I sighed. “I’m not a chickenshit, Gav.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “I just meant that you might need a ride. You know, since the Nissan is no longer with us?”

  “I’ve commandeered this fine pickup,” I said, tapping the steering wheel even though he couldn’t see me.

  “Right. A loaner from Casey. Speaking of which, you mentioned your roommate situation but the details have been a little hard to come by.”

  I grimaced but kept my words teasing and light. “Maybe you just weren’t listening.”

  Not exactly true. I just wasn’t ready to divulge the fact that Casey didn’t have a vagina. Gavin had assumed it—like I had at first—and I hadn’t corrected him. A lecture on male roommates wasn’t something I wanted to hear especially from my overprotective brother.

  “That must be it.” Gavin chuckled. “What gives, little sis? You sound frazzled.”

  “I’m not … This job,” I said finally. “I know I’m getting the run-around and I know it’s because I’m from out of town and that’s so stupid. They aren’t better than me or—or— allowed to do that just because of where I’m from.” I huffed and Gavin was silent so long I wondered if the line had gone dead. “Hello?”

  “I hear you,” he said quietly and I frowned at whatever he wasn’t saying.

  “What is it?” I prompted.

  “Well … I mean … You’re pissed they’re treating you differently because of where you’re from,” he said slowly.

  “So?”

  “Well … Aren’t you doing that with your judgment of small-town people? Specifically, our grandparents? You weren’t even born yet when they had the falling out with Mom and Dad. You’ve never heard their side of the—”

  “Point taken. Pot. Kettle,” I said sharply and swung the truck into the driveway before stomping on the brake. I pulled up a little faster than I intended and rocked back into my seat as I came to a full stop.

  “Look, it sounds like you’re just letting this whole thing get to you before you’ve even faced it. I think it’s time, and I think you’ll feel better for it. But if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

  “You know I do,” I said quietly. “This is for me and me alone. Dad wanted it that way and I’m going to honor his last wish. But you’re right. I’ve put it off long enough. I’ll go tomorrow. I swear. And I’ll call you after.”

  Again, the silence, and I knew he didn’t believe me.

  “I said I swear,” I repeated.

  He didn’t answer and, once again, I could tell he didn’t want to say whatever he was thinking.

  “What, Gavin?” I stared out the truck’s windshield to the barn as I pictured Gavin hesitating, biting his lip like he did when he was lost in thought. I could almost see the expression he wore now, that one when he knew he was about to say something to piss me off.

  “Just … Don’t swear when you go there, okay? Might get you off on the wrong foot.”

  “You’re impossible,” I groaned and ended the call.

  I tossed the phone onto the seat and immediately reached for the key again. It sputtered and then turned over. I didn’t even bother with reverse as I did a wide donut back out of the yard. Tomorrow was D-day and I didn’t even have to check the fridge to know we don’t have nearly enough booze for tonight.

  Chapter Ten

  Casey

  The moment I killed the dirt bike’s engine, the music hit me. I looked up and found my kitchen window and front door hanging wide open with indie rock pouring from the exposed screens. Jordan’s voice filtered out in a low whine that lilted heavily on the high notes in the dying daylight. I grinned and headed for the house.

  On the porch, I stomped my boots and did my best to brush off the worst of the day’s loose dirt—but it didn’t do much good. Spring planting was over, thank baby Jesus. These long days had been more torture than usual even with the midafternoon trips to the shed where I’d been hiding my latest project. Farming was not my thing, but to top it off, the county’s hottest new resident sat in my house without me for two weeks straight.

  I was either an idiot or really loyal to Dean Stafford.

  Probably both.

  The screen door’s hinges screeched lightly as I entered. It clacked shut behind me but Jordan’s sing-along didn’t break stride. A quick scan of the living room brought it up empty—except for the three empty beer bottles that decorated my coffee table.

  Day drinking. Huh. An unexpected turn of events.

  Even more intrigued, I crept carefully to the kitchen doorway and peered inside.

