Spark (MacKenny Brothers Series Book 1) Page 5

  “Okay, think you can keep up?” I ask.

  “With your truck? Ahh, yeah… when was the last time it was worked on? When Christ was crucified?”

  “Funny! I’ll have you know she runs fine.”

  Eric quirks an eyebrow at me, bends over, and picks up the bags. “I’ll take your word for it. Could you take these? It’s a little hard on the bike.”

  “Yes. In case you lose me—”

  “I won’t,” he replies with a smirk.

  I huff at him, open my car door, and start my car.

  Eric turns and walks toward his bike.

  I watch him go, liking the way he moves—confident, tall, and so sexy. Mentally, I berate myself, put my car in drive, and head for home.

  Eric

  I swear she’s driving it like she stole it. Either that or she’s deliberately trying to lose me. It’s not like there’s a lot of traffic, so keeping up with her is easy, but in her piece of crap, she should be taking more care.

  When Cherie pulls up in front of her home, she opens her car door and runs inside her house, leaving the food in her truck. I park behind her, climb off my bike, reach in and grab the brown paper bags, close the car door, and walk toward the front door.

  She appears in the doorway. “Wait! Wait there,” Cherie says as she closes the door on me.

  This woman is too much trouble. I like her—she’s hot, she’s feisty, and she comes with more baggage than I can carry. I look around at her home. It’s on the fringe of town, the grass is overgrown, and the front screen door needs to have the hinges tightened and oiled.

  The door flies open with a creaky groan, her face is flushed, and she’s breathing hard. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company, so I needed to clean up a bit,” explains Cherie with a frown. I grin at her and hold up the bags. She moves to one side and ushers me in.

  “You know your screen door needs some work.”

  “Hell, everything in here needs some work. But it’s cheap, and the landlord leaves me alone, so long as I pay the rent on time.”

  “Do you often miss paying the rent?” I ask as I walk toward her dining table.

  “Not anymore. Not now that I have regular customers and get paid on time. When I first moved back to town, it was a bit hit and miss.” Cherie looks at the floor, then points to the kitchen. “Do you want me to reheat the food?”

  “Cherie?” Her eyes come back to me. “You don’t need to clean up for me. You don’t need to explain anything to me. And yes, I want to use your microwave.”

  “I don’t own a microwave.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Who doesn’t own a microwave?”

  “Do you have any idea what they do to your food? So, no, no microwave, but I do have an oven. It’ll take a little longer, but I have beer, and we could talk while we wait.”

  Unbelievingly, I stare at her. She shuffles from foot to foot, and I can’t tell if it’s my gaze that’s making her uncomfortable or having me in her home.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No,” Cherie replies quickly.

  “You sure? Seems like I’m making you uneasy, and I don’t want that.”

  “It’s not you. I’m embarrassed about my home, The Roadhouse, Gil, and you had the foresight to think to go back in and grab the food. I was too wrapped up in my own mortification to think about anything or anyone but myself.”

  “Cher—”

  Cherie holds up a hand. “Let me finish. Tomorrow is housework day. Through the week, I let my clothes fall where they want, and I do all my washing either tomorrow or the next on my days off. Gil and I went out on three dates. I didn’t sleep with him as he’s a fuckwad. I’m not the town bike, but I’m not pure as the driven snow either.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh as her face goes bright red. I walk over to her, put my hands on her shoulders, look into her eyes only to receive a death stare, the anger’s rolling off her in waves.

  “Pure as the driven snow? Gil is a douche, your home is clean, and I don’t care if you’ve left your clothes on the floor, it’s your home. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m starving. A beer and conversation sound good. So, calm down, I’m not laughing at you but with you.”

  “I’m not laughing,” replies Cherie with a deadpan stare.

  “True, but I haven’t used my best lines on you yet.” I grin at her, drop my hands, and walk into her kitchen, opening the oven door. “So you know, I have a microwave, but I won’t put any of your food in it when you come to visit.”

