CLAIM (Dirty Brothers Series Book 3)

by Penny Wylder

  “I didn’t exactly bring a month’s worth of clothes with me.”

  Robert smirks, like he’s envisioning me all out of clothes, and I blush harder. “We can wash your clothes. And I have to go down the mountain to town in about a week. If you still feel you need some, we can buy them.”

  “Down the mountain?”

  Robert strips off his gloves and heads back toward the cabin. “Yes, down the mountain. Even as self-sufficient as I am up here, I still need to restock supplies from time to time. I’m not a complete hermit.”

  “Oh.” It’s not exactly a brilliant comeback. But everything I was told about Robert made it seem like he’d gone off the grid and was living like one of those doomsday preppers that you see on reality shows.

  But then again, when you live like the rest of the Logans, I suppose that going off and living quietly in the woods could seem like that. “Sorry,” I say.

  “Did you think you were looking for someone who had decided to become a modern caveman?” The question is probing, but he doesn’t sound angry. He looks over his shoulder and there’s a faint smile there; it’s a little sad. Like he knows exactly what everyone has been saying about him.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Something like that.”

  I follow him back into the cabin, and he heads over to the kitchen area. Now that I’m going to be staying here, I take a better look around.

  At first glance, it’s just a wood cabin. But looking closer, I can see that this isn’t just some backwoods hideaway. Everything is well made, solid, and thoughtfully designed. The kitchen, in a small alcove, has an island and a huge stainless steel refrigerator. There are a few shining pots and pans hanging from a rack on the ceiling, and blue glass dishes drying in a rack by the sink. The main room of the cabin is huge, with an overstuffed couch and a couple of cozy armchairs.

  For someone who’s been something of a detective for the last few months, I really didn’t pay attention when I came in. This isn’t the home of someone who’s on the run. This is the home of someone who’s made a life for himself, and it’s not the life that his family approves of.

  There’s a couple of rustic details that are more in line with what my original vision of his life, like the basin of water by the back door and the fact that there’s several huge axes hanging on the wall. But given that he chops his own wood, it makes sense.

  Stairs disappear upstairs, and I can only assume that’s where his bedroom is. I try not to look at the stairs because I don’t want to think about that insanely hot, half-naked body in bed and all-the-way naked. Because if I do, then I might spontaneously combust.

  He’s taken a beer out of the fridge and is leaning against the island, taking a sip. As if he’s reading my thoughts, he smiles. “You can sleep on the couch, unless you want to share my bed.”

  The way he says ‘share my bed,’ almost like he’s hoping I’ll say yes, makes me blush again.

  “The couch is fine,” I say, and it comes out more like a squeak.

  “Suit yourself.”

  I suddenly feel awkward. I had a clear purpose when I came here, and now that’s gone. I don’t know what to do with myself. Suddenly the cabin feels too big and too silent. I have the urge to make my steps as quiet as possible while I cross to the living room and sit on the edge of the couch.

  “So,” Robert says, coming over and standing, imposing, across from me. “How did you find me?”

  “It took a while,” I admit. “You covered your tracks well. But your father had done some of the work for me. Tracked the last payment you made with your family bank account.”

  He shakes his head. “I haven’t used his money in years.”

  “You have,” I say. “Your charity deposits.”

  “Oh.” He blinks, “I set those up so long ago I had forgotten about them. How would those have helped?”

  All the money from Robert’s trust fund has been funneled into various charities for years. Logan Sr. hadn’t looked at the reports close enough to realize that none of the money was being used personally, but I did. And money talks. “People pay attention to their donors,” I say. “Especially when that donor is giving them ten grand a month. Whenever there was a rumor about what you were doing, people remembered. Just little things here and there. How you had mentioned to one person a while ago that you loved Vermont. Or that you were thinking of buying a place in the woods. Plus, I have a P.I. License, so I was able to find bare bones information about your contacts and purchases.”

  Robert frowns. “But that wouldn’t have led you directly here.”

  “No,” I cringe. “But dropping your father’s name to the right people did.”

  I notice the way his hand tightens on the bottle when I mention his father. Clearly no love lost there.

  “Did you tell him you’d found me?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I wanted to be completely sure that I had before I gave him any news.”

  He nods. “Good.”

  I press my lips together, looking around the room. “What exactly am I going to do here for thirty days?”

  Robert takes a long sip from his beer, and I can’t help but notice the way his muscles move when he swallows. “First, take a little time away from my father so you can see more clearly. Second—”

  “Hold on a second,” I say. “I’m not some stupid girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing. I’m not under your father’s spell, and I don’t need to clear my head. Your dad isn’t a Class-A citizen, I know that. But I need the money that he offered me, and I don’t get that until I bring you back with me. So please don’t think that you’re somehow saving me by making this deal.” He doesn’t move, just looks at me, processing what I’ve said.

  “Every deal with my father takes more from you than you think it does. I’m not trying to save you, but I still think a little space will help you. And second, since you’ll be here, I could use an assistant.”

  “An assistant for what?”

