Loving Deep: Steele Ridge Series

by Tracey Devlyn

  “You’re too good to me. And your cookies are too yummy to pass up.” She picked two cookies from the plastic container, then another three before closing the lid. A nicer person would have decided against snatching those last three, but not Randi. If not for her, the kids would’ve only gotten two dozen cookies to share. Now they were going to get more. No guilt at all.

  Randi placed the cookies next to her bowl, then unwound the twist tie holding the cracker bag together. She crumbled two crackers into her chicken noodle soup and stirred them around before scooping a big spoonful into her mouth.

  After the third bite, Randi’s eyes started watering and her mouth burned. “Auntie,” she croaked out. “Have you been experimenting again?”

  “Why, yes. I added pepper jack cheese to make it pop.” She dried her hands on a hand towel. “Do you like?”

  Her aunt’s hopeful smile forced Randi to check her reply. Never in a million years would she hurt this woman’s feelings. Instead, she winked. “Popping accomplished.” She stood and dove for the refrigerator. “A tall glass of milk will complement the soup nicely.”

  Auntie’s eyes danced with mirth. “Help yourself, dear.”

  Five minutes later, the soup bowl and glass of milk sat empty, and Randi was busy blowing her nose. Adding the cheese turned out to be a nice touch—after Randi got over the initial shock. She actually loved spicy food, but it wreaked havoc on her sinuses.

  “Thanks, Auntie. That hit the spot.”

  “Not too spicy?”

  “No, ma’am.” When Randi made to clear her place, Auntie waved her off, grabbing the dishes herself.

  “Did you have something on your mind?” Auntie asked. “Or did you come over to keep an old woman company?”

  “Fifty-eight isn’t old.”

  “Someone should tell my body that in the morning.” She sent Randi a sideways glance. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “A little of both, I suppose.” Randi broke off a section of her cookie and held it beneath her nose. When she detected no foreign matter, she shoved it into her mouth. “Hmm. Delicious.”

  Auntie slid into the chair across from her. “What’s bothering you so much to make you run here for an ear and a cookie?”

  “Mom’s will.”

  “What about it?”

  “Did she ever talk to you about the details?”

  “Of course, we shared everything.” Auntie frowned. “Has Virgil not met with you yet?”

  “Yesterday.” Randi decided to spare her aunt the play-by-play. “Do you recall Mom ever mentioning Britt Steele?”

  Auntie sat back. She studied Randi’s face long enough to set her nerves on edge. “She did. Quite often, in fact. Why?”

  “A few days ago, Britt told me that Mom promised him right of first refusal on the property should I wish to sell.” Randi waited for her aunt’s acknowledgment or outrage. She got neither reaction. “But Mom’s will made no mention of such an agreement.”

  Auntie shook her head in disgust. “Barbara never liked dealing with ‘tedious paperwork.’ Doesn’t surprise me that she left this undone. Though it does disappoint.”

  “So it is true.”

  “I’m afraid so.” Auntie reached across the table and grasped Randi’s hand. “She thought you’d fallen out of love with the place, dear. Sometime last year she told me she’d tried to entice you out for a hike during one of your rare visits, but you had no interest in it. Not long after that she made the proposal to Britt Steele.”

  Randi recalled the incident. Her mother had invited her over for Easter brunch, which had been unusual, in and of itself, because Barbara Shepherd had never been much of a cook. If a hot meal had made its way to the table, she’d had her father to thank for the occasion.

  But the real shocker had been her mother’s confession about missing her and wishing they could spend more time together. Excited but wary, Randi had arrived on her mom’s doorstep with a bottle of her restaurant’s best wine and a box of her mom’s favorite candy. Graham crackers loaded with melted marshmallow and a layer of creamy caramel—rich milk chocolate blanketed the entire concoction, creating chocolatey s’mores.

  The moment her mother answered the door with a familiar vacant, harried expression, Randi had known their makeup luncheon had been sacrificed to the newest injured animal or environmental catastrophe. She’d ushered Randi into the house with instructions on when to take the meatless lasagna out of the oven. It was then her mother had encouraged her to go for a hike and explore her old haunts.

