My Kind of Wonderful(18)

Hud continued to impersonate a statue, remaining quiet, so much so that she figured he had no intention of saying another word to her. Ever. She turned her head and looked at him.

His expression was still carefully blank, but she thought maybe she could see something in there, a flash of something deep. Pain? Regret? She paused again. “Have you ever thought that talking about him might help?”

He turned his head toward the mountain run that led straight to the lodge, watching the skiers and boarders make their various ways down. Some were smooth and extremely talented. Some were clearly just doing their best to stay upright. And some were flat on their asses after a fall. Bailey had a feeling that Hudson was seeing none of that but something from his past.

“What do you think?” she asked quietly. “Talking about it, or… no?”

He snorted.

Okay so that was not only a no, it was also a big, fat no.

“Jacob’s story isn’t relevant here,” he said. “Not for a mural.”

“You’ve seen the draft,” she said. “You know that—”

“Make something up. Hell, make the whole thing up. No one needs to know that much about us.”

“Okay.” She nodded and then had to ask. “So is it just me? Or are you always a little bit grumpy?”

He turned his head toward her but didn’t speak.

She arched a brow in a question, wondering if he’d answer. He did, with a slow smile that actually stopped her heart for a second, and her ability to breathe. The smile was followed by a laugh, a full-bodied one that had his head tipping back. When he’d finished, he spread his arms out on the bench and grinned at her.

Nope. Still not able to breathe, she thought, a little dazed by him. Or a lot dazed. How long had it been since her lady bits had quivered?

Way too long.

But they were quivering now, coming to life with a tingle that she thought absolutely shouldn’t be happening in broad daylight.

Or maybe it should.

It’s okay to live, she reminded herself. Okay to be happy and excited.

And there was no doubt she was both, she thought, still staring at him.

When his smile slowly faded, she braced herself.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t mean to be an *. But the timing for this mural is bad, for reasons you don’t understand.”

“Because your mom mixes up the present and the past?” she asked. “Because the resort is in financial trouble?”

He gave her a long once-over, and when he spoke he sounded less than thrilled with her knowledge. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I’m good at research,” she allowed.

“So am I,” he said, and lifted his phone, where he’d just plugged her into his browser. “You’re a graphic artist and you work for yourself. You’ve created logos and brandings for a brewery, a local chain of two grocery stores, and for a few small towns. But you’ve never done an outdoor mural. You’ve never done any sort of public painting—period.”

She held her breath, waiting for the rest, but apparently even Hudson Kincaid couldn’t read at the speed of light.

“Tell me why you want this mural so bad,” he said.

“Hey, you’re the one being interviewed,” she said playfully. “Hudson Edward Kincaid, also known as Hud, also known as head of ski patrol and a Cedar Ridge cop.”

He smiled. “See, you have plenty of words for me. Looks like we’re done here after all.”

Smug bastard. But she returned his smile. “It’s possible that if you gave me a few honest minutes, I’d come up with better words.”

“I’m not really interested in how people see me.”

Nope, he wouldn’t be. She knew that much already. Maybe her word for him should’ve been stalwart. Or unfaltering.

Not to mention stubborn.

But one thing was certain, he wasn’t going to open up and be honest about himself unless she made the first move to do so. “You have a great family,” she said. “You’re all…”

“Insane?”

She smiled. “Tight-knit.”

He nodded. “Like a pack of feral wolf cubs. Which explains why we always want to beat the shit out of each other.”

“You do not,” she said on a shocked laugh.

He looked at her. “You have family, Bailey?”

Goodness, she liked the way he said her name. Slowly. In that voice as smooth as aged whiskey. “Just my mom,” she said.

“Well, unless you’ve got a big family with too many siblings, you couldn’t possibly understand the constant urge to beat the shit out of each other.”

“That may be true,” she admitted. “Although now that I’ve seen the Kincaids at the breakfast table and how you all interact, maybe I understand more than you think.”

“We’re usually worse. We were on our best behavior.”

She laughed. Yes, they’d bickered, stolen food off one another’s plates, snarled, and insulted, but they’d had each other’s backs. “Actually, I thought it was amazing,” she said. “I was envious as hell.”

He looked surprised. “Has it always been just you and your mom?”

She nodded.

“What happened to your dad?” he asked.