Читать книгу: «Always A Mcbride»

Because of Gus McBride, he’d had nothing.

No father, no grandparents on either side. No one to chase away the monsters in his closet, no dad to teach him to fish. No knowledge of where he came from or where he was going.

His mother had tried to step up and fill the role of both parents, and she’d done a damn good job. But she’d needed a husband, and he’d needed a father. They’d had neither. Because Gus McBride had been halfway across the country, protecting his real family.

And Taylor would bet that his legitimate children weren’t scared at night growing up. They didn’t worry about paying the bills or having enough money. Growing up, they’d had it all. Taylor wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d thought their daddy was a saint.

He wasn’t. Unfortunately, they’d never know that.

Unless he told them.

Dear Reader,

The days are hot and the reading is hotter here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. Linda Turner is back with the next of THOSE MARRYING MCBRIDES! in Always a McBride. Taylor Bishop has only just found out about his familial connection—and he has no idea it’s going to lead him straight to love.

In Shooting Starr, Kathleen Creighton ratchets up both the suspense and the romance in a story of torn loyalties you’ll long remember. Carla Cassidy returns to CHEROKEE CORNERS in Last Seen…, a novel about two people whose circumstances ought to prevent them from falling in love but don’t. On Dean’s Watch is the latest from reader favorite Linda Winstead Jones, and it will keep you turning the pages as her federal marshal hero falls hard for the woman he’s supposed to be keeping an undercover watch over. Roses After Midnight, by Linda Randall Wisdom, is a suspenseful look at the hunt for a serial rapist—and the blossoming of an unexpected romance. Finally, take a look at Debra Cowan’s Burning Love and watch passion flare to life between a female arson investigator and the handsome cop who may be her prime suspect.

Enjoy them all—and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Always a McBride
Linda Turner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA TURNER

began reading romances in high school and began writing them one night when she had nothing else to read. She’s been writing ever since. Single, and living in Texas, she travels every chance she gets, scouting locales for her books.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Prologue

He was a bastard.

Even before he’d been old enough to understand the meaning of the word, Taylor Bishop had known what he was. There was, after all, no avoiding the truth in the poverty-ridden neighborhoods of San Diego where he’d grown up. Dozens of kids were running around the street without fathers, and like recognized like.

Still, he hadn’t understood the implications of the label until he was six and one of his school friends told him his mother must be a slut—otherwise his father would have married her. Outraged, his six-year-old pride stung, he’d defended his mother’s virtue and his absent father’s honor by punching his friend in the nose. All his bravery earned him was a split lip.

That was the day he’d begun to hate his father.

Thirty-five years had passed since then, and nothing had changed. He still hated his father…and he didn’t even know his name.

That, however, was about to change.

Seated at his mother’s kitchen table, her personal effects spread out around him in the small home she’d finally managed to buy after scrimping and saving for years, Taylor stared down at the sealed letter she’d left for him in her safety deposit box and knew without even opening what it said. After all this time, when it was too late for him to ask her any questions, she was finally going to tell him about his father.

“He’s a good man. That’s all you need to know.”

Every time he’d asked his mother about the mysterious stranger who had sired him, the answer had always been the same. She’d promised to tell him the whole story one day, but she never had. Why? he wondered, scowling at the letter addressed to him in her neat handwriting. Had she thought that he would think less of her because he was obviously illegitimate? That he somehow blamed her for the fact that his father had been nonexistent in his life? Surely she had to know better.

For a moment, pain squeezed his heart at the thought that she might not have known how much he loved and admired her, but with a muttered curse, he quickly shook off his doubts. What the hell was he doing? Of course she’d known how he felt about her. As far as he was concerned, she’d been the best mother in the world. She was the one who’d been there for him as a child, the one who’d worked two jobs so that he could have the things he needed when he was growing up. Yes, money had been tight, but she’d done the best that she could, and he couldn’t fault her for that. She’d been a single mother with no one to help her. When she lost her job at one of the local hotels because she refused to work nights and leave him home alone, she’d had to go on welfare for a while just so they could eat. Still, she’d held her head high and made sure he did, too. And as soon as she’d been able to find another job, she went off government assistance because, she’d claimed, there were poor people out there who needed it more than they did.

