“Stolen.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you get a look at them?”
Tristan smiled at the memory of Victoria mostly nude. “Yeah, a pretty good look.”
“Okay, well, I’ll call the police, if you didn’t?”
“No, no, don’t do that. I know who it was.”
When Tristan didn’t offer a name, Quinn asked, “Well? Who?”
Tristan cleared his throat. “Victoria.”
“Aaaaaaahhhhh. Interesting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tristan could almost hear his brother grinning on the other end.
“We’ll talk when I get there.”
“Can’t wait.”
Quinn laughed and hung up.
Tristan’s worry about a lecture from Quinn dissipated. For now they’d just be brothers.
Their father had died when Tristan was eight, leaving Quinn, who was fifteen at the time, as the closest to a father figure he’d known. They’d become closer along with the four siblings in between—Kristina, Riley, Chloe, and Connor. The bond had strengthened after their mother died from cancer five years later. The family’s businesses had been left to all six kids equally but with Quinn in charge. He’d been groomed to oversee everything anyway. For a time he’d run all of their properties with all the staff they employed and a lot of help from Kris.
She’d run their barn, Sugarloaf Stables, for a year before their mother’s death, with help from the barn manager. Riley had been seventeen and already signed up with the Marines. The sixteen-year-old Chloe hadn’t decided to be a veterinarian yet. Connor and Tristan, being fourteen and thirteen, hadn’t been expected to take on anything, with both Quinn and Kris insisting they be the kids that they were. Connor eventually took over Sugarloaf Inn, a bed-and-breakfast that their mother used to run. Quinn ran Comus Winery, which lay in the shadow of the solitary Sugarloaf Mountain and which was the source of the family’s wealth. Though they jointly owned the big house on the slopes of the mountain, it really belonged to Quinn as head-of-household. Without him to anchor all of them, they would’ve been lost and even thrown into foster care, except for Kris, who’d been the only other sibling over eighteen at the time of their mother’s death, by one year.
As for Tristan, no one had expected anything of him. He hadn’t minded the low expectations, life as a mischievous underachiever suiting him just fine. In his teens, he’d gotten by on his charming smile, good looks, and a mischievous twinkle in his green eyes that made women weak in the knees. His reckless carefree spirit made them want to throw off their clothes before him like a matador waving a red flag, daring a bull to charge, and then he’d ravish them with wild abandon. And he would’ve been happy to oblige were his heart not taken by Victoria. That had only made the other girls crazier.
He’d finally found his calling with something throbbing between his legs—a crotch rocket. The need for speed and adrenaline had woken in him a competitive fire that had changed the unambitious boy into a young man with dreams. And those dreams had made him leave home—and the girl he’d loved. Being the useless member of his family had become a burden he couldn’t stand anymore, to the point where he’d given up even Victoria to make a name for himself. A name he’d just partly ruined with his suspension.
He sighed.
Maybe if he told more of that to Victoria, she’d forgive him. He hadn’t even given her the option to come along because he’d known she wouldn’t have. “I won’t watch you die in a fiery crash,” she’d once said when refusing to see him race. How would she have handled his life of racing? She wouldn’t have. He’d known it and ended their relationship with a heavy heart of resignation. He knew her father had died on a bike and he didn’t want her to relive that every time he took to the track. It wasn’t fair. He always thought it was a crock of shit when someone on a TV show claimed they were ending a relationship for the other person’s own good, but now he believed it. Or thought he had.
His thoughts were broken by Quinn arriving in the big red Dodge pickup he and Kris used for towing horses, or hauling heavy equipment at the winery. The truck skidded to a halt and he jumped out with surprising grace for a man his size. Quinn stood six feet and six inches of burly muscle and sinew that sometimes blotted out the sun. Or it seemed like that anyway. He was a gentle giant, though that never stopped him from cracking people’s heads together when someone got the bright idea to prove their worth by challenging him to a fight. They always lost. His brown eyes shone with warmth as he engulfed Tristan in a bear hug that made his brother almost disappear. The familiar scents of a barn washing over Tristan worsened his homesickness, even though people who didn’t spend time around horses probably didn’t care for the smell. Now Tristan was dying to see Kris, since she always smelled like a horse, too.
