The Slade Brothers: A Complete Small Town Contemporary Romance Collection Read online

  Now that Dad’s retired and the business falls mostly to me, we all get a cut of the profits. None of us needs to work, yet we all still do. Life’s too short to spend it being lazy. Hell, life’s too short to spend it being alone, but here I am.

  When my steak’s done cooking, I toss it onto a plate and move to my favorite recliner. I turn on the TV and zone out—eating, drinking, and pretending I’m actually happy with my life. When my stomach is full and I can drink no more, I recline my seat and drift off.

  I wake to the sound of my front door slamming. My eyes open to a room filled with blinding light. My hand immediately flies to my face, covering my eyes as a groan escapes my mouth. “God, what the fuck?” I mumble, desperately trying to uncover my eyes and adjust to the light so I can see who just walked into my house. Whoever it is better hope they can run fucking fast, because when I can see, I’m chasing them with my shotgun.

  “What’s the matter? Have a little too much to drink last night?” Harrison asks, and I can hear the humor in his tone.

  “Fuck you and close those damn blinds,” I say, sitting up and straining my eyes against the light to see him standing by the front door.

  “It’s going on 10 a.m. Do you remember what you were supposed to do this morning?” he asks, face reddening.

  “What? No.” I push myself forward, grabbing the cord on the blinds and yanking it so the shades fall down. Finally, I can see, but it’s like when you’re in a dark room and a camera flash goes off. That blinding light is still in my vision every time I blink.

  “You were supposed to make an appearance at the local food drive. How in the hell can you expect this town to like you when you make no effort to be a part of it?” He holds his hands out at his sides, eyes narrowing on me. “Remember that big cardboard check you were going to hand over to the shelter?”

  I wave my hand through the air. “Any asshole can do that. Send Dave from accounting.” Why am I the only one who can hand over a check?

  “That’s who’s doing it, you little shit. But that’s not the point. The point is, you need this town to be okay with you so you can expand your damn brewery. This town will never accept you as one of their own if you don’t at least try to be a part of it.” His face is now red. He picks up a newspaper from the coffee table and throws it at me.

  I catch it. “Okay. Damn. I’m sorry.” I toss the paper back onto the table.

  He points his finger at me as he takes a step closer. “If this business fails, it’s on you. I’ve done and am doing everything I can do. But I can only do so much. This one is on you.” Without another word, he turns and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

  I fall back into my chair and take a deep breath. My head lolls to the side, where I find a half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the end table. I reach out and pick up the bottle, but then guilt begins eating at me and I put it back down.

  “Fuck,” I whisper, massaging my temples. How the fuck did I get here?

  I know exactly how I got here, but I refuse to think about her. I already gave in and looked at her picture. That’s something I only do in moments of weakness. I try my hardest to forget about her, but sometimes she comes sneaking back in. In those moments, a pain seizes my heart, and a pit opens in my stomach. It’s enough to stop me dead in my tracks.

  I shake my head and stand, moving toward the shower. I need to occupy my time—to get my mind off everything. I step beneath the hot stream of water and rest my head against the wall as my eyes drift closed. Her picture forms beneath my lids. It takes on a life of its own. The memory of that day plays out and I’m powerless to stop it.

  We were getting ready to go to Colton’s, to have dinner with him and Haven. She went out to the garden to cut some roses—planning to give a bouquet to Haven as a thank you for dinner. When I went outside and saw her, I couldn’t keep my eyes or hands to myself. I snapped that picture and she caught me at the last minute. When the wind blew that dress back, giving me the perfect view of her form, I knew I wouldn’t be able to wait until after dinner. I walked up to her nice and slow, just taking her in. I pulled her against me and pressed my mouth to hers. I can still feel her soft lips moving with my own. I can still taste her. I can still feel her heat from the moment I pushed that dress up and slid into her against the back door.

  My body comes alive just thinking about that moment. My palm moves up, taking myself in hand. I begin pumping up and down. My heart rate spikes when I remember her soft moans. My breathing picks up as I recall her soft skin against mine. My release rises to the surface and I let out a deep growl as I spill myself onto the shower floor. But the moment my body comes down from its high, anger washes over me and I reach out and lightly punch the shower wall. A tile cracks under the pressure. I hate myself for being weak. I hate myself for not being enough. But most of all, I hate myself for chasing her off instead of just being what she needed.

  It’s going on noon when I’m walking into the brewery. I head back to my office, passing Harrison on my way. He follows me back to my office, closing the door behind us.

  “Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence today.” He smiles, causing the wrinkles around his eyes to grow deeper and larger.

  “Look, I know you’re pissed off. If I were you, I would be too. But you’re forgetting one thing.”

  “What’s that?” he asks, walking closer.

  I place both hands on top of my desk and lean over it. “I’m the boss. I’m the one in charge. I’m the one who decides if this place stays open or closes. While you may have been employed here longer than me, I was the one born into this. It’s rightfully mine. And I demand a little respect. If I want to spend my nights loaded with more whiskey than any one person should be able to handle, then that’s my business. You are not my father. You are not my keeper. You’re the advisor here because I say you’re the advisor. When I need advising on something, I’ll let you know. Other than that, please keep your damn mouth shut. Got it?”

