by Anne Marsh
“Lots of work.” Angel’s voice seems almost deliberately dry, but it still contains the little growl that starts me thinking about sex. With him. The two of us naked and going at it.
“You listen to your boyfriend here.” The contractor nods toward Angel. “He’s right.”
Shit. Now I need a new contractor.
Watching the man go, I’d bet those words horrify Angel. I’m not the kind of woman he admires. Cool, put-together brunettes are more his style. As soon as he’s done whatever it is he thinks needs doing here and he gets the estate wrapped up, he’ll return to work, and we’ll see each other from a distance rather than from this impossible, too-close perspective.
Things will go back to the way they were before.
Angel will go back to the way he was before. God, I shouldn’t wish things were different.
Angel is the kind of hard, disciplined, determined man who knows precisely where he’s headed in life and how to get there. He’s all wrong for me, but that does nothing to stop the heat from blossoming inside me as he moves around my kitchen, testing the cabinet doors.
Wanting him is crazy.
Sunset makes color streak the horizon and elicits a raucous commentary from the nesting birds in the cottonwoods. I’ve always loved this pretty time, when the sky softens up and things get ready to hunker down for the night. The morning glories twining up the chimney have closed in anticipation of the darkness. For a moment, sitting on what’s left of the house’s wrap-around porch, I can pretend I’ve gone back in time. Dusk makes it harder to see that, while the porch was white once upon a time, now most of the paint has peeled off in long, curling strips.
Last Christmas, I bought home design software and drew a plan for me and Auntie Dee. The two of us talked for hours on the phone, adding rooms or moving them around. I took too long, though—waited too long. I slide the long roll of drawings out of the tube and spread them out on the porch. I included a big open kitchen for Auntie Dee, who loved to cook and who always had folks stopping by to chat. After our last call, I added windows upstairs for Auntie Dee to look out at the ranch land where she grew up, and even more downstairs because I had a sneaking suspicion that the stairs were finally too much for Auntie Dee.
At least the heart attack was quick.
Auntie Dee never had to leave the home she loved. By the time I got the message and understood there wouldn’t be any more phone calls ever again, Auntie Dee was gone. The EMTs didn’t have time to carry her outside, she left so fast.
“You gonna share with the class, darling?” Beside me, Angel rests a booted foot on the bottom rail of the porch. He’s picked the sturdiest rail of the lot, probably the only one not likely to break from his weight. Most of the boards are rotted clear through.
“Tell you what?”
“Why you’re so sure you want to hang on to this place?” He nods toward my sagging porch step seat and the drawings. “What your plans are?”
“It’s just about a tear-down, isn’t it?” Even I can tell my voice sounds rueful.
“Yeah,” he drawls. “It’s safe to say that. Bulldozing it would be the most practical option. We did what we could for Auntie Dee, but she wouldn’t let us help much. None of us realized the house was this bad, or we would have done something, Rose. I promise you that.”
I believe him. Angel isn’t a nice guy and he has a mouth on him that betrays his years in the SEALs, but he’s a protector and no one needed protecting more than Auntie Dee. I’m not sure why she thought she needed to ask him to look after me, though.
“I can fix the house.” I have the time. That’s one advantage of being laid off and jobless.
“Maybe.” I hate how inscrutable his face is. “This place is going to take a whole lot of work, Rose, and it’s going to take even more money. Do you have that?”
“I’ll find a way,” I tell him and I will.
Angel’s hand brushes my shoulder. This isn’t the first time he’s touched me since we came out here. He threaded his fingers briefly through mine to tug me upstairs, and he cupped my foot with his hand when I asked for a leg up to inspect a ceiling fan. Jumping up, suddenly desperate to get away, I perch on the porch swing, hoping to God it didn’t give way beneath me. Angel is driving me crazy, and he doesn’t even know it.
“You ever just known a place was the right one?”
“Sure.” He shrugs, powerful shoulders moving beneath the faded cotton of his T-shirt as he moves toward me and the swing. “The ranch.”
He’s close enough now that I can feel the heat coming off him. The V-neck of his shirt exposes the powerful column of his throat and makes me think about something besides home repairs.
