Gabe
Page 1
Gabe
7 Brides for 7 Brothers
Ruth Cardello
Also Available
7 Brides for 7 Brothers
Luke – Barbara Freethy (#1)
Gabe – Ruth Cardello (#2)
Hunter – Melody Anne (#3)
Knox – Christie Ridgway (#4)
Max – Lynn Raye Harris (#5)
James – Roxanne St. Claire (#6)
Finn – JoAnn Ross (#7)
Gabe – 7 Brides for 7 Brothers
Copyright © 2016 Ruth Cardello
Kobo Edition
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Meet the Brannigan brothers—seven sexy brothers who bring the heart and the heat! From bestselling authors Barbara Freethy, Ruth Cardello, Melody Anne, Christie Ridgway, Lynn Raye Harris, Roxanne St. Claire and JoAnn Ross comes a brand-new contemporary romance family series: 7 Brides for 7 Brothers. You won’t want to miss a single one!
Gabe – Ruth Cardello
Gabe Brannigan is a Californian real estate mogul who is used to seeing property in terms of dollar signs. When his father dies unexpectedly and leaves him the family ranch, he’s annoyed rather than grateful. The conditions of his inheritance include living on the ranch before being able to sell it.
He’s ready to walk away from the deal until he meets the sexy, motorcycle-riding ranch caretaker. She’s brash and outspoken, rough around the edges. Definitely not his style, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting her.
Craving her.
Throwing all caution aside and deciding to have her.
Josephine Ashby has found the perfect place to hide until Mr. Sexy Eyes shows up and announces he is moving in.
A man who doesn’t believe in anything, finds himself believing in her.
But will it be enough?
Grab the rest of the series!
Luke – Barbara Freethy
Gabe – Ruth Cardello
Hunter – Melody Anne
Knox – Christie Ridgway
Max – Lynn Raye Harris
James – Roxanne St. Claire
Finn – JoAnn Ross
Dedication
To my friend, Missy. I have always considered myself blessed by the quality of people who wander into my life and steal a piece of my heart. Thank you for your warm welcome and for being so good to my family.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Also Available
Copyright Page
About the Book
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Author’s Note
Author Biography
Prologue
Six months earlier.
Fear is your opponent’s greatest weapon. Give in to it, and you’ll lose before the fight begins. Josephine Ashby heard her father’s voice in her head and it gave her strength.
She stepped over a toppled lamp in her apartment and scanned the living room. The place wasn’t simply ransacked. The damage was vindictive. The cushions on the couch were slashed. The television was smashed. Nothing was taken because what they wanted hadn’t been there.
And they were angry.
She stood absolutely still and listened for a sign that anyone was still there. Cautiously, she made her way through each room, picking up a long knife from the kitchen as she went. She couldn’t call the police. She had no proof. Not yet.
Back in the living room, Josephine placed the knife down on the arm of a chair and picked up a frame that was face down on the carpet. She touched her father’s face through the cracked glass. I told you we needed to wait before we announced anything, that I needed a little more time to stabilize the power cell. I warned you that accepting money from Raymean would change everything.
I don’t care what the police say. You were not trying to steal the bike. The official cause of Roy Ashby’s death was an explosion in his lab at Raymean. His contract was to produce a new power source for the hybrid, silent-running military motorcycle, StealthOff. They claimed to have confronted him about the impossibility of his design, which then supposedly prompted him to steal the bike to dispose of evidence proving his guilt.
There was no reason for you to do that, no matter what they said to you. And even if you wanted to steal the bike, you wouldn’t have ridden it. You knew we were scrapping that version because of its explosive potential. It was a prop, a diversion at your lab, to appease prying eyes while we worked on an alternate fuel source.
She opened the back of the frame and removed her father’s photo before dropping the rest to the floor at her feet. The pain of losing him two weeks earlier was still so strong it was numbing. She folded the photo and stuffed it into her back pocket. Even though she’d rented the apartment for five years, a lifetime of following her father around the globe each time he was stationed somewhere new had taught her not to accumulate things or waver when it was time to walk away.
Determined not to lose the fight before it even began, Josephine knew she had to regroup. If she fought them that day, she’d lose. Her father’s designs were not unrealistic. They’d just needed more time.
She knew without proof no one would believe her.
Your dream won’t die with you, Dad.
I’ll finish what we started, clear your name, and whoever is responsible for your death will pay.
Chapter One
Gabe Brannigan swore when he heard a piece of gravel from the driveway hit the car door of his limited-edition Aston Martin. He would have flown, but a five-hour drive in his new toy had seemed like a good idea. He’d forgotten how rustic his father had kept the ranch.
