Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(2)

“Seriously, you’re a caveman,” she called. “It’s like you stepped straight out of the nineteen fifties!”

His typically stern expression cracked with a grin, reminding her that the majority of the ladies in town had his name knitted on their pillows. Her brother was a heartbreaker—even more so because he rarely dated, and when he did it was never anyone in the local community. He never let any of the nice girls of Sweet Hill get within twenty feet of his bed, insisting they were only after a ring. She knew he was off and on again with a woman in Alpine. A CPA that worked long hours and apparently wasn’t looking to get said ring on her finger.

“See you at dinner next week,” he called.

“I don’t remember inviting you!”

“Of course you did. I just broke my back moving you in. You owe me.” He winked at her as he ducked inside his truck. “Make your chicken parmesan.”

“I’m making liver and onions . . . or something vegetarian,” she called after her carnivore-loving brother.

He hung out his open window, his broad palm skimming the side of his door as he replied, “Funny. You don’t like liver. Neither does Dad.”

“I can learn to like it.” She planted her hands on her hips.

Chuckling, he started backing out of her driveway. “See you next week.”

She waved grudgingly. Overbearing or not, she loved him and she knew he loved her, too. She knew he even understood her need for her own place and her own life or he would have dug his heels in much more than he had.

Closing the door to her house, she turned back around to face her new abode.

It was perfect. An open-concept space with a kitchen that looked out into the living and dining area. She imagined entertaining in this space. Hosting Sunday dinners with her father and Hale—Tucker, too, when he came home. Maybe one of her brothers would eventually settle down with a girlfriend or wife.

She carried the image a little further and saw herself cooking for a few of her friends, maybe even a boyfriend. She winced. She had the friends. Now she just needed to work on getting the boyfriend. Easier said than done.

The good thing about growing up as the sheriff’s daughter was that no one screwed with you.

The bad thing about being the sheriff’s daughter was that no one screwed with you.

A chastity belt could not have been more effective. No one dared mess with her. By the time she was a junior in high school, Hale was already one of her father’s deputies and giving MIPs to her classmates every time he caught them drinking at a party. As far as those high school parties were concerned, no one handed her a beer. No guy even attempted to touch her. Half the time they didn’t even invite her, too afraid that the party would get busted.

No, Faith never had a prayer. She was a social pariah, and that did something to a girl. Watching guys turn tail when they saw her coming cut into her confidence when it came to the opposite sex. That lack of confidence had followed her through life.

By the time she got to college, she was woefully lacking in experience and kept to herself. She landed her first boyfriend in her last year of college. She dated Chad for eighteen months. He was an engineering student. Sociable and outgoing, he put her at ease. Sex, when they finally had it, was nice if not exactly rock-your-world. She figured that would get better with more practice. However, their last few months together they hardly practiced. No, they spent more and more time at school and work than with each other. When Chad broke up with her, explaining that he wanted to see other people, it wasn’t so surprising. Maybe even a relief. They were hardly seeing each other at that point. She couldn’t say she truly loved him. She thought she had, in the beginning at least. But it had never been passionate between them. Not like she always imagined love to be. It was never a chest-squeezing, giddy and breathless kind of thing, but maybe that was simply the remnants of her teenage self hoping for something that belonged on the pages of a romance novel.

Rolling up her sleeves, she got to work unpacking her kitchen and putting everything in its place. Coasters on the bar counter. Oven mitts on their hooks. Trivets in the drawers. Dishes in the cabinet. Her spices in the rack that hung on her pantry door. The tall pepper mill that had belonged to her mother and still cracked pepper better than any pepper mill she’d ever encountered took position by her stove.

She eyed the ancient stove, vowing to look into upgrading it. A good oven was essential. Faith liked to cook. She had been doing it since her mom passed away and it became apparent that if she relied on her father and brothers, every day of her life would consist of frozen pizza and scrambled eggs. Badly scrambled eggs. Bone-dry and crunchy. If she wanted to eat anything better for the rest of her adolescent life, she’d concluded that she was going to have to be the one to prepare it. She’d found peace working in her mother’s kitchen. It was like she was connected to her somehow, surrounded by her pots and spices, using her recipes.

She ran a hand over her gleaming new refrigerator. Tomorrow she’d have to go to the store and buy groceries. Right now she had a few basics. Opening her refrigerator, she peered inside and assessed if she had enough ingredients to make her mother’s chocolate chip scones.

Satisfied that she did, she tightened the band of her ponytail and got started. Soon she was shaping doughy crescent scones onto a well-seasoned pan, the place smelling like the childhood of her memories. With three kids, two of whom were teenage boys that topped six feet, her mom had constantly been cooking. Setting the timer on her phone, Faith wiped her hands off on a dishtowel.