Going Hard: Steele Ridge Series

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Going Hard: Steele Ridge Series Page 4

by Kelsey Browning


  A vein in Grif’s temple throbbed. Boom, boom, boom. Something about that hard pumping did a number on Carlie Beth’s hormones. Anger shouldn’t be sexy, but Grif’s cold fury was. “I doubt it’ll matter much to you who buffed my shoes when I have one wedged up your butt all the way to your lungs.”

  Roy rose from his chair, slowly drawing himself up to his six-foot-plus height, forcing Grif to release his wrist. Roy didn’t tower over Grif, but he was thickly muscular, while Grif was a sleek package of power. “You threatening me?”

  One side of Grif’s mouth quirked up in a fuck-you expression. “I don’t need threats because I only make promises I can keep. And I promise you that although these Tom Fords look slick, they’re still gonna hurt like hell when I insert one into your ass.”

  The taller man went for Grif, but didn’t even make contact with his shirt front because Grif smoothly sidestepped and nailed Roy with an uppercut to the chin.

  Carlie Beth was yanked back from the fray, and she glanced up to see Dave had once again attached himself to her elbow. Swear to Jesus, if she didn’t need that arm so much, she’d hack it off and just give it to him.

  “Enough!” Randi stood behind Roy holding her favorite Louisville Slugger. “This is a family establishment. If you two bozos want to tear up something, do it somewhere else.”

  Grif’s edgy smile and chin lift told Roy it was his call, that he’d just as well beat his ass outside as inside. But Roy rubbed a hand over his chin and grunted. “This little dick-lovin’ asshole ain’t worth my time.” He shot a venomous look Carlie Beth’s way. “So you can cancel that beer order for now, but you and me? We ain’t finished by a long shot.”

  They all watched him stomp out. Then Grif reached into his pants pocket and drew out a handkerchief, an honest to goodness square of what looked like real linen, and wiped his hands. He asked Carlie Beth, “Good friend of yours?”

  It was none of his business, but she found herself blurting out, “We went out once. But it wasn’t a good match.”

  “I take it he’d like to try again.”

  “He hinted.”

  “Shortcake, an ass slap isn’t a hint.” He did remember something about her, that he’d teased her, calling her Strawberry Shortcake as an affectionate reference to her hair and her height. He skimmed a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “It’s an assault.”

  She sighed. “Did you forget we’re in small-town North Carolina?”

  “I don’t care if we’re in fucking Timbuktu. A man who hits a woman should be taught a lesson.” And with that easy pronouncement, he sauntered back to his table.

  4

  432 Balsam Drive. All it had taken was a quick Google search for Grif to find out where Carlie Beth lived. Last night after he’d gotten rid of that douchebag at Blues, Brews, and Books, Carlie Beth had given him a curt thank-you, but something about her tone had told him she was less than happy with him stepping in and solving the problem.

  But no way in hell was he going to sit there and watch a man smack a woman without doing something about it. Not ever, but especially not after what he’d been accused of. Carlie Beth should’ve appreciated the restraint he showed by not following the guy outside and finishing what the asshole had so idiotically started.

  Instead, she’d avoided their table for the rest of the evening, apparently assigning them to another waitress. Regardless, they’d left a generous tip and asked the other woman to share with Carlie Beth.

  And since he’d decided Carlie Beth was the perfect distraction for his two-week stint in North Carolina, it looked as if a little sucking up was in order. So he navigated Louise down the wide expanse of Main Street in the direction of Balsam.

  He noticed a few people drifting into the Mad Batter, but as taste bud thrilling as the bakery’s pastries were, a line should’ve been snaking its way around the chalkboard sign that always sat on the sidewalk. Heck, the prophetic messages Jeanine Jennings, baker’s assistant and sandwich sign soothsayer, carefully printed on there each day were reason enough to visit the bakery, whether or not you believed in them.

  Today’s read: Home is where the hazelnut cream cheese puffs are.

