Wyatt (Lane Brothers #1)

by Kristina Weaver

  “I’m sorry, I’m just…”

  Afraid and hurt and so happy that he’s here right now.

  Yeah, but don’t forget that he’s not yours anymore, a little voice whispers. You broke up with him for a reason.

  “Let’s just focus on getting you better, dove. Everything else can wait,” he says softly, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss to the only place on my face that isn’t iffy. My nose.

  “We still need to talk,” I say dully, watching him flinch minutely before his face blanks.

  “We will.”

  ***

  “You’re coming home, and that’s all there is to it. I can’t have my baby vulnerable to the mercies of a madman!”

  I wince and look at Vincent, seeing his face go hard as marble. My parents have flown in just this morning and stormed Castle Blake with every intention of getting me home and behind the walls of my father’s well secured ranch.

  I’ll be safe there. The place is more secure than the White House, thanks to Daddy’s obsession with Mama’s safety. The poor woman can’t tend her vegetable garden without tripping over a ranch hand.

  My whole childhood had been just as restrictive, and while I’m afraid and in need of that security, it makes me shudder to think of going back to that gilded cage.

  That’s why I can’t understand why it’s Mama throwing around her weight now. For a woman who knows how stifling the ranch is, she’s way too intent on getting me back there.

  “I fully understand your thinking, Mrs Bennet, but I have already put security measures in place for Cecelia. We—”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn if you’ve got the fucking secret service skulking around in the shadows! My daughter is coming home with her daddy and me where I can keep an eye on her.”

  Uh-oh. I recognize that tone. It’s the same one I heard when she caught me sneaking back into the house one morning after I’d gone partying with Mary Clinton my senior year.

  The ‘bad seed’ of the town had taken a shine to me, thanks to my car and the fact that I could sponsor her drink money. That had been one of the worst nights of my life, realizing that I had no chance at being friends with someone as shunned as Mary.

  And then, to make matters worse, I’d been grounded for a solid month.

  “Well, Thanksgiving is right around the corner,” I say, not wanting an argument to erupt between Daddy and Vincent.

  He’s seated right beside me on the sofa, keeping my ankle elevated and immobile, and I feel him stiffen as he glares defiantly at my father.

  “You know I won’t allow—”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what you will and won’t allow, boy. You focus on finding that little prick Brennan, and we’ll keep Sissy safe.”

  “Cindy—”

  “No, Beau, y’all know the ranch is the best place for her right now. The Parker girl has already been shipped back to her family, and they’ve got her safely behind the walls of that fancy palace of theirs. I want Sis home.”

  Daddy sighs and casts me an apologetic look.

  “Fine, but Vincent is coming for Thanksgiving and Christmas as well. You can’t just barge in here and start throwing orders around, especially if it affects their relationship.”

  Oh, Daddy, if only you knew that there is no relationship. And this is also just plain weird. Beau Bennet has never once in his life supported one of my relationships, going so far as to have background checks run on every man I’d so much as glanced at.

  The fact that he’s encouraging me to stay with Vincent makes me wonder and second guess my decision to keep things broken off. The truth is that Vincent and I are done. We have been since the time he cold shouldered me, and we both know it.

  It hurts, a lot, but I’m still steadfastly determined that whatever Vincent and I had is over. Yeah, I know he saved me and put his own life in danger in doing so, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna prostrate myself at his feet in gratitude.

  He’s still a monumental dick in the relationship department, and I refuse to go any further and lose my heart to him if he’s going to be his usual self. He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t think I can live with that.

  “I’ll go home with you,” I say, feeling his body tighten beside mine. “Just give us a few minutes alone. Please.”

  Mama leans over to kiss me and just about hog wrestles Daddy out of the room when he starts protesting my decision. I turn to Vincent, sad but determined to say what I need to say before his silver tongue can talk me out of it.

  “No, just listen. I know that you have some sort of hero thing going here, and that for whatever reason you’ve decided you want me back, but the truth is…I can’t do this with you. We’re so different, too different, and I…I guess I just don’t want to end up falling for you when I know we have no future.”

