Michael
The Connelly Cousins, Volume 3
Abbie Zanders
Published by Abbie Zanders, 2016.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MICHAEL
First edition. February 16, 2016.
Copyright © 2016 Abbie Zanders.
Written by Abbie Zanders.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Michael (The Connelly Cousins, #3)
Before You Begin
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Thanks for reading Michael and Keely’s story
Bonus Feature: Jamie: A Connelly Cousins Novella
If you liked this book...
About the Author
Also by Abbie Zanders
Excerpt from ICE (Regulators MC Book 1)
Excerpt from My Name Is Desire: The Bad Baker Boys: Mark's Story
Michael
Connelly Cousins, Book Three
Before You Begin
WARNING: This book contains alpha male characters: a badass biker, a sexy construction worker, and a brooding Army Ranger.
Due to frequent strong language and graphic scenes of a sexual nature, this book is intended for mature (18+) readers only.
If these things offend you, then this book is not for you.
If, however, you like your alphas a little rough around the edges and some serious heat in your romance, then by all means, read on...
Acknowledgements
Cover design by Kim Killion of The Killion Group, Inc.
Professional editing by the incomparable M. E. Weglarz of megedits.com, a woman with a true gift for spotting plot holes, character anomalies, black holes, and other potential WTFs. Thank you, Meg, from the bottom my heart.
And special thanks to some very special ladies – Anjee Z., Carol T., Deb B., Perryne D., Susan J., Tonya B., Becky G., Heather J., Shelly S., and Stacy T. (and a few of you who prefer to remain unnamed – you know who you are) - for reading the first draft and making invaluable suggestions. This is a better story because of them!
Prologue
The old man is up to something, Michael thought as he lifted the mug of Irish coffee to his lips. Traditionally, the drink consisted of strong, hot coffee, a healthy shot of Irish whiskey, and sugar, topped with thick cream, but Michael preferred his without the sugar or the cream.
And as was tradition, they’d gathered at the family-owned diner after the wedding reception had wound down. The newly married couple, Michael’s younger brother Johnny and bride Stacey, had left long ago, but that didn’t mean everyone else was ready to call it a night. His sister Lina was sitting in her husband’s lap, laughing at something their Uncle Jack Callaghan had said. The rest of the place was filled with Callaghan cousins from across the river in Pine Ridge and a few close family friends.
His grandfather, Conlan O’Leary, was smiling along with everyone else, but the old man was preoccupied. Every now and then his grayish-white brows would knit and he’d look as if his mind was somewhere else.
Michael sat in the back, doing what he did best. Watching. Processing. Quietly observing. But once everyone else shuffled home with full bellies and bleary eyes, he called him on it.
“Aye,” Conlan admitted. “I’ve got a feeling.”
Trained as an Army Ranger, Michael put a lot of faith in his instincts. A man’s gut rarely steered him wrong, as long as he was smart enough to pay attention to it. In his grandfather’s case, those “feelings” often proved eerily accurate, so when Conlan spoke, Michael sat up and listened.
“About what, Daideo?” The Gaelic word for grandfather rolled easily off his tongue; it was how he and his siblings had been addressing him since they first learned how to talk.
The older man thought carefully, as if deciding what and how much to say. “A lass,” he said finally. “I think she’s in some kind of trouble.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, but the admission wasn’t overly surprising. His grandfather had a soft spot for damsels in distress. Much of that might be attributed to the fact that he’d lost both of his daughters, one to illness and another – Michael’s mother – to a plane crash. Or that out of ten grandchildren, only one (Lina) was female.
”Who is this lass? And what kind of trouble?”
“Someone who works for me, and I’m not sure. Like I said, it’s just a feeling...” Conlan rubbed his eyes and shook his head, looking weary.
Michael mentally ran through the female staff at O’Leary’s Diner. Most of them were middle-aged and had been working there for a while, more like family than employees. His gaze found Meg, a forty-something who was blushing furiously and shaking her finger at something his cousin Ian had said. And Nancy, who was seventy if she was a day, bustling about with a pot of coffee in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, refilling everyone’s cups. Carly, Grace, and Tina appeared to be both fine and in good spirits, as well.
“Anything I can help with?”
Michael regretted the words the moment they passed over his lips. Conlan’s gaze snapped up, his clear, green eyes fixing on Michael with triumph and approval. That weariness he thought he’d spotted only moments ago? Gone.
Yeah, he’d walked right into that one. Sometimes he forgot just how wily the old man could be.
“Aye, you’re a good lad. Come back tomorrow night, around midnight.”
“Midnight?” The corners of Michael’s lips quirked. “Should I bring my cloak and dagger?”
Conlan didn’t laugh. “She works the overnight shift.”
“She’s not here now?”
“No.”
Which meant that whoever Daideo thought was in trouble was not someone he knew. Michael waited expectantly, but his grandfather said no more. “Is that all you’re going to tell me?”
