Safe House

by Charley Descoteaux

  Safe House

  By Charley Descoteaux

  Buchanan House: Book Four

  Kyle Shimoda is an asshole magnet, has been for as long as he can remember. At forty-seven, he doesn’t see much chance for improving his luck in love. His friends who run Buchanan House, a gay retreat on the central Oregon coast, know he wants to find “someone nice” to settle down with, and they set him up with Officer Brandon Smith. Kyle has a turbulent history with law enforcement, but he can’t deny his attraction to the buff cop.

  Brandon has been a police officer in Lincoln City almost since the day he graduated from high school over thirty years ago. He’s cultivated the facade of a serious, disciplined law enforcement officer, but beneath his overdeveloped chest beats the soft heart of a drama queen. A cancer scare shifts Bran’s focus from finding a serious relationship to having as much sex as he can—putting his goals squarely at odds with Kyle’s. If he can’t find the courage to be honest about his feelings for Kyle, the happiness they’ve both been searching for could slip through their fingers.

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Readers love the Buchanan House series by Charley Descoteaux

  By Charley Descoteaux

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Exclusive excerpt

  Ryan

  More from Charley Descoteaux

  About the Author

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright Page

  Readers love the Buchanan House series by Charley Descoteaux

  Buchanan House

  USA Today Must-read Romance of 2015

  “…a lovely book, and I enjoyed reading it and watching the story blossom like roses in spring.”

  —Becky Condit

  “…an uplifting sort of book and something that I think would appeal to a general audience.”

  —MM Good Book Reviews

  Pride Weekend

  “…if you’re looking for a read that is fun, very hot, and has a beautiful happy ending, then you will probably like this free short story.”

  —Rainbow Book Reviews

  Tiny House

  “I can officially add Charley Descoteaux to my auto-buy list from now on. I loved this series, and this book made me hope with all ten fingers and ten toes crossed that it’s not over yet.”

  — Inked Rainbow Reads

  By Charley Descoteaux

  Cascades

  Curious Sustenance

  Directing Traffic

  The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds

  Not the Doctor

  The Pinch of the Game

  Toy Run

  BUCHANAN HOUSE LOVE STORIES

  Buchanan House

  Pride Weekend

  Tiny House

  Safe House

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  For everyone who has had to start over. Never give up on yourself or your dreams.

  Author’s Note

  MANY OF the places in the Buchanan House series are real but all are used with a healthy dose of creative license. Devil’s Lake is real as is the D River, which for a time was listed as the shortest river in the world in the Guinness World Records. The spot where the Buchanan House camp building sits, however, is a combination of three different places on the central coast of Oregon. Unfortunately you won’t find an LGBTQ+ retreat at the end of the D River, and if you meet someone resembling any of the characters in this book that would be purely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  KYLE REMINDED himself for at least the tenth time that he was standing graveside at a stranger’s funeral for Paulie’s sake. Even though the mere thought of a funeral made his skin crawl, if Paulie needed an escort, Kyle would push his own feelings aside and be there for him.

  Dwelling on Paulie felt better than acknowledging that even going to a funeral was better than what he would have been doing otherwise. He couldn’t decide which was worse, playing second fiddle at Puddle Jumper, the restaurant Paulie had helmed at its inception and left to start his life of wedded bliss, or dancing with any man who didn’t say no and hoping he wouldn’t turn out to be yet another dead end. Not that Kyle would be dancing and drinking in the middle of the day. His life had been reduced to work and sleep with increasingly smaller portions of fun sprinkled in, but he hadn’t slipped that close to hitting bottom.

  Okay, Valentine’s Day was last weekend. Get over it already.

  They stood off to one side of the small crowd gathered at the gravesite. Paulie was gripping Kyle’s hand a little too tightly but otherwise seemed fine. He couldn’t have said the same for himself, however. Kyle’s heart fluttered in his chest, and even though he hadn’t known the man being interred, pain was blooming behind his breastbone. The man had been a client of Meals on Wheels. Paulie had started cooking for Meals on Wheels the first week after he moved to the coast, and he truly cared for the people he’d met through volunteering. Just being at a funeral would have been enough to bring thoughts of Kyle’s mother front and center. Or maybe it was his own mortality bothering him. A lot of men had started—or even finished—a midlife crisis by their midforties.

  Another train of thought that isn’t helping.

  Kyle tried to distract himself by discreetly looking away from the flower-draped coffin and the somber faces surrounding it to a flowering plum tree on the cemetery grounds. The delicate white blossoms fluttered as a light wind blew past, and Kyle wondered if rain was on the way. The weather promised to be a safer topic.

  Weather on the Oregon coast was unpredictable, but it was a lovely day. Kyle’s father liked the old saying, “We get our June in February and our February in June,” and when Kyle thought of it, he had to school his expression to keep the smile from his face.