“You’ve been at the stables,” Tristan observed, noting Quinn’s brown hair was longer and shaggier than usual.
“Yeah, had to shave a few horses today.” The big guy looked at the “Pilates” sign above Victoria’s workplace and fixed his youngest brother with a grin. “So why’d she steal your bike?”
“Not wasting any time, I see.”
“Don’t stall,” replied Quinn. “I want the juicy details. By the look on your face, a few juices were indeed flowing. I’m not the only one not wasting time, am I?”
Tristan blushed. “You knew she was back. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t think it mattered. Clearly I was wrong. And I had no idea you were coming home. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t really want the big welcome, considering the reason.”
Quinn nodded slowly as they got into the truck. “It’s okay, man. Everyone loses their temper. I assume that’s what happened?”
Tristan frowned, not wanting to get into the details, but now was a good time to get it over with. He settled into the seat, putting on the seatbelt and noting the truck’s interior was as cluttered as usual. Quinn could run a business but not keep anything clean. Soon they were headed down the road toward home.
“Sort of,” he replied. “I mean, he swung first, so it was self-defense, which is why I wasn’t arrested, but if you fight with another rider, you get suspended. It’s that simple.”
“Yeah, but why the fight? Were you giving him shit or something?”
Tristan bristled. “C’mon, Quinn, you know me better than that. He was giving me shit, rubbing it in my face that he’d just won the race.”
“Where was this?”
“In the locker room. I’d just wrecked, too. That’s what he was talking about.”
“Yeah, I saw that on TV. Scared the shit out of me.”
Tristan knew Quinn was stopping himself from suggesting he find a safer way to make a living. The “highsider” crash he’d just survived was one of the most dangerous. The back tire loses traction and slides out, then suddenly regains traction, but now the front wheel isn’t turned in the same direction as the rest of the bike. The sudden torque bucks the rider over the handlebars. Worse, the bike somersaults into the air, flying in the same direction as the rider, who’s sliding or rolling along the ground ahead of it. If the bike lands on you, you’re dead.
The accident had taken him out of the race but not to the hospital. After the race, he’d been in the locker room when his arch-rival started in on him with taunting.
“I wasn’t hurt,” Tristan said.
“Yeah, but that was luck as much as anything.”
“I know.”
“If he was giving you shit, why did he swing first instead of you?”
Tristan sighed. “He accused me of losing my nerve because of the training accident I had last month. Did a highsider then, too. I wasn’t riding very well at the race because of it.”
“I noticed. Is it true?”
Tristan grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. The training accident happened on a curve and ever since, I’ve been hesitant to lean over as far as I need to on the
turns. I was falling behind in the race over it. And as it turns out, that’s exactly what I was doing when I wrecked in this race.”
“Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“I guess.”
“So what did he say about the crash in the race?”
“That I didn’t have the nerve to ride at a pro level anymore. Or take a swing at him. I guess he felt emboldened or something. He could see he was pissing me off. He punched me in the chest. It wasn’t a real punch, almost, but I slugged him anyway.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
Tristan laughed, remembering Quinn’s advice from long ago, that you never swung first, but if someone took a swing at you, you didn’t back down. He didn’t hear reproach in his brother’s voice, and felt relieved.
“Actually, yeah. He had it coming for a long time. Lots of guys were congratulating me. Everybody hates him. I’m something of a hero to them now.”
“Sounds like he’s a real dick.”
“Yeah, no one’s feeling sorry for him. He didn’t deserve his jaw being broken, though.”
Quinn nodded. “That’s what really got you in trouble, isn’t it?”
