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Carly stared at the house as they slowed to a stop. It was large, but not ostentatious. Bright yard lights revealed a white bungalow with forest green shutters and a wrap-around deck with a matching railing. The deck was encased in round river rocks. The paved drive had split into two before the yard. The right hand lane curved past the steps in a large circle. The left lane disappeared in the dark.
Portions of the yard were a mud pit after the day’s rain. The rest was lush grass. Was he putting gardens in the muddy spots? The setting sun reflected on the house’s windows making them shine. The heavy wicker deck furniture beckoned her to sit and relax.
“Hang tight, I’ll help you inside.”
“I don’t need help, I’m good.”
He bolted out of the truck and was at her side before she even unbuckled. “Don’t bother putting your shoes on, they’ll be ruined by the rain. I’ll carry you. The pavement’s rough and everything’s soaking wet.” No way was he going to risk letting her hurt her feet or ruin those fantasy-inducing shoes.
The second her seatbelt was undone, he scooped her into his arms and jogged through the downpour to the deck. He hopped up the three steps and the porch light flicked on. He set her on her feet on the main deck. She was expecting wood, but her feet met vinyl planking instead. Cool and smooth, it felt lovely on her sore feet.
“I love this deck.” She looked around. “Your house is huge.” The deck was eight feet wide with small groupings of furniture tucked here and there. It practically begged her to get cozy and enjoy the weather. It would be perfect for watching thunderstorms roll across the night sky.
“How many bedrooms?”
“Five,” he bragged. “I intend to raise a family here and from what my friends tell me of their childhoods, sharing a bedroom sucks.”
Her heart stuttered. He wanted a family? Did he have a girlfriend? Where was this woman? Why hadn’t she heard he was dating?
“I detested sharing a bedroom.” She’d spent her entire childhood sharing one with her much older and very bossy sister.
She wandered the length of the deck and peered around the corner. Strategically placed motion sensor lights illuminated her exploration.
“How far does this thing go?” she asked. She kept walking, past the back door and a set of French doors. She peered into the darkness inside each window. Only one room had any light. A small nightlight shone in what appeared to be the master bedroom. She walked on, around the end of the house, and back to the front. Birch followed along behind her without commenting. The glorious deck made a full circle and had four sets of steps leading down to the yard.
“Ready to go inside?” he asked when they reached the front door again.
“Yes.” He unlocked the inside door, pushed it open, and held open the old-fashioned wooden screen door so she could enter. She stepped inside and a soft light immediately illuminated the foyer. “Oh, instant light, I love that. It beats coming home to a dark house or having to leave a light on.”
He put his hat on a shelf and tossed his Tux jacket over the chair. “Tanya’s idea, actually. I adopted it at both main doors. I’m with you, I don’t like wasting power on light nobody needs. Come inside, I’ll start a fire.” He padded, sock footed, past her.
“Where are your boots?”
“Outside. I slipped them off before we took the tour. I didn’t want that mess on the deck. I hate getting my socks dirty when I drink my morning coffee outside.”
She followed him through the foyer into a large living room with barely any furnishings. There was a recliner, a battered floral sofa, a pole lamp, and a cardboard box end table. “You don’t entertain much, do you?” She didn’t know where the teasing words came from, probably the wine.
“I only moved in this week. Furniture comes later. I have a chair, a place to eat and a bed. That’s all I need, for now.”
“It’s so empty, I’ll bet it echoes,” she said as he knelt before the pre-laid fire and lit a match. “Hello!” she shouted and laughed when the sound bounced back to her. Birch laughed with her.
“I have to ask, what’s with your name? Who names a kid Birch?”
“Helen-Rose and Buckton Thorn Brighton of course. It’s a family tradition. Did you know that Tanya’s real name is Lily-Rose Tanya? She started going by Tanya in kindergarten because there was another Lily. It sort of stuck, I guess.”
“I had no idea. Boy, am I going to razz her.”
