by C. M. Owens
What are they doing here?!
“Good luck,” Lilah calls out, laughing as she drives away and leaves me to deal with this madness on my own.
Walking much faster than normal, I step inside, and see…all my cousins eating steaks with two Vincents and one half-drunk Liam as he sips a beer at his kitchen island.
It’s a massive three-room, open-floor plan, so the dining room is open and visible next to the kitchen, where Liam is hanging by himself, just enough distance from them to prove he needs distance.
That’s not a good sign.
The guys don’t even look up from their food, as Liam pushes off from the island, leaving the beer behind. I hurry to meet him halfway so I can get him alone and away from them. He’s about to let me know how pissed he is, and then my cousins are going to flip out.
He really needs to wait until we’re alone before he bitches at me for—
He lifts me and presses his lips to mine before I can even process what’s going on, and my arms go around his neck as I melt into him.
“Told you she’d be back. You owe me fifty,” Killian drawls.
“You still owe me seventy-five from our last bet,” I hear Jason grumbling.
“And you owed me two hundred from the bet before that,” Killian reminds him dryly.
Since Liam’s tongue starts making me stupid as he presses me back against the wall and continues to kiss me, I can’t understand the rest of the words they’re saying.
It all melts to background noise as I smile against Liam’s lips. This is definitely not the silent treatment or angry outburst I was expecting, since I didn’t even bother to leave a note when I snuck out.
He lowers me to my feet, blowing out a breath of what I think is relief. Then…the background noise volume cranks up.
“Me? Your uncle is the one who blew up Chester’s tractor when he was twenty. Chester was like forty then, and he still hasn’t forgotten it. He’s the reason they couldn’t get challenges passed.”
“Do I want to know?” I muse, staring up at Liam as he drops his head back.
“I made the mistake of asking why Chester Perkins—who could second as Santa—hates George Malone. They’ve been arguing over it for three hours now.”
He says the three hours way louder than anything else.
I stifle a smile.
“Because it had nothing to do with the tractor. It was the barn getting knocked down by your daddy that one time some idiot gave him the keys to a backhoe. It was the same year, and Chester believed it was Uncle George again, and your daddy wouldn’t tell the truth, because he got in trouble for something else Uncle George had done. That’s why he hates Uncle George.”
“That was a terrible question,” I decide to point out.
“Bullshit!” Jason shouts at the table, not at us.
Liam arches an eyebrow. “You think? It led to them following me home, talking about all the ways multiple men somehow pissed off Chester, and had me cooking enough steaks to feed a small village. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll just ask you from now on, even if you do struggle to provide knowledge to non-locals who really are local because they now own two properties in Tomahawk.”
He holds up two fingers and mouths the word, “Two,” again, before grinning.
“You’re okay with all the kissing?” I hear Hale Vincent asking.
I roll my eyes as Liam turns to face my heathen cousins, who are crowded around Liam’s massive table that now looks small amongst giants.
Jason shrugs. “Uncle George said we couldn’t break anything yet.”
“So Dad did make a threat?” I ask, a smug sense of satisfaction rising.
Eric shakes his head. “Nah. Just said we couldn’t do anything unless he fucks up hard. We just wanted to haze him into the family, but since he’s sort of scrawny, we’re worried we’ll break something, which will break the rules.”
My smugness flits away like ash.
Liam turns away, shaking his head. He’s not scrawny at all. Well, next to normal people.
Jared, who is usually my quietest and most unpredictable cousin, and who is marginally smaller than the rest of them as far as bulk goes, just toys with his trimmed beard, not speaking.
Liam breaks up the silence by saying, “I tried to get your father out of jail, by the way, but Vick said they weren’t under arrest, just in a ‘time out’ until they could both calm down. Chester also got arrested and was locked in a bathroom.”
When people say this stuff out loud, it makes it sound much crazier than it is when you’re living in the moment.
Liam’s lips are curved in amusement, taking all this in a weirdly comfortable stride.
My eyes drift around the room, moving toward the living room, and I notice my sculpture is no longer in view. Frowning, I start to ask, when Liam answers like he’s inside my head.
“Jared almost broke it, so I moved it to the bedroom and locked it up.”
My lips twitch.
“Who puts something right in the walk way?” Jared asks absently, turning his drink up.
“It was off to the side. You just forgot how to walk,” Killian intervenes.
“Okay, that’s it. All of you out,” I say, pointing at the door.
“We swiped two pies from Aunt Penny,” Hale says as though that’s a suitable argument.
“I’m good with going. The pie comes with us, though,” Killian says, already carrying a pie out the door. Hale follows him with the other pie in his hand, not even lingering around long enough to tell anyone bye.
My cousins just give me a blank stare.
“Out!” I say again, much louder this time.
They just grin, not feeling the least bit threatened by me since I don’t have a gun on hand. A paintball gun, that is. Or Dad. It always helps to have Dad.
“Liam was just telling us how you two met earlier,” Jared drawls.
Ah, hell.
“Says you two went skydiving and you saved his life and stuff,” Jason adds.
