One in Waiting (Reedsville Roosters Book 2), page 7
He grunted. “Shorthorns, though I don’t imagine the basics are much different. What do you need help with?”
“I—”
“Didn’t think we’d see you so soon.”
Ren turned to see Leary leaning against the bathroom door with a towel still pulled snug around his waist and his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders. Any other time, Ren might have allowed himself some time to enjoy the spectacle—to take in his man’s cut physique and imagine how their next encounter in the bedroom would play out. Didn’t seem appropriate at the moment.
Emilie straightened her spine and jammed her hands into her jeans pockets. “You would have accused me of rudeness if I’d waited.”
Ren could tell Leary wanted to argue it, even if it were true. It was written in the furrow of his brow and the tight set of his lips.
“Uh. Do you want to come in for a minute?” Ren got out of the way just in case she wanted to.
She shook her head. “I really do need to handle a few things. If you need anything, call Ceria. She’ll know how to get in touch with me should you need to. Dinner’s at six if you don’t mind eating with the ranch hands. They’re not the sorts who hold their tongues.”
Ren got the gist. They’d take one look and him and Leary and know they weren’t just BFFs.
“As if we haven’t encountered those types before,” Leary said. He ducked back into the bathroom only to reemerge a moment later without the towel. He strode to his duffel bag and squatted in front of it, sifting through its contents obviously without a care in the world.
Intentional assholery.
Leary was capable of it, but Ren hadn’t seen so much of it in such a short period of time for the entire duration of their relationship. He was either showing off—and God knew he had the body to do it—or trying to annoy the shit out of Emilie. Possibly both.
Ren cut his gaze to Emilie, whose accusing stare was on Ren.
“What’d I do?”
She shook her head and stepped off the stoop, already heading toward her truck.
Ren put on his hat and followed her out, closing the door behind him. “Really. What’d I do?”
She shook her head and yanked her truck door open.
Ren grabbed the handle before she could slam the door closed on the conversation. “If I’m being accused of something, I like to know specifically what it is.”
She let out a sigh as she turned her key in the ignition. She wasn’t a tiny woman by any stretch of the imagination—she was model-tall with the curves of a silver-screen vixen—but sitting up in that truck seat, she looked delicate. Easy to break. “Why are you here, Mr. Ardent?”
“Call me Ren. Most of the folks nowadays who call me by my last name wear cleats and jock straps.”
“Fine. Ren. Why are you here?”
“Truth?”
“That’d be a good place to start.”
“Okay, truth is I’m suspended indefinitely because I had a little tussle with a smarmy-ass hillbilly motherfucker who can’t let go of things and insisted on continuously insulting my boy. Now, Leary can fight his own battles—which is also why he’s suspended at the moment—but at some point, I start taking things personally.”
“What was the fight over?”
“Same shit men usually fight about.”
She pushed up one of those dark eyebrows. “A woman.”
He pointed at her.
“Me?”
He shrugged. “I guess Hathaway was, or is, more than a little stuck on you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Interesting, but what does that have to do with you two?”
He shifted his weight. “What do you mean by interesting?”
“You missed the more important part of what I said—the question part.”
“No, I didn’t miss it. I want to know why Hathaway being stuck on you is interesting.”
“Suffice it to say, I’ve known him for quite some time.”
“That doesn’t suffice it. Not even a little bit. I’m gonna take a wild guess, just by the way he was acting in that hot tub, that he’s probably even seen you naked before.”
“It’s none of your business if he has.”
“That’s so not a refusal. He has, hasn’t he? You hooked up with Hathaway.”
She reached for her seatbelt and stabbed the tongue into the buckle. “Again, none of your business.”
“But, it kind of is. I’d like to know just how complicated this shit I’ve found myself in is. I mean, obviously Leary would piss on you like an alpha wolf to mark you if he thought it’d do any good, and I’m happy to continue to beat the shit out of Hathaway if he can’t keep his mouth shut about—”
She placed her hand over his mouth. “Hush.”
Yes, ma’am.
“Why would Leary be territorial in regards to me? We’re not in a relationship, not friends, and are barely even tolerant acquaintances at this point. We have a child together. That’s it.” She dropped the hand. “Now talk.”
Yes, ma’am. Anything to please her. “He’s hung up on you. I know my boy. You got under his skin in a way no one else has.”
“He’s pissed. It’s understandable he’d want to keep others away until he reaps his vengeance.”
Dammit, I wanted to be mad at her. He wanted to be so fucking mad and just bark at her, be he couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. He laughed. “Lady, you are a mess.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way. Look, I’ve never worried about anyone else being competition against me for Leary, but having met you, I worry.”
Her scowl relaxed. Eyes softened. “You shouldn’t worry. Angry sex isn’t a preemptor for greater things.”
“I don’t see it that way, but I know Leary. Leary doesn’t do angry sex. Enthusiastic sex? Sure. He’s good at that. So imagine my surprise that he’d give it to you so rough.”
“I’m good at bringing that out of people.”
“I guessed as much.”
That eyebrow went up again.
He shifted his weight and leaned into the open truck door. “That’s why I wanted to know about Hathaway. Are you fucking him or just playing with him?”
