Ray, Helena - Hidden Pride [The Pride of Savage Valley, Colorado 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Helena Ray

  “Grandma!” Anya grinned at her grandmother and stuck out her tongue. “Stop being so salacious.”

  “I can’t help it, angel bunny, you know that. But were you seeing that Abbott boy? He’s always been so dark and mysterious.”

  “He’s blond. He can’t be dark and mysterious,” Anya teased.

  Her grandmother waved her hand in the air. “Details. Well, I’ll tell you what. I hope that boy finds a good woman. His family has been through so much, and they’re such good people.”

  Anya tried to be nonchalant. “So, he’s single?”

  Her grandmother opened her mouth to respond then snapped it shut. “Uh-uh! You’re not gonna trick me into being the town gossip.”

  She shrugged, as if acknowledging that had been her purpose, but inwardly she harbored a small hope. Grandma Rita inferred Clay’s singledom.

  Clayton Abbott was fair game.

  Chapter 2

  When Jack came to, he was lying naked against the back door of the Ninth Time. He cursed to himself as he pulled a bundle of clothing out from underneath an overturned box. Strangely, what he saw on his shift was still in his mind. The woman, the utterly exquisite woman, in the snow with her slender, flawless form was emblazoned in his mind. He normally remembered relatively little from the shift, but he could remember every detail of the instant he saw her. Something was different about today, but Jack didn’t know exactly what.

  “God, I wish I could just finish this fucking payroll and get back to Marta.”

  “Damn it, I don’t want to get back to the Mitchell case. That guy hasn’t got a chance in hell anyway.”

  “Let’s see, I need to get over the bank and consult with the Carsons about the town’s financial state if we pass the anti-NormCorp ordinance.”

  The thoughts descended upon Jack all at once, shattering his memory from the woods and filling his minds with the trivial thoughts of Sam Pope, Ira Sullivan, and Roarke Cash, all still at Savage Hunger. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out all the voices.

  “Let’s see…it looks like Dave swapped shifts on Thursday. I wonder who—”

  “Goddamn, why did he have to get into that car drunk? My life would be far easier if—”

  “And Marta’s tips would go to—”

  “The statutory rights for DUI convicts—”

  Thankfully Roarke had drifted far enough away from Jack that he couldn’t hear his voice anymore, but Sam and Ira both mentally talked to themselves constantly, making their voices a regular presence in Jack’s mind. After pulling on his clothes, Jack stumbled into the back room of the Ninth Time, nearly knocking over one of his brother’s easels on the way. The chatter impaired his ability to concentrate, and he collided with his brother.

  “You’re back,” Clay grunted, turning back to his easel. After a fleeting thought—“Thank god I didn’t have to call him again, today of all days”—his brother managed to silence his inner monologue.

  “Thanks for that, man. Yeah, I just–I can’t—” Jack stammered, rubbing his temples, trying to drown out the chatter. “Wait, what happened today?”

  Jack could distinctly sense his brother’s unease among the emotions that floated through the other members of the mountain lion-shifting pride, but Clay’s attention stayed locked on his canvas. Luckily, the bell on the door to the shop rang, bringing Jack back to his own thoughts.

  “Customer.” Clay didn’t turn away from his easel. “Go out there. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Jack only nodded, even though he knew it would go unnoticed by his brother. When Clay painted, no one could draw his attention. Jack studied the easel for a moment, a study in white and red perched upon it this time.

  “Jack? You there?” an older woman’s voice called to him. Reminded of his duty, Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing all his effort on pushing away Sam and Ira’s thoughts. He gingerly placed his hand on the doorknob, blowing out his breath and opening his eyes in preparation for what was about to come next.

  “Agnes Bird!” he exclaimed as he burst through the door. “Why haven’t you been in here to see me in at least a week?”

  “I didn’t have anything for you, that’s why!” The older woman smiled as she hauled a cardboard box filled to the top with paperback books onto the counter then adjusted her long braid of silver hair.

  “Oh, come now, you don’t need an excuse to see me, do you?”

