Reason #2: He was a sado-masochist. No other word for it.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that Ben Crawford is the new sheriff.”
Olivia’s aunt Rita flitted around the B&B’s kitchen, completely oblivious to her niece’s nervous breakdown. “I only found out about it yesterday, so unwind those panties, little girl. Have you seen the whisk?”
“But you still didn’t tell me!” Olivia screeched, shoving her hands through her disheveled hair.
She’d already directed the same accusations at her four best friends—Mia, Maggie, Jade, and Ivy. The second she walked out of Clippers earlier, she’d been blowing up their phones and demanding answers. Having grown up with Mia and Maggie, they knew every detail of her contemptuous history with Ben. They knew how distressing his reappearance would be for her. And if she hadn’t passed out early the night before after a long day of work around the B&B and accidentally let her phone die, she would have had a heads-up before her morning appointment. As it was, her phone had been charging and on silent during Ben’s massage, leaving her none the wiser about who she’d been running her eager hands all over.
Six missed calls and thirteen unread texts.
Her friends had a pass.
“Would it have made a difference if I had?” Rita asked, opening and shutting drawer after drawer. “You still wouldn’t have known it was him you were massaging.” The older woman’s lips clamped shut, the corners of her mouth twitching.
Olivia glared at her. “It’s not funny. I would have at least been on high alert. I could have put out an APB for ‘dickweed with badge.’”
“A particularly good-looking dickweed with a badge, from what I’ve heard,” Rita pointedly remarked. “Apparently, the Marines did that boy real good, in more ways than one.”
Her sweet-natured aunt with curlers wound in her graying hair bent down to look in the cabinet that housed her slow cookers and casserole dishes. Not where someone might typically look for utensils, but Rita was always assigning new homes for everything. One time, Olivia found a tube of toothpaste inside a box of Cheez-Its.
“Like the guy needs more of an ego boost.” She scoffed. “Every single woman in the county is going to be showing up on his front door with a homemade pie.”
Rita shot her a look over her shoulder. “But not you, huh?”
“Seriously?” Olivia’s voice was incredulous. A smidge hysterical. “I’d rather lick the barnacles off a crusty old shrimp boat.”
“Ha!” Rita shouted triumphantly, thrusting the whisk into the air. Which she found inside the vegetable crisper. In the refrigerator. “Got the little bastard.”
Olivia frantically waved her arms like she was directing air traffic. “Hel-lo! Someone you love going through a crisis over here!”
“Why is Ben Crawford coming back to town a crisis?”
Her face went blank. “Are you kidding? Do you not remember the way he tortured me in high school?”
Rita shrugged. “Sure, but all boys are idiots at that age. That was how many years ago? You shouldn’t hold grudges so long.”
Silence fell over them like a veil.
They both knew the kind of grudges Olivia held. It had always been a tough subject for them, so they tended to avoid it altogether. Olivia hated her father for what he did, and it had taken Rita many years to even speak to her brother again. But her aunt possessed a lifetime of memories with him before his betrayal that she couldn’t dismiss like they were nothing. Olivia understood that.
Didn’t mean it changed her opinion at all.
She cleared her throat. “Trust me, Ben might be grown, but he hasn’t matured. And judging from his behavior today, he’s still an idiot.”
“All I’m saying is don’t be too quick to judge,” Rita said soberly. “People change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not.” She offered Olivia a sympathetic look. “And on that note, this came for you today.”
Olivia took the white envelope Rita pulled out of her housecoat pocket. The return address she recognized as her father’s had her heart skipping a beat. Her offer for the B&B. He’d finally responded. She tore open the envelope and quickly skimmed the handwritten letter.
She immediately wanted to turn on a stove burner and set the damn thing on fire.
Her eyes flew to her aunt, who looked suspiciously guilty. “Unbelievable. Is he serious? He won’t sell his share unless I go talk to him in person about it? How does he think pissing me off is going to solve anything?”
Rita laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There’s just some things he wants to say. To explain. He misses—”
“Gee, it’s funny how he all of a sudden wants to explain now, after all these years,” she interrupted. “All because I want something he has and he sees an opportunity. He’s basically blackmailing me.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Rita’s expression was sad. “He knows how you feel about him, hon. He’s been afraid of having to look at your face when he finally hears all of it. Asking to see you wasn’t easy for him.”
Olivia sneered. “More like he’s afraid of having to look me in the eye because he’s a coward. And no, he doesn’t know how I feel. He’s never tried to understand. Because if he did know, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.”
