He’d known she was in Colorado all along. She’d mentioned it in her first post. But Colorado is a big state. Mountains to the west. Plains to the east. And even a desert region to the south. Just knowing Mountain Daisy was in Colorado wasn’t enough to get him to leave the place where he’d been holed up all these years.
Until she posted a picture.
It was the first image she’d ever shared with him. To the casual observer, it would have looked like a shot taken from someone sitting on a mountain bike. Nothing but handlebars and a bike trail.
But it was way more than that.
He knew her location immediately. The gravel path. The boathouse in the distance perched on the edge of a lake. And not just any lake. Smith Lake.
Mountain Daisy had taken the picture at Baxter Park in Denver. The same park he’d ridden his bike hundreds, maybe thousands of times. He knew the rise and fall of each curve. He remembered the pitch and drop of each straightaway.
And there was more.
She’d added daisy decals to her handlebars, but it was the two letters etched into the metal that caused the breath to catch in his throat.
C + B
Camden Bergen.
It popped into his head the moment the image flashed across his screen, and within seconds, he’d started checking flights back to the States.
That picture, with his initials tucked between two daisies, drove him to board a plane, fly across the ocean, and come back to Colorado—the place he’d sworn he’d never return, all to try to find Mountain Daisy, whoever she was.
He shifted forward on the seat as the cab stopped and glanced up from his phone.
“Do you want me to wait?” the cabbie asked, narrowing his eyes in the rearview mirror.
Camden grabbed his bag, opened the car door, and looked up at the entrance to Fairmount Cemetery.
“No, you can go,” he answered, his voice rough like chalk scraping along a stretch of cracked pavement.
He’d spent so much time alone these past years, interacting with others as little as possible. But he wasn’t a complete hermit. He’d go into town from time to time. He was a big man. A strong man. Working odd jobs on and off at the different ski resorts, shoveling snow, running the lifts, and in the summer months, building and maintaining trails had left him lean and ripped. And even with his wild hair and bushy beard, women were drawn to him. He’d lost count of the meaningless one-night stands—those times where he’d venture out when his body craved carnal release. But that empty part of his life ended the day Mountain Daisy’s message flashed across his phone’s screen.
He got out of the cab and clenched his jaw, remembering the last time he’d been here.
Green and lush with birds calling out to one another in the late afternoon sun, the cemetery looked different in the springtime. When they’d buried his parents, it had been cold. Damn cold. The kind of cold that seeped into the bone, unrelenting and unrepentant. The wind had whipped across his cheekbones, and the lashes had been a welcomed distraction from the two coffins lying prostrate on the snow-covered ground.
He set off down the path toward two grand headstones. He may not want the living members of his family to know he was in Denver, but he needed to pay his respects to the dead before he set out to try to find Mountain Daisy. He owed them that.
Not another soul in sight, it wasn’t long before he stopped beneath a beech tree and stared at the headstones of Hannah and Griffin Bergen with loving parents of Jasper, Brennen, and Camden etched beneath their names.
He set his pack on the ground and scrubbed his hands down his face.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long. I don’t know how this works, but I’d like to think you know why I’m here. But first…” He released a pained breath. “I need you to know that I’m sorry I turned out so unworthy of the Bergen name.”
He paused. Not only did he not want to live in the spotlight of being a Bergen, he didn’t deserve it.
He’d cut himself off from his clan. At eighteen years old, he’d attended his parents’ funeral then left this place and headed to the Alps before the first shovel-full of dirt covered their caskets.
Even now, despite being a Bergen, he had nothing to contribute to his family.
His oldest brother, Jasper, sat at the helm of Bergen Enterprises as its CEO. And Brennen, the middle child, had been a pro skier and Winter X Games champion. Moreover, he’d seen the news of Bren’s engagement to a local teacher, and his brother’s work with the philanthropic arm of the company had made international headlines.
His brothers had a place in this world. His brothers represented the family.
What had he done?
Starting at age twelve he’d taught ski lessons at Bergen Mountain and worked as a camp counselor during the summers for the Bergen Adventure Summer Camp. He’d been good with kids back then, but he’d spent the last decade barely breathing a word unless it was absolutely necessary.
He closed his eyes and pictured the letters carved into Mountain Daisy’s handlebars. “I just thought that maybe I could be somebody different with her.”
He’d never spoken the words out loud. Never verbalized what he’d been feeling this last week. Jesus! What had seemed entirely plausible now sounded almost insane. Yes, he could have sent Mountain Daisy a message. He could have asked if she wanted to meet. But then, she could have said no. She could have dashed his dreams before he’d even ventured out of his sad little cabin, and something deep within him couldn’t take that chance.
He paced the length between the headstones and pressed on. “I decided to come home and give myself the summer to try to find her. We met by chance. I guess, what it comes down to is that, if I’m meant to find her, I will.”
He knew she rode the trails around Smith Lake. He knew what her bike looked like. He could spend the summer in Denver. He’d lay low and stay off the radar. He’d saved up a little money. He could find a studio apartment or even rent a room nearby. He had a trust fund with millions, but he’d sworn he’d never touch a penny of the money he didn’t deserve.
