Rand (A 3 Brides for 3 Bad Boys Novella)

by Lucy Monroe

Nikolai nodded his head abruptly. "We'll make room for you."

  He didn't ask how much luggage she had. It wasn't the Cailkirn way.

  Caitlin turned to Savannah and her son. "I should introduce myself to you too. I'm Caitlin Grant and you can find me at the Knit & Pearl Bed and Breakfast. You and your son will always be welcome."

  Though she was probably the last woman who should be trying to offer hope and help to someone else, Caitlin couldn't seem to stop herself.

  "I'm Joseph, but everybody calls me Joey," the little dark-haired boy offered while his mother stood in apparent shock.

  Caitlin shook his hand and didn't tell him she'd heard his name on the plane. "It's very nice to meet you, Joseph. I'll call you Joey if you like."

  "Yes." He stared at his mom, clearly waiting for her to say something.

  The other woman offered her hand. "My name is Savannah..." she cast a sidelong glance at Nickolai.

  He gazed back, his expression impenetrable.

  Savannah took a deep breath. "Vasov. I'm Savannah Vasov."

  Caitlin schooled her features not to show her shock. She hadn't heard of a proxy marriage since she was a teenager, but what else could this be?

  In a state where the male population outnumbered females of marriageable age especially, long distance relationships were not uncommon. Marriages brought about through a third party weren't unheard of either.

  Heck, they happened in the Lower 48 too. The dot.com matchmaking entities were an ingrained part of American life now. Entire reality shows were dedicated to the concept of matchmaking and selective pool dating with the endgame being a marriage.

  Proxy marriages were a lot less common though, to the point of being almost unheard of. Oh, they happened, most commonly among active duty military though.

  They were only legal in six states, California being one of them – which explained how Savannah and Nik had managed to marry by proxy. It wasn't a legal practice for an Alaskan based marriage ceremony.

  Though foreign brides marrying American men by proxy was still an active practice. Caitlin had known more than one beautiful Eastern European or Asian woman back in LA who had married her wealthy, but otherwise unremarkable middle aged husband, by proxy. It had worked out beautifully for some and not so well for others.

  Not that Caitlin was in a position to pass judgment on anyone else’s marriage, hers having been its own horror story.

  They retrieved their luggage and headed out to Nikolai's truck, where the big man let Savannah, her son and Caitlin into the vehicle before stowing the suitcases in the back. Anticipation born of loss and growth filled Caitlin as they headed back to her hometown, the one place she'd been so sure she never wanted to live again and the only place she could imagine trying to build her life again now.

  -SNIP-

  Tack was late for dinner.

  The Grant sisters served it promptly at seven spring through fall and six in the winter (when the guests were few and far between). It was a quarter past seven and Tack knew he'd be in for anything from a gentle reprimand to an acerbic tongue lashing, depending which of the elderly sisters took him to task.

  He didn't mind. His Inuit mother and grandmother had taught him to respect his elders, especially those of the female gender.

  Tack pulled into the B&B's drive and was surprised to see Nik's truck parked in front. Tack thought the other man had gone into Anchorage to pick up his mail-order bride.

  Tack still couldn't believe his friend had gone ahead with the proxy wedding. He understood the pressure Nik was under from his grandfather, but still couldn't see how this kind of marriage was the solution. Nik deserved a real marriage to a woman he loved. But then maybe Tack was just too traditional.

  True love sure hadn't worked out for him.

  As he climbed out of his truck, he realized a woman sat in the front seat of the dusty red extended cab, the top of her blond hair just visible above the back of the seat.

  Was this the bride and what in the hell was she doing in Nik's truck without Nik?

  He looked beyond the truck to the open door to the Bed and Breakfast in time to see Nik coming out the door. Not the most affable of men, Tack's friend looked even more pissed off with the world than usual.

  He stopped when he saw Tack. "What are you doing here?"

  "Eating with the Grant sisters. Is that your bride?" Tack tilted his head toward Nik's truck.

  "Yes," Nik bit off. "And the boy sleeping in the backseat is her son."