  He slides his hands into his pockets, cocks his jaw, and nods his head. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Yes, I’d like the expansion blueprints, please.”

  “Right away, sir.” He turns and leaves without a look back.

  My heart is pounding in my chest as anger floods my body. I take a seat behind my desk and breathe deeply, trying to clear out the aggression I seem to almost always have. I hate that I had to be that way with Harrison, but sometimes a man needs to be put in his place, especially when he’s overstepping his boundaries. It’s none of his business how I spend my nights. If I don’t want to show for an event, that’s my choice. I don’t need to be chastised for it like I’m a child. I say how I live my life. I say how I run this business. I say who’s employed here. Me.

  Harrison is walking back in with the tube of blueprints. He hands it over, anger marring his face, but doesn’t say a word.

  I take the tube. “Thank you, Harrison. That will be all.”

  He nods once, then turns and leaves.

  When I’m alone in my office, I open the tube and pull out the plans. I unroll them and lay them flat on my desk, holding down the corners with anything heavy enough to keep them in place. I stand over the papers and think of everything that needs to happen in the next week. I find myself counting down the minutes until I meet with this new hotshot lawyer, praying he’ll be able to deliver on all the promises made. I find it completely irresponsible that Burns would decide to retire right when I need him most. All these years, he did nothing but sign a document or two while collecting the money we paid him. And now that we actually need him for something, he’s passing the torch to someone else? I would’ve fired Burns long ago if it hadn’t been for my father, plus the fact that he’s the only good lawyer in town.

  If this new lawyer can get the locals on my side and convince the four families to sign off so I can build adjacent to their properties, and if he can push all the paperwork through and get the city to sign off on the permits neede
d, I’ll pay him double—hell, triple. I need this. I just need for one goddamn thing to go right.

  The door opens and my assistant walks in. “Here’s your mail, sir,” Janell says as she walks across the room and hands me a stack of envelopes.

  “Thank you, Janell.” I take the stack from her and drop it onto my desk, not bothering to go through it today. I have enough on my plate. I need to stay focused and keep my head in the game, at least for the next year. In 12 months, if all goes right, the expansion will be done, and we’ll be selling and producing beer and whiskey. I’ll be able to take a break. I’ll be able to breathe. That’s when I’ll figure out my life. That’s when I’ll be happy.

  Three

  Celeste

  “YOU’VE got to be kidding me,” I mumble to myself as I look at the motel room the firm has rented for me for the next year. A motel! Not a nice hotel with room service, but a sleazy motel that can be rented by the hour for affairs and hookers. Honestly, I’m afraid to even walk across the dingy carpet in my Jimmy Choos. No way am I setting my Louis luggage on that sticky table. I run my finger across the top of the old TV. A line appears in the dense dust. The full-size bed is covered with a pea-green comforter. The two pillows aren’t firm and they reek of cigarette smoke. The mirror above the sink is dirty and covered in water spots, and has a crack that travels the length of the glass. In several places, the old plaster walls are cracked and filled in, although the new plaster doesn’t match the old. The ceiling isn’t white—more of a yellowish color with water stains.

  I pull out my phone and call the office. I put the phone to my ear but it never rings. It takes several long seconds before the phone beeps, telling me I don’t have a signal.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I repeat for what feels like the 100th time since I pulled into the parking lot of this shitty motel. I move around the room, holding the phone up above my head, trying to find a signal. Finally, I find one spot where my phone works. I only have to stand on the chair to make a call.

  “Thank you for calling Mason, Lawrence, and Howe. This is Mary. How can I help you?”

  “Mary, it’s Celeste,” I say in a rush, hoping the phone doesn’t drop the call.

  “Celeste, how are you doing?” she asks, sounding happy to hear from me.

  “Fucking fabulous. Listen, I need to talk with Mr. Mason. Could you please connect me to his assistant?”

  “Sure, one sec,” she says. The phone beeps twice, then rings through.

  “Mr. Mason’s office. How may I help you?” she answers.

  “Hi, this is Celeste Teller. I’m calling from the Colorado location and I’m needing to speak with Mr. Mason.”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Mason is out of the office right now. I would be more than happy to take a message.”

  I almost growl, but I hold it back. “Could you please just tell him to give me a call back?” I give her my number and she promises to have him return my call. I hang up the phone and collapse into the chair I’ve been standing on. My eyes take in the room once again. Disgust washes over me and literally makes a chill race up my spine. Who knows what’s living in here: bugs, snakes, diseases? I shiver as I push the thought away.

  Maybe I can find another place here in town, or at least close to it. I can pay for the night and have Mr. Mason move the money from this place to the place I find. I grab my luggage and head for the car. I toss my suitcase into the trunk and pull away from the motel I hope to never set foot in again.

  I pull out of the parking lot, taking a left on Main Street. This place is certainly full of small-town charm. There’s a family diner, a small post office, a gas station, and a bar all on the same street. I pull into the restaurant, thinking I’ll have dinner and do some research to find a better place to stay. I park the car and get out, not noticing that there aren’t any cars in the parking lot other than my own until I tug on the locked door.