  “Dove—”

  “No. Mama showed me that tabloid, and I know that you were photographed with that model in France.”

  Mama had shown it to me the moment we were alone, after she’d shooed Vincent and Daddy out of the room and gotten me bathed and dressed. That had hurt even worse than Eric’s fist because, while I can heal the bruises, I’m having a really hard time not bleeding to death inside.

  It hurts that I’m so easily replaceable.

  “Dove, you don’t understand,” he begins, and I cut him off before he can say anything to sway me.

  “No, I do. I just want to go home and get some rest and enjoy the holidays with my family. You saved my life, and for that I will always be grateful, but this thing between us is over. You’re just not what I need right now.”

  Oh God, that lie hurts worse than the pain in my swollen ankle, and it takes everything I’ve got not to start telling him how untrue that is and that I…feel more for him than lust and respect.

  I can’t keep fooling myself, and I know that I already feel more for him than a passing fancy. The man is everything I could ever want and more. I love him. Too bad he can’t return the favor.

  He stands from the sofa, string down at me with his jaw clenched and ticking.

  “This isn’t over.”

  Oh, but it is, I think silently, watching him stalk to the mantle with agitated strides and a slump to his shoulders that I’ve never seen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Vincent

  It’s been three days since dove left me. Three days of forcing myself not to pick up the phone and call her, three days of sleepless nights and miserable regrets.

  When I’d answered that phone, happy for the first time since we’d spoken, and realized she had every intention of leaving me, for good—well, I can honestly say I still go into panic mode just remembering her terror-filled voice and the sounds of Eric yelling and shooting at them.

  How I’d kept myself together long enough to get there…

  When I’d walked into her apartment and seen the broken window, only to be met by a hysterical Bee yelling at me that my dove was alone on that roof, with an armed psychopath, it had unleashed that part of me that I keep well hidden.

  That part of me that had grown up in the East End, fighting and scrapping my way towards my ultimate goals. I’ve worked tirelessly to bury the old Vincent, who’d used his fists and superior size to survive.

  That night I’d felt him rip free of the leash, and good thing, too, considering what I’d seen when I’d vaulted onto the roof. For the rest of my days I will be haunted by the vision of my dove with a gun shoved into her forehead.

  If I’d been a minute later, I know that I would have had to cradle her lifeless body instead of the bloody wreck I’d found. Of course, now I want to kill that piece of shit instead of just getting him fired and beating him senseless for daring to lay hands on my woman.

  I just have to find him first, something that’s proving incredibly difficult at the moment, no matter how much manpower or money I throw at the problem.

  Eric Brennan has dropped off the face of the earth.

  My phone rings, pulling me back from my mur
derous thoughts, and I answer it with a bark.

  “Er, sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a Mr Beechum on the line for you. He says it’s important and that you’ve been waiting for his call.”

  “Yes, Marcy. Thank you.”

  I’ve been waiting for the ex-Marine to call me back after I’d put him on the job of finding the missing Eric Brennan. The man is reported to be the best in his field, and if he’s calling me this soon I have high hopes.

  “Mr Blake.”

  “Mr Beechum, tell me you found that bastard.”

  “We picked up a lead that he was hiding out in a little hotel down in the Bronx, but he’d already split by the time we got there. I have eyes and ears out for the guy, though. From the looks of that room, you did a lot of damage. He bled all over the place.”

  A small thrill of satisfaction arrows through me at the knowledge that I'd at least hurt the son of a bitch enough to cause long-lasting damage, mollifying me for the moment.

  It’s killing me that it’s taking this long to catch the piece of shit because I know that getting dove back to New York and into my bed is next to impossible until I either get my hands on Eric or the law catches up with him.

  I want her back, now, right this minute, and I can’t even approach the subject until I’ve assured her safety.

  “I want that fucker.”

  A loud chuckle reaches my ears, and I grit my teeth to stop myself from cursing the big Marine.

