The Way Home (Chasing #3) (3 page)

The structure of the old house was solid, which was somewhat surprising since it was well over a hundred and fifty years old. It was in need of a makeover. The outside was the worst, with the rest fairly cosmetic. That was, unless I decided to update all of the cabinets, along with new windows and doors.
The old ones worked just fine so why change them?
They didn’t bother me none.
If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
That was more of my gran’s unending supply of wisdom.

The first time I’d explored the house upon my return, surprisingly, I’d discovered a few of her things still stored inside the attic. I had yet to go through them, and probably never would at this point since they were nothing more than boxes of memories I’d rather not be reminded of. I would keep them, but I wouldn’t look inside. It was better that way.

The walls were thin and still the same dirt tinged antique white that they’d been when I’d sold the house. Nothing had changed on the inside except for a few new holes I’d discovered in the sheetrock. Someone had obviously driven their fists through the walls. The holes weren’t that bad. They could be repaired; nothing a little plaster and a fresh coat of paint couldn’t handle. The same could be said for the cabinets and drawers.

If only life could be as simple, and all of the imperfections and ugly could be covered with a simple Band-Aid of a fix. But there were some things you just couldn’t hide, no matter how many layers of plaster or paint you used to try to conceal it. There weren’t enough Band-Aid’s in all of the world to cover the gaping hole in my chest left by Natalie’s absence.

The humming of the ancient Maytag refrigerator echoed in the silence of the house, keeping time with the steady drip of the kitchen faucet. In an odd way, it was kind of soothing. I’d been in such a hurry to get the hell out of Crawley, I’d ended up leaving everything behind. Thankfully, the Logan’s hadn’t bothered with discarding any of the old furniture, and I’d been able to dig most of it out from the shed in back and had also discovered Hank in the process. There was only me and the stray, but he didn’t get a say in anything since he was a glorified moocher.

I opened the refrigerator door and snagged a cold beer from inside, twisting the lid off and flicking it onto the kitchen table; I watched it bounce just for the hell of it. With the toe of my boot, I nudged out a chair and took a seat. I tilted the beer back, chugging half of it down in one gulp, and then I set the bottle on the table and opened the envelope lying before me. Hank whined, but I ignored him, and when nothing became of his attention whore seeking ways, he settled down near my feet. His head resting on the toe of my work boot.

The big pup was such a whiny baby. In the far corner of the kitchen near the pantry sat two bowls: one with his food, and the other for water; both still full. Hank was probably just lonely. Unlike me, in the solitude, I found comfort. I preferred my own company. No one around to judge me.

Unfolding the papers, I stared blankly down at the bill of sale in my hand while absently wondering to myself what in the hell had I been thinking by coming back home?
There was nothing here but bad memories and heartache, and I’d do well to remember just that.

THE NEXT MORNING
at 8:20 a.m., I pulled into the almost deserted parking lot outside of The Eight Ball. The sky was a mess of drizzling rain. There was an occasional clap of thunder. The gray overhead matched my current mood, which was downright shitty. I didn’t want to do this. I’d rather have been anywhere other than here. My plan had been solid, to operate the pool hall from afar. None of that monotonous day to day bullshit. So far that plan had been shot all to hell by one busybody meddler who went by the name of Mavis Davies.

A lone car sat in the lot; a beat up older model white Corolla. There was a huge ding in the hood and a matching one in the driver’s side door. Someone was already here. I reached for the handle of the door, and was surprised to find the entrance unlocked. The sign on the door stated the place didn’t open until ten. The smoky glass made it impossible to see inside. When I walked through the door, the smell of lemons and pine hung in the air. It was strong, but the floor beneath my boots gleamed in the overhead light.

My eyes immediately landed on a small girl with strawberry blonde pigtails that fell halfway down her back. She sat at a nearby table coloring. Thanks to the chime of the bell above the door, she was now staring back at me and clutching a yellow crayon in her tiny hand. It hovered over the opened book before her. Her bright blue eyes were the color of cornflowers and briefly met mine before frantically darting away to search around the room. It was obvious she was looking for someone else, and there was no disguising the terror that had been reflected in her expression. Before I could even manage to speak, she let out an earsplitting scream.

“Mommy!” she screeched loudly, making me cringe.

Damn, it was too early in the morning for this shit! The kid had a set of lungs. I really should have thought twice about drinking that half a bottle of Jack last night.

A stunning blonde appeared from the back. She scurried around the corner of the bar.
Holy Hell! What a looker!
When she spotted me, her steps faltered. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the little girl dart around the table. She ran straight for the woman.
Shit, the way they were behaving made me feel just like Jack the Ripper.

You’d think by now I’d be used to people’s reactions to my size and the ugly scar slicing my left eyebrow. I was a big man. My looks could be intimidating at first, and now, thanks to the vindictive legacy left in the wake of Myra Hayes, people tended to avoid me.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, her tone firm and still somewhat pleasant even though it was obvious I scared them both. There was something about her. Something about the sound of her voice that unconsciously drew me in, or maybe it could have been the sight of her with the child. I shook my head, feeling rattled; the question she’d asked had still not fully registered as I noted her hand resting protectively atop the little girl’s head.

When I finally met her gaze, eyes the exact same shade as the child’s were focused steadily on me. Even though her expression appeared relatively calm, the tense way in which she held her petite frame gave away her unease. She reminded me of a frightened doe protecting her fawn. If I said boo, I’d almost bet they’d scatter.

The woman tugged the child behind her, mistaking my silence for something else, and began edging toward the bar.
Fucking hell, I wasn’t going to hurt them.
I held my hands up in front of me. This shit was getting out of control… and fast. It was obvious, they felt threatened. I hadn’t meant to scare them.

