by Taylor Hart
Her Protector Billionaire Groom
Bachelor Second Chance Cowboy Romances
Taylor Hart
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Sneak Peak Her Second Chance Prodigal Groom by Taylor Hart
Also by Taylor Hart
About the Author
Copyright
All rights reserved.
© 2019 ArchStone Ink
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. The reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form whether electronic, mechanical or other means, known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the publisher and/or author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This edition is published by ArchStone Ink LLC.
First eBook Edition: 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Parker shivered as he stared at Oceanside Beach from the doorway of his motorcycle shop. How could the beach be so cold? When he’d retired from the FBI six months ago, he hadn’t thought through his decision to call Oceanside home.
He yanked his hoodie from a hook on the wall. He had to get out of here. But he hesitated. Maybe he should get a bit more work done on his current project; he was disassembling a bike for some picky rich guy who kept demanding he use only Harley Davidson original parts and then complaining that it was taking too long.
Parker liked efficiency, order, and deadlines. Since he’d left the Bureau, he’d tried to put aside the OCD part of himself. Operative word: tried. Recently, it had been more difficult than ever, after hearing this stupid edict from his dad’s will. He would lose his share of his dad’s estate—and the charity his dad started with each of the boys when they were twelve would go unfunded—if they weren’t married by Christmas.
What the crap? His dad couldn’t demand that his sons get married. That was unreasonable! And selfish! And …
The image of his dad at Christmas last year—lecturing them about being men of honor and duty and getting off their butts and getting married—actually made him smile. That was Jack Kelly: the man, the myth, the legend.
Pain stabbed the center of his chest, and he tried to ignore it. The funny thing he’d discovered about grief, was that he never knew when it would throw him off-balance.
He whipped his phone out of his pocket. Fine. If he had to fund the charity without his dad’s money, he would do it. He would call the annoying billionaire from Jackson whose bike he was working on.
“Hello?”
“Hunter James!” Parker had met him once on a trip to Jackson Hole with his dad. Hunter was a Texas gambling man turned big oil.
“Parker Kelly. Boy, when you going to get that bike of mine finished?”
“Soon. The parts take time to find.”
Hunter sighed. “How’re you doing?” He was, of course, referencing the death of Parker’s father.
“Ah, fine.” Parker hated it when people asked him that. “But I have a situation and need some financing for a charity my dad’s been operating.”
After a long, uncomfortable moment of hesitation, Hunter asked, “What’s the charity?”
“A surf and soup on the beach here in Oceanside. I started it with my dad when I was twelve.”
“You’re having money problems? Why don’t you take some of your inheritance and fund it?”
Parker cursed in his mind; the will stated that they couldn’t tell anybody about the marriage ultimatum. “It’s a family thing.”
“Hmm. I’ll think about it. Why don’t you write up a proposal and shoot it to my secretary?”
The kiss of death. As a boy, Parker had learned that if someone said, “type it up and send it to the secretary,” it wasn’t a good enough idea to bother with. “Alright. Thank you.”
“No problem. Get my bike done.”
“Yes, sir.” He pressed end, and with great effort he resisted the urge to throw the phone. He wasn’t going to get married so he could fund a charity! How could that be an honest or right or good thing to do?
He pulled open the door for his shop, then closed it behind him, and pressed an app on his phone that activated the high-tech security system he’d recently installed. Oceanside Beach was known to be dangerous at night. He took off, feeling a need to rush across the street even though it wasn’t busy. For eight months of the year, this was a crazy tourist street, but at Christmas, not many tourists came to Oceanside Beach. At least, not the smart ones. If they wanted a great beach at Christmas, they went to Hawaii.
Parker wound his way around the street and through the tunnel that already had accumulated a bunch of street people. As he went past, most of them waved or called out a greeting to him. He’d been working with homeless people since age twelve, when he’d come to Oceanside with his family. For weeks after the trip, he’d driven his dad crazy, asking all kinds of questions about why the people weren’t taken care of and why they didn’t have food. It was the catalyst for the Surf and Soup homeless shelter that he now entered.
“Closed,” Harvey, the manager of the Surf and Soup called out.
Parker grinned and locked the door behind him, tapping a few buttons on his phone to activate the security system he’d personally installed here as well. “It’s me.”
Harvey turned and gestured toward the basement. “You’ve got a crowd tonight.”
Pleasure passed through Parker’s chest. “Perfect.” He raced down the stairs, hearing the low rumble of rap music that someone had linked to his stereo system. Rap wasn’t his thing, but he’d learned that this crowd usually liked it.
