Shut Up and Kiss Me

by Christie Craig

  “What?” Maria asked.

  She really didn’t have to; Jessie would have told her either way. Jessie loved telling things. The only way the woman wouldn’t blab something to hell and back was if she pinky-promised not to. Not that Maria asked for any pinky-promises from Jessie. Not lately. Not since the miscarriage and her secret affair with Jose. Her relationship with Matt had never been a secret. She hadn’t cared if the whole world knew they were together.

  “He stayed the night with her at the hotel,” Jessie said.

  Maria’s heart clutched. “Matt stayed at your hotel with some woman?”

  “Matt?” Jessie repeated. “No, not Matt. Sky stayed at the hotel with…Ah, Dios. Something happened between you and Matt.”

  Maria let out a deep breath. “I’m not ready to talk about this.” But the words came out anyway. “Jose came home.”

  Jessie gulped. “Does he know about the baby?”

  “No,” Maria said. “It’s just…It was unbelievably crazy and I must have been acting guilty, because Matt somehow knew Jose is more than just my foster brother.”

  “You need to tell him,” Jessie announced.

  “Tell who?”

  “Both, chica. Tell Jose so you can move past this. Tell Matt so you can stop feeling as if you are lying to him.”

  Maria closed her eyes. “You know you can’t repeat this, right?”

  “I promise on my pinky,” Jessie said. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay,” Maria growled, and tears filled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure it’s over.”

  “But you told me yesterday that you thought he was the one! If he loves you, he—”

  “I guess I thought wrong.” Maria wiped her eyes and tried to pull herself together. “Really, I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

  “Okay, but you know that when you are, I’m here for you.”

  “You always are,” Maria said. “And I love you for it.”

  There was a pause. “Now, do you want to hear about Sky’s shenanigans?”

  “Sure,” Maria said. “What did he do?”

  Jessie began with the whole hotel break-in and her husband’s near-death experience with the black sedan. She ended with something about Sky having erectile dysfunction. Maria didn’t believe it, but the delivery was funny and she found herself pushing her own problems aside to laugh with her best friend.

  “I’m cleaning their room now. The bed is messy—”

  “Sky left?” Maria asked.

  “Just a few minutes ago.”

  Maria breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. But you have to let me go so I can get Redfoot’s things together.”

  After a few more words, the two women hung up. Maria tiptoed down the hall to Redfoot’s bedroom. With luck, Jose would stay incapacitated until she left for the hospital.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sky hadn’t explained where they were going or what “family issue” he needed to fix, and Shala didn’t ask. She wanted to, but those caution flags kept waving in her head. Sky Gomez, with his mouth-watering body and wit, his bedroom smile, and his caring approach to life had her working overtime at putting up barriers.

  Oddly, she hadn’t worried about barriers before. She hadn’t needed them. It wasn’t as if the men weren’t knocking on her door. They were, but sending them packing had been a piece of cake. She hadn’t even needed barriers. Until now.

  “You okay?” Sky asked.

  She cut her gaze toward him. “Fine.”

  “You got quiet,” he said. “Where did you go?”

  “I have a lot to think about,” she answered vaguely.

  “Your hand’s not hurting, is it?”

  “It’s sore is all.” She looked at her bandaged palm, remembering the fear she’d experienced while huddled on the floor at Sky’s house. “What’s the chance of this freak just giving up?”

  Sky’s right eyebrow rose. “Not knowing exactly what it’s about, it’s hard to guess. But my instinct says that he’s gone to too much trouble to just throw in the towel.”

  Her stomach gurgled with frustration. “What the hell could I have photographed that’s worth hurting people over?”

  “I don’t know,” Sky said, “but we’ll go over your pictures and maybe find something.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  He frowned. “Then we catch him when he tries his next move.” His gaze softened, and he reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Shala. I promise.”

  His words rang so sincere, his touch was so tender, but as she felt herself warming to him, common sense kicked in and immediately she went back to barrier-building.

