Chapter 16
Ihad the weekend off work, and spent it lounging around the house reading a fantasy novel, sending increasingly angry messages to Eric, and worrying about Spike. On Saturday night I had dinner with Cy and Gemma, which included a generous helping of mushrooms. But on Sunday night, despite their protestations, I thought I should let Gemma concentrate on getting ready for school, and I stayed home with a frozen pizza instead.
Carla called me before work on Monday. And all I could say about her timing is that she should have known it’d be too early to call.
I leaned my phone against a mystery appliance that was sitting on the counter while I made the day’s first cup of coffee. It was a video call, which meant my sister and I could see each other. She looked wide awake for such an early hour, especially seeing as she often suffered from crippling fatigue.
I felt like I’d dragged myself out of my coffin after some meddling wizard had brought my thousand-year-old skeleton back to life. I wouldn’t officially be conscious until the caffeine hit my bloodstream.
“You broke up with Eric?” Carla asked. “Are you okay?”
Yawning, I nodded. I’d messaged her late the night before, after finally sending Eric a furious “we’re over” message.
“I’m fine,” I said. “It was a relief.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Sure. Sometime when it isn’t practically the middle of the night.”
“Sorry.” She grinned, not looking sorry at all. “I was awake early and wanted to catch you before work.”
I grunted. “Coffee now. Talk later.”
Her grin fell away as she peered at the screen. “Hey, are my herbs dying?”
“Herbs?” I took a big gulp of coffee, closing my eyes for a moment so I could fully appreciate the vitality-restoring liquid. As it hit the back of my throat, I felt my long-dead heart start to beat again.
“On the windowsill.” Carla motioned toward the screen.
I glanced behind me at my sister’s potted plants. Now that she mentioned it, they were looking distinctly less alive than they had looked a few days ago.
“Have you been watering them?” Carla asked.
“Not yet.” I sucked down more coffee. “I’ll do it today.”
“They need watering every day, brat. It was in the list of instructions I gave you.”
“That wasn’t a list, it was a novel. It had chapters.” My snippy tone was due to not being at the bottom of the cup yet. In about ten minutes, I’d be a much nicer person. Like I said, she only had herself to blame.
“You didn’t read my note?”
“I’m waiting for the audiobook to come out.”
She let out a little sigh. “Oh, Mags.”
My heart twisted at her disappointment. I was never quite able to live up to my family’s expectations. And now that I’d ingested just enough caffeine to be able to experience emotions, I couldn’t help but feel bad.
My guilt must have showed in my expression, because Carla’s face softened. “Don’t worry about the herbs, brat. I can plant some more.” Her forehead creased. “Are you really okay? Not brokenhearted?”
“Not even a little.”
“Okay.” She looked doubtful, like she thought I might be hiding my sorrow. Carla had no idea about the whole Spike situation, or what a jerk Eric had been.
I also hadn’t told her about Cy. She’d probably heard all the awful rumors about him, which made it a conversation I didn’t want to have right now. Not while I still had coffee in my cup and my pajamas on, with less than an hour before I had to leave for work. Better to bring up Cy when I had time to explain how he’d been unfairly tainted by his family’s bad name.
“How’s your medical trial going?” I asked. My sister had chronic fatigue syndrome and was trying everything she could to improve her symptoms.
“My assessment is done. The next phase will start today.”
“That’s great! I really hope it helps.”
“Thanks. So do I.” She smiled at me. “How’s Freud?”
“I’m about to feed him. Watch, and you’ll witness the miracle of him getting out of bed.” I put down my cup to grab a tin of cat food, then angled the phone so Carla could see her cat sidle expectantly into the kitchen. The cat might appear to sleep like...well, like he needed a wizard to resurrect his corpse, but the slightest clink of a tin of cat food on the counter would rouse him.
“Wait.” My sister’s tone was suddenly sharp. “What was that? Did a dog just come inside?”
