Falling Hard

by Tina Wainscott

  “PCB?”

  He gestured toward the north. “Short and lazy for Panama City Beach.”

  She nodded as she processed what he implied. He was taking care of her father’s place. She really didn’t want to feel a softening toward him for that. Or for the way that he knelt and rubbed his dog’s belly, making his tail swish back and forth.

  “I passed a horde of them earlier.” The thought of a bunch of drunk bikers sent a shiver of fear through her. But her main concern was the man in front of her. “Thank you for checking on the place. So…you were just waiting for me to arrive?”

  “Actually, I’d just realized you’d be here anytime, and the place would be locked up and dark. I was coming to turn on the lights when you scared the heck out of me.”

  “You scared the heck out of me.”

  “You say so.” He tipped his head toward the side of the house. “Come on, I’ll open the garage door so you can pull in.”

  He headed around to the side, and she realized that his feet were bare. Even back in high school, during their lunch break, he’d toe off his boat shoes the moment he came into the courtyard. His jeans hung low on his hips, just the way they used to. She could still see him that night at the race, bending into his car and turning the key, his back long, his ass tight and cute.

  It still is.

  She followed, cursing herself for taking him in. Enjoying the view, even as they walked in the shadows. He had the easy swagger of a man who was comfortable with himself. He was still as tanned as he’d been years ago, no doubt just from being outside, not on any tanning bed.

  An odd kind of heat bubbled up inside her. Wait a minute. Not attraction. No way. She forced her gaze from the elegant line of Pax’s back. Harley led the way, glancing back every few seconds to make sure they still trailed behind. Pax told her the numbers as he entered them on the keypad by the garage doors, and one of the three bays opened. From this angle, she could see his truck. She decided not to ask why he’d parked in the garage. Maybe the bikers were that dangerous.

  She drove her car in, parked, and started to pull out her suitcases. Pax took one, snapped up the handle, and headed back to the keypad.

  “We can’t get through from the inside,” he said when she glanced at the interior door. It, too, was boarded over.

  She swallowed hard and followed, pulling her small suitcase along. He sent the door closing and gestured for her to precede him. She couldn’t keep her eyes from the patch job as they passed it. When she walked inside, she took in the entrance to the kitchen, covered with thick plastic. She had to pass through there to reach the staircase that led to the innkeeper’s residence. Her heart thudded as she approached it. The wall was intact, anyway.

  “It’s a mess,” he said from right behind her.

  She rolled her eyes at the way he kept startling her. She pushed the plastic aside and caught her breath at the destruction. The island was gone, the back portion of cabinets and the wall between the kitchen and the laundry room demolished. Dust and chunks of wood littered the once pristine floor. “How did he survive? Either of them?” She turned to Pax. “The driver did survive, right?”

  He ordered the dog to stay and advanced into the kitchen, stepping over the debris. “He’s still in the hospital. Sounds like he didn’t suffer a lot of injuries from the crash, but he’s pretty messed up from the stroke. He’d feel terrible about doing this.”

  Pax pointed to the wall where only some of the cabinets and the refrigerator still stood. “If the angle of the car had been like this,” he said, waving his hand, “Wade would have been shoved toward this wall. Which is concrete block. It would have been a lot worse.”

  She didn’t want to contemplate that. Thank you, God, for those few inches. “I need to look up insurance information. Figure out when guests are due and cancel their reservations.” She blew out a breath, realizing how much had to be done. “Find a construction company to fix this.”

  “The adjustor’s already been out. They’re doing the paperwork now. A demolition crew will be out tomorrow to clean up the debris.”

  She released a breath. “That’s a start, anyway.” How did he know so much about it, though?

  “I’m guessing you’re staying in your dad’s place?” he asked, heading to the base of the staircase, which had narrowly escaped the collision.

  “As long as he hasn’t made my old room into a gym or something.”

  “Last time I saw it there was a bed and a dresser.” He reached for her suitcase but paused. “Don’t want you to think I’m trying to attack you or anything. May I take your suitcase up?”

