by Jessie Evans
“Well, did you find anything?” she asked, forcing a smile.
Sawyer frowned. “I did, but not until after Rupert died. A few entries after she found him dead in their bedroom, she started talking about the curse, and how it must have followed her family over from Ireland. I thought that was…kind of strange.”
Mia shrugged. “I don’t know, I mean, maybe she’d thought it was an old wives’ tale or something. Like Big Foot, or say…a hymen.”
Sawyer chuckled and threaded his fingers through hers, but she could tell by the look in his eye that he wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. Considering they’d only known each other two weeks, Mia was getting pretty damned good at reading his expressions.
“Maybe,” he said. “But look at how much you think about this curse, and you’re a modern woman who’s been raised not to believe in that kind of thing. I know your gram likes to mess with you, but your mom and dad obviously don’t believe in fairy curses following their family over from the old country.”
Mia shrugged again, less enthusiastically. “I don’t think about it that much, but I guess I get what you’re saying.”
She wouldn’t agree that Gram was “just messing” with her, but it was true that her parents thought the legend was ridiculous and embarrassing. But then, her dad thought most things that didn’t have to do with hunting, guns, baseball, or grilling large quantities of meat were ridiculous. He had a habit of making out with his wife in public, and got choked up when he stood for the National Anthem at baseball games, but that was the limit on his tolerance for embarrassing behavior.
If her dad knew that Mia even half-believed in the legend, he’d ground her for a month, even if she was twenty-five years old and no longer living in his house. Mia enjoyed a greater degree of her father’s benevolence because she was the baby of the family, and a girl—he saved his hardcore parenting for Mia’s brother, Pike—but she knew better than to flaunt her superstitious side in front of Jim Sherman.
“So I think a girl who’d lived in Ireland until she was ten years old would have fairy curses even more on her mind, especially in the days before she was married,” Sawyer continued, his thumb smoothing idly back and forth across the back of Mia’s hand, making it difficult to keep her mind on anything but how much she wanted to be alone with him.
Dinner with her parents had been fun—Mom and Dad both liked Sawyer, and Sawyer had warmed immediately to everyone, even Gram—but there were more interesting ways to spend a Friday night than sitting on her parents’ porch swing, and Mia was past ready to take this conversation to the bedroom. Or, better yet, to forget the conversation, and go straight to the making out like the world was about to end.
“Are you ready to go?” Mia turned to Sawyer, draping her legs suggestively over his thighs. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’ve had about enough quality family time for one night.”
Sawyer hooked a hand behind her knees and pulled her legs more firmly into his lap. “Just seems strange that Amelia didn’t mention a word about the curse,” he said stubbornly. “Even in her journal entry the night before the wedding. Which she didn’t seem excited about, by the way. Seemed more like she was talking herself into it, than looking forward to it.”
“How about ice cream?” Mia leaned in to kiss his jaw, the hint of scruff on his cheek tickling her chin, making her remember the way that scruff had felt brushing across her nipples the night before. “I’m in the mood for ice cream. Preferably licked off of your stomach.”
Sawyer turned his head, bringing his mouth so close to hers that Mia’s lips began to tingle with anticipation. Of all the things she and Sawyer did together, kissing him was still her very favorite. Kissing him was like a dance, a sweet, sexy slow dance they got better at every time they came into each other’s arms.
“You can keep trying to distract me,” Sawyer said. “But sooner or later, I’m going to get you to talk about this.”
Mia dropped her head back, staring up at the pale blond planks of the porch roof as she exhaled. “Why? We’ve talked about it all we need to talk about it. There’s nothing more to say.”
Sawyer pressed a kiss to her throat, making her shiver despite the heat of the evening. “I think there is. I don’t like that you let this thing haunt you. It’s just a story.”
“I’m not haunted by it,” Mia said, eyes sliding closed as Sawyer continued to feather kisses down her neck. “I just think it’s better not to push my luck, that’s all.”
