Unraveling Him: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 3)

by Claire Kingsley

  “Your husband’s in prison and you brought me here to fuck you in his bed?”

  Her forehead creased. “It’s my bed for now. And why do you care?”

  “Because I do.”

  “You came home with me without even asking my name, but now you have an attack of conscience? It’s six months; what am I supposed to do? I have needs. I’m just taking care of them. He never has to know.”

  “Un-fucking-believable,” I muttered to myself.

  Without giving her a chance to say anything else, I put on my other shoe and walked out.

  The cold October air helped clear my head, but I still felt like shit. I got on my bike and revved the engine. The girl didn’t follow me out, thank fuck. I tore out of her driveway and away from her house without looking back.

  I hadn’t been in that bar looking for a hookup. All I’d wanted was a fucking beer.

  That’s what I was telling myself, at least.

  And it was partially true. I had stopped for a beer, not to find an easy lay.

  But she hadn’t needed to work very hard to talk me into it, either.

  Like I’d told myself in the bar, it had been a long time. And after that shitshow, I wasn’t doing it again any time soon. It meant going without sex, which sucked. I loved sex as much as the next guy. But getting any on the regular either meant dating—not an option—or random hookups like tonight, which had their own set of risks. Fucking a married woman was only one of them.

  The truth was, I didn’t particularly like banging some girl I didn’t know just for the sake of getting off. There was a time when I wouldn’t have even considered it. I wasn’t like my brother Logan, happy to enjoy his flavors of the month—or week, or night—free of any strings or attachments.

  But there was also a time when I’d been naïve enough to believe in the fantasy of love. That had blown up in my face. I was definitely not doing that again.

  The girl tonight wasn’t my problem. I didn’t know who she was—and I didn’t want to—and I’d avoid that bar for a while. There wasn’t anything I could do about the twinge of guilt I felt for her husband. Poor bastard was in prison and his wife was cheating on him. It was too bad he hadn’t married someone like Grace. She’d waited seven years for Asher, and they weren’t even married yet. Now that was loyalty.

  But Grace was a unicorn. There wasn’t another woman in the world who would have done what she did. Asher was a very lucky man. To his credit, he knew it. And even though I hated weddings, I was glad he was finally going to marry her.

  As for me, I needed to be content with what I had: my own business doing work I loved, a house on acreage with no neighbors, a loyal dog, a family I didn’t hate. I’d been burned by people I’d thought I could trust—burned badly—so I had no interest in trying again. I’d leave that to Asher, and maybe my younger brothers. Me? No thanks. Tonight I’d been stupid enough to give in, but it had just been a reminder that I’d always be better off alone.

  2

  Evan

  Five months later

  “Sasquatch, you’ve got nothing.”

  My ninety-pound German shepherd sat on the other side of the coffee table, his big ears sticking straight up. I’d brushed him earlier, so his tan and black coat was smooth and shiny, and the way he cocked his head when I spoke made it seem like he was trying to figure out what I was saying.

  “Sorry, big guy, your cards are shit.” I put down my hand. “I win again.”

  He lowered his chin onto the table.

  “Tell you what, I’ll slip you an extra card and let you have this one.”

  I pulled a queen out of the deck and set it in front of him.

  Yeah, I was spending my Friday playing poker with my fucking dog. So what? He was better company than most people.

  My phone had buzzed a few times, but I was ignoring it. Usually Friday-night texts were from my brothers, and I wasn’t in the mood. They were on the very short list of people I could actually stand, but only in small doses.

  I took a sip of whiskey, feeling the bite as it slid down my throat, warming me from the inside. I was an edgy mix of tired and restless. It had been a long week. Productive, but long. I wanted to relax, but my mind kept snapping back to Eleanor out in my garage.

  Eleanor wasn’t a girl. I was done with women. I was going to die a grumpy old bachelor, probably alone out here in the woods, and that was fine with me. Eleanor was a car.

