No White Knight

by Snow, Nicole

  I’m worse than a player leaving my mark on half the women in town. I’m a reckless douchebag who deserves everything he has coming.

  Now it comes down on me like a fucking avalanche.

  There’s no denying, all those years ago, I used her.

  Used her to get at Blake by making her love me. Making her need me. Making her think we had something special so she’d always choose me over Blake.

  Sure, there was always collateral damage from the way Blake and I used to fight, always competing for our screwed up mama’s love.

  Thing is, nobody’s heart should ever be collateral damage.

  Not from two broken, bitter boys trying to duke out their way to adulthood.

  I gotta fix this.

  I gotta make this right, but I don’t know how.

  Not when, beneath the coy look she’s giving me, I can see hope there, too.

  And that’s not even touching the hurt.

  I think deep down, she knows.

  She knows what a shit I was, and I think she sees I can’t feel anything for her now.

  I just don’t want to hurt her even more.

  Turning, I sigh and set my coffee on the counter, freeing my hands from the threat of second-degree burns.

  Then I capture her hands in mine, pulling them away from her reaching for me.

  I can’t let her do it.

  Not if I want to keep from hurting her.

  Not if I want to be the sort of man Libby respects.

  I take hold gently but firmly. From the expression on her face, I think she can tell I’m about to let her down, her brows crumpling slightly, her mouth going soft.

  But I’ve got to say this, once and for all, even if everyone in the whole damn Nest is licking their chops, ready for a week’s worth of gossip.

  “Sal,” I open my mouth—and stop the second I realize it.

  Oh, I’ve got an audience, all right.

  And it’s not just the nosy townsfolk.

  Aw, shit!

  19

  Horsing Around (Libby)

  Minutes Earlier

  Don’t panic.

  Do not panic, I tell myself again and again.

  Easier said than done.

  I stare down at my phone, and the recent call listing Sierra’s number, over and over again.

  One inbound call.

  Five outbound calls that I let ring and ring and ring until they went to voicemail, only her voicemail box was full. I can’t reach her.

  She’d called me.

  And even though I told myself I was so angry at her I could spit, the second I recognized the name on the caller ID, I’d scrambled for the phone like my butt was on fire.

  I just needed to hear her voice.

  Whatever’s gone sour between us...

  I just wanted to know my sister’s still safe.

  But there was nothing on the line but dead air.

  Not even breathing.

  Just silence, weird and ominous, that left me struggling to breathe as it stretched on while I said Sierra? Sierra, you there? Talk to me!

  I must’ve repeated it five times.

  Then, with a sharp digital click, the call went dead in my hand.

  Left me practically hyperventilating, imagining the worst after weeks and weeks of radio silence and that abrupt way she took off from town with a demon.

  I know men like Declan.

  They might be physically big, but they’re small inside—and the only thing that puffs them up is hurting other people.

  Hurting women like my sister, who’ll come back for more because there’s something in her searching for a peace she thinks she’ll find with a wolf.

  Even if that wolf savages her.

  God.

  I can’t stop worrying.

  Pacing.

  Scowling.

  I try her number a couple more times, only to get that voicemail box is full message that makes me want to strangle whoever made those recordings in their semi-mechanical, overly polite voice that sounds so pleasantly disinterested in my mini panic attack.

  That voice is a total asshat.

  I growl to myself, glaring at my phone, and then try Holt.

  He’s not answering either.

  Dammit, is everyone in my life trying to drive me nuts right about now?

  Sierra could be in danger. I can’t wait for Holt to finish work and come back.

  I shove my feet into my boots and climb into my truck, heading straight for the construction site in the valley.

  Except as I pass through town on my way to the feeder road that leads out there, I go by The Nest and see a familiar shape.

  Holt’s new—well, new-ish, beat-up and dusty—truck in the parking lot.

  I turn around, whip in and park next to him, then climb out and shove the door to the café open.

  The moment I walk in, I know something’s up.

  There’s a thick tension in the room, like everyone’s watching a show that’s building up to this big climactic finish and getting people all breathless waiting.

  As soon as I lay eyes on Holt, I realize I ain’t wrong.

  He’s squared off with Sally Jenkins.

  Sally and I haven’t ever gotten along much.

  She’s not a bad gal, just...clashing personalities.

  Plus, I don’t ever want to get tangled in the he-said-she-said mess that seems to follow her around. She’s got a tendency to not want men unless they’re with someone else, and I know at least three marriages that ended because of her.

  I get that she’s lonely.

  There’s some kind of void she’s trying to fill.

  But I ain’t happy to see her zeroing in on Holt when I know damn well the rumors about us have been going wild around town.

  Now she’s right here with her hands in his.

  And I’m standing in the doorway frozen but simmering.

  I don’t think anyone even notices I’m there. They’re too focused on Holt and Sally, waiting to see what’s gonna happen. There’s a vulture greed to it that I hate.

  Like they know Holt’s reputation is set in stone.

  They think they know what’s about to happen here.

  I don’t want to believe it.

  I want to believe in him.

  And that’s when I realize, he knows I’m here.