“I’m the new owner of The Eight Ball. Nate Lucas.” I announced hoping to put them at ease.

The way the blonde studied me was slightly unnerving, and I allowed myself the same courtesy, leisurely assessing her features. She was an eyeful. If I didn’t get a grip soon, and if she looked any lower than my chest, I’d end up embarrassing us both. A couple years ago, I’d come back into the area on business and had met a woman. Lilah had approached me in a bar. She was a widow and lonely. She took care of my needs. We had a mutual agreement, whenever I was close by, we would hook up. She lived far enough away from Crawley to never become a problem. In some ways, Lilah was like me. There was no danger in her becoming attached. Upon returning to the area, I’d given her a call. We were both more than happy to resume right where we’d left off. She knew the score. None of that hearts and flowers bullshit… ever. I wasn’t that kind of guy… never again. She was convenient and still single. I wasn’t a fucking saint. There was no need in pretending otherwise.

Hell, I had needs; needs that didn’t involve my heart. Fucking was as natural as breathing. It wasn’t complicated. No pretenses or pressure when all either one of us wanted to do was get sweaty and naked. It was all about convenience… the urge and relief to let go… to forget, if only for a moment. I didn’t do relationships… not anymore, and the instant attraction coursing through my body at this very moment was setting my blood on fire. I’d only felt that intensity with one other woman, and she was dead.

This lady had trouble written all over her in bold capital letters. It was impossible to miss. From the top of her pretty strawberry blonde head to the dainty tips of her pink toenails that peeked through the opened toes of her black high heels, she was a warning if ever I’d seen one. It would be best to steer clear of her. Sky blue eyes grew even wider as she stared curiously back at me.

Yeah baby, I felt it too, but it wasn’t happening.

All of the sudden, lush pink lips curved into a heart stopping grin. It was then I forgot to breathe for a moment.
What in the hell was wrong with me?

“Nate?” she asked, her soft voice filled with uncertainty.

The way she said my name had me clenching my hands against my thighs. My muscles tightened uncontrollably, but I managed to nod my head yes in reply.

Who was this woman, and how did she know me?

“It’s okay.” I heard her murmur to the child as she untangled tiny arms from around her legs and shooed the girl toward the bar. The blonde began to walk toward me, and it was impossible not to appreciate the sexy sway of her luscious hips as they rolled in rhythm with her graceful steps, or the perfect fit of the faded snug denim that hugged her curvy thighs. The sight of the plain, white t-shirt stretched taunt across her tempting round chest made my tongue feel thick, not to mention other parts of my anatomy. She was a looker and definitely a distraction. One I didn’t need or want.

I didn’t have time for this kind of shit.

I had to force myself to raise my eyes and keep them locked on her face.
Fuck, it was hard to do.
She was beautiful, and here I was behaving like some preteen boy who’d just hit puberty. She had to be an employee. I needed to get a grip.
For fuck’s sake, I was probably her boss
. She was strictly off limits. I didn’t need a sexual harassment lawsuit slammed against my ass or tacked onto my name along with all of the other smears already added there by Myra Hayes.

She smiled and held out a slim elegant hand to me. Her nails were short and unpainted. “I’m Miley,” she said and my confusion must have been apparent since I had no idea who she was. Her smile grew even wider, causing me to draw in a sharp breath. Then all of the sudden, she burst out laughing. “Miley Triton,” she stated, her eyes searching mine for any sign of recognition.

Fuck me running! It was Miley Triton. She was a damn knockout and working for me now! Why?

Miley was Matt’s little sister; the daughter of a prominent surgeon and a socialite. They were the upper crust of Crawley. Her family came from money
. So, why in hell was she working here?
She had a twin. They weren’t identical. I couldn’t recall her name.
It started with a M. Missy. Melanie.
Mia
.
It was Mia.
I never understood why parents choose one letter of the alphabet when naming their kid’s when there were so many others to choose from.

All throughout high school, Matthew Triton and I had been best friends. We had been quite the pair; the rich kid and the poor one from the wrong side of the tracks. Matt had been like a brother to me until Natalie’s accident. Then I’d pushed everyone, including him, away. I hadn’t seen Matt in years.

“You don’t remember me?” she asked, pouting, and that pout managed to draw my attention to the full curve of her lush lower lip. She reminded me of a peach — a ripe, juicy, succulent peach that I wanted to take a bite of.

This was so not happening; not with her… not with Matt’s little sister. She was strictly off limits.

Her eyes were so blue a man could happily sink to his death within their depths. “Yeah,” I finally replied, finding my voice, while I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible. The Miley I remembered from my past had been nothing more than a gangly girl; all arms and scrawny legs. Over the years, she’d finally managed to grow into her own; no more ugly duckling, but now a gorgeous swan who was as hot as hell. The memories of her were vague and pale in comparison to the stunningly beautiful woman standing before me now. Matt would beat my ass like a fucking drum if he knew what I was thinking. It was definitely X-rated.

“I remember you,” I muttered, my voice sounding harsh to my own ears.

Her lips curved upward into a sweet smile, and I had no other choice but to take the hand she offered since it was hanging awkwardly in mid-air between us. The moment I touched her, I knew I’d made a mistake. It was like grabbing ahold of a live wire and free falling into nothingness. There was no other way to describe it, and it was terrifying. Electricity shot up my arm and coursed throughout my body leaving a tingling awareness in its path. Her palm was soft and silky against mine. My nose detected the faint but subtle, sexy scent of wild honeysuckle. It reminded me of home.