Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (3 page)

“Was it a work-related injury?”

Sawyer Fournette managed an auto-parts manufacturing plant over the state line in Louisiana. If the injury had happened on the job site, there were government-mandated regulations to follow.

“Didn’t mention it, and I can’t imagine the kind of language they were using is appropriate for the workplace.” Ms. June’s ruddy cheeks shaded darker. “If I had to hazard a guess I’d say they were related. Does Mr. Fournette have a brother or cousin?”

Monroe’s heart ramped to sprint-like levels even though she hadn’t taken a step. Her mouth dried and every nerve ending seemed sensitized. She walked past Bartholomew and Ms. June without another word.

Had her stomach dived to the floor in nerves or anticipation? She hadn’t felt like this since her first week practicing. Could it be that Cade Fournette had stepped foot back into Cottonbloom?

The last time she’d seen him had been during her freshman year of college. Ten years ago. She’d gone to a secondhand clothing store on the Louisiana side of the river to look for a party costume. The theme was white-trash wedding—not her choice.

Her social circle assumed the store would be bursting with overalls and daisy dukes. Giggling and teasing, they’d flipped through racks of flannel shirts and indestructible work pants. She’d separated from the group, embarrassed at their behavior, although she couldn’t pinpoint why.

That’s when she saw him. Standing not a dozen feet away with two shirts draped over his arm and staring right back at her. Internally everything kicked into a higher gear, yet she was frozen with her hand still on the shoulder of a shabby corduroy jacket.

She hadn’t seen him for months and never in the daylight. Not since the end of her senior year of high school. He’d been distant that night, wishing her luck in college and brushing a kiss across her cheek. The first time he’d ever done such a thing, and when the darkness swallowed him she’d sensed a door closing. Sure enough, he hadn’t come back to their tree even though she’d waited every full moon.

Something had happened to him over the recent months. A new hardness around his eyes made him look even older than twenty-three. A spark of something flew across the short distance. He nodded once. An uncontrollable urge to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his chest came over her. She’d missed him.

She’d taken a step in his direction, but he’d set the shirts down and walked away. The door at the back of the store jangled and made her flinch. In the seconds that followed, she wondered if she’d imagined the brief electric connection or if she’d even imagined him. Then, her best friend, Regan Lovell, had snaked an arm around Monroe’s waist and pulled her back into the giggling fold of girls.

He had moved to Mobile, Alabama, by the time she’d come home for Christmas break a few weeks later, and if he’d set foot on either side of Cottonbloom since, she hadn’t heard. And as attuned as she was to news of him, she would have heard.

Anxiety bubbled under her nerves. Was it even him? Some instinct—maybe closer to hope—told her it was. What had happened to him? How badly was he hurt? She rubbed her lips together, peeled them into a fake smile, and opened the door.

The man who sat in the chair seemed too big for the small exam room. Not overweight or even bulky, he had an energy that seemed to press outward, seeking an escape. Her gaze skated down his body, her mind trying to take in and process everything at once. The air around them seemed to vibrate.

He registered as a stranger, yet her gut twisted with a strange familiarity. Big, callused hands twirled a scarred wooden cane between his knees; rubber-soled lace-up boots were on his wide-set feet. His thick black hair was in need of a cut, and at least two weeks’ growth of dark beard was flecked with wiry steel. His shoulders were broader and his chest thicker than she recalled. His eyes transfixed her. Dark green and intense and holding all her secrets.

“Good Lord. Kirby. Monroe Kirby. All grown-up.” His deep voice had acquired a rough edge as if the years had chipped at it. His gaze was as busy as hers, and she adjusted the lapel of her white coat.

“You remember me.” God, she sounded like a starstruck teenager. She followed his exploits as best she could. The last splash he’d made was in a business magazine highlighting successful entrepreneurs, but the article had focused on his thrill-seeking adventures as much as his engine design company.

“Hard to forget a damsel in distress on a hot September night.” His eyes narrowed as if trying to dissect her.

Did he remember every moment they’d spent together over the years as she did? Probably not. His life was bigger and more exciting than anything she could imagine in Cottonbloom. Now that it was obvious he wasn’t seriously injured, perhaps she should mimic the tease in his voice. Pretend his return wasn’t rocking her world.

