by Fiona Archer
She drew in a deep breath then slowly shook her head. “No, no regrets. To be honest, admitting the truth about Hank’s death…well, it kind of freed me. I’ve lived so long operating under the fear I was responsible. The fact I wasn’t…It’s going to take a while to sink in.” She shrugged. “From the moment Hank fell, Trent twisted the truth. When I think of all the time I’ve spent blaming myself, listening to his threats to expose me—” Bitterness clogged her throat.
Flynn rubbed his hands along her arms. “The bastard’s day will come, Chloe.”
“You won’t do anything stupid, right?”
He turned her chin to face him. “You forget you’re speaking to an ex-SAS commando. We’re trained not to take stupid risks. The bastard’s so delusional he’ll fuck up, and when he does, we’ll strike.”
Stupid risks. The words screamed in her ears.
“Flynn, I’m sorry.” She pressed her hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart through the navy T-shirt.
“For what, luv?”
“For disobeying you.” She swallowed. “I was so wrapped up in wanting my privacy. All I cared about was getting my prescription. You warned me, and I didn’t listen. If anything had happened to me, it would have been my fault. You did your best to protect me.” Sheesh, she felt his heartbeat kick up. “Flynn, is everything okay?”
“Sure, luv,” Flynn said, his voice flat.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, of course not.” He unwound his arms and rose from the bed. His wink was devoid of its usual larrikin sparkle. “Hurry up. Noah’s hungry and you know what a grouchy bastard he can be when his stomach’s empty.” Before she could push further, he was out the door.
What had just happened? Chloe turned to Digger, sinking her nails into his thick fur and scratching him at the back of his neck. He placed his paws on her thigh and rested his chin on top. Sad eyes flicked to the doorway then back to his mistress. He let out a soft whine.
“Yeah, sweetie, I know. Something’s up.”
She’d mentioned that he’d done his best to protect her, and Flynn seemed to switch gears. Was he angry with himself for leaving her at the library? Nope, he hadn’t appeared angry. More haunted than anything else. Flynn was hiding something, a secret of his own.
With one last pat for Digger, Chloe rolled out of bed and pulled on her track pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and dragged a brush through her hair. On the last stroke, she paused and glanced at her reflection in the mirror.
Her eyes revealed the churning sense of unease in her stomach. How far back did this secret go? Last week, a year, or a decade? The trail of Flynn’s past was a veritable minefield of family breakdown sprinkled with personal achievement over great adversity. Minefields had a way of exploding. Tread with care, Chloe.
* * * *
Karl Wagner took another chug of his beer and let his gaze drift over the crowded interior of the Imperial Pub. Old turn-of-the-century sepia photographs of King’s Bluff hung on the pub’s walls intermingled with photos from Australia dating around the same time. An American and an Australian flag hung up on the wall behind the bar. The large silver trophy for the annual cricket cup stood on a shelf between the two flags. A sign stated the pub’s proud sponsorship of the contest. Mick Chambers loved that pansy-assed game. Of course, his ancestors had traveled from Australia with James King and joined in the plunder of this land, so no surprise there.
Karl’s jaw tightened. The Imperial Pub. Stupid name. Another dump of British colonial bullshit imposed on the citizens—the American citizens—of King’s Bluff. And all because of the turn of the cards. Bullshit.
He skimmed a hand over the extrasmooth strands of his hair and again eyed his fellow diners. A life spent living in this town had taught him the stupidity of its citizens. He knew what they thought of him, Jim Wagner’s lazy, loudmouth son. Just as he’d planned. It’s easy to fly under the radar when everyone thinks of you as a complete failure.
Another gulp of cold hops eased down his throat. Good American beer. None of the boutique or imported swill for him. No fucking way.
Soon he wouldn’t hide his ambition. If all went according to plan—and why wouldn’t it—Noah King, Flynn Taylor, and their supporters would be on their hands and knees, begging for a chance to share in his prosperity and the power he’d soon hold.
Revenge burned its way up his throat. It was his family’s town. Hadn’t his granddaddy always said so?
A figure moved toward him. Loose jeans, Western shirt, and that old grease-stained baseball cap. Frank Jessop.
