Going Hard: Steele Ridge Series

by Kelsey Browning

  Oh, yeah. This was exactly what he needed.

  He pulled out his phone and sent an SOS text to his brothers. Need you on Mom’s back porch ASAP.

  * * *

  Less than ten minutes later, Jonah, Reid, and Britt were all at the house.

  “What do we need to fix?” Britt asked. “Plumbing or electrical problems? Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”

  Of course he would. Martyr Britt.

  “Nothing’s broken.” Grif winced inside, because that wasn’t technically true. Not after what he’d done to the teapot. Maybe he could find a way to have it fixed. After he took down his brothers.

  “This have something to do with the town manager thing?” Jonah asked. “Man, I know you aren’t keen to take this on, but—”

  “I can’t even think about that right now,” Grif interrupted.

  “Then why the hell did you drag me away from researching security systems for the complex?” Reid barked.

  Grif waved a hand toward the trashcan. “Because of this.”

  Reid wandered over and peered inside. “What? Did our precious Grif find a snake inside and need a real man to take care of it for him?”

  “Funny, Ape Man,” Grif shot back. “How long’s it been since y’all saw what’s inside there?”

  While his three halfwit brothers were busy gazing down into the stash of weapons, Grif positioned himself behind a lounge chair where he’d hidden the big Nerf gun. He grabbed it and let loose on them.

  Reid spun around, automatically reaching toward his belt for the weapon he was used to carrying.

  Predictably, Britt used his surroundings as cover and ducked behind their mom’s potted ferns.

  Jonah snatched up the trashcan lid and used it like a shield from a medieval video game.

  Before they could catch their balance, Grif took off around the side of the house to the sounds of violent cussing. Less than half a minute later, feet pounded behind him and he sprinted for the tree line.

  “You’re going down,” Reid yelled.

  “When jackasses climb trees,” Grif hollered back. Once inside the protective hardwoods and pines, he scanned for a decent place to lie low and pick them off one by one.

  Wait a sec. Maybe low wasn’t the answer. High was. He looped the gun’s strap over his head and shoulder and rested it against his back. Then he found a sugar maple to climb that provided reasonable access and superior cover.

  His brothers took their time, and when they invaded the forest, they assembled themselves into a miniature V-formation with Reid at the point. He was even using hand signals to command his two ragtag troops.

  Okay, ragtag was wishful thinking. Both Britt and Jonah looked just as stone-faced and serious about pursuit as Reid. They’d armed themselves well, with Britt carrying the bow and arrow, bad news because he was an ace shot with that thing. Jonah held the slingshot and his shorts pockets were bulging with some kind of ammo. Reid, of course, had found an actual pellet gun. He made the sign to spread out and their little hunting party increased the space between them. With their stealthy movements, they eased right under the tree where Grif was waiting.

  His hands itched to pull the trigger, but it wouldn’t be much fun if the game was over this quickly. He’d let them wander around trying to find their asses for a few minutes. Then he’d climb down and ambush them from the rear. He twisted in the tree to keep eyes on them, slipped on the bark and almost lost his footing. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed, his heart hammering and his hands sweating.

  But apparently, his little snafu wasn’t enough to catch his brothers’ attention, because not one of them glanced back.

  Grif adjusted his death grip on the tree trunk and worked to untangle his feet from one another. As he was starting the climb down, an arrow whizzed by his right ear. What the fuck? He probably looked like a clumsy sloth, but he somehow got himself turned around, his feet braced on two different branches, and gazed down at the forest floor.

  Nothing.

  “I know you’re out there.”

  Again, nothing.

  Those three weren’t idiots. And as good a soldier as Reid was, Britt could still probably out-silence him. The guy didn’t talk to humans unless forced.

  If someone was going to make a mistake, it would be Baby Billionaire.

  “Jonah, I bet all they left you with was that crappy-ass slingshot. Do you remember when you were a kid and you wanted that blowback air pistol? But Reid got the new one, and you got the hand-me-down. That must’ve really sucked, man.”

