Rumor Has It
Page 3He parked at the café where she’d ordered him. As he walked into the place, scents assaulted him, scents that were visceral reminders of being home again: coffee, bacon, and Holly herself as she launched at him. Her loud squeal of pleasure pierced his still ringing ears as she burrowed in. Ignoring his headache and his unease about being back, he endured the endless hug.
“Missed you,” she whispered in his ear, and squeezed him half to strangulation.
He held her with one arm, reaching up to resettle his baseball cap with the other. “Hey, Hol.”
“Hey, Hol?” She hauled back and punched him in the arm. “I just said I missed you, you big lug, and all you have to say is ‘hey, Hol?’ I missed you,” she repeated with a devastating wealth of emotion blazing in both her voice and her eyes.
He rubbed his arm. “That’s because I’m miss-able.”
She made to slug him again, but he caught her hand. “Don’t,” he said. “And fine, I missed you, too, a little.”
“Well, that’s more like it,” she said, softening. “Let’s eat. Dad wanted to come, but he’s caught up at Aunt Rena’s ranch until later this afternoon.”
Uh-huh.
Some of Holly’s smile faded at Grif’s doubtful expression. “I’m really hoping,” she said, “that my number two and three favorite alpha males can share their space without a fight. I want peace for my wedding to my number one favorite alpha.” Then she turned and kissed the man at her back. Adam Connelly was big and silent and stoic, and the toughest badass Grif knew. And yet the guy grinned like a sap after that kiss.
Turning her attention back to Grif, Holly tried to pull off his baseball cap, but he dodged her.
“Come on,” she complained. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
“Did you forget what I look like?”
“How could I? You look just like Mom . . .” Again she went for the hat, but he simply straightened to his full height so she couldn’t reach. “Though you act just like Dad,” she said. “I want a look at you.”
Grif could’ve told her she really didn’t, but he held his tongue. Best not to give her any ammunition until absolutely necessary. “You can see me just fine.”
Adam’s dark eyes took in everything Holly was too excited to see. Gently setting aside his fiancée, he stepped in close and gave Grif a very real welcome home hug—minus the usual male backslap.
Somehow Adam knew.
“At least you made it home in time for tonight’s bachelor/bachelorette party,” Holly said. “Great timing, you getting that early leave.”
Not exactly great timing. And the leave wasn’t in her honor at all. Nor was it a leave. He was out, medically discharged, which she didn’t need to know about. He’d told no one from home, and he didn’t intend to change that any time soon. He didn’t want anyone fawning over him, and he sure as hell didn’t want anyone to know how badly he’d screwed up or exactly how close he’d come to missing the wedding.
Not to mention the rest of his life.
Out of the military for the first time in his adult life, Grif was home for the wedding and maybe also to make peace with the place that had once been the bane of his existence.
“Have you seen anyone yet?” Holly asked after they were seated and had ordered.
“Kate.” The name rolled off Grif’s tongue before he could stop himself. She was still on his brain, her and that sweet smile that could slay him dead—which even an IED at ground zero hadn’t been able to accomplish.
“I didn’t realize you owned her,” Grif said mildly.
Holly was silent for a full beat, staring him down as if she could extract his secrets by osmosis. “No,” she finally said in her bossiest sister voice. “No. She’s off-limits, Grif.”
“Excuse me?” he asked in the tone that would have anyone else running for the hills. Not Holly. Holly had this thing about boundaries. As in she had none.
“Okay,” she said. “I know you hate to be told what to do, but don’t do Kate. I mean it, Grif.”
“He’s a big boy, babe,” Adam broke in lightly, touching her hand. A gentle warning that she didn’t heed.
“She’s vulnerable right now,” Holly said to Grif.
Yeah, well, he wasn’t exactly feeling so steady himself.
“Her mom’s gone,” Holly said, “and her dad’s— Dammit, Grif. You know what her life’s like. She’s practically raising her siblings on her own, and they’re not easy. Tommy thinks he’s a superhero, and Ashley does a damn good impression of the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“East,” Adam said.
“Aw,” Holly said. “I love that you know that.”
Personally, Grif thought Adam should have to turn in his Man Card for knowing that, but Holly was smiling at him dopily, and then Adam leaned in and she met him halfway for an annoyingly long, hot kiss.
“Great.” Grif blew out a breath. “My best friend and my sister swallowing each other’s tongues. This is nice. Really. I should have come home sooner.”
They kept kissing.
Grif checked his watch.
They kept kissing. “Hey, you’re making the kids uncomfortable.”
Holly pulled back and grinned. “Jealous?”
“Bored,” Grif said.
“Too bad that this week’s all about me, then, isn’t it?” She sent him a narrow-eyed glance. “Just as soon as I finish warning you off of Kate. I’m serious about this, okay? I’ve been trying to slowly work her back into the dating pool, but we’re starting small. Trust me, she’s in no way ready for the likes of you.” She looped her arm through his. “Please don’t take that as a challenge.”
“You think she’s too sweet for me,” Grif said. “Too good.”“She’s not some eighteenth-century virgin, Grif. She’s a full-grown woman who, yes, is a really wonderful, giving, warm, good person. She’d give a stranger the shirt off her back. I just don’t want that stranger to be you.”
Adam snorted, and Grif slid him a look that Adam met evenly. And Grif had to admit, maybe they had a point. Grif liked women.
And they tended to like him back.
“All I’m saying,” Holly said, “is that sometimes people take advantage of Kate.”
“And you think I’d be one of them?”
“Not purposely,” she said, “but come on. You know she has a big crush on you. If you so much as look at her, she’s spouting science facts. All I’m asking is for you to remember that the women in your world come and go. And she’s not one to go.”
“I didn’t say I was interested in her that way.” Having long ago learned the trick to dealing with his sister and her nosiness was a solid distraction, he said, “I bet you’re a total bridezilla.”