  I take the food out of the bags and place it in the oven. When I turn around, her eyes are glued to my crotch. Quickly, she looks me in the eyes as a blush creeps up her neck.

  “There’s beer in the fridge.” Cherie points at the refrigerator.

  I open the door, grab two, and hand her one. “Do you want to sit at the table?”

  “Sure, the table is fine.”

  I don’t like it as she’s avoiding eye contact, and I’m beginning to think I should leave.

  “So, you’ve lived here for three years?”

  “Yeah,” I reply as I take a swig of my beer and pull out a chair. “You?”

  A small smile plays on her lips. “I was born here. I left for a while, but you always return to what’s familiar, you know?”

  I understand what she’s saying. If my brother, Kyle, hadn’t made me leave the club, I’d still be there. Then again, if that had happened, I wouldn’t be here.

  I smile. “Yeah, I get it.” I push up the sleeves of my shirt. “The familiar is comforting.”

  Her eyes are on my arm and the tattoo there. “What does it mean?” Cherie’s fingers lightly trace the outline sending warmth through me.

  “It’s a family thing.”

  “In memory of K.M., who’s that?”

  “Someone we all admired. It’s a way to pay homage to him. He was a great man.” I smile at her and ask, “How about you, any tattoos? I can’t see any.”

  She giggles. “No, no tattoos for me. I’ve thought about getting one, but it’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

  I like her laugh, and she finally seems to be relaxing. “Tell me about you. Do you like living back here?”

  “It has its moments. I like being close to my granddaddy. He wanted me to live with him when I first got back, but I needed to stand on my own. I love it during ski season.” Her whole face has lit up.

  “I’ve never skied. I’ve snowboarded, though, but I’m not very good.”

  “It takes practice, the best slopes are up near you.”

  I sit back in my chair and smile at her. “How do you know where I live?”

  She smiles and looks away. “It’s a small town.”

  I laugh, and her eyes go to my throat. “Yeah, I guess it is. You hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then, stay here while I grab the food.”

  Cherie

  I watch him as he opens cupboards and finds plates, knives, forks, and even napkins. Not once does Eric ask me where anything is. He glances at me and smiles, and I feel it straight to my core. Not in a long time has a man had such an effect on me. The way his shirt tightens across his back as he bends and opens the oven to retrieve the food is enough to get my heart rate up.

  It’s nice to have a man wait on me for a change. Eric places the food on the plates and brings them to me, then goes back for the cutlery. He stops and rips off some paper towels from the roll, placing it over his arm as he saunters toward me.

  “Dinner is served, my lady,” exclaims Eric, trying to look and sound like a posh waiter.

  “Thank you. It’s weird to have someone feed me in my own home.”

  He frowns at me, sits down, and cocks his head to the side. “I figured, since your feet were sore, that you’d like someone to take care of you.”

  I’m speechless. All the boyfriends I’ve had and not one of them has shown me so much consideration. I smile at him and stuff a huge mouthful of mashed potatoes into my mouth, so I don’t have to say anything
.

  Eric laughs, and his whole face lights up. “Babe? Seriously? How hungry are you? I’m sure your pretty little mouth couldn’t take much more.”

  A blush creeps its way up my face as I have visions of putting something else in my mouth.

  “I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Ahh, that explains it. So, where are we going tomorrow?” asks Eric.

  “You still want to go? After what happened at The Roadhouse?”

  “Gil is a dick. We should have stayed to prove he didn’t get under your skin, but I get it. It’s a small town, people talk. It has nothing to do with me wanting to take you to lunch.”

  I look down at my plate, unsure about what to say next. He’s right, I shouldn’t have let Gil have the upper hand, but I’m so over the bullshit. The people in this town think they know me since I grew up here, but none of them do. I’ve changed, and I’m not my family. I’m me, and I’m doing the best I can.

  “What if we sneak into The Tarn? I could make a picnic.”

  “The Tarn?” Eric asks.

