Love Me Brazen
Meg
“You weren’t kidding about this being a one-horse town,” Quinn says from the passenger seat. “Remind me again why you wanted to come back here, of all places?”
“Because it’s pretty, and it’s peaceful,” I say, though if I had known my new neighbor would be running his power tools at all hours of the day and night, I never would have bought the cute A-frame I moved into last fall.
Quinn’s expression softens. “Is it helping?”
“I don’t know.” I lower both windows to let in the warm summer breeze while turning out of the airport parking lot.
There’s another reason I wanted to move back to Finn River, but it’s too raw to talk about, even with Quinn.
“Well, tonight should move the needle,” Quinn says, slipping on her shades. “Maybe we’ll find you a cowboy to cozy up with, too.”
I shake my head. “Don’t you start with that.”
“Oh come on, what better way to celebrate your divorce being final?” Her glossy pink lips curve into a cunning grin. “You know what they say. Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
“I don’t have any horses that need saving.”
“Promise me you’ll at least think about it,” Quinn says as we stop at Finn River’s one and only traffic light.
I give her a noncommittal shrug. It’s easier than explaining the complicated reasons why I’m not in the market for a one-night stand, or any kind of action in the sex department. My vibrator and I have a wonderful relationship. She’s dependable, generous, and never guilt trips me for treating myself to a margarita and a hot bath instead. Then we have my heart, which is locked up tight. I loved David in the way I’ve always loved my people—big and with my whole heart. I’d given our marriage the best of myself, and it still wasn’t enough.
When I turn into my lakeside neighborhood, Quinn shifts in her seat, one eyebrow arching beneath her shades. “Okay, this is cute.”
“You think I’d bring you to some backwoods slum?”
She laughs. “If you’re happy, that’s all that matters to me.”
When I turn onto my street, and notice the truck parked in my neighbor’s driveway, I groan.
Quinn cocks her head. “What?”
“Nothing, just…” I thought he would be on shift today. “He’s home.”
“Who?”
“My neighbor.”
She lifts her shades to peer at me. “The firefighter? The one you can’t stand?”
“Yep.” I turn down my driveway, which parallels past his A-frame then descends to mine. The row of A-frames used to be summer cabins for the wealthy ranch families who founded Finn River. There are six in all, each within steps of Bear Lake. Apparently, the style is better for withstanding the heavy snowfall this area of Idaho gets every winter, a fact I didn’t fully consider until January and all that sloughed off snow piled up.
I love snow, but shoveling for hours, especially after trips when I have to fly with David, sucks.
“I hope you brought earplugs.” I park in front of my house and glance over Quinn’s head to where my neighbor’s expansive deck reno is underway. He’s thankfully not outside, so he’s either taking a break, or maybe his daughter, Greta is with him. How someone so irritating and grouchy could make such a spunky and delightful kid is totally beyond me.
We grab our black suitcases from my trunk and wheel them over the bumpy gravel to my porch.
“It’s adorable,” Quinn says while taking in my covered deck and the view of the lake visible from the right side, down a narrow strip of deck that connects to the one at the front of the house. With the sun gleaming off the calm water and the pretty aspen and cottonwoods shimmering in the soft summer breeze, it looks like a slice of heaven.
If only my neighbor would stop being so annoying, it would be perfect.
“Just wait until the sunset.” I unlock the door and we step inside the narrow entryway.
Quinn gasps. “Oh wow.” She gazes up, taking in the warm wood beams and the light pouring in from the giant windows at the front of the house.
A flash of dark fur zips from the kitchen, and I reach down to scoop him up. “Hey, sweet boy,” I coo, and nuzzle his face. He smells of earth and peanuts and his fur is warm, like he’s been napping in his sunny spot in the living room.
“Missed me, huh?” I ask him as he purrs loudly.
“Hey, you little stud,” Quinn says, giving my cat a scratch behind the ears. “Long time no see.”
I set Kodiak on his feet and kick off my work pumps. “Your room is there,” I say, pointing at the guest room to the left, across from the bathroom.
Quinn pulls her suitcase into the space. “Oh my stars, this is simply lovely.” She tugs her neckerchief loose, her eyes bright. “Show me the rest, then let’s go jump in that lake.”
I float on my back, gazing up at the cornflower-blue sky deepening one hue at a time.
Next to me, Quinn rises to the surface, her dark brown hair slicked off her forehead. “So where is this mystery man?”
