Last First Kiss (11 page)

Chapter Thirteen

S
AWYER
DIDN
’
T
SLEEP
a wink after the party. Eventually, he threw on a pair of grey sweats, brewed some coffee, and stood in his front doorway, watching the stars disappear from the sky one by one as dawn returned to the world. His mind worked slow, turned things over at its own steady speed. All he knew for certain was that he wanted Annie, and everything that entailed, including her son. The idea should scare the shit out of him, but there wasn’t uncertainty inside him, only a growing confidence.

He could do this. He could figure out a way to convince her to stay.

He went on rural patrol to have time to think, and Kit was happy enough to hold down the office fort. As Sawyer left Main Street, he got the unshakeable feeling he was being followed, but didn’t know for sure until he passed the city limits. A car gained speed and closed in, kicking dust high in the air. Sawyer tracked its progress in his review mirror, the color jolting him like a third coffee. Purple. Annie’s car. He frowned. Where was she going at twice the speed limit? She flashed her lights and beeped the horn.

Hopefully nothing was wrong. He flipped the siren and pulled over at the turn out, flushing a rafter of wild turkeys from the underbrush. They broke into frantic gobbles as he leapt out and tore to her car. He leaned in the driver’s side window and . . . not Annie.

The older sister. Claire.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” He switched to all business, willing his heart rate to slow.

She winked a blue eye the same color as her sister’s, except if Annie was sweetness, this one was spice. He preferred the former.

“My sister’s the one who needs help.”

“Not sure I’m following,” he deadpanned.

“I heard about all the kisses.” She dropped her voice to a theatrically seductive tone. “You’re quite the Don Juan, Sheriff.”

He stepped away and scratched the back of his neck. “Ms. Carson—”

“Please, call me Claire. We’re neighbors. Besides, you’ve got the hots for my baby sister.”

Jesus Christ, he wasn’t going to stand here addressing his love life with this woman. “Look, I’m on the clock.”

“And this is a bona fide emergency, Sheriff. Tick tock. Tick tock.”

He arched a skeptical brow, doubt darting through him. “Is Annie in some sort of trouble?”

“Yep. Big trouble.”

He frowned, the doubt turning into a piranha, gnawing his gut. “What the hell happened?”

“Her morale got steamrolled by her douchebag ex-husband.” Claire jabbed a finger against her steering wheel. “If that’s not an emergency, then you tell me what is.”

Relief and annoyance duked it out. “Listen, I need to—”

“No, you listen. My sister is the best, sweetest person in the whole world. I left her behind, stuck in Brightwater High School, where kids couldn’t handle anyone marching to the beat of a different drummer. Except you. I heard all about it one night when I went to visit her in Portland, at Lewis and Clark, freshman year. She downed one too many Jell-O shots and talked all about you, and what happened at that stupid graduation party.”

The memory of Annie’s broken, tear-streaked face that awful, fucking night still haunted him. “I didn’t have anything to do with—”

“Maybe not, but what bonehead brings her on a first date to the lion’s den? She’s strong, Sawyer, stronger than she knows, but she’s sensitive. She hates admitting it, but she needs back-up. Everybody does.”

He couldn’t argue there. “What would you have me do?”

“Turn up at Five Diamonds tonight. When are you off work?”

“Six o’ clock.”

“Perfect. Wear a nice shirt. Bring a bottle of wine. Red is her favorite. You’re a handsome guy, got that whole brawny mountain man thing going in your favor. She needs a hero, Sawyer, and there’s something about you that makes me believe you’re hero material.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “I’m taking the kid camping tonight. I’ve got a spot near Juniper Lake reserved. Atticus and I will swim, fish, and eat too many toasted marshmallows. You? You’re going to figure out how to woo my sister.”

“Are you always this bossy?” She reminded him of his older brother. Who’d win in a cage match between Claire and Wilder?

“I haven’t even warmed up,” she quipped.

“You should be a general.”

