Chloe's Double Draw [King's Bluff, Wyoming] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Fiona Archer

  Jeb glanced at Noah and Chloe and then studied Flynn, his gaze narrowing. He turned back to Noah and nodded. “Sure thing, Noah. We’ll give you some space.” On his way past Chloe, he squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t you worry about a thing, honey. Noah knows what he’s doing. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

  Chloe nodded her head, giving Jeb a smile that trembled at the edges.

  Flynn jammed his hands on his hips. Now Jeb questioned his ability to protect Chloe. He shrugged against the tightness of the sheepskin across his back and arms. Maybe Jeb was right. Flynn had failed in the past. Noah—in charge and capable—he had never failed. The team knew they could rely on him. Noah had lost men in combat, but never a kid. Not a scared kid on his first tour. Nor had he failed to protect a little boy who was too small and terrified to fight back.

  “We’re not leaving here until you tell her.” Noah’s voice radiated command.

  Flynn’s back snapped straight. He smothered the instinctive “Yes, Sir!” Though equal as men, Flynn had never questioned Noah was the natural leader of the two.

  “You had to force the issue, didn’t you? Jesus, Noah, why can’t you let it wait until I’m ready?”

  “Because we don’t have time for you to fuck around. Chloe needs both of us at our peak, focused, dominant—now.” Noah stood with his feet braced apart. “You’re at your best when you’re concentrating on your target, Flynn. There’s a meanness about you that’s exactly what Chloe needs to keep her safe. I need to know you have that concentration.”

  “Flynn.” Chloe took a tiny step forward. Hesitant. Questioning.

  Flynn cursed to himself. Acting like a bastard and pushing her away had put fear into his sweet sub’s eyes. Jesus, when had everything turned from champagne to shit?

  “Please, Flynn, tell me what’s wrong. Since the library you’ve been so angry. I know I messed up. I’ve apologized. Gretchen told me…she told me about the young soldier in Afghanistan.”

  What more was there to say? Keep your face set. “I see. Now you know this Dom has feet of clay.”

  She shook her head. Those curls he loved to slide around his finger danced against the edges of her pink woolen cap. “I already knew you had feet of clay.”

  “What?” His gut dipped and rolled. She already thought him incapable of protecting her?

  Her face softened. There was that little smile again, the one that made his arms ache to draw her near.

  “Of course you have feet of clay, Flynn. You’re a man. Not some cartoon hero that never makes a mistake. You may be my Master, but you’re a man first.” She raised her brows. “What, you think I’m so in love with the idea of domination and being commanded that I don’t recognize you’re not infallible?” Another step forward, this one stronger, steadier. “And before I forget to state it here and now, that boy’s death wasn’t a mistake on your part. He failed to follow orders, right?”

  When Flynn refused to answer, she turned to Noah.

  His brother-in-arms gave a slow nod. “Correct. It’s a basic principal of command. You follow the order given.”

  Chloe snapped her gaze back to Flynn. All trace of hesitancy now vanished. “Okay, so I need you to help me understand, Flynn. I’m not trying to minimize the death of this young man. It’s horrible. But you’re a trained professional. With your covert missions, you’ve seen far more death than many other soldiers.” Another step. “What is it about this young guy, what is it about him that turns you inside out?”

  Flynn’s mouth went dry. His heart thumped. The words burst out of his mouth. “Sean. His name was Sean.” He blinked. What the hell just happened?

  Chloe’s gentle gaze dipped to his fists, clenching and opening by his sides. Noah stepped to the right, leaned against the wall of an empty stall, arms crossed over his chest.

  Flynn waited for her next question. It seemed inevitable. When it came, it struck with the force of an assassin’s bullet, ripping a hole in his chest.

  “Who else is named Sean?”

  “My brother.” He gulped. “My little brother.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Defiled. Abused. Abandoned. “I–I failed him.”

  “How?” Chloe’s whispered questions crashed against his eardrums like the screeching riff of an electric guitar.

  No. No more. “Forget it. I’m done talking.” He swallowed. The taste of metal drenched his mouth.

  One more step and she stopped right in front of him. “Too bad, Flynn. I’m not finished.”

