Reckless (Chestnut Springs Book 4)
: Chapter 3

Rob: Say hi to Summer for me.

I walk into the big house, more unnerved than when I left the city a couple of hours ago. The prospect of walking in here at all, the shitty roads, that all pales in comparison to the beautiful infuriating man standing outside right now.

I swear I can still feel him staring at me, his eyes roaming over my back appreciatively. It makes me carry myself just a little bit taller.

Pathetic as it sounds, it’s nice to have someone look at me that way.

Of late, I’ve grown more accustomed to looks of disdain and looks of pity. And when Rob looks at me in a way that I know means his dick is hard, it just makes my skin crawl.

This is different. I want Theo to admire me, but I also want to kick him in the shins.

The sound of a bustling kitchen draws me down the hallway into the warmly lit living space. Hunter green walls and wide, dark floorboards make the space effortlessly cozy. The voices are all happy, and the laughter isn’t forced.

There’s no marble, no stark white kitchen, no echo when people talk.

It’s weird.

I pause at the threshold, stricken by the enormity of what I’m about to do. It’s like getting the hell away from Theo Silva—the sexy bull rider maniac driver—and his perfect bone structure pushed me this far, and now I’m between a rock and a hard place.

My throat works in time with my fingers as they curl and squeeze into my palms. Like the inertia from the small motions will just tip into the room, the spectacle for everyone to see.

The first step toward making things right.

“All good, Winter?” A firm palm lands on my shoulder and I glance up into the scraggly face of my sister’s fiancé. It’s not that he isn’t handsome, he’s just so . . . unpolished. He’s like a big, happy, manly dog that needs a day spent at the groomer.

I offer him a tentative nod before peeking back around the corner.

I’m not all good though. I’m a fucking mess. But I won’t show it. I feel safe when I’m composed. And the second set of footsteps coming up behind Rhett belong to a man who makes me feel distinctly not composed.

“It’s gonna be great.” Rhett’s hand squeezes. “Want me to give you a shove like if we were skydiving?”

Now I shoot him an unimpressed look. “No thanks. I can handle this.”

I don’t know who I’m saying it to. Him or myself? But either way, I step into the kitchen with my head held high and open with a confident-sounding, “Hi, can I help with anything?”

Heads turn, but eyes don’t widen. The buzz doesn’t come to a crashing halt. Instead, there are waves. And smiles. And a, “Heyooo, Elsa!” from Willa, who is propped in a chair, sporting a small swell at her stomach.

Summer hustles over to me, her cheeks all rosy. Her smile so sincere.

And she says nothing. She just flings herself at me and wraps her arms around my neck, burying her head in the crook of my neck. So openly affectionate.

I’m not used to it. I didn’t expect it. So, I stand a little woodenly before hugging her back. Her body softens and a small sigh leaves her lips when I do.

“I am so happy you’re here,” she whispers to me.

And I’m glad no one can see my face right now because I’m scrunching it up furiously. Doing everything I can to keep from falling apart in the middle of another family’s holiday gathering.

That would be overly dramatic. And I’m not big on dramatics. I just put my head down and get shit done.

Reconciling with my sister needs to get done. So here I am.

“Me too,” is all I can say back before she pulls away, one hand on my shoulder while the other wipes at her big brown doe eyes. They’re the same shape as mine, but a different color.

We both have our dad’s features, but I took after our mom’s coloring.

“Hi, Winter!” An older man crosses the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pants, which makes the clean freak in me wince a little. “I’m Harvey Eaton. Rhett’s dad. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He sticks a large palm out at me, and try as I might, I don’t replace a single shred of judgment on his face. I don’t know what kind of Brady Bunch shit is happening on this homestead, but it throws me off.

“Uh, hi,” I reply a little tentatively as I take his hand. “Thank you so much for allowing me to crash your dinner.”

