BROCK (7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes Book 5)

by St. Claire, Roxanne

  And it might not, but it would be added insurance if he dropped her when she fell. “Okay, okay. I have it.” He closed his fingers over the grappling hook. “I’m going to throw it.”

  “Aim for the wood.”

  Aim. Like darts. Oh man. “Okay.” He grabbed the hook, closed one eye, spotted his target, and reached his arm back. He could do this. He had to do this. “Here it comes.”

  He whipped the hook into the air, watching it arc past her, and…thwap. It hit the wood and held.

  “Oh, good,” she managed. “Now what?”

  If she just let go, he might catch her, but the fall was so far, it could hurt them both. It could kill her. He had to get her himself. He had to climb all the way up there. Shit.

  “Just hang on one more minute, babe,” he said as he eyed the barrels she’d stacked. Would that work? Maybe.

  He pushed up onto the first one, got his balance, then climbed onto the one in the middle, wobbling a little just as a loud roll of thunder echoed upstairs. Gritting his teeth, he found his footing on the first rung of the makeshift ladder, grabbing the strip of wood right above his head. He took one step.

  One down, seven more to go…and then he had to grab her and bring her down without falling.

  “Brock.” She whispered his name, and he looked up to see she’d turned slightly to watch him. “Are you sure? Can you do it?”

  “For you?” He gave her a tight smile. “I can do anything.”

  She sighed softly. “Keep your eyes on me. Not the ground.”

  He took the next one, then the next, then the next, holding her gaze every moment, getting closer, refusing to look down. Finally, he reached what was left of the loft and gauged how far he had to reach, stretching out his arm toward her and missing by six inches.

  “You’ll have to let go with one hand and reach for me,” he told her.

  “Can you hold both of us?”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But we don’t have a choice.”

  For a long moment, she said nothing, but the wood she clung to creaked.

  “Jenna, you have seconds before the decision is made for you. Reach out, and I’ll catch you.” He kept his voice steady and calm, the opposite of everything he felt in his body.

  “I…can’t.”

  “Sure you can,” he said gently, coaxing her closer. “I’m right here for you. I’m here.”

  Her only answer was a soft sob, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m so scared, Brock.”

  “I’m going to catch you, and hold you, and never let you go.” He took a breath, reaching out to her. “You’re never going to be lonely again,” he said softly. “You know why, right? You know I’m falling in love with you. So you’re going to fall right back.”

  “Mmm. Poetic. And crazy.”

  “I am. About you. And nothing’s going to change that. So you have to trust me and take my hand. Trust me to hold you and love you…forever.”

  “Brock…”

  “Let go, babe. Let go.”

  He saw it hit her, saw the very second she trusted him. Her arms loosened, her feet relaxed. She took a deep breath, let it out, and released her grip, closing one hand around his.

  He looked at their joined hands, but accidentally got a glimpse of the ground, which looked like it was a thousand miles away. Bile rose in his throat, and blood pumped noisily in his head, and he damn near let go of the board he clung to.

  “Brock. Look at me.”

  He did. “I got you,” he assured her. “Now, Jenna. Now.”

  She let go completely, her weight tugging him down, but he gripped the board with his right hand and every ounce of strength he had. “Wrap yourself around me.”

  She hugged him with her arms and legs, clinging as he shifted all of their weight down one treacherous step after another, finally putting his feet on the top barrel. It wobbled from one side to the other, but he fought for control and released her when he had it.

  Standing on top of that pyramid of oak, they wrapped their arms around each other and finally let out the longest breaths of relief.

  He kissed her hair and held her tight. “I love you, Jenna.”

  Without waiting for a response, he slowly released her, stepped down to the first barrel, then jumped to the floor, coming around to look up at her face. “Now you can get down.”

  She just nodded, sitting, then guiding herself to the bottom barrel, where he scooped her into his arms and pulled her against his chest.

  Neither said a word while they stood ankle-deep in whisky, clinging to each other as they caught their breath and let their heart rates slow.

