Something Reckless (Dirty Southern Secrets Book 3)

by J. L. Leslie

  “Hey! I have her backpack!” she calls out, stopping me as she reaches into her backseat.

  She pulls out a purple bag adorned with a snowman that I know is from Willow’s favorite movie. I watch as she brings it over to me, her gaze averted as if she’s afraid to look me in the eyes. She’s nervous, unsure of herself, and I hate that it’s this way between us now. Everything seemed so easy before, and I fucked that up.

  “I know she likes to have it,” she explains. “So, I’ll just put it in your truck.”

  “Brynn,” I say, grabbing her wrist.

  Her eyes are wide as she looks up at me, and for a moment, I’m lost in them. Like I’m out in the ocean without a sense of direction. Without a lighthouse beacon to bring me back in. Slowly, she pulls her wrist from my grasp, and I snap out of it.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” I say apologetically.

  It’s not the words I want to say. Christ, I want to tell her I’m sorry I ruined everything. If I hadn’t made her leave the bar, hadn’t kissed her, we could have gone on like we were. I could’ve continued hiding my attraction from her because, let’s face it; it was the right thing to do.

  But I don’t say any of that.

  26

  Brynn

  “Oh, um, I just saw her backpack as I was heading out for work,” I reply. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “I’m leaving after I drop Willow off. Headed to Tennessee again.”

  The mention of Tennessee makes my cheeks heat. My nipples harden in my bra, the soft cotton suddenly too rough.

  “Y…y…yeah,” I stutter and then clear my throat. “Well, have a safe trip.”

  I turn away from him, unable to stand in front of him any longer for fear I’ll do something stupid. Again. I make it a total of five steps, maybe six, when he calls out to me.

  “Is this the way it’s going to be between us now? This fucking awkward bullshit?”

  I blink back the sting of tears, sucking in a breath. Without answering him, I go to the safety of my car and get inside. Kipton stands there a moment, one hand perched on his truck, and then he pulls open his door and gets inside.

  He doesn’t speed off in a rage. Doesn’t ball a tire on the street. He keeps his emotions in check because that’s the way he is, and I know he would never behave that way with Willow in his care.

  I wait until he’s gone — until I can no longer see a glimpse of his truck — before I drive off. My hands are shaking as I grip my steering wheel. Trying to calm myself, I reach down for my coffee cup. Midway to my mouth, I lose my grip and drop it into my lap. Hot coffee spills over my blouse and skirt, and I scream out in pain and frustration, tears coating my cheeks.

  I pull over and do the best I can to clean myself up, dabbing at the brown liquid with fast food napkins I have stashed in my console. My blouse is ruined, and unless I want to go to work with a stained shirt, I’ll have to run home and change.

  I sit there a moment, pulled over beside the road, and feel sorry for myself. I was on the path to finally getting my shit together. I have visitation with my daughter, my best friend back, and a job that I love. Why wasn’t that enough? Why did I have to go and screw it all up like I always do?

  Is this the way it’s going to be between us now? This fucking awkward bullshit?

  Even after I left Chapelwood, there wasn’t an awkward moment between Kipton and me. Sure, there were those moments where he said something or I said something that lingered in the air, and neither of us wanted to address it, but it wasn’t awkward. We didn’t dwell on those moments. Didn’t let it ruin our friendship.

  But we lost that in Knoxville. We lost that when we both gave in and forgot that the outside world does exist. That there are other people more important and who we have to put first. That sometimes the things we want don’t matter.

  Pity party over, I turn my car around and drive back home. I toss the blouse into my dry-cleaning bag and grab another off the hanger. I change my skirt, too.

  When I walk out of my house, I have a new resolve. I won’t let what happened ruin our friendship. I was pretty damn good at playing pretend before. Apparently, so was he.

  I can do that again. No problem.

  27

  Kipton

  Needing a distraction, I call John while I drive to Memphis. It isn’t like I can call and talk to my brothers about Brynn, so talking about work is the next best thing. My boss and mentor picks up on the third ring.

  “You miss us already?” he jokes.

  “Actually, yes,” I reply with a laugh.

  He chuckles. “How is life on the road?”

  “Honestly? It’s lonely, but I love the events. It’s eating out of a vending machine that sucks.”

  “I’m certain your mother spoiled you a bit in that department.”

  “That she did,” I agree. “How’s work? Did you land the Harowitz account?”

  “You know I’m a closer.”

  “You should celebrate that. They’ve been stubborn for months now.”

  “I suppose I did celebrate a bit. Went out to dinner with a few friends.”

  I’m a bit surprised to hear this. John only attends business dinners, not bothering being social, ever since Cynthia died. It makes me happy to know he’s putting himself out there again after all these years. He deserves to be happy.

  “Wow, I didn’t know you had any of those aside from me,” I tease.

  “Ha, ha, ha. Being away has not improved your sense of humor.”

  I laugh. “I expect to meet the special woman when I get back home.”

  “And who said there’s a woman?”

  “All right. Keep her to yourself then. She must be something special if you aren’t willing to share her with the world yet.”