  Shock coursed through Tack. "Her son?"

  "Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that news either." With that, Nik yanked his door open and jumped into his truck. "Good luck with the Grant Sisters, man. I’ve got my own woman troubles to deal with tonight."

  He slammed it closed and was pulling out of the drive with a spray of gravel seconds later.

  Well, hell.

  He might have advised Nik against the whole mail-order bride thing, but that didn't mean Tack didn't want it to work out for the other man.

  Shaking his head, Tack climbed the front porch steps. From the way they squeaked, he decided they could use a little maintenance as well. He added that to his to-do list in his head. The sound of all three sisters talking at once led him to the front parlor, but his steps slowed as he heard another voice mixed in.

  Soft feminine tones he would never forget, they still echoed in whispers as he woke from the kinds of dreams men were supposed to stop having once they'd left their teen years.

  Kitty Grant was here.

  Miss Elspeth had to have known Kitty was coming in today, but she hadn't said so. She's told him her niece was coming home, but Tack had thought that meant at some point in the future. Not today.

  Not right this minute when he wasn't prepared for or expecting it.

  Nik's words made more sense now too. The other man knew about Tack's history with Kitty, so his words had been a warning, but damned if Tack had gotten it.

  He considered turning around and leaving, but his feet just kept moving forward as the sound of her voice grew more and more discernable and had its typical impact on his libido. It had been years, but hearing her voice still turned him on faster than a woman's friendly hand on his thigh when he was in the mood to scratch that itch.

  His heart beating as fast as if he'd jogged a seven mile trail uphill, he stopped he stopped in the open doorway to the parlor and got his first view of Kitty Grant.

  All the air expelled from his lungs and he couldn't seem to suck any back in.

  He'd expected Kitty to look emaciated; after the research he'd done, he'd rehearsed in his mind how he wouldn't react outwardly to her appearance when he finally saw her. He hadn't prepared himself for the woman who stood before him. No, she didn't have the same curvaceous allure she had six years ago, but even from the back, Kitty was still breath-stealing.

  She was thin, but her limbs didn't have the fragile skeletal appearance from the previous winter that had so concerned Miss Elspeth and her clothes fit over obvious feminine curves. Gratitude that he hadn't had to come face-to-face with signs of her illness gave him the wherewithal to finally take in another breath.

  He didn't ever have to admit it to anyone else (or acknowledge it to himself again if he could help it), but it would have destroyed something inside Tack to see her as sick as Miss Elspeth said Kitty had been.

  The female form he had always considered perfect was encased in a pastel pink suit that highlighted her understated curves. No doubt by some big name designer, the jacket had a ruffle thing around her hips that accented the gentle slope of her ass. He liked it. The skirt hugged her hips, its hem a few inches above her knees, giving him a view of her toned legs.

  Her heels had to be at least three inches high. They looked neither comfortable nor suitable for life in Cailkirn, Alaska. But hell if they didn't make her calves look delicious and spark his imagination about what she'd look like from the back walking in them.

  Undeniable arousal hit him hard and without provocation.
Worse than the sound of her voice, the sight of her had him craving things he knew damn well no good could come from wanting. Renewed sexual attraction to the woman who'd decimated his heart was not in Tack's list of approved scenarios for the future.

  He once again considered turning around and leaving before anyone noticed him. What were the chances Miss Elspeth would remember inviting him to dinner?

  Who was he kidding? That woman remembered everything. Including how many times she'd changed Tack's diaper when he was a baby.

  Besides, his feet weren't listening to his brain. He'd kept moving and now he stood right behind Kitty, her subtle floral perfume mixing with her natural scent reaching out to tug at his senses.

  The urge to reach out and touch nearly overwhelmed him. He had to squelch it, and fast.

  "I would have expected you to arrive in a limo, Miz Barston." His words acted like an anvil on the feminine chatter.

  Kitty's back went rigid, her head jerking, like the sound of his voice had shocked her even worse than hearing hers had him moments ago. There went his chance of leaving undetected. Shit. Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut?

