Stay (Dunham series #2) (6 page)

“I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I should have at least gone to see Knox in
the hospital. It’s not every day your dad dies and then wakes up
right before his autopsy.”

“So . . . your real reason for not coming to the
wedding was so you wouldn’t have to see Eric.”

It sounded so damned stupid—and selfish—when someone
else said it aloud, but . . .

“No. I couldn’t possibly have come,” she murmured.
“It was just another reason to say no. I’m sorry.”

Justice sighed. “Oh, Vanessa, don’t. You have no
idea how much Knox depends on you, Whittaker House, to be here,
solid. No drama. He needs to know there’s one thing in his life
that’s always status quo. You being
here
running Whittaker
House, not at the hospital hovering and crying— It gave him a sense
of security, like there was one normal thing in his life he could
count on.”

Vanessa looked around her chair at Justice then.
“Are you serious?”

“Vanessa!” she said with an irritated scowl. “I
wouldn’t lie about something like that just to make you feel
better. If I thought you were being a bitch about it, I’d tell
you.”

She would, too.

“I already suspected,” Justice grumbled. “I wasn’t
sure why or how deep it ran. He’s never said anything about you.
You’ve never said anything about him. Simone and LaVon don’t even
mention your name because they’re so terrified of Knox.”

LaVon, you or Simone open your mouths, I got a
bullet with your name on it and already nineteen reasons to use it.
Vanessa knows to come to me immediately for any reason.

“It’s like none of them know you, like it never
happened, like you have no connection to Eric or to LaVon or Simone
Whittaker. I’m not even sure any of them have ever seen
Vittles
or even know about it.”

Vanessa’s mouth tightened.

A brisk rap on the thick wooden door made Vanessa
sigh again, even as it opened to admit the one man she didn’t want
to see right now. “Good morning,
Mister Thompson
.”

“Mornin’, Vanessa. Justice.” Vanessa’s third
permanent resident sauntered in with the languid grace of a man
accustomed to prancing around on stage in front of thousands of
screaming fans, then sat on her desk. “Did I interrupt
somethin’?”

“You always interrupt something, Nash,” Vanessa
returned dryly. “Go find somewhere else to stay.”

“See, this is why I like you. You’re prickly.”

“Only to you.”

“An’ why is that?”

“I don’t like you. Never have.”

“If you hated me that much, you’d either rat me out
to the tabloids or kick me out and you ain’t done either yet. Gives
me hope I can weasel my way into your heart.”

“I don’t rat you out because I don’t want the
paparazzi down here any more than you do. Which you know. I haven’t
kicked you out yet because I charge you three times what I’d charge
anyone else. And yet, you stay. More dollars than sense.”

“Aw, c’mon, Vanessa. Tons o’ women want my
attention.”

“Prepubescent girls and old ladies, you mean.” And
no wonder. Nash Piper—
Mister John Thompson
—was striking:
black hair, hazel eyes, ruddy skin, and carved features mostly
hidden by the full mustache and beard he wore in an effort to
render himself unrecognizable. He had a sinfully seductive voice
and an otherworldly talent on any stringed instrument ever
made—particularly a banjo. “Go play chess with Knox. He’s as bored
as you are.”

“Not in the mood for
chess
.”

Ah.

Nash looked over at Justice speculatively. “Ya
know,” he said, “lately, I’ve been thinkin’ about both of you at
the same time, all naked and on me. An’ each other.” He shivered.
“The way I look at it is it’s y’all’s duty to arrange that for me,
seein’ as how you’re all about givin’ the guests what they
want.”

Justice began to laugh and Vanessa couldn’t help her
reluctant chuckle. No matter how annoying Nash could be, his
outrageous behavior did seem to cheer her up when she least
expected it.

“C’mon, neither one of you can tell me you wouldn’t
like to be able to say you had sex with Nash Piper. An’ Justice,
I’m a helluva lot cuter than that old man you married for his
money.”

“That ‘old man’ is forty. You’re thirty-seven.
He
gets me hot and bothered. You . . . don’t.”

Nash curled his lip at her, then cast Vanessa an
expectant look. She waved toward the door. “Not interested in being
another notch in your bedpost. Get lost, Studmuffin.”

