[English] THE CLOSER YOU COME (Gần bên anh)

The Closer You Come
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He was already panting, gaze darting around the restaurant, searching for the threat.

“Everything’s fine.” West unfolded an inch at a time in an effort not to spook him and gently rubbed his nape. “You’re safe, man. You’re safe.”

Safe? Was he? The prickling at the back of his neck had returned.

When he realized people were staring at him with strange looks on their faces, he squared his shoulders and reclaimed his seat, setting down the knife. He pushed his food away, no longer in the mood to eat, and though his friends tried to return to their previous conversation, the laid-back solidarity of before was gone, the tension and guilt back.

West finally released a bitter laugh. “There’s no good time to bring this up, so I’m just going to do it now. As you probably know, the anniversary of Tessa getting her GED is coming up.”

And her death.

Beck tensed. “We’ve still got a few months to go.”

“Yes, but what I want to do takes time and planning.” West caught a bead of condensation trickling down his water glass. “I plan to throw her a party. The one she always wanted. The one I promised her but never gave her. I would have done it already, but...”

But Jase hadn’t been around, and Tessa would have insisted on having him at any celebration in her honor. Another rock of guilt his friends still carried.

The lines of tension bracketing Beck’s eyes softened. He gently asked, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Tessa’s death wasn’t your fault,” Jase said. “You don’t have to sentence yourself to life without the possibility of happiness, clinging to her memory.”

“Her death is my fault,” West said. “A life sentence is far less than I deserve.”

“Her death has never been your fault.” Tessa had always been an up-and-down kind of girl, but her ordeal with Pax Gillis had shredded her. Months passed, but she’d never recovered emotionally. She’d cried every night, but she’d cried especially hard the night she’d died, and Jase often wondered if she’d lost control of the car, as the police report had claimed, or if she’d intentionally crashed.

The Gillis family had been hounding her, blaming her for Jase’s actions. If she hadn’t lied about the assault, they’d said, Jase wouldn’t have come after their son.

“You weren’t there,” West snapped. “You don’t know.”

“No,” he replied quietly. “I wasn’t there.” I was rotting behind bars.

The Gillis family had protested every time he’d come up for parole, which was another reason he’d remained behind bars as long as he had. But then, last year, Pax’s dad had died of a heart attack, leaving only the mother and the little brother. Jase remembered them from the trial. A small, slender woman who’d never stopped sobbing and a punk kid with a Mohawk, who’d had more piercings and tattoos than Jase.

West closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“Forget about it.” But Jase knew he wouldn’t. He never did. “I have.”

“I feel like I’m living Moore’s Law,” West muttered.

“Uh, you’re smarter than the rest of the class, bro,” Beck said. “You’ll have to explain that one.”

West shrugged. “Over the history of computing hardware, the number of transistors in a dense integrated circuit doubles approximately every two years. In other words, my brain is the hardware and my memories grow stronger as time passes.”

That made two of them. “Why don’t I ask Brook Lynn to help us with the planning?” Jase said, getting them back on track.

“Good idea,” Beck said. “Since she’s working for us and all.”

Jase swallowed a protest. She’s mine, not ours.

West rubbed two fingers over his jaw. “I’ve been meaning to ask... Are you sure it’s smart to have the little blonde firecracker hanging around the house all the time?”

No. “Why?”

“Why?” Beck arched a brow. “Did you really just ask me why? Dude. You nailed her sister.”

“So?” Don’t like the reminder. “You did, too.”

“So you both admit to being idiots. May we move on?” West grumbled, a surprising amount of frustration in his voice.

“Exactly,” Beck said, speaking over him. “The situation is complicated. And yes, I can roll with it. But can you? I’ve seen you, man. And I can’t believe I’m having to point this out yet again, but you watch Brook Lynn like you’re drowning, and she’s the only life raft.”

“You must be going blind,” Jase ground out. “I have never looked at anyone that way.”

“My eyes, like every other part of me, are working just fine, thanks. But if it’s the analogy that bothers you, I can give you a more palatable one. You look at that girl the way I look at her casseroles. As if there’s about to be a party in your mouth.”

West pushed his plate of leftover fries away. “I told you guys what would happen if you messed around with a Strawberry Valley girl. I told you, but you did it anyway. You’ve got no one to blame but yourselves.”

Beck flipped him off, and Jase threw a wadded-up napkin at him.

West held up his hands, all innocence. “Hey, we’ve all agreed I’m the smart one in our little band of brothers. Why the attitude now?”

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“Your IQ might be higher,” Jase said, “but your street cred definitely sucks.”

“True that,” Beck said.

West laughed, the sound of it rusty. “Tell me you didn’t just true that me. Because if you did, I will have to deduct serious points from your street cred.”

“What do I care?” Beck spread his arms wide. “I’ve got points to spare.”

The two continued to argue good-naturedly, the tension draining once again, and Jase soaked it up, knowing there’d soon be another drought. This was something else he’d missed. This most of all. Smack-talking, enjoying the company of his friends. Smiling till it hurt. Just...being, no worries intruding.

The insults continued as they cleared their table and headed outside.

I’m kind of jealous of people who haven’t met you.

If ignorance ever goes up to $5 a barrel, I want drilling rights to your head.

A handful of bikers arrived, removing their helmets, locking up their gear. One glance, and Jase had them pegged as trouble-seekers. He’d encountered plenty of guys just like them in prison. They had a chip on their shoulder the size of a two-by-four and always had something to prove.

His assessment was soon confirmed. Just to be contrary, one of the younger guys stepped in West’s path, causing West to bump into him.

The biker snapped, “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, man?” and shoved him.

West plowed into Beck, who plowed into Jase. Of course, all the bikers laughed as they gathered around their comrade in a perfect show of unity.