The man makes a pfft sound and waves me off. “You’re not crashing a single thing. This is a family dinner. You’re family. And so, if my math is right, you’re right where you should be.”

I swear my jaw drops open. Who is this guy? Cowboy Ned Flanders?

He smiles. Like . . . a nice, normal smile. Not one that has me second-guessing what the actual intent behind it is. Then he walks away. Back to whatever he was cooking, like having me here is normal and not at all bizarre or monumental.

Family? Maybe this Harvey Eaton fella is already in the sauce. Because Summer and I haven’t felt like family in a very long time. And I haven’t met a single other person here, except for—

“Here.” An elbow nudges at my arm, and I smell him before I even give in and look at him. Oranges, fresh and sweet, mixed with something spicy. Cloves? Ginger? He smells like mulled wine.

It’s intoxicating. It’s masculine. It’s not bright and tart, and it doesn’t sting my nostrils.

My eyes shift over before my head turns. And I can see his hands, rough and calloused, like I guessed. Big and warm.

A glass of wine in each of them. One red, one white.

“Double fisting tonight?” I tilt my head, quirking one brow at him. “That tracks. You drive like you already were.”

One side of his sinful mouth tips up, and I’m struck by the realization that Theo Silva knows how good looking he is. He probably practices his angles in the mirror. “We already have so much in common. That’s exactly what I thought when I was stuck behind you for the most boring ten minutes of my life.”

The smile I give him is flat, intentionally bored, as I lift a hand and inspect my nails. If I could go for a manicure, I’d get a warm brown. I don’t care if it’s Christmas. Red is too showy. But it doesn’t matter because the hospital doesn’t allow us to have painted nails anyway.

“Well, now you have a window into how women feel in your presence.”

“Is that why they scream Oh Theo, this is so boring! when I’m inside them?”

I snort and gaze up at him, blushing a little at the knowing look in his eye.

It’s unnerving. He’s unnerving. So I volley. Hoping I can wound him enough to make him leave me alone.

“They just tell you that so you’ll finish and stop flopping around on top of them.”

“Do you think? Maybe we could arrange a time when you can instruct me on how to flop less. I do love to practice.”

My eyes narrow into a glare.

Leave it to me to attract the one man in the world who seems to be unoffendable. The one man in the world who won’t leave me alone when I feel ready to join Wonder Woman on her women-only island.

“Which one?” He shoves the two glasses of wine in front of me, interrupting my daydream.

“What?”

“Red or white? You said you needed a drink. I wasn’t sure which one you like better, so I poured both. I’ll drink whatever you don’t.”

I am struck dumb. I want to make a jab about how I’m not surprised at all that he’ll drink whatever he can.

He seems like the type. Cocky. Handsome. Thinks far too highly of himself. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know a man like him gets around. He reeks of experience, something I am sorely lacking.

Because I had stars in my eyes over Rob—until I didn’t.

I eye the wine speculatively. Is this considered having a drink with a man?

Rob would have brought a specific bottle of wine from a specific region and had it chilled to an exact temperature. And then he’d shove a glass of it at me and whisper some ostentatious comment in my ear about how the hosts have the cheapest wine out to share.

I reach forward, tentatively taking the white wine. Red will stain my teeth, and I already feel self-conscious enough being here.

I’m about to say thank you, even though it pains me, but the tips of my fingers brush briefly against his and a static shock passes between us. It has my eyes shooting up. My hand darts back from the wineglass as I cradle it to my chest.

“You okay?” His brows knit together.

Okay? I almost laugh. It’s just the dry prairie air. Everything is staticky. It’s not like I got shot. But he’s genuinely concerned, and that is . . . unnerving.

A word I keep coming back to tonight. Word of the day. My life is now Sesame Street, and I am Oscar the Grouch.

Pretty sure Elmo just brought me my wine.

I snag it and walk away, planning to try my hand at mingling. Because much as I hate to mingle, I think I hate standing there staring into Theo Silva’s deep, dark eyes while basking in his citrus and ginger scent even more.

