by Gina Ardito
“Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks.”
“No sweat. I’ll see you this afternoon.” He left her bedroom, and a minute or two later, she heard the front door close behind him.
She peered out the upstairs window, watched the black sedan pull out of her driveway and motor away. Assured she was alone, she located the box marked “Linens” inside her bedroom closet, and ripped open the packing tape. She dug through the contents until she found a thick, extra-large bath sheet and pulled it out. Still in the closet, she awkwardly stripped out of her boots, socks and jeans. She kicked the gray boxer briefs and socks into the corner of the room, out of her direct line of sight. Out of sight, out of mind, she hoped. After finding the box with her toiletries, she grabbed shampoo, conditioner, face and body wash, and her bath puff. The rest of her toiletries could wait ‘til later.
Leaving her tank top on for modesty’s sake, she wrapped the bath towel around her waist and padded barefoot to the master bathroom. No windows here, thank God, just a triple set of skylights cut into the ceiling, at least one of which displayed evidence of an active leak. She was seriously going to have to tackle a few of these repair issues first thing. After a shower and a change of clothes.
The bathroom featured a pink tub with pink and black tile, the retro four-by-four-inch square style from the sixties, and shower doors streaked with hard water stains. At least she wouldn’t need to finagle something to use as a curtain to keep the water from pooling on the floor. A pedestal sink provided no storage for any of her bathroom necessities. She’d definitely need to rectify that oversight in the immediate future, too. For now, she scattered them on top of the toilet tank.
Yessir, she had herself a real fixer-upper here. Still, the news wasn’t all bad.
Numb and desperate to run away from her troubles, she'd left Mitch and Ian in charge of securing her a cheap place to live in this town, and had half-expected to find herself living in a teeny cottage someplace in the sticks, its only luxury worth boasting about, running water. This crumbling old lady fit her better, even if it did need some work. Nothing in this house was exactly lush. But she’d already done lush. She’d done too lush and paid the price for it. This was just enough house for a divorced woman who was trying to rebuild her life after losing everything, thanks to a cheating, embezzling, liar of an ex-husband.
She turned on the shower, and the taps squealed to life. It took a while for the water to heat up, but the pressure was sufficient, and she eventually climbed into the tub with her assorted bottles. Once freshly showered and in her own clean clothes, she felt ready to tackle some of her challenges. After making her bed, she located the linen closet and stored the rest of her sheets, her towels and bathroom supplies. She hung up the clothes she could, left the rest folded neatly in a box on the floor inside the bedroom closet.
Satisfied with the top floor, she headed downstairs to tackle the kitchen. In no time at all, she’d completed unpacking her meager belongings, collapsed the shipping boxes, and faced at least another half-hour before Mitch returned. Only one thing left to do.
Seated on the silly little couch, she stared at her cell, almost hoping it would burst into flames in her hand.
“Get on with it, coward,” she growled at herself. Mustering up her last ounce of courage, she dialed his number, then secretly prayed she’d get his voicemail. Apparently, Lady Luck wasn’t taking requests today.
“Bo!” His voice boomed through the earpiece. “You make it okay? How’s Texas?”
“Hi, Dad. Texas is hot. And yes, I made it. Everything’s running on schedule.” She drew up a spark of hope from her dwindling supply. “The place looks great. Ian and Mitch did a great job getting everything done on time.”
“Good. That’s great to hear.”
Yeah. Good, great, that was all Dad ever wanted to hear from her. Everything’s good, everything’s great. Don’t mention you’re afraid or unhappy or worried. He never wanted her to show emotion, to “think like a girl.” Which, probably, contributed to Rob’s betrayal. She stowed that thought in the remotest corner of her mental closet.
“How are Connie and Ian?” Dad’s question refocused her attention.
“I haven’t seen Aunt Connie yet, but Uncle Ian has a twang now. He says Connie’s really taken to canyon living.”
