Best Worst Mistake (10 page)

“True, but it’s a start at least. Could be a loner. Or someone seeking attention.”

They stared at the fresh cinder and ash. “You ever think about that one night?”

Wilder didn’t have to ask which night his brother referred to. He knew. The worst night of his life.

“I don’t remember any of it,” Sawyer said. “Weird, isn’t it? Like I should recollect something.”

“No,” Wilder replied firmly. “Consider it a very good thing.”

“Do you remember?”

Wilder shrugged, unable to face him.

“Shit, you do, don’t you?”

He wasn’t going to say he could still hear the deafening groan from when the roof caved in. The crash cutting off the scream. Their mother’s scream. He remembered the thick smoke cloud, clogging his lungs, burning his eyes. He remembered
more too, from earlier in the night. How he couldn’t sleep because Dad had his weekly poker game, all the men were laughing too loud, drinking lots of beer. His brothers both fell asleep fast, but he’d tiptoed down the hall, peeked into his parents’ bedroom and saw Mom reading by lamplight.

He almost went in. She always went to bed with a book and didn’t mind giving him a snuggle. She’d rub
his back, call him “my big beautiful boy.” She smelled like rose water and baby powder. But tonight he was curious about the men so kept going down the hall, perched on the top stair, listening to crass jokes he didn’t understand, followed by loud booming laughter.

Eventually, Mom turned off the light and the guys began to leave. He waited for Dad to stumble upstairs, scoop him up, tuck him
in.

But he didn’t come.

So Wilder decided to find him.

“Hey, man.” Sawyer clasped his shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Wilder said, turning. That far-off night something happened to his soul. For a long time he thought it was burned away but the last few days revealed little shots of green in the black barren wasteland. But what if he didn’t
have the right to regrowth? Hadn’t he lost the right to most everything good in this world?

He took Sawyer back to the station, dropped him off with a tense handshake. Next, he found himself driving slowly past A Novel Experience as if that might be a way to curb this restless sensation in his gut. Maybe he was a damn fool, but he couldn’t extinguish the small light inside him, fragile as
candlelight that murmured, “Maybe.”

A woman walked by the bookshop window but it wasn’t Quinn. She was older, had long black hair, parted down the middle, and wore a flowing silk outfit that seemed to fit into the new Brightwater. Not so much the old. Things were changing around here. This wasn’t the hardscrabble Western town of his youth.

But he wasn’t sure if he fit in back then, and
he sure as hell didn’t now.

What was he going to do?

Kit and Archer’s trucks were parked out in front of The Dirty Shame. He didn’t want a beer or to go shoot the shit over a game of darts or pool, and hell if he wanted to go home to an empty house. He didn’t even have Quinn’s number or know where she lived. Instead, he parked and went into Higsby Hardware to buy cracked corn for the deer.
On the way out he stared at a few tulip bulbs. They might come up pretty in spring.

Hell, now he was thinking about flowers? What was going on?

On his way back to his parking spot, he paused, peering into Haute Coffee’s big plate glass window. Edie’s bakery shop. He’d never gone in but right now, on this cold, grey late-autumn day, the warm and cozy atmosphere called out to him.

The bells rang as he walked in. The tables were mostly empty as closing time approached. Shit. No chance of anonymity. He turned to beat it when Edie appeared behind the counter, gave him a double-take followed by an enthusiastic wave.

Trapped.

“Howdy, stranger.” Edie’s hair was caught up in a bun and there was a dusting of flour on the tip of her freckled nose. Archer, the playboy of
Brightwater, had finally settled down and it didn’t surprise Wilder one bit. Edie was marriage material: beautiful, smart, and could cook in the kitchen like she was conducting an orchestra, a symphony for the taste buds.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee on the house? And how about a muffin. No, wait . . .” She gave him an appraising once-over. “I know just what you’d like. Take a seat. Any
seat.”

He did as he was told, not minding getting Mom’d around when she had such a kind smile. Plus he was starving. He glanced out the window. A few snowflakes fell.

If he concentrated hard enough maybe Quinn might walk by.

How pathetic could you be?

“Penny for your thoughts,” Edie said, returning with a piping hot cup of coffee and a giant bear claw.

“Jesus, look at the size
of that thing.” He eyed the plate. “That pastry could go toe-to-toe with a polar bear.”