“That’s not a reason to believe in something.” Sawyer’s lips moved across her bare shoulder, making her nipples pull tight in her strapless bra.
“You know what I believe in?” Mia asked, answering her own question before Sawyer could respond. “Blow jobs. And I’d like to give you one. Tonight.”
Sawyer groaned softly against her neck, sending a wave of delicious vibration across her skin. “All right, woman. Consider me distracted. Let’s get out of here.”
Mia smiled. “I’ll grab my purse and say the quickest goodbye ever.”
She leapt up from the porch swing and headed for the door to the living room, Sawyer close behind her. Growing up, Mia had loved the arrangement of her parents’ house. The large central room was a combination living room, dining room, rec room, and kitchen, and boasted over three thousand square feet of living space and a vaulted ceiling that gave everyone plenty of room to breathe. There were doors on each of the main living area’s three walls, leading out onto the wrap-around porch, and so many windows that on spring days when the panes were open, it felt like living outside.
The only drawback to the design was that there was absolutely no privacy. As a teenager, she’d had to retreat to her bedroom on the other side of the house if she wanted to read romance novels with sexy poses on the cover without her dad making fun of her, and Pike had always gone to the barn to talk to his girlfriends, determined not to let their mother in on any of the details of his love life.
Now, as Mia stepped inside the home, she could see immediately that something was wrong, even though Gram tried to shush her father as she and Sawyer entered. But Mia saw trouble in the way Dad hunched over the kitchen island, his palms braced on the counter like he was ready for battle, and Gram’s pinched lips had gone white beneath her lipstick.
“What’s wrong?” Mia crossed behind the two overstuffed leather couches and past the heavy oak table where the dessert plates and coffees were still scattered across the polished wood surface.
“More ghost town drama,” Mia’s mother said with a sigh. “As usual.”
“Hush, Jenny,” Gram said, cutting her gaze meaningfully toward Sawyer. “This is private family business.”
Mia’s mother rolled her light brown eyes, which were carefully outlined with thin brown pencil, the way they were every Friday night, even though these dinners were usually family only. Mia’s mother had been a beauty queen and the legacy still showed. Even in a simple white silk tee shirt, khaki slacks, and a few pieces of elegant gold jewelry, she looked like she was ready to address the ladies of the junior league or host a fundraising brunch at the country club.
But her classic good looks and natural elegance were a smokescreen that hid a core of solid iron, and Mia wasn’t surprised when her mother ignored Gram’s warning. Of all the people in Lonesome Point, Jenny Sherman was one of the only women brave enough to go against Emily Sherman and live to tell the tale. Being married to her son—a man who loved his wife with a ferocity unequaled even by his love of baseball—helped, of course.
“Your grandmother just heard from the authorities in San Antonio,” Mia’s mom said. “It looks like the body they found might be an old Sherman family relative. They ran samples on the DNA and it came up as a partial match for your Great Uncle Roy. He’s the only Sherman who’s ever been in prison, so the authorities had his information on file.”
Gram eyes almost bulged out of her head, but Sawyer spoke up before Gram could spontaneously combust from the shame of having the fam
ily’s dirty laundry aired in “public.”
“Sounds like a good track record.” Sawyer smiled in Gram’s direction. “My dad and one of his brothers both did time. Every family has a black sheep or two.”
Gram’s lids drooped a few millimeters and her eyes began to look less bulgy, but she didn’t return Sawyer’s grin. “Yes, well, we’d still like to keep this quiet. At least until we find out who this person is. I don’t remember any Shermans going missing in the early days of the settlement, but I’ll be reading back through all the journals and letters this week.”
“I’ve been reading Amelia’s journals,” Sawyer said. “I haven’t noticed anything that would offer any clues so far, but I’ll keep a closer eye out moving forward. It would be nice to give this man a name, and a proper burial.”
“Well, yes. Yes, it would,” Gram said, the edges of her lips lifting the slightest bit.
