by Addison Fox
“An old choice but highly effective.”
Violet sat up, her slight wince dragging at the corners of her mouth before she spoke. Her head was down, her voice muffled into her chest as she focused on redoing her buttons. “Lange said he doesn’t play with his prey. His lackey clearly feels differently.”
“All evidence to the contrary on Lange. Hiding behind someone else doesn’t change the intention.” Once again, pure white-hot rage tinged the edges of his vision red. If he weren’t so concerned for her protection, he’d have already left the barn.
Prey my ass, Max thought to himself. Lange had no idea what that really meant.
Or what it truly meant to be hunted.
“That’s why they call it dirty work.” Violet shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it once more. Finally, after what was an obvious internal battle with herself, she spoke.
“It’s his eyes. They’re soulless. How does that happen?”
As a woman known for her calm efficiency, he sensed how much it cost her to try to maintain that illusion. Her voice quavered, and her hands fluttered at her stomach, smoothing the material lightly over the now hidden bruise.
“How does what happen?”
“Reed’s mother lived with the man for decades. He’s well respected in the community. And he’s got a lot of good, active business interests. How does a person hide who he really is that way?”
Since he’d wondered the same, he could only agree. How did a person live such a dual life? And although the question would haunt Reed for the rest of his life, Max knew they’d all carry the scars.
“Lilah bore some of that with her abusive ex-husband,” Violet said. “One face in public and another in private. But this is something else entirely. Painful as it was, Lilah at least knew the monster she lived with. Reed’s stepfather has lived two lives for years and years.”
“And he dragged you into the wrong one.” Max extended a hand to cup her cheek. “Oh, Violet, I’m so sorry.”
He was a soldier. He’d trained with the full understanding that orders were orders, oftentimes fraught with difficult actions. He knew how to do the job. How to handle the decisions others didn’t want to make or weren’t capable of handling.
Yet he’d have taken any op and gone up against any enemy rather than face the tears that glistened in her eyes.
“It’s okay. Shhh now.”
Max had created a small private area when he’d scouted out the barn earlier, using several boxes and bales of hay to carve out what minimal protection he could. He leaned back against the edge of a bale, already covered in an old blanket, and opened his arms.
Violet moved into them without hesitation.
* * *
The tears subsided almost as fast as they’d begun, but Violet’s grip remained tight about his waist long after her breathing slowed. Max gave her the space to process what had happened, all while tracing warm, smooth circles on her back. He’d felt her wince when he hit a particularly sensitive spot and took care to avoid what was no doubt a nasty bruise.
And each time he avoided it, he counted yet another way he was going to rip Tripp Lange limb from limb.
“I never cry.” Her soft statement floated up toward him, a quiet interruption of his violent thoughts.
“Everyone’s entitled to a few tears now and then.”
“But I don’t cry. It’s not in my nature. And now I haven’t stopped since the wedding. I just needed to catch my breath. That was all. That’s why I went outside. And then Alex was there and the world faded to black.”
Max stared down at her upturned face, sensing something deeper in her words. “Why were you crying at the wedding?”
Violet hesitated, the silence so unlike her that he thought she might not have heard him. He almost repeated his question when she pressed on. “Have you ever felt like that? Like you wanted to bind your life to someone forever?”
“I believe I asked you that question at the wedding.”
“I know. And I was an ass to jump at you.”
“You weren’t an ass.”
“I was—”
He cut her off, punctuating the intrusion with a soft stroke of fingers against her cheek. “You weren’t.”
“I’ve avoided it so far.”
“Me, too.”
“That’s because you’re Mad Max.”
“I’m what?”
A small smile lined her lips—the first since he’d found her—and the sign that she might ultimately be all right shot straight to his heart.
“That’s one of my nicknames for you. In my head.”
“There are others?”
The smile grew wider. “A few. It depends on if you’re being stubborn Max or grumpy Max or angry Max. You seem to trade off between the three.”
“I’m not—” Well, hell. Yeah, he was. He’d always been short-tempered, and his time in the military hadn’t morphed his personality toward bubble gum and flowers. Heck, his major job description had been blowing things up for a living for most of his adult life.
He simply did not have a hearts-and-unicorns personality. Thank God.
“So I’m not altar-bound because I’m a grumpy bastard.”
Violet’s smile fell and with it, the light teasing they’d drifted into. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“Doesn’t change the fact you’re still not that far off the truth. And for the record, I’m not against marriage. I just figure you need to marry the right person.”
“You’ve never found the right one?”
“Not by a long shot. Add on family members who made poor life decisions in that territory and I’ll proudly own gun-shy with cold feet as a personality descriptor.”
