Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Emerson
Chickens run around at my feet. All week, since the crochet club, Brooks has been withdrawn. Nothing noticeable, but there’s a heaviness surrounding him.
He emerges from the barn where he’s got a cow convalescing from bloat. “Thanks for watching Hillary while the vet was here.”
“No problem.” It was this or be alone in the house while Lane’s in the shop.
I haven’t heard him in the shower, and I’ve defaulted to avoiding him or I’ll lick more than a droplet off him.
I fold my arms. Sometimes, talking to Brooks is like ramming my head into a wall.
Will this be one of those times? “You gonna tell me what Lane said that’s got you so tied up? ”
He frowns and feigns confusion. “What d’you mean?”
“Hillary’s been on cloud nine since Hookers and Booze. She hasn’t quit talking about it and asking when the next one is. You’ve hardly said a word beyond ‘the house is selling.’ ”
The countdown is officially on. I focus on my brother instead.
He rubs his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Do I . . . Fuck.” He stabs the toe of his boot into the gravel. “Have I made you feel like you don’t matter?”
“What? No.” A conversation from a long time ago surfaces, but I shove it back into the depths of my brain. I’m over it. I had to move out on my own. It would’ve been nice to continue having Brooks’s support, but he’d done so much already.
“You can tell me. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”
“You took me away from here and raised me. That’s just the beginning of what you’ve done.”
“I finished raising you. You were fourteen and pretty damn self-sufficient.”
I hug myself. “We kind of had to be.”
“But you have some good memories of growing up here? Of Dad. And the pickup.”
“What are you talking about?” Why would he bring up the truck? “Did Lane say something to you?”
He scowls at the incredulity in my voice. “Yeah.”
Shock ricochets through me. They talked about me? Then anger. Lane said something to shut Brooks down. Brooks doesn’t clam up just because. Did Lane insult him? “What else did he say?”
“Nothing. He just said that if I rolled the pickup into the river because I thought he hurt you, that I wouldn’t have your best interests in mind.”
“Why would you— How would he—” I give up trying to comprehend that statement. “He made you feel like a bad brother?”
Brooks runs a hand over his hair. “I know I did a lot of things right, but there was Katie.”
Hillary’s mom is a raging bitch and a nearly carbon copy of our mother. “She was manipulative.”
“I was still wrong to kick you out.”
“I was an adult.” I stuff my hands on my hips. “Did Lane bring that up?”
“I shouldn’t have let you marry him.”
“Let me? I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl.” How dare Lane throw this whole trust business in my brother’s face. “But you do have an eleven-year-old kid who’s critical to us, and she’s number one. That asshole!” Seething, I stomp across the driveway to the road that’ll take me to Lane’s place.
“Emerson, don’t confront him.”
I want to get in Lane’s face. These emotions writhing between my ribs need an outlet. I spin and walk backward. “That man has had too much power. It’s time I take some back.”
“Fuck, Emerson. I don’t want him to hurt you.”
“He won’t. He likes his control too much.” I say it with all the authority I have, and I know I’m right.
I don’t run back, only because I can’t be huffing and puffing when I confront him. Lady charges to my side and whines. Does she sense how pissed I am at her owner? She adores Lane. So that’s why I keep her out of the shop when I enter. I don’t need the cattle dog trying to herd me away from him.
When I find Lane, he’s at the sink. The pickup’s hood is open, and so are both doors. He’s got the arms of his overalls tied at his waist and he’s drying off his hands.
“Oh, hey. I was just coming in for some dinner.” He catches my expression and his pleasantness fades to calculation. “What’s going on?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “How dare you butt in between me and my brother.”
His nostrils flare, and his jaw goes rigid. He throws the towel at the sink like he’s trying to knock down bottles for a prize at the fair. “He told you about the pickup.”
“He told me that you accused him of being a dick.” Those aren’t the words Brooks used, but Lane doesn’t argue.
“I told him that if he retaliated against me because he thought I hurt you, that he’d actually be hurting you. Because he doesn’t know you.”
“And you do?” I ask incredulously. “You? Because of what, one make-out session after you wasted my time?”
He comes closer, and I sidestep around him, ending up closer to the pickup I don’t want to deal with.
“Can you tell me that you felt nothing during that kiss? That there was no connection when you first shook my hand?” He maneuvers me with nothing but a step here and there until I’m in the open doorframe of the passenger side of the pickup.
Between the two of us, he’s clearly worked more cattle, just getting those mama cows where they want to go with little more than charisma.