He rose to his feet and shook his finger at her. “No, you will not, she’ll kill me if she knows I mentioned it. She hates the name Lily.”
Mentioning Tanya brought Carly’s thoughts back to the wedding. She was hurt that she didn’t get to see it in person and had missed the reception. She should have been there, celebrating with her best friend.
“Uh oh. I see upset Carly surfacing. What are you thinking about?” Birch asked.
“Nothing.” She wasn’t going to share her anger. This wasn’t Birch or Tanya’s fault, and her friend would be appalled when she found out what happened.
“I’m not going to push it, but I know you’re not being honest with me. I’ll let it go. If you ever want to talk about it, let me know. I’m willing to listen.”
She swallowed a lump of emotion. “Thanks. You promised food.” She clapped her hands in a let’s get going manner. “And more wine.”
“Right. I forgot the wine and cake in the truck. I’ll be right back.” The screen door slammed shut seconds later. She wandered to the fireplace to warm up. Despite the short ride in the heated truck, she was still chilled. The day that started blisteringly hot had turned cold and damp at some point.
A row of five by seven pictures lined the mantle. A family shot of Tanya, Birch, their brothers, and their parents in front of a mountain cabin, all of them holding skis. Another of them on a beach. There were a couple old black and whites of people who she assumed to be his great grandparents, and a shot of Birth with his maternal grandfather, who Carly had only a couple times. There were images of his younger twin brothers, Sage and Asher, side by side on horseback. There was a picture of him with Layla on a horse. There were no pictures of Tanya and her fiancé.
To her surprise, the central photo was one of her and Tanya laughing over a lopsided gingerbread house at his parents’ kitchen table. She had no idea the photo existed. Why did he have it here, among all the photos of his family?
He came back into the room and set the wine and cake on the end of the raised hearth.
“You have a picture of me, on your mantle.” For a second, she thought she saw color in his cheeks but he turned away too quickly to be sure.
“Not a photo of you,” he said, straightening the lone pillow on his couch. “I have a picture of my sister being very happy on my mantle. You just happen to be in it. I’ll grab some food.”
“I’ll help.” She followed him into the kitchen. Had she heard a hitch in his voice? An evasion? The kitchen table was a battered wrought iron bistro set. She laughed. “You call this a table?”
“It’ll be repainted and go on the deck eventually. I just needed something to eat on, and Mom and Dad had this one. It works. I couldn’t see rushing into a decision when I don’t know what I want.”
The kitchen gleamed. Pristine white cupboards lined the walls. There were more cabinets here than in her condo and her mother’s house combined. Only chefs had kitchens this big. She hopped up onto the marble countertop and watched him pull food from the fridge. “Nice room. Do you cook much?”
“I love to cook. It started as a way to get out of evening chores and turned into a passion. How about you? I know you make amazing pies.”
“Me, I get by. I’m no Ramsay for sure. But I don’t starve, and Layla likes what I make.”
“That’s the main thing. I thought you were going to help?” He winked.
“I was, but I decided to watch you instead. You’re kind of cute.” She nearly slapped a hand over her mouth at the unintended admission. “You know, cute in a you’re my best friend’s goofy brother sort of way.”
He set down a block of cheese and walked toward her. He stopped and slowly reached out to tug the lock of hair that hung messily over her ear courtesy of a grabby toddler. “And you, Carly Johnston are lovely, for an annoying friend of my sister.”
Before he dropped the curl, she grabbed his hand and pulled him closer. “Come here.”
He took a small step toward her. They were nearly mouth to mouth. She gave in to the urge that had plagued her since after her divorce when she saw him working shirtless in the yard. She licked her lips and leaned toward him.
He backed away and tapped her on the nose. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t try to kiss me. You’ve had too much wine, and not enough food.” He stepped back and returned to the fridge.
“Don’t you want to kiss me? Are you dating someone else? Is there a future Mrs. Birch, I don’t know about?” The words came out before she could stop them. Dang it, wine always loosened her tongue. This was why she didn’t drink.
