Chapter Eleven
Warm fingertips tracing his ribcage drew Colt the rest of the way awake. A soft cheek pressed to his chest, silky hair spilling over his arm. One soft thigh was a hot weight across both of his. He rubbed a hand up and down her spine, cotton shifting under his palm.
On a humming sigh, Holly kissed his pectoral. “Good morning.”
“Hey.” Voice raspy to his own ears, he dropped a kiss on her brow. Waking up with her was great, as good as lying down to sleep with her beside him, and he was an absolute dumbass for agreeing to this. If she left him . . . now his bed would be as haunted as the rest of the cabin.
With a stretch, she flipped to her other side, dragging his arm over her waist and wiggling her butt into the curve of his thighs.
His body decided to sit up and take notice, a heavy arousal lodging in his gut, stirring his dick, and eyes still closed, he gritted his teeth.
She knew it, too, with her self-satisfied little sigh.
“I know we have dinner at your mama’s Wednesday and Chinese and football with my mama Thursday, but we should do a Friendsgiving one night this week.
” She nudged an elbow into his middle. He grunted.
Damn, she had one pointy elbow and didn’t know what a light touch was.
“Maybe Tuesday? Something light and casual, like soup or chili.”
He tightened his arm around her. Not a bad way to wake up at all. “Friendsgiving.”
“Yeah, like Thanksgiving but better because it’s with your friends instead of family.”
Thanksgiving with friends, something casual.
Maybe Tuesday. He rolled to his back, arms folded behind his head.
According to his mama, Tick wasn’t flying in until late Wednesday afternoon, so if they did this thing Tuesday night, he wouldn’t have to navigate that emotional morass.
He squashed the little voice whispering she was right about him avoiding emotional conflict.
Okay, fine, he avoided his cousin, but damn.
What else was he supposed to do? Make Tick, who couldn’t even look at him, uncomfortable and torment himself?
If they did this Tuesday, he’d have to contend with Barlow, but he could handle that, handle being with people who knew the worst of him for a couple of hours.
“Tuesday works.”
“Great.” She wriggled to sit up, cross-legged and facing him, his shirt slipping off one shoulder, the button that had come undone while they slept offering a tantalizing view of the curve of her breasts.
In the early rosy light filtering in the windows, her hair glimmered like a gold curtain.
Her bright gaze danced over the room. “My place would probably work better. I love it here, but I have more room for people to spread out.”
“Sounds good.” He was fine with her place — he didn’t want Barlow or even David and Mackey in his space.
Hell, Del and Chuck hadn’t even been inside here.
Not that he’d invited them or anything. He saw them at church or family functions, golfed with them and Gene every so often, but the days of hanging out with his cousins were long behind him.
“Plus, Lorraine and Barb usually share a sitter, so being on the same street for dinner is good for them.” She leaned sideways to grab her phone from the nightstand.
The subtle scent of his soap blended with her warm skin drifted over him.
Biting her bottom lip, she typed out a long text.
“You’ll get with Andy and Wally, right?”
Mid-stretch, he stilled, toes pointed toward the end of the bed. On an even breath, he came back to rest. “We’re good with your crew.”
Her thumbs paused, and she lifted a narrow-eyed gaze to his face, trying to figure him out like he was some particularly difficult poem. “Any particular reason you don’t want to include your friends?”
“You know Wally gets me in trouble.” That was easier than getting into how Wally resented Tick and his buddies. Colt refused to discuss it, always had, because he was in the wrong. That was all that mattered.
Her lips plumped to a twisted pout. “I sincerely doubt he’ll lead you astray over a bowl of soup.”
Neck itchy and tight, he jackknifed to sit up, wrists on his knees. Once upon a time, they’d all been buddies. Those friendships had carried past high school, too, until Colt ruined everything. “Holly, you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Let’s leave my friends out of this.” He scuffed a palm over his nape. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Colt, the idea is that we are blending our lives—”
“I’ll ask—” He swallowed Andy and Grace. He’d talk to Wally, too, and good ol’ Wally would refuse to be in the others’ presence, so ultimately it would all be fine. “I’ll talk to them.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me here?”
He shrugged. “Wally’s social life kinda revolves around Pete’s work schedule. During the week, Andy’s usually doing sports stuff with the kids.”
She studied him, lips pursed. Defensiveness prickled up his neck.
“I said I’d talk to them, babe.”
Lips firmed, she let it go, and he released a relieved breath.
Okay, fine, she might have a point about him and emotional conflict, but honestly — nobody wanted to experience Wally when he was on a roll.
And he’d probably get on one if they “blended” their friends.
Colt didn’t want to experience that.
The subject stayed dead while they shared breakfast then parted for the day.
Like most Saturdays, Holly had plans — updating her clothing sales display at Aunt Lenora’s store, a couple of photo sessions.
With the cabin quiet, the walls pressing in a little, Colt turned Ralph loose in the backyard and escaped to the shed.
Today felt like a woodworking day, sanding and shaping and smoothing, taking something rough and transforming it to something useful and beautiful.
