He Falls First

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

The ground rattled the bones of grandma’s 1928 red brick Queen Anne Victorian house and I jerked awake with a gasp. My bed was still rocking and rolling as I threw myself out of it and into the hallway, yelling a warning.

“Earthquake!”

Grandma Nell appeared at the bottom of the stairs in a candy apple-red silk nighty—wielding a hammer. “Sorry, sweetheart, it’s just me. But good news, I got the old generator right where I want her.”

At seventy-four, her confidence was impressive. She’d survived a lot in her lifetime. Two mild heart attacks and the same number of bad husbands. It was the curse all the Rose women bore; when it came to love, we always chose poorly and I was no exception.

“Why are you working on the generator at…” I padded barefoot down the squeaky stairs past five-decades-old flowery wallpaper and squinted at the antique grandfather clock against the far living room wall. “Three forty-five in the morning?”

“Well, when you’re old like me, you sleep like crap. I needed something to do.” Grandma fondly patted the pink and white wainscoting closest to her. “Luckily, our old house is always happy to provide me with work.”

No lie. The hard oak floors were scarred, the walls and dramatic high-vaulted ceilings and intricate crown moldings needed attention, the furniture was hopelessly outdated, but to me, this was home. The place meant everything to us—cranky pipes, rickety stairs, leaky roof, and all.

“You couldn’t have picked something quieter to do? Like, I don’t know, demo our hopelessly outdated kitchen?”

Grandma chortled. She liked my sarcasm. I’m pretty sure she was the only one who did.

“And didn’t we talk about you not pushing yourself too hard?” I asked. “Not to mention, wearing actual clothes in the common area so we don’t scar my little brother?”

“You talked.” But Grandma grabbed her thick, terry cloth robe from the back of a chair. The robe was the same pink as the wainscoting and possibly as old. “And no need to worry about Wyatt. We both know a twelve-year-old boy will sleep until we drag him out of bed. And even then, he wouldn’t take his gaze off that gaming console of his, earthquake or zombie apocalypse.”

Fact. “You actually got the generator running?” I asked. The thing was nearly as old as Grandma, but since we couldn’t afford a new one anytime soon, I had my fingers crossed on a light winter in Star Falls this year. Sonoma County was famous for its lush coastline and wineries, but in recent years we’d had extreme weather with wildfires and more rain than Noah’s Ark had ever seen, which meant rolling blackouts. And it’d actually snowed two winters running.

“I sure did get the generator running,” Grandma said proudly. “For ten whole seconds.”

I drew a deep breath, then nearly leapt out of my skin when someone screeched out in a sing-song voice, “Gooooooooood mornin’!”

I flicked on a lamp and eyed Pika-boo, grandma’s green and yellow parrot. The budgie blinked sleepily at me, the tuft of feathers on top of his head sticking straight up like he was coming off a three-day bender.

Spreading his wings to show off, he said, “I’m so pretty. Did you poop?”

That was the thing about budgies. They had an extensive vocabulary and were usually far too smart for their own good. But Grandma just cackled, amused by Pika-boo’s propensity to repeat back whatever phrases he’d heard that would get him the biggest reaction.

“You’re very pretty,” I said to the preening bird, who was doing a little morning gig routine. “But maybe we could cut down on asking people if they’ve pooped.”

“Hi,” he said in an exact replica of my voice. “How are you?” He paused. “Did you poop?”

Smart-ass. Not that I dared say it out loud and teach him yet another new word. I yawned so wide, my jaw cracked. “It’s too early for this. I’ve got a few minutes left before my alarm goes off. I’m going back to bed.” I pointed at Pika-boo. “Be a good boy.”

He bobbed his little head. “Be a good boy.”

In the warm glow of the lamp, Grandma tenderly cupped my face with both of her weathered palms. “Sorry I woke you.” One of her thumbs gently skimmed over the bandage at the curve of my jaw. Her eyes filled with sorrow and grief. Unable to face the reason for that, I shook my head and gently stepped back.

