by Amanda Ashby
“My chances of having two breakdowns in the one day are slim,” she said, even though it was a lie. Matilda was always breaking down, and Bec had been foolish not to take it into account before Charlie took off on some secret job for Pepper.
“They’d be even less if I was around. And I promise I won’t mention anything about the baby. We can have another truce.”
She paused. Saying yes to his help was dangerous, not just because she might then owe him another favor, but because if what Coop said was true, her sexual frustration was only going to increase the more she was around him. Especially if he did relax and morph back into the man she’d first met. But saying no might have even worse consequences if the tractor did break down again.
“Fine,” she said, just as a green Ford drove up the long driveway, closely followed by a red SUV. “You can stay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Lincoln gave the tractor one last pat before they both went over to the parking lot to greet the young guests.
Chapter Six
“Still having fun?” Bec’s voice called out two hours later as Lincoln adjusted the blindfold around his eyes and wondered what his chances were of changing his mind about staying to help.
“Great time,” he assured her, as his foot came into a contact with something. He lurched forward and only just managed to thrust out his arms and regain his balance. The move was apparently hilarious to the group of kids he was meant to be searching for. He did a mock bow as the chortles of laughter rang out around him. No doubt Bec thought it was funny, too. She was probably taking photographs of him right now, for her own amusement. “Can’t think why I haven’t played this game sooner.”
“Probably because you’re terrible at it?” Bec suggested. But despite not being able to see her face, he could tell from her light voice that she was teasing him. Which was easy to do when he was blindfolded. “Anyway, kids,” she went on. “It’s time to leave, but make sure you tell your parents how much fun you had.”
“No, we want to stay longer,” the voices all chorused. “Lincoln hasn’t found us yet.”
“At this rate he never will,” Bec retorted as he tugged off the blindfold. The kids tumbled out of their hiding places, ten feet from where he’d been standing. He groaned. Bec was right. He was terrible at being blindfolded. At least he hadn’t disgraced himself with the other lawn games that had been laid out around the farm.
When the guests had first arrived, they’d done an extensive hayride that had culminated in a visit to the wishing bridge, before being led to where lunch had been laid out on long trestle tables. Then, once their energy had been restored, they’d run around the farm playing croquet, throwing horseshoes and amusing themselves by hiding from him during an impromptu game of Blind Man’s Bluff. Good wholesome vintage fun, Bec had assured him, while trying not to smirk.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, as the kids reluctantly headed in the direction of the parking lot where their parents were waiting.
“I’m not saying you don’t have great qualities, but stumbling around in a blindfold isn’t one of them,” Bec said over her shoulder before following the kids.
She likes some of my qualities? Lincoln was tempted to run after her, but decided she wouldn’t thank him for it. Especially since he was discovering Bec Watson had an amazing work ethic. It was two parts sweat and one part laughter, and watching her amuse her small guests while ensuring the whole event ran like clockwork had been impressive.
She’d told him on more than one occasion her sisters thought she was footloose and irresponsible, but that was something he couldn’t see. Then again, her sisters probably didn’t get fixated on the way she chewed her lip, or want to trace a line around the small owl tattoo nestled on her shoulder and visible through the sheer fabric of her T-shirt. Lust stabbed at him, and he let out a groan.
I need to stop thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about.
Like ripping that damn T-shirt off.
He turned away. There was a ladder propped against the barn wall, and he hoisted it over his shoulder. Dirt shifted beneath his feet as he threaded his way down the narrow, winding path until he came to the flattened grass area and the covered bridge itself.
He hadn’t paid much attention to it the other day, his mind too taken up with Bec and trying to sort out their problems, but today he decided it was charming. Not much longer than twenty-feet, with just a trickle of a creek below it, the bridge still had a quiet dignity as the pale autumn sun beamed down on the wooden joinery.
