Woodsman: A Bad Boy Romance Page 3

  “Ethan,” I say. “Ethan Masters.”

  “Well, Ethan. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

  And with that, she turns on her heel and walks away, her luscious ass swaying with each confident step. Her friend lingers long enough to give me the death glare before finally turning around and following her out of the store.

  Chapter Four

  “So, he might be a hitman and a rapist, but he’s really fucking hot.” Ali leans back in the cheap plastic lawn chair that’s been on the porch here at Nana’s homestead for at least a decade. She props her feet up on the weathered wood of the railing and stares out at the endless sky stretching out in front of us.

  “He’s not a rapist.” The sun is setting behind the mountains, lighting them on fire with a blaze of red and pink light arching out across the sky. A cool breeze rustles through the thin fabric of my tank top. It’s going to rain tonight and that’s just fine with me.

  “But see, you didn’t even deny the hitman thing this time.” Ali takes a drink of her whiskey. We broke into the last of Nana’s stash, cracking open her Maker’s Mark in order to help calm my considerably rattled nerves after talking to Ethan in the hardware store.

  I’m not feeling quite as flippant about all this as she is. Ethan has been the subject of my fantasies for years now. A great big question mark wrapped up in embarrassment and a weird sense of pride over doing something so out of character and dangerous. I swirl my whiskey in the old crystal glass that was also my Nana’s and take a sip, staring out at the sunset.

  Ali drops her feet to the porch and sits forward. “Sorry,” she says. “I know he didn’t rape you. I just have a hard time imagining you just …” she trails off, waving her hands.

  “Fucking a stranger in an alley?” I finish for her.

  She bobs her head. “Yeah, basically. And I know you know that,” she hurries on before I can say anything. “And I also know that you know my protective streak is a mile wide, especially when it comes to you.”

  “I can take care of myself, you know.”

  “You sure can. You’ve done nothing but prove that since your Nana died.” She shifts in her seat and the loose floorboard under her creaks. It brings back a hundred memories, one stacked right on the next, of me and Nana sitting on this porch together, her drinking her Maker’s and smoking like a chimney and me, mostly wishing I could be anywhere else.

  I wish I could talk to that little girl now. I’d tell her to cherish those moments with Nana on the porch. Tell her to listen to every story the woman has to tell her, to memorize each little turn of her head, the rasp in her throat, the funny way she liked to chew on her lip after losing her train of thought in the middle of a sentence. Because all those things are coming to an end sooner rather than later, and as soon as they’re gone, she’s gonna wish for just one more of everything for the rest of her life.

  “He is hot,” I say, smiling at Ali for the first time since we got home. Life is for the living, my Nana would tell me. Best to leave the dead where they lie.

  “He really is. I can see why of all the creepy men in all the creepy alleys in LA, you chose him.” She leans back in the chair, eliciting another squeaking complaint from the wood beneath her. “But speaking of creepy, don’t you think it’s more than a little strange that out of all the places in the whole wide world he could have ended up, he winds up here? In fucking Wistful, Wyoming? A town too small to even make it onto most maps?”

  “It is one hell of a coincidence.” And it does creep me out. A little. Yet, somehow, knowing he’s out there somewhere, close enough that I could drive to see him right now if I wanted to, makes me smile.

  “He’s dangerous, Skye. You can see it in his eyes.” Ali shudders.

  “I know. I think that’s part of what makes him so damn hot.” I think back to the way he looked that first night. The gun in his hand. The thunderstorm in his eyes. That massive dick pushing into me as I stared down at it, mouth open, lashes brushing against my cheeks. I was the purest form of myself that night. Acting on my desires and forgoing all concern over the consequences. There were no what if’s that night. No thought. No worry. Only action and reaction.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Ali looks so concerned that I’m confused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the chances that he’ll find you out here on the homestead on his own are slim to none. But Wistful is small and all he’ll have to do is ask around and anyone could point him your way.” She takes a sip of her whiskey and makes a face. “I don’t know how you drink this stuff,” she says and rests her mostly full glass on her knee.

