by Stacy Gail
He shrugged. “Yeah, I found it.”
“Was the attorney’s card—Anthony Carstairs Sr.—still clipped to the front of it?”
What the hell was with the Twenty Questions? “Yes.”
“Then I fail to see why you’re here. If you have questions, Mr. Carstairs is the one you should be speaking to, not me.”
“You’re the one I want to talk to.” But even more than that, he wanted her to sit down, preferably with a blanket wrapped around her and something hot to drink. “May I come in?”
“No.”
Shit. “You don’t really want to stand out here in the cold, do you?”
“It’s almost as cold inside, so that’s hardly a consideration.”
A flash of alarm knifed through him. It had gotten down into the twenties last night. “Isn’t the heater working?”
“Sort of, but I’m not using it.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “What little heat that did come out of the vents smelled wrong and made my eyes swell shut, so the excuse of escaping the cold won’t work. I’m not letting you in.”
He cursed before he thought to check it. “So that’s why you look like shit? You’re allergic to this place, and you’re freezing your ass off on top of that?”
Her painful-looking eyes fried him on the spot. “Goodbye, Coe.”
“Wait.” He braced a forearm against the door before she could once again give him an up close and personal look-see at its flat surface. “I’m sorry, all right? It’s just...Come on, Miranda, be smart about this. This tin can is making you sick, and if you don’t do something about it, it’s going to make you really sick. You’ve got to realize you can’t stay here.”
“What I realize is that it’s none of your business. Would you move your arm, please?”
God, she was infuriating when she decided to be polite. “You’re a goddamn heiress. You can afford to buy the whole fucking town if you wanted to.”
“That’s not my money. I have no right to touch a single cent of it.”
“Bullshit. I read the will front to back, and you can do whatever you want with the money that valve has made in royalties. It’s totally legal.”
She looked like he’d told her she had every right to be a cannibal. “So you still think I’m a common thief who would spend your money like it was nothing? Like I had every right to do so, just because my last name is Brookhaven?”
Actually, he wasn’t sure what he’d meant. All he knew was that he wanted her to get the hell out of there. “Do us both a favor and take that stick out of your ass, because I didn’t come here to pick a fight with you. You don’t have to prove to me how lily-white your intentions are, or how much you’ve become one of the common people by forcing yourself to live here. I get it, okay? Point made and well done. But enough with the martyrdom already.”
“I hate you.” The softly spoken words stopped him cold, because there was something threaded through them that punched him in the gut with all the heft of a brass-knuckled fist. He was so stunned it took him a moment to identify that something as fervent, bone-deep truth. “I was taught to never say that word, but I mean it. I hate you with everything in me. First you accuse me of being in Garden Court out of some small-minded need to mock you. Now you’ve decided I’m some attention-seeking poser out to prove something to you. In both scenarios, you think you’re the all-important center around which my universe should be revolving. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Coe—you’re not. All I care about is righting a wrong and returning your valve to you. Beyond that, I refuse to even think about you. Do you understand? You. Are. Irrelevant.” That getting-punched feeling worsened.
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Somehow I doubt that. I’m here in Garden Court because I need temporary housing, and it’s what I can afford while still holding on to my apartment up north. Maybe I can understand why you think you’re the focus of my world, because once upon a time that’s what you were. I loved you so much, I really did see you as my everything. But you took care of that a long, long time ago. I don’t love you anymore. I loathe you, just as much as you loathe me, so let me assure you that while you clearly are the center of your universe, you’ll never again be the center of mine.”
“Good to hear.” Grimly he gave himself a pat on the back at how normal he sounded, when the raw impact of her emotions had all but knocked him flat on his ass. Because she was right—he had assumed she was as fixated on him as he was on her. What an idiot he was to be disappointed that ultimately she couldn’t care less about him. “Nice to know we can both hate with gusto. But that has nothing to do with living in a place that should probably be declared a toxic-waste dump.”
She sighed and leaned against the door as if dealing with him drained her. “Where I live isn’t open to discussion, and I doubt it’s what brought you here this morning.”
“It’s not.” But now that they had come to his reason for turning up on her doorstep like an unwanted salesman, he didn’t know how to go about it gracefully.
Then again, being graceful had never been high on his list of priorities.
“So, um.” God, this was awkward. Without ceremony he thrust the bag at her, ready to bolt. “Here.”
“What is it?”
He cleared his throat. “Milk.”
She backed away as if he held a radioactive fuel rod.
He sighed. “Miranda—”
“Leave. Now.”
“No.” When Lucy had told him Miranda hadn’t been able to buy milk, he hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t wanted to believe it. Just thinking about it twisted something deep inside until he couldn’t sit still. It contradicted everything he’d believed for seven long years. He didn’t like contradictions, especially when it came to this woman. If he’d been wrong about how she’d been getting by financially, then it might mean he could be wrong about everything else, and that shook him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.
But no matter how confused he was, at least he was clear on one thing. She should have a bottle of stupid milk if she wanted it.