She shoved the key into the ignition. “I make toast, Sheriff, not war. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.” And with that Claire drove off. He had no idea what she was talking about, but buried in all the nonsense was common sense.

As he walked back to the car, he thought of seeing Annie for dinner and whistled Hank Williams “Hey, Good Lookin’ .”

A
NNIE
GAVE
A
final pound to the “Happy Hen Eggs $3.50 a dozen” sign and stepped back to admire her handiwork. She’d whitewashed old barn wood and stenciled the lettering in cheerful turquoise acrylic rummaged from her old art supplies. One could find only so many creative uses for all the eggs. She’d be sick if she so much as looked at another quiche, and her butt didn’t need baked goods for breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

A cloud of dust kicked rose up the road. She wiped her brow and straightened, prepared to offer a friendly wave to the passing driver. Her heart kicked up a gear as a beat-up orange Ford truck came into view. Sawyer’s truck.

No need to overreact. Last night was a kiss, nothing but two mouths touching, and a little tongue. Okay, a lot of tongue. Still, no big deal.
Shake it off.
It wasn’t as if either of them had never kissed before. An earth-shatteringly delicious kiss she still could taste. She’d come close to finding her missing black box when he skimmed her panties last night. She’d come close to seeing God himself. Okay, maybe brushing off her dress and fluffing her hair would be sensible. Maybe even squeezing her cheeks a la Scarlett O’Hara. Besides, a flirty little wave was preferable to dive-bombing in the front hedge, especially when he slowed down.

She raised a hand in greeting as he put the truck in park and swung open the door. Worn denim hugged his long, muscular legs. Made it kind of hard to notice the stunning vista behind him.

He nodded at the sign. “Happy hens, huh?”

“As long as your grandma isn’t issuing them a one-way ticket to the coop in the sky.”

He snorted. “The, uh, the lettering looks good. Real good.”

“Thanks.” She took irrational joy in his small talk. “How was work?”

“The usual. Spent the afternoon in the office taking care of business.”

Oh, I have some business you can take care of, Sheriff, in a very official capacity.

Stop. Just stop
. Otherwise her ovaries would explode.

“What are you cooking?” he asked.

She coughed. “Excuse me?” Were these dirty thoughts stamped on her face?

“For dinner?”

“Nothing special.” Her brows knit. What was he hinting at? First it seemed like flirting, but now—no idea. “Probably leftovers.” Or standing up and eating yogurt from the carton in front of the fridge. “Claire took Atticus camping for the night.”

A puzzled expression skimmed his features, vanishing in an instant. Still, she didn’t miss it. “What’s going on?”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

She’d been so distracted by his jeans that she’d missed the bottle of red wine clutched in his hand.

They both stared at it.

“Your sister . . . ”

“My sister . . . ”

In retrospect, Claire had given a particularly evil giggle as she drove away.

Annie envisioned an evening spent soaking in the bath, or maybe slaking her frustrated lust with an uber-naughty romance novel, but apparently her sister arranged for actual romance to be on the menu.

“You didn’t have any idea about dinner, did you?” Sawyer thrust his free hand into his hip pocket and held perfectly still.

She used to be able to do that, in the hills behind Five Diamonds, become a human statue and watch deer, quail, bobcats, and once a prowling mountain lion high on the ridgeline. These days, her hands always moved, adjusting, fixing, like little apologies constantly making reparations with the greater world.
Is it okay for me to be here? To take up space? Please let it be allowed.

“No! No. I’m sorry.” She remembered her manners after the longest pause in recorded history. “Of course I knew you were coming.”

He pressed his lips together, the craggy skin around his eyes losing its tightness. “Annabelle Carson, permission to speak plain?”

Her stomach flipped. “Permission granted.”

“You are the single-worst liar in the entire state of California.”

“I’m not lying.” Wait a second—was that a giggle? It sounded an awful lot like a giggle.

“I might amend the statement to include Nevada and Oregon, the tri-state area.”