West rolled his shoulders, saying, “Instead of watching where I’m going—” his tone even, perhaps even anticipatory “—why don’t I teach you how to move out of my way?”

“I vote...yes,” Beck said with a cold smile.

West and Beck were not afraid to fight anyone. Even a group of anyones. And they were damn good at it. But Jase was better. He turned “dirty” into “downright filthy.” The only problem? His opponents tended to end up in the ER—or dead.

Fear of returning to the life he’d despised screamed: can’t risk it. He was so close to finishing parole. Proving a point by knocking the bikers down a peg or two would help nothing but his pride.

Jase grabbed his friends by the arm and dragged them away, going around the bikers, who snickered. One even called, “That’s what I thought. Cowards.”

Rage joined the rest of Jase’s emotions. Despite his armor, he’d never been able to rid himself of the switch inside his mind; it was either flipped to “fight” or to “calm,” but rarely anything in between. And it was difficult to blaze from “fight” to “calm” in an instant—the two were such different states, and really, he could only flip that switch so many times before a wire shorted out and he just...went...insane.

Beck drew in a deep breath. “Sorry, man. I’m sorry.”

West paled, scrubbed a hand down his face. “I didn’t think... Jase, I’m sorry.”

He waved the apologies away. He understood the instinctive need to annihilate all challengers, to protect what was yours.

Brook Lynn’s angelic face flashed inside his mind, and he quickly blinked to clear it. She wasn’t his, and she would never be his, but even still, desire for her sank claws in his chest, cutting deep and holding on. He wanted her, and it was time to stop denying it, even though admitting it was more dangerous to his peace of mind.

“Let’s head home,” West said, and Beck nodded.

Jase’s car was parked beside theirs. He paused to say, “Do me a solid and take the long way,” before climbing inside.

He wanted a few minutes alone with Brook Lynn. What he would say to her, do with her—to her—he wasn’t sure, but he was looking forward to finding out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

OUTDID MYSELF, IF I do say so, well, myself.

Brook Lynn stacked a packet of papers she’d found haphazardly stuffed inside Jase’s underwear drawer, a blush heating her cheeks. He’d told her to clean everything, so everything she was cleaning. His room was her final chore—one she’d been putting off all day. This task was her last.

Her gaze latched on the words Department of Corrections, and her heart skipped a beat. Was he a cop? A parole officer?

The idea...intrigued her.

Would he have hunted down her uncle Kurt and forced the man to return her mom’s life-insurance money?

Super Jase to the rescue!

And oh, the ***iness of that image.

Red alert! If she wasn’t careful, she would fall deeper into like with him.

Frowning, Brook Lynn finished tidying the dresser. As she strolled through the house for a final inspection, avoiding the game room as instructed, she slapped her hands together in a job well-done. She hadn’t moved the furniture around, but she had added feminine touches to the decor, and they were—in a word—ah-mazing. A lace doily over the coffee table. Colorful, decorative pillows on the couch. Bowls of lavender potpourri on the mantel. And for her own amusement: boxes of tampons in the bathroom cabinet for any overnight guest who might be in need.

She’d talked with her sister at last and had actually received a blessing for this new gig, though not for the cash Brook Lynn would make. Oh, no. Jessie Kay planned to use her as an excuse to visit...and a direct line of communication to Jase.

My sister still wants him. And I still...don’t like it.

But what could she do about it? What could she say? Her attraction to him was wrong on every level.

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There was only one right way to proceed. Let Jessie Kay do her thing, and resign herself to being Jase’s personal assistant, nothing more, nothing less. She would work hard—would give this her all. In return, Jase would treat her and her efforts with respect, never again requesting she do more than was humanly possible. And she would inform him of that the second he returned. She had balls, dang it. Yeah. That’s right. She had big, fat lady balls.

Hinges on the front door creaked. Footsteps sounded.

“—told you to take the long way,” Jase was saying.

“Don’t recall agreeing to that,” West said. “Do you?”

“Nope,” Beck replied, laughter in his tone. “But I do wonder why you wanted to be alone. Would it have anything to do with offering hands-on instruction to the staff?”

“You both suck,” Jase muttered.

In the kitchen, she gulped, her lady balls shriveling. Bossman had finally come home.

“Go ahead and admit— What the hell?” Beck demanded.

Silence.

Tense, oppressive silence.

They’d noticed the new decorations.

“I...don’t even know what to say right now,” West gasped out. “I think I need to add a breakdown to my schedule.”

Seconds ticked by. No reaction from Jase. Or maybe he’d spoken so quietly she hadn’t heard him. A real possibility. For the past hour, her inner ears had been itching as though bees buzzed inside. Never having experienced anything like it, she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.

“Brook Lynn,” Jase called.

Well, she’d certainly heard that.

“Back here,” she replied, trying not to tremble.

Jase entered the kitchen alone, and oh, wow. His presence somehow caused the air in her lungs to evaporate in an instant, leaving her lightheaded. There would never be a better example of raw masculinity. He wore a black tee that hugged his muscular biceps and displayed a good portion of his tattoos. His jeans were ripped, the hems tucked haphazardly into combat boots. He wore his necklaces, his silver rings and the leather cuffs around each of his wrists.

Total bad-boy hot.

Never knew that was my thing.

He met her gaze, and she would have sworn she detected a hint of...mirth? Maybe even approval? But they were both so well contained, she couldn’t be sure.

“The changes are nice,” he said.

What! It was one thing *****spect approval, but quite another to have it confirmed. “Thank you?” She liked the changes; they were everything she would have wanted in her own home, if she hadn’t spent her entire adult life counting every penny.

“But you have to return everything to the way it was,” he added.

“What!” The word escaped her this time. “Everything?” she asked, her brows drawing together.

“Everything.”

“But...”

“No buts.”

****man speak for subject closed. “But why?” she insisted.

“Because I said so.”

