by Lisa Childs
But Livia wouldn’t have hidden those. If she had anything of value or beauty, she had put it on display. She’d only hidden her dirty money and her secrets and the evidence that had eventually put her away.
His paternity was one of those. Who was his father that Livia had hidden his identity? One of the drug dealers or human traffickers with whom she’d associated?
The thought turned River’s stomach. He pulled the crowbar back from the wall. He’d been shoving its end between the bricks of the cement wall, trying to get them to budge. He hadn’t wanted to knock them down; he suspected instead that one of the cracks between the blocks hid a lever—something that would open the entire wall.
He could see where the dust on the ground had been disturbed around it. Maybe the FBI had done it when they’d searched the house again. But that had been a few months ago, long enough for the dust to have settled again.
Unless it kept getting disturbed.
Edith might have seen something—someone—the night before. If she hadn’t screamed...
If he hadn’t rushed in when he had...
Would that person have done something to her? Hurt her?
His stomach flipped again at the thought of her being in danger or worse yet, hurt. He had to make certain that didn’t happen. And the best way to do that would be to find that person wherever he was hiding.
Whatever he was hiding...
River had had enough of secrets. It was time to learn the truth—no matter how horrible that might be. He lifted the crowbar to the wall again. Just as he began to swing the tip toward what looked to be a bit of metal sticking out between the blocks, he heard it.
The scrape of shoes against the concrete and a soft gasp. He dropped the crowbar and whirled around to face Edith. She had her can of pepper spray grasped tightly in one hand and a frying pan in the other.
“Are you going to blind me or cook me?” he asked.
“You’re lucky I didn’t spray you or hit you,” she said with a snort of disgust. “What the hell are you doing down here again?”
Feigning surprise, he lifted a brow. “I’m checking out the house like I told you I would last night.”
“And I told you that wasn’t necessary,” she said.
“I promised Mac that I’d make sure you’d be safe here,” he said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. They’d all talked about his coming back the next morning to check the place out. “I wanted to make sure there really wasn’t anyone else in here.”
Her big, dark eyes narrowed as she studied his face. “Seems funny the only person I ever actually find inside is you. Why do you keep showing up here?”
If he told her the truth, that he was looking for information, she’d probably toss him out and never allow him back inside. So despite how much he hated them, he’d actually have to keep a secret of his own.
It wasn’t the only one he was keeping, though. There were things that had happened while he’d been deployed that he couldn’t talk about—even if he’d wanted to. He was honor bound to his country and his fellow soldiers. He wasn’t honor bound to Edith.
Something else bound him to her, though—a desire that quickened his pulse and heated his blood every time he was near her. And he wasn’t near enough. He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice as he finally answered her question. “You,” he said. “You’re the reason I keep showing up here.”
Her full lips parted on a soft gasp, and her eyes widened again. “Are you flirting with me?” she asked.
Like her uncle, she was straightforward. He appreciated that. Hell, he appreciated entirely too much about her—like her body and her face and her voice and her sexy-as-sin scent.
He laughed and touched the scars on the right side of his face. “Like you’d be interested in me...”
She gasped again, but it was his name that slipped out between her lush lips. “River!”
“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I’m not looking for pity.” That would be a hell of a lot easier to find, though. He’d just have to go into town or to a family function. They all looked at him like that.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
And he tensed. She wasn’t just straightforward. She was smart, too.
She gestured at the crowbar he’d dropped. “I heard you scraping at something.”
He shrugged. “I was just killing some spiders.”
Her eyes were still narrowed. “With a crowbar? What do you swat a fly with? A shovel?”
“The crowbar was handy,” he said. “And the spiders were big.”
She shuddered in revulsion. She wore more clothes than she had last night or this morning. Now she had on jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt—probably because of the bugs and spiders she’d known would be in the house. She glanced around the basement. “That’s all you found down here?”
“I found some rats and a squirrel.” But he knew he’d been close to finding something else. If he’d hit that latch in the wall, he might have opened one of his mother’s secret rooms. He might have found some of her secrets. “Oh, and a snake, too.”
She shuddered again. “Let’s go upstairs, then,” she said. And she hurried down the hall toward the stairs.
He appreciated following her, appreciated the curve of her hips in her jeans, and appreciated how her butt moved as she climbed the steps. Her legs were long and toned—probably from the running. She was slender but not so slender that she didn’t have lush curves.
When she reached the top, she glanced back at him—as if she’d been aware of his staring. As if she’d felt it.
He wanted to touch her, so badly that he curled his fingers into his palms. She was already leery of him. He had to be careful.
But he found himself admitting, “I am looking for something...”
She tensed now. “What?”
“A job,” he said.
“I thought you’ve been working with Uncle Mac on the ranch,” she said.
