“Bored,” Grif said.
“Too bad that this week’s all about me, then, isn’t it?” She sent him a narrow-eyed glance. “Just as soon as I finish warning you off of Kate. I’m serious about this, okay? I’ve been trying to slowly work her back into the dating pool, but we’re starting small. Trust me, she’s in no way ready for the likes of you.” She looped her arm through his. “Please don’t take that as a challenge.”
“You think she’s too sweet for me,” Grif said. “Too good.”
“She’s not some eighteenth-century virgin, Grif. She’s a full-grown woman who, yes, is a really wonderful, giving, warm, good person. She’d give a stranger the shirt off her back. I just don’t want that stranger to be you.”
Adam snorted, and Grif slid him a look that Adam met evenly. And Grif had to admit, maybe they had a point. Grif liked women.
A lot.
And they tended to like him back.
“All I’m saying,” Holly said, “is that sometimes people take advantage of Kate.”
“And you think I’d be one of them?”
“Not purposely,” she said, “but come on. You know she has a big crush on you. If you so much as look at her, she’s spouting science facts. All I’m asking is for you to remember that the women in your world come and go. And she’s not one to go.”
“I didn’t say I was interested in her that way.” Having long ago learned the trick to dealing with his sister and her nosiness was a solid distraction, he said, “I bet you’re a total bridezilla.”
Adam laughed, turning it into a cough when Holly slid her husband-to-be a glance. But suitably distracted, she spent the next hour talking about the imminent wedding.
Grif had zero interest in the material of her dress or the accent color or the difficulty of the seating arrangements, but he had great interest in not talking about himself. Finally, ears still ringing, he left the café and drew in a careful breath.
Since his injury, his sense of smell had been as FUBAR as his head, but just like the café, Sunshine itself also had a distinct scent. Fresh, chilly mountain air. Cedar and pine.
Forgotten hopes and dreams.
He drove to the huge, sprawling old ranch house he’d grown up in and let himself in. He immediately thought of his mom. Though she hadn’t lived here in years, the house was a visceral reminder of her, from before the divorce. Long before. Because even well before that she’d been living in New York, separate from Donald Reid. Still, her presence could be felt here, from the pictures of her scattered among others throughout the house, to her touch in the big-but-cozy furniture and other items she’d used to decorate the house. There was a picture of her on the mantel, with a five-year-old Grif on horseback. Holly was right; they were the spitting image of each other with their dark hair, gray eyes, and crooked smiles. It made him ache for her. His head ached, too, rattling his teeth with the pain—the IED blast that kept on giving.
Opening the door to his childhood bedroom, he dropped his bag by the bed and plopped onto the mattress exhausted.
* * *
He came awake badly, as he tended to do these days. Noting the low sun, he sat up. The day had gone by without him, which worked. Heart still pounding, damp with sweat, he stared at four chocolate brown eyes belonging to the two huge golden retrievers sitting bedside, breathing on him. Thing One and Thing Two. They’d started out as his dad’s foster dogs last year, but no one ever returned a foster animal, not even the cantankerous Donald Reid. “Hey,” he said.
This, apparently, was an invitation to be jumped, and they jostled for space on the bed. Thing One nearly unmanned him. Thing Two licked him from chin to forehead. Both were wild, like kibble-fueled rocket ships made out of pure energy. Laughing, he shoved them both down.
The house was no longer empty. He could hear music, talking, laughing. Head still pounding, Grif forced himself to lie still as he drew in a breath for a count of four, held it for a count of seven, and then let it out for a count of eight. One of his nurses had taught him the trick as a way to calm himself when he first woke up. It never worked, but it was something to do.
Rising, he headed into the adjoining bathroom for a shower. Someone had figured out he was here and had left him fresh towels. He took a long, hot shower and came out feeling slightly more human.
The sounds of a rip-roaring party drove him to the center of the house, a huge living area that had been transformed for Holly and Adam’s co-bachelorette/bachelor party. Personally, Grif didn’t see the good of a bachelor party if you were going to invite your soon-to-be-wife, but hey, what did he know about such things?
There were at least fifty people spilling out the two sets of double French doors to a large square courtyard. Lights had been strung in the trees, and music was blasting. Laughter and drinks were flowing.
His sister was at the bar wearing a huge tiara and a wide grin, holding a shot glass in each hand. Around her was a pack of women, a few of them wearing smaller versions of the tiaras and equally large grins, also double-fisting shot glasses.
The bridesmaids, he presumed, and cheered up slightly. They came in all shapes and sizes, each glowing as they laughed and talked and tossed back their drinks.
