by Leslie North
“I can’t watch this.” Rachel stomped out of the bathroom. The knot in her stomach threatened to tie itself even tighter, and the black dots crowding her vision grew wider. Cleaning the rooms used by the two couples who had checked out early this morning could be just the distraction she needed.
Marching across the length of the apartment, she stepped into the hallway just as the unmistakable sound of the plantation-style house’s front door opening met her ears.
“Hello?” Rachel called as she jogged down the stairs and found her mother pulling a tall, thin man in behind her.
“Rachel,” Tammy Winchester stated, drawing her petite, five-foot-two height up—not hard to figure out where Rachel got her physique from—and stopping inside the foyer. But where Rachel loved to color her long black hair whatever shade struck her at the moment (currently a vivid blue since the purple had faded), Tammy chose to keep hers uncolored and cut simply to fall at her shoulders. “Darryl has a proposal for you.”
Damn it. Rachel did not need a fight this morning.
Darryl’s mouth split into a wide grin, and it took everything Rachel had not to shudder. The smile didn’t reach his brown eyes. They were too filled with calculation and greed. “I think you’ll like what I have to say.”
“I doubt that.” Rachel rubbed her churning stomach. The last time her mother had brought Darryl to the house, the two of them tried to convince her to let them search the property, digging wherever they felt necessary to find the treasure supposedly buried within the acres. Of course Rachel had refused. She couldn’t allow the two to tear up the land in a vain attempt to find the legendary pirate treasure that most likely didn’t exist—hello, if it hadn’t been found in the last two hundred years, how could it be real? Not that that logic kept her from secretly romanticizing it or researching it ever since she was old enough to access the library.
“I’ve told you before,” Rachel went on the offensive, hoping to shut down their latest scheme, “you and Darryl can’t whip out shovels and disrupt my running of the B&B.”
Grooves marring the skin on her mother’s face deepened as her eyes flashed. “We inherited this property together.” Her finger jabbed toward Rachel. “I have just as much right to do what I want—”
“No, you don’t,” Rachel retorted. “I’ll say it again since you didn’t listen the last time I told you.” She drew in a breath to steady the rising anger. “The attorney I consulted stated that no court of law would support your determination to harm a profitable business in order to find a treasure everyone thinks is a myth.”
Tammy’s hand dropped and Darryl’s eyes narrowed.
“In case you need it broken down further,” Rachel couldn’t help twisting the knife, “that means no digging, no searching, no treasure hunting on this land as long as Winchester Manor Inn is open for business.”
“And what if it wasn’t?” Darryl asked, pouncing on the last few words Rachel regretted the second they left her mouth. “I’m now offering to buy you out.”
Laughter barked out of Rachel before she even had the thought. “That’s absurd.”
“Rachel!” Tammy stamped her cheap, high-heeled foot. “Do not take that tone with Darryl.”
“I can take whatever tone I want.” Rachel straightened to her full height, not that it did anything. “I’m not selling. I’ve worked hard to restore this house and turn it into a reputable, profitable business.” A business she loved deep in her soul. A business she had pride in and hoped one day would help her rise from the “white trash” stigma she’d been living with her whole life.
“You dare laugh at me?” Darryl snarled, his sallow face flooding with angry color. “I’m offering to give you cash—”
“I don’t want your cash,” Rachel shot back.
“You sure about that?” Darryl’s brown eyes scraped over every inch of Rachel’s bare skin revealed by her tank top. “You’re not exactly a scion in the community.” He stepped forward and Rachel had to consciously not move backwards. “Face it, little girl. The Winchesters aren’t on the mayor’s Christmas card list for a reason. You should take my offer and start over in a new town. Although,”—his eyes tracked over her again—“with all that ink and your punk hair, it won’t take them long to figure out you’re nothing but trash trying to be someone.”
“Darryl!” Tammy wailed, curling a fake-fingernailed hand around his bicep. “How could you say that about me?”
Rachel did her best not to show how hard Darryl’s words slammed into her like punches in the stomach. It didn’t matter how well she had done in high school or how hard she’d worked to provide for herself both then and ever since. She was still the daughter of the lazy, shiftless man who had gotten fired from every job he ever held before he died—not to mention the woman who nearly got them evicted from their single-wide trailer after blowing the mortgage payment on more booze. In this tiny town where everyone knew everyone’s business and no humiliation or scandal was ever forgotten, Rachel could not seem to rise above the “trash” label.
At twenty-seven years old, she was still fighting to show she had worth. Lifting her chin, she glared at Darryl. “Go chase your fairytales somewhere else. This is my property, and it’s going to stay that way.”
Darryl’s hands clenched into fists. “It’s only your property for as long as this business stays open. Bed-and-breakfasts fail all the time.” He took another step closer. “All that social media marketing you think you’ve been so clever to foster won’t do shit to save this place once the novelty has worn off. You may have a lot of followers, but they’re only subscribing to see what kind of fool you’re going to make of yourself next. Before long, you’ll be begging me to give you the cash, and we’ll see who’s laughing then.”
“Get out.” Rachel pointed at the door.
Tammy re-gripped Darryl’s arm. “You can’t kick us out.”
