Chapter 12—In the Shotgun

Lavender stirred in Tyler’s big bed—the guy didn’t do anything small—buried under a mound of blankets. One heck of a storm was blowing in off the ocean. Rain pelted the windows while wind rattled the mansion’s old bones. The old lady creaked and groaned but stood her course.

In that place between waking and sleeping, Lavender recalled a night of incredible passion and intensity so strong it would have destroyed a weaker person. Despite being shrouded in mist, the dream seemed too real, right down to the ache between her legs, tenderized nipples, and bones turned to putty.

She lay limp, her limbs too heavy to move, and processed everything in an attempt to separate fantasy from reality. Fantasy came in the form of emotions she didn’t want to examine. Reality came in the form of a large hand cupping one breast. A soft snore rumbled in her ear. A hairy chest rubbed against her back. A semi-erect cock pressed against her butt.

Not a dream. She’d done untold things with and to Tyler Harris.

And she wanted to do more.

The object of her thoughts stirred but didn’t wake. Rolling onto his back, he stretched and smiled a lazy smile in his sleep.

The man was pure male gorgeousness in the early-morning light. As his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, she ran an exploring hand over his abs and pecs. She relished the hardness, the sheer maleness of his long, lean body with its well-defined muscles.

His dark lashes were sinfully long yet didn’t look the least bit feminine on him. Nothing on this man was feminine. He exuded 100 percent testosterone. His chiseled face belonged on the big screen or advertising for the All-American bad boy.

She leaned forward and kissed the cleft in his chin, then brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. His unruly dark hair curled at the ends. She slid a finger across his stubble. Her breasts tingled as she recalled how his beard scraped across them as he sucked and licked her nipples, the proof of his deeds still visible by the red marks on her breasts.

The two of them connected with combustible chemistry fueled by their differences and their similarities. All purely physical, of course.

Lavender rarely lingered in bed with a man after he’d screwed their brains out. One or the other of them left before morning. Hell if she knew why she lingered now. If she had any intelligence, she’d yank on her clothes and head home. That way they could both pretend nothing happened, until the next time.

She had little doubt there’d be a next time.

With one last kiss to his cheek, she rolled into sitting position on the edge of the bed and wondered why she’d felt the urge to kiss him. Kissing on the cheek was a tenderness thing. Tenderness didn’t fit her view of recreational sex. She doubted it fit his. Whatever possessed her to give him a chaste kiss couldn’t, wouldn’t, happen again.

Time to leave.

Oh, crap. Her clothes were in his truck.

A meow sounded behind her head. The orange tabby sat on the nightstand, grooming his pristine white paws.

“How long have you been there?”

The cat smirked, keeping to himself just how long he’d been there. “You watched us?”

Smug and playing it cool, the cat jumped off the nightstand and sauntered from the room.

“You little voyeur.”

Next time, she’d insist Tyler shut the bedroom door. She looked back at a peaceful, sleeping Tyler. How he managed to look angelic and bad at the same time eluded her.

Lavender loved how her small body fit with his big one. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, she was energized by his size and strength. Despite a level of danger to the man, she trusted him with her body. He’d never harm her physically.

Never.

Emotionally might be a different story.

 

* * * * *

 

Tyler yawned and stretched. A satisfied smile lifted the corners of his mouth. The sheets caressed his naked body, while the blankets wrapped him in warmth in the chilly room. He’d rather be wrapped in Lavender’s warmth. He reached for her. His hand swiped across cold sheets and found nothing. No warm female body with tits sent from heaven and sinful red hair.

And, yes, she was a natural redhead.

She must have left sometime in the night.

The earlier storm had blown over, and morning sun shined off the water in the small bay. Tyler rolled to his feet, walked to the French doors, and threw them open, ignoring the frigid air. Unconcerned about his nakedness, he walked out onto the master bedroom balcony.

Tyler breathed deeply, inhaling the fresh salt air and savoring the smells of the island after a good rainfall. Damn, if he didn’t watch it, he might actually start liking this place and want to keep the money pit.

Frowning at the thought, he walked back inside and kicked the door shut. He loved cities, loved the excitement, the parties, the places, the people, the sights, the smells. He wasn’t a country guy. Been there, done that, and didn’t want to go back. He’d keep telling himself that, too, until he believed it.

In less than two months, he’d be back in Seattle, his life an endless round of parties at night and working out during the day. No more sassy redhead to trade barbs with and share his bed. No more brotherhood with their annoying habits of showing up on his doorstep at all hours to watch his TV, play cards, and empty his liquor cabinet. No more finicky orange tabby cat. No more Saturday night karaoke with the gang at the veterans club.