Another nod. “For now.”
The short hairs at the back of Michael’s neck began to prickle, never a good sign in his experience. When that prickling was followed by a tingle of foreboding chasing down his spine, he knew trouble was on the horizon.
He shifted slightly. “And just how do you think I can help?”
There was that green, laser-like gaze again. “Tomorrow, Mikey. Midnight.”
Maybe he was feeling sentimental after the celebration, maybe he’d tossed back one too many, or maybe he was missing the rush of anticipation that preceded a new mission, but Michael found himself nodding his head.
“I’ll be here,” he confirmed.
By the next day, that sense of foreboding had only grown stronger. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure the feeling was rooted in something far more dangerous than a covert op; his grandfather was trying to play matchmaker.
It made perfect sense. The next generation was moving into the spotlight. His sister got the ball rolling when she tied the knot with Kyle. Then his cousin Jake over in Pine Ridge made things legal with his woman, Taryn. Johnny and Stacey upped the ante, not only jumping on the matrimonial bandwagon, but doing so while expecting their first child.
It was only reasonable to assume that Michael, the oldest of all the grandchildren, should be next. The
n the old man could just sit back and wait for the brood of great-grandchildren. Family was everything to Conlan O’Leary.
That was fine – for them. But him? Not so much.
It wasn’t that Michael had anything against marriage or family. He just couldn’t see himself in that situation. He’d always been a restless sort and settling down in one place, with one woman, well it just wouldn’t be fair to her, whoever she might be. Eventually, he’d feel the need to move on, and then what?
Even now he was starting to feel edgy, the familiar pull starting to gain purchase. He’d been back in Birch Falls for nearly a year, the longest stretch he’d tread the same soil in more than a decade.
Though he had grown up here, he’d left right after high school to attend college and then med school, but ended up leaving during his residency. He enlisted in the Army instead, where his drive and intensity earned him a place in the elite Army Rangers. The constant travel and action suited him, but eventually he realized that he wanted something more than to be a lethal tool in someone else’s hand. After returning to civilian life, he used his knowledge of the family construction business and his background in medicine to create a string of fitness centers that were franchising extremely well.
That’s what had originally brought him back to his hometown. A joint business venture with his Callaghan cousins to open up a new place across the river in Pine Ridge. As an added benefit, he’d reconnected with his family.
Which was all great. But not enough.
Maybe his astute grandfather had picked up on that, and that was the reason why he’d asked for Michael’s “help”. To give him a reason a stay, if only for a little while longer.
He could have told him it was pointless. With the plans for the fitness center now finalized, his siblings happily married, and the wanderlust firing up again, it was only a matter of time before he left, in search of something ... more. Michael thought briefly about bailing, but he had given his word. And, to be honest, he was slightly intrigued.
So that night, promptly at midnight, Michael settled himself in the corner booth of O’Leary’s Diner, the one reserved for family, expecting little more than a thinly veiled attempt to match him up with ‘a nice Irish girl’. With any luck, it would be a quick meeting. He’d hear what his grandfather had to say, offer his solicited opinion, then be on his way back to the bar where the company of a very lovely and remarkably limber young woman awaited his return.
After that, well...
The place was nearly full. That wasn’t unusual. As the only twenty-four hour diner in the area, it was a popular stop for those who worked second shift in the blue-collar town, as well as those who’d just come from the late night flick at the movie theater down the street.
He surveyed the occupants with mild interest, again wondering what his grandfather was up to. Then his skin began to tingle; his senses rocketed into a state of alertness. He scanned again, looking for the source.
A small figure moved into view, drawing his attention. Her back was to him, but it didn’t matter. Dark, cascading hair fell halfway down her back, escaping the attempt to contain it in a pink tie band. The simple pink and white waitress uniform could not hide the lush, full hips beneath the slim, curvy waist. Shapely, toned legs extended below the mid-thigh hem, legs that had been made for high heels.
The attraction was instant. And somewhat shocking in its intensity.
Michael sat up a little straighter. He knew, without a doubt, that she had to be the one his grandfather had been talking about.
She turned toward him then, working her way back along the row of booths with a coffee pot in hand. She had delicate features, a natural, carved-by-the-angels kind of beautiful. And when she smiled, it was like pure sunshine.
No wonder the old man liked her.
The server was closer now, only a few tables away. She offered another smile to the trio there (college students, by the look of them) then bent forward to refill their mugs. One of them, a young guy with a half-shaved head, couldn’t tear his eyes away from gazing at her ample chest and Michael felt a sudden, powerful urge to gouge them out and feed them to him.
“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Michael was startled by his grandfather’s voice. Somehow the old man had managed to approach without him noticing. Michael gave himself a mental shake. All this downtime was making him sloppy. He was getting too soft, complacent.