He nodded. “But like I told you, I’m not looking for pity. And I think that’s the only reason he’s made work for me. Thorne really runs the place. They don’t need me.”
That was true. They didn’t. Nobody did. He’d been gone ten years and they’d all functioned just fine without him. He really had no reason to stay in Shadow Creek—except that he had no place else to go.
He wasn’t about to feel sorry for himself, though. He hadn’t lost nearly as much as some people had. “But I need to do something...” Like find out who the hell his father was. “And it looks like you need a lot done around here.”
Her dark eyes widened, and she blinked her long, thick lashes. “You want to work here? For me?”
He nodded. “It would be the perfect solution to both our problems. You need work done, and I need to work.” That was true. If he didn’t keep busy, he would have too much time to think—too much time to think about what he and the others on that last mission had lost.
She narrowed her eyes again and studied him with skepticism and suspicion. “How do I know you can handle the job?” she asked. Gesturing at the kitchen sink, she asked, “Have you done any carpentry work? Any plumbing?”
“I have,” he said. “During high school, I worked summers for Rafferty Construction, and since I’ve been back, I’ve helped my sister-in-law Allison, who owns the company now, with some projects.”
“Why aren’t you working for her now?” she asked.
“Are you in Human Resources?” River asked. Because he felt like he was being interviewed. “What exactly is your job title?”
Her wide mouth curved into a slight, sexy smile. “Everything,” she said. “That’s my job title. So yeah, I’ve been part of the hiring process. My boss usually has to approve all hires, though.”
“You don’t think he would hire me?” River asked.
“He is very private,” she said. “He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s purchased La Bonne Vie.”
“Why not?”
Her smile slid away, and she looked tense.
And he realized she didn’t know, either.
She shrugged. “That’s his business. And he doesn’t want anyone else knowing it.”
“I can respect that,” River said. “That’s why I’m not working for Rafferty Construction. Coworkers stared, asked questions. And reporters were able to track me down on the jobsites. They took pictures...” He shuddered like she had over the spiders.
“You don’t think they’ll find you here?” she asked. Even as she asked it, they heard the rumble of engines as vehicles pulled into the driveway.
He groaned. “I hope they haven’t. Maybe that’s just Mac again.” But he doubted it. Mac had trusted that River would make sure his niece was safe here. And he wasn’t likely to willingly return to La Bonne Vie unless he had a damn good reason.
Maybe they’d caught Livia, and she was back behind bars where she belonged. But someone would have called him with that news. At least one of his siblings would realize he’d want to know. He pulled out his cell and stared down at the standard screen saver.
He had missed no calls.
And they wouldn’t have driven out here. Nobody but Mac knew that he’d intended to come back to La Bonne Vie. And Mac thought he’d only been doing that to keep Edith safe. But if those were reporters pulling up outside the estate, who was going to keep him safe?
* * *
Edith hadn’t missed the dread on River’s face—the tension tightening his already clenched jaw. He didn’t want to see if those were reporters who had pulled up outside. And she didn’t blame him.
It wasn’t his responsibility. “You can stay in here,” she offered, as she walked down the hallway heading from the kitchen back to the foyer.
“You shouldn’t go out there alone,” he said as he followed her. It wasn’t like when he’d followed her down the basement hallway. Then she’d felt his gaze on her—on her body. And her skin had heated.
He wasn’t looking at her at all now. His neck was arched, as he tried to peer out the windows through all the ivy covering them.
She laughed off his concern. “I’m usually alone,” she told him, “in far more dangerous situations than this.”
He caught her arm and spun her back around in the foyer. “Why? Where?”
She laughed harder. “I grew up in New Orleans.” But she’d thickened her drawl and pronounced it the correct way. “I’ll be fine, cher.” She held up her hand with the canister of pepper spray in it. “I have this.”
He tilted his head and studied her face. “Have you ever used it?” he asked.
Her lips curved down, her smile slipping away, as she remembered and nodded. It hadn’t been pretty, but she had done what she’d had to do. She still felt bad about it, though.
“Good,” he said. “Don’t hesitate to use it again if you need to.”
With him and his ridiculously muscular body beside her, she doubted she would need to use it. He would scare anyone away. But he stepped back as she opened the door, so whoever was outside would see only her.
Lightbulbs flashed, blinding her, as questions bombarded her. “Are you the new owner of La Bonne Vie?”
“What is your name?”
“What are your plans for the place?”
Squinting against the bursts of light and the sun shining overhead, she peered at a crowd of faces and microphones and cameras. And she understood why River had stepped away from the open door.
Growing up as one of the notorious Coltons, he’d been hounded by paparazzi probably almost his whole life. Except for when he’d been deployed.