Life would go back to normal, and so would he.

If he could figure out what normal was.

A cold shower didn’t help.

After he toweled off, he wrenched open a stuck drawer on the antique dresser and yanked on clean underwear, a pair of faded jeans, and a sweatshirt. He grabbed a fresh cup of coffee from the kitchen and walked onto the porch. His gaze slid to Lavender’s house, but he didn’t see any sign of life.

You’d think he’d have had enough last night to last a few days, but his body didn’t agree.

Tyler craned his neck for some sign of her piece-of-shit truck in the driveway. Disappointment flooded through him. She wasn’t home, probably volunteering at the senior center or old folks’ home.

With a sigh, he walked back to the house. Picking up a sheet of sandpaper, he took his frustrations out on the banister.

 

* * * * *

 

Lavender put the dirty glasses in the under-bar dishwasher. Tyler, her only patron, sat at the bar, nursing his first and only beer, one eye on her and one on ESPN. The man wanted some, and he’d probably get it just like he had for the past week. Not that she was complaining. He knew how to find just the right places, places she didn’t even know existed.

Tyler stared up at the TV, and she followed his gaze. ESPN was interviewing Zach Murphy. The guy, all intense and edgy, discussed his move to a new team and what he wanted out of next season. He fended off the questions about alleged sexual abuse of a former girlfriend, insisting it was bullshit. Yeah, right. She snorted out loud, drawing a questioning look from Tyler, which she ignored.

“What an entitled ass,” she muttered under her breath. The jerk was probably one of those guys who believed women deserved just what they got.

“I heard that. You called him an entitled ass. I’m wounded.” Tyler held his hands over his heart.

Confused, she stared at him. “Why?”

“I thought that endearment was reserved for me.” His blue eyes sparkled.

They nearly sucked her in, but she sidestepped their magnetic pull, at least for now. “You’re all the same.”

“Not at all, honey. I’m unique. Murphy isn’t even on the same playing field as me.” Tyler leaned forward and wrapped his hands around his beer glass. He studied her, as if waiting for her counterattack. They both relished trading barbs with each other.

“What about Tyler Harris? We understand you aren’t the best of friends.”

At the mention of his name on TV, Tyler glanced up and rolled his eyes. “That guy is an idiot.”

“We aren’t the best of anything.”

“So the rumors about division on the team are true?”

“Exaggerated. Harris needs to get his head on straight.”

“Do you believe Harris is in rehab?”

Zach snorted. “How would I know? I don’t keep tabs on him. As long as Harris leaves it all out on the field and plays with heart, he’s none of my concern.”

“If he doesn’t?”

Zach Murphy raised his dark, intense eyes to the camera. “Then we have a problem, don’t we?”

Lavender switched the channel to a Mariners baseball game. “We don’t need to hear any more of his BS.”

“Tell me about it.” Tyler rubbed his stubbled chin, watching her way too closely and looking like a man with something more on his mind than sex or Zach Murphy. “You know, El, I get hating jocks on principle as overpaid, entitled asses. Your dislike goes beyond the norm. Tell me. Why is it you hate jocks? Specifically football players. Is your hatred a matter of principle or based on personal experience?”

Lavender stiffened, and she ground her teeth together in an effort to rein in her smart mouth. He’d hit a nerve, a big one. If he had an ounce of brain matter in his thick head, he’d keep his mouth shut and change the subject.

“Do I need to list all the reasons to you? You already know most of them because everything I hate about jocks is reflected in your insufferable personality.”

“I’m good in bed.” He grinned at her and held out his beer for a refill.

“You are good naked, I’ll give you that.”

“That’s all there is, baby, and don’t you forget it.” Pain flickered in his blue eyes, quickly replaced by his usual arrogant smugness.

Yet she’d seen it with her own eyes. She’d penetrated his thick skin, which should’ve made her feel triumphant. A twinge of guilt ruined the usual satisfaction she received by bashing him. “I wouldn’t dream of it. And ruin our mutual dislike?”

“Never happen.” Tyler snaked an arm around her neck and caught her off guard. Pulling her across the counter, he laid a big, sloppy kiss on her. She didn’t resist; instead she gave it right back with a vengeance, a grudge kiss, one to prove he didn’t serve any purpose beyond a sex partner. They attacked each other like two wild creatures in a mating frenzy of pure animal lust. His mouth bruised hers. Their noses bumped together. His stubble burned her cheeks. His tongue pillaged her tongue. She gave as good as she got by answering his every parry and thrust with a parry and thrust of her own. She’d be naked before she knew it at this rate and going at it on top of the bar. Even more disturbing, she didn’t give a shit.