“All right, well we’re headed out,” Mia said, deciding now was as good a moment as any to make their escape. She kissed her mother’s cheek and hugged her daddy, before turning to Gram. “Don’t worry, sugar britches, we’ll find out who the mystery Sherman is. And I’ll start brainstorming fundraising ideas tonight. I can even ask Tulsi about applying for grants. She’s great at that stuff.”
“No grants.” Gram pulled her in for a hug. “I don’t want Old Town to go non-profit until we’ve exhausted every other option. I want to leave this family a cash cow, not a dusty old museum.”
Mia released Gram with a sigh, knowing better than to argue with her. They’d all told Gram they didn’t need her to leave them anything but good memories, and embarrassing stories to tell after she was dead, but she never listened.
“Okay,” Mia said. “We’ll make it work. I’ll get back to you on Monday with a list of ideas.”
Gram patted Mia’s cheek affectionately before moving past her to draw Sawyer into a hug. Mia’s eyebrows shot up—her surprise mirrored on her mother’s face, as Jenny new darn well Gram had a long and colorful history of disapproving of Mia’s choices in men.
“See you soon,” Gram said, looking even smaller in Sawyer’s big arms. “Keep an eye on our Mia, and don’t let her get you into any trouble. She’s got an arrest record, too, you know.”
“Gram!” Mia propped her hands on her hips. “I was fifteen, and getting a ride to the station in Uncle Ned’s police car is hardly the same as getting arrested.”
Gram shrugged, but Mia could see that she was fighting a smile when she stepped toward the counter to reclaim her after dinner coffee. “Well, it’s only a matter of time. At least if Cousin Lula has anything to say about it. She was trying to talk Ned into fingerprinting those panties to prove you were the one who defaced her property, but Ned said that would be a misuse of public funds.”
Mia stuck her nose in the air. “I don’t know anything about those panties, except that they went missing from my shop the day before the incident.”
Her father chuckled. “I grabbed a pair off the parking meter when your mother and I went into town for brunch. It took a little sweet-talking, but I managed to convince Jenny to model them for me when we got home.”
“Jim, please!” Mia’s mom slapped his arm, but that only made her dad laugh harder.
He was still laughing when Sawyer and Mia made their escape, slipping out the front door and crossing the yard to where Mia’s truck was parked.
“I’m so sorry,” Mia said. “My dad is a hopeless sex pervert. I’ve learned to deal with it, but I know it can be traumatizing to the newly initiated.”
Sawyer smiled. “You’ve got a good family,” he said, opening the driver’s side door for her.
Mia snorted. “If by good, you mean insane, then yes, I do.”
Sawyer laughed. “No, really. They’re great. I’ve never met parents I actually liked before, it was…nice.”
Mia’s smile faded, but the happy, hopeful feeling that filled her up whenever she was alone with Sawyer returned. “I was a little worried that it might be too soon, but I should have known you were tough enough to get through a Sherman family dinner without getting scared away.”
Sawyer slipped a hand into her hair, the affection in the gesture making Mia’s heart do a swan dive in her chest. “It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that to scare me away.”
Sawyer leaned down, slanting his mouth across her own, and Mia answered him with a kiss, a kiss that said she was a lot less scared than she used to be, and that one day she hoped to be fearless. Fearless enough to throw open the rusty doors to her heart and let herself finish falling in love with this man who made her feel like there might be a happy ending in her future, after all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Monday morning came sooner than Sawyer would have preferred—he and Mia spent the weekend floating the river, grilling with Bubba and his friends, and making love until neither of them could muster up the energy to roll out of bed to run down the street for bagels, and they ended up eating ice cream for breakfast instead. Work called, but Sawyer would have traded a kidney for another three days of nothing but fun, sun, and Mia.
Or just Mia.
Let the sky open and the rain flood down for all he cared. As long as he had a certain redhead in his arms, he had everything he needed to ensure each day was better than the last.