He counted one, two, three tiaras. A fourth was bent over, fiddling with her boot. She wore a white lacy top and a short black skirt with leggings and high-heeled ankle boots. Nice ass. Her shoulders were bare, revealing silky-soft, creamy skin and just a hint of a slinky bra strap running over the top curve.
He loved slinky lingerie. Mostly he loved it on the floor, but they could work on that, and with the evening looking up he headed over there. Just as he got close, Ms. Nice Ass straightened and turned to face him, and he went still.
Kate.
Unlike earlier, her strawberry blond hair was loose and slightly tousled, the shiny waves falling just past her shoulders. She was wearing a shimmery lip gloss that emphasized that sweet, kissable mouth and eyeliner that was smudged just enough to make her look not at all like an elementary teacher but trouble with a capital T. When she caught him staring at her, she hesitated, and then smiled.
His own smile was unexpected. And probably idiotic, because although he could take apart damn near anything and put it back together again, he couldn’t seem to lust and think at the same time. She had the most amazing eyes, and her smile made him want to do things that were most definitely not on his sister’s approved list.
She’s vulnerable.
On the best of days a vulnerable woman was a spectacularly stupid idea, and this wasn’t even close to the best of days for Grif.
In fact he hadn’t even had a passable day in months. Knowing it, he kept moving. Hell, he very nearly ran. As he headed out of the living room, he let his gaze catch on the big, ornate mirror hanging on the wall.
Another man was already talking to Kate. That was good. That was great.
But the guy looked a little determined as he set his hand on her shoulder, and Kate looked a little . . . relaxed. She’d been drinking.
She’s vulnerable . . .
Damn. Stopping, Grif tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling for an internal debate. Conscience or no conscience, that was the question.
Shit.
Conscience won, and he headed back. The guy looked up from Kate, and Grif slid him a long, hard look. Yeah, that’s right, keep touching her, and I’ll remove your fingers from your body.
The hand came off Kate.
Good choice. Satisfied, Grif nodded and forced himself to once again walk away, hoping she stayed out of trouble this time because he was out. He didn’t tend toward regrets or guilt, but somehow he felt both as he ducked into the blessedly quiet den and headed straight for the small, well-stocked bar on the far wall.
“Showed up at the last minute, I see.”
At the gruff, familiar sarcasm Grif turned and faced his father. Donald Reid was sixty-five and starting to look it, and Grif felt a pang for all the years that had passed without much more t
han a quick bickering session between them.
“You could’ve called,” his dad said. “Let someone know you were coming.”
Thing One and Thing Two had entered the room with the older Reid, and they beelined with joy for Grif, who squatted to give belly rubs. “You knew I’d be here,” Grif said.
Donald made a derisive noise that instantly made Grif feel fifteen and stupid all over again. “How? You’ve barely been home except to bury your mother.”
That wasn’t quite true. Grif tried to make it home whenever he could—but admittedly that hadn’t been very often since the two of them tended to circle each other like annoyed bears. And without his mom as a go-between, it had only gotten worse. Grif rose and absently rubbed the scar running along his temple. The long nap had taken care of the headache for now, but it would be back. He was getting used to living with one, along with the ringing ears, light sensitivity, and fatigue. He was lucky these were his only problems, and he knew it. “I’m here now,” he said.
His dad looked at him and then nodded curtly. “Holly will be glad for it.”
“And you?” Grif asked.
Donald strode to the bar to pour himself two fingers of whiskey.
Thing One and Thing Two leaped to their feet and happily panted along in his wake, hoping he was going for food. Donald smiled and pulled a dog biscuit from his pocket for each, receiving doggie kisses for the effort.
He’d always been a better doggy dad than a real dad. Grif rubbed his temple again, and Donald looked over at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
What the hell, Grif thought. “I screwed up and got too close to an IED.”
Donald went utterly still for a very long beat. Then he knocked back his drink and slowly set the glass on the bar. And then just as slowly exhaled audibly. “So you nearly bought the farm.”
“Turns out, I’m hard to kill.”
Donald didn’t relax or smile. “You didn’t think to call?”
“Did you call me when you had a heart attack?”
“Not the same thing,” Donald said tightly.
“No? Why’s that, dad?”
“I didn’t call you because I didn’t want to distract you overseas. You didn’t call me because you’re stubborn as hell.”
Grif smiled thinly. “No idea where I got that . . .”
From inside his dad’s pocket came the refrain “I’m A Slave 4 U . . .” He pulled out his phone, and a ridiculous smile crossed his face. “Deanna says to tell you hello.”
