The Secret Life of Bryan

by Lori Foster

  Bruce wished her luck, especially now that her newest mission in life seemed to be loving his brother.

  For once, the lumpy, smelly bed didn’t bother Bruce as he stretched out, already busy formulating plans. He’d protect Bryan the best he could, but he’d also try to protect Shay. She didn’t know Bryan the way he did, and she didn’t know about Megan and the effect she’d had on someone as proud as Bryan. It all factored in.

  The Crown Princess had her work cut out for her this time. But with God’s help, and Bruce’s interference, his brother would find a “happily ever after” in the end. Bruce would see to it.

  The police considered the incident to be no more than a lark by unruly kids that had gotten out of hand. One officer noted that the paintball must have been frozen to travel as far and as hard as it had. He agreed it could have done serious damage had it hit Bryan.

  But they also had several cases lined up of idiots in cars shooting paintballs at pedestrians, so this wasn’t an isolated case, except that it had come through a window into a home. They took a report, but didn’t hold much hope of catching the perpetrator any time soon.

  After they left, Bryan realized how quiet Barb had become. She stood alone, propped against the wall, far too introspective for her usual bossy self.

  Bryan frowned. Like most of the women, Barb had lived a life of uncertainty and degradation that fostered a sense of low self-esteem. Acting in Bruce’s stead, Bryan was supposed to be protecting her now, not exposing her to violence.

  Without thinking, he put his hand on her shoulder. She stiffened but didn’t pull away. “You okay?” he asked.

  Typical of Barb, she snorted rudely. “Of course I am.” Now she shrugged his hand off.

  Bryan grinned. She could be so surly. “Glad to hear it.”

  She nodded toward the kitchen doorway. “So why’d this happen, you think?”

  As if they shared the same thought, Bryan locked gazes with Shay. Almost as one, they said, “Amy.”

  Barb curled her lip. “Amy? What’s she got to do with this? She’s with Morganna and Patti.”

  “I don’t mean that she did it,” Bryan explained. “Amy wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone.” He paced, sharing his thoughts as he sorted through them. “But it concerns her somehow.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The guy working her didn’t want to let her go. He could still be mad about her escaping here.”

  Shay spoke up. “And he hurt her. Maybe he’s afraid she’ll file assault charges after all.”

  “I doubt it.” Barb crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive way. “Most of us have been slapped around before. It comes with the territory. Believe me, the cops don’t have much sympathy for us.”

  Shay pokered up so fast, she somehow made herself look taller, meaner, like an Amazon ready for battle. “No one has the right to hurt you. Ever.”

  Barb just stared at her. “I didn’t say I’d put up with it. I’m here, too, remember?”

  “The guy who hurt Amy was supposed to be in jail,” Bryan explained, interrupting what looked to be a clash of female wills. “But I think I’ll check on that. Could be he’s loose again. Or he could have some nasty friends or relatives. His kind usually hang out in packs.”

  Barb rolled her eyes. “You make him sound like a wolf.”

  “That’d be insulting to a wolf,” Shay said, still up in arms over the idea of anyone brutalizing a woman. “I think he should be flogged. He should be locked up for life. He’s a waste of humanity.”

  Seeing Shay so emotional made Bryan want to hold her, to soothe her, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t seem to stop with a simple act of comfort, not where Shay was concerned. Because she was so volatile, he kept an eye on her while speaking to Barb. “I’m going to check on things, Barb, so can you keep an extra close eye on Amy? I’m worried about her.”

  “Me too,” Shay said. “She’s younger than the rest of us, and somehow more frail.”

  “Sure.” Barb straightened away from the wall. “I’ll watch out for her. But I’ve had enough for one day. I’m going to a friend’s.”

  Alarmed, Shay took two steps toward her. “A friend?”

  In sneering tones, Barb said, “Female friend, Miss Nosy. In these clothes you’ve got me wearing, I sure as hell couldn’t sell anything.”