By Tuesday afternoon, when Mia surprised him with a late afternoon picnic at the site, Sawyer knew he was getting in deep. He was so damned glad to see her he couldn’t keep the goofy grin from his face, even though the sub-contractors were standing right there, bearing witness to the fact that their new boss was more Gentle Giant than Badass Biker. Any man points Sawyer had earned from their ten-minute discussion of the poor gasket materials used in many vintage Harleys were lost when Mia greeted him with a hug and tucked a daisy behind his ear, insisting it was the perfect bald man accessory. By Thursday, when they sought refuge from an especially warm summer night in the dollar theater—sharing a giant tub of popcorn and laughing as they whispered alternative dialogue for the bad actors in the even worse horror movie—Sawyer’s chest was starting to feel uncomfortably full whenever he was alone with Mia.
There was something growing inside of him, something overwhelming that didn’t want to stay caged. It wanted to break free and come spilling out of his mouth, rushing from his hands as he let them whisper over Mia’s body. He was falling—hard and fast—but he knew better than to drop his guard. Mia had come a long way, but she still held him at a distance. Not too far, just far enough that it hurt when she dodged his questions, or turned away from him in bed after he woke her from a bad dream.
Eighty percent of Mia was still better than one hundred percent of any other woman he’d been with, but he had a greedy streak when it came to this woman. He wanted all of her, the light and the dark, the happy and the sad. The quiet, thoughtful moments, and the side-splitting laughter when she surprised him the way she did when he pushed through the new swinging doors to the partially restored saloon Friday evening to find the stage on the far side of the room filled with anatomically correct male blow up dolls in cowboy hats.
“Holy shit,” he said, smiling so hard something in his jaw cracked. “What have you done?”
Mia popped up from behind the bar. “Surprise! It’s my latest fund raising idea. Don’t you think Gram’s going to love it?”
Sawyer’s skeptical grunt turned to laughter as he crossed the room. Now that he was closer to the stage, he could see that someone had drawn little cartoon faces on the ends of the blow-up dolls’ obscenely large inflatable cocks. “Did you draw on these, or did they come this way?”
“I drew on them,” Mia said, dancing out from behind the bar. “You like?”
Sawyer nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a nice touch. Think your gram will notice before she starts hyperventilating and pulling all the plugs?”
“I think so.” Mia stopped beside him, staring up at her tableau with an impish grin. “Gram’s big into details. I told you she sent
back my proposal for a benefit concert marked up with about one-hundred chicken-before-the-egg questions, right?”
“Nope.” Sawyer slipped his arm around her and drew her to his side, needing her close after spending almost twenty-four hours apart.
He’d gone back to the hotel last night after their movie date, feeling like he owed it to his uncle to use the room the company was paying for at least once or twice a week. Sawyer had been looking for a short-term lease. But so far all the apartments were on the other side of the highway, a ten-minute drive from Mia’s place, and he wasn’t ready to give up the luxury of living two blocks away just yet.
“Well, she did,” Mia said. “And I—” She was cut off by a country song blasting from her pocket. “Hold on, that’s Bubba. He said he’d try to get some advice from his new manager. She’s put on a few benefits. I’ll just be a sec.”
She stepped back toward the bar, greeting Bubba with an apology for her grandmother’s Compulsive Questioning Disorder before they started talking security, crowd control, how many port-a-potties, and what kind of insurance they’d need to throw a benefit concert to raise money for phase two of the restoration.
While they chatted, Sawyer let his eyes roam around the saloon. They’d only started the job this week, but already fresh floorboards had been laid, the stage reinforced and refurbished, and the original bar—which was in astoundingly good condition—had been carefully sanded and was ready for a coat of stain as soon as Mia’s gram decided on a color. There was still a lot to do, from cleaning and patching the tin ceiling, to reconstructing and reinstalling yards of rotten baseboards, but the job was off to a good start. Sawyer could already feel the building coming back to life around him.
It was a rush, but not as much of a rush as when Mia’s arms closed around his waist from behind and her breasts pressed against his back. Even that relatively innocent contact was enough to make his jeans feel tight.