Unbreakable (7 page)

“Sure. She left it in pretty good shape. It’s probably cleaner than the room Dax left when he moved into town.”

“Eww. No one has cleaned it? He’s been gone a month.”

Boone shrugged, sliding the hamburger steaks onto the plates. “It’s not like anyone goes in there, or that we’ve got all sorts of spare time.”

“Note to self. Hire a maid for the Dalton Gang.”

“Now that’s funny.”

“Why?” she asked, scooping potatoes and onions onto the top of her steak. Then scooping more before letting Boone go at it.

He settled into the chair at the table’s end, piling his plate full, then heading to the pantry for the ketchup. “You think any woman’s going to want to come out here and clean for us? With our reputations?”

“You earned those reputations in high school. It’s hardly like you’re running around town drinking and whoring the way you did then.”

“You calling your only brother a whore?”

“A reformed whore, then,” she said, taking a bite and savoring the crispiness of the potatoes, the savory juice of the meat.

“No, not reformed. Just temporarily grounded. Whoring takes a lot of money. I’m broke as a joke and it ain’t funny.” He sat again, the legs of his chair scratching over the floor as he scooted closer to his plate. “Which is why I wouldn’t be able to afford a maid if you found anyone to take the job.”

“I’ll find you a janitor, then. And I’ll pay for it. I don’t like coming out here being exposed to who knows what communicable diseases.” When he gave her a look, she added, “And I don’t like thinking about you living in filth either.”

“I’m not going to have another man cleaning up after me.”

“Oh, good lord. What does it matter who does it as long as it gets done?”

“I don’t want you paying to have my house cleaned. I don’t care who’s cleaning it.”

“Too bad. You want me out here more often? The place is going to be clean.” That thought brought her back to the reason for this visit. “That’s another thing to consider for the party. Having it at home means we’d have to get Momma and Daddy
out of the house for the day
and
get a crew in to clean. And they’ll have to come back the next day because I’m not going to mop and vacuum and haul away all that trash.”

Boone sliced into his meat with the edge of his fork, scraped up a huge bite, but before shoveling it into his mouth, said, “Almost sounds like you’re trying to talk yourself out of this whole party thing.”

“No. I’m trying to talk
you
into having it at Arwen’s place. Yes, she calls it a saloon, but it’s more like a Chili’s, or an Applebee’s even, than it is a drinking hole with swinging doors and barmaids draped over pianos.” She reached for the ketchup, squirted ribbons over her crispy potatoes. “And it’s sure not anything like the old Buck Off Bar.”

That brought a grin to Boone’s mouth, but still he shook his head. “Maybe not, but I have a feeling a lot of the folks’ friends from church aren’t going to want to step foot inside that den of iniquity.”

“Are these the same friends who showed up last month for the barbecue cook-off Arwen hosted? Because I don’t have time to factor hypocrisy into all the other things on my to-do list.”

“You won’t have to if you have the party at the house,” he said, screwing off the top from his longneck.

She took a deep breath instead of growling at him. “If we go that route, and I’m not saying we’re going to, then what money we save by not renting a hall we’ll have to put toward security on top of everything else. I’m not going to play hall monitor.”

“You’re not going to cook or clean or round up heathens. Check.”

“Boone, it’ll be
so
much easier to hire pros.”

“I get that, Faith. But I want Mom and Dad to be comfortable, and I can’t see that happening at the saloon. I mean, hell.
We could throw the party here, if it comes to it. I know it’s a drive, and that might be an issue, but at least put the ranch on your list of locations to scout.”

The party wasn’t for six weeks or so. Not every decision had to be made immediately. And it wasn’t like the guest list would be peppered with Crow Hill society who might turn up their noses at stepping out of their hilltop mansions.

But she would put her foot down about some things, and her brother would just have to deal. “I will, but don’t count on it, okay? It’ll be late when the party’s over, and even if they leave early, some of the church folk are older than Momma and Daddy. You forget how dark it is out here at night.”

“Look, just do what you think’s best,” he said, digging into his food again. “Bring me a list of what you’re spending. I’ll write you a check.”