“So how’d you feel if someone came along, wanting to buy you out, Angel? Would you give up that land?”
“Hell, no. That ranch has been in my family for generations. You don’t sell something like that.”
The fierceness that fills his voice and stamps his face is far too sexy. Angel’s ancestors were members of the Spanish aristocracy who came to California to start a new life and then mixed with the fierce, free-spirited Native Americans. Those men were warriors. Men who held on to what they took and who fought for every inch, every arroyo. Angel is a possessive man.
“It’s like that for me. I don’t want to sell this place.”
He doesn’t look convinced. At all. “It’s not the same. This isn’t a ranch. This land hasn’t been part of your blood, part of your family for more than a century.”
I wonder if he’d have me arrested for assault if I hit him. Probably not. Angel takes care of his own problems.
“This is my home.” My voice sounds strained, but fuck him. My home counts too, even if I don’t have ancestors dating back to Mayflower days.
“Sure, Rose,” he snaps. “And I suppose the whole time you were gone, when you were anywhere but here, you just couldn’t wait to come back.”
He can take his supposition and shove it.
He has the literal truth on his side. I ran, and I ran hard. I’m a serial mistake maker, and there’s no way to fix the past. Maybe, I’ll fail at home repairs, too. Maybe, I won’t get Auntie Dee’s house perfect, but I still get to try. I still get to come home.
I gaze at his gorgeous, hard face, searching for words that don’t come. He shouldn’t be so calm always. Getting truly angry at Angel is unfamiliar territory, but it also feels right. I’m done letting other people tell me how to feel, what to do. Where to go and where to be. First in L.A. as a child and then here in Lonesome, I’ve always believed in some impossible standard that I should live up to. I can’t be perfect, but I’ve also moved passed making a career out of imperfect.
“Hard as it is and as naturally as it comes to you, don’t be an ass,” I snap.
His head whips up. I may have pushed him too hard. Angel gets as immobile as rock. From the look in his eyes, he’s more than halfway to pissed off now. Too bad I don’t give a damn. It’s part of my not perfect plan.
“You don’t get to stand here on my porch and tell me what I do or don’t feel. Auntie Dee was the best thing that ever happened to me, and don’t you think I ever forgot that. I left. That was what I needed to do, then. Now, I’m back.”
“Half,” he says. “You own half of a porch. The other half is mine.”
“Then maybe you should go stand on it,” I snap and point. He can have the half that’s visibly rotted and I hope he falls through.
“Let me write you that check, Rose.” His face is closed off and unreachable.
For once, Angel doesn’t get what he wants. “I’m fixing this place up.”
He turns away from the porch railing, watching me intently. I have no idea what he expects to see. “You want to play house, come stay at the ranch house. You can redesign and redecorate to your heart’s content.”
“Consolation prize?”
“No.” An unrecognizable emotion flashes across his face, and then he closes the distance between us, his big, work-ro
ughened hands caging me in the swing as he plants his arms on either side of me. “You know you always have a place on Blackhawk, Rose. You can come home to us.”
“I’m not family.” It needs saying.
And of course he agrees with me on this one thing. “You’re not. Whatever you were to my brothers, don’t make the mistake of thinking I ever saw you as a sister.”
There is that familiar hurt, followed by a flicker of hot, liquid attraction. I don’t need him to swoop in here and take care of me, but he’s not done telling me how things are going to be.
“This place, this house—it’s too much, Rose, and some of the problems are just plain beyond fixing. You’d need a new roof on the house, new siding, a new porch. And those are just the outside pieces. You get inside, and I’ll lay money the plumbing’s shot, right along with the electrical system.”
He’s not wrong. When I stop looking with my heart, I can recognize the never-ending list of what’s gone wrong with the place.
“I know.” I swallow around the knot in my throat. I won’t cry. Crying never helps. Maybe the house itself can be salvaged with paint, lumber, and some serious contractor elbow grease, but Auntie Dee isn’t here anymore and that’s the soul of this place. There’s no fixing, replacing, or filling her absence. Tears swim in my eyes before I can remind myself I’ve sworn off crying just like I’ve sworn off men.