  All three of the older women turned to face him with varying expressions. Miss Elspeth glowed with delight. Miz Moya's eyes were suspiciously moist, her smile a little wobbly. Miz Alma's usual dour expression was lightened enough for an almost smile to curve her precisely painted lips.

  Kitty turned too. Slowly, as if cautious about what she was going to find. Her eyes locked onto Tack's, their blue depths filled with a hell of a lot of emotion. None of which he could, or wanted to, interpret.

  And you keep telling yourself that, boyo. Ignoring the sarcastic inner voice, he drank in the sight of Kitty full face-on.

  Her wild red curls, longer than they had been the last time he'd seen her, were mostly tamed to a clip behind her head. Though one had slipped forward to lay in a ringlet over her ear. Her cheeks were not as full or rosy as he remembered, but she looked nothing like the pictures of dangerously underweight anorexic women he'd looked up online after leaving the Knit & Pearl earlier that day.

  Her breasts were still rounded, the mint green top she wore under her suit jacket cut low enough to hint at cleavage that fed the desire he was doing his best to ignore.

  And she was still more beautiful than any other woman he'd ever known.

  Her blue eyes were just as vivid as they'd always been, but the sparkle of laughter, of perpetual mischief...of life that was such a part of the Kitty Grant he'd grown up with was missing.

  Even without it, or maybe because of that single difference, he couldn't look away.

  He stood, trapped in her gaze, memories he thought buried bombarding him. Feelings he would never acknowledge crashed through him. A man had his pride though.

  Tack's wouldn't allow any of that to show on his face, but he wouldn't look away.

  Kitty didn't seem any more capable of breaking eye-contact. Her own lovely features were smooth, devoid of the maelstrom swirling in her blue depths.

  A mere foot separated them physically, but it might as well have been the width of Bristol Bay, they were that far from touching.

  But their gazes held.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "It's Grant," she said after a prolonged silence no one else seemed ready to break, her soft voice going straight to his dick. "I asked for my name back from the courts as part of the divorce."

  "Erasing Barston from your life?" Like she'd erased Tack so completely, though he'd no doubts the other man deserved it.

  He deserved a hell of a lot more, but if Tack got to thinking on that, things could get dicey. He didn't lose his temper often, but when he did, things got ugly.

  And he couldn't afford to hop a plain for California to hunt down the man Kitty had been married to give him a well-earned beat down he would never forget and might not walk away from.

  "If I could cleanse him from my memories, I would." Kitty's expression defied him to judge her for that.

  Like he would. Still, the bitterness lacing her tone was new. Kitty had never been bitter. Not even about her parents' untimely deaths.

  Fury at the absent man bubbled under Tack's fixed expression, his temper stirring dangerously again. "He must have been a piss-poor husband for you to feel that way."

  Kitty gave a barely there flinch, as if Tack's anger bothered her, but then her eyes narrowed, and for just a second he saw a reflection of the inner fire that used to fascinate him. "He was."

  "He was a monster," Miss Elspeth said with conviction.

  "Clearly damaged in the head to treat our Kitty the way he did," Miz Alma opined. As the eldest, she expected her opinion to be taken as gospel too.

  Tack wasn't going to disagree though. He thought the sisters' assessment of Barston damn accurate.

  "Oh, Kitty," Miz Moya said in a tear-filled tremble.

  If he didn't do something fast, the older women were going to drown Kitty in pity and from the expression on her face, he didn't think that was going to be beneficial for anyone concerned.

  "I thought dinner was at seven?" he asked with as much innocence as a twenty-eight year old man could muster.

  Miz Moya's hands flew to her pink round cheeks. "Oh, my. With Kitty's arrival, I forgot the roast."

  She rushed off to the kitchen, Miss Elspeth following with the words that she still needed to set the table, her hands all aflutter.

  It was early May and the first cruise ship hadn't hit the harbor yet. There was only one guest room occupied, as Tack had been told that morning while he worked on the step. However, the fact they only had two guests instead of eight wouldn't diminish the sisters' mortification at serving dinner late.

