Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance (83 page)

“
R
unning an orchard is good
,” I say, trying to focus. I forgot what I was going to say. My mind keeps wandering, bouncing from one subject to another but landing back on Luke each time. Even out to dinner with another man, I’m thinking about Luke.

Admittedly, this isn’t an actual date. If it were, it would be a terrible date. Hell,
I’d
be a terrible date.

This is a business dinner. With a man who happens to be charming, and handsome, and rich – exactly the kind of man I should be interested in. Except that he wants my orchard. And even though he's cordial and smiles and asks my thoughts about the mining company buying up land in town, he's really only wining and dining me because I'd spoken out at the town hall meeting against his company. And I'm pretty sure he's a very bad man.

“Do you ever think about packing it all up?” Randall Edwards asks. He’s casual and relaxed as he sits back in his chair, surveying me, sizing me up. But he’s not really relaxed. He’s not casual at all. He’s a shark, a predator, the kind I recognize from my corporate days. “Running an orchard is hard work.”

I bristle at his words. “You mean, hard work for a woman.”

“Not at all,” he says, nonplussed. A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, as if my irritation amuses him. “Running an orchard is hard work for anyone. Of course, you are a single mother with a small child. It’s exponentially harder work for you, I imagine. I’d think you would be pleased with our offer. You have no family here in this town. It's just you and your child. Our offer is fair. I'd even be willing to negotiate.”

He speaks the words with a smile, yet I’m not convinced there’s not a veiled threat behind his words, with his talk of me being a single mother of a small child. But if there is, I’m not about to be intimidated by someone like him.

“Let me ask you something, Mr. Edwards,” I say, leaning forward. “Are you in the habit of wining and dining the people in this town whose properties you’re trying to buy up? Is this standard operating procedure for you?”

Now he does smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it has the effect of making him look cold instead of charming. “Only when the people whose properties I’m trying to buy are as beautiful as you.”

“It’s funny, though, a mining company buying up all these places,” I muse, studying him. "That doesn’t seem like the way it usually works.”

“People have been pleased with the offers we’ve made.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” I say, sipping my wine. “And I’ve also heard you’re not the only game in town, Mr. Edwards. There’s another extraction company here. And that might not make anyone else here curious, but it makes me curious.”

He opens his mouth to speak, and he might even be saying something, but I'm not listening, because behind him, the door opens and Luke walks in.

He's out of place, completely at odds with this restaurant, wearing jeans and a pair of work boots, and when his eyes meet mine, there's a split second where I feel guilty, as if I've been caught cheating.

Except then I remind myself that there's no relationship – there's nothing between us, nothing to cheat
on
.

I sit there, staring at him as he walks toward our table. "You shouldn't be here," I say when he reaches us, my voice cold, cutting him off before he can speak.

“Evening,
Ms. Mayburn
,” he says, his tone excessively friendly. “It’s funny, running into you here like this.”

Randall Edwards looks at Luke, then back at me, quietly appraising the situation. “Is this someone you know?”

“It’s someone I used to know,” I say. “Someone who’s probably just leaving.”

“Actually,” Luke says. “I just came in here because I was trying to be neighborly. I think you’re the owner of the red sports car out front, right? I passed some kids out there, juvenile-delinquent looking types, running away from it. Tires are flat. Might want to check it out, call someone about it.”

“Fuck,” Edwards says, standing up and throwing his napkin in the middle of the table. He pauses, looking back and forth between Luke and I, trying to read whatever the relationship is between us. He looks at Luke accusingly. “There are cameras outside this restaurant, just so you know.”

Then he’s gone, and it’s Luke and I. The restaurant is dead quiet, quieter than it was before, no more hushed whispers and romantic talks.

I lean forward, my tone hushed, practically fuming, aware that all eyes are on me. “What the hell did you do?” I ask. “Did you just slash that guy's tires? What, are you some kind of fucking lunatic?”

“I didn’t know you were on a date with one of the bigwigs from the mining company,” Luke says. “That is
not
a good man.”

