Читать книгу: «The Berringers»

1

ELY BERRINGER walked out of the shower into the room he rented over a restaurant in Clear River, Montana. A chill worked over his damp skin, and he eyed the thickening frost on the windows. A strand of Christmas lights attached to the outside of the building fell loose and now hung down in the center of the glass, still merry as they danced in the wind.

This was a long way from Antigua, that was for sure. He’d come home thinking that his sister-in-law, Tessa, had called him about some family trouble, but her concern had been about Lydia Hamilton, her best friend. That had given Ely a moment of pause; he and Lydia had some history he wasn’t sure he wanted to reopen. But he was a Marine, and he was a Berringer—helping was what he was trained to do.

Lydia had left suddenly, according to Tessa, canceling her appointments and closing her shop until further notice. She’d been acting strangely, being distant and uncommunicative. Like she was so warm and cuddly the rest of the time, Ely thought with a snort as he dried off and got dressed. The petite Goth hottie who ran the tattoo shop, Body Inc., next to Tessa’s soap shop was tough as nails. Though she could be soft as a kitten in bed, something he knew from personal experience.

Lydia told Tessa she’d be gone for a while, but had not answered her phone or responded to her email since. Tessa thought she could be in some kind of trouble, and she could be right.

Ely hadn’t known Lydia for long, but even he knew how she was all over the internet—she was constantly accessing her email and social media pages, and none of them showed any recent activity. She was also serious about her business. Closing up shop at one of the busiest retail times of the year was enough to trigger his concern, as well.

He got to work and used the resources available to him through Berringer Bodyguards—the family business—and through Tessa’s father, a U.S. Senator. It didn’t take long to track Lydia down. She’d left a trail of credit card purchases, including a rental car that she’d returned in Billings, Montana. That likely was her final destination, so now, here he was, freezing his ass off in Montana, three weeks before Christmas.

Ice and snow obscured any view out of the windows of his small room. Born in Philadelphia, he wasn’t any stranger to winter, but cold seemed to take on a new meaning out here. His flights had been delayed due to several strong weather systems crossing the U.S. At least he’d landed in Billings the day before, beating the worst of the weather. The Antiguan beach he had been standing on only a few days ago seemed a million miles away now.

As soon as he’d gotten into town, he’d asked around for Lydia and found people knew her—or her family. She wasn’t just a visitor, she’d grown up here. He’d found more in the public records at the local town hall.

He was still trying to get his head around the fact that Clear River, population 1,738, was her hometown. That wouldn’t be such a surprise if Lydia hadn’t told all of them that she didn’t have any family. Everyone thought she’d grown up in the east as a foster kid and then ran away, out on her own at seventeen.

Not according to what he’d found.

He’d looked up her birth records in the local government office. Only child, both parents gone. He found her yearbook at the local school library, and her parents’ obituaries in the newspaper. Her mother, Faye, had died less than a month ago. Obviously, that had been the trigger for the unusual behavior Tessa had noticed.

For some reason, Lydia didn’t want anyone knowing what she was doing here, or that her mother had died. Or that she had a family and a past at all. What could be so awful that Lydia would want to hide it from the people who were closest to her?

Her name wasn’t listed with that of her graduating class, and there were no pictures in the yearbook after her sophomore year. So maybe part of her story was true, that she had run away when she was sixteen or seventeen. Was there some horrible family secret that had caused her to flee? Ely frowned. He hated thinking she might have suffered like that in her past, but in the end, it was no one’s business but hers.

Ely had secrets, too, and he didn’t feel right prying into Lydia’s. Still, he planned to find out a little more before he left, just to make sure she really was okay. Dealing with the death of a parent was no small thing, and Ely suspected handling it all alone was not a great idea. Still, he could easily imagine Lydia running away to lick her wounds in private, not asking for help, and not wanting anyone to know.

She wasn’t one for getting too close, at least, not emotionally. They’d ended up in her bed only a few hours after they’d met. A classic one-night stand, but Lydia rocked his world and made him reconsider what he wanted in life—hence his own escape to Antigua. He’d lived there, solo on a beach for several weeks, clearing his head, thinking about his priorities, until Tessa had called.

