A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2) (17 page)

Sharon perked up—not friendly, more … nosy. “What sort of design?” she asked.

“Her house,” I said. “As in, the architectural design of it…?”

Sharon’s eyes registered surprise and I fought off the insult that lay there. “My, my, that is impressive,” she said but her tone made it hard to tell if it was a compliment. “And you’ve gone to school for that sort of thing or…?” She let her question hang and tilted her head at me.

That sent me over my limit. I shot to my feet just as a gunshot sounded from the backyard. “What—?” I jerked my head to the window and found Casey holding a rifle against his shoulder.

He turned and met my eyes, a half-smile curving his mouth. When he spotted me, his enjoyment fell away. He frowned, handed the gun back to John, and started for the house.

I turned back to Sharon. “I appreciate the lemonade,” I said, although we all knew I hadn’t touched my glass. “I better be going.”

“So soon?” Helen twisted in her seat, concern and regret mixing in her expression.

Sharon’s, however, was a neutral mask.

“I have a lot of work to do for the house.” I glared at Sharon. “Those crayon drawings won’t color themselves.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Sharon rose and somehow rounded on me before I could make it three steps. She blocked my path, hands on her hips, fury and frustration finally showing through.

I crossed my arms, secretly satisfied to know I got to her. “You’re in my way, Grandma,” I said.

She huffed out a breath, her nostrils flaring. “I understand I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry, but did you ever stop to think meeting you is just as hard on me as it is you? Maybe harder considering you had the benefit of knowing you were coming.”

“You want me to feel sorry for you?” I asked, ignoring the twinge of compassion already working its way to the surface. She’d apologized. I wonder how often that happened.

“I want you to accept there are things about the situation you don’t know. And if you aren’t going to give me a solid chance, tell me now so I can stop making an effort.”

“This is you making an effort?”

She laughed, a humorless sound. “You’re not trying very hard either, you know. Marching in here with that giant chip on your shoulder doesn’t help matters.”

Her words got to me more than I wanted to admit. Was it possible my defensive stance had started this whole standoff? I thought over how I’d come here the first time, guns cocked and loaded so to speak. Not that it excused her comments that day, her assumptions, or that she
also
had a chip on her shoulder, but—

Damn.

She wasn’t wrong.

“What things don’t I know?” I asked.

Sharon frowned. “There are more reasons for our concern about money than you think. Your father didn’t tell you what really happened—”

“Unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head and fuming. “You’ll stoop to dragging my dad into this? You’ll call him a liar now just to save face in front of me for what you did?”

The back door opened and slammed closed. Sharon didn’t answer. We stood in tense silence, staring at each other.

Casey appeared in the doorway. “You okay?” he asked, looking back and forth between us.

Before I could form an answer, the door opened again and John appeared, dogs at his heels.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Sharon muttered. She turned to the men. “We’re fine.”

“I’m ready when you are,” I told Casey.

He turned to John and shook his hand, already making our goodbyes. I didn’t speak to Sharon again, waiting near the door while Casey hugged Helen.

At the door, I promised John I’d come back again. It wasn’t a lie. I planned to return one more time. I just wondered which request motivated me more—my dad’s dying wish or my own desire to put Grandma in her place once and for all.

Chapter Twenty

Casey

I woke on Sunday to the sounds of angry chick rock streaming from the direction of Jordan’s bedroom. She’d shut herself in last night and I’d left her alone, letting her have some space. The visit hadn’t gone well. Actually, the visit had apparently sucked. But Jordan hadn’t said much about it. I’d known only from the stark fury on her face that it’d been a train wreck. Even after the motorcycle ride home, she’d been closed off and short. I hadn’t seen her since.

In the back of the house, a bedroom door slammed. I looked up from the Sunday comics just as Jordan stomped past on the way to the fridge. She yanked the door open, pulled the orange juice out, and drank straight from the carton.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed,” I said.

Jordan slammed the fridge shut and glared, and I wondered if teasing hadn’t been the way to go after all. I’d gotten to know her well enough to recognize when she was in the mood to fight. “My bed’s against the wall. It only has one side,” she shot back.

“Mine has two,” I said as off-handedly as I could. But she still wouldn’t spend the night in my room and it bothered me.

“I’ve told you—”

“Taking it slow so no one gets hurt later when you leave,” I said, waving a hand and going back to my paper. “Got it.”

Jordan sighed. “What are you reading?” She wandered closer and peered over my shoulder. “Comics.”

I looked up at her. “I don’t want you to be intimidated by me just because I read,” I said and Jordan’s frown quirked up.

“I didn’t know we got the paper,” she said, pulling out the chair beside me and grabbing the Business section.

