Where There’s A Will

by Stacy Gail

  “Same goes.” She couldn’t stifle a shiver when he busied himself with exploring the indentation of her spine. Maybe it wasn’t fair how this one man affected her, and heaven knew this couldn’t least—their personal history proved that. But for now, there was no harm in reveling in all that Coe brought into her life. She might regret it later, but not now.

  Now she would just enjoy.

  He caressed a path down the indentation of her waist before he cupped his palms over the twin swells of her bum. “In fact, I would love to do this all day. We don’t have to go to Thanksgiving dinner, right? They probably won’t even notice we’re not there.”

  That lured a sleepy snort from her. “Trust me on this. You’re impossible to overlook.”

  “Really?” He sounded absurdly pleased.

  “Really. And for what it’s worth, I suspect Lucy would hunt you down if you didn’t show up. She’s probably been up all night cooking.”

  “We were up all night, too.”

  Wasn’t that the truth. “That’s hardly the same thing.”

  “Besides, I’d make a terrible dinner guest. I’m not at all hungry right now.” His tongue glided up her spine as if she were his favorite flavor of ice cream and he was determined to taste every inch of her.

  She sighed and stretched while desire flowed through her veins like honey. “I’m a little hungry.” For him. Her hunger for him was so depthless it made the ocean seem like a common mud puddle.

  He made a sound of approval deep in his throat. “Glad to hear it. It just so happens I saved you some chocolate syrup for that very reason.”

  What a thoughtful guy. “Did you really?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” There was a smile in his voice as he moved up to press a kiss to her shoulder, and it was enough to make her toes curl under the covers. “You can paint on me all you want. I’m more than happy to be your canvas.”

  Her heart decided now was a good time to try and beat her to death from the inside out. She glanced his way from under her pillow and grinned when she saw he was watching her with laughing dark eyes. “How magnanimous of you.”

  “You know it. That’s totally how I roll.”

  “But I’m afraid I’m not very artistic. I wouldn’t know what to do. Any suggestions?”

  His face lit up. “When in doubt, it’s best to keep things simple. Start off with a few stick figures, or maybe write something. You can always lick off what you don’t like and start over. I promise, I’m a very forgiving canvas.”

  That made her laugh, and it sounded sultry even to her ears. “I’ll just bet you are. What did you draw on me? I’m guessing abstract art?”

  “Give me some credit. You’d be proud of my artistic skills as I traced my name to perfection.” His hot hand landed like a brand on her licked-clean lower back, right where he’d focused so much attention only minutes before.

  I traced my name...

  “Shit.” The floor of her stomach dropped away, and she shot out of bed trying to locate clothing she’d been stupid enough to scatter the night before. Not that it mattered now, goddamn it. He saw. He knew. She was such a sentimental, weak-willed ass for keeping his name on her body when...when...

  He’d obliterated her from his.

  “Whoa.” Still on the bed and wearing a long-sleeved, slouchy shirt he probably slept in and the jeans he’d had on last night, Coe looked at her with baffled eyes. “What the hell just happened? Where’s the fire?”

  “I’ve got to go.” It was ridiculous now to leave; logically she knew that. There was no way to make him unsee she still cared enough to bear his name on her skin. But she sure as hell could retreat until she didn’t feel like an exposed nerve drowning in humiliation.

  “Miranda, wait. Stop.” Hard hands came down on her shoulders just as she yanked her shirt on without a bra—God only knew where it was—and buttoned it up without being one-hundred percent sure she’d done it right. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  She couldn’t even look at him. “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You erased me,” she burst out, shocking him into taking a half step back while his hands dropped away. As much as she needed to be alone to get her feet back under her, she was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to punish him until he broke for wiping her out of existence. But there wasn’t a frigging thing she could do. To hurt him like that meant he had to actually give a damn about her, and that just wasn’t happening.

  His eyes narrowed, all at once on guard. “What?”

  “I saw your arm, Coe. You erased me like I was nothing. But hey, that makes sense, doesn’t it? A long time ago you made it obvious that I was nothing to you.”

  He winced and cupped a hand around the biceps where her name used to be. He couldn’t have looked guiltier if he’d tried. “Oh, shit. Wait, Miranda—”

  “Don’t. It doesn’t matter.” At least that was what she tried telling herself. But that was hard to swallow when all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole now that he’d seen her tattoo and knew...

  She’d never really gotten over him.

  God, she was so stupid.

  He took a step toward her. “Obviously it does matter.”

  “No.” She backed up and pressed her hands toward him, palms out. If she could put up a protective bubble around herself, she would. “Forget it, all right? It’s a done deal. I just hate having my nose rubbed in the fact that I was the only one who was committed to what we were back then. It makes me feel so...so fucking naïve when I see how easily you got rid of every part of me.”

  “No.” At that, the distance between them vanished and once again his hands closed around her shoulders, his thumbs gently caressing her. “You weren’t naïve, and that’s not how it was.”

