Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1)

by P. J. O'Dwyer

  "Oh, sure. My lips are sealed." He patted her knee. "I know you'll figure it out."

  Bren hopped out. The Suburban turned around and headed down the driveway. Glad Paddy had such faith in her abilities. Too bad she didn't. Right now she didn't even want to see Rafe, let alone talk to him. Bren took the steps and rounded the porch, taking the door that led into the kitchen.

  "Where are the boys?" she asked her father.

  "Getting ready for bed. I promised them popcorn, and we're watching Transformers: Revenge of the... something." He twirled a spoon in his hand and grabbed a steaming cup before sitting down at the table. "I've a need for some hot tea. How about you join me, then?"

  Anger always tended to increase her body temperature. "I'll just have water." She grabbed a bottle from the fridge, welcoming the chill of the plastic against her hand. She sat down next to her father.

  "He likes you, you know." Her father stirred his tea. "Men, when they're in..." He cleared his throat. "Like. They act like jackasses." His blue eyes twinkled, and the smile he tried to hide made her uneasy.

  "Well, he can stay a jackass."

  Her father laughed. "You're a hard one, Brenna Maeve Fallon Ryan. I know you're angry with him. But I witnessed the whole ugly affair, sweetheart. The man's hurting. If you care about him, then make it your trouble to find out what's ailing him."

  "I don't."

  He dropped back in his chair. "Now you're telling tales, my girl. I see the way you look at him. You're in... like with him, too."

  The front doorbell rang, and they both jumped.

  He glanced at the clock on the oven. "Almost nine thirty—'tis a bit late for visitors."

  Bren stood, and her father grabbed her hand. "Getting back to our conversation, and no, you're not saved by the bell." His blue eyes, usually full of mischief, hardened. "I know what I see, even if you can't. So don't go wasting your breath denying it, then."

  The doorbell rang again.

  He nodded toward the foyer. "Go on. Get the door."

  His warm fingers released her hand, and Bren rushed to get the door, trying to gather her thoughts. If it was Rafe, she'd more than likely slam the door in his face. He'd caused her quite a lot of trouble tonight. She'd just gotten a talking-to from her father. Somehow she'd reverted back to that teenager. Awkward didn't begin to describe how she felt discussing her love life with her father.

  Bren grabbed the door handle and opened it, prepared to throw him off her porch. But all that bravado dwindled.

  "Hey, what are you guys doing here?"

  Jeremy and Jo stood huddled in winter coats. Jeremy gave her a peculiar look. "Who were you expecting?"

  Not rehashing it. Not with Jeremy and Jo. "No one."

  "Uh-huh." Jeremy craned his head and peeked inside. "Where's Rafe?"

  "He has his own house, remember?"

  Jeremy peered around the corner.

  "I'm not hiding him. He's not here."

  Jo stepped forward with her cane and pushed Bren aside as she entered the house. "I'm too cold to play twenty questions."

  Jeremy followed, and Bren was left holding the door. Frowning, she shut it. "Dad's in the kitchen. Want some hot tea or coffee?"

  Jeremy eyed her. "You're awful testy tonight." He motioned with his hand. "You said Daniel's in the kitchen?" He headed in that direction.

  Jo reached for Bren's hand. "You can tell me later."

  Bren smiled. "Deal."Then, on second thought, she gently held Jo in place. "How's that investigation going?"

  Jo gave her an odd look. "Investi... oh." Her expression changed to one of mutual understanding. "You mean Rafe?"

  "Shh." Bren glanced around. "Yeah. That one."

  Jo frowned. "Don't be mad. I thought with the way things were going you wouldn't want me poking around."

  Bren fell back a step. "Going?"

  Jo gave her a quizzical look. "You know what I'm talking about."

  Bren's cheeks warmed.

  Jo leaned in. "Has something happened I should know about?" she whispered.

  Their first fight.

  Those three words gave her perspective. But he still wasn't forgiven until he explained himself, and she wouldn't be sharing with Jo until she knew herself what was really going on.

  "No. He just made me mad."

  Jo smiled. "Don't they all."

  She remembered not too long ago Jo wasn't feeling too charitable toward Jeremy, either. Bren laced her arm through Jo's. "It was silly. I'm over it." She steered her toward the kitchen. "So what are you two up to?"