“Don’t jinx it,” I warn.
“Is he at least hot?”
My chilled skin tightens everywhere at once. “Kind of hard to get past his scowl, so how would I know?”
“Hmm.”
“His kid is cute,” I say to move the conversation along. “Well…’cute’ isn’t probably the right word since she just turned sixteen.”
“She seems to have taken good care of Kody,” Quinn says, pursing her lips.
“She’s super responsible,” I say. “Kind of impressive, actually.”
“Hmm,” Quinn says again. “Has he retaliated since you filled his yard with those yard flamingos?”
“He put my address on Craig’s List with an offer for free sausages. I had so many people knocking on my door I barricaded my driveway and put up a giant sign.”
Quinn laughs, then presses her lips together. “Sorry. Why does he need to play basketball at eleven o’clock at night anyways?”
“Exactly!”
“Is he sensitive about his age? You should mail order Viagra samples to him.”
“I don’t think he’s sensitive to anything. The guy is unflappable.” Viagra might be worth a try though.
“Don’t give up.”
We talk about our night ahead and rest of her visit. Quinn and I met in flight attendant training and were lucky enough to work a lot of the same routes afterwards, making us even closer. We both put in several years servicing the small towns of the intermountain west, moving up to the bigger routes like Japan and Mexico. She’s always down for an adventure and is rock solid in a crisis, whether it’s turbulence, a pervy passenger who thinks all flight attendants want to join the mile high club, or a broken heart.
“We have time for a margarita before the show, right?” Quinn asks.
“Or two,” I say with a giggle.
We swim to the shore and wade through the sandy shallows. The air has that alpine bite I love, even as it turns my skin to gooseflesh.
“Brr,” Quinn says, wrapping her arms around her chest. “Is it always this cold?”
“You get used to it.” I reach for my towel just as the back door of my neighbor’s house opens and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a faded charcoal gray tee and worn work jeans steps out, his baseball hat turned backwards.
He must hear us, because his jaw tenses and the second his gaze finds mine, he narrows his eyes.
Quinn makes a mild choking sound that I hope to god he can’t hear.
“Hey there!” Quinn calls.
“What are you doing?” I grit out while wrapping my towel around me.
“Just being friendly,” she says under her breath while smiling at my neighbor. She loops her arm through mine and starts leading us toward the stairway that leads to my neighbor’s deck.
“Q,” I warn.
“Let’s just say hi. So I can picture this guy when you call me to complain.”
“I’m Quinn,” Quinn says at the top of the stairs. She extends her hand, then realizes it’s wet, and rubs it against her towel, then tries again. “Meg’s friend. I’m visiting for a few days.”
He gives Quinn’s hand a wary glance, then gives it a quick pump. The motion pulls the cuff of his t-shirt back, revealing the bottom edge of his tattoo. “Linden.”
Quinn’s eyes twinkle with curiosity. “Like the president?”
Linden’s face stays completely unchanged, like we’re boring him. “No.”
I look away from his t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. “THAT’S” is printed above a faded bunch of giant yellow bananas. He has a whole collection like it with funny or mildly outrageous sayings. It hints that the wearer actually has a sense of humor, which I know to be false. Maybe Greta buys them for him.
Quinn scans the half-finished deck project and behind him, to the house, then up to the top of the A. “You do all your own carpentry, huh?”
“I do it better than any carpenter.” His dark eyes take on an edge of mischief, like he’s daring me to object.
I could, but I don’t. Instead, I cross my arms.
“Well, you’re getting my deck wet.” He gives a quick glance to where a puddle of lake water has gathered around my feet, then back up to my eyes. “So unless there’s something I can do for you....”
He arches a silky dark brow.
With a huff, I spin on my heel.
“Nice to meet you!” Quinn calls over her shoulder while scrambling after me.
We’re barely inside my house when Quinn’s mouth drops open and her eyes go wild. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She points in the direction of my neighbor. “Why are you not getting some of that?”
I roll my eyes. “Some of what?”
Quinn shakes her head. “He’s hotter than sin, and you said he’s single.”
“He has the personality of a jackass.”
“So? We’re talking about rebound sex here.”
“Ew, no.” I shake my head. “Definitely not with him .” A jolt of electricity races down my thighs. “Plus what if sex isn’t any better with someone else?”
Her eyes flash. “There’s only one way to find out, right?”
