Bad For Me Page 10

  “If I tell your dog I don’t want a kiss, is he going to take the rest of my face off?”

  “Ratchet, it’s okay.” She patted the dog’s side and finally pulled him back by his collar. He moved reluctantly until she was able to cup his face in her hands and smush his cheeks.

  “Are you jealous, or did you think he was hurting me?”

  His large tongue snaked out toward her face, and she turned away with a laugh. She caught Everett watching her intensely, and a lump of unease rose in her throat at his unreadable expression.

  “What?”

  “I want to make you laugh like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re free.”

  Everett stood up then and reached out for her hand. She took it and let him help her to her feet, grabbing his arm with her other hand when the world spun a little.

  “Whoa, that was weird.”

  “Sometimes the altitude can make you lightheaded if you aren’t used to it.” His arm snaked around her waist, and she felt his lips brush the top of her head. “But you can lean on me for any reason.”

  The seriousness of the offer was only strengthened by the way she felt in his arms. Safe. Secure. Protected. And the urge to do exactly what he wanted—to let herself go and put herself in his care—scared the hell out of her.

  She was so out of her element with Everett Silverton. He was too good to be true, which usually led to something bad.

  They started back down the mountain silently, even as Everett hung onto her hand. Callie wished she knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling. For some reason, she felt like she needed to fill the silence.

  “My mom was an alcoholic too.”

  Everett stopped and looked at her. “What?”

  “My mom was an alcoholic. Wine was her drug.” With a bitter laugh, she added, “To this day, I still can’t stand the smell of it.”

  “But . . . why?”

  Callie moved past him down the trail, but he kept pace with her, his hand still gripping hers. She could feel his questioning gaze on her as she stared at the ground. “I can’t . . . it’s hard to talk about, but I just wanted you to know that I understand what you went through with your dad. Sometimes we don’t deal with pain or trauma well, and it’s just easier the use a bottle to block it out. I’ve been on both sides of the coin, and I started working the program because I didn’t want to live my life that way.”

  Everett squeezed her hand. “I was scared for a long time that I was going to end up like him, especially after I came home. I was dealing with so much shit, and I was so tempted to take a bottle and sink into oblivion.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No.”

  Callie could feel the space between them growing. Did he think she was weak for giving in? Was this it? Had she shared too much?

  When they reached the trailhead, Everett released her hand, and it felt like all the warmth in her body left with him.

  Callie walked over to her Jeep and loaded Ratchet inside, while Everett stood off to the side, waiting. When she shut the door and turned, he looked as awkward as she felt.

  “Thank you for showing me the trail. And I’m sorry—”

  “I thought we weren’t going to say sorry?”

  Her heart squeezed. “You’re right. I just . . . ”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later, I guess.”

  It looked like he was going to say something more, but he stopped.

  As he turned to walk away, panic overwhelmed her and before she knew what she was doing, she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Everett.”

  When he faced her once more, she took a deep breath and stepped up to him. Climbing up onto her tiptoes, she kissed the corner of his mouth and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. If this was going to be the last time she saw him, she was going to kiss him. And let herself go.

  With a groan, Everett wrapped his arms around her, lifting her against him. She stiffened as he set her on the hood of her Jeep, and his hand cupped her face.

  “Trust me, Callie.”

  Then Everett’s mouth covered hers gently, his warm lips coaxing hers open. Kissing was something she had purposefully ignored in the few sexual encounters she’d’ experienced since Tristan. In fact, she hardly ever encouraged anything more than some light touching before the main event.

  Sex was a way to chase off the demons. Once she’d given up alcohol, she’d had no outlet to calm the roller coaster of emotions that would sometimes overwhelm her. Fucking helped, and running did too. But it never gave her quite the same kind of calm she got from drinking or screwing a stranger’s brains out.

