Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance Read online

  At some point, I think, the beer washing down my throat. Before, I’d have responded with a hearty fuck you and when hell freezes over. But now…

  “Thanks for that sage advice,” I say. “Can we cut the Oprah bullshit? Are you going to tell me your sappy-ass love story? Why are you telling this to me and not Elias?"

  “Because he already knows,” Silas says. “He’s met her. And so have you, actually.”

  “I’ve met her?” I ask. "What are you talking about?"

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s not someone you’ve hooked up with. Which is actually pretty unbelievable, since you’ve banged pretty much every chick in the county at one point or another.”

  “I'm glad to see that love hasn’t affected your stupid sense of humor,” I tell him. “So you came all the way down here to tell me about some girl you’re seeing?”

  “No,” he says. “The girl thing is related. To the other stuff.”

  The family stuff.

  “So are you going to tell me who this chick is, or what?”

  “Tempest.”

  “Tempest?” I stare at him blankly, trying to rack my brain to put a face to the name, but failing. You’d think with a name like Tempest, I’d remember her, but I’m coming up short.

  “Tempest Wilde,” he says, his brow wrinkled. “Killian was gone when it all happened, I think, but I’m pretty sure you were around then, still in high school. Her parents were grifters. She was only here one summer.”

  “Her parents stole all that money from people,” I say. I still can’t place the girl, but then, I didn’t know her. Everyone in town knew about the family afterward, though, about what a no-good thieving bunch they were. Of course, everyone knew our family was no good, too. “I don’t remember her.”

  Silas nods. “You have no reason to,” he says. “But anyway, that’s who I’m seeing – who I’m with. Fuck, that’s not what I mean. We’re not dating. We’re… together.”

  “She’s your girlfriend?” I tease, unable to stifle a grin.

  I expected a vehement fuck you in response, but Silas shrugs, and looks down at his feet. “No. Not just that. I’m going to marry her.”

  Oh, hell. I can’t do anything to prevent the smile that comes across my face. “Shit. Congratulations! I feel like we shouldn’t be drinking beers. I think I have some scotch.”

  Silas laughs, the sound light, something I’m not used to hearing from him. “Nah,” he says. “I don’t even know when we’re going to do it. Or how, or anything. It’s just, you know, in the future.”

  “Well, I'm glad you finally found someone to put up with your bullshit,” I joke. Except a pang of jealousy hits me, and I realize that's crazy. Me, jealous of someone choosing the whole ball-and-chain thing?

  “So am I,” Silas admits quietly. But there’s not a hint of sarcasm in it. He says it wistfully, and I’m glad for him. “Anyway, that’s not what I have to talk to you about. That’s just the background for it.”

  He explains the whole thing. Tempest isn’t a regular girl. She’s a damn con artist who’s been scamming rich assholes – people who don’t deserve to live, much less have bathtubs full of cash – out of their money and giving it to people who deserve it. A Robin Hood thing.

  “They were working in Vegas,” Silas explains. “All over, really. But Vegas, recently.”

  “And that’s where you hooked up with her again,” I piece together.

  Leave it to Silas to settle down, but not with a regular girl. He has to go and find a damn con artist.

  “She’s not trying to scam me,” Silas says, as if he can read my mind. “She’s retired. Well, she’s going to retire.”

  “One last job?” I ask, quoting every heist movie I’ve ever seen.

  “Yeah, so about that…” Silas’ voice trails off.

  “If you say, ‘I have a plan…’”

  Silas grins. “It’s not my plan,” he says. “It’s theirs. But it’s a good one.”

  27

  Autumn

  “You’re glowing,” June says. She pours the contents of a bowl—chunked up apples and cinnamon and sugar—into a pie crust.

  “You made that crust yourself, didn’t you?” I ask, avoiding her comment. I’m lying on my stomach on the floor in June’s kitchen, tinkering with a racetrack of little Stan’s so he and Olivia can send their toy cars speeding around the track again and again.

  “I did,” June says. “Which has zero to do with what I was just asking you, you know. I want the dirt.”

  “I can’t give you the dirt.” I hand Olivia a car and watch her race it down the repaired track. I pull myself off the floor and onto a barstool at the island in the middle of June’s kitchen. “It’s not fit for little ears. I’ll dish later. Am I the only one around here who isn’t basically a chef?”

  June points her wooden spoon at me. “I’ve offered to teach you, missy. And you know I’m dirt-deprived. You’d better make good on that promise. As soon as Cade gets here and can watch the little ones, I want to know all the gory details.”

  “Not gory,” I say, laughing. “Juicy, but not gory.”

  “Wait, what did you mean that everyone is basically a chef?” I watch her layer a piece of dough onto a pile of apples that looks much too large to fit in the pan, her hands flying as she crimps the edges. She looks up at me. “Does he cook? Has he cooked for you?”

  “He cooks,” I confirm dreamily. I can feel myself grinning like a complete idiot, but I'm happy. More than happy. “He’s cooked for me. Really well.”

  June makes little slices in the top of the pie before adding decorative pieces of dough to the top: little leaves. Of course she has an infant and a toddler and runs a bed and breakfast and adds decorative leaves to the top of her homemade apple pie. If she hadn’t become the closest thing I had to a best friend in this town over the past two years, I’d totally hate her.

  She raises her eyebrows. “It looks like cooking isn’t the only thing he’s good at,” she says, the corners of her mouth turned up.

  I suppress a giggle that seems to rise up involuntarily from my throat. “No,” I agree. “Cooking is definitely not the only thing he’s good at.”

  She slides the pie into the oven and turns back to me. “What are they teaching these young boys now?”

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I know I’m flushing.

  Images flash in my mind, one right after the other – Luke’s mouth on my breast, his tongue swirling around my nipple.

  Me straddling his face, lying across his body, my lips wrapped around his cock.

  Luke, lying naked in my bed with his body stretched out and his head on my pillow, explaining how to cook a soufflé just before I slide my hand down his body, wrap it around his cock, and give him cause to shut right up.

  “Wow, you really are smitten,” June says.

  “What?”

  “What, says the woman staring off into space at the mere mention of her boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I insist, shaking away the images in my head, still distracted by thoughts of Luke. I can’t exactly help it. He’s an incredible distraction.

  June smiles, her head cocked to the side. “You sure about that? Because you’re awfully smitten for a fling. And you’re not seeing anyone else.”

  “I’m not smitten.” I pop another apple slice into my mouth. Olivia wanders over and demands one, then little Stan follows suit, and I grab cheese sticks from the refrigerator to go with the apples. “Here you go, guys. Snack time. Smitten is for, like, sixteen-year-old girls. Not women my age.”

  “Smitten,” June says, shrugging. “It’s the most accurate way I can think of to describe your current state, what with all the daydreaming and mooning about.”

  I toss an apple slice at her and she laughs. “Mooning about.” I snort. “Now you just sound like a grumpy old lady.”

  “I am a grumpy old lady.”

  “You guys are talking about mooning?” Cade walks into the kitchen and