  Grif shook his head at that obscure bit of wisdom and a flash of golden-red caught his eye on the other side of the street. And there Carlie Beth was, strolling along in front of the shops, wearing jeans, a baseball shirt with olive green sleeves, and what looked like heavy-duty work boots. She stopped at the Triskelion Gallery and went in.

  Perfect. He could have a word with her and check out a little of the local business climate. Not that the shops and entrepreneurs had anything to do with him. He wasn’t really Steele Ridge’s city manager, much less in charge of economic development. But it wouldn’t hurt to see what Jonah would be dealing with in his new fiefdom.

  Unfortunately, it was all too easy to find a parking spot, which didn’t bode well for a mountain town on a beautiful Saturday morning. Tourists should be swarming this area.

  The town needed a hook. He needed a special reason for people to visit and spend their money here.

  No, he didn’t need anything. Jonah needed to figure this shit out for himself.

  Before Grif could stroll into Triskelion Gallery, he was waylaid by one of his favorite cousins, Maggie Kingston, wearing her sheriff’s uniform. He held out his arms for a hug.

  “I’m on duty, Grif.”

  “So?” He pulled her in, giving her hair a little tug like he used to when they were kids. “When did they start making cops so pretty?”

  “Shut up. You’ll undermine my authority.”

  “Nah.” He laughed. “You want me to undermine you, I’ll tell people that time we were down at the creek and you—”

  “I have a loaded gun, and you know I know how to use it.”

  Sheer joy swelled inside Grif. Few women in his LA circle would ever utter those words. People in that city were more likely to freak out when they discovered you owned a gun. Damn, he sometimes forgot how much he loved his family and how much he’d missed people being upfront and honest. “Fine, now that I’ve been threatened by police brutality, I have no choice but to—ooph.”

  Maggie’s fist connected with his ribs, but she squeezed him once more with her other arm before stepping back. “Seriously, I’m working. Hey, I heard a crazy rumor that Jonah asked to change Canyon Ridge’s name.”

  “Not a rumor. Certified fact. You’re now living in Steele Ridge, North Carolina.”

  “Someone needs to do an ego-ectomy on the whole lot of you. Does he have any idea how much that’s going to cost taxpayers?”

  “Pretty sure he’s got it covered.” Grif laughed. “What’re you up to this morning besides harassing people about progress in this town?”

  “Actually, I was about to drive out to your mom’s.”

  “You know she’s already started moving stuff into the old farmhouse at Tupelo Hill, right?” Grif had no doubt Jonah’s decision to spend a crapload of money on a sports complex had more than a little to do with their mom’s lifelong yearning to live in the house that also sat on the massive piece of property. “In fact, I’m due back to help haul furniture in an hour. Wouldn’t surprise me if everything is in by nightfall and she sleeps there tonight.”

  “I heard she rented y’all’s old house to the Garvey family starting next Saturday.”

  Well, that screwed up his plans to stay in the house he’d grown up in. Looked like he’d be joining his mom at Tupelo Hill for the next couple of weeks. Apparently Jonah had already been squatting out there from the beginning of the year because he’d been so sure the city council would go for his crazy-ass plan.

  He’d been right.

  “Mom in some kind of trouble with the law?” As if. Joan Steele was the definition of upstanding citizen. She loved this state, loved this town, loved these people.

  “I don’t know that anyone is in trouble, but I was coming out to talk with you. Then I spotted you and saw Carlie Beth walk into the
gallery. Figured I’d get a two-for-one and chat with you both at the same time.”

  An uneasy feeling snaked through him. “What do you need to talk with us about?”

  Maggie nodded toward the gallery. “Why don’t we do this all at once?”

  Jesus. He hadn’t been in town long enough to stir up shit. Besides, that wasn’t his MO. He was the one who dragged his clients out of the crap they created, which was why it had been so tough when he’d needed help digging out from under his own problems.

  He held the door open for his cousin and followed her into the gallery. Inside, it smelled of patchouli smoke and apples.

  Carlie Beth and Yvonne were bent over something spread out on the countertop, but looked up when he and Maggie entered. Carlie Beth’s eyes widened, just enough for him to catch it, and the spark he felt when he’d touched her neck last night seemed to arc across the room between them. Yeah, something was there. Something he wanted to explore.