I turned to see Zeppelin trotting into the kitchen, his tongue lolling. I’d opened the back door so he could go outside to pee before I made myself coffee, and apparently his hearing was as sharp as Freud’s.
“Oh yeah.” I angled the phone to focus back on me instead of the animals, leaning it back against the mystery appliance. “Don’t worry, that’s only a temporary dog.”
“What’s a temporary dog?” She didn’t look pleased by the idea.
“He’s only staying until I find his real owner. I would have asked you first to make sure it was okay, but he didn’t call ahead to tell me he was coming.”
As I spoke, I dished out cat food and dog food. Inside, I was berating myself. Sure, I’d been caught up with work, the Spike situation, and dinners with Cy, but I should have told her about Zeppelin. It had been thoughtless not to. And by letting her down, I’d let myself down.
“Okay,” Carla said slowly, her tone doubtful. “Please could you make sure the dog can’t get into the chicken run?”
“Actually, the dog’s lock-picking skills are rusty. I’ve started training him to open doors, but he’ll need a lot more practice.” Putting the bowls down, I kept my fingers clear so they wouldn’t get caught up in the enthusiastic gobbling.
Carla scrunched her nose. “Maybe I’m being overprotective, but is he house-trained, at least?”
I lifted my gaze as though thinking. “Well, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“So far he’s only peed in your room. The good news is that I can’t smell it from mine.”
Her eyes widened in horror for a moment, then she realized I was teasing her and she shook her head with a reluctant smile. “Okay, you got me, brat. But there’d better not be any puddles when I get home.”
“No puddles,” I promised. And I’d make sure to replace her ripped-up cushions, too.
I always seemed to be trying to convince my sister to trust me. And given my history, I couldn’t blame her if she didn’t. It would be great if I could rewind time to undo the dumb things I’d done in the past, but it seemed those things would always be there, stuck in both of our memories. No matter what, I’d always be the same Mags who’d messed up. And I couldn’t complain about it, seeing as I was the one who’d made the mistakes. And was still making them.
“I’d better get ready for work,” I said, wanting to shower and dress before I made more coffee.
We said goodbye, and I’d just hung up when there was a knock on the door. Zeppelin barked, racing to the door with his tail wagging.
“Mags?” Cy’s voice called through the door.
My heart gave an excited flip at the thought of seeing him, and a flush of anticipation radiated from low in my belly. I headed straight toward the door to let him in, then suddenly realized what I must look like. I was wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants, and I hadn’t brushed my hair or teeth yet, seeing as I’d barely gotten out of bed when Carla had called.
“Just a moment,” I called, darting into my bedroom to drag a brush through my hair while weighing up the getting dressed versus brushing my teeth question, seeing as I didn’t have time to do both. Clean teeth were more important, I decided, racing into the bathroom for a lightning-fast scrub. And I added a squirt of perfume in case I smelled funky. I wasn’t wearing a bra, but oh well. I’d just have to try not to bounce too much as I walked.
Zeppelin woofed impatiently at the door. When I opened it, he jumped up on Cy, excited to see him.
Cy took me in with a sweep of his eyes, his expression changing into one of appreciation. Maybe his cheeks even flushed a little. But honestly, I was too busy gazing at him in amazed silence to fully register what he thought of my braless T-shirt and pajama pants.
He looked...incredible. His beard wasn’t unruly anymore. He’d trimmed and shaped it. It was still long, but a lot tidier. The strong line of his jaw was obvious, and his cheeks were sharper and more chiseled. His pillowy upper lip was visible, making me realize how serious a crime it had been to have hidden it before. His mouth was as arrestingly beautiful as his eyes.
Cy crouched to pet Zeppelin, while I stared at him in amazed silence.
“You’ve trimmed your beard.” My tongue felt clumsy, like it had become a little too big for my mouth.