  His gaze flicks to me over Sally’s shoulder, those sunset-dark eyes pleading, like he’s asking me to stay back.

  To let him handle it.

  I don’t know what there is to handle, but hell.

  I feel like I’m making a big decision here.

  To not butt in or get all stompy and territorial because I’m trusting him. And that scares the ever-loving crap out of me.

  But I don’t say anything.

  I just nod subtly, clenching my fists, holding my ground. Holt’s got his lips parted like he was about to talk and I stopped him, but now he starts again.

  “Sal,” he says—and he’s talking to her that same gentle way he talks to me when I’m hurting, that way I didn’t even know he could, except instead of intimate it’s just sad. “I know we had a thing a long time ago. It was just that, a thing. We were kids. We didn’t know what we were doing, who we were, or what we were feeling. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was leading you on. Like I could be the man you need.” He shakes his head, squeezing her hands. “I can’t be the one to help you find it. I’m the dude who hurt you in the first place. All I can say is, I’m sorry. And all I can say is no because I won’t hurt you that way again. You deserve better.”

  It’s not something I’d ever thought would come out of Holt’s mouth.

  It’s mature, thoughtful, kind, and restrained.

  Sally’s right there with her cleavage so far out you can almost see nipple, throwing herself at him when I know damn well he’s got a libido you can spark with an inch of bare skin.

  But he’s choosing not to respond to it.

  Instead, he’s thinking about what’s best fo
r her.

  I’m realizing now I never knew Holt at all from my first impressions.

  I’m also realizing I’m proud of him.

  Sally still hasn’t noticed I’m here, watching the whole thing go down.

  Hell, she doesn’t seem to care that she’s got an audience and people are gonna be talking about her like a dog. I feel a little bad for her with the way her shoulders slump and she just stands there, quiet as a mouse with her fingers loose in his.

  Until she smiles, this heartbreakingly sad face that makes me kinda wonder if she’s a lot like Holt.

  There’s more to her than her reputation says, but sometimes she just gets fed up and decides to be who everyone thinks she is.

  “I get it,” she says softly. “I do. Maybe more than you realize. I think I’m just wishing...”

  “Wishing for what?” Holt prompts gently.

  Sally lets out a soft, cracking laugh like she’s on the verge of tears.

  “To be innocent again,” she says. “To be innocent enough that when a man says he loves me, I can trust it.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m the first asshole who broke that trust.” Holt lets go of her hands slowly, offering a rueful smile and touching her cheek. “You’ll be okay, Sal. You don’t need me for that. And you don’t need to try to rekindle a bunch of teenage craziness.”

  “Maybe not.” She bites her lip, steps back, but then leans in, slipping her hands up over his chest and curling them around the back of his neck, rising on her toes. “Maybe one more kiss for old times?”

  His face goes cold.

  Holt grasps her wrists and pulls her arms back, bending at the waist and out of reach of her puckered lips. He darts me a desperate, wide-eyed look that’d be hilarious if this whole scene wasn’t so bitter.

  I’ve seen enough.

  Clearing my throat, I lurch forward from the door, acting like I just moseyed on in. “Hey, Holt. I was just looking for you!”

  Over Holt’s shoulder, Felicity catches my eye from behind the bar and winks, mouthing Nice one.

  I roll my eyes at her, but then offer Holt a smile before looking at Sally like I just noticed her. “Hi, Sally. How’s it going?”

  Sally looks between me and Holt, stricken, while Holt slips an arm around my waist and pulls me pointedly close.

  I don’t blame him.

  And maybe I’m feeling a little possessive, too.

  Because I snuggle against his side, just looking at Sally innocently, while she blinks again and again before offering a wavering smile.

  “Everything’s great,” she says, her voice cracking—and oh shit, here come the waterworks. “Just great.”

  Before either of us can say anything, she stumbles back, shaking her head. There’s a frosty look, like we did this just to hurt her.

  Then she turns and scrams right out of The Nest.

  With everyone staring after her, the café bursts into noisy chatter, like the movie just ended and everybody wants to talk about what it means.

  We’re the only ones keeping quiet as I bury my face against his side with a soft, satisfied sound.

  I know what Holt was like before, but he did it.

  He turned her down for me.

  “I didn’t mean to upset her,” I mumble, hating how guilty I feel. “But you told her no, and she was still trying to kiss you.”

  “Honey, I’m grateful.” He kisses my temple, his breath warm and smelling like good coffee. “I’m the one who hurt her years ago. It’s my fault. She was clinging to something unrealistic. I’m happy you helped me help her get through that shit.”

  With a half-smile, I tilt my head, looking up at him as I wrap my arms around his waist, though it feels like trying to span a giant tree trunk.

  “Maybe I’ve just got a jealous streak,” I tease. “And since it’s illegal to brand human beings—”

  “Yowch!” Holt mock-winces, but he’s smiling, the haunted look in his eyes fading to amusement and warmth that curls my toes. “Seriously, Libby, were you worried I’d hop into bed with her?”

  I clear my throat. “Not worried, so much...but maybe wondering if you wanted to.”

  “Not even for a second.”

