Reluctantly Rescued (The Barrington Billionaires, Book 9)

by Ruth Cardello

  “Sir.” There really was no other way to greet a man like Dale. He personified quiet dignity.

  Dale continued, “I can see how a date would trump dinner with us, but I do hope you bring her around. Anyone who is important to you is important to us.”

  In an excited tone, Sophie asked, “If I call Joanna will she also say she’s busy tonight?”

  Dale cut in, “Sophie, let the boy be. They’re both adults. If something develops between them, they’ll tell us when they’re ready to.”

  “She would be so good for him,” Sophie defended. “If it is her, Bradford, take a gift for her ponies. That would make the biggest impact.”

  “And be yourself,” Dale added. “Joanna comes across as the type who cares more about a man’s integrity than the car he drives. She does quite well with those books of hers, but she’s humble about it. Very down-to-earth. We adore her.”

  Bradford wanted to deny he was seeing Joanna. The lie was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t utter it. Instead he maintained his silence.

  “Her mother told me her favorite dessert is strawberry shortcake,” Sophie said.

  “Sophie,” Dale admonished, “did you pump Joanna’s family for information about her?”

  “Hardly. Lydia would like to see her happily married as much as I would. When I told her we had several eligible bachelors in the family, she freely told me more than I ever would have inquired about.”

  “Sophie,” Dale said, “didn’t you just tell Clay to stay out of Bradford’s private life?”

  “How can sharing with Bradford what Joanna likes for dessert be an intrusion?”

  Bradford parked his car and cut the engine. “I just pulled into my garage. I’ll probably lose this call when my phone disconnects from Bluetooth so I’ll say goodbye now.”

  Dale answered first. “Come by to see us soon, son. Come alone or bring someone, doesn’t matter. You’re always welcome.”

  Bradford was never quite comfortable with the Barringtons’ display of affection for him so he mumbled a thank you. Even as he was ending the call, he heard Sophie say, “Something for the ponies and strawberry shortcake for her. Good luck, Bradford.”

  He got out of his car, pocketed his phone, then took Joanna’s gift from the back seat. His thoughts were in a tailspin. Outside of the missions he’d gone on with Ian, Bradford had lived the life of a loner. He rented several apartments all over the world, but owned virtually nothing. Life was easier when he had nothing to hold him anywhere.

  Joanna was firmly planted in New Jersey. He lived a global life. How much would his lifestyle have to change to be with her? More importantly, how much was he willing to change?

  He let himself into his apartment then stood in the middle of the living room. He’d rented it furnished, changed nothing about it, and had no attachment to anything in it. Is this how I always want to live?

  Joanna’s question came back to him: “What’s your favorite food?”

  He wanted to have one.

  What did it mean that he didn’t?

  His apartment represented how he lived his life—no attachments. Ian was the closest to a friend Bradford had. Historically, they’d only called each other when they needed help. They saved each other’s asses but didn’t go further into each other’s lives. Lately Ian and his family had begun to invite Bradford to social events and family gatherings.

  I haven’t let myself get attached to him or his family.

  I made sure I had nothing to lose.

  Nothing worth living for.

  Is that how things have to be or am I the coward Clay accused me of being?

  He put the swear jar on the table. It was the only personal item in the room. He spent a long moment simply staring at it while his conversation with Sophie and Dale echoed in his mind. They hovered over him, attentive in a way no one had ever been with him—until Joanna.

  His lifestyle didn’t allow for attachments.

  Ian makes it work somehow.

  Bradford headed into his bedroom, took out an overnight bag, put it on his bed, but didn’t immediately start to fill it. Instead he sat beside it and bent forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. It wasn’t too late to end things with Joanna. Her feelings would be hurt, but neither had invested much into the other yet.

  Sex wasn’t something he normally put so much thought into. If the woman was interested and he was attracted—good enough. Why am I making this such a big deal?

  Because it is.

  I care about her.

  Really care.

  He laughed at himself. It’s not just about putting her in danger.