How could anyone not love a mother like that? He’d adored her. She taught him to be proud of who he was, to work honestly for what he wanted, to believe in himself and the future. Those things would get him through life, she’d claimed, not his father’s name.

So why was she telling him now? he wondered with a frown. When she’d died unexpectedly last week of an apparent heart attack, the last thing he’d been worried about was his father’s name. She was the one he loved, the one he cared about, and he would have gladly given up any chance of ever knowing anything about his father if he could have just had his mother back for five minutes.

That, however, was impossible. All he had left of her were her things…and a letter that had the power to change his life. His square-cut face carved in grim lines, he was half tempted to trash the thing, but it was the last communication from his mother. For no other reason than that, he had to read it. Reaching for it, he tore it open and began to read.

To my dear son,

You’ll never know how much I love you. You’ve been the greatest joy of my life, a blessing I thanked God for every day. I know how difficult it was for you, growing up without your father, and I’m sorry for that. But your father wasn’t the unfeeling monster you think he was, dear. He was a good man who had no idea you even existed. His name is Gus McBride, and when we met, he lived in Liberty Hill, Colorado.

We met in Cheyenne, Wyoming, when I was there one summer visiting my grandmother. I never believed in love at first sight until I met him. He was in town for a rodeo and we had one wonderful night together. That was all, dear. Just one night. I fell in love with him, but please don’t blame him because he didn’t return my feelings. He was still in love with the girlfriend he had broken up with the month before. She was all he talked about, but I foolishly thought I could make him fall in love with me. I was wrong. When he left town the next morning, he probably went back to her.

Two weeks later, I returned to my parents’ house in San Diego. A month later, I discovered I was pregnant. You must understand, dear, that times were different then. My pregnancy was scandalous to my parents, and their main concern was that I get married as soon as possible. They didn’t care that Gus didn’t love me. All they wanted was his name so they could force him to marry me. They didn’t understand that if he’d known I was pregnant, they wouldn’t have had to say a word to him—he would have insisted on marrying me. He was that kind of man. And if he’d loved me, I would have agreed. But he didn’t, so I kept his name to myself—which is why your grandparents disowned me.

Please don’t feel sorry for me…or hate them, Taylor, dear. If I could have turned back the clock and done things differently, I wouldn’t have. The night I had with your father was magical, and you were his gift to me. I never regretted it. It’s important that you know that. You and I had a wonderful life together. When you remember me, remember that.

Love,

Mother

Grief squeezing his heart, Taylor sent up a silent prayer, asking her to forgive him for not respecting her final wish. He couldn’t. Because in spite of the love he and his mother had shared, when he thought of her, it was the hardness of her life he remembered. And Gus McBride of Liberty Hill, Colorado, was responsible for that, he thought grimly. Somehow, some way, he was going to make him pay for that.

Chapter 1

“Hi, sweetie. Did I catch you getting ready for a date? What’s the name of that boy you’re going with? Micah? Mick? I never can remember. When’s he going to wise up and ask you to marry him? I told your mother three years ago that he was too slow for you, but she thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

Grinning, Phoebe Chandler had to laugh at her grandmother’s disgusted tone, obvious even over the phone. Myrtle had never been one to keep her opinions to herself—which was one of the things Phoebe loved about her. “His name is Marshall, Gran, and we quit dating six months ago. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Oh, of course,” she said. “Now I remember. He was more interested in what your daddy left you than you. That’s another thing I didn’t like about him. He had dollar signs in his eyes.”

Phoebe couldn’t argue with that. She hadn’t cared much for that particular trait of Marshall’s, either. Luckily, her eyesight was as good as her grandmother’s. “I sent him packing when he tried to borrow money from me. So what’s going on? Mom said you were going on a trip with some old high-school friends.”

Myrtle laughed gaily. “And here I thought everyone but me and Sara McBride were dead. By the way, I wish she was here. She’d love seeing the old gang again.”

“When will she be back from her honeymoon?”

