

# A Perfect Mess

# A Hope Parish Novel

By Zoe Dawson

Published by Blue Moon Creative, LLC

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright by Karen Alarie. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your preferred vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

# Acknowledgments

I'd like to thank Barbara Robyor, Dare Cook, Jannice Roy and Sue Stewart for all their many, many sessions of reading this book over and over again. Thank you, also, to Faith Freewoman for her excellent advice and editing skills. A big thank you also to Sarah Hansen for her fabulous cover design.

# Dedication

To first loves.

# Chapter One

Aubree

" _This solution is incorrect, Miss Walker. "_

_I looked down at the formula and went back over it carefully. "No, sir. I believe that this is the correct answer. I'm sure I got it right."_

" _No. It 's wrong."_

" _Could you tell me why? "_

" _Because a mongoose doesn 't mate with a chicken."_

" _What? I 'm sorry. I don't understand what that has to do with math."_

" _Exactly. Perhaps you haven 't been working hard enough. Maybe you got too many A's and not enough F's. Everyone in this class knows that a mongoose doesn't mate with a chicken."_

_I looked around at the class. All the desks were occupied with...chickens. They all looked at me with beady red eyes and sharp yellow beaks, laughing their fool chicken heads off._

_Oh god, I was being mocked by a roomful of chickens who knew how to do math better than I did. "But they're all chickens. Of course, they would know the answer."_

" _That 's right, and you're not a chicken."_

" _But I could be a chicken. I could study more, work harder. "_

" _I 'm afraid not. Do you know what happens to you in this class if you get the problem wrong? If you don't measure up?"_

" _No, sir. "_

" _It 's the stewpot. We don't tolerate stupid chickens in here."_

" _But...but I'm not a chicken."_

" _No? Then you 're just plain stupid."_

" _No! " I cried. "I'll try harder. I'll be as good as I can."_

"I'll be the perfect chicken," I murmured, tossing and turning, kicking at the bed sheets. A pillow sailed across the room and struck me right in the head, drawing me out of that fitful dream.

"Aubree, you're having the chicken dream again. If you don't shut up, I'm going to yank out all your feathers," Ashley grumbled. My roommate Ashley Cook and I were opposites. I was an uptight stats major and she was an artsy landscape architecture major. She was wild. I was sedate. But somehow we clicked.

Before I could respond to her half-serious threat, my cell phone chimed. I sat up in bed, now fully awake, my heart pounding. A call at this time of night was never good...wait...two a.m....it was technically morning. I fumbled around for the light and stumbled out of bed.

"Aubree. What's wrong?"

"I don't know," I said, rummaging through my Einstein tote in frustration.

"Oh, just turn it upside down," Ashley huffed. Her golden blonde hair fell forward in a loose braid as she got out of bed, grabbed it out of my hands, and upended my neatly packed bag onto my bed. She snatched my cell from the jumble and handed it to me. "I swear, Aubree, you'd spend all night huntin' for it."

"I knew exactly where it was, miz pushy. You didn't have to make a mess out of my bag. Albert hates that."

An indignant sniff was her reply. "Albert can kiss my ass along with your chicken professor. Besides, you love putting all your humpty-dumpty stuff back together again. Admit it." She yawned and settled herself on the edge of the bed once again, legs crossed, her expression wry.

"Hello." My voice was scratchy from sleep.

"Aubree Walker?" The man's voice was deep, brushed with a soft Southern drawl.

"Yes."

"This is Sheriff Mike Dalton."

I frowned. I knew that name. "From Suttontowne?"

His voice was brusque, but there was regret threaded through it. "Yes. I'm calling to inform you that your aunt has been injured. She's in the hospital."

My hand flew to my mouth, my heart jumping into my throat. "Oh, god. What happened?" My Aunt Lottie was my only living relative. The past and the present merged and I was back against the wall, waiting for my mother to wake up from an eternal nap. If it hadn't been for my Aunt Lottie, who had welcomed me into her home and her life with open arms, I would have been alone.

"The best that we can tell, she fell down the stairs."

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, fighting furiously to hold back the tears that gathered in my eyes and constricted into a solid lump in my throat. "How bad is she?"

"She's been unconscious since I found her when I was doing my rounds. But the good news is there are no broken bones."

"That's a relief. I can be there in two hours. Do you know when visiting hours are?"

"Just a moment."

I heard muffled voices and then he came back on the line. "Eight a.m."

"Okay. Thank you, Sheriff."

"You're welcome, Miz Walker. Call me when you get to town and we'll talk."

"Okay, goodbye."

"What happened, Aubree?" Ashley rose and put her arm around me.

I looked over at her. "My aunt's in the hospital. She fell and is still unconscious. I've got to go back to Suttontowne."

"Now, tonight? Can't you wait until the morning?"

I shook my head. My mother had died when I was at school. I couldn't take the chance that the same thing would happen to Aunt Lottie. I owed her so much.

I went to the closet and grabbed my suitcases and threw them on the bed. I was relieved that exams were over and all I had to worry about was my research assistantship.

"What about your RA with Dr. Wells?"

"I should be able to do the bulk of the work on my computer while I'm in Suttontowne. I'll email him before I leave."

"I'm so sorry."

It took me no more than thirty minutes to pack and dash off an email to Dr. Wells. Ashley helped cart some of my luggage down to the car. Before I slid into the driver's seat, she hugged me.

"Make sure to keep me posted on how she's doing. And be a good chicken while you're gone."

"Cluck, cluck," I managed with a weak smile. "I'll call you. Thanks, Ash."

As I drove towards Suttontowne in Hope Parish, where I had lived with my aunt for seven years, I struggled to manage my increasing anxiety. I couldn't lose my aunt. She was the only family I had left, and losing her would leave me totally alone. Even more alone than I had been for the first twelve years of my life.

It had scared me something terrible when my mother went into one of her blue spells--crying all the time, hardly ever getting out of her nightclothes, shutting herself away. I've always thought that the last spell she had did her in. She'd been too blue to get out and see a doctor, and she'd died of pneumonia. Two days later my Aunt Lottie found me still pressed against the wall, too terrified to move. Too terrified about what would happen when they found out my mother was gone and I had nobody.

I shook the anxious thoughts out of my head and turned on the radio to a lively Cajun station, hoping the cheerful Zydeco music would keep my fears at bay.

Avoiding the rear view mirror, where I couldn't help seeing the old ghosts that haunted the depths of my green eyes, I let the music take me home.

Someplace I didn't want to be.

Ever again.

But I couldn't turn my back on my aunt. _You already have,_ that strident little voice inside me said.

My aunt was in a coma. In the hospital. That only added to the mountain of guilt I carried around like a backpack filled with bricks. And it's always easy for me to add another brick.

I should at least have gathered up the courage to visit. But I wasn't there. Just like I hadn't been there for fall break, or Thanksgiving, or Christmas. New Year's Eve? Nope. Rang in the New Year in the lab so I wouldn't have to think about it. Spring break? Yup, you got it. I was working. Easter came and went while I did my statistics thing. I hadn't planned to be there for summer vacation, either. Work, right. A great RA with a fabulous professor analyzing clinical trials.

As I headed towards South Louisiana to Hope Parish, to Suttontowne and the swamp, a storm gathered on the horizon and lightning flashed. That storm also made me think of the boy I had left behind in the worst possible way, under the worst possible circumstances.

I was heading back to the place where Booker Outlaw and I had collided on one of the worst nights of my life. I trembled just thinking about him and what he'd done for me.

My experiences changed me. I'd never be the same girl I was before the secrets and the lies. Before the night Damien Langston changed my life forever.

# Chapter Two

Aubree

By the time I pulled into my aunt's driveway, the rain was coming down so hard I couldn't see anything but silver sheets streaming down my windshield. May in Louisiana was like monsoon season. The downpour trapped me inside my car and left me feeling isolated and cocooned at the same time. And I don't do well when I'm alone with my thoughts. When there's no problem to solve or work to accomplish.

My aunt's white plantation house, generations old, had aged gracefully into a soft patina of yellow. It almost broke my heart to see it again, to think that my aunt might die before I could tell her I was sorry for my neglect...to realize that although I hadn't planned to come home again, ever, I had missed this house--and even more, my beloved aunt--with a deep, enduring ache.

But abandoning this town had been a necessity that burned inside me like old Mr. Lacroix's cheap moonshine.

My vision blurred, my nose runny and probably red from the tears that had started when I was about an hour outside Lafayette. I sat trapped by the rain. My stomach had already been in such knots that I hadn't eaten anything since leaving Tulane.

It tore me up to think of her falling down that wide, grand staircase, lying there alone for who-knows-how-long in that big, empty house.

I went cold at the thought. Really cold. And scared. It was too early to visit her at the hospital and, even though I wanted to see her desperately, I would never break the hospital rules. They were there for a reason. Sick people needed their rest to get better. And I wanted my aunt back.

Grief clutched at me. My throat went tight with pain. Memories of life with my wonderful aunt flooded me, only adding to my tears. Those memories opened up deep emotions that rocked me. I was a terrible niece. I hadn't bothered to come home for the holidays, instead making the excuse that I had to work. The guilt made the knot in my throat even more painful.

All because I was a coward.

I was trying to mop up a fresh flood of tears when something furtive darted past the back window. It appeared abruptly in my peripheral vision, its figure distorted by rain, mists on the window, and still more tears. I gasped and grabbed the steering wheel in panic, while the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I stared in the rear view mirror, raising a hand to quickly wipe my eyes clear, searching for the apparition, but just as abruptly, it was gone.

Were my eyes deceiving me? I peered into the rain-soaked darkness, but the silver sheets obscured my view.

The pelting cascade of water struck the roof in a staccato rhythm which had, only moments ago, been soothing. But now I realized the downpour muted any outside sounds that might have given me a clue about what had flitted past the car. The storm had rendered me deaf and blind, and my skin crawled. Was someone out there? I looked around, my senses on full alert, but could see nothing.

Suddenly my back window exploded in a cascade of finely-beaded glass. Something heavy hit the back seat. I screamed as glass fragments and blowing rain struck the back of my head and neck with moisture and stinging pain.

For a moment I was stunned. My car keys slipped from my slack grasp and fell into shadows, landing somewhere on the floorboards. Someone had thrown something through my window. The oddness of the eerie, sneaky figure added to my confusion.

My hand went to the back of my neck and came away red with blood. I twisted around left and right to see if whoever had broken my window was still out there, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. When I reached down to try to find my car keys, my skin crawled with the feeling I was being watched.

My self-control slipped and I had to get into the house as quickly as possible.

I looked around one more time, but couldn't find anything unusual. To hell with it. I needed to call for help. I reached for my phone and swore under my breath. It was dead.

The rap on my window jolted me. I jerked my head around and saw the unmistakable outline of a broad-shouldered man standing outside the door. He was shouting something at me, but my nerves and the pounding rain drowned out what he was saying. When his fist hit the window again, I dropped my phone and redoubled my efforts to find my car keys, my movements jerky with fear, my breathing quick and uneven. His fist hit the window again. I knew he could easily come through the back window, and then I would be trapped, just like the last day of my summer vacation on Wild Magnolia Road. The door handle jiggled.

My heart stopped, and then finally self-control made room for the rational part of my brain.

I wasn't safe here.

But I wasn't safe outside, either, and without my keys...I couldn't get in the house.

The sound of the handle scared me. At least I had a chance to hide myself in the bayou.

I flashed back to that night, his hot breath, his groping hands. I bolted across the seat with a cry, pushed the passenger-side door open and stumbled from the car. Immediately the deluge soaked me to the bone. I ran. My heart beat frantically, as if it would pound right out of my chest.

I heard a shout; the sound of a male voice set off a spurt of panic. What was happening? Who was he and what did he want? Why did he destroy my rear window? The roar of the rain muffled what he was yelling, blurred his image. When I saw that he was pursuing, my heart accelerated with fear, my breathing harsh in my ears.

And that terrible night flooded back as if it was happening all over again.

The soft ground beneath my feet dragged on my sandals, like I was running in quicksand.

The shout came again--this time much closer--and I screamed. I scrambled through brush that clutched at my clothes like gnarled, grasping fingers.

Urgency making my head light, darkness closing around me, I fought blindly through the thick underbrush.

Suddenly I was hit from behind. I went down hard onto a grassy area as a heavy weight flattened me. The soft ground saved me from scrapes, but the jolt rocketed through my body.

The minute I hit the ground, I fought to my back, bucking and snarling, frantic to get him off me. His voice lashed at me. But, in my blind panic, I couldn't make out anything. All I could think was to get away.

I knocked off his baseball cap, my arms flailing. Pushing hard against his chest was like trying to push against concrete.

He did not budge.

The rain pelted my face in large drops, continuing to obscure my vision. I could only fight while my body vibrated with pulse-pounding terror.

At last the rain let up enough that the water finally cleared from my eyes.

He gripped my arms and shook me slightly, shouting my name into my face. Snapping out of my terror, his voice finally registered. I looked up, up into the face of my attacker.

All my muscles froze. I was unable to move or breathe. _No._ My mind spun wildly, trying to absorb the information. Of all the people, why did it have to be him?

I looked up into Booker Outlaw's face and gasped. He was the last person I was prepared to or wanted to see.

There was no mistake. I knew those sculpted lips, those soul-deep, dark blue eyes, the planes and hollows of his face, and the rock-hard jaw that had only gotten more handsome and mature. And there was no mistaking the sinfully dark hair that now lay like wet black silk around his striking face.

Nine months melted away in the blink of an eye. The last time I'd laid eyes on him, he'd been in the bayou, a shovel in his hand, the shared perfect mess between us.

The unpredictable and wayward teen I had known looked more like a man, and that powerful maleness created such an uproar that my nerves were drowned out by the jingle-jangle of my senses.

He didn't move; the look on his face was subdued, his eyes flat with anger. He stared down at me as if he was seeing a ghost. Then, his eyes changed as he took in my face. I'm sure the last hour of tears and guilt and pain were etched there naked for him to see.

I pushed at him, but he still didn't budge. And I was suddenly aware of just how close he actually was. His muscled thighs crowded mine; his strong arms bracketed my head. He smelled safe, strong--like cinnamon and warm, male skin. His ragged breath fanned my neck.

My pulse sped up. My shaky breath snagged in my lungs. The heat of him radiated through the layers of clothes, his hard muscles pressed against me.

The intimacy shocked me, excited me. And then he shifted, and a sudden heat shot through my blood.

I tightened my grip on his arms.

His dark eyes locked on me.

"Aubree. Welcome back."

His voice was husky, filled with that special tone that he seemed to reserve only for me. Guilt and a twisted longing tightened in my gut.

His soft Southern drawl was like a hot brush against tingling skin. He was close, so close. And I gazed back at him, trapped by the dark, raw heat in his gaze. I traced the hollows of his features with my eyes.

His eyes ran over my face in a rush, as if he was still trying to believe it was me, and then settled on my mouth. My breath grew erratic, my blood skipped crazily through my veins. And then his gaze returned to mine, and I was lost again in those dark, dark eyes.

"Booker," I said breathlessly. I took in his strong neck, his hard jaw. "What are you doing here?"

"The sheriff sent me when he couldn't get you on your cell. He didn't want to leave your aunt, so I volunteered."

"Why were you at the hospital?"

"Your aunt and I are friends. She had me on her list of emergency contacts."

His even breath mingled with mine and I could only stare back at him. He and my aunt were friends? What the hell?

"Why did you run?" he asked.

Those words, uttered with hints of humor and accusation, coupled with his sudden appearance, caught me badly off guard. For a moment I thought he was talking about nine months ago. That he was finally asking me the question I'd been dreading. Then I realized that he was talking about the present. Why I had jumped out of my car and run like a banshee from Hell was chasing me.

My face flamed and as I looked away, tiny purple flowers touched my heated cheek with a silky caress.

"Someone threw something through the back window of my car. Then the knock on the window scared me. I couldn't make out who you were. I lost my keys and my phone is dead. I got scared and bolted."

"What?" He was immediately on his feet. Reaching down he simply lifted me upright as if I weighed no more than a feather.

He dropped his hands and stepped back, his gaze still burning on me. And then he turned, bent down and retrieved his baseball cap, his movements quick and decisive. He banged the hat gingerly on his thigh to sluice off the water and jammed it back on his head, his thick, wet hair curling at the nape of his neck. His eyes surveyed the area, dark and alert beneath the brim, his mouth a lethal slash.

"Don't worry, sugar, the cavalry is here--again," he taunted softly. I stiffened. I hated that he thought of me as a woman who constantly needed rescuing. "Go on to your aunt's house," he told me. His eyes never veered from the area where my car was parked.

"Didn't you hear me? I don't have my keys."

"Go up on the porch, then. Take my phone and call the sheriff. Most likely it was just kids pulling a prank, but call him anyways."

Booker dug in his pocket and held out his cell. The plastic was warm from his skin. He grabbed my wrist and pressed the phone against my palm. It was all the more annoying that the feel of his palm lingered as if my cells had memorized every molecule. We were separated by a few steps, but it felt strangely intimate.

I was so embarrassed that I had lost my self-control. I should have been calmer and composed and simply asked who was there, instead of running from the car like an idiot. Now that I finally had my wits back, his bossy tone grated. "I didn't ask you to come by, Booker. You're the one who scared me to death!"

His gaze pinned me, and that freaking annoying, mocking smile curved his lips. "Always with the argument, Aubree. Just move it, sugar. We'll argue right and wrong after I check things out." He slapped me on my ass. I was so outraged that I punched him on the arm.

He had the nerve to laugh.

"Go!" he growled under his breath.

I turned and trotted toward the mansion. As soon as I reached the porch, I glanced behind me. Booker stalked cautiously towards my car. I should have been more aware of my surroundings, and should have been dialing the sheriff, but I couldn't take my eyes off his powerful form.

I ran my eyes from the curling black hair edging his collar beneath the ball cap to the strong lines of his neck. Then on to the duster swinging around his legs. Faded jeans gloved to his muscled thighs.

Oh, yeah. Booker was definitely no longer a boy.

Faintly, at the very edge of my hearing, I heard a chilling, low laugh, but when I whirled to look there was no one there. My nerve broke and I rushed to the front door and pressed my back to it, shivering in the warm, sultry air.

I peered out into the night, only to find that Booker had disappeared. I scanned the darkness, my senses on keen alert, but nothing moved. Finally, Booker emerged, pulled open the passenger-side door, and leaned inside.

I called the sheriff and he promised he'd be right over.

Booker walked steadily to the house. In that duster, he looked like some disreputable outlaw; the only thing missing was a gun belt strapped to those sexy, swaying hips. Who was I kidding? He _was_ a disreputable Outlaw. One of three. The unholy trinity. The Outlaw triplets, Booker, Boone, and Braxton.

When he reached the front door, he handed me my keys. My hands trembled so badly I couldn't get the key in the lock. His hand cupped mine, sure and gentle as he helped me. As the door gave way, I tumbled into the house, and he followed. He hurried to the linen closet at the top of the curving stairs, grabbing two towels.

"Whoever was there is gone now," Booker said on his way back down the stairs. "Are you all right, sugar?"

I took the towel he handed me. My eyes narrowed. "I will be once the heart attack you gave me subsides."

"I have that effect on all the girls."

I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him, then immediately regretted it. Control, I told myself. Good girls don't get angry.

"I see Tulane hasn't worked the spitfire outta you. Must be that red hair."

I thrust the phone I had clutched back at him. "What smashed the window?" I asked, unnerved by his familiarity with my aunt's house.

"A very large rock. The rain soaked the interior, I'm afraid." Booker accepted the phone and tucked it into his jeans pocket.

"Crap!" I finished wiping my face and neck with the second towel before I continued. "I hope there's no permanent damage."

He nodded, his eyes studying my face, as if he could find something there that would answer the questions I knew he had burning his tongue. I avoided his gaze, squared my shoulders against the forbidden discussion.

But Booker was unpredictable. You never knew what was going to come out of that damn... sexy mouth. To my surprise, he didn't ask me anything. With a lazy roll of his shoulders, he rubbed the towel over his face and the back of his neck. Taking off his cap, he set it on the hall table, a quaint Queen Anne that was worth a fortune.

"Don't put your wet hat there! It'll ruin the wood."

He snatched up the cap, gave me one of his lazy looks, and sauntered to the door, where he snagged it on a hook.

Towel-drying his hair left it in spiky waves all over his head. I simply had to turn away.

And saw that the sheriff had arrived. I headed outside with Booker following.

"Hello, Sheriff. Thank you for coming out so quickly."

"What happened here, young lady?" Mike Dalton was a tall, lanky man with piercing green eyes and a ruggedly handsome face. He inspected the damage, took my statement, and cautioned me to be careful. He eyed Booker, giving him that cop stare.

"I send you to do a simple task, boy, and you scare the bejeesus out of her?"

"It was an accident."

He shook his head at Booker, then pinned me with a serious look. "Aubree. What I wanted to talk to you about is...I'm not so sure your aunt fell."

"What? What do you think happened?"

"I don't know yet. The front door was unlocked. Your aunt was a stickler for locking that door. I'm going to get back to the hospital in case she wakes up. Booker, make sure she gets in the house safely. We'll talk some more later, Aubree." He got back in his car and drove off.

"I think there's a waterproof tarp in your aunt's shed that will cover the hole in your back window. I'll go get it."

"I can help with the tarp."

"I got it covered."

My anger flared. I didn't need him to do me any more favors. "I'm not going to leave all the work to you. It is _my_ car. I insist."

"Suit yourself, sugar." He straightened and looked at me intently again, in that way he had of making me feel as though I was the only one in the universe. His universe. It was both confusing...and quite a turn-on.

"There's a flashlight--"

"Your aunt has a flashlight--"

We both spoke at the same time and both stopped when we realized we were saying the exact same thing.

"Yes, I know where the flashlight is," I said, once again wondering how he knew my aunt's house so well. "I do live here."

"It's best to head out the back way."

I nodded and followed him into the house and to the kitchen, grabbing the flashlight on my way past the drawer.

"I'm sorry about what happened."

"Do you really think it was some kind of prank?" I decided against mentioning the laugh I had heard while I was on the front porch, dismissing it as anxiety.

"Probably."

I agreed, not wanting to think anything more sinister could be happening. I know. Denial, but I thought I'd cut myself some slack for now. After all, I had to deal with my aunt's coma, shattered windows, and Booker Outlaw all in one night.

I stopped dead when he flipped on the back light. "Whoa, what happened out here? This is beautiful." The patio had been converted from a sorry broken-brick-ankle-breaking disaster to something lush and gorgeous.

"She got some landscaping."

"I'll say. Did you do this? Is that why you know her house so well?"

"Nope, it was my brother, Boone."

"Oh," I said, and shivered when he opened the door. He glanced at me, then shrugged out of his duster and draped it around my shoulders. It was too big for me, but it was warm inside from Booker's body heat.

I flipped on the flashlight as we walked through my aunt's renovated patio. It had been transformed into more of a garden. At the shed in the back, I held the light for him. Booker went inside and found the tarp.

Back at the car we worked together to get the hole covered, weighting down the tarp with rocks.

"Do you have luggage?"

"Yes, in the trunk."

"I'll get it. Why don't you head back up to the house?" When he saw the protest on my face, he held up his hand. "This time I insist, Aubree."

Shit. I had to stop liking the way he said my name.

"Thank you," I said, ducking inside the car to grab my cell and my Einstein tote. I walked back to the house, but peered at him through the side window.

The rain had started up again, and the dark night and downpour almost obscured him from my view.

I'd have to call an auto glass place tomorrow and get the window fixed. They were calling for more rain this week.

Right now I was still reeling from my scare...and from seeing Booker again in the flesh.

He came back into the house carrying my luggage, which he set at the bottom of the stairs. Rain dripped off the bill of his hat while he regarded me intently.

He took a scant step forward, and I was suddenly painfully aware of my appearance--which was ridiculous, given the circumstances, but true nevertheless.

He'd always had that effect on me. And it had always been ridiculous. Growing up, he'd been Booker Outlaw, living under the terrible stigma of his confederate ancestor. Most times, when our paths had crossed, he'd worn little more than ragged cutoffs, with callused hands and hair in desperate need of a cut. I'd been an awkward teenager with my face constantly stuck in a book.

My cheeks heated now, as they always had when he looked at me with those blue, blue eyes of his, somehow always managing to make me feel like a mess even when I knew I was put together perfectly. This time he probably could make a case for it. I resisted the urge to straighten my hair and smooth the wrinkled t-shirt I had thrown on before leaving New Orleans hours ago.

"My coat?"

It was the slight hesitation in his voice that snagged my attention, dragging it from past to present. He'd always been intense, with quite a lot of charm that had attracted more than one female. Or maybe the challenging edge to his tone had been exclusively for me. Regardless, I didn't think I'd ever heard him sound anything less than certain. Of course, though it shamed me to say it, I could probably still recall perfectly every single second of every encounter we'd ever had.

"Thank you, Booker. I really appreciate you helping me." My tone conveyed more meaning, and he picked up on it. Seeing Booker again, the object of many fantasies materialized, remembering his patience about the trauma of my aunt's accident, the rock through my car window, and the wild flight from my car, made me feel even worse about the way I had treated him nine months ago and further back, all the way back to high school--when he'd been nothing but supportive and sensitive. And here I was bitching at him about putting his wet baseball hat on the furniture. Sheesh.

It was too much. He still made my heart pound. I felt under siege. By too many memories and too much unsaid between us. The unsaid part weighed heavily on me.

He reached out and tilted my chin up with his forefinger. "You're welcome, Aubree." The warmth of him seeped into my cold body. Shivering slightly from his touch, I hoped that Booker just thought it was from my wet clothes.

My mouth went dry and I cleared my throat. "Next time you come up on someone's car, try not to scare the person half to death."

There was that little quirk again, at the corners of his mouth. Better not to look at his mouth. God, I was looking at his mouth.

"Sure, sugar. Sorry I scared you."

"Well, I'm just glad it was you and not an axe murderer."

"I'm glad it was me, too."

Was it my imagination still running wild, or had there been something suggestive in that? I dragged my gaze from his firmly chiseled lips--age had only improved every rugged inch of him--to his eyes, eyes that held me spellbound. I reminded myself sternly that what mattered right now was that they probably saw way too much in mine. I slipped out of his coat and handed it to him.

"Good night, Booker."

I glanced at the stairway, knew it led to a generous bathtub that would soon be filled with hot, steaming water, water that would warm me all the way to my marrow.

He didn't shift away, didn't let me past. For the longest moment he simply held my gaze, trapped it in his own, and kept it there while he studied and probed. He never dropped his gaze below my face, and yet I felt thoroughly...frisked. I wanted to fold my arms over my chest, hide my reaction to him. I didn't dare move a muscle.

"I'm just a phone call away," he said quietly. "If you need me." He pulled a pen out of his pocket and grabbed my hand, making my skin tingle with the heat and texture of his, and wrote his number on my palm.

"Good night, Aubree."

It wasn't until he shifted back, putting some space between us, that I let out the breath I'd been holding. I walked to the door, determined to put distance between us before I did something even more reckless than letting him get that close to me.

"Bye." The sultry night hit me like a wet blanket when I forced myself to calmly, naturally, open the door for him. But, even when he was standing on the porch, I didn't shut the door. He glanced back at me from the shadows.

"It's about time you came back here. Your aunt missed you. Close and lock the door, sugar."

It was a parting shot, and the instant guilt consumed me, anger flared, but I clamped down on it. I often felt like one of those people at the circus who ate fire. It burned in my gut.

With every ounce of bad-boy charm he possessed, he surprised me by grinning. Broadly. "See you around."

"Yeah," I said faintly as I slammed the door. That small act of rebellion made me clamp down harder on my self-control. His words sounded more like a promise than an off-the-cuff comment. But I watched him step off the porch and disappear into the darkness. That terrible craving hit me again. He was not someone I should be involved with. His reputation, his laissez-faire attitude, his gorgeous good looks. "Not if I see you first," I murmured to the silent house.

Just because I found him attractive didn't mean I had to act on that attraction. I knew what was best for me. What would he want with a rigid, uptight girl like me, anyway?

# Chapter Three

Booker

_Aubree freaking Walker_.

Yeah. She hadn't changed one bit. Still gorgeous, still distant and buttoned up, still curvaceous. I shifted. My thoughts and my purely male biological reaction to her. They weren't a good combination. Yeah. Heavy wood in the morning.

I turned over onto my back and glared at the goddamned ceiling fan.

And my brain took a track I'd tried very hard not to travel down for the past nine months. What had she been doing all this time at Tulane? Had she thought about me? Or had she lost herself in another guy?

Another guy inside her.

_Fuck._

I felt awful about the way she had just taken off, and sick about both that and what had happened. I was also really angry. Disappeared without even a goodbye.

But now she was back because of her aunt's terrible accident. Was that the only reason, or was Aubree looking for closure?

Only two times I'd been one-on-one with her, on Wild Magnolia Road and again really early this morning, and both times there had been something terrible going on. Would I ever have the chance to relate to this girl in a completely normal setting? I wasn't some kind of knight, but I also wasn't going to let her get hurt. Whoever had thrown that rock better watch his step.

Would she ever get it that I'd crushed on her in school? I hoped not. I knew Aubree's sort. Forever kind of girl was how I pegged her type. Sure, I could flirt and I could tease, but getting involved with her was a bonehead move. And, if there was anything that I did well, it was looking out for myself.

She looked good, though. Really good. But I felt a pang that she had not only avoided me and Suttontowne, but her aunt, too. Poor Lottie. She was upset about Aubree's all-too-transparent excuses not to come home, not even for the holidays. Aubree was all Lottie had. I hoped this wasn't about me. I would hate that. People should never abandon the ones they love. My father popped into my head, but I pushed that thought away. The old man didn't deserve even one thought from this son.

_The apple doesn 't fall far from the tree._

Time to get moving. When my thoughts started down this ole tired road, it was time to find something else to occupy my mind.

In the bathroom I splashed cold water on my face, and then stood in front of the sink, forcing myself to keep my hands relaxed. No matter what my feverish little brain could come up with, wooing Aubree into bed was not going to happen. That much I knew.

After another minute of just standing there, watching the water drip off my face, it hit me. That was the only goddamned plan I was going to come up with--not sleeping with her.

I was a fucking genius.

I wasn't the heart-breaking skirt chaser. I left that up to my brother Braxton. I'd had my share of sex when it was right, so I wasn't any kind of angel. But in the end I always came back to Aubree. At least in my head.

I changed into my running clothes, tying the laces with practiced flicks of my wrist. An hour sweating in the early morning mist would cleanse Aubree Walker right out of my system. Outside the sky was a mottled gray, hanging heavy and low over the bayou, signaling more rain.

As I moved along, I started to get into a rhythm. An old guy fishing in the bayou among the spider lilies and the water lettuce waved to me as I passed. I waved back. The air was heavy, but being a native swamp rat, I sucked it right in like nectar.

Back at my house, I headed up the stairs, checking my watch, my breathing already regulating. I always had plenty to do, and I made a great effort to keep my mind on my work, on breakfast, on anything but Aubree Walker. I showered, and sat down to answer fan mail and post to the numerous social media sites that were now a big part of my life as a writer. I was happy to hide behind a pen name, but if someone really wanted to find me, they could. Especially in this day of electronics, GPS, and the Internet.

I had several contest prizes I needed to mail out and planned a late-morning trip to the post office. But first it was time for two hours of research. Without warning, my mind flashed back. I felt the heaviness of the air, sweat dripping into my eyes, the sound of a shovel striking dirt. Her panic, her scent, the fact that I would do anything for her.

I snapped out of it, dragging my focus back to my computer and the Internet. I needed to get away. The Greek Isles trip--both a vacation and a research trip--couldn't have come at a better time. My new book was ready to be released at the end of the month. The last in the trilogy. I expected it would hit the _New York_ _Times_ and make me more thousands of dollars a month.

And as much as I tried to distract myself with all the very busy and important aspects of my life, she remained a glow in the back of my mind.

_Aubree freaking Walker._

#

In town I parked my Mustang Shelby GT 500 in front of the post office, hopped out, and mailed my packages. Mrs. Leone, one of the town's longest-lived members and a major busybody, stood behind the counter like she owned the U.S. Mail. I grinned like I had my hand in the cookie jar and winked at her. Mmmm...cookies. Warm, gooey, chocolate chip cookies. Made me want some. I'd have to get Brax to make me up a batch. Mrs. Leone gave me the evil eye, but she took my packages and my money.

I've endured much worse.

As I came out of the post office, I happened to glance across the street to the diner. Windswept red hair captured my attention, long and silky, along with a breezy yellow sundress with tiny white polka dots. Aubree. The dress was pretty, really pretty, especially on her, with lace along the straps that left her silky shoulders bare. Before this morning if anyone had asked me if I liked lace, I'd have told them only if it was black, skimpy, and coming off.

Now I was actively expanding on the possibilities.

The same went for little buttons. I was ready to prostrate myself at the altar of nice yellow buttons like the ones running all the way down the front of that dress.

And her delicate features haunted my dreams in ever-changing patterns. I could spend a millennium on her mouth alone.

I needed to get a grip. Aubree Walker probably hadn't given me a second thought, and the only reason she'd ever given me the time of day was because she was in trouble. I made her nervous as hell, and I didn't blame her. The situation we were in made me nervous as hell, too.

The temperature had already gone from mild to sultry. I smelled the rain on the wind.

Acting on pure gut instinct, I pocketed the keys I'd just taken out of my jeans pocket and crossed the street. From the entrance to the diner, I saw Aubree through the window, sliding into a booth and getting a menu. I stood there like a creep watching her. There were many options here. I could just walk away and leave her alone like I thought she wanted. I could go in, sit down, talk to her. I could stop thinking about her.

Playing the option game helped me feel like I could walk away whenever I wanted to. I've always needed that freedom, even when I already knew what my choice would be if I could have what I wanted. Aubree always looked too busy, too stressed, as if fun wasn't a word she would ever entertain in her vocabulary. That's what got me all wound up about her. Didn't she ever have any fun?

I couldn't stand there and stare at her. My reputation in town was bad enough. I didn't need to add perv to it. I shifted and started to dig for the keys in my pocket, turning away. Then she did it. Reached up and brushed at her eye. I couldn't stand it. Couldn't tolerate that she was alone and hurting. The memory of her ravaged face only hours ago hit me in the heart...hard. I didn't like dealing with other people's problems. I mostly kept to myself and my brothers, Boone and Braxton, the three of us like a small wagon train circled against this town of hostiles. But fuck, the girl got to me.

She fucking _got_ to me.

_Fuck_!

I pushed through the door of the diner and found it filled with locals. It was a weekday morning, so there were mostly old-timers and mothers with children. Some glanced my way and scowled, but I let their glances bounce off me like Superman. I stopped behind her booth. But she was so engrossed in her menu, she didn't notice me. And I knew it wasn't the menu she was seeing.

"It's just breakfast, Aubree," I said close to her ear. "Not rocket science."

She gasped and turned. Her startled, thickly-lashed green eyes focused on me and flashed with renewed anger. At least that was a reaction.

Breathless, she said, "Booker!"

It shouldn't have felt so goddamn good, the way she said my name.

I circled the booth and squatted down, folding my arms along the edge of her table. "Is this seat taken?" I gave her my best bad-boy stare.

She looked over at the empty booth, and then back at me blankly, like someone who'd been stumped in Jeopardy. She frowned.

I shouldn't have been surprised when she hesitated. But even though I didn't want to admit it, she had a way of hitting me where it hurts. She was my kryptonite. She made me weak.

I rose, thinking this was a bad idea and stepped back, my own anger renewed.

"What's the matter, Aubree? You don't want to get...dirty?"

Her lips tightened and her eyes flashed green fire. Was it messed up that I wanted to get burned?

I turned. "I got shit to do anyway."

"Booker, wait."

She bit her lip and that action sent a direct signal to my dick. I was trying hard not to think with that head today, but she wasn't making it easy.

I had a feeling _nothing_ with Aubree Walker would be easy.

"Sit down," she finally said. "Please."

I grinned and slid into the booth. Betty Sue came over to wait on us and glared at me. "Booker Outlaw, you causin' trouble?"

"Who, me?" I asked innocently. "I'm just bein' neighborly to Aubree, here."

Betty Sue looked at Aubree and Aubree shot back a long-suffering look with a side of _he 's harmless_.

I wasn't harmless, but I wasn't about to tell them that.

After Betty Sue left with our orders, Aubree leaned forward and hissed, "My hesitation doesn't have anything to do with your reputation, Booker. That's offensive, and you did it on purpose to get a rise out of me. It's just...you remind me of that night."

Ouch. That was brutally honest. Sick inside that she associated me with what happened, I couldn't help saying, "Then you and I should make some new memories. I'm having a party next Saturday. Why don't you come on by?"

She shook her head and my pulse jumped like frog legs on a skillet. Aubree posed a challenge I couldn't resist.

"It's best we don't make any memories at all. I intend to go back to Tulane, and you will surely stay here in Suttontowne and do...whatever...it is you do."

She said it like I was an idiot for not going to college. She didn't know that I made it big. I smirked and she huffed. "Well, not all of us can go to college. I find pounding sand to be most enlightening."

Her lips tightened, and I wondered for one glorious moment how they would soften with my mouth fused to hers. How her body would melt.

"Just like you not to take me seriously," she said, her jaw tightening. "Education is so important. Vital, in fact. Don't you want to live up to your potential?"

I leaned back. Intense was the only way to describe Aubree right now. She was able to get this amazing holier-than-thou attitude, as if I was some kinda slack-jawed moron. "Bullshit. I don't need some teacher or college degree to tell me I've measured up. I get my education from just laying back and living life."

Aubree took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. " _Lying_ back is for hound dogs and old men on porches. For one, you're the wrong species, and for the other, you're not old enough for a rocking chair yet. A university offers structure and disciplined study for civilized men."

I leaned forward, enjoying the debate, enjoying her. I gave her a direct stare, capturing that green fire all for myself. "I'm not exactly a civilized man."

Her eyes widened and she licked her full, pink lips. _Goddamn_. I salivated, waiting for her response.

Just then Betty Sue slammed down our orders.

I dug right in, but eventually noticed that Aubree was barely touching her food. "What are you studying at Tulane?"

She looked up. Her chin lifted like she had a chip on her shoulder. "Statistics."

I made a face and she looked irritated. "What?" she said in a demanding voice.

"What the hell kind of major is that, sugar?"

Her voice was carefully controlled when she responded, which said to me that she was offended by my question. Aubree got more buttoned up and uptight when she felt threatened. But I believe in being tested. What was the point if there was no challenge?

"It's mathematics, only the foundation of everything. There is math in the clothes we wear, the things that we use to make our lives convenient. It's in the very air we breathe. So how can statistics not be a good major? Math is the _framework_ of the _universe_."

"It sounds boring. How is it going to get you to your potential? Do you have an equation for that?"

