by Susan Arden
A land survey, and he placed it on the table and turned it toward Rory. “Son, here’s your piece of Evermore.”
His mother’s eyes met his—hers liquid—and she blinked rapidly, tapping the survey with her fingertip. “It’s a beautiful piece of land. Over by the pond.”
“Sure is. It’s one of my favorite spots,” he replied gruffly. He knew of the property. Lush. Green. And up on the northwestern ridge. As kids, he, his brothers, sister, and cousins swam at the pond. The spot where he’d first kissed Sommer. On a clear moonlit night. This is where he’d imagined taking her the first time. This was the one place he’d never imagined receiving. It was—in his opinion—the best spot on Evermore.
“Twenty acres.” Dad gifted him with a rare smile. His father was a man of few words and even fewer grins.
“My,” Miss Louisa murmured, “That’s a fetching place. Thank the Lord and your folks, Rory. That’s a sweet slice of Evermore.”
“The pond isn’t included, but your property abuts to the grove of trees. It’s no more than twenty yards from the property line to the farthest edge of the pond. If you homestead, after two years, you get a hundred and fifteen acres and you’re fully vested in Evermore LLC.”
He and Sommer would scrape by but then they’d have means. She wouldn’t have to work if she didn’t want to. Rory nodded, fingering the survey then cleared his throat. “It’s perfect.”
His momma laughed. “We thought you’d like it.”
“We try to match the land to the recipient,” his father said, pointing to the survey.
That made sense. Matt had his spot near the river, a place he’d spent as a teenager, shooting and hosting bonfires with his friends. Stephen had his own place off the grasslands on the far ridge, overlooking a motocross trail he’d cut and rode as a kid. Brandon had an isolated location overlooking a bluff; the place he’d gone to get away when he needed his space. And Miller opted to keep his land with a corral and barn, housing a mixture of motorcycles, a Jeep, and only god knew what else in that locked office of his. Close to the road. Miller’s wife refused to live anywhere other than right next door to her dad, in some private golf community over near Paris.
“What about Cory?” he asked, curious to know which part of Evermore his twin would receive.
“You’ll know after we tell her.” Momma smiled and arched a brow.
“Fair enough,” he said and inhaled.
“We’ll have the property re-marked. There are flags for utilities already in place,” Dad relayed.
“If you know where to look,” Rory replied. With all the plots, there were flags, but which ones belonged to which boundary?
“Let me see.” His father adjusted his glasses on his nose. “Yours are blue. Light blue. The surveyors will be out either this week or next, since the builder will require that first thing. If you’re going to build a house. Are you?”
“I’m definitely building here.” He turned the survey around to face his father.
The sound of the front door opening and closing rang out, followed by the low mewing pitch of his sister-in-law cooing to her daughter.
“Chelsea and Jillian,” Miss Louisa said. “Do we have a bottle for our Little Miss?”
His mom’s brows knitted together. “I’m not certain, but Jillian will have whatever Chelsea needs, of that I’m very sure.”
Jillian cleared the doorway, walking into the kitchen with his niece. Chelsea was four months old, and he’d learned fast—with Matt’s children and now Stephen’s daughter—how to feed, burp, and even change a diaper when he’d babysat.
“Hey all,” Jill greeted everyone, lifting the baby carrier to the table.
Rory came out of his chair and took the handle of the carrier. “I’ve got this little squirrel.”
She smiled and trained an unwavering stare his way. “Took care of some laundry at Brandon’s.”
“Why on earth for? Is your washer and dryer acting up?” Sarah inquired.
“Nope. It’s just that. I promised to get some linens done for Mia when she was in Dallas. Fall cleaning.” Jillian winked at him and then punched his arm. “You owe me,” she said under her breath.
He’d throttle Stephen when he saw him next. Instead of losing his cool, he moved his plate and adjusted the baby carrier so he could keep an eye on Chelsea as he ate his breakfast.
“What’s going on?” Jillian hoisted a baby bag onto the table and unzipped the top.
“I just received my parcel of land,” Rory said between bites. “Over by the pond.”