Adam laughed, turning it into a cough when Holly slid her husband-to-be a glance. But suitably distracted, she spent the next hour talking about the imminent wedding.
Grif had zero interest in the material of her dress or the accent color or the difficulty of the seating arrangements, but he had great interest in not talking about himself. Finally, ears still ringing, he left the café and drew in a careful breath.
Since his injury, his sense of smell had been as FUBAR as his head, but just like the café, Sunshine itself also had a distinct scent. Fresh, chilly mountain air. Cedar and pine.
Forgotten hopes and dreams.
He drove to the huge, sprawling old ranch house he’d grown up in and let himself in. He immediately thought of his mom. Though she hadn’t lived here in years, the house was a visceral reminder of her, from before the divorce. Long before. Because even well before that she’d been living in New York, separate from Donald Reid. Still, her presence could be felt here, from the pictures of her scattered among others throughout the house, to her touch in the big-but-cozy furniture and other items she’d used to decorate the house. There was a picture of her on the mantel, with a five-year-old Grif on horseback. Holly was right; they were the spitting image of each other with their dark hair, gray eyes, and crooked smiles. It made him ache for her. His head ached, too, rattling his teeth with the pain—the IED blast that kept on giving.
Opening the door to his childhood bedroom, he dropped his bag by the bed and plopped onto the mattress exhausted.
* * *
He came awake badly, as he tended to do these days. Noting the low sun, he sat up. The day had gone by without him, which worked. Heart still pounding, damp with sweat, he stared at four chocolate brown eyes belonging to the two huge golden retrievers sitting bedside, breathing on him. Thing One and Thing Two. They’d started out as his dad’s foster dogs last year, but no one ever returned a foster animal, not even the cantankerous Donald Reid. “Hey,” he said.
This, apparently, was an invitation to be jumped, and they jostled for space on the bed. Thing One nearly unmanned him. Thing Two licked him from chin to forehead. Both were wild, like kibble-fueled rocket ships made out of pure energy. Laughing, he shoved them both down.
The house was no longer empty. He could hear music, talking, laughing. Head still pounding, Grif forced himself to lie still as he drew in a breath for a count of four, held it for a count of seven, and then let it out for a count of eight. One of his nurses had taught him the trick as a way to calm himself when he first woke up. It never worked, but it was something to do.
Rising, he headed into the adjoining bathroom for a shower. Someone had figured out he was here and had left him fresh towels. He took a long, hot shower and came out feeling slightly more human.
The sounds of a rip-roaring party drove him to the center of the house, a huge living area that had been transformed for Holly and Adam’s co-bachelorette/bachelor party. Personally, Grif didn’t see the good of a bachelor party if you were going to invite your soon-to-be-wife, but hey, what did he know about such things?
There were at least fifty people spilling out the two sets of double French doors to a large square courtyard. Lights had been strung in the trees, and music was blasting. Laughter and drinks were flowing.
His sister was at the bar wearing a huge tiara and a wide grin, holding a shot glass in each hand. Around her was a pack of women, a few of them wearing smaller versions of the tiaras and equally large grins, also double-fisting shot glasses.
The bridesmaids, he presumed, and cheered up slightly. They came in all shapes and sizes, each glowing as they laughed and talked and tossed back their drinks.
He counted one, two, three tiaras. A fourth was bent over, fiddling with her boot. She wore a white lacy top and a short black skirt with leggings and high-heeled ankle boots. Nice ass. Her shoulders were bare, revealing silky-soft, creamy skin and just a hint of a slinky bra strap running over the top curve.
Kate.
Unlike earlier, her strawberry blond hair was loose and slightly tousled, the shiny waves falling just past her shoulders. She was wearing a shimmery lip gloss that emphasized that sweet, kissable mouth and eyeliner that was smudged just enough to make her look not at all like an elementary teacher but trouble with a capital T. When she caught him staring at her, she hesitated, and then smiled.
His own smile was unexpected. And probably idiotic, because although he could take apart damn near anything and put it back together again, he couldn’t seem to lust and think at the same time. She had the most amazing eyes, and her smile made him want to do things that were most definitely not on his sister’s approved list.
She’s vulnerable.
On the best of days a vulnerable woman was a spectacularly stupid idea, and this wasn’t even close to the best of days for Grif.
In fact he hadn’t even had a passable day in months. Knowing it, he kept moving. Hell, he very nearly ran. As he headed out of the living room, he let his gaze catch on the big, ornate mirror hanging on the wall.
Another man was already talking to Kate. That was good. That was great.
But the guy looked a little determined as he set his hand on her shoulder, and Kate looked a little . . . relaxed. She’d been drinking.
She’s vulnerable . . .
Damn. Stopping, Grif tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling for an internal debate. Conscience or no conscience, that was the question.
Shit.
Conscience won, and he headed back. The guy looked up from Kate, and Grif slid him a long, hard look. Yeah, that’s right, keep touching her, and I’ll remove your fingers from your body.
The hand came off Kate.
Good choice. Satisfied, Grif nodded and forced himself to once again walk away, hoping she stayed out of trouble this time because he was out. He didn’t tend toward regrets or guilt, but somehow he felt both as he ducked into the blessedly quiet den and headed straight for the small, well-stocked bar on the far wall.
“Showed up at the last minute, I see.”
At the gruff, familiar sarcasm Grif turned and faced his father. Donald Reid was sixty-five and starting to look it, and Grif felt a pang for all the years that had passed without much more than a quick bickering session between them.
“You could’ve called,” his dad said. “Let someone know you were coming.”
Thing One and Thing Two had entered the room with the older Reid, and they beelined with joy for Grif, who squatted to give belly rubs. “You knew I’d be here,” Grif said.