The most frustrating words in the history of the world!

“I’m sorry,” she gritted out, “but that’s not good enough for me.”

Jase peered at her for a long while before saying, “You did too much too fast.” He looked past her, to the counter. “What are those?”

From cryptic to inquisitive in a blink. Someone needed to explain the effects of whiplash to him. “Those are special deliveries for Beck. An array of desserts from countless women who stopped by throughout the day.”

Charlene Burns had come with strawberry muffins and a word of warning: Do yourself a favor. Don’t get involved with these men, darlin’. They’re users, each one of them.

Brook Lynn had wanted to quip, And you will be the exception to their use-and-lose rule, which is why you’ve come back for more? but had somehow found the strength to hold her tongue.

Newly legal Missy Thompson had come with strawberry cake and questions. Has Beck said anything about me? Do you know if he likes brunettes or blondes better? Because I can rock either look. Will you give him my number?

Even Harlow Glass stopped by, though Brook Lynn had gotten the feeling she hadn’t come to scope out the guys. Instead, the black-haired, blue-eyed beauty had just thrust out a plastic bag of fresh wild strawberries she’d most likely plucked from the field out back—and had probably spit on. The girl had once been famous for her cruelty. But she had shyly—a trick, surely—asked to come inside to chat. Suspicious of her intentions, Brook Lynn had flatly refused.

But...I have to tell you...there’s a man... He’s come to the house and... the girl had stumbled out.

A man? Brook Lynn had finally relented and moved aside to allow the girl entrance, saying, If you’re doing this to hurt me in some way, there will be hell to pay.

Harlow scanned the foyer and turned puke green before backing up, apologizing a thousand times and leaving the house in a hurry.

Brook Lynn could hardly believe the seemingly timid, softly spoken mouse was the same bold femme fatale who’d once terrorized kids at school. Including Kenna. Brook Lynn remembered holding her friend time and time again while she sobbed about the awful things Harlow had said.

If her new demeanor was the real deal, something had happened to the girl. More than the loss of her mom and her home. Or maybe that was what Harlow wanted her to think. For once in this small town, rumors were scarce. All Brook Lynn knew? Harlow had left public school in the middle of her junior year in favor of being homeschooled. She’d stayed in town, but few people had seen her out and about. And when they had, she’d kept her head down and her pace swift, discouraging any kind of interaction.

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For now, Brook Lynn wasn’t going to worry about what Harlow had said, some strange man who may or may not have come to the house to do...something? Nothing? And how did Harlow even know that?

“No one’s gotten the message yet,” Jase said. “The way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach.”

“Duh. It’s through his ribs.”

“Funny.” He pointed to the platters. “There’s a bite missing from each one. Why?”

“I thought I’d do my due diligence and test everything for poison.” Nothing compared to her creations, and that wasn’t bragging; that was pure fact.

“If there was poison, what would you do? Feed it to me anyway?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” With her sweetest smile, she offered him a fork.

He took it, saying, “If I die today, you’ll be the first one the cops question.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as he motioned to the stove, his first undeniable display of amusement. It did funny things to her insides. “That casserole is still intact. Why?”

“I made it, and it’s fresh from the oven.” Steam wafted all around it, scenting the air. This one contained chicken and waffles, even maple syrup, and it was one of her favorites. “But it’s for Beck, not you,” she said. “I’m sure you already have dinner plans.” Oops. My bitterness is showing.

His gaze landed on her and narrowed. “Tell me, honey. Between the two of us, who do you consider the boss, and who do you consider the employee?”

The starch in her spine dissolved. How could she expect him to respect her if she wouldn’t respect him? “You are the boss,” she said without any heat. “Would you like me to fix you a plate?”

“No,” he grumbled, and after the fuss he’d kicked up, she kind of wanted to slap him. Then he added, “I’ll do it,” and totally redeemed himself.

He stalked past her, careful not to touch her, and gathered a plate and ladle. The itch intensified in her ears, and she scratched gently, always making sure hanks of hair covered the big, bulky implants. Everyone who’d ever seen them had either flinched or stared in morbid fascination. A few kids had even called her Frankenlynn.

Jase filled his plate with the casserole she had prepared and faced her with a frown. “Are those waffles I’m seeing? Mixed with chicken?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Lord save me. “Just try it.”

Standing there, he scooped up a forkful...and then simply peered at the sample with distaste. She rolled her eyes and approached, claiming the fork and shoving the food into his mouth.

His eyes widened as he chewed. “What else did you put in it? Crack?”

“Only a little,” she said, deadpan. Then she flinched. Maybe she shouldn’t have teased a cop about drugs. Former cop? But he didn’t even blink at her comment. “While you eat I’ll just go and remove the necessary improvements I made in the living room. Even though I don’t understand why you asked—commanded—that I do it.”

“I’ll just stay in here, eating my crack,” he replied, his attention never straying from his food. “But come back in here when you’re done.”

The way to every man’s heart might not be through his stomach, but it certainly looked to be the way to Jase’s. Not that she wanted his heart.

She entered the living room and found West and Beck doing the work for her, and not happily. For the first time the perpetually upbeat guys were actually scowling. Beck’s motions were clipped as he ripped away the doily, dumped out one of the bowls of potpourri and swiped up the pillows.

He noticed her and gritted out, “You can’t just change things, Brook Lynn. Especially when everything was perfect the way it was.”

So...it wasn’t the fact that she had turned a bachelor pad into a chick paradise? It was simply the fact that she’d altered the hobo-hideous design? Too much too fast, Jase had said. Got it.

“Why don’t we keep the rest of the potpourri?” she suggested. “It smells so nice and—”

He tossed the remaining bowls of potpourri out the window, then did the same with the garbage bag of items he’d gathered.