She smiled. “I got caught up listening to a podcast and made this one a little too big, wasn’t sure what I’d do with it. But then you came in and, hey . . . got to love serendipity.”

He picked up the flaky, buttery bread and bit down, sugar and almonds flooding his taste buds. Impossible not to moan.

“Oh yay.” Edie clapped her hands. “You like it!”

“Good.” It was all he could say while shoving another bite in his face.

She sat down across from him, staring out the window. “This will be my first winter in Brightwater. I’m excited. It will be a real Christmas this year.”

“You don’t miss the big city life?” Archer had mentioned she came from New York.

“Oh, sometimes. Mostly
the little things, like getting salted caramel macarons delivered to my apartment door, that iconic skyline, or the lit-up marquees along Broadway. But mostly, no. Turns out I’m a small town girl at heart.” She propped her chin in her hand. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been back home, huh?”

“Over a decade.”

“Your brothers missed you,
you know. And while she might not say it, your grandma did too.”

“If that’s a joke, I’m having a hard time laughing.” He took a long bitter swig of coffee, letting it burn his inner cheeks.

She gave him a searching look. “I’m serious.”

He set down the mug and sought out his gruffest tone. “Look. Here’s a free piece of advice. You don’t know anything about me. I’m not the sort of guy
people miss. I’m more the ‘good riddance’ type.”

“Well, I do know one thing.” She sat back in her chair. The smile playing around her mouth showed his brusqueness had no effect. “You and Quinn Higsby.”

He tried to keep his face implacable and knew he failed. “What about her?”

Her eyes softened. “I saw how she looked at you during Thanksgiving dinner and how you looked back. You two
had more chemistry going on than the inside of a mad scientist’s laboratory. Pretty darn explosive.”

What was with this damn blush creeping up his neck, spreading to his ears?

Edie didn’t point it out; instead she doubled down like a bird dog during duck season. “You’ll need to take her on a first date, something where you wow her a bit but can still be yourself. What does she like?”

He knew what Quinn liked when he was pumping inside her, how she responded to a grinding rhythm, but outside of the bedroom? He cleared his throat. “She, uh, likes books.”

Edie gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s good. You’ll always know what to buy her for a gift. Plus, she probably likes to stay up late.” She winked. Winked? In that moment he saw how she and Archer made sense. She might be
a little refined but was like chocolate laced with chili, all that sweetness came packed with a helluva bite.

“Just be yourself,” Edie advised.

That’s the problem. He was a grump, putting it mildly. Some would say asshole and he wouldn’t dispute it. The two women at the corner table, former teachers from Brightwater High, kept bobbling their necks in his direction. They must remember him
from when he had been a student, at least in name. In truth he’d spent more time hanging behind the bleachers smoking unfiltered cigarettes and kicking ass than he ever did attending class. How could he focus on algebra or economics when that old restless anger took hold? Throwing or taking a punch was the only thing that kept him from climbing out of his own skin before he started smoke jumping.

But he didn’t want to return to those old fighting days, at least not with his fists. He’d rather fight a way back to himself, see if there was anything left of the man his mother would have been proud to call her son. Reaching out to his brother and getting a better-suited truck was a start. But he needed to go further. Be the guy who could try again, risk his pride and hermit life on an
unpredictable and captivating woman named Quinn.

The faint light inside him burned a little brighter, heating his chest.

“Hey, I have to go see about a few things,” he said to Edie. “But thanks for the coffee, pastry, and kick in the ass.”

“I have some solid experience kicking Kane butt.” She smiled. “I’m at least a green belt by now.”

He pulled out two twenties. “You see those
ladies over there?”

Edie glanced in their direction. “Beryl and Donna? Sure, they come in here all the time. They’re in that Chicklits book club with your grandma.”

“Cover their bill for me, will you?”

Edie eyed the money. “But this is way too much. All they had was a shared banana nut muffin and two—”

“Then load them up with a few extra treats. I used to be one of their students
and owe them one.”

She smiled up at him. “Wilder Kane, you are a nice man.”

“Don’t let the secret out, okay?” Wilder rose, keeping a safe distance. Edie seemed like the sort who might do something crazy like go in for a hug. He might be turning over a new leaf, but there wasn’t a way to paint stripes over all his spots. Hugging wasn’t in his vocabulary.

Although cuddling was, with
the right girl.