  “I gave him my address, Ali.”

  Her eyes go wide and a breeze blows a lock of hair across her forehead. “You did what?” she says, tossing her head and then finally reaching up to move her hair when the wind pushes it right back where it was.

  “Today. At the store. When I asked for his phone. I programed my phone number and address into his contacts list and then invited him over.” I sit forward and look my friend in the eyes. “I have a connection with this guy, Ali. I didn’t just fuck him in an alley because I was desperate. I wanted him. Not the act. Not the danger of it. I wanted him. And now here he is, and I’ve done nothing but wonder about him for three years and you want me to just walk away because there’s too much coincidence in it all? What if he’s my soulmate? What if it’s destiny? What if this is like … divine intervention or something crazy like that?”

  “You’ve read too many romance novels.” Ali takes a long breath and studies me hard. “What about the gun he had that night? The guy you saw running away from him? What if he’s a serial killer?”

  “My Nana carried a gun every day. Does that make her a serial killer? What if that guy in the alley was going to mug him or something?” Except even as I say it, I know that isn’t the case. Of the two men in the alley, Ethan was the dangerous one.

  She shrugs, acknowledging my point. “Well maybe I’m just jealous that you’ve got this great story about losing your virginity and all I’ve got is the memory of Jake Evans fumbling around down there and coming all over my leg before I’d even decided if it felt good.”

  I laugh. “Maybe that’s it.”

  She lifts her drink to her lips and then grimaces before taking a sip. “I’m going to go in and get something else. This shit is awful.”

  Maker’s Mark is a bit of an acquired taste; I’ll give her that. She stands and swoops into the house, humming as she goes. Just as the old screen door bangs shut behind her, a pair of headlights swing into the driveway, a long trail of dust kicking up behind the wheels.

  In the low light of late evening, I can make out an old pickup truck. It’s either black or blue, I can’t tell in the low light. While Ali hums away inside, the truck pulls up in front of the house. The last rays of the setting sun reflect off the window so I can’t see who’s inside but it doesn’t matter. I know it’s Ethan. I know it the way I know the first step leading up to the porch will groan when he steps on it.

  I stand as he gets out of the car. I can’t help it. Stillness is not an option. I’m propelled into action at the sight of him. He runs a hand through his hair, staring me down like he’s still not sure he even wants to be here. And then he strides towards me, his gait strong and confident, his gaze direct. The steps creak under his weight and then his arms are around me, drawing me close. His lips claim mine, warm and needy and I let mine part, eager to give myself to him. It’s been years since we touched and yet it feels like yesterday.

  My body responds to his. A jolt of need shuddering through my core and pooling between my legs. I press forward, pushing my breasts into his chest and thrilling at the hard length of his cock pressing into my hip. This kiss is not a kiss between strangers, but rather two lovers, estranged by time and distance.

  The screen door bangs open and Ethan pulls away from me, shocked. His whole body tenses and his hand flies to his waist, lifting his t-shirt a fraction of
an inch and I swear he’s got a gun.

  “What the fuck?” Ali jumps back, spilling her drink down her hand and forearm.

  Ethan drops his hand and backs away. “I didn’t know you had company,” he mutters, his eyes burning into mine.

  Ali shakes her head. “Don’t worry,” she says pointedly, handing me her drink and wiping her hand on her jeans. “I was just leaving.” She gives me one hell of a look before she grabs her purse from inside and hops in her car to go.

  Ethan watches her leave, shaking his head at the impressive plume of dust and gravel that follows her out to the road. “She doesn’t like me very much.”

  I shrug. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks, though, now does it?” I step back into his space, drawn to him by some force that might as well be gravity.

  He runs a hand through my hair. “I’m not gonna be good for you.”

  “You keep saying that.” I lean into his touch and nuzzle into his hand. His rough skin brushes against my cheek and I close my eyes and let out a long breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “That’s because I mean it.”