“I want you to have fun, too.”

“As long as Mom and Dad have a good time, I’ll have fun.”

“No you won’t. You hate coming to town and showing your face.”

“If I hate coming to town, it’s because I’ve got too much to do to enjoy being away. Plus, the fridge on the back porch is full of beer,” he added with a grin.

Instead of grinning in return, she glared. “I don’t like thinking about you out here drinking alone.”

“I don’t drink alone. I drink with Casper. That’s assuming we don’t both pass out in our supper plates first.”

“That’s it,” she said, finishing up her food and pushing her plate away. “You’re taking the rest of the night off. And not to spend in the barn doing more work. I’ll clean up in here. You read or sleep or take a hot shower. Relax.”

“I don’t have time to relax.”

“Uh-uh. No arguing. Move a chair outside and prop your feet up and have a couple of those beers.”

“It’s hot outside.”

“There’s a ceiling fan on the back porch.”

“Yeah, circulating hot air.”

She was going to strangle him. “Then sit in the living room. Watch a baseball game.”

He cocked an arm over the back of his chair and took her in. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Yes!
But of course she didn’t say that. “I’m trying to take care of you. You’re my brother. I love you.”

“More like you’re trying to get your way about the Hellcat Saloon.”

“And here I thought I was so convincing,” she said, getting to her feet and stacking their empty plates, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Ugh. You smell like cow shit. Leave your clothes in the mudroom and I’ll do a load of wash.”

“I can do my own damn wash.”

“I know you can, but tonight it’s on me. And not because I’m trying to get my way, but because you stink.”

At that, he laughed, pushing his chair away from the table and stripping out of his clothes as he left the room. Faith rolled her eyes and turned away to keep from seeing anything she shouldn’t. But he was right.

Hiring a maid for this uncouth bunch would be a very bad idea.

G
OOD THING SHE
hadn’t wasted her time deciding what sort of sign to give Casper, Faith mused, standing in the ranch house kitchen and staring into the fridge. It was almost midnight. She couldn’t sleep, so what was she doing? Looking for relief from her insomnia in food. Sad, when the refrigerator shelves were next to empty, much like the ones in the pantry were close to bare.

She hated seeing the boys struggle to feed themselves, much less make ends meet. She hated being responsible for their purse strings and being forced to keep said strings drawn tight. Hated most of all that Boone wouldn’t take any of the money she’d really never wanted, or any of the interest accrued in the ten years since she’d signed papers buying her silence.

He didn’t want to cash in on her stupidity any more than she did. He hadn’t used those words, but he hadn’t needed to. They were close. And they both knew the truth.

Too bad that closeness didn’t translate well to agreeing on their parents’ party plans. After she’d cleaned the kitchen and he’d cleaned himself, they’d talked for hours, yet had settled very little beyond serving barbecue and a variety of beer. Their father loved discovering new microbreweries, and barbecue was a Mitchell family mainstay.

Boone had grunted when accepting her suggestions, like the menu items, and grumbled when he hadn’t, like booking the Hellcat Saloon. The grunting and grumbling had only gotten louder until he’d headed upstairs at eleven. She hadn’t meant to keep him so late—she knew he had to be up with the sun—but she’d wanted to make what headway they could.

And she’d been waiting for Casper.

She reached for the basket of leftover strawberries and the bowl of cream she’d whipped for dessert. And why not? Junk food was how she dealt with all her unresolved issues, and her lust for Casper Jayne was as unresolved as it got. She wanted him. He wanted her. They couldn’t be worse for each other if they tried.

It had taken but a single, stupid incident in college to convince her she wasn’t cut out for a life of reckless, inappropriate behavior. Casper, on the other hand, thrived on risks like the parched Crow Hill earth absorbed water, as if his very existence depended on access to a never-ending source.

Was that what was driving his crazy attachment to the house he’d grown up in? His need to pour money into a losing proposition? Did he expect to come out on top the way he did when he mounted a ton of bucking beef?

