Reid’s cousin. Reid’s cousin.
“Our families would’ve gotten on well together,” he said, more to distract himself than anything.
“Can you tell me about them? Your family?” she asked. “Unless it’s too painful.”
“They died a long time ago.” Though it seems like only yesterday.
“Time doesn’t make the loss any less significant—or painful.”
He filled his lungs with air and said the words he hadn’t uttered in years. “My parents and younger sister were killed during a home invasion.”
“How terrible. Were you overseas at the time?”
His fingers rolled together. “Yes.”
“Did the military allow you to come home for their funerals?”
“Yes.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her scanning his profile. “Please don’t tell me that you blame yourself for their deaths.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You’re a protector. Seemed like something you’d beat up yourself about—for not being there.”
When they needed you.
He’d often wondered if he could’ve altered their fates had he been home. But he was enough of a pragmatist to understand that sometimes life sucked and that no matter what he did or where he was, bad shit happened.
Rolling his shoulders, he said, “No, I never blamed myself, but I did wonder if I could’ve saved them had I been there.”
“You would’ve,” she said with a conviction that made him turn to her. “But you weren’t.” She met his gaze for a brief moment. “Instead, you saved another son’s family thousands of miles away. Probably several families, if I were to guess.”
The pressure that seemed forever a part of his chest eased, a little. “If you know me so well, how is it that we’re not friends?”
A small grin appeared. “I have a keen sense of character.”
“Is that before or after you see someone naked?”
“Afterward, for sure,” she said without missing a beat.
He barked out a laugh. The sound was rusty, even to his own ears.
Before long, Riley turned down a winding gravel drive that spilled into a large, multicar parking lot. A wide flagstone path connected the lot to a medium-sized white building decorated with garden-style ironwork. Smiling yellow suns, giant green insects, and happy welcome signs greeted the visitor.
Next to the building sat a large white house with black shutters and a porch that sported a swinging chair. Colorful flowers and trailing vines overflowed window boxes and large, standing pots took up sentinel on either side of the front door.
“What is this place?” he asked.
“Didn’t you see the entrance sign?”
“I guess not.”
“Welcome to Kingston Farm and Market.”
“Your family’s business?”
“And home.”
She drove around to the back, to another, smaller parking area. She slid into a spot next to a sleek black Chevy Volt. Several other vehicles dotted the area.
“This is where the family parks when we don’t want to be bothered by customers.”
“Does it work?”
She chuckled. “Not always.”
He stood next to the Jeep and marveled at the sweeping farming operation beyond the two-acre residential plot. Two large red barns flanked a massive shop yard, replete with a fuel station. Several smaller outbuildings dotted the landscape.
To the rear of both barns, grassy fields sprawled across dozens of acres. Four large temporary fence enclosures held cattle, pigs, and chickens. The last one appeared empty.
Behind the shop yard, rows and rows and rows of vegetables and herbs lined the earth.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” she asked, cradling a casserole dish in her arms. “My dad is an American success story. He turned a hobby into a successful local business in the space of a decade.”
“It’s… incredible.”
She pointed to the enclosures. “Free-ranging livestock. The fence around them is on wheels. Once the animals eat their way through the grass, they herd the animals, with the mobile fence, to a fresh spot ready to be mowed down by dozens of eager mouths.”
“One’s empty.”
“Not for long. We’ll bring in baby turkeys a few months before Thanksgiving.”
“All organic then?”
“These days, we like to use a sexier term”—she grinned—“farm-to-table.”
He laughed. “Given the success of your father’s business, I take it this isn’t the only location?”
“No, we have two more. But this is the only one that has a store and is open to the public.” She handed him the casserole dish. “Come on. I’m sure Maggie filled Mom in on your daring deed and she’s anxious to meet you.”
He growled.
She chuckled.
As they approached the back door, he understood why she rid herself of her breakable dish. A black-and-white torpedo shot around the corner of the house and propelled itself into Riley’s outstretched arms. The force staggered her back a step, but she held on to the squiggling mass of fur and tongue, stretching her neck to avoid a saliva dump.
Laughing, she said, “Nicksie, show some manners, girl.” She peered at him over the border collie’s head. “Do you like dogs?”
“Yes.” He let the dog sniff his hand. “But don’t try to pawn that slobbering hairball onto me. I’d prefer not to walk into your parents’ house for the first time with dog snot on my face.”
“I doubt they’d notice. Farm smells and unidentifiable stains are commonplace in the Kingston household.”
Nicksie jumped out of her arms to sniff at his boots. Then she spotted a squirrel at the base of a large oak tree and zipped away again.
Brushing off black fur and dusty paw prints, Riley headed to the back door and walked into a hive of activity.
“Hello, family!” Riley strode into the kitchen, straight to a tall, lean man who was stirring something on the stove. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed the side of her face to his back. “Did you miss me, Daddy?” she asked with a laugh.
He patted her arm. “Always, Riley-girl. Give me a second and I’ll greet your hero.”
The damn botanist snorted.
