Knox
“Beer and catch a game? Beer and shoot the shit on the deck?” I asked Jeremiah as he and Waylon followed me up the steps to my cabin. Once every two weeks or so, I’d take an early night, and
we’d get together outside of work.
“I wanna find out what’s got your beard so droopy. You were fine a couple of days ago. Your usual grumpy self. Now you’re pouting.”
“I don’t pout. I ponder. In a manly way.” Jeremiah snickered behind me.
I unlocked the door and, despite my best efforts, glanced in the direction of the cottage.
There were cars parked in front of the cottage, music playing. Great. The woman was a socializer. Another reason to stay far the hell away from her.
Not that I had to, seeing as how she’d been avoiding me like I was the problem. The past week had been a struggle. An annoying one. Naomi Witt, I’d discovered, was a warm, friendly person. And when she wasn’t feeling warm and friendly toward you, you definitely felt the cold. She refused to make eye contact with me. Her smiles and “Sure thing, boss” responses were perfunctory. Even when I drove her home and we were alone in the truck, the frostiness didn’t thaw a degree.
Every time I thought I’d gotten a handle on it, she popped up. Either in her backyard or at my grandmother’s. In my own bar. Hell, a few days ago, she’d floated up to the window at Whiskey Clipper like a goddamn vision.
She was driving me fucking nuts.
“See? That right there,” Jer said, pointing a finger in my face. “Pouting.
What’s going on with you, man?”
“Nothing.” I noticed my brother’s department vehicle parked at the cottage. “Fuck.”
“There a reason you don’t like seeing your brother’s car parked at Not Tina’s?”
“Is it the bis*xual part of you that wants to talk about fucking feelings all the time?” I asked. “Or is it the ‘I come from a big, Lebanese family that knows everything about everybody’ part that I can blame?”
“Why not both?” he said with a quick grin.
A particularly loud burst of laughter caught our attention, as did the scent of grilled meat.
Waylon’s nose twitched. The white tip of his tail froze in the air. “No,” I said sternly.
I might as well have said, “Sure, bud. Go get yourself a hot dog.” Because my dog took off like a streak.
“Looks like we’re joining the party,” Jeremiah observed. “Fuck. I’m getting a beer first.”
A minute later, cold beers in hand, we wandered around the back of the cottage to find half of Knockemout on Naomi’s porch.
Sloane, the pretty librarian, was there with her niece, Chloe, who was wading knee-deep in the creek with Waylay and my grandmother’s dogs. Liza J was sitting next to Tallulah while Justice manned the grill and my pain in the ass brother flirted with Naomi.
She looked like summer.
Considering I’d had two sips of beer, I couldn’t blame alcohol on my mental prose. My mouth went dry as my gaze started at her bare feet, then moved up the long, tan legs to where they disappeared under the flirty, lemon yellow sundress.
“So that’s the problem,” Jeremiah said smugly. He was looking right at Naomi, and I didn’t much care for it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
Waylon barreled his way up onto the porch and made a beeline for the grill.
“Waylon!” Naomi looked delighted to see my dog. She crouched down to greet him, and even from here, the peek of cleavage was enough to tie
my balls in a knot.
“Waylon,” I barked.
My jerk of a dog was too busy enjoying the affection of a beautiful woman to bother listening to me.
“Knox! Jer!” Tallulah called when she spotted us in the yard. “Join us.”
Naomi looked up, and I saw the sunshine fade from her face when she spotted me. The ice walls went up.
“We don’t want to impose,” Jeremiah said, cagily eyeing the spread. There were deviled eggs, grilled vegetables, some kind of layered dip thing in a fancy dish, and four kinds of desserts. On the grill, Justice was turning chicken breasts and hot dogs.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Naomi said through a smile that was more gritted teeth than invitation. Her message was clear. She didn’t want me here at her cozy little dinner party.
Well, I didn’t want her in my head every time I closed my fucking eyes.
So I considered the score equal.
