Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1)

by P. J. O'Dwyer

  It was a damn fire, all right. A frickin' bonfire. From his estimation, there were at least a dozen people either standing next to the blaze or sitting on logs they'd rolled from the woods. Rafe grabbed his rifle, loading a round of ammunition as he stepped out. He crept toward the group, the rap music filtering through the dry, cold air. Damn it. He wouldn't need his gun, which was a damn shame.

  Guns he could handle—teenagers not so much.

  Hell, it wasn't even his kid. But he'd picked the wrong field. Aiden's stupidity was going to get him an up close and personal ass-chewing, neighbor or not. Rafe continued toward the group, his intended target the boom box sitting on the tailgate of an old, beat-up Ford pickup, white just like Daniel Fallon's.

  Two strikes.

  The shrieks of laughter and chatter kept Rafe's approach hidden. Standing next to the pickup, he punched the stereo off.

  The group's rapid movements slowed, then they froze. "Shit!" one of the boys yelled. Then they all started toward the woods.

  Rafe stepped forward. "Nobody move." He put his foot on a large cooler and rocked it with his foot. Somehow he didn't think he'd find grape Nehi inside. A tall, long-haired blond boy crept back into the shadows. "Hold up," Rafe commanded. "Get back where I can see you."

  The boy stiffened and stepped back toward the group that had congregated next to the fire.

  "Take a seat."

  Their bodies were jerky and unsure. They stared at one another. "On the ground."

  Their butts touched the dirt in unison.

  Rafe's foot rocked the cooler again. "Give me one good reason not to call your parents."

  He didn't need to waste his time opening the cooler. Their shocked faces in the firelight confirmed his suspicions. Rafe took a headcount. There were nine in all—five boys and four girls. He guessed their ages to be fifteen, maybe sixteen .One thing he knew for sure—Aiden wasn't old enough to drive. But this was private property. Most teens who lived on a farm drove as early as ten. He'd been driving the ranch when he was eleven. But Aiden had forgotten one thing—this was his land now. Not that he gave a damn about the boy driving on his land—and he'd tell him that, when he was alone with him.

  He liked Aiden. Understood the boy. Losing a father at a point in his life when he needed a steady hand could cause a boy to push back in rebellion. Being publicly embarrassed would be the ultimate punishment, but that wasn't Rafe's intention.

  Aiden knew who he was and was most assuredly shitting bricks—that was enough for Rafe. "Who drove the truck?"

  Rafe waited, wondering what type of boy Tom Ryan had raised.

  "I did." Aiden stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. His head swung, and for an instant Rafe caught sight of his eyes narrowing in on him.

  "Grab two of your buddies, and haul this cooler out of here."

  "You gonna let us keep it?" one boy piped up.

  "You wanna tell me who bought it?"

  His mouth clamped shut.

  "Load it up, and dump the beer in the woods. I want the empty containers left in the cooler." Kids were slick. They had heavy coats and deep pockets. If he let them go. And that was a big if, until he did a few sobriety tests of his own. He wanted to make damn sure when he dropped them home they weren't packing a roadie to finish in the back of his truck, and with nine including Aiden, that was the best he could do as a chauffeur. But first the forest fire Aiden and his friend had set needed to be extinguished, along with returning Daniel's truck.

  Two hours later, Rafe dropped the last one off—a petite blonde Aiden had been stealing glances at while they rode in the backseat. She hopped out. "Thanks, Mr. Langston." She glanced nervously toward her house. "For not telling my parents."

  Rafe nodded. "Go on. We'll wait till you get in."

  "Bye, Aiden. See ya Monday."

  "Later." Aiden pushed back into the seat and shut the door.

  "Up front."

  Aiden moaned. "Why?"

  "We need to talk."

  Aiden came around to the passenger door and got in. He slumped against the door and crossed his arms.

  Rafe put the truck in Drive and headed back toward Grace. "Your grandfather know you used his truck?"

  "I can drive on the farm."

  "How'd the others get there?"

  "They got rides."

  "And the beer?" Silence.

  "You know it's against the law to drink and drive? Not to mention you're underage."