  "We're going to the Purple Cow and thought—"

  "That's a dive."

  Jeremy glanced over his shoulder while he prepared a cup of tea. "The last time we went you didn't seem to think so."

  The last time had been a lifetime ago. She'd been with Tom.

  "Why don't you go with them, honey?"

  "Yeah. Call Rafe, and we'll make it a foursome," Jeremy said.

  "That be a sore spot," her father added.

  "Dad." She gave him the evil eye.

  "Oops." Her father stared down into his tea cup.

  Jeremy looked from her father to Bren. "What's up with you and Rafe?"

  "Tonight he's a jerk. Let's leave it at that." Bren glanced at the ceiling above and the bedrooms beyond. "You'll be all right with the boys?"

  "Popcorn and a movie. We'll be fine. Go with Jeremy and Jo and try not to think about, you know."

  He made it sound like she had an incurable disease. God save her from herself. She was freaking lovesick over her stupid cowboy. She nodded toward Jeremy. "You buying?"

  He laughed. "You coming. I'm buying."

  Bren didn't bother changing. Jeans and a sweater and her leather jacket, she was good to go. The three of them climbed into Jo's Tahoe, and they arrived in no time. The Purple Cow on Main Street was sandwiched between the drugstore and barber shop. An obnoxious, brightly lit purple cow, its legs made to look like they were dancing, greeted them high above the entrance.

  Jeremy paid the cover charge, and they stepped inside. A Garth Brooks tune filled the bar. Just like the sign outside, the inside decor was purple. Tiny purple lights twinkled in the ceiling. Round tables were stuffed around a dance floor, the band on a small stage in front and a pool table to the left with pinball machines shoved against the wall. She'd called it right: It was a dive, but a friendly one. All the locals hung out here, effectively making it a neighborly kind of place.

  Jeremy squeezed through the crowd, greeting those he knew, which, because he was the equine vet in western Maryland horse country, numbered many. He motioned Jo and Bren forward when he found a table.

  They took their seats, and Bren relaxed, glad to be sitting in the dark.

  A pretty waitress made her way to them. "I'll have whatever's on tap," Jeremy said. "Wine or beer, Jo?"

  "White wine."

  Jeremy nodded. "Bren?"

  "Miller Lite."

  Bren took a sip of her beer when the waitress set it down. Jeremy started a tab and scooted his chair in. "What do you think of the band?"

  One of the lead singers, a woman dressed in jeans and a sparkly silver top, began to sing Gretchen Wilson's "Redneck Woman." Bren nodded.

  "She's good," Jo said.

  "Daniel said you guys went to Paddy's for dinner. How's he doing?" Jeremy asked.

  So he was going to make her stretch her vocal cords. "Fine."

  "Heard Rafe left early."

  "Yep." She took a sip of her beer.

  Jo patted her knee. "How are the horses doing? Jeremy told me about the one that didn't make it." Jo was her best bud, steering the conversation away from a subject she didn't care to continue.

  "They're good." She lifted her beer bottle and tilted it toward Jeremy. "Thanks to your husband."

  Jeremy frowned. "I'm just sorry about the mare."

  Bren leaned in. "It couldn't be helped." That's why Bren enjoyed her job working with Jeremy. He truly cared about the horses. He had p
referred to give that mare a lethal injection—not a bullet to the head. But he wasn't prepared. None of them were.

  "You hear anymore about Wes?" Jeremy asked.

  She was under strict orders not to discuss Wes. She'd been glad she'd been asleep when Rafe had called Kevin after the break-in.

  Bren shook her head.

  The band took a break, and the sound system piped in a slow song by Carrie Underwood. Jeremy stood. "Jo, can I have this dance?"

  Jo glanced at her cane resting over the back of her chair.

  Jeremy knelt in front of her. "You don't need it, sweetheart."

  "You be all right while we're gone?" Jo asked Bren.

  "Of course. You two go. I'll be fine."

  Jeremy scooped Jo up in his arms and whisked her away.

  She loved her friends. She should be grateful they invited her to tag along. What was she going to do at home? Sulk. Bren took the last sip of her beer and decided to order another at the bar.

  "Bren Ryan. It's been a long time. How have you been, sweetheart?" Elsie Morton, longtime resident of Clear Spring, with her silver-platinum 1950s updo, cleared the bar and gave her a hug. She stood back. "You look good. How are Daniel and the boys?"