  Not if I’m honest.

  The idea of having feelings for anyone scares the shit out of me.

  He thought about Joanna’s grandfather and how she saw his suicide as a win for the men he’d killed. His own death would be celebrated by many people who were still alive as well as those he’d sent over to the other side.

  He didn’t like how easily he understood what would drive a man to end his own life. Joanna’s grandfather sounded like he’d been a good man. A better man than I am. He’d committed to one woman, raised a family, probably worked a fucking job he hated because his family’s happiness mattered more to him than his own.

  But he still took his life.

  Why?

  Is that the future I’d bring Joanna and any children we’d have?

  Are some people too far gone?

  He took a deep breath and spoke to something larger than himself, if something like that existed. “I’m not afraid of death. If there’s anything after this life I know I’m headed nowhere good. I don’t expect absolution for what I’ve done. But I don’t want to hurt anyone else. I don’t want to build a life with Joanna if I’m not strong enough to be there for her until the end.” He buried his face in his hands. “Do you even exist? If you can hear me—give me some kind of sign. I just want to know what I’m supposed to do.”

  A loud knock on the outer door of Bradford’s apartment had him instantly on his feet, gun drawn, and heading along the wall toward the entrance. No one knew where he lived. Off to the side of the door, he stood perfectly still and waited.

  “Bradford probably doesn’t even live here,” Dylan said in a loud voice. “I told you we should’ve called first.”

  Just as loud, Connor said, “Clay is never wrong about this stuff. Knock again. Maybe he’s on the toilet.”

  Bradford holstered his gun and opened his door. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

  They both walked past him, arms full of store boxes and bags. Once inside, Connor deposited the bags on the couch. “A little squirrel told us where you live.”

  Dylan corrected him as he deposited his packages next to Connor’s. “It’s supposed to be a birdie. A little birdie told us.”

  Connor made a face. “Does it really matter what fucking woodland creature I say told us? It’s an expression.”

  “That’s the thing about expressions. They’re always the same. You say a man has balls of steel. Not balls of granite. They’re the same thing, but one sounds weird.”

  “Hey, if you want to stand around and talk about men’s balls being hard and think any version of that is not weird, more power to you.” Connor tipped his head to one side and asked, “Why isn’t saying a woman has a vagina of steel a thing?”

  “First of all,” Dylan countered, “it would be a pussy of steel and it just sounds unfuckable.”

  “But balls of steel are better?” Connor shook his head. “I prefer my balls just the way they are.”

  Bradford threw up two hands. “Now that we’ve cleared that up can we get back to what that’s all about?” He referenced the high pile of packages. “I won’t even ask who told you this address because I would have to kill him.”

  “Clay—” Connor started to say, but Dylan elbowed him in the gut hard enough that he doubled over.

  “You heard the man,” Dylan said. “He doesn’t want to know.”


  Connor put a hand on his side. “You are so lucky I’m too mature now to punch you in the head.”

  Dylan shrugged. “Too mature—or too much of a pussy—whatever.”

  “How many times are you going to work the word pussy into our conversation? And why? Oh, is it because I’m still having more sex than you are?”

  Bradford tried to hold it back, but he gave in to a laugh. Dylan and Connor were entertaining on their own, but when they were together they were a fucking comedy show.

  The two brothers stopped arguing and turned toward Bradford. Connor was the first to speak. “Don’t be offended by what we’re about to suggest.”

  Bradford folded his arms across his chest.

  Dylan shifted from one foot to the other. “Connor and I completely understand. Neither of us thought we should have to change at all.”

  “But we gave it a try,” Connor said, “and it turned out better than we thought.”

  “No.” Bradford chose a tone that usually stopped even these meatheads in their tracks.

  Connor walked over to the bags he’d placed on the couch and pulled out several boxes. “Don’t think of it as changing who you are, just softening your image.”

