by Jen Doyle
To be honest, the whole thing had freaked the hell out of him. She intrigued him in a way that went beyond the usual physical response. He wasn’t sure if it was because she wasn’t the type he usually went for or in spite of it. She seemed a little more innocent than he was used to; nicer, for sure. There wasn’t any fake flash to her, no jaded glint in her eye. Not that he had a problem with women like that—he’d actually come to find comfort in them. They had their agenda, he had his and everyone got what they wanted.
Dorie, however, was a question mark. There’d been interest on her part—of that he had no doubt. Yet she’d stayed on the flirting side rather than taking it further. It wasn’t something he was used to, he had to admit.
He’d actually kind of liked it. He liked her. And he liked the way the air had hummed around her, the sense of energy and anticipation he usually felt right before stepping out on the field. He probably should have felt bad that he’d kept saying yes to more food just to keep her talking, even though the casserole had been more than enough to make up for the dinner he hadn’t had in Chicago, but he wasn’t ashamed. Not one bit.
“We didn’t expect you home anytime soon,” Uncle A said, pulling Nate back into the moment. “Those city folks getting on your nerves?”
Uninterested in going into details, Nate handed the cup back and took the gloves being offered. “Something like that.” He pulled the ax out of the stump and set up a new log to split.
“And your knee?” Uncle A asked, raising the question of the moment. What the whole world had wanted to know since the accident six weeks before.
It was a fair question; it truly was. Especially from the man who was more of a father to Nate than his own had ever been. So he didn’t attempt to shrug it off. But he was also kind of sick of hearing about it since the only answer he had was what every single doctor had told him after every conceivable test had been run. “They think it’s fine—” and they’d finally gone on record saying so, “—but you know the way they are. There are no guarantees.” The cold, hard truth was that only time would tell for sure. And beyond his current PT regimen, there was nothing anyone could do until spring training started up and he was actually playing again. “It feels good. Stiffer than I’d like, but no pain.”
Uncle A, having already talked more than he usually did, just nodded as he started stacking the wood in the shed. They worked in silence until the pile of logs was done.
His coach might not be too happy with Nate doing anything that counted even remotely as a strain on his still-healing body, but it had been exactly what he needed. His head was feeling clearer than it had in a very long time. “I don’t suppose Aunt Laura has any of those cinnamon rolls lying around?”
“Oh, lord, I hope so,” Uncle A answered, pulling a tarp over the wood. “I only get to eat those things when you kids are here.”
Laughing at the idea of still being considered a kid, Nate secured the tarp and followed his uncle inside, happily sitting down to a breakfast of pancakes and bacon and eggs—which he was told in no uncertain terms that he had to eat before getting to the cinnamon rolls; God help him, he was going to put on ten pounds today alone—when Aunt Laura said, “So, then, tomorrow at ten.”
“Sure,” Nate said. “Sounds good.” Except then he realized he had no idea what he’d just agreed to. “Wait. What?”
“The library,” Aunt Laura said with exasperation. “Lucinda is such a tiny thing. I don’t know what possessed you to let her take on a job like that.”
Nate paused, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. “Who’s Lucinda? And how is it my fault?”
“Because you boys basically hired her. That foundation of yours.” Aunt Laura began stacking dirty dishes. “That building’s practically falling down around us. And that was before the storm last week. The poor girl has to take care of all of it.”
Sitting back in his chair, Nate tried to remember what Ella, his proxy for pretty much everything Inspiration-related, had told him. “The library reopening thing,” he murmured. “In a few weeks?”
His aunt went on about bookshelves being thrown out and new ones being put in. Carpets to be pulled up and replaced; painting to be done.
“You have no idea how many boxes of books she’s moved already,” she said, planting herself in front of Nate, a plate of freshly iced cinnamon rolls so close he could practically taste them. “I mean, unless you’re not supposed to be doing anything because of your kn—”
“My knee is fine,” Nate snapped. Christ. If “tiny” Lucinda was able to manage, he could damn well do the same.
Seeing the hurt flash through his aunt’s eyes, he made sure his voice was gentler as he added, “How about tomorrow at ten? Anything else you guys need done around here?” More labor might not be doctor-approved, but damn if he was going to just sit around like an invalid and let his almost eighty-year-old uncle do it all instead.
He drew it out as long as he could, working himself up to being ready to face whatever crowd Fitz and Wash had rounded up. He was ashamed to admit how much he dreaded facing his family and friends. Not because he was afraid they’d come down on him for, well, whatever, but because he knew they wouldn’t. Just like his aunt and uncle, they’d be nicer to him than he deserved. And since they’d started treating him with kid gloves even before the Courtney years, they probably wouldn’t even lay on the guilt.
“Take the truck, too,” Uncle A said as Nate was leaving. He handed over a set of keys, grumbling, “That fool car isn’t going to help matters any with Wash. Plus now I’ve got this perfectly good truck and ain’t got no reason to use it.”
