Arrogant Bastard Page 5

  “You have doubts?” His gaze narrows.

  I give a little shrug.

  “Sure, I have your best interests at heart, but it’s selfish too. The more you guys succeed, the better it is for everyone in town,” he says.

  “I know.” I bite my tongue to keep from rushing in and asking a million questions, all the while contemplating the irony that if I wasn’t so hyper aware of Caden, I’d be grilling Gabe ruthlessly.

  But I am hyper aware. And that’s the problem. Every question feels like I’m showing my hand.

  “But?” Gabe presses, like I suspected he would.

  I ask my first direct question. “Why’s he so squirrelly about his past?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He refuses to tell me about his past employment.” I play with the stem of my wine glass, running my fingers back and forth over it. “How did you say you knew him again?”

  “College.” Gabe runs a hand over his jaw. “We also spent that year in California working for that place out in Napa. We bunked together.”

  Okay, that explains the connection between them, and why Gabe felt comfortable sending him my way. But it’s a lot of gaps. “Did you keep in touch?”

  My heart beats a little faster in anticipation of the answers I’ve been jonesing for.

  Gabe shakes his head. “Lost track of him after that year. I came back home, and he stayed on. Didn’t even have a phone number for the guy.”

  “So how did you get in touch with him about the job?”

  “That’s the funny thing.” He laughs a little. “I didn’t. He called me out of the blue and asked if I had a line on anyone needing a hand. I asked him what he’d been doing all these years, and it just so happened to match what you needed. Since I knew how desperate you were, I took it as a sign.”

  “That’s it?” I ask, resisting the urge to lean forward.

  He nods. “That’s it.”

  I want to ask about their time in school together, about living together in California all those years ago—but I don’t. The moment feels done.

  And the mystery of Caden Landry rages on.

  I pull into the gravel drive and shut off the car before leaning back against the bucket seat. The cabin where Caden is staying is dark, but the main house lights are blazing. I marvel at the sheer sight of it.

  Growing up, while the bones of greatness might have been there, the house was a dark, shabby place. Even full of people it’d had the stink of something abandoned and unloved. It hadn’t been pretty, but it was ours.

  This house and the land surrounding it was the only thing my mom had to her name, and each year, as my father chipped away at the pieces of her, she managed to scrape together enough money to keep the taxes paid that kept the deed in her name. Maybe the plumbing hadn’t worked, the plaster had crumbled around us, and I’d slept on a mattress on the floor curled up in my shabby comforter, but the land was ours. In my parents’ mad, chaotic, destructive love affair, it was the one thing he’d wanted from her that she’d refused to give.

  And now look at it.

  It’s so pretty it makes my heart hurt, with its big, wraparound porch, columns, and weeping willows framing it like a picture. My mom would be so proud. We made her dreams for the place come true.

  It makes all the years Wyatt and I worked tirelessly, all our blood, sweat, and tears restoring the house to its former glory worth it. We hired people when we could afford it, but most of the work we did ourselves, tackling one room at a time, not moving on until we washed all traces of the poverty away.

  Weirdly, sometimes I miss those days—the stillness of them, the laser-like focus on nothing but four walls and how to fill them.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful I get to live here now that it’s finished, grateful Wyatt and I saved the only claim to a family legacy we had left.

  I can’t imagine living anywhere else on this Earth.

  Now the days are filled with breathtaking, endless things to do and people everywhere as far as the eye can see.

  But sometimes I miss being alone.

  I long to walk into a dark, empty house filled with nothing but silence, to have the freedom to move from room to quiet room.

  I squint into the big picture window and see movement in the game room. I’d hoped to slip in unnoticed, but that’s not going to be possible. They’re all probably in there, all their energy and ambition ready to scratch against my skin.

  I close my eyes for a second, letting the stillness of the summer air wash over me before blowing out a deep breath. I’ll make a quick getaway.

