Last First Kiss (8 page)

“You’re nuts.”

“Admit it. You’ve always held a candle for the guy.”

“Shhhhhh.” Annie shoved a warning finger against Claire’s mouth. “Quiet. Atticus has uncanny hearing.”

“Fine.” Claire dropped her voice to a whisper. “I think it’s a great idea, by the way, a little fling with Sawyer. Get it out of your system.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Enlighten me.”

How to explain that if Sawyer penetrated any deeper into her system, she’d never be able to willingly walk away, at least not without a wrench that would leave part of her heart behind.

No thinking of Sawyer and penetration in the same sentence.

“He isn’t fling material.”

“Then what is—” Claire couldn’t finish her sentence because Atticus flew into her arms with a delighted shriek that deafened anyone in a mile radius not wearing personal protective equipment. Annie left them to their happy reunion, headed to the kitchen, opened the fridge, took out the lemonade and two mason jars from the freezer. The temperature was heating up, and she needed a cool drink before a headache set in.

“So back to Sawyer,” Claire said as she entered the kitchen, her raised eyebrows vanishing beneath her thick bangs.

Annie sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Maybe stop fighting yourself on this. Bury the hatchet.”

“It sounds like you mean that as a gross metaphor.”

Claire spied the mini blueberry muffins cooling on the counter and crammed one into her mouth. “Oh man, that’s delicious, and yes, I do, but in a good way.”

“Gross and good are two vastly separate things.”

“How did you two love birds reconnect?”

“It’s not like that.”
At least we’re not mouth kissing.
“He’s been helping out around here is all. Odd jobs. Fix-it-up stuff like repairing broken boards in the barn floor and the like.”

“Aw.” Claire crinkled her nose. “That’s adorable.”

“It’s kind.”

“Have you thanked him properly? For all that hard manual labor?” More suggestive eyebrow waggling.

Annie propped a hand on her hip, hoping to appear the picture of moral outrage. “Hey, I’m not going to thank him by—”

“Whoa, whoa, don’t get your panties in a knot. All I’m suggesting is to fix him a plate of those delicious muffins and pay a friendly neighborly visit.”

“Muffins?”

“Trust me, food is the way to a man’s heart.”

“I’m not sure I want into his heart.”

“His pants then.”

“Claire!”

Her sister unleashed a devious chuckle.

Well, he had done so much. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it,” Annie said, taking a bracing swig of lemonade and nearly choking on an ice cube. Was she really going to face him down after all those neck kisses? It would be a way to clear the air. “Okay, I’ll fix him a plate as a thank you. After all, who doesn’t like muffins?”

“No one of sound mind. Do it right now. Go pay a baked goods delivery house call and I’ll discuss the ins and outs of Pokémon with my favorite nephew in the whole wide world.”

Annie opened the cupboard and stared at all the different plates, the patterns and colors. Would Sawyer like the green one with white trim, or the pale yellow one covered in strawberries? Easier than deciding whether she and Sawyer were back to being friends, or whatever two people were who didn’t kiss on the mouth but did other stuff.

She settled on the strawberry plate. Everything else was simply too overwhelming to consider.

“Oh, and Lil’ Bit?” Claire paused in the doorway.

“Yeah?” Annie gripped the plate as a powerful urge rose inside to drop it. Let the ceramic hit the old wood floorboards and shatter into a hundred pieces.

“Before you go . . . ” Claire delicately cleared her throat. “Maybe you want to, I don’t know, wash your face? Comb your hair? Switch shirts?”

“Are you saying I look bad?”

“You’d be a fetching doll baby in a burlap sack and lederhosen.”

“I don’t think that combo actually works.”

“My point is you’re Annie. That means you are lovable and gorgeous no matter what. But you’ve . . . ”

“Let myself go.” No point sugar coating the facts. She managed to say the words as if they didn’t matter, but inside, she missed that part of her that used to care. Not that she needed to be vain or obsessed with looks, but wanting to brush hair or change into outfits beyond yoga pants and hoodies on occasion might not be a bad idea. She used to sew, copy cute styles she saw in Claire’s magazines.

“You used to make all those sweet dresses, and remember your vintage shoe collection? You were the only one who could fit into Grandma Carson’s cute kitten heels.

Who has time to worry about that stuff?
“They are packed away. Those get me through most days fine.” Annie cocked her chin at the Dansko Mary Janes propping the back door.

“You’ve got it going on, sister, so might as well use it.”

“Whatever,” Annie responded. Worst retort ever. On the inside, her mental cogs turned. Fine, so she had let herself go a little, and some neighborly flirtation might be the ticket to finding out where she went.

“You used to be so . . . so . . . joyful. I miss that part of you.”

