Hometown Troublemaker (Havenbrook Book 2)

by Brighton Walsh

  “Girls, what would you say to helpin’ out your great-gran?” Gran asked. “Mimi’s been hounding me to get that attic cleaned out for months. So many old clothes and fancy jewelry hidin’ up there. Think y’all might like to help me go through it?”

  “Can we try ’em on?” Ava asked excitedly at the same time Ella scoffed, “Jewelry?” with as much disdain as one would say cockroaches.

  “Yes, Ava,” Gran said, turning around to glance in the back seat. “And, Ella, I do believe there’re some of Great-Gramps’s old baseball cards that need sortin’, too.”

  “Really?” Ella’s tone brightened. “Can we, Momma?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be quite late,” Gran said off-handedly. “It’d probably work best to just have the girls stay the night, then Mimi can take ’em to camp in the mornin’.”

  Rory didn’t want to say yes. It’d been Sean’s weekend, which meant the girls had been with their daddy for five days, and she’d missed them. She was still getting used to not seeing them every day, and it was hard. It hurt.

  All she wanted to do was curl up with them on the couch, eat popcorn, and have a movie marathon. But that was the dream world. In reality, Rory and Ava would get into a fight within ten minutes of being home, Ella would disappear into the backyard, and Rory would be left alone to stew over everything.

  “That sounds like a lot of fun, girls,” Rory said, her throat thick with unshed tears. “But tomorrow, I want you all to myself, all right?”

  A chorus of yays sounded from her daughters and grandmother, bringing a genuine smile to Rory’s face. Apparently getting tipsy at noon wasn’t going to be her lowest point today. Because good judgment and common sense had left the building. She was cracking into those bottles of wine in her pantry, and she wasn’t stopping until she’d made sense of exactly how she’d let her life turn out like this.

  Nash was a goddamn idiot. There were no two ways about it. Partnering with Rory was the best chance he had at taking over King Construction, and he’d managed to fuck it up in a single day.

  It’d been almost two weeks since that day in her kitchen. When he’d said fuck it and kissed her against his better judgment. Christ, he could still recall—in great detail—the word cock falling from her lips, her mouth popping open in surprise when she’d whipped around to look at him. How she’d fallen straight into his arms and he’d finally had all those mouthwatering curves pressed right up against him, filling his hungry hands.

  But he hadn’t been the only hungry one.

  She’d melted into him like butter on a hot day, her little whimpers and the curling of her fingers against his chest sending him from stiff to hard as steel in the blink of an eye. If he hadn’t heard Edna clomping her way up the rickety porch steps and forced himself to back away, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have fucked Rory right there against the cock wallpaper.

  Thankfully, he’d had enough sense to step back. Because if she went full-on Ninja Avoider because of a kiss, what would she do if they’d slept together?

  He’d called and sent her countless texts, inquiring when they could get together next, if she had time to meet at Mrs. Gene’s house, if he should pick up the wood she needed for the porch. He’d even sent her an estimate on the cabinets like he’d promised, but her responses had all been a more polite version of fuck off.

  So, he’d done what he did best when it came to Rory. He’d goaded her.

  But the truth was, she was being a coward. Their kiss had been unexpected, yes. Mind-blowing, too. He knew Rory never did well with the former. And if what she said in the kitchen was true, she probably wouldn’t know what to do with the latter either.

  He needed to figure out how to get this partnership back on track. If she wanted him to forget that kiss had ever happened, he would. He’d hate every goddamn second of it, because having Rory’s lips on his had been as close to heaven as he’d ever been, but there was more at stake here than his dick’s satisfaction.

  Being able to pair her design services along with everything else King Construction offered was going to be a game changer for the company—and for him. If this took off like he imagined it would, he might be able to buy out his old man before Bozeman. Which meant it didn’t matter how much his cock hated him for it, he couldn’t allow himself to entertain anything other than a working relationship with Rory if that was what she needed.

  It also meant he had to figure out how to get the woman in question to even answer his calls and texts.