Nate hid his smile. The “perfectly good truck” was a fifteen-year-old Chevy that had a habit of breaking down on roads in the middle of nowhere. Knowing his uncle would never accept a flat-out replacement, Nate had instead given everyone in his family a new car after he’d gotten his signing bonus. It was easier that way.
But when Nate stowed the Spyder in the barn and climbed up into the truck, he found himself just sitting there.
He already missed what Dorie had given him the night before: attitude. Friction, with a little bit of a smile on the side. And although he didn’t like the feeling that he’d lied to her, it had been heaven to just sit and laugh and talk without the specter of who he was and the whole NateGate thing hanging over the room.
Leaning his head back against the seat, he smiled at the vision of her in that robe, swinging the bat over her shoulder. Decided he was going to get some more of that. And with the smile still on his face, he gave a quick wave to his aunt and uncle, then headed out to the road.
Chapter Six
“You’re living in Nate Hawkins’s apartment? Seriously?”
Even though Christopher was the brother Dorie was closest to, she was regretting saying anything. She just hadn’t been able to get him to shut up about her niece and nephews, and she already felt homesick without the additional guilt trip of hearing stories about them.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she said. “You have to promise.”
“Oh, shit,” he answered, laughing to himself in the exact same way Nate had the night before. “I don’t think I can do that. I mean...” The laughter grew louder. “Shit, Luce. This is just too good.”
Luce. They completely refused to call her Dorie, no matter how much she tried. Why that bothered her even more than all the other teasing, she had no idea. She jerked the fridge door open. “Okay,” she sighed. “Name your price.” She wasn’t above buying his silence.
“An autographed ball.” There wasn’t even a second of hesitation.
“Really?” Her brothers were die-hard Red Sox fans. They’d followed The Dream just like every other kid in their neighborhood, but they had no particular love for Nate Hawkins. No hate, either, though. He wasn’t a Yankee, after all.
“Are you kidding?” Chris sai
d. “He’s Hall of Fame. No doubt. As long as his knee is okay.”
She checked to see if the tuna she’d made a few days before was any good. Nope. Her eyes watered and the smell almost knocked her over. She threw it away, container and all. “He seemed to be fine when he was chowing down my casserole,” she muttered. Maybe she’d just have Doritos for dinner. Doritos didn’t go bad.
She grabbed a handful of baby carrots—her mother would kill her if she didn’t have a vegetable with every meal—putting them on a plate as she kicked the refrigerator door shut. Then she poured out some chips.
“You met him?” Chris exclaimed. “Great way to bury the lead.” Then he sighed. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with him already.”
Christopher was the only of her brothers who even acknowledged she’d had sex, much less that, up until her recent move, she’d been having it regularly. Still... She had standards—she was holding on to them by a thin thread, but they were there. “He barely even knows my name.” And she may not have been a card-carrying member of the you-have-to-love-a-guy-to-sleep-with-him club, but she was big on complete honesty between both parties. She may have understood why he hadn’t told her his real name—and he might even have understood why she hadn’t come clean either. But it didn’t sit right.
“Hold on,” she said, frowning when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced at the clock. Too late for UPS, but it was Iowa, so who knew? And she wanted her Amazon package of new books. Badly.
With a laugh, she said, “Chris, you didn’t figure out a way to airlift me some of Shay’s pizza, did you?” She went to the door and flung it open. “What I wouldn’t do for some of that hot, melty good—”
Her mouth snapped shut. Because there, in all his God-given glory, stood Nate Hawkins.
He was wearing the kind of clothes her brothers wore all the time—faded jeans and running shoes, and a dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt with racing stripes down the arms. But oh, lordy, was there a reason why the man had graced more than his share of magazine covers. With his sandy brown hair tousled and slightly damp, it was next to impossible not to think about what he would look like after an afternoon in bed. She might have actually gulped.
“Speaking of hot, melty goodness,” Adonis—er, Nate Hawkins—said as he held up two grocery bags. “I owe you a dinner. Can I come in?”
Although a strangled squeak came out of Dorie’s throat, she did manage to nod and then get out of the way as he stepped inside. Damn it. If this was going to be a regular occurrence she was going to need to get better pajamas. Then again, if this was going to be a regular occurrence she’d probably end up institutionalized. Or maybe she was already hallucinating.
“Christo,” she said hurriedly into the phone, “I gotta go.”
“What? Why? Is everything okay?” When she didn’t answer he hesitated only for a few seconds before saying, “Wait. Holy shit. Is he there? Did Nate Hawkins just knock on your door?”
“Not. A. Word,” she whispered. “I’ll kill you.”
She hung up the phone before he could reply. When she closed the front door and turned around, she half expected to find an empty kitchen. There was no way in hell Nate Hawkins had truly just shown up to make her dinner.
But, no. There he was, standing on the other side of the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and emptying out the grocery bags.
“Was that one of the brothers?” he asked with a devilish grin. And, yes, his body was exactly as perfect and beautiful as she remembered. She’d been hoping that had only been a figment of imagination from her fantasies last night. That she still wanted to lick him irritated her to no end. “What makes you think it wasn’t my boyfriend?”