He worked the muscles in his face to hide his revulsion. Sometimes you had to make do with what you could grab. Right now, Jessop fit that bill. Soon, a few more months, and he’d be in a position to start surrounding himself with the kind of people that showed he was a man to be respected, hell, maybe even feared. His cock grew hard. Fear. It had worked for his daddy.
“Hey, Karl, I got your message.” Jessop nodded as Karl motioned to the seat opposite, then sat down and waited for direction. Like a fucking puppy. The stench of Jessop’s eagerness scalded his nostrils. Lifting a hand, he signaled a passing waitress to bring the man a beer.
“You see the woman hanging off Taylor’s arm this morning in the supermarket?” Karl eased back in his chair.
“Yeah, great tits.”
Smile, just smile. “Pity they’ve been sucked on by King and Taylor.” He waited for Jessop to swallow his mouthful of beer.
“Shit, what a waste of a good woman. Mind you, if she’s willing to share herself with those two, maybe she ain’t so good after all. Didn’t someone smash up her house?” Jessop wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffed hard.
“That’s what I heard. But I don’t think she got the hint.” Karl turned his beer glass around in a circle with his fingertips. “So, I was thinking, ‘bout time we gave her a welcome, a real warm welcome.”
Jessop’s brows creased. Not too hard an accomplishment.
He drained his glass and signaled for another beer for his companion. By the time he’d finished, his accomplice would think it was all his idea. And that suited Karl just fine.
* * * *
Chloe rested her forearms on the kitchen table and ran her gaze down the sheet of paper she and Gretchen had used to plan the Thanksgiving Day menu. “So we have eleven for dinner, including Rex, Toby, and Len. The rest of the hands are spending Thanksgiving with family or in town?”
Gretchen loaded the last of the plates in the dishwasher and leaned against the counter. “Right, and that number includes Caleb. His parents are visiting his sister in New York for the holidays. Didn’t you say Reagan is coming later?”
“Yes, she’s coming out early evening.” Chloe couldn’t help but smile. “Flynn kind of bulldozed her into accepting.”
“Good. It’s about time that girl mixed in again. Sam Edwards was a fine man, and he died a terrible, lingering death. She looked after him for years, long before he even got sick. After Reagan’s momma up and left, she was all the family he had.” She looked out the window. “I’m glad you’re friends, Chloe.”
Surprise jolted Chloe. She battled against raising her brows. Reagan had said her mom had gone years before, but Chloe assumed she’d passed on. “She and Purdy welcomed me from day one. I’m lucky to have met them.”
“Now there’s a caution. Purdy Davis.” Gretchen nodded in that no-nonsense way she seemed to do everything, her gunmetal-gray hair up in its usual bun, a few loose strands fanning her neck. “I’ve never known that girl to lift a measuring spoon, but the boys tell me she was knee-deep in cookie mixture on Sunday.”
Chloe laughed. “We made gingerbread pilgrim hats and sugar cookie turkeys.” She lowered her gaze to the table. “I hope you don’t mind, Gretchen, but I made some for everyone at King’s Haven. I wasn’t sure if you did anything special and umm…anyway, they’re iced and decorated. Everyone has a selection wrapped in a
cellophane bag and tied with a ribbon. I know Len doesn’t have any family, and I wanted him to feel as special as everyone else.” She cleared her throat against the fist of emotion jamming her airway. All those holidays since her aunt’s death had left their mark.
Understanding washed over the older woman’s face, softening the line of her mouth as she spoke in a quiet voice. “I think that’s a fine gesture, Chloe.”
Chloe placed the menu to the side. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Gretchen glanced at the kitchen clock. “But let’s do that over coffee. We’re due for a break. I’ll fix a snack and you take care of the coffee.”
“Sounds great.” Chloe collected the mugs, poured the coffee, adding milk to hers. Gretchen drank her coffee dark and with no sugar. It fit the hard-working, no frills woman to a tee.
The housekeeper added a plate of her peanut butter and jelly bars. Gretchen’s keen gaze followed Chloe as she bit into the mouthwatering slice.
“Mmm, these are delicious! Crunchy on the top but so moist in the middle.” She hid her smile behind her coffee mug as the older woman’s cheeks grew warm.
