Loving Deep: Steele Ridge Series Read online

  “It’s okay, Grady.” Randi patted the big man’s shoulder. “I got this.” She pulled a narrow rectangular bottle from a wide assortment on the counter and poured two fingers in one smooth move, then set the tumbler of amber liquid on a square napkin before sliding it toward Britt. “Virgil hasn’t returned my phone call, so there’s nothing for us to discuss. Unless you’d like to tell me what you know.”

  Even though she said the words softly, Britt felt them reverberate through the room. He didn’t feel comfortable sharing his and Barbara’s conversation. Randi should hear it from her mother’s attorney. But with the weekend in front of them, who the hell knew when Virgil would get in touch.

  “I didn’t think so.” Randi started to turn away.

  “Wait.”

  “Change your mind?”

  Grady continued to eyeball him from the opposite end of the bar, and several others seemed to be hovering in anticipation of his next words.

  Britt stood, dropping a ten-dollar bill onto the bar. “Is there someplace we could talk in private?”

  After a short hesitation, she finally nodded. “Give me a sec.” She stopped next to the bartender and whispered something to him.

  “This way,” she said to Britt as she brushed by. “Feel free to bring your drink.”

  Grady’s keep-your-hands-off-her glare followed them out of the bar.

  If the bartender’s distrust hadn’t been focused on him, he would’ve admired the man’s protectiveness of his employer. Feral loyalty like that didn’t exist in the business world these days.

  “Grady doesn’t seem to care much for me.”

  “He’s determined that no female on his watch will ever be molested by horny fools.”

  “Including his boss?”

  “Especially his boss.”

  “Ex-military?”

  “Marine. He still trains with them on occasion.”

  She zigzagged her way into the bowels of Blues, Brews, and Books before stopping at a locked door. Inserting a key, she led him into a spacious, clutter-free office. One side of the room contained a desk with a computer and printer and several mounds of neatly stacked papers. A utilitarian guest chair stood nearby.

  The opposite side appeared to be a sort of temporary living space. A television was nestled in the corner, framed by a plush purple recliner and a long brown pleather sofa. Atop the sofa sat a folded blanket and plumped pillow. A door leading into what appeared to be a bathroom separated the living and workspace.

  Did she live here?

  Given the fact that she managed three businesses in one, it wouldn’t surprise him if the answer were yes.

  “Have a seat.” Randi grabbed a ginger ale from a small refrigerator next to her desk. “Can I get you anything?”

  Britt held up his glass. “Thanks, I’m good.” Not sure which side of the room she’d invited him into, he waited for her to make the first move. She sat on the sofa, so he made himself at home in the purple contraption. The cushioned rocking recliner enveloped him in masculine heaven. Tension oozed from his body and a low moan tumbled out of his throat.

  “It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

  “Hmm-mmm. If it wasn’t purple, I might try to steal this away.”

  “Eggplant.”

  He opened his eyes. When had they closed? “What?”

  “The color is eggplant, not purple.”

  “Why do women insist on embellishing basic colors?”

  “To annoy the male species, I suppose.”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  They shared a smile, and the impact of that brief connection made it seem as though one of his brothers had wrapped him in a bear hug. He was used to thinking of her on occasion, a byproduct of his Friday night visits and growing attraction. However, after their encounter yesterday, he’d thought of little else. He told himself that worry made him recall every word, every expression, every feeling from their time together.

  However, Britt tried not to bullshit himself. Others, he could talk nonsense to all day to avoid an issue.

  “What do you know, Britt?” Randi asked into the silence.

  He knocked back the last of his drink, gathering his thoughts. “Didn’t you think to track down Virgil at his office?”

  “I spoke to his assistant this afternoon. She wouldn’t share his whereabouts.”

  Britt sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He met her gaze. “Should you decide to sell the Shepherd property—in whole or in part—your mother promised me right of first refusal.”

  Her eyes flared, and some emotion he could not read tracked across her features.

  “Barbara never said anything to you?”