  He sighs. “She’s a friend. Nothing more at this time. I’m not even certain I want the friendship, but I’m taking her to dinner Thursday night.”

  “Friends are great, John. You should try to have more than one.” I’m joking again, trying to lighten his now somber mood. He will sabotage this relationship before it’s even begun. “In all seriousness, you don’t have to rush anything with whoever this mystery woman is. Just enjoy spending time together.”

  “You’re right. Listen, I have to run. Duty calls. Be safe. I’ll try to make an event soon.”

  “My parents are coming to South Carolina. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you attending with them.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We disconnect, and I feel better having spoken with him. I have always admired John. He’s a hard worker, compassionate, and honest, despite what so many people in Chapelwood wish to think of him.

  Aside from those qualities, he’s determined. Life dealt him a shit hand when Cynthia died. He lost the love of his life, and he’s putting himself out there again. If he can survive that, I can survive this.

  Of course, I can’t lose what I never really had.

  28

  Brynn

  I walk into the office and apologize for being late. Ronald and Mike are at the master work desk, so after I put my purse away, I join them. Photos from the church yard sale last weekend are scattered about.

  “When are you doing another rodeo event?” Ronald asks. “We need something juicier than church fundraisers.”

  “I’m going to try and make the North Charleston Invitational in South Carolina. It’s the end of this month.”

  “Don’t try, Brynn,” he scolds. “I need you there.”

  “I promised three events, and I will make three events.”

  “It’s not every day we have a local making it big. Pro-rodeo may not be important to you, but it’s important to this town.”

  I almost snap at him that he has no idea what’s important to me, but I keep my mouth shut. It’s not necessarily the rodeo that’s important to me as it is one particular cowboy.

  “What about the Hampton Classic?” Mike asks. “That one is in Virginia.”

  “I have fr
iends going to the South Carolina event. That’s why I chose that one,” I explain.

  I do have Willow that weekend but already discussed it with Kaler that we would all go since his parents were already going. We know she’ll love it.

  “Any reason you can’t attend both?” Ronald questions, arching an eyebrow at me.

  My head is saying no, I can’t attend both because if I go to the Hampton Classic I might run into Kipton, and I’ll be alone and he’ll be alone and what’s keeping us from repeating what happened in Knoxville, but my mouth doesn’t fall in line with my head.

  “I suppose I can.”

  Inwardly, I groan. Why in the hell did I agree? I had my plan all worked out. I would go to South Carolina and have the Holts as a buffer. I would be safe. It’s easy to pretend when I’m not in the spotlight. When there’s a crowd of people around me taking up attention. Then, by the time I made my third event in Georgia, our night together would be a distant memory.

  “I want interviews with as many of the attendees as possible, and we’ll do a feature with the Holt boy. What you’ve been getting has been good, but I want to know why he started bull riding. Why does he take the risk? Is he an adrenaline junkie? I want more than his diet and exercise regime. Understood?”

  I nod. “I understand.”

  “Get inside his head, Brynn. People don’t get on the back of a bull for the hell of it. He’s chasing after something, and I want to know if he’s found it.”

  Great. He wants me to get closer to Kipton when all I need to do is stay away.

  29

  Kipton

  I like having a few days to myself before competing in an event. I hit the gym and get in my workout regime, find a yoga class, if possible, and visit the arena. The busier I stay, the less I miss home. The less I think of Brynn.

  I grab a towel from my bag and wipe the sweat from my forehead. The hotel gym is a decent one, and my workouts are imperative. I have to stay in shape, and I put in a good two hours today. I’m throwing the towel back into my bag when I hear my phone ringing.

  “Yeah,” I answer, slightly breathless.

  “Kipton Holt?” a woman’s voice asks.

  “You got him.”

  “This is Laura Peake with Wrangler. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “No, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  “We would like to discuss an offer to sponsor you.”

  “Come again?” I ask, tossing my gym bag over my shoulder.

  “Wrangler would like to be your official PBR sponsor,” she says.

  “Did Tauren put you up to this? Because this shit isn’t fucking funny,” I practically growl into the phone.

  “I apologize, Mr. Holt. While I’m aware Tauren is one of your brothers, I haven’t personally spoken with him. Here at Wrangler, we’ve done our homework. We know you’re from Chapelwood, Alabama, middle son to Neil and Angela Holt, and that you’ve been seriously competing in assorted rodeo events since age ten. You are on the rise, Mr. Holt, and Wrangler wants to be a part of that.”

  I laugh, a part of me still convinced this is a joke. “Okay. Where do I sign?”

  “Is there a fax at the hotel you’re staying in? I’m happy to send over our offer, which includes coverage for your entry fees as well as gear. We can discuss any questions or concerns you may have.”

  In case this isn’t some sort of game, I rush over to the hotel office and rattle off the fax number. Within minutes, an incoming fax is coming through. Sure enough, it’s from Wrangler.

  “Read the contract carefully, Mr. Holt. If it looks good to you, sign it and return it. We can meet in person when you’re in Virginia for the Hampton Classic.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, and Mr. Holt? Welcome to Wrangler.”