“Any news on Beau?” Summer asks from beside me at the huge family-style dining table.

Harvey clears his throat and sits up a little taller. “Yeah, yeah. He’s doing well, actually. There are third-degree burns on his feet. They had to do a skin graft and were monitoring pretty closely for infection to flare back up. But the update yesterday is they’re impressed with how quickly he’s healing.”

“Leave it to Beau to be fucking good at everything,” Rhett murmurs, shaking his head.

He gets a chorus of laughs for that one. I haven’t met this other brother. The gist of what I understand is that he’s in the military and something happened during his deployment. He’s now in a military hospital.

Burns are nasty business. I’ve seen my fair share in the emergency room. Wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.

Well, okay. I would Rob. I’m not that nice.

“We’re gonna have to get him set up with some docs when he comes back home.”

I shrug as I spear a brown sugar-glazed carrot from my plate and the offer leaps from my lips before I even have a chance to shut it down. “I can help with that.”

“Yeah?” Harvey’s face brightens from across the table, and I wonder if being nice is infectious somehow.

It wasn’t covered in med school. But science is always evolving.

My eyes lock onto Theo’s. He’s sitting right across from me and I’m replaceing it hard not to stare. The way the candle between us flickers against his lightly stubbled face is distracting. And blinking away quickly like a child caught peeking is immature.

But I do it anyway. Like I’m reverting back to my teen years with some popular boy who sits across the class from me.

Everything about me tonight is so out of character. I opt not to analyze it with a microscope.

“Sure.” I drop my gaze back to my plate. “No problem at all. I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”

Summer reaches under the table and gives my knee a reassuring squeeze. I look over at her, wondering how two people raised in the same household could have turned out so differently. Opposites. Winter and Summer. Our names weren’t just a stupid gimmick, they actually represented us somehow.

But I know the answer. Our parents never split from each other, they just split up everything around them instead. One team versus another.

I got my mom. Summer got our dad.

Rhett pipes up now, talking about a game of Christmas shinny, and how he and Sloane cleared the ice for it. Sloane, the dainty blonde sitting beside Harvey, launches into a story about a similar time she and Jasper played at some other farm.

And she’s talking about NHL superstar Jasper Gervais. One of my dad’s clients, and the man who is sitting beside her, staring at her like she can shoot rainbows out of her vagina or something.

I don’t even think he’s listening. He’s just staring at her like she hung the moon. It hurts to see his expression. I hate feeling jealous, but so much of what I see here tonight fills me with that dark, bitter emotion.

I could burst with it.

Not like I begrudge anyone else what they have. It’s more that I long to have it too.

It makes me realize what I’ve missed out on all these years. It makes me realize all the things I don’t have.

The things I never will.

For the rest of the night, I observe. I pull back a bit, feeling like an outsider. Everyone is so content. And I’m so . . . not.

It’s almost like watching bacteria grow in a Petri dish through a microscope. I can see it happening. I can understand why it’s happening. I can get close enough to touch it. But I’m still just looking through the lens. Studying.

We’ve all retired to the spacious living room area around a roaring fire, and I’m sitting in an impossibly comfortable armchair when Theo saunters up.

Again.

He’s fucking relentless.

He’s only a few feet away, eyes narrowed in on me, all confident swagger and singular focus. But Willa draws his attention. Her eyes dart momentarily to mine, and I give her a small smile. I like Willa. She’s been a sister to Summer in ways that I never could.

And I think I’ll always love her for that.

“Theo, lady-killer. How goes the hunt these days?”

His eyes stay fixed on mine for a beat, more focused determination than playful nonchalance. Suddenly, I want to know what the hell he was about to say to me. I’ve been avoiding him all night, and Willa is perceptive enough to have noticed. But her timing is all wrong.

“Willa. How are you feeling? Has anyone told you lately that you’re glowing?” He sidesteps the question so effortlessly. So playfully. Even she can’t help but grin and roll her eyes at him.

