by Cari Quinn
Bemused, she pried her fingers from their death grip on the steering wheel and released her seatbelt. She cautiously cracked her door open and surveyed the situation. The car rested at a ninety degree angle on the uneven hillside. Other than her nerves, nothing appeared to be damaged.
Climbing out proved an interesting struggle. Particularly with her head still spinning and slightly sore from the bashing it received from the roof. Nearly twisting her ankle on an unruly tuft of upturned grass, she clutched the door handle and righted herself.
No damn way she’d be able to drive out of this spot.
With the barest minimum of swear words, she snatched her purse and the keys from the ignition and traversed the weed-infested slope back up to the road. Once on level terra firma, she returned her focus to the woods, a shiver tripping down her spine. If she never experienced an ordeal like that again it’d be too soon.
She secured her purse strap on her shoulder and hiked in the direction of Huck’s cabin. Fortunately she didn’t have too far of a walk, but wearing her flip-flops easily qualified as the dumbest idea in the history of dumb ideas. Then again, not like she’d known she’d be traipsing across the countryside.
The rutted lane leading to Huck’s property popped into view. Exhaling in relief, she quickened her pace to a brisk jog. Sad to say, it was the most exercise she’d gotten in a while. Something her burning lungs were all too happy to remind her of. Wheezing, she swatted a lank of hair out of her eyes. The buzzing refrains of a chainsaw became discernable above the raggedness of her breaths and the flop flop flop soundtrack of her ill-chosen foot apparel.
Her heart knocked in triple time. Oh, God, no. Panic hammering against her ribcage, she bolted down the path.
It took an obnoxious amount of time for her brain to register two relevant facts. One, the chainsaw noises were too close to Huck’s cabin. Meaning, whatever he was cutting, it at least wasn’t the tree. Secondly, what she was hearing sounded suspiciously...musical.
She barreled into the glade skirting Huck’s property. A boombox homesteaded the cabin’s top porch rail, its speakers vibrating from the ear-blasting decibels of the heavy metal track playing on the radio. The tune seemed to be the source of the chainsaw noises. Resisting the urge to plug her ears, she shifted her attention toward the shed—and nearly swallowed her tongue.
Huck stood in front of the wood pile, naked from the waist up. His low-slung cargos hugged his hips in a way that made her envious of the canvas fabric. Oh, good Lord, to be wrapped around him like that. Pressed up against that gorgeous, sweaty body. Gulping, she visually devoured the beautifully sculpted planes of his back as he swung a large wood-handled axe, effortlessly splitting the log resting on the block.
He tossed the axe aside and grabbed the bottle of water propped near his boot. Not tackling him on the spot when he bent over and revealed some mouthwatering butt cleavage? A mother effin’ miracle.
Completely oblivious of her presence or enraptured state, he straightened and squirted half the contents of the bottle over his head, plastering his shaggy ink-black hair to his skull. Dropping his arm, he shook himself like a big dog, scattering droplets everywhere. The gesture was so typically Huck—the carefree boy she used to know.
Wistful yearning balled against her breastbone.
The lusty thoughts he triggered in her were one thing. She could handle those. But this useless ache in her heart? There lay the true danger.
Don’t let your feelings for him cloud your purpose for being here.
Squaring her shoulders, she sucked in a steadying breath and expelled it slowly. Calmness gradually stilled her nerves and she strode to the porch and plopped down her purse before powering off the boombox. The absence of the metal music made the silence shrouding the glade that more unsettling. But that sensation didn’t compare to the one that sucker punched her the instant she returned her focus to Huck.
He’d pivoted to face her. Judging from his scowl and his white-knuckled grip on the water bottle, he anticipated a battle on the horizon.
That made two of them.
CHAPTER TWO
Goddamn it. The last person he wanted—or needed—to deal with right now was Tully. Huck plowed a hand through his damp hair, frustrated weariness punching hard between his shoulder blades. “I take it you heard about the tree.”
“Yes.” Her wounded look made him feel like he’d kicked a puppy.
