His grandmother continued to pay for his training, taking out a second loan on her house after he had moved to Willowbrook to live with her. His parents had died with nothing to their names except debt.
For the past five years — with last year being the exception — he had placed second or third in the AMA Supercross Championship. With his six-figure points and purse earnings, Rhys had repaid his grandmother’s confidence in him by paying off her mortgage. Now, according to the will, Grandma Jo’s house belonged to him.
But he didn’t want the house. It was a wooden shell filled with belongings that no longer held any meaning for him. The memories he had growing up in that house, he kept close to his heart. That was enough for him.
Sell the house, and he would sever his ties to Willowbrook and Asa. Reasonable. Feasible. Too bad the economy was still in the tanks. It might be awhile before he had an interested buyer.
He drove until, two hours later, he reached the city of Ashton. It was a hell of a drive, but he trusted only one person to handle the sale of his grandmother’s place. Finding the building he searched for, Rhys parked in front of his friend’s real estate office, got out of the truck and took in the sights and sounds of a hopping strip mall.
The place hadn’t changed. A grocery store sat to his left while different businesses and restaurants surrounded it. The area was packed for a Tuesday afternoon. No doubt the impending storm had something to do with the rush.
Cupping his hands over his mouth, he pulled his shoulders in to keep warm, and watched as people walked out of the grocery store with bags of food and cords of wood in their carts. He’d better do the same. Just in case.
There was plenty of firewood in his grandmother’s shed — he had made sure of it three months ago — but he doubted she had much food in the house. No point in cooking for an army when there was only her, she’d say.
Shaking his head, he lowered his gaze and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He’d miss her. At the entrance to the real estate office, Rhys opened the door and walked inside.
The gal manning the front desk looked up then smiled at him. Flirtatious. Inviting. Not interested. As though she read his mind or saw something in his expression, her smile faltered. He fixed his sight at a spot over her shoulder. A glass wall behind the blonde’s desk gave Rhys a good view of his friend, Lucas. He sauntered to the door. The blonde opened her mouth. Rhys shook his head.
“Lucas and I go way back. He’ll understand.”
She nodded and bit down on the corner of her lip, the gesture causing him to pause in front of the door. Asa used to do that. When a math problem stumped her, or she had a hard time explaining a concept to him, she’d chew on her bottom lip. Just like that.
He mentally shook away the memory of Asa’s lips — soft, sweet, full. The door swung inward, yanking him out of his thoughts.
“Hey, man, nice to see you again.” Grinning, Lucas pulled him in for a manly shoulder bump before he smacked Rhys’s upper arm. “Sorry about your grandmother.”
A serious expression replaced Lucas’s smile, and Rhys acknowledged his sympathy with a slight nod before he took a seat across from Lucas.
“So . . .” Rhys said.
“So, what?” Lucas shuffled papers on the desk until there was an organized heap at the corner.
“How’s it going with Eve?”
“The same,” Lucas muttered. “I chase her tail, and she continues to run far and fast. Hell, one guy’s not enough for her. That’s what she keeps telling me. But...” He trailed off, the look on his face an indication he was through talking about Eve. “I take it you’re here because you want to sell your grandma’s place?”
Grabbing a pen from Lucas’s stash, Rhys clicked and unclicked it. “Yeah. I know it’s a buyer’s market, but what other option do I have besides renting it?” He set the pen down. “I don’t need the hassle right now with competitions starting in two months. And I doubt a property manager will want to manage a small two bedroom, one bath house on two acres.”
“From what I remember, her house is paid off, right?”
Rhys nodded.
“Why don’t you wait? Give it a few weeks until your head is clear. In the meantime, you can man up, speak to Asa, and see if she’ll keep an eye on the place for you.”
“You’re challenging me to disturb the peace?” It was different coming from a guy who disliked confrontation.
“What peace? There’s been nothing but bad blood between you two for the past year, and that accident was to blame. Grow some balls and talk to her about it.”
