Second Chances (5 page)

Beauty she had in spades, but it was more than that. Something inside him had sh
ifted. He was drawn to her and struggled to keep his hands to himself as she talked, and watched over the children on the playground. There was also something in her eyes, the way she struggled to meet his gaze. He couldn’t quite put a name to it, but he was sure it was a kin to pain. She was struggling with more than the awkward shyness of meeting someone new and he was determined to rid her of that haunted look and protect her from whatever was chasing her.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? I mean, the dads always said they knew, that
we’d
know, when we found her. It was different with Sarah. Claira’s different. It just feels…right.”

Mason
smiled. “Yeah, it’s different, but she’s suffering, Matt. We need to be careful with her.”

“What do you mean, sufferin’
?”

“I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s running from something. We just need to make sure she doesn’t take off and run from us.
This will be a lot for her to take in.” Mason knew a skittish filly when he saw one. The best thing to do was to remain still and let her come to them, but damn if he thought he could wait for that. He only hoped they were right because no matter how Claira reacted, they had a bigger problem to worry about. A much bigger, surly, older brother kind of problem.

Matt studied the lovesick look on his twin
’s face. Being a twin definitely had its advantages. He could read Mason like a book because he was thinking and feeling the exact same things. Mason crossed his ankles and braced his palms back against the counter. Matt brought a hand to the back of his neck and tried to work out some of the sudden tension that came with their thoughts. It was no use. They had to talk about it.

Mason finally bit the bullet and brought the subject to life. “
He’s held onto his grief for so long it will be like taking a bone away from a bulldog with our bare hands.”

“Grey
’s not grievin’. He’s just stuck.” Matt knew Grey had accepted Sarah’s death, but he couldn’t get past the feeling that he was breaking his promise to Sarah by moving on with his life.

Mason shook his head and snatched up
the dishtowel from the table. “It’s still not going to be a picnic.”

Matt clapped his brother on the shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Let’s just get her here and let the rest happen as it will. I trust my gut, our gut, on this.” He playfully punched Matt in the
stomach. “If we’re right Grey won’t know what hit him.”

Mason reluctantly agreed and
moved to the sink. “You cooked. I’ll clean up.” He waved Matt off and plunged his hands into the suds. “Go help Grey get the boys ready for bed.”

Matt gathered up the remaining dirty dishes and stacked them up next to the sink.
“No, bro. We’re a team.” He paused before turning back to the sink. “How’d ya do it? Get her here, I mean?”

Mason chuckled. “She’s not here yet
, bubba, but I asked her to tutor Connor.”

“That’s brilliant!”
And it wasn’t really a lie. Con had been struggling, falling behind in his class. The school counselor had talked to them on more than one occasion about maybe holding him back a year. The last thing they wanted to do was split the boys up. “I’m telling ya. This is it. I can feel it.”

Mason
sure as hell hoped Matt was right. For one, if Claira helped Grey heal, he might just get him off his high horse and they’d get some help in the kitchen every now and then. More importantly, they could be a family again.

It had been a day from hell. The trouble
had started at daybreak when Claira’s water heater had decided to take the day off. After shivering her way through a cold shower, she found herself in the kitchen staring at a coffee maker that refused to spit out the nectar of life she needed so desperately after another night of bone jarring nightmares.

In that quiet moment, while she was straining to hear any sound of life from the coffee gods
, her phone rang, the shrill tone like a bolt of lightning to her decaffeinated system. When she’d answered there was only silence. She managed to ignore the first two calls, but after the sixth hang up she began to get a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d shoved the familiar paranoia away, managing to get through lunch, but by the end of the day the uneasy feeling began gnawing at her nerves. Everything was quiet when she’d arrived home. All of her security measures were intact and there was no sign of trouble.

As she checked the last window lock a strange but welcome anger began to set in, stiffening her spine
. She was being ridiculous. She had a new life, damn it. She was safe and she’d be damned if she let a few prank calls twist her into knots again. A picture of Mason’s gentle eyes and Matts playful smile flashed before her. She would go to Falcon Ridge and enjoy a nice dinner and put a stop to the incessant fear that had taken so much from her.

An hour later,
Claira sat in her car, idling at the stop sign at the end of town. If she went straight, the road would lead her to Falcon Ridge, the McLendon’s ranch. She should have never agreed to Mason’s request. That still didn’t change the fact, at that very moment standing in the playground staring into Mason’s bright blue eyes, she had wanted him. That was it. Simple want. She wanted his lips on her, his strong arms folded around her. She had never allowed herself to want those things in the past, knowing it would be disastrous, but she couldn’t seem to help it when she was around a McLendon. She was equally attracted to both Mason and Matt. And God help her, Grey, too. And what did that say about her?
I’m in way over her head, that’s what it says.

She should just turn around, go back home.
She could call and tell them something came up, that she couldn’t make it. A headache, car trouble, an alien invasion. Anything would be better than the alternative. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? She could think of nothing she’d ever wanted more than the alternative. How could she have let herself give in to them? After being besieged by McLendon charm and overabundant testosterone for three straight days, how could she not have? It was ridiculous, really. She couldn’t have a real relationship with any of them let alone twins. They were twins, so of course she’d be attracted to both on a physical level. That was all it was, a mere physical attraction. Her hormones were on overdrive. She could control that.
Right?