The recently installed bell over the door tinkled, signaling new customers. Lavender retreated to her side of the bar. Homer and Ed shuffled across the room and headed for chairs at their favorite table near the big-screen TV.

Tyler sketched a salute in their direction. “Hey, bros.” Both men saluted back.

Lavender had their drinks on the table before they’d managed to lower their creaky, ancient bodies into their seats. “Homer, how’s your arthritis treating you?”

“I have good days and bad.”

“If you need to go to the VA on the mainland, I’d be glad to take you in on my day off.” Lavender mother-henned these guys, and they ate it up. “And you, Ed, are you taking your heart medicine?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Like he’d dare not take it. The brothers didn’t call her sergeant major for nothing.

Satisfied they were comfortable, she returned to her spot behind the bar. Tyler studied her with such intensity, she checked her face in the bar mirror but didn’t find anything. He looked too much like a man with something to say, something she might not want to hear. She decided to distract him. “Did you know your cat watches us when we have sex in your room?”

“Cougar?”

“That’s what you call him?”

“Yeah.”

“He does have the heart of a cougar.”

“No shit. Besides, I’m partial to cougars. I played my college ball for the Cougars.”

“I know.” She busied herself wiping the already clean counter. She knew only too well.

“You do?” He moved in like a cougar himself, circling his wounded prey.

“Everybody knows that.” She spat the words at him as she scrubbed the counter hard enough to rub the finish off the wood top. She was pissed as hell at herself for revealing that fact to him. How stupid could she be? The last thing this man needed to know was her connection to his college football team.

“Not everybody. I thought you hated football.”

“Just drop it.” Lavender turned her back on him and yanked glasses from the dishwasher. With the same quickness he demonstrated when eluding linebackers, he stepped behind the counter and pinned her in the corner with his big body. His breath tickled her ear. She kept her back to him. Her pulse raced from his nearness not just physically, but emotionally. He’d opened an old wound, one she never wanted to open. Her stomach churned and her head ached.

“Not a chance in hell. Tell me why you hate jocks.” His big hands blocked her in as they rested on the counter on either side of her. Across the room, the brothers turned in their seats to watch. Not one of the cowards came to her rescue. Instead, they whispered among themselves.

“Drop it.”

He nuzzled her neck, bringing a low whistle from the brothers and more whispering.

She tried to escape, but she’d have better luck escaping from a prison cell. “Get away from me.”

“Not until I have my answer.” Determination reverberated in his voice. His hands encircled her waist. Her body welcomed his touch. Her brain rejected it. She snapped and turned on him so fast he staggered back a step.

“Damn you. Hell yes, I know about football. It creates assholes like you, and it tears families apart.” Lavender spat out the word apart with vehemence and bitterness she couldn’t control. She sidestepped around him, planning her escape, but she was no match for his reflexes. He grabbed her arm and jerked her none too gently against his hard body. She glared up at him, hating him for getting inside, past her defenses, for forcing her to reveal something personally painful.

His blue eyes drilled into hers, and she backed away, knowing he’d see the bitter truth lurking there. Tyler lowered his voice. “Spoken like someone who’s been there. How? How does it tear families apart?”

Lavender looked him straight in the eye. Her lower lip quivered. She would not cry. Not in front of him or anyone. “My dad is a college football coach.”

Tyler released his hold on her as he digested this unexpected information. “Who is he? Would I know him?”

Putting a safe physical distance between them, Lavender wiped all emotion from her face and met his steady gaze with one of her own. “Oh, yeah, you know him. He’s the Cougars’ head coach.”

Lavender ducked behind Tyler and ran for the bathroom, just as the dam broke. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it. She choked up, her eyes filled with tears, and her gut twisted like a pretzel. Sobs racked her body.

Oh, God, why was it that after all these years, talk of her father still devastated her? The incredible pain of being abandoned by the man who used to call her Daddy’s princess wrenched her in two. Why did he leave her? Never call or write, never acknowledge her birthday? Why? Why? Had she been such a bad daughter that he’d run like hell and never looked back? What had Lavender done to deserve his rejection?

In moments of weakness, she missed him, missed his wise ways, his gentle yet firm tone. She missed his smile and his teasing. It’d almost be easier if he were dead because there’d be finality to it and an explanation for his absence.

