Bad for Her

by Christi Barth

  “Don’t worry. She won’t add her secret ingredient. She’s a good baker. I’ll bet it changes your mind. And if it doesn’t? So what. You like fishing at dawn now, don’t you?”

  This wasn’t the worst morning he’d passed by a long shot. Rafe took a big swig of coffee. And almost spit it right back out, surprised as hell by the hefty dose of whiskey in it. No wonder Mick was in such a good mood. “I think I could get used to it, yeah.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “Thanks for bringing me out here.”

  “Thought you’d like it. It’s nice to have some company for a change.”

  Rafe thought back to all the hours he’d spent shooting the shit in the back room at McGinty’s headquarters. He’d missed that. And he hadn’t bothered to look for a replacement. Maybe that was his big mistake. Because it was nice to have company.

  He took another swig of coffee. “Do I have to eat the fish we catch?”

  Mick laughed so hard it turned into a coughing fit. “You’re a hard case, aren’t you, Maguire?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Chapter 16

  RM: You know how to treat food poisoning, right?

  Mollie frowned down at her phone. Are you sick? Throwing up?

  RM: Not yet. Those fish I caught with Mick—Kellan’s cooking them. Trying to, anyway. Figure I’ll get sick from whatever he does to it and Flynn’ll probably get a bone stuck in his throat that K missed digging out.

  It was pretty adorable how Rafe complained about his brothers. Because Mollie didn’t think he realized just how often he brought them up. Good, bad, or infuriating, they were always in the forefront of his thoughts. It was nice to see how close the three of them were.

  Do you have tartar sauce? That fixes every kind of fish, no matter what he does to it.

  RM: A woman after my own heart. But from the smell coming out of our kitchen, it may be past the point of tartar sauce reviving it.

  A loud barrage of knocks had Mollie hurrying to the front door. Maybe you should call a code on the poor thing. Just go order a pizza.

  RM: Can’t. Flynn and Kellan are tickled I actually caught fish on my first try. They want to turn this into a big deal.

  See? She knew that, given time, they’d come around. Rafe still hadn’t told her exactly why they held a grudge against him. Something to do with moving here—which, come to think of it, he’d never explained. Not how or why they chose Bandon.

  Mollie paused in the hallway. Feels good, doesn’t it? Them being proud of you?

  RM: Yeah. Good enough I’ll choke down whatever he puts in front of me.

  Keep me posted. I’ll have a syringe full of anti-emetic at the ready, just in case.

  RM: What’s that?

  Stops the puking.

  RM: Best present ever . . . He signed off with an emoji of a bucket. Funny guy. Slipping her phone into her jeans pocket, Mollie opened the door.

  “Do you hear that sound?” Instead of bothering to say hello, Lucien put a hand to his ear. “It’s the sighs of all the women down at the Gorse who won’t have a chance with me tonight because I’m here.”

  Mollie stopped Lucien near the table where she and Norah tossed their keys to give him a huge hug. “Thanks for coming over.”

  “I’m your best friend. Why wouldn’t I come over and hang on a Friday night?” He handed her the bottle of wine so he could shrug out of his coat. Mollie hoped he’d followed form and “liberated” something ridiculously expensive from the club’s wine cellar. After all, she’d saved him a trip back to the hospital by taking out his stitches at his office. That deserved a little quid pro quo in the form of a decadently complex Shiraz, right?

  “Because you’ll be sharing the couch with a very pouty teenager.” God knew she certainly didn’t want to do it, at this point. Not after dealing with two straight days of huffed-out sighs and conversations consisting solely of grunts. Rafe swore he was behaving at the garage as he detailed Mick’s car, so it seemed Jesse saved the attitude for his nearest and dearest.

  None of which managed to take the sparkle off of her mood, however. One night with Rafe Maguire had a . . . rejuvenating effect. Mollie felt like she’d spent a week at a spa. Like there was caffeine in the air. Or champagne. Or both.

  Lucien tugged on his French cuffs. Only he would pair a starched pinstripe shirt requiring cuff links with jeans and a movie night. “I thought you said Jesse felt bad about what he did to Mick’s car?”