Rita nodded, though her eyes held pain. “Just think about it, okay? Can you do that for me? Give it some thought…for me.”
Olivia stared at her aunt for long moments, recalling all the years when it had just been the two of them. Mending each other’s broken hearts, finding solace in the everyday minutia of the B&B. Getting to a place where they could finally have fun again and watch trashy reality TV for hours. Olivia owed her aunt not just for being there for her during her worst times, but for reminding her how to live again. Not survive, but actually live.
Eventually, she sighed. “Fine. I’ll think about it. But don’t expect me to change my mind.”
Rita smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. That would be asking too much.”
Olivia bumped her hip with Rita’s as she walked by, snagging a cooling cookie off the baking sheet as she went. “Sarcastic wench.”
“Stubborn ass.”
When the bell at the front desk chimed, Olivia called out, “I’ve got it!” and went to greet their new guest.
She needed the distraction. Because if she was left to her own devices right then, she’d probably throw a paint can through a window. And they didn’t need one more repair to deal with. How would anyone expect her to react, though? Her estranged father was bribing her just to get a little face time after nearly twelve years of separation.
Of course, this would happen. The one thing she desperately wanted and it couldn’t come easily. Yeah, she needed a distraction—
“We meet again.”
But not that kind of distraction. Anything, anyone, but him.
She was fuming from her father’s letter and wouldn’t be surprised if she were leaving a trail of scorched earth behind her. The man had no idea what tree he was about to bark up.
“Oh, God, where’s my sage? I’m going to have to cleanse this entire house now.”
Ben, nonplussed by her barb, propped his elbows on the front desk, which she immediately swatted away.
The man doesn’t have cooties.
Eh. She wasn’t entirely sure about that.
“Exactly how many jobs do you have?”
“Exactly how long does it take to get a restraining order?”
He winked at her. “You can restrain me anytime you want, Livvie. Just name the time and place.”
“And they say all the good men are taken.”
“Better get on a move on, though. We’re dying out fast.”
“Promise?”
The silent stand-off that followed made her want to jump out of her skin. Thank God he was wearing a shirt this time around, because she might have fantasized about jumping his skin if she saw those abs again. Washboard abs that were rock hard beneath her fingertips. Ripped muscles that contracted with her every touch. All of that was now covered by a black Belleville County Sheriff’s Department t-shirt that he probably should have ordered in the next size up. He wasn’t in full uniform, but he did have his shiny silver badge and gun holster clipped to his belt.
Dammit.
She’d still been holding out hope that the whole sheriff thing had been some sick, elaborate joke. Now, she knew it to be the horrific truth.
Seeing him in natural light highlighted all the new lines on his face that hadn’t been there twelve years ago. His brown hair was swept off his face, combed but not styled. Nothing like the shaggy cut he’d sported in high school, when his eyes had been perpetually hidden underneath overly long strands. Which she’d eventually figured out had been part of his shield, a way of blocking out the rest of the world. His neck was thicker, his jawline stronger. Sharper. But even though he donned that cocky smirk every time he looked her way, his eyes didn’t hold the same expression. There was a worldliness in them that hadn’t been there when they were teens.
From his time in the Marines, perhaps?
Doesn’t matter.
His body might have gone through quite a few changes, but his personality hadn’t.
“Is there a reason you’re standing in my front room?” Her voice was like acid, but he’d asked for it. “Or are you just stalking me for the hell of it?”
He quirked a dark eyebrow. “As exciting as I’m sure your everyday life would be to witness, I need a room, if you have one.”
“You moved back to become the new sheriff, but you don’t have a place to stay?”
He grunted and straightened away from the desk. “Turns out the house I’m renting had a huge mold issue. They have to replace the entire duct and HVAC system, and the parts are delayed. Said it would probably be another month before everything is installed and ready.”
He couldn’t possibly have been asking to rent a room from her for an entire month.
“Are you high? Why in the world would you want to stay here?”
His expression was unreadable. “You rent rooms, don’t you?”
“So does The Sapphire. It’s nicer, and I’m sure they would give the new sheriff a discount.”
The words tasted foul on her tongue. Turning away any customer for The Sapphire—even if said customer was the biggest douche monster on the face of the earth—was not only sacrilege, it put her very livelihood at risk. The Sapphire was a sprawling, five-star resort that Emerald Shoals Properties had recently opened on a desirable stretch of beach in town. With their luxurious amenities, fine dining options, and lazy river pool, they were hauling in tourists like crab fishermen netted crustaceans. Before that resort opened, The Paradise Cove B&B had been the prime lodging establishment in Shell Grove.
