Silent Hearts (Hamilton Stables 3)

by Melissa West

  “Bec?”

  She shook her head to clear it. She needed coffee, stat.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I noticed your car looked dirty.”

  Becca stared at him. “And . . . that’s new how?”

  Nick ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, I wanted to get out of the house. Trip kept calling me to talk about the offer, and then Alex came over and I had enough. So I told them I had to get over here to help you with something.”

  “And that something is my dirty car?”

  For the first time, Becca noticed the wash bucket and cleaning supplies in Nick’s hands. “What did you bring over, everything you own?”

  “No, of course not. I stopped at the Ace on the way over.”

  “That’s like a hundred dollars’ worth of stuff.”

  Nick shrugged and Becca glared at him.

  “What? I’m trying to be nice here.”

  Becca opened her mouth to tell him that there were people out there, people a house away, who couldn’t afford to buy groceries and he was throwing money away on her stupid car. But then she thought it wasn’t fair to hold his wealth against him. He was a generous man, constantly donating to charities and events around Triple Run. He was rich, but he wasn’t showy about it.

  At least not usually. She eyed the impressive display of cleaning supplies. “So we’re cleaning?”

  Nick grinned. “Go get changed. I’ll make you coffee.”

  Nick watched Becca sashay down the hall, his gaze traveling to the hem of her nightgown, barely covering her ass, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from following her to her room for a morning of something very different from washing a car. But then he thought about his brothers, and how Becca was the only person in the world he trusted anymore, the only one who truly understood him, and he forced himself to turn away instead, the screen door hitting loudly on his way out.

  The sun wasn’t fully out yet, like his half-dressed friend inside, and as he breathed in the crisp morning air, he took the opportunity to scan Becca’s yard. Ancient Toyota Highlander parked in the carport, the azaleas perfectly trimmed by the house. Around back he would find the same porch swing and hand-painted pots overflowing with plants, the small vegetable garden, and then the rest was just grass. Grass that should have been cut a week ago and was likely driving Becca crazy. She liked to keep everything in perfect order, but time wasn’t always on her side—or money.

  Nick thought of the lawn service that handled all of the farm, including his house, and decided he would add one more stop to their rotation, Becca’s stubbornness be damned. She could consider it payment for putting up with him all these years.

  “Where are we doing this?” The screen door hit against its frame, and Nick turned, only to do a double take at what Becca was wearing. Or rather how little. His eyes swept quickly down her sports bra and barely there shorts, before snapping back up to her eyes. Thank God he had transition lenses on his glasses, or else she’d know exactly what he was thinking right now.

  “What are you wearing?” he asked.

  She eyed her outfit. “Did we have the conversation about me burning up yesterday or not? If we’re washing my car, I’m going to make sure I’m comfortable. Besides, I might work out after.” Nick cocked his head, and she threw up her hands. “Fine, I won’t. But it was this or a bikini, and I figured I’d take it easy on you.” She winked at him, and he had to order his throat to swallow because suddenly all he could think about was Becca and a bikini and how the hell he could convince her to go back inside and change into said bikini.

  He was pathetic.

  “Nick?”

  “Hmmm? Oh, right. Have your keys?”

  “They’re in the ignition.”

  He grumbled as he headed toward the carport. “You don’t lock your front door and you leave your keys in your ignition? What is wrong with you?”

  A grin played on Becca’s lips. “Plenty, but not nearly as much as is wrong with you, so zip it or I’ll go back in and you can handle this car-washing business all by your lonesome.”

  The grumbling turned to laughing, and Nick thought how often that were the case around Becca. Within moments in her presence, he was smiling or laughing, relaxed. “Fine, consider me zipped.”

  “I’ll get the truck, you go fill the bucket.”

  “All right, but I have to head to Crestler’s Key today, so I don’t have all day for this. None of your obsessive detailing. And no wax.”

  Nick stared at her. “There’ll be wax.”

  “Nick, come on. You know I don’t care.”

  “Just because you don’t doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

  “What? Nobody on the planet could follow that line of thinking, especially not at seven thirty in the morning and only one cup of coffee in her.”

  Sure the conversation was going nowhere, Nick continued on toward the carport, calling over his shoulder, “And what are you doing in Crestler’s Key?”

  Becca waved to her car. “Get the car first and then I’ll explain.”

  With reluctance, Nick opened the driver’s side door and slid the seat back to accommodate his height, then shut the door, and Becca’s scent washed over him, clouding his mind for a moment. Damn, when did he start noticing things like Becca’s smell? Surely that wasn’t normal?

  Shaking himself from the trance, he backed the car out of the carport and then drove over to where Becca stood beside the large oak in her front yard. “The car is here, now explain the Crestler’s Key business.”

  “Since when are you all Triple Run pride and nothing else? That feud between Crestler’s Key and Triple Run was ages ago. Who cares about it now?”

  “Everyone cares.”

  “Not me.”

  Nick turned on the water, filled the bucket with more soap and water, earning an annoyed look from Becca, and tossed her a wash glove. “Don’t let them hear you say that in town or you’ll get exiled.”

  “If only.”

