Indelible by Laurie Buchanan (best young adult book series TXT) 📕

risk another relationship? Scratching his jaw, he realizes, Oh hell, I’ve already fallen.

After sitting down again on the blanket at her feet, Mick smiles. “Turnabout is fair play. How is it that a beautiful, eligible woman like you isn’t married?”

“Touché.” Emma laughs. “I enjoy dating, meeting new people, and having fun. But to be honest, I’m a little bit scared. One of my brothers was stunned to find himself in the middle of a divorce after two children and ten years of marriage. I don’t want that to happen to me. So I’m working on myself, doing everything I can to ensure that I bring the best version of me into a relationship. When the time comes, I’ll be open to someone who’s done the same thing.”

Mick sees a movement in his peripheral vision. He glances past Emma. “Oh boy, we’re in for it now,” he says.

Hemingway is racing toward them at breakneck speed.

From the crotch of a tree at the edge of the clearing, Jason, too, sees Hemingway. He’s stunned with disbelief. What the hell? I put enough poison in that goddamned dog’s water bowl to drop an elephant!

Emma watches Mick rake his fingers through his hair, then absently rub his left hip. She appreciates the masculine way he fills out his jeans and dark green shirt. He looks devastatingly handsome.

Hemingway stops on a dime at the edge of the picnic blanket.

Reaching out to pet Hemingway’s sizable head, Emma laughs. “Hey, handsome. It’s nice to see you again, big guy.”

“I bet Niall doesn’t know you’re here. Did you give him the slip?” Mick directs his question into big, brown, soulful eyes. Hemingway stands up and shakes his massive head to clear the dust. They both watch as the shake ripples down his enormous body, ending with a final flip of his tail.

Emma crosses her arms and rubs them up and down with the palms of her hands. “The wind’s picked up. It’s starting to get downright chilly.”

Squinting, Mick studies the horizon. “We don’t usually get summer storms, but I think one’s brewing. It’s rare for this area to get thunder and lightning, but when it does, it’s intense. A few years ago, we even experienced hurricane force winds. It was incredible.”

Emma watches as Hemingway noses the picnic basket—hinting. After unlatching the lid, Mick finds a tidbit to share and then the three of them start toward home.

A rabbit darts across the open expanse. Never one to ignore a good chase, Hemingway bolts in pursuit. They’re out of sight in moments.

When Mick and Emma reach the paved walkway, Emma looks up at the tree canopy.

Oh, shit! Jason’s rapid-fire mind scrambles for a cover story should he be seen.

The wind rushes through the leaves, making them ripple like an ocean of greenery.

Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, Emma makes out the loamy smell of leaves decomposing in the rich, dark soil on the forest floor.

“I had a lovely time,” she says.

Kneeling, his face just inches from her, Mick draws Emma in for a kiss. Long, soft, and sweet, it brims with promise.

And though he suspected it before, now Jason has proof positive. Emma is Mick’s weakness, his vulnerable point. I’ll use her to get to him. I’ll make him watch as I kill her. And then I’ll kill him. He’ll die—twice.

CHAPTER 12

“I would advise anyone who aspires to a writing career that before developing his talent he would be wise to develop a thick hide.”

—HARPER LEE

Though the sun’s shadows are lengthening by the minute, the day is far from gone. In the kitchen, Niall is brooding. A Scottish trait he inherited from a long line of MacCullough’s. Stumped, he drums his fingers on the smooth, gray-veined marble pastry slab. He’s a man who takes a great measure of pride in what comes out of his kitchen.

“Which would be the better appetizer to serve with grilled shark steaks in sage butter sauce?” he asks the room at large. “Cornmeal-crusted oyster mushrooms, or caramelized fennel and goat cheese?”

Like a third-grader with an answer—arm waving wildly—Hemingway’s long tail thumps hard as if he has the answer to the question. “Ask me, ask me!” he seems to say.

“You think it should be the caramelized fennel and goat cheese? Well okay. But if you’re so smart, what wine should I pair with the meal?” Niall asks Hemingway.

Now standing, Hemingway gives a whole-body wag.

“You think a medium-weight white with firm acidity, long finishes, and volcanic minerality would be sublime? Well now, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend. Granted it’s unusual, but I’ve selected a red that won’t overpower the shark while adding a range of earthiness, structure, fruit, and tannins. In town today, I stopped at Old Fairhaven Wines and picked up a few bottles of Molettieri ‘Vigna Cinque Querce,’ Riserva, Taurasi, Campania 2001,” Niall says, punctuating each word with a fake Italian accent and hand gestures for emphasis.

“Hey good lookin’ what cha got cookin’, how’s about cookin’ something up with me?”

Niall looks over to see Libby leaning against the kitchen entry. “I didn’t see you there,” he says.

“I know you didn’t. I’ve been watching you. I was admiring the way your hair falls onto your forehead and the way your rolled sleeves show off your forearms. With your shirttails hanging out over your jeans and the heat of the kitchen adding color to your cheeks, you have a boyish look that pulls at my heartstrings,” she says, suggestively.

Niall, in turn, admires the way laughter erupts from Libby’s unpainted mouth when she steps into the kitchen. While outside hanging laundry to dry, the wind had loosened her hair and sent it dancing around her face, causing Niall’s molten gaze to search her features one by one. When his eyes drop to her lips, he feels a tug in his groin.

“How long have you been standing there?” Niall asks with mock severity, while thinking, That woman could charm blossoms into blooming.

The laundry