Gretchen made a fuss of wiping up a few crumbs in front of her. “Thanks. So, what was your question, honey?”
Chloe chewed her mouthful before speaking. “Coming in as an outsider, it’s amazing the amount of money and resources Noah’s poured into the town. I’d have thought King’s Bluff would be the envy of many small towns across the country.” Chloe lifted her hands, palms up in the air. “Judging by his words in the diner last week, Karl Wagner doesn’t agree with me.”
Gretchen’s mouth flattened. “What is it Flynn called him last week? The village idiot? Sounds about right to me.”
“You don’t think he can make trouble?” She nibbled her lip.
Gretchen snorted a laugh. “Chloe, if there is a group of men that can handle themselves, it’s those on King’s Haven.”
“Wagner tried to stir up tensions about the Youth Center. He wrote to the Gazette, saying it would take kids away from their chores and encourage them to disregard their parents. He managed to get a few people behind him.”
Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Honey, the man thrives on bringing trouble to our door. He’s living an unsatisfying life and blaming your men. People might not wave their hands in the air and shout ‘Hallelujah,’ but Noah and Flynn are winning the town over. Look at the medical center, and there are plans for the new wilderness lodge. I don’t know much about the last one, but it sounds promising.”
Chloe nodded. “Noah and Flynn mentioned it last night. They’ve been consulting with some friends of Quinn who are interested in setting up a small resort catering to outdoor-type vacations for high-end clients. They’ve done their homework, that’s for sure. It would employ a good number of locals.”
Gretchen smacked her hand against her thigh. “There you are then, services and employment. Nobody’s going to argue against that kind of progress.”
Her words made sense, but Chloe’s nod lacked enthusiasm.
The older women’s autumn-colored gaze flicked over her, sharpening as Chloe clutched her mug tightly. “Karl Wagner’s not the one eating at you. What’s wrong, honey?”
Last night over dinner, Flynn had been polite but distant. Each time she’d drawn him in with a question about his past, he’d danced a quickstep and turned the conversation back on Chloe. Noah had slowly stopped talking, his gaze impatient as he studied Flynn. In the end, she’d picked at her food and gone to bed early, claiming tiredness and a headache from the stresses of the day, which was no lie. Spending the night tucked up safe in their arms hadn’t lessened the questions in her mind.
“I can’t help thinking”—she broke off, taking a deep breath before starting over—“Flynn’s been a little distant since an…incident yesterday.”
Seconds ticked by like minutes as Gretchen pinned her with a stare. “By incident you mean when you left the library?”
There was no way she could hold back her groan. Fantastic, her sins were a matter of record around the ranch.
“Yes. I made a stupid mistake and I paid for it, I assure you.” Heat burned a path across her face. The idea of discussing her punishment with Gretchen…Yeah, don’t go there. “Anyway, last night I said to Flynn that he’d done his best to protect me, you know, against Trent and everything, and that if anything had happened, it would have been my fault, not his. One moment he was cuddling me, and the next, he withdrew. When I asked him what I’d said, he blew me off.” She let out a loud breath. “I’m not crazy, Gretchen. I know I said something wrong.
“You’re not crazy, Chloe, and it’s not your fault.” The stark certainty of Gretchen’s tone struck Chloe silent.
The housekeeper glanced over her shoulder toward the mudroom, as if checking to see if the coast was clear. “If Jeb heard me now, he’d tan my hide, so I’ll be quick. I’m telling you this because I know you love those boys.”
“I haven’t said—”
“Don’t matter, honey. It’s written clear on your face,” Gretchen said, giving a lopsided grin.
“Okay.” What else could she say?
“About a year ago, Noah had to drive to Cheyenne for business and stayed there overnight. Flynn was here alone so I came up to invite him to dinner with Jeb and me. I found him drunk.” She grimaced. “No, that’s not right. He was more than drunk. He was all shades of hell. He’d punched his fists into the stone fireplace, and they were all bloody. I was mighty scared he’d hurt himself. I got Jeb and we sat with him.