“Well now, Mr. Fournette, what brings you back to Cottonbloom?” Instead of a friendly tease, a defensive edge snuck into her voice. The loneliness of waiting under the cottonwood tree for him night after night made an unexpected appearance.

“Insanity,” he said dryly, and looked toward the window where drooping pink crepe myrtle flowers blocked the view of the parking lot.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come back home.” A tangled web of emotions crept into her voice.

The intensity of his green gaze transferred to her. “Sawyer showed up in my hospital room on the warpath. Apparently, a well-meaning bystander fished out an old emergency card and had him thinking I was dying. While I was still hopped up on painkillers I let him convince me to take a vacation. In Cottonbloom.”

With the initial shock fading, she noticed other things about him. Under his beard his face appeared gaunt, and dark circles ringed his eyes.

“You’re looking worse for wear.”

“I’m feeling it.”

“I don’t have your records. What happened?”

“Short version? Toppled off a cliff.”

“A cliff? Were you shoved off by a scorned woman?”

His lips twitched. “Hardly. Decided I wanted to climb El Capitan. Tried it. Didn’t go as planned.”

She blinked a few times. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter she hadn’t seen him in a decade. The sarcasm in her voice masked a very real and inappropriate concern. “You woke up one morning and thought, ‘Hmmm, I think I’ll climb the most dangerous rock face in the world’? How long did you train?”

“I’ve climbed for years around the Pacific Northwest. And, actually, there are much more difficult climbs in France and Spain, but I couldn’t afford to take time off work.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Her voice rose and echoed in the linoleum-and-steel-covered exam room.

“I didn’t know you cared.” His smile was bemused.

“I don’t.” Reflex shot the words out. “I mean, it’s not that I
don’t
care. Tally is a good friend of mine and…” She couldn’t think of another lame reason she was lecturing Cade Fournette for doing something that was none of her business. She wasn’t his sister or his girlfriend. Fate had thrown them together, and while he’d become her lifeline, she’d only been a little kid to him. That’s all. “I wouldn’t want you to die or anything,” she finished weakly.

“That’s awfully nice of you to say.” He relaxed back in the simple waiting-room-style chair, his feet sliding farther apart in a typically male stance, one elbow propped on the armrest, his index finger tracing his smiling bottom lip.

In that instant, she was primally, uncomfortably aware of him as a man. A man who looked like he knew what to do with a woman in bed … or out of it for that matter. She’d entertained fantasies, of course, but they’d been confined to hugs and kisses. Innocent. He was knight in shining armor material. Not down and dirty lover material. But she was a grown woman now, not a naïve girl.

She dropped her gaze from his mouth to her clipboard. The words made as much sense as Mandarin Chinese. “I assume you’re staying with Sawyer?”

“For now.”

“Does Tally know you’re home?” She raised her gaze again but focused on his hands.

“Course she does.”

Monroe wanted to march over to the gym and give Tally a good shake. Of course, it’s not like Monroe had ever confided in her. Monroe had never confided in anyone except Cade. Tally had no idea what Cade had done for her, and her interest might seem weird and borderline stalkerish without the facts.

Focus. She needed to focus. A professional wouldn’t think about how his beard made him look rough and rumpled and sexy, like an action star trying to go incognito. A professional wouldn’t notice how big his hands were or the fact that they were nicked and callused and as rough-looking as the rest of him.

She glanced down at her paperwork again. “Did you break your leg?”

“Thank God, no. Overextended my knee and strained some apparently useful tendons. The orthopedist said it would heal on its own, but physical therapy would speed the process.” His voice didn’t reflect any of the angst and confusion running rampant through her. And why should it? Her strong reaction was only spurred by the remnants of a childhood crush. Reality would stamp it out.

“When did this happen?” Her voice was solid, brisk even.
Better.

“Couple of weeks ago.”

“Am I to assume you haven’t seen a PT yet?”

“Figured I could rehab it on my own.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” She cut her eyes to him under her lashes. It wasn’t unusual for people—especially men—to disregard their doctor’s instructions for physical therapy.