She tilted her head like she was trying to figure out if I was really dense or just being contrary. "By applying myself. I'm a whiz at it. I can relate it to a number of real-life problems."

"If it comes so easily, how does that test you?"

For a moment she stared at me like I'd just stood on my head and started making monkey noises. Then she took a bite of her eggs. I was almost finished with mine.

"So, how about that party?"

"I don't go to parties. I have to work." Her politeness was pathological. At that point I'd really expected her to either flip me off or tell me to go screw myself.

"Work? I thought this was your summer vacation." I leaned forward, making sure I had a pleasant smile on my face. "How will you write that essay the first day of class if you don't experience some fun over the summer?"

"What essay?"

She said it like I was serious and she'd somehow missed an assignment. This girl really needed to lighten up. "Well, the one in home room. You know. 'What I did on my summer vacation.'?"

She tried to hide it, but I saw the slight smile. I felt like I'd just accomplished Mission Impossible. Aubree Walker had smiled.

"We're not in grade school anymore, Booker."

"No, but we also don't have to act like all the fun that ever existed in the world is gone, either, just because we're no longer in high school. 'The best and safest thing is to keep a balance in your life, acknowledge the great powers around us and in us. If you can do that, and live that way, you are really a wise man _. '"_

"Euripides." She sighed. "Doesn't surprise me that you would quote from a rebel playwright and philosopher. I believe in hard work. There's nothing wrong with that."

"If hard work is all you do, then you're not acknowledging the great power around us and in us."

Looking mutinous, she said, "Why do they have to be mutually exclusive?"

I released a breath, a pretty exasperated-sounding breath, and her face only got more mutinous. "Because it's a narrow view, Aubree. It gives you no choices, no options. Hard work is it."

"So expanding my universe, becoming one with it, is all about fun."

"Yes, completely."

She tilted her head, and I couldn't help but notice the way it made all that auburn hair of hers tumble about her pale, delicately-defined shoulders. "Okay, thanks, Obi Wan. There's just one flaw in that."

I raised my eyebrows. "Only one? And here I had my piece of paper all ready to take notes."

She tried to keep her expression serious, but I saw her fight the smile again. "Really, you can count to two? I'm _so_ impressed."

I laughed out loud and nudged her under the table. She nudged me back.

I pantomimed a pencil, wet it with my tongue and pantomimed writing. "One," I said really slowly. "I'm sure you'll help me with the next number when I'm ready."

This time she kicked me. "Ouch," I said, grabbing my shin.

It was her turn to smirk. "You spoke of balance, but how can there be balance if life is all play and no work?

Aubree wasn't like other girls. She thought about things and gave me answers that had meaning or challenge. Another thing I already liked about her. "Ha! Tripping me up with my own words. Work plays a part in it, but, Aubree, let me blow your mind. What if your work _is_ your fun? What then? Would you consider it hard? Fun? Even work at all?"

She was quiet for a moment, as if she hadn't even considered that. She looked at me as if she was having some kind of revelation. "You're dangerous, Booker."

"In what way?"

"In a lot of ways, but you're a word master--persuasion is powerful. It's almost magical...if I believed in magic. I would say that was fun for you. But, believing what you say takes conviction. I'm not sure if you're just feeding me bullshit to get me to go to your party, or if you're just..."

"What?"

"Interesting."

My heart tumbled over when she gave me another considering look and reached for the bill. Before she could get it, I snatched it up. "Breakfast is on me."

"That's nice of you, but I really should pay my fair share."

"As a word-master, I would suggest that you get that word out of your vocabulary."

"What word?"

"Should."

She shook her head at me. "Okay, Booker. I won't argue with you, because I need to get to my Aunt Lottie. Uh, thank you."

She walked out the door while I stood in line impatiently waiting my turn. Finally, I just dropped a fifty near the register and burst out of the diner door, looking for her. When I found her I froze.

Aubree had crossed the street, and her path was now blocked by a hulking Daniel Langston, deceptively handsome, and six feet, two inches of just plain mean. Not the kind of ring-your-doorbell-and-run prank kind of mean, but evil mean. He wore his blonde hair combed straight back from his face, drawing attention to his amber eyes and his controlled, cruel smile. I wanted to plant my fist in his face. Already, at nineteen, lines of indulgence were etched beside those tawny eyes and around his weak mouth.

Adrenaline shot into my bloodstream. I crossed the street quickly and heard him say, "Where you been at, Aubree? Too bad about your aunt."

Aubree looked up at him, her brows pulling together in annoyance, her face pale. When she reset the Einstein bag on her shoulder, her fingers were trembling. An irritated spark ignited a fire in my belly.

"You know where I've been. This town is always a hotbed of gossip. And you sound _soooo_ sorry about my aunt."

When she tried to go around him, he stepped into her path again. "Don't you have time for an old school buddy?"

Aubree laughed harshly. "We were never _buddies_ , Daniel, and this is getting old. Move out of my way."

"I was just wondering. Back last summer before you left for school, did you happen to see my brother? Damien always had a soft spot for you...or should I say hard spot?"

I watched her turn paler, and I damned Daniel and his no-account brother to eternal Hell. My own personal philosophy was live and let live. But when Langston messed with people weaker than him, I couldn't look the other way. And now the bastard had gone too far. He was hurting Aubree.

"No, I didn't see him. We both know how your brother felt about me."

All pretense of good cheer left Daniel's voice when she shouldered past him. "You little fucking do-gooder. Don't turn your back..."

His tawny eyes were cold and flat as gold coins. She kept walking. He jumped after her and fastened his big, hammy hand over her shoulder, preparing to spin her around.

The fire that had burned low leapt inside me. I came up behind him and wedged the toe of my sneaker in front of the bastard's ankle. As Aubree twisted away from the man's touch, I jerked back, and he went sprawling face-down into the gutter. His breath gusted out of him in a painful grunt.

"Oh, hey, I'm sorry, Danny boy," I said without a drop of sincerity. "I guess I wasn't lookin' where I was goin'."

Langston shoved himself up onto his hands and knees, coughing and spitting dirt in between curses. He shot a nasty look at me over his shoulder, his face almost purple beneath the layer of gritty dirt.

"Langston, watch your tongue. There are young'uns around here. What would your daddy, the pillar of the community, say to that?"

"I should have known you'd be sniffing after her, Outlaw. Like a cur in heat," Langston snarled. He hauled himself to his feet, trying in vain to dust his clothes off. His eyes locked on to me in a stare as hard and cold as the hounds of hell. "You trying to polish up that white trash reputation?"

"No, my reputation has to do with a man who's been dead for almost two hundred years. What's your excuse?"

"I don't have to take that from you, Outlaw," Langston said, his voice low and thrumming with anger. He took a step toward me.

"Go ahead, Langston, take a swing--please." I spoke just as low, but my voice was calm as the gulf before a hurricane. My brothers hated it when I talked like that. They knew it meant I was about to blow.

"Mr. Big-Shot-Best-Selling-Author. You're nothing but a no-account, conceited piece of trash. All the money in the world can't change that."

"Naw," I said, one leg cocked, my right hand propped on my waist. I heaved an exaggerated sigh. "You're a fine example of that."

He swung. In a snap, I blocked and had Langston by the shirtfront, slamming him against the side of the building. I let my mask of humor drop and set the fury free to burn. "A man is what you ain't, Langston." I ground the words out between my teeth, my face inches from his. "You, you're a piece-of-shit coward. Me, I'm a con man. I'll give you that. I tell lies for a livin'. But don't be thinkin' I'm the guy who only uses my words as weapons. I'm also the guy who's gonna kick your balls up to your throat and knock your teeth down to meet 'em if you _ever_ lay a hand on Aubree Walker again." I let the fury show for a moment longer, then flashed him a patented ungodly smile, courtesy of one of the unholy Outlaw trinity. "Have I made myself perfectly clear, Langston?"

Slowly I loosened my hold on Langston's shirtfront. Forcing myself to smile affably, I made a deliberately botched attempt to smooth out the fabric and brush off some of the dirt, then stepped back and dropped my hands to the waist of my jeans.

"Maybe you better go on home and change."

I spied the ice cream truck coming down the street, heard its cheery music. I took a step back and flagged it down.

Dismissing Langston entirely, I dug some bills out of my pocket and paid for two Fudgsicles. I could feel Langston's eyes boring into my back, but I didn't give a damn. There was nothing that coward could do to me. I already had a bad reputation in this town.

I shot an inquiring look at Aubree.

"You want a cold treat, sugar?"

"You're messing with the wrong guy, Outlaw," Langston said, his voice shaking with rage and humiliation. "You don't want to tangle with me."

I flicked a glance at him. I was completely bored with the whole scene. "Riiiiiight. I got better things to do with my time."

Langston shook his head, a strange look of utter confusion on his face. "You don't know who you're dealing with," he muttered, then turned on his heel and stalked off.

Aubree watched him walk away, then turned toward me. Her face got paler. She was visibly shaking, and it looked like...yup, her knees gave out. I caught her and supported her over to an empty bus bench. Her eyes were still closed, and I noticed how long and thick her lashes were, the delicate bones of her face.

"Hey, sugar. You okay?" My arm tightened around her, the fragrance of her like the sweetest scent, intoxicating. She was tiny, soft, and feminine, and I had to fight to focus, fight to keep my head from dipping down, taking her parted lips, absorbing her gasp like honey on my tongue.

"It's like seeing a ghost," she said softly. "They look so much alike, just like you and your brothers do."

"Yeah, they were double trouble, both of 'em evil twins in every sense of the word. When Damien disappeared, there was speculation about him. There still are constant rumors about him up and leaving Suttontowne because of his father's tight control. There are some people who think he ended up dead. People have even said us Outlaws never did like the Langstons. That we might have had something to do with it."

She was still pale as she absorbed everything I said. "This town likes to gossip. I didn't pay any mind when I lived here and I'm not going to pay it any mind now." She put her hand on my arm. "You rescued me, again," she said.

"I'm no hero."

"For someone who claims not to be a hero, you seem to spend an awful lot of time coming to my rescue."

"Naw, I just hate Langston. You gave me an excuse to get in his face."

Told myself I didn't want her reading anything into my actions. But the truth was that I didn't want to look at those actions too closely myself. I didn't want to dig too deep for the reason behind the rush of anger I'd felt when Langston had put his hand on her. I didn't own her, would never have any claim on her, and therefore had no business feeling jealous or protective.

It was a simple conditioned response, protecting someone weaker from being harassed by someone stronger. That was all it was.

I glanced at Aubree as I unwrapped the ice cream, trying to defuse her concentration with a teasing smile. When she opened her mouth, I popped it in.

She took a bite and shook her head. I unwrapped mine and chuckled to myself.

The disaster was averted. At least for now.

# Chapter Four

Aubree

I narrowed my eyes at him as he tried to weasel out of my question. I wanted a straight answer. "I know the town considers you bad just by association, although I could never figure out how someone's reputation can be predetermined by one person way back in their family history. It's the same logic used to shame Germans today into thinking that, because Hitler was a bad guy back in the 30's and 40's, and many of his generation looked the other way, they're still guilty by association. We both know that isn't true."

I wanted him to be either good or bad so I could pigeonhole him. But he was a chameleon, changing in the blink of an eye, the changes throwing me off balance and always leaving me wondering which Booker was the real Booker Outlaw.

"I think you ought to make up your mind," I said. "Are you a good guy or a bad guy?"

He met my gaze, his eyes dark and shining. "That all depends on the situation, sugar," he murmured, his voice low and Southern smooth, persuading a woman to reach out and touch him, luring her closer.

My heart pounded, nerve endings he had awakened and tantalized the night before stirring restlessly. I frowned at him. "A jack of all trades, huh? I don't need to be saved."

Booker leaned across the bench, daring me to hold my ground. I didn't move, though I couldn't help it that my shoulders tensed and my jaw tightened.

"You're not a very good liar, Aubree," he whispered.

I shied away from that word. I abhorred lying, and I'd had to lie to Daniel about his brother, also concealing a greater sin while doing it. What did that make me? A hypocrite? I hated that my own morality was out of my control. But there was nothing I could do about that.

On the other hand, Booker was near enough, and daring enough, to kiss me. The very idea touched off a dangerous, melting warmth in my middle. He confused and confounded me at a time when I needed to stay focused.

"You better finish that treat fast, Booker," I said sarcastically, "before your hot air melts it."

I only now got it that his arm was around me. I had been too focused on his face and what he was doing with that Fudgsicle to notice. Here we were out in public, too, right outside the post office. Enough people had seen that fight between Booker and Daniel that I was sure the story was moving like wildfire through the town. I was already in the local busybody news with my aunt in the hospital. It was high time I checked to see if my car was finished.

"I've got to go, Booker, pick up my car, and visit Aunt Lottie." I shrugged off his arm and rose, then draped my tote over my shoulder.

He watched me with that lazy expression. Why did it have to look so damn sexy on him?

"You couldn't get a glass company to come out and fix it on your property?" He finished the ice cream and dropped the stick into the trash. I did the same.

"It was more than the glass. My tires were slashed. I had to have it towed and repaired over at Simmons Garage."

He sat up straighter, that lazy look gone from his eyes. "Which would bring you into town."

I went still. His eyes met mine, and a chill of foreboding swept over my skin despite the heat of the day.

"Your tires hadn't been slashed yet when I left last night, which means it was done later. I don't like that. Someone came back when you were there alone."

I didn't like the sound of that either, but vandalism was rare in Suttontowne.

"You need to give the sheriff that information, Aubree. In fact, I'll walk you over there, and then to the garage."

"Will you hold my hand, too, when I cross the street?" I asked, going for a teasing grin.

His eyes heated, as if he was more than willing to hold anything I'd let him. "You think I'm overreacting?"

"You're cute when you overreact." _Oh, shit_. _Had I said that out loud?_ "You said it yourself. Kids and pranks," I murmured, desperately wanting to have the strength to resist this, resist him.

"Hey, Aubree. You flirtin' with me?"

He would have to point out my lapse. Daniel had rattled me more than I thought. "Just making an observation. Like you don't know you're gorgeous." I wanted to smack myself in the head. Really, I needed to stop talking now.

"Oh, I know gorgeous." He smiled, his intent gaze didn't leave mine, and I felt the need to fan myself. Did he think _I_ was gorgeous? Was it getting hotter out here?

His smile broadened, and I realized I'd had no idea what I'd been missing when I thought back to the boy who'd watched me in silence all those times in our past. Maybe I had known I couldn't handle him back then. I couldn't imagine what had made me think I could handle him now.

My dreams were the only place I could do all the things I wanted to with Booker Outlaw. And that's the way it was going to stay. Had to stay.

Oh, crap. Maybe.

He looked too much like he was reading my expression and my mind. He shrugged. "I don't know about it being kids and pranks. You're the mathematician. When stuff starts to add up..."

"It's not guaranteed it's the correct answer," I said.

"And yet your aunt is in the hospital, and I know the sheriff thinks she was attacked and hadn't simply fallen down the stairs."

"What are you saying? You think someone targeted my aunt?"

"Maybe so, maybe not. But it's best not to ignore this. Just talk to the sheriff."

"My aunt is the sweetest woman. Who would want to harass her? And why?"

"I don't know."

In the back of my mind, in that panicky part that I kept isolated, I wondered if this had anything to do with Damien Langston. But I dismissed it. No one else knew. Only Booker, and he'd promised me he would never tell.

Why I believed him is another thing I didn't want to look at too closely.

"All right. I'll tell him about it so he is aware, but I think it's just vandalism."

That seemed to make Booker happy. When I turned to go, he came up beside me. "Don't forget about my number, Aubree."

"I won't. Thank you for stepping in with Daniel. He can be such a jerk."

Once again I was caught off-guard by the sheer power of a man. And I didn't take for granted the fact that Booker was a force to be reckoned with. He'd stood up to Daniel so easily, the muscles in his arms bulging, the power in his back and legs evident. I was simply reacting to my own instincts and some primitive, survival-of-the-fittest drive. I'd stick with Booker any day. I'd also seen him in full-out fight mode. He was...magnificent. He didn't even know I'd seen him that day from my hiding place behind the bleachers. It was something that I tried not to think about. I hadn't exactly been brave that day, and the guilt of what I had seen and how I had reacted afterwards still haunted me. I wondered fleetingly if I should tell him that secret, but decided it was a bad idea. There wasn't any reason for him to know.

He nodded, apparently still reluctant to leave me. It was in his eyes. I smiled at him to relieve the worry I was sure he was hiding. "Take care, Booker."

"You, too. Oh, and Aubree? Why can't I be both?"

"What both?"

"A word-master and interesting. Bad and good. The world isn't all black and white. People don't have to be one thing or another. They can sometimes be both."

I said nothing, just stood there for a long moment, awareness arcing between us like electricity. Booker made his own rules and probably broke them just as easily. He joked about the system, derided the people who tried to make it work. And he stepped in like my personal hero when a bully was pestering me.

But I was back in control--if not of him, at least of myself. That wasn't denial. Uh-uh. Nope. Not at all.

He watched me, his eyes a dark, bottomless blue. I felt as if those eyes were reaching right into my soul. He smiled broadly again, a smile that held all kinds of promise. Promises, I suspected, with a little jump in my belly, that he could keep. Abruptly, I turned towards the Sheriff's Office.

Could my aunt have a stalker?

Or had my past come back to haunt me and hurt her?

#

The sheriff had been sympathetic and interested in the news about my tires. He told me he would send a patrol around to my place periodically. He also made sure I had his direct dial.

I walked to Simmons Garage just as the rain started. Luckily, I didn't have to wait. My car was ready. I paid, thanking Mrs. Simmons, who asked after Aunt Lottie, told me I was too thin, and insisted I take some bourbon brownies with me. After my run-in with Booker and Daniel Langston, I kinda needed both alcohol and chocolate, so I didn't protest too much. When I came out, Booker's cool car was gone.

I refused to feel the disappointment that slid down through me. I had better things to do with my time than spar with him, and I had to believe he had better things to do, too. I hadn't missed that tidbit of information that Booker was a bestselling author, and it explained how he could afford that gorgeous Mustang. I was really intrigued. I would have to ask him about it if I ever got the chance.

_You 'd get the chance if you went to his party._

Yeah. That would definitely give me an opportunity to talk to him. Part of me wanted to go, especially after our conversation in the diner about work and fun, but the rational part of me held back. Maybe I wasn't capable of having fun.

I did have to admit with a smile that he had made me see work in a whole new light.

I pulled up outside the hospital, which was actually in Lafayette. Our small town had an old doctor who handled most ailments, but for more serious stuff we had to travel. I made sure to turn off my cell phone in observance of the hospital's rules.

As soon as I entered, I felt a sense of coming home. I had worked for Doc Rust in town and had fallen in love with medicine. I loved the idea of being able to help people who were ill feel better again, and the clean orderliness of it. I asked about my aunt at the front desk, and the clerk directed me up to the fourth floor. At another desk, I asked about my aunt again and was given her room number.

It was so quiet as I walked down the hall to her room that I could hear my heart pounding with anxiety. Pushing the door open, I saw her lying still and pale in bed. Her eyes were closed, and there was a machine monitoring her heart, an IV dripping fluid into her veins. My eyes welled with tears, all the emotions from my childhood rushing at me like a tornado-force wind, whirling my memories around me.

"Aubree?"

I started when I saw Booker seated in a chair next to her bed. "Are you stalking me?" I asked, brushing quickly at the tears on my face.

"No. I just came to see your aunt."

"What exactly is your relationship to her?"

"She's my friend."

"My aunt?" I said skeptically.

"Yes, we got to know each other better after you..."

"After I what?"

"Never mind."

"You were going to say 'ducked out on her,' weren't you?"

"No. Don't put words in my mouth. Thanksgiving and Christmas were hard on her."

"You know why I didn't come home. I couldn't."

I didn't want Booker to think I was a coward, but I hadn't been able to face it so soon after what happened. I couldn't force myself to look down Wild Magnolia Road, so visible from the balcony of my bedroom.

"It was wrong of you, Aubree."

I flinched and shame crawled like spiders in my belly. That's what my mother used to tell me. I couldn't ever do anything right, ever. No matter how perfectly I behaved. So his words drove me crazy. I couldn't stand being wrong, making mistakes. I felt slapped in the face, a stinging slap that only caused the guilt that was festering to rush out like a tidal wave. It washed over me and I felt completely drowned. But I knew he was right. I was terrible for not coming home when I could.

"You don't get to judge me, Booker. I had my reasons and you know it. I called her on both holidays, but school was intense, and I was so busy. I needed to be busy," I murmured, my throat tight, my voice breaking.

I don't know what he saw when he looked at me, but his face changed, the look of remorse was thick in his eyes. "Damn, Aubree. I'm sorry. I'm reacting to my own internal crap. I just got my buttons pushed, but that's no reason to dump on you. Yes, I understand why you didn't come home. But your aunt didn't. It hurt her."

"I know," I said as more tears leaked from my eyes.

He stood and rushed over to me, then curled his arm around my shoulders, pulled me gently against his side. "Hey, sugar," he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. "Don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

I resisted the urge to lean against him, straightening away instead, scrubbing at the embarrassment flushing my cheeks. "I'm not crying." I sniffed and shook my head, smiling against the desire to cry. "That just kind of snuck up on me. I'm okay." I nodded firmly, as if I had managed to convince myself at least, if not Booker.

"Why is it she never mentioned you?" I asked him, giving in to my curiosity and taking the chance that I was treading on good manners.

He met my look evenly, his dark eyes intense. "Do you mention everyone you're acquainted with?"

"No, I guess not."

He tipped his head boyishly, an irresistible smile canting his lips. "Did your aunt mention she's sweet on the sheriff, for instance?"

"What?" I stared up at him and he smirked.

"She is, and I think he's got a thing for her, too." He waggled his brows.

"How do you know that?"

"Observation. She blushes when she talks to him, and touches his arm. I came right over to the hospital when I heard and he was here. He was...just staring at her, with all these regrets in his eyes. That's when I figured it out."

I moved away from him, suddenly embarrassed, and went over to the bed to take my aunt's hand. She was only in her late forties, still quite pretty. The red of her hair, exactly the same shade as mine, was still vibrant. I could easily see what the sheriff found attractive about her.

My chest constricted and I squeezed her hand. "Come back to me, Aunt Lottie," I said softly. _Don 't leave me all alone._ That thought set off one of my most vivid memories. I was huddled in the corner, flush against the wall, afraid to move. My mother lay on the couch, and I had been unable to wake her up. I think my twelve-year-old brain knew she was dead, but I hadn't wanted to accept it. The shock of knowing I was all alone in the world would have been too much. All of a sudden I was struck by the realization that I hadn't loved my mother, but that the feeling of love was there for my aunt, welling up inside me from a warm, golden place that I'd forgotten.

Booker came over to me. "You're not alone, Aubree."

Startled by his insight, I looked at him. His sincere gaze met mine, reassuring and warm. "Thank you for saying that." I appreciated his kindness, but all I had left of my family was here in this room. The loss of my aunt would be...devastating.

I sat down, setting Einstein beside the chair. Booker pulled another chair over to the bed and sat down next to me.

It was then that I noticed he held a book in his hand. "You were reading to her?"

"Yes, it's her favorite book. I heard that it's good to stimulate someone in a coma by touch and sound, so I thought reading her favorite book to her would be a good idea."

I smiled. He really was a contradiction. "It is a good idea. I had no idea that she loved Tolkien."

"She loves Gandalf."

It was both surreal and astonishing that Booker Outlaw, the guy that I had crushed on in high school, was sitting here telling me things about my aunt that I hadn't known.

"My aunt was a teacher before she got that inheritance from her family. She taught you English in grade school, right?"

"That's right. Sixth grade. She knew I was bored because it all came so easily to me. She gave me extra assignments. Reading and writing book reports. It was the best English class I ever had."

I sat back while Booker's soft voice read aloud. After an hour, I looked at my watch and felt terrible that I had to go, but the work I had promised to do for Dr. Wells wasn't going to get done by itself.

"I've got to go. Work."

"You really do have to work?"

"Yes. I hadn't planned to come home this summer. I was hired to do some number-crunching for a professor in the medical school."

"Oh, so the only reason you're home is because of your aunt?"

"Yes. That's the only reason."

"Then my mission is clear."

I rose and picked up my bag. "What mission is that?"

"To make sure that you have something substantial to put in your report. We can't have you at a loss for something to say about what you did on your summer vacation."

I laughed. That felt good, too. "Booker you really are..."

"Interesting?"

"Yeah," I said. "Definitely."

#

Trying like mad not to think about Booker, I drove home and changed out of my sundress. I wasn't going to admit that I had dressed up on the off chance I would run into him.

Now the house was silent, the shades drawn. I opened them and let in the gray day and wished for a bit of sunshine to lift my spirits. With the worry over my aunt's well-being beating in time with my heart, I forced myself to power up my laptop and open my email. Dr. Wells had sent all the clinical trial data sets for me to analyze. Before my counselor steered me toward statistics, I'd had the crazy notion that I wanted to be a doctor. But Mrs. Daily was a professional, and she told me to live up to my potential, and that math was it, namely stats. She obviously knew best.

It took some doing, but I finally found a rhythm that allowed me to ignore my fears for my aunt for a while, and before I knew it, it was dark outside. I looked up from my computer, blinking like an owl, and realizing I had a slight headache. I rubbed at my temples and then leaned back into the couch, suddenly also aware of my tense, tight shoulders. I still had more analyses to run, but my stomach grumbled. No wonder. I'd barely eaten anything during my unplanned breakfast date with Booker.

I moved the laptop to the coffee table in my aunt's very comfortable sitting room. I especially loved the huge fieldstone fireplace across from the couch, and the fact that there was no television in here. It was a place to unwind quietly and relax.

I could see out over the new landscaped lawn and patio as it stretched from one end of the house to the other. The far wall was a bank of French doors that extended from this room to the kitchen. Booker's brother was clearly quite talented. That made me think of Ashley, because she was enrolled in landscape architecture. Picking my phone up from the coffee table, I walked to the French doors and pushed one of them open. There was enough light to take several pictures, so I snapped a few and then texted them to her. _All this landscaping was done by an amateur our age._

I went back inside and closed the door, heading to the kitchen. I hoped my aunt had something I could eat. I pulled open the refrigerator just as my phone chimed.

_These are amazing! Simply wow! Is it a he or a she?_

I texted back. _A he_.

I found leftover meatloaf. Oh my god, I loved my aunt's meatloaf. As a child I couldn't wait until Friday nights, meatloaf night. We'd eat dinner, rent a movie, and crunch popcorn. They were some of my fondest memories of living with my aunt. A pang stabbed at my heart. _Please let her be okay._

I took out the meatloaf and some ketchup and mayonnaise, my mouth watering, just as I got another text. _Is he cute?_

Well, Boone looked exactly like Booker and Braxton. The three of them a force of nature. They'd prowled through my high school like rogue adolescent lions, all confident and dangerous, looking for a pride to usurp. A band of dangerous brothers. Rebellious, with a reputation that had been blackened by the deeds of one terrible, murderous, ancestor and carried forward through the years, infecting all his line with the taint of what he'd done. I always felt they'd been shafted.

Boone was the reckless one, the charismatic party animal. He liked living fast, almost as if he was afraid to slow down. Braxton was the skirt-chaser, the sweet-talker. He always had a string of girls after him, but never settled on one. I always wondered if it was because the one he wanted was unobtainable. He kept many a daddy up at night worrying. Booker was quiet, unpredictable, but he could draw you in with those deep, expressive eyes. He was a poet and a noble philosopher, using his humor like a shield. Elusive, I'd always thought. Even though he was a carbon copy of his brothers, he was the one who intrigued me.

_A broad-shouldered rebel with electric blue eyes, a ripped body, shaggy black hair and gorgeous features. He might be more than even you can handle._ I laughed after I sent it. Ashley loved a challenge and I liked pushing her buttons. I couldn't wait for her response.

I found bread in the breadbox and started to make myself a meatloaf sandwich. A pop and chips would round out my meal quite nicely. My stomach grumbled again. _Keep your shirt on._

When I heard my phone chime, I smiled, anticipating her snarky answer. My heart stalled in my chest. The smile faded from my face and my appetite disappeared. _Your feet are bare, but are your hands red?_

I dropped my phone, and it made a horrible noise as it hit the tiled floor. I clamped a hand over my mouth as my stomach heaved. I bent over, putting my head between my knees, and gagged as terrible images flashed behind my eyes. Blood. Pain. So much blood.

There was nothing in my stomach to come up, leaving me choking, coughing, as my body did its best to reject the implications that had ambushed me.

Cold sweat slicked over my face and body, sour with the scent of fear. I dragged a hand across my forehead and into the damp tendrils of my hair as I ran for the French door in a panic, my bare feet slapping against tile and wood. Reaching it, I quickly locked it and backed away, my eyes scanning the darkness for any kind of threat.

I felt trapped, just like in my mother's house, just like on Wild Magnolia Road.

Nerves trilled at the base of my neck. Memory stirred. The feel of a gaze in the dark. Eyes watching with satisfaction. As my skin crawled and pebbled with goose bumps, I turned in a full circle, my breathing increasing with each second.

I had to get a hold of myself. I couldn't lose control. It was all I had in the sea of panic, a lifeline to my sanity.

My phone chimed again. I rushed back to the kitchen and looked at it like it was a viper waiting to strike. But when I checked, it was Ashley's response. _Sweetie, that boy sounds just like a new plot of land to me, something I want to get my hands on and work it until I get all dirty and sweaty!_

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe, tried to find a calm place to go. This is what my life should be. School, work, girl talk about hot boys, and my hot boy wrapped around me. Not this...this dark secret that had made the last nine months of my life a living hell.

But reality intruded with a stark truth that was like a battering ram. I put the food back in the fridge. I couldn't eat now. I was much too sick to my stomach.

The knock on the door made my already jangling nerves jump.

I stood there, my indecision warring with my rational mind telling me firmly that a stalker wasn't going to knock politely on my door.

Then I heard Booker's voice and I ran to the door, to safety, and flung it open.

"Booker," I whispered, my throat raw. "Someone knows!"

# Chapter Five

Booker

"Whoa, slow down," I said. Aubree's eyes were wild, just like they had been that night. And it looked like she was going to lose it. I would have been better off minding my own fucking business, but because it was Aubree, I fucking couldn't.

I pulled my cell out of my back pocket and dialed.

She grabbed my wrist and tightened her grip. "What are you doing? You're not calling the sheriff, are you? No, Booker. I can't..."

"It's not the sheriff. Cool your jets." I reached out and pulled her against me. She didn't struggle, but didn't relax entirely against me, either. It was as if she was prepared to spring into action at any moment. Damn, she was one wound-up little beauty.

"If you got the dime, I got the time," the deep, flippant voice answered.

"Boone."

"Yeah, man. What's up?" My brother's voice lost its flippancy in response to my serious tone.

"I need you to get over here to Aubree Walker's house. Call Brax. He's at the bar, cooking tonight."

"You in trouble? 'Cause, my bro, that is one classic Southern belle. A real ball-buster. You getting your balls busted?" The flippancy was back, along with a good dose of snark. My brother couldn't waste an opportunity to give me a hard time. But I wasn't in the mood.

"Cut it out."

Her eyes widened and she punched me in the ribs. "Your brothers! Why are you calling your brothers!?!?"

I rubbed my side and gave her a quelling look. She was not fazed one bit. Her eyes were giving me green sass, the kind that only a Southern woman knew how to do. Normal Southern boys and men knew not to press it. I wasn't normal.

"Oops, sounds like I was right," Boone said, evidently hearing Aubree's protests. "Calling Brax. Heading out."

I closed and locked the door, dragging her into the fancy room with the fireplace. I pulled the shades. "Okay, tell me what's going on. Why are you so spooked?"

"I got this text."

I looked down at the screen and my brows furrowed. "This is the text you're worried about?" I read aloud: "Sweetie, that boy sounds just like a new plot of land to me, something I want to get my hands on and work it until I get all dirty and sweaty!"

She smacked her forehead and flushed until her face was the same color as her hair. "Oh, geez. Not that one."

I smirked. "Were you talkin' about me, sugar?"

She rolled her eyes and, damn, she had the softest-looking, most perfect skin I'd ever seen on a woman. Following the curve of her shoulder, the tank top was stretchy white lace. Her shoulders were bare, the right one practically touching me--a silky soft, creamy-smooth shoulder, with a slinky little pink bra strap running over the top curve. On her lower half, plastered to her tight butt and hips, was a pair of barely-there shorts with numbers all over them. I knew the numbered sequence to get those off her, and I was trying not to think about it.

"No. I was talking about Boone," she said absently while she manipulated her phone.

_WTF!_ It was like someone kicked me in the balls. "Boone?"

She flushed again and closed her eyes. "Could we focus here? This is the text I got."

"All right. This isn't so bad," I said, but my mind was reeling. She had the hots for Boone? _Boone_?

"What are you saying? This is bad. Someone knows."

"No. That's not what it says. It _asks_ if your hands are red. The part that's pissing me off is that he had eyes on you." My hands were shaking at the idea of anyone hurting her. The concern set everything inside me shuddering. I never should have gotten involved with her. Of all the women I could have had, I'd fallen for the one who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Plus, she was interested in my freaking brother. "He's just guessing. Obviously he has no proof, because there isn't any."

"Asks, tells, what difference does it make? Someone suspects. Did you tell anyone?"

A knock at the door made her jump, and I reached out to steady her. Damn, her skin _was_ soft. When I opened the door, it was like looking into a mirror twice over. But I'm used to it.

I glared at Boone.

"Hey, I had to pick up Brax. No need to give me a death stare there, huckleberry."

Aubree came up next to me. She smiled at my brothers. "Thank you for coming. It wasn't necessary," she said through her teeth, elbowing me. I grunted and she gave _me_ a death stare. It was pretty good, but I wasn't intimidated. I love that green fire. I just felt like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest.

Boone? _Seriously?_

He grinned at her and sidled into the house, Brax on his tail. Brax clapped me on the shoulder and grinned, too. Then nudged me. I nudged him back. "Way to go, bro," he murmured.

I gave him a disgusted look and he just laughed. "Check out the area. Some perv is texting Aubree."

Both my brothers stiffened and their eyes narrowed. "Seriously?" Boone asked. "Let's go, Brax. Don't worry, Aubree, we've got our ass-kicking boots on, right Brax?" He grinned an unholy grin, his eyes shining liked polished sapphires in the light.

Brax nodded.

"Ahhhh...thanks, Boone," she said tentatively, looking from Brax to Boone and back again. "Did I get that right?"

He laughed, the bastard, "Yeah, that's right."

When she smiled at him, my jaw tightened and my fists clenched. They went out the back way, and I locked the door behind them.

"Holy cow, that's a lot of testosterone in one room. You guys are...wow."

"Maybe you'd prefer Boone stayed with you." Man, could my voice sound any sulkier.

She frowned. "What? No. Why would you..." She eyed me, then she looked down at her phone, then back at me. "Oh, the text message. Hey, are you jealous?"

"No," I snapped.

"Oh, okay. Boone and Braxton look so much like you it's a bit daunting. Although Boone looks like he works out. Does he?"

"Yeah, we're interchangeable, and yeah, the muscle goes all the way to his head." My sarcasm was thick. I'd perfected it as a teenager.

"You are adorable when you're jealous. Here." She thrust the phone at me. "The whole conversation. So you can quit worrying your pretty li'l ol' head about it."

I had been so into my possessiveness, I'd missed that she was teasing me. I didn't want to take her phone, but I snatched it when she went to pull it away with a shrug. After reading, I said, "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I was going to call you."

I looked down into her face, reading vulnerability in her wide green eyes, and it tugged at my heart. So fiery, so sure of herself in other ways, but when it came to me...

"You were?" I smiled what felt like a loopy grin. I was such a besotted idiot.

"Yeah. Why did you show up here, anyway?" She set her hands on her hips.

"I have some fun planned for you. Let's go." I grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the hall.

She tried in vain to tug her hand away and scowled at me in disapproval, looking toward the backyard. "Your brothers are still out there."

I gave them a dismissive wave. "They can handle anything. Don't worry about them."

"Not even about Boone?"

I stopped and met her snapping green eyes. "Now you're pushing it, Aubree."

She rubbed her temple as if she was trying to push past the confusion I'd created. "You really don't think this is an issue, do you?"

"No. First we'll go by and check on your aunt, and then it's fun time. It's probably Langston that texted. Just ignore him. Like I said, if he gets a rise out of us, he'll know something is up."

"Nothing fazes you."

_Not true._ _You do._

"Come on, sugar. You can't statistic yourself to death. There's more to life than math. And even math would tell you that the reason they made the universe is for you to get out and enjoy it."

"That's so surprising. I didn't know you and math were on a first-name basis."

I grinned and shrugged, then looked her up and down. "You're going to need some boots and a pair of jeans. Those, ah..."

"Shorts."

"Okay, if that's what you want to call them." They were as tight as she was _up_ tight.

She raised her brows. "You're serious about going out?"

"Yes. Believe me, Aubree. If I worried about every dumbass text or phone call or verbal in-my-face threat that me and my brothers got, we'd never go anywhere. Learn from a master. If we cower inside from fear, we've just let the bastard win."

"I guess words are not the only thing you're a master at. You're more adept at math than you let on. You're much more interested in my angles, curves, and intersections, I think."

I gave her a wicked grin. Stone cold busted. I studied her expression for a minute, reading something like fear. Fear of me? Or was it something deeper, more fundamental? Fear of intimacy, maybe. Fear that she might actually enjoy it.

"Yup," I pointed to my shoulder. " _This_ broad shoulder is a really good place to lean."

She slipped past me up the stairs. I hoped she covered up that tantalizing pink bra strap, or what I had planned tonight would go much, much slower, and what I shouldn't even be thinking about would happen much, much faster.

#

We visited with her still-unconscious Aunt Lottie, talking gently to her still form for a half hour or so, then we went on to our next stop.

Aubree was hanging on tight to the door when she asked, "A Jeep, too? How many cars do you have?"

"Three. A truck, the Mustang, and this rattletrap."

We rode down the bayou road, turning off on a narrow, overgrown path.

"Wow. What a beautiful house--all glass and wood. That is one lucky person who lives there. I love this spot on the bayou. I used to come here a lot when I was in high school, just to watch the water move and the sun set. It's so peaceful."

"Yeah, someone built that house in the fall."

"They did a great job. It complements the wild nature of this place rather than intrudes on it."

Thick with trees, the rough and rutted road had me inching the Jeep along. Aubree hung on to the door as the Jeep bounced along, her attention on the scenery. "Do you know where we are?" I asked.

"Blue Bayou, like the song."

"Yup. Named for the herons that fish and nest around here." It was a nice spot, with a narrow, shallow stream, low, muddy banks, and thick growth of water weeds and flowers. "It's a perfect haven for crawfish."

"Are you taking me crawfishing?"