I wanted to touch his face. To trace the new lines and contours, and cup the hardness of his jaw between my hands. I wanted to kiss him and flick my tongue across his bare upper lip.
Cy looked up at me while sitting on his heels, rubbing Zeppelin’s sides. He eyed my face for a moment, clearly reading my expression. Then his lips tugged up in a pleased half smile.
“It was about time,” he said. “You like it?”
I swallowed to moisten my dry throat, searching for something to say that wasn’t Oh my God, do I ever, or Please do me now.
“I like it a lot. You look great.” I cleared my throat, pulling myself together and trying not to act like I was swooning. “But do all you country bumpkins get up so early? Couldn’t you set the roosters to crow a little later?”
He rose to his feet. His newly snug beard made his jawline look even more delicious. And now I could see and admire the length of his throat. Add in the width of his shoulders, and his hotness had me melting faster than an ice cube in a microwave.
“You said to collect Zeppelin before you went to work,” he said. “What time did you mean?”
I swallowed again, giving myself another mental shake. “Never mind. It’s just that it’s already been a morning.” Standing back from the door, I motioned him inside.
“What do you mean? Did something happen?” He strode in, looking around sharply as though he was ready to tackle an intruder.
“My eldest sister called. Carla. The one who lives here.”
Frowning, he swung to face me. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“No, it’s just...” I hesitated, wincing. It was silly. I felt like I was complaining about nothing.
“Just what?” he prompted.
“Well, you get arrested one or two measly times, and you get branded an irresponsible person for life.” I led the way down the hall. “Not that my sister says anything about that, but sometimes I’m sure she’s thinking about it.”
“Okay, I need some context, so you need to start this story at the beginning. Context and coffee. Would you make me a coffee?”
“Happy to. Coffee is what I’m best at.”
I got the machine going and used my well-practiced coffee-making skills to place a steaming hot mug in his hand, and a fresh one in my own hand.
Cy took a sip, then made a mmm sound of approval. “You make excellent coffee.” He flicked his tongue out to lick a little froth off his mustache, and the sight was weirdly sexy. Probably because now I could see how nice his whole mouth was, and his tongue had already delivered such delicious kisses. Thinking about how it had felt sent a little shiver of lust down my spine.
Cy leaned back against the kitchen counter, his mug cradled in his big hands. “Now I’m all ears for your story. How did you get arrested?”
I slid onto the stool at the kitchen island. While we were talking, I could gaze at the newly exposed parts of his face without it getting weird. And with both elbows on the counter, I could cradle my coffee cup while disguising the fact I was braless.
“It’s embarrassing,” I said. “So shameful, I don’t want to confess all the details. Basically, I was a rebel growing up. Short attention span, youngest child, easily bored, problem with authority.” I waved a hand. “Pick an excuse that works for you, and we’ll go with that.”
“You were trouble.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, but as a slightly amusing statement, complete with a quirk of his lips as though he thought it was cute. Which it totally wasn’t.
“According to my mother, I was nothing but trouble.” I sighed. “And I attract other troublesome people. In high school, it was a bunch of friends who got their kicks through petty theft. More recently, I attracted a drug-taking rock star.” I dropped my chin to give him a significant look. “And there’s no need to mention that I thought you were a criminal, when it was really just me all along. I’m well aware.”
“I didn’t say a word.” He covered his grin with his coffee cup.
“Well, luckily I don’t have a record. I was a minor and got off with a warning, and it scared me straight.” I wrinkled my nose. “The whole thing is silly, really. All this time I’ve felt like it’s been hanging over me, but you’ve had to deal with so much worse.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what folks think of me, so long as they leave Gemma alone.”
I frowned, because I hadn’t considered how his reputation might affect her. “You don’t think anyone would say anything mean to Gemma? They wouldn’t, would they?”
“They would if they knew she was a Baxter. After my momma was killed, folks were awful to Ruth.”
I stiffened at the thought. “And were they awful to you, too?” The idea that any of the people I was getting to know and like could bully Cy and his family wasn’t a pleasant one.