“Fine. I wasn’t exactly privy to the evening’s plan, but I’d be glad for your company.”
The key word being “your.”
Her flirting skills were as rusty as the old milk cans at the end of the driveway, the ones she’d filled with potting soil and now held black-eyed Susans.

He appeared to let out a breath. “Would you?”

“Yes, I . . . I haven’t spent a night alone in some time.” God, she sounded like a child. As much as the idea of Sawyer sharing a meal with her in an empty house was unsettling, it was better than being alone wondering who she was when she lost the identity of being Atticus’s mom. When the wind picked up after sunset, she didn’t want to imagine her Carson ancestors lined up at the edge of her bed, staring in judgment. She was the weakest link. They had invested sweat, blood, and tears into Five Diamonds, and she was letting it all go, letting them down.

She smoothed her hair, pointless as she could feel the stubborn waves sticking up in back. “Do you want to come up?”

“That all depends,” he replied evenly.

“On?”

“How much you want me to?” His voice, the way he dropped it low, was undeniably sexy, and not only because of the timbre. It was the assurance. Like he was able to infuse every vowel with a sense of “This might be a bad idea, but it also might be the best one you’ve ever had.”

“Come for dinner.” Saying the word “come” gave her a naughty shiver, followed by a shiver shiver. Would this blow up in her face? The old Annie would jump without looking, but she’d learned that sometimes there are big rocks below. Kisses might feel magical, but falling hurts.

“Just dinner.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Even as she stuck out her hand to shake she knew that it wasn’t going to be just dinner. No way could she prepare him a meal, alone in her kitchen, and call it good. Her heart accelerated, the same way it used to when she stared into the river from the top of a cliff. She missed this—having a rush.

“Come on, I’ll drive you to the house.”

The wind picked up a little as she followed him to his truck, the cool mountain air kissing the back of her neck, sliding up her skirt. Overhead a red-tailed hawk turned in lazy circles, and it looked exactly how she wanted to feel.

Free.

Chapter Fourteen

S
AWY
ER
PARKED
THE
truck in front of Annie’s ramshackle farmhouse. The gear box separated them, but despite the distance, her sweet lavender scent and glimpse of lacy white bra strap peeking out beneath her sleeveless dress, compelled him to breathe deeper. Last night’s kiss was like discovering a treasure he didn’t know he sought. Neither of them mentioned what happened in The Dale’s secret passage, although from the way he stared at her mouth, and she at his, it was on both their minds. Good God, her lips were put on Earth to tease him with their softness, and the way she boldly slid her tongue over his—

“Here we are.” She moved to open the door.

“No, wait. I got that.” He leapt out and rounded the front of the cab. She’d been married for a couple years at least. Guess her ex wasn’t the kind of guy who opened doors for his woman.
Jackhole.

If she ever became his, he’d make it so good that she’d never have a reason to leave. Her being his, that sounded good. He’d never been a commitment-phobe, like Archer, but after the Ruby debacle he hadn’t craved another relationship. But since Annie got back in town, all bets were off, and this unexpected direction felt exactly right.

“Um, you know I’m perfectly equipped to do that, right?” she said as he lifted the passenger door handle.

“That’s not the point.” Her short cotton print dress hitched up her legs as she slid out. A memory struck him of her, naked, on the cliffs when they first met. When she stood, the distance between them was mere inches, and he swallowed hard. “I want to open your doors because I respect you, not the opposite.”

She pressed the back of her hand against her cheek. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“A simple thank you works.”

She blinked. “Of course, right. Thank you. I’m not really used to that sort of thing.”

“What?” His stomach hardened as he eyed the falling-down house Roger Carson had dumped on her to handle. “Men taking care of you?”

The frown struck her face, vanishing quick as lightning. “Hey, mind if we go around back? I need to return the mallet to the barn.”

“Sure thing,” he answered, watching her hips sway as she walked away. She’d worked hard to fix things around the place. As much as Annie insisted that she didn’t want to stick around Brightwater a day longer than necessary, the work she’d put in around Five Diamonds had been done with love. That much was clear.