“And you? You think you’ll take to canyon living?”
“Yeah, I do,” she said with false enthusiasm. “Everyone I’ve met so far has been great.”
“Well, good. Here. Talk to your brother.”
Crap. She didn’t want to talk to her brother—no matter which one it was. But Dad had used up his quota of words for the day and had already passed over responsibility to make chitchat with her to another family member.
“Hey, Bo-Diddley-Squat, how goes the beer business?”
Malcolm, Jr. “Malcontent,” she countered with his obnoxious childhood nickname.
“How you doin’, kid?”
Kid. “I haven’t been a kid in a long time, Mal.”
“You’ll always be my kid sister, no matter how old you get.”
“Now, I’m touched,” she retorted.
He paused, and murmured voices from the other end of the phone broke the silence, but nothing she heard was discernible.
“Okay,” he whispered a few seconds later, “Dad’s gone now. How are you really?”
“Numb,” she admitted with a sigh full of self-pity.
“Understandable,” he said. “You’ve been screwed over for a long time now.”
“Gee, thanks.” She let the acid drip on her reply.
“You know what I mean,” he said with a dismissive air.
Yeah, she did. Malcolm wasn’t a bad guy, though his two ex-wives would probably beg to differ. Bo, on the other hand, understood him better than anyone. He, like all the Sheehan men, didn’t know how to deal with a person’s feelings. They could acknowledge such a concept existed—that is, accept other people had feelings—but they never wanted to talk about them, soothe them, or commiserate over them. Malcolm, as the oldest, was probably the worst of the bunch—next to Dad, of course.
“You…umm…you need anything?” he asked, no doubt hesitant to get involved in a long-term discussion about her needs.
She looked around at her barren living room, found the stain on the ceiling that directly coincided with another leaky skylight. “I need a toolbox and weather stripping, for starters,” she said with a frown. “And a few thirty-six-hour days, so I can get caught up.”
“There’s an easier way.”
“There is?”
“Yeah. Hire somebody.”
Right. Of course. “Some of us can’t afford to hire somebody right now.”
“You need money, Bo?”
“No.” She’d already borrowed from her father. She refused to take a dime from any of her brothers. For now, she changed the subject. “What else is new at home?”
“Should you still be calling New York home?”
No. She supposed she shouldn’t. Despite the house being a rental, the move was meant to be permanent. “Texas is my new home,” she replied. “What’s going on at my old home?”
“Rob’s lawyer is filing another appeal.”
The information slid into her chest like a hot knife, and she took a sharp inhale, intensifying the pain. “On what grounds?”
“Basically, the money he stole was never in trust so he didn’t technically steal it.”
“That seems like a lot of acrobatic legalese.”
“Yeah, but it might work. According to Quinn, there’s a precedent.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“Precedent? It means the appeals court has heard a similar case before—a pretty famous one. Some kind of politician accused of embezzling funds meant for an insurance settlement and funneling them into his campaign coffers.”
Since he couldn’t see her roll her eyes, she’d have to let her tone tell him he was an idiot. “I know what a precedent
is. What does it mean for Rob? If he wins the appeal, what happens next?”
“That’ll be up to the DA. I would imagine, though, since we’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars, he’ll retry the case. Then again, if it’s not technically embezzlement, do they even have a case to try? Either way, it’s a good thing you skipped town when you did so you don’t have to relive all the gory details.”
“I did not skip town. I opted to begin a new business venture, which took me to another state.”
“Uh-huh. Someplace far away from all the bad publicity. I ain’t knockin’ it. Any one of us woulda done the same thing.”
The sound of a car pulling into her driveway gave her the out she needed. Once again, Mitch had become her knight in dented armor. “Gotta go, big bro,” she told Malcolm. “My ride is here. Say bye to Dad for me, and say hello to everyone else.”
