“YOU MESSED up.”
“I didn’t mess up.”
“Ehhhhhhhh.” Lance’s croaky scoff irritated Brett to no end.
The den was crowded. Ten people packed themselves on every chair and throw cushion, the fire roared, and Jada sat alone on the opposite couch since Ace kept jumping up to yell at the MSU defense line. He’d pace, hold his jaw, then come back and watch the next scrimmage.
“You messed up.” Lance’s sing-song voice grated on Brett’s nerves.
He failed to duck when Lance’s arm wrapped around him. A neck spasm lingered when his brother squeezed. Starting a wrestling match like they used to do as kids was a tempting idea, even with company around, because Brett would crush this guy and then nurse him back to health to crush him all over again.
“Will you get off me?” His harsh whisper had no effect in the football-induced chanting crowd.
“Did I tell you that you messed up? She came into the room to make the bed, dummy.” The arm squeezed tighter. “What did you think, brah?”
“I’m not interested in discussing this.”
“Jealous—”
“No! Get. Off.” His brother was so going to pay for this even though their sibling scuffle appeared to go unnoticed among the moans and cheers of the others. “Lance, this is childish. Let go.”
“You weren’t jealous?”
No. Maybe. Somewhat. A little. It wasn’t too long ago that the image of the woman he was about to marry with another man finally faded. “Lance. I mean it.”
“Look. She’s all by herself again. Go on over there.” Lance released him and landed a heavy, stinging slap on his back.
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah, you do. You like her. Or…” He scratched his ribs through his shirt. “I can show her my abs again and see…”
Brett leveled him with a stare. Nevertheless, he stayed put, staring around the room at his eight guests having a grand time despite their difficult circumstance.
Lance bowed his head to pinch his nose bridge and sigh. “You are so much work. I can see you’re going to need a little help here.” Grabbing his Christmas-themed plastic cup, he waved it in front of Brett. “Cheers!” He frowned. “Uh, no, I’m out. Brett, get me something to drink, will ya‘? Please?”
Brett didn’t know his endgame. Didn’t care. What he saw was an opportunity to escape. He snagged the cup as he rose and made his way to the kitchen. Inside, he laughed. They’d missed Christmas together last year due to Brett’s work schedule, but the wild antics hadn’t changed one bit. He loved Lance, even when he wanted to cause him bodily harm.
Keeping with their Christmas mischief, Brett didn’t rinse the one-inch remnants of soda from the cup, but proceeded to fill the container with tepid tap water. When he returned to the den, he understood how low Lance could stoop.
Ace sat in Brett’s vacated seat. He and Lance working up to a Montana State University “fanmanship” frenzy during the commercial break. Brett eyed the opening beside Jada. She seemed different after he’d caught her and… Not caught. It was an innocent encounter. History did not repeat itself.
Hiking his jeans, he breathed deep and stepped over to the couch. She didn’t look up from her conversation with Windy, who sat in the chair at a right angle to the couch. The both of them perched on the edge of their seats talking about something or other in Seattle.
He hoped he didn’t just embarrassed himself by coming over here. Good thing he had payback for the great manipulator. Brett stretched over the coffee table and handed Lance the drink. “Bottoms up. I know you’re thirsty.”
Jada’s head swiveled in his direction. Brett peered down into a face that seemed to have lived in his memory for years. Narrow for me. Go ahead. And they did. Those thick curtains of lashes slit until her irises looked as black as the bottomless pupils.
“You going to stand there all night, bossy, or are you secretly trying to get me to move over?”
He sank to the seat. “Look who’s all lippy now.”
Her gaze stayed on him, and he noted her soft smile, like relief that they’d returned to stable ground. “Watch it.”
Her conversation with Windy resumed, but her frequent peeks at him, telling enough. He settled into the cushions and draped his arm behind her.
Good grief, what was that goof up to now? With a smug leer, Lance mouthed, ‘you’re welcome.’ Brett checked out the full cup of grossly watered-down soda on the coffee table, and figured he best sleep with one eye open tonight. Just to be safe.
“What are you grinning at?” Jada’s question pulled his attention to her.
In the middle of the crowd, the thought that she was the only one who belonged, jammed his response in his throat. Her eyes moved back and forth between his. Hopefully reading how he wanted a deep conversation but didn’t know how to guide them there. Only one thought came to mind. “Tell me your name.”