  Bren tried to connect Elsie with the Purple Cow. "You moonlighting a second job?"

  Elsie patted her arm and came back around the bar. "No. Bob let me go. Business is down. When... if," she amended, wagging a finger, "business picks up, I'll be back slinging hash. But for now it pays the bills."

  A waitress slid in behind the bar. "Sorry, Else, I need one gin and tonic and ice water."

  "No problem." Elsie dumped ice in a glass and filled it with the hose from the bar. She glanced up at Bren as she threw a lime in a glass and mixed the drink. "What can I get you, sweetheart?"

  "Oh. Ah, Miller Lite."

  Elsie grabbed one from below the bar and twisted off the cap and handed it to her. "Put it on Jeremy's tab?"

  "Yes."

  Elsie turned away to take additional orders at the bar, and Bren drank her beer. Tonight, she sucked as company. The thought of calling a cab to take her home was tempting. She angled her stool. Jeremy and Jo were still dancing. She missed not having that special someone.

  "Hey, doll face."

  A hand pulled back on Bren's hair. The instant cool air on her neck disappeared when wet lips touched the side of her throat. Bren spun around. "Get your—"

  For whatever reason, she expected to be looking into the eyes of Donovan Skidmore. Only she'd missed the mocking drawl when he'd surprised her. "I expected you'd be halfway to Texas by now."

  "Nope. This is my home now." Rafe's speech was definitely slurred.

  Bren stood up. "I'm with friends. So if you'll excuse me."

  Rafe made a wide sweep of his hand, tipping his beer up. "Don't let me hold you up."

  Bren ignored him and started to walk away.

  "Rafe, buddy. How've you been?" Jeremy gave Rafe a hard shake of his hand. "We're sitting up front. See Jo?" Jeremy turned and waved toward his wife. Jo caught the signal and waved back. "We've got room for one more."

  Bren stiffened. No way in hell would she be subjected to sitting next to Rafe and pretending everything was peachy. "He's leaving."

  Rafe's lips tipped up into a smile. "Changed my mind." He put a hardy but drunk arm around Jeremy's shoulder. "Lead the way."

  Bren decided to follow and retrieve her jacket and purse. She'd spring for the cab.

  When they got to the table, Rafe pulled out a chair. "Ladies first." He grinned at her.

  She beaded in on him, grabbed her things. "I'm calling it a night."

  "Bren?" Jo's voice brought her around. Bren frowned. "I'm really tired. I'm going to grab a cab."

  "We'll take you home," Jeremy said.

  "No, you two are having a good time. I don't want to spoil your night."

  "She's right. I'll take her home." Rafe's long fingers stroked her hair, and Bren pulled away.

  "Don't touch me."

  Rafe pulled his hand back as if he'd been stung. "Relax, Red."

  "Stop calling me that."

  A couple walked by, the man brushing up against Rafe. Rafe stumbled forward. "Hey, partner, watch who you're pushing."

  The man made a dirty face and kept moving.

  "Did you hear what I said?" Rafe yelled over the music.

  Bren reached for him, snagging the collar of his black suede jacket and yanked him down to eye level. "Cowboy, this is Maryland, not Texas. We don't have bar fights."

  He blinked at her. "You're cute when you're mad."

  She pushed him away. "And you're an ass when you're drunk."

  And that was the problem. He was drunk. And he would drive home. Maybe wrapping himself around a tree would drill some sense into his obstinate cowboy brain.

  Bren stepped forward and dug her hands into the pockets of his black suede blazer.

  "Hey, Red."

  She took an irritated breath through her nose and ignored him and stuffed her hand into the front pocket of his jeans.

  A sly grin creased the rough, dark planes of his cheeks. "You're turning me on."

  Bren groaned and shoved her hand in the other front pocket of his jeans. Damn it,where'd he hide his keys? Rafe, tall and lean and inebriated, was easy to manhandle. She spun him around with little effort. He teetered, and she grabbed his jacket, her fingers sliding into the back pocket of his jeans. She smiled when her fingers hit the warm metal. Yanking the keys from his pocket, she took him by the arm and directed him toward the door. She called back to Jeremy and Jo. "I've got my ride." She slung her coat over her arm and her purse over her shoulder.