  He slid onto a barstool at The Willow Tree, needing a cold beer like he needed air. And if Will happened to be there and could give him a little insight into her mind-boggling older sister, all the better.

  “Hey, man,” Drew said, slapping a coaster down on the bar top in front of Nash. “Usual?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  After placing the mug in front of Nash, Drew rested his forearms on the bar top and leaned forward. “So, what’s new? Heard you and Miss Rory are workin’ together again.”

  Nash snorted into his beer before taking a deep pull. “Supposed to be. But she’s apparently forgotten her part of the deal.”

  Drew laughed. “Rory hasn’t forgotten a single thing in her whole damn life. Pretty sure she can tell you the exact date anything or anyone has ever wronged her.”

  “Exactly.” Nash shook his head. “Dunno what the deal is, but she’s bailed on me for two weeks. And Mrs. Gene is climbin’ all over my back, wonderin’ when I’m gonna deliver what I promised.”

  Drew’s brows shot up. “Rory know that?”

  “I haven’t exactly spelled it out in so many words, but she knew we had a client waitin’.”

  Drew hummed. “Wonder if something else is holdin’ her up.”

  Nash’s head snapped up, his eyes scrutinizing Drew’s expression. “Like what? With her ex, you mean? She’s not gettin’ back together with that asshole, is she?”

  “Shit, no.” Drew glanced around, then leaned closer, lowering his voice so his words didn’t carry. “In fact, Will’s been huffin’ around in here for an hour, cussin’ out Sean left and right. Apparently, he moved Sarah Beth in to his house without givin’ Rory a heads-up.”

  “Fuck.” The move was exactly something Rory’s dickbag of an ex would do, and Nash wanted nothing more than to show him the meaning of respect. Who did something like that to the mother of his children?

  “Yep.” Drew straightened and rapped his knuckles on the bar top. “So, don’t write her off just yet. She might be workin’ through some shit.”

  “Working through some shit” didn’t belong in the same stratosphere as Rory. No matter what got thrown at her, she dealt with it. In fact, the only time in his memory he’d seen Rory crack had been that night last year right here in this bar. When they’d spent hours talking over a bottle of Grey Goose. That’d been the night his long-standing crush on her had dive-bombed straight into code-red territory. She’d been real that night. Genuine. More so than he’d ever seen her, and he’d been a goner.

  “Are her sisters with her?” he asked.

  “No, her sisters aren’t with her,” Will said from behind him, her voice tinged with annoyance. “Because she’s as stubborn as a mule and is pretendin’ everything’s just fine.”

  Nash huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like Rory.”

  “She’s all right, sweetness,” Finn said, tugging Will into his side and pressing a kiss to her temple. “She’s a big girl and can take care of herself.”

  Will grumbled but didn’t push away from her fiancé. “That might be, but I’m still gonna swing by. Check on her to make sure she’s not just blowin’ smoke.”

  “Don’t be too late,” Finn said. “We’ve got plans.”

  “Since when? And I’m not even sure I’ll be back until late. I’m not gonna leave her if she’s upset.”

  Finn leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Something that was probably better off being said in the privacy of their bedroom if her reddening face was anything t
o go by.

  She flattened her hand on Finn’s chest, pressed up on her toes, and kissed him. “I’ll do my best.”

  Finn slapped her ass and leaned his elbows back on the bar, watching her every step as she strode to the front door.

  “Anything we can do to help, just holler,” Drew said.

  “Think you can get Sean to stop being the biggest asshat in the world?” Will asked over her shoulder.

  Drew and Finn both laughed, while Nash contemplated doing just that. He could make a detour on his way home tonight to pay Sean a visit. It probably wouldn’t take much intimidation—the guy was scrawny on his best day. Nash could park across the street, stand outside his truck, and just stare at the house. Sean would probably wet his pants merely from the unspoken threat.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Drew said, cutting off Nash’s thoughts. “She wasn’t serious.”

  “Yep, bad idea, man.” Finn shook his head.

