Page 23 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

I grabbed the plates. Earlier, I’d whipped up something quick and refreshing. “Here we go!”

“Oh, yum! Is that ceviche?” Claire perked up.

“Yep!”

She dove right in. From the first time I saw her eat, I knew she never held back with food.

“So, you use the study to do after-hours work? Accounting stuff?” I ventured. “I hope Paul’s not pushing you too hard.”

“Oh, no! My work is strictly in the stockroom. And definitely no accounting! I’ve been writing.”

The way she looked away, almost shy, made me wonder if it was something blush-worthy. What else could it be but romance?

Tessa had devoured romance novels by the truckload—practically a hoarder.

She was six years older than me and had stepped into the role of mother after Mom passed.

Dad had absolutely adored her. Beyond her book obsession, she had been the glue that held our family together, and I’d always looked up to her for that.

Sure, there had been times I wished for an older brother, but I couldn’t have asked for a better sibling than her.

“What kind of story are you writing? The classic boy-meets-girl thing? Enemies to lovers?” I asked, probing.

“Why do you assume that?” Claire countered. “Maybe I’m writing a newspaper article. Or, who knows, maybe I’m just finishing up a remote learning assignment. That’s a thing now, you know.”

“And I’m betting none of those apply to you.”

She gave a mock grumble. “Okay, okay, you got me. You’re right.” She paused for a beat, then flipped the script. “But you seem awfully familiar with romance novels. What, are you secretly a fan? There’s no shame in it. Modern men read all sorts of literature.”

Why had I steered the conversation toward the very thing I didn’t want to talk about? Maybe part of me did want to open up about Tessa to Claire, but how could I even begin when I couldn’t stand to look at my sister’s things?

I deflected with a grin. “Nah, I’m no romance guy. Koda, maybe. And look where that got him—retired and still single. So, no thanks, I’m skipping his advice.”

Claire burst out laughing, nearly doubled over. “Well, it’s okay if you don’t want to admit it. I mean, a manly rancher reading about a princess rescued by Prince Charming? I bet no cowboy wants to own up to that!”

I replied to her with a side grin, then stood up and headed toward the barbecue. When she started to rise, I waved her back down. “No, no, my lady. You stay put.”

I busied myself at the grill, preparing the al pastor tacos. As I worked, I couldn’t resist teasing her. “Remember what I said about Miss Chili Pepper, right?”

“Oh, the salsa!” Her face lit up with genuine excitement, as though nothing else mattered in the world but that homemade kick.

The mouthwatering scent of seasoned pork and roasted pineapples filled the air, and before long, I returned to the table with the tacos and all the fixings. We dug in, and from the very first bite, she couldn’t hold back.

“Wow, this is so good,” she mumbled between bites, her cheeks puffing up with food. Every few minutes, another “Oh yum” or “This is amazing” slipped from her lips.

I leaned back, entertained by the sight. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day my Chili Pepper turned into a chipmunk.

When we finished, I brought out dessert. “I could call it the crème de la crème, but since it’s my special buffaloberry ice cream, maybe it’s more like ‘ buffalo très magnifique .’”

Claire laughed, though her eyes were already fixed on the bowl. “Ah, trying to impress the lady with your French, huh?”

I laughed along. “Truth is, I practiced that line all morning. But I’m really hoping the ice cream does the impressing.”

“Adventurous, I like it. Not playing it safe with just the jam.” She then scooped up a spoonful.

“Oh, wow…wow, yeah!” Her eyes widened, and she nodded eagerly.

“It’s got this mix of tangy and sweet. It hits you sharp at first, then the creamy sweetness kicks in and smooths it all out.

This is seriously good! You should sell it. ”

“Thanks,” I said, pleased with her reaction. “But I’m keeping this one for special occasions.”

“Fair enough.”

“So, how’s Logan Pierce as a landlord?” I asked, wanting some inside scoop to tease my best friend later.

“Oh, he’s super chill. Honestly, I think he’d let it slide if I didn’t pay rent.” She giggled. “He said he owns a ranch not far from here?”

“Yeah, just a few miles closer to town.”

“You’re childhood friends?”

“Grew up together. Since we were toddlers, maybe even babies.”

“How cute!” she said, her expression suggesting she was trying to picture it.

“Still, I held back my curiosity and didn’t ask him your full name,” I admitted.

“You didn’t want to sound like a loser for not knowing your date’s last name?” she teased.