  4

  Robert

  The way Anna is standing there challenging me is so sexy that I’m considering just kissing her. Instead, I focus on the little details around me to rein in my arousal. The cold feeling of glass between my fingers, the scratch of denim on my legs, the subtle hint of perfume from Anna. Nope, that one doesn’t help.

  “Come with me,” I say, turning and heading to the door to my workshop, hidden under the stairs.

  I don’t hear her footsteps behind me, and I look back to see her frozen in place. She looks nervous. Scared, and there’s a cold feeling that lodges in my gut.

  “Is this the part where you lock me in your basement for the next month and torture me?” The way she says it is light—like it’s meant to be a joke—but I can see that it’s not entirely.

  Stupid. I should have seen that it could be read that way, and I feel a little sick that she would think that. But then again, she’s a woman alone with a man she doesn’t know, miles from help.

  I hold up my hands. “No. My workshop is on this side of the house. I’m showing you my work, that’s all.”

  Her shoulders loosen. “All right.” She still sounds hesitant, but I know once she sees my studio she’ll understand.

  I push open the door and stand aside, letting her look without the pressure of me standing behind her or being in the room. The workshop in the afternoon is always my favorite—the sun pours into the room like honey. I get my best ideas in the afternoon. There’s only one piece in here right now, a work in progress that I’m struggling with. It’s why I was out chopping wood looking for something new—a distraction. I got one. Just not the one that I was expecting.

  Anna steps up to the door and I hear her small gasp. The light from the western window is illuminating her, and I can see that her hair isn’t brown at all, actually a deep auburn that’s brought out by the sun. I have the urge to reach out and touch it. But I don’t. As much as I’m attracted to her and my dick is ecstatic that she’s going to be staying under the same roof as me,
now is not the time.

  “You’re an artist?” she breathes.

  “Yes.”

  She steps into the workshop, and I don’t follow. I let her wander, looking at my tools and workspace. The block of wood in the center of room is starting to take a shape, but it’s still uncertain. Some hints of a swirling coil, but it doesn’t feel right. Not yet, anyway.

  I lean against the doorframe, enjoying her look of absolute wonder at this revelation. I suppose it makes sense. I went from a caveman she was trying to capture to a normal man who lives on a mountain to an artist. It’s my closest held secret—no one knows. Not even my family. Why I’m telling the woman who wants to turn me into my father, I have no idea. But something in my gut tells me that it’s all right. That this is a secret she’ll keep.

  I hope I’m right.

  “Nothing,” she says, “nothing I found told me that you were an artist.”

  I can’t help the smile that slips onto my face. “It’s a very well-kept secret.”

  “Seriously.”

  “But,” I say, “out of curiosity, when you saw that all of my accounts went to charity, did you wonder where I got money to buy this land? Or to support myself?”

  She nods, reaching out to gently touch the carving. “I did. When I couldn’t find anything, I assumed that you had either used a trust fund or had some kind of business that I couldn’t find.”

  She looks at me, and I nod to the wood she’s touching. “This is the truth. I liquidated my trust years ago—also charity—everything I own was purchased with money I made myself. I haven’t used my father’s money in years.”

  All the fear and tension that her body was holding a few minutes ago is gone. “Let’s not cover everything in the first hour,” I say, putting on a smile. “We’ll have nothing to talk about.”

  Only a half-truth, really. I didn’t know my father had sent someone after me and I’m still processing that. The anger at him for thinking he still has any right to my life burns hot and deep, and I’m not ready to talk about it yet.

  She looks down, and I think she’s embarrassed. Clearing her throat again, she looks up at me and damn, those eyes go right through me. Blue as the sky on a clear day and what I wouldn’t give to have those eyes filled with pleasure, looking up at me—focus Rob. “What?” She asked a question and I missed it.

  “You said you need an assistant? What for?”

  I shrug. “I get by all right, but it will be nice to have a second set of hands. Sometimes it’s easier when you have someone else to steady the wood while you’re carving. If the chores get done faster then I have more time to work, that sort of thing.”

  She nods. “I can do that.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You really need that money, don’t you?”

  Anna smirks. “Let’s not cover everything in the first hour.”

  I laugh. That’s fair. “In that case, let’s go get your car and have something to eat. Thirty days starts tomorrow.”

  “Are you going to put a shirt on?”

  I turn back to her. “See something you like?”

  Her cheeks are a perfect shade of pink, and I’m glad once again that my back is to her, because I want to see that blush everywhere, and I’m going to do my best to make sure that I do.

  She opens her mouth, and it takes a couple of seconds for her to find the words she’s looking for. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable.”

  We’ll go with that. For now. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. Come on, I’ll show you the entrance to the driveway.”

  I turn and head out to my truck, and this time I hear her footsteps following me.

  5

  Anna

  It’s the smell of bacon that wakes me up. For a second after I open my eyes, I can’t remember where I am—the wooden beams above me are unfamiliar and definitely not the ceiling of my crappy studio apartment.

  Oh. The cabin.

  Yesterday Robert drove me to get my car, mostly in silence. He’s not exactly what I would call talkative, but his stoicism didn’t make me uncomfortable. We don’t exactly have a lot to talk about.