"Nope."

She thrust out her lip. "I love crawfish."

She seemed to have taken my words to heart. She was still a little tense, but the night air and the beauty of the bayou were already working their magic.

I parked the Jeep and gathered up a bag and a flashlight. When I hefted the gig, her eyes went big.

"Frogging? I've never been, and I can tell you right now, I'm not hitting no cute bullfrog."

I handed her the flashlight. "Cute? All I know, sugar, is them legs is good eatin'."

"I can't argue with that. Frog legs for your party?"

"Brax is going to use his special recipe to fry 'em up. You game for holding the light?"

"One-third of the unholy trinity cooks?"

My heart jumped in my chest. Did she really buy into all that stuff that was said about us in high school? I turned to look at her, the flashlight frozen in midair. Did my reputation really bother her?

She shifted. "That's what we called you three in high school in my circle. But I never believed that about you specifically."

"Some of it was true, but most of it was bullshit."

She took the flashlight from my outstretched hand. "Yes, I'll do that much. I love frog legs. Taste like chicken. So, you're really serving them at your party?"

"Yup, along with a keg of Jax."

"That sounds so good. I didn't normally go to parties in high school, but they think you're a troll in college if you don't attend."

I nodded. "Don't tell me you loosened up enough to drink at parties?"

"Well, I don't go that far, and I don't do drugs. They're bad for your body and mind, but a beer once in a while doesn't hurt."

"No, it doesn't. That Jax goes down cold and smooth."

She'd changed into a white long-sleeved top with--thankfully--not a pink bra strap in sight, along with a pair of tight jeans that cupped her backside as nicely as those shorts had. She slipped off her shoes and stepped into a pair of rubber knee-boots to wade in.

"So you've never been gigging?"

"Nope, but I've eaten my fair share of the legs. So, I bet you and your brothers did this when you were kids?"

"Yeah, my old man taught us." I couldn't believe that came out of my mouth. I didn't want to talk about my father. The silence lengthened. "This is tame to some of the gigging I've done."

"Oh, really? Like what?"

"You'll love this one. Bayou, middle of the night. Pitch black, and the shore is almost obscured. One of my dumbass brothers picks out frogs with his flashlight. Easy to see their bulging eyes reflecting back the bright beam."

Aubree looked at me skeptically. "Is this a true story or are you telling me a whopper?"

"It's true. I see one and stick it and pop it into my bag. We're gunning across the water at high speed while trying to lance the little noisy critters. Frogging that way can net you thirty or forty of the suckers in one night, if your aim is true."

"It sounds like it."

"My other dumbass brother is driving the boat, and he's downed his third beer, handling this tiny little skiff with its big-ass engine and propeller. I realize I can't see jack, and he's blasting across the water at sixty miles an hour."

"So, the dumbass couldn't see any better than you could... right?"

I threw back my head and laughed. "So true. When I go gigging on an airboat, I try not to think of what would happen if we hit a tree root or even the shoreline. It'd flip the airboat and we'd be toast. And then there's all the wildlife. But I'm thinking of a bigger predator...one with a scaly hide."

She gasped and I laughed again. "Yup."

"Oh, man."

"Bullfrogs are not the only eyes reflecting back at you. Gators like to hang on top of the water at night as well. See where I'm going with this?"

"Oh, shit. Really?"

"It's easy to mistake them in the dark. That's exactly why my frog-gigging pole is as long as I can make it, because if I spear a gator while shooting across the water faster than the interstate speed limit, I want that sucker to be as far from me as possible as quickly as possible."

"Has that ever happened to you?"

"This one time we're hauling ass and I go for these eyes. There's a tremendous jerk and I know it ain't no bullfrog. I immediately let it go." She groaned. "Don't feel sorry for the gator; _Animal Planet_ wants you to believe they're endangered, but they're almost indestructible. A little gigging pole ain't going to faze 'em. So imagine that scene. We've just ticked off a huge gator that was heavier and longer than the airboat. He came after us, and he was one pissed-off monster. He attacked the side of the airboat. I thought he was going to overturn the fucking thing, leaving us all in the middle of the lake with blood in the water from our gigged frogs."

"Geez. What did you do?"

"One of my retard brothers threw the whole fucking bag of frogs at him and my other fuckwit brother ran him over."

When she covered her mouth and laughed, I was enchanted.

"It only stunned him. They're pretty hard-headed."

"Wait a minute. Who's hard-headed? The gator or your brothers?"

I laughed again.

Suddenly, we heard the deep, heartbreaking sound of a slow melody filtering through the dark night. It spoke of loss and sadness, like most Cajun songs.

"What is that?"

"It's a fiddle. Someone's playing, givin' the bullfrogs something to romance the pretty ladies with."

She laughed. "It's so beautiful," she sighed. "But back to your story. You know, it's no wonder a lot of people from the rural South have a reputation for being a little crazy. That seems downright suicidal."

"Right. That's why I prefer to go out after dark with a beautiful woman rather than risk my life with my dumbass brothers."

The light wobbled and I cursed my stupid tongue, but when I looked at her, the smile she gave me was dazzling. It went straight to my head and exploded into tiny white stars. Her eyes moved over my face and dropped to my mouth. My breath hitched. Our gazes caught, and my internal temperature upped several notches as my blood heated. The two levels of the invisible contact met, meshed, pushed together, rising into another plane altogether.

She didn't say anything, but her eyes followed my tongue as I wet my bottom lip. Our laughter drifted away, forgotten, on the sultry air, and awareness thickened the humidity around us.

She jolted and looked away. "Oh, there's another one!"

I speared the frog. _Down boy!_ I ordered my hardened dick. Frog-gigging wood. Freaking A, that was a first.

#

When we reached that beautiful house she'd commented on before, I pulled into the driveway and pushed the remote to open the garage.

She turned to look at me. "This is your house."

"It is."

She punched me in the arm. "You really are annoying, Booker."

I got out of the Jeep, chuckling. "Just let me get these frogs taken care of. Come on in."

She got out and followed me through the door from the garage as I hit the remote again and the door slowly descended behind the three vehicles.

"Oh, man," she breathed softly as she rushed to the full bank of windows that looked out onto the bayou. "This is so amazing. I'm so jealous of you. Look at that view!--and your deck and garden! The ferns and flowers. Looks like your brother was here, too."

"Yep. This is where your aunt saw my brother's work. She contracted him after that."

"He really is talented. Even my friend Ashley, who's studying landscape architecture, thinks so."

"Yeah, I saw what your friend Ashley thought of my brother, and I don't think it had anything to do with his artistry."

She turned, flushing again, catching her bottom lip against her teeth and wincing. "She's pretty wild."

"Well, that's okay. Boone is, too. Recklessly wild. Sometimes I worry about him."

"Everyone has to find their way, Booker. Looks like you did. So, bestselling author? In what genre?"

"Horror and fantasy."

"Why horror?" she asked, leaning her shoulder against the sliding glass door.

I shrugged. _Because I understand it. Because I lived it. It 's inside me. _"I guess because it was a good outlet for all my teenaged anger."

"Teenaged?"

"I wrote the books in high school. Had them sitting on my computer. When this self-publishing craze started, I polished them, got myself an editor and contracted a cover designer. The first book went up last September, and it immediately went viral. I got a lot of press and a lot of offers for the second and third books, but I turned them down. I don't like being told what to do. Got a problem with authority. And when those next books went up, they've been even bigger successes."

"The rebel author. Why doesn't that surprise me? What pen name do you write under?"

"O. B. Thomas."

Her eyes widened and she sucked in her breath. "Seriously? I've heard of you. Your books went viral and with the self-publishing craze, you sold like a ton of books."

"You've read my books?"

"No. I...horror scares me. Does the O stand for Outlaw and the B for Booker?"

"Bingo. Thomas is my middle name."

She just stared at me with admiration in her eyes. I have to say, it was pretty sweet. "I'd better get to these frogs. I've got to get them dressed and in ice. Make yourself at home. There's water, lemonade, and sweet tea in the fridge."

"I can't let you do all the work. I helped you skewer the poor things so they could sacrifice their delicious legs to our stomachs. The least I can do is help."

I looked at her wryly. "This is a pretty messy business. Guts and stuff."

"Hey, I know you're not getting sexist on me. I loved biology. Who do you think dissected the frogs?"

"Most girls aren't keen on skinnin' frogs, sugar. You're not even eatin' 'em."

She gave me a sidelong glance. "I might change my mind about that, depending on what else you're having."

"Crawfish."

She closed her eyes, and I heard her stomach growl.

"If you're having _boudin_ , that'll seal the deal."

"Absolutely," I said. So, the girl loved the Cajun sausage. _Boudin_ hadn't been on the menu, but it was now. "Okay, let's go." I was ecstatic. I felt like a ten-year-old whose girlfriend was coming to his birthday party.

It took us about thirty minutes to sever the legs and skin them. Once that was done, we washed our hands at the sink. "You got frog guts all over you."

She shrugged, pulling off the white shirt to reveal a gray cotton tank top. She balled it up and stuffed it in her bag. "So do you."

"Ugh. Let me take care of that." I pulled my t-shirt over my head and chucked it into the laundry room behind me. "Do you want something to drink?"

When she didn't answer, I looked back at her. She just stood there. She had a shell-shocked expression on her face. Then it dawned on me. She couldn't speak because she was struck dumb by my bare back and chest. I took in a quick breath.

She was so damned beautiful, even when she'd been wearing her frog-gut-smeared shirt. Beautiful in a tousled, repressed, coming-undone sort of way, and up close, in the bright light of my kitchen, her red hair gleaming, her green eyes glazed, she looked exotic.

Every adolescent wish, dream, and hope about Aubree and her mouth spiraled down to my dick. But I knew better than to kiss her. So I opened the fridge and grabbed the closest pitcher, the sweet tea. Opening the cupboard, I grabbed two glasses and filled them. I felt her breath on my shoulder and I swallowed. I turned and handed her one of the glasses.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly. She wasn't making this any easier. "And thank you for bringing me out here tonight." She took a sip of her tea. "It helped to get my mind off of, you know, the, ah, text."

I noticed she hadn't moved back, even though I'd given her the glass. Her blush was deepening, and she was having a hard time holding my gaze. Despite her best attempts, her attention kept straying to my chest and my abs, and down the length of my arms.

"We should probably get going with cleaning up the frog guts and all."

She took a gulp of her tea and set it down. Her eyes honed to a spot on the right side of my face. "Talk about frog guts. You have some on your..." she reached out and clasped the back of my neck, presumably to hold me still. She froze me in place, one of those hot freezes, where the sensation of touch, no matter where it started, somehow ended up jolting my balls. Then she brushed her thumb along my cheekbone. _Fuck_.

I didn't need this.

Her eyes were on my mouth again, and I'm not some freaking saint, here. That was it. I was toast. I couldn't go the next five minutes without kissing her. With a soft groan of surrender, I covered her mouth ever so gently. My hands almost circled her tiny waist. I wanted to savor her, drink her in like fragrant morning air. Kissing her lit up every cell in my body like she was a live wire.

I couldn't let go of her. I knew I should.

"Should we... I--you, umm..." she said breathlessly, her voice sighing against my mouth as she leaned back far enough to run her thumb across my bottom lip. Her heart pounded against my chest wall as I ran my teeth over her neck, gently grazing her skin.

I understood. I shouldn't have my hand rubbing gently over her bare midriff, under the band of her shirt. She really shouldn't be rubbing her face against the side of mine like her life depended on it, but she was trembling, and plastered to me like she needed something solid to hold onto tonight.

And I was solid, all right, like a rock. It had happened so damn fast. She melted against me, easing herself into full-on body contact.

Shit. I knew what I was supposed to be doing--and it wasn't this--but five minutes.

Or maybe ten.

Because that girl got to me. Every place I kissed her she was beautiful, her heart-shaped face, her nose, delicately sculpted and turned up ever so slightly on the end. The almond eyes and the thick eyelashes and the gorgeous mouth I currently and officially couldn't get enough of.

I was so into her, into her soft curves, and repressed nerves, even her tight ponytail. I loved being this close to her, wanted to get even closer, wanted to be on her, over her, in her.

Inside her.

Definitely ten minutes.

_Oh, yeah_. Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty. _Fuck it._ I lost count.

# Chapter Six

Aubree

I moved my head sideways to close the last scant inch of space separating my mouth from Booker Outlaw's.

_Freaking Booker Outlaw._

His arms tightened around me. My lips parted, his tongue slipped inside, and I fell straight into wonderful, total bliss.

Oh...holy...cow--I couldn't believe this was happening, heat washing through me, a sweet ache coming to life between my legs. I had to admit, the first time I tried to have sex with a guy I was tipsy. I'd needed the liquid courage so I wouldn't be so uptight and blow it. But, I blew it anyway. He hadn't called me again, but that was okay. I really didn't want to be a virgin. I wanted to experience the kinds of mind-blowing things a few of my friends whispered about.

Was it bad that I was picturing Booker as the only man I'd want to take me all the way?

And, I'd had _no_ idea how it felt to be really kissed. No _freaking_ idea! Until now.

I opened my mouth wider, wanting more. No man could possibly taste this good, feel this good. I finally understood the real meaning of _swoon_.

And, I'm glad I'd had that other, disappointing experience, because there was no comparison. This...this made up for everything, for months of being alone, for all the humiliation and hurt, for all the fear and the nightmares and the pain.

Except for my aunt, Booker had been the only person in my life who had been there for me when I'd needed him. He hadn't let me down. But I'd let him down. I'd run from this, from my longing, all because I was ashamed and scared, confused and angry.

And I'd hurt him.

I pulled away, just enough that our mouths were a whisper apart. I sought his eyes, tilting his head so that I could meet his gaze. I'd never seen his eyes so soft, filled with something so soul-deep and real. My chest tightened as I slid my hand down to rest over his heart. The beating so strong and sweet. "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

His chest heaved in and out. He cupped my face, our communication all one-on-one, silent, and intimate. He nodded once, his unspoken forgiveness. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. And I reached up and touched his arresting face...with the tips of my fingers, because they were so sensitive. I wanted to _feel_ him. I slid my hand into that mass of shaggy black silk. I'd wanted to touch him for so long. Ever since that afternoon I'd been trapped behind the bleachers in high school, watching his sacrifice.

He opened his eyes, a heart-rending, sapphire blue. He smiled and my chest heaved. Tears clogged my throat in a blink of an eye, and before I knew it, I was sobbing. Nine months of pain and loneliness and anxiety poured out of me.

He looked panicked for only a split second, then in one swift, powerful movement, he lifted me in his arms, cradling me against his hard, muscled chest. He carried me into the living room as I buried my face against his neck and cried like a baby. He rocked me and kissed my temple over and over again, his hand cupped gently on the back of my head.

I don't know how long we sat like that, but I finally raised my head.

"Are you okay, Aubree?"

I nodded. "But I went all _girl_ on you. I'm sorry...how are _you_ doing?"

He gave me that teasing grin. "I think with some rest, medication, and counseling, I'll be okay."

I laughed, my eyes blurring again. "Are you ever serious?"

"If you hadn't blubbered all over me and interrupted that liplock in the kitchen, you would have seen how very serious I can get. You're one hot kisser. But, I have to be honest and truthful here. I'm not--"

I covered his mouth and shook my head. "You don't have to say anything. It is what it is."

"But Aubree..."

I slipped off his lap and stood, straightening my clothes. "You are so noble, but it's not necessary." My stomach growled then, really loudly, and he looked down at it.

"That's a pretty loud message, there."

"I should really get home and back to my statistics."

"How about you leave your boring statistics until tomorrow and have dinner with me? I dragged you away from your house to go frogging, got you all gunky, and made you cry. It's the least I can do."

"You didn't make me cry," I whispered.

"Okay, so that part was embellished to get your sympathy, but you're responsible for me having to seek treatment for...you know...being a girl all over me. It's the least you can do."

"While you're at it, Outlaw, you should seek treatment for being a jackass. But I'm not sure they have either medication or treatment for that."

"Ooh, the _girl_ counters, slams me against the backboard and scores."

"That's because she's got game, bro and you got smack," Boone said, passing by me on his way in from the garage like he lived here. He opened the fridge and pulled out a Jax, grinning. Screwing off the top, he took a swig. Again, I was struck by how much he looked like Booker. He was bigger, more muscular, his work much more physical than Booker's. Booker, on the other hand, was leaner, his muscles defined without the bulk. Boone did nothing for me in the swoon department.

I smiled back at him. "Oh, go easy on him. He's had a tough night."

"You get the frog legs, or you been hanging out with Aubree, showing off your pecs and washboards all night?" He gave me a wry look and Booker a wary one. "Brax is going to shit himself if you didn't."

"We got them, skinned and in the fridge in the garage. You find anything over at her place?"

Boone moved into the living room and looked closely at my face. I ducked my head and wiped at my eyes. His eyes narrowed. "Nada," he said. "I say it's some asshole being an asshole. A coward who hides behind his text messages and can't be decent enough to talk to a beautiful woman is nothing to worry about in my book."

"Thank you, Boone."

"You're welcome, darlin'. Hey, you guys should come on over to Outlaw's. I'm heading over there to bartend after I get a shower and change. Brax is making gumbo."

My stomach chose that exact moment to growl again, and it was settled.

#

Booker

The whole time I showered I kept thinking about how much trouble Aubree was in. If she'd had any idea, she'd have been hightailing it off down the road and all the way back to New Orleans. Man, her hands on my face, on my mouth, over my heart, and I was down for the count, going under, so ready for her.

Who the fuck was I kidding? I'd already been primed for her.

I'd gotten hard the instant she opened her mouth on me, and every instant after had only made my dick all the harder. Being a guy, I knew about getting hard fast, and it was always in the presence of this beautiful girl.

Shit. All she had to do was breathe on me. I thought I'd handled her tears pretty well, considering I didn't know jack about all that mushy crap. But with Aubree it wasn't crap.

Like I said before.

That girl just got to me.

And I wanted her on so many levels.

My conscience kicked me hard. I'd have to be honest with her before this went any further. I wanted it to go all the way, but not if she wasn't on board. She was going back to school and I was staying here. That was a given. But, I really wanted to give her something worth writing about in that book report _._

As long as she fully understood where we stood. Me: Not a forever type of guy. Her: Headed for something big in statistics. I kidded her about it, but it impressed the hell out of me that she could do math stuff. Hell, I was a right-brainer all the way. I loved words. I could write circles around math. Math could kiss my ass.

Even after standing under the cold spray for a while, I was still so hard I had to finish myself off in the shower. Damn, I hadn't jerked off since high school.

This time I made sure to put on my shirt, one that actually had a collar and buttons. This would save me a lecture from Brax about needing to look presentable in his establishment. I also didn't want any more situations here. I didn't think I could stop again like that, even with her tears crushing my heart.

"I'm ready to go," I said, tucking my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans and slipping on my sneakers, leaving them unlaced. "Ugh, we've gotta get you into the shower."

Her head turned, her startled eyes slamming with g-force strength into mine. "I'm so fucking suave," I said and hit myself in the forehead.

She walked up to me and patted me on the cheek. "Well, that's okay. You've been through so much tonight."

I chuckled and followed her back out to the garage. "The Shelby," I said.

We folded into the soft leather seats of the Mustang. It was the first thing I'd bought when I hit the mother lode, and this car had been worth every penny. It was a purely macho, purely male possession, one guaranteed to make every guy who saw it grind his teeth with raging jealousy.

At her place, I paced downstairs and waited for her to get ready. I tried running football plays in my head so that I wouldn't think about her upstairs doing all her sweet-smelling, girly things...or about her in the shower.

"686 Pump F-Stop on two...566 Quick Ace...Wily Dog on three...36 Blast..."

"Are you playing word association games? You bore that easily?"

I stopped pacing and turned--and almost swallowed my tongue. She was in this little pink flowered number that was tied at the back of her neck, leaving her shoulders and back bare. Damn. Any progress I'd made from running plays was summarily shot to hell. And, sonofabitch, I was hard again.

She looked at the delicate gold watch on her wrist and said, "I've only been gone like fifteen minutes."

She had a tiny pink thing hanging on her arm, and when she handed it to me and turned, I slipped it on her, catching her delicate, just-showered scent. Then she did this amazing, feminine hair-flip thing to reset it outside of the tiny sweater. Her thick red hair fell to the middle of her back, sending a waft of floral, deliciously clean female to my already aching libido.

How was a guy supposed to win here? I conceded defeat.

"So...one of your brothers is in the landscape business and the other owns a bar," she said as we settled back into the Mustang.

"Yeah, Brax used to bartend there, but when the owner wanted to retire and move to Florida, Brax bought it. He's turned it into something that's not exactly a bar and not exactly a restaurant. Since it sits over near the highway, he gets great business from traffic and from other towns."

"He obviously cooks."

"Yes. Even I have to admit it's damn good."

"What about the liquor license? Isn't he too young to apply for one?"

"Nope. In Louisiana, you have to be at least 18 or older."

We pulled up to Outlaw's. My brother drew a varied crowd on the outskirts of town. Not the upper crust and their prim and pampered wives who dined on pristine white tablecloths with expensive silver. Outlaw's catered to more elemental patrons. Farmhands, factory workers, blue collars, rednecks, all headed there for boiled mudbugs and cold beer, loud music and dancing, and the occasional brawl.

The building stood back from the breakwater and sat up off the ground on stilts to protect it from flooding. It faced the bayou, inviting regulars and visitors in from fishing and hunting expeditions with a blue neon sign that promised cold beer, home-cooked food, and live music. Brax had put up a blue-and-white awning and created a rough-and-ready gallery along the side with wooden poles and sturdy decking.

The crushed-shell parking lot was packed with cars and trucks. The bar was ringing with noise. The sounds of laughter, shouting, the sharp tinkle of glasses were intermixed with the steady stream of loud Cajun music that cascaded out through the screens into the warm spring night. Cheerful and wild, a tumble of fiddle, guitar, and accordion. It was easy to let it tangle up inside me.

We went inside and, because I'm Brax's brother, we immediately got a table. After the waitress took our drink orders, I excused myself. I waved to Boone as I went by the bar, where he was, of course, chatting up two pretty young things.

Inside the shiny commercial gourmet kitchen remodeled to his specifications, I found Brax at the stove, stirring a gigantic pot of gumbo.

"Hey, Book, where you at?" He tasted it and added something to the mixture.

"I need to talk to you."

His eyes narrowed. "About what?"

"The party."

"What about it?" He added more stuff to the pot. He pegged me with a hard stare. "If you were fooling around with Miss Gorgeous and Brainy and didn't get those legs..."

I sighed heavily. "I got the damn legs. Listen, I need you to add _boudin_ to the menu."

"What? Do you have any idea what it takes to make that?" He huffed out an irritated breath. "Blanc sausage made without the blood, or Cajun-style balls, battered and deep-fried?"

I gave him a wry look. "You're busting my white balls right now."

His mouth tightened. "I'm going to bust your face. Does this have anything to do with Aubree Walker?"

"It might."

He rolled his eyes. "Fucking fine. I'll make it, but you'll owe me."

"Done. Make it blanc. She likes the sausage."

"I bet she does," Brax said with a chuckle.

"Shut up, gutter mind."

"Or what? You goin' to make me, huckleberry? Not to mention, if I hurt my hands on your face, I can't make no damn _boudin_!"

"Well, you've got a point there. I concede the trash talk to the master."

"You smug bastard. Shut the fuck up and get outta my kitchen."

I couldn't resist a parting comment. I so loved pushing Brax's buttons. "I'm looking forward to your gumbo," I said very smugly and very upbeat.

It was his turn to give me a wry look. "Aw, stop buttering me up. Didn't you hear me? Get outta my kitchen."

I grabbed one of his melt-in-your-mouth biscuits. "Hey, while you're at it, make me some chocolate chip cookies." He threw a spoon at me. I ducked it with ease and gave him a mocking laugh, sailing out the doors.

When I didn't see Aubree at our table, I looked around and found her sitting on one of the bar stools talking to a dark-haired girl who looked really familiar.

I sauntered over, dodging dancers while I polished off the last of the biscuit. When I got close, I recognized the woman with Aubree. Verity Fairchild. Holy Mary Verity. The preacher's daughter. As far as I knew, her father didn't like her to hang out here. Even though he'd hired Boone to spruce up the revver's home and the church, I had to wonder what she was doing sitting there on one of Brax's barstools. It was rumored that her brother Ethan had a knock-down-drag-out with the revver when he'd turned eighteen and graduated from high school. Last anyone heard, he'd upped and joined the Marines to get away from his father, much to the revver's disappointment. Ethan had always been a good sort in high school. I never had much of a problem with him. Like the rest of us, he had a lot of pressures pushing and pulling against him. I knew all about expectations.

The musicians finished their set and left the stage. People went back to their tables.

Verity conversed avidly with Aubree, doing most of the talking, her face and gestures avid, while Aubree listened intently. She looked pale and tired. Must have been a tough year for her away from home. Then I noticed Boone at the end of the bar. He wasn't doing anything. He was just staring at Verity with this odd look on his face. Very un-Boone-like. When he saw me noticing, he turned away and started polishing glasses.

_Exactly,_ I thought. _Get your eyes off the preacher 's daughter._ The reverend would have a conniption if he ever thought Boone was sniffing around her.

Then another girl sauntered over to Aubree and Verity, and I had no problem whatsoever recognizing her. She was a blonde bombshell, tall, stacked, with enough Southern sass to hang a man out to dry. River Pearl Sutton, the daughter of the very rich, very proper descendant of the town's founder, Colonel Beauregard Sutton.

Along with her older brothers, Chase and Jake, they were the golden children. Then Chase went off the deep end a few years ago and high-tailed it to the bayou, where he'd opened up a bait shop and supplied seafood to the local restaurants. I don't think that made his daddy happy at all. Jake was away at college up north, at Harvard studying business. He was the boy that knuckled under. Jake and Brax had a couple of run-ins in high school which Brax refused to discuss, but I guessed it was probably over River Pearl.

She sat down with Aubree and Verity, and I decided this looked like a get-reacquainted pow-wow. I was okay with that. I headed for the trio.

"Hello, ladies."

Verity gave me a forced smile and looked away, but River Pearl, the international model and golden girl, reached out, and I took her hand. "Hello, Booker."

Aubree said, "I'll have to catch up with you later, guys."

"That's not necessary. Take your time. I'll find something else to do."

She smiled her gratitude at me and my heart tripped.

I headed to the stage and slipped onto the piano stool. I started off with Bonnie Raitt's hit about whispers and rumors, figuring Aubree and I were giving this town something to talk about.

#

Aubree

They both looked at me pointedly, both spoke at the same time.

"What just happened?"

"You're here with Booker Outlaw?"

I couldn't respond. I hadn't known that Booker could play the piano, or that he could sing like that. It was like discovering a beautiful piece of art or a rainbow against a storm-drenched sky. People clapped, hooted, and got up to dance, like they had expected this and it was a treat. But I only saw that with my peripheral vision. My eyes were front and center and locked on Booker. His gaze mesmerized, teased. I was caught in the intensity of the heat and the twinkle in those pools of blue. The look in his eyes made me glow inside, and the song he chose made me laugh. He was a bad, bad boy.

He bounced in time with the music, his fingers stretched over the keys of the battered piano, which was a poor, beat-up cousin to the baby grand he had at home.

As he got to the last verse, Verity glared nervously down the bar while Boone passed us and a woman took his place behind the bar. He picked up a guitar and joined in. From the kitchen, Braxton emerged, and when he walked past River Pearl, he spun and went the rest of the way backwards until he hit the stage, blowing her a kiss. She flipped him off. Picking up a fiddle, he slipped right into the music the way a gator slips into the swamp. I watched River Pearl's face, since she was turned toward the stage. She narrowed her eyes at Braxton and her mouth tightened.

She turned away, almost as if she couldn't bear to look at him.

"Those damn gorgeous Outlaws," she snapped.

"Tell me about it," I said.

"This is for you, sugar," Booker called out, looking at me. As soon as the first note sounded, I took a deep breath. The bluesy melody of "Blue Bayou" settled over the crowd. Some people moved together to dance slow and easy. Others returned to their tables to simply listen. I was spellbound. His voice, rich with a smoky passion, crooned the words as he sang to me. The experience was seductive, intimate, and wholly unnerving.

"You've always had a thing for Booker." River Pearl glanced at Verity, who rolled her eyes and nodded. "What does your aunt think of you hanging out with him?"

"My aunt's in a coma at Secrest hospital in Lafayette."

Verity's hand flew to her mouth and River Pearl reached out and touched my shoulder. "Oh, I'm so sorry. What happened?"

My stomach churned. "The sheriff isn't sure. I got a call a couple of days ago in the middle of the night telling me she fell or was pushed down the stairs. She's still in a coma, but the doctor says she's at least holding her own, and maybe her brain just needs time to heal." Then I shook it off before the rush of emotion could turn into tears, and returned to the original question. "You know I've never cared about Booker's reputation. I care about who he is as a person, and I know Booker's character."

"The Great Bleacher Bracelet Incident."

Verity laughed, and it made her face lighter, more carefree. Exactly what a nineteen-year-old should look like. "I've missed you, River Pearl."

She grinned and nudged Verity. "I missed you, too, sweetie. We should get better at staying in touch."

"I agree," I said. "So, did you go on that mission to Kenya, Verity?"

Verity toyed with her cocktail napkin, and then met my eyes. "Yes, of course. I'm a good little girl. Really, I was in the middle of nowhere, with dust, wild animals and no shower or blow dryer. I'll never forget the past year. It was interesting, but I don't think I'm cut out to be a missionary."

I studied Verity and realized she was being evasive. Looked like I wasn't the only one of our group who had a secret they didn't want to share.

"It's not like I get a say in anything. He still treats me like I'm six years old."

"What does he want you to go to college for?"

"I'll be lucky if I _can_ go to college. He would love to marry me off to that seminary protege of his, Billy Joe Freeman. Like I want to live a barren and pious life. He mentioned accounting."

"Oh, hush my mouth. How boring. No offense, Aubree," River Pearl said, after a sip of her virgin margarita.

"None taken," I said.

Both of them had left before the incident on Wild Magnolia Road. I felt like I was betraying my friends by not telling them what had happened. But I couldn't. I wasn't the only one involved.

"I'm sure his plan is for me to marry that guy, stay here, and do the books for the church as a dutiful little wife. Can you imagine that? I would wither away and die."

"Then you have to make sure he understands what you really want to do," River Pearl said. "Now that this mission is out of the way, you can make some definite plans for college, maybe even show him what courses you'd take, and for how long. Tell him you want to be a fashion designer."

Verity gave a sad sigh. "I don't know that I can."

"I will help you out. I'm going back to New York City in the fall. Maybe I can line up a photographer and some publicity for your line."

"Seriously?" The glum look on her face disappeared. "You'd do that for me?"

River Pearl smiled and nodded, squeezing Verity's shoulders. "Let's have lunch and you can show me your sketches. You do have sketches, right?"

"I do. I have actual garments."

"Very cool. I'd love to see them."

"I would, too," I said. I really missed these girls.

"My dad wants me to do something meaningful," Verity said, giving Boone another sidelong glance full of...anger. I didn't think she even knew him. Could I be wrong?

"This is meaningful. You're covering people up so they're not running around naked."

"Who's running around naked?" Booker said with a smile as he came back up to us.

I raised my brows. "Out of context, Booker. Entertainment over?"

"For now," he said, giving me that branded Outlaw grin.

Boone was back behind the bar and Braxton had disappeared into the kitchen.

"You guys can really play," River Pearl said.

"And sing. Great voice, Booker," Verity said.

"Thank you, ladies. If you'd like to see us sing some more, I'm having a private party next Saturday, and you're both invited. I might even get Brax to sing in Cajun French."

"Brax knows Cajun French?" River Pearl asked.

"Yes, we have Cajun relatives on my mom's side."

"Will Boone be there?" Verity blurted out, and then blushed so hard you could see the flush in the dim light.

Booker smiled and nodded. "He will." He looked at me. "Are you ready for dinner?"

I made plans with Verity and River Pearl and hugged them both. I gave an extra squeeze to Verity because she looked like she needed it. Slipping off the bar stool, I followed Booker back to our table. When we were almost there, I punched him in the arm.

He winced in surprise. "Hey, you getting physical with me, Walker?"

"You're a jerk."

He chuckled. "I bet you thought that baby grand was just for ego show?"

"I did."

"Ha! Judger."

"Guilty as charged." I sat down. "You keep surprising me left and right."

"I know, right? I'm a little more interesting than stats." He gestured with his fingers towards himself, looking smug.

I pantomimed with my index finger and my thumb. "A tiny bit."

My phone chimed and I glanced down at it. _Are you all alone in that big, empty house?_

I kept my face even and worked on not reacting at all, but my heart sped up and fear trailed icy fingers down my spine.

Booker was talking to the waitress. I had no intention of spoiling his dinner.

The waitress set a steaming bowl of gumbo down in front of me. The mouth-watering aroma was so strong it even overpowered my fear.

He grinned. "Dig in. You'll want seconds."

He was right about that. After we finished, I followed him out to the packed parking lot. The phone seemed like a live coal in my tote.

I wasn't looking forward to spending a sleepless night alone in my Aunt Lottie's big, empty house.

# Chapter Seven

Booker

Something was wrong with Aubree. I could tell. She'd enjoyed the meal and the music, so what was eating at her? I also felt a bit hurt that she hadn't confided in me. I followed her up the walk to her door, and after she opened it, she turned to me.

"I thought we were past secrets," I blurted.

Startled, she met my eyes, and when hers filled with fear, I couldn't stand it. "Tell me what's wrong. You're making me crazy."

"I didn't mean to. I didn't want to ruin your night."

"It's _our_ night, and you won't ruin it unless you never want to see me again. That would ruin my...life."

"No. It's definitely not that. I got another text."

"Fuck." I crowded her into the house and closed and locked the door. "Let me see it."

She pulled her cell out of her bag. No wonder she was holding it so tight. I read the message and wanted to hit something so bad, preferably the bastard that was texting this shit to Aubree. If it was Langston...

"He's trying to intimidate you."

"I know. It's working."

"Fuck."

"That was two fucks in, like, two seconds. You're making me nervous."

"I'm sorry. It pisses me off. I can bunk here tonight on the couch."

She gulped. "Are you sure it's not too inconvenient?"

"No, Aubree. It's not inconvenient. I'm not leaving you when you're scared. I've slept in worse places than on a couch in a fancy house."

She nodded. "You should stow your car in the garage. I would hate it if it got vandalized on my property. The code for the door is 77985."

"Got it. Be right back."

"I'm going to change."

God, I hoped it wasn't into those barely-there shorts. I wasn't here to seduce Aubree. I was just hanging around so she wouldn't be scared. _Please, please, don 't let her be in those shorts._ Or I'd be the one to be seduced.

When she let me back in, I breathed a sigh of relief. She was in a pair of black stretchy pants with a white stripe down the leg and an oversized gray top with no bra straps in sight. My mouth went dry. Hey, did that mean she didn't have one on at all? I tried to steer my mind away from that image.

"I was thinking it would be great to have a fire, but my aunt always built it. Would you mind?"

"It still gets chilly here in May, and I don't mind." We went into the fancy room with the fireplace and I started on the fire while she set up her laptop.

"We can watch a movie if you'd like. My aunt has wireless. The TV is in another room, but I want to be near the fire."

"Sure." A year ago I would have given a limb to be here next to Aubree. But a year ago I was a broke-ass no-account in this town. I was still a no-account, but no longer broke. I had something to offer her, but I was too much like my father to ever be the kind of man she would want or deserve.

_The apple doesn 't fall far from the tree._

"I think my aunt has some apple pie in the fridge. Want some?"

_Apple?_ For a second I thought she read my mind. But no. Pie, that's right. How perfect. "Sure."

She disappeared into the kitchen as I got the fire going. I moved to the couch, settling into the cushions, staring at the flames.

I was ten years old the day my father left. Angry people had come to our tar paper shack to find him, bringing the steely-eyed sheriff with them. My mother had been interrogated, and she had cried. I remembered how her tears had cut through me, and my anguish was deep when I learned that my father was never coming back. At the time I hadn't known he was a con man. It was only later, when I had been "educated" by the town, that I knew what a no-account my father had been. He'd pulled off the biggest con of all, making his family believe he was going to stay and show the town that not all Outlaws were lying, thieving, good-for-nothing bastards.

The day he disappeared was the first time I had heard that phrase, but it surely wasn't the last.

When those men had shown up, I'd run, small and scrawny, barefoot and dirty-faced, running like I'd been the thief they accused my father of being, shame burning in me. Running to escape the dark mark that always seemed to hang over us all. My feet slapping on the worn dirt path, I'd run into the bayou.

In the swamp I could be anyone, do anything. The possibilities were limitless, no expectations to live up to, no one to judge. I could conquer the water lilies, become king of the bullfrogs, be a pianist, a pirate, a writer, even a hero.

"Here you go. I put vanilla ice cream on it because I've never known a guy to turn down ice cream."

"Thanks," I muttered as I accepted the plate and fork she handed me.

She hesitated for only a second, then settled next to me on the couch. Not close like I wanted, but that was for the best.

She tapped through the menu of movies. " _Transformers_ okay?"

I nodded. "Sure," I said.

"Okay, are you all right? That's three sures in row."

I smiled. "I'm an agreeable guy." I forked up a bite of the pie. It was delicious, gooey warm with the flavor of vanilla from the ice cream filling my mouth. "You didn't want any pie?"

"No, I'm stuffed from the gumbo. Your brother is going to make someone a fine wife someday."

I laughed out loud, almost choking on my pie. "I'm going to tell him you said that."

"Go ahead. I doubt he'll use his ass-kicking boots on a lady."

"I doubt he will."

We watched the movie in a companionable silence. Two hours of breathing in Aubree's sweet scent, feeling her so close to me, close enough to touch. After the movie came to a close, she shut down her laptop and turned to me.

"Where did you guys learn to play like that?"

"Gypsies in the swamp."

"Seriously?"

"No." She punched me in the arm. "Ouch, that's going to leave a butterfly kiss," I mocked.

"Tell me. Be serious."

"Serious is no fun. I don't like accessing old memories a whole hellava lot."

"I really want to know."

"Do you really? It involves going into The Forbidden Zone."

"I thought there were no secrets between us."

I nodded. "Okay, but only if you tell me why you didn't believe I was a no-account white trash in high school."

She looked away. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. I'm going into The Locked Vault for you."

"I have terrible childhood stories, too."

"Great, we could one-up each other all night, then. The high school story is the payment or it's no dice, sugar."

"Then it's no deal. I've got a great dream about chickens, though."

"Aw, you knew you'd get me with the chickens," I said, conceding the game.

