Last's Temptation

by Tina Leonard

  Which was annoying, Last thought with a frown. Wouldn’t he rather sit and debate like his brother with his good friend?

  He chewed, savoring the sugary pecan flavor, watching the three of them at the end of the table. Nanette made circles with her spilled milk while Mimi and Mason said their piece on both sides. Neither of them listened to the other, and so Last felt no need to referee anything.

  In fact, he quietly slid Mason’s piece of pie his way, happily forking into it. If only Mimi would come argue with Mason every evening, his brother wouldn’t want Last to share meals. Last wouldn’t feel guilty about Mason living in this big house alone. Sure, there were plenty of brothers around, but it wasn’t the same. When people had new families, they spent all their time with those new families, and single uncles were sort of solitary curiosities.

  The debate raged on, so Last reached for Mimi’s piece of pie, feeling pretty full but not wanting to pay too much attention to anything that was being said. Nanette looked at him as he snitched the pie, her eyes round with surprise.

  “Bad habit,” he whispered to her. “Don’t start it.”

  Mimi reached over and pulled her pie back. “Last, this pie is worth its weight in gold. I couldn’t allow you to sneak it from me, even though I adore you.”

  Mason blinked. “You don’t adore me,” he said.

  They all sat very still for a moment.

  “It was a figure of speech,” Mimi said.

  “But still,” Mason said, “you don’t even really like me.”

  Last looked at the ceiling, wishing he could turn himself into a fly and buzz out the door.

  “I like you,” Mimi said, “like I like all the boys.”

  Mason took that in for a second, then looked around for his pie. When he saw that Last had two plates in front of him, he glared at Last. “Last,” Mason said, “it’s high time you quit thinking everything has to be your way.”

  Last’s eyes bugged. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “No,” Mason said, his tone definitive. “You cannot be the baby with the rose-colored glasses anymore. You have to get a real job and a real life and…you have to stop living off my hard work.”

  Mimi gasped. Last stared at his older brother, who had suddenly become gargoylelike at the head of the table.

  “You’ve just been on easy street too long,” Mason said, “and it’s time for you to share the burden of running this ranch if you’re going to live here.”

  Mimi looked at Last, her surprise evident. Last shook his head. Mason was just being ornery. Last had always given a fair share of work to the ranch. “It was just a piece of pie, Mason,” he said. “Calm down.”

  “I’ll tell you what.” Mason speared his fork in Last’s direction. “I’ll calm down when I’ve said what I need to say. I’ve had no less than a half dozen phone calls today wondering when the wedding’s going to be.”

  Last frowned. “What wedding?”

  “Between you and that circus-girl magician,” Mason said sourly.

  “Why would anybody call you?” Last asked.

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe you could share that information.”

  “No.” Last shook his head. “Esme and I have never even talked about marriage. We’ve never even talked about dating.”

  Mason looked as if he didn’t believe him.

  “She’s moving off of the ranch, Mason,” Last said. “She’s finding a place of her own, and her parents are moving here to live with her.” He looked at his brother a bit crabbily. “Not that it’s really any of your business, but why didn’t you just come right out and ask me instead of going through the charade of having me to dinner?”

  Mason shrugged. “Dinner’s as good time as any to talk about things. I like dinner-table discussions.”

  Mimi rose, looking as if she wanted to escape, but Last pointed his fork at her. “Sit,” he said. “I sat for yours, now you sit for mine.”

  She sat and wiped up Nanette’s milky mess.

  “What exactly is your beef?” Last demanded. “As far as I can tell, you’re taking turns chewing on my head and Mimi’s. Neither one of us is likely to take it for long. So do you have something else on the brain or can we all get on with some civil conversation?”

  Mason wrinkled his brows. “The two of you irritate me is all.”

  Last and Mimi rolled their eyes at each other, then looked at Mason.

  “Mason,” Mimi said, “you’ve got a knot in your tail the size of Texas. And if you don’t settle down, I’m gonna give it a jerk you won’t forget.”

  Mason folded his lips in a grimace. “This is serious business,” he said. “Last ought to care about his reputation. People are talking.”

  “My reputation’s fine,” Last said. “People talk about you, too, but you don’t care. Why should I?”

  Mason stuck out his chin. “What do they say?”

  Last rose to his feet. He took a deep breath. “They say that you’re a bit of a stubborn mule. They say you should have never let me run wild as a March hare. They say you should have married Mimi a long time ago, when she was still available.” Last glared at his big brother. “But I guess it’s too late to worry about what they say, don’t you think?”

  Mimi grabbed up her baby. Mason jumped to his feet. Helga disappeared, the back door slamming. Even the candles flickered on the table before the gale force of Mason’s temper.

  “Out,” Mason said. “Off this ranch right now. Don’t let me see hide nor hair of you till a month of Sundays has passed.”

  “Fine,” Last said. He resisted the urge to toss a dinner plate or two as he left. Instead he simply walked out the door.

  Mimi looked at Mason, stunned. “Was that necessary?” she asked softly.

  Mason stared at her. “If I said it, then it was.”

  “You picked that fight.”

  “And I finished it,” he said.

