A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2) by Heather Hildenbrand Read Free Book Online Page A

her out. As if her side of the story would make a damn bit of difference after all this time. He knew how I felt about my grandparents. So he’d waited until he was on his deathbed to ask it of me. How could I say no?
    The sting of it—of a lifetime of bitterness toward a family that didn’t deserve their own son—got to me and my temper flared. “You’ve got to admit, though, places like this are so … ancient. It’s like the word ‘progress’ doesn’t exist here. People get stuck in their ways and there’s no changing the way they think. You’re either right or you’re wrong and heaven forbid you’re wrong.”
    I fell silent as I realized my rant bordered on personal. I hadn’t meant to say all that. But Casey’s reproachful look had gotten to me. As if he had a right to judge me or assume anything. He had no idea what I knew about small towns, about what they were capable of. I’d watched it firsthand; my mother still carried that hurt and bitterness around.
    I caught Casey watching me, dishes forgotten once again. “Are we talking about places or people?” His hands were propped on the counter, bracing himself and making his biceps flex and tighten. My train of thought evaporated at the sight of his bared muscles. I forced my eyes back up to his face and found him smirking at me—caught again.
    Dammit. My mouth went dry.
    I opted for a long swig of my beer in lieu of an answer and Casey went back to the suds. While I drank, I shoved aside my real reason for being here. And for hating every minute of it. Mentally, I put it all into a drawer right next to how hot Casey Luck was when he did domestic chores. Neither one deserved my attention just now.
    Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d found a guy this hot. Or been distracted so fully from my grief—a constant ache that felt like anger and always seemed to simmer just underneath my forced smile. Still, Casey was a local, and that was the exact opposite of my type.
    The silence stretched and I stared out the window at the long shadows of dusk. A bird sang in a nearby tree but I couldn’t see it. All I saw was a lawn that would soon need cutting broken by a worn path carved out between the house and the barn. He must spend a lot of time in there , I thought idly. Wonder what for?
    “So, which Ivy League was it?”
    Casey’s question jarred me. “What?” I blinked, but Casey was staring hard at the baking pan he was scrubbing. Even so, I could hear the challenge in his words. I’d insulted him. Guilt pricked at me but my defenses were made of insults and I couldn’t afford to drop a single one just now.
    “Ivy League,” he repeated. “College. It must’ve been one of those top-tier schools that educated and enlightened you until you were so high above the rest of us, you could so easily look down on the world.”
    Okay, I deserved that one. “University of Pennsylvania,” I answered.
    “UPenn? Really?” Casey asked, surprise coloring his words. When he spoke again, his demeanor shifted, the irritation dissolving. “I have a friend that went there before law school. Nice place.”
    “You’ve been there?” I asked.
    He cast a sideways glance at me, one brow lifted. “Is it so shocking to think I’ve left Grayson and seen the rest of the world?”
    My cheeks heated at how easily he’d read me. I stared absently at my beer, unable to look up while I tried to think of something to say. But for reasons I couldn’t fathom, he let me off the hook.
    “What did you study?” Casey asked.
    I found him studying me with no trace of judgment and realized I’d been way too hard on him. I was a guest—standing in his kitchen, drinking his beer—and I’d done nothing but insult the guy and his whole town. My dad would have tossed a dishrag at me by now and muttered about manners. I decided to make more of an effort. “I graduated with a Bachelors in Architecture last spring,” I said.
    “Buildings, huh? Any kind in