by Alix Labelle
Robert bent over her, bracing himself on his hands as he gave her a long, tender kiss. “I want to do this again,” he said, panting the words. “How about you meet me here in five minutes?”
“Well, if you’re going to make me wait . . . .” she laughed and hugged him.
#
Rob lay on his side to watch his woman sleep. Once she drifted off, Malory curled up like a little shrimp against him. She hadn’t moved since the last time they’d made love; his cock still lay snug inside her body. Rob held her and thought about how odd it was that the blackmailer had demanded money from her but not from him.
The Boones didn’t keep millions in the bank, preferring instead to invest much of their profits back into Ghost Lake Ranch. Still, it would be a damn sight easier for Rob to get his hands on two hundred grand than the town librarian.
Unless the money wasn’t the reason for the blackmail.
Carefully Rob drew out of Malory, and saw her stir and frown in her sleep before she sighed and went still. He climbed out of bed and pulled on his jeans. From there he walked silently out into the living room, closing her door before switching on the lights.
Malory kept her bills and important papers in a pretty white fold-out desk, which he went to and opened. A brief search of the largest drawer produced a deed to her grandparents’ farm, and several letters from Harold Ames, a rancher who wanted to buy it.
He took out his phone and called The Cue Ball. “Margie, hi,” he said as the bartender barked a hello. “It’s Rob Boone. Can I ask you a question?”
“Make it quick,” she told him. “It’s Truckers Drink Free Night, and they’re all thirsty.”
He glanced down at the letters in his hand. “When I was there for my brother’s bachelor party, there was a guy sitting next to me at the bar. He bought me a beer, but I never got his name.”
“That was Harry Ames,” Margie said. “He and his sister have got a big spread just north of here, but you should know that. You gave him a ride home that night.”
“Thanks, Marg. I owe you one.” He ended the call and then dialed his brother Chris’s home phone number.
“Ethan just called me, looking for you,” his older brother grumbled. “You shacked up with some good-time girl again?”
“No, I’m helping out someone in town,” Rob said. “Chris, can I talk to Becca? I just need to ask her a question about her baby shower.”
Chris called for his wife, and then said, “Notice how I’m not grilling you about your weird interest in my wife’s surprise parties. Here she is.”
Once his sister-in-law was on the phone, Rob said, “Hey, little mama. How are you and that basketball you swallowed?”
“I think we’re playing kidney kickball tonight,” she said. “But we’re good. What’s up?”
Rob closed Malory’s desk drawer. “Becca, was there a lady named Ames at your baby shower?”
“Let me think. Oh, yes, Shawna Ames,” she said with a note of triumph. “I remember her because it was a little weird. She didn’t seem to know anyone, and Caroline told me later that she didn’t invite her. Is there such a thing as a baby shower crasher?”
“Sounds like it.” Rob glanced at the closed bedroom door. “One more thing, Becca – did this woman sit next to Malory French?”
His sister-in-law giggled. “How did you know that? Were you spying on my baby shower, Robert Boone?”
“No, sweetie, but I met her brother the other night.” He kept the cold tide of anger rising inside him out of his tone. “Can I talk to Chris one more time?”
Chapter Five
After spending two nights with Rob in her bed, Malory felt guilty for not telling him about meeting with the realtor at her grandparents’ farm. But he had been so adamant about not paying the blackmailer that she knew he’d try to stop the sale.
She didn’t care about the farm or the money, not anymore. Rob was all she needed in her life.
The realtor, a plump smiling blonde who wore a bright pink suit, greeted her with a hug. “I’m so glad you’re moving ahead with this, Ms. French. Farmland needs to be worked, you know, and Mr. Ames will take good care of the property.”
Malory nodded and tried not to look miserable as she followed the realtor into the little farm house where she had grown up. Harold Ames and his sister were sitting at the old kitchen table and looking over a property map.
Both of them stood to shake her hand, but Malory kept the contact brief. She didn’t like the way Harold Ames’s eyes crawled over her every time they met. His sister had a sneering smile that gave her the creeps, too.
“We’re real happy you decided to sell to us, Ms. French,” Harold told her. “I’ve brought a check for you, too, so we can close right now.”
The realtor’s smile slipped a little. “Ah, Mr. Ames, we do need to do some paperwork before we can close. There’s the title search, and an inspection of the property—“
“We’ll take it as is,” Harold said. “I don’t want this little lady to go and change her mind on us. Let’s git her done.”
Malory stared at him as his words echoed in her mind, and dragged her back through time. She’d heard him say that, right to her face. For an instant she had a flash of Harold bending over her and tugging at her clothes as he said almost the exact same words.
Come on, Shawna. Those pills won’t keep ‘em out forever. Let’s git her done.
Feeling shaken and turned to stone all at once, Malory turned to the realtor. “Would you excuse us, please? I need to have a word in private with the Ames.”
The realtor looked uncertain, but nodded and left them.
“What’s the problem now?” Ames demanded.
