He should kiss her. Erase, finally, the feeling of Willow in his arms.
He leaned down, brushed his lips against Sierra’s. Softly, sweetly.
She kept her mouth closed, but she received his kiss, a gentle, polite response.
Okay. They were in public, so . . .
Still, when he lifted his head, she gave him a smile so darned perfunctory that he suddenly felt patronized. Like, Phew, we got that over with.
Huh.
It didn’t help when someone bumped into him. He nearly stepped on Sierra’s foot, and caught her as she fell back.
“What the—” He rounded on the club-footed dancer.
Stopped.
Pete held up his hand in surrender. “Sorry, bro. Tallie and I are just getting our dancing legs.”
Sam stared at his brother. Pete wore his baseball cap backward, and he had that reporter from the other night in his arms. She giggled as she stared up at Pete, so much infatuation on her face it was embarrassing.
“Just stay in your space,” Sam said, turning back to Sierra.
But Sierra was standing there, her mouth open. “Are you kidding me?” She glared at Pete. “You told Jess you’d help her today. The only time we were gone was for lunch. And now she’s at home, tearing out tile, and you’re here . . . dancing?”
He didn’t want to, but Sam gave Pete credit for the flash of guilt that crossed his face. It vanished in a second, replaced with a shrug. “That house is her mess. I didn’t sign on to spend every waking hour repairing it.”
Sierra’s mouth opened, and even Sam stared at him.
Huh?
Pete turned back to Tallie, who wrapped her arms up around his neck. He leaned into her for a very slow dance.
And that was just it.
“Seriously, Pete? It’s not just Jess—you were supposed to pick up Mom today too.” Sam didn’t know why he suddenly had his hand on Pete’s shoulder, turning him. “I swear, you’re the most irresponsible person I’ve ever met!”
Pete came around fast, his eyes dark, sparking.
Sam couldn’t stop himself or the derision in his voice. “You’re just out for yourself—always good-timin’ Pete, right?”
A moment too late he recognized Pete’s expression, the same defensive posture he’d seen so many nights when he dragged the idiot home from one too many parties, even a few ER visits.
Guilt.
Masked oh-so-perfectly by anger. “Step back, Sam. I know you think you’re the boss of me, but guess what, my private time is mine. I’m sorry I forgot to give Mom a ride, okay?”
Sam should have just left it there, ignored the shove Pete gave him, maybe pulled Sierra off the dance floor.
Anything, really, to grab the fraying ends of his perfect night before it all unraveled. After all, he was a deputy and knew how to rein in trouble.
But not tonight. Because it all piled up—fear, guilt, frustration, and not a little disappointment—and came out in a fist, balled and headed for Pete’s chin.
Pete ducked and hooked him around the waist, tackling him back into the wall, slamming him so hard, his breath whooshed out.
Then Pete planted his fist into his gut, and Sam doubled over.
But he hadn’t been Pete’s brother without learning his tricks. Sam rebounded fast with an uppercut that had Pete spinning.
“Stop it!” Sierra leaped in front of him, cutting through the haze of fury.
Heaven help him, Sam nearly pushed her aside and went after his brother on the floor.
But Tallie was screaming, and the party had come to a screeching halt. The dancers parted, and Ian grabbed Sam by the collar and pressed him up to the wall. “Let it go, Sam!”
Pete pinched his nose, blood flowing into his hand. He climbed to his feet, and Tallie tried to help.
Pete brushed her off. Came at Sam.
Ian stopped him with a hand to his chest.
Pete shoved it away. “I don’t know why I bother to try and impress you,” he spat. “I’ll always be a screw-up to you.”
“Yeah, actually, you will. And seriously—impress me? We’re way past that, Pete. Now I just desperately hope that you don’t kill anybody.”
Gage and Ty broke through the crowd; Gage headed for Pete, Ty for Sam.
Gage worked Pete into his corner, shoving napkins at him for his nose.
“What’s the deal?” Ty said, his hand on Sam’s collar.
Sam shook free of them all. “It’s nothing.” He pushed through the crowd, headed for the door, and didn’t stop until he was on the porch, bent over, still trying to catch his breath.
His insides ached.
And not only from Pete’s punch.
Sierra came out. She said nothing as she stood there.
Finally, “You want to talk about it?”
He looked up at her, the grim set of her mouth, tight expression of disappointment, her arms folded over her chest.