Last First Kiss (16 page)

Chapter Twenty

[draft]

Musings of a Mighty Mama

Home Alone

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Dear Readers,

Atticus is in Disneyland for the week and that means I’m pulling a Macaulay Culkin. Home alone! Wow! Since my son’s birth, we’ve never been apart from each other for more than a single night, and that was only recently
when my sexy hot cowboy sheriff neighbor came over for dinner but had me on the kitchen table instead.

The house feels
overwhelming
silent. I
am terrified
love the idea that for the next few days I can do whatever I want.
Likely host a private Richard Armitage film festival, wash windows in my underwear and eat cereal from the box.
This will be good, a chance to find myself
where the heck did I go?
. Figure out a few things
what am I doing?
.

A
NNIE
THUMPED
HER
laptop lid closed and ignored the ceramic pig cookie jar’s judgmental look as she grabbed the third cookie in as many minutes. Her Realtor had a full day of visits scheduled tomorrow and wanted her out of the house. Maybe she’d drive up for a visit to Bodie Ghost Town or work from Haute Coffee.

She should be thrilled the interest in Five Diamonds was huge. There would likely be a bidding war, the farm commanding top dollar, enough to get her and Atticus into a cute place in a laid-back San Francisco family neighborhood like Noe Valley. A bright, shiny new future hovered on the horizon, perfect in its promise. So why did she want to cram a fourth snickerdoodle into her mouth, add some Kahlua to her milk, and build a blanket fort under the kitchen table?

Sawyer.

He’d gotten under her skin and carved his name in secret places. As much as she wanted to admit otherwise, leaving him would be near impossible. And that was all the more reason to do so. Of course she wanted to lean on him. His quiet strength was addictive, and he stood ready to carry her burdens. He was a great guy, and for some lucky local girl, he’d make a wonderful husband. She buried her face in her hands.

Sawyer would never leave Brightwater.

Everything had gotten so complicated. Her old rule was broken in two.
Don’t fall head over cowgirl boots for the cute guy from a ranch.

But how did a woman resist Sawyer Kane?

Kind and strong? Check.

Turned you on like a sudden light in the dark? Check.

Had a sense of humor? Check.

Could snap someone in two if they messed with you? Check.

Was sweet to your son? Check.

Checkmate.

She was screwed.

But when she left, while there might be tears, there couldn’t be regret. The past felt mighty close the last few weeks, but once she left, she’d have breathing room again.

Right?

How many times could she repeat “this is all for the best” before believing it. The line was like one of those Tootsie Roll pops, keep licking and eventually you’ll reach the sweet center, right?
Please, God, let selling the house be a good decision.
Atticus was a gentle soul. Growing up in Brightwater, being teased as a kooky Carson, could be too hard on him—the same way it had been for her. He’d love living close to Claire. And the city had professional opportunities. She kept repeating those facts like a broken record, but they weren’t making her feel any better.

A knock came at the door.

Sawyer.

How did she know he was outside? Hard to say. Maybe it was the way something intangible shifted in the air. Her body going into hyperdrive. As much as she wanted to cling to common sense, there were parts of her eager to get into the rapids, craving lust, passion, and lo—
no, not the l-word
. Had to draw the daydream line somewhere.

She opened the door, still holding half a cookie.

He stared as she licked sugar from her fingertips.

“How’re you doing without Atticus? He left this morning, right?” Sawyer rocked on his boots. “I came to check on you.”

Of course he did. That was Sawyer, what he did. He made sure you didn’t need anything, totally unaware his mere presence made her need all the things—hard, fast, slow, and soft.

“Are you okay?” He looked closer. “You’re flushed.”

“I’m great. Here, take a bite.” She slid the cookie between his lips and he bit down, a crumb sticking to the corner of his lip. Reaching up she brushed it away, and he caught her wrist, biting the fleshy part of her thumb.

She gasped and then he kissed her, in the center of her forehead, with the way he had that was exquisitely gentle and possessive, as if he made his claim but also treasured it.

“I want you—”

“Yes,” she said, as he finished with “to come somewhere with me.”