The memory came after me like a demon with something I couldn't refuse, painfully sharp and so bright. It had been such a good memory before my father had left. "His hand had been so big on the piano keys as his fingers rippled over the keys. I wanted my fingers to dance like that, too. I begged him every day to teach me, until he finally relented. He taught me on a really battered old piano he'd gotten from a junk shop. After...after he left, I couldn't even look at the piano. I was so...so mad. I hated him, and it."

"Is that the piano in Outlaw's?"

"No. The piano my father taught me on? I set it on fire. I dragged it out of the house and lit it up and roasted fucking marshmallows."

Instead of running screaming from the room, she curled her hand over mine, then threaded her fingers in between, tightening them briefly.

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"No. Well..."

I grabbed her around the neck and squeezed. "You're going to pay for that."

Once I had my arm around her, the silk of her hair flowing against my arm, I knew I was in trouble. She turned her face towards me. "Sugar," I said, my voice stalling. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Look at me like that."

"I can't help it."

"All you're feeling is sorry for me because of a sad childhood story. It'll pass. I'm very good at manipulating people. I tell lies for a living and people eat it up."

"That's not it."

"Sure it is."

"No, Booker. It isn't. If it was, then you'd have no compunction about taking advantage of the situation."

"Fuck logic."

"I like logic. It's clear, concise, and hard to argue with."

"I'm not the right guy for you. All we could have is a temporary situation. You're a forever type of girl, Aubree, and I wouldn't want you to be any other way. But you and me, not in the cards."

"You think I wouldn't take you up on that offer?"

"What? Why would you?"

"Because I understand rules. I like them. They define things so there's no guesswork. I have to go back to New Orleans. I've got graduate school in my future, maybe even a doctorate. I don't know. You'll stay here because the untamed freedom of the swamp is part of you. I'm okay with that. It would be hard. But I understand that about you."

I wanted her and she was giving me the green light. But for some reason, I was still not confident it was the right thing for me to do. Sure, my dick was all for it, but again, that head wasn't always reliable.

"We can take it slow, Booker. Explore and take our time."

My chest heaved and I closed my eyes against the need expanding inside me. Go slow with Aubree? That would fucking kill me.

"Unless, of course, you don't want to..."

"Are you nuts?" I turned towards her, clutching her upper arms. I carefully watched every change in her expression as I shook my head. "Don't ever, _ever_ believe that I don't want you. That is not the truth, will never be the truth."

She leaned towards me and did the darnedest thing. She kissed my cheek, and my heart turned to pulp.

"Okay, now that's settled, I'm going to bed. I've got to work tomorrow. You can choose one of two rooms upstairs to sleep in. I'm in the last room down the hall, and my aunt's room is the next to last. So either the first or second bedroom would be fine. I think I have a spare toothbrush in my bathroom."

I sat there dumbfounded until she came back. "Booker? Are you coming?"

"I've just got to take care of the fire. I'll be up in a minute."

"Right, the fire. Thanks."

As I doused the fire in the fireplace, I remembered that burnt-out husk of the piano. What I hadn't told Aubree was that I cried like a baby afterwards, on my hands and knees in the ashes and mud.

I'd been sixteen years old and had just realized that I'd still been expecting my father to come for us. But I knew then that he wasn't ever coming back. He hadn't wanted us, and that realization had been the worst pain I'd ever felt.

I wasn't ready to tell her that. It would make me too vulnerable, too open. Guys hate that. I felt bad about it, but I figured when I was ready, I would tell her. If I was ever ready. So, I guess I kept my secrets bottled up because if I let them loose, I probably wouldn't be able to stuff them back in, and no telling what would happen then. And I knew it would hurt, and I didn't want to relive that pain. Not now. So maybe the secret protected me a little, and even though my conscience was still bothered, I felt a little better about my decision.

It wasn't until I was in one of her soft guest room beds that I realized that Aubree hadn't told me her chicken dream. I would have to worm that out of her. I wondered why she wouldn't tell me how she knew in high school that I wasn't such a badass. I guess she would tell me when she was ready. Yeah, I wasn't so thickheaded that I didn't learn something about myself tonight. And something about Aubree.

I couldn't have been lying there for more than fifteen minutes when there was a knock on the door.

I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Booker?" Aubree said through the door.

"Yes."

"May I come in?"

"Sure, sugar." I scrambled under the covers since I only had my underwear on.

She opened the door and stood silhouetted against the dim light in the hall.

"Are you all right?"

"No, not really."

_This is a colossal mistake._

"Come here," I invited.

She closed the door and padded across the room, then pressed a knee to the bed.

_I repeat. This is a colossal mistake._

"Is this too...much?" she asked.

"Too much?"

"That I'm here in a bedroom with you after we just had that discussion about sex."

"You wanted to go slow. Isn't that what you said?"

"I said we could go slow, since I think you're having doubts."

"I'm not having doubts. I'm having a seizure."

"What?"

"I'm kidding."

Her brow furrowed. Then she tucked her chin, and her hand slid up to cover her eyes. A soft curse left her mouth. "This is so embarrassing."

"Why?"

She brought her other knee up on the bed and rested there. She wrapped an arm around her waist. I'd expected her to be jumpy about being alone with me. We might have talked and made out, but she barely knew me. Why wasn't she jumpy?

I couldn't take my eyes off her. There were so many nights when I'd thought about her that this seemed more like a dream than reality. "What's wrong?" I asked, continuing to watch her. She'd gone very still.

She didn't answer, and after a moment, I realized she couldn't. She was trying too hard to control whatever emotion had caused her to pull in on herself.

"Hey," I said, moving closer to her and ducking my head to better see her face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." The lie was barely a whisper. A tremor went through her. I saw it in the brief trembling of her shoulders, in the nervous adjustment of her fingers across her brow. "Yeah, I'm just peachy."

She went to get off the bed and I reached out and touched her shoulder. She froze. Her head came up and our eyes met.

She was close, very close, her scent coming to me on the air, all warm woman and soft, sweet musk.

Intoxicating.

I found myself breathing deeper just to have more of her. Fuck. I was a moron, trying to breathe her in--but, man, I loved the way she smelled. I didn't know what to make of the shadowed expression in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" I reached out and gently brushed my fingers down her arm.

She hesitated before answering, her gaze dropping. "I shouldn't have come in here. This could get so complicated."

There was that jumpiness finally, but I don't think it had to do with me. I think it was about what was going on with her.

I slid my thumb along the soft cotton of her sleep shirt, then the silken softness of her skin.

"Booker, I...."

I wanted to kiss her. I didn't think I could stop myself.

"What?" I prompted.

She made a small, dismissive gesture, part shrug, part turn of her hand, and I didn't want to be dismissed just yet.

"I'm scared," she said. "My aunt is the only relative that I have left. Returning has taken a toll on me. After what happened..." She paused, her jaw tightening for an instant. "I don't want to be alone. I just thought...if you wouldn't mind..." She stopped herself short and her hand came back up to cover her face, then her voice wobbled when she continued. "If you wouldn't mind just holding me for a little bit."

My heart flipped end over end over end. She was asking me for something so basic, trusting in me to deliver. The knowledge of what it must have taken for her to ask washed up against me, all her barely-concealed frustrations and worries and fears, and suddenly I got a glimpse into what is was like for her.

It must feel awful to be alone.

And it did me in.

I retreated, and disappointment flashed across her eyes until I lay back and opened my arms. "Remember that shoulder I offered earlier? It's actually one of a matched pair--that's two shoulders, equipped with some hard-hugging arms, and a chest to rest on. Come here, sugar."

With a soft sigh, she gave me the best smile, full of trust and comfort and gratitude.

She scooted forward and slid under the covers, then snuggled all of her sweetness against my chest, her hair so soft.

My arms closed around her, and I had never felt so needed in my life. I was glad that I could be there for her now that so much time had passed since the events on Wild Magnolia Road.

I drifted in what I could only call bliss. Drifted and sank down into slumber until I was awakened by her restless legs and mumbling.

"I'll work harder."

She tossed, her hips moving against me.

"I'll be the perfect chicken!"

"Aubree?"

She twisted a few more times and then her eyes snapped open. "What happened?"

"Chicken dream?"

"Dammit. Not again."

"How often do you have this dream?"

"A lot."

"Tell me about it."

When she explained it, I might have lost a few points because I laughed. It was the cutest dream I'd ever heard. But it was also telling. "It doesn't take a genius to work out the meaning behind that one."

"I know. I'm obsessed with being perfect. Even in my dream, I feel the need to be the perfect chicken. Of course, it's impossible to be a perfect chicken because I'm human. Dreams are always so silly."

"Must have been rough, your childhood."

"Up until Aunt Lottie found me, yes. My mother wasn't a very happy woman. I just thought if I was as good as I could be, she would love me. But it seemed that the harder I tried, the worse it got. I don't think she wanted me."

"I know how that feels."

"Tell me the truth. After you burned that piano, you got upset, right?"

"At the risk of losing more macho points, let's just say it wasn't my most shining moment."

"Don't you know that a woman loves a man who can express what he's feeling?"

"What Cosmo quiz did you get that out of, huckleberry?"

She snorted.

I brought my hand up and smoothed my fingers along the curve of her jaw. Truth was I was going all tender with this girl because she'd had a tough time, but she still seemed able to be optimistic. She might be a little uptight, and I decided she really did need someone like me to show her the lighter side of life. Humor was, after all, my armor of choice.

Her eyes met mine and we shared something elusive and mystical. It spun out of us in a heated, tangible, invisible arc from her gaze to mine. I got goose bumps.

I turned my head, rolling to my side, and opened my mouth over hers. She let out a soft gasp, which was perfect, and her hand came up to hold on to my waist.

She had the softest mouth, and I thought I could explore it for the rest of my life without ever getting enough. She cupped my face, her fingers touching me like she couldn't feel me intensely enough, sliding into my hair and slipping over the back of my neck.

She melted into my arms, and I hadn't expected how that hard pang to my heart would make me aware that this wasn't the right time.

I tried to break the kiss, but she wrapped her arms around my neck and devoured my mouth with such fierceness that it went straight to my groin in a wave of pleasure so intense I groaned.

My fantasies had nothing on reality. Really, when I thought about getting this close to her it was all about getting my dick inside her, claiming her, making her mine. But, man, who knew kissing could be so fucking fantastic?

But damn reality intruded. She was vulnerable and scared, and I wasn't going to make our first time about that. I stopped, right then, right there. Stopped and for a few seconds didn't move, not an inch, just tried to catch my breath and find my brains. Unfortunately, they had gone way too far south.

She didn't move either, just lay there with her mouth on mine, her breath ragged, her body trembling--and I knew we were going to make love. It was a given. Because this time it wasn't just about getting the dick inside.

She'd kissed me like she was drowning and I was the rope that could save her. All my fantasies shattered in the reality of having her in my arms with her mouth hot on mine, her body moving against mine, all curves and softness and need.

Gently, because I couldn't resist, I kissed her again, brushing my mouth across hers in a light caress, saying _soon_. Easing us both down a notch.

Not an easy task, because when I looked down at her, her face flushed, her mouth wet, feeling her breasts rise and fall against my chest with every breath, I still wanted to get inside her.

Her eyes drifted open, her gaze slowly recovering from a drowsy dazed state to a thunderstruck, oh-my-god green. That's when it hit me that she was feeling exactly what I was feeling. We were definitely on the same page.

"Not tonight."

I shook my head.

She nodded.

Aubree was like that unobtainable goal, always on the mind, always just out of reach. Was my heart on the line here?

I snorted as she snuggled against me.

Of course it fucking was.

It wouldn't be sex with her.

It would be something else.

I knew that with every fiber of my male psyche.

Why?

Because that girl got to me.

#

When I woke up the next morning, the sun was out and Aubree was gone. But I could still smell her sweet scent. The pattern from the curtains was etched like lace across the bed. I turned to look at the bedside clock. It was nine. Ahh, the life of a writer. It was glorious. My own schedule, no one telling me what to do, the possibilities of stories an endless stream in my head.

I rolled out of bed and dressed, feeling amazing. As soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs, I smelled the coffee, eggs, and bacon.

Aubree was at her computer, her hair in that tight ponytail, staring at the screen and tapping keys. "Eggs and bacon in the warmer. You'll have to make your own toast."

"What?" I said. "This is terrible service."

"I can't imagine why that would be." She glanced up at me with a cheeky grin. "This isn't a hotel, Outlaw."

"Do I have to pour my own coffee, too?" I grumbled.

"Yep. Do you need help counting how many lumps you want? Remember, two comes after one. There'll be a test on it later."

"I know someone who's going to get some lumps."

She giggled and it sounded damn good. I popped two pieces of toast in the toaster and poured my coffee. "What comes after one again?"

She giggled again, which had been the plan.

I came back into the room and she was still at it. "What time did you get up?"

"Seven."

"Damn, woman. That's too early."

"Well, I don't have a gazillion dollars in the bank like some people."

"I don't have a gazillion dollars."

"Oh?"

"I have two gazillion."

She huffed and I laughed.

"Go soak your head."

"Only if you join me. I need a shower."

The room charged up like fireworks were sizzling and exploding all around us.

"I've already had a shower. I don't want to get all pruney."

I heard the toast pop and I backed into the kitchen like there were mines on the tiled floor. It was really important to get my toast buttered before it got cold. Hell, all I would have to do is hold it. My body heat would steam it right up.

I went back in with my breakfast and sat at the end of the couch, watching her work some more and eating. "What are you doing today? You staying here?"

"No, I'm going to the hospital to visit with Aunt Lottie. I called the doctor already and they said her condition hasn't changed, but her brainwaves are good. They still think her brain just needs time to heal, but of course head injuries are tricky. She's breathing on her own, she had no fracture, and no surgery."

"That's great news, Aubree."

She looked at me, her eyes bright. "It is. After the hospital, I'm having lunch with Verity and River Pearl. Then we're going over to Verity's house to see some clothes she made."

"What about tonight?"

"Tonight I have a date with you."

I choked on my eggs.

"I'm not sure what it's going to be. More frog murders, and hence more froggie guts--"

When I opened my mouth to remind her about the fried goodness, she held up her hand.

"--totally for a good cause, and we know where that leads." She waggled her eyebrows at me. "Or maybe we'll be roping gators and riding them like bucking broncs, or having a nice picnic on that great deck you have while we watch the sunset. Maybe you'll even grace me with an a cappella version of 'Blue Bayou'."

"Is this a multiple choice test? If it is, I choose B. I haven't ridden a gator in a pretty long time. Just call me the gator whisperer. I think they're going to make a TV movie out of it. There might even be a book."

"Got it. Gator-riding clothes." She gave me a whimsical look and shut her laptop.

"You didn't ask me what I would be doing."

"I'm not nosey like someone we both know."

"Oh, is that a fact?"

"Stone cold."

"Come here," I said.

My face must have tipped her off. "Nope." She backed up. "If I go over there, I may never get out of the house. Kissing you is like getting sucked into a really amazing, tactile black hole. You're the astronaut of awesome."

I set the plate on the coffee table and vaulted over the couch. She laughed, pivoted, and ran.

I caught her in the hall, hauled her around and up against me. I looked down into her face, her back braced against my arm, her fingers warm on my skin where she held onto my upper arms. I think she had a thing for my biceps.

She had no idea how beautiful she was; she never had. She'd always been brainy, her superpower, but she was clueless to what everybody else knew, that she was stunning.

She didn't know it, but I'd often fought Damien Langston over her reputation. There was no shortage of posturing males that had set their sights on her. But I'd seen her in fourth grade, when she'd moved from Baton Rouge to Suttontowne, and that had just been that.

My guess was that Aubree didn't date much in high school because of her uptight attitude, her low self-esteem, and her smarty-pants-know-it-all air, and I guess I had to be counted as a deterrent. Despite the reputation my brothers and I had in town, violence wasn't ever at the top of my list for ways to take care of business. Most guys in high school didn't want to mess with the Outlaws. We were a matched set of bad-ass bad boys. Not really because we wanted that reputation, but because, unfortunately, it was a necessity. It was much better to be known as an ass-kicker than a target.

The whole guy thing with girls was so naturally physical that physical confrontation was inevitable. Guys had only one goal with girls, gettin' them some, and other guys were well aware of that concept, and that's why they got so pissed off. So when Langston had started talking like he'd nailed her, I'd called him out. It hadn't taken more than a fist in his face to solve the problem, but a pattern had been set.

Aubree Walker was Mission Impossible. When she'd left for college after what had happened on Wild Magnolia Road, I had gone a little crazy, angry crazy. I knew there were guys in college. A whole hellava lot of guys, and all of them would want her.

I knew exactly what I wanted.

And now here she was, so damn close. The intoxicating floral scent of her perfume couldn't mask the fundamental female scent of warm skin and soft breath, of the back of her neck and the lace of her bra and panties, unmentionables wrapped around just the curves I wanted to get my mouth on.

And she was going to let me.

With our eyes locked, hers filled with that wonderful shine, desire building between us, with the night a tantalizing tease, and years of fascination behind us, she told me she wanted me.

Geezus. I didn't know if I had it in me--to kiss her this time. It was like Russian roulette. To just kiss her. I'd done it at my house and upstairs last night, but she'd broken down, and the emotions I'd felt then swamped me again.

She was plastered against me, just where I wanted this girl to be. No-air kind of tight. The heat of her hands on my arms quickly and savagely spread, covering the whole front of my body...a good portion of it settling in my junk, which wasn't going to do either of us any good, because we had things to do.

I had an unobstructed view down her shirt. I tried to look away. But she was so lovely, the purple lace of her bra working overtime, the nape of her neck beneath my hand, soft and exposed, red tendrils of her hair lying like a mysterious treasure map to the riches of her.

I lifted my free hand and cupped the sweet line of her jaw, but this time when I lowered my mouth, I still didn't feel close enough. My mouth angled over hers, teasing her, and tasting her, and sucking enough to let her know this was just getting started between us.

Geezus, she had a beautiful mouth. I loved the way she moved it over mine, as if the sensation was something she needed to survive.

Yeah, she'd grown up since I'd punched out Damien Langston for his boasting lies at Aubree's expense. She knew where we were going this time. It was clear from the way she was clinging to me that she had decided I was the guy to take her there.

I broke the kiss, but she didn't open her eyes for a few moments. When she did, they were glazed.

"See," she said softly against my lips. "A black hole."

"Well, if you don't get going, this rocket is going to achieve liftoff and the both of us will be catapulted into outer space."

I let her go, but slowly, every molecule of my body protesting the separation.

She backed away like I was some unpredictable jungle cat who would leap if she moved too quickly. I don't think she was far off the mark.

She grabbed her Einstein bag and keys. "Lock up when you leave. Do you remember the code? I know it's a lot of numbers."

I chuckled. "I remember it."

"I'll see you tonight, then?"

"Gator wrestling. Bring your bikini."

"Yeah, I'll be wrestling with a gator all right, the two-legged variety."

I lunged and she laughed and closed the door in my face.

I had to wonder if she'd ever hooked up with anyone else. Was that even my business? Well, actually in this case, I would say yes. A guy needed to know when a girl was a virgin. That was important information. It could mean the difference between a good first time or a disaster.

Maybe that was one of the reasons I was resisting, here. Maybe it was because I didn't want to know.

Now that was a fucking Catch-22.

# Chapter Eight

Booker

"Ma!" I barged through my mother's front door and headed down the hall. I peeked in the kitchen, but she wasn't there.

"I'm in here."

She came around the corner of the living room and, as we met in the hall, she gave me a hug. Her face looked more serene than I had ever seen it. The house I'd built for her, to her specifications, also sat on the bayou, only a few miles from mine.

There was a black mat in front of the picture window.

"Yoga?"

"Yes, it's very relaxing. You should try it."

"Bend myself into a pretzel. Uh, uh. Running works for me."

She laughed. "What brings you by, son?"

"I was wondering if you would like to go to the Greek Isles."

She gave me a sassy look. "Is that a trick question?"

I tilted my head. "Are you getting feisty with me?" It's what she'd always said to me when I was young and...mouthy.

"Hey, got to get my payback where I can. Of course, I would love to go, but weren't you planning that as a research trip?"

"I was."

"You're not writing that book anymore?"

"No, I'm still writing it. Something's come up and I need to postpone it, but I have this ticket and this great tour. I would hate to see it go to waste."

She walked up to me. "Booker, is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong." Nothing that Aubree Walker couldn't fix.

"Is this about that Walker girl being home for the summer?"

I shifted and looked away. Did moms have some kind of radar or something?

"How is her aunt, by the way? She's been so good to you."

"She's hanging in there. The doctors are optimistic."

"That's a relief. I stopped by the hospital yesterday to pay a visit and brought fresh flowers for her room. I know half the stuff she bought from me at the flea market was trash, but it helped so much. At least when she wakes up she'll have something pretty to look at."

She brushed at the hair on my forehead and I felt twelve all over again.

"I'm not a kid anymore."

"No, you're not, you're a man, but sometimes feelings don't die, even if you want them too." She was talking about my dad, and that was another sore subject I didn't want to delve into. She still loved him. Why? That was beyond me, but I could see it in her face.

That was the thing about my ma. She could have gotten lost in a bottle or become bitter or check out, but she hadn't. She'd put three squares on the table every single day for us. She read to us, she tucked us in, and even though our clothes were shabby, they were clean. She never wavered, and she'd only let it get to her when she thought we weren't looking. Kids might be naive, but we weren't dumb. She more than deserved to have this simple little house by the bayou, and to never have to work another day in her life, if I had anything to say about it. Now she did what she wanted to do.

"And moms don't stop loving their boys because they turn into men. So get used to it, mister."

"What if I said it is about her? What would you tell me to do?"

She folded her arms and walked to the picture window. "What I always tell you to do, my boy. Follow your heart and everything else will fall into place."

"Even after all these years, ma?"

She looked over her shoulder at me. "Yes, Booker. Even after all these years."

#

"What the fuck!" Langston roared as he exploded out the back door of the diner and ran right into me. I was standing against the wall, my shoulder propped, one ankle crossed over the other.

"Hello, Danny boy." My words were casual, but an undertone of frost underscored each syllable.

He looked behind him, sweat beading on his forehead. "How did you get back here so fast?"

"Maybe because that wasn't me giving you the evil eye in front of the diner. In case you didn't know, I have two brothers...and we're, ah, triplets." I grinned at him.

"Book? You got this?" Boone peeked around the back fence and sneered at Langston.

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure?" he asked, looking like he wanted to take a few swings at Langston himself.

"Yes, I'm sure, Boonie. The day I can't take Langston one-on-one is the day I need to drown myself in the swamp."

"Good. Use my digits when you're done."

"Will do, Ma."

He snorted and sauntered off.

I let a slow, deceptive grin spread across my face. "Why did you run? Guilty conscience?"

"What do you want, Outlaw?" he asked tightly.

I reached for every bit of flinty steel I had in me. "Stop texting Aubree."

Something ugly flashed in Langston's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I was off the wall so fast he didn't have a chance to react. I shoved him up against the side of the diner, my forearm across his throat. "You do know what I'm talking about, you piece of shit," I said between clenched teeth.

He didn't say anything else, and I shoved against his throat.

"This is harassment. I'll tell the sheriff," he croaked.

"I don't give a damn. Tell the sheriff. Do you think the law means anything to me? My last name isn't Outlaw for nothing. And what you're doing to Aubree is harassment, Langston. This?" I shoved him again just for good measure. "This is a warning in the only language you understand." I stepped back. "Stop. Texting. Aubree. There, I said it real slow for you, so you'll get it."

He glared at me, hatred in his eyes. I didn't give a damn about that, either. I turned and walked away.

"You're going to regret this, Outlaw."

"Whatever."

As I came through the alley, Boone and Braxton were standing there. "What's going on here? I said I had it."

Boone's blue eyes sparkled with mischief, and he slanted a look at me as he fell into step alongside me with Braxton boxing me in on the other side. We strode through town that way as people gave us wary glances.

"Hey, we're just loitering. Nuttin' to do with you," Boone said.

"Yeah, it's always about you, Book. Conceited, much?" Brax said.

"Sure about that, huckleberries?" I gave them both a knowing look. There was a time in my past that I had been double-teamed by the Langstons. I had never said, but my brothers just knew. They had been so pissed at me, but their anger was fueled by their love for me. They were my support, my best friends, tied together by blood and strife. I was one lucky fucker to have them. Guys hated talking about love, even brotherly love. Affection was always tied to good-natured ribbing. I grabbed Brax around the neck. "Your time could be put to better use. I'm still waiting for my ooey gooey chocolate chip cookies made with _just_ the right amount of your tender-loving Betty Crocker care."

He punched me in the ribs, and pain and surprise made me suck in an amused breath. "Aww, Braxxie, was that a love tap?" When I let go, he grinned and swung at me with an open hand that I ducked. I swung at him in retaliation. But Brax was way too fast. He danced out of my range.

"It will be hard to eat chocolate chip cookies with broken teeth, smart-ass."

"Is that so? I think you're going to need backup. I hear Betty's a pretty good scrapper. Watch out when she takes off that apron." I said it deadpan, and he did exactly what I knew he would. He charged me, and took me down onto the grassy knoll outside of city hall. All three of us were laughing like idiots.

Boone just stood there like a referee with a full Outlaw grin on his face, his hands on his hips as Brax and I wrestled for supremacy. Finally, I pinned him, which wasn't an easy task, and he conceded this fight, but not the war.

"Should have called Betty," I said, as he shoved me and laughed.

Boone dropped down next to us on the grass. "Do you think he'll stop?"

"He'd better."

"Yeah, right. I think there's a future can of triple-whammy-whup-ass with that bastard's name on it, just waiting to be opened," Brax said with relish.

#

Aubree

After spending the morning reading _The Fellowship of the Ring_ to my aunt, I left Secrest Hospital and climbed into my car. I don't know if it was my imagination, but she had looked better to me, more color to her skin instead of that pallor that had scared me so much the time I'd run into Booker. I felt optimistic that I would have my aunt back the way she had been. Warm and caring.

Those thoughts brought a host of others bubbling to the surface and set my stomach churning. I tried to focus on driving as the familiar scenes passed by me. A bunch of small, ranch-style houses--each with half of an old clawfoot tub sunk into the ground as a makeshift shrine to the Virgin Mary, painted a deep blue for serenity, a multi-hued wealth of blooms planted at the feet of each Holy Mother. Downtown, with its mix of old and new, modernized storefronts.

Outside the general store a throng of stooped, battered old men sat gossiping, playing checkers, and watching attentively for strangers.

It felt good to fit in, and after seven years, I felt like I belonged in this town. They had accepted me and I was grateful for that, to finally have a home that meant something to me. Maturity was about recognizing what was important in life, and I was proud of my grown-up thinking.

I thought about the day my mother had died, and about my aunt rescuing me from the busy and almost sterile life of the city to this lush and magical place, welcoming me with open arms and a warm heart. I'd never known a home in the truest sense of the word until I'd come here. Now, I felt fragmented, the various parts of my life at odds with each other.

I wheeled into Imogene's crushed-shell parking lot and saw both Verity and River Pearl getting out of River's Mercedes coupe. I waved and looked up at the blue, weather-beaten building that stood on the corner of Georgia Lane and Easy Street. Imogene's faced the street and backed into the bayou with a screened-in back porch situated over the water. The restaurant didn't look like much with its funky corroded tin roof and beat-up, old-fashioned screen door.

It was rumored that Imogene had been a voodoo priestess who practiced her art under the full moon. She was hanged for supposedly causing a hurricane and wiping out a small fishing village farther down the road, because some of the men there had raped and murdered her daughter, AnnClaire. It's said the daughter's ghost haunts the restaurant.

"Hey," I said as I met them at the front door. River Pearl's blonde hair caught the sun and sparkled, matching her glossy personality. Verity's dark gypsy eyes smiled at me, but there was that same soul-deep sadness in them. Her dark hair was a tangle of midnight curls all the way down her back. I'd always envied her amazing beauty.

River Pearl led the way inside, the seductive sway of her unique way of walking drawing the eyes of every male in the place. Verity and I trailed behind her. The delicious aroma of hot spices and Cajun dishes saturated the air, evoking more memories of this place and my ties to it over the years. Fans twirled above us from the stamped tin ceiling, as they had for nearly eighty years. The same beat-up red diner stools I remembered from my childhood were lined up in front of the counter. The current owner of Imogene's, Samantha Wharton, a young, pretty yank from New York City, ran the landmark vintage register. She'd taken over Imogene's when it had fallen into disrepair and revitalized this treasure. For that, she'd won the hearts of everyone in Suttontowne. I for one was thankful she was also a great cook, and the glass-enclosed pie display that sat near the register would definitely make a believer out of anyone smart enough to order a slice.

We settled for a table in the back, on the screened porch overlooking the bayou. An airboat passed, and I smiled to myself, thinking suddenly of Booker and his story of gigging that gator instead of the bullfrogs they were hunting. I still wondered if he'd been pulling my leg.

I finally relaxed and let myself think about him. He'd been a hot, hot glow in my belly the whole day. The way he'd looked this morning, unshaven, the black stubble roughening his strong, sexy jaw. His shaggy hair a mess. When he stood in the sun, his eyes were this electric blue that I couldn't look away from. I couldn't keep my hands off him, and last night...he had been so sweet. Everything in me ached to touch him. Then those kisses in the guest room and the hall. _Swoon_ , again.

We got our menus, ordered our drinks.

River Pearl said, "It's so good to see y'all again. I sure missed you both. We really have to keep in touch. I especially hate that you were in The Middle of Nowhere, Africa, Verity. Much too far away from New York City."

Verity shrugged. "The mission kept me so busy...with the work and all."

"Well, we're together now," I said.

Verity nodded.

There was silence as we looked over our menus. We placed our orders.

"I'm so thankful that yank salvaged this place," River said.

"Agreed. But it looks like we're becoming a haven for yanks. Look at the Blue Coyote Spa. Mid-westerner bought it and really turned it into something grand."

"Right. She has a pretty name," Verity said.

"Skylar Bransom," River said. "She dresses really funky, but I like it." She turned to me. "Enough gossip about yanks. Let's hear some gossip about one particular local. Aubree. Dish on Booker." River Pearl tilted her head, her voice clear she would accept nothing less than my full confession.

She was stunning in the sun, her denim shorts and white crocheted top looking country-club fashionable on her. River Pearl always looked so artlessly put together, her makeup seemed a part of her rather than just applied, her hair plaited into an intricate braid. I always felt like a mess when I compared myself to her.

"What's going on with him?" She stopped talking while the waitress set down our drinks. Once she left, River continued her interrogation. "Why didn't you ever talk to him in high school?"

"He was too wild, too unpredictable. I was always trying to be--"

"Perfect?" River Pearl said, her brows hiked with challenge. I really loved her attitude. She never worried about just coming out and saying what everyone was thinking and damn the consequences. I wondered what she would say about what had happened on Wild Magnolia Road. She would have probably told the truth no matter what it cost her. Damien Langston's father wouldn't have dared to go after River Pearl's family. They were too important in this town. Although I really wondered if that's how it would have played out. Maybe her daddy would have swept it under the rug and told her to hush about it.

I made the decision, again, to keep it quiet for a very specific reason. Even as another thought occurred to me, I stuffed it into a different compartment. I was going to stick with the explanation I was comfortable with.

"Don't look at me like that, Aubree. We all know about being perfect. For Verity it's in the eyes of God. Fuck, she's got Jesus to live up to. For me, it's the Perfect Princess. God forbid I should have a bad hair day and it gets caught on film. We're so freaking pretentious that we had to add an _e_ to the town name. Really? We should have been horse-whipped back in the day. My family sure could use a wake-up call. God knows it should have happened when Chase left, but no. And the whole universe would come crashing down around us in the apocalypse if you don't do the right damn thing."

I wanted to say that I didn't always do the right thing. Several times in my life I hadn't managed it, and all those times had to do with...Booker.

"Just do me a favor," River Pearl went on. "If I ever trot around Rodeo Drive carrying a little dog inside my handbag, please plan an intervention. The Princess will have gone off the end of the royal pier."

"Pact," we said in unison and clasped our pinkies to seal the deal.

"So, Aubree. You sleep with Booker yet?"

I choked on my water and River Pearl gave me a shrewd little smile. "If you ask me, that's the right damn thing to do. Yowza. Do those Outlaw boys get better looking every damn day?"

Verity frowned, her eyes snapping. "Sleeping with a boy is a personal thing, River Pearl, and it's not to be done lightly."

"I saw you looking at Boone. In his case, you can't handle him. He's much too reckless."

"River Pearl!" I said, "don't be rude to Verity."

"I'm not being rude. Sometimes, Verity, sex is just sex. You don't have to be in love with someone to have sex. But your upbringing makes you think the way you do. You have a lot more pressure on you when it comes to sex."

"We have been apart for a year, River Pearl. How do you know what I've done--or haven't done--in that time?" she snapped. "I could handle Boone if I wanted, but you're wrong. He's the last person on this earth I'm interested in!. And anyway, are you all of a sudden speaking from experience?"

I had never seen her stand up to River Pearl before, but there was a new maturity to her, as if she'd been through the fire and been tempered a bit. Up to now, River Pearl had pretty much been the leader of our little band.

River Pearl saw it, too, but she looked delighted that Verity had challenged her. She'd always wanted Verity to become more assertive, which is why she'd said what she did. "I've been out in the world since I was six years old. I'm not bragging when I say that I've had plenty of offers from men. But I was lucky to not only be born with a tough, gentle, somewhat overbearing mother who watched out for me, even when my teenaged angst got the best of me, but I was also infused with the assertiveness to tell them to take a hike. Show business really isn't all it's cracked up to be, and modeling is tough work. Being a Perfect Princess is even tougher. I'm sorry, Verity. You're right. I shouldn't be such a bitch."

"You weren't a bitch."

"Okay, you're the new bitch on the block."

Verity laughed, and they both looked expectantly at me.

"I haven't slept with him...yet."

River Pearl's lush mouth flicked up in wry amusement. "What are you waiting for? You can only regret the things you didn't do."

Not really in my case, but I couldn't tell her that. "I'm waiting for him."

River Pearl's eyes widened. "What? That is...wow...well, hush my mouth."

"River Pearl, speechless? I think I have to get a six-pack of Jax for Booker next time I see him," Verity said smugly.

I couldn't believe it myself. All this time, I'd wanted him and never done anything about it. This was the first act of rebellion I'd ever allowed myself, except for the secret, and now he was the one who wasn't sure. Maybe that wasn't quite right. He was sure. He just didn't want to hurt me. I had already figured that out for myself. Booker was elusive and wild like the bayou. No one could really tame him, and I didn't want that. I figured he was going to break my heart, but I weighed that against the experience of getting to know him in every sense of the word. I knew he was noble. I had seen it with my own eyes.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to wait for him to get comfortable with it. It's a big step for him. Admiring someone from afar is different than reality. Maybe once he gets to know me, the novelty will wear off."

Verity sniffed and made a face of utter disbelief. "I doubt that! He's had the hots for you since...as long as I can remember. If he doesn't realize how wonderful you are as a person, then he simply doesn't deserve you."

"Aww, thanks, Verity," I said.

"Is he a good kisser?" River Pearl asked.

"Swoon-worthy. He does this thing with his mouth, this rubbing, brushing thing."

"That sounds hot," River said.

"It is, and I have a date with him tonight."

"I have no dates," River said, glumly.

"You just got into town yesterday, both of you."

"I don't want any dates," Verity blurted. "My dad is still completely overprotective and pretty determined to marry me off to that Billy Joe. Any boy interested in me would have to go through a third-degree as dangerous as walking through the gates of Hell. Plus, I think my fate is set. I totally understand why Ethan left. My father couldn't get his own preacher son, so the next best thing is his daughter as a preacher's wife."

I touched Verity's arm. "Don't despair, Verity. You don't know what will happen in the future. You can make your own fate." She smiled at me in gratitude. "It's tough," I said. "When I was in high school, I was too busy working my butt off to date. College isn't much better, but I've been to a few parties."

River Pearl sipped at her iced tea. "I have homework for the summer," she said with a pout.

"Homework? You taking a class?"

"No, my dad wants me to write the speech to close out the Founder's Day Festival."

The Founder's Day Festival was to celebrate Colonel Beauregard Sutton, River Pearl's famous and lauded ancestor from the War of Northern Aggression, as we Southerners preferred to call it. He'd founded the town and nurtured it. He was quite a hero here. It was almost laughable that his only black mark was his friendship from childhood with Duel Outlaw.

"What are you going to write about?"

"I don't know. I was thinking I would do some digging and try to find out personal stuff about him. It might be really interesting. In fact, I was thinking about talking to Braxton Outlaw to see if I could get any background information about the colonel and Duel's childhood."

"Your daddy's going to have a conniption."

"He's the one who's given me this blasted assignment. I'd rather lounge around the country club pool and play tennis."

"You'll do that anyway."

"True. I need to unwind before I have to go back to my crazy public life."

"Have to go? You don't want to?" I asked.

"I don't know. I've never really been given the chance to decide what I want to do."

"Aww," I said. "Poor little rich girl."

"Bitch," she said with a smile. "You get to have a summer fling with Booker."

"You can live vicariously through me. But Braxton has a notorious reputation with the ladies. So be careful."

River Pearl's shrewd smile spread across her face. "I can totally handle Mr. tall-dark-and-emotionally-unavailable. I could wrap him around my little finger. Don't you worry about that."

Once lunch was finished, they got back into River Pearl's car and I followed them to Verity's house. The church was located right at the outskirts of town on a beautiful piece of land. Verity and her family lived in a modest house not far from the church itself. When we pulled up, I saw an Outlaw, but I was sure it wasn't Booker. He had a tablet in his hands and looked like he was sketching or making notes.

It must be Boone.

He waved to me as I passed, and I heard him say, "Hello, Verity."

She looked at him with such anger, he stepped back, surprise and something that looked like guilt flashing in his eyes. She glared at him and marched into the house. River Pearl smiled at him, probably to lessen the sting of Verity's behavior, and we followed her in.

Okay, now I was certain that something must have happened between them, but I could have sworn Verity had never even spoken to him.

There was a mouth-watering aroma coming from the kitchen. I identified it as some kind of cinnamon cake, maybe coffee cake.

Her mother came into the living room, her face wreathed in smiles. "Hello, girls. It's so nice to see the three smartest girls in Suttontowne."

"Mama," Verity said, rolling her eyes, "that was last year. Now we're just three girls."

"Hey, speak for yourself," River Pearl said. "So, Mrs. Fairchild, would that be coffee cake you're baking? Smells yummy!"

Mrs. Fairchild laughed softly. "River Pearl, you were never a bashful one, but you are subtle. I'll give you that."

River Pearl gave her that sweet, shrewd smile.

"Aubree, how is your aunt's condition? I got to the hospital yesterday, but I haven't yet had a chance to go out today."

"Oh, that's so kind of you, Mrs. Fairchild. She's doing pretty well, considering. The doctor is optimistic."

"Oh, that is such good news," she said with kind eyes. I have always liked Verity's mother.

"Verity, come along and I'll get you each a slice."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fairchild," I said.