O-kay. She made a mental note to retrieve everything on her way to the car. Today she’d driven straight to the driveway to avoid the awkward ride home Jase would have insisted on giving her. Maybe she would reintroduce the potpourri tomorrow and pray Beck failed to notice. Bottom line: the house wasn’t yet a home; it was simply a place to stay, as generic as a motel. She would be doing him a favor, and one day he would see that. Surely.

It will be for his own good, she thought.

Her sister’s voice mocked her. Warden always knows best, doesn’t she?

Ugh. How many times had Jessie Kay spoken those words? Countless.

Maybe Brook Lynn should leave things alone. Allow Beck and West to deal with their demons—whatever they were—on their own, without any “help” from her.

Nah. Not my style. When she noticed a problem, she wanted to do everything in her power to fix it.

“Brook Lynn. You done yet?”

Jase’s voice sent a shiver traipsing along already sensitized nerve endings. “I suppose so.” Feet suddenly as heavy as boulders, she trudged into the kitchen. He sat at the table, a plate in front of him and another steaming in front of the chair beside him. He motioned for her to take it.

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The moment she settled, he said, “Don’t change things, all right. Beck doesn’t like it.”

“Figured that out on my own, thanks.”

“Yeah, but I wanted you to hear it from your boss.”

Had stressing those last two words really been necessary?

“You’re in charge,” she said, somehow managing not to roll her eyes. “I get it.”

“Good.”

“Why doesn’t Beck like change?”

Jase stiffened, his fork pausing midway to his mouth. A haunted gleam darkened his eyes, turning the emeralds into stormy onyx. “He has his reasons” was all he said. “We all do.”

And they weren’t pleasant reasons, she realized. Like maybe a change in his past had devastated him so terribly he now preserved what he could of his present.

After the death of her dad, she’d experienced a similar reaction, not wanting his things to be altered in any way. “I’m surprised you and West convinced him to move here.”

He shifted in his seat, inching away from her. “How long have you lived in Strawberry Valley?”

Message received. Beck wasn’t her business. “All my life,” she said.

“Must be nice, having roots.”

Meaning he’d never had them? The thought saddened her. “A lot of the people here have their quirks, but when my mom died, they really stepped up to the plate to help Jessie Kay and me.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“What happened?”

“Long story.”

“Then you should probably get started.”

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” she began, shifting uncomfortably.

“I don’t. Talk. I want to hear.”

She rarely shared the gruesome details, but his desire to know eased her reservations. “Well, we’d lost our dad years before in an explosion at Dairyland. Every year since we would spend a weekend camping in his favorite spot. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a river that runs through the north edge of town. He loved it there. We would plant flowers in his honor, but that year Jessie Kay was doing twirls and tripped on a rock, and she dropped the flowers in the water. She dove in after them, and our mom dove in after her. The current was strong and swept them away. I gave chase on land, screaming for help, but no one was around. Jessie Kay finally managed to drag Mom to shore, but she...she was already dead and neither of us could revive her.”

“Jessie Kay blames herself?”

“Yes.” Nothing Brook Lynn had said had ever changed the girl’s mind. She cleared her throat, once, twice, waiting as the trembling in her chin stopped. “Speaking of my amazing sister, did I tell you she bakes the best strawberry cookies in the history of ever?” Truth. If Brook Lynn helped her do the baking.

He blinked at her, as if he wasn’t quite sure how the topic had veered so drastically.

“Do you like strawberry cookies?” she asked.

“Who took care of you?” he asked, focusing only on that. “Jessie Kay had to be...what? Seventeen?”

“Yes. An uncle came to stay with us for a while.”

“Was he good to you? Were your parents?”

“My parents were awesome, the best of the best. Mom used to tell us she loved us with all her heart, adored us with all her mind and would always momma-bear-protect us with her whole body.” She smiled with fond remembrance. “My dad called us his favorite princesses and built us castles made out of blankets.”

His face expressed a mix of awe and sadness. “And your uncle?”

She lost her smile in a hurry. “He was as far from awesome as humanly possible. He was a thief, a liar and a deadbeat. He only came around when he needed something or to convince Jessie Kay and me to help him hustle. People trust kids, he’d say. Then he took off with Mom’s insurance money.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” The tension in his voice confused her.

She continued anyway. “You want to know what’s silly about the whole thing? I was sad when he was gone. He was the only family we had left.”

Jase wiped away the beads of sweat that had popped up on his forehead. “Where is he now?”

“Dead. About a year after he left us, he conned the wrong person.” Desperate to learn more about Jase, she asked, “What about your parents?”

He finished the meal without responding, drained his glass of water.

Clearly, even though she’d shared some of her most painful memories, he’d just shut down yet another subject. But fine. Whatever. She was disappointed, but she could roll. “Did you know that Jessie Kay is an expert dancer? She took ballet classes for years. Really knows how to move.”

Which he’d probably learned while he’d had her in bed. Ugh.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He stalked to the sink, ignoring praise of her sister a second time.

“Did you know Jessie Kay was once crowned Miss Strawberry Valley? She was only eighteen.” Some people—cough, Charlene Burns, cough—liked to say she’d won simply because she was an orphan and the judges had felt sorry for her.

Some people were idiots.

Again, nothing from Jase.

Guilt, such an insidious creature, slithered through Brook Lynn. Because part of her liked his lack of reaction.

I’m a terrible sister. Jessie Kay had dibs and that was that. Besides, Brook Lynn would never be able to overlook the fact that Jase wanted what she didn’t: something temporary.

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Also, the guy she ended up with had to be reliable in every way. Like, say, being emotionally accessible, willing to share his past and his secrets. She had to be able to trust him with her heart, mind and body, and had to know he would be there for her every step of the way.

With a sigh, she picked at her food. She really needed to do as planned and ask out Brad Lintz. He fit all of her criteria. And he wouldn’t treat his former lovers this way—refusing to acknowledge their very existence.

