Page 24 of Caught Up In You (The Monroes 2)

“Sorry.” Cora cut into his thoughts. She shifted in her chair and stared beyond him, but kept her head low as if she were truly sorry. “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do. I just thought robes would be nice. But it’s your business.”

“No, don’t apologize. I was lost in thought for a minute. Just run that kind of stuff by Sophie, though I’m sure she’ll think it’s a great idea.”

Cora shrugged, bringing her eyes up a bit in an attempt to reach his face. “You were so quiet, I thought I’d overstepped.”

Gripping the back of the chair, Braxton dropped to his knee beside her. “Don’t worry about crossing the line. There is no line.”

A slight gasp escaped her. “Braxton—”

“I meant in the professional setting.” From this viewpoint her wide eyes were even more vibrant with dark purple rims. “There is a line personally, but we’ve already crossed it.”

Cora’s lids fluttered closed as she let out a soft sigh. “I need a friend right now, Braxton.” She opened her eyes, turning her body more to face him. “I have to discover who I am before I can discover what I want out of life. And as attracted as I am to you, I can’t trust my feelings. I’ve been through some emotional times the past few years and . . .”

Braxton shifted closer. “Don’t say anything else. I understand. I have my own demons I battle.”

Her fingertips slid over the back of the chair, bumping into the edge of his hand. When she lifted his hand and laced their fingers together, he forced himself not to overreact.

“Everyone has something they want to hide,” she murmured. “Some ugly, some shameful. I respect you and that’s not something I offer to everyone I know.”

Braxton said nothing. What could he say? She’d pretty much told him he was important to her and he knew they were both wading into uncharted waters. All he could do was take one day at a time because Cora deserved to have someone who actually cared. And he cared . . . more than he ever wanted to again.

* * *

“Those curtains in the guest rooms are hideous.”

Zach glared across the room as Liam stepped out onto the back patio area. Braxton held up his hand before Zach could say anything. These two were always looking for a reason to argue, fight, nitpick at each other. They were like two bulldogs at times, other times they were bickering old ladies and Braxton figured he’d always be playing referee.

“What’s wrong with them?” Braxton asked.

&nbs

p; Liam shrugged, picked up a bag of dirt, and carried it near the fat, round pots they were filling along the edge of the brick patio they’d just finished early that morning.

“They look dated and boring,” he replied.

“They’re simple and classy.” Zach tore the bag open with more force than necessary, thus flinging dirt everywhere. “If you have a problem, you can choose the ones that we put in the cottages. I didn’t realize you were so up-to-date on style.”

“I’m pretty sure I know more than a man who thinks a clean flannel is dressing up,” Liam retorted.

With a mental shrug, Braxton sighed. These two were actually getting along. For years they were at each other’s throats, literally. They’d scrap as teens, throw an occasional punch until their mother saw, and then they’d go their separate ways. Then the accident happened and they hated each other. Now that Chelsea was gone and they’d all come together for this project, they were talking, arguing, and bickering, but overall, they were doing all right.

“Where’s Brock?” Liam asked.

“Sophie took him for his driver’s test. I can’t handle the pressure,” Zach admitted. “That boy reminds me of me and the thought of him behind the wheel of a car . . .”

“He’ll be fine.” Liam picked up the plastic pot of ornamental grass and carefully pulled the plant out. “Don’t worry where it’s not necessary.”

Zach nodded. “I’ll remind you of that when you have a kid who is getting a license.”

Liam snorted. “I’m not having kids so your threat is invalid.”

Braxton let the two argue once again over children and parenting. He’d ignore their harmless verbal sparring and let them get it out of their systems. If they wanted to discuss parenting, have at it. None of them knew a thing about raising a child. Not one of them had ever had any aspirations about having children since they’d all come from some sort of tragic, broken childhood. Braxton sure as hell wasn’t doing the kid thing, because he refused to turn into his biological father. Using fists instead of words, using anger instead of guidance . . . that wasn’t parenting. That was control. And it was that control that ultimately took his mother’s life.

“I hear we have an official masseuse,” Liam said, swiping his damp forehead with the back of his arm. “Macy tells me she’s blind and that you’re smitten with her. Macy’s words, not mine.”

Macy, the local hardware store owner and longtime friend. And clearly something to the closed-off Liam.

Braxton froze, his hands in the dirt of the pot he was working on. Glancing up, he quirked a brow. “First of all, I’m not smitten with anyone. Cora and I are friends. And second, since when are you and Macy talking privately for her to tell you this and who the hell told her?”

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