"Man," River Pearl whispered, as Verity trailed her mother into the kitchen. "It's like nothing's changed. We're at Verity's house, eating her mom's cooking, gossiping. Hiding things from our parents. It's just like high school."

I didn't feel the same, but this whole scenario was certainly familiar. I wondered how long it would take before it would be different when I visited Mrs. Fairchild. Or was that just normal, to feel like a kid in the presence of an adult? Right now I was straddling two worlds: my old life as a teenager and my new life as a college student. Trying to come to terms with some big problems, and overcoming a terrible secret that I would have to conceal for the rest of my life. The guilt ate at me as I stood there in Mrs. Fairchild's house, so close to the church. I remembered that confession was good for the soul. But I was too afraid, still, and the secret weighed heavily on me.

What if it was Daniel Langston sending me those texts? What if he'd guessed what had happened? Knew his brother had last been with me? I wouldn't put it past Damien Langston to have gloated to his brother about what he planned to do. I should have been smarter that night. I'd made a horrible mistake, and I was still paying for it. Might have to pay for it for the rest of my life.

"You okay?"

Startled, I looked at River Pearl. "Yes. Why?"

"I said your name twice and you didn't answer. What are you thinking so hard about?"

"Nothing," I said.

"Is it about Booker?"

"Yes." I tried to smile easily, but I had nineteen years of being uptight to overcome. "That's it. I was thinking about dreamy Booker."

Verity came out of the kitchen with the cake, and we went to her room.

"Normally she doesn't like me to eat in my bedroom, but she's _making a concession_ because I have friends over. Geez, she treats me like I'm still a little girl." Verity heaved a huge sigh.

"So what's up with Boone, Verity?" I asked. "If looks could kill..."

"Boone Outlaw is just like every other no-good boy. You can't trust any of them." Verity walked over to the window to stare out. "They just want to get into your pants."

River Pearl set down her fork. "Duh, that's what boys always want. The Outlaw brothers aren't any different from other boys in this town."

"Well, I can tell you from experience all three of them are very nice guys," I said. "Booker is nothing like the rumors said he was. Nothing at all. Maybe someday everyone will realize that."

"That may be true of Booker. But I know differently about Boone--and no, River Pearl, I don't have anything else to say about the matter."

"Was it something you witnessed first-hand?" I asked.

"No. I heard it from a girlfriend who went to a party he attended. Let me tell you it wasn't pretty. So I'm wary of him. That's all."

"Why don't we drop this and you can show us your sketches and the stuff you made?" I said to change a subject we weren't likely to agree on. I didn't know what was up with Verity, but I knew from experience that girl wouldn't talk until she was ready.

She turned from the window and a genuine smile lit up her face. "That sounds like a fine idea."

#

Later on, as I was driving home, with one of Verity's amazing peasant tops to wear for my date tonight lying on the front passenger seat of my car, I thought about how much all three of us had experienced this year. And it occurred to me that when we graduated we'd been all excited about the future, and about no parental control. In essence, freedom. Did it get any easier? Or was life more like a journey from one point of experience to the next, where learning and experiencing helped you make it to the next stage? I guess River Pearl knew more about being grown-up from a younger age. She'd been thrust into the world of glamour a little over a decade ago.

Before the incident on Wild Magnolia Road, I had been innocent--no, that wasn't right. I had been ignorant of how life turns on a dime, how things could change from one minute to the next and suddenly it wasn't just about school, books, and being the best. Sometimes it came down to building experiences, gaining life lessons.

Is that what love was about? Would there ever be a time in my life when I could just embrace it? I wanted to believe that I didn't have to be perfect to get love, and that it could be real and not bitter and empty, that it was about something besides duty or obligation.

Is what I was experiencing with Booker real? Or were we acting out a fantasy he'd had of me since I was in the fourth grade? And, somehow, what happened on Wild Magnolia Road hadn't changed his view of me, even after what we had done together. Did the secret we shared regarding Damien Langston draw us closer, did that mutual experience bind us, and had I simply been too critical of myself to understand that it didn't matter to him?

But I wondered and worried a little about how he would react to the bleacher incident. Would it be a game-changer for him? I felt like I'd never really known him until that day. He could have judged me, but he never did. He stood beside me, even when I wasn't aware he was there. What did he see in me that was so special? Certainly not anything I could see in myself.

I was nothing but a big mess of flaws. Too critical, too righteous, too uptight, too afraid, too defensive. I could go on and on. All that was certain was that I would be returning to school in the fall. I didn't know what would happen with him, and for once in my life, I wasn't going to stress about it. I just knew that I wanted him. Is that what growing up was about? Making a decision, then accepting and coping with the consequences?

Did he really want to know the real me? Or did he already?

# Chapter Nine

Booker

Before I'd kissed Aubree I had much more focusing power. But now I just sat at the computer and remembered how she'd felt beneath my mouth and my hands. How fucked was I? Who was I kidding? I'd already been fucked, long before I'd dared to touch her.

So, I had admired Aubree from afar, kicking the ass of anyone who even thought about her wrong, glad when she'd never dated, glad that she wasn't at the prom with some guy who would have his hands all over her, glad she didn't seem to have someone special at Tulane to call. It was selfish, but, hell, I was a stupid young male, and I accepted that it went with the territory.

I should have left her alone. She'd been so hostile to me when she'd first come back home. Until that night, we had barely spoken a word to each other. But then something had happened, either while we were having breakfast in the diner or sometime afterward, that had changed her mind.

She was coming over tonight, and I still couldn't decide what to do. I wanted her with everything inside me, but she'd already left me once. How much worse would it be if I got closer to her, so close there wasn't even enough room for air?

I didn't know if I could handle getting in deep with her physically. She was stuck in my head now. What would happen when she gave me what I had been craving since I understood what sex was about? Okay, so if this was just sex, maybe it wouldn't be a problem. But with Aubree it wouldn't be "just sex."

I could hear my brothers now, giving me a hard time. Telling me I should hit it and hit it hard, get her out of my system so that I could move on. But I'd held her that night on Wild Magnolia Road while she cried and trembled. I'd felt her fear, her panic. I had seen her gratitude. There was no getting her out of my system, at least not in that way. Now I'd told her the piano story. That was surprising. No one outside my immediate family knew that story.

I felt like I was sinking deeper...and I didn't give a fuck.

I heard the door open and then steps down the hall. Boone stuck his head into my office, looking sweaty and...pissed. "Beer?"

"Duh, fridge."

"No, that was an invitation to you, bro."

He left and I pushed back my chair. I wasn't getting shit done anyway. I followed him down the hall, with just my shorts on and my feet bare. The air conditioning was blasting, but I was still hot.

His back was to me, and I could see it in the line of his body. Something was wrong. A lot of people in high school labeled him as reckless, but being one-third of a threesome meant you were tuned in to your brothers. Sometimes too tuned in. It was like that eerie twin thing times three.

He pulled out a Jax and threw the bottle across the room. I caught it, popped the top and drank.

"Didn't you have a job today?"

Boone took a long drink and pressed his butt against the counter. "Finished it."

"That was fast."

"Preliminary sketches and list-making. Doesn't take that much time. I'll fool around with the design on the computer tonight."

I nodded and took another drink. It was always a good idea to just let Boone get stuff out. I sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. Soccer.

"Did you ever do something really fucking stupid and you can't remember what you did? Well you kinda remember, and it was amazing, but stupid?"

"What are we talking about here?"

He set the bottle down and sent his hands through his hair. "I think I pissed off Verity Fairchild."

"Aren't you working for her daddy?"

"Yeah. He's already read me the riot act about his daughter."

"Right. You interested in her?"

"Holy Mary Verity? Shit, no." He took a swig, then looked away.

_Right,_ I thought. I knew Boone. "We have enough problems in this town without involving the preacher and his very beautiful, very sexy--"

"Even though she tries to hide it."

"--daughter. You want to go to Hell?"

Boone laughed and came around the counter and plopped down next to me. "You're a riot. Have you seen her? She'd be worth going to Hell for, even if I wasn't already on my way."

"Boone. What was it that you did that was stupid?"

"I get these flashes sometimes. Man, I was a wasted fuck-up in school. I was lucky to graduate."

"The stupid part?"

"I think she was at the same graduation party I was. But I'm not sure."

"And the flashes."

"Bits and pieces of dumb-assery."

"I'd say do your job, put blinders on, and stay away from that girl. Or even apologize if you want. You've cleaned up your act since high school. You have a very successful business."

"Thanks to you."

"I just invested the funds, Boone. You're the one that made it a success."

"You invested in me, Book, and in Braxton. We'll never forget that, and we won't let you down."

"I know. After that mall job you did in Lafayette, then the mayor's mansion, you've gained at least grudging respect around here. That shit was in _Architectural Digest_. The preacher knows you're good and he can get a good price out of you."

"Yeah, the preacher's okay. If I was him, I'd tell my sorry ass to keep it professional, too. Not...that I had any intention of messing with Verity, mind you."

"Of course not. But, she is smokin' hot. Ever since she came back from the Kenya mission, there's something different about her, wouldn't you say?"

Boone nodded. "Yeah, she is smokin', those gypsy eyes, that mane of hair. She does seem different. For some reason, she hates my guts."

"Well, keep both of your heads down."

"Ha! Clever, son. Did Aubree get any more texts from Langston?"

"Not sure. I haven't talked to her today. She's coming over later on tonight."

"Too bad. I'd like a reason to kick his ass. How about her aunt? She still hanging in there?"

"She is. She's tough."

"Ma brought her flowers."

"I know."

"Ma's great."

"She is."

"Good to know about tonight." He rose, finished off his beer and walked back into the kitchen. "I won't make any impromptu visits."

"Since you have a great house of your own, Boonie, that sounds like a stellar idea."

"Later, gator."

#

"Look who I found outside," my ma said, as she dragged Aubree in with her.

I loved that moment. The moment our eyes met, the way she made me feel all hot and cold. "Hey, Aubree."

She smiled. "Hey, Booker."

My ma cleared her throat.

"Sorry, Ma." I hugged her. "What brings you by?"

"I was wondering if I could borrow that great carry-on you have." She gave me a knowing look, but I ignored her.

"Sure. I'll go get it." I hurried down the hall and grabbed it out of my closet. I didn't want to leave them alone too long.

"Here you go," I said while Aubree laughed at something my mother was saying. Shit, that couldn't be good.

"Thanks for stopping by," I said handing her the bag. "Don't you need to pack?"

"All right." She laughed. "I get the message. I won't let the door hit my backside on the way out." She headed for the foyer and said, "It was good to see you, Aubree."

"You, too, Mrs. Outlaw."

I took Aubree's hand when the door closed and pulled her out to the deck. Candles were everywhere, and she gasped and nudged me. "Look at you being all romantic."

Then she saw the picnic basket.

"I'm so hungry. What you got in there?"

"Fried chicken, potato salad, biscuits that will melt in your mouth."

She narrowed her eyes. "Did Braxton put this together for you?"

"Busted."

"You are, but thank you for going to all this trouble for me."

We ate, and I loved the way Aubree loaded her plate and dug into it like a trucker. That girl could eat.

We settled down onto the part of the deck strewn with big, soft throw pillows that Boone had designed so that I could lie on my back and stare up at the stars through the skylights he'd cut in the roof of the deck.

For once the weather had cleared and the sky was black and filled with infinite stars. I pointed up beyond the roof of the deck. She gasped and smiled as she curled up against me.

Very softly, I started singing "Blue Bayou," and Aubree sighed against my vibrating throat. As the last words of the song died down to nothing, she pressed her face into my neck.

Keeping my body very, very still, I lifted my hand and gently cupped the lower part of her face, spreading my fingers across her cheek and letting my thumb rest on her lips.

Softly, ever so softly, I brushed my thumb across her mouth--and watched her grow still, like her whole body was holding its breath.

I could have stopped there, should have stopped with her eyes darkening under my gaze, with the heat rising between us at my touch. But she was impossibly out of my league, untouchable, unattainable Aubree, and for this one moment, I literally had her in the palm of my hand.

So I kissed her, simply leaned forward and opened my mouth over hers. And she melted into me, exactly as I'd hoped she would. Nothing had ever been finished between us, and--god, her mouth.

She had the softest lips, the sound and taste of her went straight to my dick. She didn't move away, not so much as a millimeter. She held so perfectly still, her breath seemingly caught somewhere between us, her lips parted just enough to allow me entry, a tease that warmed with every slow thrust of my tongue into her mouth.

She was sweet, and hot...and cautious. It was Aubree's nature to be so. I almost grinned. Somehow, somewhere, sometime tonight, that caution would disappear. But for now, I'd take her guarded kiss. I'd take the soft, hesitant, giving way of her tongue, take her gentle exhalation inside, and imagine what I could do to make her groan.

I pulled back and gently rubbed my mouth against hers. I got my reward as she made a soft sound deep in her throat and turned into my kiss--but not all the way, still holding back. Still keeping her hands to herself. Still not committing, not submitting--and that's what I wanted, what I needed. Submission. I knew how incredibly sweet it could be, and I wanted that from her.

But then I remembered that Aubree was a control freak. That was okay with me, too. When I pulled away and reclined against the cushions, her quizzical look made me smile.

"Don't you want to touch me?" I asked.

She blushed and looked away. "Only for about a million years."

I spread my hands. "Then touch me. Wherever, however you want."

She reached for the hem of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head.

Her eyes traveled slowly over me. She studied me, her eyes going soft with a melting heat.

I was so psyched to find out where she would touch me first.

She sidled closer to me. The anticipation was murder.

She reached out and went right for my abs. At the first touch of her fingers, I sucked in air, then she ran her hands down the ridges and back up again like she was performing a glissando, that quick move across the keyboard that hit every key. She then flattened her palm against my rib cage and ran it up to the thick muscle of my chest, her palm gliding over my hard nipple, up to my collarbone, then over my shoulder to the bulge of my biceps.

"You are so beautiful, Booker."

By this time I was panting, trying to keep my shit together. My throbbing dick was so hard I thought it would explode from the pressure against the fly of my jeans.

I almost got off watching her face as she touched me.

She moved to the muscle cut into my waist. _" Fuucccck," _I hissed, my hips arched off the cushions at the sensation of Aubree Walker's hand on me. It was a dream come true.

"Did I do that?"

"Yes, sugar. That's just my reaction to being touched by you."

"Oh, wow."

"I think I've created a monster."

"I know how you get these hip things," she said smugly.

I looked down and realized she was talking about the indentations curving just above my hips.

"It's where your abs..." She drew a line from the edge of my defined stomach muscle, "...meet your hip flexors." Right through the indentation and to the edge of my jeans. "On a man, it forms a V, especially when your abs are ripped."

"Is that so?" I gritted.

She nodded. "So sexy."

"Really?" I'd had no clue that women found that area of a man's body sexy. I would need to pass that on to my brothers. "Aubree?"

"Huh?"

"Aubree?"

She didn't respond. She was too busy doing that thing again and watching me unravel. I swallowed hard.

"Aubree?"

I reached forward and slipped my forefinger under her chin and tipped her head up. "I need to ask you something."

"What?"

"Have you ever been with anyone?"

_Please say no._

She took a steadying breath. "Yes."

_Ah, damn._

"But only in my head."

My heart stalled. "Who?"

"You."

I closed my eyes. I had to hold on to my composure. My heart felt crushed between the need to hear that and the joy of hearing it. "You patronizing me because you think that's the right answer?"

She leaned forward and curled her hands into the waistband of my jeans. My dick jumped up toward the proximity of her hands. Propping herself on my hips, she leaned toward me, the warmth of her fingers distracting me. But I shook off the distraction, because I had to hear every nuance of what she was about to say.

"You are so cool. So badass. The unholy trinity. God, that was so sexy. You swaggered around high school like you and your brothers owned the place. All that posturing, all that irresistible charisma." She leaned closer to me and my chest heaved, her mouth was so close to my lips, her eyes devouring me. "We all wear masks to get by. To hide things from people who would strip us bare. We protect what's inside because it's too precious to be exposed. It's who we are. The real us."

She brushed her mouth against mine, just a whisper of touch, and my hips jerked. Her voice was soft and compelling, her eyes direct and dead serious.

"You know what it's like to want something, Booker," her breath hushed out against my skin, hot, tantalizing, and needy. "Deep down we want to be bare. We want to be exposed. We want to be intimate with someone who gets us. Someone we can trust implicitly. Someone who sees that bare, exposed, intimate part and loves us anyway. So, no. I'm not patronizing you in the least."

Her eyes flicked to mine. I strained up towards her, needing the feel of her mouth on mine. She removed her hands from my waistband, dragging the backs of her fingernails against my skin. My back arched, my hips moving with the driving force of the blood pumping through my veins. I closed my eyes and groaned, my skin burning. It had already caught fire the moment she'd touched me. Now I was being consumed. And before I could react, her hands manacled my wrists and her mouth came down hard on mine.

I trembled with the effort it took to let her kiss me. I knew about that kind of need, that kind of desperation. I wanted her to be in control because I was so afraid I would lose mine. I lived for this kind of pleasure. Writing for me was an orgasm of the mind. Good food fed not only hunger but the taste for the delectable. The high I got from running was not just about honing my body, but making my nerves and muscles sing. Music was a gift, a sound bite of pure glory for the ears. And, Aubree, a feast for the eyes, her beauty a knife that drove into my heart and stayed embedded there. It hurt so fucking good. I'd wanted her for so long that the reality of having her on top of me, kissing me like there was no tomorrow, seemed like a dream.

But I knew it wasn't. It was real, but I also could tell Aubree was still afraid of showing me who she really was, of revealing everything. She liked her math. It cocooned her in a safe monastery of reason, where silence was not just golden, but necessary. The walls made sense, the isolation, although it hurt, also protected her. I might not know math, but I knew people. I knew how to use characters to tell my stories, how to manipulate and cajole. I was so damn good at it. Everyone told me how much I was like my father, the con artist.

_The apple doesn 't fall far from the tree._

I suddenly had second thoughts. Pushed that wave of pain away with monumental force, denying that I would do anything like that. But it whispered to me, saying that it was there and I couldn't outrun it, wall myself away from it, or hide from it. But I'd rather have died right there, right then, than hurt Aubree in any way. This was all new for me. I could learn from it, change that future negative path. I could do it with her.

_The apple doesn 't fall far from the tree._

She made a soft, aching sound in her throat, as if she just couldn't get enough of me. Emotion flooded my chest. All those days and nights I'd thought about her mirrored that aching sound she'd made. I wanted to see beneath her beautiful. I wanted her to show me who she was. I couldn't accept anything less.

She was so out of my league, but that had never scared me.

She straddled me then, and I cried out against her mouth. She was pulling at her shirt, trying to get it over her head. The pressure against my dick was enormous, and for the first time in my life I wasn't sure I could hold onto my cargo.

"Booker," she said, her voice out of control and a little desperate. I rolled her beneath me and grabbed her hands. She stilled instantly and looked up at me with her wide green eyes. "Whoa, sugar." My voice wavered with a hoarse rasp. "Breathe, babe. Breathe for me."

She took some quick breaths in, but they were fast. "That was crazy, right? You freaking blew my mind and almost my payload."

She laughed. It was spontaneous, joyous and beautiful, and came from deep inside her. She threw her arms around my neck, hugging me so tight. I buried my face into the amazing hollow of her neck and shoulder.

"Booker, you're like a mind sculptor. You make me into something wild and wonderful. Something real."

"Sugar, you are real."

"Kiss me, Booker."

I didn't need her to tell me again. I had what I needed to protect her in my jeans pocket. But it had to be slow, so that she would have the maximum amount of pleasure.

"I sometimes wished I'd done it. Just to get that part over with so you wouldn't have to feel guilty."

"Guilty. Ha! I laugh in the face of guilt. I deflower virgins at least once a week."

Her face paled.

"No, wait. I'm kidding. Totally kidding."

"I wouldn't have been a virgin if you hadn't..."

"That's in the past, Aubree. We got through it and we moved on."

"Did we?"

"I've learned from experience that it's the best thing to do."

"Sure. I also have learned from experience that compartments work really well. Always another box to fill. So we're alike, there. Both of us use distance."

I kissed her softly, her pain becoming my pain.

"You feel good," she whispered. "So solid. So _here_. Sometimes I feel like I could disappear and no one would miss me, like a sad, forlorn helium balloon floating away until it vanishes."

"I would miss you," I murmured, my voice a hoarse rasp.

She closed her eyes, her hand automatically sliding over my heart. I'm not sure if she did that on purpose, or if it was purely reflex.

"You would. I know that. It's all that kept me going, knowing that you probably missed me. And my aunt. I think she would miss me, too."

"She did miss you."

She pressed against my chest, then did tiny little circles on my skin with the pads of her fingers. "How do you know that? What exactly is my aunt to you?"

"She's my editor."

Her eyes softened. "Really? My aunt?"

"Yes." I could see she was calming down, the panic of losing control diminishing. "I happened to run into her in the bookstore in town. She was looking for a book on Sherman."

"What? That's blasphemy," she whispered.

"Ah, she told me your family's deep, dark secret."

"She did not."

"Yes, I know about _that_ Sherman. The Yank who marched through Georgia and incited hatred throughout the Confederacy shares an ancestry with good Southern stock."

"That connection to Sherman has _always_ been hush-hush. I treated it as a big joke, thinking that mentioning it was equivalent to a prim Southern belle saying the eff word at a lady's garden party."

"Yeah, that would be in bad taste. But you would never do that."

"Oh, no. I adhere to the Southern belle rules."

"We got to talking. She weaseled the information out of me about the 'novels' I had on my computer. She badgered me until I showed them to her. Then she told me that we were going to self-publish them. She helped me with the first book. She made it infinitely better, then the second, then third. I owe my success to your aunt."

"You owe your success to yourself."

"That's exactly what your Aunt Lottie said."

"She was right."

"Hey, don't tell me I'm wrong. I know what I know."

"You can believe what you want, but it's the truth, huckleberry."

"What did you just call me?"

She snorted.

"That's reserved for me and my brothers. You're going to have to pay the toll for using that on me."

"Oh, no. I'm not paying no damn huckleberry toll...huckleberry."

# Chapter Ten

Aubree

I didn't know how he kept doing it, but he'd soothed me. I had been right on the edge of panic.

He smiled wickedly, looking so sinfully sexy with the stubble coating his jaw, his blue eyes bright with challenge. He dug his fingers into my sides and I screeched. He laughed. "Oh, boy, the girl is ticklish."

"That's right. No." I grabbed his hand, but Booker was strong. That hard curve of biceps muscle wasn't just for show.

I tried to twist away from him, but he buried his face in my neck and blew a raspberry against my skin, which only made me laugh harder.

I arched and pressed my breasts against the hard wall of his chest.

And things got serious again real fast.

He stilled. He didn't say anything, but somehow got closer in his stillness. He bent his head down to mine and his other hand cupped my breast. I groaned into his mouth. Oh, god, he knew how to kiss. He played with my mouth, stealing every ounce of pleasure. I opened my mouth on his and just breathed him in, tongues sliding, lips pressing. With everything about him so hard, the inside of his mouth was like the softest velvet...moist. He was as addictive as dark chocolate, something rich, dark...sensually intense.

His hand was hot on me, taking me past "Oh, god, is this happening?" to "Please, god, don't ever let him stop."

I wanted him, desperately. I wanted everything he had, what he could give me, and I was willing to expose my heart to get it.

And that's exactly what I had on the line. Nothing less. I knew him, knew myself with him. No meeting him halfway. I had to be all in. I would end up giving him everything, and he would take it all and then some, and when it was over, what would I be left with--nothing? How could that be? Where would all this wonderful go?

Between our bodies, I felt him unbuckle his belt, and a whole new level of thrill went through me, along with a dose of anxiety. I couldn't regret that he was going to be the first man I'd ever been with. I couldn't. I just suspected he was going to spoil me young. I'd want all men to be like him. And I suspected I was going to be sorely disappointed later.

I now wished when he had asked me that I'd had the courage to tell him what he wanted to know about why I trusted him in high school. I wished I'd been brave enough to take a stand. But courage was something I didn't seem to have. Guilt filtered through me along with his soft touch. They seemed to mingle and coalesce into something totally forbidden, decadent.

I felt him slide his zipper open, and I dragged my mouth from his. Our eyes met in the dark. His gaze was edgy. His hand slipped down to my bare leg and he took his time traveling the length of it. His hand slid up between my legs, and all I could do was watch his face--so beautiful, his hair shaggy silk, his eyes so deep-set, so thickly lashed, so intensely focused on me. How...how had I missed this in high school? How had I not known?

I gasped when he reached my underwear.

"Mmmmm, pretty lace. You are so wet for me and I'm so hard for you, Aubree. So freaking hard. Open for me."

After the bleacher incident, there hadn't been a day that went by that I hadn't fantasized about him like this. All bare and muscled. That irresistible power right there for my hands to touch and explore, to have and to hold.

What I saw that day had touched me to the deepest part of my being. I was never the same.

He pushed aside my panties, and I was powerless to control my legs as they widened. He touched me then, his fingers so sure, so unerring, and pure, sweet pleasure poured into me. With a soft gasp, I brought my mouth back to his, moving against him, my pelvis pressing into his hand.

He circled me with his thumb, and pleasure exploded in a throbbing pulse so intense I lost my reason.

" _Booker_..." I sighed, loving what he was doing to me, loving being close to him, pressed beneath him in this exquisite place.

I tunneled my fingers up through his hair, reveling in the sheer pleasure of being free to finally, _finally_ touch him like I'd wanted to do for so long. I held him for my kiss, for a hundred kisses, and then I reached down and grasped the edge of the pretty blouse Verity had given me.

My phone rang and I recognized it immediately. I stilled against him, disappointment and worry crashing through me. I scrambled out from under him and reached for my purse. "That's the hospital ring. I've got to get it."

He flipped over and lay back, his jeans unzipped, revealing all his glory. He covered his face, his chest heaving, his muscles in stark relief. I could see the bulge straining against his underwear.

_Oh, God, Aunt Lottie. Please, God._

"Hello."

"Miss Walker?"

"Dr. Prichard. My aunt!"

"Yes, but not to worry. She's awake."

"What? She is?" I closed my eyes, tears pricking the backs of them. Relief ran through me in a concussive wave and I sagged against the cushions. Booker got on his hands and knees and scooted over to me.

"Tell him you'll be right there," he whispered in my ear, sending goose bumps over my skin and puckering my aching nipples even further.

"We'll be right there. Thank you so much!"

I hung up and turned to him. "She's awake."

"That is the best news."

"Yes. I'm sorry about..."

He took my mouth in a soft, tender kiss, that brushing and sliding that I loved so much. "Hush, sugar. It'll happen in its own time."

"Well, just for the record, I'm really disappointed."

He nodded. "Do you want me to drive you?"

My self-control was shot. "Yes, please."

"We can take your car. I won't have a problem getting back home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Then you'll have it if you need it."

#

When we rushed through her hospital room door, there she was, sitting up! It was like that day back when I'd been so scared as I heard people coming into the house, scared that someone was coming to take me away. But instead of stern, cold authorities, this beautiful, red-haired lady had stepped through and taken control of the situation. Afterwards, she'd told me I was going home with her.

With a cry of joy, I ran to the bed, remembering at the last instant to be careful not to jostle her, and wrapped my arms around her. Her grip was tight for someone who'd been unconscious for three days.

"There's my Aubree. It's so good to see you. Well worth a bump on the head."

"You got much more than a bump on the head," I said, in a scolding tone. But she just smiled at me and shifted her focus to Booker.

"Booker. How nice to see you."

He walked over and, without any warning, gave my aunt just as tight a hug as I'd given her. "Welcome back, Lottie."

The hospital was kind enough to bend the rules and allow me to stay with her. Booker, not being immediate family, had to leave. I worried about him getting a ride home, but when his mother came through the door, greeted my aunt, and they chatted for a few moments, I stopped worrying.

They allowed me to take her home the next day, and three more days passed while we had several visits from the sheriff. Anyone with eyes could see he was sweet on her. It was also clear to me that my aunt felt the same way.

It was mid-morning on the fourth day and we were very low on supplies. I was trying to figure out how to get to the market when there was a knock on the front door.

When I opened it, there stood Booker and Boone. That was quite the double whammy first thing in the morning.

"I'm here so you can take a breather," Boone said with a grin.

"This is such perfect timing. I have to go to the market."

"I can stay with your aunt. I hear she likes _The Fellowship of the Ring_." He held up the big boxed set of movies.

"Thanks, Boone, for helping out."

"Hey, this is totally selfish. I'm hoping to get meatloaf points. Your aunt knows how to make some bangin' meatloaf. Um...don't tell Brax."

"Boone, you're a meatloaf," Booker said, shoving his brother's shoulder.

"Ha, you won't be sayin' that when I'm stuffin' my gob with it."

As soon as the door closed, I found myself up against the house, Booker's mouth on mine. Warm, delicious, and just a tad desperate. I liked that. Did that make me a bad person?

He broke the kiss. "Hello, Aubree."

It took me a moment to get enough air to speak. "Hello, Booker." I cupped my palm against his face, and he smiled.

"The market, huh?"

"Why? Did you have something else in mind?"

"Who, me?" he asked, looking about as innocent as the cat who'd just scarfed down that poor canary.

"I have a recovering aunt who needs sustenance."

He gave me a wry look. "That's right. Play the guilt card."

"With you, I need an ace up my sleeve."

"Fair enough," he said. "You're getting good at sparring with me. I like it."

As he backed the car out of my driveway, Booker asked, "How is she doing?"

"Really well for someone who had a severe concussion. I'm so thankful."

"Does she remember anything?"

"No. She doesn't even remember the fall, and there doesn't seem to be any lingering problems except for headaches and dizziness, which Dr. Prichard said was normal. But I already knew that."

"Right. From the time that you worked for old Doc Rust."

"Yeah. He was a very good country doctor. Kept up with the journals, which he was happy to let me read."

He glanced at me. "You like reading medical journals?"

"Love them. Devour them."

"Then, why the statistics? Why not medicine?"

I shrugged. "Mrs. Daily said that if I wanted to live up to my potential, statistics was the way to go."

"We've already talked about this in the diner, remember? You said stats was easy for you and I wondered how that could challenge you."

"Yes, I remember that day. I was so...irritated."

"I can have that effect on people."

"No, I was more mad at myself for acting like a complete idiot in the rain and then being rude to you after you were so kind."

"I like 'em feisty." He grinned, then sobered. "It couldn't have been easy to come back here after..."

"No. It wasn't."

A fresh spring of anger about what had happened on Wild Magnolia Road welled up inside me, and I recognized that a large part of it was because everything about that day was hidden, buried. Had justice been served? Some people would say yes, but my rigid sense of right and wrong said no. If only I had been smarter, more vigilant, more aware. Some of the blame had to be mine, and the guilt for that felt terrible.

If only I had found the courage to tell my aunt. But I hadn't. I had shut her out and shouldered the burden alone. Sometimes I think I had deliberately chosen that as my penance. I had never said anything, only suffered in silence, just like I had with my mother. Now, sitting here, my loyalty to my aunt for having taken me in pressed down on me. I would do anything for her. But I wasn't sure she knew that. It was probably fear on my part, fear of rejection, fear of not being worthy, fear of not...measuring up.

"I think my aunt knew something was wrong," I said quietly.

His silent presence bolstered me.

"She made a point of calling me once a week, whether I answered or not. She'd leave messages about what was going on with her and in the community, a slice of home. Then she would always end by telling me that she was there for me. Always."

My throat tightened again. "But I shut her out. Every time. I don't know why I'm telling you this. These are my problems."

"I'm the only person who knows. The only one you _can_ talk to about it. And that gives us a connection, a bond. And I care. You know that, Aubree."

I nodded. He was right. We did have a connection, and it was being strengthened every minute I spent with him.

"I shut you out, too, Booker. For that I'm terribly sorry."

"You already apologized to me for that and I was traumatized...remember?"

"Yes," I said quietly. The kissing/crying/kissing session. It was imprinted on my brain. "I'm not likely to forget that the first time I kissed you, I cried."

"Yeah, the therapy's been brutal."

I pushed at his shoulder. "Aren't you ever serious?"

"You need to lighten up, sugar. I was seriously missing you. Three days of torture."

"Whatever did you do to get through it?"

"I wrote. Expression is my profession."

"It's a gift, just like your musical ability."

He shrugged. "The trick with writing isn't really the writing part. Shit, I got A's in all my English classes. I'm not saying it isn't satisfying. But the hard part is the fear of success, the fear of failure. And, for a guy like me who values other people and adventure, it's a solitary process. Sometimes it's fucking terrifying to be alone with your own mind."

"Amen to that." My own was filled with land mines. I often wished I had a detector so I could avoid those little bombs that went off in my head. Explosions of the mind only seemed to cause chaos instead of clarity. "What did you write about?"

"A fallen angel wracked with guilt from a terrible miscalculation that put the woman he was trying to protect into the hands of a ruthless demon."

"And the woman was the key to everything?"

"Of course. This is fiction, after all."

"Is it?"

He gave me a wicked, sidelong glance that was much too full of meaning.

"That was more fun than thinking about me?"

He smiled. "Nothing is more fun than thinking about you. But I don't believe your aunt would appreciate me showing up at your house and ravishing you. It was...an effective distraction."

"You never know. My aunt's a romantic. In any case, I'd love to read some of your story."

"Next time you're at my place, it'll be the second thing we do."

"What will be the first...oh," I said a little breathlessly.

"You're going to have to cut me some slack. I'm a man, and we have that shit on the brain 24/7."

"Okay, just a little. Knowing you, I cut you much slack, and you'll use that to your advantage, sweet talker."

"Oh, so now I'm a huckleberry _and_ a sweet talker."

"Are you trying to get me to say huckleberry again so you can collect a toll?"

"Maybe." He pulled up at the market. "And you just said it."

"But that's no fair. You tricked me."

"Still have to pay the toll."

"Ha!" I said. "You've got to catch me first." I zipped out of the car and made a beeline for the front door of the market. He caught me in just a few strides, then swung me off my feet and in a dizzy circle. I felt that way with him--dizzy, euphoric, swept off my feet with no solid ground beneath me. This man made me feel as if I could fly.

When he set me down, I saw the lady from the post office. Her frown was so deep she was creating rifts in her face.

"Hello, Mrs. Leone. Beautiful summer day to you," Booker said cheerfully.

"Hmpf," she said.

She glared at me as she passed and said under her breath, "For shame."

"Yeah," Booker whispered to me. "It's a shame she's such a grump."

I burst out laughing and she turned to look at us sharply. Booker did a little wave with just his fingers.

She _hmpfed_ louder this time, and just like that kangaroo in _Horton_ _Hears a Who_ , she slid her nose in the air and marched inside the market.

We followed her in and grabbed a cart. "I suppose you have a list?"

I pulled it out of my bag and showed it to him. "Of course. How would I know what I needed if I didn't make a list? Don't you?"

"Nope. A list is too rigid. What if I want, like, Doritos, and they're not on the list?"

"Booker, you can still get them."

"God, no. Not if they're not on the list!"

I laughed as we walked over to the produce section so I could select the various fruits and vegetables my aunt wanted.

"Could you pick out some apples?"

He walked over there and grabbed a few. On his last choice, I said, "That one has a flaw."

"What's wrong with flaws? They make you real. I like flaws."

"Well, I don't."

"You're not open to possibilities?"

"In a flawed apple?"

"There's plenty of possibility in this apple." He twirled it by the stem.

"Like what?"

"Well, the word flaw, for instance."

"'Flaw' has possibilities, too?" I shook my head. "I thought it just meant imperfection."

"Aw, that's where you'd be wrong. It also means a squall of wind or a short storm."

"And the apple?"

He thought for a moment, his face animated. "So many possibilities...for instance let's talk about it as a fruit. You can cut it up and slather it with peanut butter. Slice it into a pie, yum. Or you can press it into cider."

"Don't stop now, word-master. I know you got something else for me."

"If we take it as a symbol, it was what delivered the poison to Snow White. Which reaffirms the apple as an allegory for evil, and reminds us that man's downfall and introduction to sin occurred when Eve bit into it, the forbidden fruit. Or, in Snow's case, it also means a living death."

"You can make a story out of anything."

"Yeah, I can." He tossed the apple up and caught it, his eyes going distant. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"What?" That meant something really important to him.

He slipped the apple with the flaw into the bag and closed it with a twist tie. "You know that saying, kids are like their parents, like father, like son."

I watched his face, saw the way his jaw hardened against some unpleasant memory, saw the anger in his dark eyes and the vulnerability that lay beneath it, and my heart ached for him. "Your father liked telling stories?"

"Yeah, except the kind he told landed him in jail. Or it would have, if he'd stuck around long enough to be arrested."

"He was a con artist."

"Yes. He left town because of it. Only made matters worse for my ma and us. But he didn't care."

"You've never heard from him?"

"Nope."

"I'm sorry, Booker. I didn't know my father. He died when I was just a baby."

"From what?"

"I don't know. My mother never told me, and I was too afraid of her to ask any questions." I had to swallow hard to continue. "The day she died, I felt like everything I once had was gone. All my history was erased, my very existence, even, and that made me feel like I was fading away, too. That's when I just sat down with my school books still in the backpack hanging from my shoulder, my Barbie lunch box with the meticulously rinsed and stacked plasticware still inside. Terror and panic twisting together into a new, horrible emotion that paralyzed me."

I stopped pushing the cart and faced him. "I didn't move from that spot for two days. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I didn't even go to the bathroom. I think I might have just died there in that position if Aunt Lottie hadn't found me. They said I was in shock, but I knew differently. It wasn't shock because my mother had died. All I'd felt for her was fear, and that fear was just replaced with more fear. I was all alone."

"Jesus, Aubree."

In the grocery store, he put his arms around me and that moment became an important memory. It was the day I told Booker about something I'd never told anyone in my life. Was that growth? Was that maturity? I didn't really know. Or care. It just felt freaking awesome.

"You are so brave," he whispered.

I didn't feel brave. Like that apple, I had bruises that were just beneath my skin. I felt compelled to open up to him because he'd shown me he was the type of person who could see beyond that flaw in an apple. Maybe he could see beyond my flaws, too. I could only hope he felt the same way about me after I told him the bleacher story. I knew I would have to tell him soon.

"What is your aunt's favorite food?"

I blinked and looked up at him.

He just smiled his wicked and wily Booker smile.

"What are you up to?"

"Anyone who's been in the hospital deserves their favorite thing. What is hers?"

"Caviar. She refuses to buy it because it's so expensive."

He tilted his head. "Let's get some."

"She didn't authorize me to get some."

"Ha! See? Not on the list."

"Shut up." He was right. I was just such a stickler for the rules. God, I wanted to make love with this man. That thought came barreling out of nowhere. I hadn't even been thinking about Booker in a sexual way. Just thinking about him in a rascally way, about how he always bucked authority. I think I was admiring that in him. I was so rigid, and he was just so laid back.

