Stealing His Heart (McCormick's Creek Series Book 4)

by Jen Peters

  “Seattle?” Brandt asked.

  She nodded and took another bite of pie so she didn’t have to answer.

  “So, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but what was Seattle like? I mean, it can’t be much different than Portland, can it?”

  “It depends on what you want. City life is probably about the same, so it’s just…your choices. For me, it was parties with a particular crowd. We all worked together, socialized together, made a lot of the same lousy choices together.”

  “So you came home?” He leaned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, watching her.

  “I sort of lost who I was there.”

  “I heard…” he played with brown, brittle pine needles. “I heard you sort of lost who you were here first.”

  Raine dropped her head. “I wish I could say no, but yeah, that’s too true. And then Seattle just built on that. And then I…”

  Brandt held his hand up. “I don’t need to know everything—we all have pasts.”

  She took a deep breath and finally looked up. “So when I woke up enough to realize what I’d been doing, what I’d become, I tried to change. But it’s really hard when everyone around you expects something different. Encourages something different. So I came home.”

  Brandt was silent for a moment. “It’s not easy to come home when you’re a different person than everyone expects, is it?”

  “You know it!” Then she looked closer into his face. “You do know it. But you haven’t screwed up your life and come home with your tail between your legs.”

  He went back to twirling pine needles. “I had to leave home to be able to change. And every time I go back, they pull at me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like wanting me back in the family business. Like wanting me to be the perfect businessman, date the perfect woman, live the perfect life. Except that what I consider perfect is far different than what they do.”

  “So you’re here.”

  “So I’m here. And I have to make a success of it, or I’ll have no choice but to go back and fit their mold. Which is why—”

  Raine shut him up with a kiss. “Nuh-uh. We are not going to spoil this with what-ifs.”

  He kissed her back and pulled her down beside him. She reveled in the feel of his hair through her fingers, glad there wasn’t a helmet in the way anymore.

  And then she lay back and let him kiss her eyelids, the spot behind her ear, the pulse point below her jaw, and back to her mouth.

  Finally, he drew away. “We’d better stop before we go too far.”

  Raine nodded mutely. It was hard to shut down the desire building inside her, but she was not going to be the woman who slept around indiscriminately anymore. And as much as she was falling for Brandt, she needed to be sure.

  Time to change the mood. “Are you in town for Thanksgiving?” she said as she stood.

  Brandt’s eyes sparkled as she gave him a hand up. “I can be.”

  “I don’t know if Tori’s inviting anyone else, but it would be nice if you could join us. Unless you need to be with your parents.”

  Brandt tipped his head closer. “I’d much rather spend it with you.” He kissed her one more time, a quiet kiss with lots of promise. “You can count on me.”

  Raine knew she could count on him. She hoped he could count on her.

  Chapter 23

  Brandt glared at his website.

  The homepage looked good, far better than it had before. He had a rotating banner with bikes, accessories, and parts on the product page, and he had a couple of pages describing Devil’s Hill and Sharptail, complete with the pictures Raine had suggested. Plus pages for beginners telling them how to choose the right bike and why helmets were important. He’d found that if he wrote as if he were talking to Raine, the articles flowed pretty well. A lot better than school essays, anyway.

  So why wasn’t he selling anything?

  He flipped his pencil to the ceiling and caught it again. He was selling, actually. There were the parts from before and a few small orders since then.

  He flipped the pencil again. Gloves and a sale-price jersey weren’t going to get him anywhere. Mitch had bought the Santa Cruz bike, which would keep his lights on for an extra month or two, and Shauna had bought her bike, but that was it. Locals came to chat, or even to browse the store, but no more.

  He had to get this rally off the ground. Had to get a name for himself.

  A chime rang, and Brandt scrambled to his feet. A customer!

  Except it wasn’t.

  “Vaughn? What are you doing here?” he said when he saw his brother.

  Vaughn gazed around the store, looking rather out of place in his Armani suit. “So this is it.”