  Thoughts of his father seldom ended in happiness, so he didn’t push too far down that particular track. He surreptitiously watched puffy white clouds slowly scudding across his limited field of vision, throwing shadows on the manicured cemetery grounds as the breeze off the lake pushed them steadily inland. A smile spread across Kyle’s features even as he tried to keep a handle on it. He was at a funeral, the only nonwhite person in attendance, and the only man with long hair, so he already stuck out even without an inappropriate smile on his face. The face that was a perfect replica of his father, Kenzou Shimoda, even though Kyle’s mother had been French Canadian and Irish.

  The ceremony came to a close and Paulie turned to Kyle, pulling him from his reverie.

  “Thank you for coming out. I really didn’t want to do this alone.” Paulie studied Kyle for a short moment and then enveloped him in a hug.

  “No problem. All you have to do is call.”

  “That goes both ways, you know.” Paulie kissed his cheek and then stepped back, his gaze wandering over those in attendance.

  Kyle had a moment to wonder if Paulie was disappointed for some reason or only preoccupied before a familiar form separated from the slow procession toward the parking lot. Kyle knew Paulie’s invitation to spend the weekend at Buchanan House was meant to hide a setup, but he couldn’t bring himself to be upset about it. He’d been waiting for it ever sin
ce Paulie and Nathan’s wedding six weeks before. Three boutonnieres and a wedding bouquet hitting him square in the chest had turned out to be a signal even he couldn’t fail to notice. It looked like all of Kyle’s friends knew he wanted to find someone nice.

  Ha. Someone nice. How many times have I heard that in the past year?

  A deep, almost gravelly voice called out softly for Paulie, breaking into Kyle’s thoughts.

  “Brandon?” Paulie sounded surprised as he extended a hand toward the Lincoln City police officer. Brandon Smith wasn’t in uniform, but even if Kyle hadn’t known what he did for a living, Brandon’s posture spoke of strict discipline and hyperalertness.

  Kyle sidestepped partially behind Paulie and tried not to seem rude as he turned away from Brandon.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here today.” Paulie’s tone said otherwise.

  “Mr. Williams was my third-grade teacher. His brother was a state trooper and inspired me to go into law enforcement.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry for your loss. He was such a wonderful man.”

  “He was. He loved your cooking and your visits, Paulie.”

  Paulie blushed a light pink. Kyle had to suppress a grin. Paulie was so cute when he blushed. Sometimes it seemed like he’d never received a compliment before, the way he reacted to them. Of course that wasn’t true. Paulie had given up a prestigious position as head chef of one of Portland’s premier restaurants to marry Nathan and move to the coast. He’d gotten some flak about it, but Kyle had defended Paulie’s decision to their friends still living in Portland. Truthfully, he was happy for Paulie and jealous of his happiness in almost equal measure. What I wouldn’t give to have someone worth giving up a dream job for. Kyle had worried Paulie would regret leaving the job behind, but he had never seen him happier in all the years they’d been friends.

  Kyle was brought back to the present by the sound of his name.

  “Brandon, you remember Kyle?” Paulie turned to make the introduction, exposing Kyle and probably the fact he’d been hiding as well.

  “Yes, of course. How are you?” Brandon extended a hand.

  It was all Kyle could do not to shrink away from it. He nodded as politely as he could, gritted his teeth, and shook. All his concentration was focused on not shuddering, not giving away that he would rather run back to Buchanan House by way of Portland than shake hands with a cop.

  “Fine, thank you.” Be polite—it’ll be over soon. Kyle forced himself to meet Brandon’s gaze, and the combination of his strong hand and the intensity of his bright blue eyes caught Kyle’s attention. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that he had to look down to look him in the eye. Brandon had seemed taller and more imposing from across the room, but up close Kyle saw he was probably the same height as Eric—five seven. “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks. Bruce had a good run and went peacefully in his sleep—” Brandon cut himself off quickly and averted his eyes to look past Kyle and Paulie, maybe as far as the parking lot, or maybe he wasn’t seeing anything in front of himself at all. “Nice seeing you, Paulie. Kyle.”

  Brandon abruptly headed for the parking lot as though someone needed to be arrested. Kyle watched him go, feeling light-headed. When Paulie rested a hand on his arm, Kyle’s knees buckled. He kept his feet, but it was humiliating.

  Paulie didn’t say a word. He looped his arm through Kyle’s and started them walking toward the parking lot. When they reached the car, Paulie sat him in the passenger seat. The car didn’t belong to Kyle—he didn’t own a car—it was the tiny rental Zipcar he’d used for the trip, a Prius. But he had driven Paulie to the funeral.

  Kyle started to get up, but Paulie rested a hand on his shoulder. “You drove here. I can drive back.”

  Paulie walked around the front of the tiny car, watching Kyle as he went. Kyle shook his head and looked down at his hands, gripping his own thighs hard enough to hurt.

  The door closed quietly, and Paulie’s hand covered Kyle’s. He rubbed gently.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” Kyle tried to smile, but it felt stilted and wooden.

  “I didn’t think….”