  Very few men would have not read Bradford’s body language and tone as a threat, but Connor was like a Labrador who kept wagging its tail no matter how many times it was reprimanded. And Dylan? Bradford hadn’t spent as much time with him, but he was a hell of a lot more likeable now that Joanna wasn’t interested in him.

  Dylan added, “What you’re wearing now is already better than your usual hitman look.”

  “It’s more than a look.” Dylan’s eyes widened and Bradford held back a smile. If Connor and Dylan were there to suggest he get a makeover, they deserved to be messed with.

  “He’s joking, Dylan.” Connor laughed. In one hand he held up a pair of cowboy boots. “What do you think of these?” In his other hand he waved leather work boots. “Or these?”

  Relaxing, Dylan said, “Hey, does it strike you as funny that we’re here to teach the opposite of what Claire taught us? Remember when she made us stash our boots and promise not to wear them to any more events?”

  Ian’s wife was a life coach and had indeed morphed Dylan and Connor from redneck construction types to Hollywood heartthrobs. What the hell kind of change did they think Bradford required?

  Connor pulled out a six-pack of beer and a cowboy hat. He placed the hat on his head. “I bought this for you, Bradford, but I kind of like how it looks on me.”

  “You should keep it,” Bradford said in a dry voice.

  “Toss me a beer, Connor,” Dylan said. Connor threw a beer to his brother then one to Bradford.

  Bradford cracked his open and took a long gulp. “As entertaining as it would be to see what else you wasted your money on, I have somewhere I need to be.”

  “Joanna awaits.” Connor wiggled his eyebrows.

  Bradford froze. “I’ve changed my mind. Before I lose my shit, tell me exactly what Clay told you.”

  Connor put the boots on the couch and pulled out another box. “Just that you have a date tonight with Joanna and you might need some help not messing it up. He gave us a credit card with no limit and released us in the city. Is it wrong that I enjoy spending his money?”

  It wasn’t. Clay had more than any person should. “That’s it? That’s why you’re here?”

  “That’s all we needed to hear,” Dylan said. “Joanna is the real deal. We’d love to see it work out between the two of you.”

  “Because?” Bradford challenged.

  Dylan and Connor exchanged a look. Connor said, “Because we want you to be happy.”

  “This isn’t about what you fucking want.” Bradford growled then instantly regretted taking his frustration with himself out on them. “Thank you for wanting to help, but I’ve got everything under control.”

  “Do you?” Connor asked. “Show us your farm attire.”

  Bradford let his answer be his steady glare.

  Dylan added, “Look at your shoes. Now those might be fine for a stakeout and might even be comfortable—”

  “I’m not in law enforcement,” Bradford cut in.

  Dylan continued as if Bradford hadn’t spoken. “—but you can’t ride a horse in them.”

  “She rescues minis.”

  “Minis?” Dylan turned back toward Connor. “Why do we care what shoes he wears around them?”

  Connor held up a blue plaid button-down shirt. Plaid. “We don’t, but Joanna might. When people assess whether or not you fit in somewhere, their decision is in the details.”

  Dylan nodded. “Claire taught us that and it’s true. Sometimes it’s even subconscious.” He waved a hand. “If you want to be accepted, it’s important to look the part.”

  If Bradford hadn’t known the amount of effort Connor and Dylan had put into fitting in with the Barringtons, he would have told them where they could stuff their ideas. They weren’t there to judge Bradford, they were there to help in the only way they knew how. It was kind of sweet and made it harder to tell them to get the hell out of his apartment.

  Connor threw the shirt at Bradford. “The important thing is to also remain true to yourself. Your mirrored glasses can stay. This is about expanding your wardrobe, not changing it.”

  Bradford held up the shirt he’d caught with his free hand. “I’m not the plaid type.”

  “But Joanna probably is and this is how you can show her you have more than one side to you,” Connor said while digging through more of the packages. He held a box of condoms out for Bradford to take. “You probably have some, but since we were prepping for your big date we picked you up some. Never bought them for another man so we got the variety pack.” When Bradford didn’t reach for it, Connor put the box on the couch. “Anyway, now you don’t have to worry about that.”