  Intimacy definitely wasn’t what she was after with sex, especially when it meant explaining why she had seven-inch-long scars from her shoulder to her abdomen—the reason she never took her shirt off during sex. Men could think she was in a hurry or imagine she’d had a bad tummy tuck; she didn’t care. Each of them was nothing but a dick to her.

  But Everett’s kiss reminded her exactly what she’d been missing.

  Heat flowed back through her as she opened her mouth and let him in, her tongue touching his. Lights exploded behind her eyelids as he moved closer, his hands releasing her face to slide along her neck and shoulders. He tasted amazing, and when his body pressed flush against her, a low moan escaped her.

  She remembered kissing as being fun and flirty, but this wasn’t lighthearted. This was intense. Need raced through her body as she held on to the broad shoulders she’d been lusting after since the first time she’d bumped into him. She wanted to stay like this forever, lost in his amazing lips and his warm scent.

  And then, just like that, he was gone.

  Blinking slowly, she refocused on his face, smiling tenderly at her.

  “Have a nice day.”

  Huh?

  He reached up to pull her hands from his shoulders, bringing first one set of knuckles and then the other to his mouth, kissing them softly. When he released her hands, he didn’t say anything else. Just turned his back on her and walked toward his truck.

  And all Callie could do was stand there, trailing her fingers across her lips.

  Chapter Ten

  ON MONDAY AFTERNOON, Callie sat in the back of Chloe’s Book Nook, her friend Gemma Bower’s bookstore. She had agreed to come by and have lunch with them so they could plan Gemma’s baby shower, but she’d hardly touched her salad, too distracted by thoughts of Everett. Absently, she fed Ratchet a bite, tuning out the argument around her.

  “Come on, Gemma. Who wants to go to a baby shower during the holidays?” Gracie McAllister said, throwing up her arms.

  “Lots of people!” Gemma’s pretty face was fixed in an ugly scowl as she stared down her best friend. “If we wait until after, I’ll be eight months and huge. I’d like to be able to walk around without waddling at my baby shower.”

  Callie sighed, staring off into space. She hadn’t heard anything from Everett since Saturday, but she hadn’t been able to get him or his kiss out of her mind. It was crazy to think that with one short, slow kiss, he had literally made fireworks explode in her brain. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t concentrate.

  “Come on, Callie, weigh in here.” Gracie burst in on her thoughts.

  “Gemma’s right,” Callie said, not caring either way.

  “Damn it!”

  “Yes!” Gemma jumped up and danced, despite her already protruding belly. Gemma and her husband, Travis, had found out in July that she was eight weeks’ pregnant with twins, and since then, she seemed to be growing at super speed.

  “Fine,” Gracie said, grumbling. “We can do it the week before Thanksgiving or the week after, but if it’s too close to Christmas, I’m afraid people will skimp out on prezzies.”

  “Travis and I were going to tell people not to bring gifts anyway.”

  Gracie’s face suddenly began to turn an unhealthy purple.

  Callie jumped in o
n this one. “Okay, now that’s crazy.”

  “Dude, you are having twins! You are going to need double everything, and besides, shopping for a baby shower gift is the best!” Gracie made a face before adding, “Unless your best friend decides not to find out the sex of the babies just to piss you off.”

  “We want it to be a surprise.” Gemma shot Callie a pleading look.

  “I think it’s sweet to do it this way,” Callie said and winked at Gemma.

  “Screw that! It means I’m stuck buying baby shit in yellow, green, brown, and orange,” Gracie said. “Those are shit colors, literally. You want me to shop for things that are the color of shit.”

  “You can put a boy in pink,” Callie offered, earning a look of disbelief from her friends.

  “Uh, yeah, I have a feeling Travis would have something to say about that. And animal prints. He’s put a strict ban on leopard, tiger, zebra, and cheetah.”

  Callie shook her head, a small smile playing across her lips. “So, I guess the babies’ rooms won’t look like the Jungle Room at the Fantasy Inn.”

  “Travis wants to wait to decorate until they are born.”

  “And you’re okay with that?” Gracie asked doubtfully.

