Blatantly Blythe (The Ghost Falls Series Book 3)

by Sarah Hegger

  A rambling old farmhouse, it might even have been a good-looking house if someone had given enough of a crap to make it so. A large, top loading washing machine with its mismatched dryer took up most of the front porch.

  Raised voices came from inside the house as she eased open the door. The familiar stench of cigarettes and mildew welcomed her home.

  Will sat on the bottom step of the staircase to the right of the door. He gave her a tight smile when he saw her. “Barron’s here.”

  “Damn.” She had hoped to get moved out early enough that they were either still out partying or hadn’t recovered from the night before. “Anyone else?”

  “He has some loser friend with him.” Will kept his voice low as he glanced up the stairs. “They’ve been upstairs all morning. They haven’t noticed the bags.” He jerked his head to the pile of luggage in the doorway to the sitting room.

  That was something at least. “Kim?”

  “At St. Peter’s.” Will nodded. “I got her to kindergarten before they pitched up. I left my car at our new place.” He jerked his head toward upstairs. “Don’t want them to see it.”

  “Perfect.” Blythe kept it cheerful. If her other brothers caught sight of Will’s new car, they’d take it from him. “We can pick her up later.”

  “Motorcycle Man” pounded from Barron’s room. Barron thought of it as his personal anthem and any time he was around, it was only a matter of time before it got played.

  “Fuck yeah!” Barron yelled, and Blythe could almost see him up there, hands in the air, fingers working an air guitar as he headbanged.

  She played it cool for Will. “You ready?”

  “Yeah?” His sweet, shy smile warmed the cold place inside her. If she had to take on Barron, she’d do it to make sure Will smiled more often. “I got Kim’s stuff all packed as well.”

  “Thank you.” She touched his cheek. At nineteen, Will didn’t yet have a full beard, and his skin was still baby soft. Of all her brothers, he looked the least like her. Dark haired like their father, with hazel eyes, he had inherited the more rugged bone structure that Brett and Barron shared. Will looked exactly like their father.

  “You okay?” He cocked his head and studied her.

  But his gentle, pure soul was all his own. God knows how he’d managed to shine through the genetic crapshoot of their parents. Bless him, he had, and done so with a determination to better himself that none of their other brothers came close to understanding.

  “I’m good.” Not even close, but she managed a smile.

  “Little fucker?” Barron’s voice rose over the music. “Bring us a beer.”

  Will’s face tightened.

  “Do it.” Blythe nodded up the stairs. “Maybe it will keep him out of our hair while I get us all loaded up.”

  “Cool.” Will dragged his feet toward the kitchen.

  From now on Barron could buy his own beer. Once she got the kids out of there, she felt no obligation to the others.

  Will had an odd assortment of backpacks, threadbare kit bags and trash bags stacked inside the front door. It took Blythe three trips to load up her car, all of them with her eyes on the stairs.

  Not vicious like the oldest, Brett, had been, Barron still had an unpredictable temper.

  After taking them beer and chips, Will helped her with the last few bags.

  Despite her heartache, she felt lighter somehow, as if getting out of that house had lifted a burden. The burden of being a Barrows.

  * * * *

  The master bedroom was situated on the ground floor to the right of the stairs. To the left was the sitting room that led into a dining room and kitchen. Blythe had given up on the kitchen years ago. The only things eating in that kitchen were the cockroaches.

  Praying her mother was lucid, Blythe tapped on the door.

  Carly Barrows must have been a knockout in her time. Some of that former beauty still clung to the delicate lines of her face. Time and being married to Pat had done a number on the rest of her though.

  As Blythe stepped into the room, Carly turned bleary green eyes to her. “Baby girl.”

  “Hey, Mom. I came to say goodbye.”

  Carly’s face crumpled. “You’re still going to do this?”

  “I have to.”

  At least Carly looked reasonably sober. Carly’s lank, blond hair hung on either side of her drawn face. With a shaking hand she grabbed a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. “You got a light?”