  Brandt straightened. “Yup. Anything you want for mountain biking, I’ve got it here.”

  “Huh. You sold anything lately?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t be in business if I didn’t.”

  “What? Like helmets and bike pumps? Or repairs like Mom mentioned?” Vaughn jingled the keys in his pocket.

  Brandt shrugged. “I do some repairs, but I’ve had some good sales, too. A high end bike to Mitchell Blake, among other things. You might know of him—the McCormick Foundation? And his law firm?” This was one time it was worth name-dropping.

  Vaughn just nodded, but Brandt recognized the tightening of his eyes. Yes, worth it.

  Vaughn walked the perimeter of the store, examining the bikes and their prices, the displays of accessories, and finally wandering back to the workshop area.

  “Anything else I can show you?” Brandt asked. “Any more prying questions you feel the need to ask?”

  Vaughn turned and crossed his arms. He leaned casually against the doorway, but Brandt could see the tension in his stance and his face.

  “We aren’t stupid, you know.” Vaughn began. “We know this is a seasonal business, and we know what it cost to start it up. You haven’t got much of Grandma’s money left, do you?”

  Brandt held his gaze but didn’t speak.

  “Mom worries, seriously worries. She doesn’t want you throwing your life away, she—”

  “I’m not throwing my life away,” Brandt said through clenched teeth.

  “She doesn’t want you living on ramen noodles trying to keep a hopeless dream going.”

  Brandt’s hands fisted.

  “And Dad—don’t you think you owe Dad something? He gave you a great life, taught you his business, came to you to talk over his new ideas.”

  “Is that what this is? You’re jealous because Dad still brainstorms with me, not you?”

  Vaughn snorted. “Hardly. You never even broke the first million on your net worth before you quit. You were too wrapped up with middle class families. It’s no skin off my nose if you don’t come back, but the old man isn’t happy, and you still seem to be the crown prince. You owe Mom and Dad something for getting you started.”

  Brandt had never heard such nonsense. He hadn’t broken their hearts, hadn’t gotten them tangled up in scandal, hadn’t absconded with the family fortune. And this wasn’t the 1800s when sons were required to follow in their fathers’ footsteps.

  He stepped closer to Vaughn and somehow kept his voice calm, if still clipped. “Parents are supposed to raise their children to be responsible, contributing adults, and they did. I will thank them forever for that. I will love them forever. I will be there when they need me. When they truly need me, not just when they want to get their way about how I live my life. Because it’s my own life to live, not theirs. My own career to see to, not theirs. Or yours.”

  Vaughn raised his hands and slowly clapped. “Great speech. Did it take you long to write it?”

  “Look, you want to make Dad happy? Spend time with his projects, not just yours. All I ever really did was listen.”

  “Yeah, right. You won him over making puppy dog eyes at his waterfront condos.”

  “Oh, buzz off, bro.” Brandt sat down at the computer. “I h
ave work to do.”

  “You need to give up here and come back to Portland. Mom and Dad are waiting for you, but don’t expect anything from me.”

  Brandt didn’t take his eyes off the screen until the door chimed a second time. He looked up to see Raine come in with a smile, her lipstick matching her scarlet sweater, which matched her heels.

  “Hiya,” he said, standing up. “You aren’t here for a bike ride, are you?”

  She grinned and came back to the office. “No, I was meeting Mr. Symanski at the high school to finalize the Christmas tree contest. What’re you up to?”

  He groaned. “Website frustrations.”

  “Ugh. I wish I could help more, but I gave you all my ideas before.” She clicked through various tabs on his computer. “You put the pictures in! It looks good. But not good enough? Have you talked to Robin again?”

  Brandt shrugged. “Not since the first time.”

  Raine gave him a friendly slug. “You need to. It’s a lot different now, and I bet she’ll have more advanced tasks for you. But…have you thought any more about sponsoring a Christmas tree?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Do I have to?”

