His sister took the last drink of her coffee, set down her mug, and looked at him steadily. “I love you, Bro. I love the way you deal with things, and always do what you think is right.”
“I sense a but coming. You’re never that flattering unless there is.”
“It wasn’t flattery,” she insisted. “I know better than anyone what you’re made of, and that not everybody has your kind of nerve and honor and staying power.”
He blinked. “Wow. Must be a hell of a but.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Dang, you suck at taking compliments. I’m just saying that what’s right for you, what you would do, may not be right for her. And you can’t decide that for her.”
“I know that. I told her that.”
“But will you hold it against her if she won’t or can’t do what you would do?”
He opened his mouth to say of course not, but stopped. Would he?
“Just saying, Bro, you’re a tough act to follow. And she doesn’t think she’s strong enough.”
He set down his mug. “What do you think?”
“I think she doesn’t know how strong she is.”
He shook his head in slow wonder as he stared at this woman he’d watched grow up, yet suddenly felt as if he’d missed a huge step somewhere. “When did you get so wise, little sister?”
“Oh, wisdom is easy,” she said, pouring herself another mug of coffee, “when it’s about somebody else.”
Her tone this time had been wry almost to the point of sour, and he frowned. “Something wrong?”
She made it to sour then. “Not with me.”
Jamie then. He was the only one who could make her sound like that. “He’s been in touch?”
She didn’t pretend not to know who he meant. “If you call an email saying ‘Tell True to do what’s best,’ in touch.”
“What’s best?”
“Your guess is as good as mine what that means.”
He suspected her guess was a lot better than his in this case, but this didn’t seem to be the time to say so. “I should go back over there. I kind of got. . .distracted the last time.”
“Whatever,” she said with a negligent shrug. She worked very hard at showing she didn’t care a whit what one of Whiskey River’s most famous sons did or didn’t do. But he knew underneath she probably cared more than anyone. If Jamie ever did deign to come back to his hometown, he was going to have a little talk with him. In fact, maybe he’d have to go to him.
“What’s so funny?” Zee asked, sounding a bit offended.
“Just picturing myself showing up at his next concert venue, busting through security to kick his ass.”
The affronted expression vanished, to be replaced with his sister’s lively grin. “Oh, I’d buy a ticket for that.”
True smiled back, glad that he’d cheered her at least.
“I’d better get back to work.” She lifted her full mug. “Thanks for the crisis intervention.”
“Have you ever considered just setting up an IV?”
“Yes,” she said. “But you know I hate needles.”
He laughed as he watched her go back through the adjoining door. Resisted the urge to follow her, just to see Hope for a moment. Then remembered he wasn’t resisting anymore. No reason he couldn’t go out that way, was there? Or would it embarrass her, since he hadn’t before? He grimaced inwardly, thinking he’d wandered into an entirely new kind of mine field.
In the end he did go, picking up a blank estimate form he didn’t really need since he had a handful in the truck, noticing how Hope went very still standing at the scanner, brushed his lips over the back of her neck as he went by and whispered “Later,” against her left ear.
“Please,” she whispered back, and suddenly this was the brightest January morning Texas had ever seen.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hope sat on the edge of True’s bed, the bed she’d made love with him in for the last five nights, each time surprising herself with just how much she could feel with this man. It had been an interlude of joy, of delight, of soaring in ways she had never known possible. All because of him.
And now she had to decide.
She had quit with about an hour’s worth of work remaining yesterday. It was silly, but as long as that bit of work remained, she could have this weekend. Two wonderful days. Then. . .
One more hour and the job she’d agreed to do here would be done. One more hour and the reason she’d stayed in the first place would be gone. One hour and the life she’d come to love in such a short time would end.
A shiver went through her. She felt herself weakening, as surely as if she were watching her own blood drain away. That’s what it felt like, that if she did what she had to do, she might as well slash an artery and get it over with.
She couldn’t weaken.
She listened to the shower running, the image of a naked True, water streaming over that lean, powerful body sending a different kind of shiver through her. The urge to join him, as she had every other morning, was so powerful she thought she might have to grab the bedpost to stop herself. Images of him, of them together as he braced her against the shower wall and slid into her, filling that place inside her that seemed to have been made just for him, raced vividly through her mind. The memory of how his shout of her name had echoed from the tile as he pulsed within her. Even now her body clenched fiercely at just the thought, and she knew if she went to him now she would hit that amazing peak she hadn’t even known herself capable of at his first touch. Even when they were apart, it was almost as if she could still feel him.
To have all that, and at the same time a man so solid, so steady, so. . .true, had never been a dream for her, for she’d never believed a man like that existed.
How could she possibly leave him? She would ache for him forever.
You knew before you started how this would end.
