Love Under Two Adventurers [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  She rested her forehead against his. “I’ve been in love with you—with the memory of you—forever. But I think I need to see. I need to know if I love the man you are now, or if I’m only still in love with a fantasy. And I need to know if I could come to love the man you love. I won’t settle, Greg. I won’t settle for anything but everything. I’d rather be alone than settle.”

  “All right, baby.” Her words hurt, but really, hadn’t he been afraid that she would just simply say no and walk away? She was being more generous than he deserved. As long as she was willing, they had a chance.

  He would not let this chance elude him. “I think that the best way for us to do that is to stay here, together. Get to know each other, together. Don’t you think?”

  She lay against him for a long moment, and he wondered if maybe she’d fallen asleep. Then, she said, “Yes. We’ll stay here and get to know each other, together.”

  Greg had been as conciliatory as he needed to be to win Rebecca’s cooperation. But he already knew the truth and he finally allowed himself to acknowledge it.

  Rebecca Jessop was his. Cody Harper was his. And by God, he’d do anything, anything, to keep them.

  Chapter 4

  Rebecca hadn’t slept well, but that really was nothing new. She was used to being tired, used to being a restless soul.

  The morning sun would eclipse the great room’s windows soon, and she’d only begun to apply some color to her canvas.

  Her gaze flicked to the side, a quick look to verify what she knew. The bedroom door across the hall from her own hadn’t opened yet this morning. She hadn’t really expected either of the men to be up very early anyway. Everything was fine with them. They were just getting the rest they needed. She would not worry about them.

  Rebecca had heard a shout as she’d lain in bed, a plaintive kind of noise that had sounded muffled, yet frightened. She’d been up and standing at the door to Greg and Cody’s room in a heartbeat. She hadn’t gone in, but she had listened—shamelessly—with her ear gently pressed to the wood of the door.

  “Shh, it’s okay, babe. I’m here with you. You’re safe. Wake up now, Cody.”

  “What…oh. Sorry. Goddamn it, Greg, I—”

  “Enough of that. Next time maybe I’ll wake you with my nightmares. Go back to sleep, now, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t let go of me.”

  “I won’t.”

  Rebecca made a note to let Jake Kendall know the rooms here weren’t as soundproof as they should be. She didn’t feel guilty, having listened in. She’d only wanted to ensure that everything was all right with Cody.

  She’d heard that some people who suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder could have violent nightmares, or react severely to sudden sounds, or crowds. How seriously was Cody suffering from the malady? Had he seen a psychologist? She thought maybe the answer to that last question was “no.”

  She wouldn’t interfere, or try to push her opinion on him. Men were strange creatures, often refusing to admit to their weaknesses, or their failings.

  Rebecca had plenty of both. She didn’t see how, being human, she could have avoided collecting them.

  She turned her attention back to the canvas, and the image she was attempting to create, from memory. And she thanked whatever fates there were that it was this subject that had captured her attention for the last few days, and not the other one she’d found herself painting a lot, lately—Greg. She was also very glad she’d hidden Forever Lovers in her closet.

  She used a white pigment first, into which she blended just the barest hint of blue, because when she thought of this person, the color white came to mind—but not a vapid white. In western cultures, white signified purity, and oddly, that quality also belonged to her subject.

  She imagined many would disagree, but then her definition of purity was the one that counted, as she was the artist.

  The work caught her, and she let herself fall into it, let the subject on the canvas reveal herself to her, brush stroke by brush stroke. A person was made up of myriad moods and facets, angles and shades, the whole changing from time to time, and dependant—always so dependant—on the perception of the observer.

  Her style—impressionism—lent itself, in her opinion, to many other styles. Rebecca had been classically trained, of course. She’d even spent a year in Europe, surrounded by some of the greatest art ever created.

  But in the end she painted what she felt, and often surprised herself in the doing. Those were the moments she loved best, when she stepped back from her work, especially if the subject was a familiar one, and saw something new, some aspect she’d never noticed before.