I’m not doing so well with promises.
Angel growls my name and hauls me into his arms, “Don’t cry, baby.”
ANGEL
Fuck holding back.
Fuck restraint.
Nothing in my life has ever felt more right than pulling Rose Jordan into my arms. When I’ve touched before, when she tempted me at the swimming hole, when she was living in my house, it was accidental. Now I’m touching her on purpose. She stiffens, as if I’ve surprised her, but then she melts. She doesn’t want to, she doesn’t want me, but her body trusts me. She’s not a little girl anymore.
She needs me.
Needs more than my dick inside her, even if I can make her enjoy it.
I can’t replace Auntie Dee. The woman was part of Lonesome for so many years that the town seems emptier now she’s gone. Rose cries for her, and that makes me want to fix things. Make everything better. But even I’m not fucking Superman, and I can’t bring people back from the dead.
Rose tucks her head into the curve of my shoulder. The instinctive gesture makes me feel like maybe I could fly if that’s what she needed. It’s sexy as hell, this unspoken trust she has in me. I run my hand down her back, my fingers finding the soft line of her bra straps beneath the gauzy dress. She hasn’t said no. The heat of her scorches me, the way her breasts shove against my chest making me revisit and revise my list of Rose fantasies. I’m gonna fuck her there, I decide. Tunnel my dick through that soft, sweet cleavage until I paint her chest with my come.
Christ. I’m a bastard.
Sex isn’t gonna fix shit for Rose.
If she came here expecting a miracle, she’s about to be disillusioned. The house isn’t in good shape (which is a fucking understatement, honestly), although it could be worse. The walls haven’t caved and the roof hasn’t fallen in—but that’s about it. I’d sent my boys over to fix what I could, but Auntie Dee didn’t take freebies, and I hadn’t bothered after she passed because all I’d wanted was the water. Don’t need the house for that.
Rose, however, needs the house, and I don’t know what to do. She definitely doesn’t want my money, although this house does. Auntie Dee’s little addendum keeps playing through my head, too. Mitch didn’t share that note with me when he gave me a sneak peek at the will, and now I’ve got to figure out how to honor Auntie Dee’s dying wish that I keep Rose safe. Pretty sure I’m fucked here.
Rose snuffles. Shit. I don’t mind if she uses my shirt as her own personal Kleenex, but she’s not happy. I’m not big on expressing emotions or so the Navy shrink tried to tell me. I walked out his door, but something tells me Rose doesn’t have the same reservations. Fuck if she’s repressing anything right now.
I pat her on the back cautiously, trying to find a nice, neutral spot that doesn’t involve bare skin or lingerie.
“Where did you sleep last night?” I kinda growl the question against her skin, my mouth way too close to her ear. She’s dabbed something sweet on her skin and she smells like candy and apples. If she’s gonna wear an eat me invitation, she has to expect me to RSVP in the affirmative, right?
“The RV,” she mumbles and tried to pull away. I’m not ready to let her go yet, so I tighten my grip. Plus, I’m not real happy about any RV scenario. It’s all too easy to imagine her sleepy and flushed in some piece of shit vehicle. Anyone could jack the door open and she’d be so fucking vulnerable. A woman sleeping alone is easy prey for a man who doesn’t care about right and wrong. It’s not like I’m so hung up on ethics myself, but I have lines. She’s gonna say yes to everything we do, and I’d never hurt her.
Ask, don’t tell, I remind myself, but then I go and blow it anyhow. “Come on back to the ranch with me. We’ve got plenty of bedrooms there.”
She shakes her head. “I’m good. I’ve got company. Rory’s waiting for me.”
“Who the fuck is Rory?” I try to keep my voice level, but the fury leaks through anyhow. We may have to share the ranch, but I’m not sharing her now that I’ve got her back. Rose is mine.
“None of your business,” she shoots back.
“Everything about you is my business. I want you out at my place.” Not shacked up with some unknown guy. Had she done more than sleep with him? Had she gone home last night and fucked him?
“Rory’s my best friend.” She looks like she has no idea why she just told me that, but something eases up inside me. Maybe I don’t have to rip the guy to pieces.
