Unbroken (15 page)

But the past few weeks, or months, really, considering he'd been planning the bison thing, considering he'd sold his sports car to make it happen, he'd seemed to be waking up. He wasn't just a walking one-liner anymore.

He was a man who had goals. A man who wanted to achieve them.

She could respect that.

But it didn't mean she wanted to watch him and Cole duke it out.

“Where do you get off, Cole? Where do you get off telling anyone how to live their lives? I've watched you make a hell of a lot of bad decisions. Your first marriage being a classic example. I watched you about lose Kelsey because you were being a dick. And still you act like your word is law.”

A vein in Cole's neck looked very seriously in danger of bursting. “Is that your version of it, Cade? That's convenient. I seem to recall you ran off to join the rodeo and left me to deal with everything. Left me to deal with how Dad was when Mom was gone. Left me to raise Lark while you were off—”

“That isn't fair,” Cade said. “And you know it. You needed the money. I've poured more money into this place than I even care to count. I might not have been here tucking her in at night, but there wouldn't have been a bed to tuck her into if I hadn't been out counteracting Dad's gambling. He knew. He
knew,
and he took my earnings to help bail him out. To buy them a house,” he said, gesturing to Nicole. “You want to talk about how irresponsible I am, Cole? You were just plowing the damn fields without a clue about what was going on around you. I knew the whole story. I was the one who was trying to keep things together without uncovering just what a prick Dad was. Without letting our family fall apart.”

Cade backed away, his expression fierce, and continued. “So fine. Stand there and tell me how irresponsible I am. But I'm the only one who really knew what saving this legacy meant. Easy for you to make decisions that undermine that. Easy for you to assume you've earned the control because you were here. But you have no idea how much I've carried you over the past decade of your life. No. Fucking. Idea.” He grabbed Amber's hand, and she looked down at Nicole, who was sitting there staring straight ahead, her cheeks red, then back at Cole, who looked like he was ready to hit something. “Come on, Amber,” he said, starting to lead her from the room.

“Cade,” she said.

“No. I'm done. If he wants to wake up and realize he's not the only person who's held all of us together, fine, we can talk. If anyone wants to pull their heads out of their asses long enough to deal with the fact that all of this, her”—he gestured to Nicole—“will have fallout that we have to figure out how to deal with, then they can call me. I'll pick up the phone.”

Amber let Cade lead her out of the house. She held on to his hand, tight, his heat and strength enveloping her hand. She felt sorry for Nicole. She felt sorry for all of them. But her place was with Cade. It always had been.

When they got to the truck, she turned to face him. “Cade—”

He cut her off. He planted his hands on either side of the truck door and leaned in, his mouth crashing down on hers.

It took her brain a second to catch up to what was happening, but her body was already responding. Her fingers tangled in his short, dark hair, her lips parting beneath his. She kissed him with everything she had in her.

Once her brain caught up, she kissed him even more fiercely. With all of the years of longing that were inside of her. With everything she'd ever fantasized about in the darkness of her room. With the desire she'd had for him when she'd been young—desire she'd stuffed way down deep because she knew she could never go there. And the desire for him that had been growing in her ever since.

Desire borne of thirteen years of celibacy. And sixteen years of knowing him without ever touching him until this past week.

He slid his hands down the truck, then moved them to grip her hips, blunt fingertips digging into her flesh. She arched against him, and he took the hint, pressing the length of his body against hers, the truck hard against her back, his cock hard against her hip.

This was not in keeping with their pact. But then again, it wasn't really against it, seeing as this wasn't sex, and they weren't talking about the sex.

They were just kissing. Deeper and hungrier than she'd ever kissed anyone in her life. But still just kissing.

Just kissing that made her feel like the heavens had opened up and let fire rain down. Just kissing that made it seem like the world had tilted on its side and everything was completely, irreversibly different.

But just kissing.

He pulled away from her suddenly, forking his fingers through his hair, swearing violently. “I'm sorry. Let's go.”

Amber was still pinned to the truck. She was pretty sure she'd melted into the paint job.

She blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what had just happened. If she was still standing upright. If the world around them still existed, or had been consumed in a fiery hellstorm of doom.

Important things.

Then she realized she was just standing in the driveway of Elk Haven Stables, having just made out with her best friend. Probably with an audience from the house.

And the world still seemed to be in working order. Which was weird, because she didn't feel like
she
was in working order anymore.

“Okay,” she said, stumbling a little bit and jerking the truck door open. Her legs felt like jelly and her heart felt like it was currently on a mission to pound its way through her chest. Or at least turn her breastbone into dust with the effort.

She sat down in the truck and thought, dimly, that their entire day seemed to boil down to this. Her world getting turned wonky, then Cade driving them somewhere else where it all turned wonkier.

“I'm sorry,” he said again.

“I'm not bleeding. Don't apologize.”

“I'm still sorry,” he said. “I just am.”

“Yeah, well, it's about time someone listened to you, Cade.”

“I guess it's about time I said something.”

Thirteen

“I'm in a bar drinking before six p.m. I feel like you should
be here too. Encouraging me to make bad decisions.”