He got to his feet and sauntered to the door. “You
know what? That’s it. You ladies have insulted me for the last
time. Vanessa, I’m gonna go sit in the grand parlor in front of
your paintin’ and jack off in front of everybody.”

“Okay. Don’t get your thing caught in your
zipper.”

He flipped her off and slammed the door behind
him.

“Feel better?” Justice asked, still chuckling.

Vanessa nodded.

“Kinda makes you wonder why you’re sitting here
pining over a small-time prosecutor when you could be sleeping with
a smart, funny, handsome man who happens to be a country legend,
huh?”

Vanessa blinked. Glanced at the door Nash had just
exited. Pursed her lips.

“I’m not pining,” she finally said.

“Uh huh.”

“I have no reason to pine. I mean, we’ve never even
spoken
to each other.”

“And that appears to be the problem, right
there.”

Vanessa sighed, unable to understand it herself,
much less find a way to explain it. “Look, it just— It caught me
off guard, okay? Knox has always wanted to keep his Kansas City
life separate from his Mansfield life. Since I don’t want to hear
about my family it’s never been a problem. I don’t ask. He doesn’t
tell. It works for us. But then—”

“But then I asked you to be a bridesmaid and told
you Eric would be your escort . . . ”

“And found out that he works for Knox and has for—”
She waved a hand. “—years. I—”

“Freaked out.”

Vanessa took a deep breath. “Bad. My watches melted.
I mean, he left town when he was eighteen and I never— He just— He
left.”

“I . . . don’t understand.”

Vanessa sighed. “Never mind. It’s stupid. Least
said, soonest mended.”

Leather creaked. The baby snuffed. Justice arose
from the couch and went to the door. “Well, time to go put the
husband down for his nap and bolt him to the bed in case he starts
channeling Emeril again.” Justice paused at the threshold. “I’ll
lock the office door. If you want to talk . . . ”

No, she didn’t. She’d pretty much spilled her guts,
and whatever she hadn’t spilled, Justice would be able to deduce
anyway.

Dammit.

“Thanks.”

The door closed quietly.

“He doesn’t remember,” she whispered, as if staring
at her holdings, her wealth, her dream that she’d built here in the
heart of the Ozark Mountains, could make that all better for her.
“
How
can he not remember?”

Perhaps she would go visit Laura today as she always
did when her spirit flagged and Nash couldn’t tease her out of
it.

She hauled herself out of her chair and went to
immerse herself in her to-do list before she completely broke
down.

Vanessa finished butchering the porcupines, cleaned
the butchery, and headed to the back of the property, where her
cottage sat a little away from the others. A fragrant bouquet of
pink flowers on the counter in her kitchenette surprised her and
she buried her nose in them briefly.

She went up the stairs to her bedroom, not surprised
to see Nash sprawled over her bed, playing Tetris on a cheap
hand-held. Naked. She went right past him, entered her enormous
walk-in closet, dug out her whites.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, doll?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, not sure if he could hear
her through the wall, amongst the clothes. “Thank you for the
flowers. How’d your meeting go?”

“Oh, fuck that. You don’t care. C’mere and lemme
love on ya.”

She pursed her lips as she held one of many
double-breasted chef coats in her hands and stared at it blankly.
It wouldn’t help. It hadn’t helped. Not for the last eight
months.

“Nash, how long have we been sleeping together?”

“I dunno,” he answered absently as the tinny music
from his Tetris game got faster and faster. “When’d I crash my
plane? Two years ago? Took me almost two months to get here, so . .
. Yeah. Not quite two years.”

“You want to get married?” she blurted, startling
herself even as the Tetris game blipped off abruptly. She heard the
rustle of her bedclothes and the pad of bare feet on Persian rug,
then that hippie face atop that ripped and cut rodeo body appeared
in the threshold of the closet. She noted his rugged beauty
absently, the habit of a longstanding, comfortable relationship
where nothing was a surprise.

She preferred him this way, with carefully dyed
shoulder-length black hair instead of his natural—and
all-too-recognizable—dark blond hair, immaculately cut, and
clean-shaven face.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked quietly. “You been
spacin’ out on me for months and now you’re wantin’ to get
married?”

