Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) (23 page)

Bren bumped into the back of him. "Why did you stop?" she whispered.

He glanced down. "You're sure he was in your room?"

She pointed ahead.

Shafts of silver light filtered through the open window. What was left of the screen scraped against the frame. The overwhelming need to protect her surfaced, both unfamiliar and uncomfortable, and he pushed it away, along with physically unlatching her hold on him. "Stay here." He gripped the shotgun and hit the light switch.

He checked the closet first, then the bathroom. He peered under the bed, but the only thing under it was a crumpled sheet of paper, which he snagged.

"What's this?" He unfolded it, got a glimpse before she took it.

"It's nothing. I had some time, so I researched the horse deaths. It's just a drawing of a device." She folded it and set it on the dresser.

Somehow he doubted it, but he didn't push. Continuing his search, he went to the window. The frost on the porch roof glimmered against the light of the moon. He leaned the gun against the wall, and shut the window, and motioned for Bren to sit on the bed.

She sat, giving him a most angelic expression.

"It's not going to work." He placed his hands on his hips and frowned.

"What?"

"That sweet turned-up nose and your big brown eyes. Where'd you ship your family off to?"

Her brows furrowed. "I didn't. They already had plans to go hunting. I forgot."

"The Daniel Fallon I know wouldn't leave his daughter alone." She remained silent, but the jut of her chin gave her away. "Ah, you didn't tell him I left."

She looked away.

"Damn it, Bren!" He crouched down in front of her. "He could have killed you." He scratched his head and caught sight of her cell phone on the nightstand and grabbed it. "I tried calling—"

She lurched forward, grabbing at it.

He pulled it away. "What are you hiding?" He hit recent calls.

"No." She jumped off the bed and tried to snatch it. He lost his balance and grabbed for her, pulling her down with him. Her hand shot out, and Rafe raised his arm, allowing him to search. The name below his had him pushing her off him.

"How is that possible?" He drilled her with his eyes.

She blinked but made no move to explain.

"Answer me."

That deep red hair of hers fell forward, hanging in shimmering waves around her face. Glittering brown eyes smoldered, and she looked ripe to peel his ass. Maybe she didn't owe him an explanation. Maybe he was acting a bit childish, considering he knew damn well Tom Ryan couldn't make a phone call to his wife. But jealousy, no matter how ridiculous, didn't sit well.

Rafe pulled her to him. "For a minute, I actually thought he might be alive."

She yanked free and moved away, pacing the floor. "He's not." She stopped and glared at him. "Relieved?"

Yep. But he wasn't fool enough to admit he was glad Tom Ryan was dead—and he wasn't, really.

"No, confused. Why would Tom's name appear on your phone?" Then he realized something. "You kept it as a spare? The boys called you. Damn it. I'm a knothead."

She shook her head. "Only Aiden has a phone—since before Tom was killed."

"Then—"

"We never found Tom's phone. But Tom's phone found me." She pointed to Rafe's hand. "He called tonight."

"Who?"

"Wes."

Rafe stiffened. "He threaten you?"

"No. He never says anything."

Rafe came to his feet and tossed the phone like a venomous snake to the bed. "You certain it's Wes?" He moved closer.

She gave him a tired look. "Of course it's Wes. He killed Tom. He took his phone."

He took her arms at the elbows and steered her toward him. "You never canceled it."

She lifted her chin, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It was my only link to Tom—his voice."

"How long's this been going on?"

"Only since December."

"Bendix know?"

"I told him." She shrugged and sidestepped him. "He's still checking into it."

Rafe scrubbed his face. "So he let that bastard terrorize you?"

The tears streamed down her face, and Rafe held her tight to him. "It's all right, Bren." He scooped her up and sat her on the edge of the bed. He knelt down in front of her and untied the shoelaces to her boots and slid them off her feet.

Her small fingers sifted through his hair. He lifted his head. The look she gave him was utter surrender. He wanted her, but not like this. The circles under her eyes hinted that sleep had evaded her. Well he'd fix that and quick. He kissed her forehead and tried to stand.

She held him in place, her fingers holding fast to his hair, her eyes searching. "Don't you want me?"