  “I understand, sir. We’re collaborating with that guy Jeffrey Parker has on the case, and we’re confident we’ll have our guy before the week’s out. Just relax and keep calm. We’ll get him.”

  I don’t answer, not needing to, and end the call, leaning back in my seat with a weary sigh.

  At this rate I won’t have dove back in my bed where she belongs before the New Year. That thought rekindles my conviction, only to leave me flailing when I think of that hurt look in her eyes when she’d all but accused me of having an affair with that model.

  I admit I’d purposely gone out and been photographed with the woman in the hopes that she’d see the pictures—my pride’s reaction to hearing that she’d spent almost twenty minutes with Preston Blake.

  When I’d seen the photos and the time stamps, the way he’d been smiling down at my dove…I’d gone a little crazy, I admit, and done the first thing I could think of.

  Getting laid and rubbing it in her face.

  I should have realized the minute those pictures had crossed my desk that it was a set-up, that Preston was using, or trying to use, dove against me. I know now, and despite the determination, hurt, and pure anger I’d seen in her eyes, I will not allow this to be the end.

  She’s made my world a bright place again, and I refuse to give that up just because her girly feelings have been hurt.

  Yes, I have every intention of flying down to Texas and bringing her back home. I just have to ensure that her home is completely safe and Eric free before I can do that.

  Dove doesn’t know it yet, but I have no intention of ever letting her go. Not in six months, not ever.

  ***

  Another wave of nausea hits me, and I lunge for the toilet, groaning through an intense series of dry heaves that leave me spent and unable to do anything but flop back to the bathroom mat and lie there in misery.

  It’s two in the morning, thank God, or I’d be so busted already, and I’ve been dry heaving for the last fifteen minutes despite the fact that my stomach is bone dry and devoid of so much as a drop of food.

  I can’t deny it anymore, no matter how much I want to. I’m either suffering terrible food poisoning—please, Jesus, let it be food poisoning—from the nachos I’d inhaled yesterday at lunch, or I’m knocked up.

  “Oh God, please don’t let it be true,” I whisper into the darkened bathroom, flinging an arm over my stinging eyes.

  I’ve been back in Texas for just a little over two weeks now, and I’ve been iffy the entire time. Mama’s starting to give me funny looks, and it’s all I can do not to puke all over the place just from nerves.

  “Shit, Sis, you’re gonna need to sneak out and get to the doc’s—”

  But no, if I go to old Doc Bear’s the whole damned town will know before lunch, and that I don’t need. Not now. My bruises have finally started fading to that light, sickly yellow, and I feel almost well enough that Mama has let me off the chain a little.

  If she finds out I’m preggers, I can guarantee the evil woman will have me on bed rest and make me go in a bed pan. She’s been way too weird lately.

  Drug store.

  With my mind made up and resolute, I heave myself to my feet and grab onto the bathroom counter, breathing deeply as I catch my breath and try to shake the woozy feeling in my head.

  If that test is positive, I think I might just kill Vincent Blake. Leave it to that arrogant ass to have super sperm that can bypass protection.

  Flopping onto the bed, I roll over and stare at the ceiling, feeling lonely and so needy for his warmth and the strength of his arms, I can barely stand it.

  Being angry and fooling myself into thinking I don’t want him isn’t working, not when I look at Mama’s sunflowers and think of him. Or when Mama had used fresh mint leaves in one of her flower arrangements. I should have realized then, when I’d teared up at the sight of those stupid leaves, that something was wrong.

  Damned pregnancy hormones.

  If I am pregnant.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two pink lines scream back at me the next day as I plop my ass onto the toilet seat in the Lazy Eight diner’s bathroom. I’d managed to give Mama the slip this morning and bribed Toby, a relatively new ranch hand, into giving me a ride into town.

  The drugstore had been empty, thank God, and I’d purchased the test, along with some tampons—my heart had been hopeful on that score—and paid the cashier, giving her an extra fifty if she swore not to tell a soul what I’d bought.