Stop thinking about having fun and actually have some. For once.

“By the way,” Jase said. “It was good.”

Her brow wrinkled with confusion. “What was?”

“The casserole.”

Well, duh. “Obviously.” He’d eaten half the pan. “You should taste my sandwiches.”

“If the sandwiches are better than your casseroles, I’m officially putting in an order for tomorrow’s dinner.”

“Done. Hey,” she said. “Would you mind if I take some of the casserole to Jessie Kay?”

“Why would I mind?”

“Because you paid for the food,” she said then yawned. The trials of the day had finally caught up to her...and the itching in her ears had worsened with the movement of her jaw. She dropped her fork to gently scratch.

“Take as much as you’d like. Always.” Jase leaned over and pinched a lock of her hair, rubbing the ends between his fingers. “You’ve had a long day. You should go home.”

She really should...but for the first time in a very long time she didn’t think she’d fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Her blood suddenly ran too hot, and her heartbeat came too strong. She wanted to be here, talking with Jase—being touched by him. For Jessie Kay. Of course.

“Do you have a new list of chores for me?” she asked.

One of his brows winged up. “You finished the other one?”

“Just like Cinderella before the ball.” Well, well. Something else to check off the list she’d made with Kenna. Be Cinderella for a day. Although, actually attending the ball and meeting Prince Charming would have been more fun than the chores part of her day.

Another undeniable twitch at the corners of his mouth. “How?”

He sounded shocked. Had he deliberately set out to make her fail? “I may or may not have enlisted the aid of the women who came over looking for Beck.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, saying, “Cinderella did not have help.”

“I beg to differ. She had mice.”

His dark eyes sparkled. Was he fighting a laugh? Go me!

Beck stormed into the kitchen, his charming facade utterly gone. He waved a stack of papers and photos in Jase’s face. “There were phone numbers and printed selfies taped to my bedroom walls.”

The laugh Jase had been holding back finally burst out, and Brook Lynn marveled. He wasn’t as rugged-looking when he laughed, but he was just as appealing. Maybe even more so. His entire face lit up, his features softening, making him appear years younger. Almost...boyish.

“Blame Brook Lynn,” he said, hiking his thumb in her direction.

She offered Beck a sugar-sweet smile as he focused all of his anger on her.

“There’s a line,” he growled. “A line you just don’t cross.”

“Got it,” she said with a nod. “But, uh, I’m not actually the one who put the photos there.”

“You let someone else in my room?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “It’s not like you haven’t had a parade of women march through it already.”

“By choice—while I was there. Who did you allow into my room? I want a name.”

“I could give you a name, but I’d have to give you six to be accurate, and to be honest, I—”

“Six,” he echoed hollowly.

“Yes.” She’d barred those same women from stepping one foot inside Jase’s room, choosing to take care of his space on her own. “The girls were clearly interested in being with you again,” she said with a blush. “I figured you’d enjoy another go. Who wouldn’t? They were hot little totties.”

Beck opened his mouth to blast her, she was sure, but Jase moved in front of her.

“Enough,” he said. “She’s sincerely sorry and won’t do it again. Isn’t that right, Brook Lynn?”

“Right,” she said with a jaunty salute as she peeked around Jase. “Consider me the room’s new chastity belt.”

Beck drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, his animosity draining. “Let’s not get carried away. I’m allergic to chastity belts.” Just like that, Beck the Sweet and Charming was back. He noticed the array of desserts and shook his head. “As many strawberries as you country girls eat, you’d think someone would taste just like the fruit. So far no luck.”

“You’re taste-testing your way through the residents?”

“And loving every moment of it.” Beck helped her close her mouth before he sauntered off.

“What about you?” Brook Lynn asked, unable to stop the words from escaping.

Jase turned and met her gaze. He sobered instantly, the intensity of him suddenly crackling, her awareness of him suddenly smoldering. She found herself pushing to a stand, facing off with him. A battle. But what was the prize?

“What about me?” he asked softly.

“Who do you want to taste-test?”

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His pupils expanded, the black spilling over the emerald. “Are you offering?”

Yes. “No.” She shook her head, determined to mean it. “Never.”

He ground his teeth and took a step back, breaking the spell. “Good.”

“Yeah. Good,” she repeated softly. She scratched at her ears, cleared her throat. “Well,” she said and cleared her throat again. “Like you said, I should go.”

His nod was clipped. “I’ll walk you out.”

She offered no protest, knowing it would do no good. “Thanks.”

Outside, the air was a perfect blend of warm and cool. The moon hid behind clouds, a few stars glinting from their perch of black velvet. The only swath of light came from the single-bulb lamp on the porch.

Jase opened her car door, and as she moved around him, misjudging the distance, she accidentally brushed her shoulder against his arm. Both of them hissed, as if they’d just been burned.

Tremors rooted her in place. She stood in the open space between door and car, peering up at him. In the darkness, with thin ribbons of golden light seeping from the car’s interior and falling over him, the wind caressing strands of his hair over his brow, he could have stepped straight from her fantasies.

The scent of him enveloped her...honey and oats, like the soap he used...and it was both pleasant and comforting; she only wanted to get closer to him. Her blood heated, and her skin tingled. She forgot the discomfort in her ears. Forgot all the reasons she’d told herself to avoid this man.

Like he’d done in the kitchen, he reached out and pinched a lock of her hair between his fingers. A compulsion? She hoped so. A lance of pleasure sped through her, and breath snagged in her throat. What would he do next? What did she want him to do?

His head lowered...lowered a little more...coming closer and closer to hers. Anticipation consumed her, the heat and tingles growing worse.

His fingers moved to her jaw and tipped up her face. Preparing her for his kiss. She knew she should close her eyes, but she didn’t want to miss a moment of this.

