The Wrong Bridesmaid
: Chapter 22

I wrap up the last batch of Stud Muffins, one of Mom’s recipes that includes oats, apples, and cinnamon, and put them in the walk-in fridge. On the rare occasion Mom doesn’t sell out of every last crumb, she offers the leftovers for half-price the next day or donates them to the local police or fire department.

These will definitely not be going to the police department after Officer Milson showed up at Puss N Boots last night, whipping his power trip around. I roll my eyes, admitting to myself that he wasn’t that bad, only doing his job. But I’m still not taking the department any muffins, and that’s my prerogative.

The bell over the door jingles, and I call out, “Be with you in a second.”

“Take your time, sweetie,” a male voice answers.

I wipe my hands on my apron and walk out front to greet the customer. “Welcome to the Bakery Box. How can I . . .” My voice falters when I see who’s come into the bakery today—Jed Ford. “Um, help you?”

He looks exactly like the billboards, his cowboy hat oversize, his smile ruler straight and paper white, and his blue eyes shrewd. He’s also never set foot in Mom’s bakery, avoiding it like the plague the same way he does Puss N Boots. Something tells me this is not a welcome-wagon inaugural visit.

“Hello, Miss Sullivan.”

Then again, I’m no paper lily, wilting at the first sign of trouble. “Hello, Mr. Ford. What can I get for you?”

I’m trying my best to stick to the script of a bakery employee, even though there is a laundry list of things I want to say to him. Top of the list is, “Fuck you and the high horse you think you ride around town on,” and getting less polite from there.

“Oh, I thought I’d come by and get a few treats”—he pats his belly, though his eyes haven’t so much as glanced at the case full of baked goods—“and see if I could speak to your mom for a moment.”

Ah . . . and here I thought we’d dance more before he got to business. “I can help with one of those at least—the treats. As for Mom, she’s not here right now. Can I tell her what you’re wanting to talk about?”

Jed shrugs casually. “Nothing important. Just need to go over her new lease agreement. There are a few details I want her to see, like the rent.”

I narrow my eyes, catching his drift easily because it’s long been the talk of the town how Jed’s raising rents on the buildings he owns. So far, Mom has avoided it, and I wonder why she’s had a target placed on her back now.

But I know. She’s paying the price for yesterday, probably with a bonus fee tacked on because I, Etta’s niece, dared to fraternize with a Ford.

“I see. Well, I’ll be sure as shit to pass that little message along.” There’s no sugar in my voice anymore. Customer Service Hazel has exited the building, leaving it to Killer Hazel and her resting bitch face. “Did you actually want to buy something, or were you just coming in to deliver threats today?”

“Excuse me, young lady?” Jed sneers. Looking me up and down, he mutters, “I should have expected.”

My bitch face is no longer resting, but active as hell. I’m glaring, snarling, and my head is on a swivel as I tell him, “One, you are not excused. Two, I am neither young, nor a lady. So cupcake, cookie, or the door?”

He lifts his chin, a small smirk teasing at the corner of his lips as though he’s enjoying this. “Then I reckon I’d best take a dozen cupcakes. The girls in the office will sure appreciate them.”

I should bite my tongue, but I can’t stop myself, even though I know I’m only going to make this situation worse—for myself and, ultimately, for Mom. “Girls? I didn’t realize you were hiring children now. I thought Maggie was your assistant? She’s gotta be pushing fifty nowadays. Hell, even her daughter is a full-grown woman, with a baby girl of her own.”

He chuckles as though I’m joking. I’m not. Everything about Jed Ford sets me on edge—he’s entitled, misogynistic, narcissistic, and sneaky, and he lies to suit himself. An all-around oxygen thief of a human being with charming wrapping, like a rotten apple in a Tiffany-blue box.

“Oh, I didn’t mean nothing by that. I take care of all my girls.”

He’s baiting his hook with the best worm he can think of, reminding me about how he “took care” of Aunt Etta.

“Mm-hmm,” I hum snidely. I won’t give him the benefit of more.

“Speaking of my girls, make sure to tell your mom about the rental agreement. It needs to be signed soon, or else . . .” He looks around the bakery nonchalantly, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes measure the space, as though he’s got plans of his own for it.

“Or else?” I echo.

“Well, I reckon I’d have to get a new tenant.” His grin is pure evil, showcasing how much delight he takes in playing the Big Man to both small business owners and a “girl” like me.

I want to cat-scratch that smile right off his face, leave him with scars as deep as the ones he left on Aunt Etta’s heart and he’s trying to mark Cold Springs with. But attacking him physically will only get me another visit from Officer Milson, and I have no doubt that Jed would press charges. So, I go at him with my best asset—my mouth.

