“I’ve done this for a long time, Kallie. It’s no big deal.”
“But…why? Why would you do this?”
His shoulders rise and fall. He rocks back on his heels, twisting his lips together. “What does it matter?”
“I had no idea,” I say, forcing a swallow.
“I asked her not to tell you.” He heads toward the gate, taking a curved path so he doesn’t get too close to me.
“Cross, wait,” I say, jumping off the table. The words are out of my mouth before I even know I’ve said them, and I have no idea what to follow them up with. There are so many things in my brain competing for a chance to roll off my tongue, and I know I better weigh them all carefully before I choose a thought I don’t want shared.
He turns to face me, his brows lifted toward the sky. “What?”
Sucking in a breath, I plead with my brain to use the right filter and go for it. “Thank you.”
He averts his jade eyes, settling his gaze somewhere in the distance. I take the opportunity to study him without the usual glare of a computer screen.
His jawline is more defined, the angle visible even under the day-old scruff. His lashes are thicker and darker, outlining the set of eyes that seem to have seen so much and, when they turn back to find mine, it causes me to jump. He tries not to notice, but his sly smile gives it away.
“Sorry,” I grumble, fiddling with a strand of hair.
“Let’s flip the script for a minute and you tell me why you moved back to Linton.”
Clearing my throat, I pause. “Well, my old boss seems to be heading to jail for a while. Skylar moved away so Mom was alone, and it’s easier to start again here than in Indy.”
He doesn’t blink.
“What?” I ask, furrowing a brow at his lack of a reaction.
“Just waiting for you to tell the truth.”
“Um, I did.” On instinct, I tilt my head at him, annoyed.
“Uh, ya didn’t.”
“Whatever,” I huff, walking away from him. I stop at the fence and look over the top at the setting sun, feeling a little peace fall over me. The sky is painted a beautiful mosaic of pinks and purples, like a painting done by a master artist. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
His hand touches the small of my back as he steps beside me. Suddenly, the sky isn’t on my radar anymore. All I can focus on is how his hand feels on me, how every nerve is acutely aware of his presence and the pull of his body on mine.
“It is beautiful out here tonight,” he says softly, “and the sky is pretty too.”
My cheeks flush as I look at him. “You really can turn on that charm, huh?”
“I don’t try it too often, but I’m hoping it works out for me today.”
“Why are you helping my mom, Cross?”
“Well, the way I see it,” he says, leaning on the rail, “she took care of me for a lot of years when I needed it. She hemmed my baseball pants, went to bat for me when Mr. Varian suspended me my junior year…and how many nights did she have something hot and ready for me to eat after practice?”
“A lot.” I smile. “How many times did she make corn because you liked it and not green beans because you didn’t? I hated you because green beans are my favorite.”
We exchange a laugh that’s easy and carefree, like two friends on a level most people never ascend to. Once our voices have died down, he pulls away and looks me in the eye. “For the record, I’ve never hated you. Not even when you left here with half of my heart.”
I don’t know what to say to that, but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. The searing gaze penetrating mine halts any words from flowing through my lips.
“I want you to know that.” His head dips, his sneaker running back and forth across the lawn. “I take responsibility for everything that happened between us.”
“Cross—”
“No, it’s my fault. I was the shithead who couldn’t get my life together.” He raises his eyes, a glimmer in the jade orbs. “I admire you.”
“Me?” I snort. “Why?”
“You were smart enough to know your worth.” He lays a hand over mine, his palm hot and heavy and swamping mine in size. I can’t look away from them, his tanned skin sitting atop mine. “You taught me a lot, made me who I am, in a roundabout, heartbreaking kind of way.” He chuckles.
“Aren’t you full of surprises?” I ask, his words wrapping around my chest and squeezing it so tight I can barely breathe.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
There’s a niggle in my stomach, something rooted terribly deep, that tells me he’s being honest.
“Strangely, I believe that,” I admit.
He twists around and leans against the fence. “Good. I’m an open book, you know. Want to talk? Ask questions? Kiss me?”
