A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  The screen door was cracked open, the main door swung wide. That was the first thing I noticed when I pulled up in a cloud of late-afternoon dust. I slid to a stop, skidding sideways as I pulled up alongside my pickup, and knocked the kickstand into place at the same time I cut the engine.

  No helmet to remove. Probably stupid. Okay, definitely stupid. But I’d stuck to dirt roads and grass fields as I took my time getting home. And sometimes I just needed the wind cutting across my face.

  I squinted in the angled light at a slender figure on the porch. Probably Summer. Waiting to confront me about tearing out of work and leaving Jordan hanging. I braced myself, but the figure I saw as I approached wasn’t a familiar head of hair, though it was decidedly female.

  I dismounted and whipped back for a second look. And stopped dead.

  Definitely female.

  Dark blonde with a few lighter shades streaking through. Pale skin with a tint of pink on her cheeks. Long, smooth legs stretched the length of the porch step, soaking up the rays. The setting sun had absolutely nothing to do with it. This chic was scorching hot.

  I strode toward the house, a curious half-smile on my lips, a “hello there” on the tip of my tongue. As I neared, I saw that the pink tinge coloring the fair-haired beauty’s cheeks was more of a red flush. There was a beer in her hand—a fact that somehow made her more attractive—and I spotted two more empties cast aside nearby.

  Shit, how long had she been out here? And why was she out here? Was she a friend of this Jordan person? Hell, was she his girlfriend?

  God, please don’t let this beautiful woman belong to my new roommate. That would just be mean.

  Suddenly, the girl’s eyes swung my way and narrowed viciously. The hello I’d been about to offer was chased away by her heated stare. Very deliberately, she raised a beer to her lips—my beer, I realized with a jolt as I recognized the label—and took a swig. I watched her throat contract as she swallowed and, against all conscious intent, I felt my jeans tighten. Well, shit.

  “Can I help you?” she asked coolly.

  I raised a brow at that. “I live here. Can I help you?”

  “You…?” Her death-ray stare turned confused then horrified. “What do you mean? Who are you?”

  “I’m Casey Luck. This is my house,” I said, slowly and with plenty of enunciating.

  Was she slow? Had the heat gotten to her? God, please don’t let the beautiful woman on my porch be mentally handicapped.

  This was, by far, the most praying I’d done in years.

  Her horrified expression intensified to something like outrage. “You’re Casey?” She jumped up, crumpling her can of beer in her fist. Impressive. I hoped it was empty, though. What a waste. “You’re Casey?” she repeated. “You’re sure?”

  “Uh, yep. For about twenty-five years now. So, yeah, pretty damn sure.” She stared at me in a way that made me shift my weight and question my own identity for a split second. “Is there something wrong? Are you here with…?” I trailed off as I spotted a single duffel bag behind her. I did a quick check of the yard. Empty besides me and Unstable. “Wait … where’s your boyfriend?” I asked, swinging back to her intense blue eyes.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Her tone could’ve cut granite.

  I stared at the single bag again. It was gender-neutral save for the small pink ribbon tied to the handle. My eyes widened and I realized I’d been the slow one. No, wait. I’d been played. “You’re Jordan?”

  “Obviously,” she snapped.

  “Huh.” I eyed her again and decided it was safer to stare down the bag.

  Instead of being angry at her condescending tone, I was intrigued. You little rascal, Frank. I hadn’t seen this coming, not one bit. It wasn’t like I took on female roommates. As a rule, I avoided it. Ever since college when my roommate, Kevin, had let his sister stay with us and then he’d found her and I conserving space by sharing a bed. One thing led to another and I left with a black eye—and no home to go back to. Never again, I’d said to myself.

  I narrowed my eyes as that memory faded into this moment. Was Frank trying to fix me up? He had to know that never ended well in a roomie situation. Or maybe he didn’t. Frank was from the “do what’s proper era” and hadn’t fit in then either. Who knew what he’d been thinking.