  “Don’t apologize, Paulie. It’s not you, and it’s not even really Brandon.”

  “He’s a nice guy.”

  “Yeah. I know.” And I know why you’re saying it like that too, Paulie, but it’s not going to happen.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Paulie’s tone said he wasn’t exactly sure what was wrong but would listen if Kyle needed to talk.

  If Kyle had only guessed he was being set up with Officer Brandon Smith before, Paulie had just removed any lingering doubts. Derek would have been in on at least some of the planning, and had probably tried to talk them out of it—at least with that particular man—because of a racial profiling incident with a couple of Portland’s finest. It had been a long time ago, before he had even begun studying at the culinary institute. Kyle hadn’t been hurt—unless he counted a little bruising around the wrists and a sore back, and he preferred not to—and the whole thing had been over in a few scary and drawn-out hours, but Kyle had downplayed the experience to everyone except Derek. It hadn’t been a conscious decision to keep the truth about his experience and how it had affected him from his Caucasian friends, that’s just the way it had come out the first time. He hadn’t wanted to make them uncomfortable, so he’d held back, and later the idea of amending what he’d said had made him feel like he’d lied. Easier to just let it stand.

  Paulie twisted in his seat, and Kyle realized he hadn’t answered.

  “No. Thanks, but I’m really fine.”

  “Says the man who’s trembling hard enough to shake the car.” Paulie pulled him into a hug, and Kyle released his grip on his thighs and hugged him back.

  “I’m really okay. I don’t know why I reacted that way. It’s been a long time since I’ve come that close to panicking around a cop.”

  After a little squeeze, Paulie pulled back and looked Kyle in the eyes. “Well, you have a whole long weekend to relax, so try not to worry about it.”

  They exchanged a smile, but Kyle knew Paulie was disappointed.

  Luckily, when Paulie turned away to start the car, he missed Kyle’s shiver. Kyle couldn’t explain why he’d reacted the way he had to Brandon—they’d met before, even if they hadn’t had an actual conversation. What made even less sense was the way he’d felt while shaking hands with Brandon, the way Brandon’s sure grip and the warmth of his hand had stuck in Kyle’s mind. The way Kyle’s cock had started to fill from the contact.

  Chapter Two

  BRANDON BARELY paid attention as he drove between the cemetery and the apartment he shared with two roommates. He’d hoped to find a voice mail from the doctor after the funeral, but no such luck. He did find one saying the new guy, Dylan, had called in sick, and Brandon was expected at work within the hour. He would have been happier to stay at the cemetery and talk with Paulie a little longer. And Kyle. Bran had met Kyle before, but they hadn’t spoken. He had noticed then how handsome Kyle was, and he was even more striking with his hair longer, framing his high cheekbones and full, sensuous mouth. His silky black hair looked so touchable.

  This isn’t getting me to work any faster.

  At least work will be a distraction.

  He hurried home and changed into his uniform. His quick spot check in the bathroom mirror turned into a lingering appraisal. Brandon ran an open hand over his chest, not to smooth the impeccable fabric of his uniform shirt, but to reassure himself that nothing had changed. He grimaced at his reflection, thinking a little less gray and a little more brown in his hair might be a nice change.

  Brandon shivered as he recalled the MRI he’d endured three days prior, which had revealed a suspicious lump in his chest. Forty-seven minutes in a tiny tube while the machine hummed and took pictures of his breast and lymph tissue. Just thinking about the way it had felt to lie there made him shiver—it was worse than the needle biop
sy he’d had the following day. With every inhale his shoulders had brushed the walls of the tube on both sides, and less than halfway through he’d had to talk himself out of fleeing. He wasn’t a tall man—something that had bothered him throughout his life—but until that day he had taken pride in his body, in the bulk he’d cultivated without sacrificing speed or agility.

  During that forty-seven minutes, he would have been happy to trade his broad shoulders for a smaller frame.

  Since I’m making empty wishes, I might as well make one for a better-looking face. A face that could attract a handsome young guy like Kyle instead of scaring him half to death.

  Bran’s stomach roiled at his own thoughts, and he resolved to not even think the word death again until—unless—he had to. He was tempted to forgo shaving the sandy brown stubble from his face but fell back on the habit, hoping for the comfort a routine could provide, and reached for his electric razor.

  Everything seemed to be happening so fast. Less than a week ago he’d gone in for his yearly physical, and now he was waiting for the call that would tell him whether he needed to make another appointment for that week or next year. In the interim he’d been squeezed into a tube and had a biopsy. And relived the worst time in his life over and over, the time when he’d learned about his father’s diagnosis.

  “Hey, Bran.” Dave knocked at the same time Brandon’s phone started vibrating. “You gonna ride with, or take your car?”

  “Wait for me? I’ll only be another minute.”

  “Copy that.”

  Brandon would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t been frantically digging his phone out of the pocket of his uniform pants. “Hello? This is Smith.”

  A moment of silence started to stretch, and Brandon checked his screen. The doctor’s office.