by Amy Andrews
She looked like she wanted to deny it for a moment; then she sighed. “Yeah.” She looked like it had been a long day, and Suzanne could totally relate. “Better make it a Coke.”
“I’ll have a Shirley Temple,” Bob said like he was Dean Martin ordering a scotch on the rocks in Vegas. “And can you throw in an extra cherry? Doc says I gotta eat more fruit.” Then he laughed, and Ray laughed with him, slapping the bar several times. “I’ll have a Fuzzy Navel,” Ray said after he’d recovered from his laughing, playing Sammy to Bob’s Dean. “Extra fruit for me, too.”
And they both cracked up some more.
Tucker glanced at Della. “You giving out some new kind of happy pill at the old folks’ home?”
“Why?” she asked sweetly. “You want some?”
He scowled at her briefly before returning his attention to Simone. “What can I tempt you with?”
“Live a little, Simone,” her father said, his words encouraging despite his tone implying she didn’t know how to—not any longer anyway.
A hurt expression flitted across Simone’s face for a second, and Suzanne shot her father a stop-being-a-dick look as she rubbed her hand on her mother’s back. “Have the piña colada, Mom,” she said, her tone gentler and a little more teasing. “You said you were willing to try anything, remember?”
Her mother looked at her father, then nodded firmly. “All right, then, Tucker. Looks like I’m being outvoted.”
“Hey, if you’re really willing to try anything,” he said, “I can recommend the line-dancing classes.”
Her mother’s gaze skimmed to where the boot scootin’ was going on. She looked like she’d rather eat a live bug. There was trying new things and then there was line dancing. Even her father, who’d been advocating for her to step outside the box, looked horrified at the prospect.
“I think I’ll start with baby steps,” Simone said with a laugh as she returned her attention to Tucker. “Get me one of those piña coladas.” She dipped her head briefly to the side in the direction of the Rat Pack and said, “You can give them my fruit.”
“Much obliged, ma’am,” the one called Bob said with a chuckle.
“Hey,” the one called Ray said, narrowing his eyes. “Aren’t you Simone St. Michelle?”
To say everyone was surprised by the observation was a gross understatement. So much so that there were a few drawn-out beats of silence among them all.
Suzanne was used to her mother being recognized wherever they went, but she’d never expected anyone from Credence to know Simone St. Michelle. It wasn’t that Suzanne thought people in rural areas were ignorant or didn’t appreciate art. But sculpture was such a niche genre, and people rarely knew the names behind modern pieces in galleries.
Even though her mother was a veritable rock star of modern sculpture.
Her mother recovered first from the growing silence. “Why, yes I am,” she said, obviously thrilled.
“I thought you looked familiar.” Ray beamed at Simone as he slid off his stool. “May I shake your hand?”
Her mother nodded. “Of course.” She turned in her seat, holding out her hand for Ray, who took it the second he got close enough.
“It’s an honor to meet you.” Ray encased Simone’s hand and placed his other over the top like he never wanted to let her go. “Bob,” he said, “we have a bona fide artiste in our presence.”
A hot little stab of something that felt very much like jealousy thrust between Suzanne’s ribs. Which was ridiculous. She’d never been jealous of her mother’s art or the way people fawned over her. Nor was she now. No, it was the label of bona fide artiste.
She wanted that, she realized. She wanted it badly.
Bob rose from his seat and clapped his friend on the back. “Since when have you been a patron of the goddamn arts?” He also offered his hand as he smiled at Simone.
Ray reluctantly let go of Simone’s hand. “My late wife was a huge fan of your work.”
“Oh?” Simone said as she briefly shook Bob’s hand. “Was she an artist? Did she sculpt?”
“A little. She dabbled. It was more a hobby, but we’ve been to a few of your exhibitions in New York and in Washington once, too.”
General introductions were made then, including Della and Albie and finally Suzanne. “And have you met my daughter yet?” Simone asked Ray. “She’s been in Credence for almost two weeks now.”