  “No.” Blythe wished her mother wouldn’t smoke, but it wasn’t a battle she had a hope of winning. “Will and I are leaving now.”

  “Taking my little girl with you.” Carly’s voice shook. She scrabbled in her bedside table and produced a hot pink lighter. “My pretty little Kyberlee. You were pretty as a baby but nothing on Kyberlee.”

  Not Kyberlee at all, but Kimberly, because Blythe had filled in the birth certificate before Carly’s obsessions with the Kardashians had followed her baby sister around forever. Wheeler was bad enough. “You know why. We’ve spoken about this.”

  The flame turned the cigarette tip to a cherry as Carly sucked on it. “Talking.” Carly made a face and pulled on her smoke. “You’re always talking at me until my head hurts.”

  “You can come and see her.” Under certain conditions, which Blythe had outlined painstakingly. No showing up drunk. No sloppy scenes. No smoking and no brothers. “And if you need anything, ask Dixie. She can let me know, and I’ll come and see you when I can.”

  Carly didn’t seem to hear her and stared past her. Through grubby net curtains, the view of the yard showcased an old bathtub leaned on its side, a dirty pool of rainwater stagnating inside it. “I didn’t set out for things to be like this.”

  “I know, Mom.” Nobody could have wished this existence on themselves. Mother to ten children, seven with up close and personal relationships with law enforcement, wife to a drunken lout who stayed only long enough to plant another baby in your belly. “You know I’ll take care of her, and when you’re back on your feet, I’ll bring her right back to you.”

  “When I’m back on my feet.” Mom really did want more for them. She smiled, showing gaps between her teeth. One for each baby they said, and Carly had brought ten full term and buried another three.

  God, Blythe didn’t want this to be her story. The walls pressed in on her and she stood. “I’ll call you and let you know how we are.”

  “You do that.” Carly stubbed her cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray and found a sixty-ounce bottle of rotgut vodka tucked in her bedclothes. Unscrewing the top, she paused with it halfway to her mouth. “Do better, baby girl. Be better.”

  Blythe left the room and paused in the clothing-littered hallway to breathe and remind herself that this was not her life, not her fate. Everything she’d done since she left high school had been about making sure she had choices, and that those choices extended to Will and now Kim.

  Near the front door, Barron had Will by the nape, shaking him like a rat.

  “Put him down, Barron.” Blythe kept the fear out of her voice. Gut-deep feral, Barron fed on fear.

  Barron turned bloodshot eyes her way and sneered. “After I teach him some manners.” He shoved Will against the wall, and his skull made a dull thwack. “Mouthing off to me.”

  “He’s sorry, Barron. I’m going to take him out of your hair now.”

  Will met her gaze, sending the silent message that had passed between them countless times: it’s worse if you fight back.

  Barron kept his grip on Will as he thought it over. His eyes were cunning in the harsh cruelty of his features. Dark unwashed hair hung halfway down his back. His heavily tattooed biceps strained his Motorhead T-shirt. “Where you going?”

  “Out.” No way she was sharing her plan with Barron. They’d told Kim as little as possible to avoid Barron knowing.
Smaller than Brett, Barron still had enough bulk to do some serious damage.

  Fortunately, he wasn’t as bright as Brett, and he let Will go. “We’re out of beer. Make sure you bring some back.”

  Chapter Four

  Negotiations had gone well. It had taken most of the day, but they’d finally hammered out a way to move forward. The high of his day made him feel like there was nothing he couldn’t do.

  Gunning invited them to dinner, but Matt begged off. Pippa needed him home, and whatever Pippa needed Matt made sure she got. Dad had been the same. Cressy demanded and Dad made sure she got it. That was where any similarity between Mom and Pippa ended.

  Pippa loved Matt as much as he loved her. Just as Matt would bend himself backwards for her, there was nothing Pippa wouldn’t do for Matt. Eric was glad Matt had found that sort of love in his life.