“No.” I laugh, taking a step back for my own good. “I just got out of a job that had federal investigators asking me a million questions, and then I packed up my things and moved home. I don’t need any more complications for a minute.”
“Maybe I won’t complicate it.” He shoots me a grin that melts me from the inside out.
Pointing a finger his way, I giggle. “You always do.”
“How’s that?”
“That grin—it complicates everything, every time.”
It stretches across his face, reaching from ear to ear, and it pulls mine right along with it. We stand in the setting sun, grinning at each other like two kids as my mother wanders into the back yard.
“What are you kids doing out here?”
My entire body sags at the interruption as Cross snickers.
“Just taking the garbage to the road, Brenda.”
“Looks to me like you were doing more than that, Mr. Jacobs.”
“Oh, Mom, hush.”
Her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “I just want to say seeing you two together makes this old woman’s heart feel full. Reminds me of old times, my two kids happy and together.”
“That sounds disgusting and illegal,” I say as I laugh.
“Good thing I’m not known for my law-abiding tendencies,” Cross chimes in, looking at me out of the corner of this eye.
Mom and I laugh as I punch him in the arm. He feigns injury, shaking his bicep back and forth.
“Stop it,” I say, shaking my head.
“You have a terrible punch. It’s embarrassing.”
“What? If that’s embarrassing, it’s your fault.”
“How do you figure?” That grin still plays on his lips.
“You’re the one who taught me to punch!”
“Oh, no,” he says, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t teach you that. Don’t blame that crap on me.” He captures my gaze, his eyes sparkling. “If you want me to teach you again, I’m happy to.”
“I don’t really punch people a lot.”
“Never know,” he teases. “You wouldn’t want to rest on those laurels.”
“You’re an ass.”
He pretends to consider this as he circles me and heads to the gate. “Trash is out, Brenda. Fixed the latch on the shed—try not to break it again.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promises. “Want to come in for dinner? I brought home Carlson’s.”
He stops at the gate and looks at me over his shoulder. My heart skips a beat as I watch him make up his mind. I wish I could ask him to stay, wish I could enjoy our banter for a little while longer, but as he looks back at my mother, I know I’m better off if he says no.
“I have a private session in fifteen minutes with a client. I better go, but thanks for the offer.” With a final look at me, he opens the gate. “See ya around, Kallie girl.”
I hope so.
Five
Cross
A beer slides across the bar in front of me, stopping only when it hits a set of hands at the end. Machlan’s brother, Walker, snaps it up and shoots me a curious look.
“How’s it goin’?” he asks, sitting on the stool next to me.
“It’s goin’.”
“That good, huh?” He takes a long, steady gulp of alcohol before letting the bottle plunk against the wooden bar top. “Peck took a last-minute job at the shop tonight and I’m just getting out of there.”
“Should’ve left him there with it,” I offer.
“Yeah, but he had to jack this piece of shit up in the air and, my luck, I leave and it falls on him or something.” Giving me a frustrated glance, he takes another drink. “In retrospect, may not have been a terrible idea.”
Peeling at the label of my own bottle, I feign interest in the television. It does no good.
“Not that I give a fuck, but what’s wrong?” Walker asks.
“Not a damn thing you want to hear about.”
“That’s true, and I don’t even know what it is.” He grins. “But, Machlan is keeping his distance, so that means it might be interesting.”
“It’s not.”
His chest rumbles with a silent chuckle before downing the rest of his brew. I consider getting up and heading to the pool tables in the back just to get some privacy. If I thought it would actually work, I’d try it, but it won’t—not with this bunch.
Machlan and I grew up with his brothers, Walker and Lance, and their cousins, Peck and Vincent. We were all close in age and have been tight since preschool.
If I get up and head to the back, Walker will signal Machlan over and he’ll tell him what’s going on. Walker will rib me for a minute, and if I’m lucky, Peck and Lance won’t join in. Walker will then proceed to tell me I’m a dumbass while giving me some token of advice.
The problem? I don’t need advice. I need a damn smack to the side of the head.
Running my hand down my face, frustration jumps back into the driver’s seat of my life. My stomach twists, sloshing the two beers I’ve nursed since I came in this evening.