The words tripped off his tongue, as simple as breathing, but Max knew the ability to speak them so casually was hard-won. His parents had been screw-ups in every sense of the word, far more worried about the latest big-ticket item they could charge on their credit cards than the kid they’d brought into the world.
His grandfather had stepped in, well aware of the poor choices of his son and daughter-in-law, and tried to add balance and a sense of responsibility. The man’s efforts had worked for the most part, but Max knew there were still holes.
And one that sat clear in the middle was the recognition that his grandfather had spent Max’s childhood attempting to make up for his own poor parenting.
“Where’d you just go?”
Although he’d adjusted to the relative darkness of the loft, the shifting moonlight through the barn’s upper windows kept changing the light as clouds moved in and out of position. Moonlight painted her face and in the soft light her eyes seemed to glow. In their depths, Max saw the clear interest and intelligence no amount of fear or uncertainty could erase.
“A memory.”
“The one who got away?”
“Nah. Not unless you count Bellamy Moore in the first grade. But since she dumped me for a second grader, I suspect she doesn’t truly count.”
“Then what?”
Whether it was the moonlight or the adrenaline of the simple desire to help her forget the pain of her bruises, Max wasn’t sure, but he found himself giving up information he normally wouldn’t. “There was always my grandfather. He took me in when things at home got bad. First just overnight or the weekend. As I got older, more permanently.”
“Were things bad often?”
“Nothing in the physical sense. But a kid who’s ignored can get into a heap of trouble if no one’s watching.”
“And Max Senior stepped in?”
“He did.”
The smile returned and with it a small sigh. “I do have a soft spot for him. Does he know you’re here?”
“We thought it best not to call t
hem until it’s over. He’s still in hiding with your landlady and Reed’s mother. Reed’s been managing the communication there so he can make sure his mother doesn’t attempt to come back to Dallas.”
“They’ve stayed put?”
“Mrs. Beauregard’s still recovering from her run-in with Lange a few weeks ago. And if Reed’s mother needed any further convincing, the fact her husband went after her son pretty much has her staying put while we deal with this.”
“It must be driving your grandfather mad.”
“He’s staying busy with his charges.”
“And a side of romance?”
Max shook his head. “For someone who doesn’t feel romance is your thing, you certainly are quick to identify it in others.”
“Because then it’s fun.”
“You do realize others think the same thing for you.”
“Cassidy and Lilah know I’m not marriage material. I never have been.”
The absolute certainty in her voice struck him with a swift slap, and for the briefest moment, he wanted to reach out and pick up exactly where they’d left off. Sex might not be love and marriage, but her response had been something more than a casual mating of lips, a careless connection of bodies.
Violet felt something. Something for him, to be more precise. And he knew damn well he’d had something brewing for her for some time now.
How odd, then, that she’d bring up her friends as a reason for the fact she wasn’t going to marry. He’d have bet the next year’s profits from his business that Cassidy and Lilah were more than convinced Violet Richardson would make excellent relationship material.
Since they’d seemed to shatter some invisible wall between them, he pressed on, curious about what new information he might learn. “It’s your turn.”
“For what?”
“For confessing. I told you my life story, including the pain of my broken first-grade heart. Your turn.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, the motion natural and unplanned. He almost cursed himself for it but stilled when the arms around his waist held on a bit tighter.
“No first-grade skeletons in my closet, but I did cause the breakup of the year in third grade. I had a crush on Simon Asher, who had been the boyfriend of Mallory Coltraine.”
“Vixen.”
“You’re not kidding. I whispered in his ear at recess, and word got back to Mallory that Simon wanted to change his loyalties.”
“And did you and Simon become the main squeeze of the third grade?”
“Oh, no. I dropped him like a hot potato when I found out he hurt my friend.”
Max shook his head, fascinated that the challenges of dating and relationships didn’t necessarily change with age. They got more complicated, but they didn’t truly change.
Boy meets girl. Boy makes bad decisions over girl. Boy loses girl.
“Which takes me right back to where we started,” Violet said. “I’m simply not wired that way. Something’s clearly missing, because I’ve never had the urge to bind my life to someone.”
Max noticed the small tinge of sadness belying the casual air. “There’s nothing missing.”
“I manage weddings for a living. You’d think something would rub off.”
“No, I’m quite sure I’m right. Not because I’m always right, but because I’m right about this.”
He smiled at the light smack to his arm, the exact reaction he was looking for.
“You’re bright and vibrant. You’re a catch, Miss Richardson. Don’t forget it.” It might have been the oddest conversation he’d ever had, but Max pressed on. “Someone’s going to be lucky to have you.”
If only it could be me.
The thought slammed into him so hard Max wondered how he didn’t see stars.
Chapter 7
Violet shrank in fear as Alex seemed to grow larger before her eyes. Violence coated his skin in a grayish tinge, and she tasted blood on her tongue even though he hadn’t touched her yet. Madness roiled behind his dark eyes, and for a moment, she found herself caught up in it.