He stepped outside, shoved his black knit beanie on, and paused. The sun had come out while he had been stuffing his face. The mountains stood out in stark relief, rugged and wild. He’d lived in Montana for years but this was home. He took a deep breath, the clean, cold air filled his lungs, filling him with renewed purpose. Nature was its own kind of therapy.

A ray of
light cut through the cloud, illuminating the new-fallen snow swathing the side of Mount Oh-Be-Joyful. He might be a physical mess, and together they were oddballs, but there was no doubt Quinn was a special snowflake.

He began to walk, slowly and with a limp up Main Street toward his 4Runner. A few cars might have slowed, but he didn’t look over.

Wilder Kane was back in town.

But maybe, just maybe, the black sheep would surprise them all.

Chapter Eleven

Q
UINN
BLEW
SOAP
suds off her forearm with an irritated huff. She’d filled the claw-foot bath to the brim with hot water and jasmine scented bubble bath. The trip to the lab had been short, methodical, easy even, except for the fact the needle made her a little lightheaded. After they drew her blood, she’d had to sit in a chair and drink a disposable cup of orange
juice. But since she got home, her plans to relax had revealed themselves to be rather ambitious.

She’d brewed three separate cups of tea and forgotten each one until they’d grown cold on the kitchen counter. Then downloaded an app onto her phone, some sort of meditation guide, but had been unable to focus. When the calm woman’s voice announced it was time to scan her thoughts, all she could
do was visualize them sliding through a sieve, disappearing.

Her blood work was being sent off to a diagnostic lab in the city and the results should arrive back just in time for Christmas. She’d either be getting the best present ever or a lump of coal in the form of a positive Alzheimer’s prognosis.

This bubble bath coupled with the glass of pinot grigio on the window ledge was supposed
to be her Hail Mary “feel better” pass. It might not quite be five here but it was somewhere in the world.

She sank under the water, holding her breath, hearing her pulse in her ears, seeing if she could make it to sixty. Once she’d held her breath that long down in the Brightwater River and Dad called her a mermaid.

There came a muffled bang. Someone pounded at the front door. She sat
up, gasping, wiping the suds from her eyes.

Who’d be stopping by? Probably one of the Higsbys. Dad’s family was large, and God love them, they didn’t see the value in calling before coming over. It was rare for one of the family to leave Brightwater, so since her arrival she’d been viewed with a certain level of fascination, especially with regards to her old job. They wanted to hear about
which celebrities she had rubbed elbows with, having no idea that her boss’s wife had essentially chased her out of town with a pitchfork.

She stepped out of the tub, wiped the fog from her glasses, and did a quick towel dry before slipping into her red silk bathrobe, the one that was fine in L.A. but, seeing as Brightwater wanted to give Narnia a run for its winter money, fell short of providing
any meaningful warmth. She was freezing cold halfway down the hall.

“Coming!” she called through chattering teeth.

It was only then that it occurred to her that she didn’t have to answer at all. But she was programmed to respond. To people please. Even now. The thought grated her. Today had sucked. She’d just politely tell whoever it was out there that she was busy, had a headache, or—even
more potent—cramps. Yes, cramps, good. That would send anyone scurrying away. She’d even clutch her lower belly for added effect.

Wait, hmm, clutching was too dramatic. She’d worked with actors. Better to give a slight rub and rueful smile.

Perfect.

She threw open the door and all thoughts of fictional periods disappeared at the sight of Wilder filling the doorway in a black jacket
and a black knit cap low slung over his broad forehead, offsetting those bright eyes.

Oh.

Oh my.

“You’re all wet,” Wilder said.

“Yeah, I am.”
God. Wait. No.
“Because of the bath.”

“That’s what I meant. What were you talking about?” His smile was slow, wolfish, and everything sexy.

Was this real life or had she drowned in the tub and heaven was all about ravishing brutish-looking
men? The cold winter brushed her bare thighs and said, “Real life.”

“Come in, come in,” she stammered, closing the door behind him. Could he hear her heart going like a battering ram against her sternum? Despite every wish to the contrary, all she could do was remember him above her, hot, sweaty, and so hungry, the ravenous way he’d inhaled her.

Don’t swoon. Keep it together. This wasn’t
a good idea.

“How did you know where I lived?” she squeaked.

He shrugged. “Small town hotline.”

“You dial in and make a request to a busybody?”

“Basically. Or walk into The Dirty Shame and ask my cousin Kit because he picked you up for Thanksgiving yesterday. How was your appointment?”