“Stop with the doubts, Carly. There is nothing I want to do more than kiss you until you can’t speak. And no, there isn’t a future Mrs. Birch. Unless you’re applying for the job?” His voice rose at the end, turning his words into a question.
“I don’t even know you,” she blustered.
“Bullshit. We’ve known each other for six years. Maybe we don’t know the intimate details of each other’s lives, but we can change that. But first, the most important question, do you like pineapple on pizza?”
“Yes! Who doesn’t?” It was nice that he’d lightened the mood and shifted the conversation from her embarrassing slip, but she wished he hadn’t. She wanted to talk about kissing. Better still, she’d like to be kissing.
“Crazy people, that’s who.” He opened one of those fresh pizza crusts they sold at the deli and started spreading tomato sauce on it.
“Is that your mom’s tomato sauce? Can I help?”
“You can just sit and keep me company.” He paused and poured her glass of water. As he handed it to her, he said, “If you like Mom’s sauce, prepare to be amazed. I made this sauce myself, and honest to Pete, it’s twice as good as Mom’s.” He scooped up a bit of sauce with his baby finger and held it out to her.
The gesture was too intimate for two people trying to get to know each other better. She wasn’t sure why he offered his finger rather than a spoon. It felt like a test. A test of their attraction. She leaned forward and sucked the sauce off his finger without breaking eye contact. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated when she licked the last drop off her lips. “Delicious.”
His smile sent heat from her lips to her toes.
They stared at each other for several long minutes until it was either kiss him or leave the kitchen. She had a definite opinion on what she needed, and it wasn’t food. “Are you going to feed me or not?”
He blinked rapidly like he was clearing his mind. “It’ll go faster if you slice the mushrooms.”
She slid off the counter, brushing against him on her way down. The warmth of his body brought heat to her face. Jeepers, the man was lethal. She slid past him, her breasts barely brushing his arm. She wasn’t short, she was five-six, but next to him, she felt tiny and delicate. As much as she wanted to slip her arms around his waist and pull him closer, even in her semi-inebriated state, she knew that would be moving too fast.
“I can chop. Point me to a cutting board.” She paused. “Wait, you offered me non-sparkly clothing. I’d like to change out of this dress if you don’t mind.” She looked down at the mess she’d become. “I don’t know about the juice, but the glitter glue is water-based. No sense getting pizza sauce on it too. I should change, just in case I can salvage this thing.”
He stepped back slightly, tipped his head, and studied her from head to toe, his gaze leaving a trail of fire behind it. “I can get you clothes.” He cleared his throat with a harsh swallow. “But I have to say, you look incredible and I’m sorry I didn’t get to dance with you tonight.”
He turned away abruptly and gestured for her to follow him down the hallway. They passed what looked like a den and a bathroom before entering the room with the night light and a king sized, four poster bed stained a deep cherry color.
“Is this your room?”
“Yes, and I have a nightlight because my cats,” he waved toward two black and white felines sleeping dead center on the bed, “drive me crazy when there’s no light.”
“Aw. You’re so sweet.”
He opened the closet doors and a light flipped on, illuminating a room-sized closet. The man had a thing for motion-activated lights for sure. “Help yourself. There are sweats and T-shirts on the shelf. Take whatever you need.” He walked out of the room leaving her staring at the empty doorway.
“Huh. That was odd.” She entered the closet and stopped dead. It wasn’t a closet; it was an eight-foot square room. She’d lived in places with bedrooms smaller than this. The space was enormous. He had six piles of clothing and a few things on hangers, mostly plaid western shirts. There was one lone suit, four white dress shirts, and three neckties. The rest of the space was empty. She could hang all her clothing and all of Layla’s clothing in here, three times over. He must be expecting to marry a fashionista.
She slipped out of her dress and hung it in one of several empty sections. She found a pair of shorts with a drawstring waist and a T-shirt that said, Cowboys do it in the Saddle. It was the top shirt on the pile and despite its slightly suggestive message, she grabbed it, rather than digging through the rest.
