Don't Shoot the Messenger: Hazard Falls Book 2

by Samantha A. Cole

  Grant was torn between wanting to stay in Hazard, where he was miserable watching the woman he loved with his brother, or hightailing it out of there and disappearing again. The latter was impossible, at least until Blair, Drake, and the children were out of danger. He still hadn’t told anyone but Lane, the police chief, and the special-ops guards that when he’d left Bar None the other day, there had been a live rattlesnake on the passenger seat of his locked SUV. Thankfully, the thing had been shaking its tail in warning before Grant had climbed in behind the steering wheel. It hadn’t taken him long to use a long stick to get the damn thing out and carry it a few hundred yards into the woods behind the restaurant, where he’d bludgeoned it to death with a thick tree limb. He hadn’t wanted it to make its way back to the parking lot, where it would’ve been a danger to any unsuspecting person walking by. It wasn’t unheard of, every once in a while, for someone in the area to discover a snake in their vehicle, but Grant highly doubted this one had found its way into his SUV without assistance. Whoever was threatening his family was making sure Grant knew they were still out there, which meant, for now, he had to stay put.

  “This is the third year Blair planted vegetables in Mom’s garden. She said it was a waste of space if she didn’t do something with it.” Drake stopped next to Grant and stared at the rabbit. “She’s going to be pissed when she finds out that thing got inside the wire fence again. I’m starting to think it’s from the planet Krypton and can leap tall buildings in a single bound, because I’ve tried everything to keep it out of there.

  “You might want to talk to your daughter about that,” Grant responded without looking at him. He was still angry and hurt by his brother’s accusations but was trying to understand things from Drake’s point of view. They’d been dancing around each other all week—Blair too—and any conversation between them had been stilted and uncomfortable. They were like three strangers who were afraid to rock the boat—anymore than it already was—by saying something that could evoke any real emotions from the others. But at least Drake had sought him out after the ugly display in the workshop.

  Grant pointed to one of the corner posts on the far side of the garden. “She was bending the bottom of the wire up over there when she thought no one was watching yesterday. I think she feels bad for the rabbit.”

  Bending at the waist, Drake eyed the fence section Grant was referring to. “Son of a . . . I should’ve known she’d do something like that. She kept talking about how the damn thing was the mother or father to a bunch of babies and had to feed them somehow. I think she’s going to be the vet or zoologist in the family, or something along those lines.”

  They stood in silence for several moments, staring at the nervous animal as it feasted, before Drake stuck his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and sighed. “I’m sorry, Grant. You called it—I was an asshole in there. I don’t know what I was thinking, and why I said what I said, but I don’t believe it. I know you didn’t send those pictures. But, damn it, this is uncharted territory for me. I’ve never been jealous of anyone since Blair and I grew close—she’s never given me a reason to be. But here you are, the only other guy she’s ever loved, and . . . and I don’t want to lose her—not even to you.”

  “I don’t blame you—she’s one helluva woman. Always was.” Grant pursed his lips, wondering if he should say the words on the tip of his tongue. For the past few days, he’d been replaying the conversation he’d had with Tucker Wilson in his mind. After the two whiskeys Grant had downed, he’d refused the third Tuck had tried to order for him. As much as he’d wanted to get shit-faced at the time, he couldn’t. He had his family to protect—Drake’s family. But as he’d lain in bed later that night, he’d realized that Tuck hadn’t just walked in there for a drink in the middle of the day and happened to find Grant at the bar. Nope, the man had sought him out. Which made Grant wonder if Tuck’s husband, Shane, had visited Drake at some point to have a similar conversation with him. Whether he had or not, a seed had been planted in Grant’s mind that afternoon, and it’d been trying to bloom ever since. But he was afraid to voice the idea of a ménage to Drake. It just might get Grant killed at the hands of his own brother.

  “I missed you, ya know.” Drake’s words came out on a whisper.