“Not so good. I pushed too hard and made things worse.” His lips quirked but fell into a frown. “Anyway, my leg’s not the main problem. It’s my hand.” He held up his left hand, palm up.

“Ohmygoodness.” Monroe set the paperwork aside and took his hand in both of hers. A four-inch-long gash ran from the meaty part of his thumb toward the base of his pinky finger. It had been a jagged, deep cut, the resulting scar thick and raised and angry. She ran her thumbs along either side, and he flinched. “Does it hurt?”

“Constant pins and needles, tightness, lack of grip strength.”

“How did it happen?”

“A safety bolt came out and I grabbed at whatever I could. Caught the sharp edge of a rock. Sliced my hand, but it wasn’t clean. Got infected.” He turned the full force of his green eyes on her, and she rocketed back in time. The tease left his voice, leaving desperation and a hint of pain. “Can you help me?”

“Cade,” she whispered his name on a sigh. Hearing herself, she cleared her throat and tucked an escaped piece of hair behind her ear. “I mean, Mr. Fournette—”

“No, call me Cade. I don’t think I could ever call the little girl I met under the cottonwood tree Miss Kirby.” He shifted on the chair. “Or are you something else now? Are you married?”

Her ringless left hand pulled into a fist around her lapel. “No. Not married.”

“Good.” A smile tugged at his mouth, at once disarming and mischievous.

Was he flirting with her? Her stomach tumbled, her knees shaky. Men occasionally asked her out after one of their sessions or flirted to the point of making things uncomfortable. Monroe had learned how to ice her demeanor to discourage forward behavior. But Cade was different. Special. And now her client. It would be dangerous to let a childhood infatuation color their professional relationship.

She dabbed her lower lip with her tongue. “Take off your pants, Cade.”

Chapter Three

Her husky, sexy-as-hell near whisper shot through him like lightning, setting all his muscles at alert. Was she flirting? Was he? And why had the confirmation of her single status settled like a ball of warmth in his chest? What did it matter?

Only the fear of disappointing Tally and Sawyer—again—had kept Cade from driving to the airport already. He’d let Sawyer bully him home knowing he needed something from Cottonbloom. Closure. Once he found it, he’d be gone.

Seeing Monroe walk through the exam room door left him feeling off-balance. Even without a name tag on her coat, he’d recognized her. Her hair had darkened from near white to an ashy light blond and was swept into an updo of some sort. Wispy pieces had escaped and framed sharp cheekbones that cut away the babyish features he remembered, but her eyes were the same—the endless blue of the gulf on a summer’s day.

The last time he’d met her under their tree, plans for his departure were in motion. His forced exit from Cottonbloom was the low point of his life. Worse even than when his parents had died. Mostly because he had let his family down. Not that he’d had the stomach to confess why he was leaving Cottonbloom to Sawyer or Tally or Uncle Del. As much as Cade had needed a new engine for his boat, stealing was stealing. He supposed the ultimatum from the Cottonbloom, Mississippi, police chief instead of charges was a blessing, but at the time the humiliation and shame had felt worse.

He hadn’t told Monroe about attempting to steal the engine or about his plans to leave Cottonbloom that last night. Instead, he’d let her talk about college and the endless possibilities stretching in front of her. Her optimism bled into his desolation and offered a small measure of hope. He could picture the woman she’d become and a longing had come over him.

In the small exam room, past and present collided, and he wasn’t sure what part he was supposed to play. Big brother didn’t fit anymore, and he was glad of it. She knew more about his past than anyone, if she remembered, yet they weren’t friends, either. Something else entirely seemed to be blooming between them.

He worked the button of his jeans open with his right hand and fell back into a superficial tease. “What if I’m not wearing underwear?”

She tucked an escaped piece of hair behind her ear once more. A nervous gesture she probably wasn’t even aware of. He made his money by reading a boardroom.

“Excuse me?”

“You told me to take off my pants.”

Her gaze dropped to where his legs were spread wide in the chair, the top button of his jeans loose and the zipper easing down a few teeth. The heat building between them made him worry—hope—his pants might combust and fall to ash around them.