  “Oh, Barb, I didn’t mean…”

  “Forget it. Considering what’s happened today, I’ll call myself a cab.” She went upstairs to use a phone in one of the bedrooms.

  Shay wilted with guilt. “I insulted her.”

  “No, Barb just likes to gripe. That’s why the others call her Bad Barb.”

  A sad, reluctant smile curled her mouth. “Just not to her face?”

  “Right.”

  She sighed, wilting right before his eyes. “It has been a long day, and it’s not even noon yet.”

  Bryan hesitated, but in case his instincts were wrong, he had to cover every possibility. And because he knew so little about her, Shay was a possibility. “I meant what I said, Shay. I want to get to know you better.”

  Wariness entered her gaze. “In what way?”

  In every way. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Hope replaced the wariness. “Where?”

  He bit the bullet, swallowed down his anticipation, and said calmly enough, “My apartment. It’s only a few doors up the street.”

  A blinding smile chased away all her sadness, all her worry. It even lifted his spirits, when damn it, his spirits didn’t need lifting.

  “So you really can cook?” she teased.

  “Simple stuff. How about chops and baked potatoes?”

  “Sounds wonderful. What time?”

  In for a penny…“It’d be better if the others didn’t know.”

  “I understand. I won’t tell a soul.”

  Anxious to reassure him, she took his hand. And even that, the simple action of holding hands, a damn grade school show of affection, felt like advanced foreplay to his already twitchy libido. Her palm was slim and soft and warm, belying the strength he’d seen in her so far.

  It was an appealing combination, that strength and softness. She was appealing, in far too many ways.

  He carefully disengaged their hands. “Six is good. That’ll give you time for your library outing.” He back-stepped toward the door. “You’ll be careful, right?”

  “Absolutely. We’ll take a cab, stay together. And the library is in a good part of town.” With a smile, she added, “What can happen at a library?”

  When she intended to take several ex-hookers along? Just about anything. “I’ll stop back after you’re finished for the day.”

  Shay turned coy. “I could just come to you, since you don’t want anyone to know.”

  He discarded that idea immediately. With everything that had happened, he didn’t want her wandering the streets alone—not even the short distance to his brother’s apartment. “That’s okay. I want to come by. I’ve got to admit, I’m curious what books will interest the ladies.” And in the meantime, he’d talk with Chili, see if the little weasel knew anything. He’d tried to get in touch with him a couple of times already, but now that he wanted to see Chili, he seemed to be unavailable.

  Shay beamed at him as if he had a halo around his head. “It’s wonderful that you’re so involved with them.”

  He wasn’t involved, not really. But Bruce would be and he had to be Bruce. Besides, it wouldn’t be a hardship to visit. They were starting to grow on him, even Patti and her wandering hands.

  The events of the day had left Shay looking adorably disheveled. She’d washed her face, but she still had smears of paint on her shirt, and her hair was mussed. Bryan tucked one long, silky lock behind her ear, and admonished, “Be good.”

  In her best Morganna impersonation, Shay drawled, “Sugar pie, you’ll like me better when I’m bad.”

  Of that, Bryan had no doubt. But he was afraid that in the long run, it wouldn’
t matter either way. Good, bad—he just plain liked her. And he wanted her.

  Tonight he’d do something about it.

  They were all so stupid, not guessing what had happened, acting as if everything was still the same. Or better. What bull.

  They deserved what they got. They did.

  Just as she had been deserving. But everything was different now, especially the preacher. He hadn’t been the same since she showed up.

  She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t scare easily, and she never showed hesitation. She wanted something, and just like that, it happened. She made it happen.

  Jealousy bit into her, but so what? She’d been jealous most of her life. But no more. From now on, she’d take her share, and to hell with the others. They didn’t really care about her anyway. They couldn’t.

  Could they?

  Bryan didn’t know which he enjoyed more—the babbling excitement of the women or the beaming satisfaction and pleasure on Shay’s face.