  She rolled her eyes back at him, something none of his other girlfriends would ever have done, and he liked the sass. Wait…other girlfriends? Was Raine his girlfriend now?

  Not really—all they’d done was kiss. And argue. And spend time together. And talk. And…okay, maybe she was, but he wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Raine said. “You sponsor a Christmas tree, and I’ll help with your event next year.” She grinned, batting long eyelashes at him.

  He couldn’t help chuckling. “You’d not only have to help with something at the rally, you’d have to help with the Christmas tree, too.”

  “Sure! Do you want traditional Christmas, or something specifically tied to bikes or outdoors, or something exotic like a sci-fi theme or parrots?”

  “Parrots?”

  “Hey, I like parrots! They’re colorful and make a gorgeous tree.”

  “No parrots. No sci-fi. And I can’t see a tree covered in bicycle parts.”

  “Angels? Santas? Stars?”

  Her eyes were shining brightly. Brandt took a step forward. “Stars would work. Lots of shiny, multi-colored stars.” He breathed in the scent of her skin. “Stars that sparkle like your eyes.”

  “I could do stars,” she whispered, leaning toward him. “Different shapes and sizes.”

  He brushed her lips with his. “Different is good.”

  Chapter 24

  Two days before the grant committee met, Raine was reveling in the possibility of her and Brandt and having a hard time keeping her mind off the what-ifs. What if Brandt got the grant and she didn’t? Would she ever be able to change her reputation if she didn’t have anything to contribute to the town? Would her life consist of working at Sam’s IGA and nothing else?

  But what if she got the grant and Brandt didn’t? Would he still be able to build his business into something viable? Would he let her help him?

  And no matter who got the money, could they keep it from coloring their relationship? She still rather expected him to desert her out of jealousy if she won. But what if she were the one who couldn’t handle it?

  Agonizing over it wasn’t getting Raine anywhere. She made a few more phone calls trying to encourage participants for the Christmas tree contest, then snagged Brandt for a late lunch before she had to go to work. Sandwiches at Nora’s Place, and this time Brandt wasn’t covered in axle grease.

  “So you’re getting some online sales?” she asked, popping a crispy french fry in her mouth.

  Brandt, on the other hand, had slathered his whole pile of fries with ketchup before he picked one up. “What?” he said when he saw the distaste on her face. “Don’t you know french fries are just a vehicle for ketchup?”

  She shuddered and dipped one of hers lightly into a mixture of ketchup and mayo. “So, sales?”

  “Oh yeah. Some. I’ve had a couple of orders for tools and one for two rims. Plus some little stuff, gloves and such. Not enough, though, and—” He broke off suddenly.

  Raine looked over to see Chelsea approach, a storm in her face.

  She marched to the table and glared at Raine. “So this is what I get—you going behind my back? I told you he was mine. You’re as two-faced as they come. I made you, Raine DiMarco, and I can send you right back to the social gutter you crawled out of.”

  “I never—” Raine began.

  “Whoa, hold on, ladies,” Brandt interrupted. “This isn’t the place—”

  Chelsea whirled on him. “And you! I’ve invited you for parties, over to my place for wine, out to dinner, and you’re always busy. First it was bikes and trails, now it’s her. I should—”

  Brandt shot up, his chair clattering backwards. “You don’t own me, Chelsea. I’m not a pawn for one of your games.”

  “No? But you’ll be a pawn for hers? You wouldn’t believe the games she got up to in Seattle. She’s no different from the rest of us. She—”

  “Not interested, Chelsea. Now why don’t you go home, or back to work, or wherever, and let everyone here get back to lunch.”

  Raine stopped watching the ping-pong match between them to look around the restaurant. Two groups and one couple sat around the room, all eyes turned toward the argument. Mrs. Cooper had poked her head out of the kitchen, and Raine was only glad that Robin wasn’t waitressing that day.