“I will, but not about the accident. We all know —” He shoved back his chair, stood, and paced. “Shit, the whole town knows I wasn’t at fault.”
Leaning against his chair, Lucas hooked his hands behind his head appearing all casual when Rhys knew chaos simmered beneath the calm.
“She was in shock. Her father had died. You were there, a familiar face, an easy target for her pain. Make things right between the two of you.”
Rhys stopped and balled his fists at his sides. He didn’t come here to speak of Asa.
Lucas unhooked his hands and stood. “Look, from what I remember of our talks about your father and my stepdad, they were very much alike in one particular area. They taught us that showing our emotions was weak, and we fell damn hard for their lessons.”
As Lucas raked his fingers through his hair, his jaw clenched. Was his friend remembering darker times?
“Good for you, you didn’t get a slap to the face every time you slipped like I did,” Lucas continued. “You might not readily show your emotions, but as a friend, I can tell you miss Asa. Otherwise, why would you ask me if Eve had anything to say about her?”
Coming from around the desk, he crossed the carpet and opened the office door. “Rhys, if you don’t tell her now how you feel about her, some other guy is gonna come along and take your spot in her heart. Then you’ll be left with the what-ifs. Talk to her, and afterwards, if you think the two of you can’t make it work, at least you know you gave it a go.”
What Lucas suggested was easier said than done. Love was for the weak, meant specifically for women to express, and for manly men to keep well hidden, according to Rhys’s jerk of a father.
“It’s been a year, Lucas. And she hates my guts.”
“Time is no excuse.” Lucas pushed him out of the building’s door. “And she’s always liked your guts,” he said laughing. “Get going. A storm’s coming. Again, I’m sorry for your loss. If you need anything, you have my number.”
“Thanks, I think, for everything,” he said, shaking Lucas’s hand.
“Payback for all those years you helped me. If I didn’t have you or your grandmother, my ass would be in jail right now.”
Rhys believed him. Beneath the concern, and his professional demeanor, Lucas had a rough edge, branded on him from the daily beatings he’d suffer at the hands of his stepfather and the constant bullying from his stepbrothers.
Yet, he hadn’t let his lot in life prevent him from doing good. In high school, the teachers liked him for his affinity to help the underdogs. If a kid was being bullied or made to feel left out, Lucas was the first to speak up on that kid’s behalf.
Hell, if Rhys hadn’t brought Asa under his wings those first days of school, Lucas would have. He was just that kind of guy. Too bad his mother had died and left him with a shithead of a stepdad. And too bad Eve couldn’t find the courage to continue to love a broken guy like Lucas.
Cold, Rhys tucked his head to his chest, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and returned his thoughts to the weather as he headed to the grocery store. Almost an hour later — the majority spent waiting in a long line — he drove back to Willowbrook.
On the drive, he flipped through radio stations, but every song reminded him of Asa. It didn’t matter whether the tune was happy, sad, or downright raunchy. Finally, he switched off the radio.
Up ahead, he spotted the “Private” sign in front
of the dirt road that led to his grandmother’s place and Asa’s home. Suddenly, the return drive was too short.
Continuing down the dirt road, his throat tightened, and he blinked several times before he stopped and parked between the two homes. The inside of Asa’s home was dark, just like his grandmother’s.
Rhys didn’t want to get out, the emptiness in Jo’s place a reminder of what he had lost — his only living relative. Hunching forward, he clasped the steering wheel, prepared to stay in the truck until he was ready to let his grief overwhelm him in Jo’s house of memories.
At least the truck held nothing of her connection to him except for the black dice with pink polka dots he’d won for her at the fair. Those hung prominently on the rearview mirror.
While he stared into nothingness, the workshop behind the house grabbed his attention. Inside was his KTM dirt bike. Fuck, why not take it for a spin before the storm arrived?
He got out of the truck and, not bothering to lock the door, slammed it shut. No special gear for this ride. Jeans and his thickest jacket would do while his helmet would be there for him, still strapped to the handlebar of the KTM.