Nicole stared down at the number on the business card John had given her. She really hadn't expected to call it, but here she was. Calling. From The Saloon. She was drinking a PBR and feeling generally pissed at the world. And it might just be John's lucky night as a result.

She could always just go home. Sure, she had three more weeks of leave left. But that was time she was supposed to be spending getting to know her family, and at this point, she was thinking three weeks at home staring at her ceiling would be more fun.

But then, wild sex with a stranger would be better than that.

“I even know who this is,” John said, his voice warm and tempting, even over the line. “I feel like I should get extra points for that.”

“Get your butt over here and you'll get a beer for that. That's better than points. That's tangible. Alcoholic.”

“Oh, look, my shop's closing up early tonight and I'm headed down the street.”

The mercantile was only three small-town blocks down from the bar, and it only took John five minutes between the time she hung up the phone to the time when he walked through the door.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down next to her at the bar. “What's the deal?”

“What do you mean what's the deal?”

“Where has all the cagey surliness gone? Why are you now calling my number and inviting me down here to drink with you?”

She lifted her beer. “Because today sucked.”

“Whatcha drinking, baby?”

“Pabst.”

He snorted through his nose. “Okay. That's not a hard-day drink, if you ask me.”

“Well, it's my drink of choice.”

“Jack,” he said to the bartender, then turned back to Nicole. “That's my hard-day drink.”

“You're going to get drunk at six in the evening?” she asked.

“Hell no. I only ordered one.”

“Oh . . . badass,” she said, taking another sip of her beer. “You, sir, are clearly a badass.”

“Clearly.”

The bartender set a shot glass in front of John and gave him a coy smile while she poured some amber liquid into it. Nicole immediately felt territorial and edgy. Not that she had a reason to feel that way. But she did.

“Thanks, Chrissy,” he said, tossing her a wink.

“So,” she said when the bartender, Chrissy, was out of earshot. “My brother says you're a man-whore.”

He snorted into his glass and a spray of whiskey shot up and sloshed over the edge. “Did he?”

“Yep.”

“Let me guess . . . it was Cade.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Well, that's sort of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling slightly disappointed. She was hoping for some outraged, pearl-clutching denial or something.

“I had a little run-in with him earlier.”

“And I had one with him a little later. Hence . . . this.”

“What did he say?”

“He was trying to warn me away from you. Because you're trying to get into my pants. And defile me. Something about my maidenly virtue. Am certain.”

John snorted again, sloshing more liquid over the side. “Warn me before you talk,” he said, brushing the drops of liquor off his beard. He cleared his throat. “You don't really have . . .
that
.”

“What?”

“Maidenly virtue.”

“Oh . . . gosh, no. But you know, he's acting like I can't make any decisions for myself. Like he has a clue what's best for me, and he doesn't even know me. We have the same dad: That's the beginning and end of it. That doesn't give him any magic insight into me, or me magic insight into him.”

“You're snarky like he is.”

It was her turn to snort. “Well, who isn't snarky?”

“Lots of people.”

“I'm from Portland. Everything is done with a touch of irony and snark.”

“Even your beer-drinking.”

“Shut up.”

“You're a little hipster, aren't you?”

“Labels are too mainstream,” she said dryly.

He chuckled and raised his glass back to his lips. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

She looked at his hands. Strong, masculine hands. At his forearms, so muscular and perfect. Just the right amount of dark hair on them. His flannel sleeves, rolled up to the elbows. He was so hot. And yeah, so maybe he was a man-whore. He certainly hadn't denied it. But maybe she didn't care.

She'd always been so cautious. So safe. One lover. A boring job. The only interesting thing about her was the tats and piercings. And they were easy to hide. They were all for her. All things that she did to make herself feel a little more like the badass she wasn't.

“So what's the deal with you Mitchells? Exactly.”

“Mmm,” she said, lowering her beer bottle. “Not a Mitchell. Not by name.”

“But how are you a Mitchell? I mean I know how but . . . surrounding story, please. Why are you just now here? I'm intrigued. It takes a lot to intrigue me. Or maybe not much, since I'm apparently intrigued by tattooed mini-tractor mechanics.”

“Tax preparation specialist, if you please.” She tapped her fingers on the beer bottle. “Okay, I know minimal amounts about my mom's relationship with Dave Mitchell. I remember him as a man who used to come and visit. I didn't know he was my dad. Not until later. And my mom didn't know his real name. His name was on the housing documents, but I don't think she ever looked at anything. He paid for a bunch of our stuff, bought a car . . . anyway, that's how I found out what his name was. And that he had a family. This was all a few years ago, after my mom died. I didn't really know what to do for a while. Then I made tentative contact, and Cole and I kept in touch . . . for money stuff. Because I was getting leaned on for the old man's debts and . . . anyway.” She took another swig. “That's the story. Your standard secret bastard baby.”

“Secret all right. Dave seemed . . . like a normal guy. Like . . . not the kind of guy going around making secret bastard babies.”

She blew out a breath. “I sort of doubt I'm the only one. I mean, what are the odds my mom was the only special bit on the side? And he stopped coming back at some point, so . . .”

“Shit, that's a can of worms.”