She shared cheek kisses with a woman who could be her sister—if she’d been thirty years younger. Build, smile, eyes, it was all the same, except the hair color. Where Riley was dark, this woman was light.
“How’s the bread pudding coming along, Mama?”
Mrs. Kingston set a timer on the oven. “It’ll be done by the time we finish dinner.” She settled her attention on Coen. “Who do we have here?”
“This is Coen Monroe.” She retrieved the warm casserole dish and set it on the island with several other dishes. “He’s friends with Reid and has been helping me out at the greenhouse.”
He held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Kingston.”
“Call me Sandy.” She shook his hand in one of those warm two-handed shakes people used to show genuine affection or respect. “I’m glad you could join us tonight. Maggie told us what you did for our Riley. Quite heroic.”
Heat spread into his ears.
“Look,” Riley said. “You’ve been in his presence all of one minute and managed to make him blush. That’s gotta be a record.”
Sandy sent him a concerned look. “I didn’t embarrass you, did I? I only wanted to thank you. No telling what would’ve happened to Riley if you hadn’t been there.”
He slid his attention to Riley. “Your daughter is more resourceful than you might think, ma’am.”
Gratitude softened Riley’s eyes, and something shifted in the center of his chest.
When his gaze flicked back to Sandy, he noticed an assessing glint in her eyes.
Shit.
The last thing he needed was for a matchmaking mama lasering in on him.
He should’ve known this would happen. Even with the invitation co
ming from Maggie, everyone would wonder if there was something going on between him and Riley, especially since she drove him here.
Hell, he’d suspect the same thing if he were in their shoes. When he accepted, he hadn’t considered the consequences. He’d said yes out of annoyance. Annoyance that Riley thought she knew what he wanted. And because she’d been right, he’d been annoyed even more. But once he’d agreed, something like anticipation had kicked annoyance into the creek.
But he didn’t want to give this sweet lady any false impressions. Best he nip Sandy’s hope in the bud before it blossomed into something dangerous.
For the second time in one day, he scrubbed emotion from his features. “I would’ve done the same for anyone.”
The light in Riley’s eyes dimmed, and he batted away the guilt that crept in.
“Is the Menace here?” a masculine voice from another room asked.
“Cash, don’t call your sister that awful name,” Sandy scolded.
“Is Wynette here?”
Riley closed her eyes and emitted a low growl. Sandy shook her head.
“Wynette?” Coen asked.
“Riley’s first name,” Sandy said.
Coen arched a brow at Riley.
“Don’t ask—”
“She’s named after one of our favorite singers.” Mr. Kingston shoved a large hand in Coen’s direction. “Ross Kingston.”
“Sir.”
“Ross, please. What brings you to Steele Ridge?”
His shoulders straightened under the older man’s assessing gaze. “A little R and R, sir.”
“What branch?”
“Army, sir.”
“Rank?”
“Sergeant First Class.” No need to complicate things.
“Ranger?”
“Yes, sir.” And Delta Force operator.
“Ross, you sound like a drill sergeant,” Sandy said. “Riley, take Coen in to say hello to the others.”
Determination edged Ross Kingston’s otherwise kind expression, and Coen knew Riley’s dad wasn’t finished with him yet.
Into the fryin’ pan.
30
Riley escorted Coen from the kitchen. She should’ve gone with her instincts and asked Shep to bring Coen tonight. Twice she’d picked up her phone to do just that, and twice she’d shoved it back into her bag.
“Is your dad former military?” Coen asked.
“Four years in the Marines prior to marrying my mom.” She flicked him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry about the questions. I’ll do my best to keep him at bay for the rest of the night.”
“He’s doing what a good dad should do.”
“Which is why I should’ve asked one of my brothers to drive you.”
Once they stepped into the family room, her brothers engulfed Coen in man hugs and back slaps. She wandered over to Maggie and Jayson, giving each a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“What’s wrong?” All-seeing Maggie asked.
“Dad’s got it in his head that Coen and I are together.”
“Ah.”
Jay chuckled, having recently survived the inquisition.
Her sister had suffered the same Daddy Dictatorship over the years. How such a gentle, loving man could turn into a barbarian at the sight of a guy near one of his daughters was mind-boggling.
“Since you invited him, you’ve got to help me run interference.”
“Don’t worry, Ry,” Jay said, his disarming quarterback smile in place. “I’ll give your guy pointers on dealing with your family.”
Maggie smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “Watch it, superstar.”
Riley shook her head, a grin surfacing. “He doesn’t need to deal with my family—just survive tonight.” She narrowed her eyes. “And he’s not my guy. Your gal invited him, not me.”
“Only because I saw you making cow eyes at him.”
“I haven’t cow-eyed a guy since sixth grade.”
Maggie snorted.
“What did you find out about the Audi driver?”
“The vehicle’s registered to Rent-A-Car. Deputy Blaine’s contacting them to see who rented it.”
“I think Coen’s making this into something that it’s not.”