  “It’s only about a ten-minute drive. It’s really called Goose Pasture Tarn, but everyone shortens it to The Tarn. It’s a privately-owned lake. You’re only supposed to go there if you live there. But I know a way in no one knows about. The water is clear, and there’s plenty of places to go swimming. The best part about it is there won’t be anyone around as it’s a workday, so we won’t get caught.”

  Eric raises his eyebrows at me. “Sounds like you’re trying to get me into trouble.”

  “Nah, I’ve done it loads of times. Trust me.”

  Eric looks me solemnly in the eyes. “Okay, I’ll trust you. But if we get caught, it’s every man for himself.”

  My laughter fills the room, and I nod vigorously at him. “Deal.”

  “Where’s your phone?” asks Eric.

  I stand and get it out of my bag. As I hand it to him, I look at him questioningly.

  “So, I can ring you tomorrow if I’m running late.”

  I nod and smile, watching as he quickly enters his number into my phone. His hands are large, grease embedded into the creases and his nails.

  Eric grins at me, hands the phone back, and begins cutting into his steak. For a while, we’re silent, both enjoying the company and the meal. I stand and walk to my iPod, then Lady Antebellum fills the air.

  Eric glances at me and grins. “Country? Should have guessed.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You live in a small country town, and you listen to country. Doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure that one out.”

  There’s something in his tone, it’s mocking, and I find it slightly offensive so I hit skip. Five Finger Death Punch fills the air.

  I watch as Eric chokes on his meal, my taste in music clearly throws him. Smiling, I sit down across from him as he tries to swallow some of his beer to wash it down.

  “Thrash music?” splutters Eric.

  “This isn’t thrash, it’s heavy. I do have some thrash if you’d like to listen to it?”

  “No, I’m good. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  “What, I’m not a small-town girl who listens to country? I listen to a lot of different types of music, even classical. But I have to admit I only listen to classical when I’m depressed. Somehow, it seems to lift my spirits to better heights.”

  Eric is studying me intently so much so, I fidget in my chair, then pick up the beer bottle and play with its label, avoiding his gaze.

  “My grandfather used to say, classical music was sent from the gods to soothe our tortured souls.” I look at him, and a lazy smile works its way across his face. “Mind you, Da also said a good woman will love you, keep you, protect you, and soothe you if you treat her right.”

  “So, basically, if you don’t have a woman, classical music will do?”

  Laughter rumbles up out of his chest as he nods in agreement. I smile at him, enjoying the sound of it as he tries to regain his composure.

  “Well, maybe Da didn’t have it all quite figured out,” replies Eric with his gorgeous smile.

  I grin at him and take a swig of my beer. “I don’t know, he sounds pretty smart to me. Is he still with us?”

  “No, he died a few years back.” Eric looks down at his tattoo. “My brothers and I all got this to remember him by. A daily reminder to leave this world better than we found it.”

  “Brothers?” I ask.

  Eric looks away from me, lips pursed, he stands and says, “It’s late. I should be going.”

  I’m confused, I thought we were getting on well, and I was re-thinking my rule of not having sex with him.

  I stand slowly. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “N-No! I’m tired is all. Long day.” He runs a hand through his hair and gives me a half-smile. “See you tomorrow. Twelve sound good?”

  “Sure. Yeah, twelve works. See you then.”

  Eric nods and stalks out the door.

  I’m left standing, staring at the space he was in, wondering what I said to make him bolt for the door. I mentally replay the conversation, but I don’t think I said anything offensive. Bewildered, I shake my head, lock the front door, leave the dirty dishes on the table, and head for my bed. Eric is right, it has been a long day.

  Eric

  The trip home is done at break-neck speed as I try and exercise the demons that are pouring out of my soul. I have no business getting involved with this woman. I can’t tell her anything too detailed about myself, and I’ve already said too much talking about my da. I’m putting my family at risk by discussing them with her.