“Oh, not for another couple of weeks, at least. Longer, if they decide to take that cruise up the west coast to Alaska.”

“So when’s the trip? You are going, aren’t you?”

“You know me, sweetie,” she chuckled. “My bags are always packed. There’s just a teensy problem….”

“Your antique store,” Phoebe guessed with a smile. “You need someone to run it while you’re gone.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted, “but there’s another problem. I haven’t had any boarders the last month, so I decided to turn the house into a bed and breakfast. I placed an ad in some travel magazines and I’ve got some reservations for the next couple of weeks.”

“You’re kidding! Gran, that’s great!”

She chuckled ruefully. “It would be if I didn’t want to go on this trip. I can’t be two places at once. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do, then I remembered you always take the month of June off. How would you like to come to Liberty Hill and run my B and B for me?”

Phoebe didn’t even have to think twice. “I’d love it!”

“Are you sure?” her grandmother asked worriedly. “You probably had plans—”

“I was just going to paint the house. I can do that anytime.”

“What about the business? I don’t want to put you in a bind just so I can run off with friends, sweetie. I can come up with a reason to cancel the reservations, if necessary…or stay home, for that matter. The world’s not going to end if I don’t get to go on this trip.”

“No, but you want to go, and why shouldn’t you? You’ll have a great time. Call your friend back and tell her you’re going. I’ll handle things while you’re gone.”

“But who’ll take care of your business while you’re playing innkeeper for me? You deal with a lot of cash, honey. Do you really want to trust that to someone else?”

“Jason’s going to work with me again this summer,” Phoebe replied. “Dad always said not to let the business get so big that I couldn’t handle it myself, but Jason’s a good kid. And he’s family. He won’t steal from me.”

Jason Chandler, her second cousin, was a high-school senior who had worked not only for her in past summers, but for her grandmother, as well. Honest and hard-working, he was saving his money for college and planned to be a doctor. It would never cross his mind to take anything that didn’t belong to him.

Across the phone line, Myrtle sighed in relief. “Oh, well, if it’s Jason, you don’t have anything to worry about. He’ll make sure every penny is accounted for.”

“So when do I need to be there?”

“June eighth,” her grandmother said promptly. “This is going to be so much fun, sweetheart—for both of us! You’re going to love the guests who’ll be coming in in a couple of weeks. They’re newlyweds from Florida. They’ll both be eighty in July.”

“Eighty!”

“I know,” she chuckled. “I was surprised, too, when I talked to the bride on the phone. I would have sworn she was at least thirty years younger.”

“I guess that’s what love does to you,” Phoebe said with a smile. “It certainly agrees with Sara McBride. Who knows, Gran?” she teased. “Maybe your turn’s next. You might find yourself a man on your trip.”

Her grandmother laughed gaily. “When the cow jumps over the moon, sweetheart. I’ve had the love of a good man—nothing beats it. Now it’s your turn.”

If only that were true, Phoebe thought wistfully. She loved being in love. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world…until you came back to earth with a jolt and realized that the man you thought was the love of your life really wasn’t Prince Charming at all. He was just a rat who knew how to say all the right things. She’d had too many run-ins with too many rats to believe in happily ever after anymore.

“Thanks, Gran, but I think I’ll pass. All the good men are taken and I’m not interested in the dregs that are left.”

“After Marshall turned out to be such a jerk, I can’t blame you for thinking that, sweetheart, but don’t give up. The world is full of good men. You just haven’t met one yet. But your turn’s coming. There’s someone special for you out there and he’s going to walk into your life when you least expect it.”

Phoebe sincerely doubted that, but she knew better than to argue with her grandmother. Myrtle was an eternal optimist…and usually right. “I’ll keep my eyes open,” she said with a grin, “but how am I going to meet anyone when you’ve got all these newlyweds coming in to stay at the house? It’s not as if we’re going to get any walk-in trade. Liberty Hill’s not even on the map.”

It was, of course, but she loved teasing Myrtle about how remote the place was. Liberty Hill was hardly more than a wide spot in the road and a thousand miles from nowhere, yet Myrtle still managed to find her share of guests and boarders, not to mention customers for her very successful antique store right next door to her house. Phoebe didn’t know how she did it.