  “Since I got to make all of the decisions with Charlie for the first nine years, I am taking the passenger seat on this pregnancy.” Gemma rubbed her rounded stomach with a smile. “Besides, it’s really cute to see how excited Travis is.”

  Callie could understand where Gemma was coming from. Due to a lot of miscommunication and distrust, Travis had taken off to become country music’s hottest rock star while Gemma had stayed in Rock Canyon, raising the son he didn’t know he had. When they’d run into each other years later, they had fallen back in love, but those years Travis had lost with their son still rubbed him raw.

  “Just remember that these are your babies too, and your opinion counts.” Gracie was always protective of Gemma’s feelings, and Callie admired her loyalty. “Do not let him guilt you into doing something you don’t want.”

  “Travis doesn’t guilt me, ever,” Gemma snapped.

  “Fine, then don’t guilt yourself,” Gracie shot back.

  “Enough,” Callie said, shaking her head. Sometimes, Gemma and Gracie acted more like sisters than best friends with their bickering. “Why don’t we have it the week before Thanksgiving? That gives us a little over four weeks to plan and get the invitations out. And since fall colors are ‘shit colors’ ”—Callie gave Gracie a pointed look—“we’ll need to get creative to make it cute. Maybe we can make a gift-card tree out of a dead tree branch and glue fake leaves and clothespins to it. Maybe put an owl on one of the branches?”

  “Oh, owls are so cute!” Gemma said enthusiastically.

  “An owl theme would be darling,” Gracie agreed.

  “Fabulous.” Callie stood up and gathered the remains of her lunch.

  “Where are you off to?” Gracie asked.

  “I have a date.”

  “With who?” Gemma asked.

  “A hot blond guy with big brown eyes who adores me.”

  Gracie’s expression was skeptical. “Are you talking about your dog again?”

  “Maybe.” Callie picked up Ratchet’s leash from the floor, ignoring their irritated looks.

  “You are such a tease.” Gemma rolled her eyes.

  “I just like to see you guys get all excited when you think you’re going to hear something juicy.”

  “Speaking of gossip, did you read Miss Know It All’s blog this morning?” Gracie said.

  Callie snorted. Gracie was obsessed with Miss Know It All, their own small-town gossip girl. MKIA had started off with a column in the local paper over a year ago and had since branched off into an online blog, with a tip line and everything. Many people thought Gracie herself was MKIA, but Callie didn’t think Gracie would take shots at her friends the way MKIA had in the past. Gracie had faults, but stabbing people in the back wasn’t one of them.

  She did, however, love gossip of any kind.

  “Hmm, looks like Kirsten Winters went home with . . . holy shit!”

  Callie stopped at the door, unable to resist anything that surprised the hell out of Gracie. “What is it?”

  “Listen to this,” Gracie said and began reading aloud. “ ‘There are a few things you can count on at the annual Rock Canyon Harvest Festival. For instance, Mrs. Andrews will be complaining about something.’ True that.”

  Gemma shot Callie a grin. Mrs. Andrews was a very unpleasant woman and for some reason, a favorite target of Miss Know It All.

  “ ‘There will be at least one kid who pees on the hayride’ ”—Gracie wrinkled her nose as she continued—“ ‘and a couple hookups, despite the family-friendly atmosphere. But it seems that one of the town’s homegrown heroes may have found his Cinderella,’ ” Gracie said, her voice rising excitedly. “ ‘Several people saw Everett Silverton, who is known for his bravery and reclusive nature, pushing a mysterious woman on the swing outside his home. One person even reported that there may have been a kiss or two exchanged—’ ”

  “What?” Callie yelped, earning a hush from Gemma.

  “ ‘Though the woman could not be identified, she is described as average in height and weight, with curly blonde hair.’ ”

  Suddenly, two pairs of curious eyes turned on Callie intently.

  “What are you looking at me for?”