“Oh, you know.” She waved her hand, hoping the effect looked suitably casual. The last thing
she wanted was to saddle him with her medical woes. That’s why she’d run away this morning. But now he was here, and despite everything she couldn’t deny the thrill. “Boring doctor stuff. Wait. How did you get here?”

“Drove.”

“Huh?” She glanced out the bay window at the blue 4Runner parked in her driveway. “Wait. Is that yours?”

“Yeah. Got an automatic this afternoon. Easier for me
to drive. See people. See you.”

His gruff tone didn’t offset the hint of underlying sweetness. She didn’t bother resisting a grin. “That is so amazing.” He looked so uncomfortable with the praise that she took pity and changed the subject. “And what’s in the bag?”

He glanced down at the Save-U-More paper bag. “I wanted to take you on a date.”

A date? That sounded like a big mistake.
Huge. But she was intrigued. “A date in a bag?” She sat on the couch, checking that her robe didn’t gape. She didn’t want to flash him.

“I’m sort of improvising here. First off we’ve got . . .” He pulled out a box of cake mix. “Red velvet.” Followed by a jar of chocolate frosting.

“This is already in my top ten percent of dates.”

“I’d like to improve on that. There’s more in here.”
He rolled the bag shut. “But I think we’ll start with what we’ve got. You ran out today so maybe you don’t want me here, but I thought I’d—”

“No. I am happy to see you.” And that was the truth. She was tempted to run into the kitchen and execute a private happy dance. Instead, she flipped her hair out of her face. “You’re going to bake for me?”

“Sure, you have a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

“Try a whole mouthful.”

She followed him into the kitchen, gave a few directions as to her pots-and-pans cupboard, and fumbled with the mixer. She ducked into her bedroom with reluctance to change into a pair of grey lounge pants and a long-sleeved cranberry colored top.

And maybe did a few steps of the cha-cha.

“Want a lick?” He was pouring the batter when she returned, and
handed her the whisk. “My mom always let me do that.”

“Yum. She had the right idea.” She gripped the metal handle, her misgivings retreating the moment her tongue made contact with the sugary goodness. “You lost her a long time ago, didn’t you?”

His eyes went flat. “When I was six.”

She forced the swallow. “That must have been so hard.”

He gave a single nod. “My brothers don’t
remember her or my dad. She used to take me to Castle Falls. No one ever went down there, said the place was haunted. But she would laugh at the idea. We’d sit at the top of the cascades, watching the water tumble over, and she’d say if the place was haunted, the ghosts were kind. And there were the fairy rings.”

She set the whisk on the counter. “Fairy rings?”

“Flower circles. No one
knows why they came up. It was part of the reason people were uneasy about the place.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“It was.” He moved his arms aimlessly as if not sure what to do with them. At last he folded them tight to his broad chest. “But Brightwater is a practical place. No one here has much use for magic.”

“That’s why you moved to Castle Lane,” she said slowly, sinking into a chair.
A few puzzle pieces clicked together. “Not because you wanted to get away from everyone. It’s because you wanted to be close to a good memory from your past.”

He glanced out the window, averting his face. “Maybe both.”

The sweet smell of cake infused the air as they sat in uncertain silence.

“It was sweet of you to come over.” She paused for a beat. “I need to tell you something. The
way I bolted from your bed, I wasn’t sure if I spoiled everything.”

“Don’t mention it.” He put the bowl in the sink with a little too much force.

“I’m serious. I had a hard morning and to have you come by, surprise me—”

“I’m serious. Don’t mention it.” He looked uncomfortable. What was it about this guy that seemed genuinely afraid of compliments, of kindness?

“There is a lot
more to you than meets the eye.” She approached him. “Underneath all these big muscles and grumbles is a soft center, isn’t there?” She set her hands on his shoulders and rose on tiptoes, planting a kiss on the scruffy patch between his wide mouth and jaw, right on the hint of a frown line, a tattoo of sadness. How could she resist this man?

Oh yeah, she couldn’t.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

She slid her tongue across his, slow, tentative, a stroke, but gentle, an introduction. “You taste pretty darn good.”

“You do too.”

She pulled him closer. He’d been lost for so long, was it too naïve to hope she could kiss him found?