“You take care of yourself. Good luck with the brewery. We’re all pulling for you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. What happened…well, it wasn’t your fault. You know that, right? None of us knew what he was up to. You weren’t the only one he fooled.”
“Thanks, Mal. That means a lot to me.” A knock on her front door jolted her to her feet. “Listen, I really have to go. Take care.”
“You, too. If you need anything, ask. Okay?”
“Okay.” She hung up and slipped the phone in her jeans pocket. Thanks to her brother’s pep talk, her heart felt lighter than a helium balloon. She fairly floated to the foyer where she opened the front door and came face-to-face with Drew Garwood.
He might as well have snipped the knotted end off her balloon and sent it zigzagging away on a wild ride.
****
The smile she’d worn when she first opened the door dimmed when she saw him. “What are you doing here?”
He had no idea what he’d done or said to garner such a reaction. When he’d left her at the brewery this morning, she’d given him a kiss. An hour later, he received a message from Mitch, telling him Bo was going to be very busy over the next few weeks and would call him when she was free. Drew knew then he’d been given the heave-ho by proxy text. Yet, he didn’t know why. After court, he’d returned to the brewery at the precise moment Mitch was on his way out to pick up Bo at this house.
“I volunteered to come pick you up in Mitch’s place. Have you had lunch yet?”
She full-out frowned now. “You don’t have to keep feeding me, Drew.”
Ignoring her, he pushed inside and strode straight toward the kitchen.
“Hey!” she exclaimed as she followed him.
He didn’t stop until he reached the refrigerator, yanked open the door, and found it exactly as he thought he would. Empty. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ on the lunch question,” he remarked dryly.
“I haven’t gone food shopping yet,” she said with a dismissive air. “I will, on the way home tonight.”
“Uh-huh. I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but the canyon doesn’t have any twenty-four-hour markets like you’re used to.”
She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. If she meant to intimidate him, she’d failed. He found her outrage adorable. “You have no idea what I’m used to.”
“Yeah, I do. I spent eight years in Chicago. I know exactly what you’re used to.” Then to tease her into admitting he was right, he rattled off a few food items rapid-fire, as he would question a hostile witness on the stand. “Pizza at midnight from your favorite place. What was the name? Mama Luisa’s? Mario’s?”
“Anthony’s,” she replied automatically.
“Right. A couple of slices with mushrooms and meatballs,” he guessed.
“Pepperoni.” A look of satisfaction crossed her features. She still hadn’t figured out his game.
“And your favorite bodega?”
“On the corner near my apartment. I’d run down every morning for a piece of fruit, a bottle of water, and a protein bar. Best six-dollar-and-fifty-cent breakfast in town.”
“Uh-huh. Chinese place?”
She jerked her thumb. “Two blocks over. Sun Wo. Great lo mein with steamed vegetables.”
“And if you wanted something a bit better or more exotic, you had…?”
“God, so many places! That little Thai place on Lex, half a dozen bistros within walking distance, Ethiopian, Jamaican, Russian, French. That’s the beauty of living in the city. You name it, we had it.”
“And they all delivered, too, right?”
“Well, yes, of course.”
He made a rude buzzing sound. “Blaaaaaagh! You’re not in New York anymore, Miss McKenzie. Hell, this isn’t even Amarillo. Sorry to tell you, none of that exists here in the canyon. You want to eat, we’ve got one diner that closes at ten every night, an ice cream shop that closes at eight, and the local market, which stays open ‘til nine every day except Sunday when they close at six. And none of them delivers.”
Her lips pursed, as if the realization hit her. She’d fallen into his trap. “What’s your point?”
He had to swallow his laughter. “Knowing the hours you keep, I suggest you get some food in this house before you head out to the brewery. There’s no place around here where you can run out at six in the morning for your fruit, bottled water, and protein bars. You’re probably going to want to stockpile them here. And don’t forget the coffee—if not for your own preservation, for mine. I’m not sleeping anywhere that doesn’t offer me coffee when I get up in the morning.”
