by Amy Knupp
He’d kissed her when he had no right even to think about kissing her. Worse, he’d liked it.
He couldn’t have her thinking there was anything between them, or even the potential for anything, because there wasn’t. She wasn’t the kind of girl who played around. Alex wasn’t the guy for her, could never live up to what she deserved. A well-educated, suit-wearing computer geek or finance geek or whatever, that was the type Taylor needed, even if the guy only met half the traits on her list. A quarter. To hell with the list—it was irrelevant. Taylor deserved the very best, and Alex was a jackass on a good day.
Embracing that undeniable truth, he turned over and went back to sleep.
IF TAYLOR EVER NEEDED a new career, carpentry offered some surprisingly attractive possibilities, even if she didn’t particularly have a gift for it.
Thanks to the do-it-yourself book the man at the hardware store had recommended, she was getting the hang of beating the life out of the nails as she drove them through the kitchen trim. And if she happened to picture Alex’s head as she pounded, who could blame her?
As the hammer connected with her thumb, she yelled and growled her frustration loudly. Darn that man for getting in her thoughts and making her lose her concentration.
Someone knocked at the front door. She tossed the stupid hammer down and got up, sucking on her thumb as if that would take away the pain.
She checked out the peep hole before opening and growled again, more quietly this time.
Why did her heart speed up at the sight of Alex standing on her front porch? Was it rage-induced? Lingering embarrassment? The usual nerves he brought out?
Yeah, sure. Lying to herself was fine as long as, in the back of her mind, she knew she was lying. Right?
He knocked again, harder, and she jumped. Lord, why now, when he’d blown her off all day? She looked tired, dirty and generally awful. At nine o’clock this morning when he was supposed to pick her up, she’d at least smelled clean. She’d even considered putting on some lip gloss and mascara but that idea had fizzled when she discovered her rarely used mascara was dried and crusty.
“I know you’re in there, Taylor. I heard you yelling your head off.”
She opened the door. “I did not yell my head off.”
“Heard you clear out here.”
“You’re eleven hours and seventeen minutes late.”
He shoved his hand in the pocket of his cargos and glanced toward the driveway at nothing. Dusk was falling, spilling streaks of pink and lavender across the sky. “May I come in?”
She pressed her lips together, moistening them. When his gaze lowered to them, she took a quick step back and let him inside. They stood in the entry, two feet and a heavy silence between them.
One would think she’d made peace with awkward moments after twenty-six years, but no. She pushed loose strands of her hair behind her ear and fumbled for what to say. “You don’t need to help me with the house,” was what finally came out.
“I think I have someone to buy Quinn’s Winchester.”
“Okay.” That was the last topic she’d expected. “You know where it is.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh. Then why?” She was curt with him and it felt good, but not as good as the hammer action.
He craned his neck to see into the kitchen. She’d pushed the table to the middle of the room to access the walls. “What are you doing in there?” He stalked past her with purpose, as if he needed to save the day.
“I’m getting my house ready to put on the market.”
“You’re doing the trim? By yourself?”
“Myself was the only one around when the work needed to be done,” she said pointedly.
The only sign he even remembered he was supposed to have helped her this morning was the flicker of his lids downward. Or maybe he was just blinking.
“What do you know about replacing trim?”
“Before today, hardly anything.” She took the hard-cover book from the table and waved it in the air. “But, amazingly, when there’s something a girl needs to learn, there’s always a book out there that will teach her.”
“How are you cutting the pieces?”
She wasn’t yet. She’d put that part off for as long as possible while she removed the old trim, then started with a long piece that didn’t need to be cut. “With a saw.”
“What kind of saw?”
“The right kind. I rented one.”
He looked around for it, but it was out in the garage.
“It wouldn’t be very bright to bring it in here, would it?” she said smugly. “It’s big, messy. I don’t want sawdust in my orange juice.”
“Garage?”
She nodded and he headed out the back door before she could say anything. Baffled, she followed him.
The light in the garage was on, the door closed. Alex opened the small side door and went in. She’d left her car in the driveway and placed the saw, the trim and everything else she’d bought this morning where her car was usually parked.
“You left the garage unlocked with all this stuff in here? What is it worth, a couple of grand?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I was still working. I’ll lock up when I’m done for the night.”
“I’ll do the cutting.”
She was dying to have someone, anyone but her, work the saw. That sharp blade terrified her. But her stubborn streak was even stronger than her fear. “I’ve got it covered.”
He turned and stared at her, disbelieving at first. Then his shoulders dropped a notch. “You’re really pissed.”
“No.” Okay, maybe.
“You have every right.”
“You think?” Apparently she was loosening up with him enough to say exactly what popped into her head. That was progress, in a twisted way.
“Scarlet…” He turned away, rubbed his palms together.
She leaned against the wood stud of the unfinished wall, studying him. Something was up. He was…nervous? Around her? Maybe just contrite. As he should be.
