Silent Hearts (Hamilton Stables 3)

by Melissa West

“We’ve been by the diner a few times. Hard to miss a face like Becca’s.”

  At that Nick stiffened, and Trip and Alex stepped up beside him, sensing his unease and sizing up the Littleton brothers. “Is there a problem we don’t know about?” Trip asked, always the big brother.

  “No problem,” Zac replied, flexing as he crossed his arms over his chest, equally all big brother.

  “What the hell is happening?” Becca muttered, but Nick couldn’t explain this to her. He could scarcely explain it to himself. But the words pissing match were rolling around in his mind, though he’d never considered himself an overly competitive man. Clearly, Becca brought out his competitive side, along with a wealth of other emotions he wasn’t prepared to handle.

  Emery grinned at Nick, the definition of an annoying big sister, though she wasn’t blood, and then leaned in closer to Becca. “I think the Hamilton and the Littleton brothers are fighting it out for you. Like which family you belong to.”

  “What? I don’t belong to either of them.”

  “They seem to think you do.” Kate stood beside the other two women, smiling, and Nick wanted to stop this, tell them all they were acting like asses, but then he caught Zac checking Becca out, and suddenly he was crossing his arms, flexing his biceps.

  Two could plan this game.

  “Can we just play?” Becca asked, stepping in front of Nick, clearly hoping to help him see reason, but there was no reason to this, no logic anywhere in sight. All he could see was Zac and that grin of his, and then before he could help himself, he said, “How about a little competition? Us against you.”

  “Fine,” Zac said. “But why don’t we make this more interesting.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “A little wager?”

  Alex laughed as he leaned against his brother. “You sure you want to bet against us? Might leave here a little embarrassed.”

  Charlie grinned back, but nothing about his smile was light. “We’ll see.”

  “A hundred?”

  Nick shrugged. “A hundred? You call that interesting? Why don’t we make it five?”

  “Fine by us,” Brady said, propping an arm on Zac’s shoulder. “Your funeral.”

  “Ladies, keep score?” Trip called, and Emery glared at him.

  “Hell no. We’re playing, too,” Emery said. “Keep your own score.”

  And so the game began.

  “Nick . . .” Becca started.

  “It’s just a little fun.”

  “It doesn’t sound like fun. It sounds like you’re throwing balls instead of fists.”

  At that he started laughing. “Trust me, it’s fine.” He walked over to her and kissed her forehead, earning confusion-filled stares from his brothers and huge grins from their wives. But he wasn’t doing it for them, and when he caught Zac’s glare, he knew that while he might not be the competitive sort, Zac clearly was. And he planned to win more than just the stupid putt-putt game. He intended to win Becca.

  Even if he felt like a raging asshole for thinking it.

  “Who’s first?” Trip asked. “Flip for it?” He took a quarter from his pocket and eyed Zac. “Call it.” He flipped the coin as Zac called tails and then it hit the ground, heads facing up, and the Hamilton brothers went crazy.

  This was going to be the juiciest win of Nick’s life.

  The Hamiltons huddled together all serious-like, and for the first time in weeks, Nick felt like they were brothers again, family, that bond that was there before their father died returning as they unified to beat the Crestler’s Key brothers.

  Because what Becca and Emery and Kate didn’t know was that this wasn’t the first competition these sets of brothers had faced off against. They’d played each other growing up, their ages stair-stepping perfectly. Zac was Trip’s age, Charlie was Nick’s, and Brady was Alex’s, so it was only natural that the Hamiltons would become Triple Run’s golden boys and the Littletons would be Crestler’s Key’s favorites.

  Of course, they’d split sports halfway down the middle, each of them involved in different ones, so that the Hamiltons owned baseball, with their tall, lean, muscular frames, and the Littletons owned football, with their more bulky, rustic frames.