  She stepped back now and felt her mouth slide into a smile.

  “Christ, she zones out just like you do.”

  Rebecca started, and then looked over to her left. Greg and Cody bracketed the entrance to the corridor leading to the bedrooms, both men leaning against the wall. She guessed they’d been there for a while, based on Greg’s very accurate comment.

  She’d recognized Cody’s name the first time she’d heard it. She’d bought his book, Aftermath, and found his photographs stunning in their edginess and enlightening in their honesty.

  Just then she noticed she’d lost the sun, and that her shoulders felt stiff.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I was about to check to see if y’all were alive, or not.”

  “Sure you were, right after you came out of your trance,” Greg said. Then he nodded toward her canvas. “Can we look?”

  She appreciated that he’d asked. She mostly didn’t mind, depending. But she knew some artists who hated to have anyone look at their incomplete work.

  “Sure. I’ve only been at this one a couple of days. There’s not a lot filled in yet.”

  The two of them approached together. They ranged themselves behind her, one by each shoulder.

  “Oh, now she’s a sweetheart,” Cody said. “Who is she?”

  “Grandma Kate.” Greg’s tone had softened. Rebecca heard a wealth of love in his voice. Then, “Is she still in town?”

  “She is, indeed.” Rebecca grinned. “And she’s been a very busy woman.”

  “I heard she was the one who set up the triplets with Maggie,” Greg said. “I have to say, Maggie Morrison was an excellent choice for the three of them.”

  “And she brought your sister back together with her Navy SEALs,” Rebecca said, and then, because he hadn’t mentioned it at all the night before, she added, “Uncle Greg.”

  “Shit! Julia’s had her baby? When?”

  “I told you to keep that cell phone charged last week,” Cody admonished.

  “Once you were out of the hospital I didn’t need to because I never left you. Come on, Becca, spill it. When did Jules have her baby? And is it a boy, or a girl?”

  “She went into labor at Grant and Andrew’s engagement party—at the same time that Tracy did, by the way.”

  Greg laughed. “Hell, you had to figure,” Greg shook his head. Then to Cody he said, “Tracy is our cousin, but the two of them always called each other ‘sister.’ Okay, the rest of it? Boy or girl?”

  “Both,” Rebecca said. “You have two nephews, Darien and William, and a niece, Madison. Mother and babes are fine. The daddies, however, are not so fine. I think Dev and Drew had a minor nervous breakdown during delivery.”

  “My God. Triplets, and mixed, too!”

  “It would seem multiple births run in your family,” Cody said.

  “They sure as hell do. In all of the families,” Greg agreed. “I can imagine my brothers-in-law might have felt a bit overwhelmed if they came from small families.”

  “I think they’re ‘onlys,’ both of them. Apparently they thought there were only going to be two babies. Julia suspected triplets, but kept that to herself.”

  “Still a troublemaker,” Greg said.

  Just then a sound, discordant and sudden, spilled in
to the silence. Greg’s hand moved to his stomach and Rebecca laughed. “Someone’s hungry. I’ll cook breakfast—this time.”

  “I’m starving,” Greg and Cody said at the same time. Then they looked at each other and grinned.

  Rebecca knew she wouldn’t get any more painting done for the day, anyway. But she could begin her newest, most important mission ever—getting to know both Greg and Cody.

  “Follow me to the kitchen, please, and prepare to be amazed.”

  * * * *

  Greg put a pot of coffee on to brew while Rebecca busied herself at the stove. Cody refused to be idle, and set about looking for the things he’d need to set the table.

  “Cody, do you like hot sauce on your eggs?”

  “No, sorry. Is that a strike against me? Because I have to tell you I have many other, very fine qualities to compensate for that sad lack.”

  When Rebecca turned to look at him, he wiggled his eyebrows, suggestively.