She pulled her phone from the special holster on her leg. She hadn’t wanted to carry a bag, but she also didn’t want to be out of contact in case there was an emergency with Layla. She punched in her ex’s number and shot off a text letting him know that the wedding was over and asking how Layla was.
As she waited for an answer, she set the garter on the shelf and went into the ensuite bathroom she’d noticed earlier. She glanced at herself in the mirror. “Yikes!” She had mascara sliding down to her mouth. The rest of her makeup had vanished. Her hair was a total disaster. She’d expected it was bad, but she had no idea. She looked like a crazed raccoon. “Why didn’t he tell me?” She covered her face with her hands. “Ugh. I tried to kiss him. It’s a wonder he didn’t run screaming instead of just backing away.”
She rooted through the cupboard until she found a dark-colored facecloth. Quickly, she washed away the damage. She let her hair down. Using his brush, she smoothed her wavy locks as best she could. Despite the pile of hairspray that the salon had added, it frizzed up wildly. She used the hair elastic that she’d just removed and slicked her hair into a low ponytail. At least she didn’t look like something out of a horror movie.
The tantalizing scent of fried onions tickled her nose and urged her back to the kitchen.
“That smells amazing. I thought we were having pizza?”
“I caramelize them first. Then add pineapple, mushrooms, and chopped cooked chicken.”
“Okay,” she tried not to sound dubious.
“I’ve never seen you refuse to eat anything. I know you don’t have allergies. This is a favorite combination of mine. Give me the benefit of the doubt, okay?” He turned off the stove and spread the onions on the sauce. He’d chopped the mushrooms and chicken while she was changing. It must have taken her longer than she realized.
“Sorry about being such a disaster earlier.” Heat rose in her face, but she forced herself to lean against the counter and look up at him.
“Everyone deserves to be less than their best on occasion. You had a crappy day, and you didn’t get to eat. I’d be less than perfect in the same position.”
No, he wouldn’t. She’d seen him flinging manure, up to his knees in mud, and covered in tractor grease. Each and every time, he’d looked good enough to eat. There was something about a man who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty that was too sexy for words, and in Birch’s case, that appeal was triple most men.
She was attracted to him like nobody else. Even her ex hadn’t stirred her libido like this. She was thirty-five years old, and it took a rancher like Birch to get her hormones pumping, when all her life, she thought she liked the bookish type.
“Somehow, I doubt that a disaster of a wedding would put you into tears.” Ugh, why had she gone and said that?
“Perhaps not. Men are different than women, but most of us aren’t without compassion. Tanya’s your best friend, you should have been there; but because of some asshole, you weren’t. It’s not fair to you, or to her. I thought you handled it pretty well.”
“Sure, getting drunk and bawling in the rain, that’s real mature.” Why was she pushing this? She should just let it drop rather than keep it fresh in his mind.
He set the empty onion pan back on the stove and turned to her. “Carly Jane Brighton, listen to me. The whole wedding was a sham. It was lovely, but my sister never should have married that jerk and he never should have let his mother take over. Tanya should have stood up for you, and George should never have relegated his bride’s best friend to daycare worker. Who does crap like that? You were booted from a celebration you helped plan. You could have kicked up a fuss, but like the sweet-hearted person you are, you sucked it up and did what needed to be done to make your best friend’s wedding perfect.” He paused.
“For what it’s worth, you are the only person I know who would have done that. You deserve kudos for that. So, if you needed to cry in the rain, who am I to judge? As far as I’m concerned, you deserved that mini-breakdown. And besides, you look adorable with raccoon eyes.” He tweaked her nose.
“Thanks?”
“No, thank you. You made my sister’s day perfect, and I’ll make damn sure she knows it. Don’t even try to argue with me about it. My mind is made up.” He turned back to the pizza, finished adding toppings, and popped it into the oven. “You’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known.”
His words went straight to her heart like Cupid’s arrow. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and stay there forever.
