When he’d gotten home that night he’d thought everything was fine. He’d thought they’d get dinner and watch TV on the couch before they’d make love in bed all night. But that wasn’t a reality now. It had all been perfect and now the bubble had popped and he was sinking faster than he could think.
He was quickly learning that when it came to Paige he couldn’t have a clear head. When that stupid article had come out two months ago he’d lost his mind. And today? There wasn’t a word that could accurately describe how he felt today. Just thinking about that asshole’s grubby hands on her made him want to punch his fist through a wall.
The other thing that he couldn’t stop thinking about was the fact that he’d scared Paige. He’d seen it on her face when he’d walked into the kitchen. Her big gray eyes staring at him in a way he’d never seen before, in a way he never wanted to see again.
What if her parents thought he was a violent maniac who wasn’t good enough for her? The truth was, he
wasn’t
good enough for her. God, Paige deserved so much. She deserved only good things, but for some reason that wasn’t working out. And the fact that he couldn’t protect her made him feel useless.
The door opened behind Brendan. He turned to the side as Trevor took a seat next to him and handed him an open beer.
“I thought you might need a drink,” he said, taking a swig of the bottle that was in his own hands. “I know I need one.”
“Thanks,” Brendan said, taking a long pull on his bottle as he looked out into the yard again.
“Not going to lie,” Trevor said after a minute. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t pound that little shit into the ground.”
“Me too,” Brendan said, nodding his head. God, he wanted to destroy Chad.
“So you meant what you said in there?” Trevor asked.
Brendan didn’t need to ask what. He knew exactly what Trevor was asking. So he turned to look Trevor in the eye, because a man needed to look another man in the eye when he said that he was in love with his daughter.
“Yes, sir,” Brendan nodded. “I’m in love with Paige.”
“Good,” Trevor said, patting Brendan on the back. “You’re a good guy, Brendan. Good enough for Paige. I thought so before, but tonight confirmed it.”
“What, me losing it?” Brendan asked surprised.
“No,” Trevor said, shaking his head. “You not caring what the consequences were for protecting my daughter. You didn’t even think twice about it, did you?”
“No sir, I didn’t.”
“That’s what I thought.”
The back door opened again and both men turned to see Paige walk outside.
“I’ll let you two talk,” Trevor said, standing up. As he passed Paige he kissed her on the top of the head and then walked inside shutting the door.
Paige sat down next to Brendan and grabbed the beer out of his hands, taking a long pull. They passed the bottle back and forth in silence for a couple of minutes as they stared out into the dark night. When Paige finished the beer she set the bottle down next to her, the hollow glass clinking against the wood.
He knew what she was doing; she was giving him time. Time to sort himself out. Time to calm down. Time to just sit with her in silence so that he could figure out what to say.
“Paige, I’m sorry,” Brendan said, turning to her. “I shouldn’t—”
But he didn’t get further than that because she grabbed his face and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her back, holding her to him as she slanted her mouth across his. She pulled back, still holding his face in her hands, and just looked at him.
“I love you,” she whispered, giving him a small smile. “I was scared to tell you before, but since you just said it in front of my parents and Jax, I figured I was okay to tell you now.”
Brendan’s heart pounded hard in his chest as he stared at the girl who owned it.
“You know, I’ve never told a girl that I was in love with her before. That’s not how I wanted to tell you,” he said, shaking his head. “I hadn’t really planned on yelling it out and then storming out of your parents’ kitchen.”
“Then tell me again,” she said running her hand down the side of his neck and placing it over his heart.
“I love you, Paige.”
Brendan didn’t think that anything else could make him feel better after hearing Paige say that she loved him, but then she whispered, “Take me home,” against his mouth.
* * *
As soon as they walked in, Paige grabbed Brendan’s hand and pulled him through the bedroom and into the bathroom. She couldn’t bring herself to get into Brendan’s bed without showering off what had happened. She also didn’t want Brendan to leave her alone at all for the rest of the night.
“Paige,” Brendan said, shaking his head, “are you sure?” he asked searching her face as she reached for his shirt and untucked it from his pants.
“You just fought for my honor tonight and told me you love me. I’m not letting you get any further from me than this,” she said as she began to unbutton his shirt.
They undressed each other and took a shower to wash away the cold and other things. When they were both warmed up, Brendan pulled Paige out of the shower and dried her off. He laid her out on the bed and kissed her, letting his mouth travel down her neck and over her chest to her side. He counted her ribs with his tongue and pressed his lips to her sunflower tattoo. Whispering, “I love you, I love you more, I love you more, I love you more,” as he kissed every single petal.
* * *
Missy did report to Mr. Adams about what had happened on Friday between Paige and Chad, but so did Paige. And Paige had the full weight of Jax’s police report behind her. Mr. Adams believed Paige’s side of the story, and he promised that Chad would no longer be working on the changes at the funeral home. Missy had been livid that Mr. Adams hadn’t taken any disciplinary action against Paige. Paige just ignored it. What other choice did she have? She refused to let Missy get to her. The thing was, Missy wasn’t the only problem. Bethelda decided to add her own two cents to the situation.
THE GRIM TRUTH
TEMPER TANTRUMS GALORE
It should come as no shock that Brazen Interloper has caused even more chaos in our sleepy little town. “It’s what happens when loose women are let out to run amuck,” Sweetie Pie tells us. “Her Jeep has been missing from her parents’ driveway every single night this week. They’re obviously doing the wild thing. No morals, absolutely no morals, either of them.” The other half to the “they’re” that Mrs. Pie is referring to is none other than our very own, and notorious for his own reasons, Rogue Whoreson.
