by Barb Han
“Walking away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, Blake. I tried to find a way to tell you without involving you.”
“That would have been impossible. We both know it.”
“We do.” She took in a breath before continuing. “It felt like an impossible situation and I didn’t want to drag you through the mud or cause you to lose your job. On his deathbed, my father asked me to keep the family business running. I didn’t feel like I could let him down. And yet, I let you down in the process. And now everything is a mess.”
“Not anymore. The people responsible are going to jail for a very long time. Justice will be served. The baby is safely growing inside her mother. And most importantly, you are going to be just fine.”
“I might be physically okay, but I’ll never be fine again. Not with you in my life, Blake. I blew your trust.” She dropped her gaze to the blanket. She was working the material between her thumb and forefinger.
“Every marriage has its ups and downs.”
“Yes, but we’re not married anymore.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he got down on one knee. She didn’t immediately look up, but when she did, her eyes were filled with something that looked a lot like guarded optimism with a little disbelief sprinkled in.
“Alyssa O’Connor. You are my soulmate. You never stopped being my ‘one’ person. The one I want to fall to pieces with in each other’s arms.” He searched her eyes and saw what had drawn him to her in the first place, the kind of soul he wanted to grow old beside. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to marry my wife again.”
He was rewarded with the warmest, most genuine smile.
“Yes, Blake. I’ll marry you again. Nothing in my world is as right as when we’re together. And I’ll fall to pieces in your arms as long as we do it together.”
“I love you, Alyssa.”
“I never stopped loving you.”
He stood up, leaned over and kissed her belly. The baby kicked and his heart stirred.
“Do you want to touch her?” Alyssa asked.
He nodded, marveling at how strong the little one was. Alyssa took his hand and placed it on her belly. He felt the second kick.
“I think someone approves of this marriage.” Alyssa’s smile literally reached all the way to his heart.
“Good. Because I plan to be the best father I can.”
“You had an amazing role model in your father. I know you’ll be the best dad this little bean could ever hope for.”
Blake kissed his wife. He couldn’t wait to take his family home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Despite the beeps and the constant checks by the nursing staff, Alyssa had had the best night of sleep in months. Maybe it was the fact that Blake was there, holding her hand the entire time. Or the knowledge her family would be together after thinking for so long that it never would.
She had no idea how her in-laws would react to the news, to everything, but a knock on her door told her she was about to find out.
“Come in,” she whispered.
Blake had nodded off and she didn’t want to wake him. Too late. He shot up and held tighter to her hand.
“We have a visitor,” she said. “It’s okay.”
Riggs peeked his head inside the door. “Did someone say it was okay to come in?”
“Yes.” Blake rubbed his eyes after pushing up to standing. He met his brother halfway across the room and the two embraced, bringing back warm memories of belonging to a big family.
Would they accept her now after everything that happened? After how much she hurt Blake, would they be able to forgive her?
Her answer came swiftly when Riggs ate up the real estate between them in a few strides.
“It sure is good to see you,” he said, reaching for a hug.
“I’ve missed every one of you guys more than you could ever know,” she responded.
Blake moved beside his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. “She said yes.”
For a serious guy, Riggs practically beamed. He’d laugh if he heard his smile described that way. “Welcome back to the family where you belong.”
She wiped at a stray tear. This wasn’t a tear of sadness. This was pure joy rolling down her cheek. “Thank you, Riggs. It means a lot to hear you say that.”
He turned to his brother and gave another bear hug, this time with a round of congratulations afterward.
It was good to be going home.
“Everyone sends their love,” Riggs said. He’d always been one of the quiet ones. Hearing him speak up now in support of Alyssa and making her feel welcome reminded her how incredible the family she’d married into was.
“I’m so sorry about your father. He was an amazing person,” she said.
“We’re all still trying to deal with it. Mom is doing better, though. Having new life on the ranch is helping,” he admitted.
“I heard about a few of your brothers settling down recently,” she said.
His face twisted up like he’d just swallowed a jalapeño. His reaction made her laugh.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s good for you and Blake. Great for my other brothers too. That’s way down the road for me, if at all,” he quickly countered. The saying thou dost protest too much came to mind. “Besides, no one could put up with me for long.”
As far as excuses went, she wasn’t buying his. “There’s no reason to rush. Believe me, when you find the right one, you just know. Then all you have to be is smart enough to grab hold and not let go.”
Blake came around to the side of the bed and took a seat next to Alyssa. He clasped their hands and told his brother to sit down and stay awhile. The baby kicked. Alyssa was beginning to believe it was her stamp of approval.
* * *
“ARIZONA,” CASH SAID on the call to Blake. “I’ve tracked a decade’s old kidnapping ring to a little town outside Tucson. Dad was onto them too. I know for a fact. I put the pieces together after studying some of his notes.”
“Then, we’ll head to Arizona.” No brainer for Blake.
