If Only (The Willowbrook Series Book 1) (4 page)

Hell, if Rhys hadn’t brought Asa under his wings those first days of school, Lucas would have. He was just that kind of guy. Too bad his mother had died and left him with a shithead of a stepdad. And too bad Eve couldn’t find the courage to continue to love a broken guy like Lucas.

Cold, Rhys tucked his head to his chest, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and returned his thoughts to the weather as he headed to the grocery store. Almost an hour later—the majority spent waiting in a long line—he drove back to Willowbrook.

On the drive, he flipped through radio stations, but every song reminded him of Asa. It didn’t matter whether the tune was happy, sad, or downright raunchy. Finally, he switched off the radio.

Up ahead, he spotted the “Private” sign in front of the dirt road that led to his grandmother’s place and Asa’s home. Suddenly, the return drive was too short.

Continuing down the dirt road, his throat tightened, and he blinked several times before he stopped and parked between the two homes. The inside of Asa’s home was dark, just like his grandmother’s.

Rhys didn’t want to get out, the emptiness in Jo’s place a reminder of what he had lost—his only living relative. Hunching forward, he clasped the steering wheel, prepared to stay in the truck until he was ready to let his grief overwhelm him in Jo’s house of memories.

At least the truck held nothing of her connection to him except for the black dice with pink polka dots he’d won for her at the fair. Those hung prominently on the rearview mirror.

While he stared into nothingness, the workshop behind the house grabbed his attention. Inside was his KTM dirt bike. Fuck, why not take it for a spin before the storm arrived?

He got out of the truck and, not bothering to lock the door, slammed it shut. No special gear for this ride. Jeans and his thickest jacket would do while his helmet would be there for him, still strapped to the handlebar of the KTM.

On Jo’s key ring were five keys. Two were for the house, one for the truck, and the other for the workshop, which left the last key for his dirt bike. For Jo, he would take laps on the track she had paid for, her faith in him evident in the strategically placed curves and whoops.

With renewed purpose to his strides, he made for the shed and shoving the key in the lock, gave the double doors a good push. They swung open, and he eyed the orange and black beauty of his old dirt bike.
For you, grandma. For believing in me
.

He smiled though his chest ached like he’d free fall off of a jump only to smack into the dirt. Taking a deep breath, he told his grief to take a hike. His grandmother would say, “Chin up, chest out. Now stop your huffing and puffing and just do it.” Yeah, he would celebrate his grandmother’s life rather than grieve over her death.

The seat was smooth beneath his hand, and he wiped the dust off and onto his jeans. Grabbing the handlebars, he steered the bike out of the workshop. He hopped on and steadying the machine between his thighs, tugged the helmet on, revved the engine, and took his old KTM from his teenage years for its final ride.

The corners were rough, but he hugged them tight, and watched from his peripheral vision as the rear tire kicked up wet dirt into the cool air. Then he hit a whoop and soared toward the heavens. Letting go of the handlebars, he closed his eyes. For a split second, nothing existed but the innocence of the clouds.

Opening his eyes, he gripped the handlebars just as his front wheel hit dirt. A big smile on his face, he took the bike for another lap. Maybe next time, he’d make a grab for heaven. Yeah!

High from his adrenaline rush and lost in the moment, Rhys hadn’t realized another rider was also on the track until the guy passed him on his left, wet dirt flying. Damn, the fucker was fast.

His uninvited visitor caught air at the same spot Rhys had, and he watched in awe and fear as the rider did a freestyle move, a three-sixty mid-air. Shit, that took balls or . . . stupidity. He voted for the latter.

Even he, an adrenaline junkie, wouldn’t risk his neck on this home-built track. Yet, this rider had. How much practice and broken bones had it taken to perfect that act? Only one way to find out.

He raced after the rider until they were side-by-side. The rider was small.
Must be one of the local teenagers
. Rhys shot the kid a glance before they both took the next whoop together, then the next, and the next until they rounded a curve.

Before he could take the lead, the kid stuck his foot out and slammed his boot into Rhys’s bike sending him off the edge of the track. Too surprised to do a salvage move, he braked and shifted his bike as he and the KTM slid down the hillside.

