Given her schedule, One-Mile didn’t really expect any company soon.
But a couple of hours later, he was kicking back with a beer, eyeing the pool table where he’d taught her how to play so he could shamelessly rub up against her, when someone started pounding on his front door. He doubted Brea was the one demanding entry with a fist…which meant she probably hadn’t been the one who read his note.
But he had a good idea who had.
Shit.
After racking his pool cue, he headed across the house and yanked the door open. Sure enough, Cutter Bryant stood on the other side, foaming mad, like a chihuahua with rabies.
“Damn it, I thought I’d taken the trash to the curb, but here you are…”
Cutter bared his teeth and shoved him back. At the unexpected push, One-Mile stumbled until he found his footing. Bryant marched in and slammed the door, then hurled his wadded-up note at his chest. One-Mile caught it reflexively.
“Listen to me, asshole. I’m only going to say this once more. Keep the fuck away from Brea. Stop talking to her, stop pursuing her, and stop writing trash like that to manipulate her into coming here so you can hook up with her.”
Who the fuck did Cutter think he was, opening her mail, then barging into his house to start shit? Normally, he would beat the hell out of the asswipe…but that wouldn’t win him any gold stars with Brea.
“Or what, you’ll bore me to death?” He feigned a yawn. “I’ve already heard this speech, and I hate reruns. So get the fuck out.”
Cutter didn’t move. “You act big and bad, like you don’t give a shit about anything. But I see through you. You’re a gaping, know-it-all sphincter. And an insecure bully. Deep down, I think you feel powerless. Did your mommy not love you enough as a kid, Walker?”
Bryant couldn’t know a damn thing about his mother, but it was still a low fucking blow, and it took all of One-Mile’s restraint not to unleash his fury on the cockroach.
“Are you too much of a pussy to throw a punch? Is that why you’re trying to hurt my feewings?” he snarked.
“Fuck you. Stay away from Brea. I mean it.”
“You act like I’m going to hurt her. I fixed the van to help her. So get off my ass and get the hell out of my house.”
Cutter didn’t budge. “I’m serious. If you keep after Brea, you’ll ruin her.”
Dramatic much? “For what? I just want to get to know her.”
The Boy Scout scoffed. “You want to take her to bed.”
Of course he did. One-Mile refused to lie. But he wanted more than Brea’s body. Still, he didn’t owe Bryant any sort of answer. He’d only be giving the bastard more ammo.
“You think you have me all figured out. I’m the player who wants to sex up your girlfriend and break her heart. But you don’t know a thing about me, asshole.” He gave Cutter a shove backward. “And you’re no fucking good for her yourself. You were too busy banging some girl you met in a bar the night before to be there for Brea when her dad collapsed. So I stepped in, you cheating douchebag. Get over it.”
“I’ve explained that day to Brea. We’re square, so where I was is none of your business.”
Bullshit. Cutter was taking advantage of her goodness and spewing lies to cover his ass while he stepped out on her. Why should she settle for that, especially when One-Mile was more than happy to appreciate her—and only her?
“You’re a selfish fucking prick for hanging on to her when you won’t be faithful. What about her happiness? Her future? Or have you even thought past your dick?”
Cutter’s jaw hardened as he spotted Brea’s clean plastic container on the table in his foyer and snatched it up. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. She’s my concern, and I’ll take care of her—always. But Brea is off-limits to you.” He pointed a finger in One-Mile’s face. “And if you step one more toe over the line, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Try it. We’ll see who winds up dead.”
Saturday, August 16
“Brea!” her father called across the house from his recliner.
“Coming, Daddy.” She hustled into the living room with his cup of coffee, a piece of dry, multigrain toast, and his morning medicine, then set everything on the table beside him. “Eat up and take your pills.”
She was surprised to see that he’d showered and shaved already, but not at all shocked by his sour expression. “Capsules of nonsense from a snake-oil salesman.”
“No, medicine prescribed by one of the best heart surgeons in the state,” Brea corrected. “Please take it. We don’t want to put your heart at risk again.”
She couldn’t. The news that he had collapsed and that she’d nearly lost him had devastated her. Though Pierce following her shopping that day had rattled Brea, she thanked God he’d been there. She had been in no shape to drive herself to the hospital.
Daddy grumbled but sighed with resignation. “Fine. When you’re done with your last client, I need you to run by the church and pick up my mail. If you get there by five, Tom will be meeting with the new youth group. Sit in on that session so you can tell me how he’s doing. Then if you can head out to the Richards’ farm… Apparently, Josette is having female surgery on Monday, and she’s asked for someone from the church to pray with them.”
“Tom should do it. That’s his job, Daddy.” And he’d let her know on the way home from the Rutherfords’ place the other night that he’d appreciate her taking a step back.
Her father scowled. “He gives a decent sermon, but he hasn’t learned how to compassionately connect with the community. You have. You know and love all these people. And you’ve got that gift of making everyone feel special.”
Brea appreciated that but… “I have