  They drove past the arena where the powwow was held, onto the Chitiwa reservation. Shala had driven around here yesterday while trying to get a feel for the place. It mostly consisted of well-kept middle-class homes, although she’d spotted a share of empty or rundown buildings, early signs of a town’s downhill slide. According to the mayor, more and more of the younger Native Americans were moving away. The bad economy was blamed for the tribe’s losing its sense of community and culture. Shala figured it was the way of the world for the youth to move on, but a bad financial situation was hardly enticement to stay.

  Yet with just a little cooperation from the locals, Precious could really turn its economy around. The town had so much to offer vacationers. With several lakes and a river, the town center’s quaintness, the historical buildings, Precious had so much promise. Add the appeal of tribal history, and with just a little work, she really could see the town becoming a weekend vacation spot as popular as Fredericksburg.

  She remembered one of the questions she’d wanted to ask the mayor, and it slipped out of her mouth. “Does Precious have an art community?”

  “Community?” Sky echoed.

  “Local artists, galleries, studios?”

  “We have lots of artists. No galleries. As for studios…it depends on what you mean. Most of the locals work out of their homes. Estella, Redfoot’s wife, was well-known for her pottery before she passed away. She had shows everywhere, including New York. She even had exhibits in Paris. She used to teach classes at the lodge. Maria still does a class every summer.”

  Shala heard the hint of grief in his voice. “How long ago did Estella pass away?”

  “Ten years ago.” He paused. “But it seems like yesterday. She was one hell of a lady. Redfoot knew how to pick them.”

  Shala smiled. “Precious should promote this, maybe open up a few studios for tourists. Offer weekend art classes. Make it a memorial to her.”

  He glanced over, and a satisfied smile tickled his lips. “That’s a wonderful idea. Maria still does some pieces, and she paints. I personally think she’s as good as Estella, but she hasn’t tried to sell anything. Do you want me to tell Maria to get a meeting of the local artists together, so you can speak with them?”

  The question reminded Shala that she’d told him she was quitting. She’d been serious about that, hadn’t she?

  “Who’s Maria?” A Maria had called Sky last night when Redfoot was hurt. Was the woman Sky’s girlfriend? The thought stung, but only because he’d been flirting with her. Not because she was interested.

  Keep telling yourself that, a voice whispered in her head.

  “She came to live with Redfoot and Estella when she was sixteen, as a foster child. She still lives with Redfoot.”

  Shala nodded, relieved if not wanting to admit it. Then other questions formed. Personal questions. Yet if she asked too much, Sky might question the source of the information she’d obtained while snooping through his house. Then she remembered, “The nurse at the hospital last night called Redfoot your foster father. Is—?”

  “Yes.” Sky looked out the side window, as if to escape any more questions. A minute later, he parked in front of a white brick home. “Actually, you can ask Maria about the art community yourself.”

  “Maria?” Sky called out as he and Sha
la stepped into Redfoot’s entryway. It smelled strongly of air freshener and scented candles.

  “In Redfoot’s room, gathering a few of his things,” came a very quiet reply from down the hall. “I’ll be ready in a snap.”

  Sky’s gaze went to the huge mirror in the hall and studied his reflection. Shala stood next to him. Damn, if she didn’t look good there. He was dark; she, light. His solid frame contrasted with her curvier one. And while he had a good ten inches on her—the top of her head only came to his shoulders—something about her size felt perfect, as if she’d been molded to fit his body. He’d never been particular about a woman’s size before, but suddenly he wondered if he’d overlooked a fetish for petite girls.

  Her gaze locked with his in the mirror. He recalled how quickly she’d shut down when he’d complimented her in the truck. Right then, he knew there was more than just her camera standing in the way of them getting close. Or getting naked.

  His gaze lowered to the cotton-covered breasts filling her pink T-shirt. There was nothing petite about those. Looking back at her eyes, he saw their warning: Don’t come any closer. But while Shala Winters kept herself locked away, he was good at picking locks.