“That’s all right,” her grandmother chuckled, refusing to rise to the bait, “go ahead and tease me. Liberty Hill might be little, but that just makes it easier for Mr. Right to find you, honey. So when can I expect you? You’re going to be engaged by the end of the year, so there’s no time to waste. Your mother will have a conniption if you even think about marrying someone you’ve known less than six months.”

“Gran!”

“I’m just being practical, dear,” Myrtle chuckled. “You want this marriage to work—”

“There is no marriage!”

“But there will be,” her grandmother said calmly. “You have to plan for these things, dear.”

Torn between amusement and frustration, Phoebe had to laugh. “You’re impossible. Do you know that? I’ll be there on the eighth. Is that soon enough for you and Mr. Right, whoever he is?”

She didn’t have to ask if her grandmother was pleased—she could almost feel her smile through the phone. “That’s perfect! I’ll have your bedroom ready for you.”

Hanging up, Phoebe had to admit she was as excited as Myrtle. And she immediately felt guilty for that. She’d worked at her father’s vending-machine business since she was eighteen years old, but she’d never liked it. It was a job, the family business, nothing more. Her father had always loved collecting the money from his vending machines around town and counting it, but she’d only seen that as a boring chore that had to be done every day. She’d hated it—though she’d never told her father that—and dreamed of quitting one day when he no longer needed her. But that day had never come. Six months ago, when her father had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, he’d left the business to her.

Even now, she couldn’t believe it. No! she’d almost cried at the reading of the will. She didn’t want the company! She had other plans. For as long as she could remember, all she’d ever dreamed about was having an old house like her grandmother’s, where she could sell antiques and have a bed and breakfast. She didn’t care about having a large place, just something cute and Victorian in a small town like Liberty Hill, where life moved at a slower pace and old-fashioned values still flourished.

She’d been saving for just such a house for years and had just enough money set aside for a decent down payment when her father had died. Just that quickly, with the reading of his will, everything had changed. Within the blink of an eye, she became the owner of her father’s business. If she lived to be a hundred, she didn’t think she’d ever forget the emotions that had washed through her at that moment. Dread, guilt, obligation. She’d felt trapped—she still did!—and there was nothing she could do about it. Her father had entrusted her with the business he’d spent his life building. She couldn’t sell it without feeling as though she was stabbing him in the back.

A loyal daughter, she hadn’t said a word to anyone about her true feelings, but with Myrtle, she hadn’t had to. Her grandmother knew her too well. She’d pleaded with her not to waste her youth protecting and nurturing someone else’s dream—she needed to follow her own heart and do what was right for her. What Myrtle didn’t understand was that was what she was doing, but on her own terms. She might not have her own shop or bed and breakfast, but she went antiquing with her friends, had guests over frequently, and surrounded herself in her apartment with the shabby chic decor that was all the rage and she just loved. Granted, that wasn’t the same thing as having her own bed and breakfast, but for now, at least, there was nothing else she could do.

Except step in and sub for Myrtle occasionally. Her eyes sparkling at the thought, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for being blessed with a grandmother who understood her so well, then hurried into the kitchen. If she was going to be at Myrtle’s on the eighth, she had to get busy and plan the menu for the guests her grandmother had already lined up.

“Oh, goodness, Tom and Betty are going to be here any second and I haven’t even finished packing yet. I don’t know where the time went! Where did I put my spare set of glasses? You know, dear—the ones with the silver frames? I need them in case I lose my others. Oh, and I can’t forget an umbrella…it looks as if it’s going to rain. And Betty reminded me to bring my house shoes. They don’t take up a lot of room and I can shuffle around in them in the motor home. My blood pressure pills! Where—”

In a tizzy, her hair still in rollers, Myrtle scurried around the house as though she was twenty minutes late to her own wedding, snatching up things she had yet to pack, and Phoebe couldn’t help but laugh at her. “Stop, already! I’ve never seen you like this before. Will you slow down? This trip is supposed to be fun.”

