Kaia walked fast, but she couldn’t outpace him. He had longer legs and a more powerful stride. Ignoring the pulse pounding through his right eye, Ridge sprinted to catch up with her.
Approached the steps he hadn’t trod in ten years.
They reached the bottom porch step at the same time, but he sailed past to get the door for her.
The door knocker—a lion’s head with an open mouth—banged loudly against the wood as he yanked the door open. Yep, he’d built the house without a doorbell. He’d avoided doorbells since he was three, and he hadn’t been about to install one in his house.
His house.
Although he felt no pride in it, no real sense of ownership since Duke had tainted it.
He bowed low and swept his arm out, indicating she should go in ahead of him. “After you.”
But in the bow, his head spun. Oops. Bad idea. He wouldn’t tell her he was dizzy. She’d make a fuss and insist on the hospital. He’d be all right. He’d had worse. Shaken off worse.
Kaia snorted, stiffened her spine, and marched past him into the kitchen, medical bag in hand. He cocked his head, watching her hips sway, wishing both eyes were in good shape so he could fully appreciate the view.
Nice. Very nice. He could spend hours watching that swing.
She stalked over to the fridge, jerked open the freezer door, dug around, and found a package of frozen corn. She got a cup towel from a drawer, wrapped the corn in it, and tossed the package at him.
He caught it one-handed, cocked his head, grinned.
She dropped her gaze, hooked the tip of her boot around the rung of a kitchen chair, and scooted it out from the table. “Sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“Matter of opinion. Sit.” She pointed.
“I’m guessing you don’t have a boyfriend,” he teased, putting the bag of towel-wrapped corn to his temple and easing into the chair. The cold ice instantly soothed his swollen flesh.
She folded her arms over her chest. “What makes you say that? I could have a boyfriend.”
“Doubtful.”
“Why’s that.”
“Most guys don’t like being ordered around.”
“News flash, neither do most women. Normally, I’m not this bossy,” she amended. “But vet school and working at the shelter have taught me that when you’ve got a stubborn case, sometimes you have to get firm.”
God, he was enjoying her. “You think I’m stubborn?”
“Lockhart, a pack mule in the Grand Canyon threatened with a three-hundred-pound tourist wanting a ride to the top in August heat isn’t as stubborn as you.”
“Colorful.”
She leaned her butt against the kitchen counter, sized him up. “Your stubborn pride has kept you away for ten years. If Archer hadn’t decided to get married, I wager you could have stayed away another decade without a second thought.”
“And you’re mad about that?”
“Hell yes.”
“Why?”
“You were missed, dammit. Desperately.”
“By whom?” He lowered his voice and his eyes. She’d missed him?
“By the entire community.”
“Bull,” he said, but felt a strange tug in the center of his chest. “I was the hellion of Cupid. I’m sure mothers and fathers, teachers and preachers fell to their knees and gave thanks when I drove away.”
“God.” She shook her head. “That chip on your shoulder is huge. I hoped ten years away would knock it off.”
“Watch it, Braterminator.” His lip twitched. “You’re treading on thin ice.”
“See? Still too stubborn to even have a conversation about it.” She turned away from him, got two white pills from her medical kit, filled a glass with water, and carried it over to him.
“What’s this?”
“Aspirin.”
She was standing close enough that he caught a whiff of her shampoo. It was the refreshing scent of chilled watermelon and summer daisies. His mouth watered. If he’d been of a mind, he could hook one leg around her waist and pull her into his lap.
He considered it. Was tempted.
Quickly, she hopped back. “Don’t you dare, Ridge Josiah Lockhart.”
She remembered his middle name. Why that should thrill him, he had no idea, but it did. “Dare what?”
“You know.” She waved a hand.
“So you do have a boyfriend?”
“If I was in a relationship it would be with a man, not a boy. But no, I do not have a boyfriend. I’m far too busy with school and work. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Something in the way she said it, the way she tensed her body told him there was more to the story. Had some man hurt her? Just the idea of someone hurting her had him clenching his fists and his blood boiling.
“I heard that,” he murmured. “Not enough hours in a day.”
“Does this mean you don’t have a woman friend?”
“I do not.” By design, he’d not ever had a romantic relationship that lasted longer than four months. Four months tended to be the time when women wanted to know where the relationship was going and that’s when he bailed.
“Not even a friend with benefits?”
“Not currently.” He laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“I’ve missed the hell out of you, Kaia Alzate.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“You miss me? The Braterminator? The kid who vexed you and Archer to no end? Why would you miss that?”
“I know, right.” He tried to wink, but couldn’t pull it off with the swollen eye. “But vexing can be exciting.”