As he walked in, Chuck, his friend on Christmas break from the FBI, nodded to him. Chuck was doubling as his bouncer/MC for the night. He put a mic to his lips. “The cowboy is back in town, folks. Are you ready to rumble?”
Parker glared at Chuck. He’d never liked being called “the cowboy”, but the crowd that was gathered all shouted out, “Cowboy! Cowboy!”
Chuck grinned at him.
Parker moved to the edge of the ring and pulled off his hoodie and T-shirt.
Chuck leaned toward him. “Have you found funding for this place yet?”
Parker shook his head. He’d told Chuck about his dad’s will the other night, when they were sparring. They weren’t supposed to tell anyone, that’s what his dad’s will had said, but if you couldn’t trust a friend from the FBI, then who could you trust?
Chuck cursed. “We can’t cl
ose this place.”
Parker nodded and picked up the tape he used to wrap his hands.
“Listen.” Chuck leaned in close. “I have a friend who invited me to this Christmas ball with a bunch of fancy-pants government people, including a senator who is running for governor.”
“And I care why?”
“There’s always funding for stuff like this; you just have to find it. You have to know the right people. Why don’t you go, flash your name around, and talk to some of them?” He winked at him. “Plus women—lots of hot women will be there. All of them looking for a man who can dance.” He air gunned him. “And I have seen you dance, cowboy.”
Parker grimaced. Flashing his name around felt unsavory. Sure, maybe he had issues with his dad, but the Kelly name was sacred. Jack Kelly had worked hard for everything he had. Flashiness wasn’t his style. “I’m not looking for attention. And I’m not interested in a ‘hot’ woman.”
Chuck’s face scrunched into disgust. “Dude, I know Carol or Kathy or whoever dumped you, but you need to get out there.”
He grunted. That relationship had ended over six months before he’d moved to Oceanside. “No, I don’t.”
“You’re still stuck on finding that girl from your past. Ari or whatever. Aren’t you?”
Parker froze. Chuck was using privileged information. Parker never told anyone about Ari. Outside of his brothers, Chuck was the only one he’d ever shared the details of his relationship with her. “You have all the right things to say tonight, don’t you?”
Chuck put his hands up. “Never mind.”
Parker hesitated, hating how touchy he had become lately. When Chuck offered him a glove, Parker shoved his hand inside. “Are you attending this ball as part of the Bureau?”
Chuck let out a light laugh. “Hey, I’m on vacay, you know that.”
Parker grunted. “Right.”
Chuck shook his head and laced up the gloves strings for him. “Don’t you know you can’t ever get away from the Bureau? Once you’re in, you’re in.”
Parker held out his hand for the other glove. “Unless they ask you to leave.”
Chuck met his eyes, then shoved him a bit. “Unless they ask you back.”
Why was Chuck being so cryptic? Was he here to recruit Parker back to the Bureau?
“Whatever.” Parker didn’t have time for cloaks and daggers right now; he had a fight. He entered the ring, bouncing from foot to foot. The ring was old school, just the basics. The basement was dank, and even with the fresh coat of paint and the new equipment Parker had installed when he’d first gotten here, it still stank of mildew and damp.
He’d arranged this fight through a down-low, black market fight club, and the guy was already in the ring. He looked like a brown-skinned Russian version of the fighter from Rocky IV. Even better.
Some in the crowd were homeless and knew about the fights and insisted on coming. Most of the other spectators were from various gangs. That was how Parker had initially found people to fight. He’d taken it up with the playboy gangster punks who had tried to rob his shop. He’d insisted on meeting their bosses, and then fight night was born. It kept some peace among the gangs, which made the cops happy as well, so the cops looked the other way. They didn’t want to deal with any of it, especially considering the unfriendly climate toward cops on the streets. It was a win-win situation.
Parker stared at the Russian guy, who was doing some pretty impressive moves with a trainer. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be good enough. They were never good enough.
Chuck hopped into the ring, putting his hand up to silence the crowd. “Has everyone placed their bets?”
Parker ignored the betting. He didn’t condone it, but he knew part of fighting meant getting paid. It wasn’t fair for him to take money when he’d been trained by the government to be the best, so he gave his share to Harvey to pay for expenses around here.
Chuck stood between them and lifted the stopwatch hanging around his neck. “Okay, boys, have fun.” A timer went off, and Chuck grinned. “Get ’em, cowboy.”
Parker moved to the center of the ring, his hands up, blocking his face. The Russian measured him with his eyes, jabbed. Parker easily dodged and used the new position as leverage to land his own punch to the guy’s gut. The Russian dove into the air and spun, grabbing Parker’s head with his legs and yanking him to the ground.