On Jo’s key ring were five keys. Two were for the house, one for the truck, and the other for the workshop, which left the last key for his dirt bike. For Jo, he would take laps on the track she had paid for, her faith in him evident in the strategically placed curves and whoops.
With renewed purpose to his strides, he made for the shed and shoving the key in the lock, gave the double doors a good push. They swung open, and he eyed the orange and black beauty of his old dirt bike. For you, grandma. For believing in me.
He smiled though his chest ached like he’d free fall off of a jump only to smack into the dirt. Taking a deep breath, he told his grief to take a hike. His grandmother would say, “Chin up, chest out. Now stop your huffing and puffing and just do it.” Yeah, he would celebrate his grandmother’s life rather than grieve over her death.
The seat was smooth beneath his hand, and he wiped the dust off and onto his jeans. Grabbing the handlebars, he steered the bike out of the workshop. He hopped on and steadying the machine between his thighs, tugged the helmet on, revved the engine, and took his old KTM from his teenage years for its final ride.
The corners were rough, but he hugged them tight, and watched from his peripheral vision as the rear tire kicked up wet dirt into the cool air. Then he hit a whoop and soared toward the heavens. Letting go of the handlebars, he closed his eyes. For a split second, nothing existed but the innocence of the clouds.
Opening his eyes, he gripped the handlebars just as his front wheel hit dirt. A big smile on his face, he took the bike for another lap. Maybe next time, he’d make a grab for heaven. Yeah!
High from his adrenaline rush and lost in the moment, Rhys hadn’t realized another rider was also on the track until the guy passed him on his left, wet dirt flying. Damn, the fucker was fast.
His uninvited visitor caught air at the same spot Rhys had, and he watched in awe and fear as the rider did a freestyle move, a three-sixty mid-air. Shit, that took balls or . . . stupidity. He voted for the latter.
Even he, an adrenaline junkie, wouldn’t risk his neck on this home-built track. Yet, this rider had. How much practice and broken bones had it taken to perfect that act? Only one way to find out.
He raced after the rider until they were side-by-side. The rider was small. Must be one of the local teenagers. Rhys shot the kid a glance before they both took the next whoop together, then the next, and the next until they rounded a curve.
Before he could take the lead, the kid stuck his foot out and slammed his boot into Rhys’s bike sending him off the edge of the track. Too surprised to do a salvage move, he braked and shifted his bike as he and the KTM slid down the hillside.
Dammit! Settling the KTM on its side, he yanked his helmet off, threw it on the ground and stormed up the hill. He was gonna wring him some young punk’s neck.
By the time he got up the steep hillside, the kid and his black KTM were nowhere in sight. To be sure, Rhys sprinted the length of the dirt track. Shit, if he ever got a hold of the kid . . .
Breathing hard, he shoved his fingers through his hair. He shouldn’t be so pissed. Like himself, the kid was probably getting in a ride before the storm. Out here, there was no professional dirt track. The closest one was a three hour drive.
After his grandmother had the track built, kids came by with their dirt bikes. But to ride, they had to get permission from his grandmother. Now that she was gone, he’d have the track bulldozed over. It wouldn’t be safe for kids to ride unsupervised.
Wiping as much of the muck off of him as possible, he trekked down the hillside to retrieve his KTM. The rain from earlier had saturated the ground causing mud to impede his attempts to get the bike from the bottom of the hillside to the track above.
He would’ve rode the thing back to the house, but with a sprawl of low lying brush behind him and more deep mud, it was an impossible idea. The only way out was up, and the effort took him a half an hour, maybe more. Once he was back on the track, a light in Asa’s house held his attention.
Daylight savings meant it got darker earlier, and his position on the steep hillside gave him an advantage as he watched her undress in her bedroom. Her silhouette was smooth, flawless. When she shrugged off her jacket, followed by her shirt, his heart stuttered.
A memory of her soft body beneath his, from the night he’d made love to her, had him losing his grip on the KTM’s handlebar while a groan slipped out of him. Unforgettable, that night.