“I mean it,” Rachel stated as coldly as possible, hoping to hide the tremors wracking her body. “I will call the police if both of you don’t leave.”
“We’re not done talking about this.” Her mother tossed her hair over her shoulder as she dragged Darryl through the front door. “I did not inherit half this property just to be told I have no rights to it.”
Rachel slammed the door shut, then bent and clasped her thighs. Exhaling loudly, she let go of her iron grip on the shaking and it intensified to the point she had to stand or fall over. Swiping her blue hair out of her eyes, she glanced at the clock on the credenza she used to check guests in and out.
She had well surpassed the three agonizing minutes the pregnancy test required. Oh God. Could she handle seeing the results after that wretched showdown? Whether she could or not didn’t matter, she had to know if her missed period was due to stress or….
Trudging up the steps, her flip-flops felt like cement weights pulling at her feet the closer she got to her bathroom. Sweat coated her palms, and she couldn’t seem to find enough air.
Holding her breath, she opened her eyes and peered down at the thin, plastic test resting on the edge of the sink.
“Oh God,” she wheezed, knocking the test off the counter in her helpless crumpling to the floor. “I can’t be.”
Bile rose to the top of her throat and she lunged for the toilet. Releasing the toast she managed to shove in her face this morning, she heaved until she had nothing left, then slumped against the bathtub. Jamming a hand towel against her mouth, she screamed until she couldn’t anymore.
The “Yes,” on the pregnancy stick’s digital window glared at her from beside the trash can like an accusing finger.
“Why?” she hoarsely asked the ceiling. Her whole life she’d fought against anything associated with “white trash,” and single motherhood after a one-night stand was pretty high on that list. No matter what she did, she could not break free of the stigma that had been attached to the Winchester name for generations.
Climbing to her feet, she squirted toothpaste on her toothbrush and clean
ed out her stale mouth. Spitting it all out in the sink—
She jerked upright. Had that been the front door opening?
Son of a bitch. If her mother and Darryl thought she’d just roll over, they had another thing coming. After drying her mouth, she barreled out of her apartment and attacked the stairs—
Then halted two steps from the bottom. “Harris?”
Six feet of masculine perfection filled the foyer and seemed to take up all the space. His reddish-brown hair was still shorn close to his head, but the scruff on his face looked like it hadn’t been shaved for a few days.
Decked out in a military uniform consisting of an olive-green T-shirt, camouflage pants and boots, he lifted his head from peering into the room she had converted into a space for her guests to play games. Troubled sienna brown eyes peering from his beautiful face latched on to her, and he blinked as if surprised to see her.
“Rachel.” His smooth tenor caressed her ears, and she hated how much she had missed his voice since he’d walked out her door. “I...” He clasped his hands together, then shifted his feet. His eyes searched her face, then narrowed. “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”
2
Harris McCallister clapped his hands on his hips and drank in the sight of the woman still hovering on the steps. God, she was beautiful. So special and unique, no other woman would ever hold a candle to her. Short denim shorts showed off tanned legs, and flip-flops highlighted purple-painted toes that matched her tank top. Sporting blue hair instead of purple this time, he feasted on sight of the tiny fairy full of life. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until he found his car had driven him to her B&B.
The last thirty-two days had been a whirlwind with attending his father’s funeral and reconnecting with his brothers, especially Lee. He and Lee had made the most of Harris’s bereavement leave by taking their father’s classic 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby on a road trip to Las Vegas. They took their time getting there, stopping anywhere they felt like, sometimes for days, then spent the weekend living it up in Vegas before Lee got a job offer in California and had to end their fun. As sad as Harris had been to see the trip end, it had been a relief to see Lee with a sense of direction and purpose again.
Lee had really struggled with being forced to medically retire six weeks ago from the Rangers after taking shrapnel in his dominant eye. You couldn’t see the damage, but the injury caused him to lose his perfect vision and his beloved career as a sniper. The chip on his shoulder had been a mile wide when they started their road trip, but by the time they reached Vegas, Lee had seemed to come to better grips with his circumstances and wasn’t as bitter or angry. If only Harris had been able to work through his own demons on that trip.
After dropping Lee off at the airport, Harris used the remaining time of his leave to drive back to the base in South Carolina in the Mustang. He didn’t really have the right to claim the car as his—Dad had left everything to the three of them equally, including the car—but Harris had always been the closest to their father and felt like a part of their dad was with him every time he climbed inside. Neither Chance nor Lee seemed to care that Harris kept the Mustang, so he figured they silently agreed he should have it.
Looking forward to putting the last month behind him and needing something to shut out the pain and nightmares of his last mission, he had reported to his commanding officer this morning for duty only to find himself deactivated from his Raider unit. With a straight face and non-bullshit tone, his CO had informed Harris that he had to undergo a full mental health evaluation and be cleared by the therapist before he could be reinstated.
What the ever living fuck? Siting in a therapist’s office would not do shit to help him process his best friend and father’s deaths. Dwelling on them seemed counterproductive. So, he’d jumped into the Mustang and hightailed it off the base. He hadn’t really had a destination in mind. All he’d wanted was to clear his head and figure out how to change his CO’s stance…then he found himself pulling into the B&B’s small parking lot.