  Gracie looked back at her phone and read, “ ‘Some of the suspects include Jillian Davis, Amanda Meyers, and . . . Callie Jacobsen.’ ”

  The eyes were back on her, this time with eyebrows raised.

  “She just wrote that no one could identify her accurately. It could be anyone with blonde hair,” Callie said, backing toward the door.

  “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Gracie said.

  “Hamlet has a point,” Gemma added.

  Callie glared at both of them. “He didn’t push me on the swing.”

  “But there was kissing?” Gracie asked.

  Callie looked at Gemma pleadingly, but Gemma grinned. “Oh, no, I am dying of curiosity.”

  “Traitor.”

  “Face it. There’s no escape,” Gracie said. “We know where you work and live, and if need be, we will call your satellite provider and deny you all your must-watch shows.”

  “There is nothing to tell. We just talked.”

  “Talked about what?” Gemma prodded.

  “The festival, books . . . stuff.”

  Gracie and Gemma grinned at one another before Gracie said, “So you talked about stuff.”

  “Good stuff?”

  “And that’s my cue,” Callie said, escaping out the back as Gracie yelled, “Resistance is futile!”

  EVERETT HAD JUST finished up a call with a veteran when there was a knock on his door.

  “Yeah, come in.”

  Justin stuck his head in, grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, bro.”

  Everett raised his eyebrow at his brother’s sly tone. “Hey, bro.”

  Justin came in holding a copy of the town paper and straddled one of Everett’s kitchen chairs. “Have you read the paper today?”

  “I have not. Something interesting?”

  “Now that you mention it, it seems you were the highlight of Miss Know It All’s column.” Justin held the paper out to Everett.

  “What? What the hell are you talking about—” Everett stared hard at the blurry picture of him and Callie standing a few inches apart by the swing. You couldn’t make out the faces, but Miss Know It All listed Callie as one of the suspects. “Shit.”

  Callie was going to hate this.

  “So who is she?” Justin asked.

  “None of your damn business.” Everett got up to grab a beer from the fridge.

  “Wow, we’re touchy, aren’t we? Get me one too, will ya?”

  “You come over here to spread gossip, and now you want to drink my beer? You’re lucky I don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “I
grabbed your mail on my way up, if that sways your decision on the beer and the shooting.”

  Everett opened the fridge and took out the beers. After he handed his brother one, he sifted through the envelopes until he came across one with a return-to-sender stamp.

  Damn.

  Picking up the offending letter, he tossed it in the trash.

  “Cara still not taking your letters?” Justin asked somberly.

  “Nope.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  So was he. Cara had been a good friend. Robbie, Cara, and he had all enlisted at the same time and had been thick as thieves. When Robbie and Cara had gotten married, Everett had been standing by as a witness, and when Cara had found out she was pregnant, she’d told Everett first because she’d been bursting with happiness.

  But that was before the bomb—and the fire. It was before he’d come home without Robbie.

  At first Cara had tried to pretend that she didn’t blame him, but after Cara had given birth to RJ, and Everett had come by to see them at the hospital, she’d broken down, sobbing that her son would never know his father.

  “I hate you, Everett, because every time I see you, I wish it had been you and not him. And then I hate myself.”

  Cara’s sister had escorted him out, promising that Cara had just needed time. But after that, the cards he’d sent every year on RJ’s birthday, with money for the kid’s college fund, were sent back. Finally, he’d stopped sending money and just sent the card. As each day, month, and finally year went by, Everett grew less certain that Cara would ever forgive him. He’d been told more than once by his father and brother to give up, but he couldn’t. Not until he had closure.

  “Man, I don’t know why you keep putting yourself through this,” Justin said. “What happened to Robbie wasn’t your fault. You busted your ass to save him and almost died because of it. She should have been thanking you, because some men would have just bailed—”

  “I know how you feel, Justin.”

  “Okay.” Justin played with his beer label. He looked like he wanted to say more about Cara, but Everett didn’t want to hear it.