He broke off, glanced at the kitchen table, and took her hand. “Come over here.” He sat on a chair and pulled her down, positioning her legs so she
straddled him, her pelvis nestled against his, grazing his hardness. She rocked closer, teasing, unable to get enough, wanting to fist his glossy hair with two hands. God, if she could, she’d inhale him. Her head spun. It could be low blood pressure after the bath, but more likely she’d gone woozy with wanting.

“What do you want?” He sucked on her neck, pulling from her a gasp. “From me?”

She dug her fingers into his shoulders. “To remember that there is still some good stuff out there in the world. What about you?”

His lips twitched against her skin. “I want to forget the bad.”

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

His hands slid under her shirt, up her bare back, hungrily stroking the braless expanse of sensitive skin between her shoulders.

“We’re something.”

This time his kiss took control, the pleasure almost excruciating. He had the power to render her helpless, hungry, until she shamelessly humped against him, burrowing close, her body rebelling at any place that didn’t make contact. Their teeth collided and they each tasted the other’s moan. Then he dropped one hand, slid it into the elastic waistband of her pants, running his fingers over her soft
curls. One slow finger stroked through her center, gathering wetness and bringing it right to the tip of her clit. For a big guy with thick, rough fingers he moved gently.

“Let me know if it’s too hard,” he muttered. “I—I don’t have great sensation here.”

“Wait.” She grabbed his wrist. “You can’t feel me?”

“I can a little.” His glance fixated on her lap, not daring to rise to her
eyes. “Not much with the burns.”

“That’s unfair.” She refused to be sympathetic, it was a luxury he didn’t want and she couldn’t afford. Better to offer honesty. “I feel. You feel. That’s the deal between us.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.” She peeled off her shirt, her bare breasts tightening in the cold air, nipples two tight peaks.

“Fuck, Trouble. You’re gorgeous.”

She stood and
reset her glasses, checking the oven timer before offering her hand. “We have thirty-two more minutes before that alarm goes off. Think we can put it to good use?”

He laced his fingers with hers and rose. “Wager we can have a damn good half hour.”

They got to her room and somehow her pants disappeared on the journey. She was naked while he was completely dressed. For some reason she liked
it, though, loved the roughness of his wool and denim against her exposed skin.

They fell onto the bed. He grabbed her hips as she reached for the headboard.

“You want me to feel you?”

“So much.”

He buried his face between her legs, inhaled deep, his lips fastening on her slick flesh as he gave a long, slow, suck. “Oh, yeah. I feel that.”

She let out a whimper that would have
to pass for “I do too.”

He dragged his tongue around her clit, twirling over the hypersensitive nerve endings until she sank into a gyre that was nothing but his sucking, probing, and nibbling mouth.

“Let me see you watch what I’m doing,” he rasped. “Want to see your face as you get there.”

She glanced down, mouth drying as her heart accelerated. Her hips were inches off the bed as
she greedily bucked against him for more. “I’m right there.”

“Yeah? I’ll bet you can go a little further.”

Even though she was teetering on the edge, toes curling and pulse racing, he plunged onward.

Her legs locked tight against his head but he didn’t seem to care about the pressure. Instead, he rolled back and forth between her thighs as if he’d never get close enough, like every
lick, suck, and stroke was precious, to be savored. In the distance, an oven alarm went off. No way. He couldn’t have been down there a half hour. No one had ever been down there a half hour. How the heck did he do this? Not allow her release, but kept leading her forward, out along a tightrope of almost painful desire.

It hurt not to be coming. Her entire body was reduced to a single clench.
Finally, he eased a finger inside, no easy feat when she was this tight, this wound up, this—

“Oh. Oh God.” He pressed up, mirroring the same action on the outside with the flat of his tongue. It ratcheted everything from merely “good” to “glorious and floating aloft on a cloud being serenaded by angels.”

She didn’t know it was possible to feel this much . . . everything. Still he took
her deeper and deeper into her climax until her back bowed. She writhed, pinned against him. His hands braced her hips and he took her whole center in his mouth. She skyrocketed to sitting up, her brain waves going into a perfect flatline while every other body part trembled uncontrollably. White light pulsed in her peripheral vision and as it ebbed she floated like some sort of feather, wafting
back to earth.

“Good?”

“Dear Lord, I’d give you a standing ovation if I could trust my knees to hold my weight.” She could barely find the energy to move her lips. All she could think of doing was curling up like a kitten in the dappled evening light filtering into the bedroom.