Her stern words to herself did little to ease the chaos rolling around inside her. Desperate, she got up to dig into the pack that now sat on the floor here in his bedroom. She’d hesitated bringing it in here at first, until he pointed out it was silly for her to keep running down the hall for everything. He hadn’t seemed to mind, even the few female accoutrements she had on his bathroom counter. Nothing she couldn’t leave behind if she had to go in a hurry, she’d thought when she’d put them there. Except the toothbrush, she’d have to grab that.
She’d gone from planning on it to trying to think of a way to avoid it. There was none, because the bottom line never changed.
She pulled the worn, dog-eared photograph from its spot in the secure outside zipper pocket of the pack. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, staring at her grandparents. She’d taken the picture, in front of the sign for the local park.
This was the reason, this was why she had no choice. Even if she believed True could take care of himself—and under normal circumstances she would believe that, but she doubted he’d ever had to deal with the likes of Cagan—they could not. The thought of Cagan or his attack dogs going after them turned her to ice. Her grandfather would die to protect her grandmother, and she suspected vice versa. And while they were fit and fairly healthy, they were in their seventies and no match for—
Were they fit and healthy?
She closed her eyes in pain at the grim admission that she didn’t know. The last time she’d called, they hadn’t answered. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, but she hadn’t dared risk a call from here when once she decided to stay, not when one look at their caller ID would have told someone exactly where she was. Nor could she borrow a cell phone for the same reason.
“Hey. I missed you in there.”
Her eyes snapped open. He was standing there with only a damp towel wrapped around his lean hips. For a moment all she could do was stare. He was so beautifully put together, and there were male models who would probably kill for those abs. But his were earned through work, not workouts, and she admired him all the more for that.
As if she needed any more reason to admire him.
“Hope.”
Suddenly he was there, beside her. She moved to put the photo away, but he stayed her hand.
“Your grandparents?” he asked.
It was too late to deny, and she wouldn’t lie to him. “Yes.”
He studied the image for a moment. “They. . .sparkle.”
Her breath caught as he used the word that had often come to her mind looking at this, her favorite picture of them. Her favorite because it had caught just that, the sparkle of life, and of the obvious love between them.
“They used to say it was because of me. I was their sunshine, and they just reflected it.” And look what their sunshine did to them.
“What are their names?”
“Gordon and Lynn.”
“When was the last time you spoke to them?”
“Last summer. I was about to get on a bus out of Lubbock. It was Wednesday afternoon, and I knew Gran would be at her book club meeting. So I called the bookstore and asked to talk to her. I thought that would be safe.”
“Good thinking,” he said.
“She sounded good. But they’re in their seventies.”
“And you’re worried.”
“Always.”
He put an arm around her. She leaned against him, grateful that she had bought herself this weekend. He felt so strong, as if for just this moment she could let him help her carry this. Sometimes he even made her feel stronger. As if she might be able to at least try to do what he would do, stand and fight. And if it was only her, maybe. . .but it wasn’t.
“I could have Jack have his cousin check on them.”
She stiffened. “No. I know they’re still watching them, hoping I show up. A cop or anyone connected to a cop…they’ll think the cops found me, and came to tell them. They’ll go after them to find out.” He didn’t say anything and she looked up at him. “True, promise me.”
“He’d be careful—”
“No. That’s how they found the guy I saw them murder. They went after his family. Swear to me.”
“I. . .all right. No cops.”
His brow was furrowed and she could tell he was thinking. Knowing him, looking for a way to fix this. But this was unfixable, she knew that. She just wasn’t sure this man ever accepted anything as unfixable, as long as he was alive to try.
“True. . .”
“I promised,” he said. “I don’t go back on promises.”
“I know.”
And then, because she didn’t know what else to do, she kissed him. Simply for being who he was.
*
Now that, True thought, was the way to spend a Saturday morning. He stretched expansively as he listened to the shower. He had missed her joining him as she had the last few days, but she’d more than made up for it when he’d come out. Once they’d gotten past that rough patch about her grandparents, she’d kissed him and it had begun all over again. She had gotten rid of his towel in a hurry, and proceeded to minister to every inch of him with a slow care that had nearly driven him out of his mind. It had felt a little odd, being naked and sprawled before her when she was dressed, but it had also put an edge on the sensations that had his blood surging and his nerves on fire.
And when she’d peeled off her clothes in a rush and straddled him, only the fact that it had happened as fast for her as for him had saved him from embarrassing himself with how quickly he’d lost it.
Saturday.
It suddenly hit him that Saturday was the day Zee allowed herself a visit to the Banner Bakery in town, to indulge in her beloved but calorie-packed cinnamon rolls. And she usually bought the box of four, saying she counted on him to get rid of two for her.
He could do that.
Quickly he got up, pulled his jeans on, and headed out to the connecting door. He wondered if this constituted a caloric emergency, decided Zee wouldn’t appreciate the humor and knocked. He heard her call out and opened the door.
He found her in her kitchen, waiting on the coffeemaker, so she’d clearly rectified her caffeine outage. Music was playing softly; she had always preferred the slow stuff in the mornings until she got going. And Saturdays took longer than usual, so it wasn’t surprising she was still on the ballads even though it was nearly noon.