Conlan O’Leary eased into the booth opposite his grandson, his bright green eyes dancing with amusement.
And then she was there. Her scent hit him first. Warm. Sweet. Delicious. His eyes closed briefly as he inhaled deeply, savoring. Just that quickly, blood rushed to his groin.
“Would you care for some coffee?” she asked, her voice just as soft and lovely as the rest of her.
Michael opened his eyes to find her looking at him expectantly, carafe in hand. Her practiced smile began to fade as his gaze bored into her. She shifted her weight slightly.
“Coffee?” she asked again when he failed to respond.
Big eyes, an unusual shade of turquoise, narrowed slightly. He recognized it for what it was: Awareness. Caution.
The awareness? That was mutual. It was no longer just the hairs on the back of his neck tingling and standing at attention; his entire body was at the party now, too.
But the caution? He was used to seeing lust, hunger, and anticipation in a woman’s eyes, but not fear. Suddenly his grandfather’s “feelings” made a lot more sense.
She took one step back, and Michael’s body leaned toward her slightly. His muscles tensed, ready to chase her down should she attempt to flee. Then he realized what he was doing and forced himself to tone it down.
“Forgive him, Bailey lass. He’s not quite himself this evening.” Conlan gave her a wink, easing some of the tension. “He’d love some coffee, as would I.”
Her smile returned, but it was less certain than it had been a minute earlier. She leaned across the table to reach for the empty cup in front of him. His eyes never left her face. Her cheeks flushed under his intense gaze while she filled his cup.
“She makes her own special blend, you know,” Conlan was saying, then added with a chuckle, “She won’t even tell me what’s in it.”
Her eyes flicked nervously from one man to the other. Obviously coming to the conclusion that Michael was incapable of speech, she directed her next question specifically to the older man. “Shall I bring him a menu?”
Conlan chuckled again, his eyes sparkling. “No, lass. Just bring us some of your homemade cinnamon rolls, if you would.”
“Yes, sir.”
With one last uncertain look at Michael, she hurried away. Michael once again had to will himself to stay in place, stifling the urge to pursue her. He watched her go until she disappeared through the swinging steel door into the kitchen. Only then was he able to breathe fully again.
“That was Bailey Keehan,” Conlan said quietly. “She seems to have made quite an impression on you, Mikey.”
Understatement of the year, that. No woman had ever grasped his full attention as quickly or as completely as she had. Anything, anyone, who could test his self-control so effortlessly did not bode well for him.
“What are you up to, Daideo?”
The older man grinned. The twinkle dancing in his eyes made him look remarkably younger than his eighty years.
Bailey returned with two warm rolls, placing one in front of each of the men. Michael noticed her hands were shaking slightly and frowned. Had she been as unnerved as he? Or was there another reason she would not meet his gaze? The one thing he did know was that fear had no place on her lovely face.
His protective instincts came alive, along with others. With some effort, he steeled himself against the surge of his baser urges and demonstrated some manners instead.
“Thank you,” he said.
She seemed surprised to hear him speak. Her eyes flicked toward his for just a moment before she quickly looked away, but it was e
nough to refine his earlier assessment. Now they held a myriad of emotions: curiosity, shyness, definitely fear, and a healthy dose of fire.
“Bailey,” Conlan began, “allow me to officially introduce you to Michael Connelly. Michael, this is Bailey Keehan, our newest addition and maker of the finest cinnamon rolls you’ve ever tasted.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Michael,” Bailey said out of politeness, already turning to leave.
On an impulse, Michael reached out for her hand. The instant his fingers made contact, the tingling along his spine grew in intensity. Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed a light kiss to her knuckles.
“Pleased to meet you, Bailey.”
Her slight intake of breath was audible as another pink flush burned across her cheeks. Blue-green eyes met his, holding for more than a heartbeat this time.
Conlan cleared his throat, breaking the spell, and she swiftly reclaimed her hand.
“Thank you, lass. That’ll be all for now.”
Looking embarrassed, she nodded and walked away. Michael did not fail to see how she lifted her knuckles up to her lips as she did so.
Ignoring the triumphant gleam in his grandfather’s eye, Michael took a sip of his coffee and let his eyelids drift closed. Strong and hot, just as he liked it. He followed that up with a bite of the roll, nearly moaning as it melted in his mouth. The rich, decadent taste reminded him of her scent as he rolled it across his tongue.
“So what’s the deal, Daideo?” Michael asked, licking away the last of the gooey icing from his fingers, unwilling to waste even a drop of the sweet goodness on a napkin.
“That’s what I want you to tell me. Something’s amiss. I’m sure of it. And damned if I’m not feeling the need to help her.”
Michael took another sip of his coffee. He’d felt it, too, right along with a host of other things. In those brief moments, he’d sensed a decided wariness beneath that fragrant, coolly polite exterior.
“She’s afraid.”
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