“You keep raising rent, and you’re going to hit the tipping point where everyone’s forced to close. You’ll be left with empty buildings and zero rent, holding your ass and wondering where you went wrong.”

Surprised that some “working girl” like me might have even the smallest amount of economic sense, he blinks once, twice, before his entire face begins turning red. His shoulders climb up near his ears as he waves a hand at the space around us. “Won’t be no problem getting tenants when business is booming from the new residents. Gonna be a whole new Cold Springs soon.”

“If the rezoning passes, you mean,” I correct him.

“I mean when the rezoning passes.”

The air conditioner in the bakery doesn’t kick on, but it’s suddenly ice cold in the space between Jed and me. He scowls at me, his eyes promising all sorts of consequences to this chat between us.

And though I’ll have to apologize to Mom for setting proverbial fire to her lease agreement, I don’t back down, answering Jed’s stare with threats of my own as I cross my arms over my chest and defiantly glare right back.

Finally, Jed speaks. “That spectacle yesterday sure was something. Guess Wyatt being there got everybody fired up.”

I don’t respond, don’t so much as move a muscle.

“It sure would be a shame for the town, or a sweet girl like you, to hitch your wagon to someone who’s gonna leave.”

“He’s not leaving.” I say it as though it’s a fact, even though I don’t know if it’s true. Wyatt promised only that he’d tell me before he left. But he has a life in Newport, one he’ll eventually go back to, but not right now. Not when he was protesting downtown yesterday, and actively involved in figuring out ways to stop Jed last night. I’m sure of that much at least.

And what about staying for you? a quiet voice in my head asks.

I can’t focus on that right now. I won’t be that selfish when Cold Springs needs him. Once we figure out the zoning and have the town hearing, then I can concentrate on Wyatt and me.

If there’s such a thing as “Wyatt and me” then.

Jed chuckles as though he can read my mind. “Sweetie, that’s what boys like him do. Leave when they don’t get their way.”

I have to smile at that because that doesn’t sound like Wyatt at all. He might’ve left Cold Springs, but it wasn’t a toddler temper tantrum–stomping away like Jed makes it sound. Not at all. Wyatt left because he wanted to be in control of his own destiny.

And that’s the thing Jed fears most—someone outside his control. So I’m able to smile, unfazed. “We’ll see.”

I close the box of cupcakes I’ve been prepping, and push them across the counter. “Here’s your cupcakes. Tell Maggie I put her favorite Buttery Nipple one in there just for her. It’s the one with the tan caramel areola on top of creamy butterscotch schnapps frosting.”

As I hoped, Jed looks scandalized, but he does grab the box and throw a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change.”

I ignore the fact that a dozen cupcakes is more than twenty bucks, ready for this to be over with. Jed walks out and the jingle of the bell chimes again. I don’t breathe until I see him climb into his jacked-up truck in the parking space out front and pull away.

“Shiiit,” I say to myself. “I hate that fucker with every cell in my body. Even the mitochondria are powered up with pure octane hatred.”

The adrenaline is starting to wear off, though, leaving me shaky and on edge.

Still, like the good daughter I am, I call Mom, who’s upstairs sleeping off this morning’s two a.m. start time.

“Is the kitchen on fire?” she mumbles groggily.

“No, but Jed Ford came by to talk about your rent.”

“That motherfucking . . .” The following litany of curses would make a marine drill sergeant blush, I’m sure, but it’s so mumbled, I can’t understand her. By the sounds of things, she’s up and getting dressed, though.

“I’ll see you down here in a minute,” I say, and she hums an agreement before hanging up.

Running through my encounter with Jed serves only to amp up Mom’s anger. “How dare he?” she rants as she paces the kitchen floor, out of sight of the front windows. “Can he even do that?”

I shrug, not knowing the details of her lease agreement.

“What are we going to do?” I ask her, hoping she has a better idea than I do because mine basically involves castrating Jed and force-feeding him his own dick until he chokes.

“First, I’m calling the lawyer that reviewed my contract in the first place. Second, we’ve got to kick his legs out from underneath him.” I must look excited at the idea because Mom frowns. “Not literally, although I’d sure like to.”

“Damn.”

She seems happily lost in the idea for a moment, but then explains, “All his business predictions are based on the subdivision. He thinks the residents there are going to create this massive profit for us, and that some of those people are going to want to open new businesses too. All leading to higher rents for him. Conversely, no subdivision means no new customers, and no new businesses. If that were the case, we’d have a better negotiating position as existing tenants in good standing. And third, I need to bake.”

She starts grabbing bowls and ingredients, and I know to get out of her way. Baking is Mom’s happy place 99 percent of the time, and everything she makes is filled with love. That other 1 percent is her way of coping with anger, and fury-infused baked goods have a whole different process. A much messier one.

“Whatcha making?”