  “You hurt him,” Mimi said. “I saw no call for that. He’s been kind and gentle all his days in this house. If he has lollipop vision, it’s because we all liked him that way. Besides, he’s grown into a fine man. If anyone has blinders on, Mason, you’re as guilty as anyone else.”

  “Is it true, Mimi?”

  She was surprised by his gruff question. “What?”

  “That they say I should have married you. That people talk.”

  She stuck out her chin to match his. “If they do, I don’t hear it,” she said. “So it doesn’t matter.”

  “It would matter to me.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t matter to me. I’m not living my life right if people aren’t talking, Mason,” she said, gathering up Nanette and heading to the door. “Personally I think you owe your brother an apology. If I’d been him, I would have pounded you.”

  Mason looked at her. “I know.”

  “Damn right.” She flung the door shut behind her, holding her daughter to her as she hurried to her truck.

  She understood Mason. A big part of her wanted to kiss him because she knew he was in pain and a tiny bit of her wanted to slap sense into his skull. “I never knew such a formidable ox,” she told Nanette as she put the little girl in her booster seat. “But please love him anyway, because he is about to drive off the last brother who has an ounce of pity and compassion for him.”

  ALL THE LIGHTS WERE OUT in the house where Esme and her children were staying. The bedroom light had just flicked off, and the window was open to let in the breeze.

  Last couldn’t stand being away from her any longer, especially after his fight with Mason. Too late to call—if she’d even answer. He decided to be more face-to-face. Shinnying up the tree trunk, he thanked his brothers for teaching him the art of drainpipe and tree scaling and tapped on the glass of the raised window.

  He heard a muffled scream. Before he could settle himself completely and securely on the branch, a broom poked out the window, attacking him with vigor. Bristles gouged his face and most particularly his mouth. Flailing to save himself,
Last lost his balance, falling two stories to the ground to land in a honeysuckle bush, which cushioned his fall, though stabbing him unpleasantly before dumping him to the ground.

  “Last!” Esme said on a gasp as she peered down to see what she’d dislodged from the tree. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

  He groaned piteously, wondering why life had to be so hard for him. It definitely did not seem to be so difficult for his older brethren, and wasn’t the baby of the family supposed to have it the easiest? All roads neatly paved for the youngest?

  “God, it’s a hardscrabble life,” he said to himself, appreciatively hearing the front door open with a jerk as Esme came running down the steps.

  “Last! Are you all right?”

  He moaned for theatrics, but he did feel as if his stomach was lodged somewhere around his head. “You hurt me,” he said.

  “Well, I should think so! Haven’t you ever heard of a doorbell?”

  He had, but she smelled so good and the satin of her nightgown was so smooth and soft that he felt his approach had been the correct one. “If I’d rung the doorbell, you would have put on a robe, and that’s the best-case scenario. Worst-case scenario is that you might not have opened the door at all. Yet here we are, enjoying a nice moonlit chat on the lawn, just like the old days.”

  She gently cradled his head, looking closely in the dimness to see if there was blood, he supposed. But it was only his heart that really pained him.

  “What old days?” she asked.

  “Antebellum, I suppose.” He didn’t know and cared less, as long as she kept holding him in her lap. “When my mother was alive, we used to have journeys after dark to hunt skeet.”

  “Skeet?” Esme laughed, and he liked the sound. “Is that a country bird?”

  “It’s the bird a father conjures when he sneakily wants to teach his sons about the stars and planetary alignment.” Last sighed. “Mom would bring watermelon after our hunt—”

  “Disguised as an astronomy visual aid, no doubt.”

  “Don’t interrupt,” Last said. “I’m trying not to lose consciousness.”

  “Really?”

  She leaned closer to him, and Last felt soft breasts brush his face. The absolute next thing he was going to do, if he ever got the chance to be alone and fully conscious with Esme again, was make certain he enjoyed every single centimeter of her body.

  “Do you want me to call Mason?” Esme asked.

  “Absolutely not!” The thought was horrifying. Mason would make the “circus girl” go away—or drive her away, the horrid beast. “I am happy to enjoy the moon with you.”

  Esme stroked his hair. “Eventually I must go to bed.”

  “I could lose consciousness in your bed just as easily as out here on the lawn,” Last offered.

  “I don’t think so,” Esme said with a laugh. “I think the only bed you should be in may be a hospital bed.”

  “But then you won’t be there,” he said, “and I’d probably feel worse than ever.” He took a deep breath, ignoring all the various aches and pains in his body. “I had something I wanted to tell you and now I can’t remember.”

  “It had to be important for you to climb a tree,” Esme said. “I’m curious. Please remember.”

  Last sighed. “I can’t. But I think it went something like, Please take me with you in your life.”

  Esme laughed. “That was not what you were going to say. You’re trying to get attention. Can you sit up?”

  Slowly he eased himself to a sitting position.

  “Can you stand?”

  Anything to have an excuse to touch her. “You’re slippery. But I like the gown.”

  She put her head under his arm for support. “You seem to be moving well.”

  “And may I return the compliment,” he said chivalrously. “What color is the gown, by the way? It appears to be sort of a muted rose, which is one of my favorite colors.”