“Who said you were sleeping here at all?”
He went in for the kill. “You did. This morning, as a matter of fact. Remember?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Okay, first of all, that was a joke. You seemed so put out that I wanted to wear your underwear I thought it might make you feel better if I offered you a pair of mine. It wasn’t a full-out invitation. Secondly, that was before I knew your family used to be landowners. And that they owned the land where my brewery stands now.”
The lightbulb clicked on in his head. “Whoa, whoa. Wait a second. That’s what’s got you so angry?”
“I’m not angry. I’m being…” She seemed to consider her next word. “…careful.”
“Too careful.” He reached out a hand, brushed it down her bare arm.
Her eyes widened, but she showed no other reaction. “Excuse me?”
“I couldn’t care less about that property, which is why I brokered the sale with you. I’ve brokered all the real estate deals for that land since I came back to Silverton. I’m a lawyer, not a rancher. I have no use for some old scrubland that hasn’t been a ranch since 1928—not even for some bizarre sense of heritage.” He flipped her a grin. “Though, I do admit I find it ironic, old Billy Garwood lost all that land for making sour mash whiskey, and now, ninety years later, you’re making beer there.”
Doubt still marred her features. “It doesn’t bother you? Not even a little?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“What about your brother?”
“Wade?” Drew considered his brother’s shortcomings aloud. “Wade’s bitter. You have to understand. He had big plans and big dreams when he was younger. He thought he was going to be rich and famous. Everyone around here did. He was a local legend.”
“Really? For what?”
“He was the town’s high school football star. Earned a full ride to Ohio State. Then he blew out his knee, lost his scholarship, flunked out of the local college my parents paid for him to attend, bankrupted two businesses, and now drives a truck for Dempsey’s Auto Parts.” Drew shook his head. “Sometimes, he blames his problems on bad luck or a family curse.”
She nodded in understanding. “Don’t tell me. A curse that began when your ancestor lost the ranch.”
“Yes, but don’t read anything into it. He’s bitter but, ultimately, lazy, which makes him harmless.”
“And what about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes. Are you harmless?” A s
mile twitched her lips.
“To your brewery? Hell, yeah.” He took a step toward her, closing the gap between them until they shared the same whisper of air. “Do I scare you, Bo?”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure? Because you scare me.”
“I do?” Bo licked her lips.
He nodded. “It’s been a long time since a woman’s affected me the way you do.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment we first met. Long, slow, deep kisses that will quench the fire you’ve lit inside me. Maybe under a shower spray, or in a rainstorm, or my swimming pool. Somewhere wet. Then, somewhere dry. I want to kiss you while the sun sets, while the sun rises, all night long, and first thing in the morning.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed hard. “Oh.”
“I’ll go slow, if you really want me to. But all those defenses you’ve got shielding your heart? They’re going down. One by one.” She inhaled, and he fused his lips to hers, bracing her against the refrigerator door.
He wasn’t gentle, and she responded in kind. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, parting her lips for his tongue. She tasted sharp and sweet, like cinnamon. His hands moved to the waist of her t-shirt, skimming upward beneath the fabric, feeling her soft flesh against the heat of his palms. When his thumbs brushed across the cups of her bra, she moaned low in her throat, and the sound echoed in his throat. Her nails dug deeper, probably embedding bits of his cotton dress shirt into his skin. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered but her, the scent of her, the taste of her, being inside her, above her, beneath her.
A vibration near her hips jolted him, and he jumped back in shock.
“My cell,” she said with an apologetic shrug as she dug into her jeans pocket. She glanced at the screen and looked up with him, her eyes twinkling. “It’s Mitch. Texting me a warning that you’re coming to pick me up.”
“His timing needs work.”
“Maybe. Then again…” She slid away from him to pick up her bag of tricks, holding it against her like a shield. “Maybe not.”
That quickly, the sensual spell between them was broken.