“A can of Mitchells!” She hesitated. “Plus, I got a call once.”

“What?”

“Just . . . a phone call for a property that wasn't ours. More debt collection . . . shenanigans. For a property in Prineville. So I have suspicions.”

“Did you tell Cole?”

She shrugged. “I don't know anything. And any-damn-way, I am not giving the man more bad news.” She let out a long sigh and set her beer on the bar with a decisive thunk. “So . . . what do you say we get out of here and count tattoos?”

He snorted whiskey over the side of his cup. “What?”

“I'm sorry. Was I too forward? I would like the sex, if it's on offer. And I was assuming from your recent behavior that it was.”

“We haven't even kissed,” he said.

“Solid point. But I did just share all my family baggage with you, which in many ways is more intimate.”

“Fair point.”

“But I guess we'd better see how that works out before we commit to nudity.” She stood and leaned against the bar, facing him. “Well?”

He stood up too. “You're sure?”

“About the kiss. And we'll see how we feel after that.”

“You sound like you're deciding whether or not you want to order dessert.”

“In that case, I demand to see a menu.”

He leaned in, his facial hair rough against her face, his breath hot near her ear. “Well, do you like vanilla? Or do you like—”

“Chocolate,” she breathed.

“Hmm. Interesting. I think there's no reason for you to choose one thing from the menu.”

“No?”

“No. I don't see why you can't have . . . multiple items.”

“Oh. I don't think I've had . . . multiple desserts in . . . ever.”

“Oh really?”

“And I was always given vanilla.”

“We really should kiss before we go deciding how many menu items we indulge in, shouldn't we?”

“Sure,” she said, feeling a little breathless already.

He leaned in and kissed her. And a fire spread across her skin, went down deep and burned her down all the way to her core.

It was over too quickly. She wanted it all. She wanted more.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“Good,” she said, her voice unsteady.

“You think you want to have the sex still?”

“Oh . . . yeah. I really do. You're like . . . a real live man-whore though, right? Meaning you must have an array of condoms available. Some ribbed for my pleasure, I would imagine.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Good. Because I am a stickler for safety. I'm also on the pill, as an FYI.”

“Good to know.”

“I'm paranoid. I think it's part of my charm.”

“Sure,” he said.

“Are you even listening to me anymore?”

“My brain hit a snag somewhere around the time you agreed to have sex with me. So I'm listening but my attention is compromised.”

“Right.”

“All my blood rushed south.”

She laughed. “Wow. That's a line.”

“It's true.”

“I'm not used to men talking to me this way.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I don't usually open the door for this kind of conversation. I confess, I'm a relationship girl. But I don't want one right now. I just want . . . to make this trip worth it.”

“I see. Well, I guess I'd better work hard at making you feel like this was worth it.”

“I'm sure it will be.”

“I live above my store,” he said.

“That is . . . so incredibly helpful.”

“Put it on my tab, Chrissy,” John said to the bartender, who was, weirdly, still smiling when they left.

“So, she's not an ex?”

“Not per se.”

“You've slept with her though.”

“Yeah. But . . . it didn't mean anything. She does. She's a good person. I like her a lot. She means something. But . . . the sex didn't.”

Nicole blinked, not sure how to process that bit of information. And then she decided it was good. Very good. “That's honest. I appreciate that. I mean, a lot more than you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, well, I'm a half-Mitchell, as I'm sure you know. And it's because our dad . . . well, he said a lot of things to my mom, and none of them were true. He said a lot of things to me, when I saw him, which was rare, and I don't know if any of them were true either. So I'd rather have you say that. Because it's honest. Because you do what you do, and you didn't lie about it. And you didn't sugarcoat it. You didn't say that she meant nothing and I was special. And I think . . . I think that's a lot more attractive than a string of BS.”

“I'm not the best bet for happily ever after,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I make for a pretty fun evening. And I've never seen the point of false advertising where that was concerned.”

“All I want is a fun evening.”

“Then you came to the right place.”

The walk to John's apartment was a short one, but long enough that Nicole was starting to get epic heebie-jeebies. Because really, only one guy had ever seen her naked. And that had been about three tattoos and several dozen Voodoo Doughnuts ago.

But John was . . . hot. Like, he was so hot. Broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, bearded, flannel-wearing hot, and she just wanted to unwrap him like a very masculine Christmas present.

So the heebie-jeebies just had to chill. Because she was doing this. Because she needed this. She needed to just let go for a minute and forget. To stop worrying and just feel.

And if anything could make her do that . . . it was this man's ass. She just wanted to keep walking behind him.

“Are you checking me out?” he asked, not turning to look at her.

“Oh, hell yes.”

“Good. This is off to a good start.”

“I think so.”

He unlocked the doors to the mercantile, then closed them. “This way.” He led her down a back hall and to another door, which he held open for her.

“Chivalry and sex. Tonight's gonna be good.”

He turned then, and smiled, then he pushed her up against the wall, firm hands pinning her in place. “Very good,” he said, angling his head and kissing the side of her neck. Gentle, his beard scratching her tender skin.

“Oh . . . wow.” He moved away from her and went back to the door. “I think your facial hair has better moves than my ex,” she said.