The Line, page 5
I was mad, yes, but I was more angry and hurt for that girl. Because that cowboy was gone, and in his place was cold-as-steel Cole Briggs, asshole extraordinaire.
When we’d parted ways that night four years ago, I’d known a few things with complete certainty. One of them was that he would understand, and the other was that he would forgive me. There hadn’t been a doubt in my mind. Only, now, I was thinking that maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I hadn’t known Cole at all back then. Or maybe he’d changed, just like I had. Only his change hadn’t been for the better—that was for sure.
Good thing I was made of sterner stuff than Cole could ever give me credit for. I wasn’t going to let him chase me away. I needed the money I’d be earning over the summer, and I couldn’t disappoint Momma Lou. So Cole could take his huge ego and his temper and shove them where the sun didn’t shine. I’d show him. I was different. I’d make him see the new me.
Almost to the B&B, I noticed a small cottage house off to the side of the property. I wondered if it was the house Cody had told me Cole lived in. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision and probably a bad one, but I stepped up onto the porch and rapped on the door with a little more force than I’d meant to. But I was still mad, and I had a bone to pick with him.
No one answered, so I turned the knob, thinking that surely it would be locked, but to my surprise, the door swung open. I stood there a little dumbfounded, surprised that Cole would leave his door unlocked when he seemed too damn untrusting.
I made a tentative step inside and shut the door behind me, taking in the rustic and very basic home. No curtains hung from the windows. No rugs on the floors. There wasn’t a damn throw pillow or decorative blanket to be seen. My first thought was that maybe this wasn’t Cole’s place at all, because it looked like no one lived here. But then I spun in a circle and breathed deep, taking everything in. The smell of smoke and leather and man attacked my senses and shook me to my core. I knew without a doubt that this was Cole’s place. For the rest of my life, I’d never forget that smell.
Smoke. He smelled like it. Like clean sweat, musk, and leather, with the undertones of earthy smoke. Not the filthy smell of cigarettes, but like a campfire—warm and deep and rich. I leaned a little closer, thinking that maybe it was his jacket or his hat but coming to the conclusion that it was just innately him. It was sexy, and it sent my young heart all aflutter. I knew he was too old for me and didn’t see me in the way I saw him, but I couldn’t help it. He’d fed me. Given me water. Called me Peaches. And he’d just kept talking even though I was doing my damnedest to pretend I wasn’t hearing a word he was saying. He told me of his crazy brother. His sweet momma. How he loved farming and riding horses. On the outside, I was stoic and rigid, an impenetrable wall, but on the inside—God, I was open and laid bare. I was taking everything in.
I wanted to hold his hand.
I wanted to rub my hand over the stubble on his chin.
I wanted to brush my lips over his.
His voice. His stories. They were like listening to the deep timbre base of my favorite song. And I didn’t want to miss a beat.
I was feeling as high as the fireworks I’d seen in the sky from the train station this past Fourth of July. It wouldn’t take much more from this cowboy to send me soaring and flying and bursting wide open like them too.
He got quiet, and it took everything in me not to beg him to go on. Hearing his life was the best escape ever from my own. His stories took me far, far away. He glimpsed over at me, waiting for me to talk. I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me because I didn’t have grand stories of family and friends.
“Play me a memory, Peaches,” he said, gazing at me.
I turned my head his way, arching an eyebrow. “What?”
“Play me a memory,” he said again. “Tell me something. Anything. A memory.”
I frowned. I didn’t want to tell him anything. It was all too bad.
Seeing my frown, he said, “Play. Me. A. Memory. A good one, Peaches.”
I wracked my brain, trying to remember if I had any good memories.
I couldn’t tell him about the nights I’d thought I would freeze to death outside the train station while I’d tried to sleep, but somehow, I didn’t. I couldn’t tell him about the days I’d managed to get a wallet or money off someone and hadn’t been caught. The days I’d managed to have enough food, despite not having the money for groceries. I couldn’t tell him that those were my good memories. Days where I’d just survived.