  Finally, she inched back, her tearstained face looking so much like the first night he’d found her in another storm.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered. “And, wow, do I have a story to tell.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Here.” Fiona stuck a glass nearly full of whisky into Jenna’s hand. “You need this more than I do.”

  “I will not say no.” Jenna took the glass and put her other arm around the tiny woman, who’d been like a rock for what felt like a lifetime of intense questioning by the local police and then the FBI agents who’d swooped into the estate. But it might have been only a few hours—Jenna had been cooped up in the library answering questions for what seemed like hours, on top of all the time they’d spent at the distillery when the authorities showed up.

  “What time is it?” she asked, still feeling disoriented from the entire ordeal and the aftermath.

  “Almost ten,” Fiona answered. “Everyone is waiting for you in the great room now that the last of those handsome FBI men are gone.” She added a soft whistle. “They didn’t make cops like that in my day.”

  “I didn’t notice,” Jenna said, taking a welcome sip of the silky smooth whisky.

  “Because love is blind, and if you even try to tell me…” Fiona lifted a brow, making Jenna laugh.

  “Come on, I’ll face the Blackthornes.”

  “Face them? They are the ones who have to face you. And thank you. Of course, Brock’s waiting impatiently for you. Oh, Jason and Mallory flew in from Los Angeles on a private plane when all the hoopla broke.” Nana gave her squeeze. “I love a full house, so I have you to thank for that, too.”

  She walked with Nana to the great room, scanning the room full of mostly familiar faces. Instantly, Brock broke from a close conversation with Graham, Trey, and Logan to greet her with a simple hug.

  Phillip sat close to Ashley on a sofa, across from Devlin, standing behind Hannah, who sat in an oversize chair. Across the room was a handsome man who looked enough like the rest of the Blackthornes for her to guess he was Brock’s brother Jason, with his girlfriend, Mallory.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Brock said in a loud, dramatic voice, quieting the room. “Let’s hear it for the woman of the hour. This lady has single-handedly dispelled a myth that was an albatross around the neck of the Blackthorne name for decades. And she unearthed a story of our past that proves our ancestor Alistair Blackthorne not only didn’t steal the recipe for Blackthorne Gold, but he paid the family that first grew the sugar gold corn needed to make it and then arranged for that very family to be taken care of after his partner took a bullet meant for him.”

  A loud cheer erupted, along with some noisy claps, hoots, hollers, and a kiss from Brock right on the lips.

  “And she risked her life to do it.” Graham Blackthorne took a few steps closer, his gaze pinned on Jenna. “We are all indebted to you,” he said.

  “No, no. I didn’t do anything but…” She looked up at Brock. “Are they sure that’s exactly what happened? The last FBI agent I talked to just asked questions and didn’t give me any answers to mine.”

  Brock laughed. “I bet you loved that.”

  “Not too much,” she admitted.

  “The disappearance of Wilfred Platt had been a cold case since 1934,” Brock said. “They suspected it was tied to the mafia as things got desperate ri
ght before Prohibition ended.”

  “And if that body is Wilfred?” she asked.

  Brock nodded. “They’ll do DNA, but it’s him. Now they have proof that he was killed by Augie Satrielli, one of New England’s most infamous mobsters of the era. They got Augie on other charges, so he did his time, and an old confession confirmed that the mob was siphoning cash from Platts and Blackthornes. So, we’re guessing Wilfred went to talk to them and they killed him, either thinking he was Alistair or not caring that he wasn’t.”

  “Either way, your great-grandfather felt guilty and that’s why he paid the Platt family.” Jenna let out a sigh, relieved the reason for the payments was much more noble than blackmail.

  On her other side, Fiona slipped her arm around Jenna. “We’ve all acted like we didn’t believe the old rumors,” she said. “But I’ve always worried and wondered if our fortunes were born on the backs of others. My heart is so light to know that my father-in-law was actually, at one time, partners and friends with Wilfred Platt, not a competitor.”