  Morganna couldn’t stop talking—not that her unceasing monologues were anything new. But no one minded this time. She had a “genuine, bona fide, real job,” as she put it. The manager had hired her right on the spot, claiming her enthusiasm, ease with new people, and phenomenal memory would be an asset when she took orders.

  Bryan hadn’t realized she had a phenomenal memory, until he thought of all the jokes she recounted every day.

  The uniform, according to Morganna, wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. She held up the white service dress with a dark blue apron, imprinted with the restaurant’s logo, for Bryan to see. She wanted his opinion.

  He grinned and said, “Men like a woman in uniform.”

  Laughing, Morganna swatted at him. “Liar!”

  “If I get my job,” Patti interjected, “I won’t have a uniform. Shay says I’ll be wearing ‘dress casual,’ whatever that is.”

  “I have no idea what it means, either,” Bryan admitted, “but I’m betting Shay does.”

  Patti nodded. “She already offered to help. I think the manager liked me. I should know in a few days.”

  Bryan watched as she smiled in tremulous hope. No one had entrusted Patti with anything important in too many years to count, but now, thanks to Shay, she’d been given a second chance.

  He’d thought about Patti on and off during the day. It had occurred to him that her constant pawing was a type of test. Most men would welcome her advances, even take advantage of her because of her past. But because he dodged her hands without dodging her, he’d earned a measure of friendship.

  Seeing the women so happy made him happy, too.

  Even Amy, who’d been so reluctant to go, kept smiling shyly. Her job would involve taking inventory for a mechanic. Shay described the owner of the business as a very kind old man. With a dose of cynicism, Amy had quipped that she’d known plenty of old men. But Shay assured her that this old man was different, otherwise she wouldn’t have suggested the job.

  Amy trusted her.

  They all trusted her, and for women conditioned to caution, that said a lot about Shay.

  Bryan watched as she refilled Morganna’s glass of iced tea. Playing the hostess came as naturally to her as playing mother to a bunch of lusty ex-prostitutes.

  He’d stayed busy throughout the afternoon. First he’d had the car tires changed, disgusted with the expense and wishing like hell he could find the one responsible for the damage. But at least he had found Chili.

  He was only half drunk, but working on it when Bryan waylaid him in an alley. Twenty bucks hadn’t enticed him to talk, so instead Bryan had offered to break his jaw. That got him gabbing real quick, and Bryan had learned some interesting details.

  While he’d been busy siphoning information from Chili, Shay had cleaned up the paint and broken glass, because, as she put it, she didn’t want to worry the others unnecessarily. Still, the dent in the wall and the cardboard over the kitchen window couldn’t be missed. But they were all more interested in talking about their job possibilities and the books they’d chosen than the menace that had invaded their current home.

  And like a ton of bricks, it hit Bryan.

  They were so used to having verbal, physical and not-so-tangible threats in their lives, they were able to blow off anything that didn’t require immediate attention.

  Bryan felt a pain, like a fist tightening in his chest, that almost took his breath away. Something too much like empathy and tenderness and caring began expanding inside him—and Bryan looked at each woman with new eyes.

  As a bounty hunter, he never wanted to see anyone hurt unless it was some punk-ass criminal and he was the one doing the hurting. That hadn’t changed. He had his own definitions of right and wrong, good and bad, lawful and unlawful. They were ideas he embraced through his work and the constant chase involved in hunting wanted felons. But his attitudes had always been general, not personal. They were peripheral ethics. They didn’t touch the core of him, and they didn’t hurt him.

  But these women were special in different ways. Wounded, but still able to smile. Used, but still fresh with spirit and hope. They now mattered to him, not just as a wrong he wanted to set right, not merely as pawns caught up in his brother’s plight.

  They were women he now considered under his protection. Almost like family. Definitely like friends.

  Shit. Caring too much always complicated things. It muddled the thought processes and weakened reflexes. Instincts got confused with emotions. He was screwed.

  And that was before he factored in Shay’s effect on him. What the hell was he going to do with her? Every time she looked at him, the need to touch her, to claim her as his own, grew until it was almost unbearable.