There is something irresistibly charming about Theo. Something boyish and fun. He’s not jaded yet. Perhaps that’s the appeal of a man whose outlook on life appears to be “glass half full” when I’m a “glass half empty” kinda gal most days.

It’s Cade, the oldest Eaton brother, who stomps up and flops down beside Willa, draping a possessive arm over her shoulders. “Leave it to you to hit on a pregnant woman, Theo.”

Everyone laughs, even Theo. But I see the way the back of his neck stiffens, like the joke had some bite that no one expected. Like he’s forcing himself to hold his head up high when he doesn’t feel like it.

I know because I do that too.

“Jesus, man, she’s carrying your baby and living in your house. What do you need? Your name tattooed on her forehead? I’m just being friendly.”

Rhett walks in now. “Yeah, buddy. I’ve seen just how friendly you can be. I’d go so far as to say you’re known for being friendly.”

Theo smiles and rolls his eyes. “Rich coming from you, Eaton.”

“Hey . . .” Rhett’s hands come up, his beer held in one. “I was Goldilocks. All the porridge was too hot or too cold. Finally found one that was just—”

Summer cuts him off with a feigned look of exasperation on her face. “Please do not finish that sentence. Any analogy that compares me to mushy cereal is just . . . no, Rhett. No.”

“But the maple syrup I like to put in it reminds me of—”

“Rhett Eaton.” My sister’s eyes widen. “Control yourself.”

His lips twist, and his expression drips with sex. It’s borderline inappropriate, but based on Rhett’s past behavior, I already know him to be impulsive and unfiltered.

I blink away, out the big windows and over the snowy farmland.

Snow is still falling.

“I’m sorry.” Theo is standing over me when I glance up. I swear I look behind myself to see if he just said that to me. There’s a deer head with a lot of antlers hanging on the wall.

I point. “Why? Did you kill it?”

His lips lift, and the skin beside his eyes scrunches up just a little bit. “I wasn’t talking to the stag, Winter.”

Other conversations have begun to flow, and attention is no longer on Theo. Instead, it’s just his attention on me. Which is almost stifling.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable on the drive here. It wasn’t my intention. Like . . .” His hand swipes through his hair, all tight on the sides and just a bit longer on top. Lending him a sort of sex-mussed quality. “At all.”

I nod but cross my arms like they might shield me from him. “Okay.”

His thick, dark brows pop up on his forehead. “Yeah? Is that like . . . apology accepted?”

“What if it’s not?” I arch one brow at him in challenge. And I almost don’t recognize myself.

Am I flirting with him?

Rob has officially pushed me over the edge. I’m flirting with a younger man at a family gathering, not because I like him, but just because . . . it feels good.

His features go almost somber. “That would be cruel because my self-worth is very tangled up in whether people like me. Being well-liked is my best quality.”

I blink. I almost tell him that is not his best quality, but that seems cruel, even for me.

“I’ll be heartbroken if you don’t like me,” he adds as he drops to a crouch in front of me. Coming to eye level does nothing but increase the intimacy of this conversation.

I roll my eyes. “I thought you wanted me to accept your apology. Now I have to like you too?”

He shrugs, a playful grin making his dimples pop. “They’re basically the same thing.”

I snort. This man. “They are not the same thing.”

The tip of his tongue darts over his bottom lip, and my eyes follow raptly. “Agree to disagree.”

I stick my hand out like we’re making a business transaction, forcing my features into a cool mask. The same one that has served me so well all these years. “I accept your apology,” I say, using the most detached voice I can muster. “But I dislike you.”

He chuckles, and it’s deep and warm, all amused like I’m just a challenge—and not an intimidating one. “I can work with that for now,” is what he responds with before accepting the handshake.

And when our fingertips touch, there’s a flash of electricity again.

But this time it has nothing to do with the dry prairie air.