No more rent checks. No more time clocks. No more toilet-bowl cleaner and rubber gloves.
No more Eden family charity.
I raised my hand, my finger poised above the screen. One touch to answer phone call number 127 and life would be easier again.
All I had to do was sacrifice . . . me.
All I had to do was give up.
Don’t give up.
Give up, Memphis.
My hand trembled and I touched the screen. But I was too late. It had already kicked to my voicemail.
The air rushed from my lungs and that’s when the tears came in steady streams with sobs that I’d been holding back for too long.
The sound of knuckles tapping on my door cut through my hysterics. My face whipped to the window, and there he stood. His expression was unreadable. I hadn’t heard him drive in or pull into the garage.
I turned away so he couldn’t see me wipe away the tears. He’d caught me crying, but considering I cried most days, considering he was probably here just to drop off a meal because it would be bad if their charity case starved to death, who the hell cared?
Not me. Not anymore. I was numb.
I squared my shoulders and walked to the door. The second I flipped the lock, he marched inside, stomping off his boots. And then he looked down at me with a scowl, like my tears just pissed him off. “If you want to pay more rent, fine. Pay more rent.”
“I do. And I want you to stop making me food.”
“No.”
“I’m not a charity case, Knox.”
His hands fisted on his hips. “Is that what you think? That I cook for you because you can’t cook for yourself?”
“Well . . . yes.”
He scoffed, turning his head to the ceiling. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he muttered something. Then he faced me again, taking a long step forward to crowd my space. “I cook for you because it’s how I show someone I care. I cook for you because I love the look on your face after that first bite. I cook for you because I’d rather cook for you than anyone else.”
“What?” My jaw dropped.
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with you, woman.”
My mouth was still open.
Which suited Knox just fine.
Because he raised his hands, framed my face. Then sealed his lips over mine.
CHAPTER TEN
KNOX
I was a man who remembered few kisses. Maybe that was a guy thing. But I could only recall with clarity three.
My first. It was the summer before my freshman year in high school with a girl—what was her name?—at the summer fair. Then there was the time I’d kissed one of Lyla’s friends when she’d been over for a sleepover. Memorable not because of the actual kiss, but because Dad had busted us making out in the closet and the next day he’d made me stack hay bales for eight hours.
And then Gianna. I remembered the kiss I’d given her before leaving San Francisco.
The last kiss.
Beyond those, they all blended together. The women too. In the years since I’d moved home to Quincy, I kept sex casual. I hooked up with tourists—uncomplicated nights, because come morning, they’d be gone from Quincy, easily forgotten.
In years, not one had made a mark.
Until Memphis.
I rubbed a hand over my lips, still feeling her mouth from last night. Her sweet taste, mixed with salty tears, lingered on my tongue.
“Goddamn it.” What the fuck had I been thinking? This was Memphis. There hadn’t been an uncomplicated minute spent with her. But damn it, when she’d answered the door last night, tear-stained and chin raised and undeniably beautiful, I’d shut off the rational part of my brain and said fuck it.
Her mouth had been heaven. Warm and wet. Her lips a fucking dream. Soft, yet firm. At first, she’d been hesitant, shocked probably, but then she’d melted into me and proved that she knew how to use her tongue.
Thinking of that wicked mouth had kept me up most of the night.
Temptation had almost bested me. But instead of pushing inside and carrying her to bed, I’d pulled away and retreated to my house, where a cold shower hadn’t done much to cool the desire in my veins.
I craved her, more than I’d craved anyone in a long, long time. And that scared the hell out of me.
If this ended badly, she’d move out and go where? The rental by the bar? Or worse, another town? I didn’t want to be the guy who sent her running from Montana and back to that fucking family of hers in New York.
Yesterday’s snow had covered the ground. The driveway was a pristine sheet of white except for the twin tracks that led from the garage and down the road. Memphis had already left to drop Drake at daycare and head to the hotel. By rights, I should be gone by now too. There was plenty of work to do.
But I stood at the glass in my bedroom and stared at my loft.
No, not mine. It was hers. That loft would always belong to Memphis, even after she left.
There were things to say. Memphis and I had a long conversation in our future, mostly about how she thought she was a charity case. I’d be clearing up that bullshit soon. We needed to talk about the kiss. What she wanted. What I wanted.
What the hell did I want?
Her. But it wasn’t quite that simple. Not with Drake.
With the guest count low at the hotel, it would be a quiet day at Knuckles. On Wednesdays, Lyla brought over pastries from the coffee shop for the guest breakfast. Skip was there this morning to make a spread of scrambled eggs, ham and bacon. Prep work was inevitable, but when I finally tore myself away from the window and headed to my truck, it wasn’t to drive into town.
I aimed my wheels for the ranch.
Maybe this was Griffin’s place now. It would always be Mom and Dad’s. But the ranch was mine too. It belonged to our hearts.
There was a line of hay in a snowy meadow and it was surrounded by grazing cattle. The Eden brand on their ribs, an E with a curve in the shape of a rocking chair’s runner beneath, gave me a sense of pride at my family’s accomplishments. Driving through the gated archway always made my shoulders relax.
Mom and Dad’s house was the epicenter of the ranch. Their log house was surrounded by a shop and the stables. The barn had a loft too, an inspiration for my own, and Uncle Briggs had just moved in.
Mateo had offered the space so Briggs could be closer to our parents in the hopes they could monitor his dementia. Meanwhile Matty had taken Briggs’s cabin in the mountains.
That was how we were raised. We watched out for each other.
Two of the hired men walked out of the barn as I pulled up, both wearing Carhartt coats and Stetsons. They climbed into a truck with the Eden brand emblazoned on the door’s side. I waved as they rolled out of the gravel lot and headed down the gravel road that wove through the meadows and trees to Griffin’s place.
The snow on Mom’s Cadillac was already melting under the bright morning sun. By midafternoon, it would all be gone. This storm had just been a teaser for what was to come.
I parked beside Dad’s truck and headed up the steps to the wraparound porch. Before I could knock, the door opened.
“Morning, son.” Dad smiled. His glasses were perched on his nose and he held a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Hey, Dad. You leaving?”
“Nope.” He handed me the mug. “Saw you coming down the road.”