If she glanced at her toes right now, even they would be beet red.

Two mischievous little lines bracketed the corners of his mouth.

There was no way out of this awkward situation but straight through it. “I do want you. I can’t stop.”

“Come here.” He crushed her against him, resting his chin on top of her head.

She breathed in sawdust, laundry soap, and the faintest spicy trace of aftershave. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” He mimed zipping his lips. “You’ll need to pack a few things. A bathing suit and some warm clothes. I’ve got the rest covered.”

“Let me get this straight—you came over here asking if I’d go away to a mysterious place, and you already packed in the affirmative as if you knew my answer.”

“That a problem?”

“I should be more annoyed but can’t muster the strength. Your country charm works voodoo on me.”

“I can increase the charm.”

“I have no doubt of that.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “But I wish I wasn’t so easy to predict.”

“Trust me on this one,” Sawyer said, slinging an arm around her waist and nuzzling her neck. “There isn’t anyone else like you.”

“I’m pretty sure frazzled single moms are a dime a dozen.”

“You mean pixie dazzlers who know how to kiss?”

“I’m a good kisser?”

He chuckled. “I’ve kissed plenty of girls in my time, but never any like you.”

“Hrumph.” She gave his chest a pretend slap. “Bet you tell all those many girls the same line.”

“Lines? I don’t have lines, only the truth.” He reached out and bracketed her waist, rubbing the arc of her hip bones with his thumbs. “I see here a woman who needs to be kissed long and hard by a guy who knows what he’s doing.”

“And you know what you’re doing, huh?” she murmured.

“Unless you’re telling me otherwise.” He leaned in and his mouth covered hers.

“Annabelle?” Another man cleared his throat and spoke her name a little louder. “Annabelle Carson?”

She froze mid-kiss, realizing she’d lost track of the last few minutes, that her shirt was unbuttoned two buttons below seemly and Sawyer’s other hand had found a home holding the back of her thigh.

“I’m parked down on the road. Wanted to let you know that I’ll be setting up the open-house sign.” Her Realtor’s cheerful smile evaporated. “Sheriff,” he said stiffly.

“Hank.” Sawyer gave a tight nod.

The Realtor cleared his throat and clapped his hands. “Doesn’t look like this is the best time, so, uh, I’ll get busy doing what I need to do and be back tomorrow. You’re heading out?”

“Yes.” She glanced at Sawyer. “It appears I have plans.”

After a few long uncomfortable seconds, her Realtor forced a bland smile and walked back the way he came.

“You two have history?” she whispered.

“Hank King and I? Yeah, suppose we’ve had our share of differences. Mostly about his daughter.”

“Of course, Ruby.” No escaping small-town drama. Although Annie wondered if Hank knew her married daughter sang about another man’s bologna.

“Still committed to selling?” he asked evenly, as if this wasn’t a thin-ice topic.

“Sawyer, I—”

“You know what?” He shook his head, a determined look crossing his face. “Let’s not talk about the future, or the past, for the rest of the day. The next twenty-four hours are about the present. Me and you, right here, right now.”

No yesterday and no tomorrow?
Sign her up. “I’ll grab my things,” she said, turning back into the house.

Each of Hank’s distant hammer strikes hit Sawyer worse than a fist. Annie was determined to leave, convinced from this distance that San Francisco looked perfect. But she wasn’t stopping to see what grew here, good and strong, right under her feet.

He went around to the back of his truck and checked on the supplies. A bottle of red wine, tea lights, enough food to feed a small country, and a large quilt waiting to be opened and spread out beneath the stars.

This was his last chance to get her to see he wasn’t part of the problem, that running away wasn’t going to give her anything better than what they could have here, together.

Chapter Twenty-One

A
NNIE
AND
S
AWYER
wandered beneath twisted whitebark, towering red fir, and mountain hemlock. The rich, tangy aroma of sap infused the air as insects hummed in the undergrowth. Sawyer laced his fingers with hers as they descended a nearly unmarked trail to the river. It had been a long time since she’d been here, but as soon as he parked, she’d known. They were headed to their old swimming hollow. Down the slope, water bubbled and purled over boulders, the wild rush complementing her internal turbulence.