  Nick’s hand froze on the hood of the car, and he peered over at her. “You want to leave?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe someday. Sometimes I feel like I’ve done everything here and I need to leave so I can do something new. Live a little.”

  “What about finishing nursing school?”

  He couldn’t see her expression from where she worked on the opposite side of the car, but by her silence he guessed that wasn’t in the cards.

  “Maybe someday,” she said finally. “For now, I just want to do something. That’s actually why I’m going to Crestler’s Key. Well, to pick up some things for the kids, but also . . .” She trailed off and Nick stood up and walked around to her.

  “Also what?”

  “Since when are you so demanding?”

  “Since birth. Since when are you so shady?”

  Becca turned away from him, and he got the feeling he was missing something important, but he couldn’t figure out what. “I don’t know. I just . . .”

  “Bec, tell me.”

  “Ugh, fine. I signed up for scuba diving lessons. To get certified.”

  Immediately, Nick burst into laughter. “Scuba diving? You?”

  “Hey, I could do it.”

  “Do you remember that time we were at the park and you tried to shoot a basketball into the hoop and hit Mayor Phillips in the face instead?”

  Becca scowled. “He was sitting right under it!”

  “He was sitting in a bench halfway across the park.”

  “Well, that doesn’t mean a thing.”

  Nick went back to soaping the car, a smile still on his face. He was methodical about it—too methodical, Becca would say—but he liked monotonous activities like this, activities where he didn’t need to think. Or see his brothers. “It means you’re the least athletic person on the planet, and if you go scuba diving, you’ll likely drown. I can’t allow that, now can I? Who would listen to me bitch about everything all the time?”

  “Then you could j
ust hire a shrink and sit on one of those fancy couches.”

  “And explain how my corrupted childhood has turned me into an asshole?”

  “And analyze why your favorite color is black.”

  Nick straightened. “What’s wrong with black? It’s sophisticated.”

  “It’s morbid. People choose colors for favorite colors.”

  “Black is a color; ask Crayola.”

  At that, Becca rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips in that sassy way she did when she was about to lecture him. He loved it and couldn’t help but grin. “Black is the opposite of color. It’s depressing, and besides, you look terrible in black.”

  “Listen, woman, no need for insults.” Nick turned the hose on Becca, spraying her once, before holding the sprayer up like a gun. “Say you’re sorry.”

  She glared at him with the intensity of a raging fire. “Hit me with that again and you’re dead, Hamilton. Dead.”

  “You and what army? I’ve got a foot on you, plus all these muscles.” He tugged off his shirt and flexed dramatically, laughing, until he caught Becca’s expression as she took him in. Her eyes widened a touch and she swallowed, her clenched fists relaxing as a brief flicker of something that looked a lot like attraction crossed her face.

  But then she cleared her throat and looked away, and before Nick could process what had just happened, she dashed for the soap bucket. “You spray me and I dump this on you.”

  He grinned. “Then it’s a good thing I took off my shirt. I don’t have a change of clothes, so unless you want to see the full frontal, I suggest you not.” He knew she would redden at his words, but he didn’t expect her gaze to flicker down and then back up to his face, her eyes darkening. God, was it possible she’d had the same thoughts he’d had about them? Surely not. He flirted with her all the time, but she never hinted at anything more, never said anything to suggest she’d thought about him as more than her best friend. So what was with all these looks?

  Sure he needed to do something or else they might not survive the tension building between them, he flashed her one more grin and said, “You can just call this lesson one of scuba diving: remember to breathe.”

  “What the—?”

  But before she could finish, he turned the sprayer on her, drenching her from head to toes and, good as her word, she tossed the bucket of soapy water at him, the suds hitting him square in the face and then sopping down his chest and shorts.

  “I didn’t think you would do it!” Nick removed his glasses and shook out his hair.

  “I told you I would. Dammit, I’m drenched.” She stomped her foot, but all she managed to do was splash herself from the puddle that had collected at her feet.

  Nick cracked a smile and she pointed at him. “Don’t you dare.” Surrendering, he held up his hands, his eyes on her, covered in water, her hair hanging in drenched waves around her shoulders, and her hands on her hips in aggravation, and he thought she might just be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “Hot shower?” he asked.

  “With you? No, thanks; you’d probably turn the water to cold on me.”

  “I didn’t say with me, but hey, if you’re offering, I’m not denying.”

  Becca shook her head, but she was smiling at him now. “Let’s finish this. I have to leave in an hour.”

  “For the scuba diving lesson?”

  “Yes, Mr. Sarcastic. I can do this.”

  Nick bit his lip and went to work on the side of her car, then resigned that he really couldn’t let her go into a giant ocean with some half-assed instructor who knew shit about diving, he said, “I’ll take the lessons with you. Are they on Saturdays, then? Six weeks or something?”

  “Yes, but no, you’re not. You’re already certified.”

  He shrugged. He and his brothers were all certified when they were teens, back when their father used to take them on dive trips and they used to act like a real family, instead of whatever disjointed bunch they were now. “So? They don’t have to know that.”

  “You’ll start interjecting Nickisms.”

  “What the hell is a Nickism?”

