Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(82)

Rita, his oldest sister, had shaken them in New Mexico, making for greener pastures—or rumpled bedsheets, depending on whether you were a realist or a romantic. Aaron still considered himself the former, even if he’d definitely felt a minor blip of something gooey over the whole inconvenient business. With Rita shacked up in the desert with her boyfriend, only Aaron, Belmont, and Peggy Clarkson remained. Sage, too, although the wedding planner wasn’t related by blood. Some people are just naturally lucky.

Aaron caught sight of the campsite turnoff up ahead and gave a loud cough—his way of waking up the other travelers—before easing the rust bucket that passed for transportation to a stop outside a small redwood building marked TALL TIMBERS RENTAL OFFICE. Okay, it wasn’t the Ritz-Carlton, but with the Iowa caucuses set to begin the following morning, every fleabag motel from there to Des Moines had been booked out. Fortunately, they were only a short drive from some of the event sites, where his fellow politicians would begin holding rallies for the local constituents starting bright and early tomorrow morning.

Or they had been his fellow politicians at one time—his equals—before he’d gone and fucked his rapidly growing career to hell. Now he’d come to Iowa to fight his way back in, by fair means or foul. For the first time in his life, Aaron was desperate. Desperate enough to share a cabin with his brother in the backwoods of Iowa in a place with a half-lit vacancy sign.

Jesus Christ, don’t let this downswing last forever.

“Are we there yet?” Peggy asked on a yawn, her stretching arms visible in the rearview mirror. “I’m starving. Is there a bathroom?”

“Yes. What’s new? And probably,” Aaron answered, pushing open the driver’s-side door to climb out of the Suburban, followed closely by Old Man, who trotted off, presumably to take a leak and maybe chase a squirrel or two. This was how their arrangement worked. Aaron chauffeured the dog around, fed him, and didn’t meddle in his business. Old Man would show back up when he was good and ready.

Aaron stopped short when he saw that Belmont had somehow already beaten him out of the vehicle, all without making a sound. His brother stood still as a monument, hands tucked into his jean pockets, running cool eyes over the wooded campsite. “Good enough for you?” Aaron asked, moving past his brother at a crisp pace, eager to drop off his luggage and hit the bricks. If he wanted to find a way into the first function tomorrow morning, his work began now. Would have started last week if Rita’s boyfriend hadn’t sabotaged their only ride out of New Mexico.

As expected, Belmont didn’t answer him, but Aaron hardened himself against giving a shit. Ever since Belmont had knocked his tooth out and cost him four hours of dental surgery, their relationship had gone from dwindling to nonexistent. In a barely conscious gesture, Aaron prodded the sore tooth with his tongue, watching as Belmont turned and helped Sage from the Suburban, in the same fashion a reality-television baker might transport a wedding cake. Even Aaron found it impossible not to watch his brother and Sage orbit each other, like two slow-motion planets. They were simultaneously a frustration and a fascination. Frustrating because they refused to just admit the attraction and bang—at least that Aaron knew about—and fascinating because Sage seemed to be the only person capable of getting reactions out of Belmont. Hell, Aaron had busted his brother’s nose and barely gotten an acknowledgment.

Moving on.

“Right.” Aaron tugged at the starched collar of his shirt. “These cabins are shit cheap, but after the extra nights in the motel back in Show Low, not to mention the car part, I think we should limit it to two rentals. Sage and Peggy in one. Me and Bel in the other.” He traded an uneasy look with his brother. “I don’t plan to be here much, so you can brood in the dark and write sonnets—or whatever it is you do—until the cows come home. Just don’t use my good aftershave.”

Being the plan man felt good. This was his role in the Clarkson clan. The asshole with the directions. The one whose lack of a functioning heart gave him the ability to make hard decisions on everyone’s behalf. Aaron was more than fine with that job description. History didn’t remember the nice guys; it remembered the sons of bitches that got things done.

“Do you need help?” Peggy asked a little breathlessly, setting down her oversized suitcase. “You can bring me along to charm people. I’m very charming.”

Beside Peggy, Sage nodded. “She can’t help it.”

Aaron wondered if Sage realized she was a stunner herself—albeit on a far less flashier scale—but mentioning it would result in getting another tooth knocked out, courtesy of Belmont. He didn’t have time for that. “I’ll let you know if I need help,” Aaron said, knowing he wouldn’t. “For now, let’s stick to the plan. Once I’ve secured a position with the senator, you three can keep driving to New York. I’ll meet you there for New Year’s.” He picked up his leather duffel. “For now, let’s go rent some cabins. As if the last time we camped together in California wasn’t disaster enough.”

As he’d known she would, Peggy laughed, following in his wake toward the office. His younger sister was desperate to bond them all on this trip and, while it would never happen, sometimes Aaron had a hard time turning off his greatest talent: telling people what they wanted to hear.

“Aaron sprained his ankle in a gopher hole carrying me back to camp after I was stung by a jellyfish,” Peggy explained to Sage. “Mom was too busy perfecting her s’mores technique to keep track of us. Rita staged a protest of the outdoors and wouldn’t come out of the tent. Belmont, where were you?”