For a long while, his mouth hovered over hers.

She breathed him in. He breathed her in. She tensed, eager for contact. Ready for it. Her belly quivered. She’d been kissed before—of course she had—but this would be her first kiss with a man so intense, so closed off, yet seething with such quiet savagery. And it would be wrong for her, wrong of her, but almost...necessary.

“Jase.” Do it. Please.

The sound of her voice caused him to stiffen. He dropped his arm to his side, severing contact.

“See you tomorrow, Brook Lynn.”

Just like that, he walked away. Leaving her confused, angry. Determined.

The only problem was, she didn’t know what she was so determined to overcome. Her attraction to him...or his resistance to her?

CHAPTER NINE

SLEEPING PROVED IMPOSSIBLE for Brook Lynn. She tossed and turned in bed, thinking of nothing but her almost-kiss with Jase.

Why had he stopped?

Did it really matter?

Sometime between falling onto her mattress and rising to take a shower, she’d made a decision: she would overcome her attraction to him, and that would be that.

There were too many problems stacked against them, anyway. Jessie Kay. Brook Lynn’s employment. His attitude. Oh, his attitude! Smoldering one moment, ice-cold the next. Always annoying.

Besides, she still wasn’t interested in a fling. Give me long-term or give me nothing.

Right?

“Jessie Kay,” she called, banging on the girl’s bedroom door. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Silence greeted her.

She peeked inside—no one was in the bed draped with sheets covered with silly pandas or anywhere else. Peachy. Had her sister even come home last night? Brook Lynn tromped to the kitchen...where she found a note. And a glass jar with a giant spider trapped inside.

Dude! Do you see what was waiting in the kitchen for me? The devil! I managed to catch it—you’re welcome. Now you get to kill it. All I ask is that you check for a pulse afterward to make sure he’s really, really, really dead. Love, JK

PS: I would have killed it myself, because I’m tough like that, but I was in a hurry to go out and make us some dough. You’re welcome x 2.

“You are deathly afraid of spiders, and you know it,” Brook Lynn muttered to her absent sister. And Jessie Kay, out making money? I’ll believe it when I see it.

After freeing the spider outside, Brook Lynn decided to forgo breakfast and made her way to the Rhinestone Cowgirl. Strawberry Valley was just beginning to rouse. Shop owners were outside, dusting off sidewalks while Closed signs flipped over behind them.

She waved to Mr. Rodriguez. Virgil hadn’t yet arrived to begin their next checkers game. There was Wanda Potts, taking pictures of her storefront to post on Twitter and Facebook. She sold “designer” clothing—meaning, she’d designed them. Next door, Donut à la Mode was being unlocked. It was nice, seeing the same people, the same sights, every morning. Comforting.

When Brook Lynn stepped inside the RC, she was ten minutes early and more fatigued than usual. Her eyes burned, and her feet dragged. And her ears! The itching had only gotten worse. If this kept up, she’d have to call her doctor and pay for a checkup she couldn’t afford.

Maybe she could get an advance from Jase...

No! No way. She wasn’t going to treat him like a piggy bank. He was her boss, and he was a person. A distant person, sure. Gruff, but a natural-born protector. Look how quickly he’d stepped in front of his friend simply to stop the guy from yelling at her.

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And she was still insanely curious about his past. How bad would it be to look him up online?

Oh, who cared? She plugged his name in a search engine. Jase Hollister.

Not much popped up. He had no Facebook page that she could find, no Twitter account. But she was asked if she’d meant Jessie Hollister, Jake Hollister, Jason Hollister or Jane Hollister.

Jason seemed the most obvious choice, so she clicked on it...and oh, wow, there seemed to be thousands of them. She narrowed the search to Jason Hollister in Oklahoma. The first thing to pull up was Hollister Co. at Penn Square Mall, followed by a few links to people on Facebook and LinkedIn. But none of the pictures matched the Jase she knew. There was an article about some kind of fight to the death between teenagers, but again, the picture next to it looked nothing like her Jase. The boy was far too scrawny.

The bell above the door tinkled, signaling the arrival of the first customer of the day, and she glanced up to see a young man she’d never before met standing in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” she asked. Tourist? Just passing through?

He had sandy-colored hair and wore a wrinkled white button-down and black slacks. He scratched his arms as he glanced behind him nervously before retreating outside, the door closing.

O-kay.

Brook Lynn closed the search window just as the bell tinkled again.

“Got your dating-911 text,” Kenna said as she glided to the counter, her red hair bouncing over her shoulders. “What’s up?”

Oh, yeah. In her delirium last night, Brook Lynn had contacted her friend. But in the bright light of the morning, discussing Jase seemed like the worst idea ever.

“Dating-911?” she asked, playing coy. “That doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

“Gonna play the dumb-blonde card, are you?”

“Why not?” she said with a shrug. She scratched her ears. “I’ve got a full deck.”

Kenna chuckled. “You typed, and I quote, do you know what’s worse than zombies eating your brains? Liking a man who’s slept with your sister.”

“Someone needs to invent an app to stop people from making foolish admissions in texts,” she grumbled.

“I bet West could do it. But even if he manages it, it’s too late for you. So...are we talking about Jase or Beck?”

Why not admit it, just put it out there? “Jase.”

“Oh,” Kenna said, and she sounded disappointed.

“What? You don’t like him?”

“I like him just fine, but of the two guys he just seems less attainable.”

She gaped at her friend. “Less attainable, when Beck is a certified man-whore?”

“Well, yeah,” Kenna said. “Jase is like a wall of ice. Dirty, dirty ice,” she added with an appreciative, dreamy sigh. “But ice all the same.”

“Ice can be melted, you know.” And with Jase, it had. At least for a little while. Once he’d even laughed with her.

I want to see him laugh again.