  “I wasn’t gonna do anything.” Nash took another pull from his beer. “Much.”

  Drew laughed and pointed a finger at him. “I mean it. If you want this business thing to work out, stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong ain’t gonna win you any favors with Rory. She handles her shit, and she wouldn’t take well to you doin’ it for her.”

  “Listen to my brother. He knows things.” Finn clapped Nash on the shoulder and strolled toward the office.

  Nash couldn’t deny the truth of their words. Rory was as rock-solid as they came. He had no doubt she’d answer Will’s knock with a smile and some bullshit line about how she was just fine. Happy as could be. Because Rory wouldn’t let her guard down for anyone. She wouldn’t be vulnerable in front of others—it wasn’t in her DNA.

  Except…well, she’d been vulnerable in front of him, hadn’t she? True, it’d only been once, and it’d been with the assistance of a whole shit-ton of vodka, but it’d happened.

  The question was, could he make it happen again?

  He pulled a ten out of his wallet and laid it on the bar top, lifting a hand to Drew as he made his way out of the bar.

  There was only one way to find out.

  RORY WAS damn near ready to disconnect her doorbell and throw her phone in the toilet just to stop the incessant pestering from her annoying—albeit well-meaning—sisters. If she had to listen to one more person ask her if she was all right, she was going to scream. She just wanted to drown her sorrows in a couple bottles of wine and fall into her bed to forget this day had ever happened.

  The thing that bothered her the most was everyone’s assumptions that she was heartbroken over her ex-husband and former best friend’s cohabitation. She’d been heartbroken over her divorce, true. But it hadn’t been for the reasons most people assumed. She didn’t mourn her marriage or lost love. Mostly because she hadn’t loved Sean in a long time. Or possibly ever, which was the real kicker.

  What she mourned instead was the life she’d dreamed of since she was little. The life she’d wanted to give her girls. One with a happy—and together—mother and father who showered them with attention and love—something Rory’d had to fight tooth and nail to get from her daddy and had never received. Trouble was, she’d picked the wrong man for the job. She’d just been too blind to see it. Sean’s focus had been and always would be on his career. Not his wife. Not his daughters. Not his family.

  The doorbell rang, and Rory tipped her head back, groaning loudly to the ceiling. With a huff, she stopped her trek into the kitchen and turned around, not caring in the least that she still had her hand wrapped around the neck of the as-yet-unopened wine bottle she’d plucked from the pantry. There was no shame in her game.

  Whipping open the front door, she said, “I told you, I’m fine, Will. Now, would you please—”

  Except it wasn’t her sister standing on her doorstep. Rory’s mouth dropped open as she took in the broad shoulders that blocked out the setting sun. Nash stood there, wearing a tight gray T-shirt and jeans, hair flopping over his forehead like he’d run his hand through it a time or twenty. Every stitch of clothing molded to his body, showcasing the miles of muscles she knew they covered.

  There he stood looking like a model straight off the pages of GQ, the sleeves of his shirt wrapped tightly around his cut biceps. All the while she was in a pair of leggings and a T-shirt she’d had since college, makeup wiped clean from her face, holding a bottle of wine.

  She straightened, clearing her throat. “Nash. What can I do for you?”

  Though she hadn’t meant it to come out with a sexual undertone, it was obvious that was exactly how he’d taken it. His gaze slipped down from her eyes and took a slow perusal of her body, every inch he passed perking up at the attention. Every inch remembering exactly what it’d felt like to be embraced by those strong, thick arms. Exactly what it’d felt like to have all his hard planes pressed against her soft curves.

  Good Lord, she was starved for affection if merely a look and the remembrance of a single kiss did this to her. If she’d known when she’d gotten home that she was going to be on the receiving end of Nash’s smoldering gaze, she definitely wouldn’t have ditched her bra.

  “Straight from the bottle, huh?” he asked instead of answering her question, his voice thick.

  “What?” Her brain was still hiccupping over every detail of what’d happened the other day.

