Lead Me Knot

Chapter 1

Baylor Greene

I can hear a heavy sigh leave my sister’s mouth on the other end of the call. “It’s a delay that has you arriving in the middle of the night, Baylor,” she says. “And if it’s still storming when you land, driving out to Peachtree Pass won’t be safe.”

“An hour and a half.”

“On a day with perfect weather. Two, even three hours on a bad night.”

“Look, you might still see me as your brother, Pri— Christine . . .” Some habits die hard.

I'm not sure I’ll ever get used to calling her by the name my mom gave her instead of the nickname I’ve taunted her with her whole life.

But I promised her and my best friend—my traitorous best friend who fell on his ass in love with my little sister—I’d give it the ole college try.

“I’m a thirty-three-year-old man who takes care of himself all on his own in New York.

I’ll be fine driving in a little rain.” I stop and stare at the jetway jutting from the building, not tethered to a plane.

She laughs. It’s light but good to hear over the concern in her tone a minute prior. “I know you can take care of yourself. I’m used to worrying.”

“Take the night off, sis, and get some rest since I don’t know how long I’ll be delayed. I can even sleep over at Dad’s house instead. That way, I won’t bother you and the kids or Tagger when I’m sneaking in.”

“Dad needs his rest to recover from the knee surgery. And knowing him, he’ll hear a sound and be jumping out of bed to investigate the situation.”

Rubbing my temple, I lower my head. “Yeah, you’re right. There’s no sneaking around with those creaky floors. I’m not sure how to solve the issue.”

Another sigh follows a pause in her words, but then she says, “You’re only here until Monday, and you promised Beckett and Daisy you’d be here by morning?—”

I start pacing again. She’s right. I promised my nephew and niece I’d be there before they opened their eyes.

“The Pass needs to get with the times. We need some modern conveniences like a hotel or, hell, even a room to rent out, but I promise I’ll be there, even if I have to sleep on the front porch swing?—”

“That’s it.” Excitement streams through her tone.

“What’s it? The porch swing? I was kind of kidding.” Remembering a certain hideaway my sister once made, I laugh. “There’s always the barn?—”

“No. And no to the barn. But there is Lauralee.”

Although her best friend’s name conjures a few good shared memories like my sister’s wedding reception, I have no idea where she’s going with this. “I’m going to need more, Chris. When you say there is Lauralee?—?”

“She just finished the apartment above Peaches Sundries.” She takes a breath, and then the words rush out. “She hasn’t listed it for rent or on any short-term sites, but I know it’s ready to be listed. You could stay there tonight and come out to the ranch in the morning.” She tacks on, “Early.”

It’s not a bad idea. No tiptoeing around my sister and best friend’s house trying not to wake up the littles, or ending up at the barrel end of my dad’s rifle from sneaking into the house I grew up in. Both sound like good scenarios to avoid. “She won’t mind? I can pay her like any other renter.”

“You know she won’t let you, but you can offer if you want.”

“Should I text her?”

“No, it’s already late. I know she won’t mind. Just go around to the back of the shop and take the stairs to the second floor. She’s just pulled it together, so don’t make a mess.”

The rain hasn’t let up, prompting me to glance and confirm that the flight or gate information hasn’t been changed or canceled altogether for the night.

Austin is still prominently displayed as if hope still rests in the sign, and there’s still a chance we’ll get out of Dallas at some point tonight. “How will I get inside?”

“The key is under the pot at the top of the steps.”

We don’t have much crime in Peachtree Pass, but thinking about that key giving any ole stranger passing through town free entrance to the apartment, or worse, to Lauralee, doesn’t sit right with me. “It’s great she’s being safe,” I reply sarcastically.

My sister laughs again. “You can mention it the next time you see her.” As the laughter dies down, she adds, “Be safe, okay, big brother?”

It wasn’t storming the night our mom died, but an accident is always on the edge of my thoughts. I assume it is for my brother and sister as well. “I will be. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“I look forward to it.”

When we hang up, the weight of all this travel drags my eyelids south, eliciting a yawn and exhaustion I can’t shake. I head for the caffeine stand for a coffee and snack run, hoping to muster enough energy for the journey ahead.

I pull up to the back of the shop downtown just before three in the morning and park near the base of the metal staircase leading to the apartment.

