The Bad Boy of Bluebonnet

  Until today, because he’d looked at the smug face of that bastard and wondered if Emily didn’t want Number Two because she was still hung up on Number One.

  And that was driving him fucking nuts.

  It wasn’t because he’d come over to get laid. Sure, he had – he couldn’t stop thinking about Emily on a daily basis – but more than that, he’d come over because he genuinely liked Emily and liked being in her presence. He’d seen another old Victorian in the area earlier today and wanted to tell Emily all about how rusted the pipes had been and have a good laugh with her over the fact that one pipe had been so corroded it had pretty much crumbled in his hand. She’d appreciate his home improvement observations. She loved hearing his stories, and he loved telling her about his job. He was heading back over there after lunch, but hell, he’d just wanted to share his day with his girl.

  He was coming to think of Emily as his girl, anyhow, even if she didn’t want to be.

  But seeing her ex back here fucked everything up and it made Jericho territorial. He wanted to fling the bastard away from Emily and tell him to get the fuck out. Him and his stupid little ghost meter.

  Luckily, the faucet was a quick fix – he got out his wrench, tightened everything, and the drip stopped. Emily normally dropped in while he was working to keep him company or to chat about her day. Maybe the old ex-husband was monopolizing her time.

  Maybe Jericho should introduce him to one of his boots.

  Not that he had a claim on Em. Damn it. He kept coming back to that, and it was starting to bother him. It was easy to say ‘no big deal, we’ll take things slow’ when there was no competition. But now that the ex was back, that changed everything. Especially when Braden was all that Jericho was not. He had a big time job, a traditional haircut, a clean shaven face, shirts that buttoned down, and probably a savings or retirement plan. Jericho had his bike…and that was about it. He was probably the wrong kind of guy for Emily anyhow.

  But he still wanted her. Pretty fucking bad, now that he thought about it.

  So he slipped his wrench into one of the loops in his belt and began to head down the stairs. There were two staircases in Emily’s house, and the main one was creaky and led to the front of the kitchen. On a whim, he went to the back staircase and headed down one of the side halls, knowing perfectly well that he was going to come around to the back of the kitchen, where he could hear Emily’s voice as she talked to Braden.

  “You still make those éclairs the way I like them?” Braden was asking, his voice casual and almost flirty.

  “I haven’t made éclairs since you left,” Emily said in a flat voice. “Too much mess and far too much trouble. Most people are happy with cookies and whatever I make for them.”

  “You’d make them for me if I asked, though, wouldn’t you?” His tone got persuasive, and Jericho resisted the urge to put a fist through the wall – or through Braden’s face.

  “No,” said Emily flatly. “But you’re welcome to use my kitchen to make them yourself. As many times as I’ve made them for you, you should know how they go.”

  Jericho grinned.

  “I bet you bake for that weird guy with the tattoos, huh? What’s his favorite?”

  “It’s none of your business, Braden—“

  “Can I help it if I don’t like seeing my beautiful wife all chummy with another guy when I come to visit her? When I’ve been missing her?”

  “First of all, I’m not your wife anymore. And second, if you missed me so much, how come you’ve never come when I needed you? For that matter, how come you showed up with a camera crew even after I told you not to?” Her hands slammed on the counter with a soft thud, and Jericho guessed she was baking something; Emily liked to have her hands in dough when she was frustrated.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you,” Braden told her in a softer voice, and Jericho noticed he sidestepped all the questions Emily had lobbed at him. “And that doesn’t mean that I don’t worry when I see you slumming.”

  So sweet, pretty Emily was slumming by being with him? He’d take that. It wasn’t like he’d never heard that sort of thing before.

  “I’m not slumming, you dick,” Emily said. “And I’m not with him. We’re just…friends.”

  Jericho frowned, not liking the turn the conversation took. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and continued to eavesdrop.

  “That hug he gave you was pretty friendly.” Braden’s voice was laden with sarcasm. “Can we be friends like that again?”

