Hometown Troublemaker (Havenbrook Book 2)

by Brighton Walsh

  The main door to Gran’s space was ajar, opening to an unoccupied sitting area. Gran’s bedroom was just beyond, through a partially opened door, and Rory was about to step through when Nat’s voice rang out in the room.

  “What can I mail you from my travels this year? Anything you’ve been itchin’ to get your hands on?”

  “Just you, sugar plum.”

  Nat laughed, the high, tinkling sound just as clear as if she were in that very room. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. It’d do this old lady a world of good just to see your pretty face this year. It’s been too long.”

  “Gran, you see my pretty face once a week, every week. Have I ever missed FaceTiming with you?”

  Once a week, every week? Rory should’ve made herself known immediately, because there she was, once again accidentally eavesdropping—okay, so the first time wasn’t so accidental, but this sure as hell was—and hearing things she didn’t want to. She’d known Nat had a video call with Will and Mac every week. Rory had made peace with the fact that it somehow never included her. But now to discover Nat carved out time to talk to Gran every week, too, when she couldn’t be bothered to return any of Rory’s texts or calls? Couldn’t seem to manage anything more than shooting off a once-a-year birthday text?

  “Don’t get smart with me, missy,” Gran said. “Screens don’t count, and you know it. When are you gonna come home again? I’m not gonna live forever, you know. And if you don’t make it back before I kick the bucket, don’t think for a second I won’t haunt your ass every day for the rest of your life—doesn’t matter if you’re in Havenbrook or Havana. Location isn’t a match for a Southern woman with a grudge.”

  Rory slipped out of the room just as Nat’s laughter once again filled her ears. She ducked into the guest bathroom down the hall, locked the door, and plopped down on the closed toilet seat, curling her hands into fists to stop herself from letting the emotions overwhelm her.

  She didn’t even know why she was so upset. It wasn’t a secret that she and Nat didn’t get along, so why was she so hurt that her youngest sister wanted nothing to do with her? That Nat went out of her way to avoid having direct contact with Rory at all?

  A knock sounded at the door, startling her enough that she yelped.

  “Rory? You okay?”

  “Just fine! Be right out!” She knew her voice was overly chipper, but her regulator was all off, and she didn’t know how to fix it. She didn’t know if she wanted to fix it, because as scary as it was tackling all these emotions, it was so much better than the status quo she’d kept up for so long.

  Without needing to, she flushed the toilet and washed her hands, then opened the door. Mac stood there, her brow furrowed as she assessed Rory. Damn, she’d forgotten to check her face—were her eyes red and blotchy? Was her makeup smeared?

  “Momma sent me up when y’all didn’t come down. Did you let Gran know supper was ready?”

  “Just made a little detour to powder my nose.” She hooked her arm through Mac’s and tugged her toward Gran’s room. “We can both grab her now.”

  “You okay?” Mac asked.

  “Fine, just tired.” Rory’s voice was too bright, but she didn’t care. If she didn’t overcompensate like this, she was worried she’d crumble right here on the ornate wool rug in the hallway of her parents’ home. And though she’d fallen far these past several months—and surely wasn’t through tumbling just yet—she refused to break.

  Mac hummed and studied her just long enough to make Rory shift uncomfortably. “You’ve been puttin’ in a lot of hours on this thing with Nash, huh?” Mac bumped her hip with Rory’s. “How many clients have y’all worked with now?”

  Rory exhaled a deep sigh, grateful for the question. “A few. We’re just startin’ our second major project this week, but I’ve done a couple small projects mostly on my own, too. Turnin’ an office into a nursery, switchin’ an unused dining space into a library…that kind of stuff.”

  Mac raised her eyebrow. “Sounds like a big deal to me. Besides that, you’re workin’ at town hall. And you’re bein’ a single mom. And you’re rehabbin’ your house, too? Shit, it’s no wonder you look tired. Just wait till Will has you goin’ full speed on the wedding.”