  It didn’t make him a believer, however.

  He got back to his office for a brief five minutes before they went to dinner. Still no reply from Blythe. It could also be because she was busy. She’d taken possession of her new apartment today. He’d made sure she’d jumped the waiting list and gotten a good price. She’d kill him if she knew.

  Talk to me, Sweet Thing, he texted. Whatever it is, we can sort it out.

  He waited a few minutes for a response, and then joined Chase and Miranda in reception.

  Chase had picked Eric’s favorite restaurant in Ghost Falls, the Boulangerie. Great food, impeccable service, a huge wine list and prices to match, it was the place Eric would have chosen for the occasion. It said relaxed and business at the same time.

  As the maitre d’, Gerard, led them to their table, they moved through a dining room of similar people to their party. A few of them Eric knew, and he waved.

  They arrived at their table, Gerard pulled out the table, and Miranda slid into the dark leather booth. Eric took his place opposite her.

  Chase pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked it. “Damn.” He indicated his phone. “I need to make a quick call. Get some drinks ordered, and I’ll be back before the ice melts.”

  With a wry smile, Miranda unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off her shoulders. Underneath she had a sleeveless silk blouse that gave Eric a hint of cleavage. It was the perfect transition from day into night.

  For some reason it made him think about Blythe. Maybe because she’d been on his mind most of the day. Raised by a drunk mother on the wrong side of the tracks, she often complained of not knowing what was appropriate to wear. When he’d met her, she’d been all about too tight, too short and too low cut.

  It used to embarrass him, and he never wanted to be seen out with her. He’d even tried to do the Pretty Woman thing with her, but Blythe hadn’t wanted any of that. She made her own way through the world.

  As he grew up more, he understood the way she dressed for the vulnerability it really was. She didn’t know any better most of the time, and the rest she used her style like armor. If Ghost Falls was going to talk about her and call her names, and they did, then she wasn’t going to show them who she really was.

  Except with him. He always got the real Blythe.

  “To a mutually beneficial future.” Miranda raised her glass. Her honey and spice perfume twined around him. It suited her perfectly, sophisticated and exotic.

  Eric clinked his glass with hers. He loosened the top button of his shirt and tugged his tie down. If she had shifted into relaxed mode so could he. “Patel? Is that Indian?”

  “It is.” She gave him a beautiful smile, her lipstick bright red against her amber skin and white teeth. “Have you ever been?”

  “Regrettably not.”

  “Most of my extended family is still there.” She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. Long, slender fingers topped with red nails stroked the glass. “Chase tells me you are originally from here.”

  “Born and raised.” Eric added a little aw-shucks to his smile. She probably wouldn’t buy him as a harmless local boy, but it was worth a try.

  Chase rejoined them. “I’m really sorry about this.” He grimaced. “The timing is horrible but I’m going to have to cut this evening short.” He motioned the two of them. “But you two stay. Enjoy your dinner. On me.”

  And wasn’t that convenient, leaving him alone with the beautiful Miranda.

  She met his gaze and smiled. “You have to eat. I have to eat.”

  Eric returned her smile. Miranda was a beautiful woman, and there were worse things he could be doing with his time. Like waiting for his stubborn blonde to call him back.

  The wine they shared took the sharp edges off the evening, and Eric enjoyed his dinner.

  Smart, clever and surprisingly funny, Miranda made a great dinner companion. They had a lot in common as well, and the evening passed quickly. He liked her, and it had been a long time since he’d been out with anyone but Blythe.

  He tried to calculate how long as Miranda told him about her college roommate. He managed to laugh in all the right places.

  Blythe and he had never labeled their relationship, and she’d never demanded exclusivity from him. Or him from her, but the notion that she might not have been almost soured his gentle buzz. Still, he had never exercised the open hall pass. Those times he had been with Blythe, he had been with her alone. Until circumstances had pulled him somewhere else.