With all the punches life had dealt him lately, he shouldn’t have been surprised to find himself at Rachel’s house. He had always trusted his instincts; they’d saved his life more times than he wanted to remember, and clearly, they were telling him he should be here now. He’d had a few bright spots since he’d taken leave (his requested time off, not the one just foisted on him), and that amazing night with Rachel hit the top of the list. He had almost slept with someone else when he was home, a girl he had taken to prom, but in the end, despite her clear invitation, he couldn’t follow Pepper out of the bar. Memories of his incredible night with Rachel had made it feel wrong.
Christ, memories of their night hadn’t stopped plaguing him since he’d walked out the door that next morning. More than once he found himself having to take the edge off as he relived all the ways he’d driven himself inside her, and how she had attacked him just as wildly.
Way to go, moron. He shifted his hips in a useless bid to find space in his fatigues for his hardening dick. But his body’s reaction was not really surprising. She had become his balm in the shit-storm…which, now that he stood in her foyer, he realized was really fucking stupid. She had picked him up in the bar, seen him about to fall apart, taken him home, and told him she’d help him forget. That’s it. There had been no promises, no requests to see him again, and no hints she wanted more than a one-night stand despite the years of their casual friendship and flirting.
“I...” What? What could you possibly say that didn’t sound cheesy or desperate? He shifted his feet and searched her face. Wait. He cocked his head and really studied her. Red, puffy eyes, strained mouth, stiff shoulders, and— “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”
A soft sound emanated from Rachel just as she launched herself off the step. Harris opened his arms and planted his boots in time to brace for the impact of her petite body slamming into him. Wrapping his arms tight, he caught her and pulled her against him.
“Sweetheart,” he crooned, adjusting his hold so he didn’t hurt her. “Tell me what happened.” Needing to see her face when she started talking, he dipped and swung her legs up with one arm and cradled her, then carried her to the floral-based sofa in the large entertainment room.
Alarm shot through him when she buried her face into the side of his neck and shuddered. Since the day he met Rachel, she’d never once appeared vulnerable. Now she curled into him like he held the key to her survival. Sitting in the middle of the couch, he spread his palm over her back and held her tight.
“Rachel,” he tried again. “Talk to me.”
“It’s been a really…” she stated softly into his skin, “…confusing day.”
“Confusing?” He tried to peer down at her but couldn’t see anything with her face still hidden. This reaction seemed over the top for confusing. “How so?”
A long shudder rippled through her and her hand burrowed into the short hairs covering the back of his head. It took an embarrassing amount of concentration not to purr at her petting him.
“If I tell you then you’ll never look at me the same again.”
“Hey.” He jostled her until he got her head to drop against his bicep. She kept her eyes closed but at least he could see her expression. “I think you’re amazing. Nothing’s going to change that.”
A grimace flitted across her face. “You’re not from around here so you’re not aware that the Winchester name isn’t exactly known for being high class.”
“So what?” he retorted bluntly. “You think the McCallisters are part of the upper crust?”
A small smile tweaked the corner of her mouth.
“I’m from a solid blue-collar family,” he continued, hoping to draw her out by sharing first. “We got by all right when I was a kid. It was noisy with us three boys—I’m the middle brother—in a small three-bedroom rancher, but it was happy. Then my mother got cancer when I was in my early teens. She died a few years later.” A pang still ripped through his
heart every time he thought about those days. “Her medical bills were tremendous. My dad did the best he could, but even two jobs were barely enough to keep a roof over our heads and food in the cabinets. That meant no college fund, so all three of us joined the military.”
He peered down and found her watching him avidly, like she hung on every word. Clearing his throat, he summed the rest of his history up as fast as he could to get back to her. “Tension was high in the house, and my dad turned to the bottle. He didn’t drink to the point where he couldn’t work, but it didn’t help his relationship with my oldest brother, Chance.” God, did those two fight. Constantly, loudly, and to the point Chance would disappear until way beyond when he should have come home. “Ultimately, that’s what killed my dad. He died when his liver gave out. Chance was the only one who was able to get home to be with him at the end.”
“I’m sorry.” Rachel dropped her hand from the back his head and placed it on his shoulder.
“So.” He shot her a wry smile. “We’ve established that I’m not from a high-class family. Tell me what happened and why you’re bringing that up.”
“My mother came by to see me today, towing her new friend, Darryl, along. He’s pretty much obsessed with this property. You see, there’s this lore,” she continued, drawing an abstract pattern on his upper pec and shoulder. “Involving my land.”
“Okay.” He shifted to keep his thighs from falling asleep. “You’ve got me intrigued.”
“Supposedly a pirate buried his treasure somewhere on this property,” she announced, her eyes flying up to meet his.
“Seriously?” He sat straighter. “That’s awesome.” He couldn’t stop the grin from taking over his face. How cool would it be to dig up a real buried treasure chest?
“I see what you’re thinking.” Her finger pressed against the crease between his eyebrows. “And you can stop imagining finding a treasure chest.”