“We’d appreciate a little privacy,” she said, praying she wasn’t breathless.
He gave a single, clipped shake of his head. “Sorry, honey, but this is my room.”
Honey? Had she misread his lips? “Well, we want to borrow it for a few minutes.”
“I doubt you could afford my rental fee.”
Depended on the currency. Shivers? Tingles? She currently had those in spades. He exuded the most potent levels of testosterone she’d ever encountered, her deepest instincts recognizing him as the kind of guy every girl should have by her side when the zombie apocalypse occurred.
After a marathon viewing of The Walking Dead, she and Kenna had even mapped out survival plans A, B and C. Glomming on to the first strong (and handsome) man they came across just happened to be the heart of B. Plan A, her personal favorite, revolved around kicking zombie butt while stealing supplies from other survivors—girls had to do what girls had to do—while C boiled down to burning the entire world to the ground.
“Can you at least pretend to be a gentleman and turn around?” she asked.
“I would—if I knew how.”
A quiver ran through her, nearly turning her muscles to jelly. She should not find his unrepentant bad-boy admission sexy. No, she definitely shouldn’t. Somehow she managed to look away from him. He’d just slept with her sister, so he was now and forever off-limits.
Jessie Kay scanned the spacious room. “Anyone seen my shorts?”
A pair of cutoffs and a tank were wadded up next to Brook Lynn’s feet. She picked up both and tossed them at her sister. “Well? Aren’t you going to apologize for missing five hours of work?”
“Uh, why would I apologize?” Jessie Kay tugged on the shirt. “I’m not sorry. Besides, I barely had any customers.”
“All of your tables were full with changeovers every hour. Meaning I had to hustle—without a break—to meet the demands of your customers as well as mine. Which was impossible! I made mistakes and lost tips.” A single penny counted when you had so few.
“I’ll make it up to you, swear,” Jessie Kay said, shimmying into the shorts while still under the covers. “Don’t worry.”
Another spark of anger burned through Brook Lynn. “Have you come into a secret inheritance, or will I be forced to dig into my savings yet again to pay your share of rent and utilities?”
“Hey! I’m totally keeping track of every cent I owe you. I’m going to pay you back.”
It may be too late then, she wanted to scream. Her future happiness had a time limit. Edna, the owner of Rhinestone Cowgirl, had given her until the end of the year to come up with the money to buy the place.
Brook Lynn might not be passionate about her creations, but owning that little jewelry shop was her only viable road to success. And that she wanted with every fiber of her being. She had already begun to make plans. She would pay to have a webpage created and sell her jewelry to people all over the state of Oklahoma, not just to the residents of Strawberry Valley and the seasonal flood of tourists. She would finally stop living day by day and actually live for tomorrow.
Her sister stood and patted her on top of the head. “Hate to break it to you, little sis, but your jewelry store is just about as useless as a cow squirting water.”
Useless?
Useless!
“I just don’t want you unhappy,” Jessie Kay added, throwing fuel on the fire.
The burn of simmering anger became a bomb of rage, exploding inside her. Unhappy? Unhappy! What did her sister think she was now?
“Well, maybe I don’t want you to end up like Uncle Kurt,” Brook Lynn gritted out.
Jessie Kay gasped. “Dude. That’s so harsh.”
Most definitely.
Years ago, one of the massive machines at a nearby dairy farm exploded, killing half the workforce. Many Strawberry Valley residents were employed there, including their dad. He had been pronounced dead at the scene.
Their mother had done her rock-solid best to raise them, but occasionally she’d been so desperate for help she’d called her con-artist brother. And when she later drowned—God rest her precious soul—Uncle Kurt, their only remaining family, had moved to Strawberry Valley “for good” to care for them. Brook Lynn had been fifteen at the time and Jessie Kay seventeen, and though they’d been old enough to see to their own needs, they’d still required a legal guardian. But Kurt had stayed only long enough to collect the life insurance.
Jessie Kay gave her a little push, snapping her back into focus. “I’m nothing like that dirtbag. You take that back.”
“Never!” Brook Lynn returned the push. She only ever resorted to physical violence with Jessie Kay.
Her sister slapped her shoulder.
Brook Lynn delivered a slap of her own. “I’m fixing to start counting, Jessica Kay.”
“One,” her sister mocked, knowing her ways better than anyone.
“Two, three.” Forget battling with words. With a screech, Brook Lynn launched forward, crashing into Jessie Kay. They fell into the mattress and bounced to the floor, where they rolled around in a struggle for dominance. When they bumped into the nightstand, the lamp teetered...tumbled down and shattered. The damage barely registered as they continued to wrestle. Brook Lynn managed to come out on top and pin her sister’s shoulders with her knees. She forced the girl to slap her own face.
“Why are you hitting yourself, Jessie Kay? Huh? Huh? Why?”