She simply gave me a warm, loving smile. “You need to drink more water, honey. You look pale. And eat more. I’m going to get dressed for work.” She headed up the stairs in that red nightie and pink robe.

You had to admire a woman who didn’t care what anyone thought. I’d always cared too much, which was probably why my life was currently circling the drain. I needed to be more like grandma—formidable and fearless.

I touched the bandage at my jaw. I’d been back home for six months now. Before that, I’d been sharing a rental house with a few roommates in Seattle and running my own ready-made meals business while navigating a bad relationship (was there any other kind?) Mitch had presented himself as one of the good ones, and I’d bought it hook, line, and sinker. I hadn’t seen the red flags in time to get out unscathed by the sneaky emotional and mental abuse, but the important thing was that I had gotten out.

Leaving him had coincided with my half brother, Wyatt, calling me in a panic. Mom had taken a job as a lounge singer on a cruise line in the Bahamas, abandoning him and grandma.

So I’d come home, gotten a job at a local catering company. It hadn’t been easy. I’d had to remind Mitch several times that we were never ever getting back together—a message he hadn’t fully accepted until a week ago, when I’d made a quick trip back to Seattle for some more of my things.

The bandage under my fingers hid the reason Mitch now had a restraining order against him. It was temporary, but I couldn’t see Mitch further risking his career for more trouble. Or so I told myself on the nights I couldn’t sleep.

I climbed the stairs and crawled back into bed, whimpering at the soft, warm bedding, needing these last few moments of peace more than I needed anything in my life. I eyed last night’s half-eaten bag of cheese puffs calling my name from my nightstand and remembered Grandma telling me to eat more. No problem. I popped a few in my mouth before lying back, sighing with bliss as the trans fats hit my system. Ahhhh—

Beep beep beep…

Damn. I slid out of bed—again—grabbed my water bottle, and headed down the hall to get a quick shower before work, taking a long swig from the bottle as I…

Bumped into a brick wall that didn’t belong to the house.

I sucked in a breath and choked on the water as it went down the wrong pipe because…not a brick wall.

But a man.

A tall, built, shadowy man.

Still coughing up a lung from accidentally waterboarding myself, I went into a hi-ya, I’ll-kick-your-ass stance. I didn’t know karate from a waltz, but I knew it was all in the attitude—which I had in spades.

“Easy,” the shadow said in a low, husky voice as a disembodied hand patted me on my heaving back.

Eyes streaming, throat burning, I jerked back. “I’m going to ‘easy’ my foot right up your—”

The hall light flicked on. Blinking rapidly to adjust my vision, I caught sight of an imposingly built man who was…not a stranger. Nope, it was Ryder Colburn, a client of Hungry Bee, the catering service where I worked. All I knew about him was that he had brooding eyes, an athletic way of moving that drew my attention, and a gruff voice, though he always nodded politely at me on the rare times our paths crossed—which was a good thing since I’d given up men, especially the hot ones. Well, at least my brain and heart had. My body was still in dispute on the subject.

His eyes lit with an annoying smirk, and I realized I still held my karate chop pose. Awesome, because why humiliate myself once, when I could do it twice? Dropping my hands to my sides, I straightened, and a cheese puff fell out of my shirt.

We both stared at it. “Well, that’s not embarrassing at all,” I muttered.

Ryder snorted. I tried not to stare, but my eyes had a mind of their own. His wavy, sun-kissed brown hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered to do more than run his fingers through it. The ends curled around his ears and the collar of his perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than my car. He was sans tie today, with the top two buttons on his shirt undone, revealing an alluring hint of dark ink. He had some nerve looking so good this early in the morning.

He hadn’t said anything since his soft but commanding “easy.” As usual, his expression gave little away. I’d been delivering food to his building for six months now and I still didn’t know much about him other than he’d turned being enigmatic into an art form.

“What are you doing up here?” I asked.

“Dropping off Hank.”