  “The evidence on your arm proves otherwise.” Then she bit down on another curse and shook her head. “Please, just drop it, okay? I don’t even care anymore.” And she was such a hopeless liar.

  He didn’t let her go. “I can see you do, so let’s talk it out, all right?”

  She’d rather have root canal. “I’ve got to go.”

  “No, you don’t. You need to stay here and talk to me.”

  “Wrong.” Mouth flat, she brought her arms up between his and shoved his hands away. She didn’t want gentle touches now. She just wanted to curl up in a little ball and disappear. “I’ve got to get cleaned up and then I have to deliver those cupcakes over to Esme’s.”

  “Miranda—”

  “The only thing we really have to talk about is what I came back to town for in the first place, and that’s getting you the patent rights to the valve. You said you went to Kerrville. Did you find anything?”

  “Are you fucking serious?” He stared at her with a scowl beginning to form. “You want to talk about that now?”

  “There’s nothing else to talk about.”

  “Goddamn it, yes there is. I want to know what triggered this. Wait,” he interrupted himself, eyes widening. “Are you pissed off because I saw you still had my name on your back?”

  “That subject is closed.” Grinding her teeth so she wouldn’t give into the knot of tears trying to clog her throat, she headed out of the bedroom and found her shoes, not surprised that he followed her. “The only thing that matters is that I adhere to the terms laid out in the will. My father’s been dead a month now. Time is running out for you to find evidence I can take to a probate judge to prove you were the original inventor. That’s the only thing that should be on your mind.”

  “Don’t tell me what I should be thinking about. The only thing that’s important to me is getting it through your thick skull that handing the valve over to me isn’t going to make your world a bed of fucking roses. It’ll still be the same, Miranda. You’ll still be the same—so pissed off and mistrustf
ul you’ll never be able to enjoy all the good shit there is in life. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  “If you don’t find evidence proving you invented the valve in the next thirty days or so, do you know what’s going to happen?” she demanded, ignoring him. “I won’t be able to just hand the patent to the valve over to you upon approval of a probate judge. It would have to go to a vote of all family members, and my sister Katherine would never allow that. The only way I could freely give it to you without interference from anyone would be if I were to make you a member of the family.”

  His jaw locked. “I know.”

  “Do you? The way the will is worded, it states that sixty days after my father’s death, I can only transfer ownership of the valve to members of the family, including spouses. Spouses, Coe.”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  “That means,” she stressed, again ignoring him and the way his dark eyes flared, “we’d have to marry in order for me to give back to you your stolen property. Imagine what a nightmare that would be, and let that be your motivation. Do you remember where I put my coat?”

  For a moment she thought he’d just stand there doing a hardcore impersonation of a statue. Then he gestured toward her coat hanging off the back of the sectional along with her purse. “So basically it’s find evidence, or get married. What about a third option?”

  “There is no third option.”

  “Yeah, there is. You keep the valve, forget about everything else and quit tying yourself in knots.”

  Oh, dear God, this man... “Pretending it’s not there isn’t an option. The valve—”

  “In case you haven’t noticed—and you obviously haven’t—I don’t give a fuck about the valve. My only concern is you.”

  “Forget about me.” She nodded to his arm as she hauled her coat on. “You did it once before, it should be easy enough to do again.”

  His expression turned thunderous. “Let me explain about that, all right? Wait, Miranda, don’t—”

  “I have to get out of here.” And with that, she practically ran for the door.

  Miranda kept her mind meticulously blank as she headed back to the loft for a shower and a change of clothes, then moved on to Garden Court. So Coe had seen she still had a tattoo. So what? She’d get rid of the stupid thing once she had the time. It was wonderful have him back in her life, but she had no illusions. Nothing solid could be built on the foundation of their past, so it made sense to eradicate every last part of it. That meant the tattoo had to go, along with any random thought of taking a more permanent spot in Coe’s life. Thanks to her father, that would never be possible.

  No matter how much she might be starting to wish otherwise.

  As she pulled up to Esme’s, she was pleased to see yellow caution tape on her old trailer, as well as an external padlock that announced the place had been condemned. Then the fluttering of Esme’s front curtains distracted her, and she waved a quick greeting as she retrieved the cupcakes from the passenger seat.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Esme.” Miranda smiled the moment the mobile home’s door swung open. “I hope it’s not too early for a visit?”

  “You kidding?” Esme waved her inside and took her coat while Miranda breathed in the mouthwatering perfume of sage, onion and sweetly roasting meat. “There’s no such thing as too early on a Thanksgiving morning. Parade’s already on and I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, basting the bird.”

  “I’m relieved I didn’t wake you. I wanted to give you these before you had your holiday dinner.” She offered the pink box with a flourish.

  Esme’s pale gray brows shot up. “Oh? What’s this?”

  “It’s my way of saying thank you for taking such good care of me. As neighbors go, while I was no doubt the worst, you were the best.” Without a doubt, while she was unlucky in love, when it came to Esme and Geraldine, she’d seriously lucked out in the awesome-neighbor department.