  “Very funny,” she said, pounding more dough. “It’s none of your business what my relationship with Jericho is, but we’re just casual. No one’s staking claims to anyone else.”

  “Good,” said Braden. “Because I don’t know if I told you this, but I miss you.”

  The slapping of dough stopped. “That’s twice you’ve said that.”

  “I mean it. I do miss you. And I was wondering if you and I could try again.”

  Silence. Jericho’s fists tightened.

  “I don’t know if I want to try again,” Emily admitted after a long, long moment. “I don’t know that I can depend on you ever again. And goddamn it, Braden, you can’t just waltz back in here after two years and try and stake your claim because someone else is marking your territory. I’m not a fire hydrant and I won’t let you piss on me again.”

  Jericho’s lips twitched at that.

  “Just think about it, okay?” Braden asked. “All I want is—“

  Enough of this wheedling bullshit. Jericho stepped out of the hall, letting his boots drag on the wooden floors as he sauntered into the kitchen. Both Emily and Braden got quiet as he entered the room, and he noticed there was a flush high on Emily’s cheeks. He didn’t know if she was upset or embarrassed.

  “Fixed your leak,” he drawled, patting his wrench. “Just needed some tightening.”

  “Thank you, J,” Emily said softly. She had wisps of her blonde hair floating around her face and blew at one corner of her eye to move it. “I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t think I’ll stick around for lunch,” he said, giving Braden a meaningful look. He noticed the man seemed to be hovering closer to Emily than before. Fucking little cocksucker asshole.

  “I…oh. Okay.” Was that disappointment on her face? If it was, Emily hid it well. “Do you want me to pack you something?”

  “Nah,” he said, and he should have just turned and let things go. But he just couldn’t. He strode forward and pushed past Braden, who was standing too close, and moved to Emily’s side. He brushed that piece of hair off of her brow and tucked it behind her ear, then leaned in to whisper at her. “Can I pick you up at eight tonight, though? For some you and me time?”

  “Sure,” Emily breathed, looking up at him with that soft look that never ceased to make his dick hard.

  “Great,” he said, smiling at her. “I’ll be back later, then.”

  “I’ll listen for your bike.”

  He grinned at her, turned and gave Braden a back-the-fuck-off look, and then strolled out to the front of the house. Then, he decided that being the bigger man was fucking stupid. So he turned around, walked back into the house, and gave Emily a hard, possessive kiss. Right in front of her ex. Suck on that, Braden. With a wink at Emily, he turned and left again.

  Even with his boots resonating on the wooden floors, he still heard Braden’s disapproving snort. “Just friends, huh?”

  Yeah, one way or another, Jericho was going to figure out where this was going with Emily tonight. Because he didn’t believe that ‘just friends’ bullshit either.

  It was time to figure out what they were. Or if they were anything at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the time eight rolled around that night, Emily was ready to run out of her house, screaming.

  It wasn’t anything big, of course. There were just a myriad of small things that were driving her up a wall.

  Like Braden. He was being nice and polite and kind to her. He was als
o hovering and being a little possessive, and she didn’t know how to take that.

  He insisted that her house was likely still haunted, and her ghosts were ‘dormant’. They just didn’t like visitors, he told her. And when she pointed out that the lights no longer flickered because the wiring had been fixed, he gave her a pitying look. He pooh-poohed her suggestion of the opossums and how she hadn’t heard any noises since.

  His EMF meter, he said, was reading something, and therefore she still had ghosts. What Emily thought didn’t matter. That was typical, she thought with annoyance. With Braden, it had never mattered what Emily thought.

  And then there was his crew. When they’d started to set up cameras, she’d put her foot down and protested. No filming in her house. She didn’t want to be on television. Braden had spent most of the afternoon trying to coax her into changing her mind, and when that hadn’t worked, reminded her that his name was also on the mortgage documents and theoretically, it was his house, too. And when Emily got angry at that, he backed off and suggested that they film another house in the area instead, and they’d just rent rooms from Emily.

