Right Wrong Guy

by Lia Riley

  What the hell?

  He stood and slid on his jeans, buttoning the top button as he crossed the room.

  “Let me do that,” he said, reaching for the broom.

  “That’s fine.” She jumped when his fingers grazed her hand. “I don’t mind.”

  “Okay, I’ll cook those crepes again.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She was shutting down right and left, and just after they’d cracked open to the point he wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same again. This didn’t make sense. “Hey . . .” He set a hand on her cheek, turning her face to his. “What’s up? Talk to me.”

  She zeroed her gaze somewhere past his ear. “I—I—look, that was good. Amazing. But let’s keep things on the surface for now, okay? Don’t feel like you need to stick around or anything. Let’s keep to your regular routine.”

  My regular routine? “I don’t feel like I need to do anything. I want to be close to you. We made love.”

  She flinched.

  “Eden,” he said intently. “What happened between us wasn’t just sex and you know it.”

  She stepped free and began to sweep in furious strokes.

  “Eden—”

  “I didn’t know.” She whirled around, eyes misted. “I didn’t know it would be like that. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

  “So let me get this straight”—he stalked to his abandoned shirt and boots, shoving them both on—“you are freaking out because what happened was too good?”

  “Good is fine. I was ready for good. I wanted good. But that, that was . . . mind-blowing. I can’t keep my life simple with a blown mind. It’s too much. You don’t understand.”

  “Help me to see because this is all talking in circles.”

  “Things are too complicated.” Her voice faltered and she swallowed hard. “I need to . . . be myself and sort a few things out.” What if he saw that terrible picture and turned away? She thought she’d moved on from the trauma in her childhood, but all it took was one photograph to let her know the pain beneath the scars was still real. As much as she wanted to reach out to Archer, she was scared to trust him.

  “What’s complicated? There is no one else for me. There’s not going to be anyone else. This is simple. Me. You. It works.”

  “Not everything is about you,” she threw back. “I—I used you tonight. I wanted sex and got more than I bargained for. But now it’s time for you to leave.” Big words but she couldn’t deliver them while holding his gaze.

  She was lying. He knew in his bones these words were untrue. But why? “Leave?”

  She walked to the front door and opened it. “I had a lot of fun, thanks for stopping by.”

  “Don’t do this.” Please. “Don’t pretend this didn’t mean anything.”

  “Go.” She closed her eyes. “Don’t make me beg you to go home. I can’t bear to have you here.”

  “So to be clear, you are accusing me of being a player, but want to play me?”

  She looked at him then, her silver eyes bright with pain.

  Archer flinched, hating to see her in pain and unable to do nothing. “What is going on?”

  “Please, go. Go!” she said louder. “Leave now. This was a mistake. I don’t want to be in a relationship. You can’t want to be in a relationship with me.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. You aren’t giving me a chance or telling me what the hell happened. We’ve gone from the best sex I’ve ever had, to you throwing me out on my ass. I missed a memo along the way.”

  “The best sex . . .” She paused.

  “Ever.” He stepped forward. She was out of his league but that fact couldn’t keep him away. Nothing would stop him from trying to close the distance.

  “Let me in,” he said, reaching out. “Let me see inside. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Her lips parted and for a moment it seemed the answer would be yes. Then her gaze shuttered and he felt like a kid, wanted to throw up his hands and say, “Please don’t hurt me.” Instead, he stood there, aware he was a big guy, and big strong guys aren’t supposed to show weakness.

  Fuck that. He kissed her forehead, then both her cheeks. Let her see he wanted to be the guy for her, the best guy, the guy that would help her carry whatever load threatened to crush her.

  She turned away. “I’m sure you have someone else on your speed dial you can go to.”

  Whatever had split open inside his heart, iced over. “This isn’t fine. Not by a long shot. This is a bunch of bullshit.” He wanted to give Eden his best, but it didn’t look like his best was good enough. “I’ll go, but I’m only going to say this once more. Eden, I’m crazy about you. I’ll wait. But the next time, you come to me. I can’t do this again.”