Reporters had speculated where he was those ten years he’d been gone. But none had known. She wondered if even his family knew.
“Miss, what is your name?”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Aren’t you afraid of owning Livia Colton’s home?”
Her hand clenched on the pepper spray canister. She was tempted to use it. Maybe this was how River had wanted her to. But she resisted the urge.
Instead she raised her voice and said, “You are all trespassing! Leave the estate immediately or I will call the police and report you.”
“So you are the owner?” a male reporter persisted. But he sounded skeptical. “You have the authority to report trespassers?”
She groaned at the man’s arrogance and chauvinism. “I have a legal right to be here,” she said. “You do not.”
But her threat hadn’t compelled any of them to leave. They kept taking pictures and asking questions. And her head began to pound.
She’d worried about someone being inside the house earlier. But she’d had no idea how bad it was to have them outside. Yet that didn’t seem to be enough for them. They crept closer to her and lifted their cameras to snap pictures over her head—of the interior.
“What is the condition of the home?” one asked.
“Is there any evidence of Livia’s crime spree left inside?”
She pulled the door shut behind herself. “You need to leave. Now!” She reached for her purse, trying to fumble her cell phone from the inside of it. Her fingers skimmed across the bit of lace she’d picked up earlier. But she couldn’t find her phone.
Had she dropped it somewhere? Left it on the kitchen counter?
Nobody listened to her. They stepped closer, as if they were going to reach around her to open the door. Was River still inside? Would he help her stop them?
She heard another vehicle pull in. Or were more of them going to just keep coming?
A horn blared, drawing the reporters’ attention toward the big truck that had roared up the drive. “Get the hell out of here!” a deep voice boomed as Thorne Colton stepped out of the driver’s door.
Edith breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her cousin. He rushed up toward where she stood at the front door. As he moved through the crowd, they took his photo and bombarded him with questions.
“What are you doing here, Thorne? Do you have a relationship with the new owner?”
“Are you going to be living on the estate again?”
Thorne held up his big hands and waved the reporters off. “I’ve called the sheriff. He will be arriving soon to arrest anyone who is still trespassing on the property.”
While they hadn’t listened to Edith, they seemed to believe Thorne and started moving toward their vehicles. As they walked away, Thorne snapped a couple photos with his phone. “And if anyone comes back, these pictures will be turned over to the sheriff,” he said. “So you will be arrested for illegally accessing a private property.”
One bold reporter lingered and had the audacity to ask, “Aren’t you trespassing, too?”
“Then I guess the sheriff will arrest me when he gets here, and we’ll be going to jail together, Jake.” His bluff was enough to send the reporter scurrying toward his network van.
Edith didn’t relax or turn to her cousin until all the vehicles had driven off. Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you!” She pulled back slightly. “And thank you for calling the sheriff!”
“I didn’t,” he replied. “He’s worthless.”
“Good to know...” What if there really had been an intruder in the house? If she had called for help, apparently none would have come.
But she hadn’t had to call...because she had River.
She’d had River. Where had he gone?
Only Thorne had come to her rescue this time. Why?
Her brow furrowed as she stared up at her cousin’s handsome face. His skin was lighter than hers and his eyes a pale brown. Even though they were just cousin
s, they looked more alike than Thorne looked like his brother River or any of his other siblings for that matter. But no matter what they looked like, all the Coltons were attractive.
An image of River flashed into her mind again—shirtless as he’d been that morning with a couple sets of dog tags nestled against his pecs. Her face heated and she stepped back.
“How did you know I needed help?” she asked.
“River,” Thorne replied. And he glanced around as if expecting his brother to be there.
Edith shrugged. “I don’t know where he went.” She hadn’t even known how he’d gotten there. When she’d arrived, the only vehicle parked outside had been hers. She hadn’t seen a horse, either—unless he’d put it inside the barn behind the house.
She sighed as she glanced toward the other structures on the property. She would have to inspect those buildings and inventory their contents, as well. She had a big job to do. Would it be more manageable with River’s help? Or would he just prove a distraction she didn’t need?
* * *
Thorne hadn’t seen his cousin since his wedding and he hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to her that day. There had been so many other guests but most of all there had been his bride, looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. And he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but her and how much he loved her and the family they were about to start together. Maggie was already carrying his baby.
Guilt flashed through him now, and he understood the guilt his father always felt about Edith. Just like Mac hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed him, Thorne felt like he hadn’t, either.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re going to be working here?” he asked.
“I wasn’t at liberty to say,” she replied.
“At liberty?” He snorted, and his guilt turned to frustration. He remembered why nobody helped Edith—because just as her mother had with Mac, she never asked for it, never admitted she needed it. “You work for a real estate development firm, not the CIA. Why the hell aren’t you at liberty to say?”
