Bounty (Colorado Mountain #7) Read online

  I still gave him the whole day, driving to and dinking around the mall to do it.

  I returned and he was gone.

  Thursday, Friday and more overtime Saturday, Deke and I had minimal banter, I often acted like an idiot, I brought him sandwiches and he made progress on my house.

  Sunday he kept sacred, clearly, as his day off. So he told me he wasn’t going to show.

  He didn’t.

  I wanted to feel relief.

  I missed him.

  * * * * *

  Deke

  Late Sunday night, in the dark, in his bed, Deke lay on his back, one hand wrapped around his dick and pumping, the other hand over his head, fisted in the pillow.

  His eyes were closed, his mind filled with visions of Jus riding his face, her head thrown back, all that long hair falling down, gliding against his chest.

  It did not take long for him to blow a huge load on his stomach.

  Still stroking, he opened his eyes and didn’t see pussy.

  But, fuck him, he could taste her in his mouth.

  Flowers.

  She’d worn perfume the day before. Not the first time but she didn’t always wear it.

  And she smelled like flowers.

  He bent his knees and kept stroking his cock, his thoughts turning from Jus riding his face to memories of Jus reacting to the blue concrete glaze with silver and pearl whirls she had picked, he’d just done. She’d lost her mind, clapping and smiling and laughing, telling him he was a genius.

  His thoughts went from that to her hugging the wall in the hallway after he’d finished the taping, her arms both outstretched, her cheek pressed to the sheetrock, her mouth crying out, “I love walls!”

  He didn’t even allow himself to think of how she’d reacted after he’d finished the counters and cabinetry, installed the sink, put in the light fixtures, mounted the drying racks and finally fitted the washer and dryer.

  Fuck, the look on her face when he found her and showed her he got her utility room done, he thought she would kiss him.

  And he’d wanted that, right to the gut, straight to his dick.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, rolling out of bed, going to the bathroom, cleaning up and hitting the sack again.

  He lay on his back thinking he should tell Max he wanted him to switch out the man for Jus’s job, sending someone else in, taking him out.

  Not only did his mind violently reject that idea the minute he had it, Deke had no reason to give Max why he wanted that.

  And Max would likely wonder about why he’d ask, doing that for about a second before he’d figure it out. Wood would just know. If Tate heard, he’d wonder half the time Max would before he called it.

  Then people would talk.

  Deke didn’t need that shit.

  He turned to his side, closed his eyes and tried to find sleep.

  All he could think was how Jus would fit in the curve of his body after he’d turned into her to get some shuteye when he was done fucking her, how it would feel to bury his face in all that hair.

  Not able to get those thoughts out of his head, his dick started getting hard.

  So he had to jack off again just so he could get some sleep.

  Chapter Six

  And Left It at That

  Justice

  “This part, I don’t know, just wondering since the plans say double doors here, if it could be something else. Something that opens totally. Not double doors like on the plan. This whole space so I can close it off but also open it completely. Do you get me?”

  It was the next Wednesday.

  I was standing in the main space talking to Deke while dudes were unloading a delivery of more drywall. The two stacks Deke had for use were gone. Now there were two new stacks that were twice as high as the old one in the garage, and they were erecting their second much taller stack in that space.

  Deke was not paying attention to the delivery guys.

  He was looking at the framing behind me.

  Since he returned to work on Monday, we’d carried on as normal, banter, sandwiches, me being an idiot, Deke leaving at six o’clock and doing it not looking back longingly at me.

  However, in that time, I’d had one glorious moment.

  This was when he’d finished drywalling the hall and the powder room yesterday, ceilings, tape and all.

  He’d then asked me if I wanted him to completely finish that space before he moved on to the main part of the house.

  I told him I wanted a kitchen.

  His reply included a softening of his eyes I’d never seen but liked a great deal which I’d find was a precursor to him sharing something he didn’t want to share, this being that he didn’t think it wise to give me what I wanted.

  A special gift.

  It also included another special gift.

  This being him saying, “Babe, drywalling is dusty. You can cut off that space you’re living in when I install the door so you don’t gotta cope with the dust. I do the kitchen for you before finishing the…”

  He went on but I heard nothing but his babe. And once he gave it to me, I didn’t care that as a general rule, contractors put up all the drywalling and did all the taping and painting before they started to get to the good stuff, like installing floors and fitting kitchens.

  I’d give up anything for that babe.

  So I’d agreed.

  But since, he didn’t give me another babe.

  He definitely didn’t give me another baby.

  That was beginning to be my lot.

  Now we were in the main space which had seemed cavernous due to it being empty and wall-less, but was seeming even more cavernous as I’d noted how much longer it was taking Deke to make progress. He’d put up a sheet and it felt like an inch was achieved since there still was so much more left to do.

  And now, before he got around to giving me actual walls on that side of the house, I was talking to him about the extra room to the south side that had a special purpose.

  Deke looked from behind me to me. “Weight of the roof held up by joists, load bearing for your second story not around those doors, so sure. We can figure something out.”

  “You do know I heard nothing but blah, blah, blah, so sure. We can figure something out.”

  His lips tipped up and his hazel eyes lit.