  I grab my purse and phone, climbing out of the car. As I shut the door, I glance again at Caden’s cabin and the shadowed darkness. Is he sleeping? Or out? Is he sitting at Uncle Beau’s crowded bar getting hit on by every single woman in town?

  I bite my lip. It doesn’t matter because it’s not my concern.

  He’s my farm manager. I’m his boss. I don’t even like him. It’s only my body betraying me—always wanting to be at war instead of peace. It’s like somewhere along the way I took up a fight and don’t know how to put it down.

  I climb the stairs and swat away the bugs frantically circling under the porch lights. I open the front door and call out, “I’m home.”

  “In here.” Wyatt’s deep voice drifts from the game room as I shut the door and hang my purse on the hall-tree in the corner before kicking off my shoes and heading in to say hello.

  I freeze in the doorway, flushing hot and then cold at the sight of Caden sitting at the card table with my brothers and Gwen. Our eyes catch, holding a beat too long before I shift my attention to the group at large. I lean against the thick, white molding framing the doorway, not crossing over the threshold.

  I ignore the flood of relief that the man is here instead of out somewhere, carousing and making me wonder.

  “Hey.” I keep my tone light and nonchalant.

  Gwen swings around and grins at me. “There she is. Have fun with Gabe?”

  My instinct is to glance at Caden, to gauge his response, but I manage to resist. Instead I focus on my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “Great. We just chilled at his house.” I turn to Jackson. “He says thanks for the pizza.”

  Jackson picks up a stack of chips and lets them fall with a click of his fingers. “What did you think of the flatbread?”

  He’d made me a traditional pie and an experimental flatbread with brussels sprouts, marinated figs, and balsamic that was like heaven.

  I smile. “It was ridiculously delicious, of course. Gabe hates brussels sprouts, but I made him try it, which turned out to be a huge mistake because he ate way more than his fair share.”

  Satisfaction slides across Jackson’s expression. “Good.”

  I cross my arms, still resisting the urge to check out Caden, because deep down I know what I want: a reaction that looks like jealousy. “What are you guys playing?”

  “Poker. Dealer’s choice.” Wyatt says, shuffling the cards before pointing to an empty chair next to Caden. “Join us.”

  I look over my shoulder to the dimly lit staircase. The bedroom that had been calling my name is no competition for the man I’m still avoiding looking at.

  Which is exactly why I should go upstairs.

  I nibble on my bottom lip. “I should go to bed. Busy day tomorrow.”

  Gwen waves her hand. “Please. Every day here is a busy day, which is why we need fun, so come sit your ass down, woman. You work too hard.”

  I love her, and I’m so lucky she’s going to be part of my family, but sometimes her almost giddy resolve to live life to its fullest annoys the hell out of me.

  My resolve is shaky at best, but I try again. “I’m tired. I had red wine, and it makes me sleepy.”

  She raises a rocks glass, filled with one of those big, trendy artisanal ice cubes. Regular ice isn’t Instagram worthy anymore. Now even drinking needs to be staged and beautiful.

  She flashes a grin. “Rum and gambling will wipe t
he tiredness away.”

  My gaze drifts to the empty chair, and right versus wrong, smart versus dumb circle in my head.

  Did I not just give myself a lecture about my actions being the only thing I can control? Little good it did, because I already know I’m going to stay and slide right into that seat next to Caden. Like a glutton for punishment, I’m already anticipating the warmth of his body next to mine.

  I straighten, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe for a little bit.”

  Clearly I’m a lost cause.

  Caden

  * * *

  I’m gonna just ignore the kick of satisfaction as Cat settles in next to me. I’ve got my plan to stay away, and when she’s not around, I mean every word of it. But when she is, I waiver.

  And she’s around a lot. Glaring at me with those flashing silver eyes, her shoulders set, ready to disagree the first chance she gets, unable to resist the urge to engage. She doesn’t want this any more than I do, but fuck, do we spark. Like the constant click of a lighter, just waiting to catch fire.