  “Quiet, you,” she said. “It’s fuchsia.”

  “Ah, the hot mama of the pinks,” he said. “And I feel a deep back on it. Très elegant.”

  “Last!” Esme stopped to look up into his face. “Let me guess—Jefferson men are never too hurt to feel up a woman.”

  “Not if she’s under his arm,” Last said happily. “Being hurt and dead are two different things, you know.”

  Esme gently helped him up the steps. “You could have died if you’d landed on your head. Or been paralyzed.”

  “Tree climbing is a dangerous art. Discourage your children from learning it.”

  “If you don’t teach it to them, they won’t.”

  “However, I’m not the one who has them trussed and carried to the top of a circus roof,” he said, comforting himself that he was nearly inside her front door.

  “True,” she said, “but they are wearing harnesses. You had no safety gear. And I don’t think you had anything important to say, either.” She helped him to the sofa. “Last Jefferson, were you spying?”

  “I swear I didn’t see a thing. I wasn’t even sure if you were in your room,” Last said. “I was hoping, of course, but not certain.” He relaxed as she covered him with a blanket.

  “I’m calling Mason,” she said. “You should be examined by someone who knows you.”

  Last opened both eyes, staring at Esme in the beautiful nightgown. “Esme, I swear you know me far better than my brother ever would. And I really was going to suggest you take me with you wherever you go.”

  “Like an overly large, overly stuffed bear?”

  He shook his head. “Like an overly large, overly big and capable bachelor.”

  She perched on the coffee table, looking at him. “You wouldn’t be happy.”

  “I swear I would. I have a yen for your magical skills. In fact, you’ve made the pain disappear,” he said, pulling her toward him. “The doctor recommends two kisses and call her in the morning if I don’t feel better.”

  “Her?” Esme said with a smile, though he noticed she didn’t pull away.

  “She is a superhot doc in Lonely Hearts Station. You’ll meet her since you’ll be doing circus duty there.” He sat back, releasing her. “I suppose you will continue performing?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Mason doesn’t like it.”

  “Why? He rides in rodeos—or did. That’s performing.”

  “But not in fishnets and bikini things that show your luscious curves.” Now that Last was thinking it over, he decided only he should be seeing the secret parts of Esme. “It’s not exactly beachwear, you know,” he grumbled. “Your costume has sequins on it, which draw the eye. Lots of eyes, in fact.”

  She laughed. “You are such a baby.”

  “I’m developing an inappropriately possessive streak where you’re concerned,” Last said. “And Curtis and Amelia, too.” He laid his head back on the sofa, thinking about taking a nap. It was all too tiring to sort out at once. A giant yawn escaped him. “Excuse me,” he said. “You can just leave me here. Despite that hot nightie, I think I’m too addled to be my usually horny self.”

  She peered at him. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

  “Maybe,” he said tiredly, closing his eyes and wondering if he was going to faint. Then again, if he did, the only place he really wanted to be was there, with Esme and the children. “There are lots of maybes in life,” he said philosophically. “Like maybe I should just propose and get it over with.”

  Chapter Nine

  For just an instant Esme stared at the cowboy, his head sprawled back against the sofa. Then she turned him so that he could lie more comfortably. “Propose and get what over with?” she said. “You sound as if you’re going to a gunslinger’s grave.”

  He caught her hand, kissing it as if she were a royal princess, before pulling her down to lie against him, spoon-style, on the sofa. “You’re just not used to our ways. We Jeffersons like to do things when we’ve had sense knocked into us.”

  “Do not try to blame this o
ne on me,” she said. “You are accident-prone. I and that curse had nothing to do with it. So keep your proposal to yourself,” she said. “And that, too.”

  He shifted so that his erection wasn’t prodding her back. “Sorry. Fuchsia’s my favorite color.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t see with that part of your body.”

  “Esme, I think I’m falling for you,” Last said, easing up so that he could look into her eyes.

  “You fell out of a tree,” she said, not wanting to trust him while he was injured and possibly concussed. “You’ll be better in the morning.”

  “But around you I see stars my father never taught me about.” Last touched her hair, moving it gently away from her face. “You make me happy. And crazy. Sometimes astonished. Mostly happy.”

  She smiled at him. “What about Mason?”

  “He’s a gargoyle,” Last said, “though he means well.”

  “Maybe he knows you better than you know yourself.”

  “I highly doubt Mason knows any of us as much as he wants to,” Last said. “There is a great possibility he has a daughter sitting right underneath his nose and he doesn’t even know it.”

  Esme gasped. “Nanette?”

  Last shrugged. “Maybe. Though I used to think he was far too lordly to ever succumb to an affair of the heart. Too busy keeping us all in line to step out of line himself.”

  “So?” Esme’s heart was racing as she thought about what Mimi was enduring for her love of a Jefferson male.

  “So tonight, when we were all at the table, Mimi had seated herself close to Mason, with Nanette at her side. It was the three of them, and then me at the other end, like a saddle sore on a horse’s butt. And as I saw them sitting there, a comfortable threesome by candlelight, it came to me that little Nanette looks an awful lot like her uncle Mason.”

  Esme’s eyes widened. “I’ve never seen the resemblance.”