“I wasn’t married to a monster,” she said, pausing near the barn door. “I don’t want to give that impression.”

“Never thought that,” he replied.
Just a dumbass.

“It was more . . . I don’t know. Gregor and I got together when I was so young, barely an adult. I think that was the big attraction for him, my youth. He was quite a bit older. The trouble is, I grew up.”

“He’s an idiot,” Sawyer muttered and Annie turned with a half-shrug.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Look, I’m done defending Gregor, but you’ve got to admit that he’s not unusual. Lots of guys want to be with the youngest, prettiest thing they see. It makes them feel young themselves, I guess.”

“I don’t want to go back in time.”

“You don’t?” She searched his face.

“I’m a little older now, but I’m wiser.”

“That’s nice. I just feel older.” She gave a little laugh, one he didn’t respond to. She needed to hear these words. What he had to say.

“When I was a kid, I had dreams,” he said softly.

Her smile tilted from her face as she caught the quiet intensity of his words. “Me too.”

“Have yours come true?” Emotion deepened his voice. She was close, so close, his hands itched to reach for her, but instincts said not yet—not quite.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Me neither, not all of them anyway. Not the ones that count the most. When I was a kid, I thought wanting something would be enough to get it. I’ve learned if you want a dream bad enough, you have to go out and make it happen.”

Her lips parted, her pupils dilating. “And what do you want?”

“The same thing I wanted when I was eighteen, but was too stupid to—”

A hen must have laid because the whole coop behind Annie broke out in wild clucking, and she startled before bursting out laughing.

“Calm down, girls,” she said. “Why do they always feel the need to broadcast their eggs? You’d think they’d be used to it.”

And just like that, his moment was lost to a bunch of damn squawking.

“Those do sound like some happy hens,” he muttered, knocking his boot against an exposed field stone. Right now, he’d love to take a page out of Grandma’s playbook and wring their cock-blocking necks.

“Thanks to you repairing the coop. You’re like their hero or something.”

“All it took was a bit of wire and a few nails.” He kept his gaze steady. He meant to get the girl. Maybe he’d lost this particular battle, but he was nowhere near defeated.

She blinked first. “Okay, I’ll go hang up the mallet and be out in two seconds. In the meantime, would you mind gathering a few eggs? I’m sick of quiche and omelets but could whip us up a halfway decent carbonara.”

He didn’t have a clue what that was, but she could offer him cardboard and he’d probably like it if it meant looking at her over dinner.

Sawyer strode over to the coop and opened the brooder boxes. The Carsons kept different varieties, so the eggs weren’t uniform in size or color. He selected the pale greenish blue ones for no other reason than that they were the same shade as the tiny flowers dotting the dress Annie wore. He didn’t know how the woman managed to look so prim and yet earthy. She came out of the barn, and he used his half-hidden vantage to study her.

She still went about barefoot, and that pretty dress had at least a dozen buttons running down the front. Hell, a man could have some fun with that get up, take his time, open each one slowly, like a secret that needs answering.

He stood and cleared his throat. “Six enough?” He held three in each hand.

She laughed. “I don’t know why I put that sign out front. I could probably give the extras to you. You’d devour three eggs in a sitting no problem.”

“Try five.” He thought of his weekend omelets.

“Where do you put it all?” Her gaze roved his build. Normally, he didn’t wonder about women. They seemed to like him fine, but this was Annie, and a flicker of uncertainty licked his heart. His size made him clumsy next to her dainty grace. What thoughts spun behind that impenetrable gaze? He wasn’t a city boy. His hair had never seen gel, nor did he pay attention to fashion. When he wasn’t in his sheriff’s uniform, he wore his other uniform—blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Plain Hanes t-shirts on hot days. That was it. Tonight he’d made extra effort, dug out his best church shirt, the checkered navy and white one he wore to weddings and funerals.

