What he hadn’t known was how Little Miss Macho could turn so fucking
female
. He shouldn’t ever have played with her…because it had become more than play. The way she’d submitted, warily at first, and then, as her defenses lowered and her trust grew, with a stunned wonder that had left him humbled. And the way she’d welcomed him into her body—with such joy—had played hell with his control.
“Jake. Bro. Take the dog food in the house.”
Jake focused, saw Logan’s exasperated face. “Right. Doing just that.”
It was good that she’d moved on.
Jake entered the kitchen, opened the plastic bin where Thor’s kibble was stored. Good that she was going out with Whipple. He was relieved—happy—to know she wasn’t pining over him.
Logan punched his shoulder. Hard. “Jake. Pour the damned food into the bin.”
* * *
Kallie pulled the scrub pad out of the mouth of the oversize wooden frog and patted its green nose. After returning from Alaska two years ago, she’d whittled the figure out of basswood and carved its bushy eyebrows and beard to match Uncle Harvey’s. When he’d seen it, his roaring laugh had shaken the windows.
I miss you, Uncle.
As she soaped up the pad, she wrinkled her nose at the mess in front of her. Seems like no matter how many bargains a girl made, she still ended up doing the dishes. Her “I’m so macho” cousins only washed dishes on their kitchen-duty day and could be oblivious to any putrid stench between times. Did testosterone kill the sense of smell?
After stepping around Mufasa—like any self-respecting cat, he’d commandeered the center of the tile floor—she unloaded the dishwasher and filled it again with food-encrusted bowls and plates.
Maybe she should dump the plates in her cousins’ beds. Would they take a hint?
She grinned. But when she imagined the guys’ reactions, her amusement disappeared, and the icy spot lurking in a corner of her heart pulsed painfully as if in warning. These weren’t her dishes, after all; this wasn’t her house. Not really.
She was just the poor relation Uncle Harvey had taken in after Aunt Teresa had dumped her. After everyone had dumped her. She never forgot her place. Ever.
She swiped at a dried spot of tomato sauce. Maybe she went a little overboard in being careful—okay, maybe she’d gotten a bit hung up on the idea—but she knew how quickly someone could turn off the love faucet. Her mom had loved her, but she’d died when Kallie was eight. Not fair, so totally not fair to lose your mommy, Kallie thought, scrubbing the counter until the pad started to fray.
Two years later, her stepfather had shoved her off on Aunt Penny. At least he’d told her why: “
I’m getting married, and Annabelle already has two children
.”
She was twelve when Aunt Penny shipped her off to Teresa. That time, she received no explanation other than, “
I’m sorry, Kallie, but we can’t keep you here any longer
.”
She’d cried herself to sleep for a month after leaving Penny, but eventually the fun and bustling activity in Aunt Teresa’s home had drawn her in. And then a couple of years later, Uncle Pete and Teresa gave her a little
vacation
to visit Uncle Harvey, and put her on a plane to the West Coast. They hadn’t taken her back.
It still hurt, dammit. Kallie drizzled soap into a frying pan. And she’d suffered through the transition. From a city home filled with younger cousins and an affectionate, bubbling aunt to a wilderness cabin with three older cousins and her giant-sized uncle. They’d terrified her.
This place had been her last hope. If the Mastersons didn’t like her, she’d have had nowhere else to go. Maybe if she’d known what she had done to get kicked out of the other homes…
Poor Uncle Harvey and poor Morgan and Wyatt and Virgil, having a teenage girl dropped into their lives. She’d spared them her tears; she’d already learned that crying didn’t help. But she was the quietest, sweetest mouse they’d ever seen, at least until she’d figured out what they wanted. Her cousins didn’t know what to do with a girl cousin, so she’d turned herself into one of the boys. Kallie smiled at the memories. They’d treated her like a little brother, coaching her on how to backpack, fight, shoot.
Being tough suited her.
If only she could break them of the overprotective crap. Sometimes they acted as if she were a fragile little girl or something. It was a wonder she hadn’t developed a split personality.
Losing Uncle Harvey last year had been…bad. He’d loved her; she was sure that he’d loved her. When she had returned to Bear Flat after working in Alaska, he’d cheered so loudly the town must have heard him.