  And I can add cooking to the list of things I didn’t consider when thinking about Robert Logan. Last night we had roast chicken and mashed potatoes, and the only contribution he asked me to make was peeling the potatoes. I guess I didn’t exactly think that he was microwaving Hungry Man meals out here in the middle of nowhere, but I didn’t think about the fact that he’d have to be able to cook. And cook well.

  Speaking of cooking, I look over at the kitchen, and Robert is there, back to me, and I hear the sizzle of the bacon I smell. I sit up on the couch, stretching. I slept in my clothes—I wasn’t about to sleep in my underwear or anything that would remind me of sleeping. Or sharing his bed. As it was, I tossed and turned through the night with dreams of him appearing over me and the world fading into nothing but darkness and pleasure. And the sight of his ass in those jeans isn’t making those thoughts go away.

  I walk over to the kitchen island, stretching. He must hear my footsteps. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” I say, voice bleary.

  Robert points to his right. “There’s coffee.”

  “Thank God,” I say under my breath and he chuckles.

  The coffee is good. Way better than the crappy gas station coffee that I’ve been drinking for the past year. This reminds me of the coffee that I had in my office. Back when I had an office, that is.

  He sets a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me, and I almost groan because damn this man can cook.

  “I didn’t finish in the garden yesterday,” he says. “I’m trying to find a new piece of wood to work with, so I’ll have you finish some of the weeding and trimming while I do that.”

  “Okay,” I say. Why did I agree to this again? I’m not opposed to labor, but gardening has never been my thing. I don’t have a green thumb. I have a black thumb. My mother used to tease me that I was allergic to plant life because every plant that she ever gave me died a painful, dry death.

  We’re back to that silence again while he and I eat. There’s nothing awkward about it, but I’m not used to this kind of…nothing. No small talk or meaningless chit chat to fill the silence.

  As soon as I finish, Robert sweeps my plate away and into the sink. He leads me outside, and I’m once again distracted by his ass. If it looks that good in jeans, it must look freaking phenomenal out of them.

  Robert hands me a pair of gloves. “The tomatoes have some weeds that I haven’t been able to get to.”

  “Okay,” I say but he’s already walking away toward a large pile of what looks like…just trees. A giant pile of trees. I watch him for a second as he steps close, looking over one of the trunks. The focus with which he inspects it—he hasn’t put that kind of focus on me, but I know that if he did I’d be completely lost.

  The weeds. I turn away before I let myself become completely fascinated with his process of choosing something to work with. Weeds. I’m not exactly sure I know the difference between the plants and weeds, but I’m not going to admit that to him.

  I kneel down in the dirt, following the path of the nearest tomato plant down to the ground, and…oh. I see it. There’s a plant that’s different and clearly doesn’t belong. Harsh and more brittle looking. It looks like a plant that’s ready to do battle. And it does do battle with me. Pulling that sucker out of the ground is way harder than I expected.

  These are scattered through the patch, and they seem to have taken root, but I work my way through them. I’m glad I have the gloves, because damn I think my hands would be raw without them.

  Behind me I hear the sounds of Robert starting to chop, and I take a look. There’s a tree separated from the pile now, and he’s got an axe so large I’m not sure that I’d even be able to lift it. Stroke after stroke, bringing it up and letting it fall. It’s raw power and even with his shirt on I can see the way his body moves and bends with ease and I can’t help imagining him without the shi
rt since I’ve already seen what he’s hiding underneath.

  He glances back, and half of his mouth turns into a smile when he sees me watching. “You finished?” he asks, coming over and holding the axe in his hand like it weighs absolutely nothing.

  “I think so.”

  He nods and points over to the edge of the garden where there are some supplies. “These plants are growing really fast. Use that string and tie the new ends higher onto the stakes so they’ll keep climbing.”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh,” he says, smiling, “and you can watch me any time you like.”

  “I wasn’t watching,” I say probably too quickly.

  Robert smirks. “Sure.”

  He goes back to chopping, and I’m cursing that little flip my stomach gave when he smirked. Damn him for being so sexy. He could have been completely normal looking and this would be so much easier. As it is, it hasn’t even been a full day and I’m practically drooling.

  I was supposed to bring him back faster than this. Logan Sr. isn’t going to be happy about the fact that I won’t be answering his calls for a month. I’m hoping that he’ll just assume that I’m working hard to find him, and not suspect that I’m living with him. I’m not sure what he’d say, or if he’d still give me the money if he saw the way I was looking at his son.

  I sneak another glance and my stomach flips again. Fucking hell. It’s going to be a long month. But I have to keep my eyes on the goal—bringing Robert back home and collecting the two hundred grand. Then back to my life. Nothing is worth losing that. Not even a body that looks like that.

  I grab the string and start to tie up the vines.

  I think I might die before this month is up. Every part of my body hurts and all I was doing was pulling weeds. I also think I sweat more than I ever have in my life. And I embarrassed myself once again when I assumed that Robert didn’t have a shower. Instead, he handed me a giant towel and a pair of baggy sweatpants and a shirt and sent me upstairs with a smirk. “I’m not roughing it out here,” he said. “I like a shower as much as any man.” He winked when he said that and I blushed so quickly that he started to laugh. “Let me know if you want me to join you.”