He held the bag higher. “I’m not kidding, Miranda. Take it.”
“I’m not kidding, Coe. Leave, or I’ll give you another kick in the ass.”
Wow. Profanity falling from that charm-school mouth of hers. Any minute now he fully expected to see a flock of pigs flying south for the winter. “Guess I’d better not turn my back on you then.”
“How sad. Evidently you seem to think I might have some sort of problem with kicking you in the front. For the record, I don’t.”
First profanity, now violence. Garden Court was already having its wicked way with her. “Take this, or I leave it out here to spoil.”
“I’d prefer death by dehydration rather than accept even a drop of water from you. Knowing your penchant for playing the hard-luck victim, you might accuse me of stealing it after the fact.”
He struggled not to wince, while again something in his memory tugged on him. “Look, I didn’t come here to point fingers about who stole what. I’m just trying to give you something out of the goodness of my heart, okay?”
“I don’t need your charity, and it’s laughable that you think you have a heart. Go. Away.”
His teeth snapped together. “Not until you take this.”
“Then I’ll call the sheriff.”
“Good luck with that. When I was a kid it took Sheriff Berry half a day to get out here whenever someone called.” And it explained how his father got away with beating his mother within an inch of her life time and again, no matter how often Coe had called for help. “Nowadays I wouldn’t be surprised if that lazy bastard never showed up at all. If you really want to get rid of me, all you have to do is take the damn milk.”
“Fine.” With fury pulling her lips back in a snarl, she snatched the bag out o
f his hand. But instead of slamming the door like he’d expected her to, she pushed past him and was knocking on her neighbor’s door in a matter of seconds.
Oh no, she wouldn’t...
“Forgive me for bothering you so early in the morning, Ms. Fenster,” he heard her say the moment the door swung open to reveal a vaguely familiar hound-faced older woman, whose expression could have easily belonged to an ax murderer. “I’ve received a milk delivery by mistake, but as I’m lactose intolerant I was hoping the children might benefit from this happy mistake? I have the delivery right here, if you’d like it.”
“Sure.” Suspicious eyes slid from Miranda to where Coe still stood on her doorstep. “So. Everything okay?”
“Yes, thank you. Sorry again for bothering you so early in the morning.” With a nod of farewell, Miranda retreated back to her trailer, though she didn’t climb back up the warped wooden stairs leading to her door. Instead she stopped just in front of them and swept an arm in invitation. “A deal’s a deal. You should be leaving now, yes?”
“You haven’t changed a bit.” Frustration simmered close to the surface, chasing away the chill by heating up his blood. What he wouldn’t give to take her by the shoulders to shake a little sense into her, maybe push her up against a wall and hold her there with his body and make her give in...
The flesh behind his zipper grew heavy, a low pulse of need he didn’t want to feel.
Damn it.
Her eyes narrowed. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
“Oh, yeah? Do you really think you’re not still the spoiled brat you’ve always been? The precious princess who always has to have her own way? Behind your perfect manners and polite smile you’re still the cunning little manipulator you always were, Miranda. Your scenery hasn’t changed who you really are.”
“You dare to call me a manipulator, when that’s a perfect word to describe you?”
He bit down on a curse. “I came here, trying to be nice—”
“Don’t bother. You have no talent for it.”
“I don’t believe this,” he muttered, furious and baffled at the hostility that was all but frying him alive in her glare. “I’m not the bad guy here, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything. But since you apparently have, do me a favor and follow me. Let’s see how nice you really are.”
Chapter Six
As she parked her car in the mostly empty lot behind Bitterthorn High School’s football field, Miranda was mildly surprised Coe was still with her. He’d never been especially patient, even when he’d been doing his best to smooth talk his way into her life. The field’s bleachers loomed ahead of her, placed behind a chain-link fence that had been deliberately left open at intervals for easy entry into the viewing area. While the manicured field and light towers would have done any Texas high school proud, the stands themselves looked much the same from the underside—rickety and neglected, with the odd vortex of garbage swirling here and there in the corners. She knew the underside of the bleacher seats quite well, thanks to Coe. She just hoped his memory would be clearer now that they were there once more.
“That high-pitched whine when you start your car is its way of telling you to get a new fan belt.” Coe rounded the hood of his low-slung muscle car as she pocketed her keys, a line between his dark brows as he glanced at her car’s hood. “And FYI, it’s not normal for brakes to squeal like they’re being murdered whenever they’re used.”
Duh. As if she didn’t know that. “Thank you for your input. I’ll be sure to look into it when I’m in a town that has more than one mechanic.”
A dangerous look crossed his face. “You don’t think I can be trusted to take care of your car?”
“Trust isn’t the problem. I simply don’t want to deal with you any more than I have to.” She wrapped the cardigan tightly around her frame and nodded at the underside of the bleachers. It was a mess of scaffolding that seemed more like a giant toddler’s erector-set creation. “Look familiar?”
“The high school bleachers? Considering I went to school here, I’d have to say yes.”