  “Good night, Archer.” A good night that sounded more like a goodbye.

  It had been, but now the goodness was gone, replaced by the cold grip of disappointment. As the door shut there came a muffled sob.

  All he could do was punch the wall. The hard brick split his knuckles and did nothing to dull the pain inside his chest.

  He drove home in silence. Not listening to music, just the low run of the engine. Maybe he should go talk to Sawyer. His older brother knew about women. At least more than he did. He’d been spending a lot of time with Annie Carson, their old flame reignited. No. He twisted his hands on the wheel.

  Things went right for his brother, the same way they always did. But because Archer worked hard didn’t mean he’d win. He could try his guts out, leave everything on the field and still lose. There were no guarantees. No promise that everyone could be a winner.

  Outside, the moon reflected on the peaks. What did his ancestors think when they arrived in Brightwater, having crossed the Rockies, the desert, and the White Mountains to end at this insurmountable granite wall? Did they give up? No, they looked around at the new reality and made the best of the situation. They thrived despite the hardships.

  Edie pushed him away but she had her reasons. And he was going to show her that those reasons were wrong. He might be the wrong guy, but she was wrong to think he’d walk away without a fight.

  And maybe, just maybe, two wrongs would make a right.

  “IT IS A fact universally acknowledged that the harder one tries not to think about Archer Kane, the more one can’t help but think of Archer Kane,” Edie murmured to herself, thrusting another dirty pan into the sink and giving it a vicious swipe.

  She had wonderfully stupid sex with him, the most intense, magnificent, glorious sex. The kind of sex that made her look back on the sex she’d had previously and wag her finger saying, “Sex, you were doing it all wrong.”

  Talk about a recipe for disaster.

  The only recipes she needed were the ones that would keep Haute Coffee bustling.

  It had felt right, she had felt right, he had felt . . . exactly right, the part of her that she’d been missing. But then there was the threatening photo that was going to leak unless she paid the blackmail. She had that kind of money. She had that kind of money many times over, but there were lots of worthy places that could put that kind of sum to better use than padding slime-bag Reggie’s pockets.

  Her internal world might be a mess but at least the outside one was humming along nicely. The whir from the milk frothing up front made her smile. Tonight a live band would be playing, a popular indie bluegrass act called The Foggy Stringdusters that was en route to Los Angeles. People had been calling to check on the show all day from as far away as Reno.

  With the busy night expected, she’d hired her first employee, Margot, Annie Carson’s sweet stepdaughter, fresh out of high school. She’d worked at a coffee shop back in Portland and slotted in behind the counter as if she’d been there forever. Edie hadn’t realized how great it would be to have the extra help until she didn’t have to rush around like a chicken with her head cut off.

  Maybe she could speak to a counselor at Brightwater High School about setting up a work-training program with st
udents once the fall term started. Local kids often hung around the one gas station in town, the Kum & Go where the K was predictably defaced on a regular basis. They needed more to do.

  Her thoughts drew to the money sitting in her trust. Hmmm. She was in a lucky position to accomplish real good. Quincy’s connection with media had potential too. In this remote location, perhaps also connecting kids with technology and media had potential. Annie Carson had been in earlier. She was a blogger and a nice, open-minded person. Perhaps she’d have ideas.

  But would anyone talk to her if Reggie’s photo leaked? She wasn’t famous, but her family name was well-known and tabloids were attracted to salacious stories like mosquitos to fresh blood. It wouldn’t take Sherlock Holmes to realize Eden Bankcroft-Kew was Edie Banks.

  What if everyone stopped coming to the store? Laughed? Called her terrible names?

  Stop.

  Stop it.

  Reggie wasn’t going to win. Good would beat evil. She had to believe that even though it sounded like a fairytale. Quincy’s work commitments took him to Europe and then on to Asia. Reggie made it clear he’d post the picture if she tried to get help. If he was stooping to such sleazy tactics, he must be getting desperate, but did that also mean more dangerous?

