Page 66 of A Hard Habit to Break

Rachel stiffened at the cocky tone she knew all too well. She braced for the Petey-isms parade. Obviously, Noah knew this woman, and Pete wanted Rachel to know it. As he climbed out of the pickup truck, his lean and willowy frame peacocked in designer everything, a furrow formed between Noah’s brows. Rachel noticed neither of them held bags for the donation delivery for the fire victims.

“Pete.” Noah shook his head. “Foul, bro. Just foul.”

Ricky, the cock-a-doodle-do ally Rachel never knew she needed, flew into action.“Paaa cawww.”

Everything happened fast. Cheyenne squawked in alarm. Ricky the Rooster, his new target acquired, charged forward. Pete failed to recognize the threat. Within seconds, Ricky gave chase. Pete darted around the little red pickup, but Ricky had stamina.

“What is up with this chicken?” Pete yelled, picking up the pace.

“Rooster,” Mrs. Kline clucked from her perch on the front porch. “You both like chasing tails. Seems to me Ricky’s better at it.”

“Pete, honey,” Cheyenne called, from a distance. “Git away from my truck with that thang. Don’t scratch my paint job.”

ClamClam, not one to be left out, came galloping across the clearing.

“MRAAAAAAAAAAAAOWWWWWW!”

“This place is freakin’ Jurassic Farm. What is wrong with you people?”

“MRAAAAAAAAAAAAOWWWWWW!” her kitty screamed in affirmation.

Rachel laughed, content to see Pete get a taste of the unwanted attention he gave. The fun didn’t last long. Noah, ever the hero, blocked Ricky’s path until he lost interest. With Ricky gone, ClamClam disappeared behind the house.

“Next time, just stay home,” Noah hissed while looking in Cheyenne’s direction. “I’m on Ricky’s team.”

“You’re a busy man,” Pete panted, catching his breath. He looked at Rachel as he spoke, a sly grin on his narrow face. “I’m keeping Cheyenne company after you broke her heart, bro.”

“Doubtful,” Noah muttered.

Cheyenne, either oblivious to the rise in tension or the best community theater actress Service had produced, gave Noah a dazzling smile. As she sauntered over, giving Noah an affectionate peck on the cheek, Rachel watched his eyes roam. But not over Cheyenne’s body. His gaze locked on Rachel’s stiff posture. She felt a hot flash of anger and hurt mix with the jealousy already burning in her gut. No doubt, the exact response Pete wanted. The man was a hater. Like she hated the thought of leaving Noah. Wanting to explore thepossibilities… until Pete pushed in to ruin what could happen. Not for the first time.

“Are you surprised, Noah?” Cheyenne’s body bounced, especially her chest, with the light gaiety of a beach ball. Rachel wished she had a safety pin handy. “Pete mentioned you needed help up here at the Johnson place. I thought I’d lend an extra set of hands.”

Hands, Rachel thought. The woman flashed a fresh set of red-painted gel nails. She came to a construction site with a day-old manicure. And the way she swayed from side to side, her generous cleavage a rotating jeweler’s turntable. It was a wonder she stayed upright.

“You two know each other?” Rachel heard herself ask in a tight voice. Cheyenne looped her arm through Noah’s, holding him close.

“Aww,” Cheyenne cooed as if Rachel had asked a stupid question, “we work together, and other things,” she giggled. “It gets cold at night, you know?”

No, this pinup doll didn’t go there.

She knew why Pete had brought Cheyenne here. Rachel had never been welcomed into his bromance. Noah was smart and empathetic. He genuinely cared about people. Pete used Noah’s star power and easy charm to lure the masses into his corner. Noah couldn’t see the viper Pete camouflaged beneath his sweet-as-an-angel smile, but the Judelson restaurants and Johnson family farm had history—all of it bad.

“Rachel,” Bethany said, looking from her to Noah and back again, “everything okay here?”

To her credit, Bethany paid little attention to the mayor and even less to Cheyenne.

Clearing her throat of the genteel spirit her stepmother had laid down on her behalf, Rachel said, “I’m good.” Rachel turned to face the object of her desire. “Noah?”

“Sure am.” Never breaking eye contact, he asked, “You ready for me? To work, this labor of love?”

“Did someone say ‘labor and love’? Count me in,” Benji called, running up from the direction of the barn, his blond strands damp and hanging past his collar.

“You’re the Benji who challenged my Noah on the football field?” Cheyenne said with way too much enthusiasm when directed at her plus one.

My goodness. Pick a man and stick with him, Cheyenne. Pete narrowed his eyes, not pleased that his giggly monkey wrench had started to work on a plan different from the one he had in mind.

Benji, noticing the wicked intention flaming in the woman’s eyes, took an assessing step back.