“You drugged me and Robert Boone, and put us in that hotel room,” Malory said without any emotion. “You stripped us, posed us and took pictures of us. Then you sent them to me and demanded money you knew I didn’t have.”
Harold Ames’s mouth flattened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady.”
“Sounds crazy to me,” his sister put in, but she looked worried now.
Malory focused on Shawna. “Do you know how long you can go to jail for what you did to us? The rest of your life. And you did it just to get your hands on this farm and bankrupt me?”
The older woman turned to her brother. “You said she’d never remember.”
“Shut up, Shawna.” Harold spat on the floor. “I could have killed you and that cowboy,” he told Malory. “I still could. Or maybe I’ll just tape up those pictures inside your precious little library. Think the kiddies will like seeing you sucking on that big dick of his?”
Rob came out of the kitchen with a stack of photos. “You mean, these pictures I found at your house?” He tossed them in the fireplace. “I don’t think they’ll hang too well, Harold.”
The rancher looked smug. “I can make more.”
Chris Boone walked in from the hall carrying a baseball bat and a computer hard drive. He placed the drive on the floor and hit it with the bat, making Shawna screech. He straightened and surveyed the pieces. “Did you remember to make backups of your digital files, Ames? ‘Cause your hard drive is history.”
“Yeah I did,” the rancher grated. “I got ‘em in a safe place, too. You’ll never get to them.”
Rob came to Malory and put his arm around her waist. “Well, honey, I guess we’ll just have to get married.”
She saw the look in his eyes and played along. “Okay.”
“No,” Harold told her. “You’re going to give me this farm, and keep your mouth shut, or everyone will see those pictures. No one will believe we drugged you and posed you.”
Chris turned his head and shouted, “That enough?”
A moment later police officers flooded into the farmhouse to arrest Harold and Shawna and march them out of the house.
“Nice little ruse,” the realtor said as she came in and pulled off her blonde wig to reveal a neat cap of gingery curls. She smiled at Malory. “Hi, I’m Detectiv
e Woods. I’ll need you to come down to the station to file charges against these two. Today, please.” She nodded to Rob and Chris before scooping up the paperwork on the table and walking out.
Chris came over and kissed Malory on the cheek. “He’ll explain everything. Welcome to the family.” He glanced around as he pulled a wire out of his shirt. “This is a great place. Save it for your kids.”
Once Rob’s brother left, Malory turned to her lover. “You knew Ames was the blackmailer, and you didn’t tell me?”
“For this to work we had to make him think he’d won,” Rob said. “Detective Woods thought you’d be more convincing if you didn’t know. I planned to come in and confront him as soon as he tried to get you to sign and con him into confessing. We didn’t count on you working it out in the middle of everything.”
“Con him?” She glanced at the fireplace and the smashed hard drive. “Everything was fake?”
He nodded. “The police got a search warrant to execute while Ames and his sister were here. They’re confiscating the real photos and hard drive as we speak. Detective Woods needs them for the prosecutor, but she promised to handle them as sensitive, confidential evidence.”
“That’s not a guarantee that they’ll be protected, you know,” Malory said. “And if Ames every gets his hands on those backups—”
“You mean, these backups?” He took some jump drives out of his pocket. “He was keeping them in his truck’s glove box. Too cheap to get a safety deposit box at the bank.” He went over and tossed them into the fireplace.
Malory came to stand beside him, and wrinkled her nose at the smell of burning plastic. “I love you. I’m still mad at you for not telling me, but I love you.”
He kissed her temple. “I love you, too, honey. Now stop frowning like that.”
Malory rested her cheek against his shoulder. “It’s just . . . Rob, what are we going to do if I’m pregnant?”
“We face it together, just like I said. And if you’re not, maybe I can talk you into keep trying until you are.” He put his arm around her waist. “So, are you sure you really want to stick with me and brave all my bad luck?”
“That’s something I didn’t tell you, Robert,” she said, smiling a little. “My name, Malory, comes from an old French word meaning unfortunate.”
He stared down at her. “You mean—”
“Yep.” She beamed up at him. “I’m your bad luck now.”
Bridget and the Company Man
A Mail Order Bride Western
Book 2
(Can be read as a standalone book)
By: D.D. Boone
Bridget and the Company Man
Prologue
Bridget O’Riley was happier than she could have believed possible. Herb Clement had just told her that his cousin and her fiancé, Matthew Clement, wanted to show her the home he wanted to purchase for them to live in after their marriage.
Ever since she had chosen Matthew over Herb, Herb had shown her little attention, but Bridget assumed that was because she had hurt his feelings. She believed that he would come around and talk to her again. Apparently, that was the night he had changed his mind.
As he took her to the house in his family’s carriage, he chatted with her, explaining that Matthew wanted her to look over the building before he talked to her about it. He wanted to know her honest opinion of the place before they discussed buying it.
“He’ll be waiting for you upstairs in one of the bedrooms,” Herb told her as he pulled the horse to a stop in front of a two-story, narrow, red brick building. “I hope you like it. I’ll wait here to take you home.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Herb got out of the carriage and helped her from it. Bridget was confused. Why would Matthew want her to tour the house alone? She would still give him her honest opinion. And why would Herb wait for her? Why wouldn’t Matthew take her home? This was all very mysterious.