“You won’t. You have a baby on the way, due anytime now.”
Alyssa needed him. He had no plans to leave her alone here at the home stretch of her pregnancy. She’d been home three days now, and he’d done everything he humanly could to make her comfortable. “I can work the investigation from home. Be your eyes and ears on the ground here. The kidnapping ring is connected to Katy Gulch. They’ll come back. They might even still be here. We need resources at home in case they strike again.”
“Someone already tried,” Cash informed.
“And?”
“Late model black Mustang. Temporary plates. Tried to kidnap a kid who was in a bouncer in the backyard with the family dog while the mom ran inside for a minute to get the kid a snack.”
“The tags were obviously bogus.”
“Agreed.” Cash hesitated for a long moment before saying, “It’s good you’re coming home, Blake. I think I can speak for everyone when I say how much we all miss you.”
“The timing is finally right,” he said. No matter how much he’d come to bond with his coworkers, no one could ever replace family. “And, Cash, I’ve missed the hell out of you guys too.”
“We can’t wait to welcome you and your family home, brother.” Those were the only words Blake needed to hear. His wife and kid would be coming home to be with his family. And it was only a matter of time before they put an old ghost to rest.
* * *
Look for the next two books in
USA TODAY bestselling author Barb Han’s
An O’Connor Family Mystery series
in November and December 2021.
And don’t miss the previous books in the series:
Texas Kidnapping
Texas Target
T
exas Law
Available now
wherever Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!
When her estranged father dies and leaves her his sprawling Texas ranch, Janessa Parkman must come to terms with the stipulations in his will and her past. This includes confronting what happened between her and rancher Brody Harrell all those years ago...and figuring out if the magic of the Christmas season can help them pick up where they left off...
Read on for a sneak preview of
Christmas at Colts Creek by USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen.
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Christmas at Colts Creek
by Delores Fossen
CHAPTER ONE
“THIS IS LIKE one of those stupid posts that people put on social media,” the woman snarled. “You know the ones I’m talking about. For a million dollars, would you stay in this really amazing house for a year with no internet, no phone and some panty-sniffing poltergeists?”
Frowning at that, Janessa Parkman blinked away the raindrops that’d blown onto her eyelashes and glanced at the grumbler, Margo Tolley, who was standing on her right. Margo had hurled some profanity and that weird comment at the black granite headstone that stretched five feet across and five feet high. A huge etched image of Margo’s ex, Abraham Lincoln Parkman IV, was in the center, and it was flanked by a pair of gold-leaf etchings of the ornate Parkman family crest.
“Abe was a miserable coot, and this proves it,” Margo added, spitting out the words the way the chilly late October rain was spitting at them. She kicked the side of the headstone.
Janessa really wanted to disagree with that insult, and the kick, especially since Margo had aimed both of them at Janessa’s father. Or rather her father because he had that particular title in name only. However, it was hard to disagree or be insulted after what she’d just heard from Abe’s lawyer. Hard not to feel the bubbling anger over what her father had done, either.
Good grief. Talk about a goat rope the man had set up.
“Do you understand the conditions of Abe’s will?” Asher Parkman, the lawyer, asked, directing the question at Janessa.
“Yeah, do you understand that the miserable coot is trying to ruin our lives?” Margo blurted out before she could answer.
Yes, Janessa got that, and unlike the stupid social media posts, there was nothing amusing about this. The miserable coot had just screwed them all six ways to Sunday.
Twenty Minutes Earlier
“SOMEBODY OUGHT TO put a Texas-sized warning label on Abe Parkman’s tombstone,” Margo Tolley grumbled. “A warning label,” she repeated. “Because Abe’s meanness will surely make everything within thirty feet toxic for years to come. He could beat out Ebenezer Scrooge for meanness. The man was a flamin’ bunghole.”
Janessa figured the woman had a right to voice an opinion, even if the voicing was happening at Abe Parkman’s graveside funeral service. Janessa’s father clearly hadn’t left behind a legacy of affection and kindness.
Margo, who’d been Abe’s second wife, probably had a right to be bitter. So did plenty of others, and Janessa suspected most people in Abe’s hometown of Last Ride, Texas, had come to this funeral just so they could make sure he was truly dead.
Or to glean any tidbits about Abe’s will.
Rich people usually left lots of money and property when they died. Mean rich people could do mean, unexpected things with that money and property. It was the juiciest kind of gossip fodder for a small town.
Janessa didn’t care one wet eyelash what Abe did with whatever he’d accumulated during his misery-causing life. Her reason for coming had nothing to do with wills or assets. No. She needed the answer to two very big questions.
Why had Abe wanted her here?
And what had he wanted her to help him fix?
Janessa gave that plenty of thought while she listened to the minister, Vernon Kerr, giving the eulogy. He chirped on about Abe’s achievements, peppering in things like pillar of the community, astute businessman and a legacy that will live on for generations. But there were also phrases like his sometimes rigid approach to life and an often firm hand in dealing with others.