  Grant reached out and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I missed you too.” It was true. When he hadn’t been thinking about Blair or his tormentors during his time in captivity, he’d passed the long, lonesome days remembering all the good times he and Drake had experienced when they’d been younger. Losing their mother before they’d hit their teens had been hard, but Joe Hadley had done his best to give his sons some good memories despite his own grief. Fishing, hunting, and camping had been their favorite things to do together.

  As the silence hung between them once again, Grant was about to turn and say they should get back to the others, who were obviously still inside the workshop, but Drake’s words stopped him dead in his tracks. “You didn’t happen to talk to Shane or Tucker the other day, or any other day, did you? I don’t mean about all that.” He gestured toward his workshop as he continued to babble. “I mean, about . . . about us . . . you and I . . . giving Blair an option other than choosing between us. Did you and either of them talk about that?”

  Stunned, Grant pivoted to face Drake, trying to sort through the gibberish he’d just spouted, and searched his brother’s expression for any signs he regretted the can of worms he’d opened. Had Grant heard him correctly? Was Drake talking about a ménage relationship with Blair? “Okay, call me a dumb schmuck if you want, but clarify that question for me. I don’t want to say the wrong thing because I misunderstood what you said.”

  Taking a deep breath, Drake let it out slowly. “Sorry, most of that didn’t make any sense—not even to me. My question was . . . is . . . did Tucker or Shane talk to you about . . . you know . . . having a relationship like theirs?”

  Grant chuckled as a grin spread across his face. “How are you going to do it if you can’t even say the word, Drake? It’s called a ménage, or a threesome, if that’s what you’re more comfortable with.”

  Shoving his hands into his hair, Drake huffed. “Damn it, you’re not making this any easier. If a week ago, someone suggested sharing Blair with another guy, I would’ve decked them. But . . . but after talking with Shane, the fucking manipulative bastard, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Not because I’m afraid she’ll choose you, but because, together, we could take care of her so much better than me or you alone. In more ways than one, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean. It never occurred to me either, but I do know a few people in Tampa that have ménage relationships.”

  Drake gaped at him. “Seriously?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m serious ninety-nine percent of the time, yet everyone seems to need to confirm that. Yes, seriously. I don’t know them well—they’re friends of friends—but I understand how it works. One threesome has two brothers who aren’t into incest, so, logistically, the sex part of it can be done without any issues. I think after that, everything else should be easy. They both have alone time with their fiancée, since they often travel at different times, and then they take care of her together. But, Drake, think about this long and hard. The last thing I want to do is come between you and Blair. And you have to think about how this town is going to respond to another ménage relationship in its midst.”

  His brother glanced away for a moment before looking him in the eyes again. “I know. And I’ve thought about it for days. While Blair has assured me she’d never leave me, I can’t help but think she’ll be devastated if you walk out of her life again. I think we’ll have to discuss a lot of things—put all the cards on the table. No secrets. No hiding our feelings, especially negative ones. We can’t let there be any jealousy between us.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Agreed,” Drake echoed. “As for the rest of the town, scre
w ‘em. You, Blair, and the kids are the only ones who matter.” He paused. “Okay, so how do we start this? How do we approach Blair?”

  Grant shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t got a clue. You know her better than I do at this point, so what do you think? Will she even go for it?”

  He snorted. “Shane suggested I check out her Kindle. Apparently, the reading club she’s in really goes for ménage romance. Trust me when I say our Blair has a kinky side that even I didn’t know about. One I’m looking forward to exploring.”

  Grant was shocked for a moment—more so from Drake saying “our” Blair than anything else—but then he threw his head back and laughed. “Well, okay then, little brother. I’ll follow your lead for once in my life. But while you start cooking up a scheme to approach her about all this, let’s get back inside so I can figure out who arranged our sudden family reunion.” While he was giving Drake the lead, Grant was starting to wonder if his brother knew just how kinky Blair could really get. They’d had some wild encounters during their relationship—but never involving bringing a third person into the mix.