Rafe groaned. "In the worst way, darlin'." He wiped the tears from under her eyes. "But you need a good night's sleep." He cradled her in his arms and laid her down, pulling up the covers. He kissed the delicate curves of her lips. "No one's going to hurt you. I'm not leaving." He caressed her cheek. Grabbing for the phone resting inside the fold of covers, he held it up. "Kevin needs to know what's going on."

She nodded.

He pressed back a shaft of her hair from her face. The moist crescents of her lashes fluttered shut. Her small hand clung to his, and his jaw clenched.

Screw the circumstances that had brought him into her life. He was so far gone over her, he'd be damned if he was going to have a conscience for wanting Bren Ryan for himself.

And as far as this battle she stubbornly refused to consider anyone's but hers, he was officially taking it over. She'd fight him on it. But he'd welcome her anger. In a woman with that kind of determination and grit he could forgive a little hardheadedness, especially if she'd earned his respect. And Bren Ryan had most assuredly earned his respect, not to mention, she'd stolen his heart.

He only hoped she wouldn't stomp on it once she learned he had deceived her.

R
afe's pickup hit the dip hard on the drive leading to Paddy's house, and Bren gripped the handle of the passenger door. Aiden, Finn, and her father, oblivious to the restless solitude upfront and the stone-faced man in the driver's seat, chatted away in the back seat.

For the fifteen minutes it took to reach her father-in-law's, Rafe's fingers continued to dig into the deep navy of his jeans, moving in a back-and-forth motion. For all of the tough-cowboy attitude, she could see straight through to his soul. He was nervous.

That little nugget of truth she'd keep to herself. No sense rocking the John Wayne persona he had built up with her boys, not that her boys even knew who John Wayne was. But they knew Rafe, liked him, in fact. He was from Texas, a rough-and-tumble state, that had ranches instead of farms—cowboys instead of farmers.

She'd allowed herself to lean on Rafe since he'd rescued her almost a week ago. Smart move. Turns out having a liaison in the form of a take-no-crap cowboy was the way to work her buddy Kevin. Without complaint he had opened up an investigation into the break-in. Of course Wes's alibi was solid. No surprise there.

Over that time, Rafe had taught Aiden the finer points of cowboy life. He could rope a sawhorse while riding. Hoop and holler as good as any cowboy out west.

Then there was the sad excuse of a dog Rafe had dropped off, his attempt at giving Aiden some responsibility. Of course the novelty had worn off, leaving Roscoe her new best friend and her all-around responsibility. But in all fairness to the breed, Roscoe in the last week had honed his tracking skills in a most convincing manner and had scouted out every stuffed animal and article of clothing Rafe and Aiden had put to the test, making him a regular celebrity in the house when it came to praise and treats.

"Rafe?" Finn's hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Yeah, partner?"

They had become inseparable. Whatever Rafe was doing, Finn was not far behind. In fact, Finn's favorite place to be was on his back. The extra baggage never seemed to bother Rafe. Didn't matter what he was doing, he'd accommodate Finn's request to ride piggyback.

"After dinner, I'm going to ask Paddy to show you my daddy's room."

Bren caught the slight frown to Rafe's brow. "Looking forward to it," he called back over his shoulder.

"His old room is like a freaking museum," Aiden added.

Rafe's jaw clenched, and Bren's suspicions went on high alert. He was jealous of Tom. She smiled inwardly.

Rafe pulled up to the two-story Cape Cod and parked. The boys scrambled from the back seat, and her father, spry for seventy-two, stepped off the running board with ease. The boys bounded for the front porch, and the door swung open before they could knock.

"Right on time." Paddy stepped out dressed in brown corduroy pants and matching flannel shirt. He tweaked Finn's nose. "Want to dunk the fries?"

"You waited for me?"

"I sure did." Paddy stepped aside. "They're in the kitchen."

Finn ran past, and Paddy called back laughing. "But wait for me." He patted Aiden's shoulder. "I got the latest Mario Brothers for the Wii."

"Sweet." Aiden pushed past and headed for the family room.

Paddy hugged Bren and shook her father's hand. "How you been, old friend?"

"Just grand, Paddy, and yourself?"

"Keeping busy."

Bren's stomach knotted. There was one more introduction. Bren pushed Rafe in the back forward. "Paddy, you remember Rafe?"