  Their staring had reached the awkward stage, so he looked away from the mirror and directly at her. Their gazes met and locked again.

  “Why don’t you wait in the living room while I speak to Maria,” he suggested, motioning to a room down the hall. “On the shelves are some of Estella’s and Maria’s pieces. Feel free to check them out.”

  Nodding, Shala walked away.

  He enjoyed the view of that perky ass. Her shorts hugged all the right places. But when he felt his body responding, he forced himself to move down the hall. When had he reverted to instant hard-ons? Since you haven’t had sex in a month of Sundays, he told himself, not wanting to think it had everything to do with Shala herself.

  Moving down the hall, he found Maria gathering a clean change of clothes into a bag. “Hey,” he said.

  His foster sister turned, and the moment he saw her face, he sensed that whatever was going on was more serious than he’d feared.

  “You didn’t wake him up, did you?” she asked.

  “Wake who up?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Jose.”

  “No.” Sky took a few more steps. “What’s going on, Maria?”

  “He still stinks,” she replied.

  Right then, another smell, one that lingered beneath the air freshener, penetrated Sky’s senses. “Is that skunk?”

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Maria snapped. “You’re going to have to deal with him, because I just can’t.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Leave it to Jose to come back and screw everything up.”

  “Screw what up?” Sky had never really seen Jose as a troublemaker.

  “Everything.” Tears filled Maria’s eyes. “He screwed up everything.”

  She came barreling at him, Redfoot’s underwear clutched in her hand, and wrapped her arms around him. When Maria needed a hug, she didn’t ask, she took. When she thought you needed a hug, she gave without permission, too. Fighting it was like fighting Mother Nature. So Sky just endured.

  “I can’t stay here while he’s home,” she sniffled. “Please tell me I can hang out at your place.”

  “Of course you can.” Visions of Shala danced in his head, but he simply couldn’t tell Maria no.

  Of course, an idiot with a gun had gone to his place. His home might not be safe for Maria or Shala. But he also had a lot of stuff to work through, and he really didn’t have to time to stand here hugging his sister in a skunked-up room.

  He’d just opened his mouth to speak again when a scream from the other room split the air.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Shala had been admiring the pottery on the entire wall when her foot bumped into something, but she was so awed by the glazed pottery that she ignored it. These were gorgeous pieces with smooth rising lines. Sky’s foster mother had indeed been an amazing artist. Or were some of them Maria’s? But then that something her foot had struck—or rather, that someone—wrapped a hand around her ankle. It was a dark-haired man, eyes closed and stretched out on the floor. He wore only a woman’s pink bathrobe. And—

  “Holy moly!”

  For the second time that morning, she found herself staring at an erection. And while Shala had no problem with male anatomy, having gone visually penis-free for so long, the sudden wealth of phalluses was a shock to her system.

  She jerked her leg, but the grip tightened. The man opened his eyes and glared up at her. She loosed a scream and took off in a dead run—not an easy task when someone has a death grip on your ankle. Before she knew it, she found herself facedown on the carpet. The man still held her ankle, so she kicked, hard. Her foot made contact.

  The hold on her ankle fell away. A few choice words sputtered out behind her, but she didn’t look back. On her hands and knees, Shala crawled like a baby on speed across the living-room floor. She moved at such amazing velocity that she plowed right into another pair of jeans-clad legs. She didn’t even bother looking up, but barreled right between the knees and took a sharp left into the hall.

  The front door was now in view, so she lunged to her feet and took off. But she didn’t make it. Someone snagged her arm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Sky. Her heart hammered in her throat, and she couldn’t answer. Swinging around, she pointed to the living room.

  “What?” Sky asked. The near-naked, cross-dressing ankle-grabber lay hidden behind the sofa.

  “Oh this is freaking great!” said a dark-haired woman behind Sky—Maria, Shala assumed. She stood with her hands on her hips, frowning toward the living room. Something about her expression said she knew what had Shala so panicky.