“My mom used to say that,” he said. “Any time I was sad or having a bad day, she’d just look at me and say, ‘Play me a memory, baby,’ and I’d think of the last good thing that happened to me. Something that made me feel good. I’d pick the last thing and I’d tell her and she’d smile and then my day didn’t seem so bad anymore, ya know?”.
I nodded, thinking of my last good memory. It didn’t take too long.
“One night on the train, a stranger offered me a seat, his food, his water. My belly was full and I was warm.” I didn’t add that he made me feel higher than the tree tops. I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t smiled so much in years. Because that was what I really wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that he had done more than just given me food. He’d fed my soul when it had been so very starved.
His smile fell, and sadness settled in my heart, but that was my last good memory. The only one I’d had in a really long time.
I sighed because thinking back on that night only made me more emotionally conflicted. I took another gander around Cole’s place, the younger version of me swooning at the memories of long ago and the me of today feeling all the anger drain out of me. No one had ever made me feel like Cole had. Not in all of my twenty years.
I’d given men my body. I’d given a lot of things away in order to survive, but never my heart. Only one man had ever held that.
But this empty house said way too much about my cowboy. The lack of family photos. The absence of personal effects. This bare house said it all, and I hated what it communicated.
It physically pained me to see how alone Cole was. I couldn’t bear to be in this house for another second, so I swung on my heel and quickly walked back out of the door before slamming it behind me. I noticed the guys who were fixing the fence walking nearby and hoped like hell they hadn’t seen me in Cole’s home. That was the last thing I needed. The man was already out to get me.
My emotions were all over the place. Sixteen-year-old me adored Cole. And me now—well, I wanted to hate him for the way he had treated me. Only, now, after seeing his sad house, I just pitied Cole. Because I still remembered our tender talks on the train so long ago. Now, I remembered his deep love and devotion to his family and friends. My cowboy would have photos scattered all over this house, blankets his momma had made him thrown over the back of his sofa—he’d have memories everywhere. But Cole didn’t. Where were they?
I reached the B&B with so many questions that I felt like my head might explode. I opened the back door and stepped inside, the screen door slamming behind me. I heard two arguing voices, and one of them was Cole’s. I made my way through the big, white kitchen and down the hall to the front desk. When I rounded the corner, Cole was leaning over the desk and grinning at an old, grey-haired lady.
“Come on, Jane,” he said softly, laying his Southern charm on thick before lowering his voice. “Pretty please,” he begged in a whisper, a small smirk on his lips.
Jane rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I told you, Cole. No more quarters. I have to have change too, you know? Just go grab a soda out of the fridge in the kitchen like everyone else does.” She nodded towards where I’d just come from.
“I thought I was your favorite?” Cole batted his thick, brown eyelashes and frowned for effect. He lifted his hand and rubbed his thumb across the paper thin skin on her cheek. “Besides, you know I only like my cola from the glass bottle out of the old machine out front.”
I leaned against the wall, watching. A giggle almost escaped my mouth, so I clamped my hand over my smile and continued to enjoy his theatrics from my secluded spot in the corner.
“The answer is still no, Cole. Now, quit batting your pretty lashes at me, you flirt. My old lady heart can’t take it.” She placed her hand on her chest. “Just get a drink from the kitchen. That machine out there is old as dirt. I don’t even know why they keep putting sodas in that old relic.”
Cole leaned farther over the desk so he was closer to Jane. “Aw, Ms. Jane. You know better than anyone that everything gets better with age.” He quickly pulled his hat off, kissed her on the cheek, and winked before leaning back just as fast and turning to make his way out the front door.
I could hear his deep chuckle, and it would be a lie if I said that it didn’t make my skin prickle. I remembered that laugh—or, better yet, my younger self did. My face flushed. I guess the younger me still thought Cole was all that. It seemed childhood crushes could endure a hell of a lot.
Even though he was well on his way, Jane shouted, “You get on out of here, Cole Briggs, before I tell Joe on you!” She shook her head and giggled like a damn schoolgirl, and I smiled along with her. Because this? It was freaking adorable.
Cole didn’t turn around, but he raised one hand and said, “I’m leaving, Ms. Jane,” through his laughter.