Sawyer promised to catch her if she jumped, and yeah, his hands were big and steady, but falling for a guy like this would be the equivalent of dropping from a plane while holding a bowling ball. She’d squish him like a pancake. He had no idea what he wanted to sign up for.

Her baggage brought its own carryon luggage.

The world didn’t have a surplus of good guys, especially those who picked wildflowers but dirty-talked a woman dizzy. She sensed Ruby had put him through the wringer, and the last thing Annie wanted to do was inflict further damage.

“Whoops, there you go.” He steadied her stumble. It was pretty near impossible to withstand his grin, the memory of that mouth, how it felt against—she tripped again.

“Sorry, klutz alert,” she mumbled—big mistake to glance from his face to his well-defined forearms. Underneath, veins subtly ran against the muscle. An urge seized her to travel the path of one, with her tongue, to where his shirtsleeves rolled at the elbows.

“You seem distracted,” he said. “Tired? We can stop for a rest, have a sip of water.”

“No!” she said, a little too loud. Stopping was a terrible idea. She wanted to drag him beside the creek and bare herself again, offer her body for a taste of the beauty she felt in his arms. “I’m okay,” she amended when his brow furrowed. “Just ready to get there.”

Sawyer shoved his hands into his hip pockets, his face shifting from humor to intensely observant, an expression those craggy features seemed designed for. This guy had big appetites, for food, for life, for women. Scratch that, not all women. He wasn’t a player, which was odd, because the entire single-female population of Brightwater, and some not-so-single, would no doubt happily play him like an old-timey banjo.

Why her? That was the mystery. One she didn’t long ponder because the trail leveled and disappeared into a grassy meadow fringed by willows.

“Wow,” she whispered. “It’s been a long time.”

“I used to come here from time to time.” He set down his bag in the clearing. “But quit eventually. Wasn’t the same without you.”

Tears threatened. Where had they come from? Her gaze shot to the cliffs across the water. They were taller than she remembered. It was incredible that she used to fling herself off them without a care of what might be lurking below the surface.

“Hey, why don’t you get in for a quick dip? It’ll be dark soon and I want to set up. The weather report says no rain tonight. How do you feel about sleeping under the stars?”

There was zero chance she’d sleep a wink beside Sawyer, but best to attempt an enthusiastic nod regardless. “Sounds great.”

“Going to be another meteor shower tonight.”

“Of course there is. You conjure them at will, don’t you?”

“Nah, it’s summer. The right time.”

The river reflected the soft violet of twilight. “I’ll find a spot to change.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “Into what?”

“My bathing suit?” She glanced up from her bag. “You said to pack one.”

“I did, didn’t I? Well, uh . . . ” He blinked. “I didn’t bring mine.”

“Oh.” The towel slipped from her grasp.

“That a problem?” He sat back and his shirt strained his broad chest. All that muscle would soon be out for public consumption. Oh, wait, make that her own personal consumption.

“No, no. Of course not.” Her comfort zone retreated into the distance, waving farewell with a lace handkerchief.

“Well, here’s hoping you like what you see.” That wink did things to her, throbbing, ache-filled things.

As a kid, she skinny-dipped all the time. Dad didn’t care. She doubted he noticed. Claire was the one who had decided they needed to get it together and had purchased subscriptions to magazines, discussed fashion and hairstyles. After arriving in Portland, Annie made an effort, at least tried to wear clothes more or less in style. But once they became covered in baby food and sticky fingers, it didn’t seem worth the annoyance. She wanted Atticus to crawl over her, not be shooed off because he might mess up a cute outfit. Still, she missed getting dolled up on occasion. And she missed being that girl in underwear, muddy knees, and yellow rain boots.

In the end, the swimsuit won out. First, it was emerald, cut in the style of a ’50s vintage pinup girl. Second, maybe leaving a few things to the imagination would be wise. This place held a strange sort of magic, and she didn’t want to rush, even when—scratch that, especially when—her hormones coursed like the creek.