  She shifted her attention to the corner of the room, her jaw firming and her chest rising on a deep inhalation. “Is there anything else?”

  Dammit, Barbara! What were you thinking?

  Anger swelled inside Britt for the pain he was causing Randi. Although Barbara’s life had been cut short far too early, she should have verbalized her intentions to her only daughter.

  “Only that if you decide to sell the property and I want to buy it, the purchase price would be at twenty-five percent below fair market value.”

  “I see. Did you and my mother concoct any other limitations on my inheritance?”

  “We didn’t concoct anything. Barbara wanted the land preserved and she indicated you had no interest in it. When she suggested this arrangement, I assumed you were in agreement. As I understood it, the house and ten acres would be carved out for you. No conditions attached.”

  “How generous.” She shot from the sofa and began pacing the small confines of the office-apartment. “Tell me something, Britt. Why would I agree to sell a thousand acres for below fair market value when I could get double that amount?”

  Britt set his empty tumbler on a side table and rose. “Double? Is that wishful thinking? Or do you have an offer on the table?”

  “I can tell you it’s not wishful damn thinking.”

  “Who?”

  “None of your business.”

  Dread seeded his thoughts. If Barbara failed to mention any of this to her daughter, Britt wondered what else she hadn’t done as promised. What if she’d never gotten around to amending her will to include a right of first refusal? If she hadn’t and Randi sold the property to a developer, the Steele-Shepherd pack would not survive the intrusion. Red wolves valued their privacy and were frightened of humans—more than any other wild canid.

  He wouldn’t feel settled about any of this until they heard from Virgil.

  Britt studied Randi’s profile. Beneath her bravado, he knew she was hurting. Knew she felt betrayed by her parent. A feeling Britt understood all too well.

  Making his way over to her side, he said, “I’m sorry this has happened.”

  “If it’s as you said, the apology isn’t yours to give.” She folded her arms across her middle. “It’s simply another disappointment added to a very long list.”

  When it came to soothing emotions, especially feminine ones, Britt sucked at the task. He could never find the right words and made things worse when he tried. But seeing Randi weighed down by pain propelled him to make the attempt.

  “Listen, I don’t know why Barbara never mentioned her intentions. But what I do know is that she loved you.”

  She sent him an appreciative yet sad smile. “I know.” Unfolding her arms, she headed to the door. “My mother’s love for me has never been in doubt. Nor was my position in her pecking order.” She opened the door. “Good night. I will track down Virgil tomorrow, even if I need to go to his house. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  Stopping beside her, he ached to soothe away the resignation now blanketing her features. It was far worse than the pain.

  “Would you like company?”

  Her gaze dipped to his mouth and lingered there for a heartbeat. Britt’s body reacted to the small sign of her interest. He sensed the same yearning in her that he’d foug
ht every day since walking through Triple B’s doors. How long had he waited for her to send him one lingering glance? One I-caught-you-staring moment? One subtle brush of her body against his?

  Of their own volition, his nostrils opened wider, searching for her scent, for something of her he could hold on to through the long hours of the night. He canted his head until he located the faint trace of jasmine…and feminine musk.

  “What are you waiting for?” He whispered the words against her lips. Not touching, but close. Achingly close.

  She opened her mouth and her ginger ale-laced breath fanned over his face. If she didn’t kiss him in the next five seconds, he would take the decision out of her hands.

  “For you to leave,” she said.

  Lust-taut muscles turned into slabs of concrete. “Leave?”

  There, on her upturned face, he read her desire and her decision to ignore her body’s needs.

  Unable to simply walk away, Britt skimmed the underside of her chin with the back of his forefinger. Her skin was soft, smooth, satiny. More so than he’d ever envisioned.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  As he strode away, Britt wanted to look back and see if she was watching him, or his rear, walk down the hallway. Something to tease her about later. In the end, he didn’t give in to his curiosity, though he made sure her gaze traveled down his back to his ass.

