Chapter Four
Late Thursday morning, Zack emerged from his room, hoping it was sufficiently late enough that everyone else in the house would be gone. He’d figured out there were six rooms on the second floor, including his, and five of them were currently booked.
As he headed toward the stairs, he noted that the house was blessedly silent. Perfect. He wasn’t in the mood to make small talk. Now he simply had to locate food, get a few more hours of work done, then figure out what to do next.
He hadn’t spent much time at the house at this point. He’d gotten back into town yesterday after getting his car repaired, and had then taken the afternoon to drive around, familiarizing himself with the area. Afterward he’d headed into the mountains. Mostly to avoid the fact that he should be finding and talking to his brothers, yet had no real idea how to go about that. Especially since it had been he who had caused things to be so unpleasant between them the first time they’d met.
But also, it had occurred to him that it had been years since he’d done something so simple as take a relaxed drive to nowhere. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever doing it.
It often seemed he’d been head down, barreling toward perfection his whole life.
So he’d blown through a tank of gas, had picked up a sandwich and fruit for dinner from a roadside grocery, and hadn’t returned to the bed-and-breakfast until well past dark. He’d run into a couple guests on the way up to his room, but other than that, he’d slipped in unnoticed.
And he hadn’t seen Holly Marshall again.
Which was fine. She was annoying.
He’d been uncomfortable relying on her for a ride Monday to begin with. As a rule, he didn’t ask people for help. Especially not smart-mouthed, irritating women.
Who’d been laughing at him since the minute he’d stepped from his car.
But to have to do it on a horse?
A low point in his life had surely occurred.
He’d been even more uncomfortable because he’d been pressed up close to her body. He couldn’t remember the last time that much warm, soft flesh had fit itself to his. Not without a few bones sticking out here and there.
But his thighs had snugged around hers, her curvy bottom had pressed against his groin, and he’d prayed like hell the whole trip back that she was at least twenty-one.
The mirror at the base of the stairs caught his attention and he stopped to study it. He’d come in and out of the house so fast since arriving that he’d missed noticing the beauty of the piece. At first glance it was nothing special. Just a mirror inside what looked to be an overlarge copper tray. The copper was pounded, and the color matched the wood flooring that ran the length of the hallway and up the stairs. It perfectly fit the room. As if it had been made for the space.
But looking at it now, he picked up on the intricate nuances around the perimeter of the glass. There were individual shards in a mosaic style framing each side, each piece a tiny mirror in itself. They were set at angles to pick up the light around the room and cast it back out. It gave the appearance that the outer rim of the mirror was glowing.
He stepped closer, looking to see if there was a company name printed anywhere. Something like this would be great in his office.
“Good morning, Mr. Winston.”
He jumped back as if caught somewhere he shouldn’t be, and spun to face the woman in the hall. Holly Marshall.
Today her golden hair was in a high ponytail on the top of her head, making her look about eighteen—again—but unlike Monday, her makeup was at a minimum. If he wasn’t mistaken, though, her eyelashes were blue. Her lips matched her shorts.
Which was another pair that barely covered her rear.
Only today, she didn’t have leggings on underneath. He found himself wanting her to walk away from him just so he could see if her cheeks were indeed slipping out the bottom of the material.
The shorts were bright pink, the T-shirt she wore white and snug with a pink crown stretched across the front, and he couldn’t help it, but he slid his gaze the rest of the way down her body. Her legs were bare and tapered down from her thighs, and her feet wore high-top canvas sneakers with brown patches set against a tan color. They reminded him of giraffes.
“Morning, Miss Marshall,” he returned, bringing his gaze back up to hers.
She eyed him from under long lashes, her face expressionless, providing no hint of what she thought of him. Which was fine. He didn’t care what she thought. He was there for a place to stay. He didn’t need to be friends with the innkeeper.
And he certainly didn’t need to think about how cute she was in her pink shorts.
Her gaze slipped past him to land on the mirror at his back as if checking to make sure he hadn’t left any fingerprints anywhere on it. When it returned, her green eyes trapped his. They were the color of grass. Bright green like the blades before the first cut of the season.
She held up a phone, her expression stoic. “Your mother’s on the phone. She’s worried about you.”
His whole body went rigid. Was she freaking kidding him? Then he caught a hint of a smile touching her pink lips. She might be going for serious, but inside she was laughing at him again.
Irritation and embarrassment mixed as he pressed his lips together and stepped forward. He loved his mother. A lot. But he had a cell phone, for Christ’s sake. She needed to use it.