“Pretty sweet.” Jillian held three baby bottles, and laughed.
“Oh thank goodness.” Miss Louisa reached for the bottles.
His mom smiled down at her granddaughter, rubbing her fingers. “We’re running short on cereal. The organic rice with bananas. Chelsea sure likes that one.”
“Ah, yes.” Jillian waggled her brows, digging out a box, and handed it over before turning back to him. “When are you moving out? Right away? Not that I mean you should.”
“I’d like to soon. Start with a trailer.”
“What in tarnation?” his father huffed. “What’s the rush?”
“Just want a place of my own. Get a feel for the land and then start building.”
His parents exchanged a look, not lost on him or anyone. “Well, there’s a trailer up for sale. Your cousin’s place is finished and I’m sure, he’s not going to keep it.”
“I’ll inquire after it,” he said, wiping his mouth and rocking the baby carrier. He finished the last of his coffee and folded the property specs. “Can I get a copy of these?”
“This file is yours.” Exhaling heavily, his father sat back in his chair and entwined his fingers with Momma’s. Lifting her hand, Dad kissed her knuckles. “Six children. Collectively they’re accountable for every gray hair on my head. For the most part, they’ve all made me extremely proud. You did real good, Mrs. McLemore. Thank you.”
Seated in the front of the SUV, his mom and dad insisted that they all take a drive over on the way out to the barn. “Rory, it’s customary. Was for all your brothers, and now for you too,” Momma supplied in her no-nonsense tone.
If his parents only knew how much consternation customary had caused him, they’d rethink those words. But none of that matter now. He was the last McLemore son they’d have on their hands. Hopefully, he had slowed the rumor mill so that when Matt’s sons grew up—and any other future McLemore sons came about—they wouldn’t have too much of a reputation to live up to or battle to dispel.
During the drive, he took the file, spread out the survey in his hands. Soon enough the blacktop gave way to a narrow gravel road and everyone rolled up the windows when dust picked up from the sun-hardened earth. At the top of a low-lying hill, his father slowed down.
“Son, right here,” Dad announced, directing Rory’s gaze outward. “This marks your eastern property line.”
Lowering the window, Rory leaned an elbow on the doorframe, and craned his neck. Mile marker 117 was to his right. Up ahead, the road rose toward the pond, and then a ridge over the northwestern part of Evermore.
Dad pointed. “This is farther from the front gate, but there’s a little used service road and entrance. We’ll replace that gate and install an electronic one.”
They continued driving, and the temperature changed as they drove upward. On both sides of the roadway, more and more trees grew, creating a cool canopy. They passed by the dense pine stand, where just beyond the pond lay in wait. Recently a small cabin, really more like a changing cabana, had been built by Matt and Stephen as a place to bring their children. Carolina had just delivered another son, and the McLemore clan was growing in leaps and bounds. It was funny, seeing this side of men who’d been reckless fools change so abruptly when they’d married, and now as fathers. When it came to his older brothers and how they treated wives and children, for all their past footloose ways, they’d buckled down and took f
ew chances.
As Rory saw it, he preferred to sidestep the jackass phase of thinking with his dick. Unless it had to do with Sommer. He clamped his lips tight, thinking about her and them in bed last night. Her moaning and moving under him. He forced his attention back to the survey, and where to build a home.
“The land rises. I was thinking about the clearing over there.” He leaned forward between the front seats and pointed to a spot off in the distance. “See it? Right between those two trees. The trailer could set off a ways while I’m building.”
“Oh yes, indeed. That would be a pleasant spot for a home,” Momma agreed. “What do you think, Wade?”
His father floored the gas, cutting across the open fields, and the SUV jostled until they were parked at the place he’d indicated. Wade said, “Let’s get out and take a look.” His parents were holding hands, their arms resting on the console.