  “He does.” Mollie believed that with all her heart. “But he also feels bad for himself. For being grounded.”

  “Ah. The remorse/resentment combo. Been there, done that.”

  Mollie, too. She understood her cousin’s attitude. Didn’t make her any less sick of it, though. Still, just like she told Rafe every time he complained about his brothers, family was worth the effort. No way would she let Jesse down. If living with her was truly his second chance, Mollie would darn well make sure he took to it.

  She kept Lucien crowded by the coatrack with a hand on his arm. “He’s responding well to spending time with Rafe. I thought bringing you over would give him exposure to another solid, stable male role model.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “That’s a lot of expectation riding on how well I park my ass on your sofa.”

  “Well, if you’re saying you’re not up to the job . . .”

  He twitched his forearm out of her grasp. “Don’t try to reverse psych me into it. Jesse’s your cousin. Of course I want to get to know him better. I’m just saying all this,” he swooshed his hand up and down his body, “can’t be taught in between the previews and the closing credits.”

  “Lucien, I literally shudder to think what you might teach him. You treat women like they’re disposable forks.”

  “Forks? Seriously?”

  Definitely. “They’re only meant to be used once, and you don’t care if you break them because there’s always another to be grabbed.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Do you deny it?”

  He had the grace to stay quiet and think about it for a long moment. “I don’t break women.”

  “You break their hearts. Because they fall for you hook, line, and sinker. Every woman is sure she’ll be the one who can turn you from friend into fiancé.”

  The line of his jaw hardened into pure steel. “I don’t make any promises. I certainly don’t break any.”

  “I know. That’s exactly the sort of thing I want Jesse to pick up from being around you. Your inner code.” Lucien’s loyalty was unshakeable. His work ethic remarkable, especially for a man being handed the keys to a very large kingdom. And although he didn’t always draw the line right at black or white, when he did, he stuck to his guns. Mollie squinted at him. “Don’t you dare actually try to teach him about women or dating or how to dress or how to mix a Manhattan.”

  “You’ve just wiped out every conversational gambit I had lined up.” Lucien grinned, hip-checked her, and loped into the kitchen.

  Jesse and Gran were side by side at the butcher-block island, with all the makings for cookies set out in front of them. When Jesse saw Lucien, excitement lifted his features and sparked in his eyes for a full five seconds before the pouty mask slid back on.

  “Hey, Lucien.”

  “Hey, juvenile delinquent.” He faked out a couple of punches. Probably just for the fun of irritating the boy.

  Jesse shot an accusatory glare at Mollie. “You told him?”

  “I tell Lucien everything. That’s what best friends do.” She picked up her ancient apron edged in pink ruffles and dropped it over her head. “It doesn’t matter that he knows. Lucien will still like you no matter what, just like me and Gran. Right?”

  “Absolutely. You’re part of our weird little family. You can’t shake me. However . . .” Lucien crooked an elbow around Jesse’s neck and winked at Mollie, “if you stop acting like an idiot for a month, there will be rewards. Involving golf.”

  Another surge of actual happiness
lit his face. “You’ll teach me how to play?”

  “It’s a travesty you don’t know already. Good thing you moved to the better coast. It’d be my honor to pass on my knowledge of how to spoil a good walk.”

  Mollie pulled down wine glasses from the glass-fronted cabinet. “Just like why you’re getting a movie tonight. You pulled off a B+ on your trig test, so you earned the reward of any two horrible movies you want to watch back-to-back. With popcorn. And the added bonus of getting to condescendingly explain things about these film epics to me.”

  “If you saw Transformers 1–6, I won’t need to explain anything in 7 to you.”

  Amazing how he said that with utter sincerity. As though he firmly believed the entire world stopped to watch a movie franchise based on cartoons and toys. Jesse might think he was a grown-up, but his youth shone through in the funniest ways.

  But it was his night. So instead of a lecture, Mollie took the blame on herself. “I’ve been a little busy watching myself transform into a doctor. Not a lot of movies under my belt since, oh, high school.”

  Jesse winced. Even patted her hand. “That’s worse than me not knowing how to golf.”