He took the handset from Holly, and she spun around and headed down the hall.
His eyes dropped to her ass.
The shorts were not indecent. Unfortunately. But that didn’t keep him from imagining what the naked curve of her rear would look like. Or feel like.
Not that he would be attempting to feel it at all. Holly Marshall was small town. She was curvy and round and plush. And she had a smart mouth on her.
She was not his type.
Plus, he’d seen her sitting with one of his brothers at the local diner as he’d driven through town yesterday. He wasn’t sure which brother, since they looked alike, but he’d been unable to miss seeing Holly with him. The fact that they’d been having lunch together implied they were friends.
And if he didn’t want to make matters worse, he probably shouldn’t have a quickie with his brother’s friend.
He turned his back to the doorway she’d retreated through, and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello, Mom.”
Holly stood just inside the kitchen, blatantly eavesdropping. She couldn’t believe Zack’s mother had called him at the house. At first, Holly had gone instantly to “worry.” There must be an emergency. But then she’d learned that “Mom” simply wanted to check in on her son. He apparently hadn’t been answering his cell that morning.
The whole incident put the haughty, polished, designer-suit-and-shoes man in a new light. As did the gentle tone she heard coming from him now.
She pulled the bowl of batter from the fridge and heated the griddle as she kept an ear to the conversation going on in the hall. She heard the phrases “Got back late last night,” “A drive through the park,” and “I’ll find them, that’s what I came here for,” and she couldn’t help but assume Mom was grilling him on his actions.
Though Zack had done everything he could Monday to ignore Holly’s attempts to be polite as they’d ridden to the house, she’d already begun to sense that he wasn’t as hard as he came across. He had the power suit going, the fast car. The big job. He’d also perfected the ability to make it clear he thought himself better than this town and everyone in it.
Yet . . . she’d sensed something about him. It had felt like a vulnerability that lay just beneath the surface.
There had been a couple times when she’d been talking to him when he hadn’t looked her in the eyes. She hadn’t thought it boredom or indifference so much—though it easily could’ve been. Instead, it had felt more like . . . shame.
Which hadn’t made a lot of sense either.
But as she continued to listen to his conversation now, she had to wonder if he wasn’t ashamed of the way he’d treated Nick and Cody before. Based on his capitulatory mutterings in the hall, she also had the sense that Mom might have given him more than an earful about the subject over the last two months.
“My cell next time, Mom,” she heard him say. Then he sighed. “Yeah, sorry. I had it on silent. I’m supposed to be relaxing while I’m here, right?”
She suspected that was sarcasm. She doubted the guy ever relaxed.
Silence followed as he listened.
“I don’t know when.” He blew out a breath. “I know. Soon.”
Pause.
“Me too, Mom. I’ll talk to you Sunday.”
He went silent and she glanced over her shoulder.
When he stepped to the door, her breath caught. He didn’t have on a suit jacket today, but still sported a white, starched button-down and a pair of black slacks. And as she’d noticed out in the hallway, he didn’t need the jacket to emit power.
Or sex appeal.
His dark eyes wore a haunted look as he held up the phone and put a question on his face. She motioned to the base hanging on the wall.
“How’s Mom?” she asked as he turned away to replace the receiver. She let her mouth curve into a grin when his shoulders went stiff. It was simply cute that his mother had been worried about him.
“My mother is fine.” His tone had her biting her lip to keep from laughing as he faced her, his eyes thin slits. “I let her know it’s not appropriate to call the house phone,” he said.
Holly shrugged. “I don’t mind. She can call every day if she wants. I told her that before you came down.”
A cold look whipped across his face, and just like that, she made another snap decision. He might be judgmental about her shoes—and yeah, she’d caught him frowning at them again that morning—but overall, she preferred being happy. Optimistic. She liked to find the good in people. And when the good wasn’t obvious, she enjoyed helping to uncover it.
Though Zack might well deserve it from his brothers, she wouldn’t hold him in disregard for something he’d done two months ago. Especially now that he was here, seemingly to right his wrongs.
Plus, Cody and Nick had walked in on him unannounced. That would be enough to throw anyone off their game.
He’d hurt her friends, yeah, but she could help him fix that.
It would make Nick and Cody happy in return. A total win-win.
She held up her spatula, plans already taking shape in her mind. “Pancakes?”