“Some were, but I could handle it. Back then, Ruth was about Gemma’s age. They shouldn’t have treated her badly.” Clenching his jaw, he gave a shake of his head. “I won’t let Gemma be treated like that. That’s why I’ve been trying not to be seen around town with her. So folks won’t know we’re related.”
“You shouldn’t have to hide.” I leaned in, outraged on his behalf. “That’s not fair! You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But I did.” He frowned, his gaze turning thoughtful. “I did something that was very wrong.”
“What did you do?”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. “To tell you the whole story would take a while. How long before you have to leave for work?”
I followed his gaze. “About half an hour.”
“I’ll tell you about it tonight. When you come for dinner.” He drained the last of his coffee, then set his cup on the counter.
“Another dinner invitation?” I raised my eyebrows teasingly. “People will talk.”
He was moving around to my side of the counter, to where I was perched on the stool. “We missed you last night. Gemma enjoys dinner a lot more when you’re there.” Stopping beside me, he lifted a hand to my hair to push back a strand and tuck it behind my ear. “And I like it when you’re there.”
His fingers trailed down the side of my face. The sensation made my cheeks feel hot and made my stomach flutter. I loved the way he touched me.
There were more questions I wanted to ask, but his touch was distracting. It made me want to forget about words altogether in favor of more touching.
“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are? What you do to me?” His voice was a low rumble and his gaze was heated, dipping to my lips. I had a strong urge to sink both hands into his short beard. To feel its coarseness and use it to tug his face to mine.
Before I could move, he stepped back, and his expression changed. It hardened, his jaw visibly clenching. He put his hands in his pockets as he turned away from me.
“I need to go.” He moved toward the hallway.
What? No!
“Wait!” I slid off my stool. “I need you to show me something.”
He stopped, turning back slowly, as though reluctant to face me. His gaze dipped briefly to my breasts, then came back up, landing firmly on my eyes. “Show you what?”
I wanted him to show me how his hand would feel in my pajama pants. Or better still, how our two naked bodies would feel getting tangled in my bedsheets. My nipples were rock hard. He must have noticed. They were practically ripping their way through my T-shirt, fighting to get out.
I cleared my throat. “Come with me.”
Instead of taking him to the bedroom, I led him to the laundry. Then I waved at the washing machine. Yesterday, I’d gotten as far as filling it with clothes and putting in the detergent.
“Could you show me how to work this thing?” I paired my demand with a challenging look, daring him to laugh at me.
“You’ve never used a washing machine?” His gaze flicked to my breasts again. My nipples seemed to be distracting him.
“Of course not,” I said. “My maid has always done my washing.”
“You have a maid?”
I pulled a “duh” face, secretly enjoying the way his IQ seemed to be dropping with every glance at my very erect nipples. “I know how to use the ones at the laundromat, but they don’t have so many buttons. Put in the right coins, and they start on their own.”
He stepped close to the machine and ran his hand across the display panel, scanning the options. “There are clothes in there?” He turned to meet my gaze. “And they’re dirty?”
He seemed to linger on the word dirty, and it sent another jolt of desire into my core. Probably because I was already keyed up. And it wasn’t my imagination that he was undressing me with his eyes. I could see him imagining stripping off my T-shirt and pajama pants and throwing them in.
I stepped close so I could put my hand on his chest, my palm pressing against the flat slab of his pectoral muscle. “Very dirty,” I whispered.
His gaze swept to my lips, but he didn’t move. It was as though he was torn. Arguing with himself, I guessed.
“You have a boyfriend.” He ground the words out in a harsh tone, confirming my suspicions. I was practically throwing myself at him, and he was holding back because he was honorable. Every bit the gentleman he’d told me he was.
It made a nice change from Eric. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single one of my exes who would have shown this much restraint. And it made me admire him even more.
“Not anymore,” I said.