Joy? Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Still, spending more time with Sawyer didn’t have to be all overthinking and serious. “You’re right. I do need a little pick-me-up.”

Claire snapped her fingers. “Yes, and something tells me that Sawyer might be the man to lend a helping hand . . . down your pants.” She left the room with a cackle.

Even as Annie eye-rolled, she grinned at the sounds of the joyful aunt and nephew whooping it up in the living room before turning a gaze to the muffins.

Deep breath. Okay, one more. She could do this. She could cross the fence and approach Sawyer on his home turf. This was happening. She wrapped up the plate, taking extra special care to make it look pretty. Would a ribbon be nice or too much?
Too much.
Sawyer wasn’t the fussy type.

Her blue dress hung on the clothesline. The soft jersey clung in the right places, but didn’t scream trying too hard.

She walked outside, set the muffin plate on a log, shimmied out of her work clothing and walked to the water pump in her bra and undies. For a second she panicked, glancing around for a sign of Sawyer appearing in time to catch an eyeful, but the coast was clear. It was fun to pump the water, cup it as it came from the earth, toss it on her face and the back of her neck. Then, yanking the clean dress on, she ran her hand through her hair hoping the pixie cut looked edgy and modern, rather than sadly disheveled.

Just because she wasn’t settling in Brightwater didn’t mean she couldn’t try to track down her old, more free-spirited self.

Maybe a little harmless neighborly flirtation would provide the key to the map.

Chapter Ten

A
LL
S
AWYER
WANTED
was a cold beer and an hour to catch the end of the ball game. It had been a long day, a routine traffic stop leading to a drug bust. He startled at the movement in the corner of his darkened living room. “What the hell—”

“I saw you this morning.” Grandma gripped the handles of the recliner. Her shadowed jowls resembled Marlon Brando’s Don from
The Godfather
.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He shot Maverick a look.
Couldn’t you have alerted me with a warning whine?

His trusty guard dog responded with a yawn and curled on the hand-braided rug.

“You aren’t fooling me, Sneaky Britches,” she snapped. “Nothing stirs so much as a feather on this ranch without me knowing. I saw you.”

“Doing what?”

“Climbing over the fence.”

He said nothing, learned a long time ago that the less he said, the more others talked, and that was the way to acquire useful information.

“You’re helping the Carson girl, aren’t you?” she growled.

He should have anticipated this outcome. Grandma kept binoculars on the window ledge above her kitchen sink and patrolled Hidden Rock with the tenacity of a Cold War soldier.

“I keep talking myself blue in the face about how it’s not natural for a man of your age to live without a woman. You have needs and it’s high time you start a family.”

Had he pissed off karma? He’d done things he wasn’t proud of in life, but in no way, shape, or form did that warrant a lecture on his “needs” from Grandma.

“I’ve made a list.” She briskly plucked a piece of paper from her shirt pocket and opened it, clearing her throat. “Let’s see, what about Marigold Flint? She never married and owns The Baker’s Dozen. At least you won’t go hungry.”

Goldie’s real specialty wasn’t baking, it was spreading scandalous rumors under the guise of
Now, I can’t say this for an absolute fact but . . .
“I wouldn’t date that blabbermouth if she was the last one on earth.”

“Oh, pshaw, men always say things like that, but trust me, if you and she were the last two people on earth you’d—”

“I said no. Can we please quit?”

“Fine. Her coffee is always burnt anyway.” She tapped her finger on her lower lip. “The new librarian is one of the Higsby clan. They are good, honest folks. Not the brightest bulbs in the box, mind, but loyal, long-lived, fertile.”

He couldn’t restrain a snort. “The trifecta of marital happiness?”

Grandma cast him a sharp-eyed gaze. “Don’t gamble on your future, boy, there’s no sense in that. Marry for like. Love only brings heartache.”

Sawyer wanted to point out that most Kanes with the exception of himself, and his older brother, visited Vegas at least once a year. Gambling was in their blood, a family passion, but he held his tongue. Grandma had a far-off look in her eye, as if remembering her own short-lived marriage.

“With all due respect, please don’t manage my life,” he said gently.

“Anyway, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Grandma blew out an annoyed breath. “She’s fixing to sell up.”

Sawyer didn’t need to be told who
she
was. Annie.

Grandma coughed. “What she should do is return what’s ours.”

“The Carsons have owned that property over a hundred years, made improvements—”

“Improvements? Hah. Imagine planting an orchard in this climate? What’s the sense in that? They’ve always been kooky.”

Sawyer had to chalk one up to Grandma. The orchard was stunted, the fruit unable to grow well in this climate.

“The land can’t go to an outsider,” Grandma said, steel in her voice. “It’s rightly ours.”