His eyes lit on Rafe. He had no choice but to crane his head upward. Something registered in those deep inset eyes of Patrick Ryan before fading away to nothingness—would Paddy see Rafe as an outsider trying to take his son's place?

"I sure do. Good to see you, Rafe." Paddy stuck out his hand.

Rafe gave one shake and released his hand abruptly. "You, too," he mumbled, and Bren jabbed him in the ribs.

Paddy stood back, giving them entrance, and Finn hollered from the kitchen. Paddy waved them in. "Excuse me, the little french-fry chef is beckoning." He disappeared down the hall.

Rafe made a move to enter, and Bren hauled him back. "Be nice," she said through gritted teeth so only he could hear. "You hurt that old man's feelings because you have some bug up your ass about God knows what, and I'm going to hurt you, Langston."

He smiled at that. "Promise."

She threw up her hands and motioned him through. "Just go."

Paddy and Finn kept a vigilant eye on the fries sizzling in the fryer on top of the center island. Her father grabbed the newspaper and settled in the lounger in the corner of the family room, and Rafe sat on the floor next to Aiden. Like a big kid, knees drawn up and back resting against the couch, he was totally immersed in trying to beat her sweet teen at a game Aiden had mastered years ago.

At least Rafe was occupied, which left little room for bad behavior, unless she counted the occasional cursing when his car slid off the roadway of the game and he lost.

After setting the table and getting the go-ahead from Paddy, Bren stepped into the family room. "Dinner's ready."

Her father peered over his paper and smiled. "And it's a good thing, too." He stood and rubbed his belly. "My stomach has been none too quiet."

Aiden jumped up and left Rafe on the floor and headed into the dining room.

Bren placed her hands on her hips and contemplated the rough planes of Rafe's face, wondering what type of boy this cowboy had been while growing up. He obviously had a thing for winning. It was as if he had selective hearing, his gaze intent on the plasma-screen TV, his Mario character yipping with glee as it maneuvered successfully around a curve.

"It's time to eat."

He continued to toggle the remote, and Bren's patience thinned. She reached down and snagged the remote from his hands.

He scowled at her. "Why'd you do that? I was winning."

"Ever heard of winning the battle but losing the war?" She cocked her head to study him. "Bratty doesn't become you."

"Nor bossy, you." He hoisted himself up, stopped, and picked up the brass frame off the end table. He studied the photo without a word, set it down, and gave her his back as he headed toward the dining room.

Bren, left to stare at his back, clenched her fists. This Rafe she did not like—moody and ornery, all because he was uncomfortable around Tom's father.

When Bren entered the dining room, Rafe, minding his manners, sat stoic in his chair. Finn chattered to Paddy without taking so much as a breath, her father and Aiden frowning, the two directing a covert gaze toward Rafe.

Bren shrugged and took the seat next to Rafe.

"Will you do us the honors of saying grace, Daniel?" Paddy asked.

"I will at that."

Her father recited the prayer she knew by heart, and everyone dug in. Rafe filled his plate and ate in silence while the rest of them entertained one another about the recent rumor mill around town, which centered mostly round Wes and the horses Grace had been entrusted to care for.

"So, Rafe, Bren tells me you're from Texas," Paddy said.

Rafe stopped eating. His back went rigid, and his fingers visibly tightened on his fork. He finished chewing and glanced at Bren, no doubt sensing she was watching his reaction. He swallowed and smiled at her and turned toward Paddy. "That's right. I've lived in Weatherford for thirty-five years."

"Finn tells me you're the real thing. A real cowboy."

"I didn't have much choice growing up on a ranch."

She kicked his ankle.

To his credit he didn't yelp in pain, but merely grunted quietly and shot her a gaze that could singe her fiery-red hair right off her aching head, thanks to Rafe's rude behavior.

Paddy chose at that point to let the matter lie. And Aiden, more intuitive than she had believed possible, steered his grandfather toward a conversation of an ATV that Paddy was thinking of purchasing for the boys in the spring.

When dinner was over and Paddy and her father offered to do the dishes, Bren shooed them into the family room with the boys and offered up Rafe to tidy the kitchen instead.

Bren prepared the sink with warm water and soap, and Rafe brought her a stack of dishes. When he turned to gather more, she grabbed his arm. "You need to grow up."