  Fuck. No escape. Why won’t she stop? Damn it.

  She wanted to talk. Fine, they’d talk.

  He moved forward, crowding up against her. “You want to hear all the details? No worries, sweetheart. Sean was raped, Chloe. Raped by his foster father. And I wasn’t there to protect h–him.” Shame choked his throat. He turned his head to the side. Rows of tack hung neatly on hooks filled his view. How many hours had he spent oiling, rubbing, tidying those halters, reins, and bridles? A peaceful chore, usually with Digger by his side. No peace today. He forced his gaze back to meet hers.

  “I’d fucked up, gotten into a fight at our first home. Child Services didn’t want me around.” Displays confronting behavior. A difficult boy. “They shipped me off to a cattle station out past the back of bloody nowhere and sent my kid brothers to some fucker who liked all-night parties with little boys while his wife turned a blind eye.” Probably grateful her own kids were saved. “That happened because of me, Chloe. I did that to my brothers.”

  He had to hand it to her, she didn’t recoil, didn’t run to Noah to hide her disgust. She lowered her chin, her small shoulders lifting up and down before she raised her face. Tears. Christ, he could handle anything but tears.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” Chloe said.

  “Oh, and you were there, right?” He forced the sneer into his voice.

  Her jaw hardened. “No, I wasn’t, Flynn, and neither were you. An evil bastard was. He hurt your brother, not you.” Tilting her head to the side, she narrowed her gaze. “You were what, fifteen or so? So you figure you should have somehow defied the system that kept you away from your siblings, seen into the future and managed to save Sean?” She sighed. “You’re good, Flynn, but even with all your SAS training, you’d never be that awesome and this goes back to when you were nothing but a scared, angry teenager.”

  Flynn needed to breathe, needed to sit down. He turned and wrapped his hands around the edge of a worktable. His fingers gripped the scarred wood, the tips white from the pressure.

  “I guess I’m responsible for Hank Young’s death.”

  What? He swung around and grabbed Chloe’s arms. “That’s a bloody stupid thing to say. You know you’re not responsible.”

  She didn’t blink. Why wasn’t she afraid? This calmness scared the shit out of him.

  “But it’s true. My hands were on Hank’s chest when he was pushed. I was in the room. You weren’t even in the same house and yet you were responsible for the actions of a grown man. So how can I be innocent?”

  Smart woman. He dropped his hands from her arms. “Don’t try to twist this around, Chloe. It won’t work.”

  “Why? Because you think you should have been the one assaulted? After all, you were the troublemaker, not Sean.” Noah’s words stabbed into his chest.

  “Yes.”

  Chloe gripped his arms. “Why? What happened, Flynn? Tell me.”

  All it had taken was one punch and they’d shipped him out. One punch. If he’d kept his mouth shut, not argued back to that bitch of a social worker…

  “I—” He swallowed against the invisible noose strangling his throat. “I punched a kid, the foster parent’s kid. He was a year older than me.” Spoiled shit, big and mean. “He’d broken Lachlan’s toy, the last present he’d gotten from Mum.” Give it to me, charity boy. “Bastard laughed as Lockie cried.” Flynn had shoved the bully against the wall. The kid hit Flynn, and he’d hit him back.

  “He was four years
old for Christ’s sake, taken from his mum two months previous.” His eyes burned. Tears? He wrenched away from Chloe, balled his fist. Bang. The empty tin mug on the table danced over the surface. Pain flared in his knuckles. Ignore it.

  “You did what any big brother would have done—protected Lachlan and put a bully in his place. Noah would have done the same thing. Would you blame him for not being there?” Chloe’s fingers brushed against his cheek, her palm framing the underside of his jaw. God help him, he leaned into her touch. Soft, and yet he sensed a strength there he’d never guessed at. Little General.

  “Your loyalty to your brothers, just like you have to Noah, is without question. If it came down to a dirty fight, there’s nobody I’d want in my corner more than you, Flynn.” The conviction in her voice stole his breath. “I know you’d walk through hell for me. I have complete faith in you. So does Noah.”