“I know. It’s very city of me, isn’t it?” Jordan shot me a wry look. “Frank subscribed me for my birthday last year. Said it would make me more grown up.” I shook my head remembering that discussion.

She lowered the paper again. “Have you talked to him yet?”

“About…?”

“Dirt bikes, Case.”

I went back to reading my cartoon strip. “No.”

“You promised,” she began but I shook my head.

“No, I bet on it. That’s different.” I kept my eyes trained on the paper, the words floating together illegibly as I pretended to read. “I know you think I’m going to lose,” I said, “but until I do, it’s my decision about the bikes. Speaking of which…” I rose and tossed the paper aside, grabbing Jordan by the elbows and hauling her up. “My prize,” I said and kissed her hard on the mouth.

Jordan shook with laughter underneath me for a split second and then the kiss worked its way to a boil between us. Jordan pressed herself against me and I responded. My hands traveled the length of her curves until I hooked my palms underneath her ass and lifted her into the air.

Jordan’s responding squeal drove me, and I kissed her harder, adjusting her against me until she fit perfectly, center to center. Her arms wrapped around my neck and her legs wound around my waist. Perfect fucking fit.

I kissed her until I couldn’t feel my legs and then I eased us both down and sat in the chair. Jordan’s legs unwound and finally landed softly on the floor. She eased back, her face flushed, staring down at me with eyes that practically sparked blue flames.

I knew what she wanted, but I decided not to press it. Keep things slow, she kept saying the other night when I’d asked her to come to bed with me. Two could play her little game.

“What’s the plan today, slick?” I asked.

Jordan shifted away and the tension between us died off.  “I guess I’m doing whatever you’re doing,” she said slowly.

I tapped her leg until she slid off and then rose to my feet. “I have a project due to a customer this week so I’m headed out to work in the garage for a bit.”

Jordan perked up. “Can I help?” she asked.

“I didn’t peg you for a grease monkey.” I eyed her very clean white blouse and jean shorts. “You might want to change.”

“Sure,” she said, “I can do that. Meet you in the garage in ten.”

I stared after her, smiling, as she hurried out.

***

In the garage, I set up shop, pulling out the pit bike I was rebuilding for an old Motocross buddy and laying out all my tools nearby. I fiddled with the music, leaving the station alone but lowering the volume a little for Jordan’s benefit. Then, I sat on the overturned milk crate that was my chair and got to work.

Thirty minutes went by and still no Jordan.

I finished tightening the screws on the engine case and tossed the screwdriver aside, heading for the house.

Inside, Jordan’s bedroom door was still closed. How long did it take to yank on a pair of old jeans?

Halfway down the hall, I heard her voice raised in heated conversation. I paused outside her door.

“…just want to be done with this,” Jordan said, and under the irritation coating the words, I could hear her exhaustion. “I don’t know what she meant about not knowing the whole story. It was probably a load of bullshit intended to confuse me. Either way, Dad was my family, not her.”

I leaned in, my hand raised and ready to knock, but her next words stilled me.

“No, Gavin. I just want to fulfill my promise and get out of here.”

I tried to tell myself she was just worked up about her family. She meant she wanted to get away from them. Not me. 

Gavin must have called her on it and she added, “The house will be done on schedule. The designs are solid. I’ve got another few weeks here and then I’m out. Trust me, there is nothing for me here.”

I lowered my hand slowly and rubbed absently at what felt like the aftereffects of a gut punch. Nothing here for her.

Well, she’d warned me.

I found my way out and back to the garage, losing myself in the work. The engine case was a beast to crack but I didn’t mind. Using my muscles was a great way to drain the tension that’d built over what I’d heard back there. A few new screws and I was ready to reseal it again. Too bad the satisfaction felt empty.

Jordan came out a while later but I kept the radio up and my head down.

Any conversation she made, I returned. I never let on what I’d heard. What would I say anyway?

She hadn’t told her brother anything she hadn’t said to me already.

Maybe it was just my turn to realize she meant it.

In a few short weeks, Jordan was leaving. Sure, I’d lose the bet—but that didn’t bother me nearly as much as knowing she’d take a part of me with her when she went.

Chapter Twenty-one

Jordan

For the next couple of weeks, Casey and I became more and more inseparable. By July, we had a schedule. Get up, go to work, come home—stay attached at the hip for the rest of the night. Or … attached at other parts. I even slept in his room most nights.

Slowly, inch by inch, the sadness that had weighed on my chest since Dad’s death began to lift. Casey was fun and quick-witted and full of teasing. He made me laugh. He coaxed me into talking about myself, told hilarious stories about growing up with everyone on the farm. And he never pressured for more than I was ready to give. In fact, sometimes I could swear he’d take us right to the brink of something deeper and then he’d pull back instead of pushing through the crumbling barriers I’d put up between us.