Now, they were struggling.
Not floundering, but not prospering either. The Sapphire had definitely eaten into their profits, and the recent repairs weren’t helping their bank account. She understood the business—American capitalism, after all. But the worst part was that she couldn’t even really hate the place. Mia was the Guest Services Manager over there, and her boyfriend Aiden Beaumont was the freaking CEO of Emerald Shoals Properties.
Until the B&B was in Olivia’s name, there was only so much she could do with the place. She had plans for it, but until she became the proprietor, her options were limited. Rita was happy to sell it to her, having devoted enough of her life to the place. Her father was the only thing standing in her way.
Her blood simmered.
Good. As long as Ben Crawford stood before her, she would have no problem giving all that fury an outlet.
Ben shook his head. “The Sapphire’s farther away from the station. Besides, I’d have more privacy and quiet here.”
“Todd’s Motel is cheap and closer to the station. Stay there.”
He snorted as he ambled around the room. “That shag carpet has absorbed the scents of every resident from the last forty years. And I don’t usually prefer taking cockroaches to bed.”
“Rejecting your own kind?”
His eyes snapped to hers. “Someone’s gotten vicious over the years.”
She shrugged. “I just learned how to speak your language.”
He started in on another retort but was interrupted by a commotion on the stairs. “I’m tripping all over your dang skirt, Mother. Hold it up, would ya?”
The crotchety smoker’s voice was followed by a twinkling female one that made Olivia grin. “Well, that sword of yours has been poking me in the behind all the way down these stairs, Amis. It’s not my fault we’re running late. You could have waited until we got to the battlefield to finish getting dressed.”
“A soldier can’t show up for battle without his gear on,” the husband grumbled.
“I don’t think soldiers back in the day showed up for battle driving a Cadillac either.”
“Woman, what have I said—”
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Hildebrand!” Olivia spoke over them. If she didn’t, they might have been listening to their squabbling for another twenty minutes.
Amis and his wife Gertrude both turned to Olivia wearing twin smiles. “I’d say it’s a fine morning, Miss Olivia,” Amis said with a tip of his hat. His accent thickened considerably from the way he’d spoken to his wife. “Them biscuits you whipped up this morning tasted mighty fine, too. Much obliged.”
“Only the best sorghum and molasses for you two,” she replied with a wink.
Both in their late 70s, Amis and Gertrude Hildebrand were lifelong Civil War re-enactors. They traveled all over the country for their passion and stayed at the B&B the same week every year for the big re-enactment up in Harperville, a town about fifteen miles north of Shell Grove. From dawn ‘til dusk, they spoke, ate, dressed—though maybe not drove—and otherwise acted like they were living in the 1860s. Even now, Amis was decked out in his gray wool uniform, complete with a knapsack slung over his back, canteen, cartridge box, sheathed saber, and Springfield rifle spiked with a bayonet. Gertrude, playing the part of field nurse, sported a lovely hoop skirt that she kept knocking into everything. Understandable, since the skirt was at least three feet in diameter. The woman was like a human pinball machine, bouncing off of every object in the hallway.
“You’re such a kind young lady,” Gertrude crooned at Olivia in a grandmotherly tone. “I think I’m gonna tell my grandson about you. Maybe you two can exchange letters.”
Olivia skated right on by that comment. “You two better get the let out. I heard there’s traffic on I-95 that’s backed up a ways.”
Amis flipped open his antique pocket watch and cursed. “Dammit, Mother, let’s go. That lily-livered Jedidiah Fellowes always thinks it’s a hoot to start without me. ‘Cuz he knows I’ll kick his Yankee ass.”
Olivia dramatically waved a tissue after them as they made their exit. “Give ‘em hell. Watch out for the dysentery!”
“Ow! What the hell is that skirt make out of? Barbed wire?”
“No, but if that sword pokes me one more time, I’m gonna stick it where the sun don’t shine, Amis Hildebrand—”
The door closed behind them, cutting off their bickering voices.
She smiled affectionately after the couple, nearly forgetting present company. Her smile was wiped away as she turned back to her adversary.
Ben stood gaping down the hallway, jaw hanging open. “Were those ghosts? You saw them, too, didn’t you?”