“You didn't know I was on a date, or you didn't know I was on a date with him in particular?" I ask, trying to keep my voice quiet. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?"

"That guy is an asshole," Luke says, dodging my question. "Not someone who needs to be anywhere near you."

I raise my eyebrows, leaning forward to hiss my response through gritted teeth. "You say that like you have some kind of claim over me. And in case you were wondering, you most definitely do not have a claim on me. Not after the way you – you know what? I’m not having this conversation, here of all places.”

“Autumn, you need to listen to me.”

It hits me. I was stupid to not realize it before, naïve to think that he was somehow trying to look out for me by sending me a new foreman for the orchard, trying to make up for the fact that he was being a total jerk. My hands shaking, I reach into my purse to pull out cash and place it on the table. “The foreman -- the one you sent. He’s spying on me, isn’t he?” I ask, my voice trembling. “You… I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but you’re a psycho.”

Pulling my purse over my shoulder, I don’t look at him, or anyone else in the restaurant, even though I can feel their eyes on me. I storm out the front door, half-holding my breath as I leave, not wanting to deal with Edwards either. But he's already gone, his car and its flat tires still there.

My head is spinning as I open the car door.

“Autumn,” Luke yells, grabbing me by the wrist and turning me around. “Listen to me. I was trying to protect you. I did it the wrong way, but I was trying to keep you safe.”

I shake off his hand. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, Luke, but I'm not. And I'm going home."

"Autumn, damn it." He doesn't let go of my wrist, keeps his hand wrapped around it like he has a right to touch me. It makes me instantly angry. And what makes me angrier is the fact that when he touches me, heat rushes through me the same way it did before. I’m attracted to him, and I hate myself for it. In my head, I know he’s bad for me – someone who texts me to break up with me, then sends someone to replace him as foreman to spy on me, then shows up at a restaurant and slashes some guy’s tires – this guy is not a good person.

And I’m clearly not a good judge of character.

And despite whatever fucked up attraction my body might have toward him, I’m a mom. I have to be a good judge of character. For Olivia.

I wrench my wrist from his grasp and try not to notice the fact that he looks at me the same way he did before, with lust in his eyes. And I try to ignore the desire that courses through my body. “Back the fuck away from me right now, Luke,” I warn him, “or I will scream.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off me, but he steps back. “Autumn, damn it, I’m not a psychopath,” he says. “And I can explain about –”

But I’m not listening. “I don’t want to hear another word," I tell him, opening the car door and slipping inside. I lock the doors, half-afraid he’s going to keep me from leaving, but he doesn’t. Instead, I pull away and try not to look at him in the rearview mirror when I leave.

T
he knock
on the door jolts me awake, but even if it didn’t, Lucy is growling at the bedroom door, her hackles raised the way she only rarely gets. I’m startled awake, not even the least bit groggy after a sleepless night wracked with dreams about
her
.

I’ve never dreamt about a girl before. Hell, I've rarely cared about anything enough to have nightmares about it – the only nightmares I've had have been about my brothers.

And now, Autumn and Olivia.

I peer out the window at the police cruiser in the driveway and Jed Easton standing on the step in front of the camper. I knew this visit would be coming, but hell if I want to deal with Jed Easton right now.

On the way to the front door, I grab my firearm, sliding it into the back waistband of my jeans before I slip on my jacket – just in case Jed gets the idea that shooting me is a good way of dealing with me.

Lucy doesn’t calm down when I pull the door open, and I have to tell her twice to go chase squirrels to keep her from attacking the sheriff.

“Sheriff Easton. Whatever brings you out here this fine morning?”

“Had a report of a disturbance at the Quarter Moon Restaurant last night,” he says, looking at me from behind mirrored sunglasses. “An altercation with Randall Edwards. His tires were slashed. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now, would you?”

“Now, I don’t think I do,” I say. I lean against the doorframe casually. If he can play this bullshit dance-around-the-subject-and-lie-through-his-teeth game, so can I. “In fact, I saw a couple of kids running away from the car, which is why I went inside the restaurant to let him know. Out of courtesy.”

