Boone

by Lori Foster

  Great. Now they had a big wet dog between them. Maybe he should change her name to Cock Blocker.

  Sounding suspicious, April asked, “Why are you grinning?”

  He’d probably get slugged if he told her. “Inside joke.”

  April lifted a tawny brow.

  “Between Sunshine and me.” Before she could press the issue, he blurted, “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  Both brows went up and she blinked. “Is that a question or a demand?”

  A desperate need. He couldn’t say that to her, so he asked, “Whichever works?”

  With a mocking glance tossed his way, she rubbed Sunshine’s ear. “I have a date.”

  Well, hell.

  Not what he wanted to hear, but he wouldn’t give up.

  Letting his foot bump hers in the water, he asked, “Does your date know you were here trying to cop a peek at my naked ass?”

  Suppressing a grin, she shouldered him hard—and didn’t move away. Sunshine grumbled at being jostled.

  To the dog, April apologized. To Boone she said, “My date is just that, a date.”

  “Meaning?” As he spoke, he touched his foot to hers again, saw her stiffen slightly, but they each maintained the contact.

  “It’s a single night out. I don’t owe him any explanations.”

  Well, that was good to know. On the one hand, Boone hated everything he’d heard, namely that she dated a lot, usually with a different guy every time.

  On the other hand, she wasn’t seriously hooked up with anyone, and that meant he had a chance.

  So damn many nights, lying in his bed in the tiny room he and Frank had hastily converted in the basement, Boone had wondered what he’d do if he returned to find April married. What if she’d had a couple of kids?

  Buckhorn had its own Facebook page that he followed. He checked it often, but never saw news specifically about April. Other members of her family, sure. But not her.

  He’d convinced himself, night after lonely night, that she’d be in Buckhorn when he came back, single and still interested.

  He’d refused to believe he’d missed his chance—not to take her virginity, but to build a relationship.

  To him, April represented forgiveness, happiness, home and hearth.

  He shouldn’t push, but it felt like he’d been waiting forever to get back to her. Once he’d returned home, he hadn’t rushed to ask her out, thinking it’d be better if he gave her time to come to him. That had taken a damn week, and his patience was shot. “If he’s not that important—”

  “It’s our first date,” she interrupted. “He’s been asking me out for a while, and it’d be unkind to back out now.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Boone tried, “Tomorrow then.”

  “Different date, different guy.”

  His teeth clenched at the cavalier, almost gratified way she stated that. “This weekend?”

  It was her turn to fall silent. She kicked at the water, sending out a spray, then leaned forward to watch a small silvery fish swim by.

  “April?”

  She sighed. “I didn’t come here for that.” Glancing at him with what looked like regret, she added, “Besides, I thought you were busy with renovations.”

  “I am.” Guilt squeezed in, much as he tried to fight it. He should be working on the cabin, but so far he’d avoided the inevitable. “Before we moved, I didn’t do much to help Dad keep it up.” He’d been too busy sleeping around and getting into trouble. He’d kept a job, but it hadn’t amounted to much and rather than contribute to the household expenses, he’d blown through every dime he made on his own entertainment.

  At twenty-three he’d had a Camaro as well as a Harley, and whenever he had time to spare—meaning no date or night out with his friends—he’d spent his time babying his rides, washing, polishing, detailing. As if they’d mattered.

  Shit, his priorities had sucked.

  Again, April touched his hand. “You keep drifting off,” she said gently. Her gaze searched his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He snorted. Hell no, he didn’t. But given what he wanted from her, she had a right to know.

  Still, it took him a minute to get started, to clear the emotion from his throat. “Dad didn’t ask for much those last few years we lived here, probably because he got tired of wasting his breath. The grass would get knee high before I’d cut it. More often than not he took out the garbage because I’d keep forgetting.” Fucking hating those memories, Boone ran a hand over his mouth.

  Hating how he’d made his dad feel.

  Hating who he’d been.

  Needing to move, he leaned back on his elbows—and saw April’s gaze go over his body, her lips part, before she caught herself and looked away.

  Nice that she liked his body.

  Now if only she’d like him.

  Because of her big heart and gentle nature, she said, “Most young people are self-absorbed,” giving him an out.

  An out he didn’t deserve.

  “Dad’s car was falling apart, and instead of helping him with it, I bought my Harley. I always had something more important, better to do, than show him any appreciation.” His jaw flexed as he struggled with the truth. Because it hurt, his voice lowered, quieter, shamed. “One day when I was heading out on a date, he asked me to wait. He’d done that before, you know? Stopping me to talk about responsibilities and all that.”

  “It’s what dads do,” she agreed.

  “Yeah, well, I was an asshole, full of attitude, and he gave up. I remember watching him head into the living room. Jesus, it seemed to take him forever before he dropped into his recliner. He looked...” Exhausted. Frail. “Defeated.”

  April half turned to face him, her brows pinched in concern, her eyes direct. Sunlight gilded her lashes. “He was already sick?”