“What if I’m the problem?” It comes out soft, and a part of me wishes I could take it back. But this is my best friend. With my divorce final, it means I could put myself out there again, if and when I’m ready. But how can I be ready when a part of me is terrified?
Quinn takes me by the shoulders and locks eyes with me. “You’re perfect, Megs. Just as you are. He never treated you with the care and love you deserve, and I don’t just mean in the bedroom.”
“You’re right.”
She pulls me into a hug. “I hate that it still hurts.”
“Me too.” I fight the emotions starting to sting my nose. “But hey, we’re not gonna mope, right?” I step back from her and smile.
“Right.” She beams. “Quick shower, then it’s margarita time.”
When I join Quinn downstairs, she’s already putting the finishing touch on two of her scratch margaritas.
We carry them to the deck, where the lowering sun is painting the sky with crimson and a deepening purple. I’m so distracted by the pretty view that I don’t see the rattlesnake until Quinn shrieks.
My drink goes flying and Quinn grabs me around the middle, yanking me back inside. Heart pounding, I slam the sliding glass door shut.
The snake is coiled between two of my big flowerpots. My heart is beating so fast I can’t hear the snake’s rattle.
“Wait a minute,” Quinn says. “It’s not moving.”
Reality hits me. I ball my fists and let out an anguished moan.
“What?” Quinn asks.
I slide the door open and stride over to the rubber snake. I’m so stupid.
Next door, a hearty guffaw draws my attention.
I glare at Linden, who is staring down at me, his eyes bright. “Not funny!” I shout.
“Come on,” he says, holding his middle. “It was so fake. Rattlesnakes don’t coil like that at night when it’s cold. They don’t have the energy. He’d just slink off somewhere and hide.”
“Like I’m supposed to know that!”
“Now you’ll never forget it. I’m helpful like that.”
I pick up his stupid fake snake and fling it in his direction. Then I gather my empty cup and storm back inside.
Quinn is waiting with another drink.
“Now do you see why I can’t stand him?” I take a long gulp of my margarita. It’s zesty and perfectly sweetened, the bite from the tequila speaking directly to the headache brewing at the base of my neck.
“He’s still hot as blazes.”
“He’s still a jackass.”
“So this was payback for deflating his basketballs?” she asks, unable to keep a straight face.
“Probably,” I grumble.
An hour and two margaritas later, I call us a cab.
“Remember, tonight is about you being a free woman,” Quinn says as we touch up our lipstick in the guest bathroom. “Whatever your little heart desires, you take it, okay?”
“I’m not bringing a cowboy home.”
She gives me a playful wink.
Outside my front window, the cab pulls into the driveway so we snatch up our purses and head out the door.
“Who’s playing tonight?” Quinn asks.
“Boxcar Doves,” I reply as we climb into the backseat of the cab. From Linden’s driveway comes the steady dribbling of his basketball. Good . Maybe that means he’ll be done by the time we get home.
“Local?”
“Yeah, actually.” I roll down my window to let in the fragrant evening breeze. It’s one of the things I love about Finn River. What I missed most. How rich and earthy it smells here. In the spring, I swear I can smell the snowmelt and the flowers pushing through the tough mountain soil. “And according to Annaliese, they’re really good.”
“Too bad she can’t make it tonight,” Quinn says.
“Might be better for Finn River that it’s just us.” I bump her shoulder, and she laughs. Annaliese is the one friend I’ve stayed in touch with since I left Finn River in seventh grade. She’s a journalist for the Bitterroot Journal and lives for adventure like Quinn, a quality that bonded them like long lost sisters at my bachelorette party—and got us kicked out of two bars that weekend.
We reach the top of my driveway just as Linden fires off a shot to his basketball hoop. In the bright outdoor lighting, with his arms arched overhead, it’s like catching him in the flash of a photographer’s bulb. He’s changed into a sleeveless t-shirt that in this lighting outlines his shoulder muscles, paired with a pair of mesh athletic shorts. His face is a little sweaty, and his dark eyes are fixed on the hoop.
Next to me, Quinn gives an appreciative hum.
I ignore her. What kind of neighbor plants a fake rattlesnake? Did he relish my scream of terror?
The ball drops through the hoop with a soft swish , but Linden’s not watching it anymore. His dark eyes are on me.
My cheeks heat and the knot at the base of my spine twists a little tighter.
He gives me a cocky arch of his brow before I can force myself to turn away.