“Kiss My Butt Blossoms. Sugar cookies as white as my ass, with chocolate kisses in the middle. And I’m going to bless each and every one of them with the hope that Jed gets what’s coming to him.”

“Do you want some help?” I offer.

“No, leave me to my baking. But maybe see if Wyatt has any ideas to stop Jed.”

“Wyatt?” I question, even though I was already planning on filling him in on his uncle’s shenanigans.

Mom stops her furious mixing to pin me with a look. “Jed’s nervous about Wyatt. I don’t know why, but he is. Coming here? Telling you he’s leaving? That’s about using you to get at Wyatt. Jed mentioning the protest yesterday? Wyatt.”

I nod, though I don’t know what it could be. If Wyatt had any real dirt on Jed, I think he would’ve already shared it.

“Yessiree, leave me to bake and call my lawyer, and you see if there’s any way to stop Jed.”

Assignment given, she turns back to her baking, dismissing me, until she freezes. Pointing with a wooden spoon, she warns, “Hazel . . . stop him without literally breaking his legs. I can’t run this place with you in prison, understand?”

I place my hand over my heart, touched. “Oh, Mom, you do care. But why are you assuming I’d get caught?”

Can you meet me at my place?

My fingers shake until I get Wyatt’s reply text, with a winking emoji.

Am I a booty call?

Wiseass.

No, but now I’m rethinking that. Remind me to not hop on your dick as soon as you walk in. I need to talk to you.

“We need to talk” is not usually followed by dick hopping, so maybe we should do that first? Dick, then talk.

Jed came by the bakery.

If there’s anything that’ll throw cold water on Wyatt’s balls, that’s it.

I’ll be there in ten minutes.

True to his word, Wyatt is in my driveway when I get there, and his truck is covered in dust, so he must’ve sped like a demon down the dirt roads. He’s leaning up against the side with his arms crossed, his face thunderous. He doesn’t even wait for me to put Nessa in park before he’s ripping the door open. He reaches in, unbuckling me while I turn the car off, and pulls me out.

His face scours mine, his fingers dancing over my jaw, down my arms, to grip my hips. “Are you okay?”

I look up at him, amused and captivated by his attention to checking over every inch of me. “What? He didn’t attack me. He’s not that kind of monster. But he threatened the bakery, and reminded me . . .” I look down, not wanting to show how much Jed’s words affected me.

Wyatt isn’t fucking around, though, and forces my chin back up with a strong hand. “Reminded you of what?” he says through gritted teeth.

“That you’re leaving. That Cold Springs, and me, shouldn’t get attached to you because you’ll leave.”

His eyes flick left and right, diving into mine so deeply that I can’t hide anything from him—not my fears, and definitely not my hopes. Not even the selfishness at my center that wants Wyatt to stay for me.

His hands soften as he cups my face, and I can feel the roughness of his fingertips against my cheeks. He traces my bottom lip with his thumb and chips away at the inches between us slowly. When I can just feel the graze of his lips against mine, he growls, “I’m not going anywhere, Hazel.”

The kiss is possessive, him claiming my mouth as his, and me returning the claim with a sharp nip to his lip. He hisses and picks me up. Automatically, my legs go around his waist, and his hands replace the globes of my ass. The front door is unlocked—no one ever bothers with deadbolts out here—and Wyatt goes through it, heading straight for my bedroom.

Lester flies around us. “Bawk! Lester’s a good boy! Lester want cookie!”

Wyatt grunts as Lester lands on my shoulder, his beak right up near our kiss. “I want a cookie, too, dude. Quit cockblocking.”

“Cockblocking. Cockblocking. Cawwwkblawwwking,” Lester drawls out. I’d be upset except that he already knows that word.

Trying to get Lester to leave us alone, I tell him, “I’ll get you a cookie in a bit, Lester. Mama needs a minute alone.”

“Hazel needs to shiiit. Phew-whee!” he sings, flying back down the hall to the living room.

I sigh, sure the mood is ruined by my damn bird talking about my bodily functions. But Wyatt doesn’t slow down, tossing me to my bed and shutting the door behind us with a kick. “Take your clothes off, Hazel. I’m gonna mark you all over, so that you remember . . . I’m not going anywhere.”

He reaches behind his neck and pulls his shirt over his head. I’m dumbstruck by his abs, losing count at two even though there are several more bumps leading down to the waistband of his jeans. I just can’t replace the mental capacity to do something as unnecessary as count when he looks so good.

“Now, Hazel,” he repeats.

My mom didn’t raise no fool. I start wiggling around like a worm in the sun, trying to strip as fast as possible. Just as I get my jeans down and off my legs, Wyatt’s on me, his lips crushing mine as he presses me into the mattress.