  I open my eyes and find him staring at me, his gray eyes hard and calculating. “And yet, here you are.”

  Ethan leans in. “I’m a selfish bastard, Skye.”

  Maybe. Or maybe he’s just as drawn to me as I am to him. “You want a drink?” I ask, holding up the glass Ali handed to me before she left. “This is probably Maker’s and ginger ale.”

  Ethan scrunches up his face. “Is it good?”

  I shrug and lead him over to the plastic lawn chairs on the porch. “It is, surprisingly. Or,” I say, gesturing to my still mostly untouched tumbler on the table. “You can finish mine and I’ll work on Ali’s.”

  “Sipping whiskey straight?” Ethan sits in the chair Ali vacated and the porch groans under his weight. He leans forward and twists around to look at the floor underneath him. “That doesn’t sound right.”

  I wave away the concern. “It’s done that for as long as I can remember. My Nana used to say that this house is like any other old lady. She’ll creak and she’ll groan, and if you stopped to listen to all her complaints, you’d never get anything done.”

  Ethan chuckles and leans back, shaking his head as the porch groans underneath him. “It wouldn’t take me but a minute to fix that.” He picks up the tumbler of Maker’s and pauses to make sure I’m cool with him taking my drink.

  I nod and sip Ali’s ginger ale concoction. “I don’t know if I’m ready for anyone to fix that particular sound, ever. I used to sit right here each night with Nana while she smoked and drank and we’d watch the sun go down and listen to the bugs come out and start singing. She’d shift her weight and that porch would groan and she’d go on about how many generations of LaRues had grown up listening to that porch complain.”

  “Generations, huh?” Ethan rests his ankle on his knee and studies me, a faint smile playing across his lips. Coming from anyone else, I would have thought he was making fun of me. But somehow, from Ethan, I don’t feel like the smile has anything bad hiding behind it at all.

  “Yep.” I shrug and sip my drink, wishing I had a cigarette. “I was born here. My dad was born here. My Nana, her mom. Her mom’s mom. We’ve lived here for as long as anyone can remember.”

  Ethan studies me for a minute. “You alone here?”

  I nod, staring out over the open expanse of land and sky in front of me. “Yep. My dad died when I was little and my mom left even before that. Nana raised me. She passed away last year and it’s been just me ever since.”

  I don’t tell him that I’m drowning in the work here. That I’m running out of money. That as much as I thought I knew about running this place, I don’t know even half as much as I need to. I don’t tell him about the guilt I feel, knowing that I’m going to let my family’s legacy fall to pieces.

  “What about you? What brought you out to Wistful?”

  Ethan takes a long drink of Maker’s, staring at me the whole time. He’s taking my measure, staring deep into my soul and seeing all the parts of me I keep hidden from the world. “Got tired of LA. Something told me things would be better out here.”

  I blush because he’s talking about me. No doubt about it. There are about a million questions dancing around in my head.

  Why did you have a gun that night?

  Why did you get tired of LA?

  Did you come here to find me?

  And most importantly:

  Should I be afraid of you?

  But I don’t ask any of them because right now, sitting here with Ethan, I feel more content than I have in a very long time. Fear is the last thing on my mind, which is dumb and I know it. Logic keeps on parading so many reasons why I should be giving Ethan a third degree questioning that would make any cop proud. Meanwhile, every other part of me is busy sighing in relief as tensions I didn’t know I was holding onto melt away.

  But comfort or not, Ethan is a stranger and I would be a fool not to ask the hard questions. And sitting here on Nana’s porch, drinking Nana’s drink, I don’t feel like being a fool. Not when she might be looking down at me, shaking her head in dismay at her silly little granddaughter making more bad decisions.

  “Better in what way?” I ask.

  Ethan studies me. “I made my fair share of bad decisions. Became a man I wasn’t proud of. I wanted a new start and a chance to become a better person.”

