Rodeo: A Bad Boy Romance (FMX Bros Book 2) (18 page)

Chapter 6

It was only a small sound, but it had woken me from a deep sleep. I lifted my heavy lids and squinted into the darkness. With no city lights or traffic outside, it was impossibly dark and eerily quiet, but I’d definitely heard a sound. After filling my empty stomach with meatloaf and two glasses of wine, I’d meandered off to bed. Once snuggled in my flannel pajamas and socks, a habit I’d developed while living on the east coast and away from the perpetual warmth of California, I’d crawled into the comfy bed with visions of Egyptian pottery floating through my tired head. And I’d remained fast asleep until something had woken me. I pushed it off as the unease of sleeping in a strange place.

I turned over to my other side, and in the silent blackness, my hand brushed something that was neither quilt nor pillow.

Before I could react, a deep voice yelled out, “Take cover!” Strong fingers wrapped painfully around my arms, and I was flipped violently onto my back. A heavy body lay on top of me and a cloud of alcohol assaulted my senses as my attacker stared down at me in the dark.

I finally found enough breath to scream. His grip on my arms loosened just as the bedroom light flicked on.

For a moment, I’d convinced myself that I was only dreaming. It made sense that the face staring down at me had been the face of the man I’d run off the road. The horror of the moment had stayed with me all day. But the entirely too real smell of alcohol and the weight of his body pressing over me assured me I was awake.

“Dalton? What the hell are you doing?”

He slid off of me and landed back on the bed. My heart was still pounding in my chest as I sat up and scooted away from him.

He lifted an arm and covered his eyes to block out the light. “Just trying to find a fucking place to sleep. There’s a bunch of shit on my bed, so I crawled in here.” Without lifting his head from the pillow, he turned and looked at me. “Didn’t know it was occupied.”

“Those are the papers I’m grading. We’re using the office to catalogue artifacts and since you weren’t home, I was using your room as a second office.”

Ethan appeared in the doorway behind his father. “What the heck did you do, Ton? She looks pale as a ghost.”

Dalton pushed to sitting and swayed forward a few inches before catching himself. “I was dreaming and— never mind, Ethan, you wouldn’t understand.” Dalton’s cool green gaze shifted to my flannel pajamas, and with one fleeting glance he made me blush as if I was naked. “No one should look that tempting in flannel pajamas,” he said quietly, as if the words had only been meant for me. But it was clear that his dad had heard.

“Get out of that bed, Dalton. I’ll move my stuff to the floor in your room.”

Slowly, he slid his long legs off the bed. His walking stick was leaning up against the night stand, and he used it to stand and steady himself. Out in the snowy landscape and then again in the vast interior of the emporium, he had looked large, but in the small bedroom he was positively giant. He teetered a moment as if he might fall back on the bed.

“You’re drunk,” Professor North said angrily.

“Yep, and you can stop pretending to be shocked.” Every step took effort as he made his way across the floor. He stopped and glanced back at me. “Sorry, Sugarplum, I guess we’re even now.”

I nodded my acceptance of his apology.

He pressed his free hand against his thigh and winced as he continued toward the door. He brushed past his dad and nearly clashed shoulders with Ethan as he reached the doorway.

“How’s the leg?” Professor North asked.

Dalton didn’t turn around, but his response floated out into the dark hallway. “Hurts like hell. Why do you think I’m so fucking drunk?” And, as he disappeared into the hallway, all the energy in the room sucked out behind him.

***

Loud, deep voices rolled down the hallway. After the shock of being pinned down in my bed, it had taken an hour or more to fall back asleep. The whole thing had been rather surreal, and I was still having trouble deciding whether or not it had actually happened.

The smell of frying bacon prodded me from the warm covers, and I tiptoed in my socks, hoping less contact with the floor would keep my feet warmer. I stripped down for a hot shower and noticed that each of my arms had a slight bruise from where my midnight intruder had held me. I’d convinced myself that my horrible and embarrassing moment on the road was behind me and that I’d never have to see the guy again, and now my only solace was that he’d embarrassed himself as well. I rubbed my fingers over the bruises. We were definitely even.

Suddenly, finding myself in a house filled with men, I was even more pleased to have a job to do in the office. I pulled on my favorite sweater and jeans and tied my long hair up in a ponytail. If I hadn’t been hungry and lured by the fragrance of hot coffee streaming down the hallway, I would have preferred to go straight to the work. I was relieved to find only Professor North in the kitchen.

At the sound of my footsteps, he glanced up from the stove. Smoke streamed up from the frying pan. “I’m afraid I’ve overcooked the bacon. Hope you don’t mind if it’s slightly charred.”