  The older woman took the box as if she thought it might be wired to explode. Then she looked at Miranda with what might have been tears in her eyes before quickly turning away. “Don’t be stupid, I didn’t do a damn thing. And as neighbors go, I’ve had way worse than you. Way worse.” She set the box on the table and made a sound of happy approval when she peeked inside. “Oh, will you look at those? Charlie and Sadie are going to love them.”

  “Lucy Crabtree over at Pauline’s did them, so she’s the one with the magic touch.”

  “She knows her way around the kitchen, but you’re the one who understands how important it is to let people know they’re appreciated. Not everyone gets that.” With a sniffle, she turned to face her with a quiver rippling her dour face. For a moment Miranda was alarmed until she realized Esme was trying to smile. “So, you got plans for Thanksgiving? If you don’t, there’s plenty here and I know the kids would get a kick out of eating dinner with their idea of a princess.”

  “Thank you, but Coe’s already extended a dinner invitation.” Of course, she’d never said she’d go.

  “Interesting way of putting it. It’s like you’re not sure you’re going to go.”

  Damn. Esme was way sharper than she’d given her credit for. “That’s probably because I’m not. It’s funny, isn’t it? I have no problem when it comes to everyone else on the planet. But with Coe, even something as simple as attending a holiday dinner becomes one giant, convoluted mess.”

  “I kind of figured that out, considering I’ve never seen a man work harder to get a lady to accept a glass of milk.” With another peek and smile at the cupcakes, the older woman shrugged. “And considering how you have a problem with accepting gifts from Coe, I guess that means you paid in full for those pretty new tires on your car? I’m assuming you bought them from his garage after he saved you from your breakdown.”

  “What?” That stopped Miranda in her tracks, and she stared at the other woman in disbelief. “First off, how did you know my car broke down or that Coe saved me? And those aren’t new tires. I know they look brand new, but Coe said he cleaned them up.”

  “Oh. Oh, honey.” For a moment Esme graced her with a look one might reserve for a child who never got the right answer in class. Then she pulled Miranda over to the front window, pushed back the curtains and nodded at her car. “You’ve been gone so long from Bitterthorn you’ve obviously forgotten everyone knows your business better than you do. I heard over at the bank that Coe nearly busted a gut getting to you when Pauline told him you were in trouble. And those tires? All four are new, along with just about everything under the hood, from what Daisy Pomerantz was told by Des Brody, who crossed paths with Coe at the auto parts store. Or maybe it was Fin Brody. Or Ry. Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

  That was so Bitterthorn. Even when she didn’t know her own business, someone else did. “There seems to be a crossed wire somewhere. Coe said he just cleaned the tires up a bit.”

  “He lied.”

  “But...” She stopped when she remembered she hadn’t recognized the tires when he’d returned her car. “Why would he do that? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “He couldn’t get you to accept a bottle of milk. I think it’s obvious why he didn’t tell you about the bigger stuff.”

  “It’s not obvious to me. Why would he even bother to go to all that trouble...and then not tell me about it?”

  Esme sighed with strained patience. “When a man’s determined to play a knight in not-so-shining armor and save his damsel in distress, my guess is that the last thing he wants is for that damsel to throw it back in his face.”

  “I can’t believe this.” A flicker of mortification dashed by at the thought of Coe acting out of pity, but it vanished almost before she knew it was there. In its place surged an engulfing wave of warmth, and it filled her so completely it took her breath away. The man was really exasperating as hell,
infuriating her one minute, then jumping through a mile of hoops in order to look after her the next. He’d spared her pride, he’d made sure she was safe, and protected her in every way imaginable.

  That idiot.

  Her chest tightened with a great swelling of emotion. It was as if some internal dam on her heart had burst, erasing the bitterness that had stabbed at her only an hour ago. She couldn’t contain it all—gratitude that she knew a man who cared enough to go through so much for her. Happiness that she had returned so their paths could cross again. And...

  Love.

  Oh, shit.

  She closed her eyes when they stung with the intensity of it, and she had to put a hand to her chest to make sure it didn’t bust open. So there it was. For years she’d been lying to herself, slapping countless labels on what she felt, just so she could manage the pain. Guilt. Hatred. Obsession. Anything to explain why she’d never been able to kick Coe out of her head. Over time she’d even convinced herself that if she could just give him back that one thing of value that he’d once had, she would finally be able to put him behind her.

  Lies. All lies.

  But she’d needed those lies to keep going. The agony of not being loved by the man who had her heart was so awful, she’d built those lies up out of sheer self-defense.

  The thing was, as the years passed, she’d grown to believe them.

  “Returning a carton of milk is one thing.” Esme’s voice brought Miranda out of her own head, which was a good thing. It was getting crazier in there by the second. “Undoing a crapload of work on a car that’s now safe and reliable is something else entirely. What’re you going to do?”

  That was a stumper if there ever was one. “Got any ideas?”

  “I don’t know this adult Coe Rodas.” Like her, Esme stared at the car. “And I barely knew the kid Coe Rodas. But I know the life he had while growing up, and it was a life I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”