  Jordan stood over a pot on the stove, stirring and shaking her ass in time to the brooding beat of the cranked music. Her blonde hair hung in loose waves down her back, and if not for the small slivers of fabric peeking through her locks as she swayed, it might’ve looked like she was naked from the waist up. Not to mention from the thighs down … Her honey skin shone in the dull light, her frayed jean shorts drawing attention high up where strands hung loose from the hem. My erection tightened in my jeans at the sight of her.

  Maybe I’d been safer working late after all.

  Jordan dropped the spoon and twisted, grabbing a beer off the counter and tipping it back in a generous swig. Her head dipped and I saw the moment she spotted me. Her eyes widened and I was surprised she managed not to choke on her beer before she spoke.

  “You’re dirty,” she said and it was all I could do not to grab her and take her right there. Her face reddened and I bit my cheek. “I mean dirt. You have mud on you.”

  “Spring planting,” I explained, enjoying this exchange a whole lot more than my signed contract probably allowed.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted, blue eyes still wide.

  “I live here,” I pointed out, crossing to the fridge and yanking on it. I grabbed a beer—bottles, fancy—and kicked the door shut, popping the top. All the while, Jordan stared at me, dumbfounded. And all the while I pretended not to have a raging erection hanging between us. Maybe she was too drunk to notice.

  “Right, but…” Jordan blinked. “I mean, I thought you’d be working late again,” she said and then reached for her phone. The music shut off.

  “You could leave it. Good song,” I said on a shrug and downed some of my beer.

  Jordan tapped the screen, the song restarting as she went back to stirring. The music filled the dead space between us. Even from here, I could see her biting her lip, evidently trying to concentrate herself into soberness.

  My mouth quirked.

  “What are you making?” I asked, coming closer to sniff appreciatively.

  “Dinner,” she said, shoving me back, but her hand slipped and she brushed my bicep instead. I planted my feet and raised a brow at her, pretending my heart didn’t pound at the slight contact. God, almost two weeks of trying to put her out of my mind and one pair of booty shorts later…

  Then, I finally noticed her expression. She looked pissed. I ran through a quick mental check and came up empty. I’d done nothing. Hell, I hadn’t been home long enough to piss her off. Which meant for the first time since meeting her, Jordan’s wrath was directed at someone other than me. “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

  “For what?”

  I nodded to the beer.

  Her lip curled. “Can’t a girl drink for no reason at all?” she demanded. “In fact, can’t a girl come to a small town in the middle of nowhere for no reason? Stay for a while with no plans, no ties, nothing to hide? Huh?” She ran a hand through her hair, tucking it away from her face. “Can’t a girl do that and not tell everyone her business?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Damn right. I don’t have to do something just because Gavin said it’s time. Or because my dad decided to make my life miserable even from his grave. He can’t control this, not anymore. I do what I want when I want.” She nodded like that made it official and I didn’t argue.

  Who the hell was Gavin?

  And how was her dad making her life so bad from his grave?

  She went back to stirring the mystery dish on the stove and swigging her beer. I stood watching her for a minute, sipping my own bottle and wondering what kind of shit storm I’d walked into. Whatever was going on, Jordan had been carrying something around that she’d decided to set aside for tonight. I wasn’t sure if that meant I should ask about it or leave it alone.

  I decided to leave it alone—for now.

  “So … how was your day?” I asked, wary now that I could see what bubbled under the surface.

  She sighed before her face contorted again. “My day was useless. This town is full of prejudiced … conniving … underhanded …”

  “Whoa,” I said, holding up my hands and backing away slowly. “I did not mean to challenge the bull.”

  She stalked toward me, brandishing the spoon at me, red sauce dripping as she came. “I am not a bull. I’m a fucking ray of sunshine. And all those women—even men, even when I flirted a little though I’m not proud of it—they’ve all got it in their heads that just because I didn’t grow up here and don’t know everyone’s middle name or goddamn favorite color, I deserve to be shut out—”

  “Okay, calm down. Take a breath. Who is shutting you out over middle names?”