“Just walk on in, Bridget,” Herb said. “Matt said he would leave the door unlocked.”
“All right.”
Bridget mounted the brick steps and opened the door. To her surprise, the building was furnished. Did that mean that Matthew had already purchased it? Was this a wedding present to her? After a night in a hotel on their wedding day, they’d planned to live with her parents, although Matthew hadn’t been very happy about that. Maybe that’s why he was looking for a home of their own.
Making her way through the parlor, the dining room, and back to the kitchen, Bridget took in the small rooms. They were painted white and had furnishings appropriate, but Bridget wasn’t impressed. Still, it would be their home, which meant they wouldn’t be living with her parents. That in itself was nice.
She ascended the stairs off the foyer and went in search of Matthew. There were three open doors, two across from each other in the hallway with the doors open, and one at the end with the door closed. She peered into the two as she passed them. Again, they weren’t anything special, just a couple of small rooms already furnished with a bed, an armoire, a nightstand and a washstand. Even the quilts were basic.
Maybe he had furnished their bedroom nicer. Maybe that was why Matthew waited in it with the door closed.
As she approached the last room, she heard noises. Unsure of what to do, she opened the door slowly. There, on the bed before her, lay Matthew—completely naked and pumping into a woman lying beneath him with her feet planted firmly on the bed, her knees up and her legs spread to give him access.
“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, her heart breaking in that instant.
She raced from the building as Matthew called her name. She had no intention of ever talking to the man again. In her heart, she knew that Herb was aware of what was happening in that house. Why else would he have offered to wait for her? But she didn’t care. He was going to take her home, and she would have him tell Matthew that she never wanted to see him again.
***
At home, she wrote Matthew a letter calling off their engagement, and after crying about what happened with her mother, she asked that Mary take care of canceling the wedding plans.
Matthew had deceived her, had cheated on her, and had embarrassed her beyond belief just three weeks before their wedding. She would never marry a man who could cheat on her.
Her heart breaking, she sat down to write a letter to her best friend, who lived in Illinois. She couldn’t tell Elise everything, but she told her enough to let her know that the wedding was off and she no longer needed a maid of honor.
Chapter 1
Tearing into the envelope, Bridget could hardly wait to see what Elise Anderson was doing. It had been several weeks since she’d heard a word from her best friend, and she was anxious to find out how Elise liked Forestville, California. She’d never met anybody who had lived in California, but she’d heard it was really nice—no freezing cold weather like New York City and many sunny days. Now that Elise had been there for the change of seasons, Bridget wanted to know if what she’d heard was true.
“My dear friend,” the letter started.
Life in California is much different than in New York or Illinois. Autumn is more rainy than cold, and I understand that snow is a fluke in Forestville. It happens very rarely.
I am engaged now but not to the man I followed here. I’m engaged to a wonderful Swede, Moya Sten, who treats me like a queen. He is kind and giving and wants only the best for me. I would like to set a wedding date, but I can’t quite yet. I want you to be my maid of honor, just as you wanted me to be yours. We will make arrangements for a date after I know when it’s convenient for you to come.
Now that I’ve asked you to come, I have another announcement. My employer, Jared Coleman, has asked if I know of any women who might be interested in moving out here with the purpose of marrying him. He is 28 years old and has a 5-year-old daughter, whose mother died in childbirth. She is the sweetest, smartest child you could ever want to meet. (I’m teaching her Swedish, and she catches on right away.) Ja
red is kind and gentle. I can attest to this because I’ve seen him handle his daughter’s occasional temper tantrum. I truly think you two would be a good match.
Please come to Forestville to stay. I would dearly love to have my “sister” near me again.
Elise had signed the letter, “Your sister in life.”
Bridget was thrilled for Elise, but she wasn’t sure her father would pay for her to go to California. That would be quite a sum of money, and as rich as he was, he did have his limits. Since she’d never had a job other than as a volunteer for the suffrage movement in New York City and had always helped her mother around the house, she depended on her father to support her. Despite her involvement in women’s rights, she needed her father’s permission to move.
At dinner that night, she broached the subject with trepidation.
“Da,” she said, “I need to ask you for a favor.”
“What is it, Sparky?” he asked, using her pet name. He called her that because, as he’d said many times, she always brought a spark of sunshine into his life.
“I got a letter from Elise today.”
Mary O’Riley interrupted. “How is she doing?”
“Well. She’s getting married, but she won’t set a date until she knows if I can be there.”
Patrick O’Riley smiled at his daughter. “Say no more. That is the favor, isn’t it? You want me to pay for you to go to your best friend’s wedding.”
“Would you, Da?”
“That’s a long trip for an unmarried woman. I understand rugged, uncouth men travel around to rob trains. There and back also costs a lot of money.”
“I know. I wish I had my own money to pay for it, but I don’t. I wish I could just pack up and go. I don’t know how I could repay you.”