“You’re a regular Good Samaritan, aren’t you, Saint?” he says.

I shrug. “You know, I'm just doing my neighborly duty, Sheriff. Now, I hope you didn't drive all the way out here just to ask that one question. I'd hate for you to have wasted your time."

“I heard that Autumn Mayburn was at the restaurant,” he says. “Some patrons said you were harassing her, arguing with her about something. She wanted you to leave.”

My jaw clenches just hearing him speak her name. “Did she say I was harassing her?”
Would Autumn think I was harassing her?

“I haven’t talked to her yet,” he says. “What do you think she’s going to say about the incident?”

“Well, I imagine she can go ahead and speak for herself,” I say. “If she wants to file a claim of harassment, I expect that you’ll come back and pick me up.”

He gives me a long hard look. “Or maybe you and your brothers decide that West Bend isn’t the place for you anymore,” he suggests, “and you decide to go ahead and get gone, leave this town in peace.”

“The way you left my mother in peace?” I ask. I can’t help myself. I want to know whether he killed her, and I want to hear it from his lips. I want to look him in the eye when he answers.

Jed’s eyes narrow. “Your mother never knew her place. That was really her problem, you know. People get uppity, think they deserve better than what they’re born into. They think they’re better than their lot in life. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, though, does it?”

“You did it. You killed her." Anger rushes through me, floods me like a wave, and I lunge for Jed without thinking.

In a flash, Jed draws his weapon, and I’m looking at the barrel of his gun. “You really think that’s a good idea, Saint?” he asks. “Out here, in the middle of nowhere? Someone unhinged like you would be easy to get rid of. Just as easy as your crazy mother."

“Shoot me, Jed,” I say, taunting him. “If you’re going to do it, just go ahead and do it instead of talking about it. Look me in the face and kill me like a man. Or do you only kill women?"

He stands, his hands steady, holding the gun at me, and I think he might actually shoot me right here, leave me for dead in front of my camper. “Nah, Saint,” he says instead. “I’m not going to shoot you here. I don’t need to. You’ve got more powerful enemies than me.”

“You have no idea the world of shit you’re in, you stupid prick," I say, my teeth gritted.

He laughs as he backs away slowly with his gun aimed at my head. I contemplate rushing him or pulling my weapon on him. But I don't – because of the image that flashes in my head. When I think about drawing on him, I see Autumn's face. And I know I can't do that to her. I'm going to make sure she's safe.

“Yeah, Saint?” he taunts, several feet away, with his back nearly against his patrol vehicle. “Seems to me that I’ve gotten away with shit just fine.”

The thing that consoles me as he backs into his vehicle and then pulls down my driveway is that it’s just a matter of fucking time. Tempest's crew is working the angles to take them down in a way that doesn't come back on us, that doesn't involve me being sent to prison and away from Autumn and Olivia.

Before them, I wouldn't have given a shit about possibly going to prison. Before them, I'd been living full-throttle, on the edge, with no obligations and no demands placed on me. Because I thought that was really living.

Now, I'm beginning to realize I was just running.

And I don’t want to run anymore.

“
I
haven't been
clear enough that I'm not selling my orchard, Mr. Benson?” I ask, looking down at the name on the business card I'm holding. I’m standing on the front porch, and it’s been a hell of a fucking morning. I just fired a great foreman – the best one I've had, besides Luke – because Luke sent him to watch me. Harvest is over, so it's not like I need someone running the orchard right now anyway, and the fact that he was watching me for Luke is unsettling.

I've been on edge all morning. And now this guy shows up, uninvited, someone else from the mining company. Not even the douchebag board member or whoever who took me out to dinner last night. This guy is just a lackey of some kind.

It’s enough to make me want to start greeting visitors with a shotgun instead of a smile.

Greta pokes her head out the screen door with Olivia balanced on her hip, and I shake my head no, waving her back inside, casually but quickly.

He’s not a good man.

You don’t know the whole story. I can explain.

Luke’s words echo in my head as I look at the representative from the mining company, but I push them away.
Luke is an immature asshole who’s just trying to cover up the fact that he acted like a jerk and dumped you over a text message for another woman. You can’t trust your instincts when it comes to men.

