The Wayward Sister (Wayward Sons Book 5) Page 3

  “I’m so sorry—”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t want an apology. I want you to get better, to find the happiness me and the guys have found. If you think this starts with handling Mom and Dad’s estate, then go for it.”

  “Are you sure?” I blink back tears.

  “Yes.” He pauses. “Toss my stuff in some boxes. I’ll come down and get it when you’re ready.”

  I nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

  The waitress comes back over and asks for our order. I think Dexter may leave, but he quickly checks out the specials and orders a few. “For research,” he says, after she leaves. “I’ve been working on a few new items for the menu.”

  I lean forward. “Tell me about them. I want to hear everything.”

  He perks up. “It’s kind of a new twist on the CrossRoads Bun and a Possession Pie…”

  I sit back and drink my shitty coffee, listening to my brother talk about the business—my business—one he’s managed to make thrive. I may have screwed up a lot of things, but Dexter Falco isn’t one of them.

  I push up on my toes and hold the rag over my head, wiping down the windows. The bucket on the ladder is filled with dirty water. I want to get started painting the trim, but the window sills were coated in dust and grime. Everything needed a thorough cleaning first.

  Water drips down my arms as I scrub off the dirt and I use the hem of my tank to sop it up.

  “Knock, knock,” a voice calls, startling me. I jerk in surprise, toppling the bucket. Water crashes down, showering over the man below me.

  “Oh my god,” I cry, rushing down the ladder. Reid Langford stands in the doorway, drenched in dirty water. “I’m so sorry.”

  “My fault,” he says, wiping his face with his shirt, revealing his stomach.

  “No, you just scared me, I was totally in my own world. Let me get you a towel.” I rush past him and head to the hall closet. The linens haven’t been washed in ages but they’re still clean.

  I grab two and head back down the hall. When I step back in the living room I see Reid standing in the middle of the room. Shirtless.

  “Uh, here you go,” I say, averting my eyes. He’s not unfit, but long gone are the lean lines of his high school body. His middle has a definite paunch—the kind you get from too much beer. “Do you need a shirt? There may be one back in my brother’s room you can use.”

  “Nah,” he says, drying off. “I’m okay.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “How did you find me?”

  “I saw your name on your receipt and looked you up.” He grins sheepishly. “I had the day off and thought I’d see if you wanted that estimate. Hope that’s okay?”

  “Sure, yeah that’s fine.” Although, I’m not sure it is. I hadn’t planned on having anyone come in today, and I’m not really dressed for visitors. I look down at my white tank. It’s streaked in dirt and damp from window washing. My jean shorts are old, ratty, and a size too small. I’d found them in my old bedroom drawer. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”

  His eyebrow raises. “I think you look great.” He eyes my tank, and I shift uncomfortably. “What’s that mean?”

  I glance down. It’s always a huge strike when a guy isn’t into or aware of the show. “Oh, it’s from the show Supernatural. It’s kind of like their logo.”

  His gaze lingers, and I feel the hair on my neck raise. “Maybe you could introduce me to it sometime.”

  “Yeah, so, I have a list of things from the home inspector.” I walk across the room to find the paper he’d left the day before. I have a stack of things I’d been going through. Old paperwork on the house. I shuffle through them and find the right one. I spin and slam into Reid’s torso. “Oh. Wow. Uh, here.”

  He grabs my arm to give me balance, but instead of letting go, he holds on, grinning down at me. My stomach twists anxiously.

  “You know, I do remember you,” he says, quietly. “Sierra Falco two grades below. Cheerleader. Seeing you up on that ladder jogged my memory. You’ve always had fantastic legs.”

  I swallow and try to take a step back, but I’m pinned in between Reid and edge of the couch. I try to disguise my shaking hands. “Uh, maybe I can show you some of the work that needs to be done on the house?”

  His eyes flick toward the back of the house, toward the bedrooms. No, that was not my intention, but he and I are definitely not on the same page here. He reaches out and skims his fingers over my cheek, bringing a wave of nausea up my throat. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

  The loud pounding of a knock sounds on the front door. With my heart pounding, I look around Reid and see Holden’s familiar face in the doorway. His expression is apologetic, I get it. Reid and I look like we’re in a compromising position, especially with his shirt off, but Holden’s eyes narrow in concern.

  “Holden!” I say, too loudly. I use the distraction to slip away from Reid.

  He holds up the empty pie pan and towel I’d wrapped it in. “I was headed into town and offered to bring this back.”

  I walk over and take it—my legs wobbly. Our eyes meet. “Good. I was hoping you’d stop by.” I swallow thickly. “And you know, we could do that thing.”

  He frowns, and I raise an eyebrow. Understanding clicks. “Yeah, I figured we could get started on that project you talked about.” He looks over at Reid and offers his hand. “Hey, Holden Connell.”

  “Reid Langford—handyman and former schoolmate of Sierra’s.”

  Holden doesn’t explain our connection as the men shake hands. I slip away to the kitchen to put the pie pan and towel on the counter. I also need some space. After a few deep breaths, I walk back into the room. “You know, Reid, today may not be that great to talk about the estimates. I completely spaced that Holden was coming today, and he drove all the way in from the park to help me.”