Lydia had to be here now to settle her mother’s affairs. That morning, he’d waited down the road outside her family’s ranch and had watched her leave. He followed her on her errands for most of the afternoon. Lawyers, real estate, some other stores and offices.

It confirmed what he’d found so far. She didn’t seem to be in any trouble, and she looked fine. Better than fine, really. He’d call Tessa in the morning and let her know her friend was okay, and leave it at that. If the storms passed, he’d head home for Christmas, or maybe he’d go back to the beach. Ely had taken a new lease on life, and Lydia had been the cause of that.

He’d become more spontaneous and wanted to enjoy life more. Having spent more than a decade of his life surrendering to his sense of duty, joining the Marines when he was eighteen and doing nine years there before coming home three years ago, when he immediately took up work with his brothers. His focus for all of his adult life had been work, family, country.

But where was he in all of that? He’d never stopped to ask. He thought he knew what he wanted—work and a family of his own—to find someone, settle down, live a traditional kind of life. The things he was supposed to want, right?

But everything had been turned upside down when the woman he thought he could have that life with betrayed him and then he ended up in bed with the last woman he could imagine sleeping with. Lydia wasn’t someone he would have normally been attracted to, and she had expanded his sexual horizons far past his previous experience.

And he enjoyed it.

It was enough to make a guy seriously rethink his wants, needs and desires. For now, he was living day to day and trying to be more open. Experimenting. Not tying himself down. Why on earth had he been so anxious to marry after being tied to the military, then to his job? He fought for the freedom of others, but hadn’t experienced much of his own. Maybe he’d still settle down someday, but he had a lot of living to do first.

As soon as he finished this job.

He left the room and walked downstairs to get a beer and some dinner. Crossing the restaurant to find a seat at the bar, he took note of the other patrons conversing and enjoying an end-of-the-day brew.

Lydia was a city girl—polished and street-wise. If anyone had asked, he would have assumed the closest she’d ever been to a cow would have been pouring milk for her cereal in the morning. That was about as close as Ely had ever been to one, himself. Guns, he knew. Strategy, war, protection.

Cows, not so much.

Looking at the rough, hardworking men who sat at the bar, Ely took in the Christmas tree that stood in the corner, cheerfully decorated, giving a little sparkle to the soft light off the well-worn but comfortable tavern. He caught the eye of the bartender, who walked over.

“I’ll have a beer, a burger and some fries, if you’re still serving,” he said, with a glance at the clock.

“We are. Serve til nine,” the guy said. “Some of the best local beef you’ll ever taste. Visit a good one so far?”

“Yeah, it’s a beautiful place.”

“Business in town?”

“Not really. Just passing through to see a friend, then heading back home,” Ely said casually.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Lydia Hamilton. You know her?”

The bartender shook his head. “Nope. I knew Faye Hamilton, everyone did, but never met Lydia. She must be the daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard she took off years ago, before I bought this place, and I’ve had it for a while. You back from the war?”

“How could you tell?”

“I served, my father served in World War II, and my son is in Iraq. Marine?”

Ely nodded.

“Ooh-rah,” the older man said with a smile, and Ely shook the hand he offered. “My name’s Tom. You?”

“Ely.”

They talked for a while about their service, and Ely was glad for the diversion away from the topic of Lydia.

Ideally, she would never know he was here; he had a feeling she wouldn’t take kindly to the knowledge. He didn’t intend to tell Tessa anything other than that Lydia was fine. Lydia had a right to her privacy, and he didn’t want to mess up Tessa’s friendship with Lydia. If Lydia wanted to tell Tessa about her past, that was up to her.

He didn’t like lying to them, but it wasn’t really lying; it was keeping Lydia’s confidence. Ely had a lot of things he couldn’t tell anyone after his military years.