  Not just a car. She was the car. A 1967 Mustang GT500.

  I’d been dying to get my hands on one of those since I’d started my shop. She was in rough shape, but that was the only reason I’d been able to afford her. It was a dream build for a guy like me, still working to make a name for myself. And if I pulled it off, Eleanor had the potential to change everything.

  Now that I was thinking about her, I couldn’t stop. Sasquatch tilted his head, like he knew what I was about to say.

  “What do you think? Make a little more progress tonight?”

  He stood.

  “Might as well.” I swallowed the last of my whiskey and got up. “We don’t have anything else going on.”

  Sasquatch followed me outside into the cold night air. It was dry—no sign of a spring snow—but chilly now that the sun had gone down. A cool silence hung over my land, the only sounds the pad of dog feet and crunch of my boots on the gravel walkway. A twig snapped in the distance, making Sasquatch pause, his ears swiveling toward the sound.

  “Probably just a raccoon.”

  I lived in a small two-bedroom cabin that had already been on the land when I’d bought it. It had needed some work, so I’d fixed it up. It wasn’t fancy, but it was livable, and a guy like me didn’t need much.

  I’d bought the land more for the space—I liked not having neighbors—and the shop. The building had been here, but like the cabin, it had needed work. I’d rebuilt the whole thing, and now I had a custom car garage with room for three project cars, plus an office and a bathroom.

  Somehow I’d turned a hobby I’d picked up from my grandad into a business. Not bad for a college dropout.

  I flipped on the shop lights and turned on a space heater and some music. I was working on two different projects right now. One to flip—a ’69 Dodge Super Bee that I’d be able to sell for three times what I had put into it when it was done.

  The other was Eleanor. My ’67 Mustang GT500. She wasn’t a flip car. I had something special planned for her. The Pacific Northwest Classic Car Show was coming up and she was going to turn heads. If she turned the right heads, it would mean big things for me and my shop.

  I rolled up the sleeves on my flannel shirt and got to work while Sasquatch laid on his bed in the corner. Despite the fatigue in my body, it felt good to do something. The glass of whiskey had been just enough to take the edge off, and the work occupied my thoughts. It was better to stay busy. Less room to think that way.

  There were too many things I didn’t want to think about.

  A car pulled up outside, the throaty rumble of the engine carrying through the shop walls. I groaned. I knew that car. It was Logan.

  What the hell did he want?

  Sasquatch was already on his feet to investigate the noise. I opened the door and waited with my arms crossed. Sure enough, Logan’s 1970 Chevelle was parked outside. He’d bought the car years ago and had been tinkering with it off and on ever since. Sometimes it even ran. Six weeks with her and I could have had her in mint condition, but it was his project. Plus, he was my brother; I couldn’t have charged him, and the last thing I needed right now was to sink time into a freebie.

  Logan wasn’t alone. His identical twin, Levi, got out of the passenger side, and our youngest brother Gavin climbed from the back seat. No Asher, but unlike the rest of us, he actually had a life.

  “Hey, bronut,” Logan said, but his smile quickly faded.

  Sasquatch stood in front of him, barring the way in.

  He hesitated, shifting to his right, then his left. Sasquatch mirrore
d him. “Dude, can you call off your dog?”

  I watched for a few more seconds, mildly amused. “Sasquatch, come.”

  My dog obeyed, moving over to sit next to me without taking his eyes off my brothers. Although he was well trained, he was also highly territorial. Made him a badass guard dog.

  He knew my brothers, so he wouldn’t actually do anything. But watching him scare them was entertaining.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

  “You weren’t answering your phone,” Logan said.

  “So?”

  “Are you still working?” Gavin asked. “It’s Friday night.”

  “You need a hobby.” Logan took a step closer, but Sasquatch growled.

  Gavin swept past the others, patting me on the shoulder as he walked into the shop. Of course that crazy son of a bitch wasn’t afraid of my dog. Gavin had been born without the gene for fear.