He was deep into thought, hand planing, nose filled with the sharp, clean smell of fresh cedar, when Ralph’s wild barking filtered into his awareness. He straightened, recognized the heavy footsteps on the gravel outside the shed, and groaned.
Wally.
Damn it. A guy couldn’t catch a break and some peace if he tried.
He didn’t look up when Wally strolled in, only kept running the thinnest of curls off the edge of the cedar board.
“Whatcha up to, son?” Wally’s bass filled the room, like his presence always did. He didn’t know how to fade into the background, and he was one of those guys nobody ever overlooked.
Colt rolled the board sideways and examined the line. “What does it look like?”
Wally picked up one of the dowels Colt had cut earlier in the week, fingering the smooth end. “This is nice work.”
“It’s a dowel rod.” By now, he should be used to Wally in his workspace, but his voice still came out terse. If he’d had any sense, he’d never have invited Wally into this part of his life.
“That looks good.” Wally ran a hand over the small chest, front filled with smaller rectangular boxes like an old-school card catalog.
The light finish allowed the color and grain of the cedar to shine through.
The containers had taken a couple of months, the painstaking joinery threatening to make him come unglued more than once.
He was kind of proud of the finished product, though.
He’d thought of giving it to Louise for Christmas, but that would open a door he didn’t want to go through.
The chest would find a good home at the assisted living place.
“Go for a pretty penny if you put it in the gallery in Thomasville.”
“Yep.” They’d had this conversation a hundred times. One day, Wally might give it up. “Probably.”
He worked in silence a few moments while Wally ambled down the back wall, examining his projects, finished and half-done and barely started. Wally picked up a mug, one of a set just back from the kiln. “I don’t get you, Colt.”
“Huh.” Colt blew a curl out of the planer.
“Most people want to share their talent.”
Talent? Right. Chuck was talented, gifted in the way he could look at wood and turn out somebody’s dream. Colt was . . . what was he? Bored, maybe. Restless and in need of an outlet. A guy could only run or work out so much, and he liked having something to do with his hands.
“I share it with you.” He set the planer aside and picked up his ruler and pencil, ready to mark off his joinery points. “You should feel privileged.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Bent over the workbench, Colt shrugged, measuring twice, then penciling.
“You and Holly good?”
Colt closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have shared that part of his life with Wally and Andy, either. “Yep.”
“Figure she’s good for you.” Wally ran a fingertip around the edge of a wooden stand Colt had varnished Wednesday night while Holly was at church with her mama. “Get you outside yourself.”
With a harsh sigh, Colt dropped his pencil and straightened. “Pete working Tuesday?”
“No.”
Shit.
“Holly wants us to host a Friendsgiving at her place. You know, soup and stuff.” He rested his hands on his workstation. “I’m supposed to invite you.”
Turning another dowel in his hand, Wally snorted. “That’s a real gracious invite there, Colt. Sue would be proud.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Let me talk to Pete. Sure he’ll be down for it, though.” The dowel made another slow rotation in Wally’s fingers. Colt’s skin crawled. “He thinks she’s great.”
“She is great.” He pressed his fingertips into the scarred table. “Need you to keep your attitude toned down that night if we do this.”
“I don’t have to tone a damn thing down, buddy.” Wally’s voice remained even, dowel still turning in his easy hold. “I ain’t you, and I’m not gonna be. You want to wear that hairshirt? Fine. But I didn’t put one on when you did.”
He dug his fingers down so hard his knuckles ached. “Wally.”
The impressive wall of Wally’s chest puffed out. “You get the only reason I keep my mouth shut is out of respect for you, right?”
He restrained himself from slinging his pencil and ruler, maybe the planer and the hand drill. The drill would make a satisfying crack against the plank walls. “You get I’m the one that fucked up, right?”
“Arguing with your stubborn ass is a waste of time.” Wally laid the dowel aside. He lifted his hands, palms parallel and mimed a forward-moving tunnel. “You get locked into this perspective and there’s no shaking you, no matter how damaging to yourself that perspective is.”
“Thank you for letting it go, then.”
“I think you like it.” Wally folded his arms over his chest. “Being limited by your own guilt. Gives you a nice, safe little rut to exist in.”
Fury left an acrid smell in his nose. “I exist just fine.”
“You know Holly Callahan isn’t going to put up with your bullshit long term.” Wally made a noise in his throat. “Maybe she’ll be able to shift you, since Andy and I haven’t been able to in damn near a decade.”
His breath grew short in his suddenly tight chest. He wasn’t stupid, and Wally was right – Holly wouldn’t be satisfied with his rut for very long, which meant she wouldn’t be satisfied with him very long.
Nothing new there.
A cloying nausea pushed into his throat. Shit, he was stupid . . . he hadn’t thought any of this out. She’d stepped into his arms that first night, kissed him, and all he’d seen was what he wanted, how he might finally have . . .
Damn it.
That was his problem, he never thought ahead. He just did stuff and picked up the pieces afterward. And he’d not thought ahead, considered that if he let her in, she’d end up picking up pieces, too. The idea of that, of hurting her, made him sick.
Maybe he needed to offer her an out now, before it was too late.