“You seem to have a vested interested in what I may or may not be doing with Hathaway, and for reasons that have nothing to do with Leary.”
Ren shrugged again. “Just want to know if I’m right. The irony may very well kill me, but I gotta know.”
She turned the key and killed the ignition. “All right. I don’t tell other people’s business, but I’ll tell you mine. I can say that the only person on your team I’ve fucked is Leary. Five people on your team, including yourself and Leary, have seen me nude or in some state of nudity. I’ve touched four of you in some…intimate fashion.”
“Am I counted in that four?”
She made a dismissive gesture. “What I do behind closed doors is my business and no one else’s.”
“If I ask you a specific question, will you answer it?”
“I’ll either answer it or tell you I won’t.”
That was probably the best he was going to get, so he was going to run with it. He looked back at the lodge, and not seeing Leary in one of the windows, turned back to look at Emilie. “Do you…do scenes with strangers?” Or people who were pretty fucking close to being strangers, in his case.
She set her gaze on something on the dashboard. He didn’t think she was going to answer, she went so still, but then she finally spoke.
“Sometimes. I generally prefer partners who I know the backgrounds of, however.”
“Do you have a…a regular partner?” Fuck, if she did, he hoped Hathaway wasn’t it. The guy was obviously hoping for more than she was currently giving.
“No, I haven’t found a suitable one.”
“Thank God.”
“I’m sorry?”
Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Nothing. It’s just…” He looked back at the lodge again. “I hate even saying it. I’m feeling pretty dirty for it. Leary and I fool around with women on the side pretty often, but never anyone we both know. I…”
“What are you asking me for, Ren?”
“Depends on what you can give me.”
“But what do you want?”
He wanted everything, but he’d start with some concepts he could actually label. He swallowed, and met her gaze. “Pain. Can you give me that?”
“I leave pain behind me wherever I go, according to some folks I know.”
“That’s not what I mean. You know what I mean.”
She studied him long and hard, eyes steely and jaw clenched.
God, if she refused him… Well, shit, he didn’t know. He didn’t know who else to ask.
“I need to see to moving a herd,” she said softly.
Shit.
“I’m usually home for the night by eight. Come by at nine. Dress comfortably.” She reached for the door handle, and he got out of her way. “And Ren?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“If you step into my bedroom—into my domain—understand that I need to be the one in control. I don’t play with repressed dominants and I don’t play with switches. Either be dominant or be submissive. Tell me where you stand so I can decide accordingly.”
Was that what Hathaway was? Repressed? Or…a switch, whatever that was?
“I…I don’t know the rules. Just tell me what to do and I’ll try not to step on your toes.”
She closed the door and let down her window. “Don’t worry about the rules. The only important one right now is knowing your role and your limits. Let me worry about everything else.”
“Okay. Uh. What should I tell Leary? He’ll want to know where I’m going.”
She scoffed. “I’m not a liar, Mr. Ardent, but you handle it as you see fit. Tell him what you want or nothing at all. For all I care, he could even watch. If I’m in the right headspace, I doubt I’ll even notice he’s there.”
Ren wasn’t so sure he believed that. Leary was hard to ignore, even when he had his clothes on. Still, he liked the idea a little—of seeing Leary a little hot under his collar and detached from the action. Of him seeing Ren get what he needed and learning what he should be giving him.
Maybe it’d be the best possible thing for both of them.
CHAPTER TEN
Leary thought Ren was out of his damned mind, but he couldn’t come up with a single reason to make him stay away from Emilie. Well, that wasn’t true. He could think of a lot of reasons, but he wasn’t certain any of them were good reasons. It was just sex, and Leary didn’t need to try to ascribe any meaning to it beyond that.
So, he hopped in the rental car with Ren and seethed all the way up the path to her house.
It was a modest enough house compared to many ostentatious new ranch homes he’d seen, and well maintained. It wasn’t cheerful—though nothing about Emilie Beaudelaire had ever been—but still managed somehow to be welcoming. Maybe it was the fruit trees around the brick rambler, or the specific shade of blue the shutters and planter boxes were painted. It wasn’t the grand manse the Beaudelaires had occupied in the French Quarter, and that Emilie had snuck out of so many nights, but hardly a step-down. For a single woman, it was practically a palace.
How the hell did she end up with it?
Ren parked the car in front of the open, three-stall garage and pulled up the parking brake. “You don’t have to come if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.”
“I have to go precisely because I’m uncomfortable.”
“I doubt she’s going to do anything to me I can’t handle.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Leary wouldn’t presume to know Emilie’s weight, but he was pretty sure Ren had her by at least fifty pounds. Overpowering him wasn’t going to be an issue. He was more concerned about her scrambling his brain. She was a siren. Irresistible, but so fucking deadly to a man’s spirit. He pulled the door handle and got out.
Emilie appeared in the garage, her thumbs hooked into the pockets of tight black jeans, and her expression a blank. She nodded to Ren, who waved, and fixed that ball-shriveling blue gaze on Leary. “I suppose you took him up on the offer to watch.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He’d be watching, all right, just to make sure she didn’t take her anger with Leary out on Ren. Ren didn’t deserve it, and at the end of everything, Leary had to go home with the man and take care of him. He wasn’t going to have Emilie being a sore spot in Ren’s history, too.