  Greg watched the two people he loved interacting. The vibes felt right. She has the prettiest smile. He settled in to be an observer, at least for a few moments.

  “I don’t think it’s a strike, but there are some in the families who would be scandalized. So perhaps for the time being, we should just keep that little thing to ourselves.”

  “So noted.” He wandered out of the kitchen and was back moments later with a small, decorative vase that had been on a shelf in the great room. Made of fine china, the ornament held what appeared to be bluebells in various stages of bloom. Cody set the figurine at the center of the kitchen table. “There.” He nodded and then sat down.

  “Now that’s a nice touch.” Rebecca turned her attention back to the stove.

  Greg brought the coffee to the table, and placed cream and sugar there, as well. Before long they were sitting down to a nicely prepared breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast.

  “Given more time, I could make biscuits and sausage gravy,” Rebecca said.

  “I’ll make you some French toast tomorrow,” Cody said. “You haven’t had breakfast until I make you my signature French toast.”

  Greg said, “I can testify, it is damn good.” Then he smiled. “Y’all both know I’m not much of a hand in the kitchen. I can grill steaks and chops, and given the right equipment I can smoke a ham or a brisket. But that’s about it.”

  “You don’t need to feel inadequate, lover,” Cody said. “You have some other fine qualities, too.” And damned if he didn’t give Rebecca that same teasingly lascivious look as he had a few minutes ago.

  “Hey! You have many fine qualities, and I only have some?”

  “These are the best eggs I’ve had in a long time,” Cody said.

  Rebecca laughed at their banter, and Greg sensed that she’d finally relaxed. He suspected that she’d been a little unnerved to look up from her work and realize they’d been watching her for a while.

  “I may not be much of a cook, but I have been told that I have a first-class mind,” Greg said.

  “That’s kind of hard to argue,” Rebecca said, “since you graduated from college at the age of twenty-two with two degrees.”

  “You do seem to have a talent for logical thinking and problem solving,” Cody said.

  “I do. For example, when I see something out of place, or that doesn’t make sense, I can logically deduce that there’s a problem.”

  Cody frowned. Greg knew the man wasn’t following his line of reasoning, but knew him well enough to sense a trap. “I suppose that could be a logical assumption.”

  “It’s never good to make assumptions,” Rebecca said. “Because you could always be missing a pertinent piece of the puzzle. Remember, logical premises can lead to an invalid conclusion.”

  Bless her heart, she has no idea that she just gave me the perfect opening.

  “You’re absolutely right, baby. It is always best to ask.” He sat back from his plate and picked up his coffee cup. He met her gaze and asked, “Would you care to tell me why you have loaded .22 caliber rifles at the front and back doors, and that pretty little Walther PPK that our Uncles Charles, Preston, and Taylor gave you when you turned Sweet Sixteen sitting there on your bedside table, within easy reach?”

  Rebecca didn’t blink, she just said, “Not particularly, no.”

  Greg could see he’d surprised Cody. Thankfully that man stepped up to the plate. “You have to know, Blue Eyes, that is not the way we play ‘getting to know you’ where I come from.” Cody raised his hand. “Now, I know, I know, I’m one of those damn Yankees your momma probably warned you about. I can’t help where I was born. But it seems to me that there are certain rules that would be universal when people are setting out to start something intimate between them.” Cody stopped and met Greg’s gaze before he looked back at Rebecca. “One of those rules is, you don’t keep important secrets from the ones you’re about to become involved with.”

  Greg noticed that Rebecca seemed inordinately fascinated by the food on her plate. For his part, Greg didn’t miss that stare Cody had just given him. He, too, had kept a few things back, and Cody was letting him know, in his own way, that he didn’t much appreciate it.

  Greg waited a beat, and then said, “Rebecca Jean? Do I have to have a talk with Robert?”

  That got her attention. She jerked her head up and met his gaze. He caught the slight blush, and knew the color to be a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

  His Becca could be prickly and incredibly easy to piss off, when she set her mind to it.