Alex turned around, looking at the cracked concrete floor. “I’m sorry.”
“This was never a good idea. You’re trying to recover, get your leg healed. I meant it when I said I could do this—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He walked over and stood in front of her. Crossed his arms over his chest. Made eye contact, and she felt the impact of that gaze down to her toes. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”
He might as well have punched her in the gut. She took in a shaky breath. “That’s not exactly what a girl wants to hear…”
“That’s not what I mean. Don’t twist it around.”
“‘Sorry I kissed you’ is pretty straightforward.”
He reached out, squeezed her shoulder. Let his hand linger on her upper arm for a second before dropping it. “It can’t happen again. I’m…look, I know Quinn’s not here. God, do I know that. Every second of every day, I have to live with that…”
He broke off and his throat moved as he swallowed.
“It’s a guy thing,” he continued. “Because of me he’s not around to do what big brothers do. Carry the heavy stuff, work the saw, scare off assholes who could hurt you. Last thing I want to do is be the asshole.”
“What do you mean, Alex…” she barely heard the last part of what he said “…it’s because of you?”
He shook his head and looked away. “Not going there.” Before she could argue, he stormed out the side door.
He was blaming himself for Quinn’s death?
She stood a moment, stunned, trying to wrap her brain around that, then rushed out after him. He sat on the deck steps, in the same spot she’d found him when he’d first come back to town. This time, instead of looking smug, he seemed defeated, his shoulders sagging with the weight of so much sadness.
His wide soldier body took up most of the steps.
“Move over,” she said, forgetting the insecurity that normally plagued
her around him.
Equally shocking was that he did what she said and made room for her. Taylor sat next to him, their thighs touching.
“Quinn died in combat, Alex.” She spoke quietly, as if saying it too loudly would make it more painful. Instead of focusing on her own heartbreak, she needed to get this point across to Alex, who’d gone completely silent. “The other side tried to blow up your helicopter. You can’t really think it was somehow your fault.”
“You don’t know the first thing about it.”
She gritted her teeth and used her short thumbnail to scrape away dirt that had caked around the base of the railing support. She didn’t remember ever feeling the urge to punch a man, didn’t really know how to throw a punch when you got down to it, but she clenched her left fist against the temptation now. With her right, she continued to assault the dried dirt on the step. “Why don’t you tell me about it, then?” she said tightly. “I’d like to understand.”
The last streaks of light had disappeared, the silhouette of the leaves against the sky barely visible. Cicadas filled the dusk with soothing music that contrasted with the storm of emotion contained in their little corner of the universe. A cricket hid somewhere nearby and piped out a solo.
Alex supported his elbows on his knees and had his hands steepled in front of his face.
“You can be the strong, silent, manly man another time,” Taylor said, abandoning her dirt-removal project and searching for a way to make this stubborn man talk. “He was my brother. If it’s really your fault, I have a right to know.”
She didn’t believe he was to blame for a second, but how else could she get through to him?
He stretched his left leg out and massaged his thigh, seemingly without noticing he was doing it. “My brain knows I’m not to blame,” he finally said. “I’ve been over the accident a thousand times. The army’s been over it. If I’d done something undeniably ‘wrong,’ you better believe they’d make me aware of that.”
“And you didn’t. You managed to bring the helicopter down safely enough to save everyone else on board from what I heard.”
“You can’t make this black and white, Taylor.”
“Actually, I can.”
“The end result is that I wasn’t able to bring it down safely enough to save every man.” His left leg bounced at hummingbird speed. “And your brother isn’t here because of that.”
A lump swelled in her throat, for Quinn, for Alex…for her own grief. “He died doing what he loved, Alex. For something he believed passionately in dying for.” These were words she’d clung to in the weeks after her brother’s death. Words she knew with all her heart were true.
He stood abruptly and went inside the house, leaving Taylor there with her jaw hanging open. Again. For being such a tough guy, he sure did run away a lot from what she had to say.
When she got into the kitchen, Alex was bending over the one piece of trim she’d almost completed before he’d interrupted.
“We need to angle this end off,” he said. “Makes it harder to see the seams.”
“Stand up and finish our conversation,” she said.
He hesitated then eased himself up. Turned to face her. “What happened to shy Scarlet?”
“She got mad and had to leave. You’re stuck with ticked-off Taylor.”
One side of his mouth curved up and he shook his head. “She scares me.”
“She should.”
“I’m going to help you with the house, like we agreed. Sorry I flaked this morning.”
She stared him down, debating with herself. She’d welcome the help from someone but…
“I don’t want to be an obligation to you,” she said quietly.
“You’re not an obligation. You’re my best friend’s little sister. I want to do it.”
“What if Quinn was still alive? Would you still insist?”
“I can’t say what I’d do or where I’d be if Quinn was alive. I’d give anything to find out.”
His voice was so thick with sadness that tears filled Taylor’s eyes. Without thought, she stepped forward and wound her arms around him, aching for him. For both of them. For several seconds, Alex stood stiffly, motionless. Eons later, she felt his hands on her torso, hesitantly at first, and then he pulled her close and burrowed his chin into her hair.
