Chapter 7
One second, Freya is chilling peacefully near my feet, digging at something between the roots of the tree. The next, she emits a clucking battle cry and charges into the shadows behind the swing.
I spin, half expecting to see a drunken Nate coming back for another unwanted cuddle.
But it isn’t Nate, it’s Wesley. He isn’t moving quickly or aggressively—the things that would usually set Freya off—but I’ve been fostering my cousin Nancy’s ferret long enough to know when she’s in attack mode.
My lips part in a warning for Wes to back off, but it’s too late. Freya is already leaping into the air, her sharp fangs aimed between his legs.
I bolt from the swing as my heart leaps into my throat, every cell in my body electrified with panic. I may be annoyed at Wesley right now, but not annoyed enough to wish harm upon any part of him—especially that part I can’t stop dreaming about, fantasizing about, moaning about as I guide my vibrator between my legs and wish he were in bed with me to pull my hair and tell me what an incredible fuck I am.
“No, Freya! Down! Let him go!” I rush toward the scene of my volatile charge’s latest attack, praying I can get her dislodged before she does permanent damage. “Wesley, hold still! Don’t move.”
“Not moving,” he says, freezing in a bow-legged position with his arms raised in surrender that has the teenagers behind him snickering. And yes, he looks funny with his legs spread and a long, writhing ferret dangling between his thighs, but it isn’t kind to laugh at another person’s misfortune, even if you are sixteen and have yet to develop an adult-sized helping of empathy.
Glancing their way, I snap, “You three, go get Barrett. We need a doctor out here, ASAP. Go. Now! If he bleeds to death when she lets go, I’m blaming you for standing there giggling when you should be going for help.”
The teens hustle away, and I lower my voice, “Okay, Freya, calm down. We all just need to calm down.”
“I won’t bleed to death,” Wesley says, triggering another round of aggressive dooking from Freya. Dooking is the ferret equivalent to “barking,” but it sounds more like a husky chicken cluck than a bark.
“Hush,” I whisper. “She doesn’t like loud male voices.”
“Sorry,” he whispers in an almost comically soft tone. “I just meant she didn’t break skin. She’s hanging from my pants.”
I exhale, my shoulders dropping away from my ears in relief. “Thank God,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry. She doesn’t usually get aggressive unless someone is coming in hard and fast.” I reach for the ferret, whispering, “Here now, love. It’s all right. He isn’t going to hurt us. I promise. There, now.” As her body goes still, I cradle her bottom in one hand and reach for her mouth with the other. “Just let go. That’s right.” I apply gentle pressure to both sides of her jaw with my fingers and thumb.
After a beat, her small fangs slide free from Wesley’s pants, leaving two tiny holes behind.
Rocking her in the crook of my arm, I step back, scratching her scruff until her clucking takes on more of a purring quality. Only when she’s relaxed do I tell Wes, “Okay, you can stand up and back away slowly.”
“Standing,” he says, rising from his crouched position, his hands still raised. “But is it okay if I don’t back away just yet? I wanted to apologize.”
“All right,” I say, my fingers still playing through Freya’s fur beneath her ribbon. “You’ve apologized. Now, you can go tell Barrett that you’re not dying.”
“Please, Tessa, can’t we talk?” he asks, his voice low and soft and every bit as sexy as I remember. God, I love the way he says my name. No one has ever been able to make me shiver with a single word the way he does.
But no one has ever made me so ashamed of myself, either.
This sweet-and-dirty-talking man turned me into a cheater. Or a cheating accomplice, anyway, and that’s not something I can forgive. Especially considering the way things played out after our night in the woods.
He didn’t end things with his girlfriend that day, the way he insisted he would. He stayed with Darcy for another twomonths.
Two months during which I felt like a monster, torn apart by guilt.
A part of me desperately wanted to tell her that Wes had cheated, but that wasn’t my place. And I was a little terrified of what would happen if she found out. My internet stalking led me to believe that Darcy was a sweet woman, beloved by the other dental hygienists in her practice, but her twin sister was another story. Daria seems flat-out terrifying, the kind of maniac who jumps out of airplanes for fun and has a habit of getting hauled into the police station for “brawling” at the local honky-tonk.