Kenna patted her arm, saying, “It can also refreeze.”

“True.” Hadn’t it already?

Did she want him to melt for good?

No, no. No fixer-uppers, remember? She’d decided to go after Brad. The safer choice. The smarter choice. Being with him wouldn’t get her canned or hurt her sister. Which was the reason she’d also texted him last night, asking him to stop by the shop whenever he was free.

“I won’t go after Jase,” she said on a sigh.

“Oh, Brook Lynn,” Kenna said. “I’m so sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’ve never seen you look so dejected.”

She scratched her ears yet again. “I’m not dejected.” I’m disappointed.

“I never should have discouraged you. If anyone can melt Jase once and for all, it’s you. Besides, the past might have created who he is, but we shouldn’t let it define who he can become.”

“What do you know of his past?”

“Not much. Dane mentioned something about foster care.”

The child of a broken home. Stomach twisting, she changed the subject before she raced out of here to hunt the guy down and throw herself in his arms to offer all the hugs he probably never received growing up. “How are wedding plans coming?”

Immediately snared by the topic, Kenna regaled her with stories of white lace dresses, snobby caterers and shy ice sculptors, all revolving around her crazy soon-to-be in-laws.

One day, I’ll have such awesome problems, Brook Lynn thought.

The bell chimed, and Norrie, Kenna’s six-year-old daughter, came racing inside. Dane Michaelson entered soon after, his gaze heating when it landed on his fiancée, practically steaming the air.

That. I want that.

“Hi, Aunt Brook Lynn,” Norrie said, skipping over to embrace her. “Guess what? Dane told Uncle West he’s got to get Momma alone soon or he’s gonna die of blue baseballs. I didn’t know baseballs could be blue, did you?”

Kenna almost swallowed her tongue.

Brook Lynn laughed out loud, but quieted as the itching in her ears grew worse.

Dane closed his eyes for a moment. “That was supposed to be our secret, squirt.”

Norrie had a major problem with verbal diarrhea. Every word to enter her ears exited her mouth.

“We better make sure they get some time alone, huh?” Brook Lynn said. “That way his baseballs can return to their original color. So how about you come over this evening and spend the night with me?” When Kenna and Norrie had moved out, Brook Lynn had left their rooms alone, part of her hoping they’d come back.

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Maybe I’m more like Beck than I realized.

“Yes!” Norrie squealed with happiness. “Can I, Momma? Please! Please!”

Kenna cast Brook Lynn a grateful smile. “I think that would be wonderful.”

“Sweet!” the girl said, jumping up and down.

The bell chimed a third time, and in stepped Charlene Burns.

She set her sunglasses on top of her head, saying, “I could use a moment alone with Brook Lynn, y’all.”

Kenna waited for Brook Lynn’s nod of approval. Which she gave. Reluctantly.

“Well, okay, then. I guess this is where we say goodbye.” Kenna shot Brook Lynn a sympathetic look before departing with her family.

“So,” Charlene said, resting her elbows on the counter.

“So. How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to make sure Beck got those muffins I baked him.”

I think you mean bought him. “He sure did. He even said something about all these strawberries making the girls here taste just as sweet. Doesn’t that make you think strawberries are his favorite fruit?” Brook Lynn added, tracing her fingertips over a strawberry pendant. She desperately needed to make a sale today.

Charlene brightened. “I have a collection of Edna’s finest at home. I’ll wear—”

Brook Lynn tried to look as horrified as possible. “You’re thinking about wearing last year’s fashion? Are you sure— No, no, I’m, uh, sure that’ll be fine. The other girls who came over with treats for Beck will probably wear last year’s fashion, too.”

“Other girls brought him treats? Who? You tell me right this second.”

“I’m not going to name names and start a catfight when I don’t even know which of you Beck wants. But if you stick around the store long enough, some of them might just arrive to buy jewelry, hoping to impress him.” Not a lie. They might.

Feminine calculation gleamed in Charlene’s hazel eyes. She bought every item with a strawberry. She would never wear them all, but this way, no other woman would be wearing them, either.

Brook Lynn floated on clouds of happiness the rest of her shift—or would have, if not for her ears—creating new pieces for the display cases. When the bell over the door rang again, she glanced up, expecting Brad—and almost snapped off a finger instead of a wire. Jase had just entered the store.

Reeling.

As usual, he looked good. Dangerous and good, as if he’d just stepped from a boxing ring... No, scratch that. As if he’d just come from an illegal street brawl, his dark hair mussed, his emerald eyes bright and gleaming from the high levels of testosterone pumping through his system. A man on the prowl, searching for a willing woman to satisfy.

She set the needle-nose pliers aside. “What are you doing here?”

He waved a piece of paper at her, his biceps flexing. “I have your new list.”

Her heart rate picked up speed as she read over what appeared to be a shopping list. Or rather, tried to read over it. Her eyes would not move past number two, her cheeks heating. “Beer. Condoms,” she said, peering at him through the thick shield of her lashes.

“Ex-large,” he said with a nod. “Maybe ribbed for her pleasure. I’ll let you decide.”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “Is there a specific her in mind?”

“Just consider that a collective her.”

“I see.” She tried to contain her blush as she ticked off another item on the list—and failed. “Hemorrhoid cream? Seriously?”

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, honey, but sometimes you can be a major pain in the ass.”

Well played, Mr. Hollister. Well played. Clearly he was having fun.

Fun. Again. And at her expense. Well, not anymore.

It’s my turn, she thought, mentally adding an item to her own list. She’d turn the tables on him. Starting now.

“Personal lubricant?” she said, eyeing him up and down without shivering. Surely I deserve some type of reward. “Yes, I can see how you might need that. Or is it for a friend?” She used air quotes, letting him know she wouldn’t believe him if he tried to take that path.