She’d missed him too, missed them all, but she’d forced herself to get a college degree and some experience before joining the Masterson guide business. Moving away had been incredibly difficult. At least she’d gone to a college close enough to drive back frequently. But Alaska… She’d deliberately accepted the distant job so she couldn’t run home, but damn, she’d felt so empty without her cousins and uncle. She’d missed the noisy meals, the arguing and teasing, the bossing her around and laughing when she tried to reciprocate.
So although sometimes she thought about moving out again—she wrinkled her nose at the dirty dishes—the independence she’d gain wouldn’t be worth what she’d lose. The others must feel the same, since they’d also returned. Or maybe they were just lazy. With the livestock and erratic schedules, it was easier for everyone to live here.
Good thing her uncle had built a huge house. Whenever one of them had turned eighteen, Harvey added on to the cabin, and eventually each bedroom had transformed into a mini-apartment. It had been the sneaky old man’s way of keeping his children around.
She stared at the brick-colored wall. What would she do when the guys started getting married?
The ringing of the phone saved her from the dismal thought, and she hurried into the dining room to answer it. The noise stopped, so Wyatt must have picked it up. As she stacked the dishes left on the table, she heard him say, “I don’t know, Logan. Morgan and I are booked on Tuesday. Kallie is too.” She stepped into the office.
Wyatt looked up, his hair shoved into angry spikes. He hated doing the accounting.
Serenity Lodge must have some clients for them. She ignored the little voice going,
don’t, don’t, don’t
. Her desire to avoid Jake didn’t matter. This was business.
She ignored Wyatt’s motion for her not to talk and said loudly, “The women’s group I’m guiding will return Monday, so I’m free on Tuesday.”
“I’ll get back to you, Hunt.” He punched the Off button hard. “You just had to keep talking, didn’t you? I don’t want to book you with anyone from the lodge.”
“That’s what I thought. We’ve been over this, remember?” She glared at him. “Honestly, Wyatt, they can’t be worse than some of the yuppies I’ve taken out—the ones who think a female guide provides sleeping bag services.”
His face went dark, and he shoved to his feet. “Who? Who the hell… Did they touch you?”
Not a good argument to use, stupid girl
. “Not for more than a second. Understanding was achieved quickly.” She rolled her eyes. “Cuz, I sleep lightly, I carry a knife, and you guys are the ones who taught me to fight. It’s not a problem.
Sit
.”
With a grunt, he sank back into his chair. “Okay. But those people from the lodge—that’s something else. Virgil reamed me and Morgan a new one about letting you anywhere near them.” He gingerly fingered a dark purple bruise on his jaw. “He said the Hunts are actually involved in that stuff.”
“Oh?”
Involved? If he only knew
… God, they’d haul her to a convent. “Who cares? If the guests start swinging from trapezes while they”—
screw
—“mess around, I’ll just step off the trail and wait until they finish.”
Wyatt scowled.
“They’re probably safer to be around than the clients who think camping means you don’t need deodorant.”
He barked a laugh. “You might have a point.”
“I have several. I’m part of the business. ‘Everyone is equal in this house,’ remember?”
“Pa might have gone overboard with that rule,” Wyatt muttered. When she crossed her arms, he held up his hands. “Fine. You win. We’ll outfit a party of four—two couples—for an overnight next Tuesday.”
For her own comfort, she asked, “Just the four people? Not either of the Hunts?”
“Doubt it. Why would they go?”
Good. That’s good
. “Have Logan fax the details.” She shook her head. The Hunts and the Mastersons were doing business together, so she might as well resign herself to it and shut down the part of her that felt hurt. Yeah, when she ran into bastard Hunt, she would act just as “ice cube up the butt” as he had.
“Will do.” Wyatt picked up the phone. “By the way, I invited the Hunts to our party on the Fourth. Logan said they’d come.”
“Oh.” She swallowed her frustrated scream. “How nice.” She made it back into the kitchen before losing it, and then she slammed the counter with a fist, growling like Mufasa if someone tried to steal a newly killed mouse.
Growling. Hitting. Very antisocial. She’d better visit her sanctuary and de-stress or she’d rip Wyatt’s head right off his shoulders. Not that it would affect anything—his brain must be located elsewhere.
* * *
Jake and Logan walked into the ClaimJumper. The country-western music hit Jake first—“Good Hearted Woman” with Waylon and Willie. Not bad. At least the owner, Gustaf, hadn’t put on his beloved Johnny Cash. Yet.