  7

  Randi never made it to Britt’s on Saturday. It took her most of the day to track down Virgil. By noon, she’d made up her mind the lawyer was avoiding her on purpose. The thought cramped her stomach for hours. If he was dodging her attempts to speak with him about her mother’s will, he must have bad news.

  Through word of mouth, she finally located him at his gun club. Not out on the range, but gambling and drinking in one of the back rooms of the lodge. From the smell emanating from his disheveled body, she’d bet this was where he’d been holed up for the past few days.

  It took her the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening to sober him up enough to have a competent conversation.

  “Would you like another cup of coffee?”

  “Hell, no.” Sitting at his kitchen table, Virgil grasped his head with both hands. “Can we do this tomorrow?”

  “Hell, no.” Randi pushed away from the wall where she’d been lounging, waiting for the semblance of a clear mind to appear. “It’s well past time I heard the details of Mom’s will. And I’m not letting you out of my sight until you read me the contents.”

  “Didn’t we discuss this already?”

  “No. At the funeral all we talked about was setting up a meeting.”

  He made a snuffling sound. “Why’d you wait so long to contact me?”

  The pounding in Randi’s temple expanded to her left eye. If she didn’t fear going to hell, she would curse her mother up one side of her coffin and down the other.

  “Are you serious? Did you already forget how I had to haul your sorry hide out of that gambling cave today?”

  Red mottled the area near his receding hairline, and his gaze dropped to the tabletop. “Dammit, Miranda. I don’t even know if I have the paperwork here. More than likely it’s at my office.”

  “Then we’ll take a ride to your office.” Randi poked her head into Virgil’s refrigerator to find him something to eat. A half-eaten sandwich partially wrapped in Big Abe’s Deli paper, three dill pickles in a jar, a full bottle of ketchup, a slice of cheddar cheese, and five large eggs. She’d worked with worse. “After you eat.”

  Drawing what she needed from the fridge, she piled everything onto the counter.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making an omelet.”

  Randi pulled thin slices of ham from the leftover sandwich and tore them into pieces before dropping the tortured mess into a bowl of egg whites and yolks. Then she speared a pickle and chopped it into cubes. They joined the ham and eggs, along with the cheese.

  “That’s not like any omelet I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s because you pollute your body with junk food. This is gourmet.”

  “Putting pickles in my omelet is considered gourmet?”

  “Don’t forget the ham.”

  “I’ll pass, thank you.”

  “We’re not leaving until you put something into your stomach. And this little delicacy is all we’ve got.”

  “No wonder you’re not married yet,” he grumbled. “Bossy as all get-out.”

  “Virgil, my dear. You have yet to see my bossy side.”

  “What do you call shoving that gourmet crap down my throat?”

  “Friendly fire. If I were being bossy, you would be making your own meal.”

  Virgil attacked the meal with the gusto of a man who’d lived off pretzels and hard liquor for several days. The omelet barely made one circle in his mouth before he swallowed. Just as well. Who knew if the concoction was even palatable? She sure as heck hadn’t sampled the dish before serving it.

  As it turned out, Virgil had her mom’s will buried on the desk in his home office. The moment he put his glasses on, the disheveled drunkard transformed into a polished attorney. He read the document, word for word, pausing at moments to explain a difficult clause or answer an unasked question.

  For thirty minutes, Randi sat in surreal disbelief, brought on by both Virgil’s transformation and her mother’s wishes. She walked away, numb and unsure of her next move.

  The next morning, armed with a leaded, Grande vanilla latte, Randi idled in front of Britt’s cabin. She hated visiting him on Sunday, but she wanted to get this business over with so they could both move on. She hoped he was a morning person.

  A scattering of large, thick-branched trees encircled Britt’s one-story, no-frills cabin. The large logs appeared hand-hewn, old, imperfect. Not so with many of the new log homes popping up all over the Blue Ridge Mountains. Many looked like replicas of their neighbors, assembled out of a box like a paint-by-number portrait, replete with a butt-ugly green metal roof and natural stained wood from corner to corner to corner to corner.