“I’ll eat bacon in all stages except raw.” I poured myself a cup of coffee.

“I think you can expect a great deal more help from Ethan today. I’m sorry he left you so early yesterday.”

“I didn’t mind at all.”

“See,” Ethan walked around the corner of the kitchen and, like me, headed straight for the coffee pot. “You worry too much, Dad.” He sat at the table with his cup.

“Auggie, would you please pull down four plates from the cupboard. I’m not sure if Dalton is joining us or not.”

“Not. Just coffee.” His uneven gait was not supported by a walking stick, and his bad leg slid across the floor to catch up with his good one. He guided himself along using the tall backs of the dining room chairs and the kitchen counter to guide him. Even with his obvious handicap, and with the sympathetic expression on his father’s face, there was nothing weak or vulnerable about Dalton North, and his presence jolted the quiet, dull atmosphere of the kitchen.

He stopped in front of me and stared at my face. A silent breath caught in my throat and for a second it felt as if the oxygen in the air had thinned.

“So, do you have a name or should I just keep calling you Sugarplum?”

“This is August Stonefield. She’s interning for me during the break.” Professor North’s voice startled me almost as if I’d forgotten he was standing in the kitchen too.

“August?”

I nodded, shocked at how tongue tied I’d become. I finally managed to croak out a few words. “Call me Auggie,”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “There is absolutely nothing about you that looks like an Auggie.”

“Have a seat, Dalton, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” Professor North reached quickly for the pot. He seemed slightly uneasy in his son’s presence, especially strange for a man who rarely seemed unsettled.

Dalton shuffled back to the table, yanked out a chair across from Ethan, and sat down hard. His gaze shot straight to me, and he watched as I carried the plates to the stove.

Professor North placed a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. “Are you sure you don’t want some bacon and eggs?”

“Couldn’t be more sure. Still digesting a bottle of tequila.” Dalton slumped down in the chair and stared at the black coffee in his cup. “Hey, what’s that saying? Hair of the dog?”

“Just drink it black,” Professor North said tersely. “You’ve had enough tequila for awhile.”

I carried the filled plates in and laid them down on the table in front of Ethan and Professor North, and I tried, without success, to ignore the fact that Dalton’s gaze had not left me. It was rare for any guy to alter my composure. I blamed it on our two tumultuous first meetings.

I sat down across from Professor North and then made the unwise decision to meet Dalton’s gaze directly. He didn’t flinch but I did. His eyes were an unearthly shade of green and his strong jaw twitched slightly beneath the black beard stubble.

“So, Dalton,” Professor North broke the rope of tension that had formed between us, and I returned my attention back to my plate. “What did the doctor have to say?”

“About what?”

“About my tennis elbow, what do you think?”

I kept my attention on my food, acutely aware that Dalton was still looking at me. Then a slice of Ethan’s toast arced through the air just missing his cup of coffee. “Stop staring at her, Ton. You’re going to scare her off.”

“Well, have you seen Dr. Braxton recently or not?” Professor North asked.

Dalton took a long, slow sip and then lowered his cup to the table. “Yep. Saw him last week.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said, ‘hey North, you left so much of your leg on the battlefield, you’ll never be able to walk normally again.’” An awkward silence fell over the table, and I now regretted not going straight to the office to work. It seemed I’d sat myself down right in the middle of a personal family discussion.

“What about physical therapy?” Professor North asked quietly.

Dalton sighed and stared into his cup of coffee. “Tried it. Didn’t do much except make my leg hurt so badly I couldn’t sleep at night— even with tequila.”

I swirled the eggs around my plate, but my appetite had disappeared. In my ridiculously privileged circle of friends, I’d never known a soldier, and the harsh reality of it felt like a rip in my silver spoon bubble.

“How are Bryce’s parents doing?” I was sure I hadn’t imagined the waver in the professor’s voice.

I stared down at my plate, but I could see Dalton’s tall, broad figure slump even more in the chair. Even slouched as he was, the impact of his presence at the table was enormous.

“I went to see his parents but his mom broke down as soon as she saw me, so it was a short visit.” He took a drink from his cup. “Let’s change the subject. I already feel like shit this morning.”

“How long are you staying?” Professor North asked in a way that sounded less than inviting.

“Why? Do you want me to leave?”

“Of course not, Dalton. Don’t always be so damn defensive. It’s a perfectly logical question considering that you rarely stay long.”

Long, dark lashes shaded Dalton’s pale eyes and then he lifted his gaze to me again. A small glimmer in his eyes assured me that he knew his scrutiny unsettled me. “I might stick around for awhile. I don’t have a car and it’s not exactly easy getting around on two feet these days.”