If Aunt Claire hadn’t worn him down with a series of persistent phone calls, he wouldn’t have made the trip at all. “You and your brothers practically grew up on that ranch. I can’t believe you’d even think of letting it go,” she’d said.
“Trust me, it’s what Dad wanted,” he’d answered without missing a beat. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have left it to me with a clause that I live there for a month. That’s code for use it as a tax write-off, Gabe.”
“You can’t do that.”
“My accountant assures me I can.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Your father’s ashes were just buried in the canyon next to your mother’s. He used to visit her there and I still do.”
“I’d gift the whole place to you if I could, but Dad’s will won’t allow that. If it’s the ashes you’re worried about, tell me where they are and I’ll have them moved before the property sells.”
“Gabriel Colin Brannigan, your mother loved that canyon. That’s what
matters to me. It should matter to you, too.”
“It does,” Gabe had said quietly. Not many people would dare speak to Gabe in the tone she’d used, but Aunt Claire marched to her own drummer and wasn’t intimidated by anyone. She also reminded Gabe of his mother just enough to hold a special place in his heart. “We should be able to have the new owners agree to allow you access.”
“Oh, Gabe, you’re missing the point. Your father didn’t leave it to me. He wanted you to have it. Have you considered why?”
“Unless there is a buried treasure, and a substantial one, keeping the place isn’t worth the month-long occupancy clause. Brannigan Realty just brokered a deal with Wagara and doors are flying open for us. This is what I’ve been working for. I’ve moved some of my team from LA to Silicon Valley. We’re updating our computer system, headhunting, and reorganizing in preparation for the expansion. I don’t have the time or desire to figure out why Dad thought I’d want a forced vacation.”
“You are definitely your father’s son, but even he knew what was important enough to put work aside for.”
“Did he?” Gabe asked curtly, even though he’d admired his father’s drive. Colin Brannigan could have lived off the money his parents had left him, but instead he’d used it to create his media empire. Gabe could have taken the easy route, too. He could have tried to springboard off his father’s influence in the entertainment world, but like his father, Gabe thrived on the challenge of making his own success. “My father was an amazing man, but he wasn’t a nostalgic one. He wouldn’t want me visiting his ashes any more than I want to. What do you want me to say, Aunt Claire? I’m not keeping the property. If there is something I can do to make it easier for you to accept that, tell me and I’ll add it into the deal. Otherwise, I don’t know what else to say.”
“Promise me you’ll go there before you make your decision.”
“I’ve already decided. It’s going to auction.”
“Then undecide for one weekend. Go down on Friday. Spend the weekend. If on Monday you still want to let it go, I won’t say another word.”
Not another word? That sounded worth a weekend. He could drive down and take work with him. The real estate side of him hated the idea of it selling low because of easy-to-fix cosmetic defects, so there was merit in seeing what state it was in. Besides, the better the price, the bigger the write-off.
His optimism dissipated, however, as he drove up the gravel driveway toward the main house. The grounds had not been kept up. The grass stood tall, the paddocks were empty, and the house was in need of painting. Everywhere he looked there were signs of neglect. It certainly wasn’t the pristine, multi-million-dollar spread that had once been the envy of their movie-star neighbors. The house itself looked in good condition, but the large in-ground pool that flanked it was empty and baking in the sun. I’m not even getting the money from the sale and I’m still disappointed. There’s supposedly a full-time caretaker. What the hell is he taking care of?
Gabe parked and was about to head into the house when he heard music. He followed the sound to the driveway of one of the guest houses. His eyebrows rose in appreciation at the expanse of long, bronzed legs that led to the perfectly rounded ass of a woman in cutoff jean shorts who was bent over the open hood of an old sedan. Although his taste in women was normally more sophisticated, some asses were universally attractive no matter how one dressed them.
Whatever she was working on, her focus was so intent she didn’t notice his approach. He knew he should say something, but he gave himself a moment to enjoy the view. Could any man have resisted?
The little part of his brain that was capable of thought at that moment wondered who she was. The car she was working on was an older, inexpensive model. She might be the caretaker’s daughter. He cleared his throat at that thought and hoped to hell she was well over eighteen.
At the sound she spun around with a wrench held high in one hand. Her gaze raked over him, narrowing with displeasure. It was a response he wasn’t used to in a woman. “This is private property,” she said in a firm voice, still holding the wrench as if she might crack him in the head with it if he stepped closer.