  As far as the farms went, there was no comparison. Hamilton Stables was expressly a horse farm, and the Littletons’ Orchard Farm was a traditional fruit and vegetable one. With acres and acres of apple trees, Orchard Farm had become one of the most popular spots in the South during the fall for U-pick apple picking, corn mazes, and hay rides. They were family fun, where Hamilton Stables was all prestige.

  And that was part of the animosity.

  The Littletons had always viewed the Hamiltons as pretty boys who’d never lifted a finger in their lives. Forget that Trip single-handedly built Hamilton Stables and was a world-renowned horse trainer. Or that Alex had built the breeding division. Or that back in the day, Nick had had a shot at becoming a pro angler. None of that mattered. To the Littletons, they were white-collar rich boys. End of story.

  Well, these rich boys were about to show those country boys up.

  “Nick’s the better golfer, but Alex is the better athlete,” Trip said. “So Alex starts, then I’ll go, and Nick can close us.” They clapped to break, like they were on a football field, and then it was all glaring at the opponent and serious strategy talk while the women disappeared to the other course, annoyed at the men’s antics.

  “Beers all around?” Brady asked, and once the alcohol started flowing, it didn’t stop.

  Soon beer took over logic and reason, and the competition morphed into who could hit the ball out of the most difficult spot. On his turn, Alex edged into the water, claiming he could hit his ball out of there, that he still had a shot, while Kate screamed from across the course to get his ass out of the water. He was a man, not a child. And then both sets of brothers were laughing hysterically.

  They finally reached the final hole, half a case of beers in each of them, and Nick was up. He had just decided that his glasses were broken, because his vision had blurred and his head buzzed, when he glanced up and caught sight of Becca at a hole above them. The wind caught her long locks so they flowed behind her, her face glowing in the warm light, and damn if he wasn’t lost. Absolutely lost. All his goals, everything he’d told himself his entire life tied up in this decision, and he had no idea what to do.

  “Got it bad, huh?” Zac said from behind him, and Nick peered over.

  “Apparently. When the hell did that happen?”

  Zac patted his shoulder. “A girl like that? Probably the moment you met her.”

  Nick’s thoughts drifted back to when he first saw her in her backyard, and sure enough, he’d stopped walking, his jaw falling slack, all thought on this girl and how the hell he’d never noticed her before. Surely she didn’t go to his school. But it turned out she did. He’d spent the better part of five years tripping all over her, for her never to notice, and then she’d called him her best friend and he just knew any hope was over, death by the friend card.

  But now, looking at her, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, he wondered why he’d never thought to ask her for more back then. To try. How different his life might have been if he’d just tried.

  “You’re up, bro,” Alex said. “Think you got it in you?”

  Nick’s gaze held on Becca. “I wish I knew.”

  It was the final putt for the Hamiltons, and then the Littletons would have an opportunity to tie it up and then there would have to be a putt off.

  Nick hit the ball just as the clown’s mouth opened up, and the ball disappeared inside, and then all the men raced over to the other side of the hole to see where the ball would end up. It bounced off wall after wall, before rolling slowly toward the hole.

  “Come on, ball,” Alex screamed, and even Trip had his hands clenched like he was praying. All eyes were on the ball, and then their breaths held as it rolled closer and closer and then—

  “Yes!” Nick
and his brothers all jumped at the same time as the ball dropped into the hole. “Hole in one. Beat that, Littletons!” All right, so maybe they were a little more than drunk now.

  “We got this, don’t you worry,” Zac called, his voice slurring, and suddenly Nick found the whole competition to be the stupidest thing he’d ever done in his life.

  “What are we doing here?” he asked.

  Zac stared at him. “Playing putt-putt, dude. It’s serious stuff.”

  “You know what? I don’t think I hate you after all,” Nick said, his turn to slur. “Damn, how much have we drunk?” He turned to ask one of his brothers, tripped over the clown’s giant shoe, and toppled hands and knees into the bright blue stream cradling the hole. “Shit.”