  Thwap. Something hit Grif dead center in the solar plexus. Not three seconds later, he was hit again, this time in the left temple.

  “What the fuck?” he roared, rubbing his head where his skin was still stinging and sported a tiny indention. Then a barrage of blunted arrows and other stinging projectiles came his way, hitting him in the body and face. He hung onto a limb with one hand and tried to bat the bullets away with his other. He caught one and opened up his fist to check it out. “Which one of you assholes is shooting whole pecans?” That had to be what had poked a hole in his head.

  “Guess this crappy-ass slingshot isn’t so crappy after all,” Jonah called.

  “Asshole, you’re surrounded,” Reid yelled, laughter riding piggyback on his words. “You might as well get your ass outta that tree.”

  For some reason, his brothers’ jeering made Grif wish for a magazine full of real bullets. He let loose a battle cry and jumped. He hit the forest floor with a jarring thud, rolled, and came up to a kneel. Then he shot the fuck out of his brothers until his toy gun clicked with the hollow sound that indicated it was empty. And yet, he just kept jacking with the trigger as though the damn gun would somehow reload itself.

  With open mouths, Reid and the others stared at him like he’d transformed into Bigfoot.

  Jonah shook his head in mock sympathy. “Dude, if I’d known the pressure of managing a metropolis the size of Steele Ridge would push you over the edge, I never would’ve asked. I guess some people just aren’t cut out for that kind of responsibility.”

  “Responsibility?” Grif tossed aside his now useless gun when what he really wanted to do was break it apart piece by piece and crush it all into the dirt. “You want to talk about responsibility? I’m pretty sure the ultimate responsibility is finding out you have a kid about fourteen years too late.”

  10

  Grif’s breath sawed in and out of his burning throat. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that.

  “What did you just say?” Britt asked in his quiet, steady way.

  Throwing his arms wide, Grif launched himself backward to lie on the ground and stare up into the trees. “Nothing.”

  His brothers gingerly laid their weapons aside. Slow and easy as if they were afraid he would make a crazy move for real.

  They circled around him, looking down with the kind of concern their mom smothered them with when they were sick or heartbroken or otherwise laid out flat. One by one, they took a knee, their focus never wavering from him. If weighty stares alone could compel a man to spill his guts, his brothers would be a crack inquisition team.

  “Are you saying you have a kid?” Reid demanded. “How the hell did that happen?”

  That almost—almost—made Grif smile for the first time since he’d walked out of the Registrar’s office.

  Britt shot Reid an amused look. “Even I know the answer to that question.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Unable to stand being at a disadvantage against his brothers for another second, Grif pushed himself to a sitting position and braced his back against the tree he’d kamikazed out of. “The father section on the birth certificate is blank, but I know. I know.”

  “Look, if you need to go back to LA to handle some personal business, I’m sure everyone in town would understand.” Reid hooked a thumb in Jonah’s direction. “Even His Highness Baby Billionaire himself.”

  Now Britt’s amused look transformed into
a disgusted head shake. “Did you hear what he said? Fourteen years. That would’ve been some damn fast work on his part.”

  Reid’s attention lasered in on Grif. “Are you saying you have a kid in North Carolina?”

  Shit. It wasn’t as if he’d be able to keep it a secret from anyone in town, especially not his family, if he decided to do something about all this. “Aubrey Parrish.”

  Reid rocked back and landed on his ass in the leaves and pine straw. “Whoa.” He rubbed his chin and studied Grif. “Carlie Beth always was hot, but I didn’t realize you and she had a thing.”

  “It wasn’t a thing,” he said. “It was one night.”

  One hot, sweaty, fun, sweet night. And God, if he let himself go back over those memories again, he might talk himself out of his mad. And by God, he deserved to be pissed at Carlie Beth.

  A frown encompassed Britt’s whole face. “I thought I taught the three of you better than to go in unwrapped. Hell, Grif, if not for yourself, then for the girl’s safety.”