Dammit! Settling the KTM on its side, he yanked his helmet off, threw it on the ground and stormed up the hill. He was gonna wring him some young punk’s neck.

By the time he got up the steep hillside, the kid and his black KTM were nowhere in sight. To be sure, Rhys sprinted the length of the dirt track. Shit, if he ever got a hold of the kid . . .

Breathing hard, he shoved his fingers through his hair. He shouldn’t be so pissed. Like himself, the kid was probably getting in a ride before the storm. Out here, there was no professional dirt track. The closest one was a three hour drive.

After his grandmother had the track built, kids came by with their dirt bikes. But to ride, they had to get permission from his grandmother. Now that she was gone, he’d have the track bulldozed over. It wouldn’t be safe for kids to ride unsupervised.

Wiping as much of the muck off of him as possible, he trekked down the hillside to retrieve his KTM. The rain from earlier had saturated the ground causing mud to impede his attempts to get the bike from the bottom of the hillside to the track above.

He would’ve rode the thing back to the house, but with a sprawl of low lying brush behind him and more deep mud, it was an impossible idea. The only way out was up, and the effort took him a half an hour, maybe more. Once he was back on the track, a light in Asa’s house held his attention.

Daylight savings meant it got darker earlier, and his position on the steep hillside gave him an advantage as he watched her undress in her bedroom. Her silhouette was smooth, flawless. When she shrugged off her jacket, followed by her shirt, his heart stuttered.

A memory of her soft body beneath his, from the night he’d made love to her, had him losing his grip on the KTM’s handlebar while a groan slipped out of him. Unforgettable, that night.

Getting back on the dirt bike, he made his way to Jo’s place. Yeah, he should talk to Asa, but not tonight. Tonight was all about his grandmother.

Yet, if their conversation went well tomorrow or maybe the next day . . . hell, whenever he could gather the nerves to approach her, would he risk losing a championship to have her as his girlfriend? To be distracted by her laughter or smart ass comments that came from left field, as unexpected as her tears?

Because that’s how it’d be like if she was his to love. He’d care too much, would wear his emotions on his sleeve for her to see, setting him up to be more vulnerable than he’d ever been. And when Rhys was vulnerable, he tended to let his feelings distract him. Or he said stupid things, like the crass comment he’d made about Asa.

Securing the dirt bike inside the shed, he tugged the doors shut and locked them. Asa rarely cried in front of him. Only twice in their six years of friendship had she openly cried.

Rhys gripped the door’s deadbolt. Fuck it. Tomorrow, come rain, shine or snow, he’d man up and talk to her. But he wouldn’t tell Asa he loved her, like Lucas had suggested.

Otherwise, he’d have to put his dreams on hold to love her right and completely, like she deserved to be. Rhys wasn’t ready. Not when he was so close to achieving his goal.

Chapter Four

The knock on her door roused her out of her light sleep. It wasn’t the incessant knocking, but rather the arctic temperature of her place that got her attention. Asa jumped out of bed, tossed on some clothes, and threw open her sheer curtains.
White everywhere
.

From the front of the house, the knocking grew louder. She rushed for the door and was ready to yank it open, but caution reminded her to glance out the window first. Drawing apart the curtain, her gaze met Rhys’s. He stared back, one of his brows lifting as though he questioned why he was still out there in the freezing cold.

There were many reasons to keep the door shut. One, Asa wasn’t ready to speak to him. Two, she wasn’t vain, but the thought of him seeing her with her hair a mess and pillow marks on her face had her cringing. And finally, she couldn’t get over the fact it had snowed. She wasn’t prepared, and Rhys would soon realize that, calling attention to another fault of hers.

To get him to go away, she opened the door a crack. “I have nothing to say to you, Rhys Miles, other than I’m sorry for your loss.”

He nodded, but didn’t leave. A low growl started in her throat. Didn’t he get the message he needed to go so she could run to the woodshed and get firewood for a fire she didn’t know how to make?

“I came by to check on you. Jo’s generator kicked on which means the power is out. Do you have enough firewood? Hell, can you even start a fire?”