“If you insist,” Jeremiah said, shooting me a triumphant look.
“Nice flowers,” I said. There was a blue vase overflowing with wild blooms in the center of the table.
“Nash brought them,” Naomi said.
I wanted to smack the smug look of satisfaction right off my brother’s face.
So he brought a girl flowers, and I could barely get her to say two words to me. He should know better than to challenge me like that.
I played dirty. Even when I didn’t care about winning. I just wanted Nash to lose.
 |
BETWEEN EATING and shooting the shit with Naomi’s eclectic guests, I watched her. She sat between Waylay and Nash, who had all but pushed me out of the way like we were playing musical chairs. The conversation was lively, the mood upbeat.
Naomi laughed and talked and listened, all while keeping an eye on everyone’s plates and glasses, offering second helpings and top-offs with the expertise of someone who spent their life looking out for others.
She was warm, attentive, funny. Except to me.
So maybe I’d been a bit of a dick. Personally, I didn’t think that was enough of an infraction for me to be relegated to Ice Town.
I noticed every time Sloane or Chloe mentioned something about school starting, Naomi got pale and sometimes excused herself to go inside.
She talked to Jeremiah about hair and Whiskey Clipper. She talked about coffee and small business with Justice and Tallulah. And had no problem smiling at any stupid thing that came out of my brother’s mouth. But no matter how long I watched her, she never once glanced in my direction. I was the invisible dinner guest, and it was rubbing me the wrong way.
“Liza J was telling us stories of you and Nash growing up earlier,” Justice said to me.
I could only imagine which stories my grandmother had decided on. “Was it the rock fight in the creek or the zip line from the chimney?” I asked my brother.
“Both,” Nash said, lips quirked.
“It was quite the childhood,” I told Justice.
“Did your parents live with you?” Waylay asked. It was an innocent question coming from a kid who knew what it was like to not live with her parents.
I swallowed and looked for an escape.
“We lived with our parents until our mom passed,” Nash told her.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” That came from Naomi, and this time she was looking right fucking at me.
I nodded stiffly.
“Naomi, did you pick up Waylay’s school laptop yet?” Sloane asked. “My sister said Chloe’s was a little buggy.”
“Yeah, every time I open the internet, it restarts. How am I supposed to watch age-appropriate videos on YouTube with no internet?” Chloe chimed in.
“Or, I don’t know, do school work?” Sloane teased. “I could probably take a look at it,” Waylay offered. Chloe’s brown eyes widened. “You’re a STEM girl?” “What’s that?” Waylay asked with suspicion.
“Science Technology Engineering Math,” Sloane filled in. “Yeah. Nerd stuff,” Chloe added.
Sloane elbowed her niece.
“Ow! I don’t mean nerd like bad. Nerds are good. Nerds are cool. Nerds are the ones who grow up to run companies and make bazillions of dollars,” Chloe said. She looked at Waylay. “Nerds are definitely good.”
The tops of Waylay’s ears turned pink.
“My mom always said nerds were losers,” she said quietly. She shot Naomi a look. “She said girls who liked dresses and doing their hair were… uh, bad.”
I had the sudden urge to hunt down Tina and drop-kick her ass into the creek for not being the kind of mother her kid needed.
“Your mom got a lot of things mixed up, kiddo,” Naomi said, running her hand over Waylay’s hair. “She didn’t understand that people could be more than one thing or like more than one thing. You can wear dresses and makeup and build rockets. You can dress in suits and play baseball. You can be a millionaire and work in your pajamas.”
“Your mom doesn’t like dresses and hair?” Chloe scoffed. “She’s missing out. I had two wardrobe changes for my birthday last year, and I got a bow and arrow. You be you. Don’t let someone who doesn’t like fashion tell you anything.”
“Listen to Chloe, who’s about to lose a hot dog off her plate— Get down, Waylon,” Liza said.
My dog froze, mid-sneak.
“We can still see you even if you’re not movin’, dumbass,” I reminded him.