And maybe, if he found her, they could be together.
He’d assumed she was single from how frequently they corresponded. Despite being eight hours ahead of her, he knew her schedule. Nine p.m. for her was five a.m. for him, and he’d gotten used to being up at that early hour to message with her before she went to sleep. Surely, if she was married or with someone, she wouldn’t be able to spend hours at the end of her day chatting with him, right?
He looked back and forth between the headstones. “I know I have no right to ask for your help or your blessing, but I feel like I’ve found something good. I think there’s someone out there for me. Just like you guys and Gran and Grandad.”
But that twist in his chest was back. Was he selfish? Was he breaking some unspoken agreement between himself and Mountain Daisy? Were they destined only for a long-distance pen pal relationship? Could that be all she wanted?
Cam picked up his pack and eased his arms through the straps, then stared at his father’s name carved into the gleaming onyx headstone. “When we’d ride a really technical trail you’d always say, ‘Look at where you want to be. Find that spot and focus on it.’ I think I found it, Dad. I think that spot is my Daisy.”
He kicked at a clump of grass. He wouldn’t have to tell her he was a Bergen—at least, not at first. She could be his fresh start. His clean slate.
He shook his head as a thread of doubt twisted around his heart. Fuck! Was this all some crazy pipe dream? Maybe it was, but he’d come this far. He had a plan. A loose plan. The worst-case scenario was that if he didn’t find her, they’d just go back to being forum buddies. But Christ, he wanted more. They’d connected. She might not know his name or his face, but she knew his heart.
He glanced between the headstones one last time when a voice caught his attention. He turned to find his cab driver running toward him while holding up his cellphone.
“I knew you looked familiar!�
�� he called, gasping for breath. “And then when I saw you head over to where those fancy Bergens are buried, I knew I was right! You’re the Bergen grandson. You’re the missing heir who left town right after your parents died. I’m going to be able to sell these pics for a fortune. Nobody’s seen you in years!”
Fucking hell!
It would break his grandmother’s heart if she found out he was back, and he hadn’t let her know.
Camden pushed the man’s phone out of his face and strode up the path.
“Hey! I’m right, aren’t I?” the cabbie called, trailing behind him as a click click sound emanated behind him.
Cam glanced over his shoulder as the paunchy, middle-aged man struggled to keep up, but he needed to get the hell out of there and out of this wannabe paparazzi’s sight.
And he needed to get to his grandmother.
She’d been nothing but kind to him over the years, emailing him every week. Updating him on his brothers and grandfather.
He’d never replied. Not once.
He could send her a message. But what if she didn’t get it before this jackass sold the pictures? It would kill him to hurt her any more than he already had.
He had no choice. It was time to run.
Luckily, he ran a six-minute mile and doubted the camera-happy cabbie could walk a mile, let alone keep up with him.
He looked around and got his bearings. He still knew this city like the back of his hand and headed west on Alameda Avenue. He was about four miles away from his grandparents’ estate situated near the Denver Botanic Garden, and he could get there in under thirty minutes easy.
But would they be home?
Fuck if he knew, but it was his best option.
His backpack bobbed and jostled behind him as he edged by a woman pushing a stroller and rushed past a trio of power walkers to make the light. He was a little over a mile in when a car honked behind him.
“You can’t outrun me, buddy!” the cabbie called from the driver’s side window. “I’m gonna retire off these pictures!”
Fuck that!
Camden doubled his pace, headed north and zigzagged through the neighborhood, but the cabbie kept up.
This asshole was persistent. His brother, Brennen, had been hounded by the press for years—news of his escapades even made it all the way to Switzerland. Cam gritted his teeth. He’d be damned if he was going to fall prey to some gossip blog thirty minutes after blowing into town.
His arms sliced the air at his sides, pumping and driving him to push harder, when the rarely used south entrance to the botanic gardens came into view.
The cabbie honked his horn again. “You can run, but you can’t hide! I’ll find you, Bergen!”
Wanna bet?
Cam’s breaths came fast, and his mind raced. He couldn’t lead this jerk to his grandparents’ place. That would be just the confirmation this moron would need. But he knew something this persistent prick didn’t.
He glanced behind him, flipped off the cabbie, then scaled the wall surrounding the gardens like a mountain lion. He’d barely missed a bush coming down and landed with a thud on solid ground. But just when he thought he was home free, he was met with a round of gasps.
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!” a man blurted.
Cam brushed the dirt off his knees and looked up. A woman in a flowing white dress stood next to a man in a dark tux with a minister between them, his mouth hanging open.
A quick check of the space confirmed what he already knew. To lose the cabbie, he’d just committed a nice little bout of breaking and entering into the gardens and ended up crashing an outdoor wedding. He stepped forward and reached out toward the groom.
What the hell was he doing?
The man cocked his head to the side then seemed to remember his manners and shook Camden’s hand with a glazed expression.
Cam gave the man’s hand a firm shake. “Congratulations! I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.”