Stopping in her tracks, Myrtle drew in a huff of a breath, a rueful grin tugging at her lips. “Sorry, dear. I guess I am a little frantic this morning. I thought we’d have more time to visit. I wanted to tell you about the rest of the guests I’ve got lined up. Don’t worry. You’re not going to be swamped with a houseful of guests before you even have time to unpack your bags. A week from Friday, I only booked two rooms—that’ll give you a little time to get your feet wet before the crowd hits. After that, you’re on your own. From then on, we’re booked solid all the way to Labor Day.”

Stunned, Phoebe couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding! How did you manage that? You only decided to convert the boarding house into a B and B a couple of weeks ago.”

“You know how it is,” Myrtle said with a grin. “You call a friend, they call a few people, and before you know it, you’re talking to the head of the Aspen Visitor and Tourist Bureau, who turns out to have a grandmother who lives over in Wilson County. When I told her I was turning my boarding house into a bed and breakfast, she gave my number out to ten different callers by lunchtime. After that, I couldn’t keep up with the reservations.”

Suddenly realizing what she’d just said, she frowned at Phoebe over the top of her bifocals. “Am I putting too much on you, sweetheart? I was just so excited, I didn’t stop to think how much work this was going to be for you, especially when you haven’t done anything like this before. Maybe I should call Tom and Betty—”

Already guessing where her grandmother’s line of thought was going, Phoebe said, “If you’re thinking about backing out, you can just think again, Myrtle Henderson. You’ve talked about nothing but this trip for weeks! Don’t you dare disappoint the Walkers. They’re counting on you.”

“But I can’t just go off and leave you with all this work. It’s not fair. When I called and asked you to hold down the fort for me, I never imagined that I’d be swamped with reservations. I should have turned some of them down.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phoebe scolded. “The more, the merrier. It’ll be fun.”

“But how are you going to take care of a whole houseful of people without any help?”

“I’ll just add a few more eggs to the skillet in the mornings and double the biscuit recipe. It’s no big deal, Gran. You know I love cooking for a crowd. I’ll be fine.”

When Myrtle hesitated, still unconvinced, Phoebe knew she was going to talk herself out of the trip if she didn’t do something to stop her. “You’re the one I’m worried about,” she said quickly. “Do you have your blood pressure pills? And your glasses? What about your clothes? Did you take a sweater? I know it’s summer, but the nights can still get cold in the mountains, and there’s no telling where you’ll end up with Tom at the wheel.”

Safely redirected, Myrtle laughed. “That’s because he leaves the navigating to Betty and half the time, she reads the damn map upside down. It’s a wonder they haven’t ended up in a ditch some-where.”

Phoebe could picture the Walkers crisscrossing the country, making wrong turns everywhere they went, and not caring. It sounded wonderful. “You’re going to have a great time,” she said with a grin, “but you’d better be prepared for anything. When Tom heads for L.A. and you end up in the wilds of Montana, you’re not going to be able to run to town for a toothbrush.”

“He’s not that bad, dear.” Her grandmother lahughed, only to jump, startled, when a horn suddenly blasted outside. “Oh, my goodness, they’re here!” Frantic, she glanced around. “I forgot to get my pillow—I’ll sleep better with it. And the mosquito repellant. You’ll need my keys to the storage shed just in case you need to get in there for anything. And the reservation list. Where did I put it?”

Flustered, she would have rushed into her office, but Phoebe quickly stepped into her path. “I’ll take care of the reservation list—it’s around here somewhere. The keys to the shed are on the hook by the back door, and I already put the mosquito repellant in your bag. Here’s your pillow,” she said, stuffing it into her grandmother’s arms with a grin. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t have to tell her twice. Her beautiful wrinkled face alight with anticipation, Myrtle hurried out to greet her friends, while Phoebe trailed behind with her bag. Before her grandmother could think of something else to worry about, hugs and kisses were exchanged, her things were stowed in the Walkers’ new motor home, and Myrtle only had time to wave before Tom fired up the RV and pulled away from the curb. In the time it took to blink, the motor home had disappeared around the corner.

