Page 26 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

I told myself it wouldn’t happen again. I needed to keep my head down, keep my heart to myself, keep it together for Maverick, for me, for this new life we’d barely started building.

And for that to happen, I needed to stay away from Dean Lockhart. He was a walking, breathing, six-foot-something temptation, and after that kiss today, I didn’t trust myself to resist.

9

KRYPTONITE IN CONVERSE

Dean

Icouldn’t stop thinking of the kiss. It had implanted itself in my DNA and I wasn’t able to extract it. It burrowed under my skin like a splinter I couldn’t dig out.

The more I actively tried not to think about it, the more my brain obsessed over it. I’d never had an issue blocking things out, focusing, and having mental discipline. Somehow one kiss, that probably lasted less than a minute, had rewired my brain.

It wasn’t just how good the kiss was, although it was the best kiss I’d ever had. It was the way it made me forget everything. For those precious moments, I wasn’t worried about anything, stressed, irritated, or anxious. It quieted my brain while making my entire being feel more alive than I ever had, and I quickly realized I could easily get addicted to that rush. That’s why I’d ended it so abruptly. I worried it was like a hit of the most addictive drug. It scared me.

Even now, days later, I hadn’t gone more than a few minutes without thinking about it. Felicity seemed to think that we’d gotten…whatever was going on, out of our systems, or at least that’s what she’d said. The truth was, that kiss only made me want her, think about her, crave her more, which I hadn’t thought was possible.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I almost ignored it, but the area code was local, and I had a sixth sense for when a call was going to be more trouble than it was worth, so I picked up on the third ring.

“Lockhart,” I answered.

A pause followed, just long enough to make me wonder if the call had dropped. Then a booming voice came over the speaker. “Dean, Raymond Blackburn here.”

The name hit with the familiar, sour taste of old rivalry. Blackburn was a third-generation lawyer, ran the most successful legal practice in the county, and had spent his entire career putting together deals for the same ranchers who drank away their problems at the local bar. His son Raymond Junior, R.J., was in my grade all through school, a smug little bastard who specialized in starting shit, stirring up trouble, and then walking away and watching the entire thing burn, acting as an innocent bystander.

“Afternoon, Mr. Blackburn.” I fell back on the icy professionalism that seemed appropriate. “What can I do for you?”

He cleared his throat, a gravelly sound underscored by decades of unfiltered Camels. “I’m handling Walter Foster’s estate.”

My first impulse was to ask if he needed to speak to Felicity, but I kept my mouth shut.

“There’s a minor matter involving a parcel of land adjacent to your north property line,” he said. “It seems Walter purchased it from Chuck Senior. Things are still getting settled as I’m still sifting through everything, his last will and testament was a joke. For now, I’m confident in telling you that the deceased left the property, and all associated rights, to his granddaughter, Felicity. You’ve been using it as a grazing easement for some time, yes?”

“Since before I was born,” I replied. I had no clue it wasn’t our property. I shifted in my chair, irritation building behind my eyes. “Okay, so how do we move forward? Is there paperwork to sign or…”

“Well now, that will be up to Miss Felicity,” Blackburn explained. “I called her this morning and haven’t heard back.”

How had I missed something so big it not only affected my life, but also the lives of my family? I’d done a forensic audit of the ranch when I came on as CFO. How had this slipped through the cracks?

“Why has this never come to light before?” I asked.

“Right, well, this deal was made in the seventies with your grandfather. People made deals based on honor with a handshake.”

“This was a handshake deal?”

“No, no, no, nothing like that. No, this was made on a cocktail napkin.”

“A cocktail napkin,” I repeated without an ounce of humor.

Still, I found myself waiting for the punchline, but none came.

“Yes, sir, but it was signed, dated, and notarized.”

“So what do we need to do? Are there papers I need to sign? How do I go about buying her out?”

“Well now, hold your horses right there. Felicity needs to decide what she wants to do. It might be a little more complicated than throwing some money at her to get her to sign off on her and her son’s rightful inheritance.”

Blackburn was making it sound like I was trying to screw Felicity out of something when this was the first I was hearing about it. That’s the last thing I wanted to do. My only concern was rectifying the situation, not adding more fuel to the fire.