  She batted a hand in his direction. “Oh, hush, you. You don’t want an old woman like me coming in here, do you?”

  “Old? Hell, I—”

  “Shit! Motherfucker! That little rat didn’t finish his community service hours for his last arrest. Damn it all to hell. This must be why the judge has been crawling up my ass all week. If that little asshat hadn’t—”

  Jack gasped as Ira Sullivan’s stream of profanity broke through the shield of his bravado. He stumbled, but quickly regained his balance, flashing Agnes his best smile in order to hide his slipup.

  “H–Hell,” he started again shakily, “I don’t think you’re old at all.”

  Agnes looked concerned, but continued their exchange. “You can tell me that all you want, Jack Abbott. Coming from a good-looking young man like you, it’s quite the compliment.”

  “What can I say?” He twisted his mouth into a grin. “I’m just a sucker for a beautiful woman.”

  “Well, then,” Agnes said, patting the box she had deposited on the counter, “does that mean you’d be willing to give a beautiful woman a good price on these books?”

  Jack gave an exaggerated sigh then looked over to the box. He picked up a few titles, all of them romances, some with quite racy covers. “Where do you even get all these, Agnes?”

  She shrugged. “The ladies that come into the Haven are always leaving books, and I have to clean out my supply every once in a while.”

  “Oh, really?” Jack said, raising his eyebrows. “It all has to do with the ladies in the salon. You don’t read any of these?”

  “So what if I do?” Agnes challenged with a wink. “Some of them are pretty good. You oughta try one.”

  Jack picked up a book and turned it over in his hand. “Thanks for the suggestion, Agnes, but I hardly think I’m the happily-ever-after type.”

  She cocked her head and studied him for a moment, an enigmatic grin growing across her face. “You’d be surprised. I believe your fathers said much the same thing.”

  An image popped into Jack’s mind, unbidden, of the woman in the snow, the contrast of her creamy, pale skin and chocolate-brown hair causing his heart to beat faster even now. Even more arresting than the woman, the moment the image took hold of his thoughts, all sound dropped away, leaving him only with her memory. The sight of her turning toward him, her mouth dropping in awe, flickered in his mind, looping like a silent film reel played over and over.

  “You don’t have to look like you just saw a ghost.” Agnes’s voice sounded far away as Jack began drifting back to reality. “They’re just romance novels. They won’t kill ya.”

  Jack forced a laugh, panting a little from the force of the memory. He patted the box, needing something concrete to anchor him to the present.

  “Tell you what? I’ll give you fifteen dollars for the whole box.”

  Agnes put her hand over her heart and gasped, feigning shock at the price. “Well, I’ll be. Is that the price you give to a beautiful woman?”

  Jack shrugged. “Times are tough. We’ve gotta hire a new employee soon.”

  “Twenty? I know you can manage that.”

  Jack picked up another one of the books, looked at the cover, and turned it so that Agnes could see the cover. “Really? You want me to believe that a box of these is worth twenty?”

  “At least,” Agnes said, crossing her arms. “So are you gonna buy them or not?”

  Jack put the book down and sighed, enjoying the reprieve this banter gave him. “Seventeen?”

  “Eighteen?”

  “Seventeen fi
fty, and that’s my final offer.”

  “You’re killing me, Abbott.”

  “Okay, fine.” Jack relented. “For a gorgeous lady such as yourself, eighteen.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal, handsome.”

  As Jack proceeded to write her up, he heard the dull chatter in his head change from Sam and Ira, to Sam and Phil Pope, to Phil and Roarke.

  “Hey, sweet pea,” Agnes said as Jack recorded her details, “is everything going okay? You look like you’re not feeling so hot.”

  “Maybe if I add a pinch of cayenne pepper—” Jack squeezed his eyes shut to block out Phil’s thoughts. He’d heard enough over the years that Jack felt he’d vicariously earned Phil’s culinary arts certificate.

  “Jack? Sweetie?”

  With great effort, Jack focused on Agnes again. “I’m so sorry, but you’re right. Things have been awful rough lately. Ulysses Norman is breathing down our necks about buying the place, and apparently he’s threatened to pull some strings with the IRS if we won’t give in.”