Zack’s mouth watered at the thought of hot pancakes drizzled in warm maple syrup. He hadn’t had a real breakfast in years. Weekdays, his mornings consisted of coffee and whatever pastry his assistant picked up in the first-floor coffee shop. Saturdays, he often didn’t come out of his apartment until well past breakfast—unless he was going into the office, which, again, earned him a pastry. Sundays, he skipped the meal altogether in anticipation of the large lunch he knew would be forthcoming.
“No need,” he said. Letting the cute blonde cook him breakfast didn’t seem like a good idea. “I’ll go into town.”
He needed to spend time in public anyway. Maybe he would run into one of his brothers.
She turned fully to face him and propped one hand on a hip. Her breasts jiggled with the movement and he had a new appreciation for cotton T-shirts. “Breakfast comes with the room, sugar. My mama will be back to take over next week, and she’ll have my hide if she finds out I haven’t been treating you right. I won’t take no for an answer.”
He eyed her from his spot by the door, telling himself to be adamant. He wasn’t a sucker for a sexy Southern drawl, and he wouldn’t be swayed by one.
Yet his mother had just spent ten minutes reminding him to enjoy himself while he was here. Make it a vacation, she kept saying. Relax. Do things you haven’t done in years—as well as talk to your brothers.
Pancakes would be one of those things.
As would a cute blonde.
He reminded himself that he preferred tall, lithe brunettes. Women who knew the score, and who were more than happy to leave his bed first thing in the morning. Most certainly not mouthy ones.
Who laughed at him because his mother called to check on him.
He needed to get out of this room. He was about to tell her no again, when she pointed at the table against the side wall.
“Sit,” she said. “We have things to discuss.”
No, they didn’t. Yet he found himself moving to the other side of the four-person table.
She turned back to cooking, and he ignored her to take in the room. He hadn’t been in here yet, but like the rest of the house, it was stylish and roomy. Sunlight flooded the space through the wide windows, and suncatchers hanging in the middle of the glass sent a spray of color in every direction.
Warm wood cabinets and stainless-steel appliances covered the two largest walls. A three-by-five-foot whiteboard hung on the wall to his left, with a week’s worth of breakfast menus written out in perfect penmanship. And the wood-block table he sat at took up the last of the space. The table matched the one he’d seen in the adjoining dining room, only it was a third of the size.
Holly remained at the stove, her back to him, the shape of her body outlined in pink and white. When she reached above her to one of the cabinets, her shirt rode up to reveal a thin strip of skin before flaring out to her rounded hips. He’d had both his hands right there as the two of them had ridden to the house on her horse. He’d wanted to slide his palms down over her warm curves.
He wanted to now, as well.
She glanced at him. “Do you want something in your pancakes? Chocolate chips? Blueberries?”
He frowned, thoughts of touching her forgotten. “Why would I want anything in my pancakes?”
She didn’t reply, just rolled her eyes as if his mere presence disgusted her.
He let another minute go by before he began feeling silly for sitting there and allowing her to wait on him. “Can I help?” he finally asked.
Not that he knew how to do anything in the kitchen. Other than pour coffee.
Once again, she eyed him. “Do you cook?” she asked.
“No.”
She gave him a quick smile. A dimple appeared in one cheek, and the sight sent a twitch straight to his groin. “Honest,” she murmured. She said the word in a way that made him want to sit up straighter and puff out his chest. As if being honest was important to her.
“There’s juice in the fridge and coffee in the pot.” She nodded her head to the opposite counter, where a white insulated carafe sat. “You can pour some for both of us.”
“You’re eating too?” He wasn’t used to women actually eating. And certainly not a stack of pancakes.
“Absolutely. I missed breakfast this morning because I was waiting on everyone else.”
She returned her attention to the stove, and they worked together in silence as she finished their meal. Then she turned with two stacks of fluffy deliciousness in her hands and her cheeks pink from the heat, and he paused in the middle of the room to simply stare at her. She looked so . . .
“How old are you?” he blurted out.
He really had to stop his perverted old-man thoughts if she wasn’t even of drinking age.
She smirked. “Old enough. It’s the lack of makeup. I look like a kid when I don’t wear much.”
The ponytail on the top of her head didn’t help. Nor the short shorts. But he wasn’t about to point out either because he liked them both. He also liked her innocent cuteness. It was refreshing.
She set the plates on the table and grabbed a small pitcher of syrup. Next was a platter of sausages from the oven. Berries and whipped cream followed.
Finally, they sat. She doused her chocolate-chip-filled pancakes with syrup before dropping a handful of raspberries on top and adding a four-second squirt of whipped cream. Then she held the can out to him. “Try it,” she said.