  “Please, stop yelling.” The ankle-grabber stood up, holding both his palms over his ears. Blood was running from his nose. Unfortunately, with both his hands being used as earmuffs, he couldn’t hold the ill-fitting pink robe over his privates. At least the thing wasn’t still standing at attention.

  “For Christ’s sake, Jose!” moaned Sky. “Cover yourself.”

  The man flinched, then lowered one hand to pull some pink material over his crotch. “Just stop yelling and”—he pointed at Shala—“keep her away from me.” He wiped his other hand under his nose. Slowly, bloodily, he moved past them down the hall.

  It couldn’t exactly be called a graceful exit. Not just because each step appeared to pain him, but because with the robe pulled tight in front, the back of the pink robe rode up above his naked buttocks. And right before he stepped out of view he muttered, “Welcome to fucking Precious.”

  Sky frowned at Shala, who quickly explained. “He grabbed my ankle and wouldn’t let go. I was trying to get away. I didn’t mean—”

  “Stop,” Sky said. “I’m not blaming you.” He placed an arm around her shoulder. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She noted the easy manner with which he touched her, and questioned if she should step away. “I wasn’t the one bleeding.”

  “Yeah, but he scared the crap out of you.” Sky stared down the hall. “What’s he thinking, running around like that?”

  Shala shot him an accusing look. “Now nudity is a crime?”

  “Yes. Indecent exposure. But I’m talking about that pink robe.” Then, as if just realizing her meaning, he added, “This isn’t the same thing as the hotel.” He raked a hand over his face and looked at his foster sister. “What the hell is going on, Maria?”

  “You tell me, then we’ll both know. He’s pretty much been like this since I found him in my tub, bathing in douche.”

  “Douche?” Shala gasped, certain she’d misunderstood.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. My name is Maria, and I swear my house isn’t normally occupied by hungover, nearly naked men giving peep shows. And it doesn’t always stink like a skunk, either.”

  “Skunk,” Shala repeated. She caught he
rself inhaling, and past the air-freshened scent she picked up a hint of stink. “Oh, my!”

  “Terrible, isn’t it.” Tears filled Maria’s eyes. “It’s been a hard night.”

  Shala nodded. Awkward silence filled the room, and then Maria offered, “Have you guys heard that mustard is great for burns?”

  “Yellow mustard?” Shala asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “Yes. I read it in the paper a few days ago.”

  “What the hell does mustard have to do with this?” Sky asked.

  “Nothing,” Maria snapped. “I was just hoping to break the awkward silence.”

  Shala grinned. “You didn’t get that?”

  “No, I didn’t, but I’ll let you guys discuss mustard on your own.” Sky moved around the two women. “Excuse me just a minute.” He walked down the hall and disappeared into the same room as the ankle-grabber.

  Jose heard someone moving down the hall, and his head pounded in unison. Those footsteps sounded like a jackhammer striking concrete. He just managed to pull the front of the robe over his dick before the door swung open.

  He blinked, causing extreme pain to his eyeballs—who knew eyeballs could hurt?—and stared at Sky in the doorway. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you don’t slam the door,” he begged.

  His foster brother apparently wasn’t in the same financial straits as during his teen years, because he slammed the door and yelled, “What the hell is going on?”

  Jose held up a hand. “I think I drank too much.”

  “You think you drank too much? What was your first fucking clue—your headache, smelling like the bottom of a whiskey barrel, or waking up wearing pink lingerie and attacking an innocent woman?”

  “I didn’t attack her. I thought she was Maria and I was just going to…I wanted…Oh, hell, I had a wreck and then there were fire ants, and thorns, and then that skunk came out of nowhere. Then I found out Maria is sleeping with some white boy with a big dick. Then the dick and Maria came in, and I was naked and almost drunk. I guess I didn’t see the point in stopping then.”

  Sky just stared. Jose didn’t blame him. If he hadn’t experienced it all, he’d think the whole story was a crock.