Last Friday night, there was quite a commotion over at the Den of Iniquity. Several eyewitnesses say that Rogue Whoreson burst into the bar and viciously attacked Hunky Noble with absolutely no provocation on Mr. Noble’s part. Our sources tell us that Mr. Whoreson threw Mr. Noble up against the wall and threatened to “end him.” Sounds like a death threat to me.
Deputy Ginger quickly responded to the scene, but Mr. Whoreson wasn’t punished for his acts of violence. Why would he be when the “good” deputy is one of his best friends? It obviously pays to have friends in high places. But Deputy Ginger is no stranger to acts of violence. His own father is known for many drunken brawls, some of them even targeted toward his very own family. You’d think that Deputy Ginger would be more outspoken against the actions of Mr. Whoreson, but alas, he is not. It appears that his father’s fists have made him immune.
But what caused this outburst in Mr. Whoreson? He’s always been known for his short temper and his quick fists. Is he unstable? And how safe is Brazen? What if Rogue loses his temper, and Brazen is the one getting hurt.
Paige had been upset when she’d read it, but Brendan was livid. She sat across from him at the kitchen table as he read in stony silence, his jaw bunching tighter and tighter as his eyes traveled down the computer screen. She’d had no idea about Jax’s past, but she had a feeling that much like Brendan’s past, it had been repeated over and over again. She felt awful that Jax had been dragged into this too.
Brendan closed the laptop when he finished and put his hands down on the table as he shoved his chair back. The legs screeched across the tile. He walked over to the sink, setting his empty cup down. He grabbed the counter with both hands and leaned forward, taking a deep breath as his head hung down between his shoulders. Paige got up from her seat and came up behind him. He straightened as she wrapped her arms around him and placed her hands flat on his chest. She pressed her face against his neck as she leaned into him.
“It’s okay, Brendan,” she whispered.
He reached up and placed his hands over hers. “No, it isn’t,” he said, shaking his head. He grabbed her hands and loosened them, turning as he pulled her in front of him. “I would
never
hurt you, Paige,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes held so much pain that it made her chest hurt.
“I know,” she said, reaching up and touching his face.
“Just the thought of it makes me sick.” As he said it his voice broke and his eyes were glossy.
“Brendan,” Paige said, wrapping her arms around him, “with you, I’ve never felt as safe, or as cared for, or as loved.”
“I can’t protect you from what she writes,” he said, shaking his head.
“You can’t protect me from everything.”
“I can try,” he said, leaning in and pressing his lips to her temple.
* * *
Brendan had convinced Paige to start staying at his house, thank God, but there was an ever-present fear he wouldn’t be able to convince her to stay in Mirabelle. She hadn’t been shy about her feelings for the tiny town the first time he’d met her. She’d never planned on relocating there, on staying there. But it wasn’t like Philadelphia had been that much better for her. She hadn’t been able to fulfill her dreams there, so maybe if she were able to do that in Mirabelle she’d want to stay.
And she wouldn’t leave him.
For two weeks, Brendan stayed up for a little while after Paige, watching her sleep next to him, and trying to figure out a plan.
She wanted to sell her art, something that wasn’t going to happen when it was tucked away in a corner. It had to be displayed so that people could see it, so that they could buy it. So he needed to find some empty walls in a high-traffic area, or in many high-traffic areas.
It was on a Thursday morning that he finally presented her with the plan. She walked into the kitchen, wearing some sort of burnt orange sweater dress that molded to her curves. He handed her a cup of coffee, thinking she might need a few sips of caffeine before he told her.
“Hmm,” she hummed, taking a drink and stepping into him. “You make a damn fine cup of coffee.”
“That so,” he said, leaning back against the counter and wrapping his arm around her back. He pulled her snuggly in between his thighs and let his hand drop down her waist to her bottom. “I haven’t seen this dress before.”
“That would be because it’s only just gotten cold enough to wear it.”
“I like it,” he said, letting his gaze drop to her chest. “It will be fun peeling you out of it tonight.”
“You think you’re going to get lucky?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“A man can hope.”
Paige got about halfway through her coffee when Brendan broached the subject. “So I was thinking,” he said putting his cup down behind him.
“About?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
He ran both of his hands up and down her side. “You selling your art.”
“What?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing.
“You told me your dream was to sell your art. And you could do that here, Paige. There are plenty of people in town, and between the snowbirds and summer vacationers, there are a lot of people who pass through. And I think you could have a booth at the fall festival next year. People would go crazy for your work.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head.
“You don’t think so for which part of it?”
“Any of it.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because, I just don’t think it would work.” She frowned, putting her cup on the counter next to his. “I’ve never displayed anything before.”
“That isn’t true,” he said, shaking his head. “You have one of your paintings hanging up in your office. You put your photographs in the tributes. The Web site for the funeral home has a lot of your designs on it. All of that is your work, and all of that is seen by people on a daily basis.”
“Yes, but I’m not selling it. I don’t know how that would go over.”
“Well, we’ll never know unless we try.”
“We?”
she asked more than just a little bit agitated. “I didn’t realize that you were out there painting with me. That it was your work too.”
“I meant that I was in this with you,” he said, starting to get agitated himself.
“Really?” she asked skeptically.
“You doubt me?”
“Where would we sell it?” Paige asked, ignoring his question.
“At the café, and at Pinky and Panky’s shops. They were all for it.”