  However, the only thing Randi had been able to decipher in those few minutes of rambling explanations was…again. She’d allowed her mother’s persuasive words to work their way into her heart until she’d yearned for reconciliation. But her mother had let her down once more.

  Barbara had promised to be back in two hours. Randi had waited four, then she’d never returned.

  “The story’s a little more complicated than what Mom told you.”

  “So you’re not going to sell?”

  For a stomach-churning moment, Randi wondered if she would keep the property if her circumstances weren’t what they were. She honestly didn’t know. Blues, Brews, and Books was her life now. The bar demanded her every spare minute. How would she keep things afloat there if issues at Sagebrook kept pulling her away?

  “I can’t manage both.”

  “Then sell the property to Britt Steele and be done with it.”

  “According to Britt, Mom promised him twenty-five percent below fair market value.”

  “Now that does seem generous.”

  “Agreed.” Randi pressed the palm of her hands over her eyes. “I can’t figure out why she wanted him to have the property so badly.”

  “Did you ask Britt?”

  Randi’s palms moved to her temples. Her fingers cradled her skull. “He said something about Mom wanting to make sure the land was preserved in its current state.”

  “Even at twenty-five percent below fair market value, you’ll be getting a nice nest egg.”

  “If he had the money—which he doesn’t. I’m sure when he agreed to this arrangement, Britt expected to have another decade or two to save up.”

  “Why save up when you have a billionaire in your pocket?”

  “He has no interest in asking his brother for money.” Something Randi found intriguing. He didn’t want to be indebted to his younger brother. Even though it would be a hundred times harder, he preferred to raise the funds on his own. She tried not to admire his determination, but how could she not?

  “Since Barbara failed to put their agreement in writing, there’s nothing preventing you from signing with the highest bidder.”

  “Even if it means going against Mom’s wishes?”

  “Wheel. Of. Foortuune.”

  Auntie stood, hooking a finger beneath Randi’s chin and lifted. “I loved your mother dearly, but she’s gone. Now it’s up to you to clean up the mess she left behind. The property is yours.”

  9

  Britt stormed out of Highland Bank & Trust located on the corner of Main and Buckner Streets. Because of the noon hour, he’d had to park several blocks away. After the meeting he’d just had, he welcomed the distance.

  Although he’d held little hope for a better outcome, he still steamed at being denied the size of loan he would need in order to purchase the Shepherd property. Especially when the word came down from Harrison Clinewater. The guy had been an arrogant prick in high school, and time had not improved the silver-spooned shit.

  If Mrs. Grafton hadn’t been sitting ten feet away, Britt would have leaned across Clinewater’s desk and reminded him of the time he’d locked him inside the music teacher’s supply closet. In his skivvies.

  That’s what he got for stealing Reid’s jeans out of his gym locker during the kid’s first week as a freshman. Britt’s jaw hardened at the long-ago memory. Clinewater had gotten off lucky. He should have thrown Reid’s tormentor into the closet bare-ass naked.<
br />
  Caught up in his thoughts, he almost missed today’s chalkboard message outside the Mad Batter Bakery.

  Brothers are like devil’s food cake. Rich, devilish, steadfast.

  Britt’s innards did an X Games-worthy triple backflip. Glancing around, he searched for Jeanine Jennings, baker’s assistant and author of the eerily prophetic chalkboard signs.

  When the messages had started appearing twenty years ago, Britt hadn’t believed all the hubbub. Superstitious people, believers in ghosts, and mob squads all had one thing in common—gullibility. One whisper in their ear, and they took off like a lightning bolt. Reason be damned.

  After a few people he trusted got Jeanined, Britt had become a believer, but this was the first time she’d set her prophetic chalk stick on him.

  “Whoa!” a guy said, sidestepping the two-hundred-pound steamroller.

  “Sorry, man—” Britt looked up to find his brother Grif. “Why the hell are you standing in the middle of the sidewalk?”