  I hang up the phone and drop down onto the chair at the desk, a contract in my hand from Wrangler. Fucking Wrangler wants to sponsor me. The closest I’ve come to a sponsor was having my daddy’s shop buy me my first rope and glove. Wrangler is the real deal, and apparently, they believe I am, too.

  I read over the contract twice, making sure I don’t miss anything. My hand hovers over my phone, aching to call Brynn and tell her the good news. If anything, I can use the excuse that she can have the exclusive info for the paper.

  Cursing, I call the one woman I know will actually want to hear from me. The one woman who will be happy to hear my voice. Who won’t ignore my call.

  “Hey, Mama. I’ve got great news.”

  30

  Brynn

  When John Leighton asked me to dinner, I assumed we would be going to a restaurant in Westmont or grabbing an order of loaded nachos at Happy’s. I wasn’t expecting him to cook me a meal at his home.

  I step inside his door, and he closes it behind me. He gestures toward the kitchen, but I can already smell the food and it smells divine.

  “When you gave me the address, I wasn’t expecting to pull up at your home.”

  That’s not entirely true. I knew where John lived before I got here, but it isn’t like I can tell him that.

  “I’m not big on going out. The night we met was a fluke. Naomi and Deacon pushed and pushed until I finally caved. I attend enough galas and events out of town that when I’m home, I actually prefer to be home.”

  “I suppose I understand that.”

  He offers me a glass of wine, and I take a seat at his bar, accepting the glass of red. He checks the food in the oven and then refills his own glass.

  “Tell me, Brynn, what is it that you do for a living.”

  I’ve rehearsed a handful of lies to tell him. Stay-at-home mom. Writer. Yoga instructor. But being in his home, it doesn’t feel right not to be honest.

  “I work at the newspaper. I’m a journalist.”

  John nods, and if he’s wary of that fact, he doesn’t act like it. “I thought your name sounded familiar. I recently read a riveting article about a church yard sale.”

  His eyes are teasing, and a smile plays at his lips. “That was me. Writing all the huge stories.”

  He chuckles and goes back to the oven, removing a casserole dish full of the best smelling lasagna. He places it on the stove and then slides in a tray of breadsticks.

  “Why do I get the feeling you actually cooked the lasagna yourself?”

  “Of course, I did,” he says proudly. “Do you think I live in this big ol’ house and have servants to do everything for me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He laughs at that and sips his wine. “I do have a housekeeper, but she only cooks for me if I request it.”

  “Oh, what would I do with a housekeeper?” I ask dreamily. “I would pay her to wash Willow’s hair, and I would handle all the other household chores.”

  “Willow?”

  I hadn’t intended to reveal anything personal about myself, but honestly, John is easy to talk to. He has this politeness that exudes from him, and it’s very welcoming.

  “My daughter,” I reply. “Do you have children, John?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes sad. “No. My wife wasn’t able to bear children.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “We focused our time on building a successful business,” he says.

  “The Hendricks Accounting Firm, right?”

  “Yes. I suppose it’s my pride and joy. I built the company from the ground up, sinking all of mine and Cynthia’s savings into it. Those first few years were tough, agonizing even, but we made it. Listen to me. You didn’t come here to talk about my company and late wife.”

  “I don’t mind,” I reply almost too quickly. “Do you need any help with dinner?”

  I wind up making us a salad while he gets the breadsticks out of the oven. We eat at the bar, filling ourselves full of lasagna and drinking wine. I switch to water after one more glass so that I can drive myself home.

  I sneak in a few questions about his business by asking him where he attends thos
e out of town galas and events he mentioned. Then, we talk about Chapelwood and how nice of a town it is to live in.

  I keep it to myself that I’ve seen the vicious side of this town. That I’ve been the subject of hateful gossip, some of it true and some of it lies, and that the same people who smile and wish you well each day can also trample your name in the dirt. They’re doing it to him with their suspicions, and he doesn’t even know it.

  When we’re finished eating, I offer to help him clean his kitchen, but he declines. With a wink, he tells me his housekeeper will take care of it.

  “I would very much like to do this again sometime. Next time, I’ll even take you out if you prefer,” he says, the two of us standing by my car.

  “That would be nice. I had a good time tonight.”

  I should’ve turned and reached for my door handle. If I had done that, he wouldn’t have been able to kiss me. But I didn’t, and John’s lips brush softly against mine. The kiss is brief, but it’s still a kiss.

  I get in my car, waving at him as I back out of his driveway. Guilt is already sinking in. I went on a date with John Leighton. More than that, I kissed John Leighton. I kissed Kipton’s boss.

  31

  Kipton

  Most rodeo events take place on the weekends, so when I compete in one, I stay in that place a few days before getting on the road to travel to the next. I like to be settled in, able to check out the arena, before diving right to another event.

  My daddy pointed out that I had a shitty ride, more or less, in Texas. I’ve made up for that since, holding my top ten rank at the events and climbing to number sixty-one in the world. Simply being in the top one hundred is an accomplishment, but I want the number one spot. Shitty rides aren’t an option.