“Come out to my place,” I tell her again. “I’ll give you a good bed.”
This time, when she stiffens up like a poker in my arms, she doesn’t relax again. The stiffy in my jeans isn’t helping me any. I’d never trade a bed for sex, but Exhibit A might make her think otherwise.
“I can stay here,” she counters.
“There’s no price tag,” I tell the top of her head. She tugs, trying to break free again. “Be reasonable, Rose.” I can see daylight through the roof of the porch, for Christ’s sake. “Staying here is one step above camping, and the RV can’t be better. Just this once, can’t you let me take care of you? Giving in this one time doesn’t mean you’re surrendering unconditionally.”
Okay, so I’m kinda lying to her on that one.
“Nothing’s free,” she tells me quietly. This time when she tugs, I let her go. My arms feel empty, but I’m playing the long game here. Five more minutes would be awesome, but I want all of Rose.
“You need a solid place to stay.” I shove off the porch and head for the truck. She hesitates, but then she follows me. Even Rose isn’t impetuous enough to risk being stranded here. “We’ve got room on the ranch.”
Naturally, she has to argue with me. “I belong here. Rory can bring the RV over.”
“You don’t have to do without electricity tonight,” I counter. “Or dinner. Bring Rory and the damn RV if you have to.”
I can park the bastard out in the bunkhouse. He won’t get near her. And she has to be tempted because, while her suitcase is heavy enough to hold a fridge, I’m betting it doesn’t. I must be right, because she actually lets me open the truck door for her. Or maybe that’s because she’s working up to another argument.
“If I come, that doesn’t mean I’m giving up the house.”
I really don’t need to think about her coming. Not now. But now she’s put the dirty thoughts into my head, and I can’t help but imagine it. Her clenching around my dick. The sweet little ripples as her pussy milks me as she gets closer and closer. Bet I can make her come twice. Three times.
I need to get my big head back into the game.
“So we have a temporary
deal. Stay at the ranch, and take a couple of days to think things over. You don’t have to decide standing on the damned porch, do you?”
“All right,” she says, climbing up into the truck. “Yes. But this is just temporary, Angel. I’m moving in here.”
Hearing Rose say yes is addictive. I’ve gotta hear it again.
“Yes,” I tell her, and it’s an agreement, a concession, and a fucking win all rolled into one. She drives me crazy and she doesn’t even know it, which is good because Rose would walk all over me if she could. I’ve got her right where I want her: back in my life. Next step is getting her into bed.
ROSE
I cried. I don’t cry.
Worse, I cried in front of Angel.
Let a guy know he’s hurt you or your down, and he’s got the upper hand. Some of them enjoy it. Tears, a fight, the whole nine yards—it’s a turn on. Angel’s not that kind of man, but he does respect strength in his opponent, and I just showed a belly full of weakness.
Rory is okay with moving the RV out to the ranch. We can run an extension cord to the bunkhouse for free power, and I suspect he may have erotic designs on one or more of Angel’s cowboys. I’m not thrilled about moving closer to Angel, but the proximity is a minor concession in the war we’re fighting.
He’s waiting outside for us when Rory and I pull up. He motions for us to pull into a shady spot beneath a downright ancient grove of California oaks. It’s actually gorgeous.
I park the Bug, and Angel’s right there, opening the door for me. It’s too much, too fast. I almost slam into him when I stand up, and he tucks a steadying hand beneath my elbow. Then he tugs me toward him, his hand guiding me in the direction he wants me to go.
The ranch house.
So not happening. I shrug off his hold, or attempt to. His hand tightens. He’s determined not to let go. I glance at him, trying to figure out his reasons from his face, but he’s starting stony-faced at Rory who’s just emerged from the RV.
“Introduce me,” he drawls. I’d say it’s like I’m tapping the big red button that detonates all our country’s nukes on some unsuspecting enemy, but Rory rocks backward on his heels, a fake-as-shit smile stretching his face. Fantastic. Rory hates Angel, and the feeling’s mutual. Rory definitely wants to land a bomb on Angel’s ass.