  Noah straightened from the wall. “Think of all the lives you’ve saved, Flynn. Mine for starters. Stop concentrating on the one who died when it was beyond your control.”

  Could they be right? Hope crept like a mist over him, slowly seeping into his body, thawing him from the bitter cold of regret and self-doubt.

  “I want to put this behind me. You don’t know how much I want that.”

  Noah nodded. “Then do so, Flynn. Have the courage to let go. Your brother has. He’s moved on with his life, decided not to allow that pathetic specimen to rule over him. Or do you think his abuser deserves to have this kind of hold over you?”

  A roar of static filled his ears. He felt his eyes widen. Breathe, he needed to breathe. Their challenge was so simple. The obvious rightness slapped him in the face. Why give this bastard any more of his life? Why live with a regret that was never his in the first place?

  For the first time in a long while, he felt lighter. Wetness fell down his cheeks. And he didn’t care. “You’re a stubborn little bugger.”

  Chloe hurled herself against his chest, muffling her sob. Small arms closed around him, squeezing until his ribs ached. Her woolen cap tickled his chin as he cradled her close.

  He glanced over at Noah. His best mate—no, his brother—had a small smile on his face. In two giant strides, Noah stood beside him, his arms wrapped around both Flynn and Chloe.

  “It’s going to take time and patience on all our parts, but we’ll get there. Flynn, you’ll learn you’re not responsible for saving the world. I’ll stop questioning the validity of my inheritance, and Chloe will obey us without hesitation on all matters. Sounds like a bloody good plan to me.”

  “You’re dreaming, mister!” Chloe pushed back from Flynn’s chest, her cheeks shiny from crying, but her face held no sorrow, only mischief that made Flynn’s pulse spike.

  “Nah, he’s just letting you know how things will eventually work out. Give it another four months and we’ll have you barefoot and preggers.” He leaned down, rubbed his nose against hers. “I bet you can’t wait to have our kids, right?”

  Bugger, if only he could bottle that sparkle in her eyes.

  Chloe curled an arm around Noah’s waist, bringing him in closer. “Yes. I want kids, and I can’t think of two better men to father my children.”

  She wanted to have their babies. Make him a father. His breath lodged somewhere in his throat.

  Chloe blinked up at them. “Thing is though, I’m in my early thirties, and well, time is of the essence if we plan on more than one child.” Her lips curved in.

  Fighting a smile? When had she gotten so shameless? Of critical importance, how to keep her that way?

  Flynn grinned at Chloe’s shriek as Noah swooped her up in his arms. Conscious of the chance of interruptions, Flynn latched the inside of the barn door. Grabbing a couple of soft blankets, he spread them out on the empty workbench.

  “Time is of the essence, huh?” Flynn smacked his hands together. “Well, luv, you can’t expect your men to stand around and ignore that kind of a challenge.”

  “God, I hope not!”

  Her giggle echoed around the stable as he and Noah showed her their take on family values.

  * * * *

  His long-ago scheduled monthly meeting with the town council over, Noah walked down Victoria Avenue. His gaze lingered on the sharp new lines of the medical center across the street. Its parking lot was half-full. Jackson Gordon’s red SUV showed the doc in residence. A deep satisfaction filled Noah. King’s Bluff had their doc. A bloke who’d gone away to some big-city teaching hospital, started a family, and now come home, a widower with a kid, ready to make a new life.

  A new beginning. Noah’s dream for King’s Bluff in a nutshell. For the town, its people, and most of all, for him, Flynn, and now Chloe, too.

  The wind kicked up its heels, lifting the strands of hair around Noah’s collar. He increased his pace and spared a quick glance into the paper-covered storefront next to Gunnerson’s Drug Store. The decades-old beauty shop shut its doors four months ago when the previous tenant retired to warmer climes and family in Florida. Since that fateful day, the women of King’s Bluff had driven into Sheridan for their haircuts and manicures. And didn’t they just love that.

  Noah shook his head, remembering Penny Gordon’s last in-depth complaint. Who would have thought finding a new hairdresser would become one of his top priorities? And find one he would. It was either that or train Flynn to use an emery board. Christ, it would be almost worth the guaranteed black eye just to see him in a pink smock and curlers. Almost.