What the—? Had she hear him right, and his words were meant to come across as a double meaning, implying she wasn’t capable of turning a man on? Thinking he did, Asa clenched her teeth and yanked the door wide open.
To hell with her appearance
.

“For your information, I can start a fire without a damn match. And I have enough firewood to last me months.” She could question her abilities to seduce a man but she wouldn’t tolerate Rhys’s below-the-belt jab.

Realizing her temper had reared its ugly head, she forced her body to relax. “Show me.”

She would have given him the death glare at the underlying challenge in his voice, but he had his hands steepled over his mouth while he shifted from one foot to the other. White puffs of condensation lingered in the air. Grumbling, she grabbed him by the elbow and tugged him inside. The house might not be warm but it beat being outside.

They stood in her living room and stared at one another in silence. Minutes ticked by.

He looked her up and down, his gaze settling on her chest. Her cheeks flushing and her nipples in tight balls, she resisted the urge to cross her arms over herself. In her rush, she’d forgotten to wear a damn bra.

And now that she was more awake, she was aware of the cold over the bare skin above her cleavage, on her arms and her stomach. Glancing down, she discovered she had grabbed the shirt she had bought by mistake, a shirt that was two sizes too small. Her B-size breasts were ready to show themselves to the wor—to Rhys.

Again suppressing the compulsion to shield her body from his fiery stare, she stayed rooted to the floor with her arms hanging loose at her sides. He wouldn’t be here long, she reasoned, and he ogled only because there was no other female except her.

But the longer he perused, the more she cared about her just-hopped-out-of-bed appearance, triggering her to thread her fingers through her tangled mess of hair. He followed her movement with seeming interest—mouth slightly parted, eyes widening.

Without much thought to the consequences, she swayed toward him. Thank goodness she caught herself in time, inwardly scolding herself for acting the fool. Charming, friendly, kind. That was the old Rhys.

The current Rhys was . . . “I have nothing to prove or say to you. Our friendship ended months ago.”

“Eleven months and two weeks to be exact. But who’s counting?” he said as he set his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to glance up.

A warning clamored in her head at his nearness, her mind telling her to step back and away from his hold, his scent, and his heat while inside her heart melted at his words. This time, there was no umbrella between them, no curious eyes, no rain or cold, just his closeness and the warmth from his touch.

“If you won’t say anything, then let me apologize for yesterday. I was a jerk. You had every right to be at Jo’s funeral, and she would have wanted you there.”

His apology was a step in the right direction for them, and acknowledging his effort, she placed her palms on his chest and accepted it. Once she said the words, his body relaxed, and he started to knead her shoulders with his strong hands.

The edges of his jacket rubbed her bare arms, sending jolts of awareness to the junction between her legs. A moan clung to her lips. What would it feel like to coast her fingers over the sprinkle of hair on his chest and follow the path downward?

The memory of their lovemaking surfacing to tempt her into sin, she trailed her fingers up to span her palms over his shoulder before . . . Asa stumbled back. God, she was ready to cup Rhys’s face, to bring his lips to hers like she had done that night. To kiss him senseless and be kissed by him in return until her body was wound tight with need.

Her fingers shot to her lips, and when his pupils dilated while his breathing stuttered, she realized he remembered too.

“Jo was a great woman. If you need help—” Confusion rang in her words. Was it love she had seen in the depths of his hazel eyes? No, it couldn’t be. It was misplaced desire. Yes, that was it.

“Stop, Asa,” he said his voice low and throaty. “Changing the subject or ignoring what just happened between us won’t work this time.”

In a different lifetime, she swore she could distract Rhys with a from-the-left-field comment, but he was right. And he got her good for calling her out. Damn him for being a quick study. Yet, she could still pretend she hadn’t heard him correctly and plow forward.

“She lived a simple life,” she replied with as much casualness to her tone as she could muster. Her heart still beat out of control. “There won’t be a lot to help you with, but—”

Tipping his head back, he groaned before directing his gaze on her. “You’re stubborn, you know that? Yet I’ve always liked that about you.”

Liked
. The word brought him closer to love. Despite the frustration on his face, Asa smiled. “And yeah, I don’t mind when you use your distraction tactics on me.”