  “He can’t do that.” Agnes gasped and shook her head. “That’s some sort of crime, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe, but since he’s the head of one of the largest development and investment firms in the country, I don’t know if the laws for us apply to him.”

  “Oh, sweetie. Is there anything you can do?”

  Jack leaned on his elbows on the counter, mustering his best smile for the older woman. “The best thing we can do is make sure we’re in perfect order. Clay’s kept our books since our dads passed, but he’s looking into hiring a bookkeeper. We figure we can hedge our bets by keeping some flawless books.”

  “Is that all?” Agnes rubbed a hand over his back as Jack dropped his head, allowing his blond hair to sweep over his eyes.

  “It’s all I can talk about,” he barely whispered.

  “Pride business?” Agnes asked from above him.

  Exhaling deeply, Jack straightened and shrugged his shoulders in surrender. “I guess you could say that.”

  As a lifelong resident of Savage Valley and the closest friend of Susan Pope, Sam, Phil, and Mel Pope’s mother, Agnes knew of the existence of the pride, but they had all worked tirelessly to keep the details under wraps. Much as Jack appreciated her friendship, his telepathy would have to stay a secret.

  Agnes looked uneasy, but sympathetic. “Well, I gotta get back to the salon, sweetie, but if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

  “I appreciate it, and I will.” Even through the chatter in his mind, Jack felt his own affection for the woman bloom in his chest.

  As soon as the door to the Ninth Time drifted closed, Jack’s knees buckled and he sank to the floor behind the counter. Once more, all his senses fell away, leaving every other memory lost to the cutting room floor except the woman in the snow. He needed to find her, and he needed to find her soon.

  Something deep inside Jack, something he didn’t quite understand, screamed to him that she would complete him. And for once, Jack didn’t try to block out the voice.

  * * * *

  Anya hung up the phone and finished writing down the details of the latest booking at the Woodland Den. She slumped against the reception desk and took in the empty lobby. While she was certainly grateful to be away from the hectic autumn skating season, the change in pace had rattled her a good deal. She laid her head on the desk and stared into the ashy void of the large stone fireplace on the opposite side of the lobby. They’d yet to fire it up since the Woodland’s remodel, but Anya couldn’t wait to sit in front of its warm blaze.

  It was how she’d spent her happiest winters as a child, she remembered. She thought of sitting with her knees curled up against her chest, a pencil and pad in hand, whiling away the afternoons by sketching skating costumes while her grandmother worked. When both hockey season and skating season were in full swing, Grandma Rita would take Anya under her wing, and her Uncle Frank and Aunt Cora would allow her to hang around the Woodland while her grandmother worked her shifts at the diner.

  When she was older, she began helping them, filing bookings and sorting materials for the guest bags. But once her father took a steady job on the coaching staff for the US national hockey team, a move originally intended to bring them closer to the Valley, their new life in Colorado Springs engrossed them and her trips to the Valley had become far less frequent. She would have loved to keep working at the Woodland throughout her teen years, but it seemed that fate didn’t have that in the cards for her.

  “Anya, honey,” her aunt called from behind her. “That wasn’t another group canceling their reservation, was it?”

  “No, luckily it wasn’t.” Anya glanced down at the reservation book—why Cora refused to switch to a computerized booking system, she’d never know—and sighed at the red pencil scrawled over half the bookings for the next two weeks. “It was another couple booking a room for the Marina Andrews concert.”

  “Oh, thank god.” Cora placed a hand over her chest and sighed in obvious relief. “I’ve been so worried about the concert. I mean, building the amphitheater along with the remodels from the fire was such a risk, and I’d just be torn apart if we had to cancel because everyone—”

  “Aunt Cora, it’s going to be just fine. Marina Andrews is such a big star that even if everyone cancels, you’ll find someone to take their place.” Anya turned and sat on the edge of the reception desk, laughing to herself about her aunt’s nervous behavior. Even away from the ice, she assumed the familiar role of consoling someone overly anxious about an event. Funny, how her life kept up the same patterns.