Vintage bunting was draped along the entrance, and he got to work carefully taking it down and rolling it in a neat pile. Once he was done, he walked to the middle of the bridge, halting at the beam that Bec had shown to her small guests. She’d explained that all you had to do was touch it with your hand and focus.
Make a wish for anything you want.
So, what do I want?
Lincoln paused. He didn’t have time for wishes. Life had taught him if he wanted something to happen, he had to do it himself. Only problem was that fixing everything was tiring. The idea that it might be fixed for him was appealing. He breathed in deeply. The air was filled with the delicate scent of late blooming roses, while the faint sound of crickets sounded in his ears.
He reached up and touched the beam as an image of him and Bec together in Italy flooded his mind. It had been late evening, and after an alfresco meal they’d gone for a walk on the beach before tumbling into one another’s arms. And then they’d gazed at the moon and stars and talked about what life would be like if they could wake up there every day. He grinned as he closed his eyes.
“I hate to burst your bubble, but it doesn’t work.” At the sound of Bec’s voice, Lincoln let his hand quickly fall to his side and turned to where she was standing with two juice boxes in her hands.
“That’s not what you told the kids earlier,” he said, noticing she’d stopped at the edge of the bridge like she was afraid to cross the threshold. He walked toward her, the wood creaking under his feet. The afternoon light danced around her face, highlighting every freckle and making her blue eyes stand out even more against her short dark hair. His mouth went dry, and he sucked in a jagged breath.
“Only because they’re young and idealistic. Far be it from me to ruin the magic and be the crusher of dreams.” She shrugged, which had the undesired result of making her bangs fall across her forehead. His fingers twitched to push them away.
He joined her at the edge of the bridge. “How are you so certain it doesn’t work, then?”
“Because if the wishes came true then I’d be the proud owner of a pet dragon and a never-ending supply of popcorn.” She handed him a juice box and nodded for him to join her on one of the nearby hay bales that had been put there for the kids to play on. Personally, Lincoln would’ve preferred something a bit stronger, but since Bec couldn’t drink alcohol, he wouldn’t, either. He took the juice and wondered how long she’d waited for her dragon to come. How long had she looked at the bridge and been angry at it for not delivering?
He hated that she’d been disappointed. That she might still be disappointed.
He sat down next to her and leaned back against the bale. The hay dug into his back, but Bec didn’t seem to notice as she stretched out her legs.
“So, you were impressive today,” he said to take his mind off her thigh, only inches from his. So, close I could run a hand along it. Would she shudder?
“Are you giving me a compliment?” A faint crinkle appeared between her brows as she studied his face.
“You give me juice and I give you compliments. It seems like a far trade.” He held up the juice so they could clink boxes. She reluctantly smiled, leaving him inordinately pleased he’d managed to stop her from glaring at him.
“Okay, well, I suppose in a way you’re thanking yourself, since it would’ve been a disaster if you hadn’t been here.”
“See, I knew you tho
ught I was doing a good job with Blind Man’s Bluff.”
“No, I stand by my verdict.” She shook her head, but once again she smiled. “You’re terrible at vintage Victorian lawn games. But when it comes to fixing tractors, you’re not too shabby.”
“I live to serve,” he assured her with a small smile.
“So, you never told me how you know so much about engines. Did your father teach you?”
“God, no.” He shook his head before he could stop himself. “My father wasn’t exactly around much. He spent most of his time in an apartment in London and only came back to the estate when he wanted to find something to sell. But as the money dried, up so did his appearances at home. By the end, I saw more of him in the papers than I did in real life.”
“God, that’s terrible. When I was little I always used to be jealous of the kids who complained about their parents. I’d think ‘you don’t know how lucky you are to even have them.’ Now, I’m not so sure.” Bec’s eyes were filled with a kaleidoscope of emotion, and regret slammed into his gut. He hadn’t meant to remind her of her own parents. Hell, I didn’t mean to bring up my parents, either. Especially not the old man.