  Aiden only shrugged. "I didn't even get a chance to take a sip."

  Rafe pulled off the road and slammed the truck into Park. He reached over and clamped a hand on Aiden's shoulder. "You think it's a game? You think your mom would think it's funny?"

  Aiden's head swung, and he met Rafe's gaze with belligerent, glistening eyes. "She's a liar." He dropped back in the seat. "I saw you bring her home last night, not Aunt Jo."

  Shit.

  "You screwing my mom?"

  Rafe's hand fell away, and he clenched the steering wheel. "Don't talk about your mother like that."

  "What's it matter?"

  "Cut her some slack, Aiden. She's been through—"

  "Yeah, right."

  Rafe slumped against the window. "I brought your mother home last night. I ran into her in town and gave her a ride."

  "How come you were coming from your house?"

  Damn it. The kid had X-ray vision.

  "I forgot something."

  "Your shirt. She was wearing that, too."

  "Aiden, your mother was cold."

  "That's so lame."

  There was no way of salvaging this conversation. He couldn't tell Aiden the truth. "How do you feel about me seeing your mom?"

  His eyes drilled into Rafe. "You her boyfriend now?"

  How in the hell had this gone to shit so fast? "I like your mom. If I wanted to date her, I'd want to know you're okay with it."

  Aiden shrugged. "She can do what she wants."

  "That's not what I'm asking."

  "I thought you said you'd be coming around anyway."

  He'd forgotten about Roscoe. Aiden wanted to play the tough guy, but what he really needed he'd lost forever. "I've been busy settling in. But my calendar's free. How about Sunday I come by and teach you and Roscoe how to track?"

  Rafe pulled up to the house. Daniel's truck sat strategically parked where Aiden had found it before his joyride, but at close to eight o'clock and well past dinner, Bren's truck was missing. "I'll see you in." Rafe popped his door open.

  Aiden nodded and glanced up through the swath of hair hanging across one eye. He grabbed the door handle and hesitated. "I think she likes you, too," he said in a quiet voice before hopping down.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bren sagged as she trudged up the back steps. It was close to eight thirty. She was cold and hungry. She'd missed dinner after Jeremy called with an emergency. But the horse would survive, and that made her smile. She stepped into the kitchen. "Dad?"

  "We held dinner for you."

  "You didn't—"

  "I gave Finn a snack, and Aiden and Rafe just came in."

  "Together?"

  Roscoe padded into the kitchen with his droopy ears and sad face. Bren reached out and gave him a pat. "Hey, boy."

  Her father nodded at the dog. "They were out in the barn getting supplies ready for Sunday to teach Roscoe to track."

  "Rafe's still here?"

  He nodded back toward the family room. "In with Finn. They're playing checkers." He stirred the skillet, and the aroma of homemade chili thickened the air. "Why don't you wash up? Supper will be ready in twenty minutes."

  She kissed her father's rosy cheek. "Thanks. I'm starving."

  Bren peeked into the family room, and her heart warmed. Rafe was on his side on the floor, his long, muscled legs clad in faded jeans. But it was the boyish grin lining his face that drew her to him as he contemplated his next move. Finn sat poised with his counter. Aiden sat in the recliner, his face aglow with his laptop—Faceboo
k, another creation she could live without.

  Finn slapped his cheeks with both hands and then squeezed them, his lips resembling a goldfish as Rafe jumped several of his checkers.

  "King me," Rafe said.

  "You beat me," Finn whined.

  "Remind me next time to teach you my secret." He tousled Finn's fair head, stood up, and stretched. He smiled at her, and she went all gooey inside.

  "Hi, Mom." Finn beamed up at her.

  "Hi, sweetie." Then to Rafe, "Hey."

  He grinned and started toward her. "Okay if I stay for dinner?"He glanced back at Aiden, who watched them over his computer screen, before giving her his full attention. "We need to talk."

  He brushed her arm with his long fingers and slid his hand down to hers and held it.

  Bren blushed. "What are you—"

  "Outside." He pulled her toward the front door.