“What happened to your truck?” Ethan asked.

Dalton dragged his gaze away from my face and glanced over at his brother. I discretely released the breath I’d been holding. “Sold it so I could eat.”

“Damn it, Dalton,” Professor North said sharply, “I told you I could wire you money.” He shook his head. “I see you are still just as stubborn as ever.”

“No, what you told me was that your salary had decreased because of budget cuts and that you were barely able to hold on to this house. I don’t want your money.”

Professor North roughly buttered a piece of toast. “What are you going to do with yourself now that—”

“Now that I’m broken?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” The smooth-browed professor I knew so well had disappeared completely. “Never mind. I can see you’re just going to be contrary as usual.”

“Yeah, let’s drop this subject too.” Dalton reached across and grabbed a piece of bacon from Ethan’s plate and returned his attention to me. “So, Auggie, you’re studying antiquities? Then you must either be a super nerd or a trust fund baby who is going to college just for the experience.”

My face shot up. He grinned smugly as he took a bite of bacon.

“Dalton—” Professor North said sharply.

I straightened and met Dalton’s disconcerting gaze with confidence. “Actually, I’m both, so I guess you’ll need to add a third category to your extremely narrow view of antiquities undergrads.”

“Auggie and I are working together cataloguing artifacts.” Ethan said.

Dalton turned to him. “I’ll bet.”

“It’s a long, boring task.” Ethan fluffed off the insinuating comment, but my jaw had clenched. “August was kind enough to volunteer to help out with it.”

Dalton shook his head slightly at his brother. “Your luck just never runs out, does it?”

Ethan shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Super nerd that I am,” I said confidently, “I don’t find the task boring at all.” He returned his attention back to me, and I countered his arrogant bacon bite with one of my own.

Professor North’s phone rang and he glanced at it. His expression flattened as it had the morning before when a call had interrupted breakfast. He hurried out of the room to answer it.

Dalton glanced over at his brother. “What was that about? He looks stressed about something.”

Ethan had taken a keen interest in his plate, and he avoided looking at Dalton. “How the heck should I know?”

“With the way you are studying those scrambled eggs, I’d say you do know, but whatever.” Dalton’s chair scraped the floor as he pushed away from the table. Once again, he looked over at me, and I could feel the heat of his gaze across the table. “You two have fun with the cataloguing.” It seemed as if he held his breath to brace against the pain as he stood. He limped out of the room. I released the breath I’d been holding too.

Ethan stood with his plate. “I guess we should head into the office.”

I finally pulled my gaze from the empty corner that Dalton had just disappeared around. I peered up at Ethan North. He was incredibly perfect and the type of guy any girl could hand her heart over to, but the North who’d just left the room, weary and broken from war, was the North who could reach inside and take a girl’s heart hostage forever.

Chapter 7

Ethan had spent more time texting than filling in data charts and several hours into our work, I came to the conclusion that I’d gotten more done the day before without his assistance.

He walked over to the window and peered out. “It’s a nice day.” He smiled back at me. “Except for the six feet of snow on the ground. But at least there is no cold mist hovering around to chill bones. Yesterday, visibility on the slopes sucked. Took a couple of good spills.” He reached down and slid the leg of his jeans up above his ankle. “It’s still swollen but it doesn’t hurt too much.” And then with what seemed like a look of embarrassment, he lowered the pants. “I sound like an idiot complaining about it when—” He glanced toward the hallway and then sat back down. “Dalton was always an awesome snowboarder.” The chair creaked as he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. If I’d had any question about their brotherly relationship it had been answered by the profound look of sadness on Ethan’s face at that moment. It seemed he felt Dalton’s pain as if it was his own.

“Bryce, the guy your dad mentioned, did he die?”

Ethan stared down at his hands and nodded. “He was Dalton’s best friend. Growing up they were inseparable.” He laughed quietly. “Sometimes it seemed Dalton was closer to Bryce than to me. I think he enlisted just to keep an eye on Bryce.” He fell silent for a minute and then leaned back. “They were on a routine supply transport mission. Bryce was in the front supply truck. It hit an IED and exploded. There was a series of explosions. Dalton yelled for everyone to take cover and then he jumped out of his humvee and ran to find Bryce. Dalton got hit carrying Bryce’s body to safety.” Ethan’s throat moved up and down with a hard swallow. “His friend never had a chance. Dalton might be back home, but he left so much of himself, physically and mentally, back in the desert, that he’s a completely different person.”

“I’m sure it will just take time. He’s obviously gone through a lot.” I knew my answer was hollow, but I couldn’t find better words.