She walked toward the banks, a little self-conscious of his watchful eyes. No need to turn and confirm, his gaze warmed the skin between her shoulder blades. Silly that she wore anything really, because this man opened her up, made her want to believe that fairytales were possible. The good stuff that seemed to happen to others waited around the bend for her to gather the courage to continue.

She dipped her toe in the water, still warm from the summer heat, and yes. Oh, goodness, yes. The temperature was perfect, a balance of hot on the surface and cooler below. She sank to the sandy bottom and rocked her head against a boulder.

Sawyer approached, face lit from the two candles he carried, flames dancing in the light breeze. His expression was half-hidden in the growing dark, but the light caught the edge of his strong chin, the angles sharply defined.

And there was his mouth.

Oh, that mouth.

“Can I hand these to you?” he asked. She moved forward and plucked the candles from his grasp, settling them on two rocks. The flickering reflected on the water, lit the deep rich green of her swimsuit. The river worked its magic, turning her into something wild and mythic, a dryad.

He kicked off his boots and set them against the tree in the same slow, purposeful way he did everything. She couldn’t look anywhere else.

“You going to watch me strip?” Beneath his hat she caught a hint of a smile.

She folded her hands and rested her chin atop them. “It’s hard to resist the show.”

“Guess I better make it worth your while.”

She laughed, and somewhere not far off, an owl called. The night arrived in earnest, and over the sound of the rushing water came a subtle metal snap. He’d tugged out his cowboy shirt and now popped open the pearl buttons, one by one.

Sweet Jesus.

He flicked back his shoulders and the shirt opened, revealing a powerful chest, thick slabs of muscle without an ounce of fat. His hands slid to his buckle. Was it a trick of the shadows or did he tremble? His jeans opened, and down they tumbled, boxer briefs and all. There he was, Sawyer, naked, wading toward her.

He didn’t move in a way that hid or seemed embarrassed. In fact, he appeared at home here in this place, in this world. He was as much a part of the landscape as the trees and water.

“Hey, you.” He smoothed back a damp lock from her forehead as he sank beside her, making a low noise of pleasure as he stretched his shoulders. Lord knew what her hair looked like in this wet humidity, but who cared, because he stared as if he liked what he saw, and the thing about Sawyer was his honesty. If she could trust anyone, he would be it.

And she wanted to, oh how she wanted to.

“You look like you need to ask me a question,” he murmured, tilting her chin.

“Will you be careful with me?”

He cocked his head, watchful as always. “Are you frightened?”

“
You
don’t scare me, but maybe I scare myself.”

“Why?”

“Wanting. It’s not easy, at least for me.” He said nothing, but listened, so she kept talking. “I’m afraid if I name what I want, it will become real, and if I don’t get it, it will hurt more.”

“But, Annie Girl, what if you do get it? What if you say the word and it all just”—he scooped a handful of water and let the silky wetness course down her chest, trickle into the valley between her breasts—“falls into place.”

She giggled, nervously. “That would be good.”

“You and me.” He took her hand and lowered it under the surface, resting her palm on his big, broad and very bare thigh. “Think we could be good?”

The air went out of her lungs. “I’ve wondered,” she murmured dizzily.

“Have you?” He worked his thumb slowly around her knuckles.

“Haven’t you?”

“I used to wonder how you kissed, and now I know. But that makes me wonder other things.”

She could drown in his sexy smile. “Like what?”

“How you’d move in my arms, for one.” He pulled her close. Her nipples skimmed his chest. “Would you wiggle like a slippery fish or go all slow and soft?”

She gasped. “I’d probably explode.”

“Explode?” He cocked a brow. “And what will happen if you do?”

“Things will get messy.” Better he knew it now. Her track record in relationships was dismally bad.

He cupped more water and this time poured it down her shoulders. “Then I’ll clean you up.”

How could he remain so unperturbed about the fact she was damaged goods, that her heart was dented and had lost its innocent shine? “Why are you so good to me?”