"I'll pay for it."

"Okay. I know better than to go up against a word-master. I'm going to go get something from the deli. You go pick out the caviar."

He nodded and headed off with the cart.

I watched him go, feeling a bit guilty. Even though I had opened up about my mother, there were still too many secrets between us. I don't know what secrets he was harboring, but they were there in those dreamy eyes. Could we really bare our souls to each other without losing something precious? The thought weighed heavily. I didn't know how he would react to what I had seen that day from behind the bleachers. To what I'd learned, and to what I hadn't done.

But for some reason, I didn't think it would be good.

# Chapter Eleven

Booker

"Booker?" I heard Brax call my name as I headed down one of the store aisles.

"Brax. What're you doin'?"

He exhaled noisily. "I'm shopping for your damn party because _you_ were too busy. Something about a manuscript you had to get done, if I recollect correctly. So what are you doing here?"

"Um." The word-master drew a complete blank.

"What do you have in this basket? _Asparagus_?" His brows rose.

"Hey, I like fresh asparagus."

"You don't even know what it is." He rummaged around in the basket. "What else you got in here?" He lifted out a bottle and squinted at it. "Says here this is 'fresh pomegranate and lemon verbena scent reviving body wash with exfoliating crystals'."

I knew I was busted. But I'd go down fighting. "Yeah, I like to be...revived."

His eyes narrowed and he sighed. "You don't even know what exfoliating crystals are."

"You don't either."

"That's beside the point." His face cleared and his jaw dropped. "You're shopping with that hot chick you've had a hard-on for since high school..."

"Her name is Aubree."

"Whatever. Here I'm busting my ass for your party and you're out making time."

"You sound like my put-upon and outraged wife."

He looked like he was going to sock me in the jaw right there in the market. I tried not to laugh. I truly did, but it slipped out.

His look was grim, his eyes filled with a burning anger.

"I got news for you, Brax. You don't want me to shop for this party. The minute I even suggested it, you laughed. I don't know the first thing about food. You do. You're a freaking genius with food."

"Don't butter me up," he growled.

I talked right over him. "So, since I knew you were being passive-aggressive about the food, I made up an excuse so you wouldn't roll your eyes and feel put upon."

"You make me sound like an old hen."

"Can you say, 'cluck, cluck'?"

His mouth tightened. "I'm not passive-aggressive."

"Okay, then you're just an asshole. I'm not shopping with Aubree. I'm shopping for her aunt."

"Either way, sounds like Aubree already has the whip out, pussy."

"Now you're really being an asshole."

"Do you want to take this outside? I'll kick your ass and then you can go home and _revive_ yourself with your freaking exfoliating crystals."

"That wouldn't be good for scrapes and bruises," River Pearl said.

We both turned to look at her in surprise. She had walked up without our even noticing.

Brax stiffened. "We don't need your advice, sweet thang."

"Well, neither of you has any idea what exfoliating crystals are. I mean, you're guys."

The absurdity of this conversation wasn't lost on me, but now I understood why Brax was on edge. That reason was blonde and standing right next to him, talking about something only a girl would know about. Um. Scratch that. River Pearl wasn't a girl. She was a drop-dead gorgeous knockout. The only girl in school besides Aubree and Holy Mary Verity that Brax hadn't sweet-talked, and that toasted his bagels, but good. Aubree? She was too smart to fall for his charm, and he wasn't going to go after a girl I wanted. That was the brother code. Holy Mary Verity was so off limits. Preacher father, yeah, not messing with that. But River Pearl? She was my brother's wet dream. She was a challenge and the one who got away. She was also a match for my brother. Now that tickled me pink.

"Do you know what they are, Braxton?"

My brother closed his eyes at her sultry voice. She smirked.

"No."

She switched her attention to me. "What are you doing with girly body wash, Booker? I mean, it's okay to want to be clean and all, but lemon verbena? If you'd like, I can take you both to Bath and Body Works and getcha some really good stuff. Then we can go to see Skylar Bransom at the Blue Coyote spa and have our fingernails and toenails all done up and glamorous. I think pink would be divine for you, Brax. No, hot pink, because you're so sassy."

"Ha fucking ha," Brax said. Deliberately turning away from her, he said to me, "I'll expect you at your place this afternoon to help me." There was threat in his eyes.

"I'll be there."

Without a word to River Pearl, he very rudely stalked away.

River Pearl watched him like a she-wolf staking her claim on the alpha. She was tough enough to take on the leader of the pack.

"Don't mind him. He's a sore loser."

"He's something, all right," she said, leaning slightly to the right, pulling her expensive sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose and watching my brother until he disappeared around the end of the aisle. "Both coming and going."

I almost swallowed my tongue.

She looked at me innocently. I've never seen anyone do that so well. I wondered if she ever looked embarrassed. Hellcat came to mind. No, make that Princess Hellcat. "So, the body wash? You got a girlfriend?"

"No. Um. I'm here with Aubree. She needed a few things for her aunt."

"Oh, she's here. Cool, where?" She touched my arm. She was so unaffected by our reputation, both in high school and now out. It was something I always admired about her. "Such good news about her aunt waking up. My mother baked a mac and cheese meatloaf casserole. I was going to bring it by later."

"Aubree's at the Deli."

"I'll mosey over there and talk to her. I shouldn't piss your brother off. I really do need to talk to him, but it's so much fun."

She stopped next to me and gave me a quick elbow nudge. "You sure Aubree isn't...your girlfriend?" She winked at me. "Catch you later, Book."

I nodded as she left, my heart suddenly tight in my chest. Aubree, my girlfriend? _No, don 't even embrace that kind of craziness._ Remember, forever kind of girl and I was...I wasn't the one for her. River Pearl smelled as if she used something in a pink flowered bottle with exfoliating crystals. And she had some crystals of her own. Some big, brass ones.

When I came around the end of the aisle to the gourmet section of the market, Langston was there. I stopped short. He was bent over looking at the bilini, thin, wheat-like wafers that were often eaten with caviar.

"Aren't you in the wrong aisle, white trash?" he sneered.

I ignored him. Found the caviar and picked up two tins. It would be fun to see if Aubree liked it. I knew I sure did. When I was wooed by a publishing house shortly after my first book came out and went viral, I had it with a meal and asked what it was. After that, I made sure I got educated about fish eggs.

"Are you done, or are you having problems reading the package?" I asked, just to see what would happen.

He swung at me and I ducked and came around behind him and put my sneaker to his ass, giving him a shove. He stumbled forward and right into the shelving for the caviar. The shelves came down in a crashing rumble.

"What's going on here, boys?"

My head snapped around to the sheriff. He was eyeing Langston sprawled out in the aisle with about a thousand bucks of caviar scattered around him.

I smiled lazily. "He tripped."

Langston looked at me, his mouth tight and mean, retribution in his eyes. "Yeah, sheriff. I tripped."

I smirked at him and broadcast back, _bring it_.

Langston got up as one of the store employees started to right the shelves. He grabbed a can of the good stuff and a package of bilini. Probably been sent to the store as an errand boy for his father. Because Langston had no taste.

He backed up as the sheriff eyed us both.

"See you around, Outlaw." There was nothing but threat in his voice.

Not if I saw him first.

After he was gone, the sheriff came up to me. "Watch out where you taunt him, son. This is a place of business."

I met his gaze. The sheriff was an okay guy, but authority, like Langston, didn't really scare me. I've talked myself out of plenty of tickets. "He's a buffoon."

"Maybe so, but a dangerous one."

"Thanks, Sheriff, for the advice. You know how bullies are. They push until something snaps."

"Trouncing him isn't the answer."

"I'm not interested in fighting. Langston is the one carrying the grudge."

"Hmm. Watch your step. He's got a powerful daddy."

I nodded and headed back to find Aubree.

#

When I got home, Brax was there at my stove, bare-chested and stony-faced. Of the three of us, he was more prone to bouts of moodiness. I think in the movies he would have been one of those smoldering brooders women found so hot. He, Boone and I were tight knit. There was no doubt about it. But when it came to women, they could tie us all up in knots. I knew from experience. He tended to use us as punching bags to let off steam. Boone and I didn't mind, especially when we ganged up on him.

"How is the little woman this afternoon?"

He didn't even turn his head.

"Aw, come on, Brax."

When I came around the counter, I realized he was wearing a frilly pink apron tied around his waist...and nothing else.

I almost bust a gut.

"You fucking moron!" I could barely get it out.

Brax was laughing so hard. It was amazing he'd kept a straight face all that time.

"I'll never be able to look at another frilly pink apron again."

"Yeah, serves you right."

"You going to let River Pearl trounce you like that?" I couldn't help poking the bear.

"That's girl's a bona fide ball-buster. I'm not touching that."

"Okay. Could you get dressed, now?"

"Hey, guys, what's up?"

Boone came around the bar and stopped short. He looked at me, then at Braxton. He walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer. "I'm not asking." He shook his head and went out to start the grill.

"That was unexpected," I said with a grimace.

We burst out laughing again and Braxton put his pants on. "By the way, here are your fucking cookies. I hope you choke on them. I want the plasticware back."

An hour later people started to arrive. Most of them we'd met through the bar. Some out-of-towners, others who had moved to the town in just the last few months. There was only one person I was waiting for. Finally I saw her come into the foyer along with three other people.

She walked up to me, face all serious, but her eyes were sparkling. "You better have my _boudin_ or I'm walking."

"Yeah, yeah, I made the _boudin_. No, thanks to Booker," Brax groused. Aubree smiled at him.

"Well, that's a good thing, because your gumbo was the best I ever tasted."

"Yeah, yeah." He sniffed. "Fresh pomegranate and lemon verbena scent reviving body wash with exfoliating crystals."

She looked quizzically at me, then back at Braxton. "That's right."

"Thought so." He gave me a knowing look and walked away.

"Don't listen to him," I said.

"How did he know that?"

"He was at the market today, giving me a hard time."

"Oh, okay. I was about to be impressed."

There was a commotion at the front door and when I looked over a smile split my face. "Remy!" I strode over and gave him a fist bump.

"Where you at, Book?"

Aubree had followed me over. "Aubree, this is my cousin, Remy Beaupre."

" _Chere_ ," he nodded.

"He's my good-for-nothing Cajun cousin on my Ma's side of the family. Where are Dempsey and Creed?"

"Right behind 'im, Coonass."

I laughed and greeted them. When we were growing up there was nothing I enjoyed more than heading over to their house to enjoy the good times, and there were a lot of them. We were all about the same age. Remy was the oldest at twenty-three, with Dempsey the middle child at twenty-two, and Creed was twenty-one, bringing up the rear. "You going to play and sing for us tonight?"

"I think that's the plan. Brax wanted a real Cajun back-up."

"Ha! It's good to see you. Boone's outside, and I think Brax is in the kitchen." The three of them walked off, and I heard Boone shout from the deck.

"Let's go get some food."

She looked at me, then at my cousins as they walked away. "There are definitely gorgeous genes in your family. And their accents--oh, my."

"Are you trying to make me jealous again?"

"Ummm, no...but, geez Booker, I'm not dead. Three strapping men like that--all of them can whisper French nothings. Well, it does make a girl pause." She rubbed her hands together. " _Boudin_."

"Okay, we'll get that first, but you also have to have some of the frog legs we caught."

"Okay. Wow, everything smells heavenly." She grabbed a plate on the table in the dining room and started to load it up.

"How's your aunt?"

"Oh, the sheriff is with her tonight."

"Really."

"Yes, he asked her out." She leaned close and I decided then and there that I loved the smell of pomegranate and lemon verbena, whatever the hell they were. "She told me not to worry about her tonight," she whispered.

"Way to go, Aunt Lottie."

"I know."

"Wait a second. All night?"

She gave me a soft look, but then she spied the _boudin_ and I lost her again...to a sausage. _Damn_. She followed me into the living room, then out back to the benches wrapping the deck. I noticed her glance towards the stack of pillows that were now off to the side to accommodate more people.

"It's beautiful out tonight," she said and settled on one of the seats. I sat down next to her.

"It's gorgeous," I said, not able to take my eyes off her.

She blushed and forked up a bite from her plate. She closed her eyes in bliss. It was a pleasure to watch her eat. "Shut up! I've never tasted _boudin_ like this. Your brother is very talented."

"Don't tell him that. It'll go to his fat head."

"I heard that," Brax announced, stepping out onto the deck.

"What did you put in this? It's not pork, right?"

"Nope," Braxton said. "Chicken. Cluck, cluck," he added, giving me a wry sidelong glance. "And can you tell what else I put in it?"

She took another bite. "Stuffing instead of rice."

"You're good."

"Sourdough?"

"She is good."

"Do you think you'll have any of this left over?"

"Aubree, did you come to see me or the _boudin_?"

I heard Brax laugh.

"Umm..."

"Aubree?"

"I'm just kidding. It was you."

"Excuse me," River Pearl said as she pressed between Braxton and another party-goer.

Brax stiffened and released a quick breath.

"Hey, Aubree, Booker...Braxton."

"River Pearl, you have to try this _boudin_ that Braxton made. It's delicious."

"Okay, give me two minutes to settle." She plopped down next to Aubree.

Brax tried to be cool, but I couldn't mistake the longing in his eyes for some validation of his skill from River Pearl.

She took a bite while everyone waited. "It's interesting."

"What?" Aubree said. "I think it's amazing."

"Doesn't taste traditional."

When I looked for Brax, he'd disappeared into the crowd. If River Pearl wanted to hurt him, implying his food was mediocre was certainly the way to do it. I thought about going to find him, but he would most likely play it off like it wasn't a big deal.

"Where's Verity? I thought she was coming with you," Aubree said.

"She's...not feeling well," River Pearl replied.

"Oh. That's too bad."

I thought about that discussion Boone and I had the other day about Holy Mary Verity. I had to wonder if the reason Verity hadn't shown up was because of Boone or because of our reputation.

Maybe both.

"I heard you kicked Daniel Langston's ass in the market today, Booker," River Pearl said with a smile. "I would have loved to have seen that."

Aubree looked at me, immediate apprehension in her eyes. "What?"

"I didn't kick his ass...well I did, but it was just a shove."

"Booker?"

"When I went to get the caviar, he was in the aisle. We exchanged pleasantries and he took a swing at me. I ducked, came up behind him, and he said hello up close and personal to a shelf of caviar."

"Things in this town get so exaggerated when it comes to you Outlaws." Aubree set down her plate. She rose, looking agitated, and went back into the house.

I glared at River Pearl, but she gave me that I'm-completely-innocent look.

I went after Aubree and found her near the baby grand.

"Hey, you can't expect things to change, Aubree. We're never going to get a fair shake in this town."

She turned into my arms and I wrapped mine around her. She nestled against me.

"He's not going to give up."

"Who?"

"Langston. He wants answers about his brother. I'm scared, Booker."

I kissed the top of her head and tightened my arms. "Langston is harmless. He's not going to do anything to jeopardize his cushy life."

"Hey, how about some music?" someone yelled.

"Right, we were promised entertainment." More voices joined the chorus.

I sighed. "Sit next to me while I do this?"

"All right."

I sat down at the piano. Boone had his guitar and Brax his fiddle. I stretched my fingers over the piano keys and pounded out the opening notes of "Great Balls of Fire." People hooted and yelled. I grinned. Best feeling in the world. I leaned over the keyboard, but locked my eyes to Aubree's. She stared right back at me, and the seductive lights in her eyes almost made me mess up the next part. I took the intensity of her look and channeled it into the music. I was panting by the time that number was done, but segued right into Cajun music. Brax was really good on his fiddle with those tunes. The accordion player from the bar joined us.

Then Brax graced the audience with songs in Cajun French performed in his own unique gravelly voice, with my cousins offering their special flavor.

As the night wore on, I got more and more impatient for people to leave. Right around midnight there was a grand exodus. I was still sitting at the piano fooling around with melodies. Aubree was talking to River Pearl on the screened deck. Brax and several other people were cleaning up. One by one they dwindled until all that was left was me and Aubree.

"Brax wrapped up the rest of the _boudin_ for me."

I chuckled. "That's good. He couldn't have had a happier fan."

"Well, it's going to mean more trips to his bar. I want to try some of his other dishes."

"That's fine with me," I said, reaching out and running the backs of my fingers down the side of her soft face.

She reached up and cupped her small hand around mine. I straddled the bench and pulled her down. With her back to me, I placed soft, slow kisses on the back of her neck, my other arm snaking around her small waist.

"You going to play me, Booker?"

"You'd make a beautiful song."

She turned and draped her long, supple legs over each of mine, her forearms resting loosely across my shoulders, and scooted up against me until we were close, hip-to-hip close, whisper close. "Pretty words."

She nuzzled her face against mine, and heat shot everywhere at once while my heart just tumbled and tumbled. "They're not just words."

Her soft mouth found my jaw and she kissed along the ridge. I closed my eyes to savor each and every moment she touched me. "I know."

I grabbed her around the waist and swiveled. "Put your legs around me." I rose and headed down the hall to my bedroom.

"No," she said softly.

I got confused. Did she not want to...

"The deck."

"It's going to rain," I said. I could hear the thunder in the distance.

"It's covered and we'll be protected. Please, Booker."

I caved. Whatever she wanted, I would try to give it to her.

With her clinging to me like a limpet, I backtracked and headed out onto the porch. While she rode my hips, I kicked the pillows down onto the deck, then folded down onto them.

"I'll try not to hurt you."

She nodded, meeting my gaze. "I don't think it's the pain I'll remember from this night. It's you I wanted to take this step with. I wanted to wait for you, even when I wasn't sure I would ever come back home." She crushed me, my lungs, my heart. I stared down into her earnest face. The face that had haunted my adolescent dreams, even as the pain of wanting her beat in time with my heart.

It hurt to want her this much.

"I can't believe..."

She covered my mouth, her thumb brushed over my lips. "Make love to me, Booker. Show me the possibilities."

Lightning cracked above us, the thunder booming, vibrating through us like the echo of drums. The storm was right above us. The rain started as a patter on the leaves and the lake. A soft whoosh heralded the downpour, the deluge that was so common in Louisiana.

I sank down on top of her, my mouth meeting hers to ease the ache, drinking in the taste of Aubree.

I spread my fingers wide over her jaw, slipping into her hair, mussing the pretty style, trailing down to her throat, the slope of her shoulders. I skimmed over her breast, my thumb finding her hard nipple beneath the silky dress. Her breath caught as I gripped the bodice and fiercely yanked down both it and the soft lace of her bra, exposing her nipple to my gaze. My mouth descended, latching and sucking.

She arched her back, her hand delving into my hair as she moaned softly. I was rough when I stripped her dress off her. She gasped and then her startled eyes collided with mine. Her desire burned just as hot, just as strong, as mine. I let myself get high on her as I deftly removed her bra, then her panties.

I didn't mean to move this fast, and it was amazing to touch her everywhere, naked, but I told myself to take it easy, to slow down. When I felt her hands at the front of my jeans, felt her fingers undoing my belt, I gave up all thoughts of going slow.

She was heartbreakingly beautiful, from her red hair to her pink, polished toenails. Every inch of her creamy gold.

She pulled on my zipper, and I stood to shuck everything off.

"Oh, god," she breathed. "You're beautiful." Her hands were all over me. My mouth was all over her. Every place I kissed her, she tasted like a promise kept. Every place she touched me, she left a trail of fire.

When I'd waited as long as I could, I protected her. "I'll be careful," I whispered, my body on fire.

I covered her.

"I know you will, even though you're...."

I met her gaze and grinned, "Yeah, I know." I was big, but I would be careful, and she was so ready for me. I'd made sure of that.

I entered her in slow, excruciating increments, kissing her the whole time, propping myself up so my full weight wasn't on her. Ruthlessly disciplining my hips so I could control my dick and not push inside her too soon.

"Booker--" I heard the note of panic in her voice, felt her tighten her grip on my waist.

"Hush. It's okay," I murmured, retreating fully and trying again, taking it even easier.

I'd never made love to anyone so slowly in my whole life. My muscles trembled with the effort of holding back. Every breath was filled with the scent of her, and I never wanted any of it to end.

It was her first time. I was her first time. My head reeled with that knowledge. She was giving me something so elemental, so awesome that for a moment I couldn't breathe and I almost lost complete control it felt so damn good. I was finally in deep enough to thrust. When I did, I felt a slight barrier give way and I heard her gasp.

Holding myself perfectly still, I nuzzled her ear, kissed her mouth. "Are you okay?"

"Mmmm, so powerful, so hard. It feels so good." She moved against me, lifting her hips ever so slightly, and relief flooded through me. Bracing myself on one arm, I gently cupped her lower back, sliding my hand down to her tight ass. I pulled almost all the way out of her before slowly pushing back in deep. My dick throbbing with excruciating pleasure, I panted, my chest heaving with the emotions locked inside--tenderness, amazement, trust, and heavy arousal. She arched her head back on the soft pillows, and I dragged my tongue down the length of her throat. She was so beautiful. Her breasts full, her nipples softly pink. I leaned and captured one with my mouth and sucked, so gently. She groaned, and the sound went straight to my balls, making them tight. God, this was heaven. She was so responsive, so languorous, and so incredibly hot. She was melting for me, and she was so wet.

The only place I was melting was in my heart. My body was rock-hard.

I slanted my lips over hers and thrust into her again. It was her first time, and I wanted her to come for me--and I wanted to give her pleasure, mind-blowing pleasure, because I wanted her to stay.

To stay with me for days, and weeks, and months, maybe forever. She rocked my world, hard, and I wanted to find out everything about her. Beyond the statistics, beyond the superficial, deep down into the core of her.

Carefully pulling all the way out, I moved down her body, kissing her softly on her belly, trailing kisses to the silky insides of her thighs. My heart was racing.

I glided over her core again and again with my tongue and her breath caught on a shocked gasp and a groan that shot through me. When she stiffened, I felt a rush of pleasure so intense it made me groan as my hand tightened convulsively on her waist, holding her still for my delicate assault.

She cried my name and opened for me, for the possibilities, surrendering to my mouth, to my fingers on her. It was her first time, and I wanted to push her to the edge and take her over into a glorious free-fall.

I kissed my way up her body to her mouth, loving being with her, being on top of her and feeling her getting more and more turned on.

I slipped back inside her, pushing in just a little and held myself still.

"Oh, god," she murmured a soft sound deep in my mouth, her hips lifting toward mine, and I pressed myself deeper, dying just a little, but not going all the way, not yet. The torture was too sweet. I wanted her to come.

I lifted myself above her, resting on my forearms, and moved myself in and out of her in a lazy, heat-inducing rhythm, her tight little chamber squeezing and holding my dick as explosions of pleasure shocked with every shift of my thrusting hips.

Outside the storm shook the night--the rawness, the primal force of it inside her, inside me. Our hearts were beating hard. Mist blew in through the screen, settled like silver dew, shimmering on us like glitter when the lightning flashed, but we glowed from within with the warmth of our joining.

She was accepting me easily now, her body surrendering to me, and when I gave her all of me, she welcomed it with a groan of longing, free of pain. My breath was hitching, my lungs laboring. I was almost mindless with the pleasure of taking her and the need for Aubree to climax and take me back.

" _Booker._ " My name was barely a breath, uttered with such need. I leaned down and kissed her, hard and demanding. Her legs wrapped around my waist, holding me more closely to her as I pumped, and she groaned my name again.

_Fuck._ I felt it, too, the edge of pleasure turning intense and explosive.

" _Booker! " _She tossed her head, her hands grabbing me on either side of my waist, pulling me deeper, holding me tighter, the points of her breasts hot and hard against my chest.

I hesitated, then thrust, making her wait for a heartbeat or two in varied intervals, slipping my hand between us to stimulate her. It didn't take much before her body went taut beneath me, my name sighing from her lips, urgent and wanton.

" _Booker. Oh, god, please, don 't, yes!"_

I was lost. Every word made sense, her mouth wet on mine, her body slick and balanced on the edge. I slid my other hand up the length of her arm, twining my fingers through hers, rocking into her over and over and over again, until she came, her breath catching, her body pushing up against mine, holding me deep. She gasped my name, and I went rigid, as a deep-seated climax took me over and wave after wave of the purest, sweetest ecstasy claimed me. It rolled through me, making it hard to breathe, impossible to think.

I felt as if I was floating, my body in some sort of never-never land. I rested my forehead on hers, trying to find my breath. I was so high. My muscles were twitching with exquisite pleasure, my mind blown to bits.

I bent down to take her mouth, enjoying every lingering pulse of pleasure. I tasted her tears. "Shit. Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, her hands sliding up my chest and throat to cup my face, massage over my shoulders and down my back. "No. Not in the least."

God, I could breathe again, because I got it. It was only sheer luck I wasn't crying, too. I'd known it would be like this. I lost myself in her heat, in the bliss, in the comfort she offered me without words. I gave myself over to her completely without any barriers, even the fear that had kept some of me walled off from her. I thought of nothing except her. So sweet, so strong. I wanted to give her everything, be everything for her. I wanted to press her to my heart and never let her go. She filled up the hole inside me, flooded all the pain away, made me believe for a moment that everything...could work out, and I was all about the possibilities.

It was genuine. It was heartbreaking.

It was...a perfect mess.

# Chapter Twelve

Aubree

He slept so soundly, and I watched him, trailed my eyes over his gorgeous face, the thick eyelashes that were like dark half moons. My heart contracted and I reached out and very gently caressed the line of his tough, relaxed jaw, the black stubble rasping against my fingertip. My eyes followed the line of his body, the fluent shape of his torso and hip, powerful relaxed perfection, his leg drawn up a little. All that glorious skin and bone and muscle that held this man together to carry the heart of him. The heart of him that was unique, special, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, heroic. He was optimistic after living such a life against the unfair reputation that had been thrust onto him by a distant ancestor. But in almost everything, Booker had met the challenge with his own extraordinary way of looking at the world.

There was only one problem I could see, and that was me. I think Booker had an illusion of who I was and I didn't measure up. Not at all. How bad would the fall from grace be for me? It was a long way down off that pedestal he'd put me on. Tears gathered at the back of my throat. Shit! I didn't want to hurt him. But the secret that I carried was now like a festering wound inside me and I could no longer hold it back. I was going to hurt him. I could only try to minimize the damage.

A haunting melody drifted through the rain-soaked darkness. That fiddle player again. The exquisite music was full of a poignant, lonely quality that made me feel even more bruised and battered inside. Booker was...he was...more than I could ever have imagined. More than I could ever have wanted. How could I have been so stupid and completely blind?

The music pushed me away from him, twisting and aching inside me as I wandered through Booker's house like a ghost, relishing the smell of him that was locked in the t-shirt I'd slipped on to ward off the rainy chill. It came to mid-thigh on me. He was asleep on the deck, while the rain continued to fall, but less frenzied, more soothing. It was also a way to gain some comfort. After what we'd shared... I knew what I had to do.

I had memorized his face as he'd made amazing, sweet love to me. I'd had no idea what sex was going to be like. I imagined it would be good...but, god, not like that. I was so glad I had waited, even though I hadn't dared hope that I would end up here, in his house, in his arms.

I closed my eyes and tried to keep back tears of guilt about the secrets that I still kept from him. When I had arrived back in Hope Parish, I hadn't wanted to be here, but now I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave Booker. I sighed. School was too important to me to just walk away from it. But Booker belonged here in the bayou. I couldn't expect him to give up his home, his family to be with me. But would he? Could that work?

But I didn't want to dwell on that too much, because there was no telling how he'd react to what I needed to tell him. I didn't want to hurt him, but I had to get this out in the open. I wasn't perfect. No matter how hard I tried. I was flawed. So flawed. What would he do when he found out? Would he shut me out of his life, or would he be able to look past that idealized vision he had of me in his head? That perfect Aubree just didn't exist.

I was almost never indecisive, but this weighed heavily on my mind. All my secrets were volatile, but I was almost afraid of how he would react when he learned what I'd kept from him.

I was in love with him. It was as truly, purely simple as that. I think I had been in love with him since that day I hid, watching him from behind the bleachers. The guilt, thick and caustic, scoured me. I had been so weak then, so locked in my own mind, that I had made the wrong choice. That was hard to swallow too.

Regret. It burned in the tears behind my eyes and in my throat.

I found his computer room, where he probably wrote his books. I slumped down onto the chair, and when I did, I jostled the computer. The screen woke up and flashed on. I leaned forward and started to read.

_Galen wasn 't rising to Heaven or sliding into Hell. He was the angel who carried Heaven and Hell in his deep, blue eyes. Retribution a promise. It was in every curve of muscle, in every executed move. He was the avenging angel, shadowed darkness, prowling the edge of fiendish appetite, but not succumbing--not yet. He'd fallen so far, so deep he was changed by it. His faith in tatters until...Nell. He'd come here for her, and he wasn't leaving without her._

_He stood there, blood and gore covered the monster who hung broken and lifeless, his fist closed around what was left of the abomination 's thick neck, his fingers clawing deep through the skin to crunch bone and shred muscle. He threw the carcass from him, spattering blood across his chest and face._

_The arch demon stood facing him, his thick, black, scaly arm wrapped around her tiny waist. She looked at Galen with forgiveness in her eyes. He wanted to wrap himself around her and take that forgiveness deep inside him. She was mercy. She was his one and only love. His broken and battered wings sounded like sandpaper when he moved, his chest heaving with the pain of knowing it was his miscalculation that had endangered Nell._

" _Damien, let her go! "_

_Grinning with evil intent, he leapt from the rock into the pit. Nell 's scream crushed Galen's heart. Anguish crushed his throat, and his cry sounded like a wounded animal in unspeakable pain._

_He ran forward, knowing that his wings would not hold him, not caring. Somehow he would get to Nell. He catapulted himself into midair in a swan dive, the blast of the heat from the pit searing his lungs._

_A leap of faith._

_He tried to spread his wings, but they were useless, and he plummeted. Just then, a sliver of light hit him and the darkness on his skin fell away. A radiant silver light cascaded over him, revealing his golden hair, his smooth white skin, and the great, powerful wings that exploded out from where his useless wings had hung. They unfurled, slowing his descent, riding the air currents. With narrowed, determined eyes, he folded the wings across his back and arrowed down, disappearing into the writhing murk._

_Into Hell._

_To bring her back or die._

_Those were his only options._

I stared at the blurred screen, trying to blink away my hot tears. I swallowed them back, not deserving the release. Goose bumps rose along my skin and I shivered. He'd used Damien's name as his villainous demon. The writing was genius. But the emotions behind it? I knew where those came from. He had carried around that guilt since...

_That day on Wild Magnolia Road_.

I pressed a hand to my mouth and tensed against the turbulent emotions buffeting me. I had come back to Suttontowne against my will, but had wanted to return with my feet under me. But I'd gotten knocked flat because I was still harboring so many secrets. My stomach squirmed with the shame.

I struggled furiously to tamp down the feelings that had been torn loose by the images and feelings he'd written. My problems were rooted in a past I had refused to let go of, was maybe even incapable of releasing. I'd abandoned him. I, who knew how much abandonment hurt. Left him alone while I retreated into a corner and deliberately numbed my mind with work so I wouldn't have to deal with it. And, Booker, he'd dealt with it in his own way. With bravery.

I bit my lip against the pain, squeezed my eyes shut against it. I pressed my hands over my face and sat there trembling, afraid that if I even breathed the dam would burst and I would dissolve into a quivering mass of weakness and guilt and pain.

It was no use. The tears I'd been holding back burst out of me in an anguished torrent. I had wronged him so many times! How could I have been so insensitive? So stupid? So selfish?

And he wasn't the only one I had wronged. My Aunt Lottie. I had done the same thing to her. She had been trying to help me, but I couldn't handle what had happened, couldn't cope, so I had run, letting my past overshadow me.

I was such a freaking coward.

"Aubree." His voice was so full of a concern which I didn't deserve. He rushed into the room and pulled me into his arms.

I pressed against him, desperate for his heat and his comfort. It was as if all my compartments opened at once and everything I had stuffed into each one hurtled out into a terrible, jumbled mess that made me sick with the chaos.

Trembling with the effort to control my tears, I pressed my cheek to his chest, to the hard heat of him that warmed me all the way down to my soul. I concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat, the feel of the sleek muscles in the small of his back, the scent of his maleness.

And there was one secret that I couldn't keep bottled up inside me one more minute.

#

"Oh, no, River Pearl! I lost my bracelet. It must have fallen down behind the bleachers. I can't lose that. My aunt would be so disappointed!"

"All right. Run and get it and meet me in the parking lot. Verity still has to get something out of her locker anyway."

"I'll be right back. I know exactly where I was sitting." I ran all the way back to the field. It was empty, of course. The football players had gone back to the locker room to change and go home, and the cheerleaders were either getting rides or driving themselves.

It was a bit eerie back here without the echo of cheers or the grunts of players and the sound of body contact, equipment clashing against equipment.

I ran up to the stands, then slipped down the side so that I could crouch and duck-walk underneath the bleachers. It was so icky down here, but I had no intention of leaving without my bracelet. It was so delicate, and she had found it at one of the flea markets she loved to drag me to.

I didn't complain about the flea markets, though, because at least my aunt showed an interest in me; my mother never had. Sometimes I still secretly wished Aunt Lottie was my real mother, even though I felt sad that the thought of my mother didn't bring anything with it except relief.

I searched frantically, pushing away debris and sticky stuff I didn't even want to think about. Then I saw the delicate blue stones.

I grabbed it, euphoric that I hadn't lost it.

"What do you want, Outlaw?"

I froze. That was Damien Langston's voice. He was nothing but a nasty bully, and I didn't understand how he and his twin brother Daniel could be so popular.

"For you to shut your filthy mouth about Aubree Walker."

I stiffened, my heart pounding. Was that Booker? All those Outlaws had that lethal look about them times three, but there was something about Booker's voice that grabbed me. There was this pulse of heat that traveled through me, and my stomach felt funny whenever I looked at him. I couldn't explain it.

He had been in a lot of my classes since I'd moved here. He'd tried to talk to me, but I was always so busy going from class to class, doing my homework, striving for that A. The only people I really hung out with on a regular basis were River Pearl and Verity. We were best friends. Had done the pinky pact and everything.

"What? That I nailed her gorgeous ass? That I got there before you? 'Oh, Damien, you're so good. You make me so hot.'" He chanted in a falsetto voice.

I went still. My stomach churned and my face flamed. My whole body turned hot with anger. He was saying that about me at school? Oh, my god. I crept forward, trying to be quiet. I didn't want them to know I was there, for obvious reasons.

I peeked through the gap between the seats and saw that it was Booker facing off with Damien. There was no mistaking his black shaggy hair, his lean, muscled build, broad shoulders even at sixteen, and those blue, blue eyes that seemed like they looked right through me.

"Shut the fuck up!" Anger rolled off him like steam.

"Or what?" Langston smirked.

Head down, Booker lunged, ramming a shoulder hard into Damien's chest. The two of them landed on the hard concrete, Langston getting the worst of it. They grappled, and Booker landed a punch before Damien shoved him off and scrambled up and away.

"You fucker! You broke my nose!" There was fear in Damien's eyes before he masked it with outrage and anger.

"Shut up about Aubree."

Damien covered his face, blotting at it with his hand. "You sound like a boring recording. Just like you did in junior high, every time that sweet thang's name came up in conversation or from any boy's mouth. You hot for her yourself, Outlaw?"

Junior high? He'd been protecting my reputation since then?

"What I think about Aubree is none of your business. I will _never_ discuss her with you," he ground out, his tone one of deep disgust. "You are a liar and a pig. Shut your mouth about her."

"Where are your brothers?"

Booker's fists clenched. "They're not here, if that's what you're asking. I don't need their help to kick your ass."

When Daniel Langston stepped out of the shadows, my heart jumped into my throat, and I covered my mouth. _Do something, do something_ , I chanted mentally, but I could only watch, frozen in place, as Daniel came up behind Booker and grabbed his arms, pinning them back.

"Stupid move. I, on the other hand, never go anywhere without my backup. Right, Daniel?"

"Right."

"That's because you're a coward, Damien!"

Damien punched Booker in the stomach and laughed when he bent over in pain. Booker rose, his face defiant, not giving one inch. My heart turned over. I cried silent tears as Damien kept hitting Booker in the stomach and the face until finally Daniel let him go.

He dropped down to the concrete and remained still, his face bloodied. Damien squatted down and said, "You're trash, and not fit to even look at Aubree. She'd never be interested in the likes of you. You'll never have her. Never. It's nothing but a sad, sorry dream."

They left him then, and I should have moved. Should have left, or at the very least helped him, but again I crouched there, shock reverberating in my skull. Booker had a crush on me since grade school? Since I moved here? He'd been protecting my reputation all this time. Every nasty thing that had ever been said about the Outlaws crowded my mind. They had a bad reputation. They were wild. They were thieves. They had no shame. Not a decent bone in any of them.

All of those lies evaporated into nothing. I had proof that Booker wasn't any of those things. He had honor and integrity. And much more courage than I did.

When he finally moved, I breathed a sigh of relief. He hauled himself into a sitting position and wiped at the blood on his face with the back of his sleeve.

His chest heaved, and a soft sound of anguish escaped his swollen mouth. Then another. He bowed his head, his strong jaw so tight. He took a deep, shuddering breath and raised his head, his eyes closed, tears streaming down his face.

"No," he said, so faintly I wasn't sure I heard it, then a racking shudder went through him, and another. A sob broke free from deep in his chest, an agonized sound I had only ever heard come out of my own mouth. It was the sound of despair. I felt it all the way down to the very center of me...and all I could do was hide.

#

His voice pulled me back from the memory. It still had the power to send heat through me. "Aubree. Talk to me." He cupped my face and tilted my head up. He looked at the screen and frowned. "Did this make you cry?"

I couldn't say anything. My throat was clogged with tears, old memories, and secrets. I was afraid of what would happen when I told, and afraid that if I didn't, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror again or allow myself to enjoy Booker's company.

"Aubree? What's wrong, sugar?"

I was so physically tired, emotionally exhausted, tired of feeling out of control. The denial of my own feelings built a pressure in my chest that grew and grew, like an inflating balloon. It crowded against my lungs, squeezed my heart, closed off my throat, pushed hard at the back of my eyes.

"I have to tell you something."

_Please don 't hate me._

"Okay." He rocked me and murmured to me. I ached, feeling so raw inside.

I drew a trembling breath. "Remember, you asked about the bleacher story, but I refused to tell you?"

"Yes. I didn't press you. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

"I don't know if I will ever be ready."

"Tell me, sugar. It can't be that bad." His voice was so soft and tender.

"I lost my bracelet behind the bleachers. One my aunt gave me. I had to go back. It was the night before the last big game in the fall."

He walked over and got me some tissues and I blotted at my eyes and blew my nose.

"The game with Fairmont?" His voice was hushed.

"Yes."

He went pale. "You saw me. That day that I called Langston out?"