  “Which is why I’m excited to let you school me tonight in all things cinematic. After we make cookies.” Mollie handed him a measuring cup.

  Which he gawked at as though it was a two-tailed turtle dropped in his palm. “Is this like the waffles all over again? You’re teaching me instead of just making them?”

  “I’m teaching you and making them. Because most of them will be a gift, so I need to add my own elbow grease.”

  Norah trailed her fingers along the line of ingredients. “Who earned peanut butter cookies? And chocolate chip oatmeal?”

  “Rafe.” Yes, it was opening a can of worms to admit it. But she couldn’t ask them to help with the cookies under false pretenses.

  “What’d he do to deserve all this?” Lucien’s tone was loaded with skepticism.

  Matter-of-factly, Mollie said, “We had a . . . date. It went very well.”

  Behind Jesse, Lucien made a circle with his thumb and index finger. Put his other index finger in and out of it a few times with a questioning grin.

  Okay. She knew it was blazingly obvious that these were thank you for all the awesome sex cookies. Nobody baked as thanks for a normal date. But they wouldn’t discuss that in front of Jesse, for goodness’ sake. So Mollie gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head.

  Which resulted in Lucien thrusting his hips violently, eyes screwed shut and teeth biting his lower lip. It lasted about three seconds before he convulsed in laughter.

  Three seconds during which both Gran and Jesse noticed his gyrations.

  “Ewwwwww.” Jesse clapped his hands to his eyes and reeled backward.

  Simultaneously, Gran clapped her hands together. “Oh, well done, Mollie. He’s impressively large—I’m assuming that carries through in all the right places.”

  Mollie loved her family. She didn’t at all mind living with them to help Gran out with Jesse—in theory. The reality, though, made her wish desperately for her own apartment. A place where she could talk to Elena and Karen and Lily without a peanut gallery. A place where she didn’t have to watch her words around impressionable young ears.

  A place she could bring Rafe.

  A place where they could stay up, laughing and talking all night in more than a whisper.

  A place where they could eat dinner naked.

  A place where they could just be together.

  “TMI,” Jesse yelped. “That’s my boss you’re talking about.”

  Right. No mention of, you know, his flesh-and-blood cousin. Obviously he’d fallen head over heels into hero worship for Rafe, if his dignity ranked higher than Mollie’s. She’d overlook it. This time. But she’d definitely file it away to tell Rafe later to make him crack up.

  First, she’d take a tiny morsel of personal revenge. Mollie grabbed another apron from the hook on the back of the door. This one said This recipe stumped me! with a picture of a prosthesis. She’d custom ordered it for her gran, who’d laughed so hard opening it on Christmas morning that she’d snorted eggnog out her nose. Mollie dropped it over Jesse’s head and tied it behind him.

  “I’m not saying anything. Help me bake these cookies. You’ll get exactly half of each batch. I’m giving the other halves to Rafe. Period. The why of it is unimportant.” She thrust the recipes at him.

  Jesse took them but didn’t move. Norah swatted him lightly on the butt to get him moving. He looked at Mollie. Really looked at her, not from the corner of his eye or with his head half ducked. And then even reached out to touch her upper arm.

  “Is he nice to you?”

  Omigosh. Mollie’s heart melted into a puddle. These glimpses of the wonderful man Jesse could grow into were why she put up with his sulks. “He’s very, very nice to me. Thank you for checking.”

  “’Cause if he doesn’t treat you right, I’d send Lucien to go kick his ass.”

  “Nicely played, J.” Lucien high-fived him. “But I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Mollie can take care of herself—and any associated necessary ass-kicking.”

  Norah pointedly held out a wine glass until Lucien lurched to open the robin’s egg blue drawer where the corkscrew lived. “I’ve sold Rafe and his brothers coffee. But I haven’t gotten to know him yet. They aren’t chatty. Where’s he from?”

  “Um. I don’t know. I think he’s moved around a bunch.” They’d sort of skirted around that when they first met, and never got back to discussing it. He’d definitely lived in a big city. Funny, how it was such an obvious first-date question, but after two weeks and a ton of texting and conversation, she had no idea.

  “That’s odd.” Using her pincer prosthesis, Norah pulled out cooling racks. “Mechanic doesn’t seem like a job that would send you schlepping around the country.”

