by Tawna Fenske
The sexiest three words a man can say, but still, I’m nervous. We’re standing in the doorway of his cabin with the earthy spring breeze wafting in off the pond. The sun is almost down for the count, but it’s spurting little bursts of red and orange as it disappears behind the mountains.
I turn back to Mark, who’s radiating vibes as the world’s foremost lumberjack nanny. The fact that he’s cradling a rabbit in his arms completes the picture.
“It’s a lot to ask,” I tell him as I scratch Long Long Peter behind his velvety ears. “You’ve barely just met Libby, and you said yourself you haven’t been around kids much. You’re sure this is okay for two whole hours?”
He adjusts the rabbit in his arms, and I’m momentarily distracted by the size of his biceps. By the memory of having them envelop me completely.
“Two hours in which she’ll be fast asleep the whole time,” he reminds me. “Besides, I’m not flying solo. I’ll have a cop, a chef, a doctor, a lawyer, an international humanitarian, and a U.S. Marine whose seasonal gig is playing Santa. I think we can figure out how to pour her a glass of water if she wakes up.”
When he puts it that way, I feel silly for worrying.
But I also feel guilty for going out for a girls’ spa night when someone may or may not be trying to harm me. “If someone’s out to get me, should I really be off getting a Moor peat bath?”
“What’s a meat bath?”
Apparently, he hasn’t spent two hours studying the spa services menu like I did today. “I don’t know what it is, either,” I admit. “It’s been a while since I had any sort of spa date.”
“Which is why you should go and not worry.”
I bite my lip and glance out over the resort grounds. The towering wood buildings are bathed in sunset hues of pink and gold, and the golf course sprawls on the horizon like a sheet of green velvet. Coyote song and juniper breeze swirl together to create the most perfect blend of sound and smell, and it’s so beautiful here I want to lie down in the grass and just soak it all in.
“The place is crawling with private security,” Mark says, misreading my sigh. “We’ve always got it, but there’s even more with the senator coming this week. You’re safe, I promise.”
Goosebumps ripple up my arms. They’ve got nothing to do with the sage-laced breeze that just shivered past. “Thank you.” I turn back to smile at him. “I trust you.”
Something flickers in his eyes. I can’t quite read it, but it’s gone as fast as it appeared. “You kissed her goodnight already?” he asks. “Made sure she’s asleep and everything?”
“Yes.” I bite my lip. “I owe you, Mark.”
“You don’t owe me jack.” He shifts Long Long Peter to the crook of his elbow and puts a hand on my back to usher me along. “Go. Poker night starts in ten minutes. You can’t be here; it’s the rule.”
“Thank you.” I stand up on tippy toe to kiss him. It’s supposed to be a chaste kiss, but somehow it lands closer to his mouth and ends up lasting a good ten seconds.
Only the rabbit wiggling between us forces us to break apart. When we draw back, he looks as mind-whacked as I feel.
“Fuck.” He rakes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” I’m honestly not sure what he means.
“Leave me feeling like I washed down two pounds of gummy bears with a bottle of champagne.” He frowns, probably replaying those words in his head. “That sounded weirder than I meant it to.”
“I feel the same.” I do, even though I wouldn’t have used quite those same words. But I know I need to go if I want to make it to spa night instead of ending up wrapped around his body like a koala hugging a tree.
I take a step back. “Thanks again.” My voice is breathless, and I’m ten seconds from saying to hell with spa night and begging him to take me to bed.
But no, he’s got half the town’s men on their way here right now. And I’ve got half the women waiting for me
“Have fun,” he calls from the front porch as I make my way across the paved trail toward the spa.
Twilight has dropped like a curtain while we’ve been talking, but the full moon lights my way even better than the hammered copper light fixtures lining the path. I breathe in all my favorite springtime smells—bitterbrush, the oven-baked spice of ponderosa bark, and whatever Sean’s cooking up at the lodge. The whole mix is mouthwatering.