And what was the point of that? The adulation? The big, fat middle finger to his naysayers? To his mother? Did he ever consider what might happen if things didn’t go his way? If a bull took his head off, or broke his back and left him bound to a
wheelchair? If the house fell down around him and buried him in rubble so deep he literally—or metaphorically—couldn’t claw his way out?

How could he live with disaster lurking right around the corner? And how could she knowingly step into that life, even if only for the physical pleasure he promised?

They made for a horrible fit, and yet when the heavy strike of bootheels sounded on the back porch she didn’t move a muscle. She closed her eyes, frozen, the wait, and not the cold of the refrigerator, raising gooseflesh along her arms.

She swallowed at the whine of the screen door’s hinges, at the squeak as the doorknob turned. She was stuck between wanting to be invisible and wanting him to find her in the camisole and boy shorts she’d worn to bed in lieu of nothing.

She wanted him to see her naked legs, her barely clothed body, her hair a mess from tossing on her pillow as she’d tried to sleep, thinking of having him beside her. Of having him
inside
her, deep and full and demanding.

The door creaked closed, latched. The footsteps slowed, then stopped. The air in the room grew heavy and close before a low, throaty laugh reached her ears. “Something tells me I’m looking at a sign.”

God, what he did to her with just those few words. She was weak. He made her weak. Around him, she didn’t have it in her to be strong.

Still facing the fridge, she opened her eyes, lifted her chin, and turned, taking him in from hat to belt buckle to boots. Then wishing they weren’t going into this with this morning still fresh because she didn’t want her control of his money to come between them.

But bringing her gaze back to his wasn’t any better. He had some very naughty things on his mind. Things she couldn’t help
but wonder about. Things making the back of her knees sweat, her inner thighs grow damp.

“You’re looking at someone who decided to spend the night and didn’t want to sleep in her work clothes.” She frowned, frustrated with herself, with him, with wanting him. “Where have you been?”

“I didn’t know I had a curfew,” he said, a look of surprise crossing his face.

She pointed at him with the strawberry she held. “I waited for you.”

He pushed his hat back on his head, gave her a thorough once-over. “Wearing that? Because I would’ve made sure to be here if I’d known.”

She doubted that. She was beginning to think he hadn’t thought of her all day. “No. I came over after work to talk to Boone. You were supposed to be here, too, remember?”

He crossed his arms, that same flitter of surprise appearing briefly, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her, as if he didn’t want to make a wrong move, say the wrong thing. As if she was unexpected. “I had a couple of errands to run. Got tied up.”

“With what?” she asked, popping the strawberry into her mouth.

He tossed his hat to the table. “I went by the house.”

“Why?”

He stiffened, his eyes going dark. “It’s not going to go away just because you want it to.”

“It would if you sold it. Or signed it over to the city. Or something that wouldn’t cost you any money, and might even make you some.”

“Money I can then turn over to you.”

This morning’s phone call to the Harts was still heavy on her heart, and she was being a bitch because of it. No, she didn’t
want to deal with Casper wanting money for something so totally out of the question. And she had no time to spend conjuring a solution because there was none. He had no money.

But she did. “It is what it is, Casper. I don’t make the rules.”

“It’s okay, Faith. We’re in debt up to our eyeballs. I got it.” He came close to her, stopped in front of her, reached into the basket behind her for a strawberry, dragged it through the bowl of whipped cream she held in her hand.

But he didn’t eat it. Instead, his gaze locked on hers, and he dotted the cold cream into the hollow of her throat. Then he leaned forward and licked it away.

His tongue was hot and deft, and her nipples tightened. Her camisole was thin, her arousal obvious, Casper too sharp not to see. But he held her gaze as he ate the fruit, saying nothing, waiting with her while the tension in the room grew thick and constricting, binding them.

She couldn’t move, and her skin burned, and she felt as if she could reach out and catch the dust motes floating in the moonlight where it streamed through the curtains covering the window over the sink.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a painful whisper when she forced it out of her mouth.

“Having a snack,” was what he said, and she didn’t know if he was talking about the berries, or about her. She didn’t know if she cared, because he was here, and everything she’d wanted for ages was so close she could pull it around them like a cocoon.