  “Huh,” I said again.

  “You sound like Frank,” she said. I decided not to try and answer that one. “Ugh. I can’t believe I sat out here all freakin’ afternoon just so Frank could fix me up with his redneck son.”

  “Whoa, whoa, sweetheart,” I said, catching her elbow before she could stomp off. Her eyes widened in surprise, but I kept my most backwoods drawl in my words and narrowed my eyes at her. “Rednecks don’t do it for you, fine. No need to go name-calling. I’m just as surprised as you are about this.”

  She sighed, her hair fluttering along her lashes before sticking to her forehead again. “Right. Sorry.” She shook her head and again, I was mesmerized by the way her damn hair moved. “I’m grumpy from the heat. And my car died. And now you’re here and I don’t have a place to go and—”

  She broke off and descended the steps, shoving her half-crumpled beer can into my hands. Her eyes, the color of a crisp mountain spring, found mine and bored holes. I could almost taste the mad rolling off her. And I would’ve felt bad for being partly responsible for her anger, if I hadn’t been so busy inhaling the scent of her perfume. It was a musky scent that was somehow fragile and fancy all at once. The evidence of perspiration and the trace of beer only added to the assault on my senses.

  I drank it in, wanting nothing more than to lean closer and drown myself in it. In her. My jeans tightened again and I blinked myself back to the present. Dammit, she was speaking, and I had no idea what she’d just said.

  “What?” I asked, trying to get my bearings.

  “I said I drank your last beer.” Her tone had gone from apologetic to accusing again and I’d somehow missed what had brought on the change. “It’s the least you could do for leaving me stranded out here.” She whirled and retrieved her bag from the porch, stomping down the steps and headed for the edge of the house.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, confused and determined to catch up. Damn this girl had mood swings.

  “Anywhere but here,” she snapped without turning back.

  Her attitude alone probably made her too much trouble, but watching the curve of her ass as she made her exit was too much to let go so easily. Besides, the sun was already setting and, by the looks of it, she didn’t even have a car.

  “Wait,” I called.

  She didn’t. I hadn’t expected her to.

  I jogged to catch up and then finally stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She scowled. “What?”

  “Did you see the room?” I asked. She didn’t answer but she didn’t stomp off, either. I held up the beer. “I’m assuming someone came by and let you in.”

  Her chin jutted out. More attitude. Defensiveness. “I didn’t break in if that’s what you’re asking. Summer unlocked it, showed me around.”

  So Summer knew. And she hadn’t called to warn me. She’d pay for that.

  I kept my expression neutral and nodded. “What’d you think?”

  Her anger dialed back. She regarded me with a wry look. “I think you need to do the dishes.”

  I bit back a snicker or the urge to tell her I was hoping that would be her job. Something told me that wouldn’t go over well here. “About the room? What’d you think?”

  She sniffed. “It’s fine.”

  I hesitated. Girls for roommates were trouble. I knew that. It could go south in the best situations. And by best, I meant platonic. Nothing muddying it up. A girl like Jordan wasn’t ever going to feel platonic. Not to any guy with a pulse. Certainly not to me if the straining muscle in my jeans was any indication. Shit. When was the last time a girl had made me hard by yelling at me?

  But I needed that money if I wanted to continue my secr
et side projects. And despite Frank’s underhanded attempt at matchmaking, I knew he’d only done it from a place of caring. He wanted to see me doing something with myself. Jordan made me want to do all sorts of somethings. I shook that image away before it could sharpen. Not a good time.

  At any rate, Jordan was carless. Homeless. I wasn’t sure her reason for coming to Grayson, but I wasn’t going to send her away just before dark. Or worse, chase her away. What kind of asshole would that make me?