  “I don’t need a fucking lecture about safe sex. And for your information, we used protection.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Reid asked.

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Did Carlie Beth say something to you yesterday at the party?”

  Grif laughed, the bitter sound drifting up to the treetops. “No.”

  But her behavior the past few times he’d seen her sure made a hell of a lot more sense now. The way she’d bolted from his mom’s birthday party a few months ago. The way she seemed to skittishly avoid him. The reason she was so fucking hesitant to start a little something up with him, even after that synapses-sizzling kiss.

  And possibly even more gut-burning was the fact that he hadn’t been exactly gung-ho to get busy with a mother.

  Not just a mother. The mother of his kid.

  His.

  Goddammit.

  “Aubrey sure is a pretty little thing,” Reid offered. “Hair like her mom’s and from what I saw yesterday, ego like her dad’s.”

  God, Grif didn’t know whether to be proud or scared shitless. “I don’t know a damn thing about being a parent.”

  Jonah hooked a thumb to his left. “Just watch Saint Britt. He’s got it down pat.”

  “Think she’s dating yet?” Reid mused.

  “For Jesus’ sake. She’s fourteen.” Yeah, now that he knew Aubrey was most likely his daughter, asking about guys didn’t seem so humorous.

  “Hell, at fourteen, I had Susan McMichael’s shirt off behind the high-school football field locker room.”

  Grif’s stomach turned into a trash compactor. “If I find out any guy has taken off Aubrey’s shirt, I will frog-march his ass out behind the locker room and teach him the lesson of his life.”

  “Would that really be your place?” Britt asked. “Have you thought that maybe the reason Carlie Beth never told you was because she didn’t want you to be involved in Aubrey’s life?”

  * * *

  Even though he hadn’t been able to get Britt’s words out of his head all night, this morning Grif stood staring at Carlie Beth’s small frame house. From the outside, it looked about thirteen hundred square feet. Probably a two-bed, two-bath. Maybe a small third bedroom. Although it was in decent shape, the trim around the windows could use a scrape and paint.

  Maybe dressing like he was going into a boardroom had been overkill, but he adjusted his tie before climbing the porch steps. As he strode across the porch, one of the planks gave slightly under his shoe. He could fix that in a couple of hours.

  Dammit, he was a decent guy. Responsible. Successful. Why wouldn’t she want him involved if Aubrey was his daughter?

  The house didn’t have a doorbell, so he knocked hard on the storm door. It protected a wood door inset with eight panes of glass and latched with a scrolling iron pull knob. No doubt it was Carlie Beth’s incredible work, but now that he knew what she’d done, he didn’t want to admire her talent.

  Several minutes ticked by.

  He damn well knew she was here because a 1970s International Scout, the same thing she’d driven way back when, was parked in the one-car driveway. “Carlie Beth, open up. I need to talk to you.”

  Still no answer, and Grif’s frustration climbed. Then his phone rang. Irrationally tempted to ignore it, Grif breathed and drew it out of his pocket to check the caller. Ice Athletic Wear.

  Excellent. He needed a win today.

  “This is Steele.”

  In less than ten minutes, he negotiated the final touches on Ian Brinkmann’s endorsement deal. The Brick was about to be a few mil richer and all he had to do was stand around in Ice’s sports boxers showing off his junk.

  Yeah, that was a big win.

  Phone back in his pocket, Grif started to knock on Carlie Beth’s door again, but remembered something Evie had said. Carlie Beth’s forge was here at her house.

  He jogged down the porch stairs and followed a crushed rock path around the side of the house. And there in the backyard was an ass-ugly gray metal building topped with a darker roof. The smoke curling from a metal chimney told him what he needed to know.

  That and the open industrial-size overhead door.