“The pleasure’s not been mine.” He bowed a little as he held out his hand to Suzanne, which she took and smiled back politely.
“No, well, that rancher boyfriend of hers is keeping her very much to himself in that cabin of his,” Simone said with an indulgent laugh. A sudden hot prickle shot up Suzanne’s spine, warning her what was coming next, but her brain scrambled and her mouth felt gummy and she was too slow to interject. “Grady knows a good thing when he sees it.”
Oh, crap. Crappity crappity crap. Grady was going to kill her.
She’d seen his barn—there were probably a dozen implements in there alone that he could murder her with and use to bury her body.
The entire little circle went quiet and motionless, blinking in unison. Like a parliament of owls. Della broke the stunned silence. “You’re Grady’s girlfriend?”
“Grady has a girlfriend?” Tucker added.
“And you’re living with him,” Ray said, studying her face. “At the cabin, you say?”
Bob just out-and-out stared in disbelief. “On the ranch?”
Everyone was staring at her like she’d announced she was the new linebacker for the Broncos, their doubt over her mother’s claim evident. She sure as shit hoped it was because Grady having a girlfriend was preposterous and not that him having her as a girlfriend was preposterous.
Meanwhile, her mother suddenly realized her faux pas. “Oh dear.” She looked around at the surprised faces and then at Suzanne with an apologetic look. “I didn’t realize it was a secret.”
“As I said on the phone, Mom,” Suzanne said with a smile that felt like spackle drying on her face, “we’re trying to keep it on the down low for a while.”
“Well…yes, but…” The lines on her mother’s forehead became more pronounced as her hands fiddled in her lap. “I thought you meant from us. Not from the town. Oh god, I’m so very sorry.”
Suzanne had no idea whether Grady having a girlfriend would be a big thing in Credence or not, although the incredulousness on the faces surrounding her seemed to indicate that it would. But she did know it would be if she made a huge song and dance about it in Jack’s. What she needed to do was put a lid on this and move the fuck on.
She had to act like people finding out was no biggie. That it was just fine. “Don’t worry about it,” Suzanne said with a laugh she didn’t feel and a wave of her hand. “It’s not a state secret,” she dismissed. “We were just being a little selfish, wanting some us time.”
And that hole just kept getting bigger. Christ…that’s where he’d bury her, in the goddamn huge hole she was digging.
Suzanne could almost see the questions lurking within disbelieving gazes and flitting across crumpled foreheads, and the thought of digging herself in any deeper sat like a big old rotting fish in her intestines. Move the fuck on, Suzanne—move on!
“Ray,” she said, jumping in, not sure what she was going to say, just knowing she needed to divert attention ASAP. “Which Washington exhibition did you attend? Mom’s done several over the years, but there was that controversial one a decade ago that people still talk about.”
Thankfully Ray took the bait, and all eyes were back on Simone. Well…Della was still eyeing her speculatively, but most of the heat had shifted. Which was just as well, because Suzanne already felt hot enough.
Shit…what a mess. The universe was really kicking her ass over this small white lie that was growing bigger by the day. And now she was going t
o have to tell Grady that their secret—based on a lie—was out. That was going to be so much fun. Not. He’d been pretty damn specific about their fake relationship staying on the ranch.
But…maybe she wouldn’t have to tell him? Maybe she’d get lucky and find Credence wasn’t the stereotypical small town full of gossipy busybodies? That was possible, right? And really, how would Grady even hear such gossip out at the ranch? It wasn’t like he was the friendly type who encouraged visitors, who had a poker night with his buddies every Friday or invited the neighbors over for a cookout.
Hell, she hadn’t even seen him with a cell phone, although she assumed he had one because who didn’t own a cell phone, and surely it’d be necessary out in the middle of nowhere? For emergencies and the like.