She flinched.

“
Hell
, no, I don’t wanna get married,” he
said. “Particularly to
you
. An’
you
don’t wanna get
married. Particularly to
me
. What if I’d said yes?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I just—”

Nash reached into the closet and caught her hand,
tugging her out and sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled her
down onto his lap so she straddled his hips. He wrapped his arms
around her and stroked her back. “What happened? Somethin’s had you
all knotted up for months.”

Vanessa’s mouth tightened because she wanted to cry
again, but how low had she sunk that she’d cry over a man—a
boy—she’d never spoken to, while being held by her lover?

“Um, the— Let’s just call it the fish that got
away.”

He started. “Taight?”

She huffed. “No! Not Sebastian. With him, it was
like— Well, like you and me. Only shorter. And public.”

“Then—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Nash.”

He pursed his lips. “Does this mean I’m not gettin’
laid right now?”

“I’m going to Laura’s, so I need to make some
cookies.”

He said nothing for a moment, then, “You been doin’
an awful lot of that lately.” Yes, she had. The ladies over at
Laura’s house were beginning to worry and wonder, too. He sighed.
“Then I guess it’s back to chess, but damn, Hilliard’s beginnin’ to
bore me stupid.”

That was a lie. He was waiting for Knox to wake up
from his nap so they could get back to the game they’d had going
for days—

“Oh. Your Raumschach boards came in today’s
delivery.”

Nash’s face lit up and he practically dumped Vanessa
off his lap to jump into his clothes. “He know yet?”

That made Vanessa chuckle in spite of herself. Two
years now, any weekend when Knox could spare a minute away from inn
business, they’d played chess, both men on equal footing, neither
able to get the advantage of the other. At first, Knox had thought
playing chess with an uneducated country music stud from the wilds
of Montana would waste all of five minutes. Nash had never found a
casual player who could beat him, so he’d assumed Knox had no more
skill than any other opponent he’d ever had. They were brilliant,
perfectly matched, very competitive—and they were both happy to
have an equal to play without getting involved with chess
clubs.

“Going out to Rocky Ridge?” Knox asked an hour
later, shuffling into the kitchen as she pulled the last cookie
sheet from the oven, dodging her scurrying kitchen and waitstaff
like the pro she was.

Vanessa didn’t bother to answer; she only made
peanut butter cookies for one reason.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him wipe his
hand across his mouth, as if troubled. “Ah, Vanessa. About this
morning— Eric didn’t mean—”

“Did you see your chess boards?”

“Yeah, thanks but—”

“Probably better go find
Mister Thompson
before he has a fit.”

“Vanessa, he only meant—”

Her mouth tightened.

“It’s just that your mother and sister—”

“Stop. Just stop talking. Right now.”

“But he—”

“Knox! Shut up! You can go on back to Justice and
gossip and theorize all you want, but I don’t want to hear it. I
don’t want to know. And don’t make Alain yell at you again or I’ll
kick you out of the kitchen completely.”

Knox sighed, but then winced in pain when he took a
step. She looked at him fully then and for the first time since
he’d taken up temporary permanent residence to recuperate from his
injuries, she noticed how pale, how thin and gaunt he looked.

“I am apparently not feeding you well enough.”

His mouth twitched. “I don’t dare get corn-fed
around you and your knives. As far as I know, human is the only
meat you haven’t put on the table yet and you’re as likely to serve
me
for dinner as porcupine.”

“With a dandelion and mustard greens salad under a
rose-petal and blackberry vinaigrette. I think Granny Clampett
would approve.”

“And Hannibal Lecter.”

“And
why
is he the bad guy? He’s just
epicurious
.”

Knox snorted.

She handed him a breadbasket and he piled a dozen
cookies in it. “Orange juice?” she asked sarcastically.

“Is there any other drink in the world? No, there is
not.”

“Your doctor told you to lay off the sauce a while
back.”

“You know what? As long as Justice doesn’t know and
you keep your mouth shut, what my doctor wants doesn’t matter.”

Vanessa pursed her lips. “Don’t you think the
suicide-by-sugar plan’s kind of stupid now that you got your
inheritance and that family you always wanted?”