She’d initiated the hug to comfort him, but…lord, she must have needed it just as much. More. She closed her eyes and pressed into his solid chest, letting the tears that spilled over be soaked up by his shirt. They stood like that, unmoving, not saying anything for some time. Seconds? Minutes? She should feel awkward. Self-conscious. But she’d been craving this, the comfort of another person, without even realizing it. Not specifically Alex, she told herself. But being in his arms…
Stop thinking so much and just take the comfort while it’s there.
Alex loosened his hold on her and ran a hand over her messy hair. “The whole thing is screwing with my head.” She felt his breath at her temple. “I’m trying like crazy not to dwell on it. Trying to move forward but not sure how. All I can figure out is that I need to get back to what I do, what Quinn did. What he believed in so strongly.”
Reluctantly, she pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “As long as you’re doing it as a positive thing. Not trying to punish yourself or something.”
“I don’t have any damn idea what I’m doing most days. Fixing up your house gives me something to think about.”
He seemed lost. Vulnerable and unsure of himself for the first time since she’d met him. He was no longer the godlike beautiful man who could do no wrong, who made her feel inadequate. All those years since Quinn had first brought Alex to their house, she’d never been able to see past the veneer to the man beneath. Now she did.
As his eyes met hers, she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Was she better off getting to know Alex or keeping him in the untouchable category? Because the more she knew, the more she cared.
And it didn’t seem wise to care too much about someone who’d never think of her as more than his duty, as a debt to a man who was no longer alive.
CHAPTER TEN
ALEX KNEW FOR A FACT Taylor was still alive. She left little signs around her house: the dishwasher running when he let himself in to work on his non-therapy days, a partially eaten fresh apple coffee cake—locally made and organic of course—on the counter with a note for him to help himself.
He also knew she’d been avoiding him ever since the night a week and a half ago when she’d insisted they talk about Quinn.
At first he’d been relieved by her disappearing act. That scene in her kitchen had left him exposed. Instead of fixing the trim then and there, he’d gotten a spare key from her and promised to get started Tuesday while she was at work. The plan was to let himself in to work two or three days a week until the project list was finished.
Yeah, so he’d played the avoidance game, too, but it was for her own good. Now he was done with it, though, or at least wanted a break from it so he could see how she was doing. That was all he wanted, he told himself. To make sure she was okay. That she hadn’t reverted to being upset that he’d kissed her, stood her up, been a general all-around prick.
When the heck was that woman going to call it quits at the day job and come home? It was almost nine-thirty at night. Had she gone on another date with some jackwad?
He climbed down from the stepladder where he’d been replacing damaged ceiling tiles in the basement. His leg nearly gave out on him when he put his weight on it and he bit out a curse.
One of Taylor’s cats seemed to think the fact that he was on the ground signified a willingness to pet it, so it walked over and rubbed against his legs.
“You’re getting my pants all furry, cat.”
The feline stopped and looked up at him. It got up on its back feet and pawed his thigh expectantly. Alex stared it down, then gave in and petted its head for a few seconds. When he moved toward his toolbox, the cat trotted
along with him.
“That’s all you get, cat. Don’t be so greedy.”
Alex had pushed hard today. The decision to hang around until Taylor got home had been a subconscious one until the past hour or so. Now he checked his watch every five minutes, wondering where she was. Who she was with.
He put away his tools and supplies for the night and made his way slowly up the stairs, concern and jealousy battling in his gut. He needed to can the jealousy once and for all and just focus on the concern.
The upstairs was dark—the sun had set since he’d been downstairs—so he flipped on the dim light above the kitchen sink. The apple coffee cake sitting there reminded him he’d worked through dinner. He sat at the table with his new friend, the cat, and the remaining three-quarters of the cake. He dug into it with a fork.
The cake was nearly gone when the back door opened and Taylor walked in. Not yet spotting him, she greeted the second cat, who’d walked over to meet her. When she turned around, a scream slipped out and she put her hand to her chest.
“What are you still doing here?”
He held up the last bite of coffee cake on his fork. “Dinner. I owe you one.”
She checked her watch. “It’s nine-thirty.”
“Did you have a date?”
For an instant, she looked confused, then covered with a frown. “What if I did?”
“The guy better have treated you right this time.” Alex got up, threw away the empty foil container and put his dirty fork in the dishwasher.
Taylor stood eighteen inches away, watching him in silence, her gentle green eyes hiding behind the specs. Her hair was pulled back at her nape as usual, not a single strand out of place. Her clothing was vintage buttoned-up Taylor—plain black pants and a short-sleeved peach sweater that revealed very little of her milky skin. Once again, she’d put all her style focus on her feet with impossibly high snakeskin-patterned black heels that came to a wicked point in the front. They looked about as comfortable as brand-new combat boots a size too small.