“Die hard re-enactors,” she deadpanned. “They prefer to keep themselves in character even when they’re not on the battlefield. Makes the experience feel more authentic, they say.”
He sniffed the air and cringed. “They know there’s indoor plumbing in this century, right?”
She stifled a laugh in spite of herself. And in spite of the fact that her nose hairs were starting to curl. “Amis says smells are an important element of authenticity that most people don’t think about. They didn’t have deodorant back in the day, and the soldiers were often unbathed and ungroomed. ‘If you didn’t stink to high heaven, then you weren’t a real soldier.’ That’s what Amis says.”
“Then he must be a damn general.” Ben scrubbed a hand down his face. “Do you have a room for me or not? I can pay you every week for the next four weeks.”
Oh, right. Back to this. “First, a few preliminary questions need to be answered. Will you be conducting any blood, virgin, or animal sacrifices during your stay?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “No.”
“Are you particularly sensitive to garlic or the sight of crucifixes?”
Nostrils flared. “No.”
“If I took your boots off, would I find a pair of hooves?”
“Olivia…”
“Can you stand in front of the mirror so I can confirm that you have a reflection—”
“Can I please just get my damn room key?” he snapped.
Her mouth tightened into a firm line as she snagged a pair of keys off one of the wall hooks. She didn’t like this situation one damn bit. In fact, she was pretty sure the next month was going to be a living, breathing nightmare. But she didn’t have much choice in the matter, did she?
The sound of clinking metal echoed around the room as she slapped the keys onto the desk. “We accept all major credit cards. Breakfast is at seven o’clock every morning. Leave your dirty towels on the hook outside your door whenever you need clean ones.”
“Do you offer massage treatments?”
The amusement lacing his tone rankled on her nerves.
Her mouth spread into a saccharine smile. The day she took his bait was the day she proposed marriage to Coors Light Carl. “What, the gentleman’s club in Ridgefield didn’t do it for you?”
“Why do you think my back needs a rubdown?” he shot back arrogantly.
Deep breath. “I can recommend several good spas over in Crystal City.” She pointed to the wall of pamphlets behind him. “And lots of new restaurants to check out.”
He narrowed his dark eyes at her, more assessing than angry. “Hospitable is a new look for you.”
Not to anyone who’d known her for the past twelve years. Inhospitable was a look she’d only ever worn for this man.
“And law-abiding is a new one for you.”
One side of his mouth hooked in a crooked grin. “Better than the old look, though, isn’t it?”
She commanded her eyes to stay north of his belt. “That wouldn’t exactly be saying much. The chain-smoking, skateboarding bad boy-wannabe version left a lot to be desired.”
That same muscle popped in his jaw. “Never were a fan of bad boys, were you?”
She leaned across the desk, pinning him with an acerbic glare. “I’m a fan of nice boys. And that’s a look you’ve never worn in your entire life, Ben Crawford.”
“A badge isn’t nice enough?”
Her mouth curved sardonically. “Not when you’re the one wearing it.”
He watched her for several silent moments, tapping his finger against his holster. It occurred to her in that moment that he was now in a position where he could off her, hide the body, and get away with it scot-free.
Maybe tone down the insults. We’re not trying to get murdered here.
He swiped up his room key and bent down to grab his big, military duffle bag without even issuing a rejoinder. As he passed the desk, he paused to let his gaze travel the length of her.
“You look good, Liv.”
Quite possibly for the first time ever, his voice wasn’t mocking. Wasn’t snide. Wasn’t sarcastic.
Oh, God.
An asteroid was headed toward Earth. They were all about to be wiped out. It was the only explanation for why Ben Crawford would suddenly give her a sincere compliment. The world had to be ending.
He nodded curtly. “Really good.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and strutted up the stairs. Worn boots stomping up the creaky wooden steps punctuated his exit.
She watched him go, slack-jawed.
What did that mean? You look good. Really good. Why had he said it? What was his motive? Because the man always had one. Processing any of her chaotic thoughts proved impossible.
Except for one.
He looks really good, too.
Particularly, the way his ass filled out those decade-old Levi’s.
Screw the appointment she’d made with Buzzy Lightyear—her vibrator. Why the name, you ask? Because that big guy took her to infinity and beyond. As desperately as she longed for a healthy orgasm, she needed a lobotomy even worse.
She was not about to let Ben Crawford get inside her head.
She’d let herself die of dysentery first.