  “All of them!” The spoon did a wild arc above her head, landing red sauce in her hair that went unnoticed. Over her shoulder, I caught sight of the pot on the stove bubbling more than it had before. Dangerously close to the rim.

  I met Jordan’s heated glare. “Do they have first names that we know of?” I asked, desperate now to figure this out. If for no other reason than to save dinner.

  Her brows drew together in some fascinating combination of concentration and irritation. “Harriet something-or-other is the one at the desk every damn time. But Lyle Hendrickson is the one in charge.” Her lips thinned until her teeth were bared. “He’s a real piece of work,” she muttered until it all digressed into imaginative cursing.

  “Okay, Lyle, Harriet, I know them,” I began, putting my hand up higher to try and ward off the spoon’s splatters. But what was a little marinara over the layer of soil I currently wore?

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course you know them. You all know everyone—except me.” Abruptly, her anger died and her expression crumpled. She lowered the spoon and a chunk of tomato fell on the floor. “If I get fired because I can’t get the damn permits, what the hell am I going to do then? I can’t leave yet. Not until I visit them.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to spout off a flippant response, but then she sniffled and I stopped short. She was crying? What the fuck was I supposed to say to her now? I had no idea how to come back from tears. Sarcasm. Anger. Cynicism. Those I could do in my sleep. But this was unmapped territory.

  And if my hunch was right, I knew exactly who she meant by them.

  “Look … Harriet can be a beast so I’m sorry about that,” I said, approaching slowly. But she didn’t move. Didn’t even look up. Just sniffled again and let her shoulders hang limp. Her hair fell into her face and I seized my opportunity.

  I took one giant step and landed in front of her. In one move, I snatched the spoon away as gently as I could and put my other arm around her, pulling her to me. “I’m sorry they’re giving you the run-around up there. Nobody has anything better to do, apparently.”

  Jordan’s hands came around me and she leaned into the hug, resting her cheek against my chest. “Apparently,” she mumbled and I almost smiled at the way her anger held on even in defeat.

  Without pulling away, I managed to work my phone out of my pocket and dial Harriet’s home number. She picked up after the first ring. I could just picture her wide eyes as she recognized my number on the caller ID.

  “Casey Luck, that you?” she said by way of greeting, her voice coming through the phone overly loud. I suspected she’d taken her hearing aid out again.

  Jordan yanked herself away and stared at me in muted horror.

  “Yes, ma’am, sorry to bother you at dinnertime,” I said, winking at Jordan. She glared.

  “No bother, Casey. You call anytime. Everything all right? You wreck that dirt bike in my woods again?”

  “No, ma’am, calling about a permit I could use some help with,” I said, cringing at the memory of the full afternoon I’d spent with her last month. I’d accidentally taken out a portion of Harriet’s back fence after I’d landed wrong and ate shit on that latest jump I’d built.

  Three cups of tea and twenty millions questions about Frank’s love life later—I rebuilt my dirt course in the other direction. Frank had laughed for twenty minutes straight when I told him.

  “What kind of permit you need?” Harriet asked, her curiosity practically oozing out of the phone.

  “Not for me. For Summer’s new place. Jordan, the architect from New England, is handling the job. Heard she might be having some problems getting the paperwork through.”

  Jordan clenched her fists and scowled.

  I was glad I still held the spoon.

  “Well, now, I think she misfiled her reports and surveys on that one,” Harriet said with a sniff, “but we’re working hard to get it fixed for her.”

  “Uh-huh, good to hear. She’s new to Grayson, and I’d hate to give her a rough impression of us right off,” I said. And before Harriet could argue, inspiration struck and I went with it. “Matter of fact, Frank’s taken her under his wing. Says she’s the best building designer he’s ever seen this side of the Appalachians. He’d be disappointed to know she was getting stuck behind paperwork holdups.”