A growing smirk died. Instantly he knew his connection with this woman had just clicked and locked again.
“Why?” she asked.
“I want to know who I’m talking to.”
“That’s not in my name.”
“To me it is. I feel like I know only half of who you are.”
“Why do you need to know anything about who I am?”
He didn’t answer, pretty sure she already knew why. Looking hesitant, she glanced around as if searching what to do.
Despite his rapid heart rate, his breathing slowed. Inexplicable calm washed over him. “Follow me.”
“Where?”
Since they’d regained their friendly-fire, he took some leeway. “Did I tell you to ask questions, or did I tell you to follow me?”
“Fine line.” She made a quick zip motion with her finger before jabbing the finger at him. “You’re walkin’ it.”
He jerked his head. “Let’s go. It’s too noisy in here.”
Grunting, she stood.
He had no idea if she’d like the final destination, but took her through to the mudroom where everyone’s coat lay or hung in disarray.
As he pulled on a boot, he watched her face. “Well?”
“Outside? I hate to break it to you, but black women are allergic to cold.”
His foot dropped with his boot only half on as he staggered a step to laugh. “I’m going to remember you said that.”
Finishing his chuckle, he searched the winter-wear and spotted her black hat poking out from a coat pocket hanging on the wall. He stomped his foot into his Sorel Conquest and reached for the hat. Holding it up, he twirled it around his hand as he approached, glad she didn’t move or protest. Her chin inched higher when he pulled the hat over her head, perfect for him to smooth her hair on either side of her face.
Boy, her skin felt soft and warm. Brett took a chance. He didn’t pretend to find stray hairs to shoo out of the way. Instead, he chose to dispel any doubts of his attraction through the single stroke of the back of his finger down her face. He watched the skin he touched, then her eyes, steady, receptive, serene. Surrendering a budding smile of thanks for the moment, he stepped back.
When he pulled a jacket from the hook, she frowned. “That’s not mine.”
Paying no mind, he wrapped her in the jacket, knowing the fit would be too long, but would hang nicely as a coat. That fashion winter jacket she had wasn’t made for prolonged exposure. “My gloves are too big, but you can wear your own.”
Her brows lifted. “This is yours?”
Next, the scarf. He looped the thick crocheted wool once, then tucked it in and zipped her up snug. Grinning at his awkward masterpiece, he returned to his other boot and was ready by the time she struggled into her own boots and waited by the door.
“Where are we going?”
“Less talk, more follow.” He grinned down at her fake scowl as they went out.
Snow fell sparsely, but the ground had frozen enough that they didn’t sink much during their trek to the front. Worn areas showed where everyone unloaded the sled and t
rampled about before coming in. Brett led her up the front veranda steps to view the expanse of the quiet, snow-blanketed hills, aglow under the moon.
“This is beautiful.” Her breath billowed into the air, her smile bright in the ethereal blue lights of the house and moon. “All of the land is yours? How big is it?”
“One hundred and seventy-six acres.” Brett rested one hand against the post, the other on the railing, enclosing her within. “Too small for a proper rancher. Just right for me.”
“No cowboy dreams? That would have been my first guess.”
She shuffled out of his circle to lean against the left post. He followed suit on the right, waiting. He curled his bottom lip between his teeth. And…waiting. He didn’t mind. Drowned in the oversized jacket, she looked like she owned it. He admired the view. Most important, he knew she was warm.
“Jada Maude Stanton.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I know. Don’t say anything.” She waved her hands. “I’m Jada Stanton.”
His laugh rang across the front acre, entwined with her groan.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what do you call this?”
“I recognize who I’m talking to. The rock or the safe place or the…” He motioned his hands in the frame of a house. “… castle. Something like that. I used to work with an oncologist by the name of Stanton. The rest of his family was in the quarry business, hence the pun.”
Her face told him nothing.
He nodded. “You know, like stone or… Never mind.”
“Ah-kay, I get it. So what’s Heathrow?”
“Nothing.”
“Everything means something.”
Avoiding her gaze, he smiled out to the snow. “Heathrow is uncultivated. It’s wastelands.”
“No wonder you’re so overbearing. Ha! Hey, does that mean I’m the stone castle on your wasteland?”
While she snickered at his expense, he glanced back to her, noticed how her vibrant eyes reflected a beam of moonlight in her merriment. Brett reached out and grabbed the jacket collar, dragging her close.
CHAPTER SIX