  Archer might listen, but what if he didn’t believe her? What if he saw that woman in the picture and it burned in his brain, warping his views? Right now when he looked at her, it was as if she were rare and special. The feeling was unique. Never in her life had she had such a relationship.

  Even if she had consented to the physical act shown in the image, which she never would have done with Reggie, never in a million years, not in a billion, the idea of risking a change in Archer’s view of her was scary. Did she really want to risk losing the magic, the idea he’d finally see there was something wrong with her? Judge or, worse, sneer?

  But then, if he was that sort of guy, wouldn’t it be better to know the truth despite the hurt?

  Yes.

  And no.

  A sob hitched in her throat. Oh God, what was she going to do?

  Someone screamed. There was the sound of a dish breaking.

  “Edie!” Margot screamed out. “Quick, the mayor!”

  Edie fled from the kitchen and there in the middle of her store, Thomas King, the mayor of Brightwater was choking. His hands grabbed his throat, eyes bulging. There were a handful of patrons but no one reacted, everyone stared in muted horror.

  Edie didn’t think, but moved fast, wrapping her arms around the mayor’s midsection and joining her hands to give an in-and-up jerk. Nothing. Go again. She’d done a first-aid course during college but this was the real deal, not pretending with a partner or a dummy. Again, she tried, and again. On the fourth compression a piece of pie projected halfway across the shop and he doubled over coughing.

  “Margot,” she called. “A glass of water, please.”

  “I’ll call for an ambulance,” her assistant said, rushing around the counter with a glass of water.

  The mayor cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine, don’t fuss. That pie was delicious and I ate it fast. Thank you, you saved my life.”

  “Please take a seat,” Edie said. The few remaining patrons gawked.

  “I’m fine,” he said, shaking her off. “I’m more embarrassed than hurt.” He left with a quick wink and a step that suggested a new lease on life.

  Outside, a small crowd gathered by the front door. Marigold Flint crossed the street, a suspiciously pleased expression on her face. “What happened? I heard someone got food poisoning.”

  “No, there was an accident,” Edie replied, coming outside.

  “Sounds like Haute Coffee might be hazardous to your health.”

  A few people murmured, whether for Marigold’s assertion or against was impossible to say. Too many eyes were on her. It was like in her youth, when she’d been ganged up on, people staring, jeering. She hated it.

  Hated it.

  “Why can’t you leave me alone?” she said, her voice rising.

  “Was it something I said?” Marigold threw her hands in the air, batting her eyes, the picture of false innocence.

  “There is nothing wrong with the food I serve. The mayor choked—”

  “Your food is so good that people are choking when they eat it?” Marigold’s smile was triumphant.

  “Please don’t twist my words. That’s not what I meant.”

  “The country fair is in a few weeks. May the best baker win.” Marigold looked around at the crowd. “Must say, no one’s ever choked in my establishment. Guess Haute Coffee is so amazing people are dying to get in.”

  Something snapped in Eden as quiet as a twig breaking in two. It was her self-control. “Why wait for the fair? I challenge you to our own bake off. You, me, right here on Main Street.”

  “A duel?”

  “That’s right.” Dear Lord, did she really want to reenact a kitchen version of the O.K. Corral? No. But given the chance, bullies stomped all over you. Time to dig in and hope for the best. “You in?”

  Marigold’s jaw took on a determined lift. “You know it.”

  No choice but to saddle up and ride this scenario to the end. “One week from today, at high noon.”

  “How will we decide the winner?”

  “We need judges.”

  “Impartial?” Marigold’s eyes narrowed.

  “You pick one. I pick one. And then there can be a wild card.”

  “Okay, okay . . . I nominate you.” Marigold pointed at a blond older gentleman in the crowd. “Hank King.” The local bigwig real estate agent and mayor’s brother.

  “Okay, I pick . . .” Eden scanned the crowd, but then her gaze fell behind it to a woman walking up the street, regarding the crowd with a curious expression, holding a small child’s hand. “Annie Carson. Are you okay with that?”