  And just like that, Mac had managed to move the topic off Rory and on to something else. Without Rory having to say a word, Mac seemed to pick up on the fact that she didn’t want to talk about what was truly bothering her. She’d been learning a lot about Mac recently—most things, admittedly, she should’ve known long ago. Like how she was loyal, almost to a fault. She didn’t let people get away with anything around her. And she didn’t like to be pushed around.

  Tonight, she learned Mac also didn’t push others when it wasn’t the right time, even when it was clear she was anxious for them to talk.

  Because of that, Rory made it down to supper without being confronted about her jumble of emotions. She sat at the dining table, surrounded by a plethora of food and her family talking about everything and nothing. For once, she didn’t mind it. It allowed her to get lost in the din. She said grace, passed the mashed potatoes and gravy, and ate with a smile on her face, but she was a million miles away, trying to sort through everything that’d been thrown at her today.

  “Actually, Daddy, Rory’s unbelievably talented,” Mac said with barely restrained irritation in her tone.

  Rory snapped to attention, glancing over at her sister as she and their daddy faced off in what appeared to be a tension-filled discussion. Something she’d missed the beginning of.

  Daddy snorted but didn’t even acknowledge Mac’s words with so much as a single syllable, instead slathering butter on his roll.

  “Mac’s right,” Will said, glancing over to Rory before fixing their daddy with a hard stare. “Not a day goes by that a customer doesn’t tell Finn how nice The Willow Tree looks. And that was all her doing.”

  “And a damn fine job it was,” Gran said with a nod.

  “Just some paint, that’s all.” Daddy waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, it was only a little side project while she went through some personal things. She’s doin’ fine now workin’ for me at town hall. She doesn’t need any of that other nonsense. Isn’t that right, Rory?”

  She wanted to tell him how wrong he was. Wanted to list all the things she hated about the boring job that didn’t stimulate her mind or her heart or her soul. Wanted to tell him where to shove his assistant role and his view of the career she aspired to.

  Except she needed his boring, tedious job whether she liked it or not. Her girls relied on her, and she wouldn’t let them—or herself—down, even if it meant doing something she hated.

  Those same girls were looking at her now, their eyes wide as they awaited her response. She might not be ready, willing, or able to tell off her daddy just yet, but she could certainly set him straight on a few things.

  “Actually, I’ve started workin’ with Nash on some projects,” Rory said. “His clients were askin’ about me helpin’ him with the designs, so we’ve agreed to a partnership.”

  “With Big Nash?” he asked, distaste clear in his tone. “That man ain’t nothin’ but a—”

  “I’ll remind you that our granddaughters are at this table, Richard,” Momma said, steel in her voice as she leveled Daddy with a glare.

  Rory smoothed the cloth napkin in her lap just for something to do to keep her hands busy. “I’m workin’ with Little Nash, not his daddy.”

  “Not sure he’s much better,” Daddy grumbled.

  Rory didn’t understand the sudden need she had to defend Nash, but she couldn’t deny how it clutched her by the throat. She knew how people in town talked about him and his father. And she’d believed it at one point, too. But she’d spent enough time with him that he’d shaken the foundation those preconceived notions stood on.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Gran muttered. “Can you go one day without talkin’ outta your ass, son?”

  Over the girl
s’ hushed giggles, Momma glared at her husband. “Little Nash is one of your daughter’s best friends and the sweetest boy. Even if he weren’t, I’m not sure it’s any of your business, dear. Rory is a grown woman with children of her own, and she’s perfectly capable of makin’ her own decisions.”

  While Daddy threw up his hands and grumbled about having all girls and how it’d give him a heart attack sooner or later, Momma shot Rory a wink, and the tiny part of her that’d faltered earlier righted itself. Her momma’s words in the kitchen might not have been intended for her, but they’d come at the perfect time, regardless.

  She’d swept aside so many interests and hobbies, all because her daddy wasn’t a fan. All because he’d told her it wasn’t good enough for her—good enough for a Haven. A brief memory flickered through her mind, of her ballet recital—her momma and Gran in the front row, her daddy nowhere to be seen…

  Twenty-five years too late, Rory tucked away those words and let them settle deep in her heart, because she was so tired of listening to everyone else’s thoughts on who or what she should be.