  The two laughed and waved her off.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They cleared the front door, the cold air a relief from the heat of the bar. "Where's your truck?"

  He grabbed for his keys, and she pulled her hand away. "In your dreams, cowboy."

  Bren searched the parking lot. Finding Rafe's black pickup in the far corner, she pulled him with her. He tripped and then found his footing. Bren rolled her lips in, trying not to smile. "Let's go. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can climb into bed."

  "Count me in." Rafe picked up his step.

  This time Bren did laugh. "Not with you. I'm putting your drunken ass to bed. Your bed. Your house. Alone."

  He frowned at her. "Party pooper."

  She wouldn't waste her breath. Instead, she moved her hand down and clasped his, tugging him like the defiant little boy he was. She leaned him against the truck and unlocked the passenger door. "Get in."

  He teetered, grabbed the door frame, and climbed in.

  After shutting the door, she went around to the driver's side and got in, dropping her purse and jacket in the back seat. She glared at him. His legs spread wide, his butt on the edge of the seat. "Sit back so I can buckle your seatbelt."

  He slid back, and she reached across him.

  Big mistake.

  His arms came around her, and he flipped her onto his lap and nuzzled the side of her face. "Don't waste your time on me, darlin'."

  She pulled her face away from him. "Trust me. I'm not. I need a ride home."

  His grip on her waist loosened, and she moved off his lap. She motioned to the seatbelt. "Buckle up. Or you're paying the fine if I get pulled over."

  He reached for the seatbelt and snapped it into place and didn't say another word.

  Bren started the truck and put it in Drive. Chewing on her bottom lip, she welcomed the silence. Leaving Main Street behind her, the road opened up. Pine trees a blur on either side of her, she pushed the truck to sixty. Grace's sign came into view, and she made the left into the driveway. She passed her house and kept to the gravel road leading to Rafe's. She glanced over at him. He was awake, his dark head leaning against the passenger window while he stared out.

  What the hell was his problem? He could have been killed. The pang of loss made her clench the steering wheel. Then she got mad. Tem
pted to ram his front steps, she turned the truck hard, stirring up dust, and slammed on the brakes.

  Rafe sat up. "What the—"

  She reached over and slugged him in the arm. "You're an asshole. I've told you everything there is to know about me. Tom's death just about killed me. I hate you for making me feel anything for you." The tears burned her eyes, and she blinked, and they rolled hot down her cheeks. "Damn you!" She wiped at her face. "Now I'm crying over you."

  Rafe unsnapped his seatbelt and slid across. He put his arm along the seatback, his thumb rubbing away the tears from her wet face. "Don't cry, Red." He moved closer. "I'm an asshole. I admit it." Long, clumsy fingers reached out and stroked her hair. "Tell me, darlin', how I can make it up to you?" He slurred his words.

  That drawl, still irresistible and even more pronounced with alcohol, had Bren willing to give him a chance to make it right.

  A blubbery mess, she sniffed and wiped her face. "I want the truth. What's going on with you tonight? What the hell happened at Paddy's house?"

  His jaw tensed, and his fingers, still twining through her hair, stopped and fell away. Eyes intent on her face, only seconds before, dropped to his hands. He gave a nervous laugh. "There's nothing to tell."

  Bren grabbed the door handle. Whatever he could have said—the truth—couldn't have been more hurtful than the lie that slipped from his lips. If he couldn't trust her, if he believed her gullible enough, or was it more of an acceptance on her part that only snippets of his life—the parts he chose to share—were up for discussion, then he was wasting her time. Her eyes flared with warning. "I was ready to give you my heart. All of it, you stupid cowboy," she said through gritted teeth. "Bury Tom once and for all. You saved me a lot of heartache. Unlike Tom, you are a liar. Why, I thought you even measured up to him." Her voice cracked.

  Rafe visibly winced; his hand resting on her thigh tightened. "You're right, Red." He moved closer, pressing her hard up against the door. His eyes, hard glints in the dark, bore into her. "I'm not Tom, and I'm weary as hell trying to compete." His hand shot up and pulled her face to his. "I'm here, not Tom," he said, his voice rough with anger. "All I've ever wanted, I could never have." His voice became reflective. "How do you choose a favorite? How can you choose one without knowing the other?" He shook his head in disgust. "Tom was the golden boy. He was a keeper, but not me."