  Slapping Drake’s shoulder, Grant gave him a little shove toward the converted barn. For the first time since he’d heard Blair and Drake were married, Grant felt a glimmer of hope deep in his gut. Now he just had to make sure no one extinguished it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Driving around the backroads on the outskirts of town, Grant tried to keep his mind on his mission—find whomever sent the photos and then gone silent, except for the snake—instead of on the conversation he’d had with Drake two days ago. While the brothers still hadn’t figured out how to approach Blair about the relationship they wanted to try with her, the tension that’d always seemed to be in the room with the three of them had faded. Were he and Drake crazy thinking about sharing Blair? Would she even want to be shared by them? Or did she want Grant to return to Florida and leave them to live out their lives without him?

  The morning after she’d slapped him across the face for being an asshole, Grant had apologized to her when he’d managed to get a moment alone with her in the kitchen. He’d been surprised when she asked if they could put it behind them. She’d said she was sorry for hitting him—even though he knew he’d deserved it—and had even gone up on her tiptoes and placed a platonic kiss on his cheek. Now, she seemed more relaxed, as if she was getting used to him being around again. The three adults were even falling into daily, benign routines—ones that Blair and Drake already had, but Grant was fitting into.

  When he wasn’t looking around Hazard Falls for someone from his past who wanted to hurt him, Blair, or Trevor, Grant was helping out around the house and property whenever and wherever he could. He’d even stepped up where the kids were concerned—playing catch with Trevor, reading a Winnie-the-Pooh story to Regan over and over again, and making Michael laugh with simple magic tricks like pulling a quarter out of the boy’s ear. While he’d started feeling more comfortable around everyone, Grant had been avoiding Drake’s workshop. He’d already invaded his brother’s house, so he hadn’t wanted to do the same to his business. But now that they seemed to have buried the hatchet between them, he intended to see if he could help Drake with his work projects whenever he had free time. Grant may not be as talented as his brother when it came to the fine nuances of woodworking, but he was experienced enough to assist him.

  After eating lunch about an hour ago, Grant had gone out on one of the recon drives he took several times a day. He varied his routes and times of the day, making certain he didn’t conform to a routine that could be used against him. On this trip, he’d gone through the Liberty Campgrounds while on the phone with Nathan Cook down in Tampa. Driving slowly past tents, RVs, campers, and a few double-wide trailers, Grant had rattled off the license plate of every vehicle he could find. The number had increased ten-fold in the past thirty-six hours, the last time he’d done this. He’d also check for any new vehicles at the Moody Moon Motel. Since the rodeo started tomorrow, Cook already had several hundred in- and out-of-state plates to run from the campsites alone. Hopefully, he’d turn something up over the next few hours, but, in the meantime, Grant was still twiddling his thumbs, wondering what Drake would come up with on how they should approach Blair about a ménage.

  Smiling, something Grant had rarely done over the past seven years, he tried to think of what Blair’s shocked expression might be when she heard their proposal, but movement on the shoulder of the road, a short distance ahead of him, grabbed his attention. Grant slowed as a deer bolted across both lanes before disappearing into the woods. Thankfully, he’d had enough warning to avoid it. He could still remember the sound of impact when he’d struck a deer with the first pickup he’d ever bought at the age of seventeen, after saving his money from summer jobs for two years. It’d been a beat-up Chevy, but the engine had been sound. At least, it had been until it met its demise after encountering a four-point buck. After that, the Hadley men had eaten venison for almost the entire winter, and Drake had mounted the antlers on a stained piece of wood as a gag trophy for his brother.