Tessa was a new bride, and she saw romance and happily-ever-after in everything these days. He figured she’d seen that with him and Lydia as well, and he didn’t want to encourage her. She’d pressed them both for details about what had happened that night, but she was bound for disappointment on that score. What had happened between Lydia and Ely hadn’t had anything to do with romance.

It had been raw, basic lust. And Lydia wasn’t the romantic type.

I don’t do relationships, she’d told him that night as she had undressed him. But I do a lot of other things.

Being with Lydia had been...liberating.

Unfortunately, they’d parted on somewhat awkward terms, and he had gone out of his way to avoid contact with her so that no one—namely Tessa—got any ideas. Also because he was messed up—he’d jumped from one woman’s bed to another, and had been pretty well turned around. Not his most shining hour.

They should have cleared the air sooner, agreed to be friends, at least, since there was no doubt they would see each other from time to time. Jonas was very fond of her, too, and Ely knew Lydia would be included in whatever family functions came along. He figured time would let it fade, and they’d be friends.

Ely’s attention snapped to as he realized he had completely zoned out on what the bartender was saying. He covered by nodding to the weather report playing on the TV above the bar.

“Looks like a big storm coming in.”

“We get a lot of those. Hope you’re not in a hurry to get out. Will be a few days before roads are clear and planes are on time again, most likely.”

“I’m in no hurry,” he fibbed with a smile. He’d hoped to be there no more than one more day, but the weather appeared to have something to say about that.

His dinner arrived and Ely dug into his burger—which really was excellent—and then froze midbite.

Lydia.

She stood inside the door, scanning for a place to sit. Ely turned away, hoping she didn’t see him. There’d be no way to explain his presence here other than the truth, and that wasn’t an option. When he looked back, she was finding her way to one of the faded orange vinyl booths that lined the far wall. She looked small and cold in a leather jacket that wouldn’t protect her well enough against this kind of weather. City girl, indeed.

She sure stood out among the locals. A few men followed her progress as she walked; the way her beautiful little backside was encased in tight jeans drew more than one appreciative gaze, the sexy piercing and her half-moon tat at the corner of her lip. It made Ely remember far too much.

He remembered biting her there, and that she’d liked it.

She’d nipped him back, and he’d liked that, too.

Lydia didn’t mind a little rough play and could hold her own on that score. He was suddenly, unexpectedly hard, and shifted in his seat, cursing under his breath. Obviously seeing her up close packed more of a punch than when he was following her around in the truck all day.

Damn, she was hot. He guessed they would need a lot more time to let the effects of that one night fade.

Her black hair was a little longer, flaxen, slightly curled at the edges as it danced around her pale skin, accentuating dark eyes and full lips. He knew that her skin, under the coat and sweater, was covered in ink...something he’d never found sexy on a woman before, but when he’d been with her, he hadn’t been able to get enough of looking at the sexy designs that covered most of her body. Running his hands over them, tracing them, tasting them.

Ely had one tattoo, the symbol penned on his shoulder that he shared with the guys in his squad. Other than that, there had never been anything meaningful enough to him that he would want to inscribe it permanently on his body.

He finished his food, but barely tasted anything as he peeked at her in between bites. Taking her coffee from the server with a smile, Lydia pulled a book from her bag, sitting there, alone, reading. Her apartment had been filled with books.

Ely suspected there was far more behind the ink than anyone knew. Maybe that’s why she covered herself in it, as well as the piercings that accented various points on her body—lip, ear, belly button, and one even lower that had totally surprised and turned him on.

But maybe, in some way, it was her armor. A way of hiding her secrets? Who she was, why she was here, and what was in her past that she was so intent on hiding. He knew, since he had his own. It had been necessary to survive in the war, and even when he’d come home. He ordered another beer, intending to call it a night and go back to his room before she spotted him. If he was going to be stuck here for a few days, he’d have to lay low.

Then a guy sauntered up to the booth and slid in on the opposite side from Lydia. She didn’t put her book down, but the cowboy didn’t take the hint. He smiled, leaning back and picked up a sugar packet from the bin on the table, playing with it between his fingers, appearing casual. Ely knew his look; the guy was obviously hoping to score that evening. Lydia peered over top of her reading and said something that made the guy’s smile widen.