  Because she was definitely a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of woman. Just what he needed in his life right now.

  Yvonne opened her arms in welcome. “Two customers at once. Can’t remember when I’ve been so lucky.”

  Another reminder that his hometown was seriously hurting.

  “Sorry to say, I don’t think either of us is here to shop,” Grif said, softening his words with a smile.

  But Yvonne just lifted a shoulder. “You don’t know how persuasive I can be.” She asked Maggie, “What can I do for you?”

  “I need to ask Grif and Carlie Beth a few questions. Do you have a place where we can have a little privacy?”

  “Stockroom, but it’s a mess.”

  “That’ll do.”

  Carlie Beth shot Grif a what-the-hell look, and he returned it with a your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine shrug. They followed Maggie, their shoulders brushing as they walked toward the back of the gallery. Rippling with awareness, Grif’s nerves reacted as though he and Carlie Beth were skin to naked skin. One subtle sniff and he discovered the source of the fruit scent. Carlie Beth smelled like a just-baked apple pie with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream slowly melting on top.

  Grif’s stomach growled.

  “Miss breakfast this morning?”

  Hell, no. Even as busy as she’d been, his mom had insisted on cooking a full country spread—eggs, grits, biscuits, gravy, bacon, and fresh sausage from a local farm. If he kept eating like that, he’d have to buy a whole new wardrobe when he got back to LA.

  But damn, it had been delicious.

  “The mountain air does things for a man’s appetite.”

  She slid him a suspicious look, as if she suspected he was no longer talking about food.

  And hell, he wasn’t. Since he always asked for what he wanted, and sometimes a little more, he said, “Hey, I heard there’s a good sushi place over in Maggie Valley. I’d love to take you tonight.”

  “What is it with sushi these days?” Her lips turned up in a secret smile. “And is the high-powered Grif Steele asking me out on a date?”

  Something about her teasing tone made his face heat. Completely ridiculous since he’d once dated much more beautiful and much less approachable women. “This is how it’s usually done.”

  “Grif, I can’t—”

  “Both of you, take a seat, please.” Maggie used her normal pleasant drawl, but it didn’t disguise that her words were an order. She pointed to a table ringed by cardboard boxes, some sealed and some open.

  “Maggie, what’s this—”

  “Sheriff Kingston.”

  “Right. Now, what—”

  “Griffin Steele, sit your ass down and shut up.” She pointed to the chair behind him, and Grif sank into it, anger starting to bubble its way through his system. “I’m not one of your hotshot clients. You are not in charge here. So if you’ll just shut it for an ever-lovin’ minute, we can get through this.”

  She sat on the opposite side of a small café table and said to Carlie Beth, “I hear you had some trouble with Roy Darden last night.”

  Carlie Beth shook her head and huffed out a breath. “Nothing more than the usual.”

  Grif swung around in his chair to stare at her. “Are you telling me he’s hit you before? My God, Carlie Beth, what are you think—”

  Maggie mowed over him. “Explain what you mean by the usual.”

  Slumping in her chair, Carlie Beth sighed. “Roy and I went out, and since then he—”

  Grif said, “I still can’t believe you would—”

  “He what?” Maggie asked.

  “He just won’t accept that I’m not interested.”

  With her stylus, Maggie jotted something onto her tablet. “From what I understand, that was his habit with women.”

  Grif’s entire body went still at the seemingly innocent statement. “Was? You said was.”

  Maggie jabbed the stylus his way. “I’ll get to you in a minute.” She turned back to Carlie Beth. “Did you have any other contact with Roy last night?”

  “No, luckily he left after…”

  “After his run-in with Fancy Shoes here,” Maggie finished for her, shooting a look at Grif. “Did Roy have a habit of hanging around Triple B until you got off?”

  “A couple of times, I found him loitering in the parking lot after my shift. But I was always able to wiggle out of a long conversation.”

  “Jesus.” This whole thing disgusted Grif. Did people around here have no concept of personal safety? And they thought LA was dangerous.