  The older couple might well be in the dining room, but were conspicuous in their absence from the front parlor.

  Miz Alma gave both Kitty and Tack a measuring look. "I had best make sure Elspeth doesn't drop Grandmother Grant's china in her dither. I'm stunned she was able to keep your upcoming arrival a secret, Kitty."

  Everyone knew Miss Elspeth was not good at keeping secrets. Tack had to wonder why she'd been so committed to keeping this one.

  "She likes knowing something you don't," Kitty offered with a shrug that bothered Tack more than it should.

  Back in the day, she would have said the same thing with a sly smile and a wink. The lack of animation was not acceptable, but he wasn't exactly sure what to do about it.

  Do something he would though.

  It wasn't in Tack's nature to leave something broken that needed fixing. Not even people.

  "Yes, well...we'll have dinner on the table in about five minutes." With that Miss Alma left the room.

  Tack didn't bother to hide his continued perusal of Kitty. He would never admit to anyone else how hungry he was for the sight of the one woman he was determined never to give another chance at his heart.

  Color climbed her cheeks and she turned away, her hand reaching for one of the many photos on the fireplace mantle. It was of her and Tack before they left for USC, their arms around each other.

  She stared at it for several long seconds. "I know I look different."

  "I'm glad you grew your hair out again. " He'd always loved how it tumbled wildly around her head.

  She spun back to him, like his words surprised her. "That's all you see?"

  He grinned. "You've stopped wearing all that black goop around your eyes too."

  She laughed. It was barely a puff of sound, but it seemed to startle her. "That's the second time today."

  "What?"

  "That I've laughed. I don't laugh anymore. I guess coming home is going to be good for me after all."

  Stunned at her words, he stared at her. Kitty Grant not laughing? He couldn't imagine it. "You belong here."

  "I didn't used to think so."

  She would probably decide she didn't again, but it wasn't his place to remark on it. She'd been wrong back then and she'd be wrong when she left again, but one thing he was sure of. Kitty would l
eave.

  Her parents had left a legacy of more than money to their only daughter. They'd left how much they despised living in the wild north to her as well.

  "It's good to see you," Kitty said when the silence had stretched a little.

  "Is it?"

  "Yes. I missed you." Deeper emotion than he would ever allow himself to trust from her seemed to infuse those four little words.

  "There was no place for me in your life."

  "No. Not when I was with Nevin."

  Because back then there'd been no room for someone who happened to be both her best friend and a man who loved her. He'd become an awkward problem she didn't want to deal with anymore.

  He didn't love her now, that was for damn sure, but desire was making itself known in the swollen flesh pressing against the button fly on his jeans.

  "No place for the little people when you were married to LA elite." The words might be bitter, but his tone wasn't.

  He'd been hurt back then at her rejection, but he wasn't naïve to the ways of the world. Even if he was from a small Alaskan town.

  He hadn't fit in with the Los Angeles glitterati, even when he'd been a student at USC.

  Her perfect bow shaped lips twisted in a grimace. "You won't understand, but Nevin handpicked the people in my life, from my Yoga instructor to the woman who called herself my best friend. He saw you as a threat, though I didn't realize it until much later, so..."

  "I got kicked to the curb."

  Her head dipped, as if that shamed her. "Yes."

  She was partially right about him understanding. He couldn't imagine allowing anyone to have that kind of power in his life now, but there had been a time he'd left the life he loved behind because that was what this woman wanted.

  "You must have loved him very much."

  "I don't know." Kitty's blue eyes clouded with inner confusion and pain he didn't want to see. "Maybe I loved him once."

  She'd given up her education, her family...she'd given up Tack for Nevin Barston's sake. Of course, she'd loved him. And Tack didn't like dwelling on that truth anymore today than he had eight years ago.

  She shrugged, a move he was quick learning to dislike. It was way too noncommittal for the Kitty Grant he'd known. No way he could be sure when Kitty had started changing, but change she had. When they'd been friends, she would have argued her point of view, even in the face of irrefutable evidence.