Never let it be said that Coe Rodas wasn’t a stubborn piece of work. “Hmm, not familiar enough. Okay. Follow me.”
“Miranda, what—”
She ignored him and marched determinedly past the chain-link dividers and into the shadowed recess of the bleachers. The broadcasting booth on the topside of the stands was anchored in a concrete base, which had always been liberally covered in graffiti. From time to time the school repainted the base, but by the end of the school year the marks of all those who had been there appeared like magic. She and Coe had once scrawled their names with a tacky heart around it to commemorate their time under the bleachers, but that had turned into a sour memory along with everything else connected with him. All she wanted to do now was put it in the rearview mirror.
“It was right here.” She leaned back against the concrete wall and nailed him with a look that felt as cold as the late autumn wind that swirled fitfully around them. “The beginning of the end started right here. Do you remember now?”
He hunched his shoulders deeper into the navy blue peacoat stretched across his shoulders. “What do you mean, the beginning of the end? The one and only time we were down here together was during the district championships, and we weren’t here to watch the game.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Sure, I do.” A hard smile carved from pure cynicism appeared. “We fucked each other right where you’re standing. I kept a hand over your mouth until the crowd roared, and then you really let loose. I have to admit, you might look like an ice princess but once you get going, you’re a real screamer.”
Her jaw locked. If this was another attempt at slut-shaming, she’d rip his goddamned head off. “And once you get going, you’re a real crybaby. Personally I’d rather be a screamer.”
It was a sweet pleasure to watch his sharp smile vanish. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean this was the place where you handed me that stupid valve and told me to show it to my father.”
For a moment he seemed genuinely robbed of speech. “You’re deluded. I never—”
“Come here.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“Come here, unless you want me to add coward to the list.”
That had him marching straight over. “Whatever game you’re playing—”
The moment he came within reach, she dug her fingers into the rough wool of his coat and tugged him into a kiss. A world of revenge was packed into it—a need to tantalize with the alluring stroke of her tongue, determined to make him remember all that he’d thrown away by kicking her out of his life. She wanted him to suffer—to lie awake tonight and yearn for her, all the while knowing she was lost to him forever. She wanted to punish him with a lush pleasure that could never be his again.
More than anything, she wanted him to know the torment she’d carried inside for seven long years.
A rough sound growled deep in his throat, and she couldn’t tell whether it was a sound of warning or of pleasure as she nuzzled her lips against his to perfect the fit. His flavor was even better than she remembered, and for a heartbeat it transported her to a past where the world was perfect and the people in her life loved her as unstintingly as she loved them. That had been a beautiful life, but it had never been reality. It never would be, no matter how desperately she ached to bring that time back.
When she felt Coe’s arms lift to gather her closer, she hardened the heart he and her father had crushed so long ago, and pushed him away. And when she raised her eyes to his, she hoped he only saw icy fury there, and none of the bittersweet anguish she’d opened herself up to when she chose to punish him with a kiss.
“It happened right here.” Her voice, thank
fully, held no hint of that part of her screaming to hurtle back into his arms. There was no point in trying to make him feel anything for her, when he’d never cared for her to begin with. With her father’s betrayal twisting things all the more, there could never be anything between them now.
No matter how good that kiss was.
His breathing was gratifyingly rough. “What happened right here?”
“It started with a kiss just like that, with you, pushing me up against this wall here. Then you reached for a condom, and the valve conveniently fell out of your jacket pocket. I asked what it was, just like I’m sure you’d planned for me to do all along.”
His eyes narrowed even as he stepped away, as if he needed to distance himself from her accusation. “I didn’t plan anything.”
“That’s when you put it in my hand, Coe. You told me to ask my dad about its importance since I obviously didn’t understand what it was. Then you said maybe he’d be interested in backing you financially to get it marketed.”
“I was just showing off, I never wanted a damn cent from him, or you.”
“Be careful. That sounded like you know I didn’t steal anything from you, after all.” She pushed away from the wall where even now she could feel the rough, cold surface of the wall against the bareness of her ass as he’d pumped into her with a driven kind of madness. “Are you finally ready to drop the victim act and admit I didn’t steal your invention from you?”
He scrubbed a frustrated hand through his hair. “I only admit that I never wanted it stolen from me, but it was. You took everything I had, including my notes.”
“Yes, I took your notes, because I believed I was doing what you told me to do—I mentioned it to my father. I even encouraged his interest in the hope that I could get that backing you said you wanted—”
“I repeat, I never wanted money from B.B. Brookhaven, or anything else.”
“—but the joke was on me.” She plowed ahead, determined to make herself heard after so many years of bearing the burden of a blame she didn’t deserve. After today, she was going to be done with toting around the guilt. “I was stupid to believe in you, when all you were really doing was using the naïve rich girl to get what you wanted. I was also stupid to believe my father was a good guy who would do the right thing after I told him that if he kept your valve, he’d lose a daughter. Come to think of it, you two are exactly alike. Just like you, he made the choice of throwing me away like garbage in favor of that...that fucking valve.”