How did one get to that place? Where the blackness of the soul literally poured out like lava?
She could see it on him.
The darkness of his eyes. The pallor of his skin. And the great, growing mass of muscle that levered up to its full height in front of her.
I’m going to play with you for a good long while.
“Violet!”
She screamed at the large hands that held her shoulders and then struggled even more when one hand covered her mouth.
“Violet. Shhh.”
She struggled against the shackles, her only thought the raw fear and panic that once again she couldn’t move. Couldn’t use her limbs. Couldn’t run.
Something warm and strong penetrated the haze of fear, and she blinked her eyes open, only to look up into Max’s gentle blue gaze.
“I’m sorry, but you screamed, and we can’t have the horses agitated.” He lifted his hand from her mouth. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Her voice croaked out and with it, the last tendrils of the dream dropped their hold. “What time is it?”
“About six. The house hasn’t stirred yet, but they’re bound to get here shortly to feed and exercise the horses.”
“Then we need to get out of here.”
“I need to get out of here. You’re going to stay put while I scout out the car and the damages. If you stay quiet, no one will even know you’re up here.”
Whether it was the lingering images of the dream or the return of her personal equilibrium, Violet sat up, the argument already spilling from her lips. “We’re in this together.”
“You don’t even have any shoes.”
“I’ve got the gloves, which worked just fine last night. And you mentioned there are clothes for me in the car.”
“If there’s still a car to retrieve them from.”
“Then let’s walk into town and call the guys. They’ll be here in no time, and we can go home.”
“You think Lange hasn’t shored up his investment down here? He’s bound to have tabs on his neighbors and the farm. And possibly even more people in his pocket.”
“He’s also bound to have an eye on the car, if the car’s even there. It could be a burned-out pit by now. We need to head out on our own.”
As arguments went, it wasn’t the most cheerful, but Violet was damned if she was going to stay behind while he got himself into who knew what. There might be danger out in the world, but there was plenty of danger by herself.
She’d take her chances with Max.
At the realization that she trusted him with her life, images of the night before washed over her, filling her thoughts in a rush.
How patiently he’d held her, keeping her close as she shed the adrenaline and terror of her kidnapping. The feel of his hard body, wrapped around hers in a physical display of strength that went a long way toward calming her mind. The quiet conversation that had given her a chance to express the jumble of emotion that had kept her company far longer than she’d realized.
But it was the memory of their kiss that lingered in vivid Technicolor. The bold red of desire, woven with the vivid blue of want and the golden sheen of tenderness. For a man as large as Max, he was infinitely gentle, touching her as if she were precious. Treasured.
Revered.
She’d never given much thought to the flowery words her brides had used over the years, so many of them flustered with the scale and scope of details that went into planning a wedding, but there were a few conversations that had stuck with her. She still recalled the way one bride spoke of her fiancé and how he smelled like strength, vulnerability and the outdoors. Another had spoken of how her love listened to her as if she was the only woman in the world. An
d a third had practically glowed when she talked about the warmth and safety she felt in her new husband’s discarded shirt from the day.
Touching flashes, shared in moments rife with happiness and hope.
She’d never put much stock in the fanciful words, but she had to admit every one of those conversations had smacked of someone who knew—and observed—a person she cared deeply for. With that in mind, Violet admitted to herself it was more than a little strange to acknowledge just how much she noticed about Max Baldwin.
Max’s disgruntled march around the small loft brought her back from the deep end of her memories, and she couldn’t quite hide the smile. The two of them might not use flowery words with each other, but they had come to a funny sort of communication. Whether they’d become resigned to each other out of necessity or sheer, stubborn strength of will, she didn’t know.
But as she slipped her feet into the funny little gloves, Violet had to admit that she and Max had cleared some hurdle the night before.
Was it the kiss? The conversation that came after the kiss? Or the almost something that came before the kiss? Although the pain had put a quick end to their exploration of each other, she still didn’t think that was quite the root of their standoff.
No, it was their conversation that had been the revelation.
She knew he was close to his grandfather but had no idea their relationship had grown from the pain of his parental abandonment. And while she’d teased him about his grumpy disposition, she now suspected his lack of finesse was more about barreling his way through life on his own steam than any real intention to hurt someone.
Sort of like you.
The thought had her hands going still, the small stalks of straw she’d picked from the gloves dropping to the floor.
She’d seen a lot of brides come through the doors of Elegance and Lace. And inevitably, the ones who always struck her as having the strongest shot at a happy marriage were the ones who were compatible with their spouses.
She wanted Max and had admitted as much to herself already. If she hadn’t been hurt the night before, would they have gone further?
