Spark of Vengeance: MacKenny Brothers Series Book 2: An MC/Band of Brothers Romance

by Kathleen Kelly

  “No, ma’am. I’ll do them myself.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Give them to me.”

  “Woman, they stink. Please let me do it.” Beth twists her hands in her front of her as though she’s nervous. “If you don’t want me here, I can go.”

  “No! I was a little frazzled when you turned up, and well… I… I can’t remember your name. And I was rolling around in the arena, so I’m sure I smelled like horse shit. So your clothes have got nothing on me.”

  I place my hands on my hips and laugh. “You didn’t smell so bad, and my name is Sean.”

  “Sean. Right, right, okay. Got it!” Those full lips smile wider, and she nods. “Nice to meet you.”

  I place a hand at the back of my neck, feeling a little exposed standing here in my towel. “Nice to meet you, too, Beth.”

  “Okay, there’s shirts in the closet. They should fit. Might be a bit tight in the chest, but I can’t help you with pants.” Her gaze drops to my crotch. “But, you seem to be rocking the towel.” Her pretty face goes a shade of red, then Beth turns and walks out of my room.

  A laugh bursts out of me.

  This woman is something else.

  With my clothes in her washing machine and me sitting at her kitchen table, Beth cooks us both a meal. I offered to take her into town, but as she pointed out, my towel might cause a stir at the local diner. I like her, she’s got sass, and she’s a good-looking woman.

  Leaning back in my chair, I look around the kitchen. It’s not filled with the latest appliances or even new ones, but everything is sparkling clean. The conversation between us is a little stilted, and I feel like she wants to ask me a question, but she’s skating around it.

  “You know, I forgot to ask if you don’t eat anything?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Like, are you allergic or don’t eat certain things?”

  “Ahh, no, I’m good. Anything I don’t have to cook myself is fine. Do you need help?”

  “You any good in the kitchen?”

  “I do okay. My da made sure we could cook the basics, and I do a mean spaghetti bolognese. Maybe I could cook one night?”

  A smile splits her pretty face, and she turns to me, hand on hip. “Sounds good. I hope you like your meat well done.”

  Beth dishes out the food. A large steak on my plate and a smaller one on hers.

  “I appreciate you giving me the larger steak, but do you have enough?”

  Beth sits opposite me. “I don’t normally eat much, not that you can tell.” A blush creeps up her neck.

  I look at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on. My ass is huge.”

  I burst out laughing. “No, it’s not. Besides, no real man wants a stick figure.”

  Her blush deepens. “Why did you come here?”

  I cut into my steak, or should I say saw into my steak. It’s not well done—it’s been crucified.

  “I needed to clear my head. Your dad had a way of making me see the trees instead of the forest. I fucked up at home.”

  “How did you screw up?”

  I chew through the steak—it’s as tough as old boot leather. “Family thing. Nothing really.” I shrug and take a sip of water to wash my meal down.

  “Must be something if you’re running away from it.”

  Shrugging again, I point to outside. “Is it normal for you not to have any ranch hands?”

  “Nice deflection there.” She grins. “No, since Daddy died, it’s gotten harder to find good help. How long do you think you can stay?”

  It’s a good question and not one I can answer easily. “I’m happy to stay for as long as you need me or until you find a replacement.”

  Beth finishes her meal, and for once, I’m wishing I had the smaller steak as I try to eat the charred remnants on my plate. The potatoes are good, smothered in butter, and the beans are fine, so I eat those and push the meat to the side.

  “You’re not a big meat eater?”

  I shake my head. “Sometimes, not that hungry tonight.”

  Beth looks me in the eye. “Tell me about my dad.”

  “One of the best men I ever knew. Didn’t judge a book by its cover, but by its merit, the stuff it was made of. Thomas was well-respected by those who served with him.”

  “You’re the first one to come visit. Dad didn’t have many friends. Hell, apart from this ranch and me, Dad didn’t have much of anything.”

  “He talked about you and this place. Thomas loved the both of you.”

  Beth’s face creases into a frown. “I know, it’s what got him killed.”