I am not a woman who “brawls.” I’ve never even slapped another person. The most violence I’ve exhibited was while defending myself from Carl.
So, I kept my silence, letting the guilt eat me alive and my resentment toward this very sexy man grow with every passing day. And yes, he finally did end things, but by then, it was too late.
Way too late.
Too late for his apology to make any difference or for there to be any chance for there to be anything between us. Even friendship would be a stretch…mostly because I know I can’t be friends with someone I want to lick as much as I want to lick Wesley McGuire.
So, I lift my nose into the air and say, “There’s nothing to talk about.”
His brows draw together. “You don’t believe that. I know you don’t. That night was special, Tessa. You felt it, too, I know you did.”
“What I felt is irrelevant,” I say. “I was feeling things without all the facts, rendering those feelings meaningless.” I cuddle the ferret closer. “Now, you should go before you upset Freya again. Like I said, she doesn’t care for men.”
“Then why did you bring her to an event with literally dozens of men in attendance?” he asks. “Not to be an asshole, but I think it’s a reasonable question.”
Standing up straighter, I huff, “She isn’t dangerous. Yes, sometimes, she’ll charge at someone if they’re charging at me, but that’s only because she’s a very sweet, protective little beast. She’s never come after someone who was just walking before.” I arch an imperious brow. “Maybe she sensed something uniquely awful about you. Ever think of that?”
He winces, almost making me feel bad until he says, “I’m not awful. I made a mistake, but it isn’t one I ever intend to make again. Haven’t you ever done something you weren’t proud of?”
“Yes,” I say, my pulse picking up again. “I helped a man cheat and kept quiet about it for two whole months while he strung his girlfriend along, and I’ve felt horrible about it ever since. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to—”
He reaches out, catching my elbow as I start past him, triggering another warning dook from Freya. He pulls his hand away as her snout shifts toward him but doesn’t step back.
In fact, the ballsy man leans forward, until his lips are only a few inches from mine before he whispers, “I can explain. Please, give me a chance to explain. Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night. Just one night, one meal, and if you still hate me afterward, I’ll stay out of your way. I promise. I just…I can’t stop thinking about you, Tessa. About that night. It was special to me. You’re special.”
I’m weakening, I can feel it.
Amazingly, so is Freya.
When I glance down—needing a break from Wesley’s soul-penetrating breed of eye contact—I’m shocked to see Freya leaning into the fingers Wes scratches gently at her neck.
Freya’s hatred of all male beings is the reason I’m fostering her in the first place. When my cousin Nancy’s third husband moved in last year, Nancy assumed the two of them would eventually learn to get along. But six months and numerous turds-in-his-shoes later, Allan issued an ultimatum—it was him or the beastie.
Knowing Allan, I would have chosen the ferret, but Nancy was on her way to drop Freya at the shelter when I ran into her at my aunt’s house. Feeling sorry for the poor thing, I agreed to foster her for a few months, until the heat blew over at home and Nancy might be able to talk Allan into giving Freya another chance.
With my cousin’s luck with men, I figured she and Allan might be separated by then, and she’d be eager to reunite with her pet.
But Allan and Nancy are still going strong, and Freya has quickly become so much more than a foster. Mel calls her my “emotional support weasel,” a phrase I’ve started using myself when we’re hanging out around the house, and I need a reminder as to why I’m no longer even trying to date.
I’ve sworn off men because they’re the real weasels. After twenty-two years of dating, and only a handful of relationships that were even functional, let alone enjoyable or stable, I’ve had it. I’m done.
Let the rest of the female race keep fighting the good fight. I’ll stay home and bake cookies and grow increasingly pudgy with a pet who would never break my heart or betray my trust. It wasn’t a hard decision to make, honestly, and became even easier once I adopted Freya. I knew she would never tolerate a man in my life.
But here she is, falling under Wesley’s spell the same way I did.
The sight sends a rush of protective energy flowing through my veins.
I step back, cuddling the ferret closer to my chest, keeping her safe from Wesley’s seductive fingers. “I’m sorry, no. I can’t. I’m busy tomorrow night and all the nights after.”