“I don’t want to discount his instincts, but there’s still a good possibility the guy was just sitting there.”
“You’ll stay frosty until Maggie knows more?” Jay asked.
“I’m always frosty,” she said with a straight face, “as evidenced by my lack of lovers.”
Maggie and Jay howled, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. A smile hovered on Coen’s lips, one she’d never seen before. If she gave it a label, it would be indulgent. The same expression had been on Cash’s and Jay’s faces of late.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom called from the dining room.
Leaves had been placed in the table to provide enough room for up to ten people. Her mom and dad took their places at opposite ends of the table.
Emmy and Cash sat next to her mom. Puck nestled at Shep’s feet, who took a seat on the same side and next to her dad. Maggie and Jay moved to the opposite side of the table. Coen hesitated, glancing between Riley and her brothers.
She placed a hand on the back of the chair between her dad and Maggie.
“Sit on the guys’ side,” Shep said, indicating an open chair between him and Cash.
“Hey,” Emmy said, peering down the table. “What do you call me?”
“Emmy.” Shep dropped his napkin into his lap and reached for the mashed potatoes.
Bless her, Emmy smiled at Shep’s sometimes black-and-white view of the world.
Coen squeezed in between her brothers, looking somehow at home and uncomfortable at the same time.
They spent the next few minutes passing a large platter of meatballs and marinara sauce, a big bowl of pasta, a basket of garlic bread, and an eye-dazzling assortment of side dishes around.
The blend of aromas soothed her frayed nerves. She wouldn’t let a display of male chest-beating ruin her evening. An occasion when all her siblings could share a dinner had become more and more rare.
Their family dinners often turned into a rowdy competition of “who brought the best dish,” but Riley had texted everyone ahead of time, putting a kibosh to it tonight. She wanted to avoid any potential triggers for Coen.
“Is Way joining us?” Riley asked.
“No,” Mom said. “He left this morning.”
She glanced up to find her dad studying Coen.
“Stop it, Daddy.”
“What?”
“Boring into Coen.”
“He’s too quiet.”
“Maybe because most of us are strangers to him.”
“Us?”
“Despite your assumptions, I’m only his ride tonight.”
“What’s he doing at the greenhouse?”
“Watering a plant.”
“A plant? As in one?”
“It’s a long story.” She bit into a tender meatball while watching Coen interacting with her brothers. As if sensing her attention, he met her gaze. She held it for a full second before breaking away. “Don’t worry, Daddy. He’ll be gone soon.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Nothing.” The word sat on her tongue like a pile of sand crystals. “I’ve only known him for a few days.”
He curled one work-worn hand around hers. “I have to look out for my Riley-girl.”
“I give you permission to go full tilt into Daddy Dictatorship—when I bring home a boyfriend.”
“And when might that be?” he asked, mischief crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
Grinning, she sat back in her chair and raised her voice. “I’ll let Maggie’s babies tire you out first.”
Around a meatball, Maggie said, “No time for babies.”
Between Maggie’s job pulling her across the county and Jay’s taking him cross-country, who could blame them for not wanting to complicate things further. Besides,
Maggie would get the ring and vows first.
“Five years, Margaret,” Mom warned. “Then I want grandchildren.”
Jay choked on a pasta noodle.
Maggie shot Riley a death stare.
Smirking, she mouthed, Whaaa.
Once the main meal was done, everyone peeled away to rinse off their plates and stash them in the dishwasher.
“Cash,” Mom said, “grab our guest’s plate.”
When Cash made to obey, Coen waved him off. “Thanks, I’ll take care of it.”
It didn’t surprise her that Coen wouldn’t allow someone else to clean up after him while he sat idle at the table. Given his military training and his recent self-imposed exile, he’d been doing for himself for years.
Somehow she and Coen wound up at the sink together. He set his dirty plate down long enough to grab the plate she’d just rinsed. Their elbows brushed. They both did a good job of ignoring the accidental contact. But when she reached for his dirty plate, he put a hand on her arm, halting her.
Brows raised, she met his gaze.
“I can rinse my own plate.”
“And I was quite capable of putting my plate into the dishwasher, but that didn’t stop you from doing it.” She reached across him, coming within an inch of his stomach as she grabbed his plate and silverware. His pine scent filled her nose, and she took an extra second to let it wash over her. “I’ll rinse, you stash.”
This time when their arms made contact, he seemed to press into her rather than pull away. A touch, not a brush.
She kept her focus on the routine task of turning off the water and drying her hands. If she peered into those beautiful eyes, she would ache. Ache for something neither of them knew what to do with.
“Do you like bread pudding, Coen?” Mom asked.
“Love it, but it’s been years since I’ve had any.”
Probably not since his family was killed.
“Well, let’s see if my recipe lives up to what you remember.” She cut a steaming square out of the pan and set it on a plate. With the back of her hand, she nudged a metal bowl toward him. “Homemade whipped cream?”
“Love some.” Coen scooped a dollop onto his pudding.
Delighted, her mom continued slicing and dicing her dessert until everyone was served.
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