Another woman might have immediately felt lonely, but Phoebe didn’t have time. She had guests coming for the weekend. Her thoughts already jumping ahead to the elaborate breakfast she would serve them, she hurried into the house to check to see what staples Myrtle had the pantry stocked with. She had taken only one step into the kitchen when she stopped in surprise, a slow smile spreading across her face. Given the chance, she would have given her grandmother a bear hug if she could have reached her. Because there, on the table, was the old flour tin Myrtle kept her favorite recipes in, including the one for buttermilk biscuits she’d won with at the state fair. Armed with nothing more than that, Phoebe knew she could make the bed and breakfast a success. Now all she needed was a guest!

The thunderstorm descended on the Colorado Rockies like the wrath of God. One moment, Tayler Bishop was cruising through the mountain pass west of Liberty Hill, his thoughts on his father and everything he would say to him when he got the chance, and the next, a driving rain was pounding the windshield of his black Mercedes. Swearing, he jerked his attention back to his driving just as a fierce crosswind buffeted the car, but it was too late. He started to skid. Fighting the wheel and the wind, he didn’t realize he’d left the road until a pine tree appeared right in front of him. He didn’t even have time to hit the brakes before he slammed into it.

Dazed, he couldn’t have said how long he sat there in the dark as the storm raged around him. He held the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles white from the strain, and stared blankly at the air bag that had kept him from hitting the windshield. Overhead, lightning flashed like an exploding bomb, lighting up the night sky and outlining the pine tree that had stopped his car from careening down the mountain. In the dark, it looked as big as a barn.

He supposed he should have been thankful the damn thing hadn’t killed him. Then he forced open his jammed door and stepped out in the rain to get a good look at what the tree had done to his car. That’s when he started to swear. He was still swearing when a wrecker arrived fifteen minutes later in response to the call he’d made on his cell phone to his road service.

Dressed in a yellow rain slicker, the wrecker driver took one look at the situation and whistled softly. “You took quite a hit, buddy. Are you okay? Want me to call an ambulance?”

“No, I’m fine,” Taylor growled, disgusted, as he swept his dripping hair back from his face. “I had my mind on something else and didn’t notice the storm until it was too late.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” the other man advised. “You’re not the first person to take these mountains for granted. At least you were lucky enough to walk away. Where were you headed?”

“Liberty Hill,” he retorted. “The last highway sign said it was ten miles from here.”

The wrecker driver nodded. “If you’d made it through this last set of S-curves, you could have coasted the rest of the way without ever hitting the gas pedal.” Noting the California plates on Taylor’s car, he arched a brow in surprise. “It must be family bringing you to these parts because it sure ain’t business—there ain’t much in this neck of the woods. So who you visiting? I’ve been working a wrecker in this area for the past twenty years. Maybe I know them.”

Studying him through narrowed eyes, Taylor didn’t doubt that he probably knew Gus or had at least heard of him—which was why he had no intention of mentioning McBride’s name. He’d planned his revenge carefully and knew the importance of surprise. He’d keep his identity—and his reasons for coming to Liberty Hill—to himself, casually seek out McBride and earn his trust, then find a way to make him pay for abandoning his mother when she’d needed him most.

Even to himself, the plan sounded ruthless and diabolical, and he knew if his mother was looking down on him from heaven, she wouldn’t be pleased. However, he hoped she’d understand. This was something he had to do, and nothing and no one was getting in his way.

His expression grim, he looked the other man right in the eye and lied. “My cousin only moved here a couple of months ago, so I doubt that you know him. His name’s Christopher Deacon. He bought some land east of town and moved a trailer in.”

He didn’t know if someone had moved a new trailer in or not, but the wrecker driver apparently didn’t know either. Frowning, he said, “I don’t remember doing business with anyone named Deacon, but my memory’s not what it used to be. Since you got family here, and it’s so late, I can tow you to their place tonight. Then you can have your car taken to Aspen tomorrow. No one else in these parts has a Mercedes dealership.”

“Thanks for the offer, but Chris isn’t expecting me, so I’d rather not disturb him tonight. Just take me into town and drop the car off at a local garage. I’ll take care of everything in the morning.”