Ely’s back stiffened, his body tightening as if for a fight. She’d probably been with others since him—why not? It was none of his business.

When he saw Lydia shake her head, smiling in a forced, false way as she brushed him off, Ely’s blood pressure lowered. Something primal emerged at the thought of another man’s hands on her—this guy, in particular—and didn’t settle until the cowboy rejoined his friends at the bar.

Ely nursed his beer and pretended to watch the news. Eventually, she closed her book, walked to the door. She wasn’t wearing the heavy eyeliner or makeup that she normally did. Still, there was something dramatic and sexy about her, making it hard to look away.

As she headed out, Ely saw the guy who had been talking to Lydia walk out the door behind her. With a buddy. The hair on the back of his neck went up. Putting the rest of his beer on the counter, he followed them outside.

* * *

LYDIA HAD HAD such a frustrating day. Heading back to the house alone had seemed unappealing after spending a good part of the afternoon waiting on her mother’s lawyer, who never did show up. The will was clear—she had inherited everything—but her mother mandated that for her to collect, Lydia had to stay home for a month. Obviously her mother had good intentions, always having insisted that Lydia had to face her past.

Lydia didn’t agree.

She needed to sell the ranch as quickly as possible—which meant staying the month, three more weeks—and then leave for good. But the world seemed to be working against her.

The house needed some necessary repairs, and she had tried to line up someone to do them sooner than later, unsuccessfully. Then, she’d looked into tracking down the one Realtor in Clear River. They were closed on Wednesdays. Of course. Strike three. It was Christmas in a small town. This was not going to be easy.

Many of the contractors were already booked or not scheduling new work until spring. She’d gotten some suggestions for businesses in the city, but that would add to the cost considerably.

On top of that, one of the cows was sick, and they’d had to call for the vet. Necessary and costly. The animal would be fine, thank goodness...Lydia had sat with her most of the night before, taking turns with Smitty, the ranch manager. He and one ranch hand, a sour guy named Kyle Jones, were the only two hires her mother had kept on.

She might have to see if she could take a loan against the house to make repairs and ask Smitty to talk to someone about selling the livestock. She’d forgotten how much she liked the cows. Peaceful creatures, mostly. She was glad her mother had reduced their herd to this small group of gentle dairy cows, but she had to make sure they found a good home, not some meat market.

It was all so overwhelming. Lydia felt trapped, her present life held hostage to her past, and she didn’t like it. She’d left her life here behind, and she wanted to keep it that way.

But if she just walked away, she would lose the property, and her chance to sell it. With money from a sale, she could expand her business back in Philadelphia, open a second location of Body Inc., which would also mean hiring a second artist. It was a dream she didn’t think she could attain for several years, but sale of her family home would make it possible.

Thinking about it made her crave the city, and she took in her surroundings as icy wind whipped her hair around her face, freezing her ears and nose.

The town was still pretty and well-kept, as it always had been. Twinkling lights decorated most of the buildings and were strung from streetlight to streetlight, their cheerfulness contrasting with the storm clouds that blotted out the stars. She’d heard they were expecting the first real snow overnight.

Most of the old, low-profile, Western-style buildings were still in place here, though there were a few new constructions. Across the street she saw an architects’ office and a new medical practice that looked pretty upscale for the small town. The street was repaved, the sidewalks new, with large wooden raised gardens placed intermittently along the main street. Where plants would grow in the summer, they were now covered with snow.

As a kid, she had often gone to the pizza shop down the road with her friends after football games and to the tack store with her father. Every year, she would bake dozens of cookies with her mother for the Fourth of July picnic that always accompanied fireworks at the edge of town. Clear River always had its own little holiday parades with their local bands and town officials, and all of the kids would do something creative to show off. The town itself was often more like an extended family, everyone knowing everyone else. It had been a nice way to grow up. Mostly.

