Going Hard: Steele Ridge Series

by Kelsey Browning

  For a while, Carlie Beth had been able to dodge and duck her mother’s snide comments and accusations about the state of her virtue by paying loving attention to Aubrey and taking care of her so well that no one—not even May Parrish—could fault her as a mother. But one day Aubrey was suffering from the croup, and Carlie Beth had been awake for thirty-six hours straight. She was sitting in a steamy bathroom trying to ease her daughter’s seal-like barks when her mother barged in and looked down at her.

  Her mother stood there, a Bible in one hand and her other on her hip. “What if this baby’s come down with one of those genetic diseases? It’s probably all the daddy’s fault. And you don’t know where to find the no-account loser. Maybe you don’t even know who he is. Now, you’re young, you’re broke, and your baby could die.”

  Something sharp and ugly broke loose inside Carlie Beth, but she came slowly to her feet because Aubrey was finally—mercifully—asleep on her shoulder. “I know exactly who my daughter’s father is. And I know where he lives. I would never jeopardize Aubrey’s health, much less her life, if I thought he could help in some way.”

  Her mother’s eyes squinted with disbelief. “If that’s the truth, then why don’t you go ask him for child support? That would sure help Aubrey out.”

  Carlie Beth stared at the King James version in her mother’s hand and fought back the overwhelming need to yank the book from her and slap her with it. The dawning of that craziness was when she’d known she had to tell her mother the truth or she would never let the topic drop.

  “If I tell you who Aubrey’s father is, you have to swear on the Bible you’re holding that you will never tell another soul. Not now, not tomorrow, not on your deathbed. Do you understand?”

  Her mother’s head drooped. “I knew it. He’s in prison, isn’t he?”

  “No, Mama, he’s in Los Angeles,” she blurted out and immediately regretted it. Apparently, all the steam had made her loopy.

  Her head whipped back up. “Are you saying this baby’s daddy is Gr—”

  “I told you not to say a word.”

  “Those Steele boys aren’t exactly what I’d consider marriage material, but Joan is always carrying on about how well they’re doing. Grif with that big fancy scholarship to play baseball at UCLA. Surely he has more than enough. You need to demand—”

  “I will not ask Grif Steele for one thing.” After all, what was the purpose in derailing both their futures when she could handle this situation on her own? She waved a hand through the steam hovering in the small room. “Aubrey and I are not suffering. My baby has a clean house, clean clothes, and nutritious food.” Maybe Carlie Beth’s life wasn’t what she’d once imagined, but she was making it on her own, which gave her an incredible sense of pride. “I haven’t asked the government for a dime, haven’t asked you for a dime, and damn well won’t ask him for a dime.”

  “There’s no need to use foul language. But I bet you if Joan knew a thing about having a grandbaby, she would be over the moon. Maybe not at first, but once she got used to the idea. She’d also make sure that son of hers took care of his mistakes.”

  Ignoring her mother’s mistake dig, Carlie Beth tried to breathe away the feeling of her heart squeezing at the mention of Grif’s mom. Mrs. Steele was one of the kindest, most generous, least judgmental people she’d ever met. She hated keeping something so important from such a wonderful lady, but she had no choice. Mrs. Steele might delight in a grandbaby, but she would not appreciate Carlie Beth extinguishing her son’s bright future. All of the Steeles were so proud of what he was doing out west. “I said you’re not to tell anyone about Aubrey’s father.”

  “Why in the world would I agree to—”

  “Because you love Aubrey almost as much as I do, which is the only reason I put up with your narrow-minded ways. And if you don’t keep your mouth shut, I will pack up my car with everything I own, put Aubrey in her car seat, and drive the hell out of Canyon Ridge. And once I’m gone, I can promise you I will never come back.”

  Her mother had never again mentioned Grif Steele’s name, nor had she ever called Aubrey a bastard.

  No one would ever call her that again, especially not her own father.

