Finding Hope (Nugget Romance 2)

by Stacy Finz

“Spread your legs a little more, sweetheart.” He flattened his hand against her sweet spot, continuing to rub with his thumb and index fingers.

  It didn’t take long before she thrust her hips against him, pleading for more, and it took all his willpower not to slip inside of her. Griff didn’t know he could get any harder. But seeing her breasts bounce up and down as her thrusts grew more frenzied had him near bursting.

  “Good?” He showered her belly with kisses.

  “Oh, Griffin. It’s . . . Oh.” She tilted her head forward so she could watch him.

  “I’m going to try something different now.” He hoisted her legs over his shoulders and sucked as he squeezed her breasts and played with her nipples.

  “Griffin, please.” Lina clutched the side of the bed, tearing at the sheets. “Please.”

  “Please what, Lina?” He moved his hands under her ass so he could pull her closer to his mouth, making her scream out. Not wanting her to come too fast, he slowed the rhythm of his tongue, swirling with languid strokes. She tasted like honey and innocence, a reminder that he should stop before he lost himself. But not before he brought her to climax. He wouldn’t deprive her of that.

  “More,” she whimpered. “Faster.”

  With his fingers he hastened the pace and pressure until he sensed her riding the crest. “You there?”

  She called out as he felt her body tremor, then she fell back on the bed.

  “You okay?” he asked, concerned that he might’ve overwhelmed her.

  “Oh yeah,” she said on a sigh. “Is it always like that?”

  He didn’t want to tell her that it would’ve been better if he’d been inside her. “With me it is,” Griff bragged, smiling.

  “Your turn now.” She rolled off the bed and joined him on the floor, and before he could stop her, Lina took the tip of him into her mouth. “I don’t know how to do this,” she said, tilting her head so she was looking into his eyes.

  Well, she certainly got an A for effort, he’d give her that. He motioned for her to come up. “No more.” In the shower he’d finish himself off. “We’ve got to stop now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to do right by you, Lina. And if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to take you here on the hardwood floor.”

  “You’re the hottest man I’ve ever met,” she said, reaching out to stroke his chest.

  “You’ll meet a lot of men in college. And they’ll be age appropriate.” It pained him to say it, because he didn’t want her with anyone else, but she had her whole life ahead of her. He’d barely finished high school. If it wasn’t for Manning’s money, he’d have nothing to offer.

  “We could see each other when I come home for vacations and on weekends. It’s not like San Francisco is that far away.”

  From Nugget, it was a world away. “Why don’t we see how it goes? I like you, Lina. I really do. You’re gorgeous, smart, sweet. But I’m not making any promises. You’ll meet all kinds of interesting people living in a big city, attending a prestigious university. How can you keep an open mind and experience life, if you’re stuck on some old mechanic back in Nugget? Not to mention that I’ve got a lot on my plate with a new gas station to run and real estate venture to revive.”

  He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Hell, I don’t know the first thing about selling fancy houses.”

  “You’ll do great, Griffin. For some reason this town has decided to like you, which is nothing short of a miracle. When Maddy and her brother first came here and tried to renovate this inn the town turned on them. But you . . . you get invited to play cards with the Nugget Mafia.”

  When he looked at her like big deal, she said, “Don’t kid yourself. Those crusty geezers run this town. Things go much easier when you have their endorsement. Dink’s the freakin’ mayor—as hard as that is to believe.”

  They shared a good laugh. Griffin gazed at her sitting across from him naked, looking so damn beautiful that it made his eyes water, and said, “Lina, put your dress on, please.” Not that clothing would stop him from wanting her.

  She stood up, bent down to grab her undergarments, giving him a nice view of her eighteen-year-old ass, and disappeared inside the bathroom. “How did it go with your dad?” Lina asked through the shut door over the sound of running water.

  Griff let out a breath and hiked up his jeans. “Not too good, I’m afraid.”

  “How come?” She came out dressed, her color still high from their earlier activity.

  “Are we okay, Lina? You’re not uncomfortable with anything we did, are you?”