  Which was fine, and she prepared three rooms for his six crew.

  Except…every time she turned around, someone was hiding a tape recorder or setting up a camera tripod. She’d heard the excuse “just testing equipment” so many times that afternoon that she wanted to scream. She knew if she left for five minutes, they’d start filming.

  And she didn’t know what to do to stop it. So leaving tonight? Bad idea.

  But if she cancelled on Jericho, he’d think she was choosing her ex over him.

  And she really, really didn’t want him to think that.

  So she stewed and watched people hide cameras behind their backs when she walked into the room, and eventually retreated to her kitchen to bake until eight that night.

  She baked oatmeal raisin cookies. She did not bake éclairs.

  When the motorcycle roared outside, she was just pulling the last pan of baked goods out of the oven. She set it on a cooling rack, grabbed the bag of cookies she’d made for Jericho, and tore her apron off, heading for the front door.

  Braden was there as she left. “Hey, Em, can we talk?”

  Of all the timing… “Does it have to be right now?”

  He stared down at the bag of cookies in her hand. “Is that for your ‘friend’?”

  “If it is, I don’t see what business it is of yours.” But she felt guilty all the same.

  “Em, please.” He moved forward, touched her arm, and then both of his hands were on her, the look on his face woebegone. “You know that guy’s all wrong for you. I’m the one that’s right for you.”

  “But you abandoned me,” she said, heart hurting. Why was he making this so difficult?

  “I just want a second chance. And you’re not taken, so don’t I deserve that second chance?”

  She said nothing. After all, she wasn’t taken, was she? The motorcycle’s purr got louder, impatient. “I have to go,” she told him. “I’ll be home later.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  She would have loved to hear that two years ago, when she’d been an afterthought to him. Now? It just annoyed her. Forcing a smile to her face, Emily headed out the door and toward the motorcycle waiting on her lawn.

  “You okay?” Jericho asked, handing her his spare helmet.

  “I’m not sure.”

  She put the bag of cookies in the seat compartment, then sat down and wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her cheek against his back.

  “Don’t you want to ask where we’re going?” He sounded amused.

  “Not really,” Emily said. “Away from here works for me.”

  “Got it,” he said, and pulled away.

  They rode down the highway for a time, trees whizzing past. The night was full of stars and headlights, and Emily sank against Jericho’s back and just relaxed, letting the night atmosphere take her away.

  Maybe she wouldn’t be so rattled by Braden’s reappearance if she knew what was going on between her and Jericho.

  She didn’t realize she wanted more until Braden had asked her just what ‘they’ were. She’d almost said he was her boyfriend…and then stopped. Because he hadn’t been interested in a relationship, had he? He’d made that clear the first time they’d slept together, and so she’d rattled on and on about how she wasn’t really looking for a husband. At the time, she supposed she wasn’t. Heck, she still wasn’t.

  After spending weeks with Jericho, she knew she didn’t really want anyone else but him. But if things weren’t going anywhere…maybe she should try again with Braden, her eyes open to his flaws.

  She just didn’t know. Why couldn’t life be simple? Why couldn’t the right guy want her for more than just great sex?

  Eventually he pulled off the road at the lake, and parked next to a jeep. She raised her head and looked around, surprised. “Where are we going?”

  “To the docks,” he said, pulling off his helmet. “I thought it’d be a good place to sit and talk. That ok with you?”

  She nodded and pulled off her own helmet, then grabbed the cookies.

  To her surprise, he offered her his hand and she took it, letting him lead her out.

  They walked down to the marina, and Emily’s ears were filled with the night sounds of locusts and the lapping of water against the sides of the boats. Jericho led her down the creaky wooden dock until they got to the end of the fishing pier, and he gestured for her to sit down.

  She did, dangling her legs over the side and watching her white sneakers move back and forth as she swung her feet.