“Probably. I mean the fight could’ve gone unreported except for that.” They rode in silence for a minute before Tristan remarked, “You don’t seem surprised Victoria can ride a bike.”
“Yeah, I saw her doing it a while back. Everyone was talking about it, too.”
“Did you hear why she started?” Tristan asked, his heart hopeful. The change was huge. It suggested they could be together without him sacrificing his racing career. But he wondered what else had changed.
“Not really. How come you didn’t ask her yourself? Or were you two doing other things with your mouths?”
Tristan laughed. “Yeah, okay, we had sex. Now let up.”
“Knew it! You had the same look on your face when she took your virginity.”
Tristan blushed. He’d never regretted confiding in Quinn in a moment of unrestrained euphoria. Quinn was always supportive and seldom playfully mocked him, unlike Riley and Connor. He’d become the one Tristan always told the truth to, letting down his guard.
“It feels the same, too,” he admitted.
Quinn gave him a knowing look. “Then you’re still in love with her.” It was a statement, not a question.
Tristan looked at him sideways. His brother was too observant for his own good, but after a moment of feeling trapped, Tristan straightened, looked his brother in the eyes, and proudly admitted, “Yes, I’m still in love with her.”
* * *
Victoria was surprised to find herself crying once she was out of Tristan’s sight. She’d had to pull over for a few minutes to regain her composure long enough to make it home. Blowing him off like that had been hard but something she had to do. There was no way she was letting him back into her heart. He was just going to leave again. He probably wasn’t even staying in town anyway, and if he was, then she wasn’t. She regretted having sex with him. It stirred up old feelings, wonderful feelings, which was the problem. She could never just do it with him. She’d always want more of the man who took her virginity, who taught her what love was, and who took her heart.
And then broke it.
He’d taught her heartbreak, too. And it was a lesson she’d learned well, having never let anyone truly in since. None of the few men she’d dated since had measured up, though she hadn’t meant to make comparisons. A friend once told her that if she dated enough guys, they’d all start to melt into one in her memory, but she doubted that friend had ever been with a man like Tristan.
Victoria might’ve gotten over her old fears about people she loved getting hurt in motorcycle accidents, but that was in no small part because she no longer loved anyone who rode one. Or so she thought until this afternoon. She still wouldn’t be able to watch Tristan race. The thought made her sick even now. Meaning he’d have to choose between her and racing just like before.
The last she’d heard, he’d been off gallivanting around the United States, if not the globe, racking up win after win in sport bike racing. She hadn’t really followed it closely, afraid she’d hear about a fatal wreck involving him. Besides, you can’t get over the man who broke your heart if you’re following his exploits, even if it’s from a thousand miles away. She’d told herself she was over Tristan. She’d believed it, too. Out of sight, out of mind.
When she’d moved back here months ago, she discovered how much she missed the area. The memories of Tristan were here, of course, but so were many others, and time had made those of him fade. Until now.
She parked Tristan’s sport bike behind her house, then entered the single-story yellow home that had belonged to her mother. The house was where she’d had grown up without a father around. There’d been almost no sign of him after his death a decade earlier, like he’d never existed at all, her mother so heartbroken that she’d taken to removing photos of him even as Victoria clung to the very same photos and memories. That had caused a few arguments, as Victoria felt like her mother was erasing her father, but it wasn’t true. Her mother never dated again or even showed interest in other men. Only after hearing her mother weeping at night through the thin walls had Victoria realized her mother grieved differently than she did. She’d let it go, filling her own room with pictures of him.
Victoria seldom went in her own room now, keeping the door closed. It wasn’t the only part of the house she’d avoided after something bad had happened there. Tristan had broken up with her on the front porch. For a while, she’d refused to set foot there as well, always coming in the back, as if to step there on the front porch would somehow trigger a fresh burst of pain.
She went into the master bedroom, which she’d moved into after coming back to Comas to settle her mother’s affairs. Death had come swiftly from a heart attack eight months ago. Victoria was alone now, and something about the sudden, intense connection with Tristan had made that solitude now so pronounced that she couldn’t stand her loneliness anymore. On the spur of the moment, she grabbed a suitcase from the closet, and started throwing clothes into it.