  This bloody town, with its distant relations and quaint Aussie-Americanized customs, had got under his skin. Cold as a witch’s tit in winter, parched in summer, and thousands of miles from his birthplace. Yet he felt drawn, as if Duncan King had foreseen his need to dig his fingers into the soil and stake his own claim. Was Wagner right? Were he and Flynn nothing but interlopers using money to buy themselves a home? It wasn’t like his parents were cheering him on from the sidelines. A fight to bring a town back to health with no promise of recognition or fortune?

  Thank God his sister, Abby, had some sense. Once she’d finished university, he’d bring her over and give her a chance to—

  Twenty feet up ahead, a flash of wavy hair, gleaming chestnut in the sunlight, snared his attention. Chloe?

  From the back, she was the right height and weight. He didn’t recognize the bulky sweater but that meant nothing. Had Flynn driven her in? He’d left them snoring in bed, recovering from their energetic bout of lovemaking—stable style.

  His target turned into the alley between the hardware store and the last vacant storefront on the street.

  He jogged to catch up, turning his gaze to the road, searching for Flynn. He raised his hand in the general direction of a voice that yelled out a greeting. Christ, he’d spank Chloe’s arse from here to Christmas once he got his hands on her. Why was she alone?

  Adrenaline spiked his blood, pumping his heart quicker. He ran faster, entering the lane.

  “Chloe!”

  She kept walking, ignoring him. What the fuck?

  Something in her walk, it was off. The sway of her hips maybe?

  He reached out, curled his hand over her shoulder. Boney. Not his sub’s softness.

  She spun around.

  Realization of a terrible mistake fired a moment too late.

  “Hello, Noah.” The hardness of her voice reached his ears a second before the soft scrape of shoes behind him.

  Pain exploded in the back of his head.

  The world went black.

  * * * *

  Over the rim of her coffee mug, Chloe grinned at the large immovable object, otherwise known as Flynn, sitting next to her on the forest-green lounge in the ranch’s office. Her body was curled to face him. Her feet, covered in her favorite multicolored striped socks, rested against his thigh.

  “So, how long do you plan to shadow me in the house? You know, I draw the line at the toilet. A girl has to go pee on her own.” Chloe sipped her coffee and waited for Flynn’s eyebrows to com
e down from his hairline.

  “Young’s still at large,” he growled, as if she needed the reminder.

  She snickered inside, remembering how Flynn had told Noah that they had the house locked down so tight a sparrow couldn’t fart without being detected.

  He rubbed a hand over the top of her feet. “Did you manage to get Purdy on the blower?”

  Huh? She tilted her head in silent question. Flynn pulled his cell out of his pocket and waved it at her. At her chuckle, he put it down on the end table beside him.

  “You Aussies have some weird-ass names for things. Yes, I managed to get Purdy on the phone. I didn’t want her finding out about the fire from anyone else. Good thing I called. She was all set to take an early flight back.”

  And cut short her family holiday because of Chloe’s crisis. Again, how lucky was she to find such friends?

  “Sooner or later it’s going to sink in to your thick head that you matter.”

  And so did he. How much had it cost him to purge his guilt over his brother? His confession—for lack of a better word—glued together all the little pieces that hadn’t made sense about him. Making him whole. Making the three of them stronger—as one.

  “You’re a fine one to talk, Flynn. Four hours ago in the stables you had your own Freudian road show going on.”

  “Christ, don’t remind me.” He scrubbed his hand over his eyes.

  The trill of his phone broke out into the room. He snatched it up, glancing at the screen. “It’s Noah. About time. I’ll put him on speaker.” He tapped to answer. “You on your way back yet? Our woman’s here, and she’s getting pushy for sex.” He ignored her outraged squeal and smiled at the phone.

  Silence.

  “Noah?” Flynn’s mouth straightened.

  “Noah is indisposed. If you don’t want to make that a permanent condition, you’ll listen carefully.”

  Oh, God. Ice pooled in her stomach. That voice. Trent.

  All emotion wiped from Flynn’s face. He raised a finger to his lips, signaling her for silence. She nodded, fighting against the scream building in her throat.