“I’m not sure we got off on the right foot, Ms. Mayburn,” he says, walking up to the steps. I know immediately that this is the kind of guy who likes to stand a little too close, talk a little too loudly, the classic kinds of intimidation techniques guys like him in suits and expensive cars like to use. Except it just makes me angry.

“What’s the right foot, exactly, Mr. Benson?” I ask, my tone sharp. “I told your boss last night that I have no intention of selling this place – and I certainly don't intend to stop speaking my mind about whatever it is the mining company is doing here in West Bend."

He steps closer to me, crossing the space I’d put between us. “Maybe no one’s given you the right incentive yet.”

I put my hand up, blocking him from coming any closer, and my palm hits his chest. “I don’t think there’s enough incentive in the world that’s going to get me to give you what you want here,” I say, forcing a calm in my voice that I definitely don’t feel right now. “I’d like you to get off my property now.”

He smiles, the expression cold. I don’t guess that someone like him gets told no very often.

“There’s a shotgun just inside the front door of my house,” I lie, my voice firm. I have a shotgun, but it's in a locked cabinet in the cidery, not the main house. I've never had a reason to need it here in West Bend. “The nanny inside knows how to use it. So I’d thank you kindly to get the fuck off my front porch and get into that expensive car of yours and get the hell out of here before my nanny has to put a bullet through your head."

He smirks, looking at me with a mixture of disgust and hatred, as he smooths his oxford shirt with the palm of his hand and then slowly backs up. “You should be careful with your weapons, Ms. Mayburn,” he says, his tone flat. “They can be real dangerous, you know, especially in a house with a child. Accidents happen every day.”

“Is that a warning?” I ask.

“Just a little friendly advice,” he says. “One businessperson to another. Wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen.”

When he leaves, I collapse into one of the rocking chairs on the front porch, my hands trembling. I’m only there for a moment before the front door opens and Greta pokes her head out. “I got Olivia down for a nap,” she says, “and I came out for the last part of that conversation. Heard the bit about the shotgun.”

“It was the only thing I could think of to say.”

Greta shrugs. “I’m a good shot, for the record,” she says.

We’re standing there silently for a few minutes before I hear the sound of a vehicle on the road. I see it turning into the driveway.

Luke’s truck.

Son of a bitch.
I silently curse my damn luck.

“That’s Luke's truck, isn’t it?” Greta asks. “You know, I forgot I… um… left some water boiling on the stove. I was just making a cup of tea and… yeah.”

I hear the screen door slam closed, but I’m already down the front porch steps and walking out to Luke’s truck, reaching him before he’s even out of the vehicle. “I hope you’re not about to get out of that truck,” I say. “Because I can save you some time and tell you to just get right back in there, put it in reverse, and back the hell out of here. I’ve had it up to here with bullshit today, Luke. I don’t need yours on top of the fucking mining company rep that was just here."

“Someone from the mining company was here?” Luke asks. “When?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not any of your business, Luke Saint,” I say. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told him – get the hell off my orchard. I have things to do, and they don’t involve you.”

I whirl around, heading for the cidery, anything to get away from Luke. Because if I stand there looking at him, if I stand there just a little too close to him – close enough to smell him, close enough to trigger the memory of his lips on mine, his hands running over my naked skin – I’m going to definitely do something I won't be able to take back.

So I walk, my pace quick, my feet flying along the ground, over the brown grass that’s dying off already even though we haven’t had a snowfall yet this year, and I only stop when I feel his hand on my wrist. He yanks me hard, turning me toward him, his hand sliding around me to the small of my back, holding me firm. “Stop running, Autumn.”

“You’re going to talk to me about running?” I ask, pushing him back, my hands against his chest. I look at him and I hate him. And I hate the way that heat floods me the instant I put my hands on him. “Says the guy who has made a whole life out of doing exactly that?”