  “That’s awfully vague,” I say as the first drops of rain patter on the roof.

  “Or maybe you’re being awfully personal.” Ethan takes a drink and licks his lips and I’m stuck staring at his mouth.

  “Isn’t that just what you and I do? Get real personal real fast?”

  “Maybe it is. But maybe that isn’t the way it should be.” A bolt of lightning arcs across the sky and the rain falls in earnest.

  I study Ethan’s face and try to decide if I want to push him for more information about who he is. “Seems to me that you can’t ever outrun yourself. No matter where you go, there you are, you know?”

  “True. But sometimes circumstances take you far away from who you really are. Figured if I got myself out here and still didn’t like who I am, then that’ll be my sign that I’m a lost cause.”

  “And do you like who you are?”

  Ethan stares out at the rain and the wind. Leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath. “Right now? Yes.” He brings his gaze to me and butterflies go zinging around in my belly.

  I take another drink. “I wish I had a cigarette,” I say. “I don’t really smoke. But when I drink Maker’s, I always do.”

  “Makes you think of your Nana?”

  I nod without answering. There’s something incredibly intimate in the fact that he knew why I crave cigarettes and whiskey. Ethan reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

  “You smoke?” I ask, surprised.

  “Nah. But you were smoking that night in LA. I stopped on my way to pick these up in case I needed to impress you with my preparedness.” He winks at me and tears the cellophane off the pack, opens it up and slides one out. He puts it to his lips and lights it with what must be a brand new lighter, takes a long drag, and hands it to me.

  We talk while I smoke, avoiding most of the heavy stuff, but hitting just about every other topic along the way. He knows that I skipped college to take care of Nana, but wanted to be an astronaut cowgirl—the first woman to ride a horse on Mars—when I was younger. I know that he grew up out in the woods somewhere with a dad who regularly ran Shit Hit the Fan drills. And, for that matter, I actually know what a Shit Hits the Fan drill is now.

  “So your dad was kind of crazy then, huh?” I ask after Ethan gets done explaining that the entire family would have to grab rifles and ammunition and run to secure locations on their property when his dad sounded the alarm.

  “A little.” Ethan runs a hand up into his hair and I wonder what it feels like, all long like that. “He always said �
��You go right ahead and call me crazy. When things go sideways and we’re all safe, we’ll just see how crazy I really am.’”

  “And did things ever go sideways?”

  Ethan’s eyebrows pinch together. “They did.” He takes a long drink and something tells me that particular conversation is over.

  By now, the storm has passed and the clouds have cleared. The stars shine down on us from a sky so vast it puts everything in perspective. It’s hard to feel like the stresses of daily life matter at all in the face of something so pure and beautiful.

  Ethan shifts in his seat and the porch groans underneath him. He chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s gonna be hard to get used to.”

  “You intend to be around enough to get used to anything around here?”

  “Yep.” Ethan puts his tumbler on the little table between us and stands up. “I intend to become an important part in your daily life. If you’ll have me.” He offers me his hand and helps me to my feet.

  “Give me one good reason why I should have you.” In my head, I quickly rattle off about five good reasons why I should have him, but I want to hear what he has to say.

  He draws me in close, wrapping an arm around my waist and gently holding my hand with his other hand. He starts swaying, leading me in a slow circle, dancing under the stars on my Nana’s porch. He hums while we dance, a low and gravelly sound, surprisingly lovely.

  “For one,” he says, pausing both his song and the movement. “I’m one hell of a good dancer.”

  “I noticed. But is that really a reason for me to keep you around?”

  He swoops me around the porch, causing yet another floorboard to squeak under our weight. “And for two, I can stop that from ever happening again.”

  “And what if I don’t want you to fix the way this old house complains?”

  Ethan pauses but doesn’t let me go. In fact, he manages to draw me in even closer, his eyes locked on my mouth. “I can set your body on fire,” he says, his voice doing just that. “I can touch you and taste you and take my time with you like I should have that first night in LA.”