He mentally shrugged off the prickly blanket of guilt. There wasn’t a damn thing for him to feel bad about. Business was business. If Tully couldn’t understand that, oh well. She’d eventually get over it.
Say in a decade or two.
Snuffing a groan at the lifetime of hell awaiting him, he chucked the water bottle and stalked toward the porch. Awarding her a narrow stare, he clicked the radio back on. The second he lowered his hand, she flipped the dial off again and jutted her chin upward in a stubborn slant that made him long for a pint or two of whiskey.
“We will talk about this.”
“Why? There’s nothing further to be said.”
“Like hell there’s not.” Mulishness furrowed Tully’s brow. The all too familiar sight only amped up his strong desire to drink himself into a stupor. That option remained far preferable to the other desire that taunted him whenever she insisted on invading his personal space.
Tearing his gaze from her soft, far too tempting lips, he reached around her and grabbed his flannel shirt from its perch on the rail. He caught a whiff of the exotic and intoxicating scent that always followed Tully like a seductive shadow.
Jesus. She even smelled like temptation. One he’d do damn well to avoid like a plague.
He and Tully were fire and gasoline. He’d been burned enough in the past. He’d have to be a glutton for punishment to court any romantic entanglement with her. And that’s what it’d amount to. He couldn’t be so lucky that she’d see the benefit in relieving the sexual tension between them with a hot afternoon of mattress mamboing. If she was like every other woman out there, she’d take that as an open invitation to redecorate his cabin and register their china at Macy’s. Only with her, he’d have the added benefit of having to listen to her daily litany of complaints.
Grimacing, he shrugged his shirt on. “Fine. You have one shot at airing your grievances. Just don’t count on them bending my decision.”
Tully plopped her hands on her hips, an immediate clue that he was going to regret giving her this much rope to hang him with. “Does your mom know what you’re doing?”
“I’m a grown ass man. I don’t have to swing my plans by her.” That and he knew she’d read him the riot act. If there was anyone capable of wearing out her vocal chords more than Tully, it was his ma. He loved the woman to death, but for his own sanity it was better to keep Cora McKenzie in the dark on this until after the deal was done.
“Has it not crossed your mind that you wouldn’t even be standing here if not for that tree?”
Aw, hell. Here it comes. If he had to endure one more cockamamie story about the oak’s mystical matchmaking powers he’d find himself nearing the bottom of that whiskey bottle sooner rather than later. “That damn tree didn’t bring my parents together. A flat tire, maybe, but not this hocus pocus BS you and everyone else in this town wants to be true.”
Tully’s stubborn expression remained un-budging. “It’s not coincidental in the least that your dad’s initials happened to come to your mother in a dream and she carved them into the tree the same morning his truck broke down in front of her folk’s hardware store? Huck, they were complete strangers before that moment. Explain that.”
Shit. He scratched his nape, stalling.
“Ha! I take your silence to mean you can’t.” She folded her arms over her chest, a cocky smile playing at her lips.
“Yeah, you nailed it on the head. It’s a coincidence.”
“You can’t honestly believe that.” Her mouth popped open in response to his shrug. After a moment of stupefied silence on h
er end, she narrowed her eyes in contemplation. “Maybe—and I mean that to the slimmest degree possible—that could be the case if it only happened to your parents. But how do you account for mine? Or for nearly half the freakin’ population of Blue Moon, for that matter?”
Okay, he couldn’t. And Lord knows he’d tried to over the years. But everyone loved a magical romance story. Always more entertaining than sound, logical reasoning.
Hell, once upon a time the lore surrounding the oak even suckered him into being a temporary believer and fool—back before life and common sense knocked him on his ass. Now he was the only one in this whole damn town willing to face harsh reality. Magic didn’t exist, and ultimately the fickleness of love stabbed you in the back. Sure, it worked out for a few. His parents were still going strong after thirty-five years together. But the tree sure as hell wasn’t responsible for that or for them meeting each other.