  “Are you kidding? I love what we did.” She plopped down into his lap and he enfolded her in his arms. “Tell me what happened with your father.”

  “Well, he wasn’t what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “An asshole who wanted to lord his money over me,” Griff said. “But he was actually sort of humble. I don’t think he’s too fond of the gambling, but truth be told it saved his people from poverty. They’re probably the wealthiest reservation in the country now.”

  Griffin took a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger. “He apologized for not claiming me as a kid and for not helping my mother with child support. As if a simple ‘I’m sorry’ could cover it. She died destitute, when he had billions. According to old Manning, back when I was born he had a lot of anger issues with the white man, and it was very important to him to preserve his culture. That’s why he ignored me for twenty-six years.” Griff let out a wry laugh. “Yet he wasn’t so principled back then to keep from knocking up a white woman.”

  “But he doesn’t want to ignore you anymore?” Lina turned sideways in his lap so she could look at him.

  “Nope. He and his wife, who seems like a nice lady, weren’t able to have children. He wants me to carry on the Moore bloodline and teach my children about Wigluk ways.”

  “Why the change of heart?” Lina wanted to know. “Just because he didn’t have children?”

  “He said he’s seen times change. Nearly all the young people on the reservation have multicultural marriages, and it’s influenced his attitude.”

  “So, did you agree?”

  Griffin shook his head. “I pretty much told him where to get off. He’ll probably take away the money, but I can’t be bought.”

  “Of course you can’t.” She stroked his cheek.

  “How am I supposed to pass on Wigluk history and rituals to my kids when I don’t know anything about them? He didn’t think I was worthy enough to be part of my own culture.”

  “But you have to give him credit for finally seeing the light, even if he waited this long.”

  “Maybe.” Griffin shrugged. “That’s what Morris, my financial planner, says. And I have to say, Manning is a pretty interesting guy. But I can’t forgive him for turning my mother away. She might not have been the perfect mother, but she loved me with everything she had.”

  “Wouldn’t your mother want you to get to know him, Griffin? My guess is that she wouldn’t want you to miss out because of her.”

  “You mean miss out on his money?” Griffin asked, aghast.

  “Don’t be disgusting. You don’t need his money. I’m talking about the opportunity to know the man who made you and learn about your heritage. I’m half Mexican, and before my mother died she made sure Sam and I spoke Spanish. We always cooked our traditional foods at home, and she’d promised to take us to the town where she was born. She never got the chance, but Rhys said he’d take all of us on a family vacation. The reason why I’m telling you this is because it’s important to know where you come from and who your people are.

  “For a long time Rhys hated our father,” Lina continued. “He wasn’t very nice to Rhys, for reasons Sam and I have never understood. He was stern and harsh, and honestly, abusive. But my brother came back here to take care of him when he got Alzheimer’s and in that last year, before my dad died, they got closer. I suspect that Rhys sti
ll has plenty of anger toward him, but they made their peace and Rhys is free to move on with that part of his life. I think you should make peace with your father so you’re free to move on.”

  Griffin nuzzled her neck. “You sure you’re only eighteen?” She giggled, reminding him that she was indeed still a girl. Albeit a passionate one on the cusp of womanhood. “I’ll think about it. I’ve got a feeling that you’re right—my mother would want me to know my heritage. She used to joke that we were a bunch of good-looking mutts, which I’m perfectly okay with.”

  He was about to ask her to dinner when someone knocked on the door. “Shit.”

  They both jumped up at the same time, Griffin fumbling through the pile of laundry to find a shirt, while Lina ducked inside the bathroom. He opened the door, and much to his surprise, Morris stood there with a bottle of champagne.

  “Holy Christ,” was all Griff could say.

  “I came to christen your new development.” Morris’s lips curved up in a proud smile. “Looks like you’re the new owner of Sierra Heights—at least after escrow closes.”

  “Whoa.” Floored would be the only way to describe how Griffin felt. “The deal actually went through? Manning didn’t cut my funds?”