“Does Uncle George know you went skydiving without us?” Heath asks, smirking at me.
“It was free! I couldn’t pass up free,” I state defensively, rolling my eyes.
“Yeah. Apparently it’s no big deal that my chute malfunctioned, or that I almost died, or that you saved my life and helped a complete stranger inside his home where you’d never been before. It only mattered that you broke some pact about never skydiving without them,” Liam states dryly, picking up his abandoned beer before dropping to sit in a chair near the back of the table.
“I repeat: It was free,” I remind them.
“Yet you’re still holding that rafting trip against us, constantly threatening to tell Uncle George about it” Eric goes on.
Oh, those assholes. “That was different. You guys planned that trip without us, and waited until we visited Shasta about my art until you—”
I stop halfway through my rant when I see Jared arch an eyebrow and smirk at me, and I swallow down the other half.
“Fine,” I bite out. “If it’ll get you out of here, I’ll consider us even. As long as you don’t tell Dad about skydiving, I won’t tell him about your planned-to-leave-us-out rafting trip, all because you guys didn’t want us there while you tried to pick up girls. It’s not our fault we happen to carry around embarrassing stories.”
I cross my arms over my chest as Jared stands.
“I think our work here is done,” he finally states, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
He’s quiet unless he’s being a royal smartass.
My other cousins all stand as well, all of them moving toward the door. Liam just drinks his beer, a ghost of a smile flirting with his lips as he stares over the rim at me.
“By the way, it was Eric who broke the toilet and not me,” Jason stage whispers before running out.
Liam just continues to hold that hint of a smile, not commenting as they shut the door behind them.
“I’m sorry they invaded your day.”
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry you’re going to have to see me try to river dance at some point,” he states flatly as he puts his beer down. “I can promise you that will be twice as painful to endure.”
My eyebrows rise, because that’s random even by my standards.
“What?” I ask, as he pushes a plate away from him.
My cousins didn’t even bother cleaning up after themselves.
“Am I going to wake up and find you missing again in the morning, or does the bag you brought carry better news?” he asks, instead of answering.
“I brought more clothes,” I tell him with a shrug as I kick at the bag I dropped earlier when he started kissing me and making me stupid.
He fights a smile as he continues to study me too intensely.
Then he suddenly reaches into his back pocket and retrieves a phone. I walk over and take the seat next to him.
“I’ll clean up all these dishes, by the way,” I state uncomfortably as he does whatever he’s doing on his phone.
He shakes his head. “I can get the dishes,” he says absently.
That’s the closest to a domestic couple conversation I’ve ever had in my life.
He looks up and pushes the phone in front of my face, and I frown as I take it, reading whatever gibberish is on the screen.
Monday—
Charity breakfast at the Four Seasons—tax write off.
Personal shopper will be dropping off new suits at 10:00 AM sharp.
Conference call—lunch—with Landon Jones about software innovation.
Motivational speaker speech rehearsal.
Dinner reservations with Jamie Klen and his wife for some sort of celebration—find out what it is we’re celebrating, exactly.
Exhibit opening.
After dinner drinks with Calvin Lawson to discuss investing in his documentary on oil or some other environmental issue—tax write off.
The more I read, the more confused I get. There are times beside each individual line of randomness.
“I can’t say I understand any of this, since I don’t know any of these people or things you’re talking about,” I tell him, feeling sort of stupid, since it’s clear he must expect me to know.
I slide the phone back across to him, and he pockets it with a smirk on his perfect lips.
“Neither do I,” he says with a shrug. “And that was just my Monday. That’s what it looked like every single day from the day I made my first big paycheck, until the day you crashed into my life.”
I frown. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to apologize or accept gratitude right now.”
He laughs while looking down, seeming a little uncertain of himself for the first time since we crashed back into each other’s lives.
“I chased a dream. I beat the odds and became successful. I made more money than I’ll ever be able to spend, and all that money keeps making more money. And I filled my days with things to keep me from standing still and watching life pass me by.” His eyes come back up to meet mine. “Never occurred to me I wasn’t happy.”
I sit back, and he continues.
“I might have moved to Tomahawk because of you, but I stayed because I like it here. I like the pace of life. I like never knowing what tomorrow is going to bring, though it would be an entertaining schedule to read if half of these things were planned.”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face because I totally get a visual of that sort of calendar.
“I’m not going anywhere, Kylie. Even if you decide you want to push me away and keep your distance, I’ll still be right here. However, I’ll never let you date anyone else, because…I’ll be here.”
Just like that, I realize how right Lilah was. I was right to choose stupid instead of stubborn. I just should have stuck with it instead of second-guessing myself.
Without saying anything else, I bend over and pull my beaver flag out of my bag and slide it over to Liam.
“What’s this?” he asks, then grins. “Why’d you bring your flag?”
“Because Vick said if I’m staying here for a while, you have to raise that flag every time I’m here. But he reminded me it was only temporary.”
“I’ll install a flag pole first thing in the morning,” he says with that smile lingering, amusement sparking in his eyes.
