9. Piper #3
Before I can respond, Callan—who has no idea he’s about to be murdered—chimes in. “I’m happy to drop her back.”
I don’t see Callan’s face, but I do see Christian’s, and fuck me, it’s a look that screams I think the fuck not louder than words ever could.
“I’m here now,” Christian mutters under his breath. “May as well stay.”
“Well, okay, cowboy.” I slip into my bartender persona, the one that lets me flirt with him without consequences. “What can I get you? The usual?” A slow smile tugs at those full lips, and my knees damn near buckle at the sight of it.
My mouth goes dry, and my thoughts go filthy. Because I know—I just fucking know—that he’d kiss like a goddamn savage. The kind of kiss that leaves your lips bruised and your thighs clenching, that ruins you for anyone after and makes you crave more, even as you’re still gasping from the last one.
One day, I’m kissing the hell out of this man. It’s happening, even if it means running away and changing my name. Because sometimes, it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Not always, sure. But in this case? Hell yes.
I know I walked ass-first into this disaster when I agreed to stay at the farm. But Jesus Christ, can you blame me? When Christian Crawford looks at you like he wants to drink you down and lick the glass clean, rational thinking doesn’t just leave the building—it takes a rocket to the fucking moon.
“Yeah, my usual, please, Piper.”
I reach for the top-shelf bourbon, feeling his eyes burning trails across my skin.
Christian might want to bend me over this bar and ruin me for all other men, but he’s too fucking honorable to actually do it.
And even though I understand it, even though I know why he won’t, it’s still the thing that’s going to kill me.
I set his drink down, but before I can escape, his voice stops me cold. “How’s your dirty book going?”
“A gentleman ought to know better than to ask a lady that.” I try to look scandalized, pressing my hand to my chest, but my smile gives me away.
“I never claimed to be a gentleman,” he drawls, and I swear my stomach does somersaults.
He leans back on his stool and lifts his whiskey to his lips.
“Not all the time, anyway. Some situations call for a different kind of man.” He takes a lazy sip, watching me over the rim of the glass.
“Besides, I’ve heard the way you deal with some of the guys here, and that mouth doesn’t always belong to a lady. ”
“No? So, who does this mouth belong to, then?”
Christian stills, his eyes turning to midnight black, burning with something that makes my core clench so hard I almost have to grip the bar to stay standing.
“You tell me, darlin’. Because up until the last few days, I thought I knew.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry, and my heart is thumping so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. “Maybe someday you’ll ask me that question again, and I’m hoping when you do, I’ll actually have an answer for you.”
I force myself to turn away, heading toward Jimbo, and I can feel Christian’s gaze trailing down my back. Because that wasn’t flirting or our usual game of pretend.
That was a fucking promise.
“You want another, Jim?” I ask, leaning against the bar, watching the man with the brown worn-out hat and a beard that hangs below his neck nurse his beer.
“I wanna know how you got that one to smile.” He jerks his chin toward Christian, who’s perched a few stools down the bar.
“I heard that,” Christian calls out.
“Good, I was hoping you would.”
Christian tips his glass toward Jimbo. “Haven’t lost my hearing yet. Not like you, old man. ”
“Old man? I’ll whoop your ass for that, boy.”
“Yeah? Gonna chase me ’round with a fork again?”
Jimbo shakes his head, the deep grooves in his face creasing with amusement. “Swear to god, he and his brothers were little tyrants when they were kids. Always causing trouble wherever they went.”
“Now that I believe.” Christian’s eyes catch mine, and a slow smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Which one was the worst?”
Jimbo barks out a laugh. “You’re lookin’ at him.”
Christian huffs, shaking his head, but there’s pride there, glinting in those dark eyes. “That’s the last free Christmas tree you’re getting from me, Jim. Next year, you’re paying double.”
“Pfft, whatever. You love my Mags too much to do that.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, he gives his trees away. Like my heart wasn’t already halfway in love with him.
“She holding up okay?” Christian asks.
Jimbo’s fingers wrap around his bottle a little tighter. “You know… good days and bad.” Christian nods, something soft settling across his features that’s so achingly tender it twists something deep in my chest.
“She still getting out to the market?”
Jimbo exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Not as much. She gets tired easily, but she’s stubborn as hell, so she still tries. Made it out last Saturday. Damn near wiped herself out for three days after.”
“Tell her I’ll swing by this week. I’ll bring her one of the small firs. I know how much she likes the smell.”
Jimbo nods, his throat working as he slowly sips his drink. “She’d like that, son.”
Christian sidles up next to Jimbo, closer now, and suddenly, this moment feels bigger than me. I take that as my cue to leave and step back. Some conversations need space to breathe, and this one’s got more weight than their usual shit-talking.
An hour or so later, I slip away to the bathroom, grateful for a moment to breathe away from Christian and the way he seems to command every inch of space around him just by existing.
But the second I step back into the bar, my whole body locks up like it already knows something’s wrong.
I walk straight into Callan’s back, and it’s like colliding with a mountain.
