me. I’m not living my life right if people aren’t talking, Mason,” she said, gathering up Nanette and heading to the door. “Personally I think you owe your brother an apology. If I’d been him, I would have pounded you.”
Mason looked at her. “I know.”
“Damn right.” She flung the door shut behind her, holding her daughter to her as she hurried to her truck.
She understood Mason. A big part of her wanted to kiss him because she knew he was in pain and a tiny bit of her wanted to slap sense into his skull. “I never knew such a formidable ox,” she toldNanette as she put the little girl in her booster seat. “But please love him anyway, because he is about to drive off the last brother who has an ounce of pity and compassion for him.”
A LL THE LIGHTS WERE OUT in the house where Esme and her children were staying. The bedroom light had just flicked off, and the window was open to let in the breeze.
Last couldn’t stand being away from her any longer, especially after his fight with Mason. Too late to call—if she’d even answer. He decided to be more face-to-face. Shinnying up the tree trunk, he thanked his brothers for teaching him the art of drainpipe and tree scaling and tapped on the glass of the raised window.
He heard a muffled scream. Before he could settle himself completely and securely on the branch, a broom poked out the window, attacking him with vigor. Bristles gouged his face and most particularly his mouth. Flailing to save himself, Last lost his balance, falling two stories to the ground to land in a honeysuckle bush, which cushioned his fall, though stabbing him unpleasantly before dumping him to the ground.
“Last!” Esme said on a gasp as she peered downto see what she’d dislodged from the tree. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
He groaned piteously, wondering why life had to be so hard for him. It definitely did not seem to be so difficult for his older brethren, and wasn’t the baby of the family supposed to have it the easiest? All roads neatly paved for the youngest?
“God, it’s a hardscrabble life,” he said to himself, appreciatively hearing the front door open with a jerk as Esme came running down the steps.
“Last! Are you all right?”
He moaned for theatrics, but he did feel as if his stomach was lodged somewhere around his head. “You hurt me,” he said.
“Well, I should think so! Haven’t you ever heard of a doorbell?”
He had, but she smelled so good and the satin of her nightgown was so smooth and soft that he felt his approach had been the correct one. “If I’d rung the doorbell, you would have put on a robe, and that’s the best-case scenario. Worst-case scenario is that you might not have opened the door at all. Yet here we are, enjoying a nice moonlit chat on the lawn, just like the old days.”
She gently cradled his head, looking closely in the dimness to see if there was blood, he supposed. But it was only his heart that really pained him.
“What old days?” she asked.
“Antebellum, I suppose.” He didn’t know and cared less, as long as she kept holding him in her lap. “When my mother was alive, we used to have journeys after dark to hunt skeet.”
“Skeet?” Esme laughed, and he liked the sound. “Is that a country bird?”
“It’s the bird a father conjures when he sneakily wants to teach his sons about the stars and planetary alignment.” Last sighed. “Mom would bring watermelon after our hunt—”
“Disguised as an astronomy visual aid, no doubt.”
“Don’t interrupt,” Last said. “I’m trying not to lose consciousness.”
“Really?”
She leaned closer to him, and Last felt soft breasts brush his face. The absolute next thing he was going to do, if he ever got the chance to be alone and fully conscious with Esme again, was make certain he enjoyed every single centimeter of her body.
“Do you want me to call Mason?” Esme asked.
“Absolutely not!” The thought was horrifying.Mason would
Mason looked at her. “I know.”
“Damn right.” She flung the door shut behind her, holding her daughter to her as she hurried to her truck.
She understood Mason. A big part of her wanted to kiss him because she knew he was in pain and a tiny bit of her wanted to slap sense into his skull. “I never knew such a formidable ox,” she toldNanette as she put the little girl in her booster seat. “But please love him anyway, because he is about to drive off the last brother who has an ounce of pity and compassion for him.”
A LL THE LIGHTS WERE OUT in the house where Esme and her children were staying. The bedroom light had just flicked off, and the window was open to let in the breeze.
Last couldn’t stand being away from her any longer, especially after his fight with Mason. Too late to call—if she’d even answer. He decided to be more face-to-face. Shinnying up the tree trunk, he thanked his brothers for teaching him the art of drainpipe and tree scaling and tapped on the glass of the raised window.
He heard a muffled scream. Before he could settle himself completely and securely on the branch, a broom poked out the window, attacking him with vigor. Bristles gouged his face and most particularly his mouth. Flailing to save himself, Last lost his balance, falling two stories to the ground to land in a honeysuckle bush, which cushioned his fall, though stabbing him unpleasantly before dumping him to the ground.
“Last!” Esme said on a gasp as she peered downto see what she’d dislodged from the tree. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
He groaned piteously, wondering why life had to be so hard for him. It definitely did not seem to be so difficult for his older brethren, and wasn’t the baby of the family supposed to have it the easiest? All roads neatly paved for the youngest?
“God, it’s a hardscrabble life,” he said to himself, appreciatively hearing the front door open with a jerk as Esme came running down the steps.
“Last! Are you all right?”
He moaned for theatrics, but he did feel as if his stomach was lodged somewhere around his head. “You hurt me,” he said.
“Well, I should think so! Haven’t you ever heard of a doorbell?”
He had, but she smelled so good and the satin of her nightgown was so smooth and soft that he felt his approach had been the correct one. “If I’d rung the doorbell, you would have put on a robe, and that’s the best-case scenario. Worst-case scenario is that you might not have opened the door at all. Yet here we are, enjoying a nice moonlit chat on the lawn, just like the old days.”
She gently cradled his head, looking closely in the dimness to see if there was blood, he supposed. But it was only his heart that really pained him.
“What old days?” she asked.
“Antebellum, I suppose.” He didn’t know and cared less, as long as she kept holding him in her lap. “When my mother was alive, we used to have journeys after dark to hunt skeet.”
“Skeet?” Esme laughed, and he liked the sound. “Is that a country bird?”
“It’s the bird a father conjures when he sneakily wants to teach his sons about the stars and planetary alignment.” Last sighed. “Mom would bring watermelon after our hunt—”
“Disguised as an astronomy visual aid, no doubt.”
“Don’t interrupt,” Last said. “I’m trying not to lose consciousness.”
“Really?”
She leaned closer to him, and Last felt soft breasts brush his face. The absolute next thing he was going to do, if he ever got the chance to be alone and fully conscious with Esme again, was make certain he enjoyed every single centimeter of her body.
“Do you want me to call Mason?” Esme asked.
“Absolutely not!” The thought was horrifying.Mason would
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