His lips part, but before he can speak, Barrett calls out from near the fire pits, “Are you okay? Wes? Tyler said you’d been bitten by something?”
As Wes turns toward his brother to explain, I slip away, hurrying back toward the barn, where I hug Mel goodbye and explain I’m taking Freya home before she can castrate any of the McGuire men.
Mel cuts a glance toward the back of the barn before turning back to me. “Are you sure? Mom has spare kennels in the garage. We could tuck Freya into one for a couple hours to decompress if you want to stay.”
I shake my head. “It’s almost eleven and you know I turn into a pumpkin after midnight. But thank you for a beautiful evening.” I lean in to hug her again. “You were a gorgeous bride and the vows were perfect, especially Aaron’s.” We pull back with a laugh, silently acknowledging that her sexy new hubby is the touchy-feely one. I tuck a stray daisy back into her flower crown with a smile. “I couldn’t be happier for you guys. Or Chase. He’s a lucky little boy.”
“That’s what Wes said,” she says, glancing toward the open door again. “Did he find you? I was pretty sure he was coming to apologize.”
“He found me and he did, but it doesn’t matter,” I say, pressing on before she can respond. “And I don’t need to be fixed up with anyone, Mel. Especially someone I know isn’t right for me.”
Mel’s lips turn down at the edges. “But—”
“No buts,” I cut in, forcing a grin as I add. “Remember, I’ve sworn off men. For keeps. It’s just me and Freya from now on, and I feel good about that. Honestly. Sometimes quitting is a good thing. Very freeing.”
Mel sighs. “Okay. Well, I hope you and the weasel get home safe. And enjoy your time off. We’ve both earned two weeks of fun!”
“Have a fantastic honeymoon!” I wave and start toward the opposite end of the barn, toward the even larger doors and the path leading up to the McGuire farmhouse. I’m nearly to the field across the street, now filled with wedding guests’ cars, when I catch a whiff of sweet-smelling smoke that takes me straight back to high school.
I haven’t smelled a clove cigarette in ages. I’m pretty sure they’re illegal in the U.S. in fact…
I turn to see a glowing red dot in the shadows on the front porch. There’s just enough light from the lamp by the door to make out the outline of a woman in a long dress with a spiky halo around her head.
“Binx?” I ask, knowing her by the hair.
She shaved her long, gorgeous brown locks into a buzz cut several months ago, an action that scandalized the entire McGuire clan—especially her mother. She’s been growing it out ever since, but it’s still only a few inches long.
“Hey,” she murmurs in her husky voice as I cross to the porch. “Don’t tell the clan that you caught me smoking, okay? Especially not my secret stash of cloves. I thought I had time before anyone else decided to leave. Just needed something to take the edge off.” She stubs the cigarette out in the top of a mason jar on the windowsill. “Weddings, right?”
I sigh. “Yeah, but as far as weddings go, it was a great one.”
“It was,” she says. “I’m really happy for Mel, I’m just…tired. Tired of a gazillion relatives asking me when it’s going to be my turn and why a ‘pretty girl like me’ couldn’t find a date to the wedding and Uncle Richard’s not-so-subtle offer to hook me up with his laser tattoo removal specialist.”
I make a sympathetic sound that Freya echoes, clucking low in her throat. As much as my sweet beast reviles the male of the species, she adores women, Binx in particular. When she squirms in my arms, I release her onto the porch without hesitation.
“Aw, hey there, slinky girl,” Binx says, a smile in her voice as Freya hops up onto her lap. “You like my tattoos, don’t you?”
Freya clucks in agreement and scampers up the front of Binx’s dress to wrap around her neck, like a living mink stole from the 1920s.
“She does and I do, too,” I say. “I thought the full sleeve looked beautiful with your bridesmaid dress. The blue made the pinks and yellows in the flowers pop, and I hardly noticed the skull.”
Binx chuckles. “You’re sweet. My mother noticed the skull, big time. She threatened to drag me into the bathroom and have Dad sit on me while she tried to cover it up with foundation. The only way I escaped without an episode of adult child abuse was by threatening to leave and never come back. And to miss Mel’s wedding.”