  “Killed? I assumed he died of natural causes.”

  Beth scoffs. “A bullet to the back. Nothing natural about that.”

  I lean back and push my plate away. “Who did it?”

  Beth shrugs, tears well in her eyes, but they don’t fall. “Local sheriff had no idea. It was a long-range rifle… that was all he could tell me.”

  “How far out?” I ask, pinning her with a look.

  Beth shakes her head, her black hair bouncing around her face in waves. “I don’t know.”

  She stands and takes our plates to the sink.

  Slowly, I stand, unsure of how to approach her. Beth’s breathing deeply, taking in great gulps of air, I assume in an effort not to cry.

  “What’s the sheriff’s name?”

  Beth turns, putting her back against the bench and crosses her arms over her chest. “It won’t make any difference. Dad’s dead, the ranch is failing. I know who did it, I just can’t prove it.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “Myles Graham. He’s wanted our patch of dirt for a long time. Dad wouldn’t sell, even though I begged him to.” Beth’s gaze drops to the floor, and a single tear runs down her cheek. “It’s why I won’t sell to that bastard now. He’ll have to kill me before I sell him my land.” She reaches up and wipes away the tear and forces herself to smile. “Okay, well, I’m going to go to bed. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “I’ll do the dishes. What time in the morning?”

  “Daybreak. I’m normally out on the ATV checking on the cows and fences.”

  “ATV? I assumed you’d use horses.”

  Beth smiles. “We do, but it’s a big ranch. ATVs make it easier. Feel free to watch TV, but remember the upstairs is off-limits.”

  “Or you’ll shoot me?” I ask with a smirk.

  “You got it.” Beth reaches over and squeezes my arm. “Night, Sean.”

  I watch her walk away with mixed feelings.

  If Myles Graham did kill her dad, I’ll make him pay.

  But how do I protect her in the process?

  Beth

  I’m sitting on the side of my bed with the door locked and a chair pushed up under the handle. I don’t know this man. I believe him when he says he knew and respected my dad, but he’s no friend of mine. There’s a photograph of my dad and me on the side table in a heavy silver frame. I pick up the picture and stare at his smiling face. Memories of him come flooding back. He was always my biggest supporter, the man who every boyfriend I’ve ever had never lived up to. I stare intently at the photograph trying to burn those eyes out of my brain. Then images of him lying face down in the dirt with flies buzzing around his body and those vacant eyes.

  Dad had kind, caring, brown eyes, and that’s what I want to remember. I wish I could wipe the last image of him from my mind forever.

  With a sigh, I place the frame back in its position and lay down on the bed. Sean MacKenny doesn’t look like a man my dad would have associated with. He rarely spoke about his time in the Marines. Dad joined when he was young, I think to prove something to grandaddy. When he met my mom, and eventually had me, Dad wanted to get out. Well, he said he did, but it was only after she left and grandaddy died that he did.

  I don’t think he ever really loved my mom. I see her occasionally as she lives in San Francisco with her new husband and two dachshunds. I don’t think she’s e
ver been happier. The ranch was no place for her. It’s hard work and takes spirit, and my mom never liked or had much of either. When Dad did come home, he worked the ranch—up at daybreak to check on the cattle, home at dusk to get fed, sleep, and start the day all over again. Between the Marines, the ranch, and me, my mom didn’t stand a chance. She was always fourth. No woman wants that.

  If Sean MacKenny didn’t have a photograph of him with my dad, I might not have believed he knew him and called Dad his friend. I roll onto my side and stare out at the night. There’s a full moon out, so the valley is lit up. There’s a soft breeze blowing, and crickets chirp in melodious harmony. I can’t hear any noise from below. Hopefully, when I wake in the morning, Sean is still here, and so is the good silver cutlery. If not, then my natural instincts which tell me he’s a good man are wrong. Again.

  Myles Graham.

  Businessman.

  Lover.

  Murderer.

  No one, especially me, wanted to believe he killed my dad. I can’t prove it was him, but no one else had a motive. When I look back now and think about Myles and all we shared, I’m ashamed.