She led them up the stairs from the garage into a hallway, past the laundry room, and into a bright, airy kitchen.
Leary stopped at the farmhouse table and took in the sights. He would have expected a woman like Emilie to be all about cold, shiny, metal and glass, but there was very little of that to be found. The room was awash with white and pale wood, colorful braided rugs, and…well, clutter. Baskets overstuffed with odds and ends and junk mail. A stack of catalogues rested on top of the recycling bin. What he could see through the slightly ajar pantry door indicated a lack of organization. A sticky note stuck to the refrigerator indicated she needed to make an appointment for some kind of prescription.
He moved closer to inspect the picture secured with a cow-shaped magnet beside the sticky note, thinking it was Emilie. Then, the realization settled in and nearly took his breath away. The grinning young woman in Western wear and a navy blue cowboy hat, being squeezed between an older black couple, looked a hell of a lot like Emilie. Had her nose and cheekbones. Had her lips and chin. Her dark hair and height—she towered over the round woman in the picture by six inches, probably—but her eyes weren’t blue like Emilie’s.
Emilie cleared her throat behind him.
He turned.
“I asked if you wanted a drink. A beer, maybe?”
It took a moment for his brain to communicate the question to his head. He stared at her numbly for a few seconds before nodding. “Yeah. I’d like a beer.” He might very well need six.
She nudged him gently out of the way and pulled out two longnecks. He took one. She closed the door and extended the other to Ren, who strode across the room to accept it.
Leary tapped the photo. “Is that…Alison?” That little girl was practically grown. He wasn’t that old, was he?
Emilie nodded and slipped the photo out from beneath the magnet and handed it to him. “Last year’s Christmas card. Eleanor and Rick buy them in bulk. I’m pretty sure half the Southwest gets one. They’re proud of her.”
“She looks happy.” Or else she was very good at faking it. Emilie had never been good at that.
“She’s chronically happy. I’m not sure whom she could have inherited that trait from.”
Ren chuckled and popped the cap of his beer. “I’m pretty sure that was a joke.”
It would have been funnier if it didn’t hit so close to home. People talked a lot about nature versus nurture when it came to childrearing, but there was nothing like seeing for sure what a child turned into without the influence of her biological parents. Alison had a neurotic mother—Leary was guessing that was the case based on some things Ceria had said and was gathering more evidence to support his theory—and a supposed asshole for a father. Perhaps it was best the nurturing had been done by someone else.
He grunted and twisted off his beer cap. He didn’t really believe that, but it was a hard thought to shake. “Do you mind if I text a picture of the card to my mother?”
Emilie leaned against the kitchen island and hooked her thumbs into her pockets. “You told her?”
“Very recently.”
“What did she say?”
“Oh, she had some words.” Very few of them had been flattering either about him or Emilie, but he couldn’t really blame the woman. It was a hell of a secret for him to have kept for seventeen years.
Emilie gave a curt nod and turned her gaze to ceiling. “I imagine she did.”
Leary set down the bottle, laid the card atop the counter, and wedged his phone out of his pocket.
Ren sidled over and looked down at it. Stared. Sipped his beer.
“What?” Leary snapped the picture and pulled up the text message menu.
Ren shrugged. “I doubt I’ll ever have a kid, but I wonder if you look at her and think that had you been in Emilie’s father’s shoes, if you’d have killed you. I mean…” He furrowed his brow. “Shit. You know what I mean. That’s your kid, man. In that picture, she was the age Emilie was when all the shit down.”
Yep. A woman-child. Ren was right. If some guy knocked up his baby, Leary would probably want to wrap his fingers around his neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged. And that was for a baby he didn’t even know in the flesh—that he’d seen one picture of. He’d do anything for her. Give her anything he had and if that wasn’t enough, he’d figure out a way to get more.
Emilie looked down from the ceiling and met his gaze. “My parents still don’t know who her father is. It doesn’t really matter anymore whether they know or don’t. They can’t do anything to me or her. Can’t meddle.”
“You ashamed to tell them?” His phone buzzed in his palm, and he looked down at the screen to see that his mother’s response was a series of exclamation points and emoji. Typical Mom.
“I rarely speak to my parents or stepparents. Any of them. I barely even speak to my siblings.”
That was a shocker, though he had found the tension between her and Henri at the hotel to be unusual. He remembered them being closer.
Leary tucked his phone back into his pocket, ignoring his mother’s request for another picture. “Why not?”
“A lot of reasons. Distance and time doesn’t necessarily heal wounds.”
“You mean it’s over Alison?”
“No. Alison was the event that sent me over the edge. I was tired.” Her gaze went back to the ceiling.
“What do you mean by tired?”
She didn’t answer, but her lips moved, forming some words or thoughts she left unspoken.
He cut his gaze to Ren, who was looking down at the photo again. Leary didn’t recognize his expression. Couldn’t make sense of the furrowed brow and sad eyes. What was he seeing when he looked at that picture?