  She tried to pull her hand away. Aiden and Finn were watching them intently. Bren peered over her shoulder at her boys before Rafe tugged her around the corner wall. "You two need to wash up," she called back to them. "Dinner's almost ready."

  Rafe opened the door and then held the screen door for her, her hand tightly clamped in his.

  "Let—" She snapped her mouth shut when the boys came charging by to use the bathroom. She stepped out onto the porch, yanked her hand away, and wrapped her arms around herself. "What the hell's wrong with you? You're going to give them the wrong impression."

  "Too late." Rafe leaned along the railing.

  Bren moved toward him and narrowed in. "What are you talking about?"

  "Aiden saw me bring you home last night."

  "So?"

  "You were wearing my shirt."

  "Oh." Bren dropped into the rocking chair in front of him. "That's bad."

  "Yep."

  She leaned over and peered up at him. "What'd you tell him?"

  "I sure as hell couldn't tell him the truth." Those green eyes twinkled, and he gave her a wicked smile.

  Bren stood up and moved toward him, outrage quickly tempting her tongue. "You didn't?"

  Rafe shrugged and grabbed her hand.

  She wanted to do as she'd done before, but the warmth of his hand and that damn thumb of his brushing her knuckles made it hard to concentrate.

  "Don't be mad, doll face."

  Bren ripped her hand from his grasp. "Stop calling me that."

  "Makes you mad," he said.

  Rafe enjoyed setting her off. In some twisted way, he liked looking for reasons to spar with her.

  "Tell me what I need to know."

  "I'm officially your boyfriend."

  Bren's hand flew to her mouth, and she began to laugh. "Seriously. Rafe Langston couldn't come up with a better lie?"

  "He caught me off guard."

  "How do you propose we go about dating?"

  "Look, just be nice to me. Sit down next to me at dinner."

  She could do that. But she wasn't holding his hand. Or... She tingled inside again when she thought back to last night when he was getting ready to kiss her. "We're not—"

  "Hell no. I like blondes. Remember?"

  Bren raised her hand to punch him.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her close. "Be nice, darlin'. This is a good thing. You want to stake out Connelly's place. You're not going without me. Now we have an excuse why we're spending time together."

  He had her within inches of him. His arm slipping around her waist, he leaned in against her ear and whispered, "They're watching."

  Bren stiffened.

  "You need to do a better job fooling your boys, otherwise Aiden's going to question what's really going on with his mother."

  Bren cautiously threaded her arms around Rafe's neck and whispered back in his ear, "Get cute, and I'll nail you where it counts."

  The roughened stubble along his jaw rubbed up against her cheek. "I'm countin' on it, darlin'."

  That Texas drawl had her legs wanting to fold like an unsteady card table. She only hoped their little charade wouldn't topple like a house of cards, because the longer she allowed herself to be tangled up with this cattle rancher who had decided Bren Ryan was his charity case, the more she was beginning to like having him around.

  And that couldn't happen.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bren had fretted all week about tonight. Most of all, she wanted to nail Wes. But the other part of her—the soft, emotional woman part—regretted the guise of a date to get her out past midnight without raising suspicion.

  She didn't like lying to her family. Her boys liked Rafe. Giving them the impression Rafe could become a permanent presence added another layer of difficulty when it came time to reverting back to just neighbors.

  Rafe tucked her inside the passenger side of his black pickup. His hand brushing her knee before he shut the door made her catch her breath. But then she inhaled, and the woodsy scent of his aftershave lingering inside the cab had her question what the hell she was doing.

  This isn't real.

  But the man was, and he'd fallen into his part with ease as he sat down next to her, his arm resting casually along the back of her headrest. "Where to, darlin'?"

  He'd trimmed his hair since she'd last seen him and was neatly put together in a brown corduroy blazer, crisp, white button-down shirt, and new jeans. She could almost be tricked into believing he'd done it all for her.

  "You don't have to take me to dinner." Bren waved at her father and the boys on the front porch step and placed her leather jacket in the back seat. "They bought it."

  "You're my girl." He smiled easily and put his truck in Drive.

  The words made her stomach dip. Did he even have a clue how those three words he so casually tossed off his lips affected her? "Stop being cute. Remember where cute will get you."