“I like them plain.”
She made a face at him. “Of course you do. Boring.”
He wasn’t boring.
She cut off a hunk of her pancakes and slid it into her mouth. He watched until it disappeared. Then he noticed that his breathing had hitched up a notch.
His phone rang, jerking him out of his thoughts. Thank the heavens.
“Excuse me,” he muttered as he pulled the device from his pocket. It was rude to answer while at the table, but he needed a moment of escape.
He needed to quit thinking about sitting Holly on the kitchen counter and stepping between her legs.
When he saw who the caller was, though, he didn’t answer. She was the reason his phone had been muted when his mother had called earlier. Shelley hadn’t taken “we’re done” well.
Not that he’d ever given the impression it was more than sex, nor had she expressed the desire to have more. She just wanted the sex. Along with more of his cash spent showing her a good time.
“Not answering it?” Holly asked.
“Nope.” He shook his head and slid the phone onto the table.
Holly leaned forward until she could see the screen, and her brows went up. “Shelley,” she murmured. Her green gaze turned to his. “She one of your women?”
As she’d leaned forward, the underside of her breasts had pressed against her forearm where it rested on the table, pushing them up, and the neck of her T-shirt had gaped. He’d been given one hell of a view. Which he was no longer looking at because she was now looking at him.
But they were still there. Creamy and plump.
Just inches from him.
“What do you know about my women?” he managed to get out.
He knew his women didn’t have breasts like that.
She sat back then, and his breath slid from between his lips. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it.
“Nick said the morning they came looking for you, some hoity-toity woman was leaving your place. Apparently you two hadn’t been in long?”
She left the sentence as a question. It was none of her business, yet he found he wanted to defend himself. Not that there was a defense. He often went out on Friday nights—which is why Shelley was calling now, because he’d cancelled their date last weekend—and yeah, he and his dates had been known to stay out until dawn.
Then the women left shortly thereafter.
What could he say to make it sound better than it was?
The better question was, why did he want to?
When he chose not to answer, Holly tilted her head to the side and he could see her thoughts churning. She suddenly looked older than eighteen, and his lust rocketed off again. This time not because she was a walking wet dream, but because she looked like an intelligent woman. One who would appreciate more than a good time or simply being showered with money.
That shouldn’t turn him on so much.
“Eat.” She wiped the intrigued look from her eyes and pointed her fork at his plate. He had yet to take a bite.
He poured syrup over his food and dug in. Then quickly followed the bite with, “Damn.” He looked up. “These are delicious.”
She laughed lightly, the heavy mood from the moment before lifted, and he became mesmerized yet again. Not only by the sound, but by the unguarded happiness radiating from her. He rarely felt that happy. That unrestrained. How did she do it?
Did she not have worries? Regrets?
“They’re my specialty, Mr. Winston.” She squirted another dollop of cream on her food and snuck a quick squirt onto his before he could stop her. “I learned from the best. My granny. The woman whose final resting place you desecrated the other day.”
“Zack,” he mumbled with his mouth full of sweet bread and spicy sausage. He swallowed. “Just . . . Zack.” He preferred to keep Mr. Winston in the courtroom. “And I fixed the marker already.”
Her green eyes watched him until he found himself looking down and breaking contact first. It felt too intimate to be sitting there with her.
And he didn’t do intimate.
“You fixed it yourself?” she asked. He could tell she expected the answer to be no.
He peered up from his plate, wanting to see her reaction when he told her that yes, in fact, he had done the work himself. He’d caused the damage; he’d taken care of it. It was a quality his dad had instilled in him early on.
“I had a rental Tuesday while I waited on my car to be repaired,” he explained. “And time on my hands. So I bought cement and tools.” He shrugged. “I fixed it.”
The surprise in her eyes made him smile. The awe made his chest squeeze. No one other than his mother ever looked at him that way anymore.
“You’re here to fix things with your brothers, right?” she asked.
And the moment was lost.
He lowered his gaze to his plate again and scooped up another bite. “Fix things” was a bit unrealistic. He was there to settle things. To . . . meet them. To not be an ass.
“Did your mom make you come?”
Laughter was back in her eyes now.
“My mother doesn’t make me do anything, Miss Marshall.” And she hadn’t. She’d merely strongly suggested it.
“Holly,” she said softly. The world slowed down a beat as her name slid between them.
“Holly,” he repeated.
The green of her eyes deepened, but her expression didn’t change.
“Answer the questions, Zack,” she said. “Your brothers?”