He nodded to the stunned wedding guests then weaved his way past the still slack-jawed minister and seven very confused bridesmaids, over to the path that led to a secret door.
A few stately homes backed up to the botanic gardens. His grandparents’ estate happened to be one of them, and they had an even bigger perk than just being able to see the gardens in all their splendor from their backyard. They had a gate that led from their property into the gardens.
Private access.
He and his brothers had loved sneaking into the gardens, pretending they were secret agents, infiltrating whatever cops and robbers or espionage scenario they could imagine.
He slowed to almost a walk when a security guard turned the corner and charged toward him.
Cam sucked in a breath. He did not have time for this!
Adding a mugshot to the paparazzi pictures was not at all the homecoming he’d envisioned.
He cut down a path and skirted by a cluster of willows. The gardens sported little offshoots—dirt paths that led patrons off the main walkways and through the dense foliage that lined the wall dividing the gardens’ property from that of the surrounding estates. All he had to do was lose this guy and get to the door.
“Stop! There’s nowhere to hide,” the guard called.
But the man was wrong. There were plenty of places to hide. Secluded nooks. Areas draped behind thick canopies of leaves. He remembered them all. He may have been the youngest Bergen brother, but he was the best when it came to discovering the most secluded spots. He turned down a narrow path then cursed under his breath. The once concealed nook had changed from when he’d last been here.
Shit! He was twenty-eight! It had been damn near twenty years since he and his brothers had played hide-and-seek in the gardens, and the once hidden alcove was now part of a new open garden, teeming with daisies—and nowhere to hide.
“Stop!” the guard shouted, gaining on him.
Cam had to act fast. His only hope was to make it to the gate. He cut back onto the narrow dirt trail that followed the wall and saw the rooftop of his grandparents’ house peek through the trees. He was so close but cursed under his breath when he reached the door and tried to turn the knob.
Locked!
Of course, it was! What was he expecting? Denver’s most influential family would leave it open for any Tom, Dick, or Harry—or runaway Bergen heir—to pop in at their leisure?
The guard’s footsteps grew closer, and Cam prepared for impact. He was six five and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. It was time to put that muscle to work. He reared back and banged his shoulder into the door. The lock gave way, and he crashed into his grandparents’ backyard, tumbling onto the ground and knocking over a table.
Before he could even blink, something white slid off the surface and mushed into his face and shoulder as another round of gasps filled the air. He brushed his finger across his cheek and glanced at the substance.
Icing?
Why the hell was he covered in cake?
He didn’t have time to work it out because a small man in a chef’s uniform with a white puffy hat started kicking him.
“That was my chocolate raspberry truffle masterpiece!” the irate man cried in a thick French accent.
Cam put up his hands, shielding himself from the man’s assault—which mirrored that of a disgruntled Pomeranian, poking and jabbing, but not doing any real harm, and tried to get up. He had to figure out why there was a cake table with a pissed off baker in his grandparents’ backyard when the security guard banged through the broken gate.
“I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Bergen. This vagrant just hopped the fence and disrupted a wedding in progress on the grounds. I followed him here. We need to call the police.”
Cam shooed off the angry French dude and turned to find five pairs of wide eyes watching him, and his stomach dropped.
This may be the worst homecoming ever recorded in the history of homecomings.
He did a quick glance around the yard. Besides the chef-dude and the red-cheeked se
curity guard, five people stared at him, suspended in a silent state of shock, and there was fucking cake all over the place.
His gram and grandad sat stock still next to Brennen and the woman he recognized from the pictures all over the internet as his brother’s fiancée, Abby Quinn. But he didn’t recognize the woman sitting next to Abby. Golden-blond hair cascaded past her shoulders like rays of sunlight, and he locked onto her gaze—her eyes such a vibrant shade of blue, they put the big Colorado sky to shame.
Maybe it was the surprise of watching someone break through a locked gate, get covered in cake, then have security charge in, but she didn’t turn away. And while she was clearly shocked—you’d have to be in a coma to not be at least a little concerned when a guy the size of a linebacker crashes your cake party—he couldn’t get past the kindness in her eyes, the crazy instant connection he felt toward a woman he’d never seen before.
It didn’t last long.
A beefy hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him up from the ground. He came to his feet and raised his hands defensively. He did not want to add assaulting a security guard to his list of offenses.
“You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not breaking into this place,” Cam said, doing his best not to look like a madman.
The guard cocked his head to the side. “Did you just bust through the door?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the definition of breaking in,” the man answered.
Dammit! He couldn’t argue with that.
“He can’t break into his own home.”
Cam turned to see his grandmother. She’d risen to her feet and stood next to his grandad a few yards away on the stone patio.
Confusion marred the guard’s expression. “His what?”
“Home,” his grandfather reiterated, stepping off the patio and coming to his side with his grandmother close behind.
“You know this guy?” the guard pressed.
“Know him? I was there when he was born,” his grandmother added.
Cam turned to his grandparents. “Sorry about the door. I was…”
“Just casually dropping by, darling?” his gram finished with a slight twist to her lips.
Man Find (Bergen Brothers Book 3) Page 3