  Carlie Beth tore her gaze off the half-finished pot rack in front of her and advanced on Grif until her filthy apron brushed the front of his fancy shirt. “Don’t you dare use that word to describe my daughter.”

  He didn’t flinch away from her and the grime all over her. “Don’t you mean our daughter?”

  The reality of what was truly happening to her crashed through her, and although she wanted to crumple in on herself, she couldn’t afford to. Not in front of this man. Right now, he was angry that she’d taken something away from him, obviously bringing out the predator in him. If she let him glimpse the seed of guilt she’d harbored over the years, he’d somehow use it to his advantage. Better to soothe the animal than poke at him. “Look, if I’d planned to demand anything from you, I would’ve done it a long time ago, so if you’re worried I’ll ask you for something, you can stop.”

  “I have to assume no one else in town has figured all this out. Otherwise, you could’ve never kept it this quiet.”

  “Only my mom.”

  “And she didn’t chase me down with the business end of a sawed-off shotgun?”

  Carlie Beth sighed. “She and I came to an agreement.”

  “What kind?”

  “The kind where she keeps her mouth shut and I don’t take her granddaughter to live somewhere else.” Even though she’d threatened, it wouldn’t have been easy. Carlie Beth probably would’ve had to give up blacksmithing altogether if she’d moved away. Here, she’d had enough help to juggle and make it work, even if she’d had to put aside art in the name of food.

  She’d done everything she could for her daughter. Couldn’t he understand that? Suddenly unable to handle the nearness and Grif’s expensive scent for another second, she stepped away and busied herself straightening her tools.

  “What about my mom?”

  That pain she’d felt deep inside all those years ago pierced Carlie Beth again. “What about her?” But she knew. Of course, she knew what he was asking.

  “Didn’t you ever consider she might like to know she has a grandchild?”

  “Yes. But how could I have done anything about it? It wasn’t like I could confide in her and expect her to keep it to herself.”

  “Did you hate me that much?” His voice was low and scratchy.

  She whirled around to find him standing in the same place, his face a picture of confused pain, making her want to go to him, smooth a hand over his cheek and soothe him. Which was ridiculous. Grif wasn’t a man who needed anyone to make it all better for him. He had the big-city life, was living the dream while she’d been here raising his daughter.

  “I didn’t hate you at all.” Sometimes, she might’ve resented him, but she couldn’t hate the man who’d given her the most important thing in her world. In fact, on her loneliest nights, she’d thought of Grif fondly, sometimes way more than fondly.

  “Then why the fuck would you keep this from me?”

  She laughed, a surprised little huff. “You were living in California.”

  “Last I checked, these two states are connected by things like airplanes, cell phones, and the Internet. It wasn’t like I was living off the damn grid in a third-world country.”

  “If I’d called you a couple of months after you left here, telling you I was pregnant, what would you have done?”

  His head dropped and he shoved his fingers into his artfully rumpled hair. “You never even gave me a chance to figure that out.”

  “The Steele boys might’ve been a little wild, but you always had a sense of right and wrong. You would’ve come home and married me.”

  “Which is exactly what most women would’ve wanted.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  “At the very least,” he ground out, “I would’ve made sure my name was
on that birth certificate. Made sure you and Aubrey were taken care of.”

  “I’ve taken care of us just fine. And my not telling you was for your own good. You wouldn’t be a sports agent now and you probably would’ve lost your scholarship to college.”

  The violent tightening of his jaw made it obvious he was holding on to his emotions through sheer force of will. “There was no fucking scholarship.”

  “What?”

  “I lied about the whole thing. If I was ever going to make something of myself, I had to get out of here. And I had to make my family think I had an all-expenses-paid ticket.”

  She waved a hand at his stylish clothes. “Then how did you—”

  “I lied and I hustled. After I picked up my first client, I slammed my way through a couple of degrees at night while I grew my business.”

  “Do they know? Your family?”

  “That I lied about attending UCLA? Yeah, I finally told them. Figured after I made a name for myself that it didn’t matter anymore.”