  Oh my God.

  This man has no sense of shame.

  Here we are in a coffee shop with my best friend watching, and he’s stroking his fingers in little circles over my back fit to make me melt, looking at me like I’m the only woman in the entire world.

  His fingers bury in my hair, bringing that hot thrill I always get with a little pull on my scalp, igniting a reaction that sure ain’t fit for public consumption.

  “Sex doesn’t mean anything if there’s no heart in it,” he whispers, husky and hot and so sincere. “Not anymore. Sally doesn’t have my heart. There’s only one woman who can make that claim now.”

  Everything inside me twists into knots as I stare up at him, my breath going still in my chest.

  It’s instinctive to want to doubt him, after watching a woman fly out of here in tears because she believed his pretty words so deeply that she’s been ruined since high school.

  But that was then.

  This is now.

  And the Holt Silverton I know makes me laugh day in, day out, and quietly does everything he can to hold me up, so I don’t have to carry everything on my lonesome anymore.

  That Holt wouldn’t ever play me.

  He wouldn’t stand here in front of all these people and tell me I’m his.

  Not if he didn’t mean it.

  I don’t know what to say.

  People keep watching us like they’re waiting for me to answer a proposal or something.

  Then I remember what I came here for.

  Sierra.

  Even if Holt’s making me feel like I’m glowing, I can’t stop worrying myself sick.

  So I press tighter into him, hiding my face against his chest, closing my eyes with a shaky sound as I hold on even harder.

  “We need to talk, but not here,” I whisper, because people have had enough of my business to chew on for a month. “Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  We don’t get to talk on the drive back in our separate vehicles.

  Probably for the best.

  I’d probably crash the truck trying to fumble words out while driving, and I wouldn’t even know whether to start with Sierra or this burning, lovely butterfly storm in my belly.

  But the choice gets taken away from me as we pull up to the ranch.

  That ugly-ass Taurus is waiting.

  My heart leaps into my throat.

  It’s like all my worrying brought her to my doorstep.

  I know Sierra has a key, so if she’s nowhere in sight...

  She’s either inside or down Nowhere Lane.

  I go from focused to fighting mad faster than it takes the needle on the truck to drop as I kill the engine.

  Girl goes and gets me all scared for her, then just shows up here after ignoring her phone?

  Oh, she’s getting an earful.

  Holt looks puzzled as he climbs out of his truck. I join him at the gate, scowling.

  “Sierra?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but I came out looking because I was worried. She sent me a dead call this morning, then wouldn’t pick up.” I shove the gate open. “So her showing up here now, after all that?”

  “Damn fishy,” he agrees.

  I stalk up to the front door and sure as shooting, it’s unlocked.

  When I push it open, there she is.

  Sitting there on the sofa looking all mournful.

  For once she’s not dressed to her version of the nines in too-tight thrift shop attire.

  Today it’s just ripped, tight jeans and a white shirt splattered in artistic rainbow bits of paint, tied up over her midriff to bare her stomach.

  She looks—I don’t know—weird?

  Like the color’s been drained out of her, her hair’s gone lackluster, her cheeks sunken in,
hollows under eyes that look a little more washed out than before.

  Dammit, I’m worried about her.

  Especially when she offers me a wan smile.

  “Hey, Libby,” she says, glancing past me. “Oh, hey, Holt.”

  I freeze next to the bowed up wall of a man next to me.

  He senses it too.

  Something ain’t right at all.

  “Sierra,” Holt answers carefully.

  I don’t say anything at all, at first. Then it just comes out.

  “Where’s Declan?” I hiss.

  Sierra flinches, fidgets her hands together.

  “Not here,” she says. “He...he doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here to talk about Declan, Libby.”

  Warily, I eye her, folding my arms over my chest. “What did you come here to talk about? Couldn’t get you on the phone earlier. I’ve been worried.”

  “I know. I came because...well, Nowhere Lane.” She swallows, her mouth working in a soft, upset twist. “I know what’s out there, Libby. I don’t know why it’s there. I don’t want to know. It’s just...too much.”

  “You’re damn right it’s too much.”

  I want to snap at her, but I don’t get it.

  I’ve been carrying this alone, the weight of that dead man ever since our dad died.

  And now—now—she wants to poke around?

  It’s tempting to lay into her, but I can’t.

  Not when she looks so sad, so emptied out.

  I know I’m a sucker for my sister.

  Sue me.

  I sigh, unfolding my arms and stepping into the living room, dropping down on the opposite arm of the couch from her.

  Holt follows, settling next to me, this silent, warm weight anchoring me down.

  “Listen,” I say. “You don’t have to get involved with all that. I’m taking care of it. But what prompted this? Last I checked, your boyfriend was sending his boys to threaten me with jail time over it.”

  Sierra ducks her head, grimacing. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know he’d...” She waves her hands. “Any of that.”

  I blink, studying her closely.

  “I’m tired, Libby. I’m just tired, that’s all.” She draws in a shaky breath. “And honestly, I don’t want to make a bigger mess for either of us.”

  “Making messes has kinda always been your specialty,” I point out dryly.