He nodded. Yes, he was there to fix things with his brothers. As soon as he could figure out where to start.
“And your mother? She sent you?”
“She . . .” Was he really on the verge of telling this woman that his mother was the reason he was there? Most of the reason. There was also his boss.
And if he were to be honest, he’d admit that he’d been thinking about coming well before either had pushed the point. Now that he knew the truth . . .
“You said we had things to talk about.” He changed the subject. He was not discussing his mother, his screwed-up job, or his brothers with her.
“We are talking,” she replied.
“And now we’re finished.” He scooped up the last of his breakfast, washed it down with juice, and stood.
“I know where you can run into your brothers,” she said before he could leave the room. She stared up at him from her seat. Her expression was blank, but he could read in her eyes that she had guessed what he’d been thinking.
He had no idea where to start. Or how to start.
He’d actually hoped that once his siblings knew he was in town, they’d make the first move. Again. Which was immature on his part, but he was more than slightly resentful for having to be there in the first place.
He would have been fine going the rest of his life without meeting them.
Only . . .
He felt his pulse thump in the side of his neck as he remembered his desire as a kid to have a brother.
He’d had great parents. His dad had been a doctor, and his mother adored him. He’d been given all the material possessions he’d ever asked for, and even more love. Yet he’d constantly felt alone in the world. A brother would have fixed that.
A brother would have made the years at school less—
“We have a movie in the park every Thursday night,” she said. “Your brothers will be there.”
“No,” he said immediately. “I don’t do movies in the park.” Who had time for something so frivolous?
“Why not?”
“Because I’m too busy.” There was work to be done. He might be on vacation, but that didn’t mean his clients could wait. There were court appearances waiting for him. Depositions. Preparation was key. He wanted to show his boss, show the firm that he would not mess up again. He was going to be all business.
One blonde eyebrow lifted high on her forehead. She didn’t audibly point out the obvious, but he heard it loud and clear.
He was there for some reason. He’d booked a room for two weeks.
If it wasn’t to get to know his brothers, then what?
But a movie? In a park?
He swallowed. It was too . . . country.
Holly simply watched him as he worked through his thoughts, the expression on her face patient. Though he could spend all the time he wanted on his cases, it wouldn’t change the facts. He wasn’t in town to work.
He shook his head. He still wasn’t going to a movie in the park. “It’s not my style.”
If he went, he’d have to approach Nick and Cody in front of everyone. There would be no secrets. No . . . hiding. There would also probably be people listening in, eavesdropping on everything that was said. He didn’t need to be fodder for the town gossip any more than he assumed driving across the county line had already made him.
He shoved his fists into his pockets. He wasn’t going.
When Holly still didn’t say anything, merely eyeing him from her side of the table, he felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. She had to realize what a bad idea it was.
He didn’t fit in there. No one would want him showing up for a cozy community event.
She just kept silently waiting.
He sighed. “I’m making no promises.”
A flicker of a smile crossed her face. “The park’s two blocks down Church Street,” she informed him as if he’d asked for directions. Then she softly added, “I could meet you there.”
Like he needed someone to hold his hand.
He took in her green eyes again, and he saw no judgment on her part. Simply the willingness to help. He didn’t understand. He was nothing to her.
“Why would you help me?” he asked. His words came out gruff.
She was the one to break contact that time. She stood from the table and took their plates to the sink. After a few seconds, she turned back to him. She gripped the edge of the counter in her hands behind her. “I know what it’s like to be lost in the middle of the crowd,” she said. The words were spoken softly, but they seemed to be weighted down with meaning.
He couldn’t imagine someone like her ever being lost in the crowd.
“You’re friends with them?” he asked. He couldn’t believe he would even consider the idea. Yet he was.
She nodded. Her look was solemn. “Good friends. You hurt them before.”
He knew that. He’d seen it in their matching eyes when he’d tossed the bills on the table and rose to leave. But the other thing he’d seen was that the two of them were close. Even only knowing each other for a few months, they’d developed a bond. Zack didn’t see himself fitting inside of it.
“I treated them poorly that night,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m here. To make it right.”
But he still didn’t see himself going to a movie in the park.
“I’ll see you there, then?” she asked. There was something in her eyes other than the hope that he would show up, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. It looked lonely. Maybe a little sad.
He might have to disappoint her. “I’ll think about it.”
She nodded again. A soft smile settled on her face. Just slightly, but something about it eased the knot in his gut.
He turned and left the room before he allowed himself to think too much about that smile, or what it did to him.
Or the woman who came with it.