Annie broke her silent assessment and called back to the coop, “Thank you, Constance, Shy, and Petunia.”

“You name all those birds?”

“Oh sure. Constance, Shy, and Petunia are the Araucanas over there.” She pointed to the three white hens with impressive feathery ear tufts. “They’re the only ones that lay those pretty blue eggs. Over in the far corner are the Rhode Island Reds: Bixby, Big Mama, Miss Thing, Chatterbox, Honey, and Crazy. Then scratching in the back is Feather Foot, because, well, that’s obvious, and . . . what? Are you laughing at me?”

“You name your chickens.” God, she really was too fucking adorable for her own good.

“What, Mr. Funny—if you had a coop, you’re saying you wouldn’t name yours?”

“Sure I would.” He gave a shrug. “I’d call them all the same thing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that? Chicken?”

“Dinner.”

Her lips twitched even as she sniffed. “That’s so not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Must be that Kane humor. I’m genetically immune.”

He fell in step behind her going into the house. He reached up and pulled open the back door, resting his hand on the small of her back.

He wasn’t such a good guy, despite his status as Chicken Savior. He’d take any excuse to touch her. The dress had a slight softness, like the cotton had been well worn and well loved. His thumb brushed over the base of her spine, and he swore she gave a slight shiver.

“Annie.”

She half-turned, sensing the seriousness undercutting his light tone.

“Tonight, I’m going to ask you to make me a promise.”

She frowned. “These days I never promise anything without knowing the stakes first.”

“That’s fine. I’ll tell you. I don’t want to give the past a place at the table. Can we get back to how we used to, back before . . . ”

“Everything.”

“I know you need to take your time, but while I might be patient, I’m also greedy. I want you, and I’ll wait, but when we happen—and we will happen—I want all of you.”

Shit, the way she froze and stared. “I—wow . . . I wasn’t expecting you to lay things out like that.”

He took a deep breath. “Like what?”

“So straightforward.”

“I don’t know how to tell you any other way. Back in the day, I fooled myself that if I wanted something bad enough, it would work out, without me putting in the effort. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“I had to learn that lesson too,” she whispered.

“We had something, didn’t we?”

She blushed. “We were kids.”

“But it was real. I’m not making it up in my head here. Say the word if I am and I’ll leave it alone. I’ll eat my carbo-whatever-you-call-it, and still help out around your place as much as I can. But I’ll never bother you on the subject again.”

“We had something,” she whispered.

His next heartbeat came extra hard, the pound vibrated through his stomach. “Do we still?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” She forced a smile and turned to a cupboard, rising on her tiptoes. He wanted her against him in his bathtub, facing him, those pretty toes between his hands. If no one had the decency to open doors for her, no way would she have ever gotten a damn fine foot rub. He wanted to show her all the ways a man could treat a woman right. Make her see that she didn’t have to settle for less than being treated like a queen.

Unless the humble kingdom he had to offer wasn’t the one she wanted.

Still, if he walked away from this shot, he’d kick his own ass for the rest of his life. “Annie, I’m not a betting man—”

“The only Kane who could make that claim,” she said, arching one brow.

“But I would bet on us.”

Her silence lasted so long that he wasn’t sure if she heard him, or if she’d decided to give a blow off after all. At last she turned and murmured, “What are the stakes?”

If he said
the rest of our lives
she’d probably run screaming for the door. Those were words huge to think, let alone say out loud. Still, she didn’t deserve the runaround, not from him. “For you? I’m willing to go all in.”

Her eyes widened. “How can you say that? You don’t even know me anymore.”

He wouldn’t win points by telling her she was wrong. But she was the best, strongest, most fascinating person he’d ever known. “Guess that’s why it’s called a gamble.” For a second he understood why his family loved risks. There was an inherent thrill activating inside him, as if his very DNA craved the excitement of the unknown.

“What if we lose?” she asked.

He took her hand and held it between his. “What if we win?”