Jane started studying the book in front of her, but I didn’t miss the small grin and the, “Shameless flirt,” she whispered under her breath.
Well, at least I knew that Cole wasn’t a bastard to everyone he encountered. Seemed he saved that special brand of assholery just for little old me. Super.
I didn’t want to take the brunt of all of Cole’s anger. I wanted my cowboy back. I wanted his smiles, his jokes, his deep laughter. I wanted his hushed conversations, his stories that transported me to another place. A place where homeless girls didn’t live in train stations. A place where there wasn’t hunger or cold. A place only my cowboy had taken me. I needed to figure out how to get there, and I needed more info on Cole to do that. But what I didn’t need was for nosy-girl-drama Cody to know I needed information on Cole. So I did the only thing I could think to do.
I abandoned my place in the corner, let out a long sigh, and threw in a fake chuckle to seal the deal. “That Cole is something else.” I grinned, extending my hand with the papers for Jane.
“He is!” Ms. Jane exclaimed, fanning her face. “He’s a mess, but I’m just glad to see him getting back to normal.”
I smiled because, ding ding ding, we had a talker on our hands and I needed all the freaking words. So I just nodded and kept grinning, trying to telepathically communicate that I needed all the Cole dirt.
“That fiancée sure did a number on him,” she said, taking the papers from me and staring at them.
My stomach plummeted, and an odd buzzing filled my head. Fiancée?
She looked back up at me. “You must be Everly! It’s so nice to meet you. Joe has been telling me good things.” She came around the desk to pull me in for a hug like she hadn’t just rocked my entire world. Like she hadn’t just wrecked a part of me.
She squeezed me hard, but all I could manage was a small pat on her back in return. I just stood there, shocked. Cole had a fiancée. Why hadn’t that ever occurred to me? You know why, Everly, I told myself. Because he was always yours and the thought never occurred to you, not in a million years, that he could be someone else’s. But still, a fiancée. Where was she? His house was so empty. Was that because he had just moved in? Were they separated? God, it seemed like the questions just kept coming when it came to Cole.
“A fiancée,” I uttered—more to myself than to anyone else.
But Ms. Jane took that as a cue to go on. “Yep, that Marla bitch,” she spat, her eyes narrowed.
I didn’t know if it was the shock of the entire situation or Ms. Jane’s blatant use of the word bitch, but I giggled a little uncontrollably. I sucked my top lip into my mouth to stall the laughter because I had a feeling I was coming off a bit manic. Ms. Jane didn’t seem to notice. She just kept right on chatting while organizing papers on her desk.
“That Marla really messed Cole up. It’s taken him months, and he still ain’t right. Cheating, lying, no-good bitch.”
Again, a laugh almost escaped, but I sucked my lip back in, and before I could think about it, “Who would cheat on Cole Briggs?” flew out of his mouth. I immediately wanted to suck the words back in, but Ms. Jane was already grinning at me and nodding.
But seriously, Cole was gorgeous and rugged, and if he was anything like my cowboy from years ago, his kindness—his giving nature—knew no bounds. What woman could have all of that—all of the sheer perfection that was him—and throw it away? Who in the ever-loving hell would cheat on Cole Briggs? It made absolutely no sense, and I had to agree with Ms. Jane—she was a bitch, although that might have been too kind a word.
“Amen to that, sister,” she said, slowly sitting in the chair at the desk, a small pinch forming between her eyebrows.
I came around the desk and grabbed her arm, helping her sit.
“Thanks, baby,” she said, patting my hand that rested on her arm. “These old knees don’t work like they used to anymore.”
“No problem,” I said, smiling down at her, and it wasn’t. I could tell that Ms. Jane was good people, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would give me what I was about to ask her. I just knew it.
I reached into my back pocket and took out a small wad of cash. Then I held a ten-dollar bill out to Ms. Jane. “Can I, by chance, buy a roll of quarters off of you?” I asked, smiling sweetly, just like Cole had moments ago.
Ms. Jane studied the ten-dollar bill in my hand and then peered up at my face. She smirked knowingly at me and turned her head to the front door, where Cole had exited minutes ago. Then she gave a big sigh.