  A million times, Boone had thought about talking with her, seeing that exact understanding look in her eyes. Somehow he’d always known that she’d give him the forgiveness he couldn’t give himself.

  At seventeen, she’d been more mature, more caring, than he’d been at twenty-three. He’d watch her with her friends and family, and he knew she was a catch for any man smart enough to win her over.

  He hadn’t been that man. Not then, but hopefully he was now.

  Unable to bear her concern, he looked away. He needed to get through this before they could start taking steps forward. “I don’t know what made me hesitate that day, but for once in my miserable life I changed course.”

  She put her small hand to his shoulder in a gentle rebuke. “You were never miserable. Please don’t say that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “You might see it that way, but I promise you, no one else did.”

  God, how he wished she was right.

  She withdrew her touch, but the things she made him feel remained. “What happened?”

  “I went into the living room and sat on the coffee table across from Dad. I even apologized and asked him if he needed me to do something.” Boone tried, but still his voice turned scratchy and thick. “He didn’t. He just...he had to tell me about the cancer.”

  “Oh, Boone.”

  His mouth flattened as he struggled, his nostrils quivering with his uneven breaths. Fuck. Fuck, he would not tear up to her. Not that. Not to April.

  As if she understood his struggle, April stretched out on her side by him, elbow bent, her head propped on her hand.

  Yeah, that—that was the distraction he needed. He took just long enough to get his emotions under control.

  He had a feeling she’d changed positions for that very reason.

  “I imagine that conversation was really difficult for both of you.”

  After swallowing hard and drawing two slow breaths, Boone nodded. “Dad already knew his days were numbe
red. We thought he’d only have a few years, but he almost made it five.” It wasn’t long enough. No amount of time would have been enough for Boone to make it up to him, to take back the nights his dad had worried, the nights he’d asked for help...

  But hadn’t gotten it.

  “You were with him in Arizona,” April said easily, with a reassurance he didn’t feel. “I’m sure that was a comfort to him.”

  The harsh laugh lacked any humor. “Yeah, five years while he was steadily dying I was there. The fifty-five years while he lived, not so much.”

  “Boone,” she chided, and her small hand settled on him again, resting on his forearm just above his wrist. “You can’t count the years when you were sixteen or under. You were just a kid then. And...” The words trailed away.

  Boone looked at her. He was a jerk for wanting more, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “And what?”

  Tentatively, she said, “I know your mom had left...”

  Yeah, he definitely didn’t want to talk about that. “Let’s take a dip,” he said abruptly, forcing a smile. “It’s hot.”

  Her hold tightened slightly, then morphed into a platonic pat. “You don’t have to do that.” Sighing with acceptance, she started to sit up. “I’m sorry I overstepped.”

  Damn it. He wanted her in his life, and instead he was chasing her away. Again.

  “Wait.” This time he took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Keeping her at his side. “Please.”

  Relenting, she stared at their hands with big eyes. As if she couldn’t decide what to do, her fingers opened and closed in little twitches.

  Between them, Sunshine stretched and groaned before resettling herself.

  Knowing he had to do this right, Boone said, “You can ask me anything. Seriously.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, I just... I didn’t expect that, you know?” He tried a laugh that fell flat. His mom had booked a long ago, but it still burned him to think of it. “It’s fine. Really.”

  She caught her bottom lip in her teeth, undecided, before giving him a small nod. “How old were you?”

  “When I moved away? Twenty-four, a year older than you are now.” In a rush, he said, “I was too old for you then, plus my dad had just told me about the cancer and that he was moving, and I’d decided to go with him, so—”

  Her face blanched. “I meant when your mother left.”

  Oh. Shit. Yeah, he was so anxious to explain things to her, to make her understand, that he had a one-track mind.

  He had to remember that she didn’t want to talk about that day. It was something he needed to ease into.

  Later.

  When she was hopefully more relaxed with him.

  Trying again, he said, “Right. Let’s see...” He cleared his throat, wishing it wasn’t so difficult. “I’d just turned sixteen then.” Too old to cry, or so he’d thought, and too young to show any compassion for his dad. “It wasn’t a secret. A lot of people around here knew, your uncle included.”

  “Which one?”

  True, April had a big family, and they influenced much of what went on in the town. “Morgan Hudson.” Once the sheriff, then the mayor, always a badass. Morgan had to be in his midsixties now, but when Boone saw him in town the other day, he wasn’t surprised that Morgan was still a pile of muscle and take-charge attitude. It was in the man’s DNA.

  “Matter of fact,” Boone said, “your uncles Sawyer and Jordan knew, too. Not sure about your dad.”

  Gabe Kasper, April’s father, was the youngest of the four brothers. It was known in Buckhorn that April’s grandmother was once widowed from Sawyer and Morgan’s father, divorced from Jordan’s father, and then happily married to Gabe’s father. All of the brothers were as close as full blooded siblings—and they protected their own. Gabe, especially, was known for his extreme protectiveness toward his daughters. A good guy, a family man through and through, but if rumor was correct, that hadn’t always been true.