“It’s one tree, Tully. One tree amongst a forest of many exactly like it. In other words, normal, ain’t-nothing-special-about-it timber. And you know what the purpose of timber is for? Milling and putting money in my pocket. Plain and simple.”
She flung out her arms. “You stubborn ass! Are you really that mercenary?”
“When I’ve got creditors breathing down my neck? Damn straight.”
She relaxed her pose, a gleam of consideration re-sparking in her eyes. “Whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it.”
“Oh yeah? You’ve got twenty grand lying around? Didn’t realize the bookstore is doing that good, Ms. Money Bags.”
Tully choked on a cough. She gaped at him, her eyes big as dinner plates. “Twenty thousand dollars?” Her incredulous whisper hinted that she couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the staggering figure.
Truth be told, he was having a difficult time of it himself. But if some downstate yuppie was eager to burn through that kinda cash, he sure as hell wasn’t going to complain. “Yup. Apparently that’s the going rate for magical trees these days.” He shrugged. “Their offer, not mine. I woulda sold it for five.”
“I-I can pay that.”
“Sorry, shoulda come to me sooner.”
A growling noise rose from the back of Tully’s throat. Thankfully there was some distance between her and the wood pile. Otherwise he might be fielding a log upside his head.
“If I’d known you’d stoop to this level, I would have.”
“Guess that’s the breaks, then.” Yeah, he was being an asshole, and only sealing his fate as the villain she no doubt saw him as. He’d be a liar if he didn’t admit to the sliver of regret that embedded in his black heart as a result. But he couldn’t afford to show her any chinks in his armor. To do so would only invite an open war against his defenses. And he was having a shit enough week without the complication of his conscience and the hypnotic draw of Tully to contend with on top of it all.
It made zero sense to him how she managed to drive him insane in every way possible. Even when they were kids he’d experienced this conflicting tug and retreat in regards to her. His odd friendship with Tully had always been a source of contention between him and Melanie. Not that Mel had cause to be jealous back then. He’d always been one hundred percent faithful. Too bad she hadn’t felt inclined to follow suit.
Why the fuck am I thinking about any of this shit? Balling his fist, he sent a longing glance toward the cabin’s front door and the blessed escape it offered.
As if she’d read his mind, Tully shuffled sideways, strategically blocking the steps leading up to the porch. “Please, don’t do this.”
The soft entreaty in her eyes punched him square in the gut, but it was the sudden press of her hand on his abdomen that hit him below the belt. Roughly six inches, to be precise.
He reflexively sucked in a harsh breath, causing her fingertips to skate a fraction lower. Tully blinked, leading him to believe she’d only then registered the minimal territory separating her hand from his fly. She confirmed his suspicions by trailing her gaze to their point of contact.
A bead of sweat rolled down his neck and the already snug quarters in his briefs grew increasingly cramped. If she didn’t stop touching him soon there was a better than decent chance he’d embarrass himself.
He cleared his throat gruffly, desperately hoping that’d jog her from her fascinated trance. Before he did something stupid.
Rather than remove her hand and grant him some much needed space, she swirled her fingertips across his skin, the maddening graze of her nails triggering a flush of heat.
Maybe it was his ragged intake of breath that finally lifted her gaze to his. Regardless, it was the yearning in those hazel eyes staring back at him that drove the final nail in his coffin.
Biting back a curse, he lowered his head. Her lips parted beneath his, and he had only a moment to question the wisdom in courting this insanity before the intoxication of her invaded his senses. The first eager glide of her tongue along his hammered home one indisputable truth.
He was royally fucked.
CHAPTER THREE
Nothing could have prepared her for the sensory overload of Huck’s kisses. Fantasizing about them didn’t hold a candle to the glorious reality.
Her shaky moan falling victim to his ravenous mouth, she leaned into him, both to steady herself and sink into the welcoming heat he radiated. Something hard and oh so inviting nudged her belly. Whimpering, she drifted her hand lower and gently squeezed the bulge tenting his cargos. Normally she wasn’t so outrageously bold, but judging from Huck’s groan, he didn’t mind.