I nodded.

"You saw me get my ass kicked?"

He stepped back away from me, his hands going into his hair, his face stricken.

"I saw you stand up to them with honor and integrity. It was two against one, Booker, and I know. I _know_ you could have had your brothers backing you up, but you didn't."

"You heard what Langston said."

"Yes. I heard it all."

He groaned. "But you left after the fight, right?" He reached out and clasped my upper arms, his eyes filled with a sick dread. "Tell me you left after the fight."

"No."

#

Booker

"Oh shit. No!" I stepped back, humiliation rushing through me with a vile kind of heat. I stared at her dumbfounded. All these years she'd known how I felt about her. All this time. "You saw me...."

"Cry?"

I closed my eyes. She was being polite. I hadn't cried. I had _lost_ my shit, sobbed like my world was ending, like that day when I'd finally realized my father didn't want me and burned the piano. For a moment, I'd let Langston's words in. Let them rip at my heart and I'd lost it. In physical and mental pain, I'd lost it.

Because there was never a way to get around it.

_This_ girl always got to me, and always would.

"Why? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Lots of reasons. I was overcome, not just by your emotions, but by my own. And together they terrified me. I was headed to college with so many expectations, responsibilities, and obligations. I didn't think I had time for you. I'm not proud to say it, but social status played a part in it. My studies, too. My terrible need to be perfect. I was afraid the feelings you had for me were stronger than I could cope with. No one saw you but me. No one saw me at all."

I thought that my heart was going to shatter, it hurt so badly. She hadn't chosen me. She chose silence and her need to be the girl most likely to succeed. "I'm such a fool," I whispered.

"No, Booker. I'm the one who's a fool. I never said anything to anyone, not even River Pearl and Verity, but they knew something had happened there and it involved you. But I never forgot what you said to Damien Langston, and I trusted that night, on Wild Magnolia Road, that you wouldn't just help, but that you would also keep my secret and take it to the grave."

I backed up another step. The pain sliced through me. "It's true. I would have done anything for you."

She opened her mouth to speak, but I bolted. I went out the front door, into the pouring rain. Not sure which way to run. She called my name and I heard the anguish, but I couldn't stop. The humiliation and pain twisting inside me were like something poisonous and alive that would devour me if I didn't move.

I just took off without a shirt, without shoes. The rough road biting into the soles of my feet. I ran blindly until I tripped and I stayed there on my hands and knees. After a few moments, I sat back on my heels, bent my head and dragged my hand across my eyes, then inhaled raggedly. A horrible feeling started to unfold in me, a feeling that torpedoed my anger and left me emotionally suspended. Ugly pieces falling into place with numbing clarity, and I shook from head to toe.

_Oh, fuck. Oh fuck, no._ I thrust my hands into my hair, trying to process the awful realization. Aubree was just like my father. If it hadn't been for the fact that her aunt was injured, she would never have come back home. I'd already bared my soul to her. She already had my heart and I'd given it up freely. The pedestal that I had placed her on cracked and crumbled. The Aubree I thought I knew, nothing but tattered and broken dreams. Raking my dripping hair back from my face, I tried to make my mind focus while shock drained the warmth from me.

Then I realized where I was. This was where we used to live. The place where I'd burned the piano. My rib cage expanded and contracted. Something broke loose in me. My vision blurred, my breathing harsh and erratic. The smell of charred wood lodged in my nostrils. And that pain, the pain I had buried all those years ago, came thundering out of the night, trampling me. An anguished sob rose out of me as that pain rumbled around inside looking for escape. Awash with a whole storm of emotion, I uttered a broken cry. A tremor coursed through me and I buried my face in my hands. I loved her, but was powerless to stop her, just like I had been powerless to stop my father. I needed her, and fear like I had never known wracked me. After what we had shared, it hurt ten times worse.

_She 'd let me believe what Langston had said was true. For years._

I had to move again. Escape the pain. I got up and ran. When the light registered and a house loomed in front of me, I knew why I had come here. I banged on the door, and the outside light came on.

When my ma opened the door, she took one look at me and hauled me inside. She dragged me to the bathroom, where I stood shivering, more from the shock of hearing that Aubree had chosen to let me pine for her instead of talking to me or giving me some kind of closure. It felt like my dad all over again.

It fucking _hurt,_ like needles stabbing into my gut.

My brain scrambled to get away from it, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. It twisted inside me in one long unending, annihilating pain.

Ma rubbed me down with a towel and then draped a blanket over my shoulders. I remember what it had been like that day I had come home after getting double-teamed by the Langston brothers. I had refused to say who had beaten me up, and my brothers were pissed. But later, after my mother made them leave, she sat me down and gave me some hot cocoa. She prodded and poked, and the whole story about Aubree Walker came pouring out of me. She knew every embarrassing emotion, every altercation, every single thing. After that day, we never talked about Aubree except for the day I gave her the tickets to the Greek Isles.

"Come into the kitchen, Booker," she said, her voice soothing. I followed her in there and she put the kettle on the stove.

"I don't think hot cocoa is going to fix this." My voice sounded dead.

The worry deepened on my mother's face. "What happened, puddin'?"

She hadn't called me that since I was little. I told her everything, fighting to keep my emotions under control. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

"I think this is a good thing."

My jaw dropped. "What? She destroyed me, Ma."

"I know. But Booker, you like to reframe pain instead of accepting it. You don't deal with the negative. You just find it a learning experience and move on. You need a relationship with a girl like Aubree, who isn't perfect, even though she desperately wants to be. No one can be perfect. Surface relationships are much easier than those that demand emotional involvement, because there is so much more at stake. You've idealized her, and what you have now...that's not the picture you're used to looking at. Take some time to think about this. If this girl means as much to you as I think she does, she deserves to have you hear her out."

"How do you know that I didn't?"

"Because I know you. You avoid pain."

"I burned that piano. I thought it would help. It allowed me to understand that things like pianos shouldn't have that much meaning or that much power over me."

She nodded. "Feeling things makes you human, Booker. Plain and simple. You harbored the hope that your father would come back. I should have taken you away from here, but if I had..."

"He might not have been able to find us."

"Yes. I'm not proud of that. I'm not making excuses for him. He believed his own reputation and that there was nothing that he could do to change it. I had family ties here, too. People who helped and supported me to raise triplets on my own."

"I'll take time to think about this, but I think it might be better if she and I part ways."

"Why? Because she was young and scared? Because she didn't know how to deal with a boy who had these strong feelings for her?"

"No, because like father, like son."

"Oh, Booker. You're nothing like your father."

I leaned back and closed my eyes while she fixed the hot cocoa. _The apple doesn 't fall far from the tree._

My mother gave me a ride home. By then the rain had stopped and everything sparkled in the car's headlights. I half hoped Aubree would be there, half hoped she wouldn't. When I got there, her car was gone. I thanked my ma and went inside. Folded neatly on the piano bench was my t-shirt.

A lead weight sank in my chest. She'd let me continue believing that what Langston had said was true. She'd let me die a little each day while Langston smirked at me in the halls.

I picked it up. It still smelled like her. I hurled it across the room.

# Chapter Thirteen

Aubree

I let myself into the house, moving on autopilot. I was afraid of what would happen if I stopped. It was dark, but the fire was going, and when I glanced in, Aunt Lottie and Sheriff Dalton were dancing to music only they could hear. Not wishing to disturb them or embarrass my aunt, I tiptoed up the stairs, trying with all my might to contain the guilt and the knowledge of what I had done, knowing I had just lost the best thing that ever happened to me. I let myself into my room.

I ran a bath. I was so cold. But the cold felt familiar to me. I equated it with the numbness that acted as a layer of protection around my heart. I had thought Booker was different. I had hoped he would understand and accept my flaws, but I had been wrong. I'd lost him because of it. Lost him as surely as my heart was breaking. And I had no one to blame but myself. My need to be perfect and my need to put that above anything else had destroyed what we might have discovered in each other.

After dumping in a generous dollop of bubble bath and letting the water foam up, I turned off the water and sank down into it. Numbness had been my friend. If I couldn't feel, couldn't hurt anymore, maybe it would get better.

But when I closed my eyes, Booker's stricken face was burned into my retinas. The way his face had looked made me hurt like little else ever had. I folded my arms tightly across my abdomen, the knots of pain and emptiness and guilt tightening into a sick mess inside me. I leaned back against the porcelain, not even trying to contain the pain. Letting it flow and engulf me was all about being a grown-up, and Booker deserved this...I owed it to him to feel this agony. I was the one who had screwed up. The dreadful hollowness in my stomach pulled me forward as I covered my face with my hands and a ragged sob broke from me. The floodgates opened, and I cried for everything--for my ignorance, for my carelessness, but mostly I sobbed because I wanted what Booker and I had begun to build. The real part of it _was_ real. I wanted him...wanted him.

I had been young, and my fear had been strong back then. But I had known even then that just standing there watching and doing nothing was wrong. And it had eaten at me every day since then. I'd had no idea, really, who he was. I only knew what he had done for me.

But, now. Now I knew who he was and I was...had...fallen for him.

I loved him so much. So much.

After drying off and getting into a camisole and shorts, I slipped into bed. I checked the glowing alarm clock. Two. I closed my eyes.

I was behind on the work for Dr. Wells, but for the first time in my life I didn't care. He'd given me a few days to handle my personal business, which had been kind of him. I wished I could immerse myself in my work. Let it take my mind off what had happened with Booker. Oh, I wished he had heard me out. Had listened to everything I had to say before leaving like that.

As soon as my mind returned to Booker, a wave of shame washed over me. I'd made a fool of myself. The image of his blue eyes and his wicked smile filled my head. The memory of his touch set off shivers that rippled from my neck downward. I was sorry I had kept that terrible secret from him for so long. Sorry that my consuming, desperate need to be perfect had burned what we were building into ashes, like Booker's beat-up old piano. Apparently Booker couldn't see beyond who he thought I was, and I certainly couldn't live up to that kind of image.

Making love to Booker, god, it had been everything.

Tossing the blanket off me, I got out of bed, went to the French doors, and pulled them open. The night was just a tad on the chilly side, fragrant with the scents of summer that promised humidity and heat.

I turned my head. The magnolia tree near the corner of the house still had a few blossoms, creamy, waxy white, nestled among the broad, leathery, dark green leaves. I used to love magnolias.

I could see Wild Magnolia Road from my balcony. That old dirt road that I'd always used as a shortcut home.

I could see the old, burned-out churchyard, and I shivered.

Time slipped away as I stared down that road I had traveled that long-ago day in August, my emotions so raw that my throat kept closing up.

"Oh, god," I whispered, closing my eyes and pressing my forehead against a smooth column. "I should never have come back here."

A scrap of cloud scudded across the sliver of moon. A sultry breeze whispered through the branches of the trees. A chill raced over my skin, and I gasped. Was that a figure in the graveyard?

I strained my eyes, staring into the darkness, sensing a presence. The sensation lingered like a dark, intent gaze, and the hair rose on the back of my neck. Langston, my mind whispered. Both of them haunting me.

The sense of being watched was thick in the air.

I backed up, swallowing hard as my heart climbed into my throat. Slowly I backed toward my bedroom, almost tripping on the lip between the balcony and the room.

I tried not to think about the figure I convinced myself I'd imagined standing in the graveyard.

A sense of relief flooded through me after I darted inside and locked the French doors behind me.

On my bedside table, my phone chimed. I gasped, my heart stalling. Could it be Booker? The hope alive in me, I rushed over there, but the text message I read chilled my blood, dashed that bright feeling.

_I know what you did._

#

The nightmare twisted inside me like something alive. I woke with a gasping start, sitting up in bed, panting like I'd run a really fast mile. The bleakness of my thoughts and the memories of Booker intermingled, turning the experience even more volatile, even more dark and dangerous. The air around me was warm and moist, a pocket of heat and humidity that had sneaked in through the French doors to escape the storm. The room was dark and still, a stillness that held something other than simple quiet. Loss. I felt alone in a way I had never felt alone before in my life, and my thoughts turned automatically toward Booker.

I hadn't been alone. I'd just isolated myself because that is what I had always done with my mother. I'd closed myself off from my aunt, from Booker when I was sixteen, because I just didn't know any other way to be. Alone was what had felt right, normal. Now I just felt loss.

That also had never happened to me before.

Heart bumping hard against my breastbone, I fought to untangle my legs from the sheet and then raced out onto the balcony in nothing but my white camisole and numbered shorts. Down the stairs I ran till I reached the ground. Everything was all tangled up inside me, and it was time I faced what I needed to face.

I sprinted towards Wild Magnolia Road without thought or purpose. A small, rational corner of my brain told me to let the numbness back in, let it make me safe, but I fought against it. Something inside me was pushing me toward recklessness. I didn't understand it, wasn't sure I wanted to understand it, but I couldn't seem to stop.

Where was my self-control? That rigid bitch inside me that held me to the most impossible standards? Where was she? I wanted to kill her.

When my feet hit the dirt road, I kept pelting down it, my lungs screaming, my legs straining, my heart breaking.

I reached the burned-out church, then ran into the graveyard, where I tripped and fell. I got up on my hands and knees and crawled. I didn't know when I had started sobbing.

When I reached the spot, I pounded on the dirt mound. "This is all your fault! This is all your fault!" Anger bled from me, the fury that had lurked in every pore of my body. I screamed and howled and beat at the dirt mound until my fists throbbed, until every single ounce of scalding rage was gone. Expunged. Released like a torrent of pain that flowed out of me and into the face of the dawn.

But it wasn't Damien's fault. I knew that. I was railing at myself, the breakdown bringing a new chance to look at the possibilities. I screamed into the new morning. "I love Booker Outlaw!"

I gasped for air and the truth hit me, hammered home like my backpack full of bricks had just been dumped on my head. It was okay not to be perfect. I could never be perfect because I was real. I was human and flawed and beautiful! Every mistake I'd made had brought me to this moment and had been the building blocks of my uniqueness. Attaining perfection was an illusion I had maintained for so many years. The relief of letting that weight go made me feel as light as the breeze that blew across my moist, heated skin.

And I forgave Booker in that instant as I realized the very same thing about him. He was also not perfect, and I understood why he struggled with what I had done to him. It wasn't that my actions were unforgivable. It was that, like me, his illusions had been shattered. But, unlike me, he hadn't been able to let them go. I had made a huge mistake with him when I'd said nothing about what I had seen and, most importantly, what I felt for him. How much I admired that he'd had the courage and loyalty to stand by me even when I didn't know he was doing it. There must have been something he'd seen in me that he believed was worth it. I hoped one day I could find out what that was. And, in that moment, I allowed myself to hope that his ability to see all the possibilities would someday, at the very least, allow him to forgive me.

When the sun hit the horizon of the new day, I got up and went back home, slipping up the stairs. Before I got into the shower, I heard my phone chime. But all that settled over me was an eerie calm.

_Where 's the body?_

My bruised hands ached as I typed the very short, very succinct message back.

_Fuck you!_

After my shower, I headed downstairs. My aunt was in the kitchen. The terrible ache wasn't going away any time soon. And when I met my aunt's eyes, I had to look away. I was so raw. There were things that needed to be said between us as well. "Good morning," I said. "How was your date with the sheriff?"

"Good morning, Aubree." The sheriff walked into the kitchen in his robe, looking like he belonged there. My eyes snapped to my aunt's and she blushed ever so lightly. Even with the pain that twisted my heart, I was so happy that my aunt had found love, even as it eluded me.

"Well, I guess it went pretty good."

My aunt's laughter and the sheriff's mingled. As I stood there, it hit me like a backlash. This is what love looked like. This was happiness. And, it looked so much like...what Booker and I had shared. The longing welled up in me to once again see that patented Outlaw grin that was so uniquely Booker's.

"Maybe you should start calling me Mike?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," I said, giving the sheriff a weak smile. "That just seems so...um....illegal."

He chuckled again. "Okay, how about Uncle Mike?"

He looked at my aunt and she nodded.

"Get out! Really?" Then I saw the ring on her finger. I flew across the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her, my throat tight. "I'm so happy for you. So happy." Because this woman who had come into my life when I was twelve years old meant more to me than my own mother.

"I've got to get going," he said, giving my aunt a knowing look. "I got that itchy feeling there's gonna be some powerful female bonding going on real soon. And wedding plans..." He shuddered. "Best the menfolk be absent."

I punched him in the arm. "Good idea...Uncle Mike."

He hugged me then, and I hugged him back.

After he had left the house and I put my cereal bowl into the sink, I turned to my aunt, who was at the French doors in the kitchen looking out on the beautiful garden patio, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands. She seemed so pensive all of a sudden, as if she, too, had a terrible secret.

With a newfound wisdom swirling inside me, I said, "Well, you waited a long time, but you're finally going for it?"

"I did. And I am. The man I loved and married, he died very young. It was devastating. Then when Mike moved here, there was a spark, but I resisted it for such a long time. After I woke up from my concussion and he was there, looking so concerned, I saw the love in his eyes. And I asked myself, what am I waiting for?"

I walked over to slip my arm around her waist. It was easier to do that now. Another thing Booker had made easier for me. "It's hard to let go of that safety net," I said. "Hard to let go of being alone."

She looked at me with surprise. Setting down the mug, she cupped my face. "You were never alone, Aubree. I have always loved you from the first...moment..." She broke off.

"Aunt Lottie. Do you know how my father died?"

"What?" she asked, her eyes widening with astonishment. "Didn't your mother tell you about your father?"

"No. She never did."

She took my hand and led me to the living room. She went to the liquor cabinet and poured out two shots of whiskey. My eyebrows rose. "This is going to be a whisky-shot kind of conversation?"

"Now that I'm getting married and you're nineteen years old, a woman, I think it's time that we did talk. I sense a new openness in you that wasn't there before. After that scare in the hospital, I don't want to wait another moment to tell you something that's been so heavy on my mind. A secret that I've kept. But no more secrets between us, my girl."

I sat down. I was prepared to hear what she wanted to say. She wasn't wrong. There was a new openness in me. I'd lost that rigidity and self-righteousness in the fire of my revelations.

She set the shot glasses down on the table and settled herself on the couch. "Aubree, before I moved here to Hope Parish, I did missionary work in Indonesia, teaching English. I met and married another missionary while there. We had a daughter. She was wonderful. Happy, sweet, and very squeezable."

"What happened to them?"

"There was a tsunami. A devastating one. I lost them both."

Instead of deflecting the pain in her voice, I absorbed it, my compassion for her welling up and spilling over. "Oh, God, Aunt Lottie. That must have shattered you."

She sat there for a moment and I could only imagine the emotions that must be swamping her. When tears gathered in her eyes and her breath hitched, I watched as she valiantly fought them back.

"Yes, it did," she said, her voice still wobbly. "I came back to Hope Parish, and I settled here and taught English. Then, as you know, I inherited this house and a substantial sum of money from a distant relative. That gave me a lot of freedom to do as I wished. I never got over their deaths, though." She paused again, the pain bleak in her eyes. "Mike encouraged me to get closure, find peace, and I decided he was right. I made a trip to my husband's home town. That's where I saw you, at his boyhood home, coming home from school the day your mother died."

"What?"

"The minute I saw you, I knew who you were."

I clasped her hands. I looked into her eyes and I knew who I was. "We didn't die," I whispered brokenly.

She took a deep, uneven breath. "No. Take a drink."

I picked up the shot glass and threw it back. The whiskey burned down my throat all the way to my stomach.

"You okay?"

I nodded. "I want to hear the rest." I was vibrating with this news, my whole world just turned upside down, again.

Her smile was bittersweet. "I had searched for you. But everything was so chaotic. Records were lost, and there were so many bodies. The authorities said you both had probably been swept out to sea. That they would never recover your bodies. I can only assume that the same thing happened when my husband was looking for me."

I couldn't contain it anymore. "I'm your daughter! That's why I have red hair, just like you." I didn't think I'd ever felt such joy, such an ecstatic release of adrenaline. I felt like I had truly, truly come home. Thomas Wolfe, eat your heart out!

My aunt covered her mouth and tears slipped from her eyes. "Yes. It took me two days to talk to a lawyer and a social worker. I didn't know what kind of fight your aunt would put up for you, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I'm just so sorry that you were there alone with her like that. I'm your mother, Aubree."

"Oh, my god. You're my mother! You've always been my mother." How could I feel so good and so bad at the same time?

She hugged me so hard, and when she let me go, tears were streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them away and took my face in her hands. "I know this is a shock." Her voice was thick with the emotion and love. She loved me. She really did.

"I hope you can understand that I believed that not telling you was for your own good. I consulted a therapist when I got back. He cautioned me about revealing this information too soon, especially after you'd already been through so much." Her eyes were brimming with her love for me. "He told me to wait. God knows I debated myself sick about it, but I decided to tell you all this when you were old enough to understand why we make the choices we do."

"I love you, Aunt...Momma. I've loved you for so long. I was just never able to say it. This is the most amazing, the best news, to find out that I'm part of you and not part of her. My father?"

"He died in a car accident when you first got back to the States. I was heartbroken. It was like losing him all over again."

"And my mother?"

"Your father's sister. She took you in, and she let you think she was your mother."

"She never wanted me."

She closed her eyes, squeezing my hands. "I'm so sorry. If I'd had any idea that you were still alive, and where you were, I would have come for you sooner." She said fiercely, "I know she wasn't a very nice person. I tried to make up for that time, but you were so closed and so driven. I was afraid if I told you then, I would lose you again, that you might never forgive me."

"That wouldn't have been true. You were so good to me. I'm so relieved to finally know." I wrapped my arms around her and we held each other for a few minutes, both of us crying from both the joy and the revelations. "I was so terrified that if I wasn't good, you'd get rid of me. That's what she used to say to me all the time. Now I realize she probably only said it so that I would behave."

Silently I thanked Booker for opening me up, for giving me the capacity to accept and embrace love without conditions. No matter what my mother had done in the past, it wasn't important now. Against the odds she had found me, nurtured me, and loved me without strings.

"I would never have gotten rid of you. It was a miracle I found you. I see your father in your face every day, and it gives me peace to know that I have you, a part of him. I can only be thankful for this inheritance, and for Mike's encouragement to find peace and closure. If I hadn't, I would never have found you."

"What was his name?"

She looked at me blankly. "She never told you his name?"

"No. And I was always afraid to ask."

A soft look filled her eyes and I knew she was remembering him. "Oh, Aubree. His name was James. I called him Jamie."

"James Walker. He had a beautiful name."

"He did."

"The town doesn't know the truth?"

She shook her head. "How do you feel about that?"

"I don't care who knows."

"Good. Because I don't care who knows, either."

"So you're getting married and you're my mother. That's a lot to take in."

Her face grew serious. "Are you okay with Mike? He thinks you're great, by the way. He calls you 'that smart cookie'."

"Yes. He's a good guy and pretty handsome for an old man."

"Hey! He's not old."

"You're just saying that because that would make you old."

She laughed. "What about you, Aubree? Is there anything you want to talk about?"

I thought about Booker and the two text messages that I'd received. Old habits died hard. I didn't know what I was going to do about it all just yet. I really wanted to talk to Booker, but I knew that was over.

"I'll take a rain check...Momma. I was thinking about going back to Tulane now that you're doing fine and you have Mike. I do have this RA." Old habits did die hard. I couldn't do or say anything to help Booker. He would have to come to his realizations without me. Maybe I had matured. In the short time I'd been back home, my life had changed in so many fundamental ways. Maybe being away would allow me to find more clarity.

Her face fell. "Oh, but you'll come back for the wedding, right?"

"Yes. Of course! I won't stay away from you like I did last year, ever again. I promise." No matter how painful it would be to come here knowing that I couldn't have Booker, I didn't want to live without my newfound momma in my life.

"Good. I'm serious. If you ever need to talk about anything, anything at all, I'm here for you."

There was a knock at the front door. I squeezed her hands. "I'll get it."

When I opened the door, I gasped and for a moment my heart soared, but then I realized it wasn't Booker. It was Boone. Something broke in me like a dam. Reality crowded me, reminding me that I had been foolish to expect anything.

"Your aunt wanted to talk about putting in a pool."

I just stared at him, trying to get myself under control, but there was nothing I could do. This locomotive I was on was going off the rails and heading for a terrible train wreck.

My work had consumed my life for so long, and saying out loud that I was going back to it, back to Tulane, I realized in that moment that it wasn't enough. That I wanted more. I struggled just to keep myself from falling into a million tiny broken bits.

He looked so achingly like Booker. But I knew he wasn't Booker, and I couldn't figure out how I could ever have gotten them mixed up in high school.

And I remembered how Booker had taken those blows, how he had stood up to the Langstons while I stood in the shadows and did nothing. The blood on his face, his anguish and tears. All of it was just too much for me.

Boone saw my struggle, and compassion flooded his eyes. He reached out, but I burst into tears, turned and ran up the stairs, throwing myself on my bed. Only minutes later my mother came in.

She didn't ask me what was wrong. She just pulled me into her arms and held me. I couldn't numb myself anymore.

It wasn't going to be enough, the work.

Not enough.

#

Booker

The sound of the motor seemed like the alien thing here in the swamp. I steered the boat away from my house. The scenery grew lusher, wilder. Trees crowded what land there was, shoulder to shoulder, their crowns entangling into a dense canopy of green that filtered the afternoon sun, leaving the ground beneath a latticework pattern of light and dark.

Colors were just as wild as the swamp. Flame-flowered trumpet creeper braided together along the edge like embroidery, twining with the white of spider lilies and the green of water lettuce.

I cut the engine and anchored the boat. I used to come out here a lot, but it hadn't been in a fancy boat like the one I now owned. No, that boat had been modest and had no motor. Nothing but a paddle.

I'd come out here to read my stolen manga and transfer the made-up stories in my head to paper, reading them out loud to myself with a kind of addicting pleasure I had never experienced in anything else. I'd never had anything to be proud of. My daddy was a thief and had only perpetuated the stigma we already lived with.

But my stories were good. Lottie had thought so. She'd given me the confidence to take a chance.

_Aubree._ How I had fantasized about having her. The reality, well, that had been a little tougher. My ma might be right about me. I tried to shy away from the truth, think about what I had learned with her, get past it.

Bury it.

Maybe, just maybe, I _didn 't_ like pain, but who did? Who wanted to prod and poke at it? Was maturity about understanding and forgiveness, or gaining the capacity for it? Or was maturity just about building bridges between what you thought you knew and what you now saw completely and clearly? Accepting the poignant understanding that sometimes it took that deep pain to come out the other side, having learned that life was always about the possibilities.

Maybe it had been more my wounded pride over the reality that Aubree had chosen to ignore me and fall prey to her own demons. I knew she had them. They were in her beautiful eyes. I wanted to save her. I wanted to save her from herself. In that moment, it was easy for me to forgive her flaws. After all, like that apple from the market, flaws were just as beautiful as perfection. Aubree Walker was perfect just the way she was.

The trouble was I understood demons and what drove people. I was a writer. She was no different. She was human. Real. So why couldn't I just go over there and talk to her? Make her mine?

_Because the apple doesn 't fall far from the tree._

I closed my eyes. This was all moot. I was going to let her go. I had to. The pattern would follow blood. And I was descended from a bunch of riffraff and no-accounts. In that way, maybe I was too much like my father, believing our own hype.

I headed back to the house. When I pulled up to the dock and hopped out, Boone was there. He helped me secure the ropes.

"What the hell did you do to Aubree Walker? I liked her! Here I thought you two would be here cuddled up. Instead, I get to her house, she takes one look at me, bursts into tears, and runs upstairs."

My heart felt like it was dying when I heard that. I wanted to go to her, now, right now. I let the pain in and I felt it like my ma said I should. Hey, I didn't like it, but it was part of our relationship. Part of me and part of Aubree. I let myself feel it and tried not to shape or mold it. Just let it be that aching, open hurting. But it was better for both of us that I stayed here and she went back to Tulane. That was her future. "I didn't do anything to her, Boone."

When I went up the stairs onto the deck, he followed me. I avoided looking at the place where we had made love. Walking in the house, I spied Braxton. "What the hell is this? A fucktard convention?"

Braxton looked at Boone. "Nope. We're here for a...what was that again, Boonie?"

"An intervention."

"Right," I said. "A fucktard intervention."

"What is going on with you?" Boone demanded. "We might be fucktards--"

"Hey, speak for yourself," Brax protested.

Boone shot him a dark look. "--because we don't get it. You've been after this girl since you were twelve years old, and now you've gotten her. Is the challenge over, the chase? Is that all she was for you? A good fuck?"

I had Boone up against the wall before I'd even realized that I'd moved. "Don't talk about Aubree like that. She was more--" I cut myself off. There was no use discussing this. I'd made my decision. "Why do you care so much about her?"

"I don't, Book. I care about you. You believed in us when no one else did. You. So, I don't care about Aubree's sad tears. You've loved this girl ever since she moved here. She makes you happy and you deserve it. So why are you fighting so hard against it?"

"She and I are not compatible. My love for her was an illusion." It was a partial truth. I didn't want to get into a discussion that terrified me, so a fabrication worked just fine.

"Really? You're really gonna try to feed me that crap?"

It figured Boone would be too smart for that. So, I switched to anger, guys were so good with anger. "Get out," I ordered, my jaw so tense I thought it was going to snap.

Something blossomed in Boone's eyes. That smart fucker. I willed him not to say it. "Is this about Dad?"

I didn't say anything, just walked away into my bedroom and started to change into my running clothes.

"It is," he said, materializing in the doorway. "Fuck, Booker. Dad was a bastard. But this won't be on him this time. It'll be on you."

I wanted him to shut up because he was making too much sense. I shoved past him and slipped on my running shoes and started to lace them up.

"Why don't you man up? Because he certainly didn't."

"When I get back, I expect you'll both be gone."

"You want to know what I think," Brax said quietly. "I think you're not worried that you'll leave her. I think you're worried she'll leave you."

I swallowed hard, swinging around to face Braxton, who stood with his hands tucked into his belt. That fucker didn't say much, but when he did...

"Aubree's not a dream or Little Miss Perfect," Boone put in. "She's a woman, a real one. It sucks to be a grown-up, doesn't it, Booker? "

"Right. You'd know, Boone."

He sighed. It hurt to see the disappointment in his eyes. "Come on Brax. I'll buy you a drink."

"Is the intervention over?" Brax glanced at me, and although emotion wasn't his thing, for a moment I saw that he didn't want to give up on me. Because I hadn't given up on him. I felt a rush of emotion, so strong, for both of them. I understood they were trying to help, and God knows we had always stuck together, building a bond that could weather anything. We would weather this, too.

"Yes," Boone said solemnly. "We're done."

"Is Booker coming, too?"

Boone met my gaze, too, and his expression one of compassion and support. Damn him and his sensitive and knowing heart. "No, he's got something to do. It's all up to him." It made me cringe to realize that Boone expected me to do the right thing. But the problem was--I _was_ doing the right thing. I had to let Aubree go.

When they left, I stood in the hall and seethed with an anger that welled up inside me. Damn, Boone!

I went out the door and down the stairs. Trying to get back the Zen of the swamp that I had achieved on the boat. My decision was final. It destroyed me because I wanted her so bad! I'd made it and I wasn't going back. I pushed back the thought that I was still letting Langston's words all those years ago affect me. I'd let him win somehow. Was this really about Aubree being better off without me? Or was the truth closer to what Braxton had said?

I pushed all that stuff away. I was about the good times and about enjoying myself. I wasn't going to delve too deep into the morass. Better to leave it alone. Maybe I needed to grow up by degrees.

But Braxton's words shredded my gut. I couldn't get them out of my head.

I started to sprint, then I was full out, running away, running, running.

When I got back to the house it was dark. I climbed the stairs and let myself in. I heard a noise and my mouth thinned. I would freaking skin Boone if he was back for round two.

I came into the living room and went to flip on the light, but a furtive footfall and the sound of displaced air made me pivot. The sense of danger had been just a hair too late, but the move probably did save my life, as something hard cracked against my forearm, pain biting. The figure in the dark was already going for another blow, and I was too slow, caught off-guard by the sudden attack. I backed up as the object swung at me again. The tip hit my temple hard, snapping my head around, clouding my vision to a gray blur.

Oh, fuck. I'd made a mistake. A miscalculation. I knew this attack wouldn't stop with me. _Aubree!_ Brain synapses shorted out. I tried to stand, tried to block the next strike, but the messages never made it to my muscles. The blow landed, and everything went black.

# Chapter Fourteen

Aubree

After my horrible crying jag, all of it came pouring out of me like a river of pain. I told my momma everything that had happened between Booker and me since I'd come back to Suttontowne. Up to and including the night I told him about watching him from behind the bleachers. But I kept Wild Magnolia Road a secret.

"I'm so ashamed that I did nothing. I didn't even speak to him or thank him. I just let him think Langston was right."

"Oh, Aubree. Always taking the whole world on your shoulders. You were sixteen years old. That's so young, and you should try to cut yourself some slack. I'm sure after Booker has had time to think about it, he'll give you a chance to explain. You're not perfect, honey. No one is."

My phone chimed, and I almost ignored it because I didn't want to get another one of those text messages. I should tell my aunt about that mess, but the repercussions were just too huge to deal with right now. And Booker hadn't given me permission to tell anyone. We were in it together.

But if it was from him, I didn't want to miss it.

_Can we talk?_

I gasped. It was from him. I immediately thought Boone must have told him about my reaction at the front door and he was feeling sorry for me. I almost texted back no, but it was more important to explain everything.

I texted him back. _Yes_.

I waited and got a response. _Meet me in front of your house. I 'll be in the Mustang._

At first I thought the last statement was odd. Why would he tell me he'd be in the Mustang? I would see that when he pulled up. But I dismissed it.

"Is that Booker?"

"Yes. He wants to talk."

She smiled. "See? I told you he'd come around."

I nodded, but my stomach was tied up in knots. I didn't want to lose him.

I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face, trying to fix my red and swollen eyes. I brushed out my hair and almost pulled it back in a ponytail, but decided to leave it unbound. It was time I loosened up, in more ways than one.

Ten minutes later I heard a car pull up outside and my momma pushed back the curtains. "Mustang outside."

"I'll see you later," I said.

When I left the house, thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. I looked back and my momma peered out. She waved. _Wait until I tell Booker._ I waved back. I wondered how he would react. I stepped toward the car, but he didn't get out to open my door. He always opened my door for me. I frowned, ready to give him a hard time. When I reached the car, I pulled open the door, the words on my lips, but I froze.

Daniel Langston sat in the driver's seat. I jerked back, but he said, "Get in the car or you'll never see Booker again."

His eyes chilled me, and not because they were empty or cold, but because they were exactly the opposite. His determination to find out about Damien was absolute, and I could tell he was willing to do anything to get answers. My heart rose into my throat and I panicked for Booker's safety. My voice tightened to a high pitch. "Where is he?"

"Get in the car, Aubree! Now! I'm not bluffing." He spoke through gritted teeth, a man on the verge of exploding.

I looked back at the house, but he pulled out a gun and pointed it at me. "Don't do it. You can't outrun a bullet, and if by some miracle you do, you will seal Booker's fate."

It was no contest. Booker and I were in this together. We would either come out of it okay, or we'd die together, because this time, I wasn't hiding or running away. But I didn't plan to die tonight, either, because now I knew how much I had to live for. I got inside and closed the door. The curtains were closed when I looked towards the house. My hope died.

"Where's Booker? What have you done to him?" I whispered, using my anger and hate as shields to beat back the terror.

"Don't worry. This little party wouldn't be complete without him," Daniel said, as he put the car in gear.

We pulled out of my driveway, panic fluttering inside me like the frantic beats of a terrified bird. "You know something, Daniel? I thought maybe you would have learned something after your brother's disappearance. Maybe you'd see that pushing people too hard and indulging your own selfishness and fear at the expense of others was wrong and would always be wrong. But I see that you're reverting back to your base instincts, like an animal who doesn't know any better."

He backhanded me across the face, splitting my lip, and I tasted blood. But it was worth the pain that made my eyes water.

He snorted with disgust. "You're in no position to lecture me, Aubree. Little Miss Perfect. Little Miss Pure. Well, I know differently. You and your white trash, smug bastard boyfriend are going to get what you deserve."

I licked away the blood and glared at him. "Calling him all those names only labels him according to your weak and twisted standards. Like those words can ever change my mind about Booker. You have _no_ idea what we deserve. You've never treated anyone with the respect they are due, except out of fear, because that's all you know."

When we turned onto Wild Magnolia Road, my stomach flipped over and my heart stalled.

"Whatever, Aubree. It doesn't matter anymore. I want answers." He shoved me so hard my shoulder slammed into the door, sending pain jarring through me and down my arm. He leaned over me and opened the car door. "Get out. But if you run, it'll all be over."

I turned to him. "You used his phone. Where is he?!" I yelled, rubbing at the stinging pain still cascading down my arm. He got out and headed toward the back of the car. "Oh, God," I whispered, jumping out of the seat so quickly I tripped and fell. I got back on my feet and hurried to the rear of the car.

Coming closer, thunder rolled and lightning flashed behind a bank of clouds, the momentary arc revealing the wild magnolias, heavy with huge, waxy white flowers, looming over the lane. He popped the trunk.

"Booker!" I screamed when I saw him lying limp at the bottom of the trunk, the side of his face running with blood. Thoughts flashed back through my mind like a kaleidoscope of terror. In that one elongated moment, I stood there staring at his still body in the dark--was he dead? Had I lost him? The agonizing pain from that thought paralyzed me.

"Fucking Outlaw."

His words released me, and the power of my love for Booker galvanized me. No matter what happened, I couldn't let Daniel disrespect him, not anymore. I turned on him like a madwoman, clawing at his face, going for his eyes. His hands came up and he backhanded me across the face and I fell into the dirt, my cheek stinging with pain.

I didn't stay down. I surged up from the ground like a woman who had nothing to lose. I punched him in the jaw and his head snapped back. He grabbed me by my shirtfront and shook me, then tossed me back into the dirt.

"You're a monster," I cried, my voice sharp and trembling.

"Shut the fuck up. He isn't dead...yet."

I looked up at him, holding my throbbing cheek, my breath hitching at the sinister cast of his features in the dim glow of the trunk light and the intermittent flashes of lightning.

I watched Langston with a sick sense of dread, and a strange, lethargic numbness tried to drag me down. But I fought against it. No! I wasn't going to retreat. I would experience it all, no matter how bad it was.

"I'm not leaving here until I get some answers about my brother, Aubree. And you're going to give them to me." He smiled ever so faintly, his intense, golden eyes on mine, unblinking. He reached down and hauled me to my feet. "Scream again or attack me again and he will die."

He turned back to the car. "I tried to give you a chance to talk to me. On the street and through text." He looked at me again with that determined, hot gaze that cut through me, leaving in its wake nothing but ashes.

I wanted to scream, but he'd warned me that he would kill Booker. I couldn't take the chance.