  Bradford started to relax as he chugged the rest of his beer. The meatheads were one of a kind. “Do I want to know what else you bought?”

  Connor reached into another bag then hesitated before withdrawing the contents. “We debated whether or not this was crossing the line.”

  “I said it was,” Dylan said.

  “I said it was fine.” Connor held out a pair of boxers covered with hearts. “Never underestimate the power of a good set of boxers. Imagine you find yourself in an argument with a woman and don’t know how to tell her how you feel about her—reveal these and bam, she knows.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Bradford, never drop your pants in the middle of an argument. Worst advice ever. Tried it once, didn’t help.”

  “Toss me another beer,” Bradford said with a half groan, half laugh. He’d just imagined Dylan trying to impress a woman with a flashy set of underwear—it was an image he needed gone from his head.

  Connor said, “I told you he’d love the boxers, Dylan.”

  Dylan shot Bradford a comically skeptical look. “Bradford, if that’s your expression when you love something, we also need to work on your face.”

  This time Bradford gave into a full laugh.

  Dylan backtracked a bit. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Bradford tossed the shirt back to Connor and said, “We’re good, Dylan.”

  Looking relieved, Dylan went to the couch and pulled out a bag of carrots. “This is what I thought you could use.”

  “Not bad. I will take those with me.”

  “You say that like the condoms were a bad idea.” With a cocky look, Connor thumbed toward the couch. “They’re always a good gift.”

  Dylan countered. “They wouldn’t be at a funeral.”

  “What are you talking about?” Connor asked in an exasperated tone.

  “Or a family reunion,” Dylan said.

  “Gross, Dylan.” Connor made a face.

  “Hey, you’re the one who said they’re always a good gift. I’m just suggesting that there are times when they wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  Bradford tried to resi
st, but couldn’t. He added, “Or a baby shower. Your kid is cute, but here, try not to have more.”

  Dylan laughed and pointed at him in recognition of hitting the target with that one. Connor smiled as well and said, “Whatever. Make a joke if you want, but you know you’ll use them.” He cupped a hand to one side of his mouth as if saying something in confidence. “Some glow in the dark.”

  “What’s this?” Dylan picked up the swear jar Joanna had given Bradford.

  “Put that down,” Bradford growled more forcefully than he’d meant to.

  Dylan read the label before replacing the glass jar on the table. “A swear jar? Look at all the money in there already. Dude, forget what we said and run for your life. It’s not worth it.”

  Connor stepped closer. “Stop, Dylan, he really likes her.”

  Bradford neither acknowledged nor denied that accusation.

  “You do, don’t you?” Dylan’s mouth dropped open. “That’s awesome. Except I stole her last night as my date. Sorry about that.”

  Bradford wanted to be irritated with him. It was still too easy to remember how Dylan had sat with his arm around Joanna’s chair, but his big, goofy, apologetic smile made it impossible to not forgive him. “It’s fine. You didn’t know.”

  “Aha! You just admitted you like Joanna,” Connor announced as if he’d just solved an unsolvable mystery.

  “Can’t get anything past you.” There was no point denying it. A glance at his watch revealed he was running short of time. “Thank you for stopping by. I need to shower and change.”

  Connor downed the rest of his beer then put the can on the end table beside the couch, placing the plaid shirt beside it. “Come on, Dylan, our work here is done. Bradford, check out the rest of what we brought you. Don’t be afraid to expand your comfort zone.” He adjusted the cowboy hat on his head. “Are you okay with me keeping this?”

  “It’s where it belongs.” Bradford walked over to the door and held it open. “Could the two of you do me a favor?”

  “Sure,” they both said as they cheerfully filed out into the hallway.

  “Tell Clay if he ever tells anyone where I live again I will personally castrate him.”

  Connor shifted sideways as if to protect his own manhood. Dylan stepped back and said, “Will do. Though he probably has balls of gold. Golden balls. That reminds me of the meatball dish with the gravy.”