  “I’m still amazed we got Nashville’s latest starlet to come play for the opening of the theater.”

  “Honestly, so am I. How did that end up working out?”

  An enigmatic smile played at the corners of Cora’s lips, but she only nodded and said, “That’s a story for another time, honey.” Before Anya could respond, she glanced at the clock on the desk. “Nearly time for the singles nature walk. Shouldn’t you be herding the guests right now?” She sighed and looked out one of the windows overlooking the snow-dusted trees surrounding the Woodland. “It’ll probably be the last one before the big snow.”

  “Why are you believing the weather whiners again?” Anya shook her head at her aunt’s anxiety. “You know they’re just saying that so everyone will run out and buy batteries, logs, and a bottle of whiskey.”

  “Well, I’m not taking any risks. It’s supposed to hit tomorrow night.”

  Jeremiah Greenwood, naturalist and leader of the Woodland’s nature walk, burst through the lobby doors then stopped abruptly.

  “Come, guests, the wonders of the wild—” He paused, and Anya could see him looking around the deserted lobby. “Anya,” he called out, “where is everyone?”

  She heaved a deep sigh and headed toward the guest rooms. “I’m getting ’em,” she called back.

  “Oh, and one more thing.” Cora’s hand on Anya’s back stopped her, and she turned back to her aunt. “If I don’t see you before tomorrow, could you make sure to take the old linens down to the Ninth Time before the storm hits? We’re gonna need that storage space for the new generator.”

  “Since when are you getting a new—” Wait. Did she just ask me to go the Ninth Time? Oh, hell yes. “Yeah, I’ll be sure and make it down there.”

  She grabbed a clipboard with the names of everyone who signed up for the singles nature walk—a small number, she had to admit—and crossed the lobby in a daze, her mind now filled with thoughts of the next time she would encounter Clayton Abbott.

  “So, I got some new socks at the Ninth Time today.”

  Jeremiah’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “Okay,” she said as she turned to face him. “No disrespect, but you’re telling me this because?”

  He grinned, the expression causing little lines to crinkle around his black eyes in mirth. “Ended up talking to Clay a little bit, and he told me to say hi.”

  Any
a’s heart began racing. He thought of me? He wanted to say hi to me? She wanted to believe it, but the niggling voice at the back of her mind reminded her that Clayton’s reputation had always been for his grumpiness. He was hardly the type of person to be sending greetings along with the outgoing Jeremiah Greenwood.

  “Really? He said to say hi?”

  “Well, not in so many words, but that was the gist of it.”

  Now that piqued Anya’s curiosity.

  “What exactly did he say?” she asked, choosing her words carefully.

  Jeremiah opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. Instead he winked, the scar on his left cheek lifting with the corner of his lips.

  “Don’t you have guests to…what did Cora call it…herd?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Anya!” Cora’s voice boomed from the reception desk. “If you want to flirt, flirt with the guests! They’re paying for it!”

  “I’m not—” She considered arguing with her aunt but decided against it. Cora didn’t know that Anya only had eyes for one man. “Going!”

  She passed through the corridor to the left of the staircase and to the newly remodeled guest rooms. As worked her way through the hallways, her mind was preoccupied. Images of Clayton Abbott danced across her brain, echoed by memories of Jeremiah’s cryptic remarks. As the guests set off on their walk, some of them already eyeing others suggestively, Anya collapsed on the couch before printing the menus for tonight’s dinner at the Woodland Kitchen.

  Her heart pounded as she stared into the dark void of the fireplace. Inexplicably, another memory tangled with the images of her encounter with Clayton. It was the memory of the mountain lion she had seen while walking up to the Woodland. She had never been a particularly outdoorsy person—much to her father’s chagrin—but the animal had captured her attention like nothing else before. Its eyes were bright blue, and something she couldn’t name came over her as she stared into those azure orbs, pinning her to the spot and causing her heartbeat to race like never before.

  As she idly prepared the night’s menu, the two images flashed back and forth in her head. Why they were linked, she still didn’t know.