He set his elbows on the counter and leaned closer to her. “Some women need an extra boost. None of mine ever have, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The blush redoubled. “Why lice shampoo?”

He shrugged. “There could be an outbreak.”

“What about the yeast-infection ointment? The feminine cleansing pads? The vajazzle tattoos?” Never even heard of that. “The peekaboo mirror for personal inspection?” She gazed at him and rested a hand over her heart. “Wait. Do you have a hoo-ha fetish?” She batted her lashes at him, hoping he heard the unspoken bless your heart.

“Doesn’t every man?”

“Well, you can still count on me. I’ll take care of everything. You and your hemorrhoids will be feeling better in no time. One day soon you’ll even be able to sit in a chair without a cushion.”

He rocked back on his heels. “You are not handling this the way I expected.”

“Tears? Refusal? Please. I’d buy laxatives, suppositories for constipation, pills to stop diarrhea, an entire box of pregnancy tests and a tube of antifungal cream without a single moment of humiliation.”

“Great. Add those to the list. And don’t forget you promised to make sandwiches tonight.”

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The bell tinkled, signaling the arrival of another customer, saving her from having to reply.

Though Brook Lynn stood on her tiptoes, she couldn’t see over the wide expanse of Jase’s shoulders. When she motioned for him to move, he simply crossed his arms over his massive chest, stubborn to his core.

Fine. She stepped to the side and peeked around him, her gaze locking on Brad. As he removed his sunglasses, she waited for tingles and heat, wanted to experience them, but...nothing.

Peachy. She smoothed her clothes in place and forced a smile. “You came.”

“Of course,” Brad said, returning her smile with one of his own. “You texted.”

Jase tensed, as if the store had just been invaded by zombies.

“Jase,” Brook Lynn said, “this is Brad Lintz. He owns Lintz Automotive, and he’s a true master of his craft. He’s kept Rusty, my car, running for years. Brad, this is Jase. My boss. My other boss, I mean.”

Brad held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Jase bristled like a porcupine before he pressed his palm against Brad’s—and he must have squeezed too hard, because Brad flinched. Jase released him and stuffed his hands in his pockets, as if he didn’t trust them, and returned his gaze to her. His pupils had expanded, black completely overshadowing green. A sign of heightened emotion; one she’d seen every time she’d caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror after a fight with Jessie Kay.

He was...angry?

His body language answered the question, shouting yes! He grew stiffer by the second and even braced his legs apart, as if he meant to pounce.

“I should go,” he said. “Don’t forget the list.”

As if she would be thinking of anything else.

He stalked out of the shop before she had time to form a reply, acting as if his feet were on fire.

“Interesting guy,” Brad said.

“Yes.” But he wasn’t dating material. Brad, on the other hand...

He was a handsome man, with well-defined features, tidy dark hair and navy eyes. A combination she hadn’t seen often. He stood just over six feet—though at six-four, Jase towered over him. He was lean and when not wearing his work overalls, always well dressed.

“What kind of list?” Brad asked.

“Oh, uh, something for work.” She tucked Jase’s note into her pocket. And now it was time to nut up or shut up and ask Brad out.

What if he says no?

She’d survive. Maybe cry. Big deal.

“Brad,” she began. Sweat slicked her palms as sickness churned in her stomach. How should she do this?

Do you know what my shirt is made of? Girlfriend material.

I’d rather die.

I don’t have a library card, but do you mind if I check you out?

I’d rather die twice.

“Well,” she said, rubbing at her ears. With Jase here, she’d forgotten how badly they’d been bothering her.

“In your text,” he said, “you mentioned you had something important to ask me.”

“That’s true. I do.” Open your mouth. Create words. “Brad, would you like to go out with me?”

* * *

JASE PACED JUST outside the Rhinestone Cowgirl. He should go home. He had a crap-ton of work to do. He felt as if he was being watched, his neck practically burning with an increase of tingles, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Brook Lynn was currently in an enclosed space with another guy. Alone. Jase didn’t like that—even though he had no right to dislike it—and things just got worse.

He was boss; she was employee. He’d made sure she understood that.

He still didn’t like it.

The girl was chipping away at his armor, and she had no idea she was doing it. No idea that every smile, every joke, every touch between them destroyed a very necessary layer of his protection.

Hell. The armor was already close to disintegrating, wasn’t it?

And now this other man wanted her. That much was obvious. The adoration in his eyes had been sickening. And, if Jase had to guess, the feeling was definitely mutual. Brook Lynn had brightened when she’d spied him.

His hands fisted, the bones aching. He wanted to stomp back inside that store and kick Brad out on his ass. But of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t. It would be considered assault. Worse, Brook Lynn might not appreciate his helpfulness.

Nothing but disaster awaited him here.

He picked up the faint sound of footsteps, coming in behind him, approaching fast. Tensing at the possibility of a threat, Jase spun.

An older man dressed in overalls paused to give Jase the stink eye. “What are you doin’ loitering outside Ms. Edna’s shop, boy?”

Jase breathed, his heart rate slowing. “I’m...thinking.”

“Do yourself a favor. Go inside and buy your girl a fine piece of jewelry.”

Not what he’d expected the guy to say. “I don’t have a girl.”

“Guy?”

“No.”

“Single, then.” The old man looked at the shop door then back at Jase. He shuffled closer and held out his hand. “I’m Virgil Porter of Swat Team 8—we assassinate fleas, ticks, silverfish, ****roaches, bees, ants, mice and rats. You must be one of them city boys who moved here with Lincoln. And I know. Everyone calls him West, but that’s his last name, gosh dern it, and I ain’t calling no one I’ve shaken hands with by his last name. It’s rude is what it is.”

“I’m Jase. And I assure you, that’s my first name.” Unlike with Brad, he didn’t contemplate breaking every bone in Virgil’s hand.