The grass squishes under my shoes when I step off the path, but it hasn’t rained. Must be the irrigation, which I know Mark tweaked earlier today to get ready for the senator’s visit.
I shiver and pull my sweater tighter around me, hustling to reach the spa. I climb the pebble-speckled steps to the massive rippled-glass doors marking the entry. They’re supposed to look like water, and I hear it bubbling around me from the man-made creek meandering through the courtyard.
They spared no expense with this place.
Pushing through the doors, I nearly collide with Bree. She’s scurrying across the lobby with a bottle of champagne in each hand, and she breaks into a big grin when she sees me. “Chelsea, you made it!” She sweeps me in to a hug, bumping my back with the bottles. Her dark curls are swept into a loose topknot, and she smells like lavender and sunshine.
“Come on,” she says, drawing back and looping her arm through mine. “Let’s get you inside.”
“You’re sure this is okay?” I fall into step beside her, feeling oddly guilty about accepting an all-expenses paid girls’ spa night. “I don’t want to take advantage.”
“Please,” Bree scoffs, leading the way down a lavender-scented hallway lined with sconces that drizzle warm, golden light down the sage-hued walls. “We had a whole bridal party cancel at the last second, but it was too late to call off the extra spa staff. You’re doing us a favor.”
I make a mental note to tip well tonight, even though I’m positive Bree’s got it covered. More than covered. The Bracelyns are known for generosity with their staff. “Am I benefitting from someone else’s misfortune?”
“You mean the bridal party that cancelled?” Bree snorts as we approach a rustic wood door with flashy copper inlays. “You’re benefitting from the fact that the groom couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
Yikes. “Seems like the bridal party would really need the spa night after something like that.”
“Oh, they’re getting it.” Bree grins and pushes through the door. “The bride’s flying all her friends and family to Jamaica on the ex-groom’s dime. I already sent flowers to her suite.”
And this is how the other half lives.
I follow Bree into a room done in dusty pastels and plush white furniture. Harp music trickles from hidden speakers in the walls, and the air swirls with lemongrass and female laughter.
Everyone looks up as we enter, and I recognize a sea of familiar faces.
“Chelsea!” Amber King waves me over to the chaise lounge where she’s perched next to Lily Archer. “Welcome to the relaxation suite. Feeling relaxed yet?”
“Here, this will help.” Lily slips a champagne flute into my hand. “Mimosas. Yum.”
“This is all so exotic.” I survey the blissed-out ladies chattering around me and realize I’m the only one not wearing a plush white robe. Was I supposed to bring one? “I’ve only been to a spa once in my life, and that was a prenatal thing my mom bought me on a Groupon.”
I was eight months pregnant at the time and spent the whole sixty minutes having to pee so badly I couldn’t relax.
“Word of advice.” Lily leans in conspiratorially, and I find myself moving closer. “Don’t ask for a happy ending massage. Apparently, they don’t do that in a classy place like this.”
“You did not ask for that.” Amber elbows her in the ribs, and I remember they played soccer together in high school. Their teasing repartee is as familiar to me as the spiced scent of Lily’s perfume.
“Tramp,” Amber declares good-naturedly.
“Hussy,” counters L
ily, smirking.
I’m eighty-five percent sure they’re kidding about the happy ending, but you never know with Lily. She wears her sexuality like a badge of honor, something I’ve always kinda admired.
“Floozy,” Amber counters.
“Jezebel.”
“Trollop.”
I take a sip of my mimosa, enjoying the show. Bree is going around topping off glasses and reminding people to fill out forms specifying the type of massage they like and what sort of facial services they want. I did mine online already, taking wild guesses about what parafango and effleurage meant. Either I ordered a massage or a sandwich.
“Hey, Chelsea.” I turn to see Jade King striding into the room in jeans and sock feet. She’s carrying her work boots, which are caked with mud. It’s entirely possible she drove a tractor here.
“Good, I’m not the only one who’s late,” she says. “Come on, let’s grab robes.”