  Damn, he must think she was a real scaredy-cat. “I have this one, thank you.”

  He paused. “You didn’t think I was going to…attack you, did you?”

  “No.” Her laugh was hoarse. “I’d never think that.” Also true.

  He actually looked relieved. Once again, he gestured for her to go first. She wanted to believe that he actually cared about her, even a tiny bit. He had helped her with the tire, after all. He had been turning on the lights for her. And now he was taking one of her suitcases upstairs when he could have just said, “I’m outta here.”

  When she reached the top of the stairs, she paused in front of the mirror. She had a black streak across her forehead! Where in the hell…

  “Has this been here since the tire thing?” she asked, facing his reflection as he came up behind her.

  “Yeah, I guess it has.”

  “And you didn’t tell me? No one told me?”

  He lifted one shoulder, then headed around the corner to the room on the right. “I thought it looked cute.”

  “You did not,” she muttered, following to her old bedroom. Forget those thoughts about him caring!

  She came to a stop in the open doorway. It hadn’t changed much since those few months she’d lived here. Memories of everything she’d been through assailed her. Insecurity. Daydreams about Pax that were always overshadowed by guilt and regret. Thoughts of Blake and where she fit into his world. Then those horrible days after the beach party.

  “The room doesn’t look that bad,” Pax said, parking her suitcase at the foot of the bed.

  She must have been grimacing. “Just…memories.”

  “You can always stay in one of the guest rooms.”

  She could. But no, it was time to vanquish those old memories and face the last demons from her past. She swept the room with her gaze, landing on Pax. “Well, thank you for checking on the place. And for your help,” she added.

  “No problem. If you need anything, just shout.” He and the dog headed toward the door.

  How was she supposed to shout when she didn’t know his phone number? And no, you’re not asking for it. He was just offering in the way people ask how you’re doing when they don’t really care to hear the answer. She pulled her small suitcase to the bathroom and washed off the black mark. Cute. Right. If he hadn’t otherwise been so helpful, she’d think he wanted her to be humiliated.

  Don’t be fooled by his politeness and helpfulness. He hates you. He’ll never see that his brother was wrong, because he can’t. That’s how family works.

  Her father had stood beside her, as Pax had said, and she had no doubt that he believed Blake had taken advantage of her. But she’d sensed an unspoken blame that she had put herself into a risky situation. She’d heaped enough blame on herself for sneaking out to a party. Drinking. Making out with a boy. It was only after a lot of counseling that she came to know one undisputable fact: she had done nothing to invite being raped. She had said no, even if she’d been too drunk to fight him off.

  Being back here was reviving memories and feelings she’d worked hard to process and bury. Like a horror movie in which fingers drove up from the dirt over a grave, those memories were thrusting back into her consciousness.

  She unpacked and took a shower, then donned a robe. The nice thing about super- short hair was how fast it dried. Two minutes under a dryer and voil�
�, dry! She’d cut it right after the rape. Her attorney had advised her to tone down her natural bright blond, saying she didn’t want the investigators or the jury to see her as a woman whose looks might in any way invite untoward attention.

  Gemma had wanted to fire the woman, but she quickly explained that this wasn’t her perception but the public’s. Many people looked at the victim and wondered what she’d done to provoke the attack. Unfortunately, Gemma came to know this as true. She’d made the mistake of perusing her former friends’ Facebook pages to see what they were saying. Words like “whore” and “slut” blurred in her tears, captions on pictures of her from the night at the races, and at the party.

  Even now, the memory pricked tears in her eyes. Doubt pricked, too, like tiny needles. Had she invited it? Had her “goth-candy” look made a statement about her that had been imprinted in everyone’s minds? It had made an impression on Pax, after all. And she’d gone to that party, gotten drunk.

  She wiped her eyes—the hell with tears—and headed to bed. That’s when she heard the noise. She crept to her door, then out to the living area. Voices. A little music. She dug her vial of pepper spray from the dregs of her purse. Throat tightening, she descended the stairs and picked her way across the kitchen.