  With eyebrows raised, he gestured toward her hand and the bottle she held.

  She breathed out a laugh and held it up between them. “Not yet, but I’m thinkin’ so. Might as well abandon whatever dignity I have left.”

  “I was thinkin’ this called for something a little stronger.” He reached into the brown paper bag she hadn’t noticed he held and pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose.

  Her heart stuttered at the memory of that night they’d shared last year. The night that had changed everything for her. Not only had she found Sean cheating, but that’d been the evening she’d realized she no longer loved her husband. Hadn’t for quite some time. Because if she had, she would’ve been devastated at her discovery instead of merely reeling over the blow to her pride.

  Whatever this was with Nash was a bad idea. Absolutely nothing good would come from letting him into her house. They hadn’t seen each other since that day in her kitchen, but the time apart hadn’t dimmed the attraction that sizzled between them. Hadn’t dulled the memory of his lips on hers. Hadn’t subdued the urge she had to repeat every second of it.

  There was no denying the fact that Rory’s body lit up in Nash’s presence—had nearly combusted from a simple kiss. And certainly no denying the fact that she ached—absolutely ached—for the kind of connection he promised without saying a word.

  It was right there for her to see in the way he looked at her—studied her, really. His eyes caressed her body as sure as if it were his hands running along her skin. He wanted her, that much was clear. And while she had absolutely no business doing this—had, in fact, a hundred and one reasons not to—she found she just didn’t have the strength to say no tonight. Moreover, she didn’t want to.

  In all her years with Sean, she’d never responded like she had when Nash had kissed her. And the curious part of her—the part that was trying desperately to figure herself out—wanted to know what one night of that would be like.

  Without a word, she stepped back and opened the door wider, gesturing for Nash to come inside. Holding her breath as he strolled over the threshold and blew all her best intentions out of the water.

  Nash had known this was a mistake in the making from the moment he’d walked out of The Willow Tree with his sights on Rory’s house. Yet as soon as she’d opened the door wide enough for him to slide through, he strode straight into her kitchen without looking back.

  When he’d decided to show up with only a bottle of Grey Goose and a smile, he hadn’t thought much beyond that. He’d only been thinking that Rory didn’t deserve to sit at home drowning her sorrows by herself—certainly not when those sorrows ce
ntered around her ex—so he figured he’d drown them with her.

  Without asking, he riffled through her fridge for something to mix the vodka with, not interested in replaying the night at The Willow Tree of shot after shot of the clear liquid. After settling on a pitcher of lemonade, he filled a couple glasses with a shot of vodka. He reached for the pitcher to finish their drinks, but then thought better of it and picked up the glasses, holding one out to her.

  “For old time’s sake?”

  Rory stood against the counter a few feet away, her eyes never straying from him. Something settled over her expression at the reference to that night so long ago, but it was gone before he could decipher it.

  She lifted her chin toward the bottle she’d brought back into the kitchen with her. “What makes you think I don’t wanna drink my wine?”

  “Happy to uncork that for you if you want something a little more mellow.” He shrugged, the unspoken chicken hanging in the air between them. Why was goading her so goddamn fun? “Your call.”

  After a few silent moments, she reached out and took the proffered glass. He clinked his against hers before downing the shot, never taking his eyes from her. She did the same, cringing as she swallowed the liquid.

  He laughed at her full-body shudder. “And just think, we downed half a bottle of that shit. Don’t worry—once I mix it, you won’t even taste the alcohol.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she mumbled, so low he wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear.

  He filled both their glasses with a healthy dose of vodka, then added the no-doubt freshly squeezed lemonade. The drink would pack a punch but wouldn’t get either of them drunk.

  Glass in hand, Rory watched him with a careful eye. Scrutinizing him in a way that made him itch, made him want a glimpse into her mind just so he knew what she thought of him. Did she see the kid she used to babysit? Her youngest sister’s best friend? A slacker who couldn’t even get a high school diploma? Son of the town playboy…just a guy to have a little fun with?