  Reid’s eyes skip between me and Holden. “Yeah, sure. I can come back.”

  I smile tightly. “I’ll call you, okay? To make sure you don’t waste your time.”

  “Right.” He’s still assessing me and Holden, trying to figure out who he is to me.

  It’s none of his god-damned business.

  “I’ll call you,” he walks out of the room, grabbing his shirt off the ladder rung, and heading out the door. Neither Holden nor I speak until we hear his car start up and drive down the road.

  Holden lifts an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Yeah, thank god you did. That was headed somewhere weird.”

  “He did have a vibe.” His eyes sweep over me. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. We met the other day at the hardware store. I needed a handyman. I think he was hoping that job involved more hands than, you know, actual work.” I look over at the ladder. “He came in and startled me. Things escalated from there.”

  “Maybe keep your doors locked from now on.”

  I snort. “You trying to tell me what to do?”

  “Never, but you’re way out here and all alone. Mammoth Lake is a small place. It won’t take people long to find out there’s a beautiful woman living out here on her own.”

  Did Holden just call me beautiful?

  Heat climbs my body.

  He looks around the house. “So, you’re fixing this place up?”

  “To sell, yes.”

  “Listen,” he says, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “Adrian’s right, we have a lot of experience with tools and repair work. If you need anything, we’re happy to help.”

  “Since when are park rangers fix-it guys?”

  He laughs. “Not all of our duties involve saving pretty girls from bears and meeting with school groups. We maintain all the buildings and trails, haul lumber, monitor brush clean up, and manage the upkeep of the campgrounds.” He scratches his chin. “We’ve done our fair share of carpentry. It’s how we met.”

  I’ve sensed a real bond between the three friends. Similar to the boys at home. They’re connected. “So you’re telling me you’re handy.”
r />   “Very.”

  Unlike Reid, thinking about Holden’s hands, or Adrian’s, sends a thrill down my spine.

  “Despite what you walked in on today, I do still think I have this under control, but I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

  “Good.” He smiles, revealing a slightly chipped tooth. “I guess I should head back. I’ve got a carload of groceries out there.”

  “Thanks for stopping by,” I say, following him to the door. “Seriously.”

  “You call us if you need anything.”

  “I will,” I say, knowing that I probably won’t. It’s not like I have their number anyway.

  He pauses in the doorway, lifting his hand to touch the frame. His bicep rounds and the urge to touch him—explore him—returns. “You don’t like asking for help, do you?”

  His question startles me. So much, I reply with the truth. “No. I like being independent.”

  “Like it, or you’re just used to it?”

  “I don’t like being indebted to others.”

  “Not everyone is keeping score, you know that, right?”

  I don’t respond, because this man, no matter how handsome he is, isn’t going to change my view on life. Independence is good. Hard work is better.

  Counting on people only gets you hurt.

  He heads out the door, jogging down the steps and I shut the door, locking the bolt.

  I walk into the kitchen and pick up the pie pan and towel. Something flutters out of the towel onto the counter. A slip of paper. I pick it up and see a phone number and one word;

  Rangers.

  I get the feeling that even though I’m convinced I don’t need these men in my life, they don’t feel the same.

  6

  Holden

  “How was she?”

  I glance back at Adrian as I unload the groceries. He opens the refrigerator door and puts away the milk, eggs, and other items that need to be kept cool. He slams the door and I hear the clink of bottles, then the hiss of bottle caps being removed. I finish shelving the dry goods and shut the pantry door.

  “Stubborn,” I reply, grabbing the beer bottle and taking a long drink.

  He laughs. “Sounds right.”

  “I think she’s in over her head with this house project, but she’d never admit it.”

  He grabs two more bottles and carries them out to the porch where Robbie and Smith are hanging out. There’s a pretty good view of the sunset from our porch and when we’re all home, we try to catch it.

  “You look worried,” Adrian says, handing off the beers. “Did something happen?”

  “There was a guy there.”

  “There was a guy where?” Smith asks, leaning back in his chair. He’s a massive guy. Always has been, even when we met as teenagers. Since then, he’s bulked up more. Working out helps with his focus.

  Adrian and I share a look. “At Sierra’s.”

  He holds my eye for a beat then tips the bottle back, consuming half of it in one gulp.

  “Was it a boyfriend?” Adrian asks.

  “No,” I reply. “I definitely got the vibe she didn’t want him there, and she seemed glad I’d interrupted him.”

  Adrian looks at Robbie, who shrugs. “No idea who that was. As far as Katie says, she’s single, but it’s not really a surprise guys are coming around, is it?”

  I grimace and drink my beer, before admitting, “I got a bad feeling about him.”

  “Fuck,” Smith mutters.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’re worried about this chick. I can tell.”

  I turn to face him. “I walked up the front door, and it was open. I found her cornered by this shirtless asshat, who’d taken her by surprise. She lives way out in the middle of fucking nowhere, and if she got in any kind of trouble, she’d be screwed. So, yeah, I’m a little worried about her.”

  “You’re not alone,” Robbie says. “Katie feels like she really could use some support right now, but it’s not in her nature to accept help. She’s always been really independent, raising her brother, and the other guys, by herself.”