  I did a mental, Yee ha!

  “Bro, sorry to interrupt,” the delivery guy interrupted and Deke looked to him. “We’re done. Gotta check this and sign off.”

  “Right,” Deke replied and moved his way as my phone rang.

  I pulled it out of my pocket, saw the display said Mr. T was calling and I sighed before taking it, ticked even more Mav and Luna were making me dread calls from Mr. T. They weren’t always the delight of my day, but he’d been a staple in my life since I started it. I cared for him deeply, in the only way he’d allow me to do that. So I’d never dreaded his calls.

  Now I did because now there was never anything but bad news perpetrated by my brother and his shrew of a mother.

  Regardless of this, I took that call how I usually took all of them, with a, “Hey, Mr. T.”

  “Justice, how are you?” he asked.

  “Hanging in there, you?” I asked back, beginning to move to the door to the back deck.

  “Unfortunately, I’m calling to inform you we’ve had official communication that Maverick is contesting your father’s will.”

  “That sucks,” I muttered, thinking this would be it so the call wouldn’t be long and glancing at Deke to see he was in the middle of counting sheets of drywall with the delivery guy standing close so not paying a lick of attention to me and my call.

  Therefore, instead of going outside and leaving his presence (I’d been fucked and was getting more fucked, not even wanting to walk out of a room Deke was in—he was like a goddamned drug), I leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and stared out at the calming view.

  “This means those assets are frozen, Justice. I know they’ve already bee
n distributed but you can no longer use them until this has played out.”

  “Awesome.” I was still muttering but now I was doing it sarcastically.

  “This means your brother also can’t use his,” Mr. T pointed out.

  I thought about how Luna had used her son to keep her living the good life, using him by flying through the divorce settlement in a couple of years, not getting a job and consistently threatening to take my father back to court in order to increase already substantial child support for a son they shared custody of so she could live off her kid’s back.

  Dad didn’t make her take him back to court. To make things easier on Mav, he just increased the money.

  That legal agreement had ended when Mav turned eighteen and didn’t go to college.

  The situation didn’t end, however. Mav used his share of Granddad’s royalties as well the trust fund Dad set up for him to keep not only himself but his mom living the life they’d become accustomed to, but mostly, I figured, the life she’d become accustomed to.

  To my knowledge, that trust fund was quickly dwindling, which was why Dad augmented Mav’s funds frequently, something Dana let slip one night before Dad died when she’d gotten a bit tipsy. Something Mr. T allowed to happen and followed through on because Dad said it would be so. Not like what had happened with Aunt Tammy and Rudy when they’d not only cut off Rudy’s access to his trust fund when he’d started pissing it away, they’d used a caveat in Granddad’s will to cut off his access to his share of Granddad’s royalties.

  This, I suspected, was one of the reasons Luna and Mav were making the foolish play to try to get half of Dad’s estate.

  The other reason was that Luna was just a greedy bitch.

  “Hope someone’s paying attention because that’s not gonna happen,” I noted.

  “We’ll do our best to pay attention,” Mr. T confirmed and went on, “Now, you won’t feel that pinch but I’m sorry to say that, although your father provided a healthy stipend to Dana when he was still with us, and she didn’t use it indiscriminately so she has some resources, cases like these can drag out and those resources are not limitless. It may cause financial strain if we can’t get a judge to throw this out expeditiously.”

  This, likely, being Luna’s plan. She hated Joss. She hated Dana. She hated Dad. She hated everybody except herself, and on occasion, she could show affection to Maverick, but only when she could use him to get something she wanted.

  “I’ll cover Dana,” I said on a sigh.

  “I suspected you would. I’ll share that with her and we’ll keep an accounting of that should it occur so you can be reimbursed when this sorry business is concluded.”

  “Thanks, Mr. T.”

  “I’m afraid I have more bad news.”

  I kept my eyes on my view, the rays of the sun shafting through the trees, twinkling on the water of the river.

  I still braced.

  “And that is?” I prompted when Mr. T unusually did not dive right in. No procrastination for him, he got the bad stuff out of the way or any stuff he had to do and he did it with no delay.

  “The documents we received have made special note that your brother is laying claim to the entirety of your father’s collection.”

  My mind seized, every nerve ending screamed, I straightened away from the door with utterly no thought to where I was and who was with me as I shrieked, “You have got to be joking!”

  “I’m sorry, Justice,” Mr. T said quietly, a careful edge to his tone which was almost soft with understanding. “I’m not joking.”

  “That…is…fucking insane!” I shouted.

  “Justice—”

  I cut him off. “That’s not his. He knows that. He fucking knows!” I yelled, took a pace, found movement too difficult while my mind was gripped with agony at the very thought Mav would get hold of Dad’s collection, and I came to a juddering halt.

  If Mav got Dad’s collection, that meant Luna would get hold of it and it was her that wanted it.

  So she could sell it.

  That collection being my father’s guitars. He had many. All of them used to create and make amazing music. Most of them used by him and then by me to teach me how to do the same.

  And some of them were Granddad Jerry’s that Dad had inherited so he could have them, with the caveat he’d then leave them to me.