After walking over to the clearing, Rory spun around, envisioning the layout of a foundation. This site was definitely a possibility, but he wanted Sommer’s opinion. He took out his cell phone and snapped a few photographs, then returned to the back of the SUV and removed the wooden property stakes and a hammer. Together he and his father marked out an area. If this proved to be the spot, he’d have the surveyor draft the necessary paperwork and get electrical, water, and gas lines set up. He glanced back at the road and scanned the horizon until his eyes settled on the telephone pole and the power lines. Not awfully far away, considering what he’d seen his brothers wrangle up for his cousin a few months back.
He stood alongside his parents. “Thanks. Hope to be as happy as you two have been on Evermore.”
“Son, just remember that life is a journey,” Dad remarked. “Worth every step with a good woman. You bringing Sommer out here to take a look?”
“As soon as I can,” he replied.
Momma patted his arm. “Sommer’s a lovely girl. Smart as a whip, and I bet she’ll adore this place.”
They all returned to the main part of Evermore, dropping his mother back at the house, and then he and his father parked at the main barn. “I’ll catch up with Brandon’s crew and deal with the vaccinations.”
“Sounds like a plan. Son, I’ve got no doubts that you’ll be as content as I have been by setting down your own roots. You’ve always had a surefooted approach to life. Don’t veer from what you hold in your heart. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, pulling on a pair of worn leather gloves and adjusting his hat on his head, all the while thinking of Sommer. “I fully intend on going after what’s important.”
Chapter 11
“Hey Rachel,” Sommer called out, walking into the back room of the tattoo parlor and lifting her bag off her shoulder. She hadn’t stopped for coffee, opting to grab a quick shower before racing over to work and right now, she could use a cup. Hooking the strap of her bag onto a peg on the wall, the muscles all over her body were ‘morning-after’ tight. No mistaking the subtle sensation of being swollen and sore. Or the delicious echo impression of Rory’s large hands and hot mouth on her skin.
For a second, she closed her eyes, reliving his rugged face between her legs…his wet tongue and his long, strong fingers taking her around the bend.
Bowing forward, she let out a loud sigh. If her first customer was running late, she’d make a caffeine run down the block, using the loose change from the bottom of her purse. Thinking about customers, she considered texting Jen and making up an excuse about not being available for Drew. But that would mean she couldn’t help Vince, either.
Only one way to deal with a guy like Drew was by maintaining a totally professional persona. She’d encountered his kind before. He’d better not show up, thinking she was interested in doing more than inking. She’d set him straight in record time, if he did.
Rachel, owner of the Tattooed Rose, stuck her head in and jerked her thumb back. “You’ve got some business today. We might need to give out numbers.”
“How’d you know?” she asked, coming into the reception area.
“Not too hard.” Rachel motioned with a jog of her head to Sommer’s chair.
Her focus did a hard right, veering to a shirtless golden upper torso. “Yeah, seems I’m double-booked.”
“I’ll say.” Rach laughed, staring at the sculpted pecs and a set of broad shoulders topped with thick blond hair that fell with just the right amount of disarray and waves to be perceived as untamed if not reckless.
Christ, how’d he keep it from tangling into a knotted mess? Vince reclined in her chair, or really sprawled, his brawny frame covering most of the black leather. Her eyes latched on Vince’s tattoo unimpeded by clothing for a couple of beats before gravitating to his motorcycle boots, crossed at the ankles. His boots dipped off the end of the recliner, but didn’t move—his whole body was completely still. He wore sunglasses, and she bet he was deep asleep. Was he alone as in no Drew?
Sommer scrunched her brow, glancing around and not able to vocalize her concern. Her other client came out of the restroom and she greeted him. “Morning, Ed.”
“How about if I take your touch-up? Don’t think he’d mind.” Rachel suggested with a wink.
“Thanks. I owe you.” She waved Ed over. “Would you mind if Rach touches you up?”
Shaking his head, Ed almost stumbled in his trek. “That’ll be all right.”
“Rachel will get you fixed-up.” Her client continued to bobble his head. No way was he about to argue if Rachel agreed to work on him.
Dressed in motorcycle leathers, Rachel featured her body as the daily version of a bad girl to the core. At thirty-something, she was single and had a longtime partner. Rachel like Sommer wasn’t inked to the max, but teased her skin with a trailing tattoo. The most delicate rose she’d ever seen inked. The design wound around Rachel’s wrist, tailing up her arm and wove into a band around her boss’s neck. The effect reminded Sommer of a delicate collar. The inked vine continued on a path, running down her back.