  Supposedly, before meeting his wife, Gabe Kasper got around.

  Rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, April said, “Not much happens in Buckhorn that my family doesn’t know about.”

  Because they cared, not because they intruded. Boone had always envied the entire family. There were a lot of them, they were close and they represented the best Buckhorn had to offer. “I specifically remember Morgan knowing because he caught me out late one night.”

  “Getting into mischief?” she teased.

  Worse, he’d been vandalizing a vacant building, taking his anger out on brick and mortar. “Something like that.” Boone thought the way she idly stroked her thumb over his was instinctive, not flirting, but it stirred him all the same. He liked touching her.

  He ached for more.

  But that wasn’t in the cards, at least not yet. “Morgan scared me half to death when he started lecturing. Then an hour or so into it, I realized that was all he was going to do. He wouldn’t tell my dad, or arrest me or anything like that.”

  “Down deep, Uncle Morgan is a teddy bear.”

  Boone laughed. Yeah, way down deep, maybe. “I think he was worried about adding to Dad’s grief, but he told me if he busted me again, the story would be different. I believed him.”

  Dubious, she asked, “And after that you walked the straight and narrow?”

  Yeah, right. They both knew that wasn’t so. “Let’s just say I limited my activities to fighting, skipping school and enjoying girls.” Disgusted with himself, he added, “Dad was thrilled when I graduated high school instead of getting expelled.”

  “The fights,” she said with a knowing smile. “I seem to remember that you stood up to bullies while defending other people.”

  “Not for any higher purpose.” He wouldn’t let her think that. “I was bigger than a lot of guys my age, and I was perpetually pissed off. It just felt...fairer, you know? To go after the jerks, to strongly encourage them to back off.”

  Few did. Bullies always thought they could rule, but they hadn’t counted on Boone, didn’t know he’d relished the pain—both received and given. “When I blew off college for a job in construction, Dad didn’t bitch too much. I think by then he’d given up.”

  “Accepting someone’s choices is not the same as giving up. Besides, not everyone wants or needs college. Even without it, you’ve always kept a job.”

  “It didn’t matter. I spent every dime I made.” At twenty-four, as a grown-ass man, he hadn’t once thought of offering his dad money. The closest he’d come was stopping at the grocery a few times, or bringing him home takeout.

  “Boone.” April blew out a breath. “Under the circumstances, with your mother gone, I mean, it’s understandable that you...rebelled a little.”

  If only she were right. “Mom leaving was rough, you know? For Dad, I mean.” Boone refused to dwell on his own disillusionment and hurt over a mother who wanted something better, meaning a life without him. “He was so damned devastated when she dropped the bombshell. Hell, he barely spoke for a month.”

  April looked down at their linked hands again. “That must have been really hard on you, too.”

  What? No, this wasn’t about him, he wouldn’t let it be. “I should have understood, should have helped Dad, but instead I became a royal shithead.”

  “Royal shithead,” she repeated with a grin. “Colorful choice of words.”

  “Sorry.” He scowled at his coarse manner. “I sometimes forget I’m not talking with the crew anymore.”

  “The construction crew?” She eased her hand away, but did so casually, then sat up, her legs stretched out, her ankles crossed. “Were you close to them? Do you miss them?”

  Being this close to her was torture, especially with her in that bikini. “They became friends, and in some ways family.” He looked into her eyes. “Yeah, I miss them.”

 
Even if they were reminders of his hardest days with his dad slowly dying.

  “This is home, though,” she said, understanding.

  He nodded. “This is home.”

  * * *

  APRIL FELT HERSELF THAWING. She’d come here today, propelled by stubborn pride, determined to prove something—and instead she’d learned a few things.

  She and her mother were close, always had been. When April was sixteen, on the verge of being an adult, her mother had played a key role in guiding her, comforting her.

  Loving her.

  But Boone’s mother had walked away. How devastating that must have been. How did someone get over that?

  To this day, April could confide anything to her mom. Well, anything other than how she’d dropped her top in front of Boone, then suffered horrible shame as he’d turned away.

  She hadn’t told anyone about that.

  And that made her think... “Speaking of home,” she said, wondering how to ask. “You left not long after...well, after I—”

  “Two days later,” he replied softly, knowing what she wanted to ask. “I’d already packed my and Dad’s stuff, at least the basics.”

  It felt like a ridiculous and selfish worry when she now knew that Boone had gone through so much, but she’d agonized for years wondering about it, so she finally blurted, “Did you tell anyone?” Staring out at the lake was easier than looking at him. “About me, I mean. What I did?”

  When the seconds stretched by and he didn’t reply, she glanced at him.

  His body was tense, his jaw tight. He immediately caught her gaze and wouldn’t let her look away. “Admittedly,” he said, his voice like gravel, “I was a jerk. A grade-A prick. That day, though? It was special to me.” Fist to his chest, he said, “That’s my memory, and I’ve never shared it with anyone.”

  Relief coursed through her, and with it, a lessening of her embarrassment. “Me, either.”