Underneath it all, guilt gnawed over my lie to Gavin.

It wasn’t like I’d never lied—he was my little brother—but this one felt bigger because I knew it meant I’d been lying to myself. I talked a big game; a blessing and a curse according to Dad. But the truth was that something about this town had gotten under my skin. Okay, not something. Someone.

I stood in the beating hot sun and watched as Casey finished loading the beer and groceries into the back of the truck. We’d spent the last forty minutes navigating a packed grocery store—battling everyone else in town for last-minute July fourth supplies. All around us, even the parking lot was a madhouse of activity as other shoppers did the same.

Inside the store, Casey had resorted to sweet-talking the woman behind the bakery counter into giving us the last apple pie she’d had stashed in the staff fridge. I could only watch and shake my head as his compliments and smiles had worked on the woman. I knew too well how it felt when he turned the volume up on his charm.

In fact, it was getting harder and harder to resist.

“All set.” Casey finished stashing the groceries and held open the passenger door for me.

I climbed in and reached for him before he could shut it again. I grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him close.

His expression changed from surprise to pleasure. “Well, hello,” he murmured, and his mouth met mine without complaint.

My kiss was hungry and I knew it. Casey’s roaming hands must have too, the way they sought my hips and pulled me flush against him. Like air against a low flame, the heat sprang up and I pressed closer until my center hit his belt. Not altogether comfortable, but in the moment, I didn’t care the way the metal dug in.

What was it I’d been working so hard to resist again?

All I could think about lately was how much I wanted him—not slow, fast. And how I’d lied about it to everyone who mattered. Including myself. In the back of my mind, I considered the possibility of Casey actually winning this stupid bet we’d made with each other. When it was time to go home, could I really walk away? Leave all this behind?

The kiss distracted me and I squirmed against him, breathless with the kiss and the fire burning underneath my skin.

“Grocery store parking lot, huh?” Casey eased back, leaving a trail of tiny kisses over my face as he untangled his hands from my hair.

“Yeah, well,” I began and then just stopped there, too winded and flustered to form a coherent sentence.

Casey grinned, clearly enjoying my lack of vocabulary. “We’re getting classier and classier, slick.”

“You’re right. Not the place,” I said.

Casey paused halfway to closing the car door. “You looking for a place?” he asked.

I licked my lips. “Maybe.”

His gaze turned feverish in the summer heat. My mouth went dry as I imagined what he must be picturing right now.

“We could go to my place,” he said, winking, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure my roommate won’t mind. We’ll put a sock on the door or something.”

“We have twenty minutes if we want to be on time to Summer’s party,” I reminded him.

He shrugged. “That’s enough for me.”

I swatted and scowled at his laughter, swinging my legs clear of the door and motioning for him to close it up.

I checked my watch—too afraid to admit I was tempted by his offer of a quickie. But so far, nothing about being with Casey was quick. He was excruciatingly and mind-blowingly slow. I knew if we stopped at home, we’d never make it in time for the party. I refused to show up late and do that walk of shame.

I’d have to get through the party and wait until we could go home. I sighed. It was going to be a long day.

***

Summer’s driveway was already lined with trucks when we pulled up. Casey killed the engine and turned to me.

“Two rules for surviving a July fourth party at the Staffords,” he said. “One, don’t wander into the cornfields drunk, and two, do not ask Frank to sing no matter how much he brags about his karaoke skills. Got it?”

I muffled a laugh at how serious he seemed. “Got it,” I said, saluting and climbing out.

We headed up the hill on the far side of the yard and were met with a crowd, already gathered and well on their way to saluting our country’s independence by exercising their freedom to get wasted.

“Is it drunk in public if you’re on private property?” I asked Casey, watching in amusement as Joe swooped in and tossed Leslie over his shoulder. He ran in circles while they both laughed, all the while managing to hang on to his Solo cup.

“No physically assaulting the women!” Casey yelled as we passed them.

“Glad you draw the line somewhere,” I said.

Casey turned to me, a gleam in his eye. “Of course. I always wait to be asked before assaulting any woman.”

I laughed.

“Jordan, come help me with this sign.” Summer waved me over to where she stood at the far end of the gathering with a sign that had an arrow and the word “bathroom” written on it with a Sharpie. She was angling it against the trunk of a tree so that the arrow pointed to a port-a-potty at the base of the hill. In her other hand, she held a staple gun.

“Catch you later,” I said and began to turn away, but Casey grabbed my wrist and yanked me back, catching me off guard with a noisy kiss.

Behind him, someone whistled and then a few cat calls joined in. I shoved him back, laughing, and sauntered away, not even caring for a second that I was loving everything about this country boy and his country Independence Day.