“Exactly.”

“It’s Claire Ashbourne.”

“Damn, I was hoping it started with a ‘P’ so I could’ve claimed to be psychic,” I joked, reminding her of how I guessed ‘Chili’ started with a ‘C,’ like Claire.

I topped up our wine and asked, “How was it growing up in the Big Apple?”

She took a sip of her wine, then a few more. “It was fun. Thanks to my brother.”

“Big brother?”

“Yeah.” She beamed. “Sometimes I wish our childhoods could’ve lasted forever. But it wasn’t always easy, especially with parents who were hardly there. And when they were, they were either fighting with each other or with us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Cody was the only one I had,” she said, and the name jolted me. Was Cody the “Code” she’d uttered in that violent nightmare?

I saw the distress flicker across her face, so I reached for her hand. “Claire, you don’t have to go there.”

“I want to…but…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Elia, my brother was killed. And I’m running from the people who did it.”

I rose from my seat and wrapped my arms around her as she leaned into me. I could see how much she was holding in and how much she wanted to let out. “You’re safe here. You can stop running now.”

She held onto my hand, her grip tight. “I don’t know if I can.”

I rubbed the top of her palm in slow, soothing circles, giving her the space she needed, though a tinge of fear spread through me. What if this was the last time I saw her?

I kept her hand firmly enclosed in mine. “Come take a walk with me.”

She looked up at me, puzzled but intrigued. I gestured for her to wait and quickly grabbed the socks and gumboots I’d bought for her.

“You thought of everything!” she said, slipping them on.

“I didn’t want to mess up your heels,” I said with a wink, the memory of our first meeting clear between us. She knew exactly what I meant—the day we nearly destroyed her sneakers. “Grab two blankets if you need them.”

“No, this is fine,” she said, holding on to the one already draped over her.

I reached out my arm, and she leaned into my side. I held her by the waist as I shined the torchlight along the path. The night was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional distant call of an owl. The air was crisp, and the stars twinkled above, bright against the deep sky.

“I know you don’t need my protection, Claire,” I began again. “You’ve been handling things on your own all this time, and I’ve been on the wrong end of your gun barrel, so I know you can defend yourself. What I’m trying to say is, you have a home here.”

She leaned closer, her voice soft but firm. “Everyone needs protection from something. Maybe I can do without it, but it’s hard. It’s damn hard. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing it alone.”

“You don’t think you’re far enough away now? You think they’ll find you here?”

“Not right away. But someone always knows something, and you’d be surprised how quickly word can spread.”

I nodded. “Then I’ll be by your side, whether that word travels fast or slow. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I’ll be there.”

Her gaze held mine for a moment, then she whispered, “Is that how badly you want me to stay?”

“I let you walk away that morning. I regretted it, and I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

Then she took the torchlight from me and flicked it off.

The next thing I felt was her hand behind my neck, drawing me in.

Her lips touched mine, cold from the night air but igniting something warm and intense.

In the pitch darkness, the kiss felt different—like a sensation I’d never anticipated.

Without sight, every touch was heightened, every shift in her breath magnified.

It was all heat and instinct, something raw and powerful.

When we finally broke apart, I whispered, “So you don’t want me to see your eyes?”

“You’ll see the fear.” Her voice was so fragile. “And I don’t want you to.”

“I want to see that fear, Claire.”

“Not tonight,” she refused. “Tonight, just imagine me as yours—no past, no baggage. Just the future, waiting for us.”

It was the clean slate I’d been contemplating. Ironically, when the moment came, it felt unfinished, like we couldn’t exist without the past that shaped us.

“Your past brought you here. It brought you to me,” I argued.

“There will be plenty of time to discuss the past, and you’ll see everything in my eyes. Right now, please, I just want you here, seeing me as Miss Chili Pepper who turned up at your driveway, doing exactly the opposite of what you told me to.”

I chuckled and leaned in to kiss her again. I didn’t need daylight to feel the heat radiating from her—the sound of her breath was enough to ignite every nerve.

“Elia…”

And that call didn’t help my self-control.

Then her hand found the waistband of my jeans. Instantly, I could feel myself growing harder.

“Claire…”

“Sshh…”

She unfastened my jeans, causing me to jerk my hips to let them fall. With her hand now inside my underwear, she fisted her hand around my throbbing cock. I threw my head back in pleasure. Fuck! This hadn’t been part of my plan, but it was infinitely better than anything I could have imagined.