“It wasn’t so bad,” he quickly said, hoping it would ease the concern hovering around her mouth. His father had ruined too many things in his life; he didn’t need his memory to ruin this as well. “Howard, the estate manager, had a soft spot for me and never seemed to mind when I trailed after him, asking a million questions. He was also an engine enthusiast, and that’s how I learned.”
“He sounds like an English combination of Charlie and Ivy.”
“He’s pretty great. Without him and my mother, the estate would’ve been sold off long ago.”
“Are things really so bad?” she asked, her back going stiff. “When I went, there were a lot of chandeliers and gold-framed pictures.”
“Smoke and mirrors,” Lincoln said, as Snowden Manor flashed into his mind. Most of the wings were closed off because the wallpaper was falling down and the floorboards were rotten. “The amount of rent we get from the fields keeps going down, while taxes keep going up. And the numerous loans my father took out using the place as equity mean that we’re constantly on the edge of defaulting. We have an investment agreement that’s almost finalized, but there’s a morality clause in there, which sounds ridiculous, but if you knew my father, it makes sense.”
Bec’s hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a small gasp. “The photos. Is that why your mother tried to bribe me? To stop the deal from falling through?”
Lincoln rubbed his brow. “I won’t condone what she did. Hell, I won’t condone what I did. But yes. Let’s just say my family name has used up all nine lives. Even a whiff of a scandal and we’ll lose the investor, leaving the bank to take over Snowden Manor.”
Bec was silent, as if weighing what he’d said. His stomach tightened. Her sympathy was the last thing he wanted.
So, what do I want then? Wait—don’t answer that.
“That’s why you flew all the way over here?”
He nodded. “Yes, but it’s not why I stayed. I stayed because I found out about the baby.” Our baby.
“I’m sorry I judged you. I hate when people judge me, and yet I seem to be constantly doing it to you.” Bec sighed, causing her chest to rise and fall beneath her thin T-shirt.
“I didn’t give you much to go on.” Lincoln tried to ignore the cramp in his shoulder. He should move, but if he did, he might somehow break the connection that had opened between them. “What with the whole forgetting to mention who I really was.”
“I understand why you did it.” Bec bit down on her lower lip, making her even more desirable. The numbness in his shoulder disappeared, replaced by the steady pounding of his heart as he drank in the sight of her mouth. “And I could’ve asked more questions. Or taken fewer photographs,” she said.
“At the time it seemed like a good idea.” He dared to inch closer to her, breathing in her aroma—soap and hay and all things bright. His pulse spiked as she let out a tiny moan. The air caught in his throat as the throbbing tension rattled his body.
“It did,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving his. A shudder went through him as her perfume caught in his nose and her lips parted. “Just like right now, this seems like a good idea.”
Desire raced through him. She wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers, feather light at first, until Bec let out a soft groan. Lincoln’s arms snaked around her, dragging her closer to him, pushing away all the things standing between them. They were back in Italy. She tasted of juice and sunshine. The sea was behind them, the sand beneath. Bec’s hand looped up around his neck. His title fell away along with his responsibilities. All he could taste was her skin. Her heart pounding—
Crunch.
At the sound of footsteps, Bec sprang away, and a tall girl with brown hair and a band of flowers in her hair appeared. Despite the height difference, there was no mistaking the family resemblance. This must be her middle sister.
He coughed and tried to collect himself. Not quite how he imagined meeting her family.
“Emmy?” Bec jumped to her feet as color rose to her cheeks. “What are you doing here? When did you get back?”
“Just now. I gave Pepper the time. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you,” Emmy said as the two exchanged a look that seemed to cover a whole conversation.
“Well, considering Pepper’s been holed up with Charlie, dealing with some top-secret business, she was probably too busy,” Bec retorted, with just a hint of bitterness in her voice.
“Sorry if it came as a shock,” Emmy said, then she turned to Lincoln and smiled. “You must be Lincoln.”
