Page 25 of Trails of Temptation

I blinked down at the picture of the boat, shaking my head. I already knew where this was going, and I was right. Pete and the guys had been planning out a fishing trip for next weekend. I was included in the plans, of course, even though I hadn’t contributed to the conversation whatsoever. But then I felt a wave of fury ripple over me as I scanned through the thread of messages between the friends I’d known since grade school.

Austin: My brother is still interested in meeting Keely. Maybe you could invite her along, Pete.

Pete: Oh yeah? Does he have a death wish?

Henry: Come on, man. Cade’s cool. I bet Keely will like him.

Pete: I guess he’s better than most. Didn’t he take over your dad’s law firm in Helena?

Austin: He’s a partner. So, you gonna let this finally happen? Cade’s been pining over her for years.

I set my phone face-down on the counter and leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cool tile. I could’ve killed Pete for this, for agreeing to allow his sister, who didn’t need his permission to do anything, to be pursued by some guy only because he was lawyer, or some shit.

I picked the phone back up, furious, and read the rest of the thread.

Pete: She won’t go for it, man.

Austin: Probably because you’ve been breathing down her neck for years about dating anyone you know.

Henry: I always thought she had a thing for George anyway.

Pete: Even if she did, George knows better than to even try. Right, man?

I hadn’t answered, of course. The last text from Pete had come in hours ago, and after that, the conversation flowed back into who was picking up the beer and where they were going to launch the boat.

I was smiling like the devil himself looking down at my phone, though. George knew better than to even try…

I hadn’t even needed to try. Keely came to me. Keely sought me out. Keely had wanted me.

And I’d fucking ruined it, so why did it even matter?

I yanked the half empty bottle of tequila off the counter and unscrewed the lid, drinking deeply. I’d go on that fishing trip if only to stop some lawyer from even looking in Keely’s direction.

Like I had any claim to her.

I drank until the bottle was empty and slammed it down on the counter, my vision shifting and shimmering with stars. I felt like hell already. I’d feel like worse hell tomorrow. But if God was there and listening, I prayed the tequila would make me forget that I was teetering on the edge of throwing all reservations to the wind and making Keely mine.

And I didn’t mean taking her back to bed. I meant making her my wife.

I was old enough now to know that time was fleeting. Forty, single, and looking at a lonely future with no kids and an empty house. Keely was young and full of life. I’d drag her down, I’d ruin her relationship with the only family member she had left, and she’d be nothing short of unhappy with me as the years went by, I was sure.

I was too old to change.

I staggered through the house, having to clutch the railing on my way up the stairs to stop myself from falling over. I hadn’t eaten enough at dinner, not nearly enough to sop up the tequila currently roiling in my gut. I left my phone downstairs with what was left of my willpower to not text my friends and tell them Keely was mine.

I barely got into bed. I fumbled with my boots and socks, knocking into the dresser and sending a lamp falling to the floor. I’d clean up the shattered pieces in the morning, I told myself. I fought to get my jeans off, then my shirt. I tripped over my jeans on the way to my bed and had to tuck and roll to avoid smashing my head against the bedside table.

I ripped off my shirt, sending buttons spraying across the room.I’ll clean it in the morning,I kept telling myself as I ripped off the sheets and fell face-first into my bed. I’ll do it in the morning. I’ll forget about it in the morning. I’ll be better in the morning. I’ll tell Keely how I really feel in the morning.

If I remembered anything at all when morning came. I found that unlikely.

But what I did know for a fact was that my bed smelled like her. It smelled like the strawberry-scented shampoo and conditioner she used. It smelled like her skin, like honeysuckle and lilac. I imagined her here with me, right now, my fingers tangled in her curly blonde hair and her mouth parted in a soft moan.

God, I was a goner. It would take the rest of my life to get over her, and then some.

“Why not just talk to Pete about it?” whatever rational part of my mind said to me as I succumbed to the tequila and the room started spinning. I could, of course. I could walk into his bar and demand to know why he was so goddamn protective of Keely when she’d been alone most of her life anyway. He’d never stopped her from running out of town, from what I knew. He’d only made himself a cold, mean, obsessive man in the process.

Pete hadn’t always been a bully. When the rumors started flying about Keely’s parentage he was forced to fight to survive, making it clear to anyone who wanted to run their mouths about his family they would have hell to pay.

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