  “Get the big son of a bitch!” a man drawled. “Afore he bites my hand off.”

  Not Pax. Images of grisly, armed biker dudes strangled the breath from her.

  “Shoot ’im, already!” the same man ordered.

  “If you’ll get out of the way,” another man said.

  The sound of a gunshot shook her. What was the sloshing sound? Wait a minute. This had Pax written all over it. She pushed the plastic aside and stepped into the den.

  Yep, Pax. Poured onto the couch, his bare feet propped on the coffee table, Harley by his side. He set a can of Dr Pepper on a coaster as he caught sight of her. “Is it too loud?”

  Suddenly she realized that she was wearing a robe. Nothing but a robe. She cinched it tighter and stalked forward. “Is it too loud? Is it too loud?”

  “Apparently it is,” he muttered, clicking the remote and muting the show. “A simple ‘yes’ would suffice.”

  Gemma glanced at the television to see two men in a skiff hauling a dead alligator on board. She turned back to Pax. “What are you doing here?”

  “Didn’t we cover this earlier? I’m. Watching. The. B&B. Until. The. Wall. Is. Repaired.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not slow. Smart-ass.”

  He leaned back, lacing his hands together behind his head. “Just trying to be clear.”

  She scoffed. “Yeah, as clear as mud. You said ‘keeping an eye on the place.’ You did not say you were staying here.”

  “Same thing. I promised your dad I’d watch this place, and I can’t do it from five miles down the road. Especially now that you’re here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your dad’s a good friend, and, of course, he cares about you. Since he can’t be here, I will.”

  “You’re…taking care of me?” The idea felt funny in her stomach.

  “Let’s just say I’m keeping an eye on the things that are important to Wade. Which includes you.”

  “And that’s why you insisted on helping me with the tire tonight?”

  He started to answer, then paused. “Despite our past association”—he waved to indicate between them—“I’m not the kind of guy who’s going to leave a woman stranded on the side of the road at night. Even if you were Danica Patrick.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s a racecar driver who no doubt knows how to change her tire in five seconds flat.”

  “Oh, right.” She pictured the sexy brunette she’d seen in commercials. “Hah. That has nothing to do with chivalry.”

  “Damn, woman, you just like being contrary, don’t you? Okay, fine. Even if it was a six-foot-two female mechanic bodybuilder, I wouldn’t leave her there. And no, I’m not hot for masculine women.”

  Gemma remembered the cute little blondes who’d been drawn to him. And vice versa. Wasn’t she a little blonde who’d been drawn to him, too?

  Forget that.

  “Fine, you were being nice. I’m grateful, considering.”

  “I’m not fishing for gratitude. Just answering your question honestly. Look, it’s no big deal me being here. I’m down here, you’re up there. We hardly have to see each other.”

  “Yeah, well, I appreciate your loyalty to my dad, but you staying here is not necessary. You can go now.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “What?”

  “You. Can. Go. Home. Now. I have it under control.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. With our history, you and me staying here has ‘bad’ written all over it. ‘Awkward,’ at the very least.”

  “No, I get it.” He patted his thigh, and Harley jumped off the couch. “I should have asked if it was all right with you. Come on, boy.”

  He wasn’t going to nose into her space, for whatever altruistic reason. He threw her off balance. No way could she spend the night with him in the house.

  Still, she stupidly watched him wander to the alcove that led to the guest rooms. A few minutes later he emerged carrying a duffel bag. “Give me a few minutes. It’s going to take a couple trips,” he called as he walked out the door, leaving it open. “I gotta get Harley’s bowl and food.”

  “Can I help?”

  She meant it as a genuine offer, but he slid her a wry look. “You can’t wait another couple minutes to get rid of me? Sheesh.”

  “I only meant…”

  But he was out the door. Harley was still at his heels when Pax returned, maintaining a neutral expression as he headed toward the back room. He came out with the bowls and a bag of dog food.