  “Sasquatch, let them in,” I said before he could bark. Stepping aside, I pushed the door open wider for Logan and Levi.

  My brothers and I all looked a lot alike. We got our dark hair, brown eyes, and olive skin from Gram’s side of the family. Logan and Levi’s features were more angular, with sharper cheekbones. Although they were identical twins, it was easy to tell them apart by their mannerisms and facial expressions.

  And clothes. Levi dressed like a normal person. Logan, not so much. Tonight he was wearing a t-shirt that said This is my Halloween costume—in March—with an open plaid flannel shirt, sweats he’d cut off at the knee, and a pair of tube socks pulled up to his shins.

  Gavin was the spitting image of Dad, and it still freaked me out sometimes. I hadn’t noticed it when we were growing up, but now that he was in his mid-twenties, there was no mistaking the resemblance. More than any of us, Gav looked like our father.

  I wondered if he even remembered Dad. He was the youngest; he’d been pretty little when Mom and Dad had died.

  “Holy shit, is this her?” Gavin asked, gaping at Eleanor.

  I couldn’t help the twitch of my lip, hinting at a smile. “That’s her.”

  They all circled the car slowly, taking her in. Her paint was stripped, the interior was gone, and the hood was off. But anyone could see the potential in her sleek lines and wide-set tires.

  “This is going to be gorgeous,” Levi said. “How’d you get your hands on something like this?”

  “There’s a guy just outside Seattle who sells a lot of project cars and rare parts. I ran into him at an auction and he told me about the car. Said he was looking for a buyer. He gave me a pretty good deal.”

  “It’s rare, isn’t it?” Levi traced the rear fender with his fingertips.

  “Yep. Fully restored, these are worth six figures.”

  “No shit?” Logan asked.

  “She’s not even about the money, though.” I hesitated, debating whether to tell them. I hadn’t told anyone yet. “I’m taking her to the Pacific Northwest Classic Car Show. The curators from America’s Car Museum in Tacoma are going to be there. They’re looking for something new to add to their permanent collection and they’ll be making their decision at the show.”

  “Holy shit,” Gavin said.

  Rubbing my chin, I gazed at the car. “Having a build with my name on it in that museum… it would be a big deal.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Levi said.

  He was right. It was an understatement. That kind of accomplishment would be huge for me and my shop. Reputation was everything in this business, and there was no better way to solidify my place than the prestige of having a restoration of this caliber in one of the best car museums in the country.

  “Is Haven doing a build too?” Gavin asked.

  My back tensed at hearing that name. Luke Haven had been my nemesis for as long as I could remember. Our families had been feuding for generations, but there was more than that between me and Luke. We’d been fighting since we were kids, and the fact that we’d gone into the same business, in the same town, had ignited an all-out war between us.

  “Yeah,” I growled. “I don’t know what he’s restoring, but you can bet your ass he’ll be there.”

  “There’s no way he can compete with you,” Logan said. “Not with this car.”

  “Keep your hands off her,” I snapped at Gavin, and he jerked his hand away. “Don’t get her fucking dirty. I already have a lot of time into her and she has to be perfect.”

  Gavin held up his hands. “Sorry.”

  “Let’s go in the house before Gav gets his hand bitten off,” Logan said.

  “Cool, bro,” Gavin said, heading for the door. “You got beer?”

  “You’re not going in my house.”

  They all ignored me, filing their way out the door, probably planning to raid my fridge.

  “Hey, assholes,” I barked. “Go home. I have work to do.”

  Gavin poked his head back through the door and grinned at me. I took a breath to yell at him, but he hit me with my one weakness. “I brought Gram’s cobbler.”

  I paused, my mouth still open. “She gave you cobbler?”

  He nodded, still grinning like an idiot. “We ate some at her house, but she sent me with leftovers for you.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled and followed him next door.

  I sent Sasquatch to lie down on his dog bed while my brothers pulled beer out of the fridge and I took the container of still-warm blackberry cobbler to the couch.