“Nice to meet you.” He nodded. Her gaze wasn’t as measured as Pepper’s, but it was still unnerving. Not that I blame her. After all, I’m the jerk who got her twenty-two-year-old sister pregnant.
“You, too.” Emmy licked her lips and turned her attention back to Bec, seeming to take in everything from her dilated eyes to her slightly open mouth, and too late Lincoln understood Bec wasn’t the only one in the family who could read between the lines. “So, Christopher’s up at the house if you’d like to join us. You too, Lincoln.”
“Oh…” Before he could say anything else, Bec quickly shook her head.
“Actually, Lincoln was just saying he needed to leave.”
Ouch. He might be annoyed by the interruption, but obviously Bec was relieved. At least, she was going to great pains to make her sister think so. Neither possibility was comforting, since it meant their kiss had been an accident. One she was already regretting.
I’m screwing up so bad right now.
“Right, yes. I’m staying with Miss Dottie, and I promised to help her move a carpet.”
“Oh.” Emmy raised an eyebrow in surprise. “She must like you.”
“She likes the fact I can lift things,” Lincoln corrected.
Emmy shook her head. “Nope. The only time Miss Dottie asks a guest to help her is if she likes them. I bet you’re in the Elvis room.”
“You’re in the Elvis room?” Bec raised her eyebrow as if this information was somehow relevant. Then she turned, and without a backward glance she followed Emmy back up to the farm, leaving Lincoln alone to figure out what had just happened.
…
“Okay, spill,” Emmy said as soon as Christopher had excused himself to go and finish an article he’d promised his editor. Bec tried not to be jealous of the way Emmy’s whole face had lit up when he’d kissed her. Unlike Lincoln, who’d acted like he’d been caught stealing candy from the corner store. Which was a pity because she suspected her face had looked the complete opposite. It wasn’t a photo she wanted to add to her collection.
Bec sighed and reached for the booking schedule. “Well, I’ve taken a deposit for a wedding next year, and the Hayride Fiesta just finished, with one of the other mothers already making a booking for December.
I’m also meeting a couple next week who want to discuss an engagement party and—”
“I don’t mean about the business, I mean about you.” Emmy put her hand on Bec’s arm, which immediately reminded her of when they were kids. Her sister had always been the peacekeeper of the three of them—trying to hold them all together while Bec and Pepper tried to run in different directions. It was surprising how little had changed.
“Oh.” Bec tried to busy herself with the booking schedule in the hope it would hide the truth. “You mean the kissing?”
“Yes, I mean the kissing. I thought there was nothing between you anymore.” Emmy knit her brows together, looking more like Ivy than ever.
“There isn’t.” Bec shook her head, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. Problem was, the more she was near Lincoln, the more she’d remembered the guy she’d met in Italy. Plus, there had been something so freeing, so liberating about letting herself fall into the magnetic pull he had over her. Which was why she’d closed her eyes and found his mouth.
And it was amazing. Toe-curlingly wonderful.
Enough to make her forget that from now on she could have only one priority. Her baby. Thankfully Emmy had turned up, and sanity had seeped back into Bec’s brain.
“Well, just for the record, people who are finished don’t normally kiss each other. Not like that. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Bec retorted before recognizing the stubborn set of her sister’s mouth. “Okay, so, I know it looks bad, but here’s the thing—Coop has this theory that if I just went ahead and kissed Lincoln, then I might be able to get over the obsession I have with the idea of kissing him. It’s been very time consuming.”
“What?” Emmy rubbed her ear as if it would somehow help her understand what her sister had just said.
“Obsession,” Bec repeated. “With his mouth. At first I thought it was just a hormone thing. Like how I want to eat relish with everything. But then Coop challenged me to kiss him, and of course I had no desire to. Which meant it’s only Lincoln I wanted to kiss. So, Coop said if I just kissed him, it might help me get over the fixation.”