  All the men burst out laughing, and Becca appeared in front of him, her hands on her hips.

  “What did you get yourself into?”

  His gaze lifted, and suddenly, the alcohol in his veins made it impossible for him to be anything other than truthful. “I don’t want to screw us up, but I don’t want anyone else. Only you, Bec. It’s always been you.”

  Her own gaze drifted past him, likely to his brothers and their wives and the Littletons, all of them thinking he was some lovesick sap, and maybe he was. He’d been sad for so long that he wasn’t sure how to breathe or work or be anymore, but then he’d be around Becca and everything would be all right again. His body would remember how to function, her bringing him back to neutral, and that sort of relief couldn’t be ignored.

  Finally, she reached down and helped Nick out of the water. “You’re going to drench your car.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I know.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “Nick, we agreed to think about this.”

  “I have. I don’t want to think anymore.” He stepped closer and closer, until he stood inches from her, towering over her. “Kiss me.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, but I’ve never seen things more clearly.” He leaned in, his mouth hovering over hers, the smell of chlorine all over him, and yeah, maybe he was a little drunk and his family and God knew who else was watching, but he was ready. He had to be ready. “Kiss me.”

  And then his mouth grazed hers and all restraint was gone. He pulled her to him, the moon high above, and all he could think was—finally. Because this kiss wasn’t rash, this wasn’t a rush of hormones, this was all them, back to the beginning, slower moves and deeper feelings. His lips moved over hers like a caress, the pressure impossibly light, but force didn’t seem right here. He didn’t want to mess this up, to push too far, and he could feel her hesitation, sense it in her moves. But even she couldn’t deny the chemistry between them.

  Finally, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll never grow tired of kissing you. Tell me we can give this a go.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Do you trust me?” Nick stared down at her, ignoring the catcalls from his drunken brothers and the clown laughing beside him. Ignoring everything but this woman in his arms, in his heart.

  She glanced up at him, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. “Yes.”

  “Then trust me now.”

  He caught the change in her eyes even before she spoke, and then he was kissing her again, this time with more eagerness.

  Finally, everything in his life felt right. He and his brothers were talking again and the woman he’d loved all his life was beside him.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter Nine

  “Order up, Bec,” Sage called from the order counter.

  Becca finished pouring the glass of tea in her hand, her thoughts clouded. The truth was they’d been clouded for the better part of a week now. She still couldn’t believe she and Nick were together, though they’d never used any titles, so maybe they weren’t exactly together but just dating. Like casual dating. Were they casual dating? And what did that mean exactly? Like could he date other people?

  Oh, God, was he dating other people?

  “Becca, you’re going to need a rag if you don’t stop pouring soon.” She peered down at Charlotte’s glass and sure enough, she’d filled it to the tippy top, narrowly missing overfilling it, thanks to Charlotte stopping her.

  “I’m so sorry. Let me get you a straw so you can sip it down.” She pulled a straw from her apron and passed it to Charlotte, who was sitting with a few of the other town trustees. No doubt yet another meeting about the festival that weekend.

  Charlotte grinned up at her. “Don’t you worry yourself, honey. We know you’ve had your hands full, keeping that last Hamilton happy.”

  Becca’s gaze snapped from the straw to Charlotte’s face. “I’m sorry?” Did sixty-two-year-old Charlotte really just say what Becca thought she’d said?

  “Nick. It’s all over town that you’ve scooped him up for yourself.”

  Janice Valks leaned around Mayor Phillips. “Such a Cinderella story, too. Everyone’s talking about a spring wedding.”

  At that, Becca dropped the other straws she’d been holding. “No, no. No spring wedding.”

  “But whyever not?” Janice asked, her gray eyebrows knitting together. She dressed in a different matching velour outfit every day, and today she wore red. Her gray hair had long since been cut short. “A wealthy man like that and a poor girl like you? It’ll make a fantastic story for the Tribune, and then you can quit the diner. Make a better life for yourself. Don’t you want a better life for yourself?”