  “Well, you couldn’t have hustled that way here in Canyon Ridge. You probably would’ve hired on at one of the Christmas tree farms outside of town, making little more than minimum wage.” And he’d been so bright, so smart, so ambitious that she hadn’t been willing to sentence him to that life. “You should thank me.”

  “Thank you?” His lip arched up in what could only be called a snarl. “Does she even know I’m her dad?”

  The set of his mouth told Carlie Beth it wasn’t a good idea to point out that a father and a dad were two completely different concepts. A dad was someone who carried his little girl around on his shoulders, blew raspberries on her tummy, and kissed her boo-boos. A father was a biological concept.

  And that’s all there was between Aubrey and Grif—biology.

  “No.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That her father was someone I knew a long time ago, but that he doesn’t live here anymore.”

  “And she just accepted that? ‘Sorry, Aubrey, but your dad is a complete douchebag who just can’t be bothered to be around.’”

  Indignant anger kindled inside Carlie Beth. “I never once called you something so disrespectful. Honestly, after a few questions when she was little, the only time it came up was on special daddy-daughter occasions.”

  “And who stepped in for those occasions?”

  “Grady, Randi’s bartender at the Triple B.”

  “Were you sleeping with him?”

  That hot feeling inside her flamed, and something kept her from telling him Grady was happily married. “Is that any of your damn business?”

  “I think it’s my business to know the other men who’ve been a part of my daughter’s life.”

  “God, Grif, it’s seriously too late for this.”

  He moved in close, glared down at her with his now glacial eyes. “That, Carlie Beth, is where you’re wrong. Even more wrong than you were to keep my daughter from me. Aubrey is a Steele. You’ve not only stolen that from her, but you’ve stolen her from my family. And I think you know that if there’s one thing in this world I cannot abide, it’s someone doing wrong by my family.”

  Like an instinctive shield, her eyes squeezed closed. His family? No, she couldn’t afford for him to go down that path. Aubrey was her family. She slowly opened them again, trying to project sincerity toward him. “If I say I had your best interests at heart, can we pretend this conversation never happened? Just leave well enough alone?”

  His laugh was as sharp and cold as the icicles that ringed her eaves every January. “If by leave well enough alone you mean me walking away and forgetting I have a daughter—a loving, breathing, beautiful daughter—then you have lost your mind.” He reached into his pants pocket and took out his wallet. With the most deliberate movements Carlie Beth had ever witnessed, he opened it up and withdrew a piece of paper with one sharp fold down the middle. He placed it on a small clear space on her worktable and smoothed the crease, but Carlie Beth kept her focus on his face. On his intent and chilled expression.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “It’s the price of admission.”

  “What?”

  He tapped the slip of paper, which finally drew her attention downward. It was a check. Made out to her. “Entry ticket.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I figured I’ve missed approximately one hundred fifty-seven months of child support.”

  “Dammit, I don’t want your money.” She snatched up the piece of paper and held it out to him. “I never wanted anything from you.”

  His icy attention never shifted from her face and he didn’t reach for the check. “I’m not asking you what you want. I’m telling you what you’ll take.”

  “I don’t need your money.” She didn’t need anything from him. Couldn’t afford to.

  “Then put it all in a college fund for Aubrey. I really don’t give a shit.”

  “Wh…What are you saying?”

  “That I will get to know my daughter.”

  “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “No.” His smile was hard. “I’m telling you that if you don’t take the money and give me access to my daughter that I will find another way. And believe me, if I take you to court for custody of Aubrey, you won’t win. I’ve spent too many years spinning stories and negotiating. I always—always—come out on top. By the time I get done with you, you will be so broke, so broken, that you won’t be able to buy a pack of peanuts in this town or anywhere else. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Her stomach tightened at the cold determination she saw in his face. “You’re blackmailing me.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said softly. “Blackmail is when someone is demanding money, not forking it over. And I think you’ll find I’ve been more than fair in paying back child support. Now, do you want to make this easy and tell Aubrey I’m her dad, or do you want me to break it to my daughter?”