Waylay giggled.
Pouting, Waylon slunk back under the table. Seconds later, I noticed Waylay tear off a piece of her hot dog and casually tuck it under the checkered cloth.
Naomi noticed it too but didn’t tattle on either one of them.
“If you brought your laptop along, I could take a look,” Waylay offered. “Well, if you’re doing a little post-dinner tech support,” Tallulah said, pulling a huge iPad out of her work bag, “I just got this for the shop, and
I’m having trouble transferring everything over from the old one.” “Ten dollars a job,” I said, slapping the table.
Everyone’s eyes came to me. Waylay’s lips quirked.
“Waylay Witt doesn’t work for free. You want the best? You gotta pay for it,” I told them.
Her tiny smile was a smirk now, which morphed into a full-out grin when Tallulah yanked a $10 bill out of her purse and handed it over. “First paying customer,” Tallulah said proudly.
“Aunt Sloane!” Chloe hissed.
Sloane grinned and went for her purse. “Here’s a $20 for your trouble. Miss Fashion here also dribbled honey on the space bar when she was making tea.”
Waylay pocketed the bills and sat down to get to work.
This time, Naomi locked eyes with me. She didn’t smile, didn’t say “thank you” or “get me naked tonight.” But there was still something there. Something I itched to unlock simmering in those hazel eyes.
And then it was gone.
“Excuse me,” she said, pushing back from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
Nash watched her walk away, that bright yellow material sliding over tanned thighs.
I couldn’t blame him. But I also couldn’t let him have her.
When Jeremiah caught his attention with a question about football, I used it as an opportunity to follow Naomi inside. I found her bent over the rolltop desk next to the stairs in the living room.
“Whatcha doing?”
She jumped, shoulders hitching. Then spun around, holding her hands behind her back. When she saw it was me, she rolled her eyes. “Is there something you need? A slap across the face? An excuse to leave?”
I closed the distance between us slowly. I didn’t know why I was doing it. I just knew that watching her smile at my brother made my chest tight, that being frozen out was getting to me. And the closer I moved to her, the warmer I felt.
“Thought money was tight,” I said when she tilted her head to look up at me.
“Oh, bite me, Viking.”
“Just sayin’, Daisy, your first night on the job, you gave me a sob story of losing your savings and supporting your niece. Now it looks like you’re feeding half the county.”
“It’s a potluck, Knox. By the way, you’re the only one who didn’t bring anything to share. Besides, I wasn’t doing it to socialize.”
I liked the way she said my name when she was exasperated. Hell, I just liked my name on those lips.
“All right then. Why are you hosting half of Knockemout for a potluck?”
“If I tell you do you promise to do us both a favor and go away?” “Absolutely,” I lied.
She bit her lip and peered over my shoulder. “Fine. It’s because of Chloe.”
“You’re throwing a dinner party for an eleven-year-old?”
She rolled her eyes. “No! That adorable chatterbox is the most popular girl in Waylay’s grade. They have the same teacher this year. I was just trying to give them a chance to spend some time together.”
“You’re matchmaking sixth-graders?”
Naomi’s jaw jutted out and she crossed her arms over her chest. I didn’t mind because it pressed her breasts up higher against the neckline of her dress.
“You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to walk through town and be judged by people just because of who you’re related to,” she hissed.
I took a step closer to her. “You’re dead wrong about that.”
“Okay. Fine. Whatever. I want Waylay to go to school with actual friends, not just rumors that she’s Tina Witt’s abandoned daughter.”
It was probably a solid play. I’d had my brother and Lucian on the first day of school when we’d moved here. No one in school had the guts to say shit about one of us since we were protected by the pack.
“Then what’s this?” I asked, grabbing the notebook she had clutched in one hand.
“Knox! Stop!”
“Emergency Back-to-School To Do,” I read. “Pick up laptop. Try to schedule meeting with teacher. Back to school clothes and supplies. Money.” I let out a low whistle. “A lot of question marks after that one.”
