renee’s presence at Red Oak Hill was now common knowledge.

  Especially because Lucille was no idiot and it was clear Oliver had screwed up again. Damn it. This was all going wrong. Lucille, he trusted, but the firefighters? And now Lucille was giving him The Look?

  To avoid Lucille’s sharp gaze, Oliver snatched up another cookie and immediately regretted it. Coughing, he spit the too-salty one into the trash. “I think we can get rid of these,” he sputtered, scraping the whole batch off the cooling rack and directly into the trash. “We’re lucky no one else tried these.”

  “You were lucky you weren’t caught with your britches down,” Lucille said, dumping another batch into the trash and stacking the dirty dishes in the sink.

  Oliver froze, the blood draining from his face. A quick glance at Renee told him that the opposite was true for her. She was turning an unnatural shade of scarlet. She shot him a helpless look.

  Oliver wanted to bolt but he couldn’t abandon Renee to Lucille’s questioning. “You should ask Lucille for some tips,” he said, ignoring the status of his britches. “She does most of the cooking for me. And she makes an amazing cinnamon roll. I know it’s not a cookie but...”

  Bless her heart, Lucille said, “You should try a sugar cookie, honey. Once you get the basic dough recipe down, then you can start messing around with it.”

  “I saw some recipes but they looked really complicated—lots of detailed icing,” Renee replied. “I don’t think I could do that.”

  “You only need that much icing if you’ve got a boring cookie.” The older woman eyed the kitchen counters. “I don’t think anything you bake could ever be boring.”

  Oliver could have kissed the woman. Renee looked relieved and that was the most important thing. “I did see some really cute things on Pinterest I wanted to try...”

  And they were off. “I’ll be in my study—Bailey is emailing me,” Oliver mumbled, making a break for it. He didn’t know if it was a lie or not. Bailey probably had been emailing him.

  He dropped into the chair and put his elbows on his desk. He was tempted to yank his hair out of his head, if only to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated the last two hours. Renee was right. None of this—the smoke alarms, the fire department, Lucille—would’ve happened if he’d been able to stick with the plan. He should’ve stayed in Dallas. Barring that, he should’ve kept his hands off her. And barring that...

  He shouldn’t have teased her in the pond. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. A jumble of emotions churned in his chest. He wasn’t thinking straight and he knew it.

  He wanted Renee. One time with her wasn’t going to be enough. If anything, he wanted her more now than he had before he’d stripped her bare and slid into her body.

  He did not want her to burn his house
down. Thus far, they’d had two close calls and he didn’t want to find out if the third time would be the charm.

  He needed to make her laugh again, to see that joy lighting up her face. He didn’t want to see the shadows that hovered around her anymore.

  And he’d completely failed her because people knew where she was now.

  What a freaking mess.

  So he did what he always did when things went sideways on him. He worked. He logged in and attacked the twenty-one emails that Bailey had sent him since 3:45 p.m. this afternoon with a fervor that bordered on possessed. He sent a message to Herb Ritter that he absolutely would make their 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. He reviewed the messages from Chloe summarizing how negotiations with ESPN were going. He ignored the ones from his father.

  “Oliver?”

  He jumped. How much time had passed? It wasn’t enough. Seeing Renee in the doorway to the study, her head tilted to the side, light from the hallway settling around her shoulders—he was terrified to realize it might never be enough. “How’s everything going?”

  “Good. Really good.” She stepped into the room, but not very far. He could feel the distance between them. “Lucille’s going to bring over some recipes on Friday. I helped her with the dishes. There’s a right way and a wrong way to wash dishes, apparently.”

  He knew that, but he said, “Who knew?” in a teasing tone.

  She took another small step into the study. “I’m going to go take a shower. For some odd reason, I smell a little like a pond and charcoal.”

  “Do you now?” Oliver couldn’t fight back the grin.

  She nodded, putting together a reasonable appearance of innocence. “Will you...” She paused and straightened her shoulders, her chin coming up. Oliver didn’t like that look on her. But he was starting to recognize it for what it was—Renee putting her armor on. “Will you be here when I get out of the shower?”

  Screw this distance. Oliver was out of his chair before he could think better of it, crossing the room and pulling her into his arms. “I won’t leave you without saying goodbye.”

  That wasn’t what he wanted to say. Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to say. It wasn’t like he was going to tell her he loved her. He cared for her, yes. He worried about her. He wanted her happy and well and safe. But that wasn’t love.

  The problem was, he didn’t know what it was.

  She looked at him, her eyes round with something that looked too much like fear. “Is this goodbye?”

  This was not love. But it was definitely something more intense, more focused than he was used to feeling.

  “No,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. “It’s not.”

  She exhaled against his mouth and he deepened the kiss, clutching her tighter so that her body was pressed against his chest. His hands moved down her back, cupping her bottom and pulling her against him. She gasped as the hard length of his arousal made contact with the soft flesh under her belly.

  He lost himself in her. That’s what this was. It wasn’t love and it wasn’t lust. He was simply lost to her.

  God help him, he didn’t ever want to be found.

  He already had her shirt half-off when a loud clatter echoed from the kitchen, followed by some of Lucille’s more creative language. Oliver and Renee broke apart, both breathing hard.

  “I...” Blushing furiously, Renee backed away. “I need to shower.”

  Oliver begged to disagree. What she needed was to stay right here in his arms. Preferably with less clothing between them. But he didn’t say that out loud. He needed to put more space between them. He needed to get his thoughts—and his dick—back under control. Hell, he needed to drive back to Dallas tonight so he could meet with Herb Ritter in the morning.