  I decided to take a shot against my better judgment. Against any sort of judgment, really. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  “It’s yours if you want it,” I said. “The room, I mean. And I’m sorry I left you stranded here. I didn’t know until a little while ago that you were here. And then Frank sort of sprung it on me and,” I smiled an apology, “he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the fact that you were…”

  “A female?” she finished.

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  Her eyes, which had cleared to marginally friendly, narrowed again. She crossed her arms which only made it harder not to look at her ample chest. I forced my eyes up. “So you would’ve been here sooner if you’d known I was a girl?” she asked. “Because if you think for one second that me rooming with you is going to get you laid you are so sadly mistaken, I should buy you a condolence card now.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” I said, holding up a hand in surrender. “That’s not what I meant. I just, geez, I’m trying to apologize. Obviously you didn’t know I was a guy.” Now it was my turn to eye her. “Would you have come out or waited for me if you’d known?”

  She pursed her lips.

  “Ha! Exactly. Double standard.”

  “It’s different,” she muttered.

  I felt the smile coming and tried to rein it in. I was enjoying knocking her sideways a little after all that attitude. But I still needed her to agree to take the room.

  “Not if we don’t make it different,” I said. “And from the looks of it, this is your best option.”

  It was a bluff and I wasn’t sure it’d work. She didn’t readily agree but she didn’t walk away either. I took that last part as a good sign.

  “I don’t know,” she said finally. There was something heavy going on behind that expression. I had no idea what. This girl was hard to read. Most girls were so emotional, but this one, this one was closed up like a stone tower.

  It made me want to penetrate the walls. And not in a dirty way. Okay, maybe a little bit in a dirty way.

  “So, how about this,” I said, pretending I hadn’t just thought about penetration while standing in front of a girl who already thought I was only after her for sex. You’re on a roll, Case. “You come inside with me and think about it over a six-pack and a pizza. If you don’t want the room, I’ll take you to a hotel myself.”

  “You’re going to drink and drive?” she asked, one brow raised in a delicious arch that disappeared into her bangs.

  “No. You’re going to drink. And then, hopefully, no one’s going to drive.”

  I took her bag and slung it over my shoulder. She didn’t object so I took that as a sign to head for the house. She fell into step beside me and I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. Hell, why did it even matter so much? She was just a girl. Pretty as hell, but just a girl.

  “Oh,” she said, slowing her step and looking sorry for the first time. “I drank your last beer earlier, remember?”

  I shook my head and sent her a smile. Without saying a word, I veered toward the truck and plucked out the case I’d bought the previous night and hadn’t brought inside.

  I sent her a wink, putting an extra drawl into my words. “Darlin’, a real redneck always has backup brew. Come on, I’ll even let you watch me do the dishes.”

  She laughed—a low, sensual sound that came from deep in her throat. Even this girl’s laugh was sexy as hell and the way she brushed against me as her shoulders shook lightly ... I knew then I wasn’t just in trouble, I’d met it face to face and invited it inside.

  Chapter Five

  Jordan

  It should be illegal for hot guys to do the dishes. Especially when said guy was ripped and shirtless—he’d claimed it was to keep the water from splashing on his clothes—and currently number one on my list of irritating people. Casey might’ve had a point outside: I needed the room more than he knew. But after waiting around all afternoon, being right only made him more annoying. Or maybe it was the fact that he was sexy to the point of distraction. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything when his biceps flexed like that. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen such a fine specimen. Or cared.

  “See something you like, slick?”

  Heat crept up my neck as I realized I’d been caught in the act. I put a little more punch into my scowl than necessary. Crossed my arms a little tighter and leaned against the pantry door. “Slick?’” I repeated.

  Casey shrugged, feigning disinterest, but I could see that he’d enjoyed finding me checking him out. “You’re a city girl, aren’t you?”

  “Did Frank tell you that?”

  “Didn’t have to,” Casey said, turning his attention to a casserole dish with a layer of mystery-brown coating the bottom.