“Is it?” All better retorts were lost as he took in her full, glistening beauty. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. Long brown hair was swept up in a loose ponytail, allowing dark tendrils to fall and frame her face. One of her arms was tattooed with the face of a dragon, which normally would have been a turnoff, but he was intrigued by it. Dark brown eyes glared at him, while her chest heaved up and down beneath a thin, white tank top and bra that did nothing to conceal her response to his perusal. A half smile curled his lips. He was old enough to know that sexual chemistry didn’t require context nor did it always respect personal preferences. Sometimes it was simply there and this time it was—stronger than he remembered feeling with anyone for a very long time. The five-hour drive might not have been a waste of time after all.
“Yes, so you can’t be here. Leave your name, though, and I’ll tell the owners you came by.”
Who the hell is this beauty? “I’d rather have your name.”
Her raised arm shook. “Mine?”
Her stall increased his curiosity, and he stepped closer. He lowered his voice. “Yes, yours.”
She glanced quickly to the left then the right and swore. “Listen, I don’t want to hurt you, but you need to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He inched closer, and his breathing deepened like a hunter sensing his prey was about to bolt. He was mid-step when she struck, and with a swift move he recognized from his kick-boxing days, she hooked his ankle with hers and pulled his foot out from beneath him. He fell forward, but righted himself before he hit the ground.
She used the advantage of surprise to race out of his reach. He turned in time to see her retrieve a 9mm Beretta from her toolbox. In a stance proving she was no novice, she pointed the gun directly at him. “Yes, you are. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to.” She clicked the safety off.
Her eyes glittered, her dark hair blew in the wind behind her, and she went from a ten on his hotness scale to an unbelievable fifteen. Damn. He’d never been into bondage or thought giving control over to a woman could be sexy, but he was willing to experiment with it for a taste of her. He kept that thought to himself because she didn’t look like she was thinking the same. He referenced his suit and Stefano Bemer loafers. “Easy, tiger. Do I look like someone you need to run off with a gun?”
She assessed him over from head to toe again. “Yes.”
Okay, not what I expected. It might be time to tell her my name. “I’m Gabe Brannigan, the owner of this property.”
She frowned. “Colin Brannigan owns the ranch.”
“My father passed away a few weeks ago.”
She lowered the gun and her expression softened for the first time. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He sensed her calming. It was strange to be so attuned to a woman without even knowing her name. “I drove down to look the place over before it goes up for auction.”
“Auction? You’re selling it?” Her face paled.
“Yes.” Her level of distress at the idea was disconcerting. He warned himself not to get involved. Disappointing as it was, the longer he had to think about it, the more he knew he had to take the possibility of bedding her off the table. Also, having her on any table. No, having her at all. It wasn’t the gun that concerned him. Plenty of people owned them, and a woman alone on a ranch was smart to protect herself. It was the desperation he’d seen in her eyes that was a warning bell. She was too wild for his taste and potentially too needy. “Where is Frank Muller?”
She swallowed visibly. “His daughter in New Mexico had a baby. Two months premature. He went out there to help her until she’s settled.”
“And left you in charge?”
She looked away evasively. “Yes.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“A few months, but he�
�ll be back soon.”
“He can take his time. I’m not impressed with how he kept the place up. I’ll have my renovation crew here on Monday.” There was no way a home, especially one that had once been a Brannigan residence, would be sold in this condition. His name was associated with luxury. His reputation was for finding the very best for those who could afford it. Even if it was a losing deal, he intended to bring the house up to its previous glory before it opened to the public. His competition would love to fill social media with unflattering images of a project he was associated with.
“No,” she burst out. “Don’t do that.”
He arched an eyebrow.
She swore again. “I mean it’s not necessary. If you give me a couple weeks I can have everything spit polished and ready for you to show.”
“I don’t have a couple weeks.” Her face tightened as he spoke. There it was, the desperation that made him wonder if she’d point the gun at him again. “Plus, there’s more work than you could do alone.”
“It’ll be done. I give you my word,” she said with Girl Scout seriousness that brought a smile to his lips. In his world nothing could be counted on that wasn’t written into a contract. Nothing. Everything happened in writing—even his father’s final wishes.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
She watched him warily and waited.
He held out his hand. “First, give me the gun.”
She hesitated, clicked the safety back on, emptied the bullets into her pocket, then handed it to him.
He replaced the gun in her toolbox then returned to face her. “My crew will be here on Monday, but I’ll consider letting you continue to stay here while I have it worked on if . . .” she took a deep breath, holding his eyes with quiet strength, “. . . you tell me your name.” Regardless of her rough edges, he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. She effortlessly inspired a thousand illicit thoughts he kept to himself.