He’s planted in front of me like a human shield, arms crossed over his massive chest, and his muscles coiled tight beneath his white T-shirt.
He’s not moving, not budging an inch, and the protective stance he’s taken tells me everything I need to know.
Whatever’s happening on the other side of him isn’t something he wants me to see.
“Cal?” I try to step around him, but his arm shoots out like a steel bar, holding me in place.
I peek past him and freeze. Travis is looming over Christian, his face flushed that ugly red it gets when he’s about to explode, his shoulders are bunched tight, and his fists are clenched by his sides.
However, Christian simply sits there, spine straight, shoulders squared, and as calm as still water while a storm rages inches from his face.
I push against Callan, trying to move past him. “I don’t always listen to my brother, Piper, but right now, he wants you back.”
I have no idea what Travis just said, but whatever it was, it was the final straw.
Christian’s up in a flash, towering over Travis like a man who’s been here before and doesn’t give a damn who’s watching.
His hand shoots out, fingers clamping around Travis’s arm with a grip so tight I can see it through the fabric of his jacket.
There’s no warning or raised voice; he just drags Travis toward the door, weaving through the crowd like it’s nothing, hauling him right out of sight before anyone else can notice what’s happening.
Callan follows, as do I, ignoring both their orders.
Outside, Christian shoves Travis toward the pickup with enough force to jolt him off balance. “Get in the fucking truck.”
Woah.
I’m turned on.
I’m deranged.
And I probably need therapy.
“I’m not leaving Piper here with you,” Travis slurs, swaying on his feet.
Christian’s jaw flexes, and Callan steps forward. “She’s working, Travis. Go with your old man and sleep it off.”
“Piper—” Travis’s shout makes Christian shoot his brother a look that says, You had one fucking job . “Did you pack your shit like I told you to?”
“No, because I’m not leaving.”
“God, you’re such a…”
“Do not finish that fucking sentence. Now get in the truck.”
Travis drunkenly shoves at his dad’s chest. “Fuck you. I’m only like this because I’m stuck in this shitty town, being dragged around for a family I can’t even stand half the time.”
Callan steps forward and manhandles Travis, pushing him toward his own truck. He shoves him into the passenger seat, slams the door shut, and plants himself in front of it like a bodyguard, arms crossed over his chest, daring Travis to try and move.
“Go back inside, Piper,” Christian says, his voice like steel. “He’s been drinking all day, and I don’t want him anywhere near you like this.”
I peek through the window at Travis, who’s flipping off his dad with all the emotional maturity of a wet paper towel.
Callan drags in a breath. “I’ll take him back to Silverpine. If you two are stuck in that house together tonight, it’s gonna end in a bloodbath.”
“We can lock up.” The words barely leave my mouth before Christian releases a heavy sigh, his eyes cutting straight to where his brother stands.
“Thanks, Cal. I appreciate it.”
Without another word, he ushers me back toward the bar with a firm hand resting on the small of my back.
My thoughts are running a goddamn marathon because I have no idea what happened between going to the bathroom and coming back. One second, I’m rinsing my hands and fixing my hair. Next, Travis is outside being shoved into a truck.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, both of us behind the bar while the regulars do a piss-poor job of pretending they’re not watching us. Christian draws in a breath through his nose, running a rough hand down his face before placing his hat on the counter behind him.
“Apparently, he went back to his mom’s and spent the whole day drinking himself stupid with his friend Adam. ”
“They do that most weekends. He doesn’t usually come back here though. Probably because my sister would slam the door in his face if he tried to knock while he was drunk.”
Christian’s hands settle on his hips, his head falling back as he stares at the ceiling like it might have the answers to all his problems.
“Christian?” I say softly.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek before I speak, searching for the right words.“Travis doesn’t wanna change. He is who he is. And I know you try with him. Christ, I’ve watched you bend over backward trying to reach him. But just like we can’t pick our parents, we also can’t pick our kids.”
“I don’t give up on people. Not him, not anyone. Not unless I’ve tried every last thing and there’s nothing worth fighting for.”
“And you shouldn’t.” I step closer, needing him to really hear this. “But I see you, Christian. I see how much you try and how much it costs you every time he throws it back in your face.”
“I suppose you think I’m wasting my time, right?”
“Yeah.” His dark eyes snap to mine like he’s finally hearing the truth for the first time. “But that’s what makes you a good dad. Knowing it’s probably hopeless and showing up anyway.”
“I’m not a good father, Piper. Not even close.”
“That’s not true.”
“Trust me.” He moves in, backing me up until the bar digs into my spine. “I’m the worst kind of man.” Another inch and he’s right there, close enough that I can breathe him in. “The things I think about… the things I want… they make me deserve every bit of Travis’s hate.”
He’s watching me like he wants to tear me apart and put me back together using nothing but his hands, his mouth, and the weight of his body against mine.
“But you… you make me not give a damn about anything except taking.” He won’t look at me now, his eyes darting everywhere but my face.
And I get it—I see why. Because if he meets my gaze, he’s crossing that line.
He’s shoving aside guilt and consequence, morality and blood ties, and he’s taking every last piece of me.