  * * *

  “Mom, is what he said true?” a small voice said.

  Carlie Beth’s attention snapped to the doorway where Aubrey stood with an expression of sheer betrayal painting her pretty face, her pink-and-green backpack sliding off one shoulder. One glance at Grif, who was standing there looking as if he was torn between hugging Aubrey or hitting Carlie Beth, told her he wasn’t about to step in and make this easier for her.

  And why should he? She had never once shared the responsibility of parenting.

  Grif turned toward Aubrey, but Carlie Beth intercepted him before he could make a move in her daughter’s direction. “Don’t do this. Not now. Not while you’re this angry. Give me some time with her.”

  “This isn’t over,” Grif said, his voice low so his words only touched Carlie Beth’s ears. As he walked out the door, he laid a hand on Aubrey’s shoulder and squeezed it before continuing on.

  Aubrey whirled around, her bag thunking to the ground. “Wait! Mr. Steele…Dad…Wait!”

  But he kept walking, down the path and around the house. Strolling out just like he had years ago. Only this time it was worse. Way worse.

  Because this time he’d purposefully dropped a grenade into Carlie Beth’s lap.

  Asshole.

  “Mom?” Aubrey’s shoulders were slumped and her mouth was trembling. Looking as lost as she had the time she wandered off at an art festival in Asheville and became disoriented in a maze of stalls. When Carlie Beth found her ten minutes later, Aubrey had been going from person to person, asking if anyone knew her mommy. In her own five-year-old way, she’d handled it admirably. But another minute and she would’ve cracked, thrown her little body on the ground, and pitched a wall-eyed fit.

  “Baby, we need to talk.” Carlie Beth sighed and glanced down, finally looking at what was written on the check Grif had so carefully placed in front of her. The ham sandwich she’d wolfed down for lunch expanded in her gut, and she snatched up the paper to get a better look.

  12

  Hundre
d.

  Thousand.

  Suddenly the heat of her forge overwhelmed her. She shoved the check into her apron pocket and rushed for the door. “Let’s sit outside,” she said to Aubrey, grabbing her hand and pulling her out into the cooler spring air.

  Carlie Beth gulped it down the way she’d guzzled ginger ale when she was pregnant. Like it was the only thing that could keep her alive and mildly sane.

  They didn’t make it to the back porch because Carlie Beth’s legs gave out and she sank down on the edge of a brick planter filled with forsythia. She tried to project calm, but that was damn hard when her hands were shaking so badly.

  One glance at her daughter and they shook even harder. Tears had not only welled up in Aubrey’s eyes, but they’d also escaped, sluicing down her cheeks with a forlorn sluggishness that broke Carlie Beth’s heart.

  “Is Grif Steele my dad?” This time, Aubrey’s question wasn’t tentative. It was chock-full of the strength and chill of her father’s last name.

  “Yes.”

  “He was so nice when I met him at Miss Joan’s the other day. Why would he just pretend he didn’t have a family all this time? Didn’t he love us?”

  Love? What Carlie Beth and Grif had done that night wasn’t driven by love. Fueled by exhilaration and attraction? Yes. She reached for Aubrey’s hands, squeezed them in hers. “It was complicated.”

  “Complicated how? What’s so hard about spending time with your kid? Plenty of my friend’s parents are divorced. That doesn’t keep their dads from doing stuff with them. He’s obviously nothing like Miss Joan. He’s an asshole.”

  Cringing at Aubrey’s use of the word she’d mentally called him just minutes before, Carlie Beth scolded, “Aubrey Laine, that’s unacceptable.”

  “You sound like Miss May.”

  If the situation weren’t so serious, that accusation would make Carlie Beth gouge herself with the pointed end of a mill file. “It’s not right to judge someone when you don’t have all the facts, when you haven’t walked in his shoes.”

  “Well, if he was a good guy, you would’ve told me about him a long time ago. After all, his family lives right here in town. I bet he’s visited a million times.”