  “What’s that about?” Adrian leans forward.

  “Their parents died in a car accident when she was just out of high school.”

  “She’s an orphan?” Adrian asks. The three of us share a look. That explains a lot.

  “Yeah,” Robbie says. “She was left to deal with their estate and her brother, who was a total mess at the time. Dexter’s come around lately and the shop is doing well, but something happened at New Year's with the guys and she just bolted.”

  “At New Year’s?” Smith asks.

  “Yes, that night you got pissed and left early. Remember that?”

  “Shut up,” he says, running his hand through his dark hair. “Are you sure you’re just being the nice guys here? Tell me you don’t just want in her pants.”

  He’s looking at me, but I know he means either of us. “I don’t just want in her pants. I like her.”

  He rolls his eyes and stands. “You guys are ridiculous,” he says, followed by a string of curses, and he walks back into the house, slamming the door behind him. He comes back a minute later with his jacket on and his car keys in hand.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “For a drive.”

  “What’s his problem?” Robbie asks. We watch him climb in the truck and haul ass down the road.

  His taillights vanish and Adrian sighs. “Baggage.”

  “Well, I don’t think Sierra needs any more of that. She’s been carrying too much for too long. I think it’s one of the reasons she took off in the first place,” Robbie says.

  “What do you think she needs?” I ask.

  He stretches back. “She may be game for a guy in her life, but she doesn’t need you two sniffing around her, okay? Be her friend. Help her out. Don’t ask for anything in return and keep your dicks in your fucking pants.”

  Adrian nods and I do the same, before glancing at one another again. There’s no doubt we’re both attracted to Sierra and want more than friendship, but compromise is something we’re familiar with.

  If this girl is really worth it, we’ll be there for her. In any way she needs.

  7

  Sierra

  The jukebox in the corner plays the kind of music I like. Rock n’ roll, more seventies than anything else. The place is a dive, the kind that litter small towns in California, owned by hippies or veterans. It’s dark, shadowy, and a good place to hide.

  Katie begged me to meet her here, claiming she needed a drink and female companionship. I refill her glass with the remaining beer in the pitcher and push it toward her.

  “Why are you serving me?” she asks. “You don’t work here.”

  “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  “Do you miss the Wayward Sun?”

  Achingly, I want to tell her, but I play it off. “Sometimes. I needed a break from the grind, once the house is finished I’ll probably go back.”

  “Good.” She licks the foam off her upper lip. “Then we don’t have to come to dives like this. We can get classy beer at the Epic.”

  Katie lives in a camper in a tiny campground in Lee Vines. She has a red, white, and blue bikini. Classy is not how I’d describe my friend. It’s not how I’d describe myself either, but I get it. This place is loud and a little smelly.

  We catch up until her phone rings. “It’s Mrs. Nye,” she says, grabbing it off the table. “I’ll be right back. Hello?” She heads through the crowd, finger shoved in her other ear, and slips out the door.

  I pick up the pitcher and start to slide out of the booth. It’s the kind with the high backs and a dim bulb hanging overhead, allowing for discreet privacy. I’m about to stand when a shadow crosses the booth and a large, male body corners me in.

  “Sierra,” Reid says, his words sloppy and slurred. He tosses his arm over my shoulder. “Thought I saw you come in.”

  “Reid, hi.” I try to get out from under the weig
ht of his arm, but I’m trapped in. I hold up the pitcher. “I was headed to the bar. Let me go get this refilled.”

  He tilts his head downward, eyes glazed and lips pouting. “Are you trying to avoid me?”

  “What? No.” I wave the plastic pitcher. “Beer, right?”

  “Tell me, who that guy was today?”

  “What guy?” I look toward the door, hoping Katie will come back in.

  “At your house? With the beard?”

  “Holden?”

  “Is he your boyfriend?”

  Part of me, the self-preservation part, tells me to say yes. But the independent streak pushed me to tell the truth. I open my mouth to reply when he bends down and kisses me, not giving a fuck either way.

  It’s like a switch flips and gone is the lazy, easy going guy from the hardware store and back in front of me is the bad boy from high school. But not the good kind, the dangerous kind. His hands are everywhere and his tongue shoves down my throat. He presses me into the corner of the booth and I fight to catch my breath. His fingers slide up my thigh, between my legs, and push under the hem of my shorts.

  “Reid, no,” I say, pushing against his chest.

  “Come on, baby. I know you want it.”

  “No, I don’t.” But I’m not even sure he can hear me.

  Lynyrd Skynyrd wails through the speakers, and I know to anyone on the outside we just look like two drunken fools making out. But that’s not what it is, I don’t want this. I don’t want him, and as his fingers wiggle underneath my panties, I manage to come up for a breath of air and make eye contact with someone at the bar.

  No.

  Not just someone.

  Smith.

  His blue eyes hold mine for just a second, one heartbeat, as he rises from his seat. Reid is clueless, trying his hardest to get his tongue back in my mouth. I squirm away as he bears down on me, his hand grabbing mine to shove in his lap. I feel his length, his excitement, and beer-laced bile rises in my throat.