  “You just leave that damn bossy brother of mine out of this.”

  Greg sat back and simply looked at her. He could no more prevent his right eyebrow from going up than he could stop his next breath.

  “Fine. Okay, fine. If you nosy parkers must know, I had a little trouble in Seattle. Detective Dwyer thought it would be a good idea for me to leave the city for a while, that’s all. As a purely precautionary measure, I might add.”

  Greg kept his gaze on Rebecca. “Detective Dwyer. What department did you say he was in?”

  “I didn’t.”

  There was some comfort in learning that his woman hadn’t changed overmuch during the last eight years. Greg sighed and said, “I can get the information I want another way, baby. The fact that you’re doling it all out as if you were Ebenezer Scrooge is not giving me—is not giving us—any peace of mind, here. Why not just spit it out? It will only taste bad for a moment, I promise you.”

  Rebecca scrunched her nose at Greg. “You, sir, are a bully.”

  “He’s not, sweet thing.” Cody leaned forward. “Tell us, please. We can’t take care of you properly if we don’t have all the information.”

  “Look, yes, we are getting to know each other, but you don’t have to take care of me.”

  “Of course we do,” Cody said.

  “It’s what men do.” Greg reached over and took one of her hands. Cody grasped the other. “Spill it.”

  Rebecca sighed. “All right. Detective Dwyer is a homicide cop. About four months ago, a man I barely knew—he was in charge of publicity for the gallery where my last showing was held—ended up being the victim of a fatal hit-and-run. An accident, by all accounts. But then I had the feeling that I was being watched, and followed, and things started to happen. My apartment was broken into, as was my studio. Fortunately, all my work had been moved to the art gallery. Then one day, someone tried to run me down on a busy street. Thank God for the kindness of strangers.”

  “I take it there’s a connection?” Greg asked.

  “The cops think so, now. I saw the stalker a couple of times—and I’d seen her once when I was with Brady—the man who died. It seemed to me she was lusting after him and shooting daggers at me at the time. I was able to give the cops a sketch, and they’ve been working at trying to identify her, and tracking her down, ever since.”

  “Her?”

  “Yeah. He never told me her name, but Brady dated her—once. Apparently, she became fixated on him. Detecti
ve Dwyer said that he didn’t think what she’d done matched the pattern of any other attacks on file, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyway, he felt certain it would only be a matter of time before they found her. Coming here seemed like a good idea. And that is all I know, except for one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “I looked into that stalker-chick’s eyes. That bitch is bat-shit crazy. And she scared the living hell out of me.”

  Chapter 5

  Mel Richardson sat back in his chair, laced the fingers of his hands behind his head, and thought. He and his partner, Connor Talbot, had been hired a couple of months ago by the Lusty Town Trust to look into a crime committed some years before.

  In the wake of a devastating tornado that left sisters Chloe and Carrie Rhodes orphans in 1998, the man appointed as executor of their parents’ estate had made off with their entire inheritance.

  The crime was about the lowest thing he’d ever heard of, and he’d heard of some shockers, both in his years working as a private investigator and previously, as a member of the San Antonio police department.

  “The real problem, of course, is that fifteen-year span between then and now,” Connor said.

  Mel Richardson sat forward again and picked up his pen and ran it through his fingers, working the piece of plastic around each digit in a dexterity exercise. He and Connor had been combing the Internet looking for background information on Ralph Baxter, Donald Rhodes’s former business partner and Neil Jackson, the public defender hired by the courts to protect the interests of the Rhodes sisters. They’d also tried to dig up information on the real estate business Donald Rhodes had operated with Baxter. They’d had better luck pinpointing the moment when the millions that Baxter had stolen went missing. The money had been transferred to a bank account in the Cayman Islands, and that was where the trail ended. The funds had been sent somewhere else, but no record seemed to exist for that second transaction.