The rain hasn’t lessened, and lightning has given me a show in the distance.

Thunder rattled the rental car a handful of times, causing me to slow down and drive with my hazards on a few occasions.

Now, looking up at the apartment that I didn’t know existed, I spy a turquoise door through the pounding rain and windshield wipers.

I eye the potted plant protectively tucked under the roof overhang next to the door, marking my target.

But I wait a minute, taking in the back of the small strip building.

It’s the back, but it needs some attention.

For tourists during the Peach Festival, there’s charm in a small town when buildings look aged.

This isn’t chosen charm. It’s looking run-down, except for the apartment.

That turquoise door shone like a beacon.

I grab my carry-on from the back seat and dart from the car, locking it as I dash up the stairs. The overhang covers the pot but not me, so I quickly tilt the pot to the side, spot the silver metal key, and snatch it up.

I’m grateful at the moment, but it’s fucking ridiculous she’s left the place so accessible.

The door opens without a squeal, and I’m hit with the faintest scent of something good, like muffins that just came out of the oven or waking up on Sundays to the smell of pancakes and bacon. My stomach growls as I close the door and lock up behind me.

Despite knowing Lauralee most of her life, I don’t know her well. She sure was pretty the last time I saw her, grown out of the awkward teenage years she had before I left for college. I once heard my mom mention she won Queen of the Peach Festival, as if that would matter to me for some reason.

Being here has me thinking about Lauralee Knot for the first time in years, probably since my best friend married my little sister.

I have plenty of women to occupy my thoughts in New York and even more to bury my past in what’s beneath me on any chosen night of the week.

No expectations. No obligations. I have the freedom to do as I please at any time, which is more often than I should be proud to admit.

I open my case on the living room floor and grab my toiletry bag before finding the bathroom tucked inside the bedroom and to the left. I close the door but laugh, wondering why. Habit? Although I’m alone, I guess it’s because I’m in unfamiliar territory.

I want to shower after I brush my teeth and strip off my clothes, but I’m too tired to go through the rigmarole of it. I decide that sleep is a better use of my time.

The room is too dark to find my way, so I use my phone to guide me, then I set it on the nightstand. Fucking exhausted. I drop onto the soft mattress, knowing I’ll pass out in point two seconds after hitting the bed.

A loud clunk and someone gasping has me sitting upright. “Hello?”

There’s no response, but the whoosh of air next to my head leads to something squishy knocking me sideways.

“What the hell?” A feather from the pillow clings to the tip of my nose.

I groan before the heel of a foot slams against my chest, sending me off the bed.

My head meets the corner of the nightstand just as my ass lands on the rug. “Fuck!”

Bed springs creaking under pressure forewarns me of the impending shadow of a body ready to land wrestling-style on top of me. Lightning cracks, and the room brightens for a flash of a second, but it’s enough to catch a glimpse of her staring. “Lauralee!”

Everything stills, and the silence in the room becomes deafening, but it might be the blood rushing in my ears. “Baylor?”

With my arms still up and ready to block her next stunt, the words leave my mouth in a fight against time. “It’s me.”

The sound of her landing on the hardwood floors is met with a rapid succession of footsteps across the room. She flips the light on, and my eyes clamp shut as I turn to the side.

“Oh my God.” She asks, “Baylor, are you okay?”

“Not really,” I reply, pushing up to sit. Touching the side of my head, I grumble, “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

“You didn’t hit your eye, did you?”

“Barely missed. Fuck,” I moan, a throb already taking over.

Her fingers are cool against the heat of my head, and as her body blocks the light, I finally open my eyes and look up at her.

With her dark hair twisted on top of her head and held by a bright pink wrap, I get a full view of her face, causing my breath to choke in my chest. Not a lick of makeup hides her natural beauty, although concern rankles through her forehead.

Dropping to her knees in front of me, she rubs her fingers gently over the pulsing injury while her eyes stay fixed on it. When her gaze slides down to mine, she says, “I’m sorry. I thought you were an intruder.”

“Guess I know why you leave the key out front. No one stands a chance against you.”

Her hands fall to her lap as she rests back on her legs. “What are you doing here?” There’s no anger in her tone, only curiosity, the lines of worry finally smoothing.

“Long story.”