“Open up,” he orders, kissing down my body. I barely have a chance to let my knees part before he’s kissing the inside of my thighs roughly, almost biting the soft skin before literally ripping my panties off. The sting of the fabric on my hips makes me gasp, but that gasp is only matched when he buries his tongue inside me.

“Fuck!” I cry out, my hips jerking as he sucks on my tender skin. Normally, I might opt for slow and delicate, teased and pleased. Wyatt is having none of that. It feels like he’s writing his name on my core with his tongue.

And my god is my body responding. I jerk, almost coming as he slides his middle two fingers deep inside me, stretching me open.

His tongue lashes at my clit, his fingers pumping hard and deep, and when Wyatt reaches up to pinch my nipple, I go insane. In seconds, I’m thrashing on the bed, my hands balled into tight fists in the sheets as my hips buck.

Wyatt growls, the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, and his two fingers stroke once again on that spot inside, unchaining me. I come hard, gasping breathlessly as he flicks his tongue over my clit again and again.

Finally, I sag back, my chest heaving as Wyatt lifts his head from between my legs, grinning wolfishly. He knows that he just made me come in what feels like record time and intensity, and he’s proud of himself.

But what he doesn’t know is that now I’m ready to claim him just as much as he claimed me. “If you,” I get out between pants, “don’t get that cock up here in three seconds, you’re going to be beating off for the rest of your days.”

Wyatt’s grin melts, replaced with raw hunger, and he climbs back up my body, sliding off to kneel next to my face. The look on his face says he thinks he’s in control, but as I cup his balls, rolling the heavy orbs in my hand while turning to my side, I know the truth. I smile lazily as I run my tongue around the head of his cock.

His body galvanizes, and I can feel the power I have over him as I suck him deeper into my mouth. Even with him there, kneeling above me, I’m the one claiming him now, in full control, teasing and torturing him with my slow lips and lashing tongue.

I want him tortured. I want him to understand that he’s mine . . . that as much as he wants to own me, I want to own him.

I want to write my name on his heart.

“H . . . Hazel,” he gasps as I take him into my throat. I don’t speed up; instead I tug on his sack lightly, making him grunt as I hold him, literally, in the palm of my hand. Finally, my nose is buried in the soft tufts of hair at his base, and I look up at him with my eyes full of unsaid words. I stay right there, on the edge of gagging, as long as I can, and then slowly I begin bobbing back and forth on his cock until I can taste the sweet drops of precum on my tongue.

I’m tempted to have more, but my body knows what it really wants. I flick my tongue in his slit before lying back and opening my arms to him. He comes down to me, and again we kiss. He thrusts his hands into my hair, lifting and supporting my head to take the kiss deeper.

It’s not as feral as it was at first, but we’re not being gentle either. We’re nipping, biting, and laying sucking kisses everywhere . . . I’m going to look like I got in a fight with a Hoover and the vacuum won tomorrow, but damned if I care. Not when my nipples are red from his sucking, my pussy is pulsing with want, and my skin is covered with goose bumps, sensitive to his every touch. The bruising of hickeys might be the most obvious way he’s marking me, but there is so much more, so many other ways Wyatt is claiming my body.

With a shift of his hips, I feel him at my entrance, his eyes dark with want. Without saying anything, I wrap my legs around his waist. I score my fingers down his back and he hisses, arching into my touch, and then his hips buck, and he enters me to the hilt in one motion.

I know we’ve had sex before, but the way Wyatt fills me to capacity and then some takes my breath away. He’s rock hard and insistent as he pins me to the mattress, his hips pulling back just enough to give him space to pound into me.

All I can do is hold on, my body rocked as my headboard bangs into the wall, the force of his thrusts shaking the whole bed. We buck, hips grinding and slapping, my clit bumping against his body with every stroke.

In the background, I can hear Lester squawking up a storm, probably startled by the sounds of the crazy humans in the bedroom. I don’t care—all I care about is the feeling of Wyatt inside me, on top of me, claiming me.

“Not . . . going . . . anywhere!” Wyatt grunts, emphasizing his words with punishing thrusts, and I feel him swell. His words trigger me and I come again, the spasms setting him off, and he comes inside me. “Damn it, Haze . . . squeeze me like that. Fucking . . . pussy vise.”

I hold him, not letting him go even after he’s spent, his body sagging with exhaustion as he tries not to crush me.

I pull him down, feeling the ache and sweat of my tired, well-fucked body, and wanting him to melt into me, knowing that I can handle it. In my bones, I feel the truth of his words . . . He’s not going anywhere. He’ll be right here, in my heart, no matter where he physically goes.

Even if it’s back to Newport, to his life. He’ll be here, the same way I’ll be there, because if he does leave, he’ll be taking a piece of me with him.

My heart.