“Then let’s find out if our crazies match,” I tell him, quoting Lilah’s married-life advice.
His grin takes up his whole face. “I have no idea what that means, but it sounds a little dirty.” His gaze dips to my shirt, and he quirks an eyebrow. “Feed the beaver?” he asks.
“Sure. Why not?” I ask, standing and pulling my shirt off over my head.
I start laughing when he playfully tackles me, and my grin spreads when his lips come down on mine. My arms go around his neck, and he carries me to the bedroom.
Between really awesome sex, a lot of laughter, and listening to his tales of Tomahawk since landing in the town of madness, it turns into what is probably the most perfect night.
I try to think of the last Friday that was this good.
None come to mind.
Something crashes in the living room, and Liam curses as he pushes off me and runs out of the bedroom, still naked. Is he going to club whatever intruder there is over the head with his penis?
Has he not ever watched a scary movie?
“Damn it, Cooter!” I hear him shout, seconds before the sound of dishes breaking and a barking bloodhound collides.
Laughing to myself, I listen and watch as a naked Liam streaks by, chasing the “damn Vincents’ infuriating dog.”
Yeah. Nothing tops this Friday.
Chapter 20
Wild Ones Tip #912
You can sit with us if you really wanna. Bring a helmet.
KYLIE
Dad is milking one of the cows when I step into the barn, my backpack on my shoulder after collecting a few things I need over at Liam’s. I borrowed his boat while he was still sleeping, mostly so I could talk to Dad alone.
Dad looks up at me, cigar hanging from his mouth, and grins around it when he realizes it’s me and no Liam.
“Well, how’s things going on the Vincent side of the lake?” he asks a little haughtily.
Rolling my eyes, I drop my backpack to the floor, and scoot him off the stool so I can take over milking the cow.
He stands and stretches, and I blow out a breath, wondering how to broach the very important thing I need to ask. I don’t want to just blurt it out. It’ll make me sound immature and insecure.
But…why the fucking hell has no Malone threatened any bodily harm to Liam yet? It’s not fair.
Hale and Killian were ready to murder Benson.
Not one Malone has even cracked his damn knuckles in Liam’s direction.
“Kylie?” he asks, sounding more serious. “Where’s that boy?”
The bite of anger in his tone has me grinning. “He’s in bed. I snuck out to talk to you about Mom. Wondering if you think Liam might be anything like her…”
I’m so going to hell.
I may be the first girl ever to want her father to threaten the guy she’s dating. Seriously, why hasn’t he? Liam isn’t that perfect. Maybe I should bring up the forgotten girlfriend thing…
No. Then dad would just literally kill him.
“Figured you might eventually come to me with that question,” he says, walking over to take the bucket of milk out from under the cow. He pushes Betsy May—I’m not the one who named the cow and turned her into a cliché—toward the back, but I remain on the stool.
“You’re worried about Liam running off the way your momma did, right?” he asks with his back still turned as he puts the cow back out to pasture.
Sighing dramatically, I nod, then realize he can’t see me. But before I can answer aloud, he turns and starts speaking like he somehow saw my non-verbal answer.
“Kylie, if you go comparing every person not from Tomahawk to your mother, you’ll end up bitter real fast. Chester Perkins
, for example, has never trusted a woman outside of Tomahawk, and no woman from here would ever be stupid enough to date him.”
My eyebrow arches and I huff a little indignantly. “Are you saying no one from here would ever—”
“I’m saying,” he interrupts, a small, mocking grin on his face, “it’s a rare thing to find someone from anywhere who can truly embrace a girl like you. Benson was a gem in a pile of rubble, and Lilah snatched him up for that reason. But Liam? Liam is the kind of guy who doesn’t just embrace this life; he enjoys it.”
He starts straightening up, but I remain on my stool, just staring idly at nothing.
How did this conversation get so sidetracked? And how do I make him start threatening Liam? Because Lilah’s a little smug about the fact they’ve already accepted Liam as one of their own without a single noogie.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” is the answer I decide to go with to get us back on track.
A rumble of laughter shakes him as he looks at me like he’s amused.
“You want me to tell you that Liam is never going anywhere. You want me to tell you that, even though he’s not from Tomahawk, he’s always going to stick around. You want me to make promises that no one can make, because no one can see the future.”
No, I want you to threaten him just one little tiny time.
I heave out a breath and roll my eyes, and then have a flashback to being sixteen, so I sit a little straighter and show off my adult posture to compensate. This is not at all the correct conversation.
I’m past this. Lilah’s married advice has already pushed me beyond this hurdle, damn it. Why is Dad making this so complicated? Just one limb. He just has to threaten one limb—or organ—on Liam’s body.
“But,” he says dramatically, bringing my gaze back to meet his eyes that are dancing with mirth, “I’ve never seen someone fit so well so soon in this crazy town.”
He comes closer, towering over me as I remain seated on the small milking stool, hating the fact I’m stuck here for this weird speech he thinks is empowering.