Today, Rachel wore a tiny leather vest and Ed’s eyes were glued to her boss’s chest. Rach broke his fascination by tapping on his arm. “Right over here. If you’re sure?”
“Oh yeah. I mean Sommer’s great, but I’m flexible. I didn’t follow her directions, so thanks for helping me out.” Ed coughed, his face turning bright red. He did accounting for the ranches around Clarkesville—a referral from another one of Sommer’s customers. More and more, she received word-of-mouth recommendations, and her client list was growing.
“Girl, we came early,” Ivy whispered in back of her.
Sommer swung her focus toward her friend coming out of her inking station, a small alcove in the corner of the shop.
“Hey ya. So I see.” She returned Ivy’s broad smile and opened her arms for a hug.
“Did we cramp your schedule?” Ivy asked in a low voice, her dark hair picked up in a messy bun and her equally dark eyes flashing from behind a pair of Ray-Bans.
“Absolutely not!” She burst out, surprised to see Ivy here, but also pleased, considering last night and all the mojo going on. In the daylight, things had a way of settling down, yet still, she was glad Ivy was here with Vince. Then she cut a glance around the shop. “Just you two?” Sommer asked.
“Yeah. Jen and Drew are still back at the hotel. Vince said he could sleep anywhere. We were up all night,” Ivy snickered.
“State of the nation,” she replied and finger brushed her hair into a high ponytail. Sommer separated the beaded curtains that she’d strung, giving her a little bit of a boundary for her corner within the tattoo parlor, and waited for Ivy to enter. They both tiptoed over to the recliner, and stared down at Vince’s sleeping face.
“If you’re tired, you can lie down in the other chair. It’ll be empty this morning.” Besides Rachel and her, another ink artist came in and held court in the late evening hours. Jeremy. His clients were serious tattoo consumers in the narrow Gothic vein that ran through thi
s part of Northern Texas.
“I’m good.” Ivy leaned over, whispering into Vince’s ear. “Vin, it’s time.”
The striking contrast of her friend’s dark hair and smooth olive skin against her newest client’s golden glow, both in hair and tan, beckoned notice. They looked amazing together; something definitely seemed to click, at least visually between Ivy and Vince.
He reached out and wrapped his hands over Ivy’s hips, his fingers grazing lower, and he smiled with that same Adonis grin he’d worn last night. “Really, gorgeous?” he questioned in a gravelly voice.
Well, maybe in the light of day, some things didn’t exactly fizzle out. Ivy brushed her mouth against Vince’s. “How about some coffee?” Ivy asked him.
“Fan-fucking-tastic idea,” he replied, cupping Ivy behind her head and bringing their mouths back together.
Sommer wondered if it would be like that with Rory. The spark growing even hotter after sex. Underneath her skin, instead of her hunger being sated from last night, her whole body was coiling into a hot mess. Twining ache and need in wanting more of what Rory had dished out, over and over, all night long. She turned away from Ivy and Vince, picking up her drawing pad and flipped through to a blank page. Several ideas popped into her head about the archangel design to compliment Vince’s tattoo. Reaching for an ink pen, she sat on her stool and made a few rapid sketches, eyeing the existing ink art on Vince’s neck and shoulder. She studied the tattoo and noticed areas that would look amazing with the idea of taking the linear motif and softening the artwork to meld with the natural contours of his body.
“Morning,” Vince said to her.
“You made it,” Sommer replied, sketching out her vision into a design with rapid strokes of her pen.
“Yep. Wanted to give you as much time as possible.”
Bouncing up from the stool, she came over to him and Ivy. “Take a look.”
He lifted his shades and took hold of her drawing pad. Their eyes met and he smiled—a genuine expression—and she felt her lips spread and curve upward. His gaze dropped to the pad and his brows drew together. He was below her field of vision and she couldn’t see into his eyes, except that he blinked rapidly.