His arms slipped around her, one hand cupping her nape as the other trailed down her spine, trapping her snug against him. Considering the hot, thick package wedged between her fingers, not a bad place to be pinned.
Huck’s tongue delved deeper, its wet coaxing glide hardening her nipples. As if he’d received an instant status update on their perkiness, he released his hold on her neck and coasted his thumb over the hardened peak of her breast.
Oh jeez. Knees wobbling, she clutched him tighter.
His sexy growl shooting delicious tingles across her skin, Huck slid his mouth to her jaw. Smoothing aside her hair, he sucked her earlobe before nuzzling her with his lips. “I want you naked beneath me. Hell, on top works too.”
Judging from the dampness of her panties, her body was a firm supporter of that plan. Unfortunately, her pesky brain insisted on tossing up some warning signals that she’d prefer to ignore. But couldn’t. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she reluctantly released her grip on his erection. Having that much willpower? Shit, she should be sainted. “D-does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”
It took an endless moment for Huck to stop tormenting her with his addictive kisses. He finally met her gaze, his own distinctly aroused and more than a little distracted. “About what?”
“The tree.”
His eyebrows snapped into a low V. “No, of course not.”
Sighing, she wiggled out of his arms. He gaped at her, his expression incredulous. “You are seriously not turning your back on the hottest sex of your life because of that fucking tree.”
“Wow, aren’t we full of ourselves.”
He grunted. “No, sweetheart. I’d make damn sure of it. By the time I let you up for air, remembering your own name would be a struggle since you’d spent the last several hours screaming mine nonstop.”
Oh, how she longed to roll her eyes at that bit of arrogance. But if her response to his kisses was any indication, she had a bad feeling she’d make an honest man out of him if given the chance. “I can’t sleep with you until we resolve this.”
His scowl dropped in place. “In other words, when you get your way.”
“This isn’t about me getting my way. It’s about doing the right thing.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong, Tully. It’s business.”
“So you’re saying if the price is right, you’ll sell anything?” She threw out her arms. “If that’s the case, I wonder what the g
oing rate is for your soul? Oh wait, apparently you don’t have one. Might have to settle for hocking your mother.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he glared at her. “You’re making way bigger of a deal out of this than it needs to be.”
“Am I? If I don’t stand up for what’s right, who will? For God’s sake, the tree deserves better than whatever despicable fate you’ve resigned it to.”
“How do you know that? Maybe it secretly wants to be a fireplace mantel.”
Her stomach pitched. “Is that what they’re going to do with it?”
“I have no damn idea, and I don’t care.”
“That’s your problem.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You could stand to care about something other than your pocket. You used to. What happened to the Huck I used to know?”
A muscle twitching in his whiskered jaw, he pried her finger from its poking station on his breastbone. “I don’t have time or patience for your nonsense. So do us both a favor and pack your cute little ass back to town before this dissolves into a yelling fest.”
Right then probably wasn’t the best time to dwell on the cute ass part of his statement. “Well, we might have a problem there. In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t exactly drive up to your cabin.”
He tore his gaze from hers and scanned the rutted lane behind her. Frown lines indented his brow. “What’d you do, park at the end of the road?”
“No. More like the giant ditch half a mile back that way.” She hitched her chin in the direction of the cross street. “The good news is my car is still in one piece.”
“You were in an accident? Goddamn it, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I kind of got sidetracked sometime between the bickering and tonsil hockey.”
His expression pained, he turned his gaze skyward. “What the hell am I going to do with this woman?”
If he wasn’t so insistent on this jackassery with the tree, she’d have a few suggestions for him. Most involving gratuitous nudity and copious amounts of whipped cream.
His dark glower slipping into the territory of concern, he cupped her face, scanning it for what she could only presume were nonexistent scrapes and bruises. Aw, damn. She was definitely ill equipped for resisting the gentler, non-yelling Huck. If she wasn’t careful, she might subtly inquire about any Reddi-whip stocked in his fridge. “I’m fine.”