She’d been the Fireworks Princess when she was thirteen—the girl with most spark—she remembered with a smile. She’d had a lot of good times here, before things had gone bad.

The same huge spruce grew in front of town hall, even bigger than it had been, and was decorated for the season. That would have been done Thanksgiving weekend, and the annual Winter Festival, a Clear River tradition, should be coming up soon, but Lydia didn’t see any announcement. Had it been canceled? If so, that was unfortunate. Snowman-building contests, craft booths, hot cocoa and treats...it was always the perfect build-up to Christmas.

Ah, well. Things changed. She sure had.

Hailey’s, the inn where she’d eaten, had always been a mainstay in the town, and was still mostly the same as she remembered. It was the only place in town that rented rooms, though she’d noticed some of the other ranches had taken to including tourism packages, probably to stay financially viable. Hailey’s had also always been a hangout for the local cowboys, one of whom had wanted to get friendlier than she wanted tonight.

She was no stranger to one-night stands—she preferred them, in fact—but not here, not now, and certainly not with some drunk ranch worker. Apparently he’d thought, because of her look or because she was there alone, that she might want some fun. She’d set him straight and fast.

The cold crept over her body as she stood there, and she decided she’d had enough walking down memory lane. Fat snowflakes began to fall as if on cue, sticking to her face and hair as she made her way to her car. This would be the first major storm of the season.

A slight shiver of excitement worked its way down her spine. She’d always liked the first big snowstorm. Unlike summer thunderstorms—which sometimes brought nightmarish tornadoes and dangerous lightning strikes that scared the wits out of her—the winter storms were relatively peaceful and soft, snow piling up like a secret overnight.

Lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed anyone following her until she heard the footsteps, a man’s low chuckle. Lydia hadn’t lived on the street in some time, but she recognized the tightening of her stomach, the tingle at the base of her neck that signaled danger. She’d learned not to ignore such things and picked up her step, reaching into her bag to grab her keys, holding them firmly, sharp ends pointing out. She wished she had her mace, but hadn’t counted on needing it out here.

She pressed the button to open the doors of her rental, but wasn’t quite fast enough; they caught up with her as she opened the door of the car, the good ol’ boy from the roadhouse and a friend, slamming it shut before she could get inside.

“Hey, darlin’,” said the one who had joined her in her booth earlier. “Want some company on the dark ride home?”

“Told you already, I’m not interested,” she said rudely, making eye contact to let them know she wasn’t afraid.

She was though, and willed someone to drive down the damned street already. It would figure that every time she left her house she bumped into someone from her past, but now, when she wished someone would appear, everyone was inside, hunkering down before the storm.

“Well, you don’t know that, do you? You think you’re from the city, so you’re better than us? We can live pretty fast here, too,” he said.

The men closed in, and panic clawed her chest. She stepped backward, wondering if she made a run for it, toward the roadhouse, how far she’d get.

“Get lost. I will press charges, and I’ll make sure you don’t walk away from whatever you have in mind.” While she talked, she pressed the buttons on the key fob—this thing had to have some kind of car alarm she could set off.

Sure enough, as she pressed the buttons several times, the lights and horn suddenly started blaring in annoying rhythm, filling the street with sound. As the cowboy pulled back in surprise, survival adrenaline kicked in. Lydia brought her foot up, stomping the foot of the one closest to her and then kneed him in the family jewels, sending him howling to the snowy surface as she got inside of her car and locked the doors.

Gunning the engine, she noticed a few people emerging from the restaurant and a local drugstore to see what was happening, probably making sure it wasn’t their own car being broken into. The cowboys got out of the way as she did a quick U-turn in the center of the road, nearly running over the foot of the guy who had threatened her. He swore loudly after her as she raced away.

As she caught her breath and reassured herself that she was safe, she glanced to the side, and nearly hit the brakes as she caught a glimpse of a face she thought she recognized.

Ely?

His hood up, face shadowed, the man who sat in the dark cab of a truck looked like him, but...that wasn’t possible.