  “Hmmm. You’re right.” Mollie pushed the brown sugar container at Jesse, keeping him rolling forward with the recipe.

  His brothers had jobs that also gave zero reason for their move to Bandon, or anywhere else, for that matter. A mechanic, a bartender, and a glorified factory worker. None of whom, from what she’d gleaned from Rafe, seemed anything close to thrilled to be here. If Bandon wasn’t their dream spot to settle down and raise their families . . . why were they here?

  “Did he used to do something else? Is this a new career for him? A stress step-down? I hear lots of people are doing that. Heck, you could call my change in careers a stress-down. Making pot brownies is much more relaxing than getting shelled by enemy artillery.”

  Lucien chuckled. “Low bar, Norah.”

  “I’m not sure.” Doubt . . . uncertainty . . . unease crawled over her like a bad rash. Mollie grabbed the wine Lucien had just poured and walked it to the French doors. She looked out at the tidy row of houses she knew like the back of her hand. Watched a big winged Caspian Tern swoop down from the top of the towering pine tree at the corner. And drank the entire glass of, yes, ridiculously fine Shiraz down in four big gulps.

  “I don’t know.” She braced her forehead against the glass, needing its coolness as the enormity of what she did not know about Rafe barraged her mind. “I don’t know where he went to college. Or if he did. I don’t know why the Maguires decided to leave wherever they used to live. There’s a lot—so much—I don’t know about him.”

  Norah refilled her empty glass. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, dear. If you’re baking Rafe cookies, I’d say he’s been a man of good action. You’ll get around to swapping life stories instead of spit.”

  “Gran. That’s horrible.” Laughing, she spun around to scowl at her grandmother.

  “I’ve been letting Jesse choose what we watch at night. I’m trying to pick up the current lingo.”

  “Don’t. Just . . . don’t.” Mollie picked up the wooden spoon. To heck with the beaters. She’d mix this batch by hand, and hopefully stir out some of her sudden frustration
. “The thing is, we have talked. Rafe’s easy to talk to, and we never run out of things to say.” Even though, as she ran it through in her mind, it was lots of him listening to her. Or talking about his brothers, her family. Favorite bands. Nothing, however, that showed up on a basic resume. “It hasn’t been all kisses and cuddles.” There. Acceptable teenager-proof euphemism for sex achieved.

  Nevertheless, Jesse made gagging noises and clutched at his throat. Maybe she should suggest he go out for the summer school play, if he insisted on being this dramatic. Yet another way to keep him occupied and out of trouble. Dragging Rafe to watch high school theatre would be hysterical.

  If they were still doing this whole friends-with-benefits thing by July.

  It sure felt like they were waaaaay more than friends with substantial benefits. She cared for him. A lot. Which was not at all what she’d signed up for. Of course, given everything Mollie didn’t know about Rafe, maybe her assumption as to the depth of their, um, infatuation, was incorrect.

  She might have to make an extra batch just to sit on the couch and eat raw. No better way to combat a boy problem, in her highly specialized medical opinion.

  Norah shook in the bag of chocolate chips while Mollie stirred through the growing burn in her forearm. “Well, what do you know?”

  Okay. Good question. Focus on the positive. “I know that his first car was a 380Z. That he’s not a fan of cranberries. He loves Bond movies and therefore wants to go to Monaco someday. His dad taught him everything he knows about cars. That both his parents are dead.”

  Lucien leaned against the refrigerator, ankles crossed. “That sounds like the intro for a Jeopardy contestant. And . . . ? What else?”

  Damn it. Now that Mollie actually thought about it . . . she didn’t know that much more. Rafe had a habit of teasing information out of her. And then deflecting almost every question she lobbed back at him.

  “Well?”

  Mollie stabbed at the thick dough, leaving the spoon standing upright in the middle. Facts weren’t the be-all and end-all of what made a person. She did know things about Rafe. “I know he’s loyal. Responsible. That he’d do anything for his brothers. That he views his word as his bond. That he’s a gentleman. That even though he’s got a wild streak, he’s got a good heart. I know I trust him.”