“Well, the law’s clear that it’s not.”

“Law, shaw.”

A car door slammed. Maverick growled. Sawyer cocked his head.

Now what?

A low grumble rose from deep in Maverick’s throat as his ears folded back. Strange. He once encountered a mountain lion on a hike and all the dog did was give a high-spirited tail wag.

Someone knocked on the front door.

“Expecting company?” Grandma twiddled her thumbs. “A woman?”

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“You know how I feel about blasphemy, boy.”

He gritted his teeth and turned the doorknob, and the Earth shifted underfoot.

“Boy?” Ruby King set a hand on her hip, tossing her long platinum hair over one shoulder. “Well, you are a big boy.”

Grandma actually gasped. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, except he wasn’t hard for his ex-fiancée anymore.

Grandma rose to her feet. “You have some nerve showing your face on my land.”

“Afternoon, Mrs. Kane.” The white veneers on Ruby’s teeth were blinding.

Grandma clenched a hand as if mentally reaching for her trusted BB gun. No doubt Ruby fell under her definition of a common varmint.

“Grandma, why don’t you go on and take Maverick back to your house?” he said, stepping between them. “Give him one of those bones he likes so much.”

Maverick kept up a low growl that matched Grandma’s rumble.

No one budged.

Finally, Ruby entered, and stepped over Maverick, who caught Sawyer’s eye. Sawyer shook his head once.
No biting.

Maverick woofed, rose with his tail between his legs, and padded to the front door.

Grandma looked like she might do the biting instead.

“I’ll come and fetch him soon,” Sawyer said quietly.

Grandma kept her posture ramrod straight, but he sensed her relenting on the inside. Affection licked him. She might be crazy, but she was his crazy, on his team, ready to guard his back through thick and thin. Not that he needed a team against Ruby. He had this handled.

“God, I thought she’d never leave,” Ruby drawled after Grandma slammed the door with a little too much force. She picked an imaginary split end and frowned at his L-shaped sectional couch. “Is there dog hair on that?”

“Probably.”

He didn’t offer her a seat. This wasn’t going to take long. “Why are you here?”

She smirked and strutted to his fireplace, setting one hand against the mantle, thrusting her shoulders back and showing off her twin assets.

His heart didn’t quicken. Nothing like the gallop when Annie tromped out of her house in that short pink bathrobe, eyes sleepy and hair wild, or how she looked in a simple pair of cut-off jean shorts. The thing was she was impossible not to like. She infused the air she moved through with a warm glow, even now, after all this time apart. With Ruby, physical desire was all well and good, but he’d grown old enough, and wise enough, to have learned true chemistry had an indefinable extra spark, that thing where after burning up the sheets you can agree what to watch on Netflix or wander out for a midnight stargaze.

“It’s time we have a little chat, Moose,” she purred. Chatting to Ruby meant dirty talk, and he was over that particular conversation, at least with her.

“You’re married, Ruby,” he said tightly. “Congratulations.”

She rolled her eyes. “In name only, dummy.” Her lips pursed with smug satisfaction as she noted his obvious confusion. “Buck’s my husband, but not my
husband husband.”

“I knew things were different in Hollywood, but what you’re saying doesn’t make sense.”

“He’s batting for the other team, Moose. Your team.”

“What?” He was so confused he let her old nickname for him slide. Of all the things he imagined Ruby saying this was nowhere on the list.

“I’m a beard, baby.”

Ruby hated body hair. “A beard?”

“Buck’s gay, but he makes his living playing big, macho men on screen. Guys who get the girl, not the guy. He wants to keep up appearances, and that’s where I come in,” she said with a smug smile.

“Are you shitting me?”

“It’s a business decision. Buck can offer me a lifestyle second to none. He’s a great guy, brings home great guys, and it’s all a lot of fun. But I’m lonely and a girl needs to have a good time.”

“Your marriage was a business decision?” he repeated, stunned.

“Buck gets that silly ‘heterosexual’ label, which is good for his career, and I get my foot in the door in Hollywood.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Buck made me sign all these legal papers and promise to be discreet while he promoted
Tumbleweeds.
With all the reporters poking around Brightwater after it won the Oscar, the risk of someone discovering our arrangement was too high. But now the hype’s died down, and I miss you, Moosey.”

“Don’t.” She’d called him that in bed. Once she’d gotten out a ruler and he’d let her measure it. He thought it was a bit of fun until she bragged about the size to all her friends. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“You’re so mean.” She gave her trademark pout.

“Let me get this straight.” Sawyer’s insides churned. “You didn’t want my ring on your finger, but still want me between your sheets?”