“I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up.” He kept his voice slow, steady. “We have history, a whole lot of history, that we didn’t write, and that doesn’t make it easy.”

“No, no it doesn’t.”

“But as I get older, things that once seemed too hard now feel possible.” He leaned in, and it wasn’t so much a kiss as a promise of one, a barely there graze against her lower lip. He came in closer and grazed her jaw with his teeth, slid all the way to her earlobe and groaned a little. “Got to say, these little things turn me on so much.”

“My ears?” She giggled, and his answering smile pressed against her skin.

“They make me want to do dirty deeds.”

“Like what?” She could barely get the words out.

“How bad do you want me to show you?”

In this wet, dark space, with her bones melting from longing, he wasn’t playing fair.

“You want me to say I’ll stay, before we take things farther.”

He nodded slowly. “Seems like a better than decent idea.”

“I—I want you, but I honestly don’t know about Brightwater.” She trailed her finger through the water, making small ripples.

“Me and this town go together.” It was impossible to get a good read on his tone.

“I know, just like me and Atticus are a package deal. And I’m not sure if this is the best place for him, for us.”

“You aren’t sure this is enough.” A sliver of tension cut through his impassiveness.

“Sawyer.” Her stomach plummeted at the idea of hurting him. “I can’t possibly know that.”

“Why?”

“I’m a mother and need to act like a grown up. Make a list of pros and cons. San Francisco has a lot going for it.”

He leaned back and regarded her. “Like what?”

Her mouth tugged in the corner. “You want to talk this out, naked in a swimming hole?”

He pressed his lips tight and then returned her smile. “No, Annie Girl.” He tugged her bathing suit strap and planted a kiss on her shoulder. “Right now I want to love you until all you’re saying is my name.”

Pleasure drew itself into a tight hot knot between her legs. This guy might not say much, but when he did it was golden. “I know you want me all in, but maybe, tonight, you can meet me halfway?”

He pulled back and faced her. “I’m listening.”

“You’re a lot of things.”

“I’m simple. My wants are simple.”

“All you want is everything.” She gave a rueful giggle and he responded with a soft laugh.

“Maybe.”

“I don’t make a promise I can’t keep. You say you want honesty, and that’s the truth. I never thought about living in Brightwater until recently. And this thing with you, I hadn’t thought about that in a long time either.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.” She let out a sigh and pressed her forehead to his. “That’s a lie. A big fat lie. I thought about you.”

“I thought about you too.”

“I—one time—I looked for you on Facebook, when I was going through my divorce,” she whispered, the words ragged in her throat.

“I don’t do any of that.”

“
I know
. I even knew you wouldn’t, but still I looked. I tried to tell myself I was bored, looking to catch up with old friends. But I knew that wasn’t the truth. I missed you and felt lost. I’ve been lost for a long time.”

He held out a hand. “Jump with me.”

“Jump?” She glanced to the rocks, bathed in moonlight. “I don’t think—”

“No thinking.” He kissed the side of her neck. “Let’s do it.”

Her last functioning brain cell fell like the drop of water from the hair dangling over the edge of his forehead. Longing wrapped around her with frail tendrils. If she squinted maybe she could see herself there on the rocks, a ghost of her teenage self, holding hands with the ghost of young Sawyer, their laughter echoing through the forest.

He gave her a gentle tug. “The Eastern Sierras are a hard place, surrounded by high desert, higher mountains, cold winters, and far from big cities. It’s not fair to ask you to jump in and make this decision lightly. I can back off a little on that. But not this. We need to jump.”

“Okay.” The word was out before she could snatch it back. God help her she’d do this crazy stunt. “But we have to go now, before I change my mind and think about submerged logs, or water snakes, or broken necks or—”

“Up you get.” He stood, and his abs were interesting, and so was the thick dark line running beneath his navel to all . . . that.

“You’re thinking again.” He dove, reemerging a moment later, sending a splash in her direction. “Race you.”

And that was all it took to send her off like a shot. Her arms sliced through the water, her legs kicking hard. How long had it been since she’d swam? She used to be as at home in this place as a river otter.