  Maggie gave Grif a look as sharp as his dad’s favorite fillet knife. “What about you, Mr. I’m-Gonna-Put-A-Loafer-Up-Your-Ass? Maybe you decided running the guy off wasn’t enough last night. Had another pissing contest with him or maybe you tracked him down early this morning.”

  “Earlier this morning, I was helping Reid tighten all the grips on the sports complex’s climbing wall so I can get some damn exercise while I’m here. But now that I know all this about Darden, I sure as hell wish I’d gone after him and yanked his intestines out through his nose.”

  Carlie Beth choked out a laugh.

  “What?”

  She waved a hand at his pressed chinos, Sea Island cotton shirt, and polished shoes. “It’s just that you look more like a lover than a fighter.”

  Oh, he could definitely be both. Most of the time, he was able to take out his aggressive impulses across a negotiating table, but something about Carlie Beth, a woman he’d slept with once, made him want to pound his chest and club all the other cavemen away. Je-sus.

  A thud came from outside the stockroom door, and they all turned in that direction.

  Yvonne called out, “Just dropped a box. Sorry about that!”

  Maggie returned her attention to Grif. “So you’re saying you didn’t go after Darden?”

  “No.” He glared at his cousin. “Jonah and I left Triple B at about ten o’clock. I dropped him out at Tupelo Hill, then headed for Mom’s.”

  “And I suppose you were completely sober?”

  He raised his brows. “I would never drive Louise drunk. She deserves better than that.”

  “Louise?” Carlie Beth asked.

  “Men.” His cousin snorted. “Some name their cars and some name their pric—”

  “Louise is your penis?” Carlie Beth’s attention was suddenly one hundred percent on him.

  “Hell, no.” The heat from earlier returned to Grif’s face, but he beat it back through sheer will. “There’s something inherently wrong with a man giving his dick a woman’s name.”

  “So Louise is just your car.”

  “No,” he snapped. “She’s not just a car. She’s a Maserati Quattroporte.”

  “Back to the original question,” Maggie said. “You and Jonah went straight home?”

  “Yeah. Mags, what’s going on here?”

  “I just needed to make sure what looked like an accident was, in fact, an accident. Because it appears Roy got pretty lagered up last night and fell down the stairs outside
his apartment.”

  “Ow,” Carlie Beth said. “Did he break anything?”

  “You could say that,” Maggie said wryly. “Just his neck.”

  5

  “Dead?” Grif asked.

  “Yes.”

  So that’s why Maggie had waylaid him outside. Grif couldn’t drum up a lot of sympathy for that prick Darden, but falling ass over feet down the stairs had to be a shitty way to die. Drunk or not. Still, something about the timing didn’t strike Grif quite right. “A douchebag like him must’ve had a few enemies.”

  “Which is the reason I wanted to talk with the two of you.” Maggie clicked off her tablet and stood. “Thanks for the information.”

  “You’ll let me know if it turns out this wasn’t an accident.”

  She pointed her stylus in Grif’s direction again. “That didn’t sound like a question.”

  “Because it wasn’t.”

  “You do your job, Mr. Bigshot, and I’ll do mine.” And with that nonanswer, Maggie left the stockroom.

  “That’s horrible,” Carlie Beth breathed.

  “Sounds like it was his own damn fault. The guy was obviously an idiot.”

  “Because he liked me?”

  God, Jonah had been lecturing him about women with big boobs and not much else? This reminded Grif why they were easier to deal with. “No. Because he didn’t understand the concept of no.”

  Carlie Beth pushed up from her chair. Grif caught her wrist, and she stared down at his fingers wrapped around the delicate bones. “About that sushi?” he asked.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You don’t like sushi? We can—”

  “I’ll be honest with you because it wouldn’t take you long to find out the truth. I can eat my weight in tuna rolls, but I don’t think we’re a good idea.”

  She lobbed it out there easily, like the simple declaration was enough, but to Grif it was a challenge. He stood and rounded the table, let her tempting scent wrap around him, and looked into her pretty brown eyes. Her pulse was thumping in her neck, and that tell drew his attention downward.

 

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