  Becca wasn’t sure if she should be shocked or offended or both. “Nick and I are . . .” She started to say friends, the explanation she’d given for years, but that title didn’t work for them anymore. Friends didn’t kiss the way they kissed, and Lord above, could that man kiss. Her knees went a little weak thinking about it, until Mayor Phillips said, “A wedding in Town Square would be a lovely affair.”

  “Y’all, we’re not getting married.”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted and she shook her head. “Well, you’d better close the deal soon. A fine man like that will not be on the market forever, and what better options do you have, dear? He’s a Hamilton. You’re a Stark. This is your Jane Austen moment, your Cinderella moment. Don’t let it pass you by.”

  What better options did she have? Was that really what the town thought of her? That she was no better than a waitress, not worthy of Nick?

  And then it hit her—maybe they were right. How could she compete against all those upper-class women he met at work and around the farm? Horse racing was a very prestigious sport, and there was no shortage of beautiful women vying for the attention of the Hamiltons.

  Becca could never compete against them in her current state, apron greasy from the French fries splattering on her earlier and her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. She wore not a stitch of makeup because it would just melt off by the end of her shift, which all led to one hard truth—she wasn’t Hamilton material. She needed to do something more, seek out something that would launch her up the social ladder. But with a name like Stark and a town like Triple Run, was that even possible?

  Just then her gaze caught on a flyer on the diner’s window. She cocked her head to try to read the words with the flyer facing in the opposite direction. Recruiter. Oh my God, recruiter! She’d completely forgotten about Priscilla!

  With new determination, she pulled off her apron and set it behind the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” Sage called as she started for the door. “We’ve got a full house.”

  “Willow’s here. She can handle it for fifteen minutes.”

  “It’s not your lunch yet,” the cook argued.

  Becca eyed the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. “Consider this my smoke break.”

  “But you don’t smoke.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe sometimes I need a smoke break, too. I’ll be back in fifteen.” And then Becca disappeared outside be
fore he could continue the argument, growing more frustrated with each step. So what if she didn’t smoke? Why should smokers get all the breaks? They shouldn’t. Nonsmokers deserved smoke breaks, too, and she was taking hers. Sage could fire her if he wanted.

  Of course, the diner was in the middle of the lunch rush, so he might do just that for her walking out, but she couldn’t stand there another second without a solid plan in mind. And no one in this town could help her get a plan in place better than Priscilla.

  She drew a breath and released it. The afternoon fall air was light, easy to breathe, the leaves changing from the green of summer to the beautiful reds and oranges that made Becca love the season so much.

  With a quick glance both ways, Becca cut across Town Square to Rosaline Street, the home of most of the local businesses, all of them in old homes converted into shops or hair salons or small businesses, yet their outsides still looked like something out of an old television show.

  Passing Doc Easton’s Family Practice and then Country Interiors and Landscaping, Becca walked up the long sidewalk to Triple Run Recruiting, the only job-hunting place in town. Though she thought Priscilla’s job might be better described as sitting in her office and pretending to look for jobs for others, while she really researched town gossip.

  Regardless, Becca was desperate. She needed a true career, something that didn’t involve carrying pitchers of sweet tea.

  “Hey, honey,” Priscilla said as soon as Becca walked through the door. “I saw you marching down the sidewalk. Did Sage piss you off again?”

  Becca took in the woman, all curled white-blonde hair and overly made up face, pearls around her neck, a classy blouse and black trousers completing the look. She was one of the few people in town who hadn’t grown up here, instead settling here after living up north and out west and even in Florida for a while. At first, the town had refused to accept her out of principle alone, their eyebrows cocked as she opened Triple Run Recruiting, but then someone would need a job and they’d stumble in there, and Priscilla would find them something. Suddenly, her worth outweighed her lack of heritage.

  “I need a job.”