  Chelsea looked around too. “So what? It’s public knowledge. She’s selfish, she uses people, she sleeps around, she cheats with—”

  “That’s enough!” Brandt snapped. “You’ve described yourself as much as anyone else. Go home and cool off, Chelsea. And remember it’s up to me who I’m with!” He hauled Raine up, his grip tight on her arm, and she scrambled to keep up with him.

  He didn’t stop until they reached Trailhead Bikes. He yanked the door open, pulled her through, and flipped the sign to Closed. “Rudy, you can go on home,” he told the surprised man, then stomped back to the office.

  Raine stood where she was, still shell-shocked. Should she follow him? How could Chelsea do that—to anyone? Just how much did Brandt really know? How much did he have a right to know?

  He poked his head out the office door. “Are you coming?”

  She took slow steps through the showroom, trying to feel what was right, wishing she could hear that little voice again.

  Brandt’s face was still clouded when she reached the office.

  “I, um…” she began.

  “Look,” he stopped her. “I know a little bit about your past. You can’t live in this town and not hear rumors.”

  She found herself gazing at the floor, wishing she could melt into it.

  “I figured we’d talk about it eventually, but I wasn’t going to push you. Like I said, we all have things in our past. But now Chelsea…”

  “Yeah, Chelsea,” she murmured.

  “How did you ever get involved with her anyway?”

  Raine sighed. She may as well get it over with. She slid down to sit cross-legged on the floor. “I was friends with Robin and Ree, you know that?”

  He nodded.

  “We were great, they were great, but I wanted more. I wanted to be one of the popular kids, to go to the parties, you know, so…I guess my first bad decision was making it possible for Chelsea to sabotage a project of Robin’s so I could get in with her group. It—it ruined Robin’s whole senior year and beyond, I guess.” She paused, remembering.

  “And?”

  “And I moved up to Seattle after graduation—couldn’t wait to leave here—and found the same sort of group. I helped a woman named Marcia, who was an event planner, and sort of became her assistant. I helped her on big stuff and eventually put on parties myself. And Marcia’s circle, well, they were just like Chelsea’s. We partied, got high, switched love interests whenever we felt like it, all still growing our business. It was l
ike it would never end. And then—” Raine’s voice broke off. She really didn’t want to continue.

  Brandt let her be quiet for a moment, then prodded, “What then?”

  Her voice wouldn’t work, and finally came out in a whisper. “And then I slept with Marcia’s husband.”

  Brandt let out a long breath. “I see.”

  “I haven’t even told Tori that.”

  He nodded. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but she had to keep going now. “Marcia fired me, rightly so, but she also got me black-listed from work there. Some of my friends stuck by me—Marcia wasn’t squeaky clean herself—but the whole thing made me look at who I’d become. And I didn’t like it.”

  Brandt was silent. A knock came on the front door, but he didn’t even stick his head out to see who it was. He just waited.

  Raine took a deep breath. She was mortified at having to put it all in words, especially to him. And if she lost him over it, well, that was what she deserved. Part of the process, Tori would say.

  She looked at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at him. “I knew I needed to change. I quit the drugs, even quit drinking. I kept myself to myself—no more guys. And I did okay for a couple weeks, stayed strong, but my friends kept pulling me back. You know, the ‘one drink won’t hurt anyone’ sort of thing. Except any progress I made disappeared when I went out with them. And the guys kept hitting on me, and that was really hard. So one night I shoved everything into the car, drove down, and knocked on Tori’s door with no notice. I needed someone on my side, not trying to pull me back down.”

  Did she dare look at him? Would she see the same fury he’d had for Chelsea? Disgust?

  She felt movement and looked up to see him settling on the floor next to her. He picked her hand up gently, stroked it.

  “So now you’re back and making your changes, and it’s still not easy, is it?”

  She focused on the feel of his hand, rough, calloused, strong. Like she was, or like she needed to be. “I can’t change what I did before. I can’t remake those decisions. And I still make some dumb ones, like hanging out with Chelsea again. But I’m trying to be careful about what I choose going forward.”