  “We’re in the Appalachians, genius,” Jordan muttered.

  I ignored her and waited.

  “Frank said that, did he?” Something rustled in the background and Harriett rushed through her words. “Well, Frank, well, yes, of course. You tell Frank I’m fixing her papers right as rain first thing tomorrow. It’s all set and we’re happy to help Miss Jordan with anything she needs. You tell her to come see me. Matter of fact, if Frank likes, he can come on down with her and see for himself. Tell him I said so.”

  I smiled, knowing full well Harriet’s voice carried without the need for speaker-phone. Jordan eased up and propped a hand on her hip, still eyeing me.

  “Will do, Harriet. And thanks, Frank will be happy to know it,” I said.

  Harriet responded with some sort of jilting laughter and I hung up.

  “Did she just titter?” Jordan asked, one brow cocked, arms folded.

  “She did.” I pocketed the phone.

  “Over Frank?”

  “She may have a crush.”

  “What’s not to crush on,” she said with a shrug and I wasn’t sure of a safe response so I left it. “Dirt bike accident?” she asked.

  “I crashed on a jump and took out her fence a few weeks back. As penance, I spent an afternoon with Harriet getting caught up.” I shuddered and Jordan snorted. “It’s not funny. It taught me a valuable lesson that I think an architect like yourself can appreciate,” I said solemnly.

  “What’s that?” Jordan asked.

  “Be careful where you build.” I shuddered again.

  Jordan laughed.

  “You sound like Frank when I told him. He was just glad it wasn’t him who had to spend the day there. At least this time it only took a phone call.”

  “And Frank’s name,” she added.

  “Frank’s name carries weight in this town,” I agreed.

  “Damn.” She shook her head.

  “What?”

  Her eye gleamed and her scowl turned to a smirk. “Apparently, I moved in with the wrong guy.”

  Before I could formulate a response, she grabbed her beer off the counter and swaggered out. Now it was my turn to scowl.

  “You meant thank you,” I called after her.

  I waited for her to reply.

  No answer.

  Just when I’d given up on her, she appeared in the doorway again, grinning. She strolled up and planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “Thanks, Case. I owe you one,” she said.

  Her hips swayed as she spun and doubled back for the door, her ass lifting in a way that made it hard to concentrate. My mouth opened but no sound came out. By the time I found my voice she was already gone again.

  “What about the sauce?” I called just as the screen door creaked.

  “You’ve got the spoon,” she yelled back and the door shut behind her.

  I looked down at the white spoon hanging limp in my hand and scowled. Motherfucker. She was right.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jordan

  I spent Saturday nursing my beer-headache and trying to remember why I thought it’d be a good idea to drink in the first place. I didn’t even like beer. But that’d been the only choice at the corner store yesterday. I wasn’t surprised. Small hick town with only bottom-shelf beer for sale? Go figure.

  Casey was up and gone with the daylight along with his dirt bike. I wasn’t sure if he’d gone to work or just out with some friends. Curiosity pricked at me over the possibility that any of his friends might be girls. Not that I had a right to ask.

  Despite my promise to Gavin about today, I wasn’t sure if borrowing Casey’s truck included free time or just work. So I stayed put. Getting caught up on emails and laundry and the rest of the unpacking I hadn’t done. I wasn’t sure when it had happened but somewhere along the way I’d accepted that I was going to spend some time here in Grayson.

  And I wasn’t nearly as broken up over it as I’d been that first day. In fact, Casey’s place was starting to feel downright comfy. And Casey himself … well, at least he’d stopped walking around half-naked with a pickup line on his tongue.

  Then again, last night I’d been the one to cross lines.

  Embarrassment had flooded me when I’d first woken remembering the way I’d literally cried on his shoulder. Not to mention how I’d obviously ogled him when he’d walked in all dirty and smelling like fertilizer—how was that even hot to me?—but in the end, I couldn’t hang on to it.