“Goddamn it, Autumn.” He wraps his hands around my wrists, shoves me against the side of the cidery, my back pressed up against the wall. He pins my hands above my head, looking down at me, and I don’t see anger in his eyes. I see lust and sadness and pain. “I fucked up, all right?”

“No shit,” I practically spit. I’m angry at him, except I can’t stop looking at his mouth, the way his lips are so close to mine. My breath catches in my throat, and my heart pounds in my chest, and I feel the way I did the first time I saw him. My entire body aches for his touch.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice practically a growl. He keeps one hand above my head pinning my wrists as he slides the other along my cheek, his fingers under my chin and tilting my head up to look at him. “Fuck, Autumn, do you think I haven’t been thinking about you – wanting you, dreaming about the things I've been wanting to do to you – every damn day for the past three weeks? It’s been tearing me up, ripping me in two, knowing that you hate me.”

His mouth is so close to mine I can barely think about anything else. What he’s saying is a blur, blotted out by lust that I can’t seem to control. I swallow hard, force myself to answer, ignore the craving for him, the desperate need to press my lips against his. I choke out the words: “Screw you, Luke.”

“Damn it, Autumn,” he says, his voice low, guttural, his lips close to my ear. “That is what you want to do, isn’t it? Say that’s what you fucking want. Say you’ve missed me inside you, that you ache for me with every breath, the way I do for you.”

I’m practically writhing under his grip, and he can feel it. He can tell and he brings his mouth down on mine, kissing me with an intensity that takes my breath away. There’s nothing sweet or soft about this kiss, two lovers being reunited. This kiss is fucking primal, our tongues warring with each other, and his hand is on me, sliding underneath my shirt, covering my breast before I can object.

He covers my breast with his palm, my nipple rock hard against him, and I’m washed away by lust, heat pooling between my legs, removing any sense of reason I thought I might have. When he flicks open the button on my jeans, rips them over my hips, and slides his hand between my legs, I practically melt. I moan, far too loud for being outside here where anyone could walk around this building and catch us.

“You are so fucking wet,” he says. “Do you know how much I've been wanting to touch you?”

This is not a good idea,
the rational part of me chimes in. “Fuck you, Luke.”

He pauses, his hand unmoving as he looks into my eyes. “I was trying to protect you, Autumn,” he says. “Both of you.”

I clench my jaw tightly, looking up at him, the throbbing between my legs so hard it’s a painful distraction. “From who?
You
?”

“I was trying to keep you out of everything,” he says. “I was trying to keep you safe. I swear. That’s why I sent Mike to keep an eye on things.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, remembering him standing on the sidewalk with that girl. Suddenly, his phone rings, and whatever spell he had over me is broken, and I’m able to think rationally again. He sees it too, lets go of me, pulling his hands from me and stepping back. “You should have been honest with me. You should get that phone call, you know.”

Luke exhales heavily, taking his phone out of his pocket and looking at me. “I don’t care about it,” he says.

But it buzzes again, and this time he answers it. I straighten my clothing, smooth my hair, and it’s like whatever just happened between us never happened at all. His voice is terse, one word answers, and when he looks up at me, I know it’s about whatever he’s keeping from me and I shake my head.

“I have to go,” he says, crossing the space between us, his hands on my arms. Then, when he sees the look of disbelief on my face, he says, “I promise. If it weren’t important, if I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t. I’m sending Mike back over here.”

“No,” I protest. “No more. I’m not having anyone else here. I don’t need you spying on me, trying to control my life.”

“Listen to me.” His hands tighten on my arms. “That guy, the mining company guy, he’s bad news. All of those guys are."

“I’ve dealt with a lot of assholes in my life, Luke,” I say, shaking him off. “I can handle myself. I know how to use a shotgun, and if I see any of them on my property again, I’m perfectly capable of running him off.”

“Good,” Luke says. “But I’m sending Mike over, too.”

“Until you tell me what’s going on, in a calm, rational, adult manner, no one else sets foot on my property, Luke Saint, and that includes any of your friends.”

“Damn it, Autumn,” he says. But his phone buzzes again, and I take that as a sign.

“Goodbye, Luke,” I tell him.

And I walk away.