  Inside, Carlie Beth was bent over a metal table, her back to him. And a young man, probably in his late teens or early twenties, worked over an anvil, beating the hell out of a glowing piece of metal with a hammer. An old Dixie Chicks song blared from a grimy boombox in the corner. Something about them not being ready to make nice.

  That should be his fucking theme song today.

  The kid looked up from whatever he was beating on and caught sight of Grif. His face registered surprise, which quickly morphed into a dog-with-a-meaty-bone expression. But he waved in Carlie Beth’s direction until he got her attention. She swung around, and Grif’s breath stalled.

  Why, he had no idea.

  She was dressed in a thick—and he assumed fireproof—apron, gloves up to her biceps, and protective goggles. Her gorgeous hair was restrained in a ruthless braid and her face was smudged with black grime. A drop of sweat rolled off her chin and plunked to the hollow of her neck, only to disappear beneath the apron.

  It must’ve been sheer fury that made him want to strip off that apron, rip away those goggles, and plop Carlie Beth down on one of her metal workbenches. The compulsion to yank off her work boots and pull off her jeans shuddered through him.

  To hell with the playful lovemaking they’d shared all those years ago. He’d shove between her thighs and go at her hard. Screw her right here among her tools and the grime until she screamed. For mercy.

  In surrender.

  In satisfaction.

  Carlie Beth set aside the tool she was holding and pushed her goggles to the top of her head, leaving pink indentions around her eyes that made her look like an adorable raccoon.

  She’s neither. So stop being a softheaded ass.

  “We need to talk,” he snapped at her. “Privately. So you might want to get rid of your boy toy.”

  “What did you just say?” Her words were slow and full of WTF.

  The guy started toward Grif, all bowed up in the way only someone his age would think was smart or remotely intimidating. “Carlie Beth, do you want me to get rid of this—”

  “Kid, I’ve got at least ten years and thousands of miles on you,” Grif said, forcing casualness into his tone. “So unless you want your face sitting backward on your neck, I’d suggest you haul your skinny ass out the door and not come back for a good half hour.”

  “You can’t tell me what—”

  “Do it, Austin,” Carlie Beth said.

  The guy tossed his own eye protection on a table and stalked by Grif, glaring all the while. But he wasn’t stupid enough to risk a shoulder sideswipe or some other aggressive asshole move.

  Once he was gone, Grif turned back to Carlie Beth. Her mouth was drawn tight and her eyes were shooting something way more lethal than the pecans Jonah had pinged him with yesterday. “Do
you want to tell me why you just waltzed in here and not only insulted me, but also threatened my apprentice?”

  “Probably not any more than you want to tell me why you’ve hidden my daughter from me her entire life.”

  11

  Carlie Beth’s jaw dropped, actually released like a well-greased hinge. All these years, she’d protected the truth. Protected her daughter. Protected this man.

  Grif’s words hit her like bullets of accusation, slamming into her with the force of a hammer to the head. “How did you… Why would you…”

  “I bet you were shitting kittens at my mom’s birthday party, weren’t you?” He wandered through her forge, his crisp moneyed scent trailing him. He finally stopped his walkabout and hefted a swage block. “Interesting how I’ve been back in town at least once a year for the past ten and hadn’t seen you until a few months ago. And I sure as hell never caught sight of Aubrey. I assume that was one hundred percent on purpose.”

  “Grif, you don’t understand—”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly. Rather than sharing our daughter with me, you chose to leave Aubrey’s birth certificate blank and let her go through life a bastard.”

  Bastard. The word thudded through Carlie Beth’s head with the force of an anvil.

  She looked down at the half-finished pot rack in front of her and remembered the hand-forged mobile she’d made Aubrey before she was born. The old baby spoons had clanked together with a pleasant ping.

  Bastard.

  How many times in the months after Aubrey’s birth had Carlie Beth’s mother said the same thing? “Is that what you really want, Carlie Elizabeth Parrish, for your baby to grow up without her proper last name? You need to track down whatever lowlife you made the unfortunate mistake of spreading your legs for and make him do right by you.”