  Grant had been surprised earlier when he’d noticed the antlers on the wall in Drake’s workshop, having forgotten all about them until then. Hell, he’d forgotten a lot of things from his youth that all seemed to be rushing back to him everywhere he turned. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Hazard Falls. When he’d been a teen, he’d wanted nothing more than to leave the small town behind and make his mark in the world, with Blair by his side. Now, he wished he’d listened to his father, brother, and friends when they’d tried to convince him to go into the construction business full-time and settle down in Hazard with Blair. Would they’ve been happy or regretted not following their dreams? Would they’ve had a big family by now? And where would that have left Drake? His brother would probably be married to someone else with a bunch of kids. For some reason, Grant didn’t like that idea; it gnawed at his gut. The more he thought about a ménage relationship with Blair and Drake, the more it felt right. Why should Grant go back to Tampa when his heart belonged here? There was nothing down there for him other than a sparsely furnished apartment, a few acquaintances, and his truck. No, he didn’t belong in Florida. He belonged here—with Blair, Drake, Trevor, Regan, and Michael. Hell, he already loved all three kids as if he were their biological father, instead of just Trevor’s. Grant could have it all—his brother, the woman they both loved, and the children, including any more that came their way. Now, he just had to pray Blair was onboard with the whole threesome thing, and that Drake wouldn’t come to regret his decision to try it. If it failed, Grant would have to be the one to bow out and go back to his non-existent life down south, and the thought of doing that threatened to rip his heart out.

  Rounding a curve, Grant cursed when he saw a red pickup truck, about twenty feet off the opposite side of the road, sitting at an angle in a ditch, steam pouring from its damaged radiator. The bumper, hood, and headlights hadn’t fared well either. A bloodied doe lay in the middle of the oncoming lane, not moving—someone else hadn’t been as lucky as Grant had been moments earlier. There was no one else around, so he had to pull over and make certain the driver was okay.

  Grant passed the truck, did a quick U-turn, then parked on the side of the road before putting the hazard lights on. If anyone came around the other bend in the road, they would hopefully have enough warning to slow down before hitting the deer.

  Grabbing his gun from the middle console, where he’d put it for easy access if he needed it, Grant climbed out of the truck, tucking the weapon in the holster at his lower back and covering it with his shirt. If the animal was still alive, he’d put a bullet in its brain to keep it from suffering a painful death—he also didn’t want to get caught without a gun if his unknown stalker showed up.

  A quick glance at the deer as he strode past told him it was already dead—there was still no movement, and it wasn’t breathing. He’d pull it to the side of the road after he checked on the dri
ver. Turning his attention to the pickup truck, he approached the driver’s door while taking off his sunglasses. The shade of the surrounding tall trees had made the dark lenses unnecessary.

  Before he reached the door, an exasperated female voice came through the open window. “I’m fine, Albert, I swear, but the seatbelt is stuck, and I can’t get out. Just call Josh and tell him to come out with the tow truck and a knife. Although, if you’re already on your way, you’ll probably beat him here.”

  Peeking into the cab of the truck, Grant saw a blast from his past. Marla Oberman had owned the Stop & Go in Hazard, a combination grocery and general store, for about twenty years, having inherited from her aunt and uncle, the original proprietors. It wasn’t huge, but it saved many residents from having to drive forty minutes to the closest Walmart when they only needed a few basic things. Her husband ran the hardware store that they’d moved from up the street to the shop next door to the Stop & Go. Al’s Hardware & Gear also sold hunting, fishing, and camping equipment. There was even an indoor walkway between the two stores for easy access for the married couple as well as their patrons.

  Grant eyed the gray-haired woman and noticed she had a small laceration on her forehead that was bleeding, but not profusely. Otherwise, she appeared fine as she disconnected the call on her cell phone with a muttered curse.

  “Are you okay?” Grant asked.

  “Oh!” Her hand flew to her ample chest, and her wide-eyed gaze whipped to his. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone had stopped. Yes, I’m fine, I’m just—” Her face paled as she stared at him. “Oh, no, I’m not fine . . . nope, not fine at all. In fact, I’m hallucinating. Oh, Lord, that has to be it, because I see a ghost. Tell me, I’m not going out of my mind, Grant Hadley, because if I am, I’m going to need an ambulance, a straight-jacket, and a rubber room, in that order.” She looked him up and down, then shook her head. “I think you better add some whiskey in there to boot.”