  Now the smart thing here would be to remove myself from the situation, but I don’t waste too much energy ruminating on that option. I’m not that smart, and my impulses to self-destruct are far too strong with my resolve dulled from drinking.

  Her fresh-cut-grass scent wafts in my direction and as she shifts, my gaze is drawn to her bare legs in cut-off shorts. She spent all night alone with Gabe in that skimpy faded denim and wisp of a top. It’s light blue, flowy with spaghetti straps, bringing out the blue-silver tones of her eyes. It’s the kind of top designed to let a man slip his fingers under the fabric in all sorts of interesting ways. Gabe got to enjoy the sight all evening. Shouldn’t I get to enjoy it for an hour?

  It seems fair.

  Bullshit, I know, but I’m not sure I care. The rum we’ve been drinking—a new blend Wyatt is experimenting with—warms my stomach and swells my confidence in my abilities to enjoy Cat’s company without succumbing to the temptation.

  Next to me, she tucks one bare foot under her knee and her toes peek out from under her supple thigh. My first instinct is to press my leg against hers, but I catch myself before it’s too late and manage not to move.

  As though she senses my heavy stare, her vision is fixed on the pile of chips in the center of the table. There’s a current of electricity racing back and forth between us, and I’m so focused on her, I’m surprised when I look down at my cards to find I’m holding three aces.

  I glance around the table. “Is it my bet?”

  Jackson and Wyatt both nod, and Gwen gives me a little wink. “Sure thing, cowboy.”

  I grin at her. “This isn’t Texas, honey.”

  Gwen waves her hand over the pot. “Are you betting or what?”

  I glance back down at my hand, studying it like I’m contemplating my next move, as though not betting might be the smart option.

  I call, slow-playing my hand, letting the chips fall where they may.

  Two hours later, we’re all a little drunk when we decide to call it a night and face the prospect of an early morning with hangovers. Not that I’ll have one, other than being a bit bleary. I have the constitution of an ox.

  Cat and I have basically ignored each other, not speaking except as part of the collective group. And despite my impulses, I’ve managed to treat her exactly as I should. I didn’t engage in any incidental flirting, or hold her gaze too long. It helps that we’re sitting next to each other instead of across. I don’t have to look into her eyes. But I’ve been aware—of her and the chemistry between us—every second.

  It’s like the constant buzz of live wire.

  We’re cleaning up the mess we made, and our hands touch as we push our chips to the center and everyone starts stacking. She jerks away like I’ve burned her, and I ignore it.

  The chair scrapes, and she’s out of her seat, stretching, her arms high in the air. That flowy top of hers shifts and slides across her body. I look out the window and grit my teeth.

  She lets out a yawn. “I am not looking forward to tomorrow morning.”

  Gwen sighs. “Why do we do this again? Why can’t we have normal jobs and normal lives?”

  “’Cause we’re gluttons for punishment,” Jackson reminds her.

  “We’d probably be bored,” Wyatt says.

  “I guess that’s true.” Gwen picks up her glass and drains what remains in one gulp. “I’m going to pay tomorrow when Nat wakes up at the crack of dawn, but I don’t care. It was worth it to blow off a little steam.”

  “I can’t disagree, but ask me again tomorrow morning.” Wyatt clicks the metal case that stores the poker chips closed with a snap. “I’m off to bed.”

  Cat barely looks in my direction. “I’m going to grab water and head off myself.”

  Everyone calls out their goodnights, and Wyatt and Cat wander out of the room. I’m still putting the cards away, more slowly than is reasonable, when I should be getting the hell out of here instead.

  Gwen grabs a handful of Jackson’s T-shirt and beams up at him. “I’m ready to let my wild ways get the best of me.”

  Jackson snakes a hand around her waist. “You’ve been holding back, darlin’?”

  “Never.” Gwen looks over his shoulder and says to me, “Can you take care of the rest?”

  It’s just the excuse I need. “Sure thing. ’Night.”