“Or it can be . . . well . . . vexing.”
The tone of her voice, low, lazy, like the slow easy swing of a hammock strung between two sheltering trees, triggered a visceral response in him. Tight chest. Shallow lungs. Queasy stomach.
His imagination was off, spinning visuals of how she looked early in the morning: sleepy-eyed, hair mussed, her mattress imprinted with the shape of her body, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee stirring the morning air.
“Where are you living these days?” he asked, shifting gears to keep from getting aroused again. “Still staying with your family?”
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. Just making conversation.”
“I rent a house on Murkle Street until I go back to school in the fall. Behind the Dairy Queen.”
“Older homes in that area and you’re really close to those Butterfinger Blizzards.”
“You remembered.” Her smile could light up outer space.
“Hey, they were my favorite too.”
“The house is on a two-acre lot and the rent is cheap and the landlord doesn’t mind if I keep animals, and there is that proximity to the Blizzards.”
“How many animals do you have?”
“Varies. I foster.”
“Cats? Dogs? Birds? Rabbits?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, and goldfish, a couple of pigmy goats, Earl the donkey, and a potbelly pig named Lancelot. Although right now Lance is off providing stud service at a neighbor’s farm.”
“Lucky Lance.”
“Men.” She rolled her eyes, but did not look disgusted.
“I like the way nothing much changes around here. You’re still elbow-deep in critters, Elly May.”
“Take the aspirin,” she said, “and I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
“Not going. I’m fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Give me some credit, woman.”
Her cheeks pinked and she glanced away again. He’d rattled her. Good. She looked cute in pink.
“Give me some credit, man,” she sassed. “I do know a few things about medicine. Granted, it’s on animals, but a lot of stuff translates.”
“You’re being overly cautious.”
“And you’re being underly cautious.” Her scowl was a shovel, digging under his skin.
“It’s just a black eye.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“I’ve been in enough fights to gauge the damage.” He doubled up his fist, posed like a boxer. “I’ll live.”
“It could be something serious.”
“Would it bother you if it was something serious?”
“Yes, of course it would.”
His pulse skipped a beat and his chest twisted tourniquet tight. “Why?”
“’Cause it would ruin Archer’s day if you fell into a coma. He and Casey have waited a long time to find each other. Last thing he needs is you screwing it up.”
“Tell it like it is.” He exhaled. What had he expected her to say? That she cared about him and it would break her heart if anything bad happened to him? He’d been fishing, which was pathetic. “At least we’re on the same page about Archer’s wedding.”
“Just different approaches. Yours is denial. It’s common among stubborn men.”
“And yours is being overly cautious.”
Kaia threw her hands in the air. “Fine. Have it your way. No hospital. But if you pass out I’m not helping you.”
“Sure you will. You can’t help yourself. I saw the look in your eyes when you were hovering over me. You were worried.”
She notched up her chin. “I’m still worried. I’m a compassionate person.”
“You’re . . .” He let the sentence dangle, and she shot him another sideways glance.
“What?” she whispered.
“All grown-up,” he murmured.
“And you are stub—”
“Stubborn. Yes, we covered that. What else?”
“Late for brunch,” she finished, leaving him feeling vaguely disappointed.
Keeping the ice bag of frozen corn to his temple, he downed the pain pills, chugged the water, and pushed back the chair. Lost his balance a little from getting up so suddenly, and stumbled against the table.
“Whoa!” Kaia leaped forward, reached for his elbow.
He put up a restraining hand, moved away to keep her from latching onto him. He hated being fussed over. “I’ve got this. I’m fine.”
She clicked her tongue, shook her head.
He flashed her the brightest smile in his repertoire. Pure gold, the one that never failed to charm. But he couldn’t quite pull off full stun because of the black eye.
She scoffed at his smile. Shot down again. “You look like a junkyard dog after a weekend bender.”
“Feels a bit like that too.”
“Still,” she said with all the primness of an old maid accountant. “I’m very glad you came home.”
“Are you?”
“Absolutely.” She lifted up a perky, I’ve-got-sunshine-in-my-teeth smile. Enthusiastic. Classic Kaia.
He saw her in a montage of past moments, hugging animals, splashing in Balmorhea Springs, spinning on the tire swing in the front yard of the foreman’s house. She smiled the same. A girl who existed eternally in the amusement park of her mind. He was glad that hadn’t changed.
“It was brave of you,” she said. “Coming back after so long.”
“I have a butt load of faults, but when I commit to something, I’m loyal to the bone. My best friend gets married. I’m there.”