She lunged for the notebook, but I held it out of her reach and flipped back a page. I found another to do list and another one. “Sure do like lists,” I observed.
Her handwriting started out nice and neat, but the farther down the list it got, I could practically feel the panic in her penmanship. The woman had a lot on her plate. And not much to do it with if the glimpse of her bank balances scrawled at the bottom of a shopping list were any indicator.
This time I allowed her to snatch the notebook back. She threw it on the desk behind her and picked up her wine glass.
“Stay out of my business, Knox,” she said. Her cheeks were pink, and there wasn’t a hint of frost in those gorgeous hazel eyes now. Every time she took a deep breath, her breasts grazed my chest and drove me just a little more insane.
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” I said.
She clapped her non-wine-holding hand to her forehead in mock excitement. “Of course! I can just ask for handouts from strangers. Why didn’t I think of that? That wouldn’t make me look like I’m incapable of taking care of a child in the eyes of the law. Problem solved.”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with accepting a little help now and then.”
“I don’t need help. I need time,” she insisted, her shoulders tensing, hand fisting at her side. “Sloane mentioned she might have a part-time position opening up at the library after school starts. I can save up and get a car. I can make this work. I just need time.”
“You want extra shifts at Honky Tonk, say the word.” I couldn’t seem to stop wanting this woman’s orbit to overlap with my own. It was a stupid, dangerous game I was playing.
“This from the man who called me an ‘uppity, needy pain in the ass’ and tried to fire me on the spot. Forgive me if I don’t ever ask you for anything.”
“Oh, come on, Naomi. I was pissed off.”
She looked at me like she wanted to light me on fire. “And?” she said pointedly.
“And what? I said some shit because I was pissed off. You weren’t supposed to hear it. Not my fault you were eavesdroppin’ on a private conversation.”
“You yelled two seconds after I walked out the door! You can’t just do that! Words have power. They make people feel things.”
“So stop feelin’ things, and let’s move on,” I suggested.
“That might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” “Doubt that. You grew up with Tina.”
The ice in her had thawed and turned to molten lava. “I did grow up with Tina. I was nine when I overheard her telling my best friend they should play without me because I was too snobby to have any fun. I was fourteen when she kissed the boy she knew I liked and told me I was too needy for him or anyone to ever want me.”
Fucking A. This is why I hated talking to people. Sooner or later, you always stuck your finger in a wound.
I ran my hand through my hair.
“Then along comes Knox Morgan. Who doesn’t want me around because, despite my defective personality of being uppity and needy, you still managed to be attracted to my body.”
“Look, Daisy. It’s nothing personal.” “Except it is deeply personal.”
“Put a lot of thought into being pissed off about this, haven’t you?” Maybe I wasn’t the only one losing sleep.
“Go screw yourself, Knox!”
The brisk knock at the front door made Naomi jump. Wine sloshed over the rim of her glass.
“Am I interrupting?” The woman on the other side of the screen door was a few inches shy of Naomi and wore a rumpled gray suit. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun.
“Ummm,” Naomi managed as she tried to blot at the wine on her chest with her hands. “Uhhh.”
“I’m Yolanda Suarez. With Child Protective Services.”
Ah. Fuck me.
Naomi went rigor-mortis stiff next to me. I snatched the box of tissues off the top of the desk and handed it to Naomi. “Here,” I said.
When she just stared at the visitor without moving, I yanked a few tissues out and started to blot up the disaster.
It took about two dabs into her cleavage before she snapped out of it and slapped my hands away.
“Um! Welcome. This isn’t my wine,” Naomi said, eyes wide. The visitor’s gaze slid to the now-empty glass Naomi was holding. “I mean it is. I don’t know why I said that. But I’m not drinking a lot of it. I’m responsible. And I hardly ever yell at men in my living room.”
“Okaaaaaay. Is Chief Morgan here? He asked me to stop by,” Yolanda asked coolly.