Deanna was his girlfriend. She was half Donald’s age, silly, and highly dramatic. She also loved the old guy just as he was, and had stuck with him longer than anyone else since Grif’s mom. Go figure.
His dad thumbed a reply text with surprising dexterity, shoved the phone away, and then got back to business. “What now?” he asked Grif.
“I don’t know.” Grif shrugged. “I’ve got some job options to consider.”
“Where?”
“DC. Texas. Quantico.” Grif might be done with active duty, but he still had skills and knowledge, and any number of alphabet agencies were interested in him.
“So you’re in flux,” Donald said.
“I’m in flux.”
“Which is why you’re here. You had a close call, and you had some sort of epiphany. What is it, you need to make peace with your past?”
Grif met his dad’s gaze evenly, giving nothing away. “Maybe I’m interested in Idaho.”
Donald laughed harshly and set down his drink again. “There was a day when you couldn’t wait to get out of here. Hell, the door couldn’t have hit you on the ass if it’d tried, you ran that fast. You went far and wide and on your own damn terms.”
True story.
“Things would’ve been easier all around if you’d stuck here in Sunshine,” Donald went on, “but you couldn’t be bothered to do that, not then. What makes you think you could do it now?”
“I’m not seventeen anymore, dad. And this time I am interested.”
“In the ranch?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Donald laughed harshly. “You think it’s easy to run a ranch? That you can just drop back in after all these years and give it a shot on your own?”
Grif bit back the retort on his tongue, that his dad didn’t do it by himself. He ran a huge operation, and he’d always had help. That had never been the issue. Grif tossed back his drink. More than two fingers, which was in direct opposition to what his migraine pills allowed, but there were days when life exceeded allowances, and this was one of them. “You’re reading too much into this. I’m back to see my sister get married.”
“Wrong. You came back for you,” Donald said. And with that possibly very true statement, he left Grif alone in the den.
Four
Needing a moment, Kate moved away from the group at the bar. Treading water . . .
Is that what she was doing? Really?
She dodged through the crowd. She had no idea what she’d hoped to feel tonight. A spark of . . . something. But instead, her happy—already a little tenuous—was slipping.
She’d had two guys come on to her, which in theory should have been a little thrilling, but neither Charlie, a local fifteen years her senior and four times divorced, or Trevan, the father of one of the boys in her class, had interested her.
She was a little worried that nothing could interest her.
And then she’d caught Griffin Reid staring at her, and she’d felt that surge she’d been looking for. Interest? Oh yes. And lust. And excitement.
And more lust.
But it had been short-lived because when he’d realized it was her, he’d stopped short so fast she’d actually looked down at herself to see if she was trailing toilet paper from her boot or if she’d spilled something on herself.
She hadn’t. She was wearing big-girl clothes tonight, without so much as a paint stain on her anywhere. And she looked good, too; Charles had said so—six times. Of course he’d said so directly to her breasts, but that might be her fault. They were a little bit on display tonight in her lacy top—something she didn’t ever get to wear teaching second graders. After Ryan had thrown her off her game a little bit about her scholarship, she’d needed to mix things up tonight.
Instead she’d actually scared away Grif Reid. That took talent.
With a sigh, she dug into the chips and dip like it was her job. She was pretty certain that the calories in the dip added up to an entire week’s worth of points, but she didn’t care. Turning off a crush so thoroughly as to have him actually run away trumped point counting. In fact, it made the dip point free.
She’d just stuffed in a big bite when Miranda Brown came up to her side. Miranda was Holly’s cousin and one of the bridesmaids. She was taller than Kate, prettier than Kate, and was currently engaged to her college sweetheart, who’d just finished up his residency. She gave Kate a smile. “Someone just suggested we all play some couples games, but Holly vetoed. I think she was worried about you feeling left out.”
“I wouldn’t have felt left out,” Kate said.
Miranda smiled kindly and possibly a little patronizingly. “She said you’d say that, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Nothing.” Miranda sipped daintily from her wineglass, her diamond ring nearly blinding Kate when it caught the light. “So when are you going to find your special someone, Kate?”
Yeah, definitely patronizingly. “I have someone on order, actually. He’s going to arrive any second.”
Miranda blinked. “Is that a joke?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Miranda laughed. “Right. You’re . . . funny. Must be all the science degrees. Biology and chem, right?”
And education. And a chance at a master’s . . .
“No Mrs. degree yet,” Miranda said, and laughed. “Have you tried Match.com?”
More times than Kate wanted to admit out loud.<
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