  It was time she started listening to her own.

  Nash glanced around the barren front yard as he strolled up to Rory’s door. If his calculations were correct, Ava and Ella were at their dad’s house, which meant he and Rory would be all alone for the first time in way too long. Never mind that “way too long” had been only days, or that he didn’t get antsy to spend time with women. He got in, got off, got out.

  But it wasn’t like that with Rory… Never had been. No matter how many times he was with her, how many days and nights they’d spent together, he still hadn’t gotten his fill. At this point, he wasn’t sure he ever would.

  After climbing the steps, he knocked twice on the door and waited for her to answer. By the noise coming from inside the house, he doubted she’d even heard. Instead of hollering through the screen to get her attention, he tried the handle…and cursed under his breath when the door came open without issue. How many times had he been on her to lock the damn thing?

  Tossing his keys on the side table next to the couch, he followed the…well, singing was too nice of a word for what was happening right now, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate caterwauling, so he’d go ahead and keep that term to himself.

  Rory stood in the kitchen with her back to him, stirring something on the stove and belting a song playing from her phone. He cringed as she attempted to hit a particularly high note. Sweet Jesus, the girl was as tone deaf as a barn door. But even with his ears ringing, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face or tear his eyes away from her.

  She was completely and utterly lost in the moment, and he knew, without a doubt, this was pure, undiluted Rory. How many other people had ever gotten the privilege of seeing her like this? If his gut was right, he’d say exactly zero.

  Somewhere along the line, Rory had decided she needed to put on a show for everyone and shove that gorgeous, firm, smartass, belligerent, determined woman she really was into the shadows. He didn’t want her in the shadows, though. He wanted her right here, just for him.

  He came up behind her and slid his hands around her waist at the same time he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

  She screamed and jumped, jerking away from him as she spun around, wielding her sauce-covered spoon like a weapon. Her eyes were wild and crazed, her stance saying she wasn’t there to fuck around. If anyone could incapacitate an intruder with a kitchen utensil, he had no doubt it’d be Rory.

  When her eyes locked on his, her shoulders relaxed a bit. “Nash? What the hell! Why do you insist on sneakin’ up and scarin’ the ever-loving daylights outta me? What is wrong with you?”

  He let his gaze dip, his smile growing when he saw the catastrophe of her shirt. Tomato sauce splattered in clumps over the white cotton. “I seem to have a knack for scarin’ you and gettin’ you all dirty because of it.”

  She glanced down, her mouth pulling into a frown when she saw what was there. “Dammit, that’s another of my shirts you’ve ruined.”

  He stepped into her and pulled the spoon from her grasp, set it on the counter, and placed his hand on the small of her back. “Technically, it’s my shirt, and I’ve got a whole drawer of ’em at my place if you want another.”

  Color bloomed in her cheeks, as if she were embarrassed by getting caught in his clothes. He fucking loved that she wore it so much, that she seemed to enjoy being in it as much as he enjoyed seeing her in it. Truth was, the only thing sexier would be her out of his shirt.

  “What’re you doin’ here?” she asked.

  “Well…” He tugged her forward until their bodies were nearly flush. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab something for supper.”

  She tipped her head toward the stove behind her. “I made spaghetti.”

  He leaned down and licked a tiny splatter of tomato sauce off her neck. “I can see that. Tastes good…though maybe that’s just you.” His voice came out low and deep, a barely restrained rumble of need. For her. For her touch and her body and her breathy moans in his ear.

  Before he could tug her even closer, she halted him with a hand on his chest. “Wait. You’re gonna get all dirty, too.”

  He pulled back enough to shoot her a devilish grin. “I sure as hell hope so.”

  She rolled her eyes, though her cheeks burned even brighter. “I meant your shirt, Casanova.”

  “This one?” He fingered the hem of his shirt that she wore, sliding his hand back and forth, brushing his fingers against her bare stomach.