  Few had character like this cabin. This cabin had seen decades of harsh winds, brutal sun, and driving rain. It had character and had obviously been looked after by caring owners over the years. Not one broken window or termite-infested log. Not one overgrown weed in the yard. The rustic cabin suited Britt. Both were rugged, sturdy, pleasing to the eye.

  She strode up the two steps to knock on his screen door. Nothing. Opening the door, she rapped her knuckles on the wood panel. Still nothing.

  Her gaze dropped to the doorknob. She hesitated only a moment before curling her fingers around the iron knob and twisting. Locked. A stream of relieved breath slipped between her lips. What would she have done if it had opened? Walked inside his home, nosing into each room until she found him? What if he’d been in bed? Or worse, the shower?

  An image of Britt’s big naked body standing beneath a shower spray misted her vision. Steam billowing all around him. His dark blond hair almost black when wet. Droplets sliding down his broad chest, his hard stomach, his long, thick…Randi shook her head, blasting away the moment. She couldn’t be distracted by hot images of Britt during their talk. She’d never be able to get an intelligible word out.

  Before she thought the worst of his silence, Randi decided to check around back. Maybe he was working on something and didn’t hear her drive up. Like chopping wood for the winter. Shirtless. Sweaty. Gah! She hopped off the porch and quick-walked around the side of the house.

  What on earth was happening to her? She had admired his good looks before—what woman in her bar hadn’t? But never had she been plagued by sensual fantasies of the man. Maybe she needed more coffee. She took a big swig, pulling at the sippy hole like a babe at her mama’s teat.

  Her search behind the cabin revealed no half-naked bear of a man, or otherwise. Returning to the front porch, she sat in one of the Adirondack chairs to wait him out. He was either ignoring her, had wandered off into the woods, or someone h
ad picked him up. She would sit here and check her e-mail while enjoying the rest of her latte until he emerged.

  She prayed he wouldn’t arrive with a girlfriend. Talk about awkward. In all the weeks he’d been visiting her bar, she’d never seen him come in or leave with a woman. Many had made themselves comfortable at his table, especially if he was accompanied by one or more of his brothers or male cousins. Few single women could resist such a tempting buffet of masculinity.

  A light breeze tickled the fine hairs on her cheeks. Randi lifted her nose to the wind like a dog tracking a curious scent. Calm rushed over her, burrowing past the stress and heartache to open a path to her senses. The shuffle of a thousand leaves reached her ear as well as the laser gun song of a lone cardinal in the distance. The scent of loamy damp soil hung in the air like an invisible fog. An early June sun warmed her eyelids.

  Several minutes filtered by before she broke free of her trancelike state. She sipped her latte while scanning her e-mail. Five messages—two e-newsletters, one e-mail from Aunt Sharon filling her in on the antique clock she found for Randi’s coffee shop, one social media notification, and one letter from a Russian gentleman in need of a good, obedient wife.

  She deleted all but Aunt Sharon’s and debated whether or not to respond. Since her sister’s passing, Aunt Sharon had made it her mission to make sure Randi didn’t feel lonely. If more than a few days went by without her hearing from Randi, her aunt would send her an e-mail or text or call or stop by.

  Randi appreciated the gesture, but her aunt had to know that her sister and niece hadn’t been close. Why she thought Randi would feel lonely was a mystery. She’d been on her own for years. Her mother’s passing had changed nothing when it came to Randi’s day-to-day activities. People surrounded her every day, all day.

  Hitting Reply, Randi began composing a response. She and her aunt had a close relationship. More of a friendship these days than anything else. No one could match Sharon’s energy or giving nature. Everyone loved and respected her. As they had Randi’s mother, but for entirely different reasons.

  The cursor on her phone blinked a silent, challenging rhythm. A memory of her and her mother nursing a small litter of orphaned red fox surfaced. The care with which her mother had tended the month-old kits, and how she’d instructed a seven-year-old Randi not to cuddle the babies because they would be released back in the wild, rose in Randi’s memory with perfect clarity.