She propped her elbow onto the top of the
car door frame and ran a hand through her hair. It didn’t matter. She was going there to talk about tutoring Con, period. If she happen to have something good to eat and stimulating conversation with two dangerously sexy men, then so be it.
When the bullets start flying and they’re all dead I’ll wake up in sweat and realize it was all just another torturous nightmare.
She couldn’t do it. The risk was too high. She wasn’t ready for this kind of social experimentation.

The sound of a car horn behind her jolted her from her thoughts
. Her reflexes had her stepping on the gas, propelling her through the intersection and down the long, winding road to Falcon Ridge.
So much for going back home.

The wind had picked up throughout the da
y. When she parked next to the silver pick-up truck in front of the century’s old, charming, two-story, farmhouse and opened her door, a strong gust pulled it from her grip and sent it crashing against the side of the big truck. “Crap.” She jumped out of the car and pulled the door closed, wincing when she noticed the foot long crease in the metal. Could this day get any worse? She knew she should have stayed home. For a moment she thought about sliding back into her car and sneaking back down the drive before they knew she was there. Of course then she’d have to call and tell them what happened. She was being a coward, but she didn’t care. She was reaching for the door handle when she heard a door slam behind her.

“Leavin’
the scene of an accident is a crime, ya know.”

Clair
a flinched at the sound of Matt’s voice and took a step back from the truck. “I…I’m sorry. The wind…it just…”

Matt
saw the panic in her eyes and he could have kicked himself into Sunday for being so stupid. He had her in his arms before he knew it. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’s just a dent.” He held her head to his chest and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her silky hair. God, she smelled good, like vanilla and spring, and woman.
Our woman
. He felt her tense and forced himself to release her.

Claira stepped back and looked up into Matt’s eyes. The raw desire she saw
there reached out and caressed her soul, sending a warm flood of her own desire straight to her core. It was too much. She broke the connection and looked down at the damage she had done, running a trembling finger over the crease. “I’ll pay for it. What…whatever it costs.”

“Claira.”
Matt stepped up and gently pulled her hand away from the damage, lacing their fingers together. He couldn’t
not
touch her. He wanted to touch every inch of her. “It’s not the only dent that old truck has, and it won’t be the last. Hell, the first thing I did when I bought the thing was take a hammer to the bumper.” He pulled her to the front of the truck and pointed out a small dent in the shiny chrome. “See. I did that right after I bought it. That way I don’t have to worry about when that first dent is gonna’ happen and it lets the truck know it belongs to me. Sort of like a brand.”

Claira looked at him and she couldn’t help but laugh. She’d never heard anything more ridiculous. “Do you do
that with everything you own?”

Matt
looked at her with a smirk. “What? Hit it with a hammer?” Claira giggled again and the melodic sound shot straight through his heart. If she kept that up he’d hike up that little skirt of hers and take her right there against the grille of his truck. God, it was going to be torture but he had to take it slow. Mason was right. She was as skittish as a new born colt, but man was he ever going to enjoy seeing her fall for them. She would, he knew. He just had to be patient.

“No,”
she croaked on another giggle. “Do you brand everything?”

A haughty smile played on his lips at the thought of leaving his mark on her.
“Oh, yeah.” He took in a deep breath, inhaling her scent as the wind whipped around them. ‘
Slow’
had just become his most despised, four letter word in the English language. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

She glanced back at the
truck, then down to their joined hands as he pulled her toward the front steps. She knew she should release his hand, but as they approached the front door his grip had tightened just a little and she liked the fluttery feeling it brought to her stomach. She liked him. He was funny and that simple connection had helped her forget herself for a moment.

Matt held the door as she stepped inside, the aroma of fresh basil and other Italian spices filled her lungs.
She looked back at Matt and found him watching her. “I told you I make a mean lasagna.” Her hand still in his, he led her through the narrow entry way, farther into the house.

It was a quaint little space, not too big and not too small. Perfect, really. The house felt old, but it was moderately decorated with soft colors and comforta
ble spaces. It felt like a home. Not just a house filled with random people. There was a history here and she could feel a warmth she’d never felt before surrounding her like a thick blanket.

As he led her toward the back of the house she noticed a large sitting area with a co
zy, little, brick fireplace, pictures and knick-knacks lining the hearth. Next was a smaller room with another small fireplace and a large desk that sat in front of a bay window. What little she saw had the feel of an office. It would be a nice room to hold her tutoring sessions with Con. She found that the typical kitchen table sessions were far too distracting when the family was at home. Of course she was used to her visits being more about emotional issues than arithmetic, but she would adjust.

“Mason?” Matt called out as they rounded a corner into the kitchen
but it was empty. “Oh, good he remembered to take the bread out before it burned.” Matt released her hand and pulled out a seat at the small island bar that separated the kitchen from a common living area. “Have a seat and I’ll get you somethin’ to drink. Wine or beer?”

Claira watched as Matt stretched up to retrieve something from a tall cupboard, the muscles in his back and broad shoulders flexing against the tight material of his
white tee shirt as it strained against his flesh. She’d probably need a fifth of tequila to get through this. “Um, wine would be nice.”

Matt pulled a bottle from the fridge and uncorked it.
“Where is Mason?” she asked as she glanced around the charming little kitchen. From what she’d seen so far, it was the only room in the house that had a woman’s touch.

“I was just washing up.” Mason’s
smooth voice flittered over her skin like the wings of a butterfly.

Claira turned in her seat to see Mason leaning against the
door frame, his long, lean legs crossed at his ankles and his thumbs tucked into the front pockets of his faded blue jeans. His eyes were as warm as she remembered and she fought the urge to walk up and snuggle into his arms. “Hi,” was all she could manage to get past her lips.