Getting back on the dirt bike, he made his way to Jo’s place. Yeah, he should talk to Asa, but not tonight. Tonight was all about his grandmother.
Yet, if their conversation went well tomorrow or maybe the next day . . . hell, whenever he could gather the nerves to approach her, would he risk losing a championship to have her as his girlfriend? To be distracted by her laughter or smart ass comments that came from left field, as unexpected as her tears?
Because that’s how it’d be like if she was his to love. He’d care too much, would wear his emotions on his sleeve for her to see, setting him up to be more vulnerable than he’d ever been. And when Rhys was vulnerable, he tended to let his feelings distract him. Or he said stupid things, like the crass comment he’d made about Asa.
Securing the dirt bike inside the shed, he tugged the doors shut and locked them. Asa rarely cried in front of him. Only twice in their six years of friendship had she openly cried.
Rhys gripped the door’s deadbolt. Fuck it. Tomorrow, come rain, shine or snow, he’d man up and talk to her. But he wouldn’t tell Asa he loved her, like Lucas had suggested.
Otherwise, he’d have to put his dreams on hold to love her right and completely, like she deserved to be. Rhys wasn’t ready. Not when he was so close to achieving his goal.
Chapter Four
The knock on her door roused her out of her light sleep. It wasn’t the incessant knocking, but rather the arctic temperature of her place that got her attention. Asa jumped out of bed, tossed on some clothes, and threw open her sheer curtains. White everywhere.
From the front of the house, the knocking grew louder. She rushed for the door and was ready to yank it open, but caution reminded her to glance out the window first. Drawing apart the curtain, her gaze met Rhys’s. He stared back, one of his brows lifting as though he questioned why he was still out there in the freezing cold.
There were many reasons to keep the door shut. One, Asa wasn’t ready to speak to him. Two, she wasn’t vain, but the thought of him seeing her with her hair a mess and pillow marks on her face had her cringing. And finally, she couldn’t get over the fact it had snowed. She wasn’t prepared, and Rhys would soon realize that, calling attention to another fault of hers.
To get him to go away, she opened the door a crack. “I have nothing to say to you, Rhys Miles, other than I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded, but didn’t leave.
A low growl started in her throat. Didn’t he get the message he needed to go so she could run to the woodshed and get firewood for a fire she didn’t know how to make?
“I came by to check on you. Jo’s generator kicked on which means the power is out. Do you have enough firewood? Hell, can you even start a fire?”
What the —? Had she hear him right, and his words were meant to come across as a double meaning, implying she wasn’t capable of turning a man on? Thinking he did, Asa clenched her teeth and yanked the door wide open. To hell with her appearance.
“For your information, I can start a fire without a damn match. And I have enough firewood to last me months.” She could question her abilities to seduce a man but she wouldn’t tolerate Rhys’s below-the-belt jab.
Realizing her temper had reared its ugly head, she forced her body to relax.
“Show me.”
She would have given him the death glare at the underlying challenge in his voice, but he had his hands steepled over his mouth while he shifted from one foot to the other. White puffs of condensation lingered in the air. Grumbling, she grabbed him by the elbow and tugged him inside. The house might not be warm but it beat being outside.
They stood in her living room and stared at one another in silence. Minutes ticked by.
He looked her up and down, his gaze settling on her chest. Her cheeks flushing and her nipples in tight balls, she resisted the urge to cross her arms over herself. In her rush, she’d forgotten to wear a damn bra.
And now that she was more awake, she was aware of the cold over the bare skin above her cleavage, on her arms and her stomach. Glancing down, she discovered she had grabbed the shirt she had bought by mistake, a shirt that was two sizes too small. Her B-size breasts were ready to show themselves to the wor — to Rhys.
Again suppressing the compulsion to shield her body from his fiery stare, she stayed rooted to the floor with her arms hanging loose at her sides. He wouldn’t be here long, she reasoned, and he ogled only because there was no other female except her. Yes, that was it.
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