Ruby clapped her hands. “Yes, that’s it exactly.” She sauntered forward, hips swinging and expression confident. “See how perfect it is? You and me can still be, well, you and me. Do what we do best.” She stroked his chest, let her fingertips drag suggestively down his ribs.

He couldn’t move. Not from lust, but shock.

It wasn’t until she cupped his cock that he jumped. “Whoa,” she laughed. “Been a while?”

He stepped back and held a warning hand. “Whatever you came here for isn’t happening.”

“Oh, really, Sawyer, don’t be a prude.” She arched a brow. “Unless you want to play hard to get? Hmmmm. Roleplaying could be fun.”

“No games, just straight talk. You and I are finished. There’s no epilogue.”

“Now that’s your pride talking. Buck and I have a house in Beverly Hills and the Hamptons and a yacht in the Bahamas. I told him I wanted a place here too, in my hometown. A little love nest for us, Moose.” She reached behind her and there was the faint metal grind of a zipper before her dress puddled at her ankles. She’d come in battle armor, black lace push up and a barely-there thong. Every inch of her was
Maxim
-grade hotness, but repelled him like an opposing magnet. Not because her husband was gay, he didn’t care about that, but because she thought he’d agree to be used. The path to his heart wasn’t between his legs.

“Ruby, come on, let it go,” he said, soft but insistent.

A spark of doubt appeared in her eyes. This was a woman who sought approval like air. The secret vulnerability was what originally drew him to her, until he’d realized it was insatiable. She was a human flytrap, would catch people and suck them dry to fill herself.

“I’m not letting you go.” Steel replaced the momentary insecurity. “There’s no point resisting. You know I always get my way.” She molded her hands around her breasts. “I need a little Oscar Mayer. My favorite bologna has a first name, it’s M-O-O-S—”

Glass shattered behind him and Sawyer turned with a muffled curse.
Damn it to hell.

Annie blinked in the doorway, a broken plate and scattered muffins at her feet. Her pretty blue dress matched her eyes, like the August sky, so warm and deep it seemed impossible winter could ever come. She looked cute, vaguely different than the last few times he’d seen her. Good. Maybe the chores he kept doing were lessoning her workload. She’d been working too hard, with no time to take care of herself.

“Sorry, I’m interrupting,” she mumbled.

“Yes,” said Ruby, just as Sawyer answered, “No, you aren’t.”

He bent and grabbed Ruby’s silk dress. “She’s leaving.”

“No, that’s fine. Keep singing, Ruby,” Annie said, before disappearing the way she came, flying down the steps, running from him again. Fuck. Would anything ever go right between them?

“Moose,” Ruby screeched as he stormed out of the house. “Stop! We aren’t finished here, not by a long shot.”

He turned and lifted a warning finger. “If you aren’t off my property by the time I get back, I’ll arrest you for trespassing and indecent exposure.”

He ignored her outraged gasp and chased Annie into the gathering dusk. She ran like wildfire, but he caught her near the fence, barely.

“Annie,” he said breathing hard. “Wait. Please.”

She pulled up short at the “please,” but kept her back to him.

“I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Clearly,” she said flatly. “Jesus, I’ll never be able to look at bologna the same way again.”

“I didn’t know Ruby was coming over.”

“You’re a busy man.” Her hands balled into fists. “It was an imposition for me to show up unannounced. A stupid impulse. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Turn around. Look at me.”

Annie’s shoulders hitched with one long heavy sigh. She slowly pivoted. The unshed tears in her eyes made him want to kick his own ass for causing her even inadvertent pain.

“I know this doesn’t sound right, but none of that with Ruby was what it looked like.”

“Okay.”

He started. “Okay?”

“Well . . . ” She rocked her head back and regarded the sky. “First, it’s not my business. But secondly, yeah. I believe you.” She kept her gaze away from his face. “Because if you wanted to be with her, you’d be there now.”

Raw emotion clogged his throat. “Annie—”

“All I wanted to do is say thanks for helping around the property.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So guess we’re all done.” She executed a slow one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.

He stepped toward her back, aching to take her into his arms. “Do we have to be?”

“I meant for now.” She hugged herself tight. “You’ve probably had enough excitement for one afternoon.”

His chest hurt and head throbbed. How the hell could he breach the gulf between them? All he could think to do was stick out his hand. “Friends at least.”

She regarded it as the silence between them thickened. What he wouldn’t give to see the thoughts cranking through her head.

“Sure.” She took his hand and he couldn’t tell if the scent filling his senses came from the meadow grass or her. “Friends. At least to a point.”

“Nah, it doesn’t work that way.” His voice came out husky and intense. Good. Let her know she affected the fuck out of him. He pulled her close, pressing his forehead against hers. “We’re either friends or we aren’t.”