  Fucking Gavin.

  But god, it was good.

  “I still say we go for a play on the forks-in-the-yard bit,” Logan said and handed me a beer. “Only we hit all their houses on the same night.”

  “We’re not fucking amateurs,” Gavin said. “We can do better than forks in their yards.”

  “How many forks are we talking?” Levi asked.

  “We could use flamingos,” Gavin said. “I think that’s been done before, but it’s been years.”

  Logan glanced at me. “What do you think?”

  “Hell if I know.” We’d been pulling pranks on the Havens our entire lives—pranks were the lifeblood of the Bailey-Haven feud—but I was too busy for this shit.

  “Super helpful, man, thanks,” Logan said. “Hey, what if we plastic wrap their cars? That’s a pain in the ass to get off but it doesn’t do any damage.”

  “I like it,” Gavin said. “If we spread out, we could get at least five or six cars. That’ll piss them off.”

  “Wrap the plastic around a light post and it’s even better,” I muttered, not looking up from the cobbler.

  “See?” Logan said. “This is why we came over. The grumpy one still has prank mojo.”

  “And beer,” Gavin said, holding up his bottle.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Sasquatch got up, his attention on the front door.

  “Is someone here?” Levi asked.

  I put my cobbler and beer down. “Asher?”

  “No, he and Grace had stuff to do tonight.”

  Sasquatch barked once and someone knocked. I sent him to his bed to wait while I answered the door.

  Jack Cordero, Grace’s stepdad and the chief deputy sheriff, stood on my doorstep. That was probably not a good thing, considering it was nine o’clock on a Friday night, and he was in uniform.

  “Jack.”

  “Hey, Evan.”

  “Oh shit, what’d you do?” Gavin asked behind me. “Jack, if you have to cuff him, can I do it?”

  Jack leaned to look past me. “Baileys.”

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked, giving a subtle nod toward my shop.

  “Sure.” I glanced at my dog. “Sasquatch, stay.”

  “Dude, don’t leave us alone with that thing,” Logan said.

  Ignoring my brother, I followed Jack outside, feeling the cold bite of the late March air. I had a bad feeling about this. What would bring Jack out here? I unlocked the shop door, flipped on the light, and led him insid
e.

  “Sorry to barge in unannounced,” Jack said. “But this can’t wait.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I got a call from someone in the FBI office in Seattle. They’re investigating a car theft ring.”

  “And?”

  His eyes flicked to my latest project car. The car. The one that was going to change everything. “That’s a 1967 Mustang GT500?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have a title for that car? Bill of sale, all your paperwork?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I see it?”

  My eye twitched. “Jack, are you suggesting I stole this car?”

  “No. But whoever you bought it from might have.”

  “Hang on, I’ve got everything in my office.”

  Jack waited out in the shop while I went into my admittedly disorganized office to hunt down the paperwork for the GT. I found it in an envelope on my desk.

  “Here,” I said, holding the envelope out to Jack as I walked back toward him. “This is everything.”

  He pulled out the title and bill of sale. “Mind if I take these for a few minutes?”

  I gestured toward the door. “Sure. I have nothing to hide.”

  It was true. But I didn’t particularly like the look in Jack’s eyes when he turned to take the paperwork out to his car.

  Nervous energy thrummed through me while I waited. The car was legit… wasn’t it? The guy I’d bought it from hadn’t tried to pull any shady shit, like claiming he’d lost the title. Everything had been in order from the beginning.

  It was only making me anxious because I had so much riding on this car. It had to be perfect. And if word got out that there was even a suspicion that this car had been stolen… Fuck. I didn’t want to think about how long it would take me to recover from a hit to my reputation like that.

  After what seemed like fucking forever, Jack came back into the shop. His face betrayed nothing and in the back of my head, I made a note to be more careful next time I sat at a poker table with him.

  He didn’t hand my paperwork back to me. “We have a problem.”