Perhaps those were the polite ways of saying flamin’ bunghole.
The sound of the minister’s voice blended with the drizzle that pinged on the sea of mourners’ umbrellas. Gripes and mutters rippled through the group of about a hundred people who’d braved the unpredictable October 30th weather to come to Parkmans’ Cemetery.
Or Snooty Hill as Janessa had heard some call it.
The Parkmans might be the most prominent and richest family in Last Ride, and their ancestor might have founded the town, but obviously some in her gene pool weren’t revered.
Margo continued to gripe and mutter as well, but her comments were harsher than the rest of the onlookers because she’d likely gotten plenty of fallout from Abe’s firm hand. It was possibly true of anyone whose life Abe had touched. Janessa certainly hadn’t been spared from it.
Still, Abe had managed to attract and convince two women to marry him, including Janessa’s own mother—who’d been his first wife. Janessa figured the convincing was in large part because he’d been remarkably good-looking along with having mountains of money. But it puzzled her as to why the women would tie themselves, even temporarily, to a man with a mile-wide mean streak.
A jagged vein of lightning streaked out from a fast approaching cloud that was the color of a nasty bruise. It sent some of the mourners gasping, squealing and scurrying toward their vehicles. They parted like the proverbial sea, giving Janessa a clear line of sight of someone else.
Brody Harrell.
Oh, for so many reasons, it was impossible for Janessa not to notice him. For an equal number of reasons, it was impossible not to remember him.
Long and lean, Brody stood out in plenty of ways. No umbrella, for one. The rain was splatting onto his gray Stetson and shoulders. No funeral clothes for him, either. He was wearing boots, jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt that was already clinging to his body because of the drizzle.
Once, years ago on a hot July night, she’d run her tongue over some of the very places where that shirt was now clinging.
Yes, impossible not to remember that.
Brody was standing back from the grave. Far back. Ironic since according to the snippets Janessa had heard over the years about her father, Brody was the person who’d been closest to Abe, along with also running Abe’s sprawling ranch, Colts Creek.
If those updates—aka gossip through social media and the occasional letter from Abe’s head housekeeper—were right, then Brody was the son that Abe had always wanted but never had. It was highly likely that he was the only one here who was truly mourning Abe’s death.
Though he wasn’t especially showing any signs of grief.
It probably wasn’t the best time for her to notice that Brody’s looks had only gotten a whole boatload better since her days of tongue-kissing his chest. They’d been seventeen, and while he’d been go-ahead-drown-in-me hot even back then, he was a ten-ton avalanche of hotness now with his black hair and dreamy brown eyes.
His body had filled out in all the right places, and his face, that face, had a nice edge to it. A mix of reckless rock star and a really naughty fallen angel who knew how to do many, many naughty things.
A loud burst of thunder sent even more people hurrying off. “Sorry for your loss,” one of them shouted to Brody. Several more added pats on his back. Two women hugged him, and one of the men tried to give Brody his umbrella, which Brody refused. You didn’t have to be a lip-reader to know that one of th
ose women, an attractive busty brunette, whispered, “Call me,” in his ear.
Brody didn’t acknowledge that obvious and poorly timed booty-call offer. He just stood there, his gaze sliding from Abe’s tombstone to Janessa. Unlike her, he definitely didn’t appear to be admiring anything about her or remembering that he’d been the one to rid her of her virginity.
Just the opposite.
His expression seemed to be questioning why she was there. That was understandable. It’d been fifteen years since Janessa had been to Last Ride. Fifteen years since her de-virgining. That’d happened at the tail end of her one and only visit to Colts Creek when she’d spent that summer trying, and failing, to figure Abe out. She was still trying, still failing.
Brody was likely thinking that since she hadn’t recently come to see the man who’d fathered her when he was alive, then there was no good reason to see him now that he was dead.
Heck, Brody might be right.
So what if Abe had sent her that letter? So what if he’d said please? That didn’t undo the past. She’d spent plenty of time and tears trying to work out what place in her mind and heart to put Abe. As for her mind—she reserved Abe a space in a tiny mental back corner that only surfaced when she saw Father’s Day cards in the store. And as for her heart—she’d given him no space whatsoever.
Well, not until that blasted letter anyway.
She silently cursed herself, mentally repeating some of Margo’s mutters. She’d thought she had buried her daddy issues years ago. It turned out, though, that some things just didn’t stay buried. They just lurked and lingered, waiting for a chance to resurface and bite you in the butt. Which wasn’t a comforting thought, considering she was standing next to a grave.
Reverend Kerr nervously eyed the next zagging bolt of lightning, and he gave what had to be the fastest closing prayer in the history of prayers. The moment he said “Amen,” he clutched his tattered Bible to his chest and hurried toward his vehicle, all the while calling out condolences to no one in particular.