“At first, Flynn never said a word, but my Jeb has a way with wounded critters. They trust him. He waits them out if need be. Sometime into the second hour, Flynn started with a few words, and it built from there. Turned out something terrible happened with a rescue mission on his last tour of Afghanistan. Flynn’s SAS troop was called in to help a group of marines under attack from those insurgent fellas.”
Chloe held her breath, and the other woman kept talking.
“I don’t know all the details except that a soldier, a young man, was killed, and Flynn holds himself responsible. Apparently the soldier ignored a direct order from Flynn, got himself shot, and died in Flynn’s arms.” Gretchen sighed. “Flynn can’t forgive himself for the boy’s death.”
Horror consumed Chloe, so sharp and vicious it robbed her of speech. A newsreel of images flashed before her. Stay here, Chloe. Don’t leave the library. In the car, Flynn’s horrified expression. Trent’s in town, Chloe. He’s here. At the end of her punishment, Flynn, his voice, raw, choked off, unable to finish the sentence of how scared he’d been.
Gretchen’s voice intruded from the background. “That boy’s death has plagued him ever since.”
“Oh, God!” Chloe dropped her head into her hands.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Gretchen dragged her seat next to Chloe and wrapped an arm around her. Chloe closed her eyes against the bittersweet sensation. It had been so long since her mom had hugged her. She choked back a sob.
“I disobeyed him, Gretchen. He gave me a direct order, and I disobeyed him.”
Those hazel eyes, filled with a lifetime of experiences, softened as she squeezed Chloe tighter to her side. “So you did a foolish thing, but I don’t think you can compare the two. You had no idea Trent was in town. The other man was a soldier, trained to fight and follow orders. For him the danger was immediate, right in his face. He disobeyed Flynn knowing those facts and having all that training. In your case the danger was hidden, reducing the impact.”
“Then why does Flynn hold himself responsible for the soldier’s death? He must know he couldn’t have protected every soldier, especially when they went against orders in a firefight.”
“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with him and Noah.” Gretchen gave her one last squeeze then collected their empty mugs and moved to the sink.
Well, she’d found her minefield. It was real and bloody and everything she’d feared. How could she bring
this up with Flynn and Noah on Thanksgiving Eve? It would have to wait. Maybe even till after this nightmare with Trent was over. It explained some of Flynn’s stubbornness. He’d been fighting his demons long before the library incident. God, what a mess. As long as Trent was stalking her, those same demons would be up close and full throttle. How long could anyone withstand that kind of pressure?
* * * *
Trent Young stared out the parked rental car’s windshield. His gaze traced over the dark clumps of trees bordering the quiet backwoods lane. Nighttime was now his only cover. That town of perverts was on to him. He’d felt it the moment when he’d been spotted. On his second loop driving around the school. All he’d wanted was one glimpse of his prize. His grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. His now soiled prize.
She’d betrayed him. With two men. Who fucked her. Tied her. Thought to protect her—from him!
At first he’d cursed the need to buy gas on the outskirts of King’s Bluff. Fucking cheap shit rental car. Probably a faulty gauge on the tank. Overhearing a conversation between two customers in front of him discussing Chloe and her two supposed protectors had ripped him in two.
All that time he’d worshipped her innocence. And she’d brought him shame.
In the years since their cruel separation, he’d known she’d fucked men. Breaking her in, he’d told himself. But this…perversion? He forced out a slow breath and flexed his fingers from around the steering wheel. Her training schedule now required adjustment. Stricter. Harsher. His cock hardened. Yes. Her tears would help wash away her guilt. But she’d have to pay a much higher price to obtain total absolution.
* * * *
Noah took a step past the doorway and shook his head at the post-Thanksgiving dinner carnage spread out across the family room. Bodies lay sprawled in every direction. Mike, sitting on the couch, his injured leg propped up on an ottoman at Chloe’s insistence, slept with his head back, his mouth hanging open. Quinn lay prostrate on the floor, a cushion cradling his head, the dregs of a now empty cup of coffee spilled out over his shirt and said cup lying over the stain. Caleb…well, the ex-Ranger and King’s Bluff County’s soon-to-be sheriff snored his arse off in the large recliner. The muted sounds of the television relayed the latest football score, one of a litany of games the guys had been watching earlier.