  I grimaced as he submerged it in the soapy water that filled the sink and began scrubbing away. My gaze dropped lower and caught on the way his jeans hugged his hips just so.

  “It’s written all over you like a neon sign at happy hour.” He gave a lopsided grin at his own joke.

  I snorted—probably not a very “city girl” response. “You would use a small-town reference as a metaphor,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” He glanced my way, but I didn’t answer.

  He let go of the casserole dish and turned to face me with narrowed eyes. “You have something against small towns?”

  I snatched my open beer from the windowsill beside me. The snark poured out before I could stop it. “Not at all. Without small towns, country music lyrics wouldn’t survive which are, I’m sure, of value to someone somewhere. And I like buying farm-raised poultry, so there’s that.” I tapped my chin, as if I couldn’t come up with another single feature to add.

  Casey’s expression took on a sharp edge. There was a flash of something I didn’t expect or recognize before he abruptly went back to the caked casserole dish. “Don’t forget the most important one,” he said, intent on his scrubbing. “Without small towns, you’d have no one left to ridicule in your spare time.”

  “I wasn’t…” I scowled. “Okay, maybe I was. A little.”

  “And by ‘a little’ you mean you’ve got a bone to pick with towns that sport dirt roads and sweet iced tea consumed on porches. What’s the big deal? A redneck spit in your kool-aid or something?”

  “No one spit in my kool-aid,” I mumbled, staring down at the beer bottle I held loosely in front of me.

  I made the mistake of letting my mind wander too far, to all the reasons I had for disliking towns like Grayson. And for never wanting to come back but feeling like I had no choice.

  Dad’s last wish—his dying words—had been to ask me to come here. To meet the mother who had disowned him simply for wanting to move to a city that could provide a better life for his family. He wanted me to hear her out. As if her side of the story would make a damn bit of difference after all this time. He knew how I felt about my grandparents. So he’d waited until he was on his deathbed to ask it of me. How could I say no?

  The sting of it—of a lifetime of bitterness toward a family that didn’t deserve their own son—got to me and my temper flared. “You’ve got to admit, though, places like this are so … ancient. It’s like the word ‘progress’ doesn’t exist here. People get stuck in their ways and there’s no changing the way they think. You’re either right or you’re wrong and heaven forbid you’re wrong.”

  I fell silent as I realized my rant bordered on personal. I hadn’t meant to say all that. But C
asey’s reproachful look had gotten to me. As if he had a right to judge me or assume anything. He had no idea what I knew about small towns, about what they were capable of. I’d watched it firsthand; my mother still carried that hurt and bitterness around.

  I caught Casey watching me, dishes forgotten once again. “Are we talking about places or people?” His hands were propped on the counter, bracing himself and making his biceps flex and tighten. My train of thought evaporated at the sight of his bared muscles. I forced my eyes back up to his face and found him smirking at me—caught again.

  Dammit. My mouth went dry.

  I opted for a long swig of my beer in lieu of an answer and Casey went back to the suds. While I drank, I shoved aside my real reason for being here. And for hating every minute of it. Mentally, I put it all into a drawer right next to how hot Casey Luck was when he did domestic chores. Neither one deserved my attention just now.

  Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d found a guy this hot. Or been distracted so fully from my grief—a constant ache that felt like anger and always seemed to simmer just underneath my forced smile. Still, Casey was a local, and that was the exact opposite of my type.

  The silence stretched and I stared out the window at the long shadows of dusk. A bird sang in a nearby tree but I couldn’t see it. All I saw was a lawn that would soon need cutting broken by a worn path carved out between the house and the barn. He must spend a lot of time in there, I thought idly. Wonder what for?

  “So, which Ivy League was it?”

  Casey’s question jarred me. “What?” I blinked, but Casey was staring hard at the baking pan he was scrubbing. Even so, I could hear the challenge in his words. I’d insulted him. Guilt pricked at me but my defenses were made of insults and I couldn’t afford to drop a single one just now.