And just like that, Suzanne was forgetting about the hundred and one ways Grady might kill her and thinking about the hundred and one ways he might kill himself out on that ranch without anybody knowing or maybe even caring for days. It was way out of town, and who did he really have looking out for him?
How often did Burl check in?
When would his ranch hands start to worry?
Up until a few days ago, Grady had been an infuriating enigma—a big, tough, taciturn rancher dude whom Suzanne would have said didn’t need anybody. But she’d been slowly getting to know him since her parents had arrived, and after his big reveal last night, she thought she was actually starting to understand him. God knew she’d lain awake long enough thinking about the trauma he’d been through and how it explained a lot about why he hadn’t wanted her here—particularly not this time of year.
It also explained a lot about why he was hiding away from everyone. Isolating himself from people because it was too hard to be constantly reminded of what he’d lost and that going through the motions of life, working hard every day, was much more preferable to having to deal with his losses.
Maybe he even told himself he liked it or that it was enough. That the life he had was enough.
But god…what a sad indictment. What was life without…joy? Without people to share it with? Would his parents have wanted him to shut everyone out? And surely there’d been a woman somewhere, sometime in the intervening years? There had to have been. He was too damn sexy for there to have been no one.
He’d been in the military, for god’s sake. In a uniform. There must have been a woman. Probably even women.
Or was cutting himself off from those possibilities just another way he walled himself off from any more hurts? From the everyday human things that took little chinks out of your heart that never quite healed?
She didn’t know why thinking about him all alone out here was like a hot fist in her gut, but it was, and she already knew that when she left here, when she went back to New York and left him behind, Joshua Grady was going to weigh on her mind.
If he didn’t kill her first.
“That’s a great idea; I’d love to. Sounds good, don’t you think, Suzanne?”
Suzanne blinked and came back to the conversation as a bunch of eyeballs looked to her for approval. “Um…I’m sorry, I was miles away. What?”
She avoided Della’s gaze that was saying, Hell yeah you were, precisely twenty-six miles out on the ranch with Joshua Grady.
“Ray’s going to talk to the mayor about holding an ice-sculpting competition. He’s going to arrange for some big blocks of ice to be brought in to Credence, just outside on the main street along the sidewalk, and your father and I—” She slid her hand into his, and a spark of hope lit in Suzanne’s chest at the gesture. “We’re going to judge it.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
“It’ll take a few days to organize, but I reckon we could get it done before Christmas,” Ray enthused.
“It’s fine.” Simone waved a dismissive hand. “We’re here until after Christmas, aren’t we, Suzanne?”
Suzanne nodded and smiled. Not if she could help it…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grady was pissed as he strode toward the cabin at two o’clock the next afternoon. It was a bitterly cold day, but anger had his engines roaring hot. And Suzanne St. Michelle was about to feel the full force of it. She’d pretty much annoyed the crap out of him from day one, and despite their relationship taking an unexpected turn—one that involved way too much touching and goo-goo eyes and way, way too much fucking kissing—she still was a pain in his ass.
He may have made a deal with her for a fake relationship, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wake every morning and want to send her away in that ridiculous van.
This morning hadn’t been any different.
And right now? Right now, thanks to his telephone conversation with Burl about his new girlfriend, he’d even leave his balls behind and drive her away in that hideous vehicle himself.
Slamming his hat on the outside hook and briefly stamping his feet on the mat, Grady yanked the door open. “Suzy!”
The house was warm, and the seductive aroma of baking cookies—sugar and vanilla and sweet spices—flooded his senses. But Grady was too ticked even for cookies as three happy faces greeted him from the kitchen.
“Oh, hey,” Suzanne said as she looked up from a mixing bowl with a warm smile of greeting. “You’re home early.”
Christ, that smile. She wasn’t even acting with that smile, and his heart lurched, which rocketed his temper even further. Smiling at him like she hadn’t told all of fucking Credence that she was his girlfriend. His pulse hammered at his temples; his lungs felt tight. He wanted to…kiss that smile right off her face. Kiss her hard and wet and deep until she wasn’t smiling. Until she was breathless and moaning and clinging and she could feel how damn angry he was.