Right. Grandma was Hank’s daytime caregiver, and Hank was Ryder’s father. I had no idea why Ryder always used his dad’s given name in a tone that suggested aggravation instead of calling him “Dad.” Personally, I thought Hank was a sweetheart, and he kept Grandma busy. She loved taking care of people, so the job was a natural fit, and her paycheck went into an account for Wyatt’s future education.

Assuming, of course, that we got the kid through middle and high school first. “It’s early,” I said. Usually the drop-off happened long after I was at work.

“Yes.”

That was all he said. Apparently, he didn’t like to waste words, which was frustrating for someone like me who had the opposite problem. But I knew he was quiet. Not shy, not even close. I’d seen him direct a large, rowdy crew with ease, speak to a conference room full of suits, and once I’d watched him wade into a vicious traffic fight in front of his building, breaking it up with only a few words.

“This might be hard for you to believe,” I said, “but I’m going to need more than ‘yes.’”

Ryder almost smiled, I could tell, but then his gaze caught on the bandage just under my jaw. Lifting my hand to cover it was utterly involuntary.

He met my eyes, quiet for a beat, during which I silently requested that he not ask. Finally, he said, “I have an early meeting in Petaluma. Nell said she didn’t mind, but if Hank’s any sort of problem, please let me know.”

Wow. That added up to more words than he’d spoken to me in the whole time I’d known him. “So you can speak in full sentences.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Maybe amusement, maybe annoyance.

“And Hank’s never a problem,” I added.

Something came and went in his eyes. Doubt maybe? I had no idea. All he said was, “Let me know if that changes.”

I nodded, then shivered from the water I’d spit down the front of myself. I wanted to hop into the shower, but the thought of doing so while Ryder was only two feet from the bathroom door made me feel uncomfortably vulnerable. This was a relatively new anxiety for me. I no longer seemed able to like someone, much less trust them, until I’d seen them lose their temper. And I was willing to bet no one ever saw gruff, imperturbable, stoic Ryder Colburn be anything except perfectly composed.

Which meant I could never like him.

Not that it mattered, since there was that whole gave-up-men thing…

His gaze slid down my body and his almost smile reappeared, making me realize I’d somehow forgotten I stood there in my pj’s, which consisted of my baggiest, oldest pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve tee with Wonder Woman swinging her golden lasso over her head.

Correction: a very wet tee, now plastered to my skin. Great. “I’m feeling self-conscious.”

“That’s not what I’m feeling.”

I met his hazel eyes, and it wasn’t humor I caught, but a surprising heat, which both unnerved me and caused an answering thrum low in my belly.

Stupid belly.

I reminded it that I didn’t want to feel anything, but apparently Ryder, who embodied an island-of-one stance with a side of fuck-that, could make a dead woman come back to life.

Along with my nipples.

It was ironic, really, because my choice in sleepwear should’ve been…well, a walking/talking advertisement for abstinence. Personally, I loved Wonder Woman, who was everything I only wished I could be—strong, fierce, brave. Yes, hi, my name is Penny Rose, and I’m twenty-seven years old and want to be Wonder Woman when I grow up.

A corner of Ryder’s mouth twitched, so I did what I do—went on the defensive. “You have a problem with Wonder Woman?”

He gave a leisurely shake of his head. “Nope.” Then he gestured with his chin toward my chest. “She goes with your attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude!” Pika-boo yelled, imitating me from the living room below. “Did you poop yet?”

Ryder’s lips twitched.

I grimaced. “Last month he ate something he wasn’t supposed to and plugged himself up, so for a week or so we were constantly asking him if he pooped yet, and now he likes the reaction he gets when he’s the one asking that question.”

Another lip twitch and I tossed up my hands. “What?”

“Cute.” His gaze slid to my shirt once more before murmuring, “And fighting doesn’t make you a hero.”

I blinked. “Did you just…” Quote my absolute favorite Wonder Woman saying to my face?

But he was already walking away, jogging down the stairs and out the front door, without another word.