I follow her around a corner and through another doorway, grateful she’s been here before. Must be a perk of marrying into this family. “How’s Brandon?” I ask.
“Great.” Her whole face lights up at the mention of her fiancé. Tossing her caramel-colored ponytail, she shrugs off her flannel overshirt and grabs the hem of her pink tee. “He’s playing cards with your guy, right?”
My guy. Is that who Mark is? She must see my hesitation because she makes a face. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be nosy.”
Jade whips off her T-shirt with an unselfconsciousness I envy. We were a few years apart in school, but I know she was teased for being a chubby kid. Jade got the last laugh, growing up to be a beautiful, badass reindeer rancher who could probably bench press her former tormentors while wearing high heels and a kickass dress.
Not that she wears anything but jeans most of the time. She wriggles out of hers and the stretch marks on her hips make me instantly less self-conscious about my own.
“Small town life,” I say, stripping off my own T-shirt. “I figure we all sort of know each other’s business, right?”
“Right.” She kicks off her jeans and starts shoving things into a locker behind her. “You’ve had some scary stuff happening.”
I recognize the statement for what it is. Not nosiness, but an invitation to talk if I need a shoulder.
For the millionth time, I wonder how much she knows. How much they all know. The single mom thing earns me a certain amount of privacy, but I’m not dumb enough to think people don’t gossip. What has Jade heard?
“It’s been a little scary,” I admit as I fold my shirt and jeans into a locker. “I could have blown off the smaller stuff—the hang-up calls, even the vandalism. But having someone break into my house—”
“It’s creepy, isn’t it?”
That’s right, I forgot. Jade and Amber had some problems out at the ranch the Christmas they opened. She knows better than most what it’s like to feel unsafe in your own home.
“I’m trying to keep things as normal as possible for Libby,” I say, which isn’t exactly an answer to her question.
“She’s doing okay?” Jade’s stripping off her skivvies, and I’m glad I’ve got her here to show me what to do. I’d have no clue.
“Lib’s good,” I say as I peel off my polka-dotted bra and panties and wonder if she knows I bought them with Mark in mind. “Right now, she just thinks we’re on vacation.”
“Give me a call if you want to bring her out to see the reindeer,” Jade offers. “That’s a good distraction.”
“I might take you up on that.”
Jade pulls two fluffy white robes off a rack behind her. She offers one to me, then shrugs into her own. “Let me know if you need anything else. A home-cooked meal. Someone to watch Libby. A team of Marines sent out to beat someone up.”
I laugh, appreciating the support. “Mark might appreciate the backup troops.”
There’s his name again, hovering in the air between us like a flirty UFO. Jade watches my face, trying to figure out if that’s my awkward way of admitting I kinda want to talk about him.
“I’ve always liked Mark,” she says. “He’s so gruff on the outside, but he’s really just a great big marshmallow.”
“That’s what I love about him.”
Love? Did I just say that?
Jade’s trying not to react, but I can see her noticing.
“I didn’t mean—we’re not—I mean—”
“It’s okay.” She offers an encouraging smile. “I know you like to keep things private.”
There’s a long pause, and she’s watching me like she’s waiting for something else. “You know,” she says slowly, “If you ever need to talk about anything, you can count on me to be discreet.”
“I know.”
Her blue eyes are clear, and she holds mine with such intense kindness that I can’t look away. “I know what it’s like to hold things in,” she says. “Stuff you think you can’t talk about, so you bottle it up tight. Just know you can come to me anytime if you need to unburden.”
I hold my breath, wondering what she knows. What any of them know. I’ve been so careful, so guarded about everything.
But if Jade knows, that means other people could know, and that means—
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll let you know.”
“Come on.” Jade grins as I cinch up the belt on my robe. “Let’s go have some hot guys rub us.”
Chapter 12
MARK
“This is the weirdest guys’ night I’ve ever been to.” Brandon Brown reaches across the table for the carton of chocolate milk and pours some into his glass. “Really fucking strange.”
“Shut the fu—fudge up,” I tell him. “You can’t swear with a kid in the house.”