The words connect like an elbow to the gut. In McGuire-land that’s a serious threat, and one I’m sure is going to have ripple effects for some time to come. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” she says, her tone taking a turn for the melancholy once more. “Now I’m really the black sheep of the family. I’ll be getting the silent treatment from my parents, while Mom lights candles for me at church, for the foreseeable future.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I understand the older generation has certain standards for what they deem appropriate, but…you’re a grown woman. You’re successful and kind and fun and you have the right to do whatever you want with your body.”
Binx swipes a hand across her cheek, laughing as Freya leans in to lick her knuckles. “Thanks. But they don’t believe that. They think I’m wild and embarrassing and that my body is an extension of the larger, McGuire-family body.” She sniffs, confirming my suspicion that she’s crying. I’ve never seen Binx cry. She’s the kind who keeps emotions other than joy or anger closer to the chest. “I just want to be myself without losing my family. Is that so wrong?”
“Of course not, sweetheart,” I say, my heart breaking for her. “I’m so sorry you’re in this tough place.”
Freya grips Binx’s wrist, holding her hand prisoner for more vigorous, comforting licks.
Binx laughs and sniffs again. “Thanks, Freya. And you, too, Tess. You’re a good one. Mel’s lucky to have you as a friend.”
“I’m your friend, too,” I say. “I hope you know that.”
“I do,” Binx says, her voice lifting as she asks, “So…you want to go grab a drink somewhere? Commiserate about being the only single women at the party? Talk shit about Aunt Evie’s hideous orange dress?”
“I would, but I have the beastie,” I say, motioning toward Freya.
“That’s okay. I know a place that doesn’t care if you bring animals. As long as they’re on a leash. Cute little dive bar with cheap beer and fun mixed drinks. Do you have her harness in the car?”
“I do,” I say, not sure if I’m ready to bring my man-hating ferret to a Bad Dog bar, especially not a dive bar where the men are likely to be rough around the edges. “But if a guy gets close enough to hit on us, Freya might rip his heart out. She’s protective tonight.”
Binx stands, laughing. “No worries. No one will hit on us. I’ll scare them off with my short hair and bulging muscles. Bad Dog men like a frail, delicate woman. Not one who’s obsessed with weight training.”
“They don’t like women near forty, either, so we’ll probably be safe,” I say, warming to the idea of a little single lady time. “All right. Let’s do it. Should I follow you in my car?”
“Nah, I’ll ride with you,” Binx says as she jumps off the porch, juggling Freya easily in her arms. “I’ll leave my car here and get one of my brothers to pick it up in the morning. Wesley’s always up for a good deed and he’s less likely to be hungover than the rest of them. Even Barrett was tying one on tonight. Taking advantage of the fact that his wife’s all knocked up and can’t drink, I guess.”
At the mention of Wesley’s name, I hesitate, but then Binx loops her arm through mine and guides me across the gravel road toward the cars. “And on the way, you can tell me all the hot catering gossip. Is it true that Georgia Devereux threw a cake at her mother during her baby shower?”
I smile. “It was a cupcake, not a cake, but it’s true. Then she went wild on the appetizers, pelting her sorority sisters with grilled shrimp and canapes. Mel had to charge her mother an extra five hundred dollars for clean-up. Apparently, third-trimester baby rage is no joke.”
Binx clucks her tongue. “I guess. But to be fair, Georgia has always been a wild card. One time, in high school, she set fire to the wrestling mats in the gym because she was pissed that boy sports got more funding than girl sports.”
“I get that. Back when I was in high school, Bad Dog didn’t even have a girls’ soccer team. When my family moved here from Washington, I was so sad.”
Binx and I chat about catering gossip and female rage as I guide my tiny Jetta out of the field and onto the road. But when I glance over at the festively lit barn, where so many people I adore are still dancing and enjoying the wedding, I don’t feel angry anymore.
I just feel…sad.
If only things had played out differently, maybe I’d be leaving the party with a different McGuire sibling, one I know I could fall head over heels for. But I can’t turn back time or arrange to spend a passionate night with Wesley after he was a single man.
History can be rewritten, but it can never be changed, a fact that’s about to hit home in wild and unexpected ways…