  He winced. "I forgot you have a mean streak." When he stopped at the end of Grace's driveway, their gazes connected. Those damn green eyes lingered on her face. "You look real nice."

  "Keep your eyes on the road, cowboy." She nodded toward the windshield, stifling a chuckle. If he only knew how many outfits she'd cast aside before she settled on her brown suede skirt and cream-colored off-the-shoulder sweater! But knowing she'd be dealing with Wes later, she'd given up her heels for tonight and coordinated her outfit with a pair of brown flat-bottom suede boots. He'd probably approve of her sensibility.

  "Yes, ma'am." He stopped smiling and concentrated on driving. "I'm serious about dinner. I'm starving."

  "So what do cowboys eat?"

  He gave her a sideways glance. "You're a smart girl."

  "There's a Longhorn Steakhouse in Hagerstown."

  "We have time for that?"

  Oh yeah. There was no way she'd step foot in the local grill tucked off Main Street toting lover boy. "They're not meeting until two in the morning." She glanced at the dashboard clock. "It's only eight thirty." She cocked her head. "Why did you insist on coming so early?"

  "How would it look if I picked you up at midnight?"

  She relaxed against the seat, his point taken. "Take 70. It's thirty minutes from here."

  Rafe guided her toward their booth, his hand warm and low against her back. He took the seat across from her.

  Bren leaned over the table. "No one knows us here. You can stop with the touchy-feely stuff."

  Rafe raised his hands. "Whoa, doll face. I'm just playing my part."

  "Not funny," she said through clenched teeth.

  The manager came by and placed two glasses of ice water on their table. "Your waitress will be with you in a minute." He placed two menus down and walked away.

  "Loosen up. I was only kidding."

  All fun and games for Mr. Langston. But tonight was way too important for kidding around. "Why don't you just figure out what you want to eat and stop trying to be my date. Okay?"

  The humor on his face faded, and he grabbed for the menu and buried his head behind it.

  Bren sipped her water. She couldn't think of e
ating. She had her friends at animal control on red alert for tonight. Law enforcement—her law enforcement—was still in the dark, until she actually needed him. If Kevin knew, she wouldn't have gotten this far.

  She toyed with the menu and decided on a house salad and took another sip of water.

  A tall blonde waitress approached their table. "Hi, my name's Belinda, and I'll be your server."

  Bren choked on her water, and Rafe smiled over his menu. "You ready, honey?"

  Rafe slid inside his truck and started the engine.

  Bren snuggled into the collar of her leather jacket and dusted the snowflakes still perfectly formed on her skirt.

  "You'll be warm in a minute."

  She blew into her hands. "I forgot my gloves."

  Those small but capable hands he'd acquainted himself with dropped into her lap. He could think of some inventive ways to warm her fingers. Instead, he concentrated on the road. "It's only eleven. What's the plan?"

  "Sit and wait. They might show up early."

  Sitting in the dark with Bren—now he was sorry he'd bought a used truck with a bench seat. There was nothing to stop him from sliding her pretty little ass next to him, except the temptation to do more than talk. Blocking those thoughts, Rafe headed up 70 and took the exit for Clear Spring.

  "How much farther?"

  "Right up the road. We can park at the Clear Spring Horsemen's Club. It sits across from the front entrance of Sweet Creek Stables."

  "He come up with that name all by himself?"

  Bren laughed. "A contradiction. Right. Makes me want to spray paint his work of art."

  They came up on Wes's creation—a large sign pinned between two stone pillars, lit by landscape lights. The meandering creek on the image, hand painted in pale blue, sparkled with iridescent splendor. The stream's grassy bank included clumps of cattails. Serene. The urge to ram it with his pickup made Rafe clench the steering wheel. But he smiled to himself. "It's still early yet." He glanced over at Bren. "How good are you at keeping secrets?"

  She cocked her head with disbelief. "I'm pretending to be your girlfriend. Remember?"

  Her wide-eyed accusation stung. There was no way in hell he could forget a thing like that. The problem was he was finding it hard to pretend. "How could I forget?" He reached over and squeezed her bare leg just above the curve of her knee.