Jesus. Fuck. Grady gave himself a mental shake. Get a grip, dude.
He didn’t bother to greet anyone. He just said, “I missed you so much, I couldn’t wait to see you,” forcing a lightness to both his voice and step he did not feel as he advanced.
He wanted to growl at her, wanted to fucking stomp.
Her parents smiled at him indulgently. Her mother was holding a bag of frosting, her father a tree-shaped cookie cutter, but neither of them held his attention as he closed in on her, their gazes meshing. God alone knew what was sparking in his eyes, but whatever it was, she read it well. Her big blue eyes widened slightly, her pupils dilated.
“We’re making Christmas cookies,” she said, and the low, raspy quality in her voice scraped along Grady’s nerve endings.
“Suzanne says they’re your favorites,” Simone added.
Grady didn’t bother responding to either of them. He was rounding the bench now and she was right there, in reaching distance, turning to face him in a yellow shirt that hugged her curves like a fucking glove, her hip pressed into the bench. He didn’t stop to think about what he did next, just stepped right into her space and slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders. Her breathing tumbled out all rough and choppy between them. So did his. She swallowed, and he could feel it all the way down to the V of muscle slung between his hips.
He’d come in here to confront her about the girlfriend thing, and she was smiling and looking good and smelling like fucking cookies, and the devil was riding him, whipping up his pulse and his libido, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to yell at her or lay her on the bench and bury himself inside her.
Jesus, he’d never known this maddening push and pull with a woman. Bethany had been sweet and lovely, and every other woman he’d been with since had been more than happy to let him lead.
This woman… God. This woman was so damn infuriating. Why did he have to want her so fucking badly?
“Grady?” she whispered, her voice husky and uncertain.
“Mistletoe,” he said, thanking all the sweet, sweet angels that Suzanne had gone mistletoe mad.
Then he lowered his head and crushed his mouth to hers. She gave a startl
ed little “Oh!” but it got lost in the hard press of his lips and the sweep of his tongue as he swallowed her all up—the sugar, the vanilla, the spice. Her cookie dough lips. He kissed her like they were the only two people in the room, the rush of his blood through his head and the lash of heat in his veins a roaring, snapping imperative. He kissed her until she melted against him and made a sexy little noise in the back of her throat.
“He sure wasn’t joking about missing you.”
Grady was so inside the kiss, the rush of his breath, the hammer of his pulse so loud inside his head, he wasn’t even sure which parent had spoken, but whoever it was, they ripped him right out like a kick to the balls.
Fuck. He took a step back, his hands falling from her arms. He stared at her, his chest rising and falling in unison with hers as she stared right back, her mouth wet and full. He could smell vanilla and taste cookies, and it didn’t seem to matter how much he wanted to toss her out on her ass because he wanted to kiss her more.
“Sorry,” he apologized, curling his fingers into loose fists to stop himself from doing just that as he switched his attention over her shoulder to her parents. “It’s been a long, cold day.”
Albie laughed. “Rather you than me.”
Grady’s gaze returned to Suzanne’s face—she still looked dazed and thoroughly kissed and he had to locate his earlier anger to stop himself from yanking her back again. She had some explaining to do, and he wouldn’t let his primitive masculine impulses derail him from the much-needed conversation.
Taking a steadying breath, Grady smiled at her parents. “Would you mind if I borrowed your daughter for a few minutes?”
Simone and Albie shot wry little grins at each other. “Not at all,” Simone said, shooing them with her hand. “I didn’t realize how creative frosting cookies could be, and we’ve got plenty more to do.”
“This is what I keep telling you, darling, anything can be a canvas.” Albie switched his attention to Grady. “You’ll have cookie masterpieces by the time you’re…” He faltered, realizing the road he was traveling down. “In no time,” he amended.