  She’d eyed the test and tampons with a knowing smirk that had made me breathe out a sigh of relief.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this to another woman, but I really hope you need them tampons, sugar.”

  “Me too.”

  Turns out the tampons are now totally redundant.

  Crap.

  “Cecelia Bennet! Get your ass out here right this minute, little girl!”

  I jump and bang my head on the toilet stall, wincing when I rub at the offended spot and meet the beginnings of a lump.

  “Sissy!”

  Jesus. Can’t even get away from her for a morning without her finding me.

  “I’m coming, Mama!” I yell back, wrapping the stick in toilet paper and shoving it right to the bottom of my purse. If I throw it in the trash someone is bound to find it and—

  “Goddammit, Cecelia, if you don’t get your ass out here right now I’m coming in there.”

  “God’s sake, Mama, you’re a pain in the ass,” I mutter as I walk out and meet her at the sinks.

  She glares at me, her slightly graying, shoulder length blonde hair swishing with her every movement.

  “How could you do that? I almost had a heart attack when I went into your room and you weren’t there. There’s a madman running free, likely looking for you, and you decide to hitch a ride to town. Without the security guys!”

  To say that I am so not in the mood for this is one big-ass understatement. I’ve just discovered that I’m breeding the seed of the one man I swore never to see again, even if my dumb ass does sorta love him, and now my mama wants to lay into me for ‘upsetting’ her?

  Heck no.

  “Look, Mama,” I say through gritted teeth, losing my temper with her for the first time ever. “I’ve done everything you wanted. I came back home even though I really didn’t want to. I’ve spent almost an entire week in bed, bored out of my skull, and I let you talk me out of even sketching for the meanwhile. I just wanted a little time to myself and maybe one of Lazy’s vanilla milkshakes.”

/>   “Cecelia—”

  “Give it a rest, Mama. Just let me be a little.”

  Her eyes go misty before a rueful smile splits her painted pink lips.

  “Oh gosh, girlie, I remember that look from the early days with your daddy. You went and fell for that tycoon, didn’t ya?” she asks softly, chortling so hard her breasts jiggle behind her pink tank.

  My mama may be in her fifties, but she still has a slamming hot body and can pull off a lot of different shit that women half her age can’t.

  “No, now shut your yap and buy me a milkshake before I ditch your ass here and hitchhike back to the ranch,” I warn, feeling myself blush despite my annoyance.

  “Girlie, you got that same caught in the headlights look I had when I realized I loved your fool father. I was so spitting mad at him and myself I could hardly breathe,” she says, tugging me out of the bathroom and to a booth in the back.

  We stay silent as the little waitress takes our order.

  “So, you went and fell for a player. I should have known you would. It’s in our DNA. We Bennet women always choose the baddest boys around.”

  I snort and eye her as if she’s lost her fool mind.

  “First of all, I am not in love with Vincent. We’re not even together anymore. We had a brief, mutually satisfying affair, and now it’s over. Secondly, Vincent is like the epitome of GQ suave. The guy irons his jeans, for God’s sake. Bad boy?”

  I start laughing at the thought of prim and proper Vinny doing anything that requires a normal guy attitude. He’s so…British, and upper crust, I doubt he’s done anything so daring as eating one of New York’s famous hotdogs.

  Don’t get me wrong, he’s totally badass in bed, but that’s where his bad boy tendencies stop.

  “You young ones,” Mom says with a shake of her head, thanking the waitress when she passes by to hand us our shakes and an order of chili cheese fries. “You don’t see it. Can you honestly tell me your young man is city sleek and primpy? Did you not see what he did to that Eric guy?”

  Of course I do. I’d been the one to describe Vincent’s attack to my parents, something that had seemed to particularly please my father, and now that I think of it, that was not just anger giving him the edge. Vincent knows how to fight, no doubt, and if I’d had the honor of seeing Eric before he’d escaped I can damn guarantee he’d have looked like minced beef.