“I didn’t feel a thing,” I lie.
His gaze goes flinty, and he crowds me into the door until my ass hits the bench seat. “I stood in my office watching you get out of your car. Watching you admire the distillery.”
“I was not—”
He puts a finger to my lips. “Don’t lie to me with this sweet mouth of yours.
” He drags that finger back and forth over my lips, his sparking gaze taking in my face.
“I was in my office, waiting to see who this Emerson Langley is. Who is this girl that thinks Huckleberry Springs forgot her? Because I’ve been told all about her, and she’s everywhere I look. ”
“You can’t be serious.” I sound sterner than I feel. My knees are trembling, and he’s so close that I want to wrap myself in his heat. Just crawl into those overalls with him and delight in his woodsy scent and engine-grease smell.
“I heard about the little girl who used to run these pastures. The girl her daddy found on the back of a bull once. The kid who used to sleep with the chickens when one of them got sick. She was a sweet kid.”
I clench my teeth together. She was a sweet girl. “Not everyone thought so.”
His expression goes hard again. So he heard those stories too? Of the girl who wasn’t the princess her mom wanted her to be? Of the kid who got forgotten? Whose parents didn’t want her?
Lane knows a lot of my stories. I’m too open to him. Too raw. Yet he’s shared himself with me too.
“I went looking for that girl,” he murmurs. “And I found the woman she turned into.”
“I’m the one who contacted you.” Technically, it was his office. Wait—how did we get on the subject of me? I came here to tear him a new one for butting into my life yet again. Now I’m riveted to a story I don’t want to hear. My body’s coming alive in a way it should not around this man.
“And I made sure you got that sweet ass and those long legs into my office.” He gets even closer, and I have nowhere to go.
But also . . . I want to stay right where I’m at.
“I made sure I was the one in that appointment with you. That wild, scrappy little girl gave an excellent pitch that I’m still thinking about using. ”
That was a pin popping my balloon of desire. “No, you aren’t.
“Yeah, actually”—he leans over me, pushing me back slightly—“I am. Because when I want something, I go after it.”
Me? “I have nothing to offer.”
His hooded eyes are fathomless, nothing but a dark ring of blue around a blown pupil I’m getting lost in. Call me Alice; he’s my rabbit hole. “See? There you go again, thinking I don’t know you.”
“But you don’t—”
His mouth is on mine, stealing the rest of my words. He’s taking what he wants. I’m giving it to him. I cup his face, feeling the light scrape of his whiskers on my palm. He pushes between my legs, but I give him little resistance.
He doesn’t know me. I should put a stop to this.
But I want it too badly. I’ve wanted to get my mouth on him again for so long.
A whimper leaves me, and he drops his hands down my torso to grip my butt and jerk me closer to him. The knot of the arms of his coveralls grinds into me, and so does the erection beneath that.
It’s not enough and too much at the same time.
He rips his mouth off my lips and kisses along my jaw. “I know what you need.”
“No, you don’t,” I say with a grunt, trying to get closer to him. My legs are as wide as they go.
Instead of arguing, he chuckles, and his hot breath gusts over the shell of my ear. Shivers cascade across my skin, winding me up tighter. I clamp my legs around him, the need pulsating inside me refusing to be ignored.
He works my shirt up. “I can prove it, Em.”
He sounds so confident, so cocky, that I want to push him away. But the cool shop air wafts over my breasts. He’s got my shirt pushed up and he’s hooked his fingers over the cups. Meeting my gaze, there’s a challenging glint he saves just for me.
“You might not need this part.” His voice is gruff. “But you want it.”
God, yes. I do. I want it so much.
With a tiny smirk, he tugs the lacy cups of my bra down until each breast pops out.
He groans. “I knew they’d be fucking perfect.” He cups one and draws the pearled nipple into his mouth.
There’s a direct line from his mouth to every nerve in my body. I light up, and I’m nothing but a haze of lust and need. “Yes.”
He gives me a satisfied grunt as he tongues across my nipples, switching sides until I’m a writhing mess.
“More” slips out, but I don’t regret it. Not if he can live up to that cocky attitude and give me what I need.
“I’ve got you, Em.” He doesn’t move except to tunnel a hand down my shorts.
Another needy moan leaves me. Are we really doing this?
Am I really letting him imprint himself on me more than he already has?
After one kiss, I have a hard enough time not turning into a puddle around him.
But then his rough fingertip hits my clit, and I don’t care.
There’s nothing in my world that isn’t the pleasure this man can give.