“All right, Miss Everly,” she said, reaching into her bottom drawer on her desk. She placed a roll of quarters on the desk.
I extended my hand with the ten-dollar bill dangling from my fingers. She snatched the bill and placed it in the drawer where the quarters had come from.
“Go on,” she said, motioning with her hand towards the quarters in front of her. “Take them, but don’t you dare tell that man I gave them to you, you hear?” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need everyone around here thinking I’ve gone soft.”
I grabbed the quarters and leaned over, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Never.” I squeezed her hand once more before darting for the door. “Thanks, Ms. Jane,” I threw over my shoulder as I ran down the front steps, a plan starting to formulate on how to win Cole Briggs over.
Sweet baby Jesus, it was still hot as all get out even at ten at night. I pulled my sticky, white tank top away from my chest a couple of times, trying to cool myself as I walked from the big house to Cole’s small cottage. Yep, I was hardheaded. I was determined to go ahead with my plans even though Cole hadn’t shown up at dinner. Joe had spent the entire time brooding quietly, so I could only assume that it had pissed him off that Cole hadn’t been there. But I knew why Cole hadn’t come to dinner. He was avoiding me.
But you know what? It’s pretty hard to avoid someone banging on your door, so I stepped up onto Cole’s porch and let my small fist fly against the wooden door, my other hand gripping the roll of quarters.
What? I wasn’t a damn fool. Of course I came with a peace offering.
My fist was raised to bang again when the door flew open. I had a speech fully planned out. It was all there on the tip of my tongue. I was going to tell him I was sorry. That I hoped he’d forgive me. That I wasn’t that girl anymore and I just wanted a chance to prove it. Only none of those words came out of my mouth because Cole was looking like every dirty fantasy I’d ever had. And I’d had plenty.
His hair was messy, like he’d run his fingers through it over and over. His eyes were piercing and assessing. That five-o’clock shadow—God, it was gorgeous And I contemplated reaching out to rub the soft pads of my fingers along those whiskers. But nothing—nothing—distracted me from my cause more than Cole’s shirtless torso. He had a huge barrel of a chest with just a small smattering of brown hair down the middle, and I followed that trail of hair to his rock-hard abs and all the way past them to the waistband of his jeans—which were, holy hell, unbuttoned.
I wanted to climb him like a damn tree, and I’d never actually climbed a tree in my life, but I was willing to try for Cole. The things I would do to this man. And thinking about that only made me hotter than the Sahara Desert.
I raked my gaze down the rest of his body, past the legs of his well-worn jeans to his bare feet. Never in my life had I thought a pair of bare feet could be sexy, but Cole’s were. And that’s where I was still staring when Cole let loose on me.
“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped.
My gaze shot from his feet to his face, which was a mask of rage. Stunned at his angry outburst, I stood there, speechless. Cole’s gaze raked me up and down before stopping at my white tank and then my cut-off jean shorts. It came back to my face. His nose wrinkled, and his lips pursed like he smelled something bad. And the whole thing just pissed me the hell off.
“You know what?” I turned and started down the porch steps. “Not a Goddamn thing, Cole. I don’t want anything from you!” I yelled, determined to get the hell away from him.
It was clear there was nothing left of my cowboy here. Whoever this man was, he was a complete stranger to me, and I wanted nothing to do with him.
All of a sudden, I was dragged by my arm back up the steps and forcibly turned to face Cole, my head level with his barrel of a chest and way too close to it for comfort. The wooden porch creaked under his weight as he leaned so close to me that our lips were almost touching.
“What. Do. You. Want?” Cole gritted out between his teeth.
I could smell him everywhere. The smoke. The man. Sunshine and whiskey. It was heavenly. It was clear he’d been drinking, and I should have been scared. I should have hightailed my ass back to the big house. I should have stepped off that damn porch and never looked back, but just like four years ago, his presence held me captive. I was rooted to the spot, swaying on my feet. His body so close to mine. His smell surrounding me. His bare chest and feet. It was all too much, and I was dizzy—drunk on him.