  They say their goodbyes, and then it’s just me in the room, carefully putting the cards back into a pile and straining to hear the sounds of Cat. There are stairs in the kitchen that lead to the second floor, which means she has no reason to come back this way, but I’m stubbornly hopeful she’ll be unable to resist the lure of chance.

  That hope is why I should get the hell out of here, but I cannot make myself leave the chair. A few more minutes pass, and no matter how slowly I go, there are only fifty-two cards, and they are all tucked neatly in their pack. I’m out of excuses, but still I listen, searching the air for a sound.

  And just as I give up, I hear something: the tread of footsteps growing close. I jerk up from my seat, throw the deck in the center of the table, and stride out of the room, my mind already spinning with options from innocent to profane—

  Only it’s not Cat.

  It’s Wyatt.

  The disappointment sits in my gut, and in that second, I’m honest with myself. Once again, my tendencies toward self-destructiveness have gotten the better of me. Luckily the heavens are looking out for me, saving me from a sure disaster.

  I nod. “’Night, Wyatt.”

  He nods back. “I’ll lock the door behind you.”

  I take my leave, shaking my head as the humid breeze washes over me, clearing my head. I never fucking learn, do I?

  I move down the stairs and over the path to my cabin. What is wrong with me? I’ve got a good thing going here, doing the work I love. The McKay operation ticks every box I’ve been searching for: challenging work that makes me so tired I can finally sleep, a growing business, and good people.

  I’m more settled than I’ve been in a long time. Wyatt and Jackson are happy and I have a chance to put down real roots.

  So why the hell am I willing to sabotage my future just to get laid?

  I hit the front porch of the cabin and turn around, taking in the vast landscape before me. I take a deep breath to steady myself.

  And get the wind knocked out of me instead.

  Cat’s there, standing on the second-floor balcony that must be off her bedroom. She’s changed and wearing a cotton nightgown that ends at her knees. She looks otherworldly, her hands on the rails, like something gothic and untouchable. Until this moment I hadn’t realized the cabin faces her bedroom, and isn’t that just a particular brand of fresh torture?

  Our eyes catch, and even from the distance, I can feel the current between us.

  Her hair is down, and it swirls around her shoulders. To my surprise she lifts her hand and waves.

  I wave back, my heart nearly beating out o
f my chest.

  She turns, and her back is bare as she returns to her room through the French doors.

  I roll my shoulders, as if that alone will shrug off her effect.

  That’s it. As soon as I get a chance, I’m going to go out and find someone I can lose myself in for a couple of hours. Maybe it’s not the healthiest option, but it’s the only solution that comes to me right now. As far as destructiveness goes, it’s the lesser of two evils. It’s been too long, and I can only hope part of Cat’s appeal is due to deprivation.

  So as soon as I can slip away, I will.

  Because untouchable and out of my reach is exactly where Cat McKay needs to stay.

  5

  Cat

  The following week, I walk into the dive bar just outside town and slide into an empty seat at the bar. It’s Friday night, and my uncle Beau’s bar was packed, but I didn’t want to go there. After a long, grueling ten days, I need to get out of the damn house and away from everyone—Caden in particular.

  If I went to Uncle Beau’s, someone would have decided to go with me, or I’d have run into people I know and had to stand in the swarms of patrons that crowd his place all weekend.

  I’m in no mood for that.

  I’m in the mood to drink in silence and turn it all off, even if it’s just for an hour or two, where no one will bother me.

  The bartender gives me the up and down before saying in a gruff voice, “What’ll it be?”

  I don’t hesitate. “Shot of tequila and a Lite.”

  He nods and retrieves my order, placing it in front of me.

  He’s covered in tats, and on his fingers the words LOVE LIFE are spelled out in big, black letters that span from base to knuckles.

  “Thanks.” I pick up the glass, lick my hand, and shake salt on my skin before licking it off and downing the shot, hissing through the tartness of the lime. “I’ll take another.”