  We met in Billings at an art gallery, and I had no idea who he was. We chatted easily after I had accepted his offer for a drink. I was in town to see an old girlfriend from school, something I do every year. It would have been so easy for someone like him to find that out. Money buys you a lot of secrets.

  I wish I had known who he was, what he was. Myles was charming, funny, loving, and pushed all the right buttons. My dad tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. I believed Myles. You see, it was my fault Daddy was killed.

  I trusted the wrong man, and Dad paid for it with his life.

  My internal body clock wakes me up before daybreak, so I rise and take a shower. There’s no need to get all pretty. My unruly dark hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and I pull on jeans and a long-sleeved chambray shirt with a white tank underneath. As I walk downstairs, the smell of bacon hits my senses, and I make my way quickly into the kitchen. Sean is there, back to me, humming a song as he puts bread in the toaster. He’s wearing one of Dad’s old flannel shirts over jeans. He’s barefoot, and I don’t think I’ve seen a sexier sight. Nothing like having a man cook you breakfast.

  “Good morning.”

  He turns quickly, a smile already on his lips. “Good morning to you. I hope this is okay? I figured you’d want a good breakfast before we started work for the day.”

  “It’s perfect.” I move around him and make my way to the coffee machine. He already has two mugs on the counter in front of it. “Coffee?”

  Sean nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please.”

  “How’d you sleep?” I ask as I hand him a steaming hot cup of goodness. Coffee is the closest thing to heaven.

  “Okay. It’s tranquil out here. No road noise. Hell, no noise apart from the occasional horse whinny.”

  I laugh. “You’ll get used to it. My dad used to put the radio on when he’d come back from deployment. After a week or so, he was fine. I could find it for you?”

  Sean takes a sip of coffee and nods. “Thanks, appreciate it. Now, sit, and I’ll get breakfast on the table. Hope you like your eggs scrambled?”

  I grin and nod. Honestly, anything you don’t have to cook for yourself always tastes better. Sean has a dish towel over one shoulder as he lifts the frying pan and puts bacon on two plates, then he dishes out the scrambled eggs. The toaster pops up, and he puts two slices on both plates on top of the bacon. He’s even set the table with butter, cutlery, side plates, and hot sauce.

  Sean puts my plate down in front of me and sits opposite. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

  “You ever mucked out a stable?”

  “Nope, but I’m guessing it’s shoveling shit.”

  I nod as I put some crispy bacon into my mouth. Ah, heaven. “Yep, and you’ll need to feed the horses, brush them down, and put out new hay.”

  “Sounds easy.”

  I grin and nod. “We’ll start you off easy today.”

  Sean nods. “I’d like to go into town in the next few days. Talk to the sheriff, find out about your dad, and get in touch with my old unit to see if they know Thomas is dead.”

  My mouth runs dry. I cock my head to the side and look at him. “Why?”

  “Why what?” asks Sean, who’s looking confused.

  “Why are you going to so much trouble? Daddy is dead, and nothing is going to bring him back.”

  This is true. I’m not lying, but a part of me doesn’t want Sean to know I was with Myles Graham. If he starts talking to people in town, Sean is going to find out. Find out it’s my fault.

  Sean’s eyes soften as does his voice as he says, “Don’t you want to get those responsible? Don’t you want to make them pay?”

  “Money buys a lot of secrecy and pays people to be quiet. We’re never going to find out what happened…” I pause and push my plate away. “You ready for work?”

  Sean cocks his head to the side and nods once, then he stands, puts his remaining breakfast between two slices of toast, and places his plate in the sink. “Lead the way.”

  I’m grateful he isn’t pursuing this conversation further, but something tells me Sean MacKenny isn’t going to let this drop easily.

  Sean

  I’m not a country boy. I am sure my veins bleed smog instead of blood.

  Beth is strangely quiet as she walks ahead of me toward the weathered barn. Surprisingly, it’s not painted, the wood has gone a soft, silver-gray color from being exposed to the elements.