His head jerked up and the smile disappeared. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Um... No.” Okay. So she wasn’t that good of a liar and all of her energies were directed toward not becoming a babbling idiot in his presence. And walking over to the kitchen counter. “But I totally could.”
The grin came back and her knees actually went weak. She sank down onto the stool.
“It’s the brothers,” he said, going back to the bags. “Six, right?”
She’d told him that last night? She honestly had no clue.
He took the last few items out and folded up the paper bags, then stowed them with the others in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. He reached down for a cutting board and then took one of the chef’s knives out of the block on the counter. Completely unaware of the fact that she was barely able to breathe as she watched him begin haphazardly chopping an onion, he just kept talking.
“Any guy that even looks at one of my sisters has to pass through me first.” The knife paused as he frowned. “Well, I mean they used to.” He shrugged. “Take that times six... I’m guessing it can be a little intimidating.”
Intimidating? That was intimidating?
He looked up at her. “Right?”
“Uh...”
She had to get ahold of herself. He was obviously planning on sticking around for a little while, crazy as that seemed. If she wanted to make it through the evening, coherent communication was a requirement.
Forcing herself to pretend he was someone other than Nate Hawkins, she shook her head and stood up. “That’s not how you cut an onion.” She went around the counter to join him. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was cook. “Let me.”
Not even the slightest bit defensive, he handed the knife over, then reached into the fridge and took out two beers. He waited for her to finish with the onion and rinse off her hands before he handed over a bottle.
The problem was, take away the Nate Hawkins part and he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He made her throat go dry; made her burn from the inside out.
He’d clearly made a mistake. There was probably some gorgeous, leggy blonde in the next apartment over and he’d just somehow ended up here instead. Except she lived over a storefront and the next apartment over was in another building.
And he was looking at her. Smiling at her. If he’d made a mistake, it was sure taking him a long time to figure it out.
“To big brothers,” she said, managing to find her voice.
“And the sisters worth fighting for,” he answered gruffly.
His fingers brushed hers as their bottles touched. It took everything she had to keep herself from jumping back as a frisson of heat darted through her.
Um... Why wasn’t she considering the one-night stand thing again?
Oh, right. Because she was lying to him. And whether he had a good reason or not, he was lying right back.
He stared at her for a second and then took a step back. She had no idea if there had been an actual moment between them or if she’d just imagined it. “What else can I do?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He opened the package of ground beef. “I’m making you dinner, remember?” He got out a frying pan and started browning the meat. “It’s only fair I make you another one of Aunt Laura’s casseroles.”
So caught up in the surrealness of it all, it took Dorie a few seconds to realize what that meant. When she did, she almost spit out her beer. “Mrs. Grimes is your Aunt Laura?” As in Mrs. Grimes, one of the two staff members she’d inherited when she took over the library, Mr. Grimes being staffer number two. “Oh, my God. Could they be any cuter?” She loved them. They’d been so welcoming and warm that she almost felt like they were related to her.
“Yeah,” he answered. “They’ll be married sixty years next month.”
Dorie had been trying so hard not to get lost in the way the muscles rippled across the man’s back that she almost missed his smile turning wistful. Almost. Her mouth popped open as she stared. If you put raw sex and power together and then wrapped it up with a guy’s guy, Alpha Male bow, you’d get Nate Hawkins. Nothing she’d ev
er seen or read had even hinted at his having a romantic side. Even his relationship with his now ex-fiancée had always come off kind of, well, cold.
“What?” he said warily, turning to look at her.
“Uh, nothing,” she gulped. “I was just afraid you were about to start talking about true love or something like that.”
Oh, God, she had not just said that. He’d just been through one of the most public breakups known to man and she was mocking him. She was an idiot. And unfortunately, from the way his entire body tensed, he hadn’t missed that fact at all.
But rather than act in any one of the ways her brothers would—offended, angry, twisting her arm until she recanted—he just looked at her with a gaze so intense that her breath caught and her heart started pounding and she suddenly understood what it must be like to be caught in the gravitational pull of the sun. Knowing that any second you would burst into flame yet not caring one damn bit because oh, how glorious that moment of combustion would be.
Then his lips twitched into a smile as he turned back to the stove and the spell was broken. “You don’t believe in true love?” he asked.
On a cosmic level, yes. In her own personal experience, however, the closest she’d ever come to being in love was when she’d hung his poster on her bedroom wall. “Jury’s still out,” she mumbled.
“Huh.” He looked at her over his shoulder with a twinkle in his eye. Then he turned back to the stove and his broadening smile nearly took her breath away. Again.
She jumped to her feet. Agitated, she got out the flour and sugar and salt. She could at least make dessert.
“What are you doing?” he asked. She couldn’t tell if that smile meant he was laughing at her or with her. Of course, she wasn’t laughing.
“Baking. I cook when I’m nervous,” she said to her annoyance. Telling him so wasn’t going to help. In fact, all it would do was force the question...
“I make you nervous?” He turned down the gas and faced her, his arms going across his chest as though he was pulling himself in. “Why?”