  Grif raised an are-you-kidding-me brow. “Where are you stomping off to?”

  Britt scrubbed a hand down his face. “I have a job in Maggie Valley.”

  “What’s going on? Something’s obviously distracting you.”

  “Nothing a few hours of hard labor won’t cure.”

  “If you need to talk something through, let me know. I’m damned good at finding solutions to issues.”

  His brother had earned such bragging rights. He represented some of the most successful, wealthiest names in sports. He’d fought for them at the boardroom table, wiped drool from their drunken mouths, and bailed them out of jail for racing their new hotrod down a California interstate. Even so, Britt had no idea where he’d even begin explaining this situation with Randi, so he fell back on his best tool—silence.

  A shade of disappointment crossed his brother’s face, but Grif knew him better than most and shrugged it off. “Got time for a bite to eat?”

  Britt checked the time. “Sure.”

  Grif jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “This place is as good as any.”

  Britt stared at the stenciled logo on the window, not believing his eyes.

  Blues, Brews, and Books Restaurant and Bar.

  How the hell had he wound up here? He glanced down Main, looking for his truck. There it sat, opposite him, on the same side of the street as the bank. Not only had he crossed the street, he’d gone a half block farther than needed.

  A large hand waved in front of his face. “Yo, bro. This okay?”

  “Big Abe’s Deli down the way might be better. I’ve only got thirty minutes.”

  “The acoustics in that place suck. You can’t hear the person sitting across from you.” Grif motioned for him to follow. “Come on, we’ll ask them to put a rush on our order.”

  Tension rippled across Britt’s shoulders as he stepped inside. He did a quick inspection of the tables and behind the bar. No beautiful blonde in sight. His muscles relaxed enough for him to slide into a corner booth.

  “Hey, handsome, what can I get you to drink?”

  Grif smiled in surprise. “I didn’t know you were helping Randi out today.”

  Carlie Beth set down two ice waters and gave Grif a quick hello kiss, then came around the table to hug Britt. “What are you boys up to today?”

  “Lunch.” Britt glanced at his phone clock again. “Any chance I can get out of here in twenty-five minutes?”

  “No problem.” She pulled a notepad from her apron pocket and flipped it open. “Know what you want?”

  “Cheeseburger, medium rare. Everything but onions.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “I’ll stick with the water.”

  “Make it a double,” Grif said.

  “Alrighty. I’ll be back in ten with your order.”

  Both he and Grif followed Carlie Beth’s progress across the room. Where Randi seemed to prefer sleek, skinny jeans and tight-fitting tee, Carlie Beth favored loose clothing and steel-toe boots. Blonde versus strawberry blonde. Short versus tall. The two were opposites in so many ways, except their unwavering friendship.

  “Quite the catch, that one.”

  Grif shook his head and sat back. “Who knew it would be possible to fall in love with a woman fourteen years after a one-night stand?”

  “Got me. I haven’t managed to do it once in thirty-four years.”

  “You’ll find your Carlie Beth.”

  Britt scanned the bar again. “I’m not worried about it.” He melted back into the booth. “How are things at city hall?”

  “Infuriating as hell. I assumed government politics wouldn’t be that much different than sports politics. Everyone wants something. It would just be a matter of figuring out those wants and using them to my advantage.”

  “Not so cut-and-dry, I take it?”

  “I swear, they must supply politicians with a regular dose of crazy pills. There’s no anticipating what strange bullshit they’ll come up with during a council meeting.” Grif began spinning the water in his glass, round and round and round. “I can spend hours, days, before a meeting talking to each of them, laying out my plan and getting their nods of approval. Then, voilà! They throw out some crazy shit that no sane person could anticipate, and expect me to have a logical answer. That I can come up with one probably says something about me that I don’t want to explore.”

  “Probably all those years of keeping hacker Jonah out of trouble. Excellent training ground.”