Maybe being abandoned by her father was one of the reasons she’d developed an affinity for old people. Since she’d been in her teens, she volunteered at the nursing home a couple days a week, reading to a group of residents, writing letters for them, or just visiting. Many of them were stuck in these homes and forgotten by their families, just like her father had forgotten her.

And maybe that’s why she worked in a veterans bar. She genuinely enjoyed the old vets who came in. It did her heart good to brighten their day.

Tyler would never understand the depth of these peoples’ loneliness, and she pitied him for that.

 

* * * * *

 

Still reeling from Lavender’s admission, he watched her warily when she returned from the bathroom with red-rimmed eyes. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. Besides, the look on Lavender’s face warned him not to go there. He might be an ass, but he preferred life to death.

His college coach was her father? But they didn’t even share the last name. Her hatred of jocks was personal. He’d expected her attitude to have its basis in a jock boyfriend who’d jilted her, not in a coach father. And definitely not his coach. Not in a million years. Fate sacked him for a loss on this one.

He’d admired Coach Gerloch. When his father died, Coach took him under his wing, filled the role of a father in Tyler’s life, and kept Tyler from diving off the deep end of despair into drugs and alcohol. He’d been there for Tyler, but he hadn’t been there for his own daughter? It didn’t make sense.

He’d even imagined someday being a coach like Brian Gerloch, one who inspired, taught character while encouraging a competitive spirit. He’d never once heard the coach mention a daughter. A son, yes, but a daughter, never. There’d been no pictures of Lavender in his office alongside the pictures of his current wife and his son. It didn’t add up, didn’t make sense when compared with the man Tyler knew and admired.

Lavender had just admitted something deeply personal and obviously painful to her. Something emotional, not physical. He’d bet his Super Bowl ring she didn’t tell many people what she’d just told him.

Not good.

He couldn’t be her confidant. He wouldn’t be there for her. It wasn’t his style. His style was love ’em and leave ’em wanting more, but never, never get attached. Hell, he hadn’t even been that attached to Cass, despite all the stormy years they’d spent together. Why the hell had he even pushed her for an answer to something that was none of his business?

Lavender turned her back on him and busied herself behind the bar. Tyler took advantage of her inattention to escape. He unwrapped his long legs from the barstool and stood. Grabbing his beer, he sauntered over to the brothers, sinking into an empty chair at their table. He breathed a sigh of relief. Like a coward, he’d turned and run when the flames from the emotional heat licked at his ass.

Her pain was personal, and their relationship needed to stay strictly physical. Besides, she didn’t want his sympathy or his commiseration, which should let him off the hook. For some reason, it didn’t. Empathy was an emotion he rarely allowed himself, and he didn’t wear it well. Although he was pretty damn sure the nagging ache in his gut didn’t come from his crappy dinner.

He avoided her gaze, certain he’d see disappointment in her eyes at his hasty exit to the relative safety of the brothers. Next to him, Homer and Ed debated the merits of eight-track tapes versus CDs. Hell, Ty wasn’t sure he even knew what an eight-track looked like. He feigned interest and steered them toward their predictions for the upcoming NFL draft. Even then, he couldn’t immerse himself in the conversation.

He hazarded a glance at Lavender. She swiped at her eyes with a bar towel, kept her head down and her back turned away from him.

Ah, hell, she was crying. Again.

She took one more vicious swipe at her tears, squared her shoulders, and headed his way. Oh, crap. This wasn’t going to be pretty. The brothers argued on, completely oblivious to the murderous woman advancing on their sacred little oasis. Tyler gripped the edge of the table and forced himself to breathe in rhythmic, deep breaths and waited.

She stomped over to the table. Hands on hips, she faced him. The brothers stopped their arguing and stared, dentures clattering and knees knocking together. They knew a dangerous woman when they saw one.

“One last thing, Mr. Harris. Discussions regarding my father are off-limits. You will never bring up Brian Gerloch’s name in my presence. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

The brothers raised one eyebrow each in tandem like they’d rehearsed it. They stared at him as if they couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to piss her off. Ty nodded, feeling like the victim in an old episode of The Twilight Zone. Not waiting for a reply, Lavender pivoted and stalked back to her safe zone behind the bar.

She meant every word she said, yet at the same time, Tyler knew he couldn’t leave it alone. Not until he learned both sides of the story. Not until he understood the situation better.

When the brothers wobbled to their feet, he escorted them to their cars and got the hell out of there.

He had a lot of thinking to do, and he didn’t have a clue where to start.