  Trey stepped forward, looking as sharp as if this were a nine a.m. meeting in his office. “We’re going to start using Platt’s sugar gold corn exclusively for our King Harbor Distillery,” he said. “And we’ll resume the payments indefinitely. I’ve already been in touch with Roger Platt.”

  “And…” She glanced around. “Ollie Hazlett is gone?”

  “For good,” Graham announced. “I’ve been on the phone with a few members of the Filmore & Fine board of directors, who can’t apologize enough for the incident with the photograph.”

  Brock added a squeeze to her shoulders. “No question your book proposal will be approved, whatever you decide to write.”

  She smiled up at him, remembering the brief conversation they’d had while waiting for the cops to arrive at the distillery. After a moment, she looked around at the room, feeling a connection to this family already.

  She cared about them, even the ones who weren’t here, like Brock’s aunt. But she felt certain that, knowing how the Blackthornes worked, someone would persuade Claire to come home soon. Maybe even Graham himself, who looked just a little bit lost in the room full of so many happy couples.

  “I do want to write a book about this family,” she finally said. “But I want to do it on my terms, and write the story I want to tell.”

  Any chatter in the room died down as she talked. “I want to tell the story of Alistair and Meredith Blackthorne,” she said. “They are fascinating. The bedrock of this family, the founders of greatness, and they were madly in love with each other until the day they died.”

  Another cheer and lots of toasts to that.

  “Then Filmore & Fine can publish that book,” Nana said.

  “Or I can do it myself,” Jenna replied.

  “Oh, hell, yes you can,” Brock said. “This woman can do anything.”

  As the laughter quieted, the man Jenna assumed was Jason stepped forward and extended his hand. “And I’ll buy the movie rights,” he said as he shook Jenna’s hand. “I’m Brock’s brother, Jason,” he said.

  “Oh, hello,” Jenna said warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “No doubt you heard I’m the rebel Hollywood guy in the family tree.” He had the dark good looks of a Blackthorne, for sure, but also had a laid-back energy that didn’t seem to belong in this family. “But I’d honestly love to bring Alistair and Meredith’s story to the screen.”

  She pressed her knuckles to her chest. “A movie?” Now there was something neither of her parents had ever done. She could hear Char May’s exclamations already.

  “Pretty sure that’s why Brock convinced Mallory and me to fly out here today from LA, and I’m glad he did.” He gestured toward a beautiful woman with short, tousled blond hair and thick black glasses, who came closer to be introduced.

  About six different conversations started at once, with laughter and more toasts, but Jenna just turned to Brock and lifted her glass. “I told you there is nothing boring, ordinary, or unremarkable about this family,” she whispered with a tease in her voice.

  “Take a drink,” he volleyed back, tapping his glass to hers.

  She laughed as Logan came up next to her. “Does this mean we’ll be seeing more of you in Boston, Jenna?”

  “I…” She looked up at Brock, who just beamed at her. “Yes, I think I’ll be writing that book in Boston.”

  Brock tightened his grip, pulling her a little closer. “From my apartment, I hope.”

  “Don’t tell me, it’s a penthouse,” Jenna guessed.

  “A penthouse?” Logan barked a laugh. “Second floor is as high as this dude gets.”

  Brock gave her a look that easily communicated their shared secret. “Maybe I could go higher,” he said, planting a kiss on her head. “For a good cause.”

  “Let’s hit the Vault.” Phillip approached them and put a hand on Brock’s back. “I feel like kicking your ass in darts.”

  Brock just lifted a brow. “Be careful what you wish for, big brother. My aim has improved.”

  “You just have a great partner.”

  He laughed and hugged her one more time. “You can say that again.”

  They left in one big group of brothers, cousins, and girlfriends, piling into cars and slipping into familiar roles. As they laughed and teased and planned for the future, Jenna could feel herself folded into the arms of the man she loved and the great big family that she’d always dreamed of having.