The rest of the guys have the good sense not to respond. They’re too busy shuffling their cards and eating the cupcakes I set out for them on a plate in the middle of the table.
All right, maybe I’ve gone overboard. It’s the first time I’ve been left in charge of a kid, so I didn’t feel right cracking beers and putting some violent-ass hockey game on TV.
“Is there seriously not anything else we can watch?” Sean grumbles. He reaches across me to grab a hunk of salami off the charcuterie tray he brought, and I’m grateful I invited a chef. If it weren’t for him, we’d have nothing but sweets to snack on.
Brandon frowns at the TV as he shuffles his cards. “What are we watching, anyway?”
“Yo Gabba Gabba.” Dr. Bradley Parker shuffles his cards on the other side of the table. “Watched a lot of this when I did my pediatrics residency. This is the one where they sing Party in My Tummy.”
“Excellent,” Sean mutters. “Now I know the theme for that bridal luncheon I have to do next week.”
Dr. Parker—I should probably just call him Bradley—laughs and studies his cards. He’s new to the group, hired on recently at one of the local clinics. I haven’t talked to him much, what with all the worrying about Libby and Chelsea, but Austin says he’s a good guy.
“Look on the bright side,” Austin points out as he helps himself to a pomegranate buttercream cupcake. “At least we get to play poker and not pattycake.”
James is standing by the fireplace scowling at his phone, having already folded for this hand. He looks up long enough to frown at something else on the other side of my couch. “Is that animal supposed to be shitting in that box?”
“Don’t say shitting,” I tell him. “It’s a rabbit. And that’s his litterbox.”
And this is my life. How the hell did that happen?
I should probably feel weird about it, but I just feel—happy?
Sean snorts beside me. “Ask Mark what his rabbit’s name is.”
I glare at my brother. “Ask Sean how old he was before he stopped wetting the bed.”
I have no idea if that’s true, since Sean and I grew up on opposite sides of the country with mothers who couldn’t have been more different if they’d tried. But he shuts up anyway, and I wonder if I’m getti
ng the hang of this brother thing. Maybe my fake-it-‘til-I-make-it strategy is working.
“Whaddya got, bro?” Sean throws some poker chips into the middle of the table and lays his cards down. “I’m calling you.”
Well damn. I sigh and toss my cards down.
“I’ve got Jack shi—shart,” I admit, spreading out my cards to display the lousiest hand I’ve had the whole game.
Normally, this is where I’d cheerfully invite him to go fuck himself in the spirit of friendly poker play, but instead I say “nice job.”
See? I’m catching on.
“Ha!” Sean scrapes the chips toward him, looking downright cheerful. “I knew you were bluffing. You’re a shitty liar.”
“Don’t say shitty,” I grumble, ignoring the rest of the insult. Sean knows better than some what it’s like to hide a secret. He spent the better part of his life covering a pretty big one for his mom. What would he think if he knew about mine?
“Gotta say, I always wanted this.” Jonathan hoists his glass of chocolate milk in a toast. “Brotherly poker games, belching and farting, all the guy stuff I never got. Maybe I’ll move out here with the rest of you bast—bastions of brotherly love.”
A lump forms in my throat, and it’s not because I feel sorry for Jonathan being raised with six half-sisters. It’s the look he just exchanged with James, a look that says the two of them know something I don’t. I turn toward Sean in time to see him glance away fast.
What the hell?
Before my paranoia can take over, Austin’s phone buzzes. He and Doc Parker are the only two not banned from having phones at the poker table, and he frowns as he looks at the screen. “Deal me out, please.”
He stands up and strides fast into the kitchen, and I wonder if it has anything to do with Chelsea. That’s probably wishful thinking on my part. I want them to nail the bastard who’s been turning her life upside down, who’s scaring an innocent six-year-old for no good reason.
I know I shouldn’t, but I watch Austin’s face as he talks, trying to read his lips. Was that Charlie he just said? Not like I can read lips, so it could be anything.