  Annie pointed at her chest with a small smile. “What am I agreeing to?”

  “Will you be a judge for me in a pie bake off?”

  Annie didn’t bat an eye at the strange request. “I’ve never met a dessert I didn’t like. Sure, why not?”

  “Who will be the wild card?” Marigold asked.

  “Me!” came a voice from the back of the crowd. The bodies parted, or rather they were thrust aside by a steely-faced older woman, the same woman who had leveled such a scowl at Edie, the same woman she now knew was . . .

  “Grandma Kane,” Marigold’s voice rang out victorious, clearly pleased to have another longtime Brightwater resident on her side. “Welcome to the bake off.”

  “I plan to be fair and impartial,” Grandma said, folding her arms. “Should be easy, seeing as I don’t particularly like either of you.”

  Marigold gasped, affronted, hand over her heart.

  “Don’t you play the innocent with me. I don’t forget a slight against my family.”

  Vague intimations circulated hinting something once happened between Kit Kane and Marigold but Edie had no idea what. From the shuttered look on Marigold’s face, she didn’t want that particular cat getting out of the bag.

  “As for you, missy.” Grandma whirled on Eden, finger raised. “I don’t like outsiders. I don’t trust outsiders.”

  “Well, thank you very much for participating in the event.” Edie forced a smile.

  Grandma strode away and the crowd dissipated as Marigold stalked back toward The Baker’s Dozen.

  Edie stood, settling a hand against her neck, pulse racing beneath her fingers. Way to go with that big mouth. She’d built her own coffin. By publicly challenging Marigold to a duel next week, she had made herself more public. This was a small town but people used their computers and with the influx of LA types, there was a rising interest in celebrity news and online sites. People chatted in the shop about who was dating who, or who had recently been seen scouting for property in the valley.

  What would they say if that sex picture went live? When the bake off rolled around would everyone come to throw eggs? Call her a
whore? Or worse? As friendly as people had been, she was still firmly an outsider. And after Reggie’s stunt, they might slam the door in her face permanently.

  “Hey there, you okay?” Annie stood a few feet behind her.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” Edie’s shoulders stooped. “Actually, no. I’m not.”

  Annie flashed a sympathetic smile. “I do the same thing. Why do women always say they are fine, no matter how cruddy their day is going? Is it that we don’t want to burden each other with the truth or that we’re supposed to be perfectly pleasant at all times?”

  Edie sighed. “Both maybe?”

  “Well, I hope you know you can be honest with me. I’m not perfect, never have been, and never will be.”

  “But you are perfectly you.” Edie admired her yellow Peter Pan–collared tank top, high-waisted shorts, and retro sunglasses.

  “What a sweet thing to say.” Annie beamed. “Between you and me, sometimes I think I’m a perfect mess.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “I hope so.” Annie threw back her head and laughed. “It would make me feel so much better.”

  “Can I ask you a question—a personal one?”

  “Shoot.” Annie’s gaze turned curious.

  “Grandma Kane—does she scare you?”

  Annie looped her arm with Edie’s. “Terrifies me, but I wonder if she’s more bark than bite. Still, we women need to stick together. All we need is friendship, trust, and a little bit of the ol’ pixie dust.”

  Edie smiled to herself. Maybe Annie was spot on. The trouble was that as much as she wanted to trust Archer with Reggie’s terrible photograph, there wasn’t enough pixie dust in the West to give her the courage.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ARCHER ARRIVED NEAR the end of The Foggy Stringdusters set. The coffee shop was packed. The tables were cleared away and people on the dance floor jumped like hot cakes on the griddle. Edie and her new assistant, Margot, stood behind the counter, their heads bobbing to the quicktime beat of the upright bass. Archer leaned against the wall, taking the opportunity to enjoy Freckles unobserved. A stray lock of hair escaped her headband and she idly blew it away. His hands itched to take her lithe frame into his arms and lead her around the dance floor.