The plastic container of rolls sat on the counter, as he’d hoped. But it was a six-pack, not the usual four. Her head came up when he walked in, and she looked him up and down. So intently that he almost wished he’d put a shirt on, too. And suddenly remembered the marks on his back from Hope’s nails.
“Sometimes,” she said with an odd sort of smile, “because you’re my brother and I always focus on how good you are to me, I forget how damn sexy you are.”
He blinked. “Are you all right?”
She sighed. “Like I said, you suck at taking compliments.”
Not always. The memory of what Hope had whispered to him this morning made a smile flit across his face.
“Well good for her, if she’s teaching you,” Zee said. As she poured her coffee, she nodded toward the rolls. He could smell them, and his stomach suddenly growled in response. “I got extra. Figured you two need to keep your strength up.”
He grinned at her then. “Thanks.”
“God, you look like the Cheshire cat with that grin. Take four of those and get out.”
There was more than a teasing edge in her voice, and he asked again, “Are you all right?”
She lowered her head, staring at the coffee as if there were some secret to life hidden in the dark liquid.
“Fine. Go eat before you both collapse from exhaustion. I’m going to go change clothes.”
She reached out and tapped her phone twice, and the stream of music that was coming from the speaker on the counter stopped abruptly. She shoved the phone into the back pocket of her jeans, turned on her heel and was gone.
True watched her go, frowning. Then, belatedly, he realized what had been playing when she’d shut the music off. The song that had started at the moment her mood had turned. The song written about this place, about the river, about a longing to go back to where you began.
That song always set her off. He’d asked her why once and she’d snapped at him. “It’s a lie. If it was true, he’d come home.”
He’d never brought it—or Jamie—up again unless it was necessary. Like about his aunt’s house. He supposed she had a point, but Jamie was flying high right now. His mouth twisted. He hoped that wasn’t a literal description. But expecting the guy to come back to Whiskey River when the band was hitting it big was a little too much. Scorpions On Top—he still laughed at the name, with a smile for Aunt Millie—was hitting big, touring to full houses because Jamie had been an early adapter of every Internet powered way of reaching people. They’d conquered Texas first, then it spread, until they were even hitting places like Nashville and L. A.
They had caught fire in L. A., and had been staying there as a base since—
L. A.
He yanked out his phone, opened the browser. A quick search brought up the flashy website. He worked his way through to the tour schedule. He was almost sure they were ending this tour leg back in L.A. If he wasn’t wrong. . .right about now.
He wasn’t.
Noon. Ten AM in L. A. After a Friday night show. He didn’t know much about that life, but he guessed that might be a bit early. So instead of calling he texted. He’d give Jamie a couple of hours, then he’d call if he hadn’t heard back.
He let out a long breath. He couldn’t say anything to Hope, in case it didn’t work out. Or in case bad news turned up; that’s not how he’d want her to learn it.
But at least there was a plan.
And he felt even better as he opened the box, grabbed up two of the luscious smelling cinnamon rolls, and headed back home.
Home.
Yeah, that’s what it felt like.
He was whistling Jamie’s River Song as he closed the door behind him.
<
br /> Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Cinnamon rolls?”
Hope heard the hopeful sound in her own voice, and nearly laughed at herself. She stopped her effort to detangle her wet hair; the heavy, blunt comb she used had lost a few teeth along the way, making it more difficult. She took a step toward the counter where he’d set a plate with the rare treat.
He held another—no plate and a bite missing—in his hand, and rather sheepishly said, “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
“Some things you shouldn’t even try to resist.”
She moved a finger to scrape up a small pool of cream cheese frosting. It reached her mouth at the same moment he said huskily, “I found that out.”
The sweetness of his words, his voice, was more than a match for the taste in her mouth. She looked at him, for this moment letting it all show in her face, what she had come to feel for him, what she didn’t dare put into words because nothing had changed.
But everything had changed.
“Keep looking at me like that, and we’ll end up back in bed.”
“Is that a promise? An official, True Mahan, never broken promise?”
She hadn’t meant to sound so. . .wistful. She lowered her eyes to the roll, peeling off a strip. She had it in her mouth, savored, chewed and swallowed before he spoke again.
“Outside forces.”
“What?” She said as much to his suddenly serious tone as to the words.
“That’s the only thing that’s ever made me break a promise. Car accident. Broken arm.”
His parents, she guessed. The broken arm she didn’t know. There was so much she didn’t know.
And you won’t be here long enough to find out all those things.
The thought was already ripping her to pieces inside. But while she might have stolen these days, these few golden days, nothing had changed about the danger she brought with her.
“Can’t do that.” Her voice was low, unsteady. “If I go back to bed with wet hair, I’ll never get it untangled. It’s bad enough now. I should have bought some conditioner.”
Whiskey River Runaway (Whiskey River Series Book 2) Page 17