  Her breathing quickened, her eyes taking on the dreamy, half out of her mind glaze he’d come to love. Tentatively, she slipped her hand under the hem of his shirt, her fingers pressed flush against his abs. “I meant this one, actually.”

  Careful to keep their chests from touching, he leaned in and brushed his lips along her neck, smiling when she craned it to one side to give him more room. “I have a solution for that, you know.”

  “What’s that?” Her hand slipped down his stomach until it notched in the waistband of his shorts, her fingers curling around the material, nearly touching his straining cock.

  Figuring the best response was actions and not words, he reached behind him, gripped the neck of his shirt, and tugged it off.

  “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” The breathy tone of her voice contradicted the admonishment, and he nearly grinned.

  “You’re up, princess.” He tugged at the hem of her shirt, lifting it slightly.

  That jerked her out of her stupor as she snapped her head from side to side as if they were in the middle of the Square with onlookers all around them instead of in the privacy of her own home without neighbors as far as the eye could see. “Wait…here? Let’s go into my bedroom…”

  With exaggerated slowness, he shook his head. Every time he’d been inside her had been while in her bed. And though it was a damn fine bed, it was time they stepped outside their comfort zone…or hers, anyway. “Nope. I can’t wait to get you into your bedroom. I want you right here.”

  “But the front door’s wide open! Anyone could—”

  “Walk right up and hear how much you love havin’ my cock inside you? Yep.” He dipped his head and grazed his lips against hers. “Maybe this’ll remind you to lock your damn door.”

  She jerked away from him, some of the blissed-out haze leaving her eyes as she narrowed them at him. “I’m a grown woman, and I can handle my—”

  Without letting her finish, he lifted the shirt from her body, groaning when nothing hid her tight nipples from him. “Hope you weren’t plannin’ to leave the house like this.”

  She crossed her arms, but all that did was serve her breasts to him as if on a silver platter. “If I were, there’s nothing you could do about it.”

  A laugh rumbled out of him even as he ached to bend down and suck one of those tight buds into his mouth. “Don’t test me, princess. I’d fuck you right in the Square so everyone could see whose you are,
and I’d happily go sit in jail for indecent exposure for doin’ so.”

  Nash told himself he’d said those words simply in the heat of the moment, and they meant nothing. He didn’t do public…anything. Hell, he didn’t do Havenbrook women, period, let alone Havenbrook’s freakin’ namesake. And he sure as hell didn’t flaunt that shit around. Whenever he’d had an itch, he’d scratched it out of town, always a one-and-done scenario. His goal since he’d been old enough to realize exactly how the people in Havenbrook viewed his father was to show them that the apple fell as far from the tree as possible.

  But the thought of Rory traipsing around town like that, with her perfect tits out and available for anyone to feast their eyes on set off a primal scream inside him. A scream that sounded an awful lot like Mine.

  Rory’s mouth dropped open. “You’d do no such thing!”

  “And you’d never leave the house like this.” He tugged her to him, groaning when his cock pressed against her stomach. Holding her tight with a hand splayed on her back, he nuzzled her neck. “We both know you don’t show anybody this side of you, isn’t that right? Nobody but me.”

  “That’s not…” She trailed off, her voice losing steam as her body sagged into him. Her skin pressed flush against his, her tight little nipples brushing across his chest, and he groaned at the contact. Reached down and cupped her ass. Pulled her right off the floor and up against him as he devoured her mouth.

  “You drive me fucking crazy, Rory, you know that? I can’t keep my head around you.” The truth was, she made him frenzied in a way he hadn’t been since he’d been a fumbling teenager, angling to lose his V-card in the back of his truck. Rory made everything brand-new again. Amplified every feeling—every touch and throb and ache—until she eclipsed all else.

  Without another word, he let go of her and shoved her shorts down her legs until she stood in front of him bare. He didn’t even allow himself a chance to look at her standing there in all her glory before he undid the fly of his shorts. Fuck, even just watching her watch him made him throb in his goddamn boxer briefs, his cock thrum-thrum-thrumming to get inside her.