  What if she tells someone? The whole fucking reason I’m here is to keep them safe. I need to be smarter about this.

  When I reach my front door, I don’t remember the trip home. I’ve done it on auto-pilot, and that can get you killed. All it takes is something to dash out in front of you when you are on a bike, and in a split second, you have to make a decision that could save your life or end it.

  I put the key into the lock of my front door and enter. Nothing is out of place, it’s exactly the way I left it earlier—neat, tidy, and lonely.

  Am I lonely?

  Has it been so long since I’ve had the company of a woman, I’m willing to take the first one who’s shown me any interest? A resounding ‘no’ fills my head.

  This one is different. She’s got a fire in her. I’d like to explore this a little further and see where it leads. Cherie has an awesome body, and her smile could light up a room. I need to see if I can get her to do it more than she does.

  I throw my keys on the dining table, take off my jacket, and sling it across the back of one of the chairs. Absently, I walk into the kitchen and turn on the coffee maker. There’s no use in trying to sleep, so I might as well enjoy a cup or two while I read or listen to music.

  Visions of Cherie surface in my mind. She’s a beautiful woman, sexy as hell, and complicated. Or is she a complication for me? I grab my coffee and take a sip. Flicking on the radio, the late-night news comes on. I sit on my sofa and listen to it. Nothing of interest is on. My mind keeps taking me back to my family and Cherie.

  She doesn’t know the real me.

  She can’t know the real me.

  I’m here to protect my family.

  I can’t get involved with a woman who could potentially jeopardize everything, even one as sexy and feisty as Cherie. The whole reason I’m here is to protect the ones I love, and I would never want to endanger anyone in my new life. It’s selfish of me to begin something on a lie, but visions of her cloud my brain. Maybe it’s possible to keep them separate. One of the reasons I haven’t gotten close to anyone in this town is I’m not a good liar, and sooner or later someone will catch me out. It’s easier to remain alone, but images of her haunt me. My cell phone begins to ring, drawing me out of my inner turmoil.

  “Hello?”

  “Eric, it’s Cherie.”

  “Hey, is everything okay?�
� I ask.

  “Yeah, about tomorrow? I forgot I had an appointment in town. I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel.”

  I should feel relieved. Instead, I’m disappointed.

  “Okay, ahh, yeah. Another time?” I ask, hoping she’ll say yes even if it’s selfish on my part.

  “Sure, another time. Thank you for tonight. See you around town.” The fake cheerfulness in her voice arouses my curiosity.

  “It’s a small town, I’m sure you will.”

  “Night.”

  She doesn’t even wait for me to say goodbye as she clicks off.

  This pisses me off. Tomorrow I think I’ll pay her a visit. I have the day off anyway, so what harm can it do?

  My inner voice tells me it’s a bad idea. Cherie’s made it easy on me by blowing me off. Maybe it’s because she made the decision and not me, but it feels like a challenge, and I haven’t had one of those in a while. Everything in this town has become easy and familiar. Cherie seems hard and complicated.

  Perhaps I need a distraction?

  She’s one sexy distraction.

  Cherie

  It’s housework day. I detest it, but it’s got to be done some time, right? The dinner from last night is still on the dinner table, all congealed and doesn’t look so good the next day. The takeaway containers are placed in the bin. Thankfully, I only need to wash up the cutlery and a couple of plates, which I do fairly quickly. Now, it’s time to vacuum, but I only do it with the music up very loud. Searching through my CDs, I’m looking for an album which will help me get everything done quickly. My hand lingers on The Grinders’ ‘Random Meaning,’ and I pop it into the player. It’s one of their older titles, and Kat Saunders is singing. Damn, that woman had a wonderful voice.

  I put my hair up in a messy bun, start singing along to the music, and dance while vacuuming my floors. Slowly, I make my way through the house, and I’m in the last room—my bedroom—when a hand clamps down on my shoulder. Fear overtakes me, I scream and turn around, hitting the intruder as hard as I can with my vacuum cleaner.