  They were worth a fortune not only because they were awesome guitars but because they were Johnny or Jerry Lonesome’s guitars.

  And now they were mine.

  Dad tried to teach Mav how to play but my brother didn’t have it, that became apparent to them both quickly, but Dad didn’t give up on Mav. Dad felt (rightly) that his son didn’t have to have a gift to enjoy making music.

  However, instead of sharing he just wasn’t into it, something that would make Dad back off, it aggravated Maverick. So he’d act out and storm off, being a little shit doing it. He’d even once thrown one, damaging it beyond repair.

  And those guitars were what I was going to put in that space I wanted to be able to open so I could see them. So, when I had a mind to spend some time with my dad and my grandfather, I could open up that room and have them both with me.

  Always they’d be there but whenever I wanted, I could spend some time with them.

  “Justice, you must know that this is an exercise in futility for Maverick. He’ll never break that will,” Mr. T assured me.

  I was not assured.

  “I do not give that…first…shit,” I snapped. “He knows this is beyond the pale. He knows this is an asshole move that redefines asshole moves. He fucking knows.”

  “Justice, please calm down,” Mr. T urged.

  “I’m not gonna calm down,” I bit out. “The time for me to lose my calm was months ago when all this bullshit started. But, like always, I’m my father’s daughter and I wanted to hope for the best from my little brother. Dad died before Mav showed him what Dad believed he had in him all along. A decent bone in his entire body. I’m done waiting.”

  “Justice, it’s important you allow me and your father’s attorneys to deal with this,” Mr. T told me.

  “And I will, after I call that piece of shit and tell him I think he’s a piece of shit. Then I’m done with him. Done. For good and forever.”

  “Justice—”

  “Good-bye, Mr. T.”

  “Jus—”

  I hung up.

  Then I engaged my contacts and listened to it ring through to Mav as my phone signaled. It signaling, I was sure, because Mr. T was calling me back.

  I listened to my brother’s sick, twisted, fucked-up voicemail and when I got the beep, I launched in.

  “Four months ago, you lost a father. That had nothing to do with your behavior. Today, you lost a sister. And that’s all on you,” I spat into my phone, eyes now not to the calming view but my feet. “I know you’re going after Dad’s collection and you know that’s not right. You know that, Mav. You know. Since you’ve been born you’ve treated Dad like shit and didn’t give me much better. Thinking you’re entitled to what, I do not get. You had his love. He believed in you. He gave you that all the time and you threw it in his face. You did the same to me. And today, I’m done. Thanks. Thanks so much, Mav. I’m grieving Dad and now I’m grieving you. All this goes down and you and your mother go down with it, do not ever try to contact me again. Today, I lost a brother. Today, you cease to exist.”

  With that, I tore the phone from my ear, looked down at it while I stabbed at the screen to disconnect and I stayed there, frozen, staring at my phone, seeing I was shaking and doing it violently.

  Shit happened. People twisted things. Other people believed them.

  Mr. T said that Dad’s will was ironclad. Maverick and Luna would not get what they wanted and Luna had laid a trail of vicious greed for years that any attorney could pick up and any judge would see through.

  But shit happened.

  I didn’t care about the money.

  I cared about Da
na and her being safe and comfortable because Dad would have wanted it that way.

  But I didn’t care about the money.

  I cared about those guitars.

  They were Dad. They were Granddad. They were hundreds of concerts. Hundreds of sessions. Thousands of hours held in strong, capable, talented hands making beauty.

  And now, Dana keeping them safe for me until my house was done, they were mine.

  The very thought of Luna getting her grasping, bitchy hands on them and selling them to the highest bidder made bile race up my throat.

  “Jus.”

  Deke’s voice carved into the perverse, bitter sick my brother and his mother stirred up in me and I lifted my gaze, twisted my neck and looked to his face.

  He was not close.

  But he was concerned.

  And that concern undid me.

  I turned fully to him, dropped my head and fell forward.

  He was not near and then he was, right there for me to collide with as everything pressed into me. So much, I couldn’t hold it back, and the tears came.

  He wrapped his arms around me as he stepped farther into me so he could hold me close.

  That was when I started sobbing. My body shaking with it, automatically burrowing into his heat, his solidity, his bulk, all Deke.

  His arms tightened.

  “I miss him,” I whispered into Deke’s chest through a hitch.

  The words with that hitch barely sounded before I felt Deke’s hand glide up my spine and tangle in my hair.

  “Get it out, Jussy,” he murmured, his words stirring the strands at the top of my head so I knew he was bent to me.

  Deke.

  Fuck me, Deke.

  “My brother’s a p-p-piece of shit,” I pushed out through the tears.

  Deke’s arm around me got tighter and the tips of fingers started stroking the side of my ribs.

  Even this did not make me feel better. In fact this—all that was Deke enveloping all that was me—made it better at the same time so much worse.

  “He’s contesting the…the will,” I shared.

  Deke said nothing.

  I kept crying.

  It came to me slowly that I was pressed hard to him and had my hands clenched into his tee at the back. I felt the damp material against my cheek and knew how many tears had leaked and that Deke took them from me.