  “Night, Gemma Thornton,” he said, no trace of anything in his voice.

  “Good night, Pax Sullivan,” she returned, staying the same.

  She locked the door behind him, feeling vaguely guilty. And a little alone. Especially when she thought about the bikers and the flimsy wall.

  She turned off a couple of lights and headed back upstairs. Unfortunately, lying on the soft bed in her old room wasn’t enough to lull her to sleep. Neither was her exhaustion. Not helping was her senses being tuned in to every sound.

  A car engine. A creak somewhere downstairs. A soft thump in the attic. Maybe she’d been a little hasty in kicking Pax out.

  She heard the murmur of voices and pushed out of bed. A dog’s barking set her on full alert. Her room looked out over the parking area and the small front lawn. She turned the rod on the blinds, and her heart jumped at the sight of a man talking to the driver of a car that was idling in the lot.

  That man: Pax. That barking dog: Harley.

  Both looked puffed up and ready for a fight. She stalked down the stairs and out the front door. The car had turned around and headed toward the road by the time she came outside. Pax’s chest was bare, though he wore jeans. He pointedly watched the car, his chin jutted out, shoulders wide.

  “Who was that?” she asked, coming up beside him.

  “Couple of punks. They said they were looking for a room, but the NO VACANCY light is pretty clear. Plus, I didn’t see any luggage. I told them I was overnight security and to clear out. They started to argue with me, but my Ruger and my dog persuaded them otherwise.”

  She was startled to see he held a gun tight to his thigh, finger straight against the barrel. Once the car had pulled out of sight, he put it inside his truck. Harley shook his entire body, shedding his tension, and ambled toward her with his tail high.

  She peered into the truck bed, which held a makeshift bed of blankets and a sleeping bag. “You’re…watching over the house from out here?”

  He jammed his hands into his back pockets. “Gemma, I made a promise to your dad, and I intend to keep it. Given the factors I told you earlier, and the fact that someone broke in here about two years ago, I don’t feel comfortab
le leaving the place alone with just you inside. I’ll stay out here, and hopefully that won’t bother you much.”

  He was serious about this. And, apparently, there was reason to worry. But he did bother her, in lots of ways. In ways that he shouldn’t.

  “Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked. “Sleeping outside and all?”

  “Nah. Spent many a night camping out.”

  The landscape lights cast his face in interesting angles, and she was thinking about the exposure compensation and aperture settings that would capture the high planes of his cheekbones, the soft curve of his mouth. She stopped those thoughts. “How did you and my father become so close that you’d sleep in your truck bed to protect his property?”

  “Well, we met when I responded to the burglary.”

  “Responded?”

  He leaned against his truck. “I was a cop.”

  “Really?” She knew she hadn’t hidden her surprise at that. She tried to imagine him all buttoned up in a uniform and failed. There had never been anything uniform or buttoned up about Pax.

  “Yeah, really. Anyway, some of the stolen items included his racing paraphernalia. I made it my duty to recover them, even sniffing out leads on my own time. Wade took me out for a beer, and we talked racing. When I got the bug to reopen the old speedway, I approached him as a potential business partner, since he’d once been involved with a racetrack up in New York.”

  “I didn’t know he’d been that into racing. Or involved in a racetrack. That was all before me.” She fiddled with the string on her pajama bottoms. “When he came to visit last year, he seemed happy. Is that when you two started this?”

  “That was the honeymoon stage, right after we decided we were going to do it. It took all of this past year to get approvals and clear the zoning hurdles they kept throwing at us. Now we’re finally in the refurbishing stage.”

  She saw the same glow on Pax’s face that she’d seen on her dad’s. Why had he never mentioned the track? Probably because of Pax’s association with it.

  She wanted to ask more about the track, her dad’s past, and why Pax wasn’t a cop anymore. Words about what his girlfriend would think about him sleeping here inched up her throat. She didn’t see a ring on his finger, and it was damned annoying that she’d even looked, because she had absolutely no interest in him. Talk about water under the bridge.