  “We need to talk about that,” Morris said, taking in the room. The man was more of a mentor to him than Manning could ever be, but Griffin now knew he hadn’t come all this way just to celebrate.

  Griff ushered him in and shut the door. “Lina, come out, honey.”

  She emerged from the bathroom with the grace of a princess. “Lina, this is Morris.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Lina said, and shook his hand.

  “Likewise,” he said, but appeared less than pleased.

  “Well, I should get going,” Lina said, showing the first signs of being flustered. Perhaps she was detecting Morris’s disapproval. Griffin walked her to the door and whispered that he’d call her later.

  Morris waited until they heard her footsteps disappear down the staircase, then in a stern voice asked, “How old is that young lady?”

  “She’s legal.” Barely legal, but legal. Griffin sat at the edge of the bed, inviting Morris to take a seat in one of the wing chairs. “You came to talk to me about my father and my damned trust fund, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. And now I see we also have a girl to discuss.” Morris deliberately glanced at the disarrayed blankets.

  Griffin scrubbed his hand over his face. “Yeah, about that girl. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.”

  Chapter 16

  “What?” Emily had to control herself to keep from screaming it into the phone. “Marge, we haven’t even agreed on all the recipes and she wants to do a photo shoot? I don’t even know what there is to shoot—oh, besides Della James and her many faces of psycho.”

  “Calm down,” Marge tried to soothe. “Fiscally, it makes sense. She’s on tour on the West Coast and we have an insane turnaround on this book. Did I say insane? The sooner we finish the book, the sooner we get this meshuggener out of our hair.”

  Emily liked the way Marge kept saying “we.” So far it had just been Emily dealing with the meshuggener. “Where are we even doing this photo shoot? I thought she wanted it at her Maw Maw’s farm in Tennessee.”

  “The farm’s now a Dairy Queen, so that’s out.” Marge paused for a breath, cautioning Emily that whatever came out of her mouth next was bound to be bad. Marge never took breaths. Ever. “I may have made a slight error in telling her about that ranch you’re living on and how they once used it to shoot an episode of Bonanza.”

  “They never made Bonanza here, Marge.” At least Emily didn’t think so, because something like that would be big news around Nugget. “We are not doing the shoot here!”

  “Why not? You could use your own kitchen; maybe do a few shots at the big farmhouse you told me about.”

  “Because it’s not my ranch. It’s a man’s business. His home. Not the Grand Ole Opry.”

  “Tell him we’ll pay him. I could squeeze a couple more thousand out of Della’s people if it’s as nice as you say.”

  “For God’s sake, Marge. This is absurd.”

  “Just ask. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Look, I’ve gotta run.” Before Emily could argue, Marge hung up.

  Emily counted to ten, took a deep breath, and counted again. If she did it enough times, maybe she wouldn’t break anything. Crazy Della James wanted to come here in less than a month to shoot the entire cookbook. A cookbook that hadn’t even been written yet.

  The woman clearly had no idea the kind of planning a cookbook photo shoot entailed. Nor the props involved. Elaborate dishware. A wide array of tablecloths and placemats. Photogenic pots and pans. This all required shopping. Tons and tons of shopping. And it’s not like Nugget had a Williams-Sonoma nearby or that Emily had a couple of assistants who could scour the countryside for really cool pot holders. This didn’t even touch the fact that until they had secured a location, in writing, Emily didn’t have a kitchen.

  Fine, she would put a stop to it right now. She pulled off her apron, kicked off her cooking clogs, and quickly laced up a pair of tennis shoes.

  Off she went to find the man who had the power to put the kibosh on Project Ridiculous. No way would Clay McCreedy let Della James and her entourage traipse around his cattle ranch.

  Her first stop was the house, but no one answered. She tried the horse barn without luck, but heard a commotion coming from a pipe corral closer to the south pasture and went in that direction. Unlike the Indian summers of the Bay Area, Emily could already feel a drop in the temperature. Instead of the dripping hot days of July, August was a tad more comfortable. Clay had warned her that they could have snow as early as late September.