Noticing him evaluating her, Kaia’s gaze scooted to her hands and she tucked them in her lap. Small hands, delicate but work-roughened, nails clipped short, palms calloused, skin tanned. Several small scars dotted her knuckles, and twin silvered puncture marks puckered the outside of her left hand.
“Ferret bites,” she explained. “Vicious little suckers if they feel trapped.”
He laughed at her comical expression, but immediately regretted it because it sounded as if he was laughing at her pain. “They better not try that around me.”
“You’ve got plenty of scars of your own. I remember when you got that one.” She reached out and traced an index finger over the jagged scar staggering across his palm. He had a corresponding scar that ran the length of his inner thigh. “You cut it on the barbwire fence saving my silly hide from Clyde the bull.”
“You terrified the crap out of me. Standing there in your red cape with a bucket of oats.”
Kaia crinkled her nose. “I thought I could tame Clyde.”
“Testosterone-fueled bulls pastured near heifers in heat are impossible to tame.”
“So I discovered. But give me a break. What did I know? I was eight.”
“And fearless as hell.”
“Animals have never scared me. People on the other hand . . .” She peered into his eyes.
Ridge flexed his hand, felt the sting of the barbwire, as he recalled yanking apart the strands to toss Kaia to safety on the other side of the fence. And there he stood bleeding all over the corral, Kaia’s overturned bucket of feed spewed out on the ground, Clyde ducking his head, snorting and pawing the sandy earth.
Kaia had hollered, “Hey, hey!” and then yelled, “Run!” as Clyde charged.
Ridge had thrown himself over the fence like a pole-vaulter, dragging his jeans and his flesh across the long expanse of barbwire, slicing his thigh wide-open. It had taken forty-six stitches to close the wound and the entire time the doctor was sewing him up, Duke bitched at how much it was costing him.
“In retrospect,” he said, rubbing a palm down his thigh. “I might have come out better if I’d stayed in the ring with Clyde.”
“I haven’t thought about that day in years,” Kaia said. “But it was a defining moment for me.”
“Yeah?”
“I developed a healthy respect for nature.”
“But you didn’t lose your love of animals.”
“I could never lose that. Animals are in my blood. I was born to care for them.”
Her perky smile grew so bright Ridge was tempted to put on his sunglasses. Her smile overwhelmed sometimes. Too honest. Too true. Too compassionate. Too much of a reminder of what he was missing.
He cast around for something clever to say, light and deflective, but he had no grip on where this conversation was going. She was his best friend’s little sister. He wasn’t about to do what his male instincts were urging him to do.
Kiss her.
Kiss her hard. Kiss her long. Kiss her now. Kiss her as if they had a future. Kiss her as if they belonged.
“I hated that you got cut up over me,” she said, tracing her finger over his scarred palm.
“You ran for help.”
“Your father came and carried you back to the ranch. Blood was everywhere.”
Ridge touched the scar on his hand. “When I got home from the hospital, you stuck a Barbie Band-Aid on me.”
“I loved Barbie.” Kaia sighed. “For me to share my Barbie Band-Aids with you was monumental . . . but I was feeling guilty.”
“I was honored.”
“Were you?”
“I proudly showed off Barbie at school.”
“You didn’t get teased?”
“I was the quarterback and the class president and captain of the debate team. People didn’t tease me.”
“Because they wanted to be you or be with you.”
“Pretty much.” He grinned, not the least bit embarrassed. “Barbie made people think I had a new girlfriend.”
“You liked that?”
His I’m-the-best-at-everything-I-do shrug. “Fueled my reputation as a player.”
Kaia snorted. “As if you needed any help with that. You kissed most every girl in Cupid high school.”
Ridge lowered his lashes, pitched her a softball smile. “I never kissed you.”
“Because I was your best friend’s kid sister.”
His head bobbed in agreement. “True.”
“Besides, I didn’t go to high school with you, old man. I was in seventh grade when you were a senior.”
“You were off-limits in those days,” he said. But not now. Six years wasn’t such a big age difference between twenty-six and thirty-two.
She shifted, backed up, grabbed for her shoulders, hugged herself.
He wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“We should go. They’re holding brunch,” she said in a quicksilver rush.
“Ah yeah, brunch.” He didn’t want to go to brunch at the mansion with a houseful of people who by and large made him uncomfortable.
But she was already in motion, headed for the door.
“Hang on.”
She paused, peered at him, looked frustrated and antsy. “What?”
“I owe you.”
“Wait until you get my bill.” She laughed, an honest-from-the-belly laugh. A laugh that said she knew how to have fun, a laugh that curled up tight inside him, a laugh that made him nostalgic for all the times he’d hadn’t heard it.
A laugh he was going to miss when he was gone.