  As Beth walks away from me, I like the way she moves. Her hips sway from side to side, very feminine. I smile to myself, her daddy, God rest his soul, would beat me black and blue for staring at her like this.

  I don’t understand her reluctance to find her father’s killer. Trent deserves better than to be shot in the back and left for dead.

  “So this is the barn,” says Beth loudly, holding her arms out wide. “The straw is up there.” Beth points to the loft. “But first, you’ll need to muck out the stalls.”

  “Muck out the stalls?”

  Beth sighs and points to shovels and pitchforks along one wall. “You’ll need to clean them out.”

  “Right so muck out means to clean out the stalls. Got it.” I grin at her, but she doesn’t look amused. “Beth, I was only trying to have a little fun. I might not know all the technical terms, but I am a hard worker.”

  Beth nods, but I can tell she’s apprehensive. “Right. Okay, I’m going to go and fix some fences about a quarter-mile away. I have my phone.” She turns and takes a step.

  “That’s great, except I don’t have your number.”

  Beth stops and turns, arm outstretched in front of her. “Hand me your phone.” I do as I’m told, then Beth hits a bunch of keys and hands it back. “See you in a bit.”

  I watch her walk away, and when I hear the ATV startup, I grab a pitchfork from the wall. The first stall is empty but needs cleaning, so I start with that one. There’s a wheelbarrow near the tools, so I put it in the stall and get to work. It doesn’t take long to put all the horse shit and straw into the wheelbarrow, but then I have no idea where to dump it. The barn has five stalls, but only three of them have horses. One horse watches me constantly while the others eat, stomp their feet, and generally pay me no attention. It’s still early in the day, but you know when you can feel the heat building? Yeah, that’s what it feels like right now when a line of sweat rolls down my back. I walk outside and see a pile of older straw—this must be where she dumps it. I go back inside and wheel the animal waste and old bedding, placing it on the pile.

  The stall is clean, but the new straw is in the loft. I don’t want to climb up there just yet, so I move to the next empty stall and clean it. Now, I’m left with three stalls with the horses in them. Do I clean them with the horses still in there? Or do I take them out? The chestnut horse eyes me, but there’s something about him I don’t trust. The other tw
o pay me no mind when I open their stalls. One at a time, I guide them out to the arena, open the gate, and they walk lazily inside.

  “Good horses,” I say to them with a grin.

  They both trot around in a circle, and I leave them to it. As I enter the barn, the chestnut horse rears up.

  “Something tells me you aren’t going to play nice with me. So your stall gets done last.” The chestnut snorts at me and shakes his head. It takes the better part of an hour to get the other two stalls cleaned. So, now I have four clean stalls with nothing inside of them.

  The chestnut whinnies and shakes his head. “You know all your bitching isn’t going to make me let you out.” I point at the loft. “I’m going to go up there to drop some straw down, then I’m going to clean out your stall, and you are going to behave.”

  He looks at me and stomps a hoof.

  I shake my head and climb the ladder up to the straw. There’s another pitchfork up here, and I begin to throw down the fresh straw. When I think I have enough, I climb back down and pile it into the four empty stalls then fill up the water and feed buckets. All that’s left to do is the chestnut.

  “If I open your door, what are you going to do?” Of course, I get no response.

  When I open the stall, he backs away from me.

  “I’m Sean. I’m not going to hurt you, but I do need to get this nice and clean before your owner comes back.”

  The horse rears, and I retreat quickly. The chestnut lands loudly and takes a step toward me.

  “Buddy, I know, you’re bigger than me and could probably stomp my ass into eternity, but I have a job to do. You can make this easy for me or hard. What’s it going to be?”

  He takes a step back, and I take a step forward and another until I’m right in front of him. Slowly, I reach up and touch his face, then run my hand up and down, and amazingly, he stays still.

  “You’re not so bad, are you? You want to join the other two in the arena? Will you play nice?”

  “Sean, I need you to back out of the stall slowly. Okay?”

  It’s Beth’s voice from behind me. I let my hand drop and do as she says. When I’m outside, Beth shuts the stall door.