Langston looked at me, as if he had expected some response to his statement. "What? Nothing to say now?" he mocked. "Not even a simple 'fuck you'?"

My gaze went immediately to Booker. I wasn't certain he was breathing, and I didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. He was utterly motionless. Blood, sticky and brilliant red, matted his hair and glazed his temple and cheek, but I couldn't tell whether he was still bleeding. _Dead men don 't bleed._ I stared at his chest, looking for the faintest sign of movement.

With a sigh, Langston hauled Booker out of the trunk and maneuvered him into a fireman's lift. Without a word to me, he started walking, and I didn't have to guess where he was going. He crossed the lane and I was close on his heels.

When he let Booker fall, I caught him against me. But his dead weight was too much and I fell to the ground with him, doing my best to protect his head. We were butted up against one of the magnolias, and my skin crawled with the memory of Damien's hot breath on my face and his big body pinning me down.

I touched Booker's face. His skin was warm. My hand slipped down to his neck, where I felt a strong and steady pulse. Thank God. My chest swelled with the love I had for him. How cruel it would be to discover something so beautiful and to lose it now, when it was so new.

"Isn't that touching?" Langston sneered.

The numbness began to fade, and fear took its place. Tears rose to burn the backs of my eyes. I would have given anything for the comfort of Booker's arms. But Booker couldn't come to my rescue this time. I loved him, and this time it was _my_ turn to fight for _him_. I glared at Langston.

He squatted down. "Now that we're all situated, why don't you tell me what happened to my brother?"

I met his scary eyes steadily. _Don 't show fear. It gives him power._ "I don't know what you're talking about. You've created all this mayhem for nothing."

"Defiant little bitch," he said, straightening slowly. A fire lit in his clear gold eyes, glowing bright as he came toward me. "If you don't tell me, Aubree, I will kill Booker. Then I'll go and finish the job on your aunt."

I shuddered, trembling with anger. "You hurt my aunt!"

"I wanted answers, but you were all cozy and safe at Tulane. I kept expecting you to come home, but you didn't. I went to your aunt's house to get some answers, but she stonewalled me. I was so angry when she slammed the door in my face. I burst through it and caught her on the stairs. I grabbed her to make her tell me, but she fought me and she fell. At first I was so frustrated when I thought I had killed her, but when I saw she was breathing, I knew if your aunt was hurt, you'd come running, and that would give me my opportunity to get some answers."

"What makes you think something happened here?"

He smiled slyly. The look of it chilled my blood. "Because he called me."

I shouldn't be shocked, but I was. How could they have been so cold and calculating about rape? "You knew what he was planning?"

"Not exactly. My brother always had a hard-on for you. So, when he told me that he was going to teach a Goody-Two-Shoes a lesson, I guessed. It was our nickname for you."

"Why did you drag Booker here, then, if you believe it was me Damien was after?"

"Your knight in shining armor?" he scoffed. "I have a hard time believing he wasn't involved somehow. But he was the bait, and now he's the leverage."

"And what if I don't have any answers for you, Daniel? Are you going to kill us?"

He rose and paced away, the gun swinging at his side, clasped tightly in his hand. I could see his finger was on the trigger. "Nobody cared about my brother. My father isn't going to do anything to find him. He just wrote him off like trash and turned to me to mold me in his image. I've never been able to stand up to the old man. So it's up to me to get justice. You have to pay for what you did to my brother."

"What I did to him? Langston, you are so delusional. He attacked me. He was going to rape me, and you knew about it. And you did nothing."

"He'd always wanted you. Although I think it was more that Booker wanted you and he hated Booker."

"Why?"

"Because he stood up to us. He never backed down. He, like you, was always challenging us in high school."

The first flurry of rain hit, the drops making a soothing patter against the magnolia leaves. "How do you know he just didn't skip town and start over in a new place?"

"A twin knows when the other twin is no longer breathing. I know my brother's dead."

"I killed him."

I looked down, startled. Booker's eyes were open, and he met my gaze instead of Langston's. There was so much I wanted to say to him.

He set his jaw and his gaze went to Daniel Langston. If looks could kill, Daniel would have dropped dead on the spot.

"He's only saying that to protect me. I killed your brother. It was in self-defense. He had a knife and he was trying to rape me." I held my breath, waiting for Daniel's reaction, praying he would believe me, almost certain he wouldn't. Needing him to believe me. God, the need was terrifying, and it had little to do with Langston. I had wronged Booker and it was now my turn to protect him.

Langston blew out a breath. His face crumpled in pain. I guess it was one thing to suspect, but another to know that death had taken a loved one. There was no doubt Daniel had loved his brother. They were a twin force, not only against external threats, but against their father. Now he'd had to handle that on his own, and it had taken its toll on him. Damien had been the driving force behind the twosome, and Daniel was flailing and acting on impulse. He was in the same boat as the rest of us. Transitioning from being told what to do, what path to take, and now suddenly having to make decisions that would affect the rest of his life.

I saw the urge to do violence in his face. I'd seen it there plenty of times in the past. "No!" I shouted as he stalked over and kicked Booker in the ribs. Booker grunted in pain, his eyes closing against the assault.

"Stop it!" I said, throwing my body over Booker. Daniel swore under his breath as he backed off and paced in the road, his chest heaving.

Booker strained to rise, and I helped him into a sitting position. "You are out of your fucking mind, Langston."

"Maybe. But I'm still not done, Outlaw."

It started to rain in earnest as Booker said, "Yeah, you're a big man, waving your gun around, terrorizing an innocent girl. You had to ambush me, because you were too much of a coward to face me full-on like a man."

"Booker, don't," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at me, and he must have seen something in my eyes that calmed his anger.

"I'm sorry, Aubree. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have been so dismissive of Langston."

He was lashing out at Daniel because he was terrified for me and feeling guilty. "This isn't your fault, Booker. Just don't antagonize him."

"Where's my brother's body? What did you do with him? I'm going to see to it that both of you go to jail for this."

"We won't go to jail. He attacked Aubree. I saw it happen. She'll say the same thing, Langston. It was self-defense. You should worry about yourself at this point. Kidnapping and assault with a deadly weapon. Federal crimes."

Fear and frustration blossomed in his eyes. "But you covered it up. Hid it. That's against the law. It won't matter. This town will crucify you, Outlaw. You and your white trash family."

"Shut up!" I screamed. "Shut up about Booker's family! You Neanderthal! Booker is more man than you and your brother combined! You got pleasure out of inflicting pain because you had no power at home. You don't have any power over us. You just think you do."

"Aubree," Booker said quietly. "What happened to not antagonizing him?"

"I couldn't stand it. I knew this would happen."

"Let Aubree go and I'll tell you where your brother is buried."

"Booker, no."

"I'm not letting her go. I'm not letting either one of you go. If I can't get justice for Damien through the courts, then I'll just have to get it my way. I don't need both of you."

The gun swung in my direction and my breath caught in my throat.

The rain came down harder. Lightning shattered the black of the sky, and the clouds ripped open, drenching us.

Howling in rage, Booker staggered to his feet and charged Langston, who reacted by swinging the gun towards him.

At that range he couldn't miss. Mindless with fear and determined to do something this time instead of standing by helplessly, I grabbed a rock and threw it with all my might at Langston. It glanced off the arm holding the gun and the shot went wide.

Booker slammed into him, the gun skittering away into the dark. But Booker was at a disadvantage. He'd been hit in the head and been unconscious for quite some time. Langston, on the other hand, was fresh and unharmed.

"Run, Aubree, run!"

But I had no intention of abandoning Booker again. We'd been in this together last summer when Damien died and he helped me to bury the body. We were in this together until the end. Whatever it was.

They disappeared into the darkness and away from the glow of the Mustang's headlights. I had to do something! I had to find the gun.

#

Booker

I struggled to keep Langston pinned beneath me, but my strength came in erratic bursts, and my faulty sense of balance made it hard to determine which way was up. I could tell I had a concussion at the very least. Ignoring the pain that screamed through my head and bit into my side, I slammed my fist into his face, rage briefly overcoming my disorientation.

Langston writhed beneath me, twisting, heaving upward. I used my fists, battering at him, but he struck back, viciously slamming his fist into the injured side of my head. The pain sent me rolling, plummeting toward unconsciousness like a falling star sputtering and falling into the black, black depth of the night sky.

I fought against it, held my breath and fought to claw my way back up through the dark, up through the bright pulsing stars that exploded in my brain. My vision cleared enough for me to make out Aubree searching frantically on the ground.

Aubree. She hadn't run like I'd told her to do. Damn her. She hadn't left me. She was all that mattered now. I dove for Langston as he lunged at her. I hit the back of his knees and he fell within the circle of the headlights. He turned his head and kicked at me, the heel of his sneaker connecting with my chin.

My head snapped back and my vision dimmed. I couldn't leave her. I had to stay with her. She was everything to me.

When I struggled out of my daze, Langston had her by the hair, and he had the gun. He dragged her back into the pool of light, and although she fought him, she couldn't get away. With a mighty heave, he knocked her to the ground and knelt down and put the gun directly under her chin. Red hot anger surged. I wanted to choke the life out of him with my bare hands.

"Tell me where my brother's buried," he ground out at me, "or I'll kill her."

"Go to hell," she shouted, glaring at him with fire in her eyes and a smudge of dirt on the tip of her upturned nose.

"Over in the old churchyard behind us!" I shouted. "Now let her go!"

His face contorted again and the rain tapered off to a drizzle. He looked over Aubree's head toward the churchyard. In that moment of distraction, she kicked him and scrambled away.

"I'm done," he said. "And so are you. You bitch!"

I threw my body over Aubree's as the gun fired, crying out in pain as a white-hot slash of agony scored my shoulder.

"Drop the gun!" The shout came from an out-of-breath woman. Was that...?

There was a deafening blast. I closed my eyes and clutched Aubree to me.

When I raised my head, Langston was lying spread-eagle on the road, his eyes open and staring up at a night sky he would never see again.

And standing in the headlights was Aubree's Aunt Lottie, her face a mask of determination, holding a smoking rifle in her unwavering grasp.

I met her fierce eyes as she lowered the gun, my relief so huge, and released a ragged sigh. "Thank you," I said. She nodded. Aubree was safe. The darkness swept over me like a velvet blanket, and I surrendered sinking down, down.

# Chapter Fifteen

Aubree

Booker sagged against me, his heavy body pressing me to the ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. I turned as my aunt...my momma...came running over.

"Booker!" I yelled his name, then looked at her. "Call an ambulance."

"I don't have a phone," she said, and she helped me roll him off me.

"Check Booker's car, or Langston's body. He had Booker's phone."

She moved to comply, while I checked for Booker's pulse. It was weak, but it was there. I maneuvered his head onto my lap.

"Lottie!"

That was the sheriff's voice, and he soon barreled into the glow of the headlights, taking in everything. He reached for the radio at his shoulder and called for an ambulance.

I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't lose Booker. Please, God, no!

The sheriff came over and hauled my momma to her feet and pulled her against him. "Dammit, Lottie. I told you to wait for me!"

"I couldn't," she sobbed. "I couldn't lose her again, Mike. I'm sorry."

He rubbed at her hair, his face a mass of relief and love as he held her. He looked over at me. "Ambulance is on its way, Cookie. Are you okay?"

"Yes. But Booker's hurt bad."

He released my momma and moved over to Booker. "Nasty head wound. Looks like the bullet grazed his shoulder. He should make it, though. Lottie, go get the thermal blankets in my car."

She ran off and was soon back, draping one over me and settling the other one over Booker.

I closed my eyes. "Sheriff, about Damien Langston..."

He held up his hand. "There's nothin' you got to say, Aubree. Damien Langston disappeared last year, and that's that. I've known you and your aunt for a long time, and you're both upstanding citizens of this parish. Daniel Langston was just as big a bully as his twin. If your aunt...

"Mother."

He gave my momma a startled look. "You told her?" When she nodded, he grinned. "So, that makes me your stepdaddy. I like that better than uncle."

I smiled back at him. "So do I."

He pinned me with his piercing gaze. "If your mother hadn't plugged him, he would have killed you where you were sitting, make no mistake."

"But, Sheriff--"

"No, Aubree, the case is closed. Daniel Langston attacked your aunt and kidnapped you and Booker. He paid for it with his life. His brother? I don't think he'll be back to bother any of us." When he heard the sirens, he got up to meet the ambulance.

I met my mother's eyes. "How did you know it wasn't Booker driving?"

"I saw Daniel through the window. As soon as I did, it all came rushing back to me. The memory of him demanding to know if you'd killed his brother and where his body was. I called Mike, went and grabbed my daddy's shotgun and ran all the way here."

"It was an accident. He had a knife..."

"I knew that, Aubree. I knew last year. I overhead you and Booker talking when he brought you back to the house. If Damien hadn't been dead already, I would have killed him myself."

"And the sheriff?"

"I told him when he proposed. I didn't want any secrets between us."

I flinched at that and looked down at Booker. There were still two secrets between us. Before I could go back to Tulane, there would be none. "You knew all this time and still you protected me."

"He tried to rape you and, if not for Booker, he would have succeeded."

"That's why you helped Booker."

"That, and he _is_ very talented. It would have been a shame for him to waste it."

The EMTs ran over with a stretcher and I had to let go of him. They dressed his head and shoulder wounds, hooked him to an IV, and put him on the stretcher. When they wheeled him away, my momma stood and helped me up. "You go with him. I'll bring you some fresh clothes and call his mother."

"She's out of town. Call Boone."

"All right."

I squeezed my momma's hand and went with Mike to the hospital.

#

I went to Daniel Langston's funeral, even though the service was private. I stood with Verity and River Pearl on one side of the chapel, sad to see that only his father and a few others were there. I'd told my friends everything, and they'd been both horrified and shocked to learn that I'd been living with such a terrible secret.

Damien and Daniel--we'd been connected by discord and hate, fear, and intimidation, but Daniel had been a living, breathing person, just like his brother. I hadn't gone there to pay my respects, although forgiveness wasn't beyond me. I was there to put it all to rest. To get closure.

I'd come more for myself than for Damien or Daniel.

The sheriff had kept mum about Damien. My mother was questioned by the DA and with the sheriff as a witness, our injuries, and my momma's account of how she shot Daniel coinciding, the shooting was considered justifiable homicide. All charges against my momma were dropped. The rivalry between the Outlaws and the Langstons was already well known in the town. Of course, there were people who still talked behind their hands about the Outlaws, as they probably always would.

River Pearl and Verity each held one of my hands. I was buoyed by their presence and comforted by their silent support. River Pearl even curbed her natural sarcasm in honor of the occasion.

When it was time for the eulogy, his father said a few words about the promise of his legacy lost, and I just felt so bad for both of those boys because, even in the face of his remaining son's death, their father only cared about himself.

River Pearl and Verity drove me home.

"Are you going back to Tulane?" Verity asked.

"Not right away," I said.

"I wish you would stay for the rest of the summer," River Pearl sighed. "We could go swimming, crawfishing, and maybe even take a trip into New Orleans to Cafe Noir for some delicious beignets and cafe au lait, followed by a fun-filled day of shopping."

"I know you've been through a lot, Aubree," Verity said. "But we missed you. We need a summer of fun with no worries, like before, when all we cared about were our A's, makeup, and what we'd written in our diaries the night before."

"Yeah," River Pearl said, "the good ol' days. Think about it, okay?"

"I will." I was planning on visiting Booker in the hospital in the afternoon, hoping he would be lucid so we could talk. We had to talk, and this time he was going to listen to everything I had to say.

Inside, I went into the kitchen to find my mother and the sheriff at it again. I swear they couldn't keep their hands off each other. With a pang, I wished for Booker, so much unresolved between us. So much between us.

"Oh, hi, Aubree."

Mike pulled back and cleared his throat. "How are you, Cookie?"

My momma came forward and took my hands. "I'm going upstairs to lie down for a while," she said, her strong voice softened by strain to a whisper. "You should do the same, honey. It's been a dreadful few days."

I struggled for a brave smile and shook my head. "I couldn't sleep if I tried. I'm going to get a drink and sit on the patio for a bit."

"I gotta get back to work," Mike said. "I will see you ladies a bit later."

I nodded and hugged him hard before he left.

"The patio is an excellent idea," Momma said to me, her dark eyes shining with the kind of love and wisdom that only the most special mothers possess. "Boone has done wonders. That boy is a genius. You search for serenity, Aubree. God knows you deserve it."

My emotions were too much of a jumbled, mixed-up mess to even think about serenity, but I was going to try, to hope.

"It'll be even nicer when I put in the pool," Momma added.

"It will be."

I rambled along the path, fondling the pretty flowers. A restless breeze swirled the hem of the peasant blouse that Verity had crafted, and brushed the ends of my hair across my shoulders. The day was warm and muggy, with a fickle sky that transitioned from a clear blue bowl to a tumble of angry gray clouds.

Despite the caprice of the weather and the aura of sorrow that hung on me like a mantle, I was still able to appreciate the loamy growth, the intoxicating scents of the flowers. The beauty calmed me, soothed, offering a distinct comfort. But what I was searching for wasn't here in this beautiful garden.

I had turned a page in my life and made a profound discovery that had knocked me for a loop. I had found the mother I had always longed for in my Aunt Lottie. Her love and support now settled deep inside me, warm and complete, my terrible doubts about being unworthy of her love or loyalty put to rest. The Langstons were both dead, their threat gone, and almost all the secrets I had harbored had been confessed, releasing some of the pressure on my heart. The town would continue to gossip, but that, too, would eventually die down.

Anyone would agree that my future was bright. I still had college ahead of me, although I wouldn't be studying statistics. I'd already contacted my advisor about switching to pre-med. I'd always wanted to be a doctor, and maybe it wasn't exactly what Mrs. Daily thought was right for me, but I didn't care about that anymore. I was following my own mind, my own heart, to my own destiny. A challenge worthy of my potential. Just like Booker had suggested. By the time I finished medical school and my residency, Dr. Rust would be ready to retire. I had every intention of taking over his practice for him.

I should have felt a sense of closure, I thought, as I took a seat on the corner bench. But I felt more as if something had started to come undone, an unanchored thread pulled loose and left to unwind willy-nilly.

Everything was settled.

Everything except.

Booker.

The boy I had abandoned to his agony that long-ago day, while I watched from behind a set of bleachers and then allowed him to languish in ignorance of how my feelings for him had altered. The man who had brought me fully into womanhood with mind-bending pleasure, aching tenderness, and deep intimacy.

This time last year I was delivering my valedictorian speech, still innocent, on the cusp of making that big step into the world by myself and terrified of screwing up. Yes, my innocence had been left behind. And I had, inevitably, screwed up. Just like every other human being. My eyes were now wide open.

I shouldn't have gotten involved with Booker, but the death of Damien Langston had bound us together. And, truth be told, would always bind us together.

I'd had no business falling in love with him. But nothing seemed to change the fact that I was still hopelessly in love with him.

A relationship had been the last thing I was looking for when I'd raced home to take care of my momma. But I couldn't forget his wicked smile, his sense of humor, and that indolent, in-your-face bad boy quality about him. Unpredictable as the shift in the weather, as the colors of a kaleidoscope, as the shimmering patterns of moonlight shining through the canopy of the bayou. As wild as the swamp. All of that was now inside me. All because of him.

Booker had taken his talent and built himself a life out of the ashes of that burned-out piano. In the wake of his father's betrayal, he'd shown that he was worth something more than what his reputation branded him.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, turning my face up to the sky as the sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds. For a moment I let myself picture a life where we could be together, rise above our pasts and live beyond the shadows of our secrets. Where he and I could just be happy without all that baggage.

"You're the prettiest thing in this garden, sugar."

It took me a moment to realize the voice had not been my imagination. My eyes flew open, and I swung around on the bench to see him standing there, leaning against the side of the house in faded jeans and a white t-shirt, his arm in a sling.

He was pale beneath his tan, and there was strain etched deep in his eyes that combined with the shadow of his beard to make him look tough and dangerous. The bruise on the side of his face was a stark reminder that I could have lost him. He smiled his wicked grin, but there was too much pain in his eyes to pull it off.

"What the hell are you doing here!?" I said, shooting up off the bench. "Don't even try to tell me Dr. Rust released you!"

He winced a little at the volume of my voice, his hand going to his temple. "I discharged myself. I couldn't stay there one more minute. I had to see you."

"You are so damned unpredictable! What about your health? Did you think about that?"

"I'm fine. I just have a bitch of a headache and a really sore shoulder."

I scowled at him, jamming my hands on my hips. "You have a concussion, and you got shot! I think you could have used a few more days resting. You come here and sit down, right now."

He shook his head. "I don't need any more rest."

#

Booker

The only muscle in my body that ached was my heart. I'd needed to see her, to look in her eyes and make sure she was fine.

"Booker, you weren't even awake the last time I visited." Her voice was thick with emotion.

"I'll be fine," I said, hoping she didn't cry, because I was hovering on the edge.

Dismissing the topic, I looked down at her, taking in the deep shadows beneath her eyes. She couldn't have looked more exquisitely beautiful to me. I had discovered that Aubree Walker had the kind of strength that showed itself in the worst of times. I was sure I was the cause of the shadows beneath her eyes, trying her patience. "I care more about your welfare, sugar. I want to know about you."

"I went to Langston's funeral," she whispered. Her eyes were calm, and I was relieved to see that she'd come to terms with what had happened to us.

Then anger sparked through me. "What the fuck for?"

"To get closure."

I sighed. That was something that could be good for the soul. But I didn't need it with the Langstons. They both got what they deserved. "Girls and their closure. Fucking bastards are dead. They brought it on themselves."

She curled her hand around my biceps. "I know. I just needed to go. For me."

I nodded, distracted by her heated skin against mine.

I reached up and brushed at her windblown hair, tucking the heavy mass behind her ear, trailing my fingers along her jaw. "I'm not here to talk about the Langstons. I came here for the possibilities and to listen."

"Good. Because you weren't getting away until I said my peace."

I curled my fingers and brushed her cheekbone. "I'm sorry about the way I acted. I ruined a special night by being a complete jackass."

Unable to resist her, I stepped forward and pulled her against me. "Tell me whatever you need to tell me, sugar. I'll listen with an open heart."

She looked up at me, and then her mouth covered mine and I lost some of my resolve. Her hand traveled underneath my t-shirt, soft and warm against my bare skin, and I got the feeling she needed to confirm that I was real and alive.

"I felt so guilty for involving you in all this. You never questioned me. You never hesitated. I don't know how I would have gotten through all of it if it hadn't been for you. And I lied to you."

She pressed her face into my chest, but I grabbed her chin and tilted her face up to mine. "What? What lie?"

She stared at me for a moment. Her eyes sheened over, but she blinked rapidly.

Holding my gaze, she said, "Of course, I was horribly afraid that I would have let my aunt down if she'd found out. Of course, I was terrified of going up against Damien's father. All of it would have been in the news. And of course my future could have been damaged. But I really kept the secret because of you, Booker."

I rested my hand at her waist. "Why did you lie for me, Aubree?"

She closed her eyes tightly, her voice fierce. "Because you deserve to have someone on your side. Because you saved me! Because you were there that night when no one else was. And, Booker," she snuggled closer to me. "Because even though that was one of the worst days of my life, I've only now discovered what I didn't realize then. I wasn't alone. It finally registered and hit home. I'm not alone."

"No, you're not alone."

"I was terrified you would be implicated. I couldn't bear for you to have to endure more hurt and pain from this town than you've already had to endure. I've got to tell you everything Booker, because I can't keep any more secrets from you. I have two left. Would you please sit down?"

I folded down onto the bench and turned toward her as she sat and turned toward me. "My car didn't break down that night, because I was always vigilant about it."

"No," I said. It was what I had suspected. Damien had been stalking her. Guilt tore at me. I should have known.

"Don't give me that look, Booker. It wasn't your fault. Damien Langston sabotaged my car. He must have been following me. I loved taking that shortcut home, loved the magnolias that lined the road. The beautiful, rich fragrance of those white flowers in the spring. He grabbed me as soon as I got out, and snatched my cell and threw it back into the car. Then he dragged me to the base of one of those magnificent magnolias. He knew you had won. He didn't know how, but after what I saw behind the bleachers, I couldn't ever be ignorant about how you felt about me and what you had done for me. It changed me, and he knew."

"How?"

"Because he told me." She stared into my eyes, the raw emotion making her expression stark. She held my gaze for a long time, the muscles in her throat contracting. She let out an unsteady breath and said, "He told me that he'd seen that I was stupid enough to get soft on you." She curled her hands into the fabric of my t-shirt. "He said he was going to get there first, even if he had to force me. He told me that you would know that he had fucked me first. He told me not to fight, but I did. I fought so hard. He was as shocked as I was to hear you shout his name like you were going to kill him."

I grabbed the back of her neck, tense beneath my fingers and I massaged the muscles. "I would have. I went insane when I saw him on top of you and you crying and fighting like a wild animal." My chest tightened at the memory. "It was only pure luck that I had been frogging over there that day because you have the best bullfrogs."

Her eyes bleak, she whispered, "I think he meant to kill me in the road, in the dust, while you were too far away to stop him. I saw it in his eyes. But you distracted him, bearing down on him like a wolf out for blood. I struggled with him, and the knife fumbled out of his hand." Her voiced hitched and her hands tightened in the cotton. "He grabbed for it at the same time I did. I missed, and he grabbed it by the hilt, except the blade got turned around in our struggle. That's when you got there, and when you jumped on him, it shoved the knife through his breastbone and into his heart. When his hand fell off the knife, I grabbed the hilt. I told you I had killed him. I lied. I didn't want you to know that you had caused it."

The wonder of having Aubree Walker hide such a terrible thing from me for my sake swamped me with so much love for her, I could hardly breathe. When the tightness in my throat released, I asked, "Why, Aubree?"

She closed her eyes, smoothing her hands down my chest. "In case it ever came out that he was dead and they found his body." Cupping my jaw, she tilted her head and said with conviction strong in her voice, "I know you would have confessed to doing it. Between your reputation and his father's power and money, I knew you couldn't win, even if I said it had been to protect me. But I had a chance to get through it without going to jail."

The pain of what I had to do now was almost unbearable. "Aubree. I will admit that part of my problem was that I idealized you. I put you up on a pedestal without thinking about you as a real person. It wasn't until we started spending more time together that I realized that. But it also reinforced what I always knew." Even though it hurt my shoulder, I cupped her face with both of my hands, looking deeply into her eyes, my heart breaking. "You are a forever type of girl, and you need someone who's going to be there for you."

The look on her face was worse than I had anticipated. I had to clamp my lips together for a moment to keep my emotions tightly under control.

"What are you talking about? You _have_ been there for me. You're just afraid of making a commitment."

I pressed my forehead against hers. "It's not that. I just feel that with my genes, it's best for you. What I want doesn't matter."

She wrapped her hands around my waist, her hold tight. "You think you're going to be like your father? Is that it?"

"Yes."

She shook her head slightly. "You already broke that mold. You've never let me down-- _ever_ --Booker."

"My brothers told me you found out that Lottie is your real mother, and she's marrying the sheriff, so you'll have a solid family to support you. You won't be alone anymore. And I heard you were going back to Tulane. I think it's a good idea."

She shook her head again, but I stood and walked away. Out around the house and to my car. With my hand on the door flap, I hesitated. Brax's words came at me out of my subconscious like a dagger. I was already doing it. Walking away from her when we had something amazing together. And, damn Brax and Boone to hell, they were right. I was afraid, terrified that she would be the one to walk, so I was walking first. Bury the pain, keep it surface.

It sucks to act like a grown-up.

But we had so many possibilities. If I had the courage to find out.

And I hadn't allowed her to tell me everything. She still had one more secret.

And once again, there was just no getting around it.

_That. Girl. Just. Got. To. Me._

My chest tightened, and I let go of the door handle and broke into a run.

#

Aubree

I sat there, devastated. Crushed by my own hope. But instead of spiraling into despair, I rose from the bench and sprinted for the edge of the house. I wasn't done! I hadn't told him everything yet. I hadn't even told him the most important part. I would finish it.

I hit something hard and bounced onto the grass. When I looked up, it was Booker.

"Aubree. I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

He knelt down and I pushed up into a sitting position.

"I still have one more secret."

"You had one more secret."

We spoke at the same time. Then we just stared at each other, and something profound and electric passed between us.

"I love you, Booker. I fell in love with you that day when I stood behind the bleachers with my momma's bracelet clutched in my hand. For all that you had done for me and for what I failed to do for you. Because I had to be perfect, and I chose that instead, I don't deserve you." I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face against his throat. "After Damien died, I took advantage of you, your feelings for me, and your silence. I ran away because here in Suttontowne I wasn't perfect anymore, and I didn't know how you felt about that. But I betrayed you. Just like I did when I hid instead of coming forward to wipe that smirk off Damien's face."

He pulled me away so that he could look into my eyes, and I saw what I was hoping to see. My heart soared, breaking free. I continued, bolstered by the look in his eyes. "I want to make it clear to you that I know I was wrong in not talking to you." I had to pause the flood of words and feelings to catch my breath. "I've never trusted anyone like that, not my mother, not my real momma, not even River Pearl or Verity. No one. There was only you and what you had done for me all those years. You stood by me, in silence, with no hope of reward or acknowledgement. You were more special than I deserved. I felt flawed and broken and ugly, so much so that I couldn't see past that, and in my deepest and darkest despair, I couldn't understand how _you_ could see past it."

He smiled, his eyes going soft and tender. I almost cried because I had wanted him to look at me like that for so long.

"How could I see past it? There isn't anything to see past. I love you, Aubree. I didn't really know you before...only in my dreams. But you're real, gorgeous, and complex. And I need you."

I watched his face, saw the way his jaw hardened against some unpleasant memory, saw the anger in his blue eyes and the vulnerability that lay beneath it, and my heart ached for him. "Regardless of that lame excuse you gave me about being afraid that you would leave me, I don't buy it."

"My father--"

"Isn't you."

His chest heaved. "My mother said you were good for me."

"She's a smart, resourceful woman who put up with three hell-raisers. I'd listen to her, if I were you."

He closed his eyes and took a few breaths. "You don't pull any punches, Aubree."

"I can't afford to right now, Booker. I can't...won't lose you. I want more," I admitted. "If that makes me a fool, then I'm a fool. If it makes me weak, then I'm weak. It's the truth. Too much of my life has been wasted on secrets."

He looked down at me, meeting my gaze with his intent one. He pressed his lips into a thin line. He blinked at the moisture in his eyes.

I reached up into the silk of his hair, thinking how unique and special he was, even with two carbon copies running around the bayou. But there was only one Booker Thomas Outlaw, and he was mine. "We'll work it out as we go. Does that sound okay?"

"Huh," he said, his eyes going slumberous, his mouth softening. "I always knew you were a belle all the way, but there was just a hint of sultry in your Southern that made me wonder--no, hope--that there was a tiny bit of bad girl in there somewhere."

"You, Booker, are Outlaw through and through."

"That is for certain, sugar. Wanna getcha some?"

I laughed as he captured my lips, in the sun, in my momma's yard.

# Epilogue

Aubree

I stood in front of the altar as Boone sang "When a Man Loves a Woman." Braxton's accompaniment on the fiddle was heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Each pew had a white ribbon on it with baby's breath. Boone's rich, smoky voice echoed off the stunning stained glass windows.

I smiled at Verity and River Pearl while everyone turned toward the back of the church. My momma looked amazing in the gown that Verity had designed and made for her, and she hung onto Booker's arm as they slow-stepped down the aisle.

He gave me one of those wicked grins, looking so sexy in his tux. He'd even gotten a haircut.

Sheriff Mike Dalton beamed so hard I thought he was going to bust. He reached out and took my momma's hand as Booker went to stand across from me. How we'd put together a wedding in two weeks was nothing short of a miracle.

Since the Outlaws were involved, we didn't have as many guests as we'd thought we would, but my momma didn't care about that. The people she cared about the most were here.

The music came to an end, and Mike and Momma turned toward the preacher. She reached out and squeezed my hand.

As Verity's father started to say their wedding vows, I met Booker's eyes. His gaze was hot and magnetic, sweet and tender. Through all that had happened, I'd grown up a little, learned a few things and found love, found it and intended for it to flourish.

Later, at the reception, while the DJ played a slow song, Booker and I danced under the awning in my momma's backyard, just being together, thankful that our lives were now entwined.

A week later we found ourselves at Outlaw's, where Braxton was hosting a huge barbeque. There was no way I was going to miss out on his pulled pork and his amazing barbeque sauce. When we arrived, Verity and River Pearl were already there. I felt so blessed to have so much in my life with my friends and Booker beside me.

Verity continued to give Boone nasty glances, but I bided my time. She would tell me what was going on there eventually. It would be interesting to see how she handled her father and her aspirations. River Pearl continued to goad Braxton. Something was building there, too. It was only a matter of when it would explode between them. Yes, both of my friends had their own perfect journey to experience. All in all, it should provide a very interesting rest of the summer. I had decided to stay and enjoy myself before I had to return to the demands of school.

I bit into the pulled pork sandwich, and turned to Brax. "You're going to make someone a great wife someday."

Brax smiled with a knowing grin that was almost as good as Booker's. "I have the frilly pink apron to prove it," he said.

Booker blew beer through his nose, coughing and laughing, and I looked at Boone for a translation.

He said, "Don't ask. Believe me. You don't want to know."

Afterwards, the Outlaws took the stage and they showed us a rip-roaring, sweaty, toe-tapping good time. Their three-part harmony told me how in tune these brothers were. At the end of the evening, Booker said, "Sugar, this one is for you. Only you."

His voice smooth and gorgeous belted out "I'll Be" totally without music. As he sang, he left the stage and walked down to stand in front of me. One of the unholy trinity, sexy, tough, talented--and all mine.

The rough timber of his voice, filled with so much emotion, touched me deeply. As he sang about being my crying shoulder, I remembered how he had comforted me in my momma's guest room. The heat of him and the safe haven I'd found in his arms. That was us, unembellished, simple. We didn't need the music to make music. We saw each other's souls and recognized them as flawed and beautiful...and perfect. When he sang and asked me to tell him we'd always be together, I smiled, his eyes shining into mine, already knowing the answer. He hit the chorus, and when he sang he'd be my greatest fan, I saw the conviction in his eyes.

And later, back at Booker's place, where I was officially staying, he groaned as he half lifted me, moving me across his lap on the bed in his room, his mouth sliding to my neck, where he licked my skin, then glided back to my mouth, sucking. It was the hottest, sweetest sensation, having him practically devour me.

My mind reeled with pleasure, my body's most intimate secrets his. The idea thrilled me. I tangled my fingers in the black silk of his hair, my body melting into his kisses, his touches, his possession of me.

Booker pressed me down, reared over me and took me, touching off a powerful release. He wrapped his arms around me and crushed me to him, holding himself still while my muscles tightened around him with powerful, throbbing bursts.

As the pulses eased, he moved slowly, pushed me toward yet another peak. He kissed me softly, tenderly. He pushed my hair back from my temples and smiled into my eyes.

I tried to smile back, my breath hitching in my throat at each deep, reaching stroke. I slid my hands down his back, over the hot, flexing, sweat-slick muscles. My hands curled over his butt as I urged him to increase his tempo until I was nearly frantic with the need for the release we achieved, one on the heels of another.

Afterwards we dozed, exhausted, replete. Booker settled on his side with one leg thrown across mine. I turned toward him and pressed my hand over his heart. He lifted his and touched my cheek, idly brushing back a strand of hair.

"So where do we go from here?" I asked.

"Just give me a few minutes to catch my breath."

"Booker...."

He chuckled. "I'm already looking for an apartment in the city. We can live there while you go to school. I'm a writer. I can work anywhere. Hell, I might even take a class or two. And, we're only two hours away from Suttontowne, so it'll be very easy to visit when we can. How does that sound? "

"Make it in the French Quarter and you have a deal." I kissed the corner of his mouth and nuzzled my face against his.

"You'll get fat on beignets." He pinched the skin of my waist and I giggled.

"There'll just be more of me to love. Think of the possibilities."

He grinned. "Oh, sugar, I am."

After a minute he said, "Aubree, it's more than love."

"It is?"

"Yes. You get to me. You always have."

"I like that, Booker. What we share is so amazing."

He pulled me against him, burying his face into the hollow of my neck and shoulder and blew a raspberry against my skin.

I giggled. "You do need me, you know," I said.

He looked up at me. "Why is that?" he responded, that wonderful, wicked Booker smile sliding across his face.

"You can't even count to a gazillion, huckleberry, let alone two."

********

Don't miss Verity Fairchild and Boone Outlaw's romance. A Perfect Mistake, Book #2 – A preacher's daughter, a reckless Outlaw, and a secret that will change her life forever.

Thank you!

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You've just read A Perfect Mess, the first book in the Hope Parish Novels and there are many more in the series to enjoy.
**More Zoe Dawson Books Available!**

**Romantic Comedy**

**Going to the Dogs Series**

Leashed

Groomed for Murder

Going to the Dogs Starter Boxed Set (includes Leashed and Groomed for Murder)

Hounded

Collared

Fetched (wedding novella to Hounded)

Handled (wedding novella to Groomed for Murder)

Tangled (wedding novella to Leashed)

Captured (wedding novella to Collared)

Going to the Dogs Starter Boxed Set (Leashed and Groomed for Murder)

Going to the Dogs Wedding Novellas Boxed Set (includes Fetched, Handled, Tangled, and Captured)

**Going to the Dogs 2: The Alphas Series**

Piggy Bank Blues

**Small Town Contemporary Romance**

**Laurel Falls Series**

Leaving Yesterday

**New Adult**

**Mavrick Allstars Series**

Ramping Up

**Hope Parish Novels**

A Perfect Mess

A Perfect Mistake

A Perfect Dilemma

**Novellas**

Finally Again

Beauty Shot

Mark Me

Hope Parish Novellas Boxed Set 1 (includes Finally Again, Beauty Shot and Mark Me)

A Perfect Wedding

A Perfect Holiday

A Perfect Question

Hope Parish Novellas Boxed Set 2 (includes A Perfect Wedding, A Perfect Holiday, and A Perfect Question)

**Resisting the Fall**

Resisting Samantha

Brave (Christmas novella)

**Urban Fantasy**

**The Starbuck Chronicles**

AfterLife

**Erotica**

**Forbidden Plays Series - Erotic Shorts**

Playing Rough

Hard Pass

Illegal Motions

# About the Author

Zoe Dawson is the alter ego of multi-published, bestselling author Karen Anders. Karen started her career because her grandmother gave her a book to read. That book made her fall in love with romance and started her on the trek to get published. She achieved that goal in 1996 with the publication of Jennifer's Outlaw for Silhouette. Even with many books under her belt, she can't wait for that next idea, that next exquisite sentence and, of course, the next hero and heroine who fall in love.

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Dear Reader,

Thank you for embarking on this journey with me. It's been fabulous to write this book for your enjoyment.

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