  There was a long, tense pause between them. Then, she spoke. “Why are we here?” Emily asked, curious. “I mean, the marina is nice and all but I didn’t peg you for a nighttime fisherman.”

  “I’m not. I told you that I’m crashing with a few friends, right?”

  She nodded.

  “It started out as temporary but I’m coming on to six months now. I started paying them rent, which is kind of a joke considering all I do is show up and sleep on the couch.” He laughed, but it was too dark to see if his smile was genuine. “I was saving up to figure out what I wanted to do, you know? Seemed silly to rent an apartment if I wasn’t sure that the area could support a handyman-slash-plumber or if I’d have to pull up stakes. But I keep finding reasons to stay.” He paused for a long moment, and then continued. “Anyhow, when I need to get away and think, I come here.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “And I kinda thought we’d come here because it seemed like you needed to get away. Unless I read things wrong.” His hand was flat on the dock between them and she couldn’t stop looking at it.

  “Get away?” She echoed. “From the house?” She wished he’d hold her hand again.

  “Yeah. With the ex and all. I guess I’m asking if you’re ok. And if you are ok, did you want me to buzz off?”

  Was she okay with things? Not really.

  Did she want him to buzz off? Not at all.

  And it was so unlike someone to notice how Emily was doing – Emily, who always tried to make everyone comfortable and well fed and kept a stiff upper lip no matter what – that she trembled. It wasn’t that she was cold; it was like her body couldn’t handle all the conflicting emotions inside it. She didn’t know what to do, what to think – so she shook like a frightened puppy. Kind of sad, really.

  “Here,” Jericho said, and he shrugged off his leather jacket and then draped it around her shoulders, mistaking her shiver.

  She wanted to correct him, but the jacket was warm and heavy and smelled like Jericho. So she burrowed deeper into it and gave a small sigh. “I should be able to handle all of this, shouldn’t I?”

  “I think it’s natural to get emotional when you’re around your ex.” After a moment, he added, “It sounds like he misses you.”

  “It does sound like that, doesn’t it?” Gosh, her voice was bitter. “But what it sounds like
and what it really is are two different things. I learned that the hard way with Braden.”

  Jericho paused. “He said he wanted you back. That what you want?”

  She swallowed hard, thinking. Trying to gauge his reaction. If she told him what she really wanted, would he run off and leave her? Could she handle being abandoned twice? “I think I’d really like for you to hold my hand again,” she said in a small voice.

  He reached over and took her hand in his. “That’s easy enough to do.” His thumb brushed against her palm, sending ticklish feelings up her nerve endings. “Better?”

  “Yeah.”

  They sat there for a long, quiet moment, just holding hands and listening to the water. Then, Jericho broke the silence. “I know I’m not exactly a great catch. I’m the town outcast. A drifter, I guess. A bad boy. Not the kind of guy you bring home to Mom, you know? I have tattoos and piercings and I’m pretty much the only one in my family that hasn’t spent time in prison. I don’t have a place of my own yet. I really don’t have a lot to offer a girl like you. Not like Braden.”

  She blinked. Looked over at him. Her fingers curled against his, squeezing his hand. “What do you mean, a girl like me?”

  “I mean, I’ve never really dated anyone like you. Most of the chicks I’ve seen have been casual hook-ups. I feel like I’m not the right kind of guy for you because you’re so pretty and sweet and you like to bake and do stuff around the house. I’m not used to that kind of girl.”

  He made her sound like the most boring woman on earth. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I like it. I really do.” This time he squeezed her hand, and she could have sworn he moved a little closer to her on the dock. “I just don’t have much to offer that kind of girl. Braden’s got a great job, and probably a college education, and savings, and shit like that.”

  “Yeah, Braden’s just great on paper,” she said, resentment clouding her voice. “But when I needed him, he took off to pursue his own ideas and left me to clean up the mess. You know what I want in a guy? Someone that loves me for who I am and sticks around to help me change the light bulbs. That’s all that I ask.”