The sound of a dragging foot followed by the resounding clunk of a wood stick hitting the floor pushed me back to the computer. I hadn’t turned to look at him, but I could feel him standing in the doorway, filling it with his broad shoulders and instantly heating the room with his presence.

I entered and reentered the same data three times on the wrong line as I listened to him walk into the room and sit down on the window seat. His long legs stretched out over the floor, and he groaned as the foot of his bad leg relaxed. “I’m bored,” Dalton said. “You two should come out and play.”

Ethan laughed as he walked over to the boxes. “You know, Auggie, Dalton’s right. Let’s take a break before we start in on this box of the Marl clay vessels.”

“Great,” Dalton said. “Let’s fire up the snowmobiles for a race. Auggie can play cheerleader. You don’t happen to have one of those cute, little cheer uniforms handy, do you?”

I turned around and looked at him, bracing for the impact of his gaze before my eyes met his. “You, Sir, are sexist.”

He leaned back against the window. “Oh, come on, head cheerleader is written all over that perfect face of yours.”

I was momentarily rendered tongue-tied by his unexpected compliment. “I— I wasn’t head cheerleader.”

“But you were a cheerleader?”

“Yes, but I didn’t happen to bring my cheer uniform with me on this trip.”

“Too bad.”

“Shit, Ton, still the same. And do you think you should be racing on the snowmobile?”

Dalton stared up at him. “Why not? Are you afraid I’ll get hurt? Cause it’s a little late for that. Or maybe you’re just chicken because you know I’ll whip your sorry ass like I always do?”

Ethan smiled. “Oh, it is so on now. I’ll go get my coat and gloves.”

“Hold on,” I said. “What about me? Do you have a third snowmobile?”

Both guys looked at me with wide eyes.

“I hate being a spectator. I grew up with three older brothers, and I never sat on the sidelines. We used to have a cabin in Lake Tahoe and we had snowmobiles.”

Ethan looked at Dalton. “She could use Dad’s.”

Dalton shrugged. “If you’re sure, Sugarplum.”

I stood. “I’m sure, and after I throw snow in both your faces,” I looked pointedly at Dalton, “I’ll be calling
you
Sugarplum.”

Professor North popped his head into the office. “Ethan, I need to speak to you.” The man was completely different at home than at school. Everything about him was much more serious.

Ethan followed his dad’s command and left the office. Dalton watched his brother leave, and the look on his face assured me that he had no idea why his brother had been summoned so tersely. He returned his attention back to me, and I grew acutely aware of the fact that we were completely alone.

He paused and stared at me for a long moment before speaking. “So, what horrible family event did you escape in agreeing to come here and hide between boxes of old stuff?”

“My parents decided to spend the holiday in the south of France, and I didn’t want to go.”

He smiled. “Your parents must be monsters.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” I swallowed back the bitter disappointment that still crept up when I thought about it.

“Try me.” He adjusted his long legs and his walking stick fell to the floor.

I jumped up to retrieve it. I picked it up and his fingers intentionally wrapped around mine as I handed it back to him. Static charges raced up my arm as I released my grasp on the stick. He patted the window seat next to him.

I sat down hesitantly. It was rare for me to be unsettled by any guy but this one could do it just by walking into the room. “I wanted to spend the holiday at home, with just my family.” Once I’d said it the rest of my plight just spilled out. “I wanted to bake with my mom. I can count the number of times we’ve baked cookies together on one finger and that was only because it was a project for her woman’s club. I wanted to cook Christmas dinner with her and hang out in the kitchen all day and set the table with everyday plates and paper napkins and enjoy the day like—” I stopped, not knowing how to finish without sounding like a snob.

But it was too late. “Like us regular folk?”

I shook my head. “Told you you wouldn’t understand.” I got up but he grabbed my wrist before I could walk away.

“You’re right. I don’t understand Christmas in the south of France.” He looked up at me. I tried desperately to find a flaw in his face, something that I could find unappealing, but there was nothing. “But I do understand how cool it is to spend a day in the kitchen making a mess, burning food and tasting so much frosting you’re ready to puke your guts up by the time dinner comes.” He peered up at me and the mixture of physical and emotional pain that seemed to be a permanent part of his expression sharpened.  “I’m sorry you didn’t get your Christmas wish.” He unwrapped his fingers from around my wrist.

“I’m going to walk out now because just hearing my complaints out loud makes me wish I hadn’t said them. I’m sure as I leave the room, you’ll be thinking about what an annoying, spoiled rich girl I am.”

He made a point of looking at me from head to toe and back again and then he rested his head back against the window pane and gazed from beneath long, black lashes. “I assure you, that’s the last thing I’ll be thinking about when I watch you walk out of this room.”