  “Anyone who willingly goes into this kind of public service must be half batty. Every day, I’m fielding dozens of constituent complaints, some legit, some not. But they all have one thing in common—they’re impossible to make happy.” He stopped swirling his water. “It’s enough to drive a man to knitting.”

  Britt raised a brow.

  “You’re right. Nothing’s that bad. Maybe crossword puzzles.”

  “Amen, bro.”

  Britt stared down at the black line of God knew what embedded beneath his fingernails. No amount of Lava soap could remove the signs of manual labor from his hands. “Will you stay?”

  Grif had spent the past decade in California as a high-performing sports agent. He’d made multimillion-dollar deals and rubbed elbows with the biggest names in sports. And if that wasn’t impressive enough, the overachiever had earned his bachelor’s degree in accounting and an MBA in three years.

  After Jonah had saved the town, he’d wrangled Grif into helping him get Steele Ridge back on its feet, financially. Grif had agreed to become the city manager, a decision that still puzzled Britt.

  Had his brother gotten tired of the high life and yearned for a slower pace? Had something gone wrong and the city hall gig had come at the right time? Or had Grif’s generosity simply been the pull of familial bonds?

  Britt might never learn the reason behind Grif’s return. However, seeing the way his brother’s eyes followed Carlie Beth around the room, it was clear why he stayed.

  “We’re still working through the logistics. Commuting back and forth from Los Angeles is exhausting as hell and moving Carlie Beth’s forge to California is out of the question.” Grif crunched a cube of ice. “Then there’s the question of whether or not we should uproot Aubrey.”

  “My buddy Deke transferred here in the fifth grade. Tough in the beginning, but he adapted.”

  “If anyone could adapt, Aubrey could. No one is immune to her sweet heart.”

  “It’ll work out.”

  “Here you are, boys.” Carlie Beth slid a plate first in front of Britt, then Grif. “Ketchup’s on the table. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thanks,” they said in unison.

  “Enjoy your burgers. Jessica’s going to take over from here.”

  “Are you headed to the forge?” Grif asked.

  “No, Grady’s wife fell and broke her hip. He’s on his way to the hospital.” She untied the short apron from around her hips. “Several shipments arrived today. I’m going to help Randi
in the stockroom for a while.”

  “Are there no other guys here?” Britt asked.

  Carlie Beth smiled. “You do know that I move heavy iron pieces around all day long, right?”

  Britt’s gaze drifted toward the bar, and beyond, to where he assumed the stockroom would be located. An image of Randi hefting heavy boxes onto narrow shelves left him feeling uneasy. A ridiculous reaction given she’d likely performed such labor many times before. She didn’t strike him as the type of woman who played the I’ll-break-a-nail card.

  “Keep my seat warm, will you, Carlie Beth?”

  “Sure. Where are you going?”

  “To help Randi.”

  “What about your burger?”

  “I’ll eat it when I get back.”

  “But it’ll be cold.”

  “Nothing a thirty-second nuke can’t handle.”

  He wound his way deeper into Randi’s domain, navigating on instinct and a familiar pull he always experienced when in her vicinity. Easing down a narrow hallway, he caught the faint sound of clinking glass. He spotted a half-opened door down the way. Light fanned through the opening, spotlighting the opposite wall and wooden floor planks. A shadow moved from inside, back and forth, forth and back.

  Not wanting to startle whomever was inside, he paused in the doorway to see if he’d found his quarry. Dressed in bootcut jeans and a white V-neck tee, Randi Shepherd bent over to pick up one of the numerous boxes lined up by the back door. Britt decided she looked amazing from all directions—north, south, east, and west.

  “Bend with your knees.”

  The box she was in the process of lifting rattled, and she set it back down with a clank.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her long dark-blond hair was somewhat tamed in one of those messy ponytail bun things women liked to wear. The style revealed her slender neck, wide cheekbones, and delicate jawline. Dangly gold earrings glinted in the fluorescent light, and olive-green hiking shoes capped off her ensemble. She was a tempting combination of feminine tomboy. The kind a man like him wouldn’t fear breaking in half or mussing up.