Chapter 4 – A Surprise
By the time Quinn and Tristan pulled up at the big house, Chloe and Connor had arrived to welcome their baby brother home. Tristan forgot his worries at the sight of Chloe running toward him, looking lovelier than ever with her straight, shoulder-length blonde hair swaying with each step. She jumped into his arms as he twirled her around, both of them laughing. He started to get misty with emotion and put her down only to find Connor giving him a hug from behind.
“Little brother!” Connor said, squeezing hard. “Welcome home!”
Tristan turned around and returned the hug. “Oh, my God. I’ve missed you guys! Where’s Kris?”
“Coming later,” answered Chloe, her green eyes bright. She wore tight jeans and a tighter, white sweater that accentuated her voluptuous curves. Men had a strong urge to protect her on sight, for she exuded a sweet innocence that robbed them of their senses. Nothing captures a man faster than a lovely woman who seems completely unaffected by her own beauty.
Connor was the thoughtful romantic Kendall, and had taken after their mother in looks and disposition. He had her kind, brown eyes, deeper than even the richest mocha coffee. Though he and Tristan hadn’t been together much in recent years, he still kept his blonde hair shorter and parted in the middle, unlike Tristan’s long bangs, because people had so often mistaken them for twins. He wasn’t much for change and lived at the family bed-and-breakfast, a home steeped in tradition.
“Are you gonna tell us about this fight you had?” Connor asked.
Tristan shook his head. “No. Already told Quinn. He can fill you in.”
“I’m more interested in that crash you had,” remarked Chloe, touching his arm. “Are you sure you’re not ready to give up this sport? I don’t mean to sound unsupportive, but...”
“I know. But you know I could have an accident like that anywhere
, not just racing.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be going so fast.”
“Don’t be so sure, sis,” Connor said. “How fast were you going up 270?” he asked his brother. Tristan shot him a knowing look and Connor laughed. “Maybe we can have Riley knock some sense into you.”
“Where is he?”
Quinn answered. “He didn’t pick up the phone so he might be hiking up the mountain.”
Tristan nodded and turned to look at Sugarloaf Mountain. The sun was setting behind it so that its huge shadow fell over them and the colonial style house. At only 1200 feet, it was hardly majestic, but it still dominated the otherwise flat landscape. Tristan had seen bigger foothills while touring California or the Alps for road races, but this was his mountain. Like all of the Kendalls, he knew every inch of it.
His eyes darted to an old tree they used to climb beside the house, seeing that only a stump remained. Someone—probably Chloe—had planted a vegetable garden nearby, and the fence around the property had been freshly painted. For a moment, he worried what else might’ve changed, but the two-story house looked the same. A shingled ultramarine roof with dormer windows matched the painted shutters on an otherwise white exterior. A long porch wrapped around from front to back, pillars and a balustrade of white adding elegance. Two porch swings and several rocking chairs swayed gently in the spring breeze.
A detached three-car garage wasn’t enough to hold all the vehicles Quinn and the family owned, so Chloe’s red Infiniti G37 and Connor’s blue BMW 3 series coupe convertible sat on the paved driveway, which ran beyond the house and along a line of trees. Past them, the roof of Sugarloaf Stables peeked out. Farther back from there was the guest house where Riley was currently living.
The siblings went inside, and forty minutes later, they sat at the old-fashioned dining room table, which was covered with nicks, and worn smooth by Kendall hands. Connor had called his bed-and-breakfast to have an employee bring over a meal intended for guests who’d ordered a week ahead and then cancelled at the last minute, after all the food had been prepared. Sweet potatoes, steamed veggies, several racks of ribs, and a bottle of Kendall Riesling sat on the table, along with an apple pie.
Tristan (The Kendall Family #1) Page 3