  Walking around to the other side of the car, Becca bent down to scrub the tires with the same wash glove she’d used on the car. Nick cringed, but he knew better than to correct her, especially when he had new territory to cover and the last thing he wanted to do was piss her off to the point that she really wouldn’t let him join in the lessons.

  “I’m waiting here.”

  The sun had turned hot overhead, September proving every bit as hot as August, and Nick wondered if they were in for another overly warm fall. That would change things a bit for the fall festival, and he made a mental note to talk to Trip about it because he was on the board of trustees for Triple Run.

  If he started talking to his brother again.

  Becca stopped in front of him. “You know, that know-it-all thing you do. Whatever it is, you know something about it. There’s no way you can sit in a class, listen to some ‘half ass’ teach without you interjecting.”

  Crossing his arms, Nick plucked the wash glove from her hands just as she started to press it back to the car. “You just washed the tires with that thing. You can’t touch the paint with it now.”

  “Why?”

  “It’ll scratch it.”

  Becca pointed at him. “See? That right there. A Nickism in the wild, ladies and gentlemen.” She turned, her arms out, and then directed at him like he was part of a circus act. “You can’t do anything without spewing Nickisms all over it.”

  “You know, that sounds a little dirty. What kind of Nickisms are we talking about here?”

  She rolled her eyes and he tried to feign seriousness. “I take offense. I can sit in a class and keep my mouth shut.”

  “Fine; prove it. You can go to the class today, but if you issue even one Nickism, you’re out of there.”

  Nick held out his hand and Becca glanced down before pressing her small hand into his large one. Immediately, warmth spread from the point of contact, up his arm, settling in his core, and it took every bit of his willpower not to tug her toward him, drenched and all, his lips crashing against hers, that sunflower and sunshine smell of hers washing over him.

  God, he was in trouble.

  “Deal.”

  Nick grinned. “Now about that hot shower . . .”

  Chapter Five

  “Stop it.” Becca pushed her friend’s shoulder and Nick scoffed.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You were thinking it.”

  Nick spun around, his arms out. “Do you see where we are? It’s an elementary school. I’m supposed to master scuba diving surrounded by Elmo and Dora?”

  “So what? I bet Elmo and Dora could teach you a thing or two. And besides, it’s just the classroom portion. We’ll move to the water in a few weeks.”

  Nick stopped walking beside a statue of a Native American chief with a cheesy smile on his face. “Mr. Chief here wants to know how we’re supposed to learn to dive in a classroom.”

  “How did you learn?”

  “My dad threw me into our pool with a mask and snorkel on, threw a pair of fins at me, and ordered me to go underwater or drown.”

  “Be serious.”

  Nick laughed. “Fine. We had a private instructor.”

  “Of course you did,” Becca grumbled. Then she found the right classroom and opened the door, only to close it again and point to her friend. “Remember your promise.”

  Nick pretended to lock his lips and then passed the pretend key to Becca.

  “And no mocking facial expressions.”

  “Hey, now, we said nothing about mockery. The instructor could be an eighty-year-old man carrying around an oxygen tank. How am I supposed to keep from smiling at that?”

  Unable to keep from smiling herself, Becca pushed into the room, only to stop short, causing Nick to run into her. “Holy hot.” Her gaze landed on the man at the front of the classroom, dr
essed in a fitted black T-shirt that showed every one of his perfectly cut arm and chest muscles. Dark brown hair shot off his head in spikes, and black ink climbed down from his biceps to his forearms.

  “Hey there,” Mr. Unbelievably Hot said, but Becca could only manage to sigh in reply.

  “Jesus. I didn’t know you were capable of drooling so much,” Nick said, walking around her and starting for the back.

  “Let’s sit up front.” Becca motioned to the front row, and Nick glanced at the instructor.

  “Seriously? That’s your thing?”

  Becca took the middle seat and patted the desk beside her. “Honey, that is every woman on the planet’s thing.”

  “I didn’t think you were so typical.”

  “I’m typical when it comes to tattoos.”

  She grinned at the instructor and he grinned back, and Becca thought scuba diving lessons might have been the best idea she’d ever had.

  Once the instructor looked away, Becca glanced around the classroom. Immediately, her thoughts drifted back to her and Nick’s days in elementary school. They’d renovated over the years, but the feel of learning still hung in the air, ghosts of laughter from children running in the halls.

  A memory popped up of Nick sitting in front of her and smiling wide as he attempted to pass her a stack of papers the teacher had handed to him as the row leader. Only the stack never made it into her hands. Their fingers hit as she reached for the stack and he tried to hand it off, and then they fell to the floor, white sheets scattering everywhere. It was that moment, him red and her laughing, that she knew they would be great friends.

  “All right,” the instructor said, bringing her back to the present. “It’s three fifteen, so I think it’s safe to say this is our class. I’m Zac Littleton and I’ll be your instructor for the next six weeks.”

  “Littleton?” Becca asked. “Are you related to Kate?”

  At that Nick finally looked up and at the instructor, and Becca caught the recognition cross his face. “You’re one of Kate’s brothers, right? I’m Nick Hamilton, Alex’s brother.”