  Despite Chase’s instruction to have dinner on him, Eric picked up the bill when it came.

  Gerard ordered a car for Miranda and Eric walked her out.

  As the car glided to a stop in front of them, she handed him her card with a sultry smile. “Call me if you want to do this again.”

  Eric accepted the card, as she’d known he would.

  Miranda climbed into the car without looking back, a woman supremely confident in herself and her own appeal. She had no reason not to be. Any one of a dozen men eating in the restaurant tonight would have been happy to have her card.

  Sliding it into his pocket, Eric strolled to his car. It was almost regrettable that Miranda was not the girl he wanted tonight.

  It took him by surprise when Blythe answered his call. She sounded flat and weary. “Eric. It’s late. Why are you calling?”

  “How’s the new apartment?” She had spent the day moving in and was probably tired. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No.” She sighed. “The apartment is fine. Listen, Eric I—”

  “What do you say to me grabbing a bottle of red and bringing you a pizza? I can bring enough for Will and Kim. We can have our own little housewarming.” Her voice set a slow simmer snaking through his bloodstream. After Will and Kim went to bed, they could have a private celebration.

  She didn’t speak for a while, and Eric headed down the hill to Del Fino’s. They made the best pizza in town and would still be open.

  His headlights picked out the dark hulking shapes of the trees on either side of the road. In a couple of months, they would be covered in snow, and the entire area would be transformed in time for the chalet and ski crowd to move in. It made him proud that he and Matt had been a small part of bringing prosperity to Ghost Falls, and even more determined to make sure they stayed a part of it.

  “That’s very kind—”

  “I know you like mushrooms and ham,” he said. “What about Kim and Will? What will they have?”

  “Stop it, Eric.” She clipped his name like she did when she was pissed, and his mood crashed. In his pocket he had the card of a hot, smart, sophisticated woman, and he’d walked away from that because of Blythe. And she was still pissed at him. “I got your texts,” Blythe said. “But I deleted them.”

  That jolted Eric and brought his full attention to the call. “Say what?”

  “I deleted them.” Her tone softened. “I meant what I said this morning and responding to them only drags this out.” She took a deep breath. “The o
nly reason I took this call was to ask you to stop.”

  “Stop?” Something close to anger slithered up his spine.

  “Stop texting and stop calling,” Blythe said. “We’re done.”

  She hung up.

  “Fuck!” Eric pounded his steering wheel. Once, about six years ago, when he’d still been living in Denver, she’d hung up on him. That time, he’d thoroughly deserved it. Having left her behind in Ghost Falls, he’d not bothered to call until the next time he breezed into town. She’d refused to see him when he’d called her looking for a booty call. But this wasn’t that. He wanted to bring her pizza, celebrate that independence she’d been working so hard toward.

  Next time he’d be better off calling Miranda Patel. There was a woman who understood the score, understood a man like him.

  Chapter Five

  Blythe needed to get up and get going. She had to get Kim ready for kindergarten and drop her off before she got herself to work. It was day three of being in her apartment, and she still woke with that sense of newness and contentment.

  Other than the dull ache of missing Eric, she finally had turned her dreams into reality.

  She took a few extra minutes to wallow in the pride of her space. Her space. Her bedroom she didn’t have to share with anyone. Her bedroom in her apartment, with Will and Kim sleeping down the hall in their own rooms.

  Three bedrooms had stretched her budget, and even with Will chipping in what he could, they’d had to stick to the seedier end of town. But it was a start.

  She’d picked out and hung those white muslin curtains herself, like everything else in her apartment.

  Hers.

  Forcing herself out of bed, she grabbed her robe and headed for Kim’s room.

  Between Goodwill and Ikea, she’d managed to put together a pretty decent little girl’s room. Pink curtains with big white and yellow daisies kept the morning sun on low. In her white big girl bed, Kim lay snuggled under her pink comforter.