  “Seriously?” I ask myself, looking at the sign on the door that states its business hours.

  Wednesday evenings, the restaurant is closed for church services.

  “That’s just great,” I mumble, walking back to the car and getting behind the wheel once again. I drive up and down Main Street. I find the church, the school, and a series of offices—including Mason, Lawrence, and Howe—but no other restaurants or hotels. Giving up, I turn around and stop at the bar. If nothing else, I can at least drink some wine and fill my stomach with nuts. The thought makes me cringe, but what else am I supposed to do? I need food. I’ve been on the road for the last three days. I just need a decent meal, a long, hot bath, and a big glass of red wine. Then a good night’s sleep to prepare for my meeting with Mr. Slade tomorrow.

  There are five cars in the gravel parking lot of the bar, so I’m confident this place doesn’t operate by church hours. I pull open the large wooden door and loud music filters out. When I step inside, everyone turns to look over their shoulder, freezing when they find me.

  Every eye in the place is watching as I slowly walk up to the bar and have a seat. It feels like I’m in a movie—where the stranger walks into a crowded bar and everyone stares as the music stops and the whole place goes quiet. Yeah, that’s how it feels, only the music doesn’t actually stop.

  The bartender walks up. She’s a tiny redhead with green eyes and a big chest. She smiles sweetly. “What can I get ya?” she asks, wiping her hands on a white towel.

  “A glass of red wine would be great,” I reply, digging in my purse for some cash.

  The whole bar, filled with only five people, seems to laugh in unison, causing me to jerk my head back up to see what I’ve missed.

  “We don’t carry the stuff,” the bartender says.

  “Really? You don’t carry any red wine?” I asked, shocked. What kind of bar doesn’t carry wine?

  She shakes her head. “We’ve got beer and whiskey.” She places her hands on the bar and leans on it as she watches me.

  “How about a martini?”

  “We’ve got gin; no vermouth.” She stands upright and crosses her arms.

  I let out a puff of air and shake my head. “Vodka cranberry?”

  She nods, finally walking away to mix my drink.

  I lay $20 on the bar and pull out my phone to find another place to stay, however, my phone still doesn’t work due to no signal.

  When the bartender comes back, I ask, “Will a cell phone work anywhere in this town?”

  She snorts. “Not likely. We’re supposed to be getting a tower built ‘soon,’ but there’s been talk of that for about five years now, and so far, nothing.”

  “Great,” I mumble, taking a sip of my drink. I cough when I find there’s more vodka than cranberry.

  “I’m Celeste Teller. I’m the new lawyer for Mason, Lawrence, and Howe.” I hold out my hand to shake.

  Her eyes move from my face, to my hand, and back, before she finally shakes it. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Stephanie.”

  “Stephanie, I just got into town and my firm rented me a room at the Glendale Motel. Are there any other places around, or is that the only one?”

  She nods. “That’s the only place for about 75 miles,” she says in her thick country accent.

  I feel my shoulders slump. “There are no towns or cities for 75 miles?” I ask, confused and worried.

  “That’s right. We’re sort of in the middle of nowhere,” she says as she begins to wipe down the bar.

  “So where does everyone eat? Is there only the one diner?”

  Again, she nods. “But we have a kitchen too. I mean, it’s limited, but if you’re just wanting a burger and some fries, it’s better than nothing.”

  My mouth waters at the thought of a burger and fries. “A salad?” I ask, feeling hopeful.

  She smiles. “That’s even better, because Sam won’t have to fire up the grill.” She turns away from me. “Hey, Sam! I need a salad!” She turns back to me. “What kind of dressing?”

  I shrug, not even caring if I have dressing.
“Whatever you have,” I say, almost giddy at the thought of food.”

  A swinging door in the back opens. “Got it,” says a man I’m assuming is Sam.

  “So, where ya from?” Stephanie asks.

  “Los Angeles,” I answer, taking another painful sip of my drink. The vodka burns my throat. I pray it goes numb soon.

  She gives me a sidelong glance. “And you volunteered to come here?” Her brows pull together as she watches me.

  I move my head from side to side. “I didn’t volunteer. I’m a city girl through and through, but I was promised a promotion when I return in a year.”

  “You’re staying here for a year?” she asks, adding on a whistle. “I couldn’t imagine staying in that rundown motel for a year.”

  I snort. “Right? I have to find something else. You know of anyone renting out a room, apartment, or couch?” I joke about the last part.

  She bites her lower lip. “We don’t have any apartment buildings in town. It’s mostly just big groups of families. The younger people usually move out of town to go to college. The older folks have been where they’re at for a lifetime now. Houses usually don’t go up for sale or rent here either. They’re passed down from one generation to the next. Anyone new usually builds their own house. There are some people who have built little apartments on their property though. Like, I live in an apartment above a barn. And my boyfriend turned his family shed into a tiny house. We all just do what we can.”

  I lightly bang my head against the bar and she laughs. “I’ll keep an eye out for you though.”