  No matter how he fought it, she was never far from his mind. And at night, he dreamed about her naked, warm and open to him, accepting him. He wanted to touch her everywhere—her luscious body, but also her mind and heart. He wanted to get between her thighs real bad, feel her clasping him, hear her crying out in pleasure. And he wanted to sit and drink more disgusting tea with her, just to hear her talk.

  Hell, he’d be happy just to look at her, to watch her smiles and witness her unself-conscious loving of all those around her.

  He’d told himself he’d bed her to build on their intimacy, so that she’d tell him who she really was. To ensure his brother’s safety and her own, he needed to know everything about her. It made his motives sound more logical, less carnal. Less emotional. But he wasn’t a man who lied to himself; to others, when necessary, but not to himself.

  Ever since his conversation with Chili, he’d been anxious to speak with Shay, to share what he’d learned, discuss things with her and get her take on them; to hear her opinion. He’d already told Bruce, but it wasn’t the same.

  He wanted—needed—to be alone with Shay.

  Abruptly, he stood. Everyone quieted as their attention focused on him. “I should get going.”

  Morganna also stood. “But I wanted to show you the books I got!” She bent down and lifted up two paperback novels. “The librarian said they’re thrillers with some romance thrown in. What do you think?”

  Strange that a woman like Morganna, who was outspoken and ballsy and risqué, would want his approval. But Bryan saw it in her green eyes, in the way she toyed nervously with a long lock of her hair.

  He didn’t do much reading himself, but he nodded. “The covers are kind of tattered and worn, so I’d say plenty of people must have been checking them out. That has to say something, right?”

  Her posture loosened, relaxed. “That’s what I thought, too.”

  Patti waved a cookbook under his nose. “I grabbed this. It has some recipes I want to try. That is, if Shay thinks they’re good ones.”

  Bryan took the book and flipped through it. Cocking a brow, he read, “Pot roast? Chili? Chicken and sage stuffing? Some of my favorites.” He handed the book back, saying, “When you try the recipes, make sure I’m invited.”

  “Really?” Patti actually
gulped. “Well, okay.” She glanced at Shay. “If Shay helps, then I wouldn’t mind letting you try my experiments.”

  “I’d be happy to help.” Shay beamed at Bryan. “And I agree, those are some of my favorites, too.”

  Bryan glanced at Amy. “Amy? What’d you get?”

  She clutched a book to her chest. “Nothing.”

  Barb laughed. “It’s a romance. Mushy stuff.”

  “Romance is supposed to be mushy,” Shay defended. “And that one is my favorite. I’ve read it at least three times.”

  That surprised Bryan. “So what’s it about?” he asked Shay.

  “An English duke who falls in love with the stable master’s daughter. It’s wonderful—almost like Cinderella but historically accurate.”

  “I like history,” Amy whispered.

  “Were dukes allowed to do that? Marry beneath their stations, I mean?” Bryan wondered if that was a personal fantasy of Shay’s, to be rescued by a rich man. She’d certainly fit the role of Cinderella, with her sweetness and giving attitude.

  Shay said, “I think dukes could do pretty much whatever they wanted, especially in romance novels.”

  “I got a book on gardening.”

  Bryan turned to Barb. “Really?”

  With a curt nod, she said, “This place looks like a dump. I thought I could maybe plant some flowers out front or something.”

  His smile spread until he felt ridiculous. “When you decide what type of flowers to get, let me know and we can head to the nursery to get them.”

  “I’m going up to read,” Amy said, and started to leave the room.

  Morganna stopped her. “Wait.” Amy looked agonized, but Morganna just grinned. “Tomorrow is Amy’s birthday. I thought maybe we could do something special.”

  “I can bake a cake,” Barb offered.

  “That’s not necessary—”

  Bryan held up both hands. “How about we all go out for dinner? We can try the new place where Morganna will be working. My treat.”

  Shay looked thrilled with the suggestion, but the other women shrank back. Morganna actually stammered. “I can’t eat there.”