Seeing is Believing (Cuttersville #3)(3)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Women in Chicago didn’t smile like that. At least not those he worked with day in and day out at a marketing firm. Or he had, until he’d been laid off three days earlier. Professional women were confident, aggressive, independent. He liked that.

But he liked that smile on Piper’s face, too. More than he should.

“How are your dad and mom?” he asked. He’d seen Amanda a few years back when she’d been visiting her father in Chicago, but they had talked mostly about the city, the good restaurants to hit, and Brady’s job. Amanda had only briefly mentioned that Piper was in college, and Brady hadn’t given much thought to what was going on back here in Cuttersville.

It felt odd to be back home, in a house that hadn’t changed, even as everything around it had. Brady had thought that he would be swamped with emotion when he came back after his self-imposed exile, but really so far he’d felt nothing but a mild sort of pleasure and curiosity.

“Great. My dad’s looking at a good crop this year, and my mom sort of has her hands in everything. She raises purebred poodles, sells real estate, and is president of the PTA at my brothers’ school.”

That was kind of a humorous image. When Brady had first met Amanda fifteen years earlier, she had been a bored rich girl. “No kidding? And what about you, Piper? You living in town now? Got a boyfriend or a husband or anything?”

It would be easier if she did. Stop him from thinking thoughts about her naked body that he shouldn’t be thinking.

But a hint of color rose in her cheeks. “No, no boyfriend or fiancé. And I still live with my parents in the farmhouse. I guess that sounds kind of lame, doesn’t it? Especially to someone like you who left home right out of high school.”

He’d left home all right, chomping at the bit to get the hell out of Cuttersville. And twelve years later he was starting to wonder what he’d been running from. The success he’d wanted, expected to find in Chicago or New York, hadn’t arrived, and he had given up painting altogether three years ago. It hurt to pick up a pencil or brush and know that he couldn’t replicate on paper what he saw in his mind.

“If you’re happy, then there’s nothing lame about it.”

She nodded, then said, “Do you want me to put your shirt in the dryer? The shoulders are soaking wet.”

He’d forgotten about the damp cotton clinging to his skin. The house didn’t have air-conditioning, and it was still summer temperatures. He wasn’t cold. But neither was he going to refuse a perfectly legit chance to take his shirt off in front of her and see her reaction.

“Thanks.” Brady peeled it off, and wondered what the hell he was doing. Hadn’t he just told himself this girl—seven big, long years younger than him—was off-limits? And here he was going for the flirt.

But he supposed every man had a bad habit. Some drank, others smoked, quite a few gambled to excess, and hell, some did all three. His weakness was women. He liked to flirt, liked to make women smile and laugh. He loved to wine and dine and sixty-nine a woman. Nothing wrong with that if both parties knew the score. Brady wasn’t the settling-down kind. He had been born restless, and this trip back to Nowheresville for no good reason was further proof of that. He should be back in Chicago, pounding the pavement for a job, yet he’d decided to come home for some strange reason.

Because he’d found himself angry and bitter and maybe even a little scared for the first time in his whole life. That was why he’d come home. Like being back in Cuttersville would solve any of the mess his life had become.

But he might as well enjoy himself while he was here.

So he bunched up his shirt and stood, stretching a little so she had a good shot of the pecs and his ripped stomach. All those hours at the gym should be worth something. “The dryer still in the basement? I’ll just toss it in.”

Piper’s eyes had gone wide. He was almost sorry he’d stripped the T-shirt off. She looked horrified, not flirtatious. But then her eyes dropped down, just a little, and she ran her tongue across thick, plump lips. “Oh, I’ll get it,” she said, her voice a sweet, husky whisper.

Damn, he knew that look, felt that vibe, could practically smell the attraction that had sprung up between them. Good thing the twins were upstairs sleeping or he’d be severely tempted to taste Piper Tucker from tip to toe.

This was not a woman he could fool around with.

It was a mantra he was going to have to repeat all week long. Along with the friendly little reminder to himself that Shelby would tear his head off, and Danny Tucker would rip something even more important off him, if they found out he was fooling around with Piper. And Amanda? Hell, she might be the worst of all. She wouldn’t tear something off Brady. She’d string him up by his nuts, spray him with honey, and let the bees at him.

Piper was extra special to them, because Danny hadn’t known she existed until she was eight years old and her worthless stepfather had dumped her in Danny’s driveway.

Not a woman he should be messing around with. Repeat ten times twice daily and maybe it would sink in.

Yet he still found himself moving in just a little too close to her when he handed over the shirt. “That’s sweet of you. I left my travel bag in the trunk.”

“No problem. I . . .” Piper looked over his shoulder.

“What?” Brady half turned, expecting to see one of the kids standing in the doorway. Good thing he hadn’t given in to his very inappropriate urge to kiss her.

“Nothing.” Piper darted her eyes back to him. Then behind him again. Her cheeks flushed. Her head tilted, sending her wavy light brown hair cascading over her forehead and right eye.

“What are you looking at?” She obviously saw something back there. “A mouse?”

“No. Nothing.” Step one, step two, she shifted around to his side and stood stiffly, tugging her tank top down again.

Then Brady knew what it was. What he’d forgotten about Piper Tucker from all those years ago, the summer he had been fifteen and she’d arrived in town.

“You still see ghosts, don’t you?”

           Chapter Two

PIPER STARED AT BRADY IN ASTONISHMENT. “I . . . I . . . don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

Only she wasn’t all that great of a liar. She couldn’t even look him in the eye as she spoke.

But she wasn’t about to admit that a ghost of a man with blond hair was standing right behind Brady, smiling and nodding his head up and down.