The scent of beer, burgers, and french fries overwhelmed the traces of maybe-I’ll-get-laid aftershave and perfumes. At first glimpse, he thought the entire thousand-plus population of Bear Flat had jammed into the tiny tavern, but no—just another Saturday night. Tourists from the handful of bed-and-breakfasts and the local motel mingled with loggers and locals and a few fishermen from the river lodge. And delivery men. Sitting at a table near the door, the redheaded, muscular guy who delivered sodas to the lodge nodded. “Fellas.”
“Evening, Secrist,” Jake said. He noticed most of the preponderantly male population watched the eye candy in the far corner where Serena and Gina sat with Logan’s fiancée.
On the way out the door, Rebecca had announced she planned to indulge herself during the girls’ night out—which was why Logan had talked Jake into driving him into town. He would take no chances of his pretty sub splattering herself all over the zigzagging highway.
Avoiding the antlers festooned with baseball and cowboy hats, Jake leaned a shoulder against the rough log wall and studied Becca. The curvy redhead looked happy—she usually did—but right now, she appeared both tipsy and giggly. He glanced at Logan. “She looks like a girl hanging out with girls.”
Logan set a foot on a chair, his hands braced on his leg as he studied his submissive. “She’s been missing this, hasn’t she?”
“Seems so. Sociable as she is, she probably had a bunch of girlfriends in San Francisco.”
“And none here. Fuck me for being so blind. I’ll make sure she takes more time off and gets into town, even if I have to drag her.”
Jake winced. “No dragging, please. My stomach isn’t up to another of your wars.” The last time business called them to San Francisco, Rebecca had insisted she’d stay at the lodge. Unwilling to risk his city girl alone in the woods, Logan had swatted her on the ass and stuffed her into the car. Bad mistake. The redhead was a magnificent cook, but the following week, nothing he or Logan ate had been edible. Damned if he knew how she’d ruined their food and still fed the guests well. And he was still pissed off that she’d included him in the battle.
Logan grinned. “Wimp. But I’ll let her decide. Bless Kallie for inviting her tonight.”
“Kallie invited her? Kallie will be here?” Jake’s gut twisted like a worm impaled on a hook. Hell, he wouldn’t have come if he’d known.
“Yeah.” Logan watched Rebecca for a minute, smiling each time she laughed. “God, she’s beautiful.”
“She is that.” And she’d turned his brother’s world around.
Thank you, Becca.
“Looks like we might as well get a beer.” Logan jerked his chin toward a burly man across the room. “Bart’s here, so I’m going to check on our hardware order. Grab me a beer.”
“You bet.” As Logan headed for the lumberyard owner, Jake scoped out the rest of the room, nodding to the people he knew. Was the sprite here?
She was—at the bar beside David Whipple, and as Jake watched, the grocer wrapped his arm around her. Possessively.
A growl escaped, startling Jake as much as a flabby tourist nearby, who edged farther away.
Hell, put a lock on it, Hunt. She’s not yours.
Is too.
In her own unique scruffy pixie way, Kallie was even more beautiful than Rebecca. Her short hair was tousled, like she’d just got out of bed.
It had looked like that after I spanked her
. She’d taken her flannel shirt off and tied it around her waist, and her tank top showed off her tanned arms. Her skin had been so smooth…
I should leave her be.
Her head tilted back, and he could tell she was laughing. Damn, he liked her laugh. Her dark eyes would be dancing and…
Don’t do this, Hunt
. Even as he reached the end of the bar, she slipped away from Whipple and headed to her table, carrying two of the four drinks lined up on the bar. Well then, he’d just wait right here until she returned. His displeasure at seeing Whipple touch her had wrecked his judgment—and he didn’t give a damn.
Whipple glanced over, then scowled and averted his eyes. The animosity was mutual. Mimi had broken up with the grocer just before meeting Jake, and after seeing her black eye and swollen lip, Jake had paid the bastard a visit. So no hugs and kisses from Whipple, and wasn’t that just a crying shame?
“Hunt.” The old Swede serving drinks looked as battered as his tavern. “Gutt evening, youngling. What can I get you?”
Jake grinned. The old man was the only person who’d called him young in two decades. “A couple of drafts.”