  But he just might need Renee more.

  So all he said was “Sounds good,” as if that could’ve even begun to make things right.

  He wouldn’t have thought it possible but Renee blushed even more. “Okay.”

  “Good,” he repeated dumbly, his arms beginning to shake with the effort of holding them at his side. But he fought those baser urges because the moment his control slipped, he’d do something foolish like pull her back into his arms and tell her to wait because he was absolutely going to join her in the shower. And then the bed. And everywhere in between.

  With a smile, she turned and fled. It wasn’t until he heard her steps overhead and the door to her bedroom shut that he exhaled and staggered back to his desk on weak knees.

  “She’s something.” Lucille’s gravelly voice made him jump again. “I like her.”

  Oliver pulled himself to attention. “Sorry about the kitchen. We, uh, lost a cookie sheet to the pond.” He was real proud of the way his voice was level. Strong. Less...shaken.

  Sitting in front of the desk, Lucille stared at him long enough that Oliver began to shift uncomfortably. Like the swans, the older woman had come with the house. She had been cleaning Red Oak Hill for almost twenty years. It had only made sense to keep her on when Oliver had bought the place six years ago.

  He’d run a background check on her and got to know her, of course. He wasn’t stupid. But the fact was, Lucille was so good at maintaining Red Oak Hill to Oliver’s standards that he paid for her to come to Dallas one day a week and clean his condo, as well. And because he valued loyalty, he paid her well.

  He was just about to open his mouth and tell her not to mention anything about Renee to anyone, but she beat him to the punch. “That’s the Preston Pyramid Princess, right?”

  “Right.” He could feel himself deflating. “She was best friends with my sister when we were growing up. Her brother was my best friend. They were practically family.”

  “Darn shame about her husband. He shot his fool head off, right?”

  “Right. She’s had a rough go of it since then. I’m just giving her a place to lie low for a bit.”

  “That girl reminds me of me,” Lucille announced.

  “Really?” Lucille had three kids by three different fathers, but Dale was only her second husband.

  Lucille gave him a smile that made it clear she knew what he was thinking. “Different circumstances, same story. Like recognizes like. I love my kids and I love my grandkids. I’m not saying I’d want to change anything because all of it—the good and the bad—gave me them. But I’m an old woman now.”

  “Hardly,” he muttered. Lucille was all of fifty-five.

  She ignored that interruption. “I can look back with a little distance. I had a rough childhood—my mom wasn’t around much and my dad was a mean drunk. I spent years doing whatever the hell I wanted because who was going to stop me? No one. At least, that’s what I told myself.”

  Okay, so maybe a picture was slowly starting to emerge of a less-than-happy childhood for Renee. But that wasn’t anything comparable to what Lucille was talking about. However, discretion was the better part of valor, so Oliver kept his mouth shut.

  Lucille went on, “But I didn’t know what I wanted. I’d meet someone and suddenly, whatever they wanted was what I wanted. Drugs, alcohol, sex—did I ever really want any of that? Or did I just go along with it because I needed the approval? Who knows, if I’d met Dale earlier...” She let that trail off, her gaze getting soft.

  He was about to argue with this assessment of Renee—but then he remembered something she’d said about her wedding. She would have been perfectly happy with something small and intimate but she’d wound up with something like ten bridesmaids and custom-engraved crystal and it was all wildly over-the-top.

  Was that what Lucille was talking about? Hell, he didn’t know. “As nice a guy as Dale is, I don’t think he’s Renee’s type.”

  He didn’t expect Lucille to scowl. “Do you know why she’s been destroying my kitchen? Because she’s trying to figure out what she wants. Not what her father, or I assume her mother, wan
ts, not what her husband was willing to give her. Not even what you want, Oliver Lawrence. What she wants.”

  “Is that supposed to be difficult?” He didn’t mean to sound flippant. But he didn’t see how this was some sort of lifelong struggle. Okay, Renee was still in her midtwenties. And she was going through a rough time in her life. But most people got a handle on life by the time they got out of college.

  After all, he knew what he wanted. He wanted to leave Lawrence Energies and his family behind and get back to his real life in New York and...

  Didn’t he?

  Lucille leveled a look at him that, if he’d been a younger man, would have made him drop his head in shame. As it was, he had to look away. “If you spent your entire life being told that what you want is useless and worthless,” she said in a tone that walked a fine line between understanding and disappointed, “that what makes you happy is stupid, then yeah, it’s difficult.”

  “I don’t think she’s stupid.” In fact, he knew she wasn’t. God knew he didn’t tolerate fools. She was bright and charming and vivacious and gorgeous and...he wanted her.

  “You know she’s not stupid. I know she’s not stupid. But does she know that?”

  “Of course she does. Why wouldn’t she?” But even as he said it, he had to wonder.

  She did know, didn’t she? That Oliver thought she was all of those amazing, wonderful things? That he never considered her stupid or worthless, not even back when they’d been children tormenting each other? She might’ve been a pain in his backside, but he had always known that she was smart and talented.

  Lucille stood. “She can’t stay here. Too many of those boys recognized her.”

  “You’re the one who promised you’d teach her how to bake.” The idea of sticking Renee in some soulless hotel where she wasn’t allowed to wander around or even attempt a simple sugar cookie left him feeling vaguely ill.

  “It’s going to take me at least a day to put that kitchen back in order,” Lucille grumbled, but she smiled as she said it. “Take her to your condo. I’ll be there on Monday anyway. The building has decent security. They won’t be able to sneak up on her like they would here.”