  For now, monkey flowers, mule’s ears, and paintbrush still covered the land like a canvas awash in color. Emily never grew tired of the beautiful scenery, clean air, and the sound of the Feather River rushing outside her windows. For hours she could stare at the majestic mountains, which still held patches of snow. Sometimes, in the early morning, a layer of mist floated over the highest peaks, making them seem mystical. She’d never thought of herself as anything but an urban dweller, but the slow pace and simple life of McCreedy Ranch had converted her into a country woman.

  When she got to the enclosure, Clay sat on the top of the pen’s fence with his aviators on and his hat slung low. A couple of hands gathered next to the corral, watching the biggest bull Emily had ever seen mount a cow.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, she called up to Clay, “Couldn’t you at least give the couple a little privacy?”

  His lips quirked and he jumped down. “I like to watch.”

  Okay, she’d set herself up for that one. “Lucky fellow. He gets to service the whole herd?”

  “He’s good for about twenty gals, then we give some of the other boys a crack at the ladies. At least the ones we don’t artificially inseminate.”

  “Why do you do that?” she asked.

  “Sometimes I use bulls from other ranches to try to improve my bloodlines. Or if my fellows produce calves that are too large for a particular cow, I’ll go with an off-site bull.”

  “I just figured you put all of them together and let nature take its course. Who knew so much planning went into it?”

  “A lot of science and a bit of luck.” He leaned against the fence, folding one leg at the knee so he could press the sole of his booted foot against one of the pipe railings. The brim of his hat dipped beneath his brows and the sunglasses hid his eyes. But she could tell he was scrutinizing her. “You need something?”

  Emily took one look at him striking that cowboy pose, and forgot the reason she came. If there was a picture in the dictionary to illustrate the manliest man in the world, it would be Clay McCreedy. She didn’t even need to see them all to know he’d be the most virile. And the best-looking.

  “You okay, there?” He lifted her chin with his finger.

  “Just hot,” she manage
d to squeak out.

  “Yeah?” He nudged his head toward the corral and his lips turned up in a wicked smile. “Got you a little excited, huh?”

  “No . . . Of course not . . . Don’t be disgusting,” she said, and even to her own ears she sounded like a priss.

  “Emily, I was kidding.”

  “Della James wants to do the photo shoot for her cookbook here,” she blurted. “It’s not okay, right?”

  “Fine by me.” He smiled at her, and Emily couldn’t decide whether she wanted to punch or kiss him. The kiss certainly wouldn’t be for Della James’s stupid cookbook.

  “She’s got a big entourage, lots of cameras, equipment, makeup and hair people. It would be a giant disruption. Not to mention a great inconvenience having their vehicles coming and going.”

  He rolled his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s a big spread. I’m sure everyone will manage to stay out of each other’s way.”

  “They said they would pay you.” At least he should get money out of the deal.

  “You keep it. From what you’ve described of Della James, I’ve got a feeling you’re going to deserve every dime.” He chuckled. “When’re they coming? I’ll make sure the lawn’s mowed.”

  “September,” she said. “If you want, I’ll make sure McCreedy Ranch gets credited in the book.”

  “Makes no difference to me. Will you get credit?” Clay cocked his head in question.

  “Where it counts—in my wallet.”

  He frowned. “Yeah, that’s bullshit. You going to your meeting tonight?”

  Emily was surprised he’d remembered. “I have so much work to do to prepare for this shoot that I may have to miss this one.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said. “It’s too important. I’ll take you. It’s not good you driving that highway after dark. You can work in the truck.”

  The highway was straight as a ruler, well lit, with cell service the entire way. And the cab of a Ford wasn’t exactly conducive for testing recipes. But the gesture was so sweet that it made her melt inside.

  “Clay, what about the boys?”

  “Cody is having an overnight with Sam and Justin’s going to a birthday party. At least that’s what he’s calling it for my sake. I have a few errands to do in Reno; we’ll grab a bite on the way home.”