  Epilogue

  “Oh my gosh, I cannot get used to that blinding sunshine.” Karen strode into Brock’s office, squinting at the light that poured through his floor-to-ceiling windows high above Boston. He hadn’t closed the shades since he and Jenna had come back from Maine.

  “Future’s so bright, you gotta wear shades,” he joked, dropping the last of the day’s work in his out-basket. “And that’s it for me today.”

  Karen looked stunned. “Is it the End Times? You’re leaving three hours early?”

  “Jenna’s flight lands in a few hours, and I’m going home to get my—our—apartment ready so she feels welcome when the movers come with her stuff tomorrow.”

  Karen’s smile faltered. “How long do you think you’ll live together?”

  “A long time. Why?”

  She shrugged. “I just thought, you know…it would be nice or even better if you…”

  He just laughed. “No worries, Saint Karen. I’m hoping we can set a date for early next year, after we close on the Salmon Falls Distillery and get the refurbishing plans finalized.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re buying that old abandoned building that had a dead man in it for nearly ninety years.”

  “You want to know what else you won’t believe? That Roger Platt’s going to fire up the old stills, and we’re going to make Platt Blackthorne Gold from there.” He shook his head. “Alistair would be proud.”

  “I’m proud,” Karen said. “And will be even prouder when the babies start popping.”

  He almost rolled his eyes, but the fact was, he and Jenna both wanted a big family. “And then I’ll be leaving at five on most days. Little League and dance recitals, you know.” He chuckled as he slipped on his jacket, but his smile faded when he noticed her eyes had grown misty. “Hey, don’t go all soft on me now.”

  But she pressed her hands together and sighed. “God is so good to answer my prayers.”

  “Then ask the Big Man to get her flight here on time. I miss that woman. See you tomorrow. Maybe.”

  A few minutes later, he stepped out to Clarendon Street just as Hoyt pulled up in the stretch limo. So Graham must have scored the town car again. No worries. Jenna would like to be picked up at the airport in this car. They always had fun in the back seat of any car.

  “I got it.” He signaled to Hoyt to save the man the trouble of getting out. As he opened his door, the smile he wore just grew bigger at the sight of one beautiful blonde in the back seat. “Whoa. Wasn’t expecting you.”


  “You can get in,” Jenna said, patting the leather. “If you’re not a serial killer.”

  Laughing, he slid in next to her. “I’m not anything but…insanely happy to see you.”

  “I got an earlier flight.” She leaned into the kiss he offered, and he instantly pulled her closer for more.

  Without asking, Hoyt raised the privacy glass, cracking them up.

  “How did you manage this?” he asked, sliding his hand down her waist and loving the feel of curves he knew he’d never get enough of.

  “Oh, Hoyt and I worked it out to surprise you.” She nestled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “And I couldn’t wait a minute longer to live here.”

  “Good, because I couldn’t wait to have you here. Did you say goodbye to your parents?”

  “With a promise we’d visit them in a few weeks.”

  He searched her face. “And?”

  She nodded, her expression growing serious. “Yes, I told them about the nanny.”

  “Was it hard?”

  “Worse for them, I think. Lots of tears and apologies.” She shook her head. “I’m not looking into the past, Brock. I just want to look straight ahead, at the future. You know why?”

  “Because we’re spending it together.”

  “Yes.” She leaned a little to her left and touched the button to open the window. A cool breeze blew in on his face as she tugged him closer to the bright light. “Look at that. What do you see?”

  “Blue skies,” he said, glancing out briefly before keeping his gaze on her.

  “That’s what’s ahead for us,” she said. “And when there’s a storm…”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, holding his lips there as if he could imprint his love on her. “You won’t be alone,” he promised her.

  “I’ll be the opposite of lonely,” she said on a laugh. “Which is…”

  “Love.” He pulled her closer and looked out at the blue skies of Boston and then at the woman he wanted forever in his arms. “The opposite of lonely is love.”