Parker grinned. Maybe it would be a fairer fight than he’d thought.
Chapter 2
The next evening, Parker sat on the beach. The sun was setting. The Russian guy had been tougher than expected. He massaged one shoulder. He’d ignored the stiffness in his body all day as he worked on the motorcycle for Hunter James. The part had finally shown up this morning. It wasn’t the most convenient timing but at least the bike was done.
His phone buzzed and he pulled it out.
JJ.
Crap.
Three more texts popped up, all one-liners from different times. Call me. Call me. Call me.
All day, Parker had been avoiding his messages. He sighed, knowing his big brother wouldn’t quit. He pressed JJ’s number and put the phone to his ear.
“’Bout time you called me back,” said JJ after the first ring. “Your head still messed up?”
Anger sparked inside him, the kind that only older brothers could ignite. “You got something to say, or you just gonna be a rude butthead?”
JJ laughed. “Sorry, I just … I know it’s hard for you. Probably because Ari just disappeared like that.”
Ari. At his dad’s funeral, Parker could have sworn he saw her walking away from the cemetery in a crowd of people, but when he’d chased her down, it hadn’t been her. Right now, Parker regretted telling his brother that. “Stop.”
“Sorry.” JJ breathed out a long breath. “We all believe you, Parker.”
At least there was that. His brothers had always been on his side when it came to the mysterious disappearance of Arianna Claire when he was seventeen.
“It’s so stupid.” He clenched a hand into a fist. “I’ve seen her in the shadows my whole life, but lately it’s like I’m being watched or something.” He squeezed his hand into a fist. “JJ, I can’t handle dad’s request right now.”
JJ sighed loudly. “I know.”
“Never mind.”
“Hey, are you for real okay?” JJ asked quietly.
Parker didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Yeah, listen, I have to go.”
JJ didn’t respond for a couple of seconds. “Do I need to come out there?”
“And do what, big bro? Find my missing girlfriend from thirteen years ago? Or, better yet, take me to a shrink so I can quit thinking I’m being watched?”
“You don’t need a shrink.”
Parker didn’t respond, but he was grateful JJ had said the words.
“Have you thought about just marrying someone? What about the last woman …?” JJ floundered for a name.
Unwillingly, Parker grinned; Chuck had more or less said the same thing. “Carol? Uh, no.”
“It’s not like you couldn’t find someone,” JJ continued.
Sure, Parker had dated a lot. And he and Carol had been sort of serious. “Dude, it was hard to maintain a schedule when I was with the Bureau.”
“Whatever, bro.” JJ laughed. “What about now? Your schedule is pretty open, right?”
Parker turned the question back on him. “What about you? Are you having any luck with Dad’s edict from the grave?”
JJ snorted. “Maybe.”
Always holding his cards close to his vest. “I’m working on putting some money together to fund my charity, and I suggest you do the same. That would be the normal, rational thing to do.”
“I guess it would be the reasonable thing.”
Parker grinned. Together, they said, “Do the unreasonable thing.”
“Jinx, you owe me a Coke,” said JJ.
Parker grunted. “Okay.”
“What would you say
if I told you I actually got on a Greyhound bus to follow Chantel Bonaparte across the country?”
Reflexively, Parker laughed. “What?” He remembered seeing Chantel at the funeral. She’d looked good, and when she and JJ had embraced, it’d just seemed right.
“Right? I guess I have a Christmas angel, too. Some guy on the bus told me that.”
This made Parker laugh again. “Okay.”
JJ snorted. “So go find your own Christmas angel and find some woman to marry.”
Parker rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not in the cards for me, JJ.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair and jolting a bit when he touched the bruise on the side of his head.
“You still doing your fight club to work through the demons?”
How did his brother do that? JJ had always known him, read his thoughts. “No.”
“Liar. I heard a rumor about some ex–law enforcement guy who had a fight club going on in your neck of the woods.”
JJ could have heard that rumor, especially since he had been a Navy SEAL and those dudes were tight. Past or present, it didn’t matter; if you were a SEAL, you were in the know. Plus, San Diego was a huge melting pot for SEALs, and Parker had fought a guy last month who might have been one